Writing Tough Love

Well, this is awkward. And yes, that's how I pack up to go back home.

I embarked on my writing trip this past weekend. I love me a good road trip. I carefully crafted my road trip play list so that I could practice and consider my debut on The Voice. Because I am THAT good when the music is full blast and all the windows are rolled up. I packed twelve cokes, snacks, and 4 suitcases of what would turn out to be not enough clothes and snuck out very early.

At some point in Iowa, I called the kids when they woke up. Max questioned why I HAD to go. Oh look, a little whiny still-tired kid just handed a little guilt to you somewhere next to a corn field while a Ford F-150 passes you. How great is technology now?

I bucked up though and explained that Mommy doesn't HAVE to do this at all. But I WANT to, and so I'm DOING IT. Mommy's chasing her dreams.
"It's like when you leave me and go to Gramma's for a week. You don't HAVE to, but you really WANT to. And Mommy really needs to go take some time to write, because she's really busy at home...."

Long pause for distracted kid to follow. Nice, he calls me out, and conveniently forgets to listen my honest and well crafted response.

"Oh. Maybee is chasing her tail! It's funny!"

"Don't forget to take your field trip permission form to school today. Have Daddy look on the refrigerator for that note that explains what Lucy needs to wear to her dance practice. And good luck on your Spelling Test!" But he'd already handed the phone to Ricardo by then.

Aside from forgetting all of my charging wires for my Blackberry and ipod touch, and one slight incident for about an hour where I could swear my trunk was open somewhere in INDIANA -the road trip went well. I pulled over for a lengthy pit stop, found the chargers at Walmart along with lunch.

I pulled over in Indiana to shut the trunk. It's Ricardo's sporty Grand Am and I probably hit the open trunk button with my knee cap - only boney enough to push a button while bent in a right angle while driving for 10 hours.

10 Hours, Leslie?

That's right, I'm committed enough to this crazy writing dream to drive 10 hours. I'm also desperate enough to literally buy the time to figure this all out. So, when I arrive, I announce to all the voices in my head, "I'm here to write, Effers."

I checked in to this beautiful and quaint room in the hosting Bed & Breakfast. It's just me, so I found the smallest (read: least expensive) room they had. Which translates to not the historical room where Al Capone and his gang are rumored to have had a shoot out. Not that room, with the bullet hole.

The closet has been cleverly converted into a 3/4 bathroom. There's room for a queen-sized giant fluffy blanketed bed and a travel size tv with cable. It is all I need. I love it. I go to charge the phone and the ipod touch and in my quest to find electrical outlets, I see the TV and cable box are unplugged. Perhaps this is part of the retreat. I wonder if Wade told the B&B to unplug all of the TV's - we were here to do writing discovery and TV crushes creativity. Or something like that. Wow, this guy is good already and I haven't even met him.

And then I get on my knees, find the correct cords, plug in the TV and cable and turn it on.

The next day, after they clean my room, my remote is missing. Wow, this is pretty hard core, Wade. I mean, you discovered I plugged in the TV and I've been watching, so you had them take my remote? I can manually turn it on, I realize. But I cannot change the channel. I search all over, in the blankets, in pillow cases. I get on all fours and look under the bed. I deduce that I probably look a lot like a prescription addict checking on grandpa after his hip replacement surgery. I acknowledge my ridiculous desperation, and then carry on in my quest to find the remote. Surely they didn't just take it? This is some serious writing tough love, Wade.

I can't fall asleep without the TV on. I opt to go along with Wade's passive TV intervention. But I can't sleep. I try to watch the one channel, but it's a continuous loop of the same news. It's a lot of Caycee Anthony trial and Nick Cannon's reporting about the crazy baby photo heist at the hospital. Good idea Nick Cannon, when media tries to get to your babies, leave your wife and kids in the hospital and go straight to Piers Morgan. Great idea.

At midnight, with no TV to soothe me, I remember my hypnotist to sleep app. I've tried it before, but Ricardo snoring in the background is literally not recommended in the prologue of the relaxation exercise. But tonight I'm all by myself. Let's do this. It works. I wake up and watch HLN. again. It's the same news as last night.

I opt out of say anything at breakfast to anyone else and bust myself. Maybe Wade's done some serious research and he's working on each person's barriers individually. I mean, I am watching the one channel. Kinda feel like I'm cheating. And I don't wanna out myself. Because I'm waiting for the part where we do some kind of self-discovery and he asks, "What do you think keeps you from writing? What's your emotional barrier?" I can't decide to answer "Facebook" or "TV". Tough call. Maybe I'll just make something cool like, "Work and my kids."

But if Wade's done all this investigating, he'll know that I work part time on the very couch (office) I write on. And then he'll probably bring to my attention that my kids go to school for 8 hours a day. Good point. And then he'll probably also bring it to everyone's attention that when my kids get home, they go play and usually don't want much to do with me, Facebook, or TV. Unless it's Spongebob. So, what's my problem with finding time again?

Wow, this guy is really good. He's like the Dr. Phil of writing. But not. I mean, Wade dresses better, has a a baby face and really great hair.

I ask the B&B hostess about the remote. She looks perplexed, but I know what's up y'all. I'm totally onto this gig. That's why I'm jacking with you and blaming your maid took not my diamonds, but my remote.
"Must have been balled up with all the bed linens or something."
Hostess suggests that I grab a remote in one of the empty and open rooms next to me. Good plan. So I do.

Later that day, everyone goes out to dinner, but I have a ridiculous urge to write instead. Write over eat, Leslie? Yeah, I know. Something's working here. I grabbed some take out. Don't worry. And then I did something so paramount, I'm still a little creeped out by it, I turned the TV off. And I wrote. Wrote is a funny word. Don't you think?

I find it amusing that I requested a remote, only to turn off the TV, which I could have done manually. And there's my mommy tip of the day (week, month, year, ever): Give 'em what they want, and hope they make the better choice for what they need. Whew. That was deep.

Preparing for an early departure, I said goodnight to my new writing pals, and drifted up to my room to pack. The next morning, I found the remote buried in my wad of a suitcase. Amused, and slightly embarrassed, I realized it wasn't Wade's intervention at all, it was my own. Also pretty deep.

I jumped back in my car for the 10 hour trek home and somewhere just before I crossed the state line into Indiana, I thought, "Man, I sure do wish I had TV right now." Guess my 755 song roadtrip playlist will have to suffice. Because writing while driving isn't recommended.

I made it home. Also pretty deep thought.

That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Anything by Amos Lee.