It Doesn't Matter Where You Live..

I’m still constantly surprised by Midwestern weather. Last week, we were struggling with near 100 degrees and high humidity. Today, it’s rainy, grey and a was around 64 degrees all day.

I’m not complaining. In fact, even though I’ve lived here for almost 3 years now, it still delights me that the weather can change that much. As I’ve said before, it’s nice to have variety and for the eight years I lived in L.A., I certainly got tired of those sunny days. I even got tired of the days that started out gloomy and finally got sunny later on because there was never any real promise of rain: There was only the empty tease.

There are a lot of differences living in the Midwest to California. Not all of them are good but I still wouldn’t move back for anything. I do miss the ocean being within a 45 minute drive. I miss seeing the mountains that were tinged purple on clear sunny mornings. I miss the rosemary that grows wild everywhere and the fact that, even in December, there are flowers blooming.

What I don’t miss is the traffic. When I talk to candidates who are looking for new jobs, many of them find themselves job seeking because they have to commute downtown to Cincinnati and as soon as I hear that, they immediately have my sympathies. I’m lucky enough to live six minutes from work nowadays but for the time I lived in L.A., my commute being little over 14 miles took me at least an hour each way and that was when traffic was actually moving.

I also don’t miss the expense. I’m still constantly amazed that my mortgage payment is still less than that which I paid for rent. In fact, in 2001, what I paid for my first little studio apartment in North Hollywood is approximately the same as my house payment now.

I could spend this entire blog on the good and bad differences I find between L.A. and the Midwest but, really, I don’t want to because I’m content where I am. The only thing I really miss is the more open, single culture of L.A. As I’ve said before, being in my mid-thirties in the Midwest makes me a bit of a weirdo and, gasp, bordering on spinster territory. In L.A., it was, dare I say it, very normal.

This doesn’t make the Midwest bad- it’s just different. I know someone from high school who is a grandmother at my age. Here, it’s very traditional to get married and have a family at a much younger age than in big cities. It doesn’t bother me except when it comes to making friends. When I first moved here, two of my similar-aged, married coworkers used to invite me to their houses to hang out with them, their spouses and another member of their ‘gang’- a single woman who, like me, wasn’t married. It was nice, at first until I realized that I was being invited so that the other single woman didn’t feel like a third wheel and she had ‘a buddy’. I know this because I accidentally overheard it one day.

It bothered me just a little. I wanted to make friends because they liked me, not because I made an even number of people. Over time, I stopped getting invited and, in time, I was treated like an ‘outsider’ at work when the three women got together. Because it felt like a high school mentality, it irritated me for a long time. It was clearly a clique and I wasn’t ‘cool’ enough to belong. Fortunately, since they all acted a little like children who had decided they were the Coolest Gang on the plant, I got bored.

As such, I ended up actually making friends with two of my other coworkers. They were both a little older than me- one married, one divorced…both great women. It took a little trial and error but, with patience, I got it right in the end.

Now I’ve been here a while, it doesn’t really bother me that I’m single. It’s interesting- in my current office, only two of my seven coworkers are actually married. Two of the others live with significant others and three of us are single. It’s just a different environment.

Granted, it still doesn’t make me ‘normal’ according the median age of married couples around here but it still helps.

In truth, what I’ve figured out and what it took me years to figure out was, in truth, where you live isn’t as important as being happy where you live. I fit in more in L.A. I liked the geography. I miss my friends. There are even occasional days during weeks of nothing but rain, I miss the sun of L.A.

Yet, despite all that, I never felt as content and happy there as I have in the time I’ve lived back in Ohio. It’s not just being a homeowner. It’s not just having two fantastic pups. It’s not even having my family within a decent driving distance.

It’s just that I feel like I’ve found myself here. I’ve never felt as relaxed and content with myself and where I live than I have in the past two years.

And no matter how great L.A. is/was…nothing and nowhere can replace that feeling.

Happy Thursday

Spring Reflections

It's officially spring. Even though the calendar, weather and nature has ascerted this fact for several weeks now, as I sit in my new Tuscan room typing this, I can currently hear a cacaphony of lawnmowers performing the first mow of the season. I mowed my grass last week just for the sake of my low-to-the-ground pups who were having trouble maneuvering through the lawn. I didn't, however, mow the front yard because it really didn't need it. I just got back from my parents'. In the short two days I've been gone, my lawn seems to have grown about three inches and the dandelions are thick. Of course, because literally everyone else on my street mowed today or are currently mowing, my lawn looks doubly bad. I suppose I should mow but it will have to wait. It's been a beautiful weekend. Today, it actually got up to 85 degrees. This was a little too warm for my tastes especially given that only three days ago, it was only 45 degrees outside. Still, even with the mugginess of the sudden heat, it's lovely to be outside. It's nice to sit outside and enjoy the fact that winter is truly behind us. I also love that my herbs are starting to be ready to use. That's the one thing I miss dearly during the winter months- having a herb garden from which I can pluck a handful of whatever I need for my recipe without having to go to the store and pay ridiculous prices for some not-so-fresh-but-wanting-to-be herbs. It's also nice to sit in my Tuscan room. Changing the room over from being a retro '70's disco den was a good idea. There was no disco ball in the den but there might as well have been. It had that dark, fake wood panelling so popular in the '70's. It also had very thick, flowery curtains which I'm sure were nice but were far more to the tastes of the 70 year old lady who formerly owned the house than mine. Also, there is thick mustard-yellow carpet. All that remains of the '70's is the carpet which I'm hoping to fix by next weekend. The panelling is now a sunny yellow that matches my poppy-laden paintings of Tuscany perfectly. It feels like a completely different room. For the first time since I moved into my house, I want to sit in the room instead of using it for storage and a passageway to let the dogs out. It's amazing how much something as small as a coat of paint and some new curtains can change a room. It's now a great place to sit with a glass of wine and feel the breeze blow through while having a quick way to glance outside and make sure that the pups aren't Up to No Good. Sitting here writing this is a nice way to wrap up a weekend spent with my parents and my siblings that was already pretty great. It was one of those unplanned weekends that turned out to be a lot of fun which also served to remind me how glad I am that I moved back from Los Angeles. Even though it's only been a couple of years, it's amazing how much my life has changed since then. It was something I was reflecting on during the drive back from my parents. I still miss my friends in L.A. I do miss the variety of landscapes and the balmy Santa Ana winds. I miss the ocean. There are a lot of things I do miss. However, there's also something to be said about being able to hop in the car with the dogs, crank up the iPod and drive two hours to spend a lazy, sunny, spring weekend with my family. It's just another series of small things that makes life wonderful. Happy Monday and thanks for reading!

Short Days and Short Blogs...

Just a quick blog today as I wasn't successful in getting a blog up last night. Yesterday, we had really gusty winds which took out my internet for a short time but it was a long enough time to prevent me from blogging.

This morning, the wind has died, leaving really, really cold temperatures in its wake. The weatherman is claiming that it feels like 4 degrees out there with the wind chill. Currently, I'm warm in my house but outside, there are veins of snow dotted around. The snow has settled in the cracks and crevices of the world outside and its an interesting effect.

I'm off to work in a few minutes. I can't complain, however. It's a short day because I'm lucky enough to be heading out to Los Angeles in a few hours. It's one of those last minute trips, the kind you take when you can get a plane ticket for $50 because one of the airlines screwed up the last time you flew.

I'm hoping to not run into flight issues this time. With any luck, I'll make it there without any trouble so that, as planned, I can go to Disneyland with my friend tomorrow.

I do love Disneyland at Christmas. I've probably said it before. It's so pretty and festive. I like that I can leave real snow to go to a place where the snow is fabricated by using bubbles. I don't know if there'll be snow and fireworks tomorrow because it's supposed to rain. What I'm interested in is to see if I get as cold as I used to there or if, I susect, my body has acclimated to the colder temperatures of the Midwest and the cool Anaheim night will feel balmy.

I've been looking forward to this trip all week. It's a great way to make a not-so-great time at work feel better. I will attempt to get a blog up for tomorrow but it really depends on interenet access.

Thus, on that note, I must depart for work. The office awaits. A meeting awaits. Nothing better than starting the day with a meeting. But it doesn't matter. I'm going to Disneyland!

Happy Thursday!

Moving Preparations and Harry Potter (of course)

This week is going by rather quickly. I'd say that was a good thing but since this weekend leads to moving, a wedding and a lot of work to get ready for my trip next week, I think it's going to be a while before I get to relax.

I did get to work on the house yesterday though. I did such domestic things such clean out the fridge, scrub the path and plant some...plants.

There's nothing more disgusing that cleaning out someone else's fridge. I know it's my fridge now but until it's clean, I don't lay claim to it. It's clean now, thus it's my fridge. However, that was after an awful lot of scrubbing and cleaning. There were things spilled in there that I don't think I want to know from whence they came. They were sticky, smelly and just plain disgusting. I, fortunately, didn't find any furry vegetables though there was a bag of ancient potatoes buried in there as well as some milk that expired rather a long time ago. It was not a pleasant experience but it's about as clean as it will ever get now so I think it's time I started calling it my fridge.

I won't even talk about the bath. Let's just say that cleaning that took a while. It was literally grey in spots from dirt stains. I took down the ancient shower curtain, a tropical fish print and prepared to put my own more demure fabric butterfly one up when I move in.

I think the house is finally ready for me. I even started unpacking the kitchen boxes. I'm having a problem there. I mean how do you know which cupboard should hold what? Whenever I go in someone else's kitchen, everything has a place and it seems to fit. My cupboards are gaping and empty. I don't know which one should be my plate/dish cupboard. which one should hold my spices or wine glasses. There's so many choices to make!

I did start putting things in cupboards but I'm afraid that I did it wrong and I won't like it. I know I can change it later but it's my first official home and I want to get it right. It's one of those things that is so insignificant that later on, I'll wonder what I was worrying about but it still seems important right now.

I did reward myself yesterday with a screening of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Seriously, did you think I wouldn't? I won't spoil the film for anyone but I will say that now I've seen it, it's definitely not something I think a five-year-old should see and, if they do, I certainly hope they don't 'get' it; it's just too...dark.

However, for those of us who love the Potter books and the Potter universe, it's well worth a watch. I like it more than the last movie- Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - which I felt was ridiculously rushed in an effort to make the shortest film of the series. It's one of the most intense and detailed of the books and to cram it into a short film was a bit ridiculous. This one is much better. There are moments of hilarity, moments of sadness and moments of just plain creepiness. That's just the way I like my Harry Potter.

I like to reward myself once in a while like that. It makes it worthwhile to be productive. It's like being on a diet: Sometimes you just have to cheat otherwise it just becomes miserable.

So, I rewarded myself last night. It will get me through the rest of the week which will consist largely of loading up my car, disassembling furniture and unpacking boxes. It's moving time, no doubt about it.

And, speaking of moving, I would like to take this opportunity to wish one of my good friends luck on her last day in the office before she leaves L.A. for the unchartered territory of Texas. I try not to mention specific names but she's one of my loyal readers and a great friend to boot. I met her in L.A. and since then we've both had the need to escape the city life for one of a less harried existence. As you drive out of the city, Ms. P- look back once, see the smog-encased landscape and think of the green lands that lie ahead.

Ironically, we're both having the movers come on the same day. It's strange how life works in tandem with those you care about, even when they're miles away. I've already done my cross-country move and I know how hard it is. I shouldn't be complaining about moving to a house, 20 miles from where I live now. Especially as it's my house.

I'm still getting used to saying that. Good luck, Ms. P-

And Happy Thursday.

A Grey and Humid Day...

It's a humid day out there today. It's not quite raining though it seems like it wants to. A cloud of steamy dampness is floating everywhere and everything feels just a little heavier than normal. I'm not used to the humidity anymore; very rarely is it humid in L.A. Instead, it's just an intense dry heat that feels like it's drying you from the outside in.

I have a feeling I'll be wishing for that heat come the summer months. I know here in the midwest, the thermometer can read a mild 80 degrees but when you factor in the humidity, it feels like it's 105 degrees out there.

Yet, like everything else, everything seems better from a distance. I know I used to HATE that Los Angeles desert heat. The intensity of it is insane. You can feel the heat beneath the soles of your shoes, sinking up from the asphalt. There are 'heat traps,' areas that store the heat and when you find one, it feels as though you are trapped in an oven. The air takes your breath away and you long for a breeze to make the heat fade, just a little.

Then, when the breeze does creep up, it's hot and sultry and it makes you sweat instead of providing a reprieve from the sun-baked world.

It's the nights the provide the relief in the end. That's the beauty of living in a desert. The days will roast you, turning everything yellow. But the nights are cool, chilly even. It's a sharp contrast and it means that if you leave your windows open, the night air will provide at least a little relief.

That's the different between the heat of humidity and the heat of the desert. There's no escape from the sticky air. Here, at night, it will remain so that without air conditioning, even a thin sheet while you sleep is enough to make you feel as though you're being strangled.

Summer is my least favourite season. It always has been. When I was in school, I enjoyed not having to go to school and having the weeks of freedom that the summer holiday provided. I do appreciate the fact that the world is warm and sunny and the flowers are blooming but I don't enjoy the inevitable onslaught of summer heat, 'the dog days of summer' as they're known. I like the mornings, the dew fresh on the grass, drenching my feet as I walk. I like the evenings when the sun begins to set, the sound of crickets chorusing and bringing in the night. It's the days I don't like. I feel like I should be outside because I can be but then when the heat starts to prickle, the idea of being inside in the air conditioning, a cool drink at my fingertips starts to appeal more.

It's not that I don't appreciate summer. I know a lot of people like the outdoors and love that they can stay out longer and enjoy the warmth. They do things like swim and go camping. I don't like camping. I like swimming though I tend to think of it more as 'flailing in the water.' I like to water dance which means I twirl and float and splash a lot to the rhythm of the music in my head. The trouble with that is that I'm the only one who knows I'm water dancing, everyone else worries in case I'm drowning or they complain that I'm splashing too much.

I do appreciate summer food. I love salads and fruits and vegetables. I love walking barefoot in the grass. I love spraying my parent's dogs with the hose. I call that "The Hose Game." Sadly, now when I ask the dogs "Who wants to play the hose game?!" (with great enthusiasm, I might add), they scurry away the minute I edge towards the hose pipe.

Summer will be here soon enough. For now, I'm going to continue to enjoy spring and hope this humid spell passes. Unless it brings with it a nice thunderstorm to break the air, it's going to get old rather quickly. I don't like days that begin with a grey nothingness; I want them to do something.

Yet, I suppose in a month or two, I'll be wishing for the milder temperatures of days like this and wondering why I was complaining. For now, there's still some Spring to enjoy, the tulips are in full swing and the scent of lilacs hangs in the air. This, I have missed over the past few years. If it comes with a side of humidity, I think I can live with that.

Happy Thursday!

Bad Driving Blues....

As a former L.A. driver, I thought when I moved back to the midwest, it might be a little safer to drive on the roads, not to mention a lot faster to get from one place to another. I should have known from my earlier Midwestern days that while the latter might be mostly true, the former...is not.

My initial delusion is forgivable, I think. After all, L.A. drivers are...bad. There are certain things that I've seen in my days of driving in Los Angeles that are definitely the marks of driving in a city. For example, a friend emailed me yesterday to complain about drivers who think that because they use their turn signal, they have the right to change to whatever lane they choose to drive in, regardless of whether anyone is in their way. I had to sympathize with her; I've seen this many a time and it's always a little terrifying when the car next to you suddenly decides it wants to be where you are. And so the driver attempts to do so, ignoring the fact that...well...you're already there. Without some swift defensive driving, there is no way to avoid the inevitable collision if that driver decides he must, indeed, change lanes.

Though, I did remind her that the fact he actually used a turn signal was a privilege. So many new cars seem to come without turn signals these days, have you noticed? I wouldn't dare assume that so many drivers just don't know how to use one, it must be the car...right?

Ultimately, I think my friends complaint comes down to the overwhelming sense of entitlement that affects so many drivers in L.A. They get impatient because THEY have somewhere to be. You see this the most on the freeways. During morning rush hour, the only thing to do is to have patience. Traffic isn't going to move any more quickly if you get impatient. And yet, some people still haven't learned this and so you see what I call 'the lane shuffle' in which a car will attempt to outrun you by hopping, Frogger-style, from lane-to-lane. Most drivers watch this with amusement because they know that Mr. Frogger won't get there any more quickly than anyone else. This is usually proven moments later when Mr. Frogger realizes he wants to exit and is now stuck in the lane furthest away from the off ramp. Thus begins his game of 'reverse frogger'. Sometimes they make it, sometimes they don't. If he doesn't make it, often he'll honk and yell at everyone for making him miss his exit.

Drivers like Mr. Frogger seem to forget that they are not the only drivers on the road, nor are they the only ones with somewhere to be. When I first moved to L.A., I would get panicked in the mornings on the way to work if I got stuck in traffic. I hate being late, you see. Soon after, I learned that virtually everyone in the city has to commute from somewhere and being late is acceptable if it's due to traffic.

Moving back to the Midwest has given me a new perspective on driving, I have to say. I do love that sometimes, especially on the way to my parent's, I'm the only driver on the road. I can drive for up to ten minutes without seeing another driver. Yet, there are still bad drivers here.

Recently, I've noticed something that is fast becoming a pet-peeve of mine. It's usually concerning pick-up truck drivers or, sometimes, SUV drivers. You see, I get stuck behind them on the road. I'm not a Speedy-Gonzales driver by any means but I do like to at least go the speed limit. I usually go 60 or, at the fastest, 65 in a 55 zone. I know, technically, that's speeding but it just doesn't seem that fast. Anyway, when I get behind these drivers, they 're usually going about 45 or 50 mph in a 55 zone. I can deal with this a little better if they're old. It's probably a form of ageism or whatever but I tend to cut older drivers a little more slack.

It's the young couples I can't stand because what they're doing is having a conversation. I can hear you saying..."So?". Well, the thing is that they're trying to have it face to face while driving. Yes, you can actually see the driver constantly turning to face his partner as he tries to steer his truck. While I'm an advocate of manners, there's also such a thing as common sense and, call me crazy, but you'd think that while you were driving a big old pick-up truck, not crashing it might be the priority rather than staring at your lovely lass while you chat.

If it had only happened once, it would be ok. It's happened about six times in two weeks. It's usually on a busy two-lane highway so I can't pass. Instead, I get to watch John-Boy and Mary-Jane having a good old chat.

I should probably be more sympathetic because, after all, it is the Midwest and people take things slower here. I probably would be except that usually when I'm stuck behind one of these drivers, there is a parade of cars behind me all riding one another's bumper. Having been rear-ended during my first month in Ohio, I'm a wee bit weary of people being too close on my tail these days. I can still hear that crunch and feel the thud of being hit if I close my eyes. I don't want it to happen again. I usually leave at least a car length between me and the car in front of me these days, just in case I do get rear-ended again.

Yet I can't do anything about the parade of cars behind me. If John-Boy and Mary-Jane continue their conversation and he suddenly puts on his breaks, he's not getting hit, I am. Hence my dislike of getting stuck behind them.

There are other bad drivers here and they're not just limited to the roads. This morning, I almost got slammed in the carpark of my apartment building. Every morning, I pass by a driver that is speeding through, on her way to pick up someone. This morning, the sun was in her eyes. I know this because she was shielding them. She was still going at least 25 mph in a 5 mph zone. She didn't see me. I swerved, she just missed me. She barely slowed down.

I know, I'm probably guilty of bad driving at times, just as we all are. Sometimes, we just can't help it; we yawn at the wrong time, we forget to look both ways. We forget to look at our front end as well as our back end when pulling out of a parking space. There are all sorts of ways we can screw up. Yet there are bad drivers out there, drivers who forget that they have to share the road, drivers who are so worried about their own time that they forget that other people's is just as precious.

I suppose it's a comfort to know that even now I've left L.A., there is a little piece of the city here. Granted, it's one of my least favourite parts of the city but...I'm trying to look on the bright side. I suppose it just means I have to concentrate on being a better driver. Now...if only everyone could try that...

Happy Wednesday...

Paranoia in the Rearview Window

It's a cold and wet day outside the window where I sit today. It's the kind of cold that doesn't measure on a thermometer, a damp, chill that sinks into your bones and sits there. Even though it's warmer than it has been, the temperature reading doesn't mean much. It's in the wet rain that mists the air making things wet but falling so finely, it's almost invisible.

I think I've been complaining a lot lately. Whether it's a book that irritated me (yes, I'm talking to you, Story of Edgar Sawtelle), a movie or just the general blahness that hits in the deep winter months, I feel like I've been too negative.

I'm going to try to break out of that pattern. I actually did some writing last night. That was a good feeling. I know, I write on this blog every week day so, technically, I do write almost every day. Yet the type of writing I do in the evenings is different, it's fictional. It's much easier to babble about the world around me than make up something somedays.

It's Wednesday. That means it's closer to Friday and, if everything works out, I will have a three day weekend. Keep your fingers crossed that the title to my car arrives at the DMV this week. I'm starting to feel a little homebound. I drive to work from my home and back. Last weekend, I was daring and went a little further. Yet I keep alert to the possibility that at any moment a police car could pull behind me and see my license plates are technically expired.

So far, I'm doing ok with that. I'm ultra paranoid though. I have this picture in my head of a police car getting behind me and then I panic and suddenly turn off, my tires squealing as I do so. Then I get followed by the police and they pull me over and take my car away. Naturally, I think if I don't do anything ultra-obvious like, say, flee from the police in a dramatic manner, I might be ok. I can actually be quite rational in these situations.

However, if all goes as planned, I won't have to worry as of Friday afternoon. I will actually be able to drive proudly though I will be extremely sad to give up my California license plate. It's my mark of pride at the moment, my excuse for driving like a snail on snow, if snails drove, of course. It's my sign that yes, I'm not from around here, I'm a newcomer, be nice to me. Of course, at the moment, it's an enormous flashing beacon to police. It doesn't help that the expiration date of my plates isn't tiny like on the Ohio plates that I see every day. Instead, the year and month are on two rather large stickers, visible with 20/20 vision from the car behind me. I used to stare at those stickers a lot when I lived in L.A. and got stuck on the 10 freeway or the 101 as was the case when I moved there.

My first few years in L.A. were spent commuting from "The Valley" as it's known. I used to take the 101 and drive by the Hollywood sign daily, the Capital records building, the sights that look so glamourous in photos but border on seedy in real life. Then when I moved, I took the 1o freeway from a different valley. This commute was more boring but I had to pay more attention because the freeway split three times before I made it to my destination. Only a couple of times did I forget to split, finding my way into parts unknown and quickly turning around in case I got more lost.

Nowadays, my commute is easier. I hop in my car, turn left twice, turn right once and then turn into my parking lot. I'm always shocked that not only is it a quick trip but there's always parking spaces and I don't have to pay for them. I used to have to pay monthly in L.A. for the privilege of parking my car to go to work. These are some of the things I do not miss about Los Angeles.

Though there are some things I miss; I miss the heavy rains of February, the streets flooding with swell of the rain. I miss my friends, the quick trips to a movie where we'd make a dinner out of a hot dog and popcorn. I miss the fact that on any day, every movie currently in release is playing in the city somewhere. I miss the ocean and the trips to the English tea room I'd take with a friend after going to the Santa Monica pier.

Yet I'm not unhappy to be here. Now I have the chance of rain every day, not just during the 'rainy season'. I have my snow and the newness of the world it creates. I have my family, just a short trip away (unless the plates on my car are expired like...now) and I have a new life, one that's just begun. The discoveries I make every day are fun, from seeing a deer in the field behind my balcony to exploring a six-acre grocery store that keeps me in British goods without having to fly to the U.K.

I'm happy where I am but I'm happy where I've been. I'm curious where the road ahead lies.

Just as long as when I look in my rearview mirror, there aren't any police.

Happy Wednesday.

Snow, Writing and Other More Lyrical Musings Than I Had in Mind When I Sat Down to Write This

So, I told you yesterday it was snowing. It made me very happy. Happier still was the me that got to drive home in the twirling, whirling cascading snow that threatened to settle but never did. By the time I got to my apartment, it was snowing quite hard.

I've been waiting for it to snow since last year when I stood out on my parent's deck on Christmas Night, looked up at the snow and told myself that I had to come back to the Midwest. I missed snow. I missed my parents. I missed my brothers and sisters. I missed my nieces and nephews. I felt like it was time to come back.

When I left Indiana to move to L.A., I had a dream of being a screenwriter. I think almost any writer who does move to L.A. has the same dream. It wasn't an easy path to take but I tried anyway. I didn't get very far in my quest. I learned to write dialogue by writing screenplays. I entered contests. I got an agent to request a script but I didn't get further than that. And then, one day, I got stuck on an ending to a script. It wasn't working and I needed to rewrite it. I brainstormed how to do it, thought of everything and nothing worked.

So I decided to try writing a novel. I'd just read Stephen King's fantastic book, On Writing, and he made me think I could write a novel. So I tried it. And it was good. You know in movies where the hero or heroine has a sudden ephiphany and you hear the "Hallelujah!" chorus to signify the magnitude of the moment? That's how I felt when I sat down to write a novel. I could hear the Hallelujah chorus in my head. It was like a rush of air, a feeling of warmth slowly flooding through me. I always compare screenplays and novels to lying in a bed. A screenplay is like lying in a small twin bed in which you have a limited space. You have to show a story and convey it in dialogue tightly, concisely with nothing extraneous. And then, with a novel, it's like moving up to a king size bed. You can spread out, take your time to explain things, describe things, the dialogue has to be good but it doesn't have to be rushed. For me, it was almost like coming home.

And so, I wrote a novel. Then another one. Then three more in the series. After that, I took a break but I heard Green Day's "American Idiot" album and I needed to write again. I took that album and I let it guide me through a story, not stealing from the album but, rather, letting it weave through my story like a silent, invisible spiderweb. After that, I wrote a few query letters but nothing happened. I buried my disappointment in another novel, one that was supposed to be light and fluffy but ended up being somewhat dark and twisty. I took another break and wrote short stories but again, got disillusioned by rejection, becoming slightly bitter.

I wrote another novel. This one darker and drier than the other fare. I have a dry sense of humour. It tends to show through in my writing. You might have noticed that.

And that's where I am now. Eight novels under my belt during a seven-year stint in L.A. That's not a bad effort but it's also a good place to stop and wonder if I had to live there. And I realized I didn't. I could live anywhere.

So I moved. I'm back in a place where it rains and snows. Where the trees turn beautiful colours in the Autumn. When the dark, cold days of January and February bleach the world of all colour and show a landscape of barren nothingness, often coated with ice or rain. But it's also a place where, in March, a few balmy spring days let the crocuses and daffodils that have shyly and bravely pushed their stalks up into the cold frozen ground suddenly decide that it's time to bloom. And so the world begins to change into a spring landscape; the ice and snow melt, the flattened soggy ground begins to dry and spring hits, full force.

Last night, I stood on my balcony, my hands wrapped around a mug of Williams Sonoma Peppermint Hot Chocolate (SO worth the splurge) and let the snow fall on me. Snow is peaceful to me. There is nothing more tranquil than looking out onto a world covered in freshly fallen snow, sounds are muffled, the light is brighter in reflection. Seeing the snowflakes fall eased the back-of-my-mind worries that I'd done the right thing in leaving the friends I'd made in L.A., the life I'd carved out for myself. I miss them a lot. I miss my routines, the restaurants, the movies, USC football...everything that defined my life there. But standing there, watching the snow, calmed those worries and eased the last of my doubt.

This morning, I got up and found that the sun was shining but the telltale signs of the snowfall were still around, encrusted onto my windshield, patches of unmelted flakes clustered in the shadows. I woke up to a song on the radio that actually inspired my first novel, a song that fills me with the remembered passion I felt while having that epiphany that this was it. This was what I was supposed to do. And now, with the first snowfall of the season melting away, it's time to begin again. To write again. To stop looking at the things I left and look at the life I have now, car wrecks, speeding tickets included.

It's supposed to snow again on Thursday. I hope it does. I love this time of year. I heard that it's in the '80's in L.A. I like this weather better.

Ask me again in February though. I never said I couldn't be fickle.

Happy Tuesday.