Lori Sizemore

Don’t miss another post from my Writing blog:

1. The Male POV (Rom Writers) 7/18
2. Coming Home–or How to Get Back Into That Novel you Laid Aside 7/14
3. You Can Have My Writing Notes When You Pry Them From My Cold Dead Hands 4/10
4. Stages of Change and Character Arc 3/28
5. When You Hit a Writing Wall 3/15

And I’d like to say I’m back from my hiatus, but I can’t make any promises, all the way through the end of September.  See, in real life, besides being a writer, I’m also a social worker.  And through a very fortunate and special set of circumstances, my license was reinstated after ten years with the caveat that I complete 80 hours of CEU’s in about three months.  This has taken quite a toll on my free time, especially with a full time job as well.  So, I have a good reason, but I hate to see this blog lying dormant.  I’m going to try to check in weekly.  Maybe even make the occasional witty observation. No promises! ;-)

I apologize for this blog lying dormant for the last several weeks.  As usual, real life has demanded my attention.  I’ll be back soon with more of my nonessential but nonetheless amusing posts on writing and life.

I just took this quiz on the five love languages.  Apparently, my love language is acts of service.

Can vacuuming the floors really be an expression of love? Absolutely! Anything you do to ease the burden of responsibilities weighing on an “Acts of Service” person will speak volumes. The words he or she most want to hear: “Let me do that for you.” Laziness, broken commitments, and making more work for them tell speakers of this language their feelings don’t matter.

Which makes me sounds like a lazy, self-entitled queen.  Or it does to me.  But, it’s kind of true, I suppose.  Don’t tell me you love me, show me.  Give me a foot rub (or a pedi, as one commenter recommended), fix me dinner, wash my car.  It’s not that I’m lazy, really; the beauty of acts of service is that I work, I write, I have three kids, and a house to run–take something off my plate and I feel adored.

But enough about me.  You should totally go take the test and see what your language is.  I’d appreciate the act of posting yours in the comments. ;-)

I love looking at what search terms led people to my site–mostly because it’s so messed up. For your consideration, I offer the following:

“zombies will never happen,” “zombie love,” zombie love story,” and “scientific zombie study.”  I tell you, I have become the queen of zombies.  And I write contemporary romance–not paranormal.  There are no freaking zombies in my manuscripts (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

I also got “people flirt.” Well, yeah.  They do.  But what’s this got to do with me?

Someone else searched “laurie sizemore aadom.”  Which is not me.  But, at first, I thought was cool, because I thought, “Double A Dom?” But no.  It’s American Association of Dental Office Managers. Boring.

Finally, and perhaps worst/best of all: “lori sizemore nude.”  That’s not ever gonna happen.  But you can see Lori, the zombie!

Photo from morguefiles.com

I’ve got this weird idea, maybe more of a subscribed belief: painted toenails equate to a flourishing, happy, carefree life.  I realize it’s not really rational.  How do you rationalize something so trivial as an indicator of something so crucial?

You could look at Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, perhaps, and assume that all those lower needs (like food, shelter, safety, etc.) had been met if you have the interest to pretty up your tootsies.  But, those things, those are basic needs–not exactly a carefree existence.  So where does this crazy belief come from?

This is where I would insert my awesome answer.  If I had one.  I don’t.

But wouldn’t it be easy to make myself happy by just giving myself a decent pedicure?  Well, no.  Painted toenails don’t give me that good life; they just signify it.  My toenails are a bright red as I write this–but I still have food to put on the table, a house payment to make, and a book that really needs publishing.

So, I guess, what it really means is that I can give myself a tiny bit of joy just by spending ten minutes with a bottle of polish (of which I have oodles).  And right now, that’s enough.  But it makes me curious… what small gifts do you give yourself?

I <3 twitter so hard.  I spend significant amounts of time, every day, checking in with my “tweeps.”  (Yes, I know how dorky that sounds.)

1. Sometimes it only takes 140 characters to recognize a person you share a passion with. All over the internet, I’ve looked for writing groups that didn’t end up taking up more of my time than actual writing.  Whatever you enjoy, find others with the same interest with a simple hash tag.
2. Support can come from the most surprising places. Connecting with other people and sharing your life, in little pieces, is a moving experience when they respond and care.
3. Twitter is the great equalizer. Lots of celebrities and famous authors and childhood stars and obscure B movie actors–they all tweet.  You can speak @AlyssaMilano or @WilWheaton (but not @MileyCyrus!).  Sometimes, they even @ you back.
4. No matter the time or day, someone out there is listening. I can tweet at 4 a.m. that I’m listening to Elvis for inspiration and someone else will chime in with what they’re listening to or wish me luck.
5. It’s provides a sense of community to read about other people’s lives. How is the weather in St. Louis? Are you writing this morning? Your son was a smash in his play?  Once you start seeing little bits of info from people, everyday, you begin to connect.  And maybe that sounds like boring tidbits, but when you connect, it matters.

It’s been a while since I’ve done Material Girl post, so I thought I’d do one huge super post full of etsy goodness.

For the writer who reads (duh):

Both by: TillyBloom

I picked this one because I freaking LOVED Nancy Drew growing up and I have many cherished memories of going to the library with my grandmother to pick out another Nancy Drew mystery.  Also… I’m a purse addict.  Ask anyone.

This by spoonfulofchocolate who has lots of book goodies.

And, just for fun, laptop soap!

By pepperapothecary.

There’s this guy and he calls himself The Oatmeal.  No, I don’t know why.  But he’s hilarious.  For instance, he explains how to use a semicolon and he’s correct.  But, it’s also funny enough that you might just remember it.  He also explains why he’d rather be punched in the testicles than call customer service. And 10 reasons to avoid talking on the phone.  And he does it all, and there’s plenty more, with these hilarious cartoons.  So, you should go there, love him, and buy a poster.

And, no, I didn’t get a thing for saying this.  I just love sharing the funny.

Writing is an affliction, a disease of the soul, a rewiring in the head, like Asperger’s or some other form of autism. Like masturbation, it’s an uncontrollable and compulsive urge. It’s an obsession, a need, a drive. It’s not fun, and rewarding, and entertaining. It’s like having a bad movie play in loop in your head, so that your thoughts are either obsessing on words, or obsessing that your words are crap. It’s tortuous and exhausting, and if you could expel it from your possessed soul like an unwanted demon and be happy and content on a salaried wage, most writers would probably, in their darkest moments, do that instead. But they write because they have to, because they feel, like Gloria Steinem, that “writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel like I should be doing anything else”.

via Ruth Fowler: You Want My Opinion? Never. Write. Again..

Yeah.  That.