*sigh*

Dear Heather,

We wish to thank you for submitting your work, I want it all. Is that wrong? as a possible inclusion in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms. We appreciate your efforts on behalf of the book and your willingness to share your message with the world. We have been so moved by all of the people who have reached out to us with their own stories and the stories of others.

Unfortunately, we were unable to include your wonderful story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms. We encourage you to send in any other stories, as we really appreciate your writing and interest in our work.

Please keep sharing your work with others because the messages are so important for all to hear. We send you lots of love and best wishes.

Sincerely,

Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC

Maybe next time eh?

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Monday's Muse - the Meme for Creative Moms

Image via Wikipedia

Read about the Meme.

It's quiet in the insulated way the snow brings. I know it's out there before I even rise and make my way to the window. Parting the curtains reveals a white and foreign landscape. It's fresh. Clean.

The icy sheath hides the dirt and dead plants away, hides anything that isn't pure.

All is white but one black squirrel in the center of it all.

The squirrel is digging frantically down to the grass and then through to the earth. It's burying treasure while the dirt will still move. Down goes the bits stolen from bird feeders and brazenly pilfered from outside cat dishes. Peanuts, sunflower seeds and kibble become packed into a musty treasure chest, ready for a later meal.

He works to conceal these pockets of nourishment. He plans for enough to last through to when the snow becomes damp, and the buds form on the trees, and the grass begins to sprout. He plans for enough to last until the nests are filled with eggs and sweet, tender chicks. Until then, he remains busy. Until then, thievery and frozen cat food will have to do and he sits, punctuation in the white, until his job is done.

Today a piece of writing was inspired by the snow. I don't really know what it is, it's sort of 'stream of consciousness' I guess. Just a little bit that trickled down from my mind and though my fingers to the keys. An observation about how when everything seems pure, there is always a touch of the sinister around. Did you know squirrels sometimes eat baby birds?

The snow was my muse, what's yours? Leave your link below to share.



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10 Tips for Gluten Free eating in Restaurants

I wrote this article in honor of Celiacs Awareness month (did you know it's Celiacs Awareness month??) and it was also posted on the front page of Posh Mama - a positive and upbeat community for women. If you haven't heard of it you should check it out. Loads of great stuff to read there. Anyway. Here's one for the Celiacs!

10 Tips for Gluten Free Eating in Restaurants

Whenever we go out for dinner with my dad and my sister (who both have Celiacs) there is this unspoken tension at the table because we are all worried about what they will be ‘stuck’ eating. Typically, there is only one gluten free meal on the menu; a salad with fish on it. More often than not, it arrives at the table topped with evil croûtons and then we all sigh in frustration.

While I myself do not have Celiacs, I’ve become aware of a few gluten free living tips, as we’ve enjoyed more than one disappointing family dinner out. Here are 10 tips for gluten free eating in restaurants:

1. Avoid pubs or places that tend to deep-fry everything in one fryer. While you should be able to eat cornstarch dusted calamari – the fact that they fry it right alongside the chicken fingers makes it likely to be contaminated.

2. If possible, choose higher end or larger chain restaurants as their staff are usually trained in how to serve clients with food allergies and intolerances.

3. Make sure to tell your server that you have Celiacs. They should be informed of the ingredients for the dishes on the menu and can help you choose something that will work for you.

4. Ask if there is a rice pasta alternative. You’d be surprised how many restaurants stock rice pasta as a substitution and you’ll double your choices with a pasta option.

5. Many dishes will be gluten free once something is removed. Sometimes a sauce can be substituted for a gluten free alternative from another dish. Ask for squeezed lemon instead of teriyaki sauce on your salmon or for your stir fry to be nestled on a bed of rice instead of noodles.

6. Stick to foods that are healthy and unprocessed. You will be better off with a chicken breast instead of a burger.

7. Sometimes the meal itself will be gluten free but your plate will come with a garnish that isn’t Celiac friendly. This is where it’s important to tell your server about your intolerance so you don’t wind up with a surprise piece of gnarly bread poking out of your soup.

8. There’s more to dessert than cake. Don’t be afraid to look at the desert menu as gelato, mousses and sometimes even cheesecake can be gluten free.

9. Watch your beverages. Be sure you know what ingredients are in that mixed cocktail.

10. Always specify no croûtons on your salad – it’s an often overlooked source of gluten. Trust me!

Written by H.E.Eigler of Maternal Spark dot com a blog for and about Creative Moms as featured at Posh Mama Online Magazine.

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Monday Muse-ings Meme - The debut edition

I thought it would be fun to post something that inspires me every Monday. Something that when I look at it, or read it, I feel all warm and fuzzy and excited to let my mind play in the creative park. Something that awakens the muse.

It will be a virtual version of that inspiration board I wrote about the other day. Join in if you like and I'll link back to you. I'm not in love with the name so if you have a better idea let me know.

I'll start the ball rolling with this picture:



Some of you might remember this image as I've posted it around the net before. This is the image that inspired my flash piece Burning Birds. I wrote it after I'd found out I was pregnant. I thought I'd share it today as it's one of my favorite pieces. I hope you like it too :)

Burning Birds
by
H.E.Eigler

I was split years ago. I don’t feel the pain anymore but sometimes I awaken from a dream to the smell; the smell of burning from deep inside myself. It was lightning that hit me, split me and I’ve not been the same. Not really.

The surface wounds have healed and the moss holds me together. Most days I don’t even notice that my innermost self is out on display for the world to see. Most days I can feel like I used to. Quiet, reserved, stately – what a tree should be. But recently, there has been activity down in the crevice.

There is now life where the burning used to be. Birds. They’ve nested inside and I can feel their wings flutter. At first I was anxious about their presence. I would worry there wasn’t enough room for them, that I couldn’t provide what they needed. But now I wonder if I will miss them when they are gone. When it is just me and the moss and the quiet will they think of me as home?

Until then, I wait and feel them with me. I listen to their songs and cherish the company because even in a forest, life as a tree is lonely. I used to think it was what I wanted. Solitude. But since the birds came, I know I want more.

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The Chaos, I hate it!

Things are up in the air. I have nothing that is certain at this point regarding childcare for my Little H. Everyone I've interviewed has been sub standard and in this city, daycare facilities have at least a one year wait list (some have a two year one, and some just hang up on you).

One woman I interviewed repeated over and over throughout our conversation that "She has nothing to hide". It freaked me out. Another decided to up her rate from $960 a month to $1060 after I told her what a hard time we were having. How loving of her. At this point, that amount of money is half my salary. It's making me wonder if I should get a part time job and care for her myself. It certainly doesn't make sense to me to work a full time job, get half the pay and have my baby cared for by some weirdo.

In light of all this, I managed to write a little last week. When I say, a little - I mean 300 words. But I'm still proud of myself for getting that done. It's a step towards a final outcome and I took the time to nurture creative thoughts and feelings in a time when I just want to put my head in the sand and pretend all is right with my world.

I hope the rest of you are working away on your projects - no matter what else is going on. It's good for you.


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Goal setting - you all keep me accountable ya hear!

I don't have the luxury of lounging on the beach with a mimosa in hand while I muse away over my creative endeavors. Instead, I make use of organization, planning and structure to get me down the creative path in the most efficient and resistant free manner possible. This is the difference between having (a little) time to focus on writing, crafting etc or not doing anything creative at all. I don't want to become an empty nester wondering who I really am and wishing I'd invested a little more time in myself - to me, nurturing my sense of individuality this way is very important.

Part of this structure involves setting goals and having something to strive towards (this is as close to a new years resolution as I ever get). So here it goes:

1) Complete two more flash fiction pieces in my 'Emotions' series.
2) Work on posting some crafty tutorials on Maternal Spark - complete with photos.
3) Keep my office clear of clutter so I can make use of the space at a moments notice.

It's only three goals for now, and I won't set a time period (yes, I know I'm supposed to) but I will review this post consistently to keep these in the forefront of my mind. What are your goals? Share them in comments and let's help each other reach them!

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Empathy - A truth

This is late for Mother's Day I know, but the words are for my mother nonetheless. This is part of a series of flash fiction pieces I'm working on. I hope you enjoy it Mom.

Empathy - A truth
by H.E.Eigler

I had no idea she could be struck down like any other person, any normal
person with susceptible flesh and organs apt to fail. I always thought she
was made of stone, strong, fearless and willing to stand no matter what.
When I was young there was no excuse for staying home from school. 'I
could make it through' she would say. She taught me that it was important
for me to make my own living, to be self-sufficient, to be tough.

I hardly ever saw her cry. Not when her good friend had
breast cancer. Not when she moved over and over and over away from her
homes. Not when her youngest daughter pokes herself half a dozen times a
day with insulin shots.

I cry though, I can’t help it. I feel
ashamed and weak and angry when it happens. Movies, literature, visiting
the SPCA even brings me to tears.

There was one time,
though, when I saw her cry. It was when we lived in the duplex on the dead
end road. It was that dusky time just after dinner and we had been calling
the cat in when the doorbell rang. She answered it and I knew what had
happened. Our neighbour was holding the cat in his arms.

“We heard you calling,” he said, “it came out of nowhere,” he
said, “I thought you would like to know, to bury it.”

We all cried
that day. He was such a nice cat, and comical with his cow print black and
white fur. My father and I wrapped him in his favourite blanket and buried
him in a shallow hole beside a road near the dump. I don’t think we buried
him deep enough, a dog could have gotten at him but we were both too upset to
dig any deeper and it had gotten dark.

When I visited her in
the hospital she was pale from her surgery. Her uterus was gone and she
didn’t look herself. Pale, tired and sad wasn’t who my Mom really
was. I knew she looked afraid but I wasn’t really sure what that
meant. I didn’t know what to do to make it better. I brought her
flowers, but I really wanted to stand her up, strong and fearless and willing
and as my mom should be. Once I was alone, in my car, I cried for her as
she wouldn’t for herself.

This piece is part of an exercise on emotion that I'm working on. While it does convey the love I have for my mom, it doesn't revolve around that emotion. So to be perfectly clear and because I'd imagine a mother can never hear it enough times - I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

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Query Quandry

Image via WikipediaI wrote last week how I'm working on a query letter for a magazine article idea I have. The process is proving to drain my brain. I know what I want to say but putting it all together in a way that sells an idea is a bit tougher than I realized. So, I'm still working on that - as I said before, I want it to be perfect.

On the blogging front, I've been trying my hand at monetizing. You can tell from the Amazon widgets, a few text ads (at the bottom) and some sponsor ads. I don't think I'll ever get rich from Maternal Spark - and that isn't my intention. Maternal Spark is about showcasing creative moms and providing support for balancing the mommy life with the creative one.

So when I found services that pay you to blog, I did some serious thinking. One of the services sends you links that you are to use in your blog posts. They paid $10 per post. I thought about it, and then decided against it. The money wouldn't be enough to change the fact that I'm going back to work in June, it would only serve to change the content of this blog and I didn't want to put the integrity of this blog in question for a few bucks.

There are, however, plenty of Mommy blogs who do paid work. Good on them, for finding a way to maintain the focus of their blog and make some cash too.

I think I will better focus my efforts on increasing readership. That's going to take time. One thing I have in mind to jump my visibility will be to host a giveaway. Watch for the announcement, you won't want to miss it!

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teething pains

Little H is cutting her two top middle teeth and it is taking it's toll on her mommy. She hasn't been going to bed until after 9pm and she is waking up periodically through the night. Needless to say, not much writing - bloggy or otherwise has occured.

I'm pushing through though. I have started work (finally!) on a query letter for an article I've had brewing in my brain for a long, long time. I'm taking it slow, I want it to be perfect. I'd really like to get a few freelance clips under my belt. It has been a goal of mine for a while, one I will not give up on. It might take me some time but I will get there......what goals are you working on? Share in comments.

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On taking my own advice

Two days ago I had a weird dream, something about a car breaking down. It's all gotten fuzzy now and I can hardly remember the feel of it, never mind the details. That morning while brushing my teeth I thought about my dream and fleshed it out into a story idea. It was an idea for my flash fiction series on emotions. The idea was perfect for the Fear piece I'd been meaning to write for sometime now. I finished up in the washroom and then it was time to feed little H her baby oatmeal and fruit. I hollered to hubby as I ran down the hall into the bedroom to 'hang on just a moment, I'd be right there'. I rummaged in the bedside table for the notepad and pen I had stashed in there. I had to write down my idea, because the day was planned and I had not planned to write. I didn't want to lose my thoughts on the piece.

Fast forward to today. I planned to write during little H's nap time. I figured she would sleep for about an hour and a half. I wasn't ready to jump to writing when I put her down. I needed to eat lunch so I did that, then I put in some laundry, blah blah blah, I only managed to write 100 words before she woke up. Not good.

For her afternoon nap, I made sure I had my poop in a group. All I had to do was get on the computer and write. I managed to get the majority of the story written. Now I'll let it marinade for a bit before I go back and edit and write a little more. I also managed to make a Halo. I was pleased not only that I plowed through these things but that I had the right frame of mind create two things I was pleased with. I thought clearly and deliberately about each word I wrote and each ribbon I glued. The afternoon session was much better in that because I was organized, I was able to focus and produce product that flowed out of me easily. And that is great, because feeling forced to create is never a good thing. When I knew my time was limited during my morning session, I did have that forced feeling and the words just didn't come as easily.

For me, balancing my creative life with my mommy life is all about planning. Every mom knows you can't plan everything with a baby around but do what you can, and you'll be able to take advantage of those times when things go smoothly.

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Guest posting

Well, I've recovered from 'the poop incident' and we've all moved on with life. Thank goodness. In non baby related news I've been asked to guest post at the IndieBizChicks.com blog. It's an incredible resource for business women and I'm happy to have my name associated with them. Go read my post called 'Don't Sell Yourself Short'.

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How my creative life will never be the same post baby

Or otherwise titled:

Little H's Halo Headband revenge.
or
The ultimate 'sanitize setting' washing machine test.

This could get long so grab a cup of coffee and come back......I'll wait......

Ok so the other day I put little H down for her nap. She went to sleep without a fuss so I got down to being productive. I'd gotten everything ready before hand.
I set about making something to go with the tutu that's coming. Cause if I'm going to get crazy, I might as well get really crazy....know what I mean?

My crafting session is ultimately cut short by the sounds of 'dadadadadadadadada' coming over the baby monitor. She was awake and happy. Yay! I put down what I was doing and went up to get her.

The second I opened the door I could smell it. Poop. It comes with the baby territory so normally I'm not surprised, but this was gawdawful. Bad. Bad, bad, bad smell. Like she pooped, then went to sleep for an hour stewing in it.

I pick her up and can feel wet ON HER BACK. Not her bum, where any wetness should reside. It was up from that. I carry her into the bathroom and hold her in front of the mirror. There it was, poop leaking through her sleep sack. That's at least two layers of flannel. There were a few spots but it didn't look bad. I knew however from the smell that it had to be worse than what I could see. I start running the tub.

Here's where it gets bad, if you're queasy turn back now.

I crack open that sleep sack and my jaw dropped open, then quickly shut again to stop the gag reflex from kicking in. There was liquid poop all up the front of her belly, all down her legs to her feet, all up her back. I mean, there was poop EVERYWHERE. The white areas of her sack were no longer white.

Little H giggles because she likes the bubbles in the bath that was filling up.

I lay her down on the bathroom floor to peel the nasty sack and jammies off her. She starts screaming and freaking out. I don't know why, she just hates being made to lie down I guess. So there's no time to go over her with wipes. She's flailing and rolling and I can't allow the poop to get flung so into the tub she goes as is. Now there is poop floating in the water. GROSS.

Drain the tub.
refill the tub.
try to clean her .
succeed.
Drain the tub again. Towel her off (she hates it) Dress her (she hates it)
Plunk her in the highchair with a cookie. (she likes it).
Scrub the tub like it's never been scrubbed before.
Wipe brow.
Sigh.

Test sanitize feature of new HE front loading washer. We debated over getting the one without sanitize....it was cheaper. Thank God we spent the extra hundred bucks.
Sleep sack comes out pristine and poop free!

Wait for hubby to come home and pass baby off. Tell him to order Chinese food.
Go back to unfinished craft and think about how I'll never be able to finish anything in one sitting ever again. Be ok with that :) She's my poop makin' angel.

This kid is going to freak when I show her future boyfriends pictures of her in the Halo Headband I made. I loved it so much I decided to set up an Etsy shop to see if there is a market for them. Go here to check it out and see the aforementioned blackmail pictures.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Image via Wikipedia

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Stormy tactics

Image via Wikipedia

Incomplete sentences? I like 'em. Those little, choppy, bits of language strung together with meaning, but short a word or two, seem to offer me creative freedom with the flow of a piece.

I can't get enough. While I am no accomplished poet, I do have appreciation for rhythm and it seems I call on the incomplete sentence when I crave a bit of a beat in my work.

For example, here is an excerpt from my unplaced short
"In the Rain":

There was screeching, smells of hot rubber, steam rising in the air. Metal crunching, moaning, grinding. Glass sparkled on wet pavement, gems that cracked like ice as I ran on them. My feet slipped. My knee hit the ground hard. Glass punctured cartilage.

I find that writers often take liberty with the rules to achieve the result they require but I wonder about other artists. What rules do you love to break? What rules are you appalled to see stretched? What do you do in order to beat that drum? Let me know in comments.


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A letter to my body

The fabulous women of Blogher have started this incredible movement wherein bloggers write a letter to their bodies. You can read all about it here. The idea is to come to terms with body image issues, to accept your body for what it is, blah blah blah. Over at Creative.Mother.Thinking,
Suzanne has written a brilliant post about the subject. Go read it. Then come back and read my own letter to my body.

Dear body;

The last 20 months have been weird haven't they. You were at top performance during the pregnancy, cradling little H with love and support. You provided her with everything she needed despite the high blood pressure. I was so proud of you and forgave the monstrous proportions to which you grew. I knew it was mostly baby and water weight. You made me feel beautiful, something I never felt from you before.

Then it was time for the birth. You did nothing. You held on tight to the baby and wouldn't set her free to meet me. You made us hurt you. The doctors and surgeons and I. I didn't want to hurt you, it hurt me too. Then, with the staples out and the precious baby in my arms I forgot all about that. Once again you were providing for her. Nursing was an amazing experience and even though little H hurt you and made you crack and bleed you still provided for her. I was proud again.

So why did you stop? I'd really like to know what made you decide little H had enough of what we were to give her. You could have at least consulted me. And what's with all the crap I'd been reading about how nursing mothers drop weight like sacks of potatoes? You didn't lose any weight. You almost look as large as when you had the baby inside. What gives.

I'm going to have to hurt you again. I'm going to have to start working out. Don't complain. You made things this way.


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Fear

I've just finished two more flash pieces in my Emotion series. They were about empathy. I'm not the type to easily feel sorry for people so this was a bit of an eye opener and challenge for me. Up next I'm working on fear. The fiction piece will be much fun. I plan to write a bit of horror. I see something gritty and grainy and old fashioned. I see some type of monster with tension holding it all together. I'm excited to get working on it, just a bit more mental grease is needed before it all spews out my fingers to the keyboard.

Now, the non-fiction piece will be about little H. There is no way on this planet that I can think of a time I was scared and not think of the day she stopped breathing. It is the only time in my life when I felt real fear. Sure, there were times when my breath caught in my throat if our car swerved on icy roads. When thunder clapped overhead when I was young. When the big kids told the bloody hook story over a campfire at girl guide camp. But now, that I've had this experience with little H, I know that those other times were just thrills. Thrills like riding a roller coaster or playing 'Bloody Mary' in a dark closet while five little girls laughed right outside with their ears pressed to the door. I'm not looking forward to writing it but I have to.

Emotionally afloat

Flash fiction is one of the forms of story telling that I absolutely adore. I love writing it, and, because it is short, it fits in with my schedule or lack thereof as of late. Right now I am working on a series of flash fiction pieces where the subject matter revolves around emotions. Empathy, Love, Fear, Anxiety, Anger, Joy.

Now that I am a mother, all these emotions seem heightened and writing about them in a context other than revolving around baby is difficult. It made me wonder if moms who work in mediums other than the written word have the same difficulty. Painters? Do you find your preferred subject to be your little ones? How about sculptors? Certainly you photographers snap endless pictures of your children. I know that our poor cat Boo, who used to be the star of our albums, has only had his photo taken once in the last nine months. Every other image in our digital camera is of little H.

I'm willing to bet that the recent scrapbook craze came about because of children, and textile artists create for their kids too. But do they struggle as I do to round out their work?

Back to my flash pieces, I never really knew most of these emotions until I had little H. Empathy for when she got her vaccinations. Love since the moment I knew she was about to arrive. Fear when she stopped breathing momentarily on her third day of life. Anxiety during every moment of every day.....oh, she's gonna bonk her head again I just know it! Anger at the thought of going back to work and leaving her behind, and Joy. Joy is most prevalent when I'm watching her learn new things...which means everyday I feel Joy.

Wish me luck. I will speak more on these flash pieces as I work on them. I hope to have about a dozen or so by the time I'm finished. Anyone who wishes to comment on their experiences are welcome to do so!

Poem

Shortly after my bundle was brought home I was hit with a wave of creativity spawned by my very intense feelings of love and amazement for her. This is something I wrote during that period. It's short and it's a sort of poem. I'd never written a poem before so I'm not even really sure if this qualifies as one. It is untitled.
















Outside our house there is a tall, tall tree.
I rest underneath it with you and look up, into the foliage.
On nice, summer days the leaves of green stand off against
a cerulean blue sky.
I wonder how old you will
be when you recognize beauty.
I hope you will realize it within yourself
and see what I see
when I look at
you.