Query Funk

This morning Aaron drove down to Best Buy for the third time. This time he came home with an external hard drive with all our files on it. Yes, all our files. Pictures, lesson plans, and (yippee!) my novels.

The Geek Squad did it. They couldn't fix our computer. They still don't quite know what's wrong with it, but they did save our files (after a false start or two). And at this point, that's all I care about. Thank you Geek Squad!

So, now I'm able to query again. I sent one off right away this afternoon. The one I wanted to send in response to that honorable mention which seems like years and years ago, but was really only back in April.

I'm still waiting for the query funk to seize me like it had the tendency to do in China. Weird, crazy query funk. The this-is-going-to-go-nowhere-so-don't-get-your-hopes-up mind game and all the obsessive checking of email inboxes that goes with it. That's all part of query funk.

Hopefully I'm too busy to give in to query funk. Hopefully it's too beautiful outside, the air too clean, the swimming pool too beguiling. Hopefully my kids are too cute and my husband too wonderful.

Hopefully I can just work away on my WIP and not think too much about the queries I send out. Not fret too much about the rejections.

Hopefully I can keep my head screwed on straight so I can keep this all in perspective. Getting a book published is not all there is to life. Far from it. I can give it my best, do what I can with the gifts I have, and then I have to let it go.

Begone, query funk.

Can any of you writers out there relate?

American Things

We've been busy doing American things this past week.

(1) Garage Sales

On Saturday we contributed some of our stuff (that had been sitting in storage for eight years) to Aaron's sister-in-law's garage sale. Garage sales seem so very American to me. I mean, what other culture is so pull-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps-focused that they would slave away for two days straight to make sixty-five dollars?

Garage sales really are a huge undertaking. Not only do you have to pull out all this old junk and go through it, but you've gotta slap price stickers on everything too! And you've gotta try to make it look nice on tables. Which isn't always easy.

Actually, now that I've written it, sixty-five dollars is starting to sound like quite a lot of money. I mean, that's over four-hundred RMB. In China, that's what some people make in a month. Gosh, some people probably make that much in six months! I guess it's more like, in what other culture would the average family have so much nice stuff that other people would actually be willing to pay real money for the cast offs?

(2) Swimming Lessons

Today Olivia, Gabe, and Anna started swimming lessons at the pool across the street. Yes, swimming lessons. Such a very western thing to do. Actually, I do remember hearing that they offered swimming lessons at a pool near us in China. But in that case every session was two- hours long, instead of the half-hour they are here. I couldn't really see my children lasting for a structured two hours in the pool.

(3) Gymnastics

My three oldest have also started gymnastics. See, I don't waste any time. We're getting Anna ready for the 2020 Olympics.

I know they have an excellent gymnastics team in China, but for some reason we couldn't get a hold of the right coaches to have her enrolled in the live-in training program for three year olds.

Plus, I don't think her legs are straight enough for Chinese gymnastics. Unfortunately, she's slightly knock-kneed. Instant rejection with that. It's true. My mom saw it on a documentary.

(4) Tee Ball

I didn't want to overwhelm my culture-shocked children with summer activities, so I did not enroll them in tee ball. However, we did attend a rousing tee ball game, in which their cousin Grace hit two home runs.

(5) Mini-van Outings

Aaron just took all four children out in the mini-van. They're heading to the American icon, McDonalds. For ice-cream cones.

Ironically, going to McDonalds for ice-cream cones was something we did all the time in China. It's the mini-van that makes the experience so very American. And the car seats that the children have to sit in while they're riding in the mini-van.

Goodbye bike piled high with seatbeltless children! We're back in the land of the free!

Making Adjustments

Moving back to America after eight years in China has meant making adjustments. Strange, small adjustments.

Here are a few that spring to mind:

(1) Relearning how to start a lawn mower

(2) Remembering that I have to leave my cup of drinking water sitting out for at least half an hour to warm up (Americans drink such stinkin' cold water! It can't be good for your health. *grin*)

(3) Remembering that I can actually swallow sink water after I brush my teeth. Amazing.

(4) Relearning how to parallel park (When I took my driving test as a 20-year-old college student, I aced the parallel parking section. But after years of disuse I find myself avoiding situations where I may need to parallel park, which is really ridiculous and could be called "living in fear.")

(5) Learning how to operate an American gas self-lighting stove. (Scary. It just, like, comes on. All by itself. But, of course, not as scary as lighting a Chinese gas oven. Va-VOOM!)

(6) Remembering that people in line at the supermarket can more often than not understand what you're saying about them if you decide to comment on their appearances out loud

(7) Remembering that it's okay to leave your shoes on when you walk into a house

(8) Remembering that two dollars is about thirteen kuai, which is actually quite a lot of money ... in China

(9) (This is a small town thing.) Remembering that if you pass someone on the sidewalk you say hi to them, whether you know them or not

(10) Realizing what it's like to sit on the grass with your back against a tree trunk, letting the wind rock your baby in a swing, letting your eyes rest on the blond hills and cobalt sky. No jack hammers, no dust. Just. Peace.

Michael Jackson is Dead

How very strange that I should have emotions about his passing. But when we came home today from our Best Buy trip, the television was on, and there was the news: Michael Jackson is dead.

And I thought about the fact that my sister's first purchased cassette tape was one of Michael Jackson's. Was it Thriller or Bad, Michelle? Help me remember.

I remember how we took this Michael Jackson cassette tape to our very conservative Christian friends' house in California. Michelle thought they might want to listen to it with us. I mean, how seriously cool that we had "rock" music to listen to. And then it turned out that our ultra-conservative friends weren't even allowed to use the tempo button on their electronic keyboard. Uh, okay. Slide that Michael Jackson tape back in the suitcase and leave it there.

Michael Jackson is the first of the pop icons I grew up with to die.

Usually my parents are the ones who know who the recently-dead famous people are. Like, we'll be watching the news together and somebody's picture will pop up on the screen and they'll say, "Oh, really? He died?"

I'll say, "Who's he?"

And they'll explain. I almost always need an explanation for the recently-dead famous people.

But with Michael Jackson I needed no explanation. Michael Jackson was the first person of whom I've thought, "Oh man, I listened to him!"

Weird.

Bring On the Geek Squad

Wow. Thanks to everyone, especially on Facebook, who read my recent blog entry about our computer woes and encouraged me that my manuscripts are probably NOT lost forever.

So, the converter arrived. Aaron hauled it up to the loft where we had the computer tower. It wasn't long before I heard him Christian-cursing. Words like, "shoot" and "dang" started floating down from the loft.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Bad news," he said. "The plug for the computer is the wrong shape."

Now it was my turn to Christian-curse.

Well, he called the Radio Shack store a couple towns away to find out if they had the international plug we were looking for. They did! Things were looking up! So, Aaron drove over and bought it, brought it home, plugged it in.

Meanwhile, I was sitting around daydreaming about what I was going to do when I got my manuscripts back in my hot little hands. Visions of querying, editing, second-drafting danced in my head.

Too soon.

"It's still not powering up," came Aaron's voice from the loft.

"Dang nab it!" I said. "What now?"

Geek Squad.

Yes, we called in the Geek Squad.

For those of you international patrons of this blog who may not be familiar, the Geek Squad is a self-proclaimed group of nerdy men and women that work at a electronics store in the United States called Best Buy. They wear white shirts and black ties, and sometimes (if you're lucky) pocket protectors and thick glasses. They're called the Geek Squad, not because they always look geeky, but because they know how to fix computers. I hope.

I talked Aaron into going with me TODAY to the Best Buy store. The Geek Squad representative tried to boot the thing up, but it still wouldn't work. He wasn't sure what was wrong, so we had to check our baby in. And pay more money to have a backup made of all our files. No problem. At this point, money is no object. I mean, we're talking about thousands of hours of work between the two adults in the family, not to mention all my children's pictures from their entire lives. This is priceless stuff here. I was happy to slap down that $90 to make the backup copy.

But for now, we wait, hopeful that all is not lost; thankful that there are people in the world like the Geek Squad members, who sacrificed their "coolness" to learn a whole heck of a lot about computers. At least, that's what we're counting on.

Waiting to Feel Full

Food.

Since I've returned to the United States, I've been eating. A lot.

And drinking Dr. Pepper. Too much Dr. Pepper.

Aaron said that when we moved back to the States we wouldn't eat as much as we do when we're just visiting, because we'll know that we're staying and it won't feel like such a rush to squeeze all the delicious stuff in.

Okay, so I'm waiting for that to happen. I'm waiting for us to stop eating like this is our last meal on earth.

Tonight we're having Burr Field's famous ribs with rosemary roasted potatoes, french bread and salad. Mmm.

The other day at my Aunt Sandi's house we had steak shish kabob with marinated mushrooms and sweet corn-on-the-cob, and apple pie, strawberry shortcake, and hot fudge sundaes for dessert. Mmm, mmm.

And did I mention I've been drinking way too much Dr. Pepper? Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Maybe after the novelty wears off, after we've eaten enough Burger Ranch, Dreyer's cookie dough ice cream, and Taco Wagon, we'll settle into a routine. There will come a time when Burger King and Taco Bell will sound more greasy than good. We'll settle for our staples again: chicken broccoli casserole, chicken broccoli casserole, and chicken broccoli casserole.

Right now, to be honest, the thought of eating chicken broccoli casserole sounds about like eating a plateful of fried worms. Blah.

But we'll get there. We'll get to where a bin full of avacados at the grocery store is "normal." Either that or I'll be weighing three hundred pounds the next time you see me.

Should Have

Yes, I should have backed them up.

I remember thinking several times before we packed the computer: "I need to back them up."

But the action of backing them up never actually happened.

Which is why I'm sitting here, going on ten days of being back in the United States, not sure if I'll ever see any of the manuscripts I've been working on for the last several years again.

It's been almost a week since Aaron told me the computer guy couldn't switch our computer over to American voltage. Now we're waiting for a converter to arrive. We're still hoping for the best. There's no reason to despair... yet.

But as June fades into July, I wonder why I didn't just back them up. Or email them to myself, at least. Would that have been so hard? It would've taken ten minutes. Ten. Minutes.

All that pales in comparison when I think about all my children's pictures that we won't have if our computer simply won't work. Not to mention that all of Aaron's lesson plans and power points from the last eight years in China are also on that computer.

I'm preparing myself for the worst. I grieved over my fledgling books, for my children's photographs, and for all the hours my husband has poured into his work. I sat at the kitchen table and cried when I first heard our computer wouldn't turn on.

Maybe rewriting them won't be so bad. Some writers do that on purpose: start completely from scratch again and again and again until they get it exactly right. I wasn't planning to do things that way, but I may not have a choice.

Maybe I'll look back on this someday and say it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Maybe.

Or maybe our converter will arrive and I'll be back in Queryland tomorrow. Maybe.

I'll keep you posted.

Heaven in Reverse

Eight a.m. Saturday morning.

The van is loaded, ready. We had about ten guys show us to help move our fifteen pieces of luggage down the steps and out to the curb.

I already cried my way down the stairs from our apartment, walked out to the road. I hugged all my friends. Once. Twice. Dani-Beth had Sophie for me so I could hug everyone. Just one more time. I knew we were running late, but just one more time.

As I climbed the stairs of the bus, Ayi was crying and saying something about "peace." We were both blubbering so much, I couldn't make out exactly what she was saying. "You'll come back," I heard her say. "Come back so I can see the children again."

That was just her way of coping, I know. I nodded my head and said, "Yes, yes," not sure if I was lying to her or not.

As the bus pulled away from the curb, there was a moment I will never forget. Heaven in reverse. Everyone standing there on the curb, waving. I looked at each precious face, tried to hold each of their features in my memory. It struck me that this is what heaven will be like, but next time I'll be coming. Friends, family will all be standing there, waving as I approach, welcoming me in.

And we'll never say goodbye again.

Provision

Eleven o'clock Friday night. We're leaving China in the morning. The living room is filled with boxes and suitcases. Fourteen at last count. We've spent most of the afternoon repacking because after borrowing a bathroom scale from a friend we found that all our suitcases were overweight.

And now we've run out of packing tape.

"What should we do?" I say, staring at several repacked boxes, full but still gaping open.

Not to mention that the sofa is covered from one arm to the other two feet deep in clothes and children's books. Yes, clothes and children's books we still need (want) to pack.

One solitary, empty backpack sits in the middle of the living room floor. One solitary, empty backpack that has to fit all these clothes and children's books we still need to pack.

I look at the sofa. I look at the miniscule backpack in the middle of the floor. I look at the boxes, packed full, still unsealed.

"What are we going to do?" I say.

Aaron looks blank.

I sigh. "I guess I'll go out to the Hao Hao store and see if they sell packing tape."

I need a walk; I need a break from this crazy house and all these piles. Hao Hao is the only store in the neighborhood that stays open 24 hours. I have no idea if they sell packing tape.

I walk through the night, cool on my skin. My last night in China. I try not to think about that. I'm still in denial. But my mind won't stop working ... last time down this path ... last time leaving this gate.... Trying to wrap my brain around all of that.

At the store, I check the only non-food aisle. Paper underwear, soap, toothpaste, towels, and toilet paper. No packing tape.

I buy a few snacks for tomorrow's trip, stand in a line that's not really a line; more of a jumble. My mind is humming. "What are we going to do without packing tape?"

Then I see James, one of the guys on our team. I wonder why in the world he's at the Hao Hao store at the eleven o'clock at night. We make small talk. He just came back for the weekend from Beijing where he's taking a master's course.

I tell him my woes: "We're leaving tomorrow for America and we're out of packing tape."

James tells me how sorry he is and then he leaves.

When I finish my purchase and leave the store, I find he's waiting outside.

"You know, I have some packing tape at home you could use," he says.

"Really?" My eyes widen. "That would be awesome."

We walk back towards our housing complex. I find out that James is from Minnesota, that he teaches sixth grade ELAP. I guess I've never really talked to him before. When we reach his building, I wait outside. He's on the first floor. I hear him in the hallway, rummaging through is bag.

"I can't find my keys," he calls.

"What?"

"I think I must've left my keys in Beijing."

"Great," I think. "There goes my packing tape."

"Well," I say, "you're welcome to crash on our sofa if you need to...." Then I remember our sofa, buried in stuff, and wonder how that invitation is going to work.

"I'll go upstairs and see if Grace is awake," James says. "She has a spare key."

I hear him climb the stairs. Then I hear him pounding on Grace's door. "Grace! Grace!" No answer. I'm beginning to think I may really have to put this guy up on my sofa tonight. How in the world are we going to finish packing with someone trying to sleep on our sofa?

But then, lo and behold, I hear the door creak open and Grace's voice in the stairwell. Grace is home!

James gets his spare keys; I get my hands on that precious packing tape. James gets to sleep in his own bed tonight; I get to keep packing.

With a thankful heart, I head home, climb those six flights of stairs for the last time ... and open my front door.

The first thing I notice is the empty sofa. "Where's all the stuff?"

"In the backpack," Aaron replies.

I look at that itty-bitty backpack. "Are you serious? How'd you get it all in there?"

Aaron looks just as shocked as I feel. "I just packed it and it all went in. I kept thinking, 'There is no way this stuff is all going to fit in here,' but as I put stuff in it just all seemed to disappear."

I smile. Then, I laugh. "You know, I'm not worried about this trip anymore."

"Why?" Aaron asks.

I look down at my packing tape. Such a simple thing, but so important. "Because it's obvious that Someone's looking after us."

WIP Wednesday: Happily Ever After

This is my last blog post from China. *Gulp.*

Tomorrow our Mac book is going back to school. Forever. And I will be blogless until we arrive in Prosser, Washington on Saturday afternoon Pacific time.

Crazy.

I didn't accomplish much of anything writing-wise this week. Too busy packing and sorting and discarding (and snarling out my frustration at having so much stuff!).

But I did make a decision. Even though I was too busy to sit down at the computer to write or edit my novel, I had plenty of time to think.

And I decided this: There's nothing wrong with a happy ending.

Absolutely nothing wrong with a happy ending.

So, I switched my alternate ending back to the original ending. I went from unhappy, horrifying alternate ending to happy, filled-with-hope original ending.

I'll see if the queries turn up anything when I get back to the States. If they don't, I'll keep working on my Valentine's Day novel (that still doesn't have a title). After all, according to Agent Janet Reid, you shouldn't even attempt to publish the first novel you write. She may be onto something with that advice....

I've come to the realization that at some point I need to stop messing with novel number one. All the tinkering in the world may not make it marketable. Only time and lots of queries will tell.

Returning

Maybe the sky was crying
Seeing a little girl
Returning to the place
Where her birth mother
Last held her tiny hand.

All I know is,
It doesn't rain like it did yesterday
In Tianjin very much.
Raindrops slamming down
Onto the sidewalk,
Soaking the hems of our jeans.

That place,
Safe to leave a baby,
A place filled with military men,
Where she was sure to be found.
A building, not imposing, but simple,
Yet secure.

Policemen looked, but could not find them.
They'd disappeared into the city,
Maybe back into the countryside, even,
Her birth parents--
"Mama, Baba."
People she would never know.

I wonder, if they drive past this building,
If they walk this sidewalk,
Under these trees,
Under this weeping sky,
If they look and regret, that fragile day in August
Eight years ago?

Was she crying when they left her?
Did she know they were leaving
Instinctively?
Did she feel how much they loved her,
Taking her where she could be found?

Did her mother breathe, "Baby mine,
You will find a new home,
With hope and a future
That we cannot give...."

How that mother's heart must have
Wretched
Walking away,
How the tears must have spilled hot--
How she must have struggled to breathe.
Nine months and a painful ordeal
For this.

Returning home
Arms empty.

Our driver and his wife,
and their five-year-old son,
In the front two seats,
Their skin dark like our daughter's.
I look at them and think
People like them....

And wonder what they think
Of us standing in the rain,
Snapping pictures in front of this
Simple building.

People like them....
"Maybe your birth parents were
From the countryside," I say,
Sitting in KFC
Over chicken nuggets,
"Like our driver and his wife."

"Mommy, you're making me think
They are my parents," she says.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean
To make you think that."

"But you did," she says.

I hold her hand as we walk down the stairs,
To the road where the van waits,
To our driver and his wife
And their round-eyed boy.

Rain slices through the humid air,
Hammering against the van windows,
As my daughter,
Her hair flecked with water,
Snuggles deep into my arms.

Good Grief!

Today was the last day of school.

I shed tears at the bus stop this morning, and not because I woke up with Richard Marx hair (which I did). It was my last day at the bus stop with my kids, hanging out with all the other moms (and brave dads who aren't ashamed to join in the "mom conversations" that inevitably happen), and waving as my children pulled away from the curb in their school buses.

I was coping until my friend Rachel said, "Well, this will be my last time at the bus stop." She's moving down the road to a different housing complex, so her bus stop will be different next year.

No sooner had I given her a hug than I felt the gunk rising in my throat, the tears stinging my eyes, and thought, "Oh boy, here we go."

The beginning of grief.

I looked around at all my friends -- some of my best friends in the world! I hugged a few of them and let myself cry.

My friend Kristen commented on how different people grieve. Some get it all out of the way beforehand; others, as they're saying their final goodbyes; still others, after the vehicle pulls away and friends are out of sight.... "And some," I thought, "grieve the whole time."

That's going to be me. I hope I don't fell a rain forest with all the tissues I'm going to have to use.

Thinking about grieving for my left-behind life in China started me thinking about all the things I'm going to miss :

My friends
My kids' friends
My ayi
My stairs (built-in work out)
Our international fellowship (a.k.a. church)
Tianjin International School (what a great place for my kids to attend, not to mention a wonderful work environment for my husband!)
Karaoke with my friends
Chinese food delivery
Street food (especially that pork sandwich thing with the spicy green peppers)
Traveling to Hong Kong
Fresh pineapples
Riding bikes
The unpredictability of life

... and some things I won't miss so much:

Answering the same set of questions over and over and over again
Watching the poop spin in the toilet but not flush down
Piddling water pressure
My stairs (it's a love/hate relationship)
Being dishwasherless
Being clothes dryerless
Having to dust every day
Permadirt on my son's knees
Being perpetually scolded by elderly, well-meaning strangers
Finding things I've looked for stuffed in strange places in my house because my ayi was "cleaning up"
The lack of breakfast cereal
Dust allergies

... and some things I'm scared spitless about:

Forgetting all my Chinese
My children being stolen (America's a dangerous place! ... compared with China)
My children being rude and loud in restaurants
My children learning bad words in school
Mortgage payments
Being a nobody

Feel like encouraging me as I move across the ocean? I'd welcome any comments that start with, "Don't worry, Amy, it's not that bad!"

WIP Wednesday: Alternate Ending

I actually accomplished something this week, amazingly enough.

I wrote the alternate ending to my Up Lantau Running book. It was the new ending I was contemplating last week.

Not only that, I edited my alternate ending. And I posted my alternate ending on my critique group's site for further editing.

So, if my critique group doesn't dissect my new ending into tiny pieces, then I should be ready to start querying again (with my new beginning and new ending) when I get back to America. Yippee!

But that's not the whole story.

My husband, Aaron, doesn't usually read what I write. I mean, he does occasionally, but not a lot. I know some aspiring writers and their spouses are writing teams. Everything that's written goes under the husband or wife's telescope first, even before it hits the desk of the critique group.

My husband and I have never worked that way. Maybe because he's a science teacher; maybe because he's busy; maybe because he and I just have a lot of other things in common that we do instead of sitting around reading my writing; maybe because we're raising four children at the moment, which drastically cuts down on our spare time.

Whatever the reason, I'm used to having my writing be something separate. I can talk to Aaron about it -- he's a great listener -- but mostly it's my own personal thing.

This time, though, was different. I wrote the alternate ending and I asked him to read it. And he read it.

Right after he read it, he gave me feedback. He told me where he was confused, how it made him feel. He encouraged me, but he didn't rave about it or start dancing around the room (he's not really that kind of guy anyway ... and I'm glad, because if there were two of us like that we'd be living in perpetual circus-mode).

Today, thinking about my alternate ending, even though it was tough to write because it was tough subject matter, makes me feel light and happy. Because my favorite person in the world read it and helped make it better.

So, I really did accomplish something this week. And I had great help, too. Maybe this is the start of something good.

Wow, thanks!

I guess my shameless self-promotion actually worked because I came in second in the Query Tracker contest for purple prose. (You can click on that link to see proof!)

Thanks to everyone who voted for me!

It's actually kind of funny, because I really have no idea who reads this blog. I've been wondering lately if the fact that I posted something here really made a difference or not. I mean, how many fellow writers actually read my ramblings? Because if you're not a fellow writer, then you probably don't have a Query Tracker account. (Unless, of course, you're my beloved aunt who apparently signed up for a Query Tracker account just so she could vote for my purple prose. Thank you, Aunt Sandi!)

And that leads me to another perhaps more disturbing question: why did writing purple prose come so easily to me? Does it come this easily to every aspiring writer? Are we really all naturals at writing over-the-top, long-winded, ridiculous sentences with tons of adverbs, adjectives, and figures of speech?

This makes me think the real work of writing comes in after you've vomited all that purple up on paper. Then you have to kind of sift through the muck to pick out the good stuff.

Yum.

Any thoughts?