Yeah. That. Every day, that.
2.27.2012
Growing up
You know how one day you look at your kid and you think "Holy crap. When did they get taller than me? And how long have they not been four years old anymore?" and your heart kind of breaks for the cute little tykes of yesterday while at the same time swelling at how beautiful and grown-up they're getting?
2.20.2012
Staging Nicely
When we first told our realtor* we wanted this house, she looked at us like we were a little nuts. I don't blame her. The carpet was raggedy, the walls dingy, and the layout is super weird with two big bedrooms and one little closet-sized bedroom.
Now that we're selling the place, she came back to take photos for the listing. She's maybe been here once or twice since giving us the keys, but it's always been in various steps of remodeling. While taking photos of the (finally) finished product, she gave me the highest compliment a realtor* can give: "Your house stages really nicely."
Truthfully, the house really isn't much better than when we bought it. The living room ceiling is some kind of old, perforated acoustic tile that's a little bulgy in places. Our bedroom is not separated from our bathroom; we took the wall out because it was so close to the tub I had to turn sideways to get into the shower, and I am a pretty tiny person. Dan couldn't get in at all. And the layout is still weird.
Yet it stages nicely. It looks quality in photos. The wonky parts are easy to crop out or gloss over.
Like my house, I too stage nicely. I have yet to meet the person (including those who've known me the longest) who isn't surprised to find out I have anxiety issues.
"You seem so laid back!" is the comment I get most often.
Of course I do. Because I stage nicely.
I've decided, no one actually has their shit together. No one. We're all just in various degrees of staging nicely.
*Side note: Why the hell does my spell check think this is not a word?
Now that we're selling the place, she came back to take photos for the listing. She's maybe been here once or twice since giving us the keys, but it's always been in various steps of remodeling. While taking photos of the (finally) finished product, she gave me the highest compliment a realtor* can give: "Your house stages really nicely."
Truthfully, the house really isn't much better than when we bought it. The living room ceiling is some kind of old, perforated acoustic tile that's a little bulgy in places. Our bedroom is not separated from our bathroom; we took the wall out because it was so close to the tub I had to turn sideways to get into the shower, and I am a pretty tiny person. Dan couldn't get in at all. And the layout is still weird.
Yet it stages nicely. It looks quality in photos. The wonky parts are easy to crop out or gloss over.
Like my house, I too stage nicely. I have yet to meet the person (including those who've known me the longest) who isn't surprised to find out I have anxiety issues.
"You seem so laid back!" is the comment I get most often.
Of course I do. Because I stage nicely.
I've decided, no one actually has their shit together. No one. We're all just in various degrees of staging nicely.
*Side note: Why the hell does my spell check think this is not a word?
2.14.2012
We, the peddlers of heart-shaped rocks
Got a knock on the door last night and there's a scrawny little boy standing there.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he says back.
We look at each other for a minute. No one says anything.
"So... what's going on?" I finally say, because... this is a little weird.
"Um, is this?" he says, then starts again. "Does a guy live here who makes hearts?"
Seriously, have never seen this kid before. Apparently our heart-shaped reputation precedes us.
Dan comes out and we all make friends; young Royce is sent on his way with a fine specimen of a heart-shaped rock.
I should've gotten pictures just to prove that this really happened, but I didn't. You'll just have to trust me.
Happy Valentine's Day.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi," he says back.
We look at each other for a minute. No one says anything.
"So... what's going on?" I finally say, because... this is a little weird.
"Um, is this?" he says, then starts again. "Does a guy live here who makes hearts?"
Seriously, have never seen this kid before. Apparently our heart-shaped reputation precedes us.
Dan comes out and we all make friends; young Royce is sent on his way with a fine specimen of a heart-shaped rock.
I should've gotten pictures just to prove that this really happened, but I didn't. You'll just have to trust me.
Happy Valentine's Day.
2.06.2012
writewritewrite
Much like anything you do constantly, writing is now exhausting me. It's ironic, I guess, that writing more-than-full-time means I'm dropping the blog ball. You'd think if I'm writing anyway, why not this too? Right?
Hm.
Well, anyway.
Here's the progress update on my venture into self-publishing. I put my first book up in the last week of January. It sold 14 copies by February. Now, that doesn't sound like much, but an average of 2 books sold per day for a brand-new author with no other works, no reviews, and no 'also-bought' listings is a promising start.
Book Two went up about a week ago, and sold 3 copies in the first day.
Book Three is due out this week. Then I combine Books One thru Three into a trilogy and publish that. Should have another book out in a few more days.
I am completely, completely exhausted. But with every sale number that moves up, and every penny that goes into that royalties account (over $40 whole dollars!!), I think "Wow. This-- might actually work."
I have had a lot of crazy ideas about how to support myself and what to do with my life, but it is just-- I know there are better words for it but my brain is kinda numb, so forgive me-- but REALLY FREAKING COOL that one of them might work. Not just work, but work long-term. Work to give us not just a living wage, but also the flexible lifestyle we want-- hanging out with the kids, camping and hiking, traveling. Everything we want. Everything we want, doing something I love.
Totally worth the exhaustion.
Hm.
Well, anyway.
Here's the progress update on my venture into self-publishing. I put my first book up in the last week of January. It sold 14 copies by February. Now, that doesn't sound like much, but an average of 2 books sold per day for a brand-new author with no other works, no reviews, and no 'also-bought' listings is a promising start.
Book Two went up about a week ago, and sold 3 copies in the first day.
Book Three is due out this week. Then I combine Books One thru Three into a trilogy and publish that. Should have another book out in a few more days.
I am completely, completely exhausted. But with every sale number that moves up, and every penny that goes into that royalties account (over $40 whole dollars!!), I think "Wow. This-- might actually work."
I have had a lot of crazy ideas about how to support myself and what to do with my life, but it is just-- I know there are better words for it but my brain is kinda numb, so forgive me-- but REALLY FREAKING COOL that one of them might work. Not just work, but work long-term. Work to give us not just a living wage, but also the flexible lifestyle we want-- hanging out with the kids, camping and hiking, traveling. Everything we want. Everything we want, doing something I love.
Totally worth the exhaustion.
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