A Work in Progress

You know, for being a writer, I sure don't blog a lot. I mean, I'm a failure when it comes to this. I started my blogs because, let's face it, what's a writer (or who's a writer, really) without one? It's like the necessary notebooks, books, journals, pens, computers, PCs -- on at the same time while on my phone as well, but that's another story for another time -- that a writer needs and wants that co-exists nicely with the incessant dialogue or scene setting that goes on in a writer's mind. It's perpetual. It's never-ending. And it's lovely. And I have kids. Kids can kind of take every living ounce of strength and will-power out of me, so that I don't want to write. At all. Like, at all all. Like ever again. Okay, not true. That part just isn't true. But, their constant energy and living their schedules, warrants an IV caffeine drip into my right arm. So it's ironic and very lackadaisical of me to not be writing he

Last night, my son had a track meet in a city about an hour from home. With my younger son's schedule, and the fact that it was a school night, I decided not to go to the meet (which kills me) and pick up older son when the bus returned to school. My husband was at work (he works 48-72 hours at a time) so I was the one doing all the picking up. At 9:45 when older son texts me he's near the school -- when I'm sort of grumbling to myself about how late it is -- I get in the car and head over to get him. This is when the self-pity can worm its way in. Easy to do when driving, looking like this. ← I mean, you're focused on driving, kind of. But thinking about everything else. (Admit it, we all do this). Why do I have to do this? Why can't my husband be home? Why this and why that? I stopped myself. Nope. Not gonna do that. Feeling sorry for myself was getting old, like, annoyingly old. No. I would think about other things. I would thi

I write for this online magazine called Society Letters . It's a perfect place for women of all ages to come together to discuss life, raising kids, how to improve their marriages. You get the idea. My editor asked me to write about Things Only Parents of Boys Can Understand. Naturally, I jumped at the chance. Because if I didn't, my thoughts about wanting to write this post --but not writing it -- would drive me crazy. So, ↓ here's the article. It's a snap shot of my wonderful life. And one that --if you've had, or have or will have boys -- is a snap shot of yours. Ha ha. Welcome to my world. Parenting: 5 Things Only Parents of Boys Can Understand There’s a running joke between my husband and me. And the joke is really on us because, a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, we both assumed we’d be the best parents, discipline our children to perfection, love them beyond unconditionally, and that everything would be great. Well, everything

See this guy? Yeah. You know who he is. Han Solo. Corellian, friend to Wookies, and Millenium Falcon Driver. Or Flyer. Or Whatever. Pilot! That's it. Pilot. Okay. Here he is. ↓ See this look on his face? It says sarcastic, sardonic, sneer-filled, snide, and know-it-all, in one fell swoop. But of course, we love that. Every. Single. Bit. Of. It. It's what makes Han Solo one of the best characters. Ever. ↓ Okay. Now. Look at this picture. The one that says, "I ain't havin' none of this." and "My way or the highway." Got a good look? Well that's pretty much the look I give to my two boys -- and all the time now. What am I talking about, you say? Well, I'm glad you asked. I've relegated to being the Han Solo in their lives (minus a few things like chest hair and a blaster or two et al, ... I don't need to elaborate). And you can learn more by reading the article I wrote here ◄on Society Letters. Enjoy. An

It's been said that life goes by faster with every year that passes. This is undeniably true. School has been out for my boys for two months, and yet, I can't understand how they're starting school again in three weeks. A parental phenomenon is what it is. And this humorous, albeit ridiculous, door knob sign that my eldest son made, is a phenomenon all its own.  I shouldn't have had to ask, but I did ... the blindness will happen if I don't knock on his door and make sure he isn't naked before I walk in. Oh, good heavens. This summer, it's good to see him using his words and writing. And per usual, it's good to see his humor is still intact. Have a great weekend friends. Oh, and a little article about my Etsy start-up five years ago just posted a few days ago on this sweet blog I'm a part of, called Society Letters. ◄ -HJS

You know what's uncomfortable? Me letting my work go out (the one that's been in a writing/editing/rewriting process for the last ten years) to my writing/ critique partners. It's like letting your baby -- your sweet, little child -- go to school on his first day of preschool.You are relieved, but terrified. Happy but seriously overwhelmed. There's a two-fold dimension of emotions. And I can't figure out what I want or should feel. Many of you don't know that this story has been with me since my now-high-school son was a three-year-old. It's been over ten years of trying to figure out what and how I want to tell this story. For a while, I thought it was just a concept that would never come to fruition. And that it was a crazy idea for a book. Shouldn't happen. Nah, dumb idea. But, it wasn't just that.  Okay, perhaps it is a dumb idea, but I never could give it up. AND (I'm going to speak "positive proph

My oldest son just graduated from middle school. Which means, naturally that I have a high-schooler now.  Really amazing to see how fast time flies and how much my little boy has turned into a man. Because I'm his mom, I get to tell you how handsome he is. Isn't he? Okay. Speaking of boys, just had another article printed on Mamalode and it has to do with boys! My boys. Which is perfect timing. Go here ◄ to read it. And this time? Mamalode editors left every word in tact, the way I originally wrote it. The article is titled, Better with Boys. Graduating son? Original non-edited and printed writing?  Perfect way to end the week. Have a wonderful weekend friends.

The way I start a story is rarely how I finish it. And writing is pretty much always this way. Which is a good thing. No, it's a fantastic thing. The first draft of anything should never, ever see the light of day. Or anyone's eyes. But yours of course, the first time around. Then said eyes need to watch yourself retyping a great deal of it. And this is for any writer. Pro or amateur. As Hemingway once said, and I'm going to paraphrase, "All first drafts are crap." Clearly, he didn't say "crap." That wasn't the word he used. That wasn't Hemingway. But, I digress. Here's the thing. He's right. First drafts are garbage. Always. They must be rewritten. Now, sometimes when articles and things getting printed, what you think will be printed won't always be the case. I know this first hand. I've written many things that have been edited sharply. Things I wrote, that turned out nothing like what I submitted. That's the fre