Independence Day

This is how unmotivated I am: The city of Fort Lauderdale's holiday fireworks are blasting off along the New River downtown, less than a half-mile away.
Pop! Bam! Whiz!
Not only did I not ride the bike down there, I didn't even get up, open the door, and walk outside where I could look up in the sky and watch them.
Of course, a long afternoon of lightning storms and torrential rains have kind of put a damper on the holiday here. I've been moping around the house, reading some old books by Lewis Grizzard and Roy Blount Jr. (I'm in such a pissy mood, not even reading funny books by great humorists is making me feel better).
My TV reporter husband is off on an extended adventure to the North Pole (!) While he's off cavorting in the ice, it's SWELTERING in South Florida, as usual for the summer. I'm feeling lonely and forgotten on the Fourth of July.
Independence Day? More like Quit-Being-So-Dependent Day.

Writing Contests

I've been poking around on the web, trying to find some quickie writing contests. I recently placed second with a short story, Couldn't Be Easier, in a contest off the site, http://www.writers-editors.com/.
I was grateful for the recognition (and the $75 prize!). But I also appreciated the deadline. Nothing like a deadline for motivation. For an ex-newspaper reporter like me, having these book biz deadlines such a long, L---O---N---G way away makes it seem like they're not real. Very different than showing up at a plane crash or a workplace shooting and having to collect and dictate your story within a couple of hours.
Another competition, from Writers Digest online, offers this month's prompt: Three people in an empty movie theater. It's cold. Go. Good exercise, and $100 for the best short piece off the prompt. No entry fee, either .... You can't win if you don't try, right?
Pro or con on contests?
I say thumbs up. Even if entering takes me away from Mama Rides Shotgun, my second book in progress, contests are a good way to polish skills and think creatively.
Or, maybe they're just avoidance . . .

Kevin's Party

I just finished printing 14 pages from a website. It's a collection of online condolences sent after the death of my younger brother, Kevin. I'm going to bind them to give to our 92-year-old mom.
Nice scrapbook, huh?
The company that sponsors the site, linked from the newspaper's obit pages, calls it a "Guest Book. ''
Kevin, always up for a party, would have loved the term. But to me, this particular party doesn't seem all that festive. I wish I could be uninvited as a guest.
It's been nine months since he died, gone suddenly at age 48 from an apparent heart attack. Is the loss ever going to get easier?
In the meantime, I read over the thoughts and prayers sent by Kevin's "guests.'' The first girl he asked to go steady; people he knew in the bar biz; page after page of friends and acquaintances, all the way from his days in Little League to his Las Vegas junkets.
I only wish he could be at his party. He'd love to see how many guests showed up.

Priorities

Which do I choose?
Finishing up a chapter of my book, or going with a stressed-out friend for moral support as she discusses surgical options with her doctor?
Of course, I chose the friend.
But what about picking up my mother-in-law from the airport or finishing the chapter?
Spending scarce time with my usually-on-the-road husband or finishing the chapter?
Solving a mini-crisis for my mother or finishing the chapter?
Dealing with yet another detail following my brother's death or finishing the chapter?
Sometimes I feel like it's all too much, these demands. Other times I feel like I'm using them mainly to help me avoid writing.
Which is it? Good girl who can't say no? Or lazy author looking for an excuse?
Priorities.
I'll let you know when I figure out what mine are.

Days Go By

Has it really been a month--more!--since I've written a word on this blog? So much for the immediacy of the Internet. I keep drifting back to the old-school, pen-and-ink journal. It's just more satisfying to feel my ballpoint sliding across paper, my scrawl barely keeping up with my thoughts. It's better than sitting here, tap-tap-tap, click-click-click, watching the cursor blink when I stop to gather my thoughts.
Better to be out somewhere in the fresh air, maybe sitting with a beer or a cup of tea, staring at the ocean waves or the palm fronds rippling in the breeze. Now, that's inspiration.
Had a couple of weeks' vacation, exploring Holland by bicycle. It was great, even more so to have 15 days in the same time zone with my TV reporter husband. No interruptions. No breaking news. Well, OK, there was some message-checking and e-mailing on the Crackberry (his, not mine. I could go a million years without catching up electronically).
We loved the Netherlands, though. Great food, beautiful countryside, nice people. Everyone spoke English, making us feel, once again, like ignorant Americans. One tiny quibble: What's with the brutal wind? On bikes, it was like riding into that famous picture, "The Scream.'' Of course, we should have known. Their national symbol is the WINDmill, after all.
Duh.
Ignorant Americans!