My husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary yesterday. On Friday night we went out to dinner, finished our Christmas shopping and bought a new washer and dryer. (Why is it that the old appliances give up the ghost at the most inconvenient times?) Then, to finish off our anniversary, we gathered the children for a treat yesterday afternoon. We ate ice cream and homemade fudge and enjoyed the time together, because the ninth of December is an event for the whole family. Seven years ago Rick married me and as part of the package, took on my three children as his own.

I remember the day he proposed. It was American thanksgiving. He made the arrangements for a babysitter for the evening so we could go out to a nice restaurant for dinner. Mid-morning he showed up at my house while I was watching "Sesame Street" with my three-year-old daughter. He sat on the couch and we talked while the show ran. Then he pulled a box out of his pocket and popped the question, in my living room with a children's show on the television and my daughter crawling on our laps. Of course I said yes, my daughter tried on the ring before I could, and he admitted to being too impatient to wait until evening. As funny as it sounds, it showed me that my children were loved as well, and that made the moment romantic to me.

A couple days ago I was thinking about marriage and how much I like being married to him. Every time I look at my husband I count my blessings. He is my biggest supporter and most loyal fan. He takes good care of me and our family, working especially hard so I can stay home for the children, and he took on those three children and loves them like his own. We worry, learn, love, laugh, and cry together. We plan for the future together.

Life isn't always easy and we don't always agree on everything, but after seven years, we love each other, and more importantly, we still like each other. One thing I'm sure of, I couldn't imagine a better husband or a better father for my children. I'm truly grateful for him every day.

I'm sitting here at my desk trying to write and wondering how one types well with cold fingers. It is 1 C outside and I am dreading when it hits -30 c. Right now it is cold enough. I have a sweater on and a big fleece blanket wrapped around my shoulders. A mug of herb tea sits steaming at my elbow, its spicy aroma filling the room, and the keyboard of my laptop gets warm when I type, so eventually my fingers will become more nimble. Now if I could only find a way to make my brain more nimble.

Truth be known, I've been looking forward to this time of year. This summer I tried writing, but even though I accomplished a lot, it wasn't the same. I wrote my first book this way, herb tea and blankets, so every time I try to write anything else, I feel like I need that blanket over my shoulders. It's like the blanket holds in all those crazy thoughts and confines them so they have no escape except through my fingers.

I hear about other writers who have odd little habits to help them write. There are those who listen to certain music, play a game of solitaire first, or surround themselves with objects related to the thing they are writing. Some say having rituals can be limiting. They might prevent you from writing whenever you can. I am training myself to write anywhere in any amount of time (Friday night it was in a little notepad during the intermission of a play), but my serious writing happens in front of the laptop with my blanket over my shoulders. So what are your writing rituals? What helps you get into the writing frame of mind?

NaNoWriMo started last week, and I have been faithfully working at it everyday, and consistently getting very little accomplished. According to my goals, I should have hit 14,000 words yesterday, but instead I barely broke 10,000. But that number came after taking the morning off.

Since the beginning of November, I have put just about every other project on hold. Between trying to babysit, keeping the house moderately clean, being wife and mother, I have been taking every spare moment and trying to push that word count up. No luck. Maybe the problem was a bad story idea, or the lack of any real time to pursue the story. Maybe there was too much noise in the house, or too many other obligations outside of the house. At any rate, the story just sat there, growing slowly, a hundred words at a time.

Yesterday morning, I didn't want to write, or even turn on the computer. Instead, I pulled my box of beads out and made two Christmas ornaments I'd been planning for along time. They turned out beautifully. It was so refreshing to work on a project that only took a few hours rather than the hundreds and hundreds of hours a book takes. The great thing happened later when I did turn on the computer. The measly word counts of the last week were gone, and I ended up writing almost 4000 words.

In my excitement to get the NaNo book underway, I had forgotten one of the keys to being productive. Creativity takes so many forms and we need to allow every form its opportunity to be expressed. By limiting ourselves to one outlet, we put a cap on where our minds can take us. When one project feels dried up, it is time to put it away for a bit. When I put NaNo away for a few hours, I felt refreshed when I came back to it.

This morning, I took some time and put together a necklace my daughter has been wanting to wear with new sweater. I enjoyed the process and worked over some plot points in my head as I strung the beads. Now it is back to the writing. But my brain is racing and I can't wait to see my word count soar.

I should be in the middle of high word counts and a story that just won't turn off in my head. Instead my NaNo word count is pitifully low and the story plods along at a snail's pace. I've decided that most of the problem lies with Mitzi. This is the name I have given my internal editor. Or should I say, the name she has given herself - she is just that pushy.

Last year was a test for me. If I could write the 50,000 words, then I would consider myself a writer. Silly, I guess, but I needed that push. Well I did it, with Mitzi happily occupied elsewhere, maybe taking a vacation in Bermuda. But Mitzi came back from vacation in April and has pushed me like a slave ever since. I have been polishing and editing, and still she is never happy, insisting that each sentence could be just that much better, promising me that each character will be deeper and more real with just a few more hours of work. And really, keeping me from submitting anything. It is never quite good enough for her.

Now she hovers over my shoulder with each word, questioning my judgment and reminding me just how much work needed to go into last years manuscript after the challenge was over. "Let me help you," she says, insisting that she could save me so much work in the long run. And she might be right. But I also know I need to pound out the story as fast as I can or I will never get past the first chapter.

She has good intentions. Her favorite thing is a well-crafted story with tight plot lines and believable characters. But somehow, I need to turn her off. Otherwise, this NaNo novel will always sit at the start watching all the other novels cross the finish line.

As a writer there are always thoughts and snippets of stories running through my head. Often I listen to the voices of characters work things out in my mind. Other times a great line will come to me and I know it will be the perfect springboard to an award winning short story, or the closing line for my next novel.

The biggest problem is these thoughts and inspirations don't always come when I am sitting at the keyboard ready to type. More often than not they come when I am elbow deep in dishwater. Sometimes they come when my hands are covered with dirt as I pull weeds in the garden. And they come quite regularly when all the lights are off and I am just getting ready to close my eyes for a much needed sleep.

That is why there are notebooks all over my house. There are several in my purse and one in each of the tote bags I take wherever I go. All it takes is a few key words or a quick paragraph, and it is enough to jog my memory later. Sometimes I have to get it down so fast, my handwriting is barely legible - especially at 1:00 a.m. - but the act of writing the thought down seems to be enough. Most of the time.

Two nights ago I was just getting settled. Everyone else in the house slept soundly, but I couldn't relax enough to get myself sleep. I had finished writing for the night and turned off the computer. But my brain wasn't so easy to turn off. My thoughts were full of ideas for the next days writing session. I finally got out of bed and went into the other room to write them down. I scribbled three or four ideas into a notebook. Once this was done, my mind settled and I was able to go to sleep.

This is good, right? I haven't worried too much about those late night thoughts because I knew they were sitting in a notebook in the office. I might have trouble deciphering them, but they were there. That is why today, I am turning my house upside down trying to find that very notebook. I can't remember if I used it for something else and moved it, or if I only imagined getting up to write them down. (Sometimes those dreams can be so realistic.) I think what probably happened is another set of hands found the notebook and borrowed it for something else. I guess I need to gather the usual suspects and follow the clues that will lead me to scribblings that just might turn into a bestselling novel.