Betsy Horvath

Author: Betsy Horvath

  • A Story From Hardy Falls

    Hello, friends!

    It has been quite a week here at The Palatial Horvath Estate.  I struggled to catch up on cleaning and end-of-season yard work (boo), but I was also able to reconnect with an old friend, read a good book (or two), and basically decompressed a bit from the pressure that comes from releasing a new book into the wild.  There are so many little tasks involved in publication–none of them are especially hard, but there sure are a lot of them. Plus I, a woman of a certain age with a sporadic memory, have to remember what they all are!  Insanity!  Lists upon lists upon lists…  I really have to figure out what I’m doing at some point.

    I didn’t get around to planning anything for the blog this week, so I thought I’d share a story from the world of Hardy Falls, the little town where most of my books are set.  Did you know that I write a newsletter?  Every month (more or less) it includes either a Hardy Falls short story / vignette or an article from The Hardy Falls Gazette (the town’s online newspaper run by Ms. Gregory, town librarian, with help from journalism students from the nearby university).  A lot of the articles and stories give more insight into the events in the various books.  You certainly don’t need to read them to follow what’s happening in the books, but I hope they give a little added flavor.

    (PS – if you haven’t subscribed, click HERE to join us!  You’ll also get a free novella, Starting Something, and I have a lot more stuff to come. Swear.)

    ANYWAY, here’s an article from The Hardy Falls Gazette that appeared in the newsletter at some point or other.  It concerns an incident that happened at the Hardy Falls Valentine’s Day dance. Our favorite Casanova, Old Albert Cromwell, apparently has a thing for sisters.  That’s fine–unless you bring one sister to a dance as your date and the other sister still thinks you’re dating her.  AND the sisters already hate each other!  OOPS!  Let’s just say that the ramifications of this night have lived on in infamy, and the feud between the sisters crops up again in my new book, Choosing Love.  Oh, Albert.  Why can’t you use your charm only for good?

    I hope you enjoy it!

    Sibling Rivalry Explodes at Valentine’s Day Dance

    by Michael Hawkins, correspondent

    Sibling rivalry exploded into chaos at the 36th annual Hardy Falls Valentine’s Day Dance held at the Grange Hall on Sunday, February 12th

    The night started innocently enough. The Valentine’s Day dance is one of the most popular events in town, and this year was no exception. The community descended in force, dressed in their best Valentine’s Day finery.

    “It’s just nice to get out in the middle of winter, you know?” said Chet Hinkle, owner of Hinkle Insurance. “I mean, sure, this winter hasn’t been too bad, but usually it’s freaking cold. Besides,” he laughed, “this is the only time I get to wear this suit.

    The suit, bright white with dark red lapels, paired with a red vest decorated with hearts, certainly made a statement.

    The large Grange Hall itself was a study in pink, white, and red, echoing Mr. Hinkle’s suit. Volunteers from the town council, led by Mayor Margo Truelove, had spent days blowing up hundreds of balloons and hanging streamers.

    “It looked like Cupid threw up in here,” observed Martin Scanner, who manages reservations of the space for the town. “Made my teeth hurt. But everyone else seemed happy.”

    Attendees who didn’t much care for the decor appreciated the large bar that had been set up, handled by Deacon Black and Matteo Guerrero of the Country Time Bar and Grill. The town council had hired a band – Roy and The Renegades – to provide music for dancing

    While the townspeople mingled, drank, and danced in the hall, things took a downward turn out in the vestibule where Lola Peters, 83, owner of Hardy Hair, was collecting tickets at the door.

    At approximately 9:00 pm, Birdie Nelson, 84, of Skytop, arrived and attempted entry into the dance, accompanied by Albert Cromwell, 82, of Hardy Falls. Ms. Nelson is Ms. Peters’ sister.

    According to reports, Ms. Peters had been dating Mr. Cromwell herself until three weeks ago. Apparently, she had not been aware that he was now dating her sister.

    When she saw the two trying to enter the dance, she confronted them and demanded to know what was going on. Things escalated quickly from there, and soon the sisters were yelling obscenities at each other.

    The shouting intensified when Ms. Nelson tried to get past Ms. Peters. Ms. Peters grabbed the pink orchid lei Ms. Nelson was wearing, ripping it and her dress and showering petals everywhere. Ms. Nelson slapped her.

    “Ms. Peters yelled, “oh it is so on,” reported Tiffany Preston, who had been helping to collect tickets and witnessed to the event. “Then she tackled Ms. Nelson.”

    Mr. Cromwell tried to intervene, but one of the women kicked him in the groin, and he went down.

    The women fell to the floor, clawing and punching at each other. Martin Scanner and Joe Horton pulled Mr. Cromwell to safety and then tried to separate the two sisters. Mr. Scanner got an elbow to the stomach and had the wind knocked out of him. Mr. Horton was scratched and left to call the police.

    “Hey, I’m no hero,” he said

    At that point, Ms. Peters had the upper hand and pinned Ms. Nelson to the floor.

    “She kept yelling, “what are you doing with him, you bitch? He’s mine!” and other things like that,” said Tiffany Preston. “Mr. Cromwell was still trying to protect his…um, himself, but he looked really stunned. I don’t think he knew Ms. Peters had it that bad for him.

    It may be that Ms. Peters “has it bad” for Mr. Cromwell. But according to other long-time Hardy Falls residents in attendance, she also has a legendary hatred for her sister.

    “Well,” said Mathilda Gregory, editor in chief of the Hardy Falls Gazette, “The way I heard it, when the girls were in their teens, Birdie Brady – that was her name then – glued down all of Lola Brady’s hair. Lola’s head had to be completely shaved, and she was a laughingstock for weeks. She’s never forgiven her sister. Their rivalry is legendary.” Ms. Gregory shook her head. “I don’t know what Albert was thinking.”

    After a few moments, Ms. Nelson managed to get away from Ms. Peters and ran. She burst into the main hall, much to the surprise of those who had not realized something was going on in the vestibule. Ms. Peters followed.

    Unfortunately, the theme of this year’s dance was “Love Among The Stars,” complete with Star Wars themed piñatas.

    “I just wanted to highlight the new Star Wars line of candy we just got in at the Spun Sugar Candy Store,” Mayor Truelove said sadly. “Lightsabers to knock down Star Wars piñatas seemed like it would be fun.”

    The piñata portion of the evening hadn’t happened yet, so when Ms. Nelson and Ms. Peters barged into the Grange Hall, they ran right into the display. Ms. Nelson grabbed a lightsaber, Ms. Peters grabbed another, and soon the two women were hacking away at each other with the enthusiasm of experienced Jedi.

    Since they were in a relatively confined space, things went about as well as you might expect. The piñatas were the first casualties, and candy scattered everywhere, tripping the people trying to separate the women and ground underfoot.

    “Lola got me on the head with her lightsaber,” said Martin Scanner, who’d rushed forward to try and help. “Lucky she didn’t kick me in the nuts like she did Albert.

    People at the bar scattered when the women took out cups of beer and other drinks with their lightsabers.

    “Good thing we had the bottles lined up on the back wall,” said Deacon Black.

    Ms. Peters and Ms. Nelson were definitely tiring, panting, and hoarse as they continued to shout. Mr. Black and Mr. Guerrero were able to grab the women and finally disarmed them, before helping them to chairs on opposite sides of the room.

    Chief Jacqueline Kline and Police Officer Harry Newman, who had been out on a call on the other side of town, arrived and took both women down to the station. Fortunately, they were able to transport them in separate cars.

    “We’re going to charge them with disturbing the peace, but we won’t hold them,” Chief Kline said. “It would be different if anyone had been seriously hurt. They’ll have to pay for the candy, though.”

    “Easy for her to say nobody was hurt,” Albert Cromwell groused later and then shrugged. “I guess I forgot about that stupid glue. I mean, it happened over seventy years ago, for heaven’s sake. Maybe they should let it go.

    “Just goes to show you that you always need to think before you jump between sisters,” Ms. Gregory said.

    Mr. Cromwell declined to comment.

    © Betsy Horvath 2019

     

     

     

  • New Release!

    Hello, my friends!  I’m pleased and proud to tell you that I have a NEW book out!  A NEW one!  I KNOW!  I’m as shocked as you are!

    Choosing Love is finally out in the wild, and available now wherever fine ebooks are sold!  Paperback version coming shortly.

    Here’s the information –

     

    Sometimes the best choice is simply to follow your heart.

    Jenny Kline’s whole life is centered around chasing her dream to be an artist—a painter. Sure, she works two jobs to make ends meet, but she tells herself the life she’s building will be perfect—until she finds out she’s lost not one of her jobs, but both of them. At first, the offer of employment as a temporary receptionist at the Hardy Falls police department seems like a no-brainer. That’s before she’s stuck behind a desk all day dealing with cranky townspeople and lusting after a certain gorgeous cop she’s been trying to ignore for years.

    Officer Harry Newman has been avoiding Jenny since the moment he joined the Hardy Falls police force. After all, he might think she’s sexy as hell, but her mother is the chief of police—and his boss. He knows it’s better to stay far away, but that’s hard to do when Jenny is in his personal space every day. She’s a temptation, and all Harry wants to do is get closer—to hell with the consequences.

    Despite their best intentions, the chemistry between Harry and Jenny sizzles. Then Harry’s past raises its ugly head, Jenny tries to help, and their mutual attraction explodes into a night of passion neither of them expected. Will they be brave enough to continue what they’ve started? Can Harry put the past behind him and walk into the light? And will Jenny be able to chase her dreams and hold on to Harry at the same time?

    Welcome to Hardy Falls, Pennsylvania, where even the best-laid plans have a way of flying right out the window—especially when love comes knocking on the door.

    Click HERE to read the first chapter

     

    Available Now

    Kindle |  Nook  |  Apple Books |  Kobo  |  Google Play  |  Other

     

    Huzzah!

    I also thought I’d better mention that I’ve re-numbered the books in the Hardy Falls series–just in case someone notices and is confused. There are a couple of reasons for doing that, but mainly I went to the trouble because Amazon doesn’t recognize the “.5” books as part of a series.  I figured I’d make the change now before I got too much further along.  The number changes are still filtering through the various vendors (I’m looking at you Apple Books!), but eventually they’ll all be whole numbers the way God–and Amazon–intended.

    By the way, just as a side note, do you know what you SHOULDN’T do when you’re trying to finish up the millions of little tasks needed to get a book out?  Tasks that all require internet access?  You SHOULDN’T cut through your internet cable because you wanted to do a little yard work to decompress and got overenthusiastic with the hedge trimmer.  That’s bad!

    Sigh…

    But I don’t care because the book is out!  I hope you enjoy Jenny’s and Harry’s story as much as I do!

     

    I’m tired.

     

  • Too Much of a Good Thing

    I am a voracious reader.  I always have been.  One of my clearest memories as a child (in first grade, I think) is lying in bed reading The Boxcar Children, and yelling to my mom asking her to tell me what the words meant when I didn’t understand them. Later in high school, I remember sobbing because I loved a book so much and I had to return it to the library.  We talked the library into selling it to us so I could keep it.  I still have it.

    I am a proud book nerd.  I probably love reading more than I love television, movies, video games, theme parks, or shopping. Except shopping for books.  If a book engages me, I am totally immersed while I’m reading it.  All freaking in.  Life outside the book ceases to exist for me.

    I especially love reading various types of romance novels.  Contemporary, romantic suspense, paranormal, sci-fi romance, doesn’t matter.  If I find an author and a series that I love, if the book has a story and a romance and characters that suck me in, I’m there.

    If I care about the main characters, I MUST see what happens.  I have to know how the MCs get together, what happens to shatter their world and how they go about rebuilding it.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried when the boy hurts the girl, or the girl hurts the boy (or whatever combination of boys and girls there happens to be in the book).  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve finished a book and then started it all over again simply because I wanted to experience the joy of the ending one more time.

    Sounds good, doesn’t it?  Considering I’m a romance writer and all.  Good thing I’m in love with the genre, eh?

    And it IS good.  Mostly.

    See, I’m also a completionist.  Some might even say I’m a wee bit…obsessive.  When I find an author who has a series I love, I start at the beginning and read through until I’ve finished all the books.  Nothing else matters.  Just the next book.  Just escaping into that world again and again and finding out what happens to those characters I’ve learned to love because those people are real to me.  Standalone novels aren’t AS bad, but a series?  A series where characters show up book to book and you really get invested?  Yikes.

    Reading that way is why I only got three hours of sleep last night (because I HAD to keep reading).  Reading that way is why I can’t announce that my own new book is up for sale this week in this blog post, as I’d planned (because it’s not done yet).  Reading that way is why my sink is full of dirty dishes, cat hair fluffs are all over the house, and the garden still needs weeding (because reading takes time).

    Yup, things went to hell in a handbasket this last week. I wasn’t working.  I wasn’t concentrating on my life in the real world.  I was reading obsessively.

    Then there’s the financial part—it’s soooooooo easy to overspend for ebooks thanks to one-click purchasing.  At least I read ebooks almost exclusively now and they tend to be cheaper than paper books.  But even if you’re careful about the price of the books you’re buying, it doesn’t help much if you buy 20 ebooks at a time.

    And you don’t get much accomplished in your real life if you read all 20 books in a matter of days.  Like I did.

    (Just as an aside—I don’t have Kindle Unlimited or one of the other subscription services.  I want the books I want when I want them and most of the ones I want aren’t part of them anyway.  I also like owning them so I can read them whenever I want to.  But for a reader like me, I certainly understand the appeal of a monthly subscription service.)

    Reading is a drug for me.  And reading might be a healthier drug than lots of other things I could be doing, but I simply can’t keep losing days and days and weeks of productivity to it.  I can’t have eyes that feel like sandy mush in my head because they’re so strained.  I can’t eat wrong because I’m so tired from not sleeping (because I was reading) that my body is screaming for the energy of carbs.

    I can’t.

    Don’t get me wrong – I WANT to.  But I can’t.

    So now what?

    It’s hard to have a compulsive personality on a good day, but something like this is when it’s the worst.  Reading IS essential to me not only as a person but also as a businessperson.  I ain’t giving it up.  Reading is my soul and, also, if I’m writing romances, I need to read them.  But, obviously, I need to establish some boundaries.  That means I’ll have to set up a schedule.

    Which sucks.

    Time limits are going to be a necessity most days.  So are alarms and being aware of how long I read at night.  Not getting so involved I forget the time.  At least my Fitbit can do timers.  I’ll also have to change my thinking so reading is a reward after work is finished instead of a treat before I start.

    Sigh.

    And there, my friends, is the story of why I can’t announce my new book this week. Let this be a lesson to you. It really is possible to have too much of a good thing.

     

     

     

  • The Assumption of Failure

    When you start something new do you assume you will be successful?  Or do you assume there’s a really good chance you’re going to fail?  No…not a chance.  A likelihood.  Asking for a friend…. *whistles casually*

    Seriously, though.  I am finally at the point where I feel things shifting.  I feel the earth move under my feet as I gather myself to jump to the next level. It is an exciting time. But my stinkin’ thinkin’ can also make this time a lot more nerve-wracking than it needs to be.

    See, when I start something new or try to take what I’m already doing to a different level, I don’t enter into the endeavor assuming I will succeed.  I don’t walk in KNOWING that I’ll be able to overcome any obstacles in my path.  Or that I’ll keep going in spite of problems.  Or that if it doesn’t work out there’s another door opening somewhere.  If anything, I look at a new challenge and my first inclination is to assume that I’ll probably fail at it.

    Moving towards a goal, then, for me, means moving in spite of pessimism.  It means finding the will to put one foot in front of the other when I’m SURE—at the beginning anyway—that it’s not going to work out.  Movement towards a goal becomes a constant struggle—a struggle against myself.

    This, needless to say, is not good.  In fact, it has impacted my life more than once.  It is one reason I procrastinate and allow myself to be diverted into time-wasting activities.  After all, if you assume there’s a good chance you’ll fail anyway, and you find failing to be painful, then you want to avoid it or delay it as long as possible.  Sometimes the only thing keeping me on target is pure Pennsylvania-Dutch / Hungarian stubbornness.  Well, that and my spreadsheets.

    But what would my life be like if I could change this thinking?  What if I just operated under the assumption that I would succeed?  What if I walked into a situation KNOWING I could do it eventually, and even more important, that I WOULD do it, no matter what?  Yes, there would still be struggles, there would still be issues, but those struggles and issues would be part of the journey, not a useless battle with myself.

    The truth is that failure is not always a bad thing, and it certainly isn’t inevitable.  What could be perceived of as a failure might be a stepping stone to success instead.  But people get so afraid of failing that they don’t even start.

    If you assume you will succeed, if you KNOW that eventually success will happen, if you don’t automatically assume you will fail, and, more, don’t even see it as something you need to worry about, what could you do?  When I hit a roadblock, what if I ask myself “how do I get around this problem?” instead of throwing up my hands and saying “I knew it wouldn’t work.”

    If you assumed you would succeed, would failure even exist?  Or would “failure” just be a marker sending you down a different path?

    If you didn’t assume failure, would you be brave enough to start something new?  And would you stop when you were confronted with obstacles?  Or would you keep going?

    Would you listen to rational people or would you listen to your own dreams?

    I know that you can’t always control the things that come up in your life—if the last 18 months have taught me anything, it’s that.  Sometimes things just aren’t going to work out the way you hoped and dreamed and planned. And sometimes when things don’t work out, you’ll think that you’ve failed.  Many things are beyond our control no matter how hard we work.

    But we CAN control how we react to our circumstances, and more, we can control what we tell ourselves about them.  We can control the assumptions we make before we even start a new path about where it’s to go.  We can control our own narrative.

    And we can keep going.

     

     

     

  • Running Uphill

    Betsy is climbing the mountain of her aspirations, again, struggling to reach the summit.  Again.  Except this time, unlike in the past, she isn’t carrying just ONE boulder that is her work in progress, she is carrying TWO of them!  TWO works in progress!  What the heck!

    Both boulders are important in their own right.  Both need to reach the top of the mountain and be completed.  Boulder One is the book Betsy is currently writing.  Boulder Two is the book she just got back from her editor.  Boulder One needs to be shaped and created.  Boulder Two needs to be refined and polished so it can be published.

    Both of them need to be finished.  Both of them.  Both.  At the same time.

    Betsy is not exactly a wizard at multitasking when it comes to writing, so getting both of these works in progress to completion requires skills she is still developing.  That alone makes juggling them hard.  But the REAL problem, the problem causing the most trouble at the moment, is that Betsy also seems to be focused on the thought of her own, well, aging.  On the fact that time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.  That things need to happen NOW, or they might never happen. 

    That she needs to hurry.

    Why, yes. Betsy is basically panicking.

    The Muse (Goddess of Creativity) and Harry the Rabbit (Guide on Betsy’s Quest to be a successful author) are watching her in some confusion.  They watch as Betsy tries to scrabble of the mountain of her aspirations, while at the same time juggling the work she needs to finish.  Will she make it?  Will she fall?  Will she turn into a hermit and forget to shower?

    Let’s see…

     

    Muse comes to stand beside Harry the Rabbit and puts her hands on her hips as she stares at the mountain.  “What the heck is she doing?”

    “Running?” Harry tilts head. “I think?”

    They watch Betsy for a moment.

    “Why in the world does she think she can run up that mountain and juggle two boulders at the same time?”  The Muse frowns.  “She doesn’t run in the best of times.  I don’t think she CAN run.”

    “I have no idea.”  Harry shrugs.  “Maybe she’s nuts?”

    “Even if by some miracle she doesn’t trip and fall flat on her face, she’s going to burn herself out.  This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

    “Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Harry says, tugging his long white ears.  “You could just go ask her, you know.”

    Muse slowly turns to him.  Raises an eyebrow.

    Harry winces.  “Ma’am,” he adds hastily.

    The Muse sighs.  “Well, you’re right that I need to find out what’s going on before she gets herself in trouble.”

    “Thank you, ma’am.”  Harry’s bow is so deep his pocket watch falls out of his vest pocket.

    The Muse shakes her head and walks over to Betsy.

    “Have to get them done now!”  Betsy huffs. Holds the two boulders clutched to her chest like footballs, except they are bigger and heavier.  Tries to stagger a few more steps.  Tries to move a little bit faster.  “Now!” she pants.

    “Why are you running?” the Muse asks.

    “No time!  No time!  Too many plans!  Too many goals!  Have to do it now!  Have to do it while I can!  Too late!  Too old!”

    “Uh-huh.”  Muse walks beside Betsy, easily keeping pace even though Betsy is trying to run. 

    “I’m behind,” Betsy pants.  “So far behind.  Have to catch up.  Have to get going.  Not that much time!”

    “You’re wound up so tight I’m surprised you’re not bouncing like a spring,” the Muse tells her.

    “Yes!  Yes!”  Betsy’s eyes are wild.  “Bouncing!  Good!  Bouncing is good!  The wonderful thing about Tiggers!”  Betsy laughs maniacally.  Tries to bounce.  Fails.  Falls, dropping both boulders.  Staggers to her feet and picks up the boulders again.  “A few more feet!  Almost there!”

    “Yeah, I don’t think so.”  Muse waves her hand and suddenly Betsy is on the ground and the boulders she’d been holding are suspended above her.  “I’m thinking you’d better take a minute to breathe.”

    “Ow,” Betsy says, her face in the dirt.

    “It was only a matter of time before you fell,”  the Muse tells her unsympathetically.  “You’re juggling two things at once.  I know they both need to get done, so juggling them isn’t the problem.  But I don’t have a clue why you’re trying to run and rush? Why are you so panicked?”

    “There’s so much to do! And there’s not enough time!”  Betsy flips onto her back and flops around, trying to get up.  “Why are we wasting time talking? I have to go again!”

    “So let me get this straight.  You don’t think you have enough time, so you’re pushing and pushing and not stopping?”

    “Right!  Right! Go, go, go!! Must go!”

    “Uh-huh.”  Muse watches Betsy struggle for a moment.  “And what’s happened in the past when you’ve pushed too hard, hmmm? How’s that worked out for you?”

    Betsy stops flopping around and thinks.  “I crashed?” she suggests after a moment.

    “Riiiiight.”  Muse nods. “Crashed and burned, baby.” Mimics an airplane crashing with her hand. “Boom.”

    Betsy lays on her back and frowns.  Crosses her arms and glares up at the Muse.  “Not every time,” she argues.

    “Really?” Muse is skeptical.

    Betsy pouts. “Okay,” she mumbles. “Every time.”

    Muse sighs and helps Betsy get to her feet.  Dusts her off.  “Look I know you need to get these things done. I know you want to get them done as soon as you can. But maybe don’t panic okay? Maybe don’t make yourself crazy. Uh…crazier.”

    Betsy looks up at the boulders.  “But—”

    Muse puts her hands on Betsy’s shoulders.  Looks into Betsy’s eyes.  “You’re not too old and it’s not too late. Don’t worry. Keep moving. But be kind to yourself as well as your boulders, okay?”

    “Okay.”  Betsy grabs the boulders as they float into her arms.  “I guess I’d better go.”

    “Fine.”

    Muse watches as Betsy toddles off.  Not running, but still trying to move fast.

    “Do you think she’ll listen?” Harry asks as he hops up to her.

    “Some of her concerns are valid, so we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t end up head first in a ditch.”  Muse taps her chin thoughtfully.  “And watch out for sugar.”

    Harry’s ears droop.  “Oh, boy.”

     

    To be continued…

     

     

  • Order and Planning and Schedules

    One of the most jarring things about losing an established routine is having to come up with a new one to fit completely different circumstances.  I’ve found it to be very challenging to move from an extremely regimented life, where schedules were imposed on me from the outside, to one that is a lot more self-generated, self-motivated, and self-sustained.

    This is still very much a work in progress—I’m bumbling around to see what works and what doesn’t.  It’s hard to go from a life with very clear cut boundaries to one that is a little more free form.  I mean, you actually DO have to get things done to meet your goals.  Freedom is great, but only if you actually take advantage of it.  As opposed to, say, watching Netflix.  Or so I’ve been told… *cough*

    It’s even more challenging if you happen to be a woman of a certain age who’s short term memory is, shall we say, inconsistent.

    All of this means I’ve been needing something to help keep me in line, help me keep things in some kind of order.  Otherwise, I’ll be lost.  Either I’ll forget what I need to do completely, or I’ll remember it all at once.  Then I’ll feel like I have to do everything at the same time before I lose track of it again.  And that’s overwhelming.

    It’s especially true because there are a LOT of plates to keep up in the air in this writing / publishing biz. It’s really easy to lose track of it all.  Add in regular life tasks and expectations and…boom.

    Chaos.

    Ergo…schedules.  Planning.

    But, just as I’ve learned the hard way that writing using too strict an outline doesn’t really work for me, I’m learning that being too slavish to a schedule doesn’t exactly work for me either.

    Not that there’s anything wrong with a detailed schedule.  I know people, good people, who have their entire lives mapped out in a day-planner, right down to the minute.  I know people, good people, who actually live by those schedules.  These are organized people. Focused people.  People to be admired.

    I, my friends, am not one of those people.

    Oh, no, no, no.  I am a stubborn little Hungarian-Pennsylvania Dutchwoman.  I am Paprika Spice.  You give me too many detailed schedules and plans and I will go out of my WAY to show you that I don’t need no stinking schedules!  Those stinkin’ schedules are goin’ DOWN, yo!

    Even if I’m the one who set up the schedules and made the plans and deadlines.  Even if the only one who’s hurt by breaking them is, well, me.

    Yeah, cause that’s the way I ROLL!  What, what!  *makes finger guns*

    And this, children, is the sad story of my life.  I know I need order and planning and schedules to reach my full potential, and yet I remain determined to break out into chaos at the first possible opportunity.

    Another problem is that calendars also don’t work for me.  I think it’s the detailed schedule bit.  I see something written on a calendar, and I immediately feel like I need to ignore it or push it.

    Which is not exactly the point of the exercise.

    Until recently, I was using steno pads to keep track of things.  I had them scattered all over the house.  All of them had lists.  Lists and lists and lists.  And that’s fine…except when you have five steno pads, all with their individual lists, and the same items listed in all five places.  Not to mention that they tend to get buried under assorted detritus only to be unearthed months, nay, years later.  Not helpful.

    So I recently started using Google Tasks. It’s been going pretty well, so far.  I loaded the app on my phone and can access it from my desktop as well.   Google Tasks feeds into Google Calendar, so if I need to see things in a calendar format, I can.

    Google Tasks works for me because it is basically a to-do list like the ones I was writing and leaving scattered all over my house.  But now everything’s in one place and I can assign dates and make them recurring in various iterations.  Then I can view the various tasks in date order.  When I think of something I need to do, I can add it immediately to the list and then promptly forget about it, knowing I’ll be reminded when I need to do something.

    It’s not a perfect app by any stretch of the imagination.  I REALLY don’t like how the recurring tasks are hidden until the day they occur unless you look at Calendar (it makes it easy to over-book a day).  But so far it hasn’t triggered my inner schedule-buster.  Betsy…SMASH!

    I have business and personal tasks all on one list because at this point my business IS my personal and both need to be accounted for in the same 24 hour period.

    We’ll see how it goes.  Either way, I am determined.  I WILL have order! I WILL!

    And maybe I’ll even be able to meet deadlines.

    Because I’ll remember what they are.

    I hope.