WOW. There are no other words to describe this week’s vacation in Puerto Rico. My family and I have fallen deeply in love with this place. I mean, ridiculously in love with the majestic world of this unbelievable place. If we didn’t have family back home or dear friends, then there’s a good chance we’d choose not to return to Texas. Totally serious…stop laughing; I hear your snickering!

Hubby and I have talked about buying some rental property in the vacinity to Rincon. YES, that’s how much we enjoy this place.

I have been fortunate enough to take some pretty amazing vacations in my life, and I love city life, beach life and everything in between. But this…oh my stars…it just doesn’t compare.

This week has been an eye opener for me. As a deep thinker (hello, author here!! we think deep…all the time), my eyes have been opened to one thing…

SIMPLICITY

That’s the best word to describe Rincon and the surrounding area. We’ve learned so much about the culture here. Here are a few facts about Puerto Rico.

- The average yearly income here is $15,000

- 45% of the population live below poverty level

- More than half the population is on some type of government funding (food stamps)

- Houses range from nice mansions to very small stucco houses with only a few rooms

But there is one lesson I have learned, and vow to bring home with me. These people are some of the most humble human beings you’ll ever meet. They are grateful for life, for family, and the beauty of just living. Materialism is almost non-existent here. Seeing an iPhone in ANYONE’S hands who isn’t a tourist isn’t seen much at all.

The locals will smile at you, wave hello, welcome you graciously into their world expecting nothing in return. These people don’t stand with their hands open like so many Americans do. Selfishness…isn’t here. Period. Instead, the locals offer what little they have.

This has been a wonderful lesson for our three boys. They are great, great kids who have learned the value of a dollar, but they see how different life is here. There are no media rooms with projectors, Xbox 360′s, etc. Kids PLAY with balls outside, the neighbor kids…there is no sitting in front of a TV. With the beauty here, there is no need. NO NEED.

On to our wonderous (and remotely humorous) adventure this week!

Snorkeling here is amaze-balls. The water is warm, clear, and the fish look like something out of Finding Nemo. We went to a coral reef marine preserve yesterday here in Rincon. Little Adison is deathly afraid of sea urchins. So much so, he tries to walk around them with swim shoes on. Thanks to his big brothers, who told them they were poisonous and could kill you in one poke, he’s afraid they are going to reach out and grab him. Sibling love right there, folks…

Austen jammed his left knee into a piece of coral and is now sporting a gouged out gross battle wound. We have him bandaged like a war hero. Good times…

Wild dogs running down the street, in front of the car, is prominent everywhere. Nina and Brownie live next to us apparently. It’s fun hearing their master yell, “Nina, venir aqui!” <—Nina come here! at 5:30am every morning. Nina, please go to your master before we wring your neck. Just kidding, Nina. Sorta…

Roosters…*&$% roosters. I’m convinced the people here are deaf to crowing. I hate crowing. I’m coming back vegan after this trip. I offically hate chickens. Sorry KFC…

Lucky 13 Resteraunt…best tacos on the island! Cool, tattoed guy(from head to toe) from the east coast who moved here to start his own resteraunt. He’s traveled the globe as a chef and ended up in Rincon. Unbelievable food. We plan on going back one more time before we leave. Delish…

Ziplining today! One of the best experiences of my life! Batey Ziplining Tours in Puerto Rico…Do it! This is an offical advertising post for them. Nicest, coolest people ever. Worth the money, and the time. We took a 4 1/2 tour today. Don’t regret a single piece of it.

1) I am TOTALLY afraid of heights. Driving to said Batey Ziplining left me wanting to pee my pants and puke at the same time. People here drive like bats out of he-double hockey sticks on two lane mountain roads with no guard rails. My knuckles were white by the time we hit the turnoff for Batey.

Once we turned off, the ONE LANE road instructed us to honk the entire way to avoid having a front in collision with someone coming down the hill. Superb.This one lane road was very treacherous. We had to stop at one point for a peacock to cross the road in front of us. I saw him laughing at our frightened stupidity. I bet he’s friends with the rooster next door to our condo…

2) My first experience with ziplining was getting stung by a band of vicious fire ants before I even had my dadgum helmet on. The peacock and the rooster put them there on purpose, I just know it. Turds…

3) We had 2 other groups with us: Two ladies named Gigi and Tricia. They were from Oklahoma City, nice couple, total cutups who taught me how to make my own organic detergent on our walk up a hill to the first zip line. Vegetarians who thought I was interesting. We’re best friends now…

The second group…well, we have officially named the dad “Mr. Parole” and his two kids. He was from New Hampshire. Um, as we walked across a suspension bridge (where I about puked for a second time) he friended Darren. Darren attracts some “interesting” friends sometimes. The conversation went something like this…

Darren: “Where you from?”

Mr. Parole: “New Hampshire. Love it here. This is about the only place I vacation.”

Darren: “Why’s that?”

Mr. Parole: “My parole officer won’t let me go any farther than Puerto Rico, so I just bring my kids here. Their mother is a piece of work. I’m divorced. Got a girlfriend. You know, it’s all good here.”

Silence…

Mr. Parole: “Yeah man, drugs…they’ll mess your sh*t up.”

Oh, well this will be a fun 4 hours! I asked Darren later if he asked him to be Facebook friends…

What an experience. Best DAY Ever.

Tomorrow…the beach. Only three days left. Makes me sad. Maybe I’ll bring the rooster home with me.

Hugs from Puerto Rico ~

VSK

Those that know me understand my life. BUSY. A dedicated homeschooling mom who works from home as a Social Media Director, who is passionately seeking a full time writing career. <—–This does not include the other tasks such as grocery shopping, washing countless pairs of Hanes whitey tighties each week for my three boys, and cooking meals that could feed a small army because my boys are GROWING boys who don’t understand the concept of what a “serving size” portion is.

It has been ages since I’ve just sat on the couch doing…well, NOTHING. I see a dirty cup across the room now with a 1/4 cup of milk still in it from 14 hours ago, but I just roll my eyes at it. I’m not going to pick up my lazy rear up off this couch with a view of our quaint backyard complete with swaying palm trees, a rooster crowing in the background (we’ll talk more about roosters later), and the smell of earth in the air. Bliss.

We arrived this past Saturday after a two hour plane ride to Miami, followed by another two hour plane ride to San Juan, followed by a three hour drive that should have taken an hour and a half, to the Western part of Puerto Rico. Don’t get me wrong, the drive in was beautiful for about an hour, and then it got re-donkulous. Every 1/2 a mile there was a stoplight. Let me also add that although the speedlimit on the main roads are 60, nobody, NO-FREAKIN-BODY drives more than 45. My husband was passing people like we were running from the cops after stealing a litter of puppies.

My better half said, “What the heck are these people doing?! Why are they driving so slow?” I shrugged my shoulders and replied, “Hey, if I lived on this island, I’d take my time too. This is not Dallas sweetie. Slow your roll.” We didn’t slow our roll…we passed everyone driving their 1985 Corolla’s and 1971 Lincoln Towncars. Nobody drives a vehicle here made from 1995 or above. I feel like I’m living in the 80′s…And apparently everyone adores Michael Jackson here. That’s ALL that’s on the radio. If I hear “Beat It” one more time, I’m going to moonwalk over the next person I see…

We arrived to our condo, walked in and toured and three story home for the week. My youngest pinched his nose and said, “Mommy it smells like poo in here!”

I sniffed and agreed. Come to find out, someone had tracked poop, not dog poop, CHICKEN poop into the house. Thankfully, we found Clorox wipes and paper towels. For the next half hour, we all cleaned up chicken poop puddles on our floor. Good times…

5:40am Sunday morning…The light, oh my stars, THE LIGHT! At 5:40 in the morning the sun is blazing like it’s 2 in the afternoon, and the town roosters were crowing. I got up at 7am. By then, the sun was screaming at me, so I trudged downstairs and fixed a Chai Tea. I walked up to our 3rd story patio. Totally rocks, thank you for asking…Here’s what I saw.

A chicken coop behind us with a horse tied to a tree. Next door, a tin roofed house with two dogs ON the roof sleeping in the sun. The yard below them was a collection of porcelain toilets and beach chairs that hens were roosting on. On the horizon, the most amazing view of the white sandy beach, and PERFECT clear blue waves.

Next was the trip to the grocery store. Grocery stores don’t open here until 11am each day. At 10:30am, locals line up to do their shopping. It’s like standing in line for a ride at Disneyland.

Upon completing our grocery shopping, we stopped off at Little Caesar’s next door for pizza. $5 hot and ready’s, right? WRONG! Try $26 for two hot and ready’s. We bought them, and savored every freakin’ morsel! I licked the box…just kidding. Maybe.

Off to the beach for the very first time. 50 steps EXACTLY from our doorstep. Unbelievable  The beach was empty for the majority of the day. We did meet a sweet young couple from Detroit who left the snow last week for some sun and surf here. We ended up having some kind of really GOOD drink they made us with orange juice and some kind of local melon flavored liquor while we watched the unbelievable sunset. I have NEVER seen anything like it. The beauty…I could write a whole book about the sunset alone. Especially because it set behind an island 11 miles away that is said to be inhabited by 3 foot tall apes. <—Seriously. There’s also buried treasure from local pirates still buried there. I may try to swim it tomorrow. I’m looking for a great adventure like “The Goonies”.

Rincon, Puerto Rico is an amazing town. Everyone here is very friendly and accommodating. We went to the town square to their local farmer’s market and picked up fresh fruit and veggies from local farmers. Cheap and AMAZING flavor. Lady finger bananas…good gravy I think I’ve had 13 of these since yesterday morning! Don’t judge.

To complete our day yesterday, we got in our private jacuzzi on the 3rd floor during an afternoon rainstorm, having memorable conversations as a family. These are the things I’ll never forget. The pieces of our vacation that I will forever treasure.

A family conversation during a rainstorm in 104 degree jacuzzi in paradise. PRICELESS.

Paradise calls ~

VSK

Words normally come naturally to me. As an author, I live inside a world filled with bright colors, magical characters, and serene images that flow easily from my fingertips. There is rarely a time that I sit down and find myself unable to tell a story.

Today is much different. My heart is full of words that I long to say about someone I love, yet I find it difficult to pull them from the depths of my grief as I face the haunting lullaby of saying goodbye.

Naomi, my Mema, was a woman who may have been given the title of “grandmother”, but she was so much more than that to me, and to the world around her in general. She was my friend; a woman of great integrity, honor, unselfish love and deep faith.

I have so many fond memories of her from my childhood. The late night drives to McDonald’s for hamburgers, the blue coconut snow cones that my cousin Brad, invariably spilled every single time in the back seat of her Cadillac. Her mall walking t-shirts that she received for free from The Parks Mall that my cousins and I fought over every weekend as to WHO was going to sleep in said t-shirt. For the record, I normally lost the bet.

Her incredible salsa; although countless family members and friends have the recipe, none of them taste quite like Mema’s hot sauce. Her peanut patties made during Christmas, and the fruitcake…yes, the dreaded fruitcake that became just a little bit tastier when she insisted (even for the children) to add a little Mogen David wine to each slice for some “kick”.

In her final hours, I wanted to be by her bedside. We all grieve and let go differently, but for me personally, I needed to talk with her. As we held hands, I prayed over her, played her music…her favorites. Like Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” and Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight”. She wouldn’t respond to my voice, but her spirit stilled while we sat together. The last words she ever spoke to me just days prior to her leaving this life were, “I love you darlin’”. Alzheimer’s had stolen my Mema…most of her sentences were broken words that made little sense. But those words…they made perfect sense, and I will relish them for the rest of my life.

I will end with a final thought…a sense of perfect peace I encountered the night before her death. My father took her hands in his and whispered words that I will hold private, for they were my final moments with my Mema. As she lay, eyes closed, soul fleeing, she raised her left hand to the heavens, holding it steady, reaching for her Maker…the perfect Prince of Peace, our Savior, our blessed Lord as the words of Jesus fell from my father’s mouth.

She will be laid to rest on Friday…Good Friday of all days. My youngest told me earlier, “Friday is Good Friday, Mommy. Now Friday won’t be good anymore.” I beg to differ. Good Friday is the day Jesus gave His life for us so that we may live with Him for eternity when our final breath is taken.

When His final breath left his broken body on the cross, our lives were instantly filled with His perfect peace. Our sins washed away by the blood of our Savior. Because of His final breath, our final breaths here on earth are the beginning of a new life. Death is the beginning of a greater life, much richer than our here and now.

I do believe in life after death, and I do believe that God prepared a special place in heaven for the light of a woman who’s life will be forever remembered. I just pray that I can live my life the same way Mema did…gracefully and fierce. Fierce in love, for there wasn’t a person on this planet she didn’t care about. For loving fiercely in a broken world is often hard to do, but she did it beautifully.

“Has the world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.” – C.S. Lewis

Those mornings…you know them, Moms. The ones where the alarm goes off and the dream that included you, a fruity cocktail, a beach with a blazing sunset, and sparkly Edward Cullen ends. Much too soon. You feel like crying when those tiny fingers tap your arm. Your eyes open. He’s staring at you, a trail of snot running down his nose.

4…3…2…1…the crying starts. He’s lost his binky and his Elmo blanket smells “weird”. You realize so does he.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, your head woozy. Coffee. You need. Want it. Crave it. If you don’t get a cup within the next 10 minutes, someone will lose a finger. The one that’s stuck up his nose digging for a booger that he will then wipe on the wall as he rounds the corner of your bedroom, darting towards the kitchen to reach the cereal box before you have a chance too.

He’ll stick his boogery hand in it as he fishes for the rainbow marshmallow in the Lucky Charm’s box. He doesn’t like the other marshmallows. They taste weird. So he only eats the rainbow ones. You’ll never undertand the reason why, nor does he. You don’t care at this point, booger or no booger, he’s quiet for all of five minutes until he realizes his blue sippy cup with the yellow top is dirty in the dishwasher. He falls to the floor like his legs were broken. Maybe if they were broken he’d quit throwing tantrums over silly things.

Then again, he’d cry that his legs were broken, and that his shoes don’t fit. He has them on the wrong feet, but he believes they are on the RIGHT feet. They are the shoes that were too small for him six months ago but he still insists on wearing them. So you let him even though he complains his toes are “smooshed” every time he takes a step. You explain they are too small for the 50th time, but he glares at you, an Iron Man figure with a missing arm in his tiny hand. The same hand that had a booger on it only five minutes earlier that has now disappeared. It must be in the Lucky Charms box.

You put your ratty robe on. The one with the coffee stain from 2006 when you tripped over the dog’s leash at 2am while tending to a child with projectile vomiting. It’s a badge of honor, that stain. You’ll never wash it. It would only mean you would have to add another item of clothing to the growing piles of laundry already splayed out across the laundry room floor giving you dirty looks.

You know the dirty look. The one that makes the bottle of laundry detergent on top of the washer give you the middle finger. Don’t say you haven’t given it one back some days. It taunts you, you deserve to taunt it back sometimes. If you didn’t someone would wish you would have later in the day when you lose it over the watercolors left out on the kitchen counter that you asked be picked up 1,567,543 times already. The brush is still wet. It’s lying on top of the cable bill.

Yeah, the cable bill that’s due today. You shake your head. Mommy brain passes over you. You left sticky notes, a calendar reminder on your phone and texted yourself a message to remember to pay that darn bill…but you still forgot.

You forget the pot of coffee, darting for the computer to pay the bill to avoid a late charge, but more importantly, to avoid losing Nick Jr. today. You need Bubble Guppies…he needs Bubble Guppies. If he can’t watch it, the day will be ruined, naptime will be spent crying in his “big boy bed” without “walls” as he calls them. He still misses his crib, especially when he’s tired. Overly tired and mad about Bubble Guppies.

You don’t want a fight today. Wrestling with a two year old is like sticking your finger in a lightsocket. STUPID.

You need that two hour nap so you can sit alone on the couch, the quiet surrounding you, only to remember that you still haven’t had a shower and it’s nearly two in the afternoon. So you tiptoe to your bedroom, pull a pair of yoga pants and a tank out of your closet, and jump in the shower. You realize you haven’t even begun to think about dinner, so you make it a “quick” shower.

Lather up, rinse.

Shampoo your hair, rinse.

Condition the ends, skip the razor, hubby will be home late anyway. He won’t realize your legs feel like barbed wire tonight. You’ll be passed out in bed before he even has a chance to finish brushing his teeth. Tonight will be designated as “cuddle night”, nothing else. It’s not on the schedule, and if it’s not on the schedule, it ain’t happening…

You climb out of the shower, towel off as the howling starts. Not a wolf howl, the howl of a rousing child who only napped 36 minutes out of 120. You wrap the towel around yourself and stand still. Like he can’t hear you. A two year old has the ears of bat. He knows when you’re in the middle of something. That’s his favorite time to call you. When you’re busy. When you’re not in the middle of something, it is no longer fun for him.

The crying grows louder. You throw on your clothes, half dry, your right pant leg stuck to your calf. You’re not sure if it’s because your leg was still dripping wet, or because you skipped the shave. Moving on…

He’s up. Nap’s over. You take his hand. The one that had the booger on it earlier in the day. You lead him to your room, and put him on your bed with a bowl of Cheerios. You are promptly scolded for giving him the WRONG colored bowl. He wants “lello” <—yellow, not “bu” <—blue.

By the time you get back with the “bu” bowl, he’s climbed off of your bed, and is going through your underwear drawer. He has found a pair of pink thong panties. They are hanging from his left ear. “Earring, mama. Yook at it! Yook at it!” You smile, out of disgust, or love, or a little bit of both and remove the panties that you never wear because cotton panties are just more comfortable and practical as a mother. Or so you’ve led yourself to believe. He cries when you take them away, so you give them back. He hangs them on his other ear, Bubble Guppies are on…don’t disturb him! Let him wear the thong…he’s QUIET.

Dinner arrives. You thought roast and potatoes, but realize the potatoes have grown sprouts because they’ve been in the refrigerator for the last two weeks. You haven’t been to the grocery store in 10 days. The menu is limited. You opt for mac and cheese and breaded chicken  breasts that have been in the freezer for a while. But they’ve been frozen, so they should be fine. You sniff. They seem edible.

Hubby calls. He’ll be late. You reason with your tired monster who has his finger up his nose again, and has now transferred your pink thong to his right shoulder. It’s his purse. Iron Man with the missing arm is hanging on for dear life in the crook of the crotch of your panties. You ask him to put it away while you eat. He refuses. You don’t fight. You let it go as you dip your chicken in a mountain of ketchup to suppress the freezer burn taste.

Bath time. He’s happy. Bubbles. EVERYWHERE. He plays. You sit on the lid of the toilet, head against the wall as he repeats the same line over and over, “Pick him up and ‘fro him at the cat! Pick him up and ‘fro him at the cat!” You ignore him, eyes closed until you realize your cat is now covered in bubbles, crouched in the corner trying desperately to get away from the miniature madman that won’t leave him alone. You laugh. So does you son. Your cat scowls. You let him out and don’t see him again for three weeks. He hates this new little person you’ve brought home.

Bedtime. He crawls in your lap. He tangles his fingers in your hair as you read “Good Night Moon”. He loves your hair. You swear you’ll never cut it because it soothes him.

His binky moves rhythmically to your tone, his blanket with the odd smell held against his cheek. His eyes flutter…finally. You lay him in bed. He doesn’t stir. You watch him. Realize he is growing up too fast. Wish you were still pregnant with him…even if only for a fleeting moment. You miss the tiny toes, the hungry grunts and the fingers that would grip your thumb during his bottle.

THIS is motherhood.

THIS is your life.

THIS is perfection.

You climb into bed, exhausted. Anxious to do it all over again tomorrow. Because that’s what MOTHERHOOD does to you. It makes life worth living, loving, cherishing. Even when he picks his nose and wipes his booger on your new silk shirt.

Love & Motherhood Hugs ~

VSK

**Mother to three little loves, wife to an amazing man who is funnier than a five year old at the zoo, author of fiction because she loves living in a non-realistic world, social media director for IntelliGender who loves her job more than chocolate, and thinks baby pigs are cuter than kittens.

I’ve joined hands with an amazing movement. The movement of #killingmonsters. Gaining control of our lives, while overcoming the darkness of disappointment, self-doubt, hate, hurt, and disobedience that we all encounter at some time or another.

I have a monster. Not a monster who lives under my bed and taunts my fears, but one that rattles my belief in achieving a dream. A dream that I know has been God given, but even so, that I often find myself questioning more often than not. Let me back up a bit…

“I am an old soul in a young body.”

My father always used to say this about me. It’s true. I chose marriage over college at the ripe old age of twenty. I married a man who is older than I am, but who owns my heart and everlasting love. He is my better half, my best friend…my everything. A year after we were married, New Year’s Eve 1999 to be exact, I saw those two pink little lines. Those two little lines that cause an ugly cry and a “down on your knees” prayer of thankfulness…grace…LOVE. Eight weeks after that, I gazed at the sonogram machine. Two heartbeats greeted me. Not one. TWO. Tears found me once more. I was going to be a mother. He was going to be a father. To twins.

Fast forward…10 years later, and a third son that looks so very much like his handsome father, I found myself.

I have always known WHO I was. Or so I thought. Until the voices began to speak, radiating from my mind, and floating effortlessly onto the keys of my computer. I had words to share. Not by mouth, but by fingertips. And I followed.

He answered me over dinner one night. My Father spoke to me, and the voices in my head came to life, bringing me to where I am today. Our life is not our own. Especially when you have a husband, and when children cling to your hand. You are filling a roll, a void that many may not ever experience in life. I was given the roll of wife and mother at a very young age. I am extremely grateful for that, but God wanted more from me. He whispered his wants in my ear, and I followed.

I have always had a love for writing. Yet I always pushed it aside. Time. There wasn’t enough of it. And honestly, I never thought I was good enough.

My husband has always been very supportive of my dreams in life. When I raised the question of writing my first book, and whether or not to make that dream that I had kept hidden for so long a reality, he immediately said YES. That was all it took. God’s prompting to follow a dream, and my husband’s relentless support and belief that I did hold a gift, not just a hobby. That I could move the world with the voices that spoke to me so often in my mind.

The day after my life-altering talk with my husband, I started my first novel. Less than six months later, I was finished. “The Gift of Fate” was born, the very first book in the Fatum Saga, brought to life. The very first time I held my book in my hands, I wept. Not because I was pleased with myself, but because God told me to do it, and I did it. I was working part-time, homeschooling my three boys and running a busy household. But despite my crazy life, I listened to the voices in my head, I followed His lead, and because of it, I published my very first novel on February 29th, 2012. Leap Day of all days. A moment in time that I will NEVER forget.

Since then, I have published two more books, and just recently finished my fourth. My wish is to find a publisher. To see my book on the shelves of Barnes and Nobles, to attend book signings and meet my fans. To thank those that have been so supportive to me up to this point and then some. But finding a publisher is very difficult. Time consuming, expensive, exhausting.

The monsters started to speak. The hum of their voices rising over the character voices, thoughts, ideas that normally rumble through my mind on a daily basis. They spoke hateful things. Hurtful things.

“You’ll never reach your goal. You simply aren’t good enough. There is bigger and better talent in the writing world.”

I began to believe these things. The wound opened. I let my emotions take over, allowing the tears to fall as I told my husband that perhaps trying to find a publisher wasn’t worth it anymore. Maybe writing really isn’t for me. I’ll never make it.

I’ll never forget the look on his face, and the words that washed over me as he spoke softly, “No. You will regret it. You don’t want to live with that regret, Val. You are too good of a writer to walk away. I won’t let you. There I said it. I WON’T LET YOU QUIT.”

The monsters were immediately silenced, pushed aside. I have a purpose in this world. To write. To share my words with others. For madness overtakes me when I can’t write. He has gifted me with this madness. Yet it is a beautiful madness of unquenchable thirst. One that will never die, for He has given this thirst for His glory.

As life travels forth, I know the whispers from those monsters will rise again. Yet with faith, I must allow the melody of His majestic words find me again. To remind me that I write because He wants me to. For if I didn’t, I would allow the monsters to win. And they don’t deserve to, nor will they ever.

I pour out my thoughts for Him, and Him alone.

Deuteronomy 28:12 – The Lord shall open unto thee His good treasure, the heaven to give the rain unto thy land in his season, and to bless all the work of thine hand: and thou shalt lend unto many nations, and thou shalt not borrow.

~ VSK

Recently, I have had way too many posts about being absent from my blog. Dude…here’s another one! That’s me in the picture above…kidding, but I wish I owned a pocket watch. I think they should bring pocket watches back. For heaven’s sake, they’ve brought back the styles of the 70′s! I think I’ll pass on the acid washed jeans with white hearts that I saw hanging on the clothing rack at Target today. Seriously…has the fashion industry run out of ideas so we’re just resorting to “recycling” styles from the past? I wonder if they’ll bring back powdered wigs…

I did buy this t-shirt at Target yesterday. EPIC. It is one of my favorite movies EVER. I may be old school, but so are they. Point made.

Life has swallowed me. Not in a bad way, but time is not usually a friend of mine theses days. It seems just like yesterday that I was decorating the Christmas tree. Now I’m marking my calendar to remember to “spring forward” for daylight savings time this weekend. Boo! I hate messing with the clock. It’s pointless. That’s my opinion. I also think grilled salmon tastes like boiled newspaper…

I have been incredibly busy finishing up the final touches of my latest manuscript. There are so many hoops to jump through, people to please, red pens to use, to ever bring a novel to fruition.

I’m still working on trying to catch the eye of a literary agent. I need it. Want it. See it. Taste it.

Recently I had a dream that my goal to see my book sitting on the shelf of my local book store came true. Mind you, Sheldon Cooper and Mary Tyler Moore were cashiers at the book store. I wish…

I have a deadline to meet. A deadline that could potentially alter my current lifestyle. I LOVE my life. I feel blessed to do what I do, know who I know, and interact with who I interact with. Talking with an author friend of mine recently, there are some deep, reflecting occurances that have been handed to both of us. When your current situation leads you to questioning whether or not you are doing what you feel like you’ve been called to do, it is more than reassuring when instances arise prompting you forth. In comparison, we are both right where we belong. This may seem like a jumbled bit of nonsense to all of you, but it was an eye opener for me.

I am right where I belong.

The blessed countdown has begun! In less than two months our family will be taking a much needed vacation

Homeschooling perk #822 – We vacation when the rest of mankind doesn’t. LOVE.

Nine days of uninterrupted bliss. Me. My husband. My three boys. At an undisclosed location somewhere spectacular. A place that drives me to close my eyes, imagine myself there, pen in hand as I write while spending a memorable time with those that I love more than life itself. Our destination won’t remain a secret forever. I will share with the world where we are headed once we get there. I. CAN’T. WAIT.

P.S. I just finished watching season 3 of Downton Abbey. This has been my guilty pleasure for the last several months. I got on the Downton train, waaayyy later then the rest of the public. But, I am so glad I climbed on!

I won’t spoil it for my fellow friends who have yet to finish this amazing series, but…

SERIOUSLY? I mean, really? Why in the world would they end it the way they did? I was honestly mad for the rest of the afternoon after finishing the finale. Good gravy Masterpiece Theatre, I am appalled! That is all.

Crazy For Downton & Pocket Watches ~

VSK

First and foremost, if I don’t have anywhere important to go (i.e. business meeting for my awesome job, lunch with my husband, etc.) I LIVE in black yoga pants and my favorite Nike tennis shoes. No, I don’t have sparkles surrounding me when I wear my comfy ensemble, but my photo editing software thinks I do. Coolness…

Watching my youngest read along in his US History book with his online homeschool video. THIS is one of the many reasons why I love schooling my kids at home. He’s in the office with me to ask questions when needed, he can relax and be a kid (feet on the desk IS allowed in class as long as you are concentrating), there are no distractions…just focus. And if any of my children want to take their math test while lying on the floor, propped up with a pillow while drinking a juice box, I say “Go for it!” All I want for my children is to further their eduction while making learning fun. A little imagination and “feet propping” during school hours is acceptable in this household. Hey, it’s how I write!

I indulge, yes. I have a Chai Tea Latte EVERY afternoon made with vanilla soy milk, a heaping teaspoon of brown sugar, and two Black Chai teabags. It’s like a cup of heaven…I mean it, it is!

There are no words needed here. There simply isn’t any good enough…What an amazing show that I am totally hooked on! An episode of this goes along nice with my afternoon Chai. Oh Lady Mary, the drama, oh the drama!

I have to admit, chocolate, especially chocolate chips, is my weakness! I buy bags of chocolate chips to snack on, not to bake with. I’m sure my family wishes differently, but I’m sorry, I need my secret chocolate stash. *Please do no look in the top drawer of my desk, husband or children who might be reading this.

What are your guilty pleasures? Not just as a writer, a mom, a dad…but as a person? I’d love to hear them!

Love and Chocolate Kisses ~

VSK

If you are an aspiring author trying to catch your first big break, feel free to scroll down to my signature at the bottom. You already know that a query letter will make your head spin like a scene from “The Exorcist”. ‘Nuff said…

For the rest of you, here is my enlightening story of trying to chase down that one big “YES!” that will ultimately change my life as an author.

Yes, I have been told, “You are an author, Val! Why do you need a publisher?”

I am an author, a writer, a poet with words…and yes, I have three self-published books on Amazon. It’s been an amazing ride from the very beginning,  but there is a deep longing that still pleads for one step further. To walk into Barnes & Noble and see my book on a shelf would be one of the most amazing feats of my life, aside from giving birth to my children. Thankfully, drugs were involved with their “birth-day” (thank you sweet, amazing Jesus for epidurals!), but watching their life begin before my very eyes is the most mesmerizing feat I’ve experienced yet.

A query letter and/or synopsis is a paper, an introduction to who you are and what you’ve got to offer. Kind of like a resume’, but like a billion and one times harder to spit out on paper. I can sit down and write a chapter for my book, my mind usually flying faster than my fingertips. <—-I LOVE that feeling!

But with a synopsis letter, I just sit there and stare at the screen. There are no characters to imagine, a plot to think through, scenery to describe…it’s a letter. I don’t do letters. I’m an author of STORIES, not LETTERS.

Yes, I get the significance of such a letter to a literary agent or publisher, but the last few responses I’ve received from potential agents praise my current manuscript, saying “This storyline has potential….”, yet they say no because:

1) My synopsis is too long

2) My synopsis is too short

3) I need to hire an editor to edit my synopsis because….

4) Pigs haven’t learned to fly yet, and rainbows aren’t made of licorice

We are authors. We write stories. We don’t write documents…

We write novels to share with the world. It’s a story that plays itself out in our head.

I have a hope and I have dream. I am not seeking out a publisher to prove myself worthy, I am seeking one out to spend more time writing what I love.

There may be plenty of people who can write a killer query, but their story stinks. There are a select few who can write a poor query, and their novel is epic!

I thought the purpose of writing was to share the words that our minds poured out onto paper. If someone has a great story with real potential, this should be the focus.

A child doesn’t win the science fair because he put his name on his report in the right font size, he wins because he has created something worth recognizing.

I’ll get off my soapbox now, but not before saying…

Keep writing, never give up ~

VSK

The holidays are such a glorious season of wonder, aren’t they? They are also the time of year where your patience is tested, and crazy people seem to seep into the “10 items or less” grocery store line in front of you with 35 items. I am a tolerable and very patient person, but sometimes I just want to stroke a person’s hand and say…

Oh Sweetie…do you ever think your thoughts through before opening your mouth, because you should’ve just stayed home today…in a beanbag chair eating chili cheese Fritos with Lil’ Muscle your toy Poodle.

So Christmas was EPIC…glad it’s over. New Year’s Eve…full of excitement!

My handsome hubby and I were kid-free on New Year’s (silent fist pump), so we decided to roam the aisles of Target before dinner. When you roam the aisles with kids, it isn’t “roaming”. It’s more like chasing rats.

Don’t touch that! – No, I’m not buying you ANYTHING. We came here for shampoo, not Pokemon cards. – Your legs are not broken…keep walking or I’ll give you a reason to run. – Watch where you’re walking! There are other people in this store, ya know. Spinning down the aisle usually results in getting run over. Now you know…

So hot hubby and I roamed the aisles. Like, took our time and looked at things. If you are a parent, you understand…

Standing in the checkout line, there was a guy in front of us wearing a Cookie Monster tee that said “Eat Me”. First clue, this was not going to go well…

He had Red Bull and batteries…not going there…

As he checks out, he asks the cashier and I the following, jaw dropping question:

Where can I buy temporary blue hair color? I want to dye my hair before I party tonight.

Oh really? In the words of my husband AFTER I KINDLY directed him to Sally’s Beauty Supply down the street…

I hope he’s not planning on trying to pick up a chick tonight. The only “chick” he’s going to see is a bucket of KFC at 1 in the morning after he leaves the bar ALONE.

Now if he would’ve looked like this, perhaps he MIGHT have had a chance at an incredible New Year’s Eve.

Fast forward to today…

My children saved their hard earned $$$ for a MacBook. Low and behold, two of my three saved up half for a brand spankin’ new one. If you know MacBooks, you know they aren’t cheap. We agreed to make up the difference, and buy them a MacBook for Christmas. Hubby and I are so proud of them for working so hard the past nine months!

Anyhow, the cash they have were in bills and about a million and one quarters. So, off to the bank we went this morning to deposit their half of the money. We stand in line, wait a while, and then finally make our way to the teller.

Me: “I need to deposit this cash into our checking account, please.”

Teller: “Oh, we don’t accept loose change.”

Me: “But, this is money…and we are at a bank, right?”

Teller: Laughing while probably thinking dirty thoughts about me, “Well yes, but we don’t have a change machine counter here. I can either give you paper sleeves to go home and roll your coins, or we can send your change off to a company to count it for you at no cost.”

Me: Giggling, “You serious? Can you at least deposit the bills or do you not have a bill counter either?”

Teller: “No, we don’t have a bill counter either, but I can hand count them for you Mrs. King, that’s not a problem.”

OMGosh, are you kidding me? Even Kroger has a change machine! Good gravy, what’s next? Is the bank going to tell me that if I want to get money out of the ATM I have to talk to the ATM elf first? I bet elves are secretly working in the back of the bank counting loose change.

Hey Jingle the Elf, you’ve got 364 days until Christmas, so hop to the money counting dude! Santa’s not expecting you back at the North Pole for a while. Right now, you’re my money mogul…start shuffling bills.

I bet the guy with blue hair works at the bank. He probably oversees the elves in the back…

Welcome to 2013!

VSK

P.S. I don’t make resolutions, I make goals. This year, I will find a publisher. Mark my words, supportive, awesome peeps! I love all of you! I write because you encourage me to, and that is more than I could ever ask for.

Well, I woke up this morning. Big blessings for that I suppose, although that now means the dirty dishes in the sink will NOW have to be loaded into the dishwasher, and the stairs have to be vacuumed.

Dude, maybe I’ll just pretend the “cleaning” apocalypse happened instead. I’ll just sit in my oversized, comfy chair with some chocolate cake balls and a good book the entire day.

That good book would be one that is currently unpublished by an author friend of mine who has a BRILLIANT way with words. I read it, and can immediately see myself sitting in a movie theatre with hundreds of other fans. As an author, rejection hurts. I’ve been there, and my writing buddy has walked the path too. But in my heart of hearts, I know I’ll be sitting in that movie theatre eventually watching SVV’s movie someday. It’s just that good.

Hey, J.K. Rowling was rejected nearly 200 times before someone said, “Eh, yeah I guess we can give this kid Harry Potter a try.” That’s all it takes…one yes. I’ll search for it alongside my passionate twin who loves words just as much as I do. I hope she comes and sees my movie someday as well…we’ll eat cake balls together in the back of the theatre and giggle at what a crazy ride it was to get here. {wink}

But, I do think these are worth claiming a “cleaning” apocalypse happened, don’t you?

No, I’m not willing to share. But if you’d like to try and scratch n’ sniff the computer screen, be my guest. It just might work ya know.

You know you are guilty of doing this on Facebook at least once. How’d that work out for you, by the way? You know how important it is to know your fight name…Random, moving on….

@[614] Wow, I’ve got a cool fight name…

This is my couch. My husband made the comment yesterday that I just DON’T have enough throw pillows displayed on it. I have to agree, there is always room for more! Just because of his snarky comment I’m going to add more to this holiday-ish display before he gets home from work today.

You know the real reason for so many pillows on the couch? So that my children can roll in them, pushing them to the floor and smacking each other with them, so that I can pick them up and re-arrange them a half a dozen times a day because it’s awesome! Not really, I don’t know why there are so many pillows on the couch. There is just something about women and throw pillows. Maybe I have an addiction problem…I don’t want to talk about it…

Have a wonderful Christmas with friends and family this weekend! I’m so glad the Mayans were wrong…I can’t wait to see Santa and ask him for a publishing contract! I bet he brings me a throw pillow instead though…

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

VSK