Breaking Sad

The seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks, have now pushed measuring our grief in months.  He was here, existing, living, laughing, and an actual person that was really important in my life...and suddenly he was gone.

You can't help but cringe at the words mashed together with good intentions (probably similar to the dreaded turnip casserole that shows up uninvited at holiday dinner tables) - partly because you said it to other people who suffered losses, but now you realize how the hollow words echo in their unintended emptiness - "You have to move on" or "Your dad wouldn't want you to be sad" or "It'll get easier."  Of course they are spoken with genuine kindness behind them (and thank you for them) - but I think I would prefer words of wisdom like: "Drink an extra glass of wine" or "Eat your weight in chocolate" or even the simple, perversely encouraging, "Life sucks."

 To quote Dave Matthews, "The space between the tears we cry, is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more."  I like that.  I like it because it's true.  The love, laughter, the friends and family make it (it being the sucky parts of life that we'd rather not deal with) worthwhile.  There is more joy in my life than sorrow.  But (and it's a big but - not "butt" in case you were reading this and immediately your mind flew to my behind) my dad's journey from life, into Heaven, has left a ragged, gaping hole that hurts to peer into. You can't help but squint deeply into the void and hope that eventually, when I look into that darkness, a memory that makes me smile flits through it.  

So, that is my plan to 'Break Sad.'  I will keep schlecking (made up this word because I felt like it) good memories of my dad into that pit, until it is full to the brim of the blessings he brought me and my family.  So when my breath gets snagged on a reminder of him, Steven Butler, that triggers an ache in my chest, I can smile instead of swiping at the tears.

So, I am expecting my next post to be a light-hearted time-waster...or time-filler if you're really bored....or, if you wanted to really boost my spirits - you could refer to the next posting as completely uplifting, motivating, and so deeply thoughtful that after reading it your heart and mind grew 2 sizes larger.  (You could say 3 sizes to really be kind...too much?)

I can't believe it but...writing this has actually made me feel a bit better.  

 

Thank you readers, and especially KS for your constant encouragement,

 

 

Hug your dads and moms, folks,

 

Kathy Pettit :)

The Best Ever Eulogy...For The Best Ever Dad

The following, I wrote for my dad.  On September 5th, at 10:54pm, at the young age of 56, he passed away from his battle with lung cancer, 5 months after diagnosis.  I read it at his funeral...which was difficult...but important to me to do for him. 

 

 

For those that don’t know me, I am Steve Butler’s absolute favourite (and, to be totally transparent, his only) daughter, Kathy Pettit.  This is my husband Peter. 

On behalf of my stepmom, Judy, and my brother, Jeff and his wife Angela, and our children we’d like to thank you for coming to celebrate Steve’s life.  Please join us after the service for a reception, where we will be serving some of our dad’s favourite food, so we encourage you to mingle, laugh, eat pizza and share memories with us.  A special shout-out to the Kraus Crew for wearing their funky vests in honour of my dad.  You should all know – no animals were harmed in the making of those vests! 

The “Best Ever” Eulogy 

Listening to this is going to be very difficult for my dad.  He was a man who hardly ever stopped talking –-- and thought he always had the last word –-- unless it was another Butler in the conversation – and then it became more of a contest of who ran out of hot air first.  It was like his hand was custom built to hold that cordless phone and yak for hours on end.  

Like any story worth telling, his included a strong, likeable main character and an interesting cast of misfits who kept him company along the way.  The plot thickened and thinned, not unlike his midsection, though the theme has remained constant throughout.   

I’m going to start at the end, because we all know how it ended.   

Cancer came from that place called left field.  Not being very sports-savvy, I assume this “left-field” just randomly throws balls, surprises – or even the occasional baby “Kathy” – at unsuspecting individuals.   Like a sudden summer storm, it caught us off guard, and drenched us in tears instead of rain. The news was grim.  The catscan even bleaker.  He did interrupt to ask if they could arrange his treatment schedule around his work as he really didn’t want the cancer to affect his role at Kraus Flooring.  The poor doctor looked quite puzzled,  as most normal people would be relieved to be off work while they fought this ugly disease.  Not dad.  He loved his job and the people at Kraus – and he was a really loyal guy to the end.    

Because my dad did such a good job looking after me for all those years, it was now my chance to return the favour. Dad made it simple because his relationship with my husband was such an easy-going and friendly one;  Peter readily agreed to make room for he and Judy in our family home.  They were excited at the prospect – though it was difficult for them to give up their home and most of their possessions.  When dad referred to their new home as “living in our garage” – I repeatedly corrected him with the word “suite.”  I was worried that when he described his new home to people they would think he and Judy were tucked in at night on a workbench, next to winter tires and toboggans.  If you’ve been to our home, you know that’s not the case. 

In some ways, it was just like old times – except this time around I didn’t need to borrow his Geo Metro OR persuade him to grant me permission to stay out later than usual!  Peter has often said, if you’re going to have anyone move in with you – Steve would be the guy.  He was so laid back, and unassuming – but you guys already know all of that.  And when Jeff and his family stopped by, it really got silly, like we were all kids again.   

Having grandma and grandpa in the house has also been a whole new adventure for our kids.  Like me, they adored my dad’s sense of humour and silliness.  And I get it – and seeing him through their eyes reminded me of my own time with him as a kid. 

Growing up, dad was the one I leaned on, cried to, hugged, laughed at - and with, the one I vented to, nagged at, lectured, and occasionally even listened to.  In a time when men weren’t the primary caregivers of their children – he was there.  Solid, warm and reliable (except for that one time he didn’t make it home – and living in the same apartment complex as many other family members, I ran upstairs and told my grandma on him – and boy did he get into big trouble from his mama!).  I remember with great fondness the days of Dad, Jeff and I just sitting around watching old re-runs of Star Trek and debating loudly if The Next Generation was a better rendition of the series, or whether Captain Kirk or Jean-Luc Picard made a better leader  –  we always enjoyed being around each other and I will miss that hilarious banter. Although we didn’t have much growing up in terms of things, we had him – and that was enough.  

Steve Butler set the bar incredibly high on what it means to be a good parent. 

My dad taught me how to stay positive in difficult situations and how to always make the best of things, and I have yet to meet a more optimistic individual.  It is this attitude that I probably admire the most.  From the moment he was diagnosed, he almost seemed ok with it.  He wasn’t interested in listening to numbers or bad news or statistics.  Dad just chose to live like he normally did, eating the same, cold Chef Boyardee out of the can for breakfast (I’m going to insert here that I would not recommend this for the feint-hearted). Peter and I would often wake up to the smell of bean and beef burritos at 6 am, part of his typical Hungryman frozen dinner breakfast (sorry Dad, you couldn’t convince us that they were a suitable substitute for toast and jam). But they were the “best he’s ever had” he would tell us, a claim that Dad kindly made about pretty much any food item that was placed on a plate in front of him.  He’d give that look, and rave about it being the best ever.  Dad would have been the PERFECT inspiration for a Seinfeld character – “The Best Ever Guy.”   

And his positive attitude continued even through treatments.  Dad would literally go out shopping right after chemotherapy, or take the kids for a walk on his scooter.  I was forever nagging him to stay home so he wouldn’t get sick – to which he would reply “I’m dying – I’m ok – stop worrying.”  His treatments were just a pause in his day.  He would often announce to us he didn’t feel like he had cancer.  And because of that, he didn’t act like he had it. 

Unless it was convenient, of course.   

On a warm Saturday morning, he and I took the kids garage-saling in the neighbourhood, he on his scooter, the kids and I walking.  Along the way, we decided to stop by a friend’s house. Into the backyard we went, at 9am, and Jeremy, who had kindly adopted my dad as a friend, offered him a beer.  To which I pointed out, “Dad can’t drink - he’s on too many meds and it’s 9am.”  Dad looked at me squarely and said, “I’ve got cancer.  What’s a beer gonna do – kill me?” 

Rarely did we hear my dad complain about treatments or symptoms.  He didn’t feel sorry for himself, he didn’t mope; he simply lived while he could.  I don’t know if I would have that same strength given the circumstances.   

My dad actually said to me, and I’m quoting, “I think in some ways the cancer is a blessing.”  I remember looking at him with some annoyance, my brow furrowed, and asked, “How could cancer possibly be a blessing dad?!”  His answer, which was SO my dad, made me realize how silver-lining-dwelling he really was, “Because I get to move in with my daughter and spend time with her family and my grandkids, retire, and also see my son and his family more often.”  I had no response.  What do you say to that?  What do you say to a man who is able to find a blessing, even in his dying?  For once, I was speechless (and Peter can attest that this is a rare and note-worthy event – again – because I am a Butler). 

On Friday, my aching heart was quieted by the number of visitors who came to see my dad, or offered their support through phone calls, texts or hugs, meals, flowers or prayers. The outpouring is truly humbling.  I KNOW I am blessed, even admidst the sadness. I have no shouldas, wouldas, or couldas when it comes to my dad.  Only dids.  There was nothing left unsaid between us and that is such a comfort that not everyone is fortunate to have.  And so Jeff, Judy and I walked him as far into his journey into Heaven as we could go, letting go of his hand when we could go no further.   

What has reinforced his inherent goodness and likeable nature was the number of calls and visits where I have consoled the individuals offering sympathy.  That was just the kind of guy he was – and what I love most about my dad.  You had to have loved him in order to lose him, and in losing him you realize just how much you loved him. 

A.A. Milne once wrote, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” To all of us here who are full of tears and sorrow, please remember that it is BECAUSE of how much my dad meant us, and for all the JOY that he brought into our hearts --- that we weep. For this we must be thankful.   

The people we love never truly leave us.  Dad is just at a different vantage point, now.  And I have to smile, thinking that his grandkids have the goofiest guardian angel watching over them.   

I encourage you to smile when you remember Steve, my dad, your husband, your brother,        your uncle, your grampa, your friend – because when he was with us that was what HE did BEST.  Make us smile…

 

I can't believe it but...my dad made me so proud of his strength...and attitude...and I didn't think it was possible to love him anymore.  But I do.

 

Tell your family you love them,

 

Kathy Pettit

Canned Meat...What is Happening at my House?!

You know I love you - because this tidbit about what I served my family should be completely (and understandably) top secret!  I have an overall disdain for canned, processed meat - with the exception of an occasional can of tuna.  The thought of a gelatinous blob of meat, where you can't be certain of the origins or even prove that it's the critter it states on the label, normally keeps me far away from the stuff.  But I was intrigued by the concept of pulled pork, looking like it had been simmering all the day long.

I spent about $11 on the can...and when I got home I opened it with an underlying sense of doom.  What sort of protein would be bobbing around in the huge can - and more importantly would it make me wretch in disgust?  I peeked inside and found broth with a whole roast inside.  The ingredients were all natural - with no MSG or artificial ingredients - which is a good thing!  Using monster tongs, I pulled it out and slid the lump into my stovetop dutch oven and inspected it.  The chunk looked like a pork roast, smelled like a pork roast...but I was still highly suspicious.  I grabbed two forks and prodded at it, and to my surprise it pulled apart - just like the roast I make from scratch.  (I say 'just like' - but you know what I mean!).  I shredded it and poured in our favourite bottled sauce - seen in the pic above - and simmered it on low for about 15 minutes until Hubby walked through the door.  It smelled good, so I hid the can - wondering if he would notice.

In he walked, fresh crusty buns in hand, commenting on the yummy smell permeating the main floor.  Trying to act natural, I double checked the can was well-hidden and ushered him into the dining room along with our three hooligans.  Before serving I nervously tried a small bite...it was good!  Like really good!  I could not tell that I was eating canned meat at all!

After he finished polishing off two buns slopped with heaping mounds of BBQ-y pulled pork, I dragged him into the kitchen to show him the can.  He was surprised...but admitted it was good.

So - I'm putting a few cans in my pantry for those times when I need to whip up a quick meal for an unexpected crowd.  And I would hazard a guess that they'll never know what hit 'em!  Unless of course they read my blog!  If they have no idea then the truth about who reads my blog will become glaringly obvious :) 

I can't believe it but...I actually ate canned meat and lived to tell the tale!

Happy Canned-Meat Eating!

Kathy Pettit

Kindly Refrain From Getting Lost

Are you lost?  Don't be.  Step forward, straighten up those lovely shoulders and BE who you are.  Finding yourself is way overrated!  Creating yourself, however, is way more fun - and less stressful!  I mean, what if you kept looking for your little old self aimlessly and never, ever found it?  The last thing you want is to be sitting in your rocker, your white hair gleaming in the sun, shaking your fist at the air regretting you never found you.  (Psst....I've got a secret little old self in rocker - I found you - you're in the rocker!  Revel in being you!) 

We all work hard to carve out a small niche in this world that we can lay claim to do.  We do it with the people we surround ourselves with, the home we warm with our presence, and the difference we make in the lives of those around us.  I'm no artist - but to think of the possibilities available through CREATING myself kinda makes me excited.  I mean I could be really great.  Not just regular great.  REALLY great!  And I hate being lost.  I have no sense of direction (DD and hubby - no giggling!) and have a tendency to get muddled quite easily.  If I tried to go "and find myself" I could be gone for a very long time!!  Finding myself sounds like way more work than just creating me. 

Now, read this next part in a whispery voice in your head so as not to alert the 'establishment' (I have no idea what people are referring to when they talk about the 'establishment - but it sounds impressive!): I may say I am going to find myself...because I need some peace and quiet.  It's a lie.  But I flash my creative licensing card to take full advantage.  AND if I get 'lost' on the way - you can rest assured it was at cozy coffee joint or at a small bistro serving crisp glasses of white wine (maybe with a good friend).  But that kind of lost just helps the creative process along.  It takes time to make a masterpiece!

Love yourself, friends.  You are each a work of art.

I can't believe it but...I hope I haven't alerted the 'establishment'! 

Happy creating,

Kathy Pettit :)

A Place for Everything...and Everything Not in its Place

I'd like to start by pointing out (much to the dismay of myself and hubby) that this is NOT an image of our woodpile.  This is like a work of art, not like the lumpy, clumpy jumble that we have stacked for the impending cold weather. 

But when I saw this image it got me thinking about order and the lack of it that seems to have invaded my cupboards, storage areas and my life in general.  It snuck in like an autumn leaf on the bottom of an unsuspecting shoe.  My sense of order has been infected with a lack of time, resources and (if I'm completely honest) shortage of good old-fashioned gumption! 

My linen closet has become an incestuous mix of towels AND bedding on the same shelves (oh!  The shame and horror!), our garage looks much like a before ad on a Canadian Tire commercial, and my normally well-organized Christmas storage room (yes, that is another blog for another day - I have a storage room devoted entirely to the Christmas season...everyone has a weakness - right?!) looks like a preview for the show Hoarders!  Which I'm not (with that one sticky exception of Christmas decorations...)!

When we had a smaller house - we were forced to keep ourselves organized.  Bigger house = more room for the accumulation of junk (minus the Christmas decorations - definitely not junk!) and more room to spread ourselves out.  This growth - combined with having our third hooligan child - is a recipe for chaos.  I had a discussion with my boss about how much life changes when the kids outnumber the parents.  My Martha Stewart died when Coconut came along...she shriveled up like a California Raisin.  I'm okay with that - because the truth is I don't really need to have crafts cluttering my space.  What I'm not okay with is the crazy way I have forgotten my neurotic organizing behaviour.  It disappeared.  And that darned behaviour took away my time when it ran away.

So if you happen to stop by and notice the scattered way I have piled up my serving bowls or you go to grab a towel and end up with a fitted sheet - don't judge.  Rather, offer to babysit my perfect angels which would give me the opportunity to have some "free" time to re-organize! 

A long weekend is fast-approaching - maybe I'll squeeze in some re-organizing time.  Or not....

I can't believe it but...I gave you peak inside my linen closet!

Kathy Pettit

 

Writing a Book is Like Building a Fence

Weird title.  I know.  But because recently I finished the second draft of my novel, and I ALSO just finished building a fence, I couldn't help but notice a few similarities between the two!   Yeah, yeah - I have an odd way of correlating random things - I know...

Firstly, the words and characters in my story lay in a jumbled heap in the centre of my tiny brain - not unlike the pile of wood delivered to my driveway.  The letters of said words begged to be woven into a tale that thrilled and enticed the reader - but it required thought, time and energy to make that happen.  There were no shortcuts or quick fixes...just ideas that had to be laid out in a specific way that made sense. A dose of patience and advice from friends and family who read my scribing came in handy, because it is difficult to be truly objective with your own work.

The fence also required some planning and measuring...and hard, sweaty work!  Luckily for us we have friends and family that are really handy and smart and awesome and reliable and freakin' cool (okay - going overboard - but they did a lot!!) so it made the task easier to accomplish!  While hubby and I knew what we wanted, we also are smart enough to know we needed serious help.   

Which brings me back to my story...having actually completed my book (hooray!!!) I entered the first few chapters into a large writers contest, assuming I wouldn't win (but, let's be honest - hoping!) but rather looking for some feedback that wasn't from people that would feel awkward being completely honest with me.  I know I can't do it alone - just like building the fence, I need help building a solid piece of writing.  Extra eyes finding potential errors, advice from experts that know what they're talking about - I'm not above asking for help!  I know my limitations and humble enough to admit them and to listen to other people's advice.  In fact, I truly appreciate it! 

Imagining what our fence would look like without the expertise of others causes me to giggle at the potential outcomes that could have been.  Thank God for my friends and family!  I also have to thank the judges who read my entry.  My report card included some very good ideas for getting my book ready for the publishing world.  Ideas that will really elevate my story to the next level.  (For those wondering - my scores were 70, 73 and 74% - which makes me feel like I am totally on the right track!)

So, layin' it out - I'm not perfect.  I know it.  I appreciate constructive criticism and suggestions that can help me better whatever it is I am working on.  Whether it is a fence, my novel, or a recipe that needs a little oomph - planning, friends, family and an open mind - will help me make it a success!

I can't believe it but...I'm like a sponge absorbing everyone else's expertise.  One day I may even be an expert at something!  (Now that's a funny thought!)

Happy building whatever the heck you're working on :)

Kathy Pettit

Distract the Guards – I’ll Book Us out of Here!

Costa Rican Sunrise, taken July 16, 2013

Raising three homemade monsters is, well, mind-numbing.  Don’t get me wrong – we love them dearly – and, well, go ahead and judge – we needed an escape from them!  Hubby has lost more than a few hairs from their antics and unfortunately, the occasional (ahem, okay, okay – I’ll be honest with you folks – the frequent) grey hair has made an unwelcomed appearance on my head.  The two of us looked forward to some uninterrupted time to look deep into each other’s eyes, and make wild, passionate love like we did when we were younger (apology to my family for flinging open the bedroom door without warning!).  And then, 10 minutes later (all me – no reflection on Peter!), we eagerly anticipated a shallow conversation about absolutely nothing without the presence of burps, farts, interjections about Barbie or Iron man or whining about a misbehaving sibling. 

So we planned a jailbreak and roped in some family with assurances that our kids are lovely, perfect and never a problem to keep guard of our most precious (and obnoxious) possessions.  The plan worked.  I wrote out the game plan in sidewalk chalk on the driveway of how it would work and we conned our captors (Peach, Pickle and Coconut) to give us a leave out of our asylum for 7 days on good behavior.

We like adventure – and good weather, yummy food, nice people, and beautiful surroundings – not too demanding, eh?!  There was only one answer to our quest – Costa Rica!  Lush green mountains, interesting wildlife, and the opportunity to do some really amazing things sold us. 

So we hugged our critters and left them in the care of people who love them very much…and we boarded a plane headed for paradise.  Details will follow, but know this – it was worth the tears spilled over missing their interruptions, their farts, burps and their request for a referee.  I cherished every moment with hubby – having real conversations like we used to, holding hands, laughing at the cast of characters we met along the way.  But the momma part of me still missed the pieces of her that lived, breathed and existed without her being near.  But for hubby and I – it was a blessed recharge to a busy life. 

I can’t believe it but…we had a jailbreak (cue AC/DC) and voluntarily returned!

Happy recharging your batteries,

Kathy Pettit

...And I Got a Cleavage Full of Gnats

This spring I have started biking to hold the 'oh-my-gosh-I'll-be-40-in-4-years!' at bay.  I do not want a saggy, pancake bottom.  Nor do I relish one day looking into the mirror and seeing the 'ladies' getting tucked into the waistband of my pants.  The list of issues for women when it comes to the ravages of time and gravity are endless, so I'll stop there - but I am fighting them every step of the way!

So, the last time I was on a bike was when I was in university.  I was nervous - I wondered, "Is riding bike - just like riding a bike?"  To be perfectly frank, I was worried I couldn't do it.  The great news is I am doing it - and I love it.  We started with 10km, and have built our way up to 20km - with a end of summer goal of 40km.  (Lofty, but I like a challenge!) 

Now, SW and I do the country roads, whizzing by farms and fields, trying not to get knocked over by the swoosh of big rigs.  And the muscle burn feels good.  There are days, however, that have their complications.  Take for instance - manure spreading time.  When you're sucking wind and desperate for oxygen, and the only air available is laden with the rich, uncomfortable flavour of cow dung - well, that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  Literally AND figuratively!  There is also the inevitable pain in your lady bits.  Invest in a good seat (like the Cadillac of seats!).  Tonight it was the attack of the gnats.  Swarms of gnats flying into your eyes, onto your arms, and for me - right into my cleavage.  (Truthfully, I gotta think that is a great way for them to die - but maybe I'm biased ;)) When I got home and peeled off my tank, there they were.  My ta-tas may have been responsible for the annihilation of entire families of gnats, for all I know.  There were a lot. 

I had my hot shower, and washed the tiny carcasses away, feeling a teency bit guilty about the death of living creatures - no matter how insignificant they may seem.

I can't believe it but...riding a bike IS just like riding a bike!

Happy Cycling,

Kathy Pettit :)   

Farewell Faithful Friend

Rest In Peace,  Zoey,  June 7, 2013  Loved and Loved

 

Zoey was a rescue, from The Catahoula Rescue.  Puppies are cute - but they are tons of work!  Rescue dogs usually have basic training, and are simply looking for their forever home.  Reasons vary, marriages split up and the dog is a burden, people get bored, financial situations change, people die - whatever the reason - there are lots of dogs that need homes.  Puppies are an easy sell - but dogs require you to open your mind and just LOVE them. 

 

Back to our Zoey...firstly, she was a pleasure to be around.  We all have our faults, and some of hers may have been more pronounced than ones in other friends (furry or otherwise) – but the reality is, she truly was a blessing in all the lives that she touched, sniffed and licked. 

Zoey was loud.  She snored, sneezed and barked loudly.  These habits, I am quite certain, had mischievous ulterior motives…to get us up and moving, to spend quality time with her, or reward her with some tasty treat.  She ate like a vacuum, and was excellent at keeping our floor clean of the crumbs that tend fall from the mouths of our babes!  She was also very effective at cleaning runny noses – a job which makes me cringe – so for that I was grateful (and, to be perfectly honest, grossed out).  She was always in a good mood, always ready to hang out, play, be a silent partner – or an active, vocal one.  She had energy to spare – and even put her kids to shame.  When I think of loyalty – I can say she exuded that valuable (and rare) trait.  She loved her friends – and her family more than we will ever know.  Zoey was patient, kind and kept us laughing.  She had enough naughty in her that time-outs occurred (just like a child!) – in which she was relegated to the outdoors, or an area of the house that kept her trouble-making ways contained.  She was a great accepter of hugs, kisses and funny poems – and took it all in stride - with just the right cocking of her head to make it seem like she could understand every word that was recited to her.  Her soulful eyes were always peaceful and warm.  It was impossible to be lonely when she was around.  And she was tough!  Even though she suffered from a disability – she was fiercely protective of the occupants of our house – whether it be human intruder or another sort – she kept us all safe.  She was our beacon of joy and safety.  Any kid that entered our house was family, and when she found them on the street again – she shepherded them in her little flock and kept them orderly, so as to not lose one. 

I despise that I am using the past tense, because, our four-legged-squirrel-chaser, passed away  on Friday night.  Funny how dogs fit so well into our lives, that you speak to them (and of them) like they are human. Zoey's death was sudden, and caused buckets of tears from our entire house, from our friends, and much sadness in our other rescue dog, Riley.  It happened so quickly, but as she was rescued and adopted into our house with love three years ago, when she left her furry, grey and black dappled body on Friday, she left it being loved all the more for what she brought to our little family.  We were lovingly petting her and whispering words of love as she passed, in her own home, in her own bed.  And when that lively spark fled those pretty brown eyes, we closed them for good so we could let her have eternal rest. 

She was a blessing – and I hope for any of you that may have  been blessed with a swat from a big paw, looking to be pet and loved – you oblige.  Because you never know when that exchange of love will be the last.  Thank you all for reading about our Zo-Zo…I believe a memory shared is a flower bloomed in a garden, somewhere.

 

I can't believe it but...we have lost a little piece of our heart...but I know we'll be okay.

Happy Memories,

 

Kathy Pettit

 

I Did it...But Was 'It' Good Enough?!

For those few that have been following my journey, I have done it!

With the encouragement of friends, family and a little motivation from the occasional (cough) bottle glass of wine and the copious consumption of my kryptonite (which happens to chocolate!) - I submitted a book for The Catherine Literary Contest with the Romance Writer Association of America!  It was approved, as they were only accepting a selected number of entries - which is the first step in the right direction. 

How did this all start?  Well, I have a fantasy novel mapped out, of which I have about 400 hand-written pages I completed in 2007.  Earlier this year I decided it was high time to get it 'officially' started.  27,000 words of it have been weaved into the fiction novel, with a heck of a lot more to go.  But, I stopped work on it - just temporarily - as I felt the pull towards the romance genre.  I blame my friend (D.D.D. - totally referring to you!), who is currently in final edit stages of her own romance book, who got me thinking more about the romance scene.  Coincidentally, after chatting with her, I had a dream about a farmer named Noah (it's okay - it was only a dream)...and from that moment the character began taking on a life of his own.  I couldn't stop writing his story.  I am addicted, and it has become a focus of every spare minute I have (which to be honest - does not equal a lot of minutes!).  However, I have been able to write about 57,000 words of my novel in about three short months - and I am finishing up the ending in the next few weeks.  My submission to The Catherine was only 7500 words, which includes my synopsis - so I cross every body part that I can that the 'hook' is strong enough to get the authors, agents and publishers that judge the work to WANT to read more!  And I have to take the time to thank my hubby, colleagues, and friends for their feedback/editing on the preliminary edition of my novel.  Every single one of you that touched the story - I appreciate it immensely!

It is interesting creating these characters from scratch - their likes, dislikes, strengths and weaknesses...figuring out what makes them tick.  Being a female and writing the role of that 'perfect' man, has it's challenges.  As hubby edited the 7500 words, he would look up at me, his eyebrows raised, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth, working his red pen across the pages.  I would smile back, wondering to myself what will happen down the road when he eventually gets to the juicy bits??!!  In reading and writing these kind of books, are we setting ourselves up to be eternally disappointed with the actual males we come across?  Do we set those expectations so high that it is an impossibly difficult target to reach?  As women, do we need to lower our romantic expectations on the poor men in our lives?  I don't know.  But sometimes, a part of me thinks that if men read those books, and acted like the good guys, they might just have the perfect (and pretty secret - as I don't know any man that reads them - YET!) formula for how to act, think and behave to get their perfect girl.  And, if they followed it, maybe, just maybe, they would have the best marriages and happiest wives on the planet!  Just a thought...so maybe for Father's Day ladies, grab your hubby a steamy romance novel and highlight the parts that matter most.  Subtle?  No...but possibly the best investment you could ever make!

I can't believe it but...I  have officially entered a manuscript and may one day fulfil a dream of becoming an author!

Happy reading,

Kathy Pettit (note: I decided to use my full name, Katherine L. Pettit as my official author name !)