Potstickers and Pasta Dough

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I’m on a dough shtick.

Pasta dough, mostly.

With a few dumplings thrown in.

Okay, what are those things actually called? Dumplings? Potstickers? Momos? I have like ten different names for them in my head and everyone calls them something different and every time I say a name, I’m wrong.

As you can tell, it has been frustrating me.

We’re going to go with dumplings.

Basically, they are small pockets of dough filled with tasty meat and steamed.

Dumplings.

And for dumplings, you need dough.

Or, you know . . . knead dough.

Haha.

Sorry.

So I’ve been kneading dough lately. On my weekends. Because it’s my favorite thing. My most favorite man bought me a totally awesome pasta rack to dry my pasta on. Not bragging, but he’s my most favorite. So, on Sunday, we stuck in a couple of movies—because making dumplings and pasta on the same day takes a long, long, long time—and I made dumpling dough. And pasta dough. And dumpling filling.

I’m not going to lie, half of the dumpling dough got wrapped up and stuck in the freezer after we ran out of filling. Because Sundays only have so many hours.

But I managed to finish the pasta off—thank goodness—and the drying rack worked like a charm. No more sticky pasta lumps! Yay!

So now my freezer is full of dried pasta and all the dumplings we didn’t immediately cook up and devour.

Which was not very many.

Basically, I have enough to snack on until next weekend—when I will be making more potstickers. Or dumplings. Or whatever you want to call them.

I’m perfecting my technique, see. Which means lots of practice. Trial and error, in which you eat all the evidence in order to keep other people from knowing about your mistakes in folding and rolling the dough.

Not a bad system, to tell the truth.

Someone enlighten me! What is the proper name for these dumplings/potstickers/momos/whatever they’re called? Have you made them? Tell me about it in the comments!

Lost in the Mountains

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I got lost this weekend.

My boyfriend and I went up into the mountains on Saturday. We were heading for Chessman reservoir, up in the mountains. The plan was a picnic . . . roast chicken, sparkling cider, picnic blankets. I was planning on taking pictures.

I didn’t take any pictures.

We used Google maps, see. And Google maps doesn’t always take you where you think it’s going to take you.

It took us somewhere we weren’t expecting.

We ended up on a dirt road winding up through the mountains. Lots of boulders, dead trees, and gorgeous views. I loved it. Except the part about being lost on a road that was so narrow it was a little awkward to turn around.

That’s when my boyfriend’s phone ran out of service and the map glitched out, leaving us with a blank map and miles of nowhere stretching out in every direction.

We turned around three times.

We ended up at a gate on private property and decided that this was probably the wrong way. So we drove all the way back to where the road was paved again and followed the map old-school style to the reservoir.

This method worked.

Sort of.

The map brought us to another, even narrower dirt road with a ridiculous amount of traffic on it. Cliff on one side, hills on the other. We pulled over a lot. To let the cars by. When we finally made it to the lake, I was ready to get out of the car.

Except there was no parking. Because everyone and their brother and their sister and their Aunt Matilda had decided to visit Chessman reservoir that day. So we circled the parking lot, turned around one more time, and found a place next to a stream to have our picnic. Cliffs, gorgeous trees, sparkling cider, a hidden nook to have our picnic, and places to wade and cool off.

So it turned out pretty amazing.

Despite all the twists and turns.

What did you do on Memorial Day weekend? Any big plans? Tell me about it in the comments!

A Dozen Worlds

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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You know what’s crazy about being a writer? Especially one with a full-time job?

The worlds I visit.

When I first started writing, I had one story.

One.

I had fragments of others, of course. But one ‘project’. One world that occupied all my time. The characters that whispered over my writing desk and tugged words out of my poor tired brain all belonged to a single story, and I liked it that way. It helped me focus. I knew what I was working on, I knew when to work on it, and I could devote my entire attention to one lovely, blossoming story that was growing bigger every day.

That was eight years ago.

Eight very long years.

Now my life is very different. My single world has split into many. I have a half a dozen stories sprouting up at my full-time job, all in different stages. Some are seeds of ideas, still needing a little sunlight, a little love before they’re ready for other eyes on them. Some are outlines, not quite blooming yet but sprouting up hurriedly, with lots of leaves and stems that will need trimming. And some—some have flowers.

But as much as I love seeing those half-dozen stories grow and flourish, they’re not the only worlds I live in. I have others too, books that are out in the world, books that are hopping back and forth between my editor and myself, books that are still trapped on my computer. Some of them are half-finished, others need a few chapters cut here, a section rewritten there. These stories get my love after my ‘official’ work is done for the day. When I can steal ten minutes or two hours out of a busy schedule. When I have a day off or a weekend free. When I can hide away, I grab my computer and add something to the growing pages. Five hundred words, or two sentences, a new character outline. Anything I can conjure up.

These projects grow very slowly. So slowly that sometimes I worry that I’m not making any progress at all, that I’ll never reach the end.

But I will. One day.

I have two stories like that just now. One with multiple books connected to it. Two stories. Two more worlds on top of a half-dozen others.

Then, there are the stories that live nowhere but in my head. No documents, no updated notebooks, not even an outline.

The stories that will be. The worlds that haven’t been created yet.

I have a dozen of these. Some of them are small still, just ideas. Some are completely fleshed out with characters and settings and plot lines that have never yet seen the light of day.

And they won’t.

Not yet. Probably not for years. When it’s time, I’ll dust them off and write that first word. That first chapter.

Until then, they’ll live on in my head. One more world to visit—when I have the time. When I can steal the minutes.

I live in a dozen different worlds at one time.

Occasionally I visit my own world too—although maybe a little less often then I should.

What kind of worlds have you been escaping into lately? Tell me about it in the comments!

Mountains, Mother’s Day, and . . .

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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23 pounds of fresh lasagna!

Man, this was a crazy weekend. Anyone else feel like that? You’d think with social distancing and all that, the weekends would be more restful. You know, binge-watching, lying around on the couch, eating Cheetos and wondering when they’re going to let us out again.

Okay, I’ve done my share of that. If you replace Cheetos with marshmallows.

But this weekend didn’t turn out that way.

First of all, I dragged myself out of bed way too early on Saturday morning, and my boyfriend and I drove up to the Dillion reservoir. Because dating is hard when everything is closed. Thankfully they haven’t closed the mountains or the lakes, and Colorado has plenty of room to social distance even on our beaches.

(Don’t worry, we spread out our picnic blanket far more than six feet away from all the people.)

After driving all the way up there, around the lake, and back home, we’d logged about six hours of drive time all together. We saw bison on our way up, skipped rocks on the lake, got stomach aches from crazy gummy bears, and had a hard time not falling asleep on the way home. Long day.

But we had a blast anyway.

And where, you might be wondering, does the 23 pounds of fresh lasagna come into the mix?

I’m getting to that. See, I bought a pasta roller. Like, one of those machines that rolls your dough out good and thin so your pasta isn’t chewy. And since it was Mother’s Day on Sunday, I made lasagna for my mum. Fresh noodles, zucchini, ricotta cheese. The whole nine yards.

My sister helped.

It took about three hours, all told.

Since my family never does anything by halves, we ended up with a 23-pound pan of lasagna, way too much garlic bread, and so, so much fun working together. I started making fresh pasta a few months ago, and let me tell you, it’s been a hit. Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies, and doing it in a group, with my sister helping and a whole mix of younger siblings standing around watching and assisting as needed, is always a treat.

Plus, fresh lasagna is always welcome. No matter how long it takes to make it.

How was your weekend? Are you finding things to occupy you, even with all the social distancing going on?

Adapting

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I was scheduled to go to a writer’s retreat this last week. Three days in a cabin in Glen Eyre, packed with good food, good friends, and a wonderful mentor. Long walks, gorgeous red rocks, sunsets, and laughter.

Obviously, it didn’t happen.

There are a lot of things getting canceled just now—for everybody. Flights, concerts, vacations, work trips. Just about everything. I was expecting the cancelation, but it was a bit of a blow anyway. This particular writer’s retreat has been a yearly thing, somewhere to connect with my group, love on my friends, and get a bit of fresh perspective on my writing and life in general—something I could definitely use just about now.

Unfortunately, the retreat’s been suspended until October, so I’ve got to find my own fresh perspective.

This quarantine is all about adapting.

New ways to connect.

New ways to refresh and recharge.

New ways to love on my friends.

Lately, my writer’s group and I have been adapting. We all need the connection and refreshment of a retreat, but now is not the time to be renting cabins, meeting up, or planning sleepovers. Instead, we’ve found new ways of encouraging each other. Writing exercises and challenges over text, sharing bits and pieces while we write, and meeting up through Zoom and FaceTime.

It’s not quite the same as a weekend in the mountains, but it helps. It’s a way to encourage each other, keep ideas fresh and flowing, and connect in a time when connection feels impossible and friends feel far away.

Physical distancing is important just now. But we need our friendships and all the connection we can get just now, and that means adapting. Finding new ways to relax. New ways to refresh.

We’ve been practicing our new ways this week. Connecting, making up for our missed retreat. I’m still very much looking forward to seeing everyone in October, but we’re managing for now. Life doesn’t stop because of quarantine, and friends are still friends—even if we have to find a new way to get together for the time being.

We can always adapt.

What are some ways you’re adapting to quarantine—and loving on your friends in the process? Tell me about it in the comments! I’d love a few new ideas.

Howling at the Moon

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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This has been a strange week.

Stranger than normal, I mean.

Yes, I know, the whole world has been strange for the last few—millennium. But this week has seemed a little stranger than normal. From crazy warm weather to snow when I definitely didn’t want snow to changes in my work schedule to projects I didn’t expect to be working on to howling at the moon, this week has been strange.

Yes. I said howling at the moon.

Allow me to explain.

See, with all the virus stuff going around, we’ve been stuck in our homes a lot. And for us, it’s not so bad. We have thirty five acres, right? So we can wander around, run through the woods, find turtles, chase squirrels, and generally keep ourselves busy.

Okay, I lied.

I’ve never found a turtle on our property in all of my whole life.

But I’ve dearly wanted to do so.

The point is, we’ve got it pretty good quarantine-wise. Plenty of space, people we love, etc. But some people are stuck in their little homes and apartments, and some people are ferrying back and forth to work in the hospitals and take care of those who are getting sick.

So, we’ve been howling.

Because our healthcare workers are the heroes of this story, and one of the things that are being done to support them right now—at least in Colorado—in the eight o’clock howl.

We can’t have a parade, see. Because social distancing is important right now. So instead, we’re all coming out on our porches at eight o’clock and howling like coyotes to show appreciation for our healthcare workers and remind our neighbors and communities that we’re still here, even though we can’t come out just now.

Obviously, our ‘neighborhood’ is a little scarce on neighbors.

I’m not even sure they could hear us.

But it was the spirit of the thing that counted, and we had fun doing it. I posted a video on my Facebook and Twitter pages of the howl, but I won’t inflict it on you here. The point is, things have been a little crazy around here lately. And when things get crazy, sometimes it helps to go out and howl at the moon.

Are your communities doing anything nightly to celebrate your healthcare workers? Tell me about it in the comments!

Finding A New Normal

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I’m working exclusively from home these days.

I think most of us are, right? Those who can anyway. I’m so, so grateful to have a job that transferred to my house as easily and smoothly as mine did, and that continued to supply the same amount of hours that I’d been working before. Still, the transition has been a little strange, and I am still getting used to my new routine and the changes it’s brought into my life.

For one thing, I dropped the eight-to-five-with-a-lunch-hour routine and now start my workday at six AM on the dot. My best writing time is always in the early morning anyway, and this new schedule leaves me with an afternoon that’s free and clear.

I’ve planted a lot of seeds.

And found a lot more time for my own writing projects.

Mostly though, I’ve been learning to balance things again. To find the routine and the rhythm that gets me into work in the morning and out of it when I finish up in the afternoon. See, before, I had my commute to rely on for that. An hour’s drive with an audiobook or with my dad for company went by much quicker than you’d think, and by the time I reached home, I was ready to be home instead of still having my head stuffed with work.

Now, I finish work on one computer and immediately feel like I should be picking up the second one to ‘get on with it’.

Except that’s not realistic.

Neither is starting work five minutes after I’ve dragged myself out of bed, which is also tempting.

So, I’ve been making habits. Habits with alarms in the morning, workouts in my tiny living room, showers and a change of clothes after work is done, time in the sun, and time with people I love. The little things make all the difference right now, and I’ve been seeking out the things that keep me sane—sunshine, fresh air, new growth, and space to breathe.

Basically, I’m building a new normal. Something sustainable, until the world starts up again and life outside our homes can continue on safely. I hope you all are doing the same!

What are you doing to keep yourself sane in your ‘new normal’? Tell me about it in the comments!

New Life

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I planted carrots this week.

Carrots, zucchini, and radishes.

And bought turnip seeds.

I’m kind of excited. Spring may never actually get here because Colorado is constantly freezing and unrelentingly windy, but I will have radishes growing in window boxes in my house anyway.

We’re still not sure about the carrots and zucchini. They haven’t sprouted. When I finally get around the planting the turnips, I’ll let you know how those do.

I don’t really expect to live off of fourteen carrots, six zucchini plants, and an undisclosed but small number of radishes, but it’s nice to actually have something new and green and living in my house again. It may be cold and rainy and windy and snowy and muddy all at the same time in Colorado, but I have radishes sprouting, so Colorado can’t stop my tiny corner of spring.

Don’t tell it I said that because it totally probably can.

Anyway, despite the freezing weather, the quarantine, and my lazy butt that never seems to get much done when I’m working at home, life is moving on, and I’m excited to move with it. As long as we go somewhere warm that has sun.

Because I need sun.

Despite it being the WRONG time of year to plan for a garden, I am making tentative plans for a garden. Along with my assorted veggies, I have some flower seeds to plant, a gorgeous lavender plant, way too many trees to get started, and a vague idea about planting saffron, which apparently grows well in Colorado and likes our crazy dry-as-dust ground.

Saffron has purple flowers. And is a very expensive spice. So I’m tempted to give it a go.

However, like any good gardener, I am keeping an eye on the weather, and I’m pretty sure I have at least two months before I can plant anything outside. I think. Maybe.

Except we have blizzards in May sometimes, so maybe I’ll plant everything inside and just let it out for some sun on the days when the ground isn’t frozen.

Do you have plans for growing things this year? Tell me about it in the comments! When do you put things outside?

The Death of a Faithful Companion

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

60591187614__8ca26f69-213e-4cbe-b3ee-181e64ab4704-1I’m in mourning this week.

My car died.

I’m devastated.

Okay, not really. Because it was old and shabby and sounded like an airplane motor and smelled like diesel fuel. I tried not to hold it against it, but I did a little bit. Or a lot. I suffered through a lot of teasing because of that car. When I drove it, I sounded like I had aspirations for Nascar. The muffler was trashed, see, but I couldn’t tell people that when I stopped at a stoplight or revved my engine too loud in Walmart when I tried to park.

So it sounded like I just really liked my car and wanted to rev it really loud.

All the time.

But, despite its oddities, it was a good little car. We went a lot of miles together. I drove down to Missouri in it two years ago for my first solo road trip, it took me back and forth to multiple job interviews, and it was there for my first day as an apprentice scriptwriter.

I should have called it old faithful.

Actually, its name was Nat.

But, like I said, it’s dead now. Maybe I can resurrect it. But I kinda doubt it. It was about time for a new car anyway, and since I’m working from home for the next two weeks because of the crazy virus, I won’t actually need a car for a little while. So I have some time to go shopping and figure out what I want.

I’m a little excited. I have a bumper sticker from the famous Mark Ludy that I absolutely refused to put on my ridiculously loud, smelly, old car because I definitely did not want to waste it. Maybe now I’ll be able to pull it out and use it for my new one.

As long as I actually find a new one.

And my new one doesn’t sound like an airplane.

Any old faithfuls in your life on their way out? Tell me about them in the comments!

Sick Days and First Drafts

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I was sick this week.

No, not with a virus.

Just a cold. I promise.

But it meant that I was out of the office on sick leave. Mostly, I just slept on the couch. And watched Toy Story. And drank way too much water and downed vitamin C’s like candy, because who has time to be sick, anyway?

Thankfully, I seem to be on the tail end of it. For which I’m grateful.

Being sick messed with my writing schedule, both at work and in my personal projects. And lately, my personal projects have been anything but perfect. See, I’m writing the first draft of a story.

And first drafts are hard.

You know why? Because I don’t know what happens in the story. I don’t know who all these characters are. I write ten chapters, then half of it gets deleted because the story took a different turn than I expected and what I wrote doesn’t fit anymore.

Characters do things I don’t expect them to do.

Things pop up in the most unexpected ways.

Settings refuse to let me see them, so I have to feel my way around in the dark and hope for the best.

It’s all very confusing.

You’d think I would be better at first drafts by this time. After all, I’m a writer. A (sort of) professional. I get paid to write stories, and every story begins with a first draft. (Unfortunately.)

So I should have the process licked by this time, right?

Right?

Well, not exactly. Because the reality is, first drafts are hard. They don’t make sense. The characters wander in and out and change as you write them, and the setting never looks quite the way you imagined it would. Some parts are wordy and boring and others happen so fast that you forget to put any emphasis on the important bits.

For goodness sakes.

But, first drafts are not supposed to be beautiful. They aren’t supposed to be put together, or comprehensive, or elegant. They are supposed to exist, inconsistent characters, choppy dialogue, major plot holes and all. So I am embracing this new story in all its messy wonder, exploring this world without worrying about the gorgeous chaos I am causing. The characters can change and the setting will grow, and I will snoop my way through all of it until I have made a lovely, glorious mess of colors and lights and words scattered across the page in a completely incomprehensible muddle.

And when the first draft is finished and the last words are written, I can start completely over and make something understandable out of it.

When I get over this cold, anyway.

What kind of things are you allowing to be messy and beautiful in your own life? Tell me about them in the comments!