On the other hand, watch a John Hughes movie. Sixteen Candles is full of stereotypes. But how many of you didn't laugh the first ten times you watched it?

My favorite John Hughes film is The Breakfast Club. From IMDb: Five high school students, all different stereotypes, meet in detention, where they pour their hearts out to each other, and discover how they have a lot more in common than they thought. 

We have Andrew Clark, the athete, played by Emilio Estevez. Brian Johnson, the brain, played by Anthony Michael Hall. Clair Standish, the princess, played by Molly Ringwald. Allison Reynolds, the basket case, played by (a brilliant) Ally Sheedy. Lastly, John Bender, the criminal, played by Judd Nelson.

Well, I'm here to tell you that each of these characters, ahem stereotypes, have encompassed me at one point or another.

*The Athlete- I played basketball and ran track in high school. I was on the bench the season we won the State Championship my junior year, watching the starters lead us to a win in overtime. I hung out with athletes, even wearing my letterman jacket with pride. It was cool at the time...really.

*The Brain- No, I wasn't one of the brightest students to walk the halls of my high school, but I did pull decent grades. The truth is, I studied. Although no one ever referred to me as a brain, which would have been beyond embarrassing, there was a little part of me that wished I had the smarts to be valedictorian.

*The Princess- I don't want you to have the impression that I dressed fashionably, or I didn't have atrocious bangs in my youth. But if you've seen The Breakfast Club, you know Claire is drawn to the bad boy. And I've rarely met a girl who wasn't, at least once in their life. After being dumped (for lack of a better word) at the end of my junior year, I found myself drawn to the boy I considered to be bad. He smoked, he chewed, he drank way too much. He never called, didn't take me on a "proper" date, and things fizzled when I left for college. Sure I dated some other guys my senior year, they were great guys actually, but I was drawn to the one I couldn't have.

*The Basket Case- Allison openly admits she didn't need to be in detention that Saturday, she was only there because she had nothing better to do. Classic. Like her, I was the girl who didn't really care what the plans were over the weekend, I just wanted to be included. Yes, her lunch of Captain Crunch and pixie sticks smashed between two slices of bread was gross. But how many of you secretly wanted to try it? I'd like to think there's a bit of a freak in all of us. I know there was in me.

*The Criminal- Probably the greatest stretch as far as I'm concerned. My brother claims my only act of rebellion was leaving a pair of pants on my clean bedroom floor. I was the kid who insisted on putting the nickel in the box beside the bulk candy bin, because stealing was bad. Then there was the side of me who went somewhere other than where I was supposed to be, snuck into the school after hours, and attended keggers. We all rebel at one point or another, some of us just cover it up better.

Dear Mr. Vernon,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did was wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found is that each one of us,

is a brain...

and and athlete...

and a basket case...

a princess...

and a criminal.

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

The Breakfast Club 

 Maybe John Hughes had it right all along. What do you think?

I was also able to fly out of state, by myself (!) to visit my brother, his wife and their ten-week-old daughter. They commented on how low maintenance I am. Apparently everyone else who comes to visit likes to go shopping and drive around town all day. Honestly, all I wanted to do was hold the baby and sleep. I worked out, I slept, I watched television. I didn't even bring my laptop because if I had, I'd have felt the urge to work. What I needed was to rest, and rest I did.

I recently finished (finished being a very loose term) my current WIP, a contemporary young adult novel. I literally pushed forward to make my self-imposed deadlines. I edited draft after draft, anxious to get it out to my betas before mid-May. When I did, the real wait began.

I checked my email.

I checked my email again.

I worried they hated it already.

I checked my email again.

I realized just because my life revolved around this novel, theirs might not.

I checked my email again, then my phone. They might text.

Would they email? Should I send them a text?

Why am I stressing? They have lives.

They hate it. I'm sure of it.

I wrote the seventh draft of my query.

I checked my email again, then my phone.

I put off writing the synopsis.

I decided to wait it out. I know they'll get to it, and they're all busy. After all the end of the school year is busy for everyone.

But just in case, I'll check my email again.

And I'll keep working on the synopsis, and editing the query, and checking my email again.

Here's what I know for sure...

Bon Jovi was, and still is, the greatest rock band of all time. Although "Pour Some Sugar On Me" was kind of cool, it will never top "Livin' On A Prayer".

Adam Levine should wear more plaid.

Christina should not wear a dress with a button holding her cleavage together. When she does, the camera should return to Adam.

Regina/The Queen is completely and totally evil. Her motivation for being mean is lacking and I really wish she'd let people live happily ever...well, you know the rest.

Ink is overpriced, and therefore, there should be less about the Kardashians in print.

Lost left some people, namely me, a little bit lost in the finale. Calling Mr. Echo. Ahem, Mr. Echo...Mr. Echo.

Heinz Doofenshmirtz is a comic genius.

Cee Lo is totally making the contestants "an offer they can't refuse" when he pets that white cat.

Aside from keeping the house clean (maybe just my house) anything is possible, so keep reaching.

That's the length of a half-marathon. A full is 26.2 and that's another story entirely, a goal I have yet to achieve. Believe me, 13.1 miles is plenty. There's this point between nine and eleven miles when I always hit the brick wall, so to speak. My feet go numb, stopping at the water tables feels like more work than it's worth, and I begin cursing myself for having this stupid, horrible idea. That's the point when I say I'll never run another half as long as I live.

And then I hit the twelve mile mark and think...I can do this. Am I stupid? Probably. Was this a horrible idea? Ask me tomorrow.

I hit the brick wall recently in other areas of my life. The querying of my women's fiction novel wasn't going well. I'd received several rejections, a couple on fulls, and I write this knowing there are several queries still lingering in the ether, which I may or may not, ever hear responses to. I was attempting to revise, query agents, research agents, blog, and keep up on social networking. (if you don't think there's research involved in querying, you're not doing it right.)

Then there's the housework, taking care of the dog, doctor's appointments, after school sports, yardwork, Booster Club Meetings, school volunteering, cooking, laundry (oh, the laundry).

I started to feel that I wasn't completely there for my husband and three children, the most important people in my life. I was letting the query rejections control our lives, and it made me sad to think that the subjective opinion of one agent was resulting in my children having to eat leftovers for the third night in a row. In essence, I started to feel like I was failing in every area of my life.

When I hit the brick wall, I honestly thought about giving up. But it wasn't until I was running one morning that an idea popped into my head. Maybe it's symbolic to say that on mile four of a six mile run, I had an idea that hasn't yet left my head, for a contemporary young adult project. I sat down that afternoon and began to write again. I stopped querying, social networking, blogging, and volunteering for awhile and finished a first draft in three weeks. 

Maybe my women's fiction won't be published. Maybe it will. But I'm not yet ready to give up. Because no matter how hard it is to write, or how numb it makes you, it won't let go. Sometimes you've just got to take a break, clear out some of the extra stuff bogging you down, and run with it.   

Oh, and I registered for another half-marathon. Stupid? Ask me in June.

When my siblings and I were little, leprechauns visited us every St. Patrick's Day. They wrecked havoc to our walls with their little green footprints, toppled over our clothes hampers, littered our floors with caramel filled chocolates, and turned our toilet water green.

As far as we could tell, our house was the only one visited by leprechauns. Maybe they came because it was my sister, Erin's, birthday. Perhaps it was because it we also celebrated our uber cool Uncle Pat's birthday. We didn't question the mystery, but rather, assumed we were just extra lucky. The leprechauns weren't chasing gold at the end of a rainbow on St. Paddy's Day, they were bringing candy to us, no traps required.

We questioned none of it, not even the fact that they never bothered to flush their green toilet water. My brother, sisters, and I weren't freaked out by leprechauns skittering around our house while we slept, and we didn't worry that their miniature, green footprints might stain our bedroom walls. All we needed to know was that we were lucky.

And that we had the coolest mom ever.

I laugh about it now, although I have yet to raise a teenager. Just as my mom sympathizes with my disappointments, I catch sight of the teen years every time my oldest gives me an eye roll and huffy breath while complaining about having to fold her own laundry. Oh, the injustice of it all.

Yes, being a writer involves a lot of rejection. But, with that said, it also provides opportunities to meet and connect with other people who, like myself, love to write. I'm fortunate to be part of an online group of mom/writers. Some of them are awaiting the release of their novels, others are on submission, some are agented, others- like myself- are querying. The common bond, however, is that they are moms who write.

If you have a chance, stop by their websites... Meet some of the Write at Home Moms.

Katie Ernest           http://tinkeringwithwriting.blogspot.com

Tristina Wright       www.tristinawright.com

Gennifer Albin        http://blog.genniferalbin.com

Aryn Youngless      http://www.weeklyadventuresordinarygirl.com

Bethany Hagen     www.bethanyhagen.com

Michelle Bruhn       http://thewriteabout.blogspot.com

Anita Howard        http://authoraghoward.blogspot.com

Amber Clites         http://amberafterglow.blogspot.com

Robyn Lucas         http://www.RobynLucas.com

Bethany Crandell   http://rookieriter.blogspot.com

Jessica Nelson       http://jessicanelson7590.blogspot.com

Laura Barnes        http://laurabwriter.blogspot.com

Leah Rae Miller      http://leahraemiller.blogspot.com

Elizabeth Otto       http://elizabethottowrites.blogspot.com

At least I was. Until I became an aspiring novelist/stay-at-home mom.

On a good day, my desk looks like this.

On a typical day, my desk looks like this.

On a good day, the play corner of my office looks like this.

On a typical day, the play corner of my office looks like this. 

On a good day, my youngest realizes that she actually has a playroom. She also recognizes the play corner of my office was created out of sheer desperation, so I could finish editing. On a good day, she doesn't move all of her belongings into my office while I'm working. She recognizes that the toys belong in their own pink bins, and she puts them away.

On a typical day, however, the toys never make it into the bins. Rather, the child does.

Isn't she thrifty?

I once told a friend my writing wasn't complete unless I could make people cry. By people, I'm selfishly referring to myself, as I routinely mist up when my characters hurt. Consequently, that's what I look for in quality writing...characters who are real enough to bring out emotions because we feel empathy when they hurt.

Real life is messy. Marriages fall apart, engagements break up, spouses get deployed, children are up all night with ear infections, families spend months or years watching loved ones suffer from illnesses, once close relationships unravel and sever completely. The ability of an effective writer is to channel those emotions from real life into a believable manuscript.

I suppose this is why I'm drawn to both reading and writing literary and women's fiction. I like stories that have the ability to merge a strong plot with characters who tug at your heart, therefore making them impossible to forget. A perfect example of this is Miriam from Khaled Hosseini's A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS.

Of course we all need a love story, too. I think there's a part of us who needs to believe that it's possible to meet our one true love on a weekend in Paris. We all need tension, love triangles, stolen kisses, and the intensity of young love to balance out the drama of our own lives.

Luckily, I get to do both as a reader and a writer. I'm fortunate to write with my own heart while reading the words coming from someone else's. 

But at the end of the day- while trying to balance life with writing, and query letters with hopes of publication- you can always read about a funny kindergartner named Junie B. Jones. As she said in SOME SNEAKY PEEKY SPYING, "A 'pology is the words I'm sorry. Except for you don't actually have to mean it. 'Cause nobody can even tell the difference."

Maybe that isn't completely true, but some days it's worth a shot.     

On Tuesday, I sat in a surgical waiting room while my step dad was undergoing a ten hour procedure. As I waited with my mom and sisters for word that he was okay, I had time to think about all he's gone through, since his cancer diagnosis, five years ago.

It started as a small lump, or what he referred to as a "divot" in his mouth. After our family's ear, nose and throat specialist biopsied it, he was referred to the University of Washington. The diagnosis was a very rare form of cancer called, Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma of the minor salivary gland. It's a big term for something so sneaky and insidious, for a form of cancer which struck the healthiest person we've ever known, leading us to believe that some things are just a matter of bad luck. As we've discovered over the past five years, it's slow growing and very persistent. Aside from radiation (which he's already had) the only successful treatment is removal of the malignant tissue. Chemotherapy has proven to be ineffective for this type of cancer, which travels along nerve endings to metastasize to other areas of the body, most often- the brain, lungs, and liver.

My step dad, who I also refer to as my bonus dad, has had cancer removed from his mouth twice, undergone nuclear proton radiation, had cellulitis, a detached retina, a staph infection and a blood clot. He's also had ACC nodules removed from his lung after the cancer spread. On Tuesday, after they removed the tumor, they reconstructed the roof of his mouth with what is called a "flap" by using skin from his arm to reseal his mouth. 

Yet he's a survivor who maintains the strongest faith of anyone I know.

This week has reminded me that no matter how much we endure, we are supported. Not unlike when my dad had open heart surgery when I was in college, and my siblings and I were surrounded by concerned relatives. It's a reminder of how we can support one another by being there for each other, whether in person or by telephone. It's reminded us that even when people are not physically present, their thoughts and prayers are, and that it is our responsibility to reach out to them just as they reach out to us. We've appreciated the unfailing support of family and friends. The number of text messages, prayers, Facebook posts and phone calls have been welcomed and beautifully overwhelming.

Sitting beside us in the waiting room was another family, also waiting for word on their loved one in surgery. As we were leaving for the ICU, my mom struck up a conversation with the woman who'd been fielding phone calls and updating her Facebook status all afternoon. Her husband was having a large brain tumor operated on. They recognize he doesn't have a lot of years left, but want him to have quality of life while he's here.

Perspective.

My book recommendations for today:

THE PEACH KEEPER and THE GIRL WHO CHASED THE MOON, by Sarah Addison Allen.

They are a combination of magical realism and romance, and the perfect literature for anyone who wants to get away from the realities of today and into the magic of a novel.

1. Her husband's name was Joe

           and

2. We lived in Montana

Needless to say, my 'team' lost. But I firmly believed the Dolphins had the coolest quarterback and the best uniforms.

Today, when I think of the Super Bowl, the first thing that comes to mind are the commercials. Did anyone not catch the cute little kid channeling Darth Vadar for Volkswagen last year? Sure, the food is great and the men are all amped up (my husband included), but for the remainder of the day, I find myself mentally calculating all I should be getting done. I suppose most of me just wonders why we can't go back to when the Chicago Bears enticed us with a cool rap- "The Super Bowl Shuffle." A football team makes a music video...hold the Aqua Net! I still remember the tune.

"They call me Sweetness cause I like to dance. Runnin' the ball is like makin' romance."

              and

"Give me a chance and I'll rock you good. Nobody messes in my neighborhood."

             the clincher

"You're lookin' at the Fridge. I'm the rookie. I may be large, but I'm no dumb cookie." 

The kid in me still finds that song to be totally rad.

Two movie quarterbacks, both based on real people, surface when I contemplate the excitement I should feel toward football. The first is Ronnie 'Sunshine' Bass from Remember the Titans. The second, Tami Maide, who was featured in the made-for-TV movie, Quarterback Princess. Tami was portrayed by a young Helen Hunt. I remember this show fondly and always felt a bit of hope of it being possible to be the star quarterback, as well as, the Homecoming Queen. I suppose it's no coincidence that I'm currently reading CATCHING JORDAN, by Miranda Kenneally.

So, here they are. My favorite sports movies, along with a favorite quote from each. Feel free to chime in on your own selections.

1. Rudy (1993) Simply put, this one tops my list as my absolute favorite sports movie. I still cry every time I watch Rudy Ruettiger run through the tunnel to play in his first, and only, Notre Dame football game. "I've been ready for this my whole life." -Rudy

2. Remember the Titans (2000)  "I don't scratch my head unless it itches and I don't dance unless I hear music. I will not be intimidated. That's just the way it is." -Coach Boone.

3. The Sandlot (1993) "It's about time, Benny. My clothes are goin' out of style." -Squints

4. Love and Basketball (2000) "Offense sells tickets. Defense wins games." -Coach Davis

5. It's a toss up between Hoosiers (1986) "Let's win this game for all the small schools that never had a chance to get here." -Merle Webb

                 and

Field of Dreams (1989) "This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again." -Terence Mann

Maybe that's why I've lost interest in the Super Bowl. I'm looking for a reminder of the past, of how exciting sports can be, and how thrilling it is to watch the underdog succeed. Thankfully, I catch glimpses of it during the excitement of March Madness and whenever I attend one of my daughter's gymnastic meets. I feel the palpable thrill in the air when I hear a marching band at a high school football game and when watching a child dribble a basketball in their first scrimmage.

Enjoy your Super Bowl Sunday. Stay safe and have fun, wherever you might be celebrating. Maybe even take a moment to sing, "We're just here to do the Super Bowl Shuffle..." C'mon, you know you want to.