Betsy Horvath

Everybody has a story.

Betsy’s Blog

  • Derailed?

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    derailed_trainPreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    Betsy and Harry, her Quest Guide, determined that the first step Betsy needs to take to become a successful indie author is to write more.  They also discussed Betsy’s production schedule and decided Betsy would finish the first draft of her work in progress by May 11.  Unfortunately, in the meantime Betsy experienced a heartbreaking loss.

    But now we are left to wonder – has Betsy been able to write at all?  Has her grief blown her schedule completely out of the water?  Is her life totally off track?  And why is her trash can full of empty ice cream containers and plastic cheesecake trays?  Why are more and more sugar molecules zipping through Betsy’s brain?

    Join us as Harry tries to figure out what’s up with Betsy…
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  • The Most Difficult Thing About Pets

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    poppiesI was debating whether or not to write this post.  It is rather personal.  It’s also Mother’s Day, so I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.  But it’s what I’ve thinking about, so I thought I would write it.

    As you may know, I lost my cat Oliver to small cell lymphoma and pancreatitis about six weeks ago.  I wrote a blog post about it here.  In the blog post, I mentioned Oliver’s sister Emily, who also had cancer.
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  • A Production Schedule

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    Making the donutsPreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    Betsy has had several conversations with Harry, the mythical creature sent by the International Muse Council to guide her towards her dreams.  Harry happens to be a white gerbil with aspirations for a promotion.  Surprisingly, he’s also proving to be quite a bit of help. He has already helped Betsy identify the goal of her Quest – she wants to be an indie author.  Next, he helped her to identify her first step – she has to write.  But that’s a pretty self- explanatory first step, so how should she really get started?  Let’s join Betsy and Harry now as they sit together on a sprawling sectional sofa in Betsy’s brain to discuss the matter.
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  • First Steps

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    dizzy computerPreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    Betsy met an albino gerbil named Harry, who just happens to be her official Guide for her Quest. The problem? She didn’t know what her Quest was! Although Harry was disgusted by this lack of self-awareness, he helped her weed through her writing goals to see what she really wants to accomplish. With Harry’s help, Betsy realized she wants to self-publish (or indie publish, if you will).

    But where does she go from here? This question has been haunting Betsy for days – nay, weeks. Let’s join Betsy and Harry in Betsy’s brain as they discuss the first steps.
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  • What’s Going On Here?

    Betsy bloggingSo, here’s the thing about blogging.  If you have a blog, you have to blog.  Because if you have a blog and you DON’T blog, it just looks stupid.  And if you have a blog and you blog, you have to have something about which to blog.  Because if you blog and you’re not saying anything of value, that looks stupid too.  Especially if you’re an author.  Like me.  Because we’re supposed to be creative and crap and be able to say things of value.
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  • Freedom

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    Previously on Betsy’s Blog….

    Harry, Betsy’s albino gerbil Quest Guide, has sent Betsy away to think about her writing.  They need to identify the true nature of her quest before they set out.  Otherwise how will they know when they get there?  Now, after a short break for Easter, they’ve gotten together again and are sitting together on the Ikea sofa in Betsy’s brain to see if they can decide what they’re doing.
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  • The Quest Begins

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    harryOur story thus far….

    Mavis, Betsy’s inner Mary-Poppins-like career consultant sent by the International Muse Council, has determined that Betsy will be too much work. However, before she flies off into the sunset, she provides Betsy with another Guide – a white gerbil named Harry. Yes, whereas in mythology most seekers setting out on life-altering quests are led by a white stag or a white rabbit, Betsy got an albino gerbil.

    Harry has been settling into Betsy’s brain for three days now, and he’s just called a meeting. Let the quest begin!
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  • Mavis Returns

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    carpet bagAs we resume our story, we find Betsy wandering aimlessly through her brain, wondering if Mavis, the elderly Mary-Poppins-like career consultant who visited her on Wednesday as a voice in her head sent by the International Muse Council (see this post for details), will return as promised….
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  • Mavis

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    mavisHello, dear.

    I…hello?  Who are you?

    I’m Mavis, dear.

    No…I mean…it’s nice to meet you, but who ARE you?  And why are you talking to me?

    I’m a consultant, dear.

    I have a consultant who’s a voice in my head.

    Yes, dear.

    Wow.  I’m more screwed up than I thought I was.  I mean, can multiple personality disorder be far behind?

    No.
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  • Betsy Builds A Snowman…er…Blog Post

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    hello, blogosphere
     
    Blogosphere?

    *silence*

    Blogosphere,  I know you’re there.  *touches door closed in her face*

    *crickets chirp*

    I had a good excuse for not blogging this time.  I did.  It was a very rough winter.

    *wind whistles through trees*

    I honestly didn’t have the time to blog.
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  • Defining Success

    daffodils3Because I want to be honest here on the blog (and it’s not a secret anyway), I’ll tell you that I feel like I’ve been flailing around quite a bit for the last year or so, especially when it comes to my writing career.  I’ve been thinking about that fact a lot lately.  Also, since I feel like something of a failure, I’ve been trying to understand what the concept of “success” means to me.  How do I define success?  How will I know when I am succeeding?  Is it money?  Power?  World domination?  What?
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  • Revisiting Assumptions About Time

    stopwatchAs I contemplate the past couple of months (detailed in my previous blog post), I see that I need to revisit some of my assumptions about time.  Specifically my time.

    I am a single woman with a relatively demanding job and a lot of the responsibility for the care of an elderly, pretty-much-housebound, parent.  I have health issues requiring attention.  I have a home requiring attention .  I’m busy, I tell myself.  I simply don’t have the time to bust out into the next level dream-wise.  My day is just too bloody full.
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  • Challenges, Cats, and Coming Home

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    butterfly1So, I haven’t been here for a while.  The last couple of months have been extremely challenging for me on many different levels.  I was sick for the entire month of January (literally).  I fell trying to shovel my elderly mother out of her house and was laid up with a badly sprained ankle and strained Achilles tendon for the month of February (it’s still giving me trouble).  It snowed almost every freaking day from Thanksgiving until, well, the end of time.   And two of my four cats were diagnosed with cancer within weeks of each other.
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  • An Ode To My New Roof

    Construction ClipartOh, my ducklings, it’s has been such a hectic couple of weeks here at the Palatial Horvath Estate! Many things hit all at once, but a goodly portion of my time has been consumed by the choosing of a contractor for, figuring out how to pay for, and surviving the installation of, my new roof. Let us hope it was necessary and really does solve the issues.  No, no!  I’m SURE it was necessary!

    Anyway, since they say to write what you know, I proudly present my latest poem: An Ode To My New Roof. Yes, I expect the call telling me I’m the nation’s new poet laureate any day now.
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  • Always Something In The Box

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    Box

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  • Byron For Tuesday

    Lord-Byron

    The problem with having a snazzy holiday like Labor Day on a Monday is that all week long I forget what day it is.  So I completely forgot today was Tuesday and didn’t prepare a blog post.   Oh the horrors!  But never fear – Lord Byron is leaping to my rescue.  He’s like that.
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  • Hands In The Dirt

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    hands in the dirtGentle readers, I promise you that I tried to plod through the drama of the past two weeks.  I did.  I DID!  But then…I got swept up in the whirlwind and found myself trapped under my house and my ruby slippers were stolen by this chick carrying a dog in a picnic basket…

    Okay.  Maybe not.

    Anyway, I lost my footing and slid down the hill into chaos and knew not how to find my way out of the mire.  Then, this Sunday, I thought to myself….”go weed.”  So I did.  When I came back inside, I felt more grounded (heh, grounded.  Get it?) and able to concentrate.

    Today I was sitting at work stewing about some of the things I’ve got going on, and I thought “when I go home, I will weed.”  So I did.  And now I feel centered again.

    I have a love / hate relationship with the grounds of the Palatial Horvath Estate.  Sometimes I look out and I see an overwhelming jungle of despair.  I don’t know how I can possibly do all that needs to be done.   Sometimes I get angry at the land for demanding my time when so many other things need to be done.  Sometimes I feel dread and fear because I know it is too hot  to be outside and there is so much to do and it all seems to need to be done all at once and everything just keeps growing.

    Then I have a period of total ridiculousness in my life and I know I need to go out and weed the garden.  And I do.

    It’s not that I love weeding.  I don’t.  It’s not even that I love gardening all that much.  I really don’t.  I’m not one to spend hours in a garden center or flip through seed catalogs.  But for some strange reason, the act of weeding centers me.  Yeah, I don’t understand it either.

    I distinctly remember how I felt on September 11, 2001 when the World Trade Center was attacked.  I was at work, but we weren’t working.  We were just standing, silent, watching the news footage, clutching each other because it was too awful.  Too unbelievable. I felt like I had lost my moorings to the universe and I didn’t know what to do.

    So I went home and weeded the garden.  I got my hands in the dirt.  And it comforted me.

    I don’t know what it is, but the connection between me and the soil, between my hands and the earth beneath them, centers me and helps me to think.  Fortunately for me, my gardens are wild untamed and unruly places.  There is always an opportunity to weed, if I choose to take it.

    Then I come back inside and face the world again and it’s a little bit better.

    Now if only I’d recognized that young poison ivy plant before I pulled it….

     

    DIRT!

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  • Imagination

    Computer ReadingBaby, I might not have a lot, but I’ve got me one good imagination.

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  • Plodding Through A Perfect Storm

    Auntie Em!We all go through periods in our lives that seem to be a perfect storm – a time when everything collides in mass of pure nastiness.

    Just for an example…let’s say your muggle job is somewhat demanding, you have family responsibilities for your elderly mother, and you have some health and money issues.   Sure, there’s drama.  Lots of drama at work, drama on the homefront (especially when your mother’s cable box dies)…drama, drama everywhere.  But you’re doing okay…you’re handling it.

    And Then…

    The battery in your car dies.  Fortunately, it’s a car you’re going to sell and you already have another, so you don’t get it fixed right away.  That’s fine, except then the roof of your house starts to leak.  So now to pay for a new roof you have to get the car fixed as soon as possible so you can hurry up and sell the car to pay for the roof.  But what if the repair of the roof is more than the value of the car?  And how will you pay for the repairs on the car?  Well, you might need to borrow money.  And THAT’S fine, except you’re in a ton of debt already and now you’ll likely be adding more despite working very hard to get the situation turned around.  And the person you’ll probably need to borrow from is your mother.  Even though you’re a “mature” adult and her cable box doesn’t work.

    Oh – and on top of everything else, you’ve just decided to start a healthy eating program, so you can’t turn to ice cream for comfort.  And that makes you grumpy.

    In the middle of all of this, how are you supposed to keep writing?  Or moving forward?  Or moving at all?

    Okay, I’ll stop using the second person pronoun (collective).  How am I supposed to keep writing?  How am I supposed to keep blogging?  With all of the drama swirling around me, with house worries and car worries and health worries and money worries, how am I supposed to focus enough to be creative?

    I think we all have these kinds of weeks to test our mettle, to see if we’re really serious.  These weeks offer us a choice – be distracted, or keep plugging away in spite of it all.

    Every time you let the mess distract you, you increase your own inertia and lose your life.  That’s what I usually choose to do – I let the mess distract me.  I fly around in a million different directions, let the storm blow me hither and yon.  Then I wake up weeks later and realize the only thing I’ve accomplished is that I’ve thrown away precious days of my life.

    This time I’m trying to plod along in spite of it all.  I’m writing this blog post while I wait for the tow truck to take my car to get it fixed.  I have maintained my healthy eating yesterday and today in spite of the overwhelming desire to visit my friends Ben and Jerry.  I walked at lunch instead of mindlessly surfing Facebook.  I’m writing.

    That’s all I can do.  Plod along.  One foot in front of the other.

    ***UPDATE – it turns out my friends at AAA were able to fix the car and my costs were minimal.  Yay!  And the cable company is sending Mom a new cable box.  Double-yay!  Now on to the roof (not literally).  Maybe the perfect storm is turning into a sunny tropical breeze??  Maybe??

    ***UPDATE Part 2 – I am now 3 days ice-cream free.  This makes me sad.  But as I eat a carrot stick whilst finalizing this post, I feel terribly self-righteous.

     sunrise2.jpg

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  • My Affair With Scrivener

    womanhuggingcomputer*Note – this post should be read using a throaty internal voice. Think Delilah. Or Jessica Rabbit.*

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  • Run Away

    RVWhen my mind wanders, I often dream of Winnebagos. I dream of big luxury buses. I dream of Airstreams. I dream of the Partridge Family bus. I ask for brochures for different RV’s, and I save them in my file cabinet. I follow tiny house blogs and admire the ones on trailers.

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  • Blogging Is Sooooo Yesterday

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    hello, blogosphereBlogosphere, I have a bone to pick with you.

    Why the heck would you want to pick bones? I don’t have any bones. All of my skeletons are in the closet.

    I mean, I’m feeling annoyed with you.

    Oh. *shrug* Okay. Why take it out on me? Just go flame someone on Facebook or Twitter.

    See? That’s what I mean. Facebook. Twitter. Not blogs. You never told me blogs were obsolete.

    Obsolete? What are you talking about?

    You’re not hip. You’re not with it.

    I am so hip, gosh darn it!

    You’re wearing paisley and wide lapels. Admit it!

    What’s wrong with wide lapels? And I see you’re still wearing your fuzzy purple go-go boots with the poofy tassels.

    I, uh, my feet were cold. ANYWAY, you never told me that you were dead.

    What? *pfft*  I’m not dead.

    You are too. It says so right here in this blog.

    Wait – a blog said blogs are dead?

    And the notes from the RWA conference say you’re a dinosaur.

    Yeah? Well, they might be the voice of romance, but they’re not the voice of me! I’m still mighty! I’m still powerful! *rwaaarrrr* Ow. Where did you put the medicated rub? I think I pulled something.

    Everyone’s gone mobile, Blogosphere. Everyone’s doing everything on their phones. They’re talking on their phones. They’re interacting on their phones. They’re playing games on their phones. Hell, they’re making COFFEE on their phones and then drinking it through an app! Then they’re using an app to brush their TEETH! And they have apps to drive them to work and play with their kids! Apps, apps, apps! Whatever the heck apps are, they got them!  Blogs are for the dogs! Apps are where it’s at!

    Well, why write a blog then, huh?  Huh?  If blogs are so dead, why are you wasting your time? Come on, answer that, why doncha?  

    Well, uh–

    Yeah, I’ve gone there.  Come on.  Come on, tell me!  TELL ME!

    BECAUSE I’VE GOT NOWHERE ELSE TO GO!

    Hey, nice “Officer and a Gentleman” reference.

    Thanks. But it’s true. I started writing a blog because I couldn’t afford a web designer and WordPress is free.

    Free?

    Free.

    I feel so…used.

    You should. I think that’s why most people write blogs.

    *sniff*

    Blogosphere, are you…crying?

    No. *word trembles with wet pain*

    You ARE crying.

    *silence broken only by Blogosphere’s muffled sobs*

    Blogosphere, I had no idea I could hurt you this way. I didn’t know you cared.

    I don’t… *sniffle*… care.

    I’m sorry. I…I just don’t know what to say.

    I’m not dead.

    Of course not.

    I’m still mighty and *sniff* powerful.

    Of course you are.

    Do you still love me?

    Sure.  And I still can’t afford a web designer.

    Okay.

     

    Betsy blogging

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  • What’s In A Pseudonym?

    BreakingNewsBreaking news!  Last week the publishing industry was rocked by the discovery that J. K. Rowling (author of “Harry Potter”, in case you’ve been living in a cave) had published a British mystery novel under the pseudonym “Robert Galbraith”. She was outed, and the usual hysteria ensued (here’s one of the articles – this one from the Chicago Tribune). Ms. Rowling said that she wanted to continue to write under that pen name for a while, like Stephen King did with his Richard Bachmann persona and as Nora Roberts did with J. D. Robb. Alas, this was not to be.

    Okay, so the Sunday Times in London did a heck of a lot of work to uncover the fact that “Robert Galbraith” was a pseudonym. The question is, why? Why should anyone care that J. K. Rowling wrote a book using another name?

    Ms. Rowling herself cares, I assume. She has said that she wanted to release a book without all of the hype that would be associated with a book under her name. I can see why she would since, as mentioned in the article linked above, once it became known that she wrote the book, it was not judged on its own merits but on how people felt about the author.

    The publisher cares, I guess, since the book sold respectably, but not spectacularly until the author became known. Now there’s even a bidding war going on for movie rights. A cynic might wonder if the publisher had a wee bit to do with the leak. Maybe Ms. Rowling changed her mind and had a wee bit to do with the leak, too (although I prefer to think that her motives really were honorable).

    There are many authors who write under multiple pseudonyms, but the only time the discovery of that fact seems to cause an uproar is if the author is well known. Why? Why is it a problem if J. K. Rowling wants to not make as much money by releasing a book under another name so people won’t automatically buy it because it’s J. K. Rowling? Why is it a problem if she just wants to be a writer once in a while? Even if she changes her mind and says, “no, no – I wrote it after all”, why is that important enough to generate news? I’m honestly puzzled by this. I just don’t understand. It’s all so silly.

    Me? Well, I don’t have the same issues. I used my own name because I figured it would be a good idea if my family and friends knew which book to buy. That and the fact that at the time I had to decide, I couldn’t think of a pseudonym I’d remember well enough to actually answer to it. I don’t care for my name really, but at least it’s familiar.

    Now, much like Ms. Rowling, I’m stuck – although for different reasons. She’s stuck because she’s too popular. I’m stuck because the website is set up under this name now and I can’t remember what I did to get it working.

    I guess I’m not going to be writing as “Xena Warrior Princess Horvath” after all.

    The Sunday Times should be pleased.

                         O, be some other name!
    What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
    By any other name would smell as sweet;
    So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
    Retain that dear perfection which he owes
    Without that title.

    William Shakespeare
    Romeo and Juliet
    Act II, Scene II

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  • 10 Completely Random Things That Are True In My Life

    fairytaleI find myself coming to the end of a Sunday afternoon with no blog post prepared.  This cannot be!  I rack my brains.  I pace to and fro.  I fist my hands in my hair and tug, which only causes me pain.

    Then, suddenly, a thought occurs.  This is unusual, so I savor it for a moment.  Ahhhh…a thought… Then I realize what the thought is.  I shall write a blog post about 10 completely random things that are true in my life!  And so, I do.  And here they are:

     

    10 Completely Random Things That Are True In My Life

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  • Too Much Slack Takes You Back

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    slackIt’s funny how quickly bad habits can raise their ugly head, even when you think you’ve chopped them down far enough to give you a bit of a break.

    So, as I’ve said in previous posts, I was on vacation last week and pretty productive. However, by Tuesday THIS week I found myself sitting in front of the computer, slack-jawed, eyes vacant, drooling just a bit, scrolling through cat pictures on Facebook because I really don’t care about royal babies. I realized what I was doing, I realized that I was not writing. I realized that I had, once again, wasted all of the time I’d set aside for writing looking at cats I would never own, while the ones I DID own sat and stared up at me hoping for food and attention. Then I thought, “Eh, the hell with it. You’re still finding your feet after vacation. Cut yourself a little slack.”

    That’s when my Muse, engorged with power after being the focus of all of my attention for seven days, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, shook me, and smacked me upside the head.

    “Too much slack will take you back!” she screamed. *smack, smack, smack* “Too much slack will take you back!”

    And you know what? She’s right. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, and the slide down into the pit of destruction starts with inconsequential moments. Little decisions that don’t seem to mean anything at the time you’re making them. The decision to spend a half hour staring at Facebook instead of using that half hour to follow your plans and hopes and dreams. The decision to check out the latest celebrity scandal instead of worrying about your own stuff.

    Cutting yourself too much slack can be fatal to hopes and dreams.

    That’s not to say we don’t need mindless moments of amusement in our lives – we do. Sometimes you just need to shut down completely – although I submit that drooling over cats you will not own or royal babies you will not birth is perhaps not the best way to chill out. But there has to be in balance. Some slack in the rope will help you climb the mountain. Too much slack and you’ll fall to the gorge below. It’s just that simple, and that difficult.

    While I try to figure it out, I’m going to do my best to listen to my Muse. Too much slack will take me back and I’d rather not go there, thanks all the same.

    ClimbEveryMountain

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