Poopy Day (Factory Politics and other Nasty Stuff)

Into every life some . . . Well, anyway . . . I woke up yesterday morning prepared to write, but found I was too tense to concentrate and finally abandoned the effort. The thing is, I didn't really have a sound, rational reason for it, I just was.

Then Gary came in the door, tense and unhappy and, no, I don't think it was an accident that I'd felt the same way. But more on those connections another time . . .

He had a great annual evaluation the previous night(one of our best, glad to have you), unfortunately followed by a write up for a very minor paperwork snaffoo (and I mean as minor as dropping the fourth zero when writing in the military time on a chart in a slot that already has the time in it--you're right, that doesn't make much sense). Unfortunately, the write up costs us our quarterly bonus in February. The bonuses this year have been dismal, so this isn't a big deal. However, he's already lost half of our Christmas bonus for the self-same kind of error two months ago. That particular bonus, which is quite a lot bigger and necessary to Christmas around here, hurts badly (and that is even more complicated by a supervisor who screwed up too). On top of this he was warned that four write ups on two years earn a three day suspension or firing. So in addition to having a very small Christmas bonus, we get to live with that ax hanging over our heads. He's been in this job for a little over two years, doing the same job, entering the same numbers on the same chart, and he's never had this problem until now.

Coincidence? I think not. When Gary came back from vacation, the man who filled in for him, who has been in the job for thirty years, was written up (same offense) and he's never been written up before. When Gary came on shift last night, the guy he was relieving quietly told him to watch his paperwork because the individual who works the same piece of equipment at the other end of the factory was just suspended for--you guessed it--a 4th minor paperwork snaffoo. People around the factory who've been there forever are beginning to accrue write ups for tiny offenses (since there are no large ones). This factory has won awards for the quality of their work and, while other factories owned by this company have had their wrists slapped and not received their bonus checks more often than not, this one always has.

It is dirty pool to separate people from their bonus checks (often counted on to buy Christmas gifts) by punishing them for minor infractions instead of simply stating that the money is not there. I suppose this way they can continue to point out to their employees how well they're taking care of them and hold themselves up as a shining example of how companies should be run.

And if you're wondering about the condition of this company's finances. By all reports, they are doing extremely well, a very long lived establishment, turning a comfortable profit, and winning awards for their great service to their customers. So, no, I don't quite understand what's wrong either, though I have my suspicions, and they're not very nice.

In brief, today hasn't improved on yesterday one bit, though I have slogged through a thousand words. It is about to be another short paycheck. We've had a lot of these lately. Though I've stretched our resources, and the bills are getting paid, and no one is going without anything they need, things are tight and I'm worried because I always worry when money is tight.

So tonight most of the boys are off to a church lock-in and I'll have the house to myself for most of the evening. After I've retrieved Daniel from his girlfriend's house (that boy has GOT to learn to drive), I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine (or two) and write the murder scene in the Dotted Line. My mood is ripe for it.

Tomorrow I will rise early and write, then we will go up to the church as a family and set up for a sizable youth concert that Jeremiah and I have been organizing for the last three months. The adults will crouch in the kitchen with our fingers in our ears as the youth jump around and cheer while the Christian Rock Bands play their music for them, and talk to them about God's love, and we will smile because we know that at least a hundred of the youth in our community are safe and having a good time. And we will know too, that they are hearing some important good news.

I spent most of the day writing yesterday, finishing up the last of the edits on Troubled Waters before I could, in good conscience, turn my attention to the new one. After a major rewrite, it looks and feels far more polished than it did a month ago. I faced down glaring problems, cut and rewrote some major scenes, sat back and looked at it with satisfaction.

I am a brilliant writer, I announced to the nearest boy.

"Cool," he said absently, plugging away on whatever video game they're playing online at present. "What's for supper?"

So much that burst of confidence.

That project completed, I've turned my now undivided attention to The Dotted Line (it needs a better title). In two days I've written over five thousand words and can feel the momentum tugging it along; it is almost writing itself. This is likely to be my strongest work to date.

Later I raked leaves in the late afternoon sun, carrying wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow load to the pile of mulch behind the garden. I am rich with leaves and kitchen scraps and watching the hill of leaves grow is like laying up treasures for the future. Pausing, I pulled a few stray weeds from around my broccoli and lettuce. Solomon lay nearby watching with interest as I went about my business. I know he has to wonder why I feel the need to carry yard debris from one place to another, but he's faithful in his attendance even if he doesn't understand it.

I could feel someone else watching though and I looked up to find Gary standing on the back steps watching me.

"What?"

"I just wanted to come out and tell you something," he said.

"Oh. Okay." So I stretched my complaining back and waited.

"I'm glad you're still here."

"Me too?"

"You choose to stay when there's nothing that says that you have to."

"Except for my marriage vows."

"Would that really be enough by itself? If you really wanted to go?"

No. I had to admit. It certainly wasn't just about the vows. Or, for that matter, the love. As anybody who's been married longer than ten years can tell you, while powerful, love isn't enough by itself. Sometimes you just stay because it's the right thing to do, and sometimes you stay because of the kids, other times you stay because he's not just your lover but your best friend and without him there's no place else to go, but eventually stay because you know that this too shall pass and that the good times will be back if you'll stay on and fight for them.

I didn't say any of that out loud, but I didn't need to.

"You chose to stay on and I'm grateful. That's all I had to say." And he went back in the house.

I was a little bemused by this conversation until I came in to cook supper and found The Dotted Line open on my desktop and Gary's coffee cup on my desk.

No dear, I thought. Thank you for staying on.

NanoWrimo

In two days I will very likely go quiet for a month or so. Don't worry. I'll just be Over Here at TUF. My time in front of the computer will be spent Doing This Very Important Thing.

I've never made the 50,000 word goal in the allotted thirty days, but I've come close. For me the word count is immaterial. I'm less concerned with the typing and far more concerned with the momentum that writing like this gives the beginning of projects. However, I confess, it would be nice to make it just once. Either way, though, it is a great running start.

I'll check in with a word count as I can, but if you'd like to read the WIP, you can register at TUF and read it as it develops. Or, even better, you can register and write your own!