Boundbytheword Blog

keep updated in the world of Debris

The Cow Whisperer September 28, 2010

Filed under: What's Up? — Noelle Bickle / Abby Brooks @ 11:49 AM


I walked a cow home yesterday morning. Yup, it’s safe to say I’ve gone rural.

My husband had the day off and we walked the kids to the bus stop at the end of our driveway (which is longer than a standard football field, another indication of country living). When we get to the road we were greeted by a young Charolais (a cow – about 1000 pounds).

The bus arrives and goes to swerve around the cow, which scares the poor beast into flight. It runs frantically alongside it, and the kids on the bus go nuts. They are whooping, calling out to the cow, and chanting a direction to the driver to run over the cow. (to clarify – the latter was not my kids yelling).
By the time the bus is out of sight, the cow is even further from home and crying out in confusion. So, what’s a good neighbour to do? Grab a handful of long grass and start calling Bessie. At least that’s what they do in the movies, so that’s what we did.

My dog led the way, and the cow followed. Well, as long as we didn’t look back, the cow followed. The minute we cast a backward glance, she’d stop in her tracks and wait. So we walked her back to the farmer next door – which in the country is more than a fifteen minute walk. It was a writing day, so I was dressed in perfect visiting attire – my fuzzy pajamas –the ones with the giant green frogs. Yes – I write in my PJ’s to get my best work done, it’s a quirky habit that works for me. But I digress.

So the cow gets home safely. The farmer is glad to see us. The cow is glad to see the farmer. My dog gets an extra walk and the kids have a laugh on their way to school. In the end, I have a funny ditty to blog about. An interesting and odd day and it all started with a little side of beef.

The best of days do I guess.

 

Where is the love? September 20, 2010

Filed under: Progression Of "Debris",What's Up? — Noelle Bickle / Abby Brooks @ 10:14 AM

The waiting is making me squirrely. In July, I sent a query and the first four chapters to an agent who requested them. They said they would get back to me end of August. No news is good news, except I don’t really believe that, I’m just saying it to feel better about the suffering of waiting. Patience. I need some. But it doesn’t help when the wanting is so intense.
I’ve never been a patient person; I tend to be a little spastic and like to get things done, like yesterday. But, finding an agent is a lot like finding your true love. It’s exciting but scary, and not as easy as it sounds. It also demands taking risks, throwing your ego aside with hopes that you can shoulder the rejection when that true love says, they’re just not that into you.
The good news about finding an agent as opposed to finding true love, is that as a writer you can put yourself out there in bulk. You can court many agents across the country, across the globe really – and you won’t be seen as the town tart. There is no shame is multiple submissions, no cheap labels against you or your virtues. The worst that can be assumed is that you have loose vowels.
But I have to admit, I’m a product of growing up in the days of Disney. Stories of a true princess and her soul mate are etched into my skin and play a part in my fantasy of fate and the happy-ever-after ending. The agent I queried seemed a perfect fit, I laughed at her jokes, was thoroughly engaged as she spoke about platforms and publishing and such. She was fabulous. When I spoke with her privately, I felt a connection – that only a writer and their agent could have – was clear. I felt like she was THE ONE.
So, we are well into September and as of today I haven’t heard from my fated agent. As the brave heroine of this story, I should be bold enough to ride up on my stallion (via email) and ask if she read it and liked it. But it feels a lot like asking a first date if he loves me yet.
As usual, I need a little incentive to pull on my big girl panties. Some shame-based motivation (by telling my blog followers) to get my butt in gear. I’ll contact the agent, hoping for the best and preparing for the answer I don’t want to hear. If she loves Debris like I do, I’ll have myself a new agent. If she decides to pass, then I’ll have my finger poised on the keyboard ready to query the next agent. Or better yet, the next 15 agents.
Like true love, an agent is hard to come by, but well worth the work and the wait.

 

That girl has got cajones September 11, 2010

Filed under: What's Up? — Noelle Bickle / Abby Brooks @ 7:46 PM

Today my seven-year old daughter came home from the Orillia fair scalped. And no, this isn’t an odd way to describe a new haircut or some weird new catch phrase. Her hair (actually her hair wrap – the cute pink and purple threading we paid $30 to have wound around a chunk of her tresses), got caught in the spinny ride and got ripped right out, leaving a penny-sized bald spot on the top of her pretty little blond head.

Here’s the reason I’m sharing this on my blog: I wish I could bottle her resilience. That girl may have her quirks. She likes to get her own way and doesn’t have much tolerance for girly games or baby talk. She has a hard time saying sorry. She doesn’t much like to share, and don’t expect to playfully poke her without getting poked back, only harder and less playful. She’s demanding, slightly odd, and sadly sometimes not as empathic or as cordial as I’d like. But, that girl has cajones.

She toughs things out. She didn’t shed a tear today, and when I asked her if it hurt a lot, she said, “Not really, it just felt like someone was ripping my skin off. Can I go on that ride again?” My heart broke a little, and I realized sometimes I’m too hard her. I expect too much. I expect her to deal with things, both the good and bad, the way I do.

We each have unique strengths to use as our armour. My whole life I’ve been a pleaser. I say yes when I mean no. I smile when I feel hurt, and I calm waters around me to avoid any storms. I’m polite and pleasant even when I’m pissed. That’s my cloak and always has been. I guess some might call it a pushover, others might say it lacks integrity to simply appease and please to avoid conflict. But I say – hey, it’s gotten me this far and I’ve survived whole.

My daughter is no pushover, no pleaser. She speaks her mind, states her demands and makes no excuses. She grits her teeth, pushes through the tough times and still wants to get back on the ride. A commendable cloak she wears. And who knows if in the end she’ll need more therapy than me or less. Either way, she’ll survive whole too.

Cajones…get yours today.

 

Perverts Perhaps? September 8, 2010

Filed under: What's Up? — Noelle Bickle / Abby Brooks @ 8:52 AM

An interesting tidbit about my experience with blogging. When I add a post with a risqué title, maybe a little raunchy, dirty, or even just slightly suggestive, I get almost double the hits on my blog. I find that both amusing and fascinating.

Toss in an innuendo; suggest there might be some raunchy talk, or a little viewing window into the gritty parts of my life, and my stats go way up. Tame it down a bit, and only my most loyal readers tune in (which luckily for me is more than half of my readers…thank you!) But it can’t be denied that even just implied naughty gets me more readers.

Does that make my blog followers a bunch of perverts? I’m just sayin’. :-)

Regardless, I adore my readers for checking in and supporting me. If you enjoy the blog, please pass the link on or share a post with others you think might enjoy it too. Now that my kidlets are back in school, I’m back on track and am steam rolling ahead with the quest for a publisher. So, pass me on so I can build that platform of loyal readers! (perverts or not).

 

Fall is here in more ways than one September 4, 2010

Filed under: What's Up? — Noelle Bickle / Abby Brooks @ 12:10 PM

I had an exhilarating trip yesterday! Unfortunately, it was down the stairs.

I’m not gonna lie, tears were shed. It wasn’t a huge fall; on the contrary, I sort of just missed the last two steps. But coming to what you think is the bottom when it isn’t, sets your body in a motion that’s ungraceful at best, and damaging to boot. I went down like a ton of bricks and lay at the bottom of my 130-year old stairs completely immobilized by fear. In fact, in was the fear that brought on the tears, although the pain in my right ankle did bring forth a four letter word, severe wincing and my entire family rushing over and looking down with pity at me.

The fear was not irrational. It was just over two years ago that I fell down some steps and did mega damage to my left ankle. That last tumble had me in a cast for 17 weeks and in physiotherapy for over 10 months. I realize the theme here and I’ll admit, I fall down a lot of stairs. I always have, but falling down at 22 years old and falling down at 42 years old apparently makes a difference and takes its toll. It might appear that I am a klutz, but it really isn’t so. I do have severe attention deficit though, and most of my falls happen when I am doing something else while I descend. The real trick is paying attention it seems. Go figure.

So after a few tears were shed, and ice and heat were applied diligently, after a nap, some Advil and a good night’s sleep, the ankle is tender and bruised, but otherwise okay. And I can’t tell you how unbelievably fantastic it feels. Even with a sore foot and a summer cold, I want to jump for joy. I don’t have a cast, I won’t need physio, and I won’t have to change my life around places you can travel in a scooter (and I don’t mean the cool kind that kiddies use either).

But then again, I think I’ll better eat a little better, get back to the gym, and start going to bed before midnight. Somehow I started to take my good health and well being for granted again. It took a small reminder, but I got it. Tuesday means back to school for the kids and back to healthy living for me.

Goodbye summer lover, September is here. Just like the August heat wave, the free for all eating, no exercise, not enough rest, and lazy days without writing are gone, and maybe I should thank my lucky stars for it.

 

 
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