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Mom’s kind of mad at me. It’s not my fault, really. I’m a cat and inclined to do cat things. It’s my nature. Part of my feline DNA.What crime, you ask, did I commit? Well, as you can see from the picture, I snuck a nap on Mom’s treasured antique desk chair. It’s strictly off limits, but the temptation to plant my rear end on a 130-year-old antique was just too much to resist. I guess the fact that the chair and matching desk are a treasured  family heirloom, whatever that is, just made her all the more mad at me.So, I got the boot. But not before she snapped my picture. As you can see, I’m not smiling. No one likes a lecture. Especially a cat. I told her if she didn’t want me to sit on the chair, she shouldn’t put it and the silly Victorian era desk in the living room where anyone could just stumble on them.

Other than that, not much is happening in our house. I heard a rumor the other day that Mom is gong to her annual writers retreat and leaving me with the man. Apparently, this is the punishment I must endure for leaving cat hair on her stupid old �� and I mean old �� chair.

Mom’s kind of mad at me. It’s not my fault, really. I’m a cat and inclined to do cat things. It’s my nature. Part of my feline DNA.What crime, you ask, did I commit? Well, as you can see from the picture, I snuck a nap on Mom’s treasured antique desk chair. It’s strictly off limits, but the temptation to plant my rear end on a 130-year-old antique was just too much to resist. I guess the fact that the chair and matching desk are a treasured  family heirloom, whatever that is, just made her all the more mad at me.So, I got the boot. But not before she snapped my picture. As you can see, I’m not smiling. No one likes a lecture. Especially a cat. I told her if she didn’t want me to sit on the chair, she shouldn’t put it and the silly Victorian era desk in the living room where anyone could just stumble on them.

Other than that, not much is happening in our house. I heard a rumor the other day that Mom is gong to her annual writers retreat and leaving me with the man. Apparently, this is the punishment I must endure for leaving cat hair on her stupid old �� and I mean old �� chair.

I told Mom over and over, but she refuses to listen. I don’t want a big celebration for my birthday this year �� which happens to be June 1st. She insists, however. Says this is a milestone birthday for me. Really? Is fifteen a milestone? The truth is, we don’t know the exact date of my birthday. My siblings and I lived on the streets for the first four months of our lives before we were rescued, put into foster care with a nice lady and then, a short time later, adopted by our furever pawents �� in my case, Mom.  She picked June 1st as my birthday because she figured that was somewhere around the time I was born and, it was an easy date to remember.

I guess I have no choice and must tolerate all the fussing over me, the extra treats, and the presents. I will say, studying at this picture Mom took of me the other day, I do look pretty good for a fifteen-year-old diabetic cat. Still handsome as ever. That’s what Mom says, anyway.  

So, Mom was playing around the other day (she gets in these moods), and she figured out how to put my face on the face of her smart watch. Get it? My face on the smart watch’s face? That’s a little cat humor for you

She’s also recently spent a lot of time with this new super-duper bird feeder of hers. I don’t care much about the videos and pictures that she’s all the time showing me and the man. What I like is watching the birds from the window. Wow! it’s awesome. We have so many now. Of course, I’m not allowed outside to play with them, which feels a little unfair. I decided to avoid letting her pet me for almost a whole hour the other day in retaliation.

I’m mad at her for other reasons, too. She’s on deadline again. What! Does this never end? She has a new proposal due the 15th and revisions on her last book are due the 8th. For once, the man and I are in agreement. She should be spending her every waking minute paying attention to us. Okay, I might be a little more insistent on this matter than the man. Maybe a lot more. But I’m pretty sure he has my back.

Yes, I’m standing in front of Mom’s computer while she’s working on this newsletter, trying my best to interfere. Usually, I’m her muse and take my job seriously, encouraging her to work and giving her inspiration. But she just returned from another trip when she abandoned me and intruder cat in the care of the man’s aunt. I’m torn between being angry at Mom and unable to leave her side for one minute. Because I’m weak, it’s the latter, and, thus, here I am, begging her for another petting. I have no shame.

It could be worse. The dog wasn’t able to stay with my human brother this time and had to go to something called a pet resort. Yeah, resort my left paw. He told me it was like jail. He also humiliated himself by crying like a baby puppy when Mom and the man picked him up. He also hasn’t left her side. We are a sorry lot.

There is one bright spot. April is the dog’s birthday. He’s going to be 13. Mom said we can all have treats when we celebrate in a few days. Finally, the dog is good for something.

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Every writer has a process and that process includes a preferred environment in which to write. Some can sit at their laptop amid absolute chaos (a busy coffee shop, squabbling offspring, loud coworkers), block out everything, and the words flow from their fingertips like magic. For them, the noise is more ambient than distracting and actually increases their productivity.

Me, I like—no, need—peace and quiet. I’m the dog who spies a squirrel, the least little movement will take me out of my story and send me on a wild chase in the opposite direction. If I’m sitting in Starbucks and hear a couple talking at the table next to me, instead of writing, I’ll listen to them and invent a story of their lives. I’m here to tell you, it wreaks havoc on my word count.

For a lot of years, ever since my kids grew up and moved away, finding peace and quiet hasn’t been a problem. I have a great home office that I’ve arranged and decorated for maximum productivity. I was also alone five days a week and able to accomplish a lot. When my husband was around, I’d muddle through, deflecting his constant interruptions as best I could (he’s as bad as any three-year-old poking my shoulder and chanting, “Mom, Mom, Mom.��).

All that changed a couple months ago when he retired early—three years early! Suddenly, I found myself in serious trouble, unable to write like I was used to. With three deadlines looming. I became stressed, irritable, frustrated, and not very pleasant to be around.

Long story short (yes, pun intended), I came up with a plan that is helping. My local library is usually crowded and not particularly quiet. But I discovered they have private study rooms I can reserve for up to two hours. These are wonderful! I get so much done in those two hours because I know my time is limited and I need to make the most of it. I also purchased a pair of Blutooth earbuds. If I listen to music (jazz is my favorite for writing), I’m less distracted by what’s going on around me. These also work well if I sit in a secluded corner of the not-very-busy independent coffee shop I sometimes frequent out of desperation—i.e., husband is very talkative that day. Lastly, the assistant facility where my mom lives has several quiet and cozy reading nooks. I visit her twice a week, so sometimes I go early, find an available nook, and dash off a few pages.

No, none of these solutions compare to my much loved home-office. But they are helping and, as a result, I’m less stressed, irritable, and frustrated. With luck, I may even make my three deadlines!

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I have the wonderful goodThe Cowboy's Perfect Match fortune of belonging to the same critique group for something like sixteen years now. For those of you who don’t know what is, a critique group is, they’re a group of writers who meet regularly and offer feedback on each other’s work. It’s a great way to have someone read your work and catch mistakes before submitting, in my case to my editor.

Turns out, it’s both a blessing and a curse to always have the same people critique your work. On the one hand, we are each others�� dearest friends and staunchest support group. I can count on these ladies to be, sometimes brutally, honest with their comments, which I often need. I tend to see my books through rose colored glasses. I can also count on their really insightful feedback. I’m a better writer because of them. On the other hand, we are so used to each other, we can forget to give praise, fail to be sensitive when it’s needed, and take each other a little for granted.

I recently became involved in an online group which included critiquing. I thought, what the heck and decided to give it a try. The idea of submitting my chapters to a group of fresh eyes was pretty intimidating, and I found myself pouring over my pages with a fine tooth comb before turning them in. Much more than normally. And you know what happened? I worked a little harder and, I think, improved my writing. Here are some of the areas I focused on:

Deeper POV
Choosing more powerful words
Better/more powerful scene endings
Trimming excess words
Watching for passive voice
Trimming narrative and/or putting it in dialogue instead
Make narrative really interesting
Improve pacing

I hate thinking I may have gotten lazy over the years, but now I’m convinced I did. Yeah, having new people read my chapters was really intimidating. I ate my emotions and bit off all my nails. But the rewards were so worth it. These people’s fresh perspectives enabled me to look at my writing in a new way and make some small changes. I’m even thinking of taking the plunge again.

I have the great fortune of belonging to the same critique group for something like sixteen years now. For those of you who don’t know what is, a critique group is, they’re a group of writers who meet regularly and offer feedback on each other’s work. It’s a great way to have someone read your work and catch mistakes before submitting, in my case to my editor.

Turns out, it’s both a blessing and a curse to always have the same people critique your work. On the one hand, we are each others�� dearest friends and staunchest support group. I can count on these ladies to be, sometimes brutally, honest with their comments, which I often need. I tend to see my books through rose colored glasses. I can also count on their really insightful feedback. I’m a better writer because of them. On the other hand, we are so used to each other, we can forget to give praise, fail to be sensitive when it’s needed, and take each other a little for granted.

I recently became involved in an online group which included critiquing. I thought, what the heck and decided to give it a try. The idea of submitting my chapters to a group of fresh eyes was pretty intimidating, and I found myself pouring over my pages with a fine tooth comb before turning them in. Much more than normally. And you know what happened? I worked a little harder and, I think, improved my writing. Here are some of the areas I focused on:

Deeper POV

Choosing more powerful words

Better/more powerful scene endings

Trimming excess words

Watching for passive voice

Trimming narrative and/or putting it in dialogue instead

Make narrative really interestingImprove pacing

I hate thinking I may have gotten lazy over the years, but now I’m convinced I did. Yeah, having new people read my chapters was really intimidating. I ate my emotions and bit off all my nails. But the rewards were so worth it. These people’s fresh perspectives enabled me to look at my writing in a new way and make some small changes. I’m even thinking of taking the plunge again.

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