Last Saturday the Physicist and I decided to go on a road trip to Birmingham. We had no particular reason other than wanting a nice lunch and a stopover at our favorite grocery store, Whole Foods (why can't Whole Foods come to the Madison/Huntsville area? Again a shameful plea on my part) to get cheapo wine and goodies.
Rather than take the freeway, we opted to take the scenic route and drove through small towns via Highway 31. The drive was lovely and stress free. Occasionally, we would have to slow down and stop when we entered the small towns that lined the route, but we didn't mind. It was interesting to see how these towns were doing along this route. Eventually we were dumped into the freeway via a forced entry and we were back to going fast, rushing past exit signs to towns that dot the state of Alabama's map.
The drive only added an extra half an hour to our travel time. It also afforded us a chance to look at something different than our backyard and our neighbors. But it also gave me a glimmer of nostalgia. Although I think freeways have made it easier for people to travel great distances, I wonder how this modern convenience has impacted local economies of the small towns we no longer travel through in our hurry to get from Point A to Point B.
The sight of some of the unkempt storefronts saddened me. As did the loss of the local flavor one gets from stopping at a local diner for lunch and being served by someone who isn't wearing a fast food uniform. Sure the fast food restaurants popping up at all the exits bring money to these towns, but I remember eating at many diners and little shops when I was a child. How many personalities have we missed truly meeting because of the anonymity of the Fast Food Uniform.
I'm not advocating going backward, but occasionally it's nice to meander instead of to dash. And I think the fine art of meandering has been lost to many of us in this country. Well, lost to many except for maybe teenagers, but even they are more busy and active in this time than when I was a kid. I guess I am just wistful for the times when we actually broke bread with our neighbors because we wanted to and not because a weather event like the 2011 tornadoes forced us out of our homes and into our lawns where we actually saw each other.
In a way, I think social media is to social lives what the freeway system is to small towns. Faster contacts, sound bites, and flashes of information have taken over sitting down and chatting over a cup of coffee while watching kids play in the backyard or run through sprinklers.
Though I appreciate speed, and I am the first to admit I'm not the most patient person on the planet (though the flip side of that poor character trait coin is that I get things done fast and on time and respond quickly to others -- take the bad with the good I always say), there are times when I just enjoy taking it a little slower. I like taking the road less traveled, picking up the phone and having a long chat with a friend, and taking the time to cook a meal or host a party where people actually come to my home and use my good dishes.
So do we turn back the hands of time and reverse all the modern conveniences of life? No. I would be lost without air conditioning, a car, my trusty laptop, and my many virtual friends in the cyber world. However, I suggest that seeking a balance which includes both worlds might be a good way of living.
So I choose to drive the road less traveled whenever I need a real person, real life, and real experience to recharge my batteries.
How do you recharge your mental and emotional batteries?
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Life, the University & Everything Else
A lot has happened since I posted my last blog. Where to start? How to encapsulate it all? Um, I bow to the excellence of bullet points.
*Got a truck on Saturday with the Physicist. We were lucky to get it and to find the place that had the rental truck, but we got it. Strained the strings of our marriage license while hunting for the truck rental place, but we are still married.
*Married for another year. Celebrated anniversary on Saturday. Being lost and arguing about getting directions to the said rental truck place was not part of our anniversary plan.
*Loaded the College Kid's stuff onto the rental truck on Saturday. Again--just so happened to be our anniversary. No special meals. No take out. No presents. No cards. No time. That's real life over at the Glover House. Sometimes just doing tough stuff and getting through it unscathed is cause for celebration.
*On Sunday moved CK down to her new digs in her College Town, USA. Digs are decent. CK decorating with moss and fake tea lights whilst I scrub a nasty and dirty tub. Oh, and I vacuumed. The Physicist hung shelves and made bed frame. Two other CKs assisted in the move. Though it rained horrifically all the way down to College Town, USA, we were spared a massive downpour during the unloading of all the items.
*Took CK and her friends to fun restaurant that night. Fun listening to them talk about how "old" they were as they approach the big 2-0. Me? I'm considering every day that I get up out of bed a bonus day in this ol' life of mine.
*Left CK and drove to Hotlanta where we bought two chairs and two end tables at IKEA. We needed to replace the old furniture we sent to College Town, USA. Then we drove the truck to my CP's house and we've been here for two sleeps. A much needed respite from a busy weekend.
*CK calls on Tuesday, one day before classes begin--a call from the CK is never "good news." "What's wrong?" I asked first off. "I slept in my contacts and they were really dry and when I ripped them out of my eyes, my eyeballs started hurting really bad and I can't see." Me. "Take pain meds, and I'll find an eye dr." Found eye doc through our peeps in Hometown, USA. College Town, USA eye doc diagnoses corneal abrasions, prescribes medication, and follow up appt. in one week. Me? I'm just glad the eyeballs are fixable. Welcome back to Emergency Calls and Freak Outs and Handouts of Cashola.
*The Physicist and the Craftsman bonded over the grill. The CP and I brainstormed and worked on social media platforms. Much was accomplished. Wish we lived closer
*It's Wednesday and we're driving the rental truck home today. 4.5 hours in a yucky, bumpy rental truck with zero real music, uncomfortable seats, wheels that bumpety bump bump so much that your head feels like a rattle snake lives inside it, and we're both tired, sore and grumpy. Will the marital bliss never end?
*Keep Calm and Truck On!
*Got a truck on Saturday with the Physicist. We were lucky to get it and to find the place that had the rental truck, but we got it. Strained the strings of our marriage license while hunting for the truck rental place, but we are still married.
*Married for another year. Celebrated anniversary on Saturday. Being lost and arguing about getting directions to the said rental truck place was not part of our anniversary plan.
*Loaded the College Kid's stuff onto the rental truck on Saturday. Again--just so happened to be our anniversary. No special meals. No take out. No presents. No cards. No time. That's real life over at the Glover House. Sometimes just doing tough stuff and getting through it unscathed is cause for celebration.
*On Sunday moved CK down to her new digs in her College Town, USA. Digs are decent. CK decorating with moss and fake tea lights whilst I scrub a nasty and dirty tub. Oh, and I vacuumed. The Physicist hung shelves and made bed frame. Two other CKs assisted in the move. Though it rained horrifically all the way down to College Town, USA, we were spared a massive downpour during the unloading of all the items.
*Took CK and her friends to fun restaurant that night. Fun listening to them talk about how "old" they were as they approach the big 2-0. Me? I'm considering every day that I get up out of bed a bonus day in this ol' life of mine.
*Left CK and drove to Hotlanta where we bought two chairs and two end tables at IKEA. We needed to replace the old furniture we sent to College Town, USA. Then we drove the truck to my CP's house and we've been here for two sleeps. A much needed respite from a busy weekend.
*CK calls on Tuesday, one day before classes begin--a call from the CK is never "good news." "What's wrong?" I asked first off. "I slept in my contacts and they were really dry and when I ripped them out of my eyes, my eyeballs started hurting really bad and I can't see." Me. "Take pain meds, and I'll find an eye dr." Found eye doc through our peeps in Hometown, USA. College Town, USA eye doc diagnoses corneal abrasions, prescribes medication, and follow up appt. in one week. Me? I'm just glad the eyeballs are fixable. Welcome back to Emergency Calls and Freak Outs and Handouts of Cashola.
*The Physicist and the Craftsman bonded over the grill. The CP and I brainstormed and worked on social media platforms. Much was accomplished. Wish we lived closer
*It's Wednesday and we're driving the rental truck home today. 4.5 hours in a yucky, bumpy rental truck with zero real music, uncomfortable seats, wheels that bumpety bump bump so much that your head feels like a rattle snake lives inside it, and we're both tired, sore and grumpy. Will the marital bliss never end?
*Keep Calm and Truck On!
Friday, July 20, 2012
Positively Realistic: Mining the Dark Side
I believe in living life to the fullest and in looking for the bright side of life, but the truth is that in order for me to be--and become--a strong writer with a story to tell, I must mine the dark side of life. I must look into dark corners. I must acknowledge the dark secrets all human beings carry in the depths of their souls. Only by paying homage to the dark side of life will I bring true depth to my stories.
Negativity ignored doesn't mean negativity doesn't exist. It does. In every person's heart and soul, regardless of the image cast upon the viewing world, there exists fears, doubts, concerns, secrets, dark memories. Even one of the most spiritual women I have admired throughout the years once confessed that in the still of the night she questioned the very existence of God. But then, in the morning, when she arose to do her charity work amongst the orphaned and diseased and deserted in India, she presented a positive and caring and devoted face.
This positivity thing is a choice. And I applaud all who choose it. I try to be that person as well, but I cannot ignore the negativity of life nor can I avoid discussing it with other people--usually writers or at times in this blog--because this darkness is what must be revealed if my readers are going to truly empathize with my characters.
I hope that in some way that by revealing my own doubt and despair throughout this journey through life that I am connecting with my readers in ways that will give them the strength to face their own dark secrets and overcome them.
Because after acknowledging the dark, we can then look for the light and be warmed by the hope it gives to all of us. It's there in every world religion, in every culture, in every human's heart. All people, all over the world, know universal truths that span the boundaries of distance and time. We are all connected by this global knowledge.
Pain, suffering, fears, doubts, pasts, secrets, love lost, love won, and the reality of death are not exclusive conditions. I cannot pretend they don't exist when I am mining my heart and soul as I build my characters and tell their stories.
And then when my characters overcome the dark chains of their pasts, when they reveal their innermost vulnerable selves to one another, when they grow to accept who they are and each other unconditionally, they receive the greatest reward. They receive the happily-ever-after they deserve.
Negativity ignored doesn't mean negativity doesn't exist. It does. In every person's heart and soul, regardless of the image cast upon the viewing world, there exists fears, doubts, concerns, secrets, dark memories. Even one of the most spiritual women I have admired throughout the years once confessed that in the still of the night she questioned the very existence of God. But then, in the morning, when she arose to do her charity work amongst the orphaned and diseased and deserted in India, she presented a positive and caring and devoted face.
This positivity thing is a choice. And I applaud all who choose it. I try to be that person as well, but I cannot ignore the negativity of life nor can I avoid discussing it with other people--usually writers or at times in this blog--because this darkness is what must be revealed if my readers are going to truly empathize with my characters.
I hope that in some way that by revealing my own doubt and despair throughout this journey through life that I am connecting with my readers in ways that will give them the strength to face their own dark secrets and overcome them.
Because after acknowledging the dark, we can then look for the light and be warmed by the hope it gives to all of us. It's there in every world religion, in every culture, in every human's heart. All people, all over the world, know universal truths that span the boundaries of distance and time. We are all connected by this global knowledge.
Pain, suffering, fears, doubts, pasts, secrets, love lost, love won, and the reality of death are not exclusive conditions. I cannot pretend they don't exist when I am mining my heart and soul as I build my characters and tell their stories.
And then when my characters overcome the dark chains of their pasts, when they reveal their innermost vulnerable selves to one another, when they grow to accept who they are and each other unconditionally, they receive the greatest reward. They receive the happily-ever-after they deserve.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
YOLO: You Only Live Once
The Teen has a phrase: YOLO. It stands for You Only Live Once. She uses it quite a bit. It's a fun phrase to her and she lives life fairly happily. She's off to college in less than a month and I know she's ready.
I'll miss her, but I believe this will be an exciting transition for the entire family.
As part of my YOLO attitude, I've decided to feel the fear and go for it anyway. Yes, I've been afraid of failing at this writing gig more times than I can count: especially this year. I've wanted to quit numerous times. You can read about all my angst in my January blogs. I was very full of doubt and despair, but I pushed through it with the help of my critique partners and writing friends.
There is NO other option.
So my YOLO mantra will be about taking more chances as a writer. Trusting my heart and my instincts about the story and the characters. Believing that if another writer can get published by my dream line, than I can, too.
It will happen.
There is NO other option.
So You Only Live Once. This year while my darling Teen heads to college to embrace her new adventure, I want to embrace mine. I'm a writer. Whether I get the call this year or next year, I am a writer. Whether I never get the call at all, I'm still a writer.
I do have control over many aspects of this career. I have a plan. The plan is in place. I am executing the plan at my pace and toward my goal. Other people might achieve their goals faster, or take shortcuts, but I am taking the road less traveled and sticking to my guns.
I want it all. That's it.
YOLO.
I'll miss her, but I believe this will be an exciting transition for the entire family.
As part of my YOLO attitude, I've decided to feel the fear and go for it anyway. Yes, I've been afraid of failing at this writing gig more times than I can count: especially this year. I've wanted to quit numerous times. You can read about all my angst in my January blogs. I was very full of doubt and despair, but I pushed through it with the help of my critique partners and writing friends.
There is NO other option.
So my YOLO mantra will be about taking more chances as a writer. Trusting my heart and my instincts about the story and the characters. Believing that if another writer can get published by my dream line, than I can, too.
It will happen.
There is NO other option.
So You Only Live Once. This year while my darling Teen heads to college to embrace her new adventure, I want to embrace mine. I'm a writer. Whether I get the call this year or next year, I am a writer. Whether I never get the call at all, I'm still a writer.
I do have control over many aspects of this career. I have a plan. The plan is in place. I am executing the plan at my pace and toward my goal. Other people might achieve their goals faster, or take shortcuts, but I am taking the road less traveled and sticking to my guns.
I want it all. That's it.
YOLO.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Celebrating Life and All it Brings
It's officially my birthday!! Woohoo. I'm glad to be here. To be able to walk through another day and celebrate all it has to offer me. It's a gift. It's truly a gift to be healthy, active, energized and renewed. Last year was a bit of a struggle. Health was iffy, tornadoes whirled through my current state and area, my darling Dowager Feline Clancy left us, I got bad news about a dear friend, and I struggled with my creative joy and my desire to write. But then it was also a great year in that we were spared major tornado damage, my health improved due to diet and exercise and a great doctor, my daughter and her drama troupe conspired to bring me a new fur baby and now we are owned by Catadora Tonks, and I fought the demons of despair and doubt and won the battles daily, weekly, monthly.
So much to celebrate.
During the last few days I've been in reflection and review and realignment of my life and my priorities. I've rediscovered old poems written by a young woman with no true sense of self but with creative courage. I've reawakened my spirituality and my heart to so much more than clamoring for publication. I want to grow in my craft, become a stronger and more refined writer. I want so much more to flow through my writing and into the world.
Now I want to share my reflection or tribute to myself today. Not out of pride, but out of hope. Hope for more of myself and hope for all of my friends and writing colleagues. I hope we all find a way to live life fully and in the moment and receive true joy, harmony, happiness.
Christine
Mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, writer, dreamer, motivated, wildly impatient, driven, loyal, curious, student, traveler, explorer, spiritual, emotional, romantic, seeker, comedian, creative, gourmet cook, winery lover, hostess, cat lover, expressive, temperamental, volatile, survivor, generous, loving, believer, social butterfly, fiercely independent.
I am all these things and more. On Friday I'll share bits and pieces of why I am who I am.
So much to celebrate.
During the last few days I've been in reflection and review and realignment of my life and my priorities. I've rediscovered old poems written by a young woman with no true sense of self but with creative courage. I've reawakened my spirituality and my heart to so much more than clamoring for publication. I want to grow in my craft, become a stronger and more refined writer. I want so much more to flow through my writing and into the world.
Now I want to share my reflection or tribute to myself today. Not out of pride, but out of hope. Hope for more of myself and hope for all of my friends and writing colleagues. I hope we all find a way to live life fully and in the moment and receive true joy, harmony, happiness.
Christine
Mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, writer, dreamer, motivated, wildly impatient, driven, loyal, curious, student, traveler, explorer, spiritual, emotional, romantic, seeker, comedian, creative, gourmet cook, winery lover, hostess, cat lover, expressive, temperamental, volatile, survivor, generous, loving, believer, social butterfly, fiercely independent.
I am all these things and more. On Friday I'll share bits and pieces of why I am who I am.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Toddlers, No Tiaras, & Vegas Resolutions
I went to Vegas for my niece's wedding. She was married at Mandalay Bay. Gorgeous wedding. Gorgeous bride. Gorgeous family. I was honored to be part of the party and to stay at the special house she and family had rented in Vegas. Even better, this trip came after kind of a sad week for me. I had sort of gone down... down .... d o w n. And I don't often go down and stay there.
Just couldn't get back up. Every morning was a start with tears, with sorrow, with blues. And that's JUST NOT ME!! But I had good reason and I am glad I processed and grieved. BUT I needed a change of heart of mind of scene.
Enter Vegas!!
Vegas is NOT what I expected. It is like Disney World and NYC and New Orleans combined into one insane package of partying kids, gamblers, ne'er do wells, wedding peeps, old peeps, young peeps, and noise. A lot of noise.
I'm glad my niece selected a place AWAY from the strip. A mansion with more rooms and special appointments than I could possibly describe today. Later. Pictures. I promise. For today let me say that for me, this weekend in Vegas brought me out of my sad and into my glad. Why? Why Vegas?
Well first of all I met a lot of new people. Young people, older people, and a toddler. The toddler is my great nephew. He's full of life. At the beginning of his journey. Filled with joy. Filled with full big blue eyed wonder at all that is around him. Filled with chubby fisted control of all the people in his life to do his bidding because he is just that cute and wonderful.
Want to get out of the doldrums? Spend time with a great little toddler boy who is eager to take on the world. Watch him. Hold him. Listen to him learn. Just be. Play in the water with him. Watch him be proud. Watch him laugh. Watch him take in all of the adventure with baby blue eyed wonder.
You'll see the world in a new way through the eyes of a toddler.
Second I got to help be part of decorating for a wedding. Hanging tulle, silver stars, purple ribbon. Creating bows, cutting flowers, shopping, making plans, helping all. There's nothing like being part of a wedding. Really. I got to watch two great people begin their journey. I got to watch people celebrate that joining. All of them. I loved being part of the new beginnings.
You'll see the world in a new way through the love of a young couple.
Third I got to see the results of life. Good ones and bad ones. Young people angry. Old people happy. Young people making vows. Others breaking them. Dancing. Swimming. Teasing. It all happened. I got to hear secrets. Secrets I know I'll keep. Secrets that will blend into my writing but will always be disguised.
Oh, the fun. Remember the hope. And always believe in the love.
Love exists. Love persists. Love never dies.
That's my carry away from Vegas.
Love never dies.
So my Vegas Resolutions?
1. Pretend I'm a toddler and seeing the world for the first time.
2. Remember to dance no matter how old I am until I can dance no more.
3. Fill vases with fresh cut flowers.
4. Celebrate life and gamble on love.
5. Remember that love never dies.
Viva Las Vegas!
Just couldn't get back up. Every morning was a start with tears, with sorrow, with blues. And that's JUST NOT ME!! But I had good reason and I am glad I processed and grieved. BUT I needed a change of heart of mind of scene.
Enter Vegas!!
Vegas is NOT what I expected. It is like Disney World and NYC and New Orleans combined into one insane package of partying kids, gamblers, ne'er do wells, wedding peeps, old peeps, young peeps, and noise. A lot of noise.
I'm glad my niece selected a place AWAY from the strip. A mansion with more rooms and special appointments than I could possibly describe today. Later. Pictures. I promise. For today let me say that for me, this weekend in Vegas brought me out of my sad and into my glad. Why? Why Vegas?
Well first of all I met a lot of new people. Young people, older people, and a toddler. The toddler is my great nephew. He's full of life. At the beginning of his journey. Filled with joy. Filled with full big blue eyed wonder at all that is around him. Filled with chubby fisted control of all the people in his life to do his bidding because he is just that cute and wonderful.
Want to get out of the doldrums? Spend time with a great little toddler boy who is eager to take on the world. Watch him. Hold him. Listen to him learn. Just be. Play in the water with him. Watch him be proud. Watch him laugh. Watch him take in all of the adventure with baby blue eyed wonder.
You'll see the world in a new way through the eyes of a toddler.
Second I got to help be part of decorating for a wedding. Hanging tulle, silver stars, purple ribbon. Creating bows, cutting flowers, shopping, making plans, helping all. There's nothing like being part of a wedding. Really. I got to watch two great people begin their journey. I got to watch people celebrate that joining. All of them. I loved being part of the new beginnings.
You'll see the world in a new way through the love of a young couple.
Third I got to see the results of life. Good ones and bad ones. Young people angry. Old people happy. Young people making vows. Others breaking them. Dancing. Swimming. Teasing. It all happened. I got to hear secrets. Secrets I know I'll keep. Secrets that will blend into my writing but will always be disguised.
Oh, the fun. Remember the hope. And always believe in the love.
Love exists. Love persists. Love never dies.
That's my carry away from Vegas.
Love never dies.
So my Vegas Resolutions?
1. Pretend I'm a toddler and seeing the world for the first time.
2. Remember to dance no matter how old I am until I can dance no more.
3. Fill vases with fresh cut flowers.
4. Celebrate life and gamble on love.
5. Remember that love never dies.
Viva Las Vegas!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Crossroads, Forks and Detours: Goals Reevaluated
I'm approaching another end of a quarter and am reevaluating my priorities. I do so every 3 months. I've decided to work up a mini-fix for the month of June because this quarter has been a wild one. I'm only 2 months into the quarter and it feels like it has lasted 6 months! I must step back and regroup so I can strengthen my focus. Basically, I'm de-cluttering my mind of useless stuff so I can tackle the important events coming up this month.
This quarter I started strong with an R&R out the door and the rest of the story to revise. It's been about 2 months since I sent the R&R out and I am in "wait mode." So much of this business is about waiting and being patient, but while writers wait we must do only one thing: write some more. So I finished the rest of the revision, sent it off to my CP, and tackled her critique 3 chapters at a time. I have three more chapters to go and I'm finished this round. That's on the table for the first part of this week.
While I revised this book, I entered another contest (which still requires an entry LOL), learned I finaled in the Fab Five, and attended a great workshop. I returned home in mid-April ready to work my tail off. Then the first detour in my road occurred. Sick kid. Mono. She's been home for about a month and a half now. I've got to admit, it's put a cramp in my writing style. You see, I am a bit spoiled. She's a teenager who drives so I was used to the days being mine to do my work. I had to work around her doctor appointments, caring for her, organizing school work, and canceling a lot of her "life" till she got well.
But as Nora Roberts says, glass balls are more important than rubber ones. My daughter's health, my daughter period, is glass. Fragile, precious glass I cherish. Writing will always come second to my child. Always. She needed me. I was there for her. I still am. I managed to revise a bit more, but a week after my child's diagnosis, the skies opened up and all he!! broke loose in Alabama. 28 tornadoes in 1 day. The most terrifying day ever. I don't think I'll ever forget the sirens, the dark skies, the sudden pop above my head after an eerie silence, or the complete sense of helplessness.
We were lucky. We didn't suffer any damage or injuries and I'm so grateful. But my writing did suffer a setback. Not just because of the time lost, but because my heart was aching. I was sore. Sad. I just wanted to reconnect with my friends. Talk. Sleep. Be still. Pray. And so I did. I gave myself permission to take a bit of a break.
I took a look at the crossroad in front of me and went left instead of right. I enjoyed the journey. I played with a new story idea, came up with plot points, index cards, and just had fun. I ignored the revision for a bit. And that was great. I reevaluated my future writing projects. I relaxed. Well, I relaxed for me. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a "relaxed" kind of gal. In the midst of all of this there was still the sick kid, still the doctor visits, still the desire to create, still the household to keep up, still the new diet to cook dozens of meals for......... and so the relaxation was more of a pit stop here and there punctuated with bursts of work.
Of course, my part of my idea of relaxing was to take a break from revisions and plan a new story. In the midst of story boarding my next novel, I managed to snag a couple of great editor and agent appointments at the RWA National Conference. Usually Nationals are in July, but this year the conference is June 28-July 2. I have very little time to prepare for it because of, oh, the above paragraphs. But that's okay. I can pull it off. I plan on pulling this off after I finish the first draft of my next book, and after I tour two more colleges with my darling teen (who is slowly mending despite another minor health setback).
See, this post is just a rambling thing about LIFE. Life is happening. All The Time. And somehow, we writers, we must continue to write despite the many distractions. And the only way I know how to do that is to have a plan. A map. Of course, the map can't prepare us for every detour and crossroad that comes our way, but it can give us a place to refer to when we get a little lost. And sometimes a new map needs to take the place of the old map.
That is what I am doing this week. I'm gearing up to make a new road map. I'm reevaluating my goals, my priorities, my ongoing "to-do" list.
How often do you reevaluate your goals? Do you tweak them regularly or only change them once a year?
This quarter I started strong with an R&R out the door and the rest of the story to revise. It's been about 2 months since I sent the R&R out and I am in "wait mode." So much of this business is about waiting and being patient, but while writers wait we must do only one thing: write some more. So I finished the rest of the revision, sent it off to my CP, and tackled her critique 3 chapters at a time. I have three more chapters to go and I'm finished this round. That's on the table for the first part of this week.
While I revised this book, I entered another contest (which still requires an entry LOL), learned I finaled in the Fab Five, and attended a great workshop. I returned home in mid-April ready to work my tail off. Then the first detour in my road occurred. Sick kid. Mono. She's been home for about a month and a half now. I've got to admit, it's put a cramp in my writing style. You see, I am a bit spoiled. She's a teenager who drives so I was used to the days being mine to do my work. I had to work around her doctor appointments, caring for her, organizing school work, and canceling a lot of her "life" till she got well.
But as Nora Roberts says, glass balls are more important than rubber ones. My daughter's health, my daughter period, is glass. Fragile, precious glass I cherish. Writing will always come second to my child. Always. She needed me. I was there for her. I still am. I managed to revise a bit more, but a week after my child's diagnosis, the skies opened up and all he!! broke loose in Alabama. 28 tornadoes in 1 day. The most terrifying day ever. I don't think I'll ever forget the sirens, the dark skies, the sudden pop above my head after an eerie silence, or the complete sense of helplessness.
We were lucky. We didn't suffer any damage or injuries and I'm so grateful. But my writing did suffer a setback. Not just because of the time lost, but because my heart was aching. I was sore. Sad. I just wanted to reconnect with my friends. Talk. Sleep. Be still. Pray. And so I did. I gave myself permission to take a bit of a break.
I took a look at the crossroad in front of me and went left instead of right. I enjoyed the journey. I played with a new story idea, came up with plot points, index cards, and just had fun. I ignored the revision for a bit. And that was great. I reevaluated my future writing projects. I relaxed. Well, I relaxed for me. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a "relaxed" kind of gal. In the midst of all of this there was still the sick kid, still the doctor visits, still the desire to create, still the household to keep up, still the new diet to cook dozens of meals for......... and so the relaxation was more of a pit stop here and there punctuated with bursts of work.
Of course, my part of my idea of relaxing was to take a break from revisions and plan a new story. In the midst of story boarding my next novel, I managed to snag a couple of great editor and agent appointments at the RWA National Conference. Usually Nationals are in July, but this year the conference is June 28-July 2. I have very little time to prepare for it because of, oh, the above paragraphs. But that's okay. I can pull it off. I plan on pulling this off after I finish the first draft of my next book, and after I tour two more colleges with my darling teen (who is slowly mending despite another minor health setback).
See, this post is just a rambling thing about LIFE. Life is happening. All The Time. And somehow, we writers, we must continue to write despite the many distractions. And the only way I know how to do that is to have a plan. A map. Of course, the map can't prepare us for every detour and crossroad that comes our way, but it can give us a place to refer to when we get a little lost. And sometimes a new map needs to take the place of the old map.
That is what I am doing this week. I'm gearing up to make a new road map. I'm reevaluating my goals, my priorities, my ongoing "to-do" list.
How often do you reevaluate your goals? Do you tweak them regularly or only change them once a year?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Today's Post is Interrupted by Mono
My darling teen has mono. She is one sick puppy. I'm putting out fires left and right at her school. Meanwhile, she is home and resting. I promise to be back after I get life back on track.
There's normal. Then there's the "new normal."
My "new normal" is to put my teen first, help her heal up, and then write. Anything else is secondary. I once read a story by a girl who had lupus. She said she only has so many spoons of energy per day. She keeps one in reserve.
Now I only have so many spoons of energy and time. I am parceling them out very judiciously. Priorities have shifted to make room for this new curve ball. And, you know what? That is okay. Life happens. Then we readjust. It is in being flexible and understanding what is most important that we get through the dicier parts of life.
Perhaps my lesson of the day is that it's okay not to do everything and to change your priorities instead of trying to do it all and falling apart when life throws you a curve ball.
How do you realign your priorities when life throws you a curve ball?
There's normal. Then there's the "new normal."
My "new normal" is to put my teen first, help her heal up, and then write. Anything else is secondary. I once read a story by a girl who had lupus. She said she only has so many spoons of energy per day. She keeps one in reserve.
Now I only have so many spoons of energy and time. I am parceling them out very judiciously. Priorities have shifted to make room for this new curve ball. And, you know what? That is okay. Life happens. Then we readjust. It is in being flexible and understanding what is most important that we get through the dicier parts of life.
Perhaps my lesson of the day is that it's okay not to do everything and to change your priorities instead of trying to do it all and falling apart when life throws you a curve ball.
How do you realign your priorities when life throws you a curve ball?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Life is a Roller Coaster, I Want to Ride It!
I rode my first roller coaster when I was 38 years old. I was forced into this crazy behavior by my darling daughter. She desperately wanted to ride THE BIG BAD WOLF at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg. I had to ride with her. And I was sooooooooooooooo scared! My only experience with roller coasters were the tiny ones for little children, we're talking toddlers and grade schoolers, and that was fine with me. Why on earth would I want to hurl myself through loops and drops and corkscrews? Why? Because I loved my daughter and I wanted to give her the experience.
So on the coaster I went.
And I fell in love with the thrill of the ride.
Oh, it was scary when we clickety clacked up the track. I was so worried one or both of us would fall out of the cart. I think I checked darling daughter's seatbelt a thousand and twenty times as we ascended. But oh, the ride. The ride was so worth the fear! I was transported out of my worries, my problems, the every day life events that can overwhelm a soul.
I was flying! I was so exhilarated by the experience, I quickly made my way through the list of the other rides at the theme park. Then I rode all the rides in Disney World, Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. One of my favorites is THE HULK. Awesome ride.
And then I returned to the scene of my first coaster to ride THE GRIFFON. Fear struck into my heart as I saw the people dangling face down, at a 90 degree angle, looking at the ground from high above the people gaping at them from below. Oh my goodness. I stood in the line, with my daughter and a family friend. My heart raced, my ears pounded with the thrumming belts of sheer terror. I didn't think I could ride this one. I wouldn't ride it. But onward ho. I walked all the way into the ride's entry. I sat down. My daughter held my hand. Our family friend held my other hand.
I didn't want to die. And I was quite sure I would die on this ride. This was taking it too far.
We clacked up the track. I couldn't think. My brain squeezed with panic and I desperately wanted to get of the ride. I couldn't believe I'd done this ridiculous, stupid thing to myself. And I let my daughter onto this beast. We were both going to die. I knew it.
Then we dangled, face first, suspended for mere seconds before we'd plummet to our death. The bird released and flew down the 90 degree drop. It was beyond anything I'd ever done. I wasn't just flying in a machine. I was the machine. I was a bird.
I loved it.
I endured the terror again 3 more times. Front, side on tip of wing, and back on other tip of wing.
The terror was worth the thrill of the ride.
The next time you're afraid to try something new, feel the fear and do it anyway. Do it for the thrill of the ride.
So on the coaster I went.
And I fell in love with the thrill of the ride.
Oh, it was scary when we clickety clacked up the track. I was so worried one or both of us would fall out of the cart. I think I checked darling daughter's seatbelt a thousand and twenty times as we ascended. But oh, the ride. The ride was so worth the fear! I was transported out of my worries, my problems, the every day life events that can overwhelm a soul.
I was flying! I was so exhilarated by the experience, I quickly made my way through the list of the other rides at the theme park. Then I rode all the rides in Disney World, Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure. One of my favorites is THE HULK. Awesome ride.
And then I returned to the scene of my first coaster to ride THE GRIFFON. Fear struck into my heart as I saw the people dangling face down, at a 90 degree angle, looking at the ground from high above the people gaping at them from below. Oh my goodness. I stood in the line, with my daughter and a family friend. My heart raced, my ears pounded with the thrumming belts of sheer terror. I didn't think I could ride this one. I wouldn't ride it. But onward ho. I walked all the way into the ride's entry. I sat down. My daughter held my hand. Our family friend held my other hand.
I didn't want to die. And I was quite sure I would die on this ride. This was taking it too far.
We clacked up the track. I couldn't think. My brain squeezed with panic and I desperately wanted to get of the ride. I couldn't believe I'd done this ridiculous, stupid thing to myself. And I let my daughter onto this beast. We were both going to die. I knew it.
Then we dangled, face first, suspended for mere seconds before we'd plummet to our death. The bird released and flew down the 90 degree drop. It was beyond anything I'd ever done. I wasn't just flying in a machine. I was the machine. I was a bird.
I loved it.
I endured the terror again 3 more times. Front, side on tip of wing, and back on other tip of wing.
The terror was worth the thrill of the ride.
The next time you're afraid to try something new, feel the fear and do it anyway. Do it for the thrill of the ride.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
When "Life Happens"
Life happens. The real world presses in on our writing work all the time. Sometimes the pressure is low. Other times, one feels as if trapped in a diver's shark cage under the sea, oxygen is low, oh, and by the way, there's a shark. Oh, and another thing, cage door lock is broken.
This week was a lot like being in that diver's cage.
Darling Father-in-Law passed away on Wednesday morning. Not unexpected. Not wanted, either. But there it is: the end of a man's life. One who never demanded anything of us, one who I loved, and one who is missed.
And surrounding the loss of a loved one are all the people, the personalities, the old pains, the unresolved issues, the layers of good and bad, the stages of grief being played out by all in varying orders. One becomes angry, the other sad, the other practical, the other helpful, the other in denial, the other accepting. And so it goes. Will go on for about a year depending on the person and the personality.
Me, I guess I already grieved a lot prior to the loss. I have accepted it. I suppose my anger stage is being used to fight the VA for my FIL's deserved benefits. Good use of it, I say. I guess that covers the practical, helpful stage of grief, too. But I know at various times this year, and in the ongoing years, I'll mourn a little again. It's normal to miss someone we loved long after we have sad our goodbyes.
But despite all the "life happening" moments this past week, I managed to write. Not as much as I would have liked, but more than expected. The writing helped me go through the whole denial thing again. being lost in my world of people and their personalities shielded me from some of the pain of losing my FIL. I challenged my feelings into my writing, and it helped.
But when the phone rang, I didn't ignore it. When my darling daughter heard the news and burst into tears, I held her in my arms till her tears subsided. I called, too. My darling hubby needed encouragement and love. My FIL's sister and his widow needed emotional support. I did, too. I also gave myself a day to do nothing other than clean the house from top to bottom. Cathartic. I tend to get practical when life happens: cleaning, ironing, organizing, busying.
I've learned that we grieve the way we live: our personalities and how we cope with life also dictates in a great way how we will cope with death.
I'm a doer, a practical sort with a desire to get things done. So I got busy.
I wrote, I story boarded, I moderated an online workshop, I tussled with my synopsis, and I prepped my MAGGIE entry for review this week. I didn't have an editor breathing down my neck who expected me to turn in my revisions by Friday. But I wrote because I gave myself a deadline, albeit self-imposed, and I will meet it.
I treat my job as a profession. And writers must work harder, even if published, to maintain that attitude. Other than my OWN death or serious illness, there are NO excuses. I must complete the task I set for myself by the intended deadline to maintain the self-discipline I need to become a successful published author. This isn't a hobby I can set aside. This is my career.
How do you treat your writing, if unpublished, when "life happens?"
This week was a lot like being in that diver's cage.
Darling Father-in-Law passed away on Wednesday morning. Not unexpected. Not wanted, either. But there it is: the end of a man's life. One who never demanded anything of us, one who I loved, and one who is missed.
And surrounding the loss of a loved one are all the people, the personalities, the old pains, the unresolved issues, the layers of good and bad, the stages of grief being played out by all in varying orders. One becomes angry, the other sad, the other practical, the other helpful, the other in denial, the other accepting. And so it goes. Will go on for about a year depending on the person and the personality.
Me, I guess I already grieved a lot prior to the loss. I have accepted it. I suppose my anger stage is being used to fight the VA for my FIL's deserved benefits. Good use of it, I say. I guess that covers the practical, helpful stage of grief, too. But I know at various times this year, and in the ongoing years, I'll mourn a little again. It's normal to miss someone we loved long after we have sad our goodbyes.
But despite all the "life happening" moments this past week, I managed to write. Not as much as I would have liked, but more than expected. The writing helped me go through the whole denial thing again. being lost in my world of people and their personalities shielded me from some of the pain of losing my FIL. I challenged my feelings into my writing, and it helped.
But when the phone rang, I didn't ignore it. When my darling daughter heard the news and burst into tears, I held her in my arms till her tears subsided. I called, too. My darling hubby needed encouragement and love. My FIL's sister and his widow needed emotional support. I did, too. I also gave myself a day to do nothing other than clean the house from top to bottom. Cathartic. I tend to get practical when life happens: cleaning, ironing, organizing, busying.
I've learned that we grieve the way we live: our personalities and how we cope with life also dictates in a great way how we will cope with death.
I'm a doer, a practical sort with a desire to get things done. So I got busy.
I wrote, I story boarded, I moderated an online workshop, I tussled with my synopsis, and I prepped my MAGGIE entry for review this week. I didn't have an editor breathing down my neck who expected me to turn in my revisions by Friday. But I wrote because I gave myself a deadline, albeit self-imposed, and I will meet it.
I treat my job as a profession. And writers must work harder, even if published, to maintain that attitude. Other than my OWN death or serious illness, there are NO excuses. I must complete the task I set for myself by the intended deadline to maintain the self-discipline I need to become a successful published author. This isn't a hobby I can set aside. This is my career.
How do you treat your writing, if unpublished, when "life happens?"
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Ah Ha! The Goals Must Reflect the Task
Well, I have had a major breakthrough today. At first, I slogged through negative emotions about outside world pressing in on my inner world of writing. Then I cleaned bathrooms. The dirty work didn't jar any new thoughts. Neither did banishing the outside forces.
I cleaned up myself, planned to go to B&N and then the phone rang: hmmm my DH's surgery center with more estimates for his surgery costs... great conversation with the lady in charge. A bit of laughter... needed it. Then I got a call from a friend in DC... and I needed friend time so I took it. We talked for an hour. By the time I hung up, I had an hour till DD came home from school.... see the distractions? Mounting up? Oh, what a big shovel I'd need ...
But there is a reason for everything. My CP in DC called me regarding my first 30 pages. And she solved the problem for me: I am trying to stretch a category length book from page 50 when I need to stretch it from page 1. I need to relearn how to write according to ST length.
AACK! I need to not worry about word counts. I need to worry about the structure. Redo on the goal list. Good thing I factored in the whole FLEXIBILITY goal LOL.
So here is the plan: slog away through first three chapters... first 9 scenes, light revision. Then move forward again. Oh. And painful cutting and repositioning of exposition, emotion. Oh. And layer in action etc. Oh. And. Oh.
Redo my thinking. No more worries about word count. Now I worry about true revision. Numbers don't count.
The good news is she loves my writing. And my characters. And my voice. Whew.
Sometimes it really is like one step forward and two steps back. But she reiterated a MAASS illumination: unpublished writers have time to learn.
Hmmmm... still learning and growing.
I cleaned up myself, planned to go to B&N and then the phone rang: hmmm my DH's surgery center with more estimates for his surgery costs... great conversation with the lady in charge. A bit of laughter... needed it. Then I got a call from a friend in DC... and I needed friend time so I took it. We talked for an hour. By the time I hung up, I had an hour till DD came home from school.... see the distractions? Mounting up? Oh, what a big shovel I'd need ...
But there is a reason for everything. My CP in DC called me regarding my first 30 pages. And she solved the problem for me: I am trying to stretch a category length book from page 50 when I need to stretch it from page 1. I need to relearn how to write according to ST length.
AACK! I need to not worry about word counts. I need to worry about the structure. Redo on the goal list. Good thing I factored in the whole FLEXIBILITY goal LOL.
So here is the plan: slog away through first three chapters... first 9 scenes, light revision. Then move forward again. Oh. And painful cutting and repositioning of exposition, emotion. Oh. And layer in action etc. Oh. And. Oh.
Redo my thinking. No more worries about word count. Now I worry about true revision. Numbers don't count.
The good news is she loves my writing. And my characters. And my voice. Whew.
Sometimes it really is like one step forward and two steps back. But she reiterated a MAASS illumination: unpublished writers have time to learn.
Hmmmm... still learning and growing.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thanksgiving Part 3
I've often wondered why I tackled becoming a writer. Honestly, I haven't got the fabulous educational background of many of the writers I admire. Nope. I didn't go to Yale or Harvard. In my life before I became I writer, I didn't hold a job as a lawyer, doctor, anthropologist, television anchor or other some such type of illustrious career. Nope. I was lucky to get my degree in elementary education by the time I was 27. I worked a few years in radio and television and private education, but I never built a career.
I learned only two things about myself during the few years I dealt with corporate America: I hate office politics and I hate wearing pantyhose to work.
Any rate, after a few years of trying to climb the corporate ladder and bumping my head on a very low ceiling, I had a baby and I decided busting my stockings to get a promotion wasn't as eternal as raising a beautiful child. I've never regretted the decision.
When she entered the 4th grade, I rediscovered my earlier passion for writing. And that's what I've been mucking around doing ever since I dusted off my first attempts at writing a novel. I've learned a lot about writing and craft from my writing comrades, RWA, my writing chapters, more books than I care to admit I own and on-line workshops.
But the doubts and the questioning never leave me. Who am I to take on this task when I have such a muddled background? Do the words "I'm not worthy" ever cross your mind? They cross mine. They jump around my brain whenever I learn about that writer's degree in literature, or her illustrious career in technology and the writer who once wrote speeches for the President. Okay? Now that's a big scary deal for me.
So why do I even attempt this crazy adventure? I haven't got a Masters degree in anything, I haven't worked in a real job since 1994, and I didn't grow up in a family that bothered to nurture my talents. Nope. I had to fight for every success I had and that's where the chutzpah to write lives. My scrappiness.
I learned a lot about life in a different college: the college of hard knocks and streetwise living. I've been on my own since I was 16 years old. I fought to get my GED and, after my DH married me, I taught myself the SAT with a big book of tests. I entered university, got scholarships and busted my buns to finish my degree in less than 4 years (my DH had married me for my, uh, cooking ability, not my education as I had none to speak of other than the GED).
I may not have any experience tackling corporate giants or winning cases in the courtroom, but I know how to flip a burger, pump gas, make beds, clean hotel rooms, assist the elderly and nurture children. I can type faster than most secretaries. I've knocked back beer in an Ice Shack in Houston, and I've hobnobbed with Nobel Prize winners while sipping Kir Royale. I've played pool with biker chicks, and I've hosted dinner parties for distinguished scientists. I've sat in a bar outside of Phoenix and chatted with the locals about the humidity. I've canoed down the Dordogne and toured castles. I've slept in a pup tent next to the Redwoods. I've flown first class to Europe.
I've had nothing. I've experienced everything.
When I was eighteen, if you opened my fridge, you'd find a large 7-11 Slushy and a potato. I've dated guys because they paid for my dinner and I was hungry. I've eaten 8 course meals in Sarlat, France. I've known extreme loneliness, the kind where I've considered rushing off a balcony of a twentieth floor high rise because who would care if I was gone? I've known extreme joy, the kind where I've wanted to bottle the bubbling happiness and cork it so I can pop it open, and let it stream over me when I am sad again.
Today I am thankful for my life. For all of it. For the ugly chunks of my childhood, for the brief glimmers of joy even then. I mine the coals of hurt, pain, frustration, anger and bitterness for my stories. I open the shell surrounding my heart and draw out pearls of ecstasy to endow my characters with abiding joy.
I'm grateful for the natural talents and intelligence given to me, but I am actually more thankful for being forced to live in circumstances that brought me to my knees, humbled. I am grateful because I believe my street education, and my ability to transcend that background, have given me an opportunity to give back the greatest gift I've received: HOPE.
My stories are about two people finding each other and discovering home. Today I'm grateful I found my hero. Today I'm grateful we created our own safe place to fall.
I learned only two things about myself during the few years I dealt with corporate America: I hate office politics and I hate wearing pantyhose to work.
Any rate, after a few years of trying to climb the corporate ladder and bumping my head on a very low ceiling, I had a baby and I decided busting my stockings to get a promotion wasn't as eternal as raising a beautiful child. I've never regretted the decision.
When she entered the 4th grade, I rediscovered my earlier passion for writing. And that's what I've been mucking around doing ever since I dusted off my first attempts at writing a novel. I've learned a lot about writing and craft from my writing comrades, RWA, my writing chapters, more books than I care to admit I own and on-line workshops.
But the doubts and the questioning never leave me. Who am I to take on this task when I have such a muddled background? Do the words "I'm not worthy" ever cross your mind? They cross mine. They jump around my brain whenever I learn about that writer's degree in literature, or her illustrious career in technology and the writer who once wrote speeches for the President. Okay? Now that's a big scary deal for me.
So why do I even attempt this crazy adventure? I haven't got a Masters degree in anything, I haven't worked in a real job since 1994, and I didn't grow up in a family that bothered to nurture my talents. Nope. I had to fight for every success I had and that's where the chutzpah to write lives. My scrappiness.
I learned a lot about life in a different college: the college of hard knocks and streetwise living. I've been on my own since I was 16 years old. I fought to get my GED and, after my DH married me, I taught myself the SAT with a big book of tests. I entered university, got scholarships and busted my buns to finish my degree in less than 4 years (my DH had married me for my, uh, cooking ability, not my education as I had none to speak of other than the GED).
I may not have any experience tackling corporate giants or winning cases in the courtroom, but I know how to flip a burger, pump gas, make beds, clean hotel rooms, assist the elderly and nurture children. I can type faster than most secretaries. I've knocked back beer in an Ice Shack in Houston, and I've hobnobbed with Nobel Prize winners while sipping Kir Royale. I've played pool with biker chicks, and I've hosted dinner parties for distinguished scientists. I've sat in a bar outside of Phoenix and chatted with the locals about the humidity. I've canoed down the Dordogne and toured castles. I've slept in a pup tent next to the Redwoods. I've flown first class to Europe.
I've had nothing. I've experienced everything.
When I was eighteen, if you opened my fridge, you'd find a large 7-11 Slushy and a potato. I've dated guys because they paid for my dinner and I was hungry. I've eaten 8 course meals in Sarlat, France. I've known extreme loneliness, the kind where I've considered rushing off a balcony of a twentieth floor high rise because who would care if I was gone? I've known extreme joy, the kind where I've wanted to bottle the bubbling happiness and cork it so I can pop it open, and let it stream over me when I am sad again.
Today I am thankful for my life. For all of it. For the ugly chunks of my childhood, for the brief glimmers of joy even then. I mine the coals of hurt, pain, frustration, anger and bitterness for my stories. I open the shell surrounding my heart and draw out pearls of ecstasy to endow my characters with abiding joy.
I'm grateful for the natural talents and intelligence given to me, but I am actually more thankful for being forced to live in circumstances that brought me to my knees, humbled. I am grateful because I believe my street education, and my ability to transcend that background, have given me an opportunity to give back the greatest gift I've received: HOPE.
My stories are about two people finding each other and discovering home. Today I'm grateful I found my hero. Today I'm grateful we created our own safe place to fall.
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