Let me have it!

I wanted to be a writer ever since I was pretty small.  I also wanted to be an archaeologist, a dog kennel owner, a horse trainer, a ballerina, a dance teacher, and a cartoonist for Disney, but  mainly, a writer.  I wrote all the time, filling up spiral notebooks with stories about talking dogs (1986-89) and silly detective adventures (1989-1991) and dark and gloomy poetry (1992-1994).  When I was 16, I completed my first book (ahem, make that my only book).  It sits in my trunk/hope chest.  When I started this blog a couple years ago, it was really the first writing I had done in a long time, and it was refreshing, to say the least.  And my fragile artist's ego was boosted by the kind feedback, I won't deny it.  Since then, I've reverted back to the days of daydreaming plot lines, characters, and stories, but I have yet to write them.  The reasons are as follows, and in no particular order:

1.  I have kids.  Through the years it may have been only one or two, perhaps three plus a couple dogs, or a slew of small humans.  But whether it's one or nine, it sometimes feels like twenty.

2.  I have a husband.  He likes to eat.  And have my attention.  And he needs me to wash his underpants.

3.  I can't get too far behind on my television shows.  If I do, I forget things.  And I get cranky, because sometimes I really just need a shiny box showing someone elses life for a bit, to stare at while I eat Cheezits.

4.  My dog needs his ears scratched on a regular basis or he gets anxious.  When he gets anxious, he gets gassy.

5.  I have to make things like French onion soup, and curried chicken, and oatmeal bread.  No, really, I HAVE to.  Otherwise I get anxious.  And when I get anxious, I get - oh, never mind.

6.  I have to peer into my son's ear canal and drop medicine in.  Cause he's my Pooky.

7.  I have to go to staff meetings.

8.  I have to throw snow balls at Cora.

9.  I have to wash underpants.

10.  I have to drink coffee with half and half.

11.  I have to finish "Eats, Shoots and Leaves."

12.  I have to edjoomakate my chitlins.

13.  I have to snuggle.

14.  I have to quote movies.  This takes more time and energy than one might think.

15.  I have to curse the printer.

16.  I have to play with Moose, all the while attempting to inject a little, oh I don't know, plot line into his scenarios, but finally just giving in to his world of shoot-the-bad-guys-then-bring-them-back-to-life-in-order-to-kill-them-again.

But I've decided if I let one thing go, I could, possible, just maybe, I'm sayin' perhaps, dedicate a little time to take a tiny plunge (a toe in the water, so to speak) by submitting articles to magazines.  If I'm rejected, hey, it'll be a great blog and we can all laugh at my nuttiness together.  Cuz we're in this together, don't you know?  We are.

So, here's what I need from you, and by "you," I am referring to all four of you readers who faithfully leave comments, the fifty something followers I am not sure are still out there, and all the rest of you incognito, plain clothed, Grouch Marx mustache wearin', lurkers, who tell me all the time they read this but refuse to make their presence known (are you hiding from The Man?  Witness Protection?  On the run from the FBI?  Are YOU the FBI?):

Leave me a comment and let me know which blog post is your favorite and which one could be transformed into magazine article, and which magazine you are thinking of.  If you have a fav homeschooling magazine, let me know what types of writings are published within.  If your favorite grocery store impulse buy is Good Housekeeping, let me know what you think they need.  Because I keep house.  And I'm good at it, if you consider washed underpants the definition of good.  And if you have always wanted me to write about something specific, like serving cheese burgers in the bathtub, or how to reuse paper towels, let me know, and I will oblidge.  Unless it's an article about car mechanics, because I will politely decline.  And if you've ever written a good query letter, give me some pointers!  Or, you know, feel free to write one for me.  Oh, and evidently, I have really high security on this (which makes me think men in black are gonna scale down the outside of your house if you try to leave a comment, Mission Impossible style, but I think I could be wrong), so you may have to REALLY prove your love by hitting the submit button several times.  Otherwise, you'll be like Heather B, who says, "But I comment all the time!" and then I'm like, "Uh, no you don't," and she's like, "Waaa?" and so on and so forth.

If you are reading this, this means YOU.  If I get one comment from someone and it says "good luck to you, weirdo," my self esteem will be completely and utterly damaged.  And you don't want to see what that looks like.  It involves sweatpants and Cheezits, and it's not for the faint of heart.