My boyfriend says I’m never on time. (Well, really he says, “WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS RUNNING LATE?!”) But me, I like to say I’m chronically optimistic. Kind of like vertically challenged? Yeah, I’m that, too…

But seriously, today is a perfect example of my chronic optimism. See, I woke up 10 minutes earlier than usual so that I would be 10 minutes earlier to work. Makes sense, right? Only, while I was taking Riley on his morning walk, we ran into our neighbor and his dog, and we got to talking. (About how another dog bit off a chunk of my neighbor’s dog’s ear!!)

Chit and chat and this and that, and suddenly my extra 10 minutes are gone.

But it’s okay. I’m only 3 minutes late to work, no big deal. I get settled in, take care of some to-dos, and catch up on emails and such. This gives me 30 minutes before our Monday morning meetings, so I figure that’s 30 minutes I can write. And oh, how much I could write in 30 minutes!

Except that clients called, a delivery came, and I had to reread the stuff I wrote last night before I could get on the right track of how to move forward. Next thing I know it’s 10 AM and time to go to the conference room!

But no worries. After a late lunch, I run an errand and am back at my desk by 2 PM. That gives me plenty of time to write before the work day is over.

Until some files need updating, and a new employee needs orienting, and a service guy comes to see if he can help us with something, so my boss and I have to walk him around the whole building, asking and answering questions. Tick tock tick tock OMFG it’s 5 o’clock?!

I commute home, take care of the dog, eat dinner, wash dishes. Now it’s 6:20 PM, which leaves me 15 minutes to go to the bathroom, freshen my makeup, and oh yeah, BLOG, before I head out to my writing group. I’ll be there from 7 PM until 9 PM. Or 9:30 PM. Or heck, maybe 10?

But it’s all gravy. I can still write tonight before bed.

Right?

Last week, in spite of a nasty RSI flare-up, I finished the sample pages of my proposed Twenty-Somewhere revision (!!!). Today, I sent them off to an agent and an editor (well, technically their assistants). Tonight, I am going to celebrate and relax — by READING!

(And also: by starting my next manuscript while I wait to hear back from said assistants, which will probably take a few weeks. Yeah, this process never ends.)

Over the weekend, Andy and I took a real break by going up to Columbus to visit friends who recently moved there. We brought Riley with us to play with our friends’ dog Dill. Of course, Dill’s definition of play involves toys and chasing and wrestling. Riley’s definition involves walking around and sniffing things. Needless to say, Dill was disappointed.

Also, I totally wanted to steal this “little” Bernese Mountain Dog puppy. Unfortunately, his owners were actually paying attention to him! Who does that?

After doggie playtime, we humans moseyed on over to the Ohio State Fair. Lots of livestock, fried food, and Midway games you can’t win.

What did you do this weekend?

Last night I fell asleep imagining all the things I want in life. I pictured my future home, with granite countertops in the kitchen, the breakfast bar where I will work in the mornings, the sunlight filtering in through the windows. I pictured the big grassy backyard where my dog and kids will play. I pictured the book signings, the emails and phone calls with my agent and editor, the special shelf in my library for my own covers to be displayed.

It’s not easy for me to talk about these things, because I am a bit superstitious. I knock on wood after I make jokes, afraid to jinx the good things or foretell the bad. I believe there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and I do my best to stay on the right side of that line because I believe in karma.

But I subtitled this blog “writing dreams into reality” because that’s what it’s about — what I’m about. I’m working hard to turn my dreams of being a writer into my reality. And I transform many of my “dreams” (ideas) into real, written-out stories. That’s all I’ve wanted to do since I was 9 years old, and I hope to do it until I’m 90.

Sometimes it’s a slog, let’s be honest. Sometimes I would rather be sleeping, or going out with friends, or eating a pint of ice cream on the sofa while watching Grey’s Anatomy. Sometimes my back hurts, or my wrists hurt, or my neck hurts, or my eyes hurt. Sometimes I can’t think of a single good word, much less a whole sentence. Sometimes I get so tired I could cry.

But it’s those times that my dreams matter most, and that’s why I’m sharing them now. As a reminder to myself that I’m working towards something tangible, even when everything seems out of my control and about as real as Tinkerbell. As a reminder to any of you who have dreams that you shouldn’t give up on them. Dreams are part of what make life worth living.

Did I think that by 24 I’d have found a wonderful man I want to marry? Or that I’d have the bestest, cutest dog in the whole world? That my friends and family would still be supporting, encouraging, and inspiring me every day? That I would have an editorial team interested in my stories?

No, once upon a time, those were just “silly dreams.” But now here I am, and here they are. And that’s how I know there’s more to come. That’s how I know that if I can dream it, I can achieve it.

And I will.

Today I am so tired that I am on the verge of tears for no reason at all. Why am I tired, you ask? Because I have been staying up until 1 a.m. trying to squeeze more writing time into my day. Not just once or twice, but for weeks now. How is that working out, you ask?

*bursts into tears*

Needless to say, something’s gotta give, and it ain’t gonna be sleep. Not anymore. My physical and emotional wellbeing simply can’t tolerate this. Which makes me feel like total weaksauce, by the way. But it is what it is, and I am who I am.

So. What now? I think, like learning to embrace my inner turtle, I am going to have to learn to listen to my mind and my body, to treat them well so that they can perform at their best. I mean, staying up an extra 2 hours doesn’t do me any good if all I can do is yawn, squint at my screen, and produce nothing but typos.

This puts me back at square one: self-discipline. Maybe it’s not about more hours in the day, maybe it’s about better use of the hours I have. Maybe I should spend less time commenting on blogs, and more time writing. Maybe I should do yoga while I watch TV, instead of sitting on the couch like a bump on a log. Maybe I should eat fruit instead of chocolate. Maybe I should play piano again.

I don’t know for sure if doing these things will help me to focus and to endure the (surprising) physical strains of sitting at the computer so long. But I believe they will. I believe that when we take care of ourselves, we become stronger, more capable, invigorated. I believe that I may have been going about this the wrong way (for me), and that I need to trust my instincts when they tell me to change course. I believe that I can achieve this dream, and soon. I believe that it’s okay to stumble, as long as you brush it off and keep on going.

So my knees are scraped up, I’m covered in sweat, and I’m thirsty as hell. But I can see that finish line, and damn if I’m going down now.

Location: Colorado Springs
Activities: cliff dwellings, wedding