A Slice of Orange

By Kitty Bucholtz

Since my husband John got a temporary job on a film in Sydney, Australia, life has been far more interesting. “Interesting” in this case means both good and hard. I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older that a hard life is not the same as a bad life, so I’m not going to classify anything here as bad. But there are hard parts.

Probably the worst is the cockroaches. Not the two or three a year you see in some apartments. I’m talking set a place ‘cause they’re coming for dinner, try to kill them while shampooing, watch every shadow for movement quantities. A good day means I don’t see any. A hard day is killing nine in the time it takes to get ready for church Sunday morning. (Swearing nine times before church isn’t conducive to a worshipful attitude, but I find myself unable to keep my mouth shut when they come rushing out at me.)

John decided from the beginning of our adventure that we wouldn’t complain about the hard parts. We’d say, “That’s okay, we live in Sydney, Australia!” We wanted an adventure and we got one. We’re both doing what we’ve dreamed of for years – he’s a computer animator on a film, I’m a full-time novelist, and we’re traveling the world. How can we complain?

And yet, there’s still the matter of those nasty roaches. So I named one of the villains in my superhero novel Cockroach. He’s small, agile, works mostly at night and has no regard for humanity. When I found a cockroach on my pillow last night, I decided my villain would leave something at his crime scenes, something foul and fear-inspiring, to let everyone know he’d been there. Perhaps one of my superheroes will lose his grip and start seeing villains in every shadow the way I sometimes see imaginary cockroaches in the shadows of our apartment. A strange and lovely transformation usually occurs about then. I get so wrapped up in incorporating new ideas into the book that I forget the cockroaches!

Of course, that part of my brain sometimes stays active during inappropriate times as well. Like when I was enjoying some personal time with my husband and my necklace kept banging him in the chin. As I moved it behind my back, it occurred to me that a homing device or other signal could be put in a superheroes necklace to let her superhero husband know if she needed reinforcements. Or a communications device could be put into both of their wedding rings. Or maybe…

About this time, I realized I wasn’t focused on the current activity. There was no way I could stop and ask for a pen and paper; I could only hope I’d remember later. But recently I got ticked off at myself because I thought of something really cool in the shower and by the time I dried off and found my notebook, the idea was gone. While I was muttering un-nice things about myself, the thought popped into my head, “That’s okay, I’m a writer.” In the space of a few heartbeats, all my frustrations and hopes and successes of the last three months coalesced into an “Aha!” moment. What do I have to complain about? I’m a writer!

The distractions are as much a part of a writer’s life as cockroaches are part of the life of a world traveler. That’s okay. I’ll figure out creative ways to deal with them. The frustration that I’m no longer employed, yet I don’t spend those extra forty hours writing, is normal. It’ll take time to build new habits to go with my new job just as it took time to learn new money and bus routes and vocabulary in a new land. The successes are too often ignored? That’s okay. Writers are like that. I’ll find fun ways to celebrate – and fun ways to remind myself to celebrate. If I’m creative enough to build a whole new superhero world out of my imagination, I’m creative enough to meet these challenges.

So after three months down under, I’m learning to be a lot more flexible and forgiving and creative as I adjust not only to a new country, but to my new life as a full-time novelist.

And that’s super-okay.

Kitty Bucholtz
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Only one cockroach was killed in the writing of this article. For more on our adventures, go to http://johninaustralia.blogspot.com.

By Tina Gayle

This may sound like a strange topic for a person over forty, but if you think about it, we all want to fit in one way or another.

Some of us go to a job outside our homes where we have to get along with a grumpy receptionist, or deal with a nit-picking boss. We shares our woes of our imperfect job with a friend, someone who makes us feel that we’re not alone on those days when we feel out of sync with our co-workers.

In that respect, I don’t have to worry. You see I write. There’s no one around when I write. It’s a solitary endeavor, which would make one think I’m home free, in paradise, away from the annoying people of the outside world.

Wrong! I get lonely. I have this insatiable desire to talk, and talk, and talk some more. It’s a terrible habit I can’t seem to break.

And what do I want to talk about?

Writing, it’s kind of a passion for me.

Yeah? Well, what about your family? They’re interested, right?

Not when you are a romance writer and a mother of two teenage boys. World of War Craft and video games, karate and fencing moves; these are the topics of choice in my house.

So where are my comrades, the people to whom I can connect?

Lost, I thought, in a world of their own design, stuck behind their desk, in their office, on a street far, far away in another galaxy.

So I prepared myself for the journey and scouted out my local library. A critique group was forming of local writers. I joined right in, ready to share my heart. My enthusiasm dimmed quickly when I discovered that the other writers didn’t exactly share my passion for romantic novels.

Still I went; searching for other places my compatriots might be hiding. A local community class was an alternative I looked into. And it worked for a short time but again, with a wide range of interests and different genres, I didn’t feel at home. But I was lucky enough to be given a name of a group that seemed to be what I wanted.

Romance Writers of America had a local chapter not far from my house, and they met once a month. They didn’t require a secret handshake to join, but I must say when I walked into that first meeting, I was leery.

Would this be the right place for me? Would I be accepted?

The lady that took my money at the door, smiled at me, was even friendly. But then again, that was her job, she wanted my money. She suggested I attend the ask-an-author session being held across the hall.

The published author would answer any question I had, she said.

Right, I thought, like they’re going to talk to me, an unpublished nobody.

To my surprise, they did.

Then they walked into the RWA meeting with me, sat down in the same room with me, and treated me like an equal. To my happy surprise, no one called me out for being a wanna-be, a bad pretender, a no name author.

Well, as you can guess, I found my home. The ladies and men in the group welcomed me each time I attended a meeting. They didn’t scoff at my stupid questions, but instead told me things I needed to know. They supported my passion with cheers of encouragement.

I made friends. I became involved.

Now, after two years, I’m the lady you’ll see if you attend an Orange County Chapter meeting. I’m the Membership Director of a group that has given me more than I will ever be able to repay.

They’re my friends, my colleagues, my family. And they even let me talk about my romance novel.

Finally, I’ve found a place were I fit in.

Tina Gayle
OCC/RWA Membership Director