Blondie in the River

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First I’ll have to introduce myself. I am currently writing my first novel. A thriller set in Florida in 2004 during an incredible hurricane season filled with time travel, evil scientists, witch trials, the Wild West, Puerto Rico, hot blondes, and a Gerard Butler look-alike.

I was born in the Mid-Atlantic and grew up mostly in the beautiful state of Maryland.  You know, Maryland with the sailboats on the Chesapeake Bay also named after Bloody Mary, Henry the VIII’s daughter. So don’t mess with me, right (wink). I’ve lived up and down the East Coast from Massachusetts to Florida but have been jerked away somewhere landlocked for the moment.  I am definitely missing the beach although there is plenty of dirt here. So what does a water lover do when there is no water nearby? I can write about it, although it isn't so easy when I have short people in my house (ehem, my kids) I’m currently a writer and a mom and my days go something like this on my red couch warmed by the heat of my laptop:

Ronnie frantically swam towards the car trying to get back to Mike through the raging waters. She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Using every bit of strength she had Ronnie fought through the debris strewn river to reach him.  Moments before they were driving to San Juan before the hurricane flooded waters blocked their path. They were slammed by a wall of mud and crashed into the angry river below. She grabbed the door that was threatening to be torn off by the rushing water and pulled herself inside the car. He was unconscious. She checked for a pulse. He was alive but had a bloody gash on his head. She quickly unbuckled his seatbelt as the car continued to fill with water.  The car broke loose from its perch on the sandy bottom of the river and bumped and jerked downstream, slamming the door closed trapping them both inside.

“Mom, can you help me wipe my butt.” My four year old daughter yells from the bathroom.

“Yes, honey. Try for yourself and I’ll be there in a minute.” Because there is nothing more that I’d like to do right now than wipe your butt, cuteness. She knows how to wipe; she just wants a little attention. Maybe I should quit for awhile and go play with her.

Seriously, I’m drowning here. You’re going to ‘play’ while I am unconscious and about to die. You’re heartless.

“Mom, there aren’t any butt wipes in here.”

“OK, honey.  I’ll get you some.”  Sorry Mike, you’re just going to have to hold on a little longer.

You can see that Ronnie, hot as she is, is about ninety pounds lighter than I am. If you wait there’s no way she’ll have the strength to pull me to shore. Then we’re both dead. What are you going to do then? No book with dead main characters, right?

Hey, just because you look a little like Gerard Butler doesn’t mean I’ll just do whatever you say. The little girl is hungry and needs some attention. Just hold your breath till I get back.

Wait. When will you be back?

Stop looking at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. . . Fine, I'll be right back, damn you.

That’s how it goes, back and forth everyone wanting a piece of me. Unfortunately, my daughter doesn’t nap anymore. I don’t get that good two hour block of time to get some writing done while she lays her sweet curly blonde head down gripping Big Bird tightly in her arms. The mangy, eyeball-scratched Big Bird. Not the new fluffy yellow one that he used to be.  He’s a little like me at the end of the day; messy-yellow headed, scratchy eyed and gripped tightly in a hug by my cute-a-ful beauty.

Follow me on Twitter at @kamajowa.