I Want to Do All the Things

I Want to Do All the Things

I have a manuscript on Spain that’s complete. It’s been sitting in my bedside table for a long time. I should really publish that.

Underneath it is manuscript on Mexico. That one still needs a lot of work.

I was going to write a book about Thailand, but I worry too much time has passed since the trip.

I’m shopping a proposal as the co-author of someone’s memoir. I’m not ready to tell you about him just yet, but his story is phenomenal.

I want to write a book with my friend Erica. I’m not ready to tell you about that one yet, either.

At the end of last year I completed an extensive outline of a novel. And I don’t even write novels. I’m really excited about it.

I’ve been thinking of another memoir/humor type project. This one will be a standalone.

I’m working with some fantastic clients as their book coach/editor now, helping them get their stories in shape. What a great experience to step out of my world and into someone else’s. Also, it’s nice when work actually pays the bills.

Mike and I started a new venture. It’s going to be awesome. It already is.

Today is day 9 of a physical challenge I’m doing called GRIT. This morning’s workout involved running a 5K, with push-ups, mountain climbers, and burpees sprinkled in. Then there was the finisher, 30 weird-standing-side-crunch type things on each side. I’m pretty sure that’s the official name for it. If you miss a single workout, you’re booted from the group. You have to write about it too. I kind of love it.

I’m also in a StoryAthlete challenge. Today’s assignment is to write about a struggle. What you are reading is my completion of that assignment.

A friend of mine is helping to turn a short story I wrote into a screenplay. I was supposed to make headway on it I-forget-how-many months ago.

Some of my books are due for re-branding and re-releasing. That’s a thing in the world of Indie authors. I’ve dropped the ball.

I’m chair of the Idaho Writers Conference and finishing up the faculty and schedule for next year’s conference. In the New Year I’ll also be the president of the Idaho Writers Guild.

Every day I meditate and then complete a Spanish lesson. I also read every day.

Yesterday Emilia had basketball practice and Ivy had running club. Today Ivy had choir and Emilia has an away game. Still to come this week are one more choir, one more running club, one more practice, and two more games, one home and the other away.

Yesterday I had a mammogram (TMI?), today I had a dentist appointment and IWG meeting. On Thursday I’ll host a book club.

We’re three weeks out from the next ImpactClub. I have the tables/linens/chairs ordered, space confirmed, and pizza vendor booked. It’s going to be awesome. It always is.

I love my life. Everything about it. As mom, wife, writer. I love being in Idaho. I love traveling the world. Every day I’m amazed with how lucky I am.

I get to work with my husband. We have breakfast meetings at a local diner a few times a week, just to regroup and wrap our heads around the day to come.

When it comes to today’s assignment of writing about a struggle… let’s be honest, I have the best possible struggle one can have.

I just want to do all the things.

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In the Kitchen

In the Kitchen

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach (and then, I believe, up through the chest cavity). But Mike did not marry me for my cooking skills. When we got together, I could prepare three meals: Tuna Helper, ramen noodles, and Kraft macaroni and cheese.

Even these I managed to screw up. Too much milk in the mac & cheese would leave it soupy; ramen noodles left on three minutes past their three-minute cook time; and Tuna Helper… well. It’s sad that that was even on my go-to list.

I was not good at producing substanance. If you’re not familiar, substanance is a common Turnerism. They came up with it by combining substance + sustenance. As in, “I’m really hungry; I need some substanance.”

Mike cooked more than I did in the beginning, probably because he couldn’t stomach much more of what I was putting on the table. But eventually I decided that I wanted to improve.

I bought the Better Homes New Cookbook. It’s a classic, the one with a background of a red and white checked tablecloth. It had basic recipes and was a great starting point.

A few friends knew what a disaster I was in the kitchen, so they bought me a bunch of kitchen gadgets. I remember staring at a garlic press with no idea how one might put such a tool to use.

I started experimenting with salads and learned to think beyond iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots. Through trial and error, I learned the art of making a hearty chowder.

There were so many disasters along the way. I remember trying to make a Sri Lankan noodle dish that a relative always brought to family gatherings. Mike and I each took a bite. It was immediately apparent that the food was inedible. Mike and I both like spicy foods, but I’d ruined the dish by not following a recipe and instead substituting my ignorance of good spice-to-noodle ratios. Mike, eyes tearing, said, “It’s really good,” and choked down a second bite.

My mother never liked cooking, nor was it her strong suit. Which one caused the other is a chicken-versus-egg question.

Incidentally, both my sister and I are now excellent cooks.

Trial & Error x Infinity = Proficiency

I learned to enjoy my time in the kitchen. It’s another creative outlet and, as with anything else, I improved over time.

My repertoire is much more diverse and no longer includes the packaged, processed foods. I can make a killer risotto, tri-tip marinade, lobster ceviche, and vegan enchiladas you’d swear weren’t vegan.

I think back to those early days and I’ll the times I said, “I can’t cook.”

What I meant to say was, “I can’t cook yet.”