Category Archives: Soldiering on


I need to get to work.

Trying to remind myself to stop thinking about what I cannot change, and instead get to work on what I can.

Also, reminding  myself that it’s not always going to be like this.  I will laugh again.  I will know joy again.  But it won’t happen until I forget that I miss it so much.

The only way I know how to forget is to work.





The kids have been out of school for two days because of the weather.  Snow and ice too heavy and thick to clear away so that folks may travel to school safely.

They’ve built snow forts, dragged out the X- country skis, plowed out tunnels like hamsters in a cage – and yeah — it’s starting to feel like a cage.

Spring will be welcome.  I suppose I will tolerate the time change eventually if it means the sun will shine again and I’ll be able to ride my bike to the grocery store.

Too much time indoors is not a good thing.  I spend most of my time on the computer — it’s not healthy.  Something about it makes me start to feel foreign to myself.  Panic attacks happen often — It’s my mind pinging back to myself.  It makes for a shallow existence.  I can feel it – the need to connect with another human.  You would think my kids would count in this aspect, but they are looking up to me for answers.  It’s a horrid feeling to realize you simply don’t have any except my favorite:  Don’t quit.

Good Night Wine

Alice-in-Wonderland-Alice-001Tonight, I asked my writers group friends about focus, writing and how to get the work done, do it better and with fewer calories.

Many gave good advice.  But just like Alice in Wonderland, me in Dreamland will never listen to good advice.

So here’s some advice to myself:  Shut the feck up and get the job done.  Write until I can’t.  Hit the deadlines, submit the work and see if anything happens.

The alarm is set for 4 a.m.  — Good night my whiny child.  Stop making excuses.

Pouring myself another…

Strong Morning … Coffee

belcuore-flight-controllerJust like magic.  I woke up this morning with new vigor.  I did something new:  I did not tune in to listen to the news.

Today, went to and found festival contests I need to enter.  Deadlines set.

Registered at and am checking out the free budgeting templates. I have had the book for a while now, this time I will finish it.

I’ve done this stuff before and usually about now is when it gets dicey.  I get excited and then prematurely make phone calls, spreading my excitement around before it becomes real on my end.

This time: vowing to shut my mouth and get the job (one at a time) done.

I said my prayers and declarations out loud and “wrote” to my imaginary friend(s) for muse support.  It couldn’t hurt.

Other good news: I stepped on the scale and I’ve lost 3 pounds — Whew!  Seven more to go!

Back To The Cave

I was on a roll there for a bit, writing daily, painful as it was, but at least after 5 hours or so — I felt good.    I felt proud of myself. Sure, I didn’t accomplish many pages. I delete a lot, rewriting as I write, which from what I’ve read in the How To Write books, is not recommended.   I can’t help it anymore than I can help from eating jelly beans and drinking coffee to keep going.

Then this weekend. My baby girl’s seventh birthday, her dad coming home for the big occasion and SUN. We had sunlight and warmish air– all on the same few days. There went my writing, followed by the obligatory guilt that creates nothing but, uh, bad feelings of worthlessness.

Worthlessness defined: “I feel fat. Do I look okay? Is my makeup too heavy? Do you think I need a facelift? Some Botox?  Do I need injections around my eyes? No, don’t take a picture of me — I look terrible!”  I didn’t realize how horrible I sounded until my 9-year-old son looked in the car mirror and mimicked me: “I look Ugly! I need more makeup!”  Yeah, then I felt guiltier.  I am no example for my kids, especially for my daughters. I preach self-worth, self-respect, and instead show them how to flog oneself in public, but never at an artistic level — I am no Marina Abramovic.

Then again, as much as I admire Abramovic’s gutsy form of art — that is her art, not mine. Mine is still finding its way, and if there are any naked bodies, whips, chains or blood involved then it’s about the life of an essential character within an entertaining (hopefully) plot.

I cure my feelings of lack and worthlessness by writing. When I write, I am shaping and understanding my life’s purpose. When I write, I redefine the experience that I’ve too often called a distraction or worse. So what do I do about those distractions so that I can write more? Accept them.

My life’s distractions are my life. They are my children, my husband (a rare thing when he is home, cherish it), my pets, the messes, the laundry (clothing of sweet spirits), cooking (feeding of beautiful souls).  Why would I ever want to eliminate my distractions when they are what feed my writing, my own hopes, my own soul’s desires?   Instead of seeking a way around the distractions or “wishing” there were no distractions, I have to accept that my job as a writer is important as all of my obligations. I have to make the time to write — it is my job — in spite of the noise and chaos otherwise known as life.  If I feel guilt?  I’ll give that guilt to the main character — let her figure it out.

I’m just getting started…


I slogged through my morning, worked my way to my computer and to the files of stories I must write before my self-imposed deadline arrives, and then, made the stupid mistake of answering a phone call from a number I did not recognize.

Disclaimer:  if the person (or persons related to the person) I am about to discuss happens to read this post, all I can say is — please forgive me.   You (or that woman) can talk about yesterday’s news like no one else I know.    Though tedious, (she) is so genuine with her concerns, worries, and alternating compliments, I defy anyone on the planet to just try shutting her down without feeling like a bad, bad dog.   She’s that sweet.

Sweetheart or not, it was two hours of my writing time gone like the proverbial wind.   After said phone call I felt the need to recover.   I very seriously considered taking a nap — even laid down on the futon briefly.  But then I remembered I had less than two hours remaining before I had to pick up my two youngest from school, which then made me remember last night’s mishap combining a broken bottle of maple syrup and my long-haired cat.  I had a few floors to wash, some bureaus to clean and sheets to launder.  The cat, however, was on her own.

I did my motherly duty of cleaning up as much of the stickiness that I could find.  I cleaned up other things too that I’d neglected for a while, and soon my time to write was completely kaput.  I felt worthless.  Like a bum.  I’ve got three separate books on film production started that I must finish reading,  several periodicals, and a stack of film scripts and accompanying films I’ve been trying to catch up on — and here it was, time to pick up kids, cook dinner and be the homework harpy.

But then I remembered the Big Sky Documentary Film Festival begins tomorrow.  I have time to buy a pass,  view several films this week, and squeeze in as many panel discussions as I am able.  The thought of it excites me and somehow redeems my loss of progress today. I have so much to learn and very little time to learn it.  I say this with a great big gulp:  I am determined to follow through with my plan to produce a short documentary before September.   Attending this event seems like a necessary step.

I did learn a few things today, though.  Let the answering machine do its job and as soon as it is possible, hire a maid.