I am the least organized person I know.
I like things to be neat and organized and tidy and simple, but when I try to make them that way myself ... chaos ensues.
(Curiously enough, when I was department manager at the hardware store, I did NOT have that problem. I ran one dept and assisted with two others, and kept all of them in STUNNINGLY organized condition, better than almost any of the others in the entire store. Which is odd. And the only time/place in my life where that has happened.)
Yesterday was my birthday, and my husband cleaned the kitchen for me after dinner. Except he didn't just clean, he tidied and organized and threw things away and rearranged other things and picked up items that had been on the counters for so long I'd stopped even seeing them, and at the end of the night, I stood there thinking, "huh. I could have done any of this at any time, but it never even occurred to me. Why not?"
Part of my problem is that I'm scatter-brained. Just ask anyone who knows me. My parents used to joke that they always knew how I'd spent my day by following the trail of shoes, books, and teacups through the house. I just never even noticed I was leaving them behind! It's even worse when I'm cleaning - I hop from one thing to another to another without ever finishing any task, ending the day by feeling exhausted and accomplishing nothing. I am really bad at time-management - I have a beautifully written schedule pinned on my fridge, and I never, ever manage to follow it. (In my defense, we haven't had one week since October where all four of us have been healthy. It's been a sick, sick winter, which makes it nearly impossible to stick to any kind of a schedule.) I always have marvelous, and even reasonable goals, and then I get derailed almost immediately.
Part of the problem is that there's just SO MUCH that I want/need to be doing. Keep the house clean and running smoothly. Raise the kids. Teach the kids. Write. Self-publish. Sew. Cook all the meals (from scratch). Skate. Learn to draw so I can teach the kids. Study. Along with raising and teaching the kids, train them to become independent adults. LAUNDRY. And oh yeah, have a relationship with my husband and try to make time for friends as well. Not to mention make sure I get that bit of alone time each week so necessary for my introverted soul.
I know a lot of people manage to juggle all those things effortlessly. I'm still figuring it out, and dropping almost ALL the balls constantly in the process. I think I spend more time picking the balls off the ground than I do tossing them through the air!
Add to all that the very deep desire to NOT live a mundane life, to do more than just muddle along. One of my deepest fears is that when I die, what's going on my tombstone is "Well, at least she tried." This life is so short, so precious, I don't want to spend it flustered and frustrated and frittering it away! I want to really live, to taste every moment. No, I'm not buying into the lie that says "you have to enjoy every minute of while your kids are small/while you are young/while whatever it is the speaker currently wants you to feel guilty about not savoring." I've fallen down that pit before, and I won't go back.
But neither do I want to, as I mentioned before, spend my life just muddling along, half-heartedly attempting many things without really enjoying or living anything.
So, any advice for this scatter-brained, introverted, disorganized, mummy-wife-and-mother-and-writer on how to stop wasting my time, and start making the most of my days?
Have at it in the comments!
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Friday, March 15, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Writer's Sludge
I haven't written one word - save for blog posts, FB and Twitter updates, and the occasional short email - in three weeks.
Writer's block, you ask?
Not exactly.
More like Writer's Sludge.
I'm editing. I'm actually in the easy stage of editing, where all the major changes have been made and the end is in sight. I should be able to tackle this no problem, right?
Unfortunately, editing is also the tricky stage, when I need to focus all my attention on the task before me. Which means I can't do it during the day, when the kids need me. Even putting on a movie doesn't help (yes, I do resort to that sometimes - I never claimed to be Supermom), because I'm still in "mom" mode, not "writer" mode.
Up until the plague sweeping our house, I had been getting to the library for an hour on Fridays after Carl got home, and even that one hour of writing a week was fantastic. But with at least one of us being sick for almost the entire month of February, that just stopped happening.
Editing in the evenings, after the kids are in bed, you suggest? Yes. I should do that. I often have grand plans throughout the day of doing that. But usually by the time 8:00 rolls around and the kids are asleep, all I can do is curl up in the recliner and read fluffy books. My plans of a winter spent delving into different mythologies has fallen through, too! I've fallen back on comfort reads, Agatha Christie and Patricia C Wrede and Miss Read. All good books, but none of which require me to stretch my brain.
Which means, of course, that even now that we're all (rap wood) healthy again, and I could be working on the MS again, my creative muscles have fallen out of use, and my natural laziness is creeping back to the forefront of my personality, instead of locked tightly in the back, where I usually try to keep it contained.
So I write this blog post in hopes that by being honest and open about this, it will trigger something in me, maybe even that famous stubbornness and contrariness that I'm known for throughout my family and friends, and I'll start writing again immediately after posting this.
Even though I haven't been writing/editing, I have started exercising some of my creative muscles again recently. See?
Writer's block, you ask?
Not exactly.
More like Writer's Sludge.
I'm editing. I'm actually in the easy stage of editing, where all the major changes have been made and the end is in sight. I should be able to tackle this no problem, right?
Unfortunately, editing is also the tricky stage, when I need to focus all my attention on the task before me. Which means I can't do it during the day, when the kids need me. Even putting on a movie doesn't help (yes, I do resort to that sometimes - I never claimed to be Supermom), because I'm still in "mom" mode, not "writer" mode.
Up until the plague sweeping our house, I had been getting to the library for an hour on Fridays after Carl got home, and even that one hour of writing a week was fantastic. But with at least one of us being sick for almost the entire month of February, that just stopped happening.
Editing in the evenings, after the kids are in bed, you suggest? Yes. I should do that. I often have grand plans throughout the day of doing that. But usually by the time 8:00 rolls around and the kids are asleep, all I can do is curl up in the recliner and read fluffy books. My plans of a winter spent delving into different mythologies has fallen through, too! I've fallen back on comfort reads, Agatha Christie and Patricia C Wrede and Miss Read. All good books, but none of which require me to stretch my brain.
Which means, of course, that even now that we're all (rap wood) healthy again, and I could be working on the MS again, my creative muscles have fallen out of use, and my natural laziness is creeping back to the forefront of my personality, instead of locked tightly in the back, where I usually try to keep it contained.
So I write this blog post in hopes that by being honest and open about this, it will trigger something in me, maybe even that famous stubbornness and contrariness that I'm known for throughout my family and friends, and I'll start writing again immediately after posting this.
Even though I haven't been writing/editing, I have started exercising some of my creative muscles again recently. See?
Now I just need to translate that into writing! Hmm ... maybe if Maia had to deal with pirates ...
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Poetry of Life
I am not a poet. I shouldn't really have to say that on here, should I? If you've read even a few of my posts, you'd know that I have a very conversational style in my writing; I write as I talk, and I am not a poet in my conversations, either.
Most of the time that doesn't bother me. I'm not much on reading poetry, either. I memorized the first few stanzas of Sir Walter Scott's "The Lady of the Lake" when I was a kid, and I gained some appreciation for Emily Dickinson in my freshman creative writing class in college, and I struggle to appreciate John Donne because of my abiding love for Lord Peter Wimsey, but really? Poetry is a closed book to me. I can scratch together a few lines for a Christmas present for a family member, or put together a little poem to hang next to a baby picture on my littles' bedroom wall, but using poetry to express my innermost feelings? Not gonna happen.
And then I read people who write prose so beautifully that it reads like poetry, those blog posts that dig into my heart, those words accompanying a recipe in a cookbook that make me want to bury my hands in flour and build a legacy, those lines in a book that shine a light on feelings that have been obscure even to me. And I wish (oh how I wish) that I could write the same way. That even if I can't write poetry, that my prose could be deep and rich and beautiful and speak out of the chambers of my heart, right into others' hearts.
But I sit with my fingers poised over the keyboard, or twirling a pen above a blank page, and what comes out is my usual light chatter instead. Even when I am writing for myself, that doesn't change, so it isn't that I'm afraid to expose my inner self to others. Or is it that, is it that I have hidden myself away from others for so long that it's become an ingrained habit, something I can't break even for myself?
This post here is more stream-of-consciousness than I usually write. It's about as close to poetry as I get. I do have a poetry blog that I started several years ago in an attempt to develop a more poetic side, but it's been gathering dust for many months. Maybe I should start working on that again?
I don't want to stay in the shallows, with my writing or with my life. I'm not afraid to dive into the unknown deeps when it comes to my life. I shouldn't be afraid of stretching out with my writing, either. Light entertainment is fine, and even good, at times, but I don't want that to be all I ever write. I want to make people think, and feel, with my writing. I want to use my writing to convey at least a part of the beauty and wonder I find in this world, this life.
Maybe I just need to take a deep breath, and dive right in. No fear.
I wrote this over a period of a couple days, but I have not edited anything (well, aside from a few spelling errors). An attempt to stay raw and not polish the truth away from my words.
Most of the time that doesn't bother me. I'm not much on reading poetry, either. I memorized the first few stanzas of Sir Walter Scott's "The Lady of the Lake" when I was a kid, and I gained some appreciation for Emily Dickinson in my freshman creative writing class in college, and I struggle to appreciate John Donne because of my abiding love for Lord Peter Wimsey, but really? Poetry is a closed book to me. I can scratch together a few lines for a Christmas present for a family member, or put together a little poem to hang next to a baby picture on my littles' bedroom wall, but using poetry to express my innermost feelings? Not gonna happen.
And then I read people who write prose so beautifully that it reads like poetry, those blog posts that dig into my heart, those words accompanying a recipe in a cookbook that make me want to bury my hands in flour and build a legacy, those lines in a book that shine a light on feelings that have been obscure even to me. And I wish (oh how I wish) that I could write the same way. That even if I can't write poetry, that my prose could be deep and rich and beautiful and speak out of the chambers of my heart, right into others' hearts.
But I sit with my fingers poised over the keyboard, or twirling a pen above a blank page, and what comes out is my usual light chatter instead. Even when I am writing for myself, that doesn't change, so it isn't that I'm afraid to expose my inner self to others. Or is it that, is it that I have hidden myself away from others for so long that it's become an ingrained habit, something I can't break even for myself?
This post here is more stream-of-consciousness than I usually write. It's about as close to poetry as I get. I do have a poetry blog that I started several years ago in an attempt to develop a more poetic side, but it's been gathering dust for many months. Maybe I should start working on that again?
I don't want to stay in the shallows, with my writing or with my life. I'm not afraid to dive into the unknown deeps when it comes to my life. I shouldn't be afraid of stretching out with my writing, either. Light entertainment is fine, and even good, at times, but I don't want that to be all I ever write. I want to make people think, and feel, with my writing. I want to use my writing to convey at least a part of the beauty and wonder I find in this world, this life.
Maybe I just need to take a deep breath, and dive right in. No fear.
I wrote this over a period of a couple days, but I have not edited anything (well, aside from a few spelling errors). An attempt to stay raw and not polish the truth away from my words.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Different Kind of Schedule
Continuing (and, I think, finishing) with my theme on scheduling over the last few weeks ...
Last week, I sat down and sketched out a basic goal list for the next six months, year, and two years. And then I handed it to my engineer-minded husband and said "Here, put this into a spreadsheet for me!"
I don't work well with vague goals. Neither do I work well with tight, narrow, put-lots-of-pressure-on goals. So this sort of thing tends to go much better for me. Carl and I were talking Friday morning about my spending/saving habits: from childhood, I've always been a saver, but only when I have specific goals. Whether it be a porcelain doll, or a Lego pirate ship, or buying the Kirsten American Girl doll for my sister as a Christmas present, or tickets to the World Figure Skating Championships for my dad and me, or a trip to teach VBS in the West Indies, or my first car, I can scrimp and pinch like mad for months to years in order to save for those goals.
Without a goal, though, I spend like mad, without even thinking about it. And if the goal is too overwhelming (like, say, "we need to save all the money we possibly can for the next five years so Carl can do seminary," without set parameters of how much that will take or how long that will last), I also tend to spend recklessly, because it's too much for me to really hold in my mind.
My life goals - and especially writing goals - tend to follow that same pattern. I got overwhelmed this summer by trying to keep to too tight and narrow a writing schedule. Five short stories and a novella to publish myself between May and September! (and here it is the middle of October, and I'm still working on them)
But just to write and work toward publication without having any kind of set goals or time frame is too vague, and it's too easy for me to start frittering away my time, just like I fritter money without a set goal for saving (wow, I am revealing all sorts of my bad habits to you guys today).
So instead, I've set specific but modest goals for a specific but large space of time. And already I'm feeling more motivated. Now when I sit down to the computer, instead of wondering dispiritedly what's the point in working on anything, and do I feel like editing or starting something new?, I can check out my goal list for the next six months and find hey, if I want to meet this goal, I need to do this, and those other things I've been wondering about, well, I don't need to fret about them until closer to the one-year mark. First things first!
Plus I get to feel more business-like about my approach to writing this way, and that, I think, is a good thing. It doesn't kill the creativity, just focuses it!
How do you keep yourself on track?
Last week, I sat down and sketched out a basic goal list for the next six months, year, and two years. And then I handed it to my engineer-minded husband and said "Here, put this into a spreadsheet for me!"
I don't work well with vague goals. Neither do I work well with tight, narrow, put-lots-of-pressure-on goals. So this sort of thing tends to go much better for me. Carl and I were talking Friday morning about my spending/saving habits: from childhood, I've always been a saver, but only when I have specific goals. Whether it be a porcelain doll, or a Lego pirate ship, or buying the Kirsten American Girl doll for my sister as a Christmas present, or tickets to the World Figure Skating Championships for my dad and me, or a trip to teach VBS in the West Indies, or my first car, I can scrimp and pinch like mad for months to years in order to save for those goals.
Pride and joy of my collection for many years.
Without a goal, though, I spend like mad, without even thinking about it. And if the goal is too overwhelming (like, say, "we need to save all the money we possibly can for the next five years so Carl can do seminary," without set parameters of how much that will take or how long that will last), I also tend to spend recklessly, because it's too much for me to really hold in my mind.
My life goals - and especially writing goals - tend to follow that same pattern. I got overwhelmed this summer by trying to keep to too tight and narrow a writing schedule. Five short stories and a novella to publish myself between May and September! (and here it is the middle of October, and I'm still working on them)
But just to write and work toward publication without having any kind of set goals or time frame is too vague, and it's too easy for me to start frittering away my time, just like I fritter money without a set goal for saving (wow, I am revealing all sorts of my bad habits to you guys today).
So instead, I've set specific but modest goals for a specific but large space of time. And already I'm feeling more motivated. Now when I sit down to the computer, instead of wondering dispiritedly what's the point in working on anything, and do I feel like editing or starting something new?, I can check out my goal list for the next six months and find hey, if I want to meet this goal, I need to do this, and those other things I've been wondering about, well, I don't need to fret about them until closer to the one-year mark. First things first!
Plus I get to feel more business-like about my approach to writing this way, and that, I think, is a good thing. It doesn't kill the creativity, just focuses it!
How do you keep yourself on track?
Monday, July 23, 2012
I Am a Writer
I got brave yesterday.
We were at a cookout after church, chatting with friends we've only known for a short while. I was asking the wife what she did, and then she asked me if I stayed home with the girls or if I worked outside the home. I gathered up all my courage and said,
"Yeah, I'm a writer, so I can stay home with the girls and work my schedule around them."
I always feel like such a fraud saying that. I'm not published! I'm not earning any money off my writing! How can I claim that for myself?
But it's the truth. I am a writer, no matter what, and it's about time I stopped selling myself short.
And the really neat thing? She got all excited and told me that her husband is a writer, too, only he hardly ever has time to write anything anymore, and he hasn't had anyone really to talk to about writing since leaving college, and it was so great to actually meet another writer.
So then I laughed and confessed how hard it was for me to say that about myself, and her husband (who had joined us by this point) laughed too and said he totally understood.
Turns out it didn't really require that much courage after all.
How about that?
Speaking of being a writer, I did recently start a Facebook page for my writing. If following through FB is up your alley, check it out and let me know what you think! https://www.facebook.com/elbateswriter
(Interestingly enough, I also told someone else about the writing yesterday afternoon. She asked how my week had been, I said full, she wanted to know with what, so I told her that I've been working every spare moment on putting together a collection of short stories to independently publish this fall. She wasn't quite as enthusiastic as the other, but she didn't stand up and scream "FAKE" or anything, and even seemed fairly interested, so all in all, points for bravery and honesty.)
We were at a cookout after church, chatting with friends we've only known for a short while. I was asking the wife what she did, and then she asked me if I stayed home with the girls or if I worked outside the home. I gathered up all my courage and said,
"Yeah, I'm a writer, so I can stay home with the girls and work my schedule around them."
I always feel like such a fraud saying that. I'm not published! I'm not earning any money off my writing! How can I claim that for myself?
But it's the truth. I am a writer, no matter what, and it's about time I stopped selling myself short.
And the really neat thing? She got all excited and told me that her husband is a writer, too, only he hardly ever has time to write anything anymore, and he hasn't had anyone really to talk to about writing since leaving college, and it was so great to actually meet another writer.
So then I laughed and confessed how hard it was for me to say that about myself, and her husband (who had joined us by this point) laughed too and said he totally understood.
Turns out it didn't really require that much courage after all.
How about that?
Stories are everywhere, if you just know where to look ...
Speaking of being a writer, I did recently start a Facebook page for my writing. If following through FB is up your alley, check it out and let me know what you think! https://www.facebook.com/elbateswriter
(Interestingly enough, I also told someone else about the writing yesterday afternoon. She asked how my week had been, I said full, she wanted to know with what, so I told her that I've been working every spare moment on putting together a collection of short stories to independently publish this fall. She wasn't quite as enthusiastic as the other, but she didn't stand up and scream "FAKE" or anything, and even seemed fairly interested, so all in all, points for bravery and honesty.)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Why Behind the Word
Life has been weighing heavily on my shoulders this week. You know how it is sometimes? It seems like everywhere you turn there's more tragedy, more brokenness, more need, more heartache, and it's all so much you don't even know where to begin.
And it's not just the sad stuff. You read stories of people triumphing against the odds to rescue a street boy from an impossible life in Africa. Firefighters doing ridiculous things to save people's homes in Colorado. People advocating for those who have no voice. All over, people doing their part to bring healing to this broken world.
And this is what always gets me - the need is so big, and so widespread, and others seem to know what to do to meet at least some of the need, but I get so overwhelmed and feel so feeble. What can I offer? Where do I begin? How do I take care of what's already been entrusted to me and still have something left to give to the world?
Tuesday night, I heard that my hometown was shredded by a micro burst. Literally. Several downtown building were horrifically damaged, including the local hardware store where I worked from when I was a young teenager right up to a week before I got married. The store my dad has worked at for over 30 years. The roof was lifted completely off and flung into the river, and the sub roof couldn't hold out the rain, and the water just flooded in. At one point they weren't even sure they could salvage the building.
I was sick. Just sick, thinking about it. And Wednesday morning, when I heard about the community coming in and pulling together to help bring the store back from the brink, to the point where it could re-open for business this afternoon and start giving back to the rest of the community, it killed me that I couldn't rush right home and join in.
But Grace woke up puking that morning, and I had to take care of her. No home-rushing heroics for me. At one point during the morning I looked at the short spy story document open on my computer and put my head right down on the table and said "WHY? Why do I write? What good does this possibly do in the long run? Why am I spending my time on this earth writing instead of doing ... something?"
(And then I had to go hold the puke bucket for Grace again. Truth.)
The more I thought (and prayed) about it, though, the more certain things started to come clear. Would I even be the type of person who wants to do something if it weren't for the books I grew up reading? Would I be the Louise I am today if I hadn't grown up with Lucy and Edmund, Anne and Diana, Randy and Rush, Taran and Eilonwy, Will and Bran, and all the rest? In my "Influences" posts, the common thread is that not only did these books shape me as a writer, they shaped me as a person.
It's an odd circle - if it weren't for people doing great things, writers wouldn't be able to imagine such deeds to write about. If it weren't for writers creating great heroes and deeply compassionate characters, real people might never be inspired to do great things themselves. We need books to show us the people we want to be.
That's why I write. I write to bring hope, to inspire courage, to give comfort and encouragement. Even in real life, my role has always, since childhood, been that of an encourager. Writing is my way of spreading that beyond my circle of immediate family and friends. It doesn't excuse me from acting in real life, too (and I pray that I will always be ready, in season and out, to act where I am needed and able), but it helps to give me a purpose, to remind me that my writing is not just for escapism or amusement. Not that there's anything wrong with that, either (and certainly my spy stories are mostly sheer indulgent fun), but that can't be all. Not for me.
This all sounds kind of pompous, looking it over now. "See me, how noble my goals are for my writing!" I don't mean it that way. Rather, it makes me humble, seeing how very far I have to go before I can live up to my own hopes. And it helps to keep me grounded - when I have a day that I can't write because my poor baby is retching on the couch, I can let that go more easily, because this is the real life that the writing is supposed to help inspire me toward.
My very favorite sort of stories are those of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. And I hope that's the life I can live, and the stories I can write to encourage others along the same path.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Louise's Short Story Lessons
After finishing my most recent edit of Magic and Mayhem, I decided it was time to stretch my writing comfort zone a little, and try my hand at some short stories. You know, because I'm such a terse writer, so good at brevity and clarity, using a minimum of words to convey a maximum of ideas.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
It's been a learning experience, to say the least. One short story has turned into a novelette. One just managed to squeak in under 7,000 words, but I did have a stroke of brilliance the other day about some editing I can do in order to pare it down by a thousand words or so. One has had two or three incarnations, and is currently mocking me in its still-unfinished state. One seems promising right now, but I have to keep going back and deleting half of it, because my characters go and get all wordy and rambly and off-track.
However! Along with this frustration (I was estimating how long most of Agatha Christie's short stories were the other evening, and tossed aside the book with a wail of despair. HOW did she pack so much into so few words?), I'm actually learning some useful tips for writing short stories, and thought I'd share them here. So,
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
It's been a learning experience, to say the least. One short story has turned into a novelette. One just managed to squeak in under 7,000 words, but I did have a stroke of brilliance the other day about some editing I can do in order to pare it down by a thousand words or so. One has had two or three incarnations, and is currently mocking me in its still-unfinished state. One seems promising right now, but I have to keep going back and deleting half of it, because my characters go and get all wordy and rambly and off-track.
However! Along with this frustration (I was estimating how long most of Agatha Christie's short stories were the other evening, and tossed aside the book with a wail of despair. HOW did she pack so much into so few words?), I'm actually learning some useful tips for writing short stories, and thought I'd share them here. So,
- Outline. Letting your characters and plot meander about while you figure out what's happening one step ahead of them may work well enough in a novel, but short stories need outlines. detailed outlines. Outlines that are practically a story in and of themselves.
- Eliminate irrelevancies. This one is both hard and painful for me. I adore irrelevancies! Just look at how many parenthesis I use in any given blog post! Irrelevancies are my life's blood! Only not in a short story.
- Pare down the cast. Casts of thousands might work well in fantasy epics; not so much in short stories.
- Have a point, and stick to it. See #2.
- Be ruthless. I know this is a general rule for writing novels, as well, but even more so with short stories. I don't care how brilliantly written the heroine's walk through the woods is, it is taking up 1,000 words to advance her somewhere that could be achieved with 10. Cut it. If you love it that much, save it to use in a novel someday.
- Keep scrap paper nearby for jotting down issues and problems as they arise, or interesting potential plot bunnies, or anything that is going to interfere with the tight flow of the story. You might need them later, or find you can use them in something else (see #5), but visually, you don't want them with the story itself.
- Study how the greats do short stories. Chances are, you might see a pattern. Besides, it will give you something worthwhile to read while your own stories are dancing circles around you.
- Keep the words and sentences themselves brief. It will help your brevity overall. Hard to stick with 7,000 words when you use 500 of those words in the very first sentence.
- When you get too frustrated, take a break. Write poetry. Draw something. Sew. Cook. Clean. Write long, rambling blog posts to get the need for MANY WORDS out of your system. If you get too, too frustrated, go back to novels. It's ok if short stories never become your thing.
- I don't really have a tenth point. I just didn't want to end this with nine.
Obviously, some of these points only apply to me (#6, especially, is just personal preference), but I hope anyone can glean some wisdom from them. What about you? Do you have any tips for writing good short stories?
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Friends and Food
Yesterday evening, Carl and the girls and I were able to impromptu meet up with old friends for dinner. They live in California, and somehow whenever they come up this way our schedules never coincide enough for us to get together. Ethan was best man at our wedding (I threatened to make him be maid of honor if my sister couldn't make it home in time; told Carl I had prior claim since Ethan and I had been friends since we were eleven, and he and Carl had only been friends since they were eighteen); we watched his Californian wedding over live video feed when Grace was a newborn; I totally monopolized his wife Elizabeth last summer at a wedding reception up north; and when I heard they were going to be driving from Vermont to Lake Placid yesterday, I jumped at the chance to really get caught up.
We had the nicest time. Lots of talking, laughing, going through buckets of the complimentary bread (we left a hefty tip), sharing where we've been, where we are now, where we're still dreaming about going. That's one of the wonderful things about like-minded friends - even if you aren't going in the same direction, you can still strengthen each other's dreams with encouragement and hope. Carl told about his seminary plans; Ethan and Elizabeth talked about the partnership they're dreaming of forging together into a movie production company; I shared some of the tricky waters I've been navigating with the indie publishing world and trying to get any of my projects actually completed to the point where I can actually attempt publishing them. All different worlds, but all of us aiming high and trying to balance reality with dreams.
Plus Ethan and I got to talk a little about possible collaborations in the future - me writing scripts or screenplays for films he's producing. With dialogue being my strong point and my skills of description being so weak, that might be just the ticket for me! And as I'm finding with the picture book collaboration I've been working on with another friend, if one has the right sort of mindset, one really can blend work and friendship without too many problems.
It can get easy to feel alone, for both Carl and I. He has the quintessential "good American" job right now, and can't wait for the day when he can leave it behind to pursue seminary, and teaching, and possibly even moving across the world if that's where we're called. I am the stay-at-home-mom to our two kids, trying to homeschool and keep the household running smoothly, and every second of the day my fingers itch to leave behind these dishes and laundry and kindergarden math books and just write. We're oddballs in suburban America, and it's good for us to talk with like-minded friends and remember that we really aren't that weird or alone (or super special, as sometimes our ego inflates at how "different" we are - o hubris!), and that it is possible to pursue a life that colors outside the lines.
So, here's hoping that you, my friends, get a chance to have that same encouragement this week! And if that encouragement include dinner at an Italian bistro with excellent complimentary bread and a very patient wait staff, well, all the more power to you.
We had the nicest time. Lots of talking, laughing, going through buckets of the complimentary bread (we left a hefty tip), sharing where we've been, where we are now, where we're still dreaming about going. That's one of the wonderful things about like-minded friends - even if you aren't going in the same direction, you can still strengthen each other's dreams with encouragement and hope. Carl told about his seminary plans; Ethan and Elizabeth talked about the partnership they're dreaming of forging together into a movie production company; I shared some of the tricky waters I've been navigating with the indie publishing world and trying to get any of my projects actually completed to the point where I can actually attempt publishing them. All different worlds, but all of us aiming high and trying to balance reality with dreams.
Plus Ethan and I got to talk a little about possible collaborations in the future - me writing scripts or screenplays for films he's producing. With dialogue being my strong point and my skills of description being so weak, that might be just the ticket for me! And as I'm finding with the picture book collaboration I've been working on with another friend, if one has the right sort of mindset, one really can blend work and friendship without too many problems.
It can get easy to feel alone, for both Carl and I. He has the quintessential "good American" job right now, and can't wait for the day when he can leave it behind to pursue seminary, and teaching, and possibly even moving across the world if that's where we're called. I am the stay-at-home-mom to our two kids, trying to homeschool and keep the household running smoothly, and every second of the day my fingers itch to leave behind these dishes and laundry and kindergarden math books and just write. We're oddballs in suburban America, and it's good for us to talk with like-minded friends and remember that we really aren't that weird or alone (or super special, as sometimes our ego inflates at how "different" we are - o hubris!), and that it is possible to pursue a life that colors outside the lines.
So, here's hoping that you, my friends, get a chance to have that same encouragement this week! And if that encouragement include dinner at an Italian bistro with excellent complimentary bread and a very patient wait staff, well, all the more power to you.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The Journey is the Treasure
Five years ago today, Lloyd Alexander died.
I was visiting my parents at the time (I don't remember why). I was checking my email on Mom's computer when I saw the news.
I was devastated. Numb. I just sat there in Mom's chair and stared at the computer screen. It didn't seem possible. I spent much of that day in a daze, trying to come to grips with it. Thankfully, my parents understood completely - Mom even told me that she'd felt much the same when Agatha Christie died, that same sense of losing a close friend, even though it was a person she'd never met.
But that was the thing with Lloyd: he was a friend to every one of his readers. He didn't just create some of my favorite heroes and heroines; he was a hero, himself, to me, simply for his honesty, his humor, and his love for adventure.
I've written before about the tremendous influence Lloyd has been, both on my writing and on the way I try to live my life. On my very approach to life, really. His writing is wonderful for children, who are still trying to figure out the world and where they fit in it. It's just as wonderful for adults who need to remember the deep joy and magic that can be found simply in the grand adventure of life itself (that sentence sounds pompous. Don't worry, Lloyd's books are never pompous). His heroes smash every popular idea of what heroism is all about, and they do it while still remaining joyous and real. Just look at some of the quotes from the Prydain Chronicles:
If someday I can write books that bring half as much joy and inspiration to people as he did, I will consider my life well lived. When I heard that today was being informally dubbed Lloyd Alexander Day, I knew I had to participate. How could I not join in honoring the man who has had the greatest hand in shaping the type of writer I am, the type of stories I love, the type of hero I want to be?
I have written a few stories posted on ff.net in the Lloyd Alexander section. If you've read all of his own works and are looking for something more, I humbly offer my own attempts. Amaranth is based on The Arkadians; Night Phantoms is a surprisingly (at least, it was a surprise to me) melancholy glimpse into King Smoit's character; Magic of the Heart looks at what life in Prydain might have been life for the generation after the events of The High King, as seen through the eyes of Taran's youngest daughter.
If you're interested in more Lloyd Alexander fanfic, do check out any of the writers in that section of ff.net; I especially recommend anything by Companion Wanderer and Adaon45.
Above all, read something Lloyd himself wrote! And then go plant some turnips in honor of Coll.
And I leave you with some others of my favorite quotes from Lloyd ...
I was visiting my parents at the time (I don't remember why). I was checking my email on Mom's computer when I saw the news.
I was devastated. Numb. I just sat there in Mom's chair and stared at the computer screen. It didn't seem possible. I spent much of that day in a daze, trying to come to grips with it. Thankfully, my parents understood completely - Mom even told me that she'd felt much the same when Agatha Christie died, that same sense of losing a close friend, even though it was a person she'd never met.
But that was the thing with Lloyd: he was a friend to every one of his readers. He didn't just create some of my favorite heroes and heroines; he was a hero, himself, to me, simply for his honesty, his humor, and his love for adventure.
I've written before about the tremendous influence Lloyd has been, both on my writing and on the way I try to live my life. On my very approach to life, really. His writing is wonderful for children, who are still trying to figure out the world and where they fit in it. It's just as wonderful for adults who need to remember the deep joy and magic that can be found simply in the grand adventure of life itself (that sentence sounds pompous. Don't worry, Lloyd's books are never pompous). His heroes smash every popular idea of what heroism is all about, and they do it while still remaining joyous and real. Just look at some of the quotes from the Prydain Chronicles:
“In some cases,” he said, “we learn more by looking for the answer to a question and not finding it than we do from learning the answer itself."
“There is much to be known,” said Adaon, “and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts.”
"Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too."
"This much have I learned: A man’s life weighs more than glory, and a price paid in blood is a heavy reckoning."
And this, my favorite:
"I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood." (Oh, Adaon!)
If someday I can write books that bring half as much joy and inspiration to people as he did, I will consider my life well lived. When I heard that today was being informally dubbed Lloyd Alexander Day, I knew I had to participate. How could I not join in honoring the man who has had the greatest hand in shaping the type of writer I am, the type of stories I love, the type of hero I want to be?
I have written a few stories posted on ff.net in the Lloyd Alexander section. If you've read all of his own works and are looking for something more, I humbly offer my own attempts. Amaranth is based on The Arkadians; Night Phantoms is a surprisingly (at least, it was a surprise to me) melancholy glimpse into King Smoit's character; Magic of the Heart looks at what life in Prydain might have been life for the generation after the events of The High King, as seen through the eyes of Taran's youngest daughter.
If you're interested in more Lloyd Alexander fanfic, do check out any of the writers in that section of ff.net; I especially recommend anything by Companion Wanderer and Adaon45.
Above all, read something Lloyd himself wrote! And then go plant some turnips in honor of Coll.
And I leave you with some others of my favorite quotes from Lloyd ...
“All that writers can do is keep trying to say what is deepest in their hearts. ”
“I intend to follow the path of virtue. It will not be overcrowded.”
“You have a point," said Fronto, "and even a poet must occasionally bow to logic.”
"You're showing mercy." Catch-a-Tick nodded. "That's heroic, too. But not as good as smiting.”
“If a storyteller worried about the facts - my dear Lucian, how could he ever get at the truth?”
“The journey is the treasure.”
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Objective
I promise, this is my last navel-gazing post for a while. Really.
It's just, I think I've had a breakthrough in figuring out some of my frustrations with where I'm at with my writing (and a lot of other areas of life) right now.
It isn't so much that publication is my goal. But I DO want to be read by others, and this is a major reason why:
When I love something, I want to do it as well as I possibly can. I don't have to be the absolute best at something, but I want to do it as best as I can. I love to write stories, and I want to write good stories. And the problem is that for so long, only people who love (or at least like) me have been reading my writing and commenting on it. And they're nice to me. Not since college have I had someone completely objective reading my work and commenting on it (I'm assuming that the objective readers on ff.net are the ones who simply don't comment), and so I no longer know from someone else's perspective what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer (aside from the grammatical weaknesses Laura pointed out on my last piece she critiqued. I do know my technical writing issues, just not the creative aspect so much).
I'm the same way with music. When I was taking voice lessons, my awesome teacher never hesitated to tell me when something was good and when it needed work. Occasionally by banging her head on the piano keys, but hey, it got the message across (there was also the threat of "if you sing like you've swallowed your tongue ONE MORE TIME I'm reaching in your mouth myself and pulling your tongue," which was remarkably effective). Since stopping lessons, I'm kind of adrift - not sure anymore of my strengths as a singer and my weaknesses.
I don't need to be the next JK Rowling. Nor do I need to be a concert vocalist or the next American Idol (or whatever current singing-related show is popular now - I can't keep up). What I do need is to be the very best Louise I can be at whatever it is I do. Somehow.
Objectivity. It's a beautiful thing. And it can be so hard to gain when you don't have someone outside of yourself assisting you. My husband is always happy to help me where he can, but he's my husband, he has to be nice to me. I'm pretty sure that was in our vows.
Naturally, realizing all this doesn't help me actually gain that needed objectivity to my own skills, but it does at least help me from feeling generally "I suck"-ish about said skills. Which is good.
So. Knowledge gained. Good thing. Next step, finding those objective observers. Which will take more work, but hey. I'm never scared of lofty goals so long as they are defined. It's the vague ones that scare me.
It's just, I think I've had a breakthrough in figuring out some of my frustrations with where I'm at with my writing (and a lot of other areas of life) right now.
It isn't so much that publication is my goal. But I DO want to be read by others, and this is a major reason why:
When I love something, I want to do it as well as I possibly can. I don't have to be the absolute best at something, but I want to do it as best as I can. I love to write stories, and I want to write good stories. And the problem is that for so long, only people who love (or at least like) me have been reading my writing and commenting on it. And they're nice to me. Not since college have I had someone completely objective reading my work and commenting on it (I'm assuming that the objective readers on ff.net are the ones who simply don't comment), and so I no longer know from someone else's perspective what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer (aside from the grammatical weaknesses Laura pointed out on my last piece she critiqued. I do know my technical writing issues, just not the creative aspect so much).
I'm the same way with music. When I was taking voice lessons, my awesome teacher never hesitated to tell me when something was good and when it needed work. Occasionally by banging her head on the piano keys, but hey, it got the message across (there was also the threat of "if you sing like you've swallowed your tongue ONE MORE TIME I'm reaching in your mouth myself and pulling your tongue," which was remarkably effective). Since stopping lessons, I'm kind of adrift - not sure anymore of my strengths as a singer and my weaknesses.
I don't need to be the next JK Rowling. Nor do I need to be a concert vocalist or the next American Idol (or whatever current singing-related show is popular now - I can't keep up). What I do need is to be the very best Louise I can be at whatever it is I do. Somehow.
Objectivity. It's a beautiful thing. And it can be so hard to gain when you don't have someone outside of yourself assisting you. My husband is always happy to help me where he can, but he's my husband, he has to be nice to me. I'm pretty sure that was in our vows.
Naturally, realizing all this doesn't help me actually gain that needed objectivity to my own skills, but it does at least help me from feeling generally "I suck"-ish about said skills. Which is good.
So. Knowledge gained. Good thing. Next step, finding those objective observers. Which will take more work, but hey. I'm never scared of lofty goals so long as they are defined. It's the vague ones that scare me.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Encouragement
Many, many thanks for all your encouraging words on Monday's post. I was talking with my sister yesterday, and we got discussing the difficulties in finding that proper balance with any artistic vision (she is a silversmith and jeweler) - do you lower your standards to create what's cheap and popular, or what's going to be popular in five months, or do you create what you love even knowing that means nobody else might ever see it? How long can you keep working at something if it's only a private passion, when can you stop justifying the time spent on it? If you are working at something only for your own enjoyment, does that mean you lose some drive to make it as close to perfect as possible, do you need that hope of outside consumers to force you to keep polishing until it's practically perfect?
Not a lot of cut-and-dried answers in this world of artistic creativity. But mostly, it's nice to know I'm not alone. Support systems are great.
And last night I took a break from editing to brainstorm ideas for characters and plots for short stories - given my tendency to ramble without ever giving much information, I think short stories might be a good way for me to practice writing concisely, and keeping a plot tight.
This opening is my favorite out of all the ideas I got down last night (admittedly, there weren't many. NCIS was a good one, hence it was very distracting. Usually it's more just in the background on Tuesdays):
I am mostly posting this snippet to prove conclusively that even though I have my times of discouragement and overwhelmedness, I do, in fact, always pop back up with pen (or computer) in hand, and keep working at it.
I can't seem to do anything else, and I wouldn't want to anyway.
Not a lot of cut-and-dried answers in this world of artistic creativity. But mostly, it's nice to know I'm not alone. Support systems are great.
And last night I took a break from editing to brainstorm ideas for characters and plots for short stories - given my tendency to ramble without ever giving much information, I think short stories might be a good way for me to practice writing concisely, and keeping a plot tight.
This opening is my favorite out of all the ideas I got down last night (admittedly, there weren't many. NCIS was a good one, hence it was very distracting. Usually it's more just in the background on Tuesdays):
At first, Darcy was more interested in the book she was reading than in all the other people in the park. That was why, after the muttered warning breathed almost in her ear, she couldn’t have told who had said it—the mom in yoga pants and a ponytail pushing the stroller down the path? The slender man in the long brown duster, looking at the tree leaves with a magnifying glass? The teenage skateboarding menaces flashing by, causing the baby in the stroller to shriek in indignation? The kindly old grandmotherly type shaking her head and knitting needles at the skateboarders?
None of them seemed likely. Then again, the message itself was utterly bizarre.
“Your life is in danger. Leave at once. Tell no one.”
What could it mean? Was it even serious? It had to be some crazy joke. Darcy brushed her bangs out of her eyes and bent her head back to the book.
It wasn’t a very funny joke. What if she was the nervous type? She’d be paranoid now, afraid that some unknown peril was lurking behind every bush and trash can. Good thing she was more sensible than that.
She glanced up again and scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of place.
Of course, if she was the too-serious type, she would report this to the nearest police officer. That would teach the would-be prankster!
The police would probably just dismiss her anyway. Once again, Darcy tried to focus on the words on the page, but they blurred and danced away out of her understanding. She slapped the book shut, dropped it in her bag, and stood up, slinging the bag’s handle over her shoulder. Stupid fake warning. She wasn’t scared, but she was annoyed, and she just couldn’t pay attention to reading now. She’d have to go back to her apartment, and actually take care of that house-cleaning she’d been postponing ever since the warm weather had started a week ago.
Maybe that was the warning’s purpose. Maybe it was her subconscious reminding her that if she didn’t clean soon, she’d run out of clean dishes and clothes, and the dust bunnies would take over her life, hold her captive. That was danger enough for anyone.
Cheered by that thought, Darcy went on down the path with the bounce back in her step.I'm not even sure where to go from here - who it was who warned her, or why she's in danger, or if it's all a big mix-up, but I'm gotten rather fond of Darcy, just from the short time we spent together last night, and I'm looking forward to figuring out what happens to her. In a short story, Louise, not a novel! Too many novels in the works already. (I have to keep reminding myself of that, or else I get carried away. Rambly writer, rambly plots!)
I am mostly posting this snippet to prove conclusively that even though I have my times of discouragement and overwhelmedness, I do, in fact, always pop back up with pen (or computer) in hand, and keep working at it.
I can't seem to do anything else, and I wouldn't want to anyway.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Destiny ... Or Not
Do you believe in destiny?
Not necessary "twoo, twoo wuv" destiny, but fate, the idea that your path is already laid for you, all you can do is walk it.
Depressingly, I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to be the "less-than" all my life. Or maybe rather, the "almost-good." Almost a good skater, but never quite made it to good. Almost a good singer, but not really there. DEFINITELY quite a bit less than a good pianist (but hey, all those years of piano lessons at least taught me how to read music, so there is that. Even if I do struggle with the bass clef still). Almost a good actress, but not wholly convincing.
When I start to add up all the things I'm not quite good at, it gets really depressing. In fact, I don't recommend doing it. At all. Because then, as I said, I start to think "Gee, maybe that's just my destiny, to always be halfway there, but never quite fully successful at anything." And THAT leads to -
"MAYBE I'M NOT EVEN VERY GOOD AT WRITING."
And then I panic. Because what if this one thing I love so well is just like everything else, something that I do okay at, but will never be able to excel at?
And then I panic some more.
And then I read all these quotes that are supposed to be inspirational, about how if you love something you'll succeed at it, and that everyone is a genius if they just find what they're suited for, or that JUST WORK HARD and you'll eventually gain your heart's desire! And all that sort of thing, and then I get all cynical and sarcastic, because honestly, when has life ever worked that way? Some people are going to work their whole lives at something they love, and they will never be very good at it, and that's just life, and what if I'm one of those people? Destined to be mediocre at everything? There's no reason why I SHOULDN'T be the other type, the type who can achieve dreams and glory through hard work and perseverance.
And then I finally turn off my brain and just sit down and WRITE, because doggone it, even if I'm not ever going to write anything worth anyone else reading, I love this, and I'm going to keep pouring my heart into it, and keep trying, and I will be writing until the day I die, even if it's all crap, even if it's destined to be useless.
So there, fate.
What do you do to turn off those negative voices that tell you your writing is no good?
Not necessary "twoo, twoo wuv" destiny, but fate, the idea that your path is already laid for you, all you can do is walk it.
Depressingly, I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to be the "less-than" all my life. Or maybe rather, the "almost-good." Almost a good skater, but never quite made it to good. Almost a good singer, but not really there. DEFINITELY quite a bit less than a good pianist (but hey, all those years of piano lessons at least taught me how to read music, so there is that. Even if I do struggle with the bass clef still). Almost a good actress, but not wholly convincing.
When I start to add up all the things I'm not quite good at, it gets really depressing. In fact, I don't recommend doing it. At all. Because then, as I said, I start to think "Gee, maybe that's just my destiny, to always be halfway there, but never quite fully successful at anything." And THAT leads to -
"MAYBE I'M NOT EVEN VERY GOOD AT WRITING."
And then I panic. Because what if this one thing I love so well is just like everything else, something that I do okay at, but will never be able to excel at?
And then I panic some more.
And then I read all these quotes that are supposed to be inspirational, about how if you love something you'll succeed at it, and that everyone is a genius if they just find what they're suited for, or that JUST WORK HARD and you'll eventually gain your heart's desire! And all that sort of thing, and then I get all cynical and sarcastic, because honestly, when has life ever worked that way? Some people are going to work their whole lives at something they love, and they will never be very good at it, and that's just life, and what if I'm one of those people? Destined to be mediocre at everything? There's no reason why I SHOULDN'T be the other type, the type who can achieve dreams and glory through hard work and perseverance.
And then I finally turn off my brain and just sit down and WRITE, because doggone it, even if I'm not ever going to write anything worth anyone else reading, I love this, and I'm going to keep pouring my heart into it, and keep trying, and I will be writing until the day I die, even if it's all crap, even if it's destined to be useless.
So there, fate.
What do you do to turn off those negative voices that tell you your writing is no good?
Monday, April 9, 2012
A Bird's-Eye Look at Editing
Easter is over, the eggs are hunted, the family has gone back to their respective houses, the fridge is chock full of ham and sundries, the coffee/tea stash is seriously depleted, and it's time to start thinking about editing again.
I have adopted a methodical practice for editing this particular MS. First, I printed out the rough draft, and went through it with a pencil, marking specific changes as well as leaving just general comments like "awkward phrasing; fix it," or "this whole passage sucks; change it," or if I was feeling kindly toward myself "insert more about specific reasons here."
Next stage is the one I'm in now, putting the suggested changes into the document.
The next stage is the one I'm dreading, and the reason I read Line by Line: copy-editing. This is the mind-numbing part where I go through and look critically at each line, pulling it apart to see if it is as concise (in case you haven't gathered as much from my blog posts, I'm a rambly writer), understandable, and lovely as possible.
Then will come one final look-through, and then I will send it out to my beta readers. Assuming I have beta readers at that point, that is. Anyone want to volunteer for that? I'm always happy to read others' work in exchange. (and yes, I know it's not considered etiquette to beg for betas in this way. What can I say, I've been looking for a critique group for over a year now with no luck, and I'm desperate. Also, my tongue is rather in my cheek, though that doesn't mean I'd refuse if anyone offered to become a critique partner with me!)
After the betas tear it apart and send it back and I stop sobbing into my pillow over all their suggested improvements, I'll go through it again, fixing the problems they saw in it. Then I send it back to them, and then we decide if it's good to go out for submission, or if it needs yet more work.
It's a fairly exhaustive (and exhausting) process, and it's more intensive than I've ever attempted with any of my other finished MSS. However, of those, one was never meant for publication, but was simply finished as "my first finished novel;" one is languishing in a closed file; and one I've ended up tearing apart, breaking down, and starting it again from scratch. So I'm thinking that a more severe editing process might, in fact, be helpful for me. And after reading on Shannon Hale's blog that some of her works go through nine drafts, I really don't feel this is too over-the-top.
I'm planning on this taking a long time. I'd been feeling an almost panicked need to get this MS done, to get it out there as quickly as possible so that by the time Carl was ready to go back to school I could maybe, possibly, be helping the family finances. However, by working so hard and feeling so rushed, I was losing a lot of the joy that characterized the first writing of this story in the first place, and more importantly, was finding it harder and harder to enjoy being with my family, because every moment spent with them was a moment I wasn't writing.
Um, bad priorities.
So I've accepted that for right now, my role is not to assist in bringing in any extra money when Carl is in school, at least not through my writing. Depending on his schedule, I can always go back to retail - after eight years before my marriage, I'm pretty comfortable there - once he's in school, and help out that way. Right now, I'm going to slow down the frenetic pace I'd been applying to the writing, enjoy it, enjoy my family, enjoy life as it is right now, and take as long as I need to in order to make this story as close to perfect as I can, while still savoring being mumsie to my two little chickadees.
What does your editing process look like?
I have adopted a methodical practice for editing this particular MS. First, I printed out the rough draft, and went through it with a pencil, marking specific changes as well as leaving just general comments like "awkward phrasing; fix it," or "this whole passage sucks; change it," or if I was feeling kindly toward myself "insert more about specific reasons here."
Next stage is the one I'm in now, putting the suggested changes into the document.
The next stage is the one I'm dreading, and the reason I read Line by Line: copy-editing. This is the mind-numbing part where I go through and look critically at each line, pulling it apart to see if it is as concise (in case you haven't gathered as much from my blog posts, I'm a rambly writer), understandable, and lovely as possible.
Then will come one final look-through, and then I will send it out to my beta readers. Assuming I have beta readers at that point, that is. Anyone want to volunteer for that? I'm always happy to read others' work in exchange. (and yes, I know it's not considered etiquette to beg for betas in this way. What can I say, I've been looking for a critique group for over a year now with no luck, and I'm desperate. Also, my tongue is rather in my cheek, though that doesn't mean I'd refuse if anyone offered to become a critique partner with me!)
After the betas tear it apart and send it back and I stop sobbing into my pillow over all their suggested improvements, I'll go through it again, fixing the problems they saw in it. Then I send it back to them, and then we decide if it's good to go out for submission, or if it needs yet more work.
It's a fairly exhaustive (and exhausting) process, and it's more intensive than I've ever attempted with any of my other finished MSS. However, of those, one was never meant for publication, but was simply finished as "my first finished novel;" one is languishing in a closed file; and one I've ended up tearing apart, breaking down, and starting it again from scratch. So I'm thinking that a more severe editing process might, in fact, be helpful for me. And after reading on Shannon Hale's blog that some of her works go through nine drafts, I really don't feel this is too over-the-top.
I'm planning on this taking a long time. I'd been feeling an almost panicked need to get this MS done, to get it out there as quickly as possible so that by the time Carl was ready to go back to school I could maybe, possibly, be helping the family finances. However, by working so hard and feeling so rushed, I was losing a lot of the joy that characterized the first writing of this story in the first place, and more importantly, was finding it harder and harder to enjoy being with my family, because every moment spent with them was a moment I wasn't writing.
Um, bad priorities.
So I've accepted that for right now, my role is not to assist in bringing in any extra money when Carl is in school, at least not through my writing. Depending on his schedule, I can always go back to retail - after eight years before my marriage, I'm pretty comfortable there - once he's in school, and help out that way. Right now, I'm going to slow down the frenetic pace I'd been applying to the writing, enjoy it, enjoy my family, enjoy life as it is right now, and take as long as I need to in order to make this story as close to perfect as I can, while still savoring being mumsie to my two little chickadees.
What does your editing process look like?
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Blue February
I haven't had much chance to think about blogging lately. Between a trip out to Massachusetts to visit Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary (Carl had been thinking Wheaton or Trinity, but after visiting GCTS, we're pretty sure it's Boston, not Chicago, for us in the next year), sick children, an online defensive driving course to cut our insurance costs, and trying NOT to think about my 30th birthday coming up in less than a month* ...
My head's been whirling. Oh, and I started editing the 1920s adventure-fantasy (that story is in desperate need of a title). Y'know, in my spare time. Which might explain why I'm only crawling through the editing process.
And in the midst of sickness, the littles have been impossibly cranky this month - this week especially they've had me tearing at my hair. Which proves to me that no matter how mild the winter, by the time February rolls around, we're all more than ready for spring. I recognize this crabbiness - it's the winter blues for sure. Joy buried her head in my chest this morning after getting up and refused to open her eyes or mouth for an hour straight, nodding her head when asked if she was sad and shaking it when I asked if she knew why. She's better now, but she still has no idea why she was so miserable this morning. A little while ago Gracie sprawled full length on the hall floor upstairs and gave herself over to wailing, again, for no reason. Winter blues indeed!
Right now the littles are having hot chocolate and I made myself extra-strong coffee; we will attempt kindergarten with Joy and give Gracie her alphabet flash cards to play with later; then they will play in the bathtub longer than they need to get clean; this afternoon I will let them watch their Beatrix Potter video while I attempt to get some writing or editing done - Mummy needs to tend her own needs as well as everyone else's, after all.
How is your February going? Has it been a happy winter for you, or are you ready for spring, too? Do you garden? I'm hoping to start a container garden this year for some veggies and herbs - tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers; thyme, basil, and marjoram. Yum!
*I'm really not freaking out about 30 - 29 was actually a lot harder for me to come to grips with - but it's still a big milestone, and I don't really have time to think about it with everything else right now, so instead I'll just wait until two weeks before and then start thinking about nothing else. Carl, if you're reading this - small birthday gifts every day from March 1st to 14th are perfectly acceptable.
My head's been whirling. Oh, and I started editing the 1920s adventure-fantasy (that story is in desperate need of a title). Y'know, in my spare time. Which might explain why I'm only crawling through the editing process.
And in the midst of sickness, the littles have been impossibly cranky this month - this week especially they've had me tearing at my hair. Which proves to me that no matter how mild the winter, by the time February rolls around, we're all more than ready for spring. I recognize this crabbiness - it's the winter blues for sure. Joy buried her head in my chest this morning after getting up and refused to open her eyes or mouth for an hour straight, nodding her head when asked if she was sad and shaking it when I asked if she knew why. She's better now, but she still has no idea why she was so miserable this morning. A little while ago Gracie sprawled full length on the hall floor upstairs and gave herself over to wailing, again, for no reason. Winter blues indeed!
Right now the littles are having hot chocolate and I made myself extra-strong coffee; we will attempt kindergarten with Joy and give Gracie her alphabet flash cards to play with later; then they will play in the bathtub longer than they need to get clean; this afternoon I will let them watch their Beatrix Potter video while I attempt to get some writing or editing done - Mummy needs to tend her own needs as well as everyone else's, after all.
How is your February going? Has it been a happy winter for you, or are you ready for spring, too? Do you garden? I'm hoping to start a container garden this year for some veggies and herbs - tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers; thyme, basil, and marjoram. Yum!
*I'm really not freaking out about 30 - 29 was actually a lot harder for me to come to grips with - but it's still a big milestone, and I don't really have time to think about it with everything else right now, so instead I'll just wait until two weeks before and then start thinking about nothing else. Carl, if you're reading this - small birthday gifts every day from March 1st to 14th are perfectly acceptable.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
The Secret
I have discovered a secret!
Want to hear it?
It's a good one.
It is ...
How to give your ego a healthy deflating.
What is this trick?
Give your work to someone else - someone honest - to critique.
I sent a couple of short stories to a writer friend yesterday. She sent the first one back covered in notes. Now notice - I am THANKFUL that she did that. So very, very thankful for a true assessment that was also gracious. Because how will I ever improve if I don't know where I'm falling short? And how can I ever hope to get published if my writing is not as tight and clean as possible? So thank you, Andrea, for your meticulous and honest assessment (and also for the kind words at the start about what you liked!). And thank you also for pricking my ego (not that you yourself pricked it - seeing the amount of work still required on something I thought fairly tight pricked it. Just to be clear.).
You see, it's been a little while since I've had anything fit to send to anyone for critiquing. And in that time, I'd been starting to feel pretty good - even safe - about my writing.
I'm not saying I'm suddenly thinking I'm not a good writer - but that I didn't even realize how complacent I was getting about my writing until someone else looked at it.
Self-esteem = good. Complacency = bad.
I know I am a good writer. I also know I can be a better writer. It was that latter part that, without me realizing it, had been starting to slip. And it took a 3000-word story covered in honest (and for the most part very basic grammar and phrasing) corrections to jolt me out of that and remind me that hey, this is real work, lady, and writing cleanly is just as important as creating compelling characters.
So, that is my self-discovery for the week. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some editing to do.
Want to hear it?
It's a good one.
It is ...
How to give your ego a healthy deflating.
What is this trick?
Give your work to someone else - someone honest - to critique.
I sent a couple of short stories to a writer friend yesterday. She sent the first one back covered in notes. Now notice - I am THANKFUL that she did that. So very, very thankful for a true assessment that was also gracious. Because how will I ever improve if I don't know where I'm falling short? And how can I ever hope to get published if my writing is not as tight and clean as possible? So thank you, Andrea, for your meticulous and honest assessment (and also for the kind words at the start about what you liked!). And thank you also for pricking my ego (not that you yourself pricked it - seeing the amount of work still required on something I thought fairly tight pricked it. Just to be clear.).
You see, it's been a little while since I've had anything fit to send to anyone for critiquing. And in that time, I'd been starting to feel pretty good - even safe - about my writing.
I'm not saying I'm suddenly thinking I'm not a good writer - but that I didn't even realize how complacent I was getting about my writing until someone else looked at it.
Self-esteem = good. Complacency = bad.
I know I am a good writer. I also know I can be a better writer. It was that latter part that, without me realizing it, had been starting to slip. And it took a 3000-word story covered in honest (and for the most part very basic grammar and phrasing) corrections to jolt me out of that and remind me that hey, this is real work, lady, and writing cleanly is just as important as creating compelling characters.
So, that is my self-discovery for the week. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some editing to do.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sacred Joy
On the second-to-last night of 2011, I unexpectedly got the best gift of the year - two free tickets to see Stars on Ice, my favorite show in the world, in Lake Placid, my favorite village in the world. My mother-in-law, already planning on visiting for the holiday, came out a day early so she could baby-sit the littles; the friend who gave us the free tickets had two others she gave to my mother and sister, so Carl and I met Mom and Lis in the village, had dinner together (served by the Slavic version of Basil Fawlty, though he was more harried than rude, but still - Carl was the first to come up with the comparison and it was so apt), and then went to the SHOW.
It was to flip over.
(I know, groan, but come on, you don't expect me to get a picture of Ryan Bradley mid-back-flip and not come up with an excuse to use it and make a lame pun with.)
Our seats were in the bleachers, but when they did the retakes for tv after the show we were able to sneak down and take the seats of four people who had left. I pulled my camera out of my bag and just started clicking. Kurt Browning was gracious enough to do the majority of his retakes right in front of where we were sitting. My sister and I might have fan-girl squee-ed just a little.
It was a two+ hour drive back to Albany after the show - the weather was hovering between rain and ice through most of the Adirondacks, which meant we had to drive slowly. So what do two people do to keep each other awake on a late-night long drive back home? Well, my sister and I might have done more squee-ing over the likes of Kurt, Ryan, Todd Eldredge, etc, but since it was Carl and I, of course we started talking philosophy.
Philosophy of figure skating? Why, of course!
Way back in college, I wrote a paper on the debate as to whether figure skating was sport or art. My stupid, stupid English professor gave me a C, not because it was poorly written, but because he didn't think it was a real issue (note: at the beginning of the semester he told us anything was acceptable as a topic, and cited one of his favorite papers from the previous year, on "Why Blondes Have More Fun). I looked at him and said, "I am a figure skater: trust me, it is an issue."
He refused to believe me; that is the one and only C I have ever received on any assignment in an English class. And yes, it was close to ten years ago, but IT STILL RANKLES.
Anyway. Carl was asking me about my thoughts on it, and being wiser now, I wasn't so quick to jump to the defense of figure skating as sport. I told him that I couldn't really be objective on the matter, because figure skating was so much more to me than anything I could describe.
You see, when I am on the ice, just as when I am writing, I feel I am coming closer to the me I am meant to be (I know this all sounds a little "woo-woo." Sorry about that), back to the core of who I am, the Louise God intended me to be with all the baggage stripped away. Only skating and writing do that for me - nothing else. It is too close to my heart; I cannot speak objectively about it. Even when I am not skating myself, watching pure, good skating gives me an echo of that. It satisfies me in a way nothing else does, the same way that reading a brilliantly-written book satisfies me even when I am not writing myself.
And I am not a great skater, but when I am on the ice I feel like I am great. I am always pretty sure I look like this:
Joannie Rochette and Sasha Cohen)
Or this:
I want to be Katia Gordeeva when I grow up
And I really look like this:
True story - I got done with this spiral and told my friend who was holding the camera "That was great! My leg was really up there, my head was high, it was an awesome spiral!" She said, "uh-huh," and handed me the camera. I was shocked to see I had only achieved a straight line - but I suppose I should be thankful at least my head was up and my leg was straight. I don't always even accomplish that.
Or this:
SELL that final pose, girl!
But that doesn't matter. Not really. I do my best skating when I am all alone in a rink, with no one around to make me self-conscious. It's not a solitary act for most, but like writing, it is for me.
And that - because it is almost sacred to me - is why it brings me such joy to watch it done well. Oh sure, the eye candy is nice, too, but skating is unique and special and wondrous simply because, for me, it is an act of worship.
As is writing.
It's kind of a nice way to end the year, isn't it, making those connections and getting an unexpected chance to experience that again?
It makes me want to write more, too, and to remember more of what my writing is - not just a hobby or career, but an essential part of me, one of those elements that makes me me, and something that brings me closer to my best, my purest version of myself.
And that is the last bit of philosophizing you will hear from me until next year.
Happy New Year's, friends!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Battling the Blues
I've been feeling pretty discouraged lately. Some of it, odd as it sounds, is the weird weather. It's December; it's supposed to be snowing and cold, not spurts of warm-ish and cold-ish weather, with no snow but lots of rain. We live in upstate NY!
Then there's just been a lot of example lately, right in my face, some involving me in the middle of controversies I really wanted nothing to do with, of people's selfishness and unkindness. Yech.
And it doesn't help that we are trying not to be anxious as we wait to hear back from Carl's interview two weeks ago, to find out if we'll be moving halfway across the country in a couple of months or not.
So to combat this discouragement, I've been trying to focus on the good. Thinking about the people who helped to bring resolution to the above-mentioned controversy. Smiling at friends who have sent me notes or videos of encouragement on Twitter after I mention my discouragement. Making popcorn before noon for my littles, just because. Scheduling an appointment to get my hair CHOPPED OFF this weekend, just because I've been wanting to go short again for a while.
And trying to figure out good books to read to help fight feelings that the human race is made up of jerks.
A Ring of Endless Light, by Madeline L'Engle, is top of that list. Unfortunately, I don't own it, and can't order it in e-book form, so I can't read that until I get out to the library again.
Anne of Green Gables is always, always on that list, as are any of the books in that series, especially the first three. Wives & Daughters, by Elizabeth Gaskell, is one that always makes me smile. Emily of Deep Valley, by Maud Hart Lovelace, is a story I deeply love for its exploration of a girl whose dreams are thwarted by circumstance, and yet finds ways to shape those very circumstances to develop those dreams even better - AND it dares to have her fall in love with someone who is NOT her initial love interest at the beginning of the story. Shocking!
And I might re-read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, just because I love it so. Same with Lloyd Alexander's The Arkadians, or any of his books that I own.
And then there's Gaudy Night or Busman's Honeymoon, or any story featuring my beloved Lord Peter.
Wow, just listing these books off is making me feel better and more hopeful.
What are the books you turn to in order stave off discouragement and remind you of the joy and hope that does exist in this world, and in people?
Then there's just been a lot of example lately, right in my face, some involving me in the middle of controversies I really wanted nothing to do with, of people's selfishness and unkindness. Yech.
And it doesn't help that we are trying not to be anxious as we wait to hear back from Carl's interview two weeks ago, to find out if we'll be moving halfway across the country in a couple of months or not.
So to combat this discouragement, I've been trying to focus on the good. Thinking about the people who helped to bring resolution to the above-mentioned controversy. Smiling at friends who have sent me notes or videos of encouragement on Twitter after I mention my discouragement. Making popcorn before noon for my littles, just because. Scheduling an appointment to get my hair CHOPPED OFF this weekend, just because I've been wanting to go short again for a while.
And trying to figure out good books to read to help fight feelings that the human race is made up of jerks.
A Ring of Endless Light, by Madeline L'Engle, is top of that list. Unfortunately, I don't own it, and can't order it in e-book form, so I can't read that until I get out to the library again.
Anne of Green Gables is always, always on that list, as are any of the books in that series, especially the first three. Wives & Daughters, by Elizabeth Gaskell, is one that always makes me smile. Emily of Deep Valley, by Maud Hart Lovelace, is a story I deeply love for its exploration of a girl whose dreams are thwarted by circumstance, and yet finds ways to shape those very circumstances to develop those dreams even better - AND it dares to have her fall in love with someone who is NOT her initial love interest at the beginning of the story. Shocking!
And I might re-read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, just because I love it so. Same with Lloyd Alexander's The Arkadians, or any of his books that I own.
And then there's Gaudy Night or Busman's Honeymoon, or any story featuring my beloved Lord Peter.
Wow, just listing these books off is making me feel better and more hopeful.
What are the books you turn to in order stave off discouragement and remind you of the joy and hope that does exist in this world, and in people?
Monday, November 14, 2011
Insanity With a Side of Peace
Our weekend company has gone home, my house has been semi-restored to order, the only reminder of my tick bite is a tiny red dot on my back and a lingering fear of going back outside, and life is getting somewhat back to normal.
Of course, Carl is working (probably) long hours all week, making me effectively a temporary single parent, and then he's (maybe) flying out to Chicago for one day at the end of the week. And then we start getting ready for Thanksgiving. WHERE DID NOVEMBER GO???
So normal is just crazy. I think I'm starting to accept that. I love a peaceful, slow life, but that sort of life doesn't seem to love me, however hard I pursue it. And with Carl planning on going to graduate school, and then working for his PhD, and me turning toward indie publishing with at least one, if not more, books, and two little ones we intend to homeschool and also encourage to find their passion and chase it ...
Yeah. I don't think a slow life is in the books for us any time soon.
And that's okay. God knows what each of us need the most. Truth be told? If I had that slow, peaceful life, I would probably slump into laziness and slothfulness. I'm not the most driven person in the world.
The trick, for me, is finding moments of peace in the midst of the chaos. Sometimes when Joy is getting nervous and worked up, we send her to her room, not for a time-out, but just to have a bit of time alone to calm down. I need that, too. I want to find a way to be a peaceful person, even if my life is insane. And one way for me to accomplish that is snatching at moments when I can rest and restore myself.
And yes, that includes writing, because as much as it is my career choice, writing is also one of those things that restores my soul, so to speak. So, like Connie suggested on my last post, I am going to work, even this week of insanity, at finding those five to fifteen minutes of writing, each day.
It might be impossible, as I posited in that last post, to find balance, but that doesn't mean I need to stop trying.
(I apologize for all my recent posts running on a theme. Can you tell what's been on my mind lately? I'll try to think of something more original for my next post. Maybe I'll have had a chance to start reading The Taming of the Shrew and will be able to give thoughts on Shakespeare. It's a goal, at least!)
Of course, Carl is working (probably) long hours all week, making me effectively a temporary single parent, and then he's (maybe) flying out to Chicago for one day at the end of the week. And then we start getting ready for Thanksgiving. WHERE DID NOVEMBER GO???
So normal is just crazy. I think I'm starting to accept that. I love a peaceful, slow life, but that sort of life doesn't seem to love me, however hard I pursue it. And with Carl planning on going to graduate school, and then working for his PhD, and me turning toward indie publishing with at least one, if not more, books, and two little ones we intend to homeschool and also encourage to find their passion and chase it ...
Yeah. I don't think a slow life is in the books for us any time soon.
And that's okay. God knows what each of us need the most. Truth be told? If I had that slow, peaceful life, I would probably slump into laziness and slothfulness. I'm not the most driven person in the world.
The trick, for me, is finding moments of peace in the midst of the chaos. Sometimes when Joy is getting nervous and worked up, we send her to her room, not for a time-out, but just to have a bit of time alone to calm down. I need that, too. I want to find a way to be a peaceful person, even if my life is insane. And one way for me to accomplish that is snatching at moments when I can rest and restore myself.
And yes, that includes writing, because as much as it is my career choice, writing is also one of those things that restores my soul, so to speak. So, like Connie suggested on my last post, I am going to work, even this week of insanity, at finding those five to fifteen minutes of writing, each day.
It might be impossible, as I posited in that last post, to find balance, but that doesn't mean I need to stop trying.
(I apologize for all my recent posts running on a theme. Can you tell what's been on my mind lately? I'll try to think of something more original for my next post. Maybe I'll have had a chance to start reading The Taming of the Shrew and will be able to give thoughts on Shakespeare. It's a goal, at least!)
Before-bed craziness from a couple of weeks ago. I suspect we'll all start looking like this all the time by the end of this week.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
No Balance
Outside, the air is full of mist. A few stubborn leaves float through the air, the ground is carpeted still with reds and golds and browns. The sun is just starting to burn through the silvery sky.
It's a beautiful morning.
And all I can think, as I look out my window, tea mug in hand, is,
"How many other tiny BRINGERS OF DEATH are lurking out there?"
Monday, the littles and I spent much of the day playing outside (I even brought their small table and chairs out so Joy could do school outside). We jumped in leaf piles, chased each other around, and altogether had a glorious time.
Then yesterday, as those of you who read my Twitter account know, I felt an odd bump on my back where I couldn't see very well, asked Carl to take a look at it, and the next thing I knew, he was grabbing for the tweezers and ordering me to hold still so he could get the tick out.
Thank God for my husband's steady hands.
As soon as it was out (intact, thankfully), I slid to my knees, and thence to the floor, passing out quite neatly with my forehead pressed to the linoleum. Haven't done that since I had a few issues with anemia as a teenager.
However, the point of this post is not, despite all appearances, to gross you out with my tick horror story (though you have to admit, it's a pretty good story). No, this is all just a prelude.
The result of passing out was a massive, unshakeable headache for the rest of the day, the kind that makes it impossible to get anything accomplished. I did manage to make cookies with the littles, as an apology for not taking them outside again (NO WAY were we setting foot in the death trap known as OUR BACKYARD). And in the evening, after the littles were in bed, I did get a few more rosebuds sewn on the blanket I'm making for Joy's new baby doll. And ... that's about it.
As a result, I'm behind in writing, in cooking, in cleaning, in laundry ... you name it, I'm behind. Missing one unplanned day due to a headache makes for more massive headaches trying to scramble to catch up for the rest of the week. Some weeks might not be a big deal, but Carl's mom and sister are coming out this weekend to celebrate birthdays (Joy's and Grandma's), which means at the very least, I need food in the house for them to eat, and to get the piles of clean laundry out of the guest room and clean sheets on the bed. Sweeping the floors and cleaning the toilet might be a nice touch, too.
Which means that, again, writing gets pushed to the back burner.
It's not that writing isn't important to me, or that Carl doesn't think it worth spending my time on. It's just that there are so many other things that have to get done. My family has to eat. We have to have clean clothes. The littles have to take top priority. Joy has to do school (well, ok, it was our choice to do homeschooling instead of public school, and my choice to do preschool with her, but those were both important decisions to us that have to be followed through with now).
I can't just ignore all of those in favor for writing, as much as I'd like to with some of them. And the other projects, the sewing and quilting stuff ... well, those aren't necessary, which is why they also often get pushed to the back burner, but they do help to satisfy my creative needs, and I get pretty cranky when those are left unsatisfied.
I'm not really asking for advice here - I know that most other people have the same problems trying to balance everything. I'm mostly just trying to keep it real here. A few people have mentioned how impressive they think it is that I manage to "do it all."
I don't. The plain truth? In order to do one thing, something else doesn't get done. Just the way it is. About the only two things I can do at the same time are make bread and wash laundry, because there's enough pauses between both to balance it out. Everything else? Every day I have to pick and choose which is most important. And, sadly, most days, writing is squeezed into the cracks or left out entirely. Not because it's not important, but because things like eating food are things we literally can't live without, therefore food has to be made.
And all this with a supportive husband who helps out around the house without even being asked (as I found this morning when I saw that he had emptied the dishwasher last night without me even asking - thanks, babe)! I can't imagine trying to do this without him.
I don't have anything catchy to end this with, any pithy sentence to sum it up or words of wisdom. Just a heartfelt hope that someday, maybe, things will get easier to balance.
And an even more heartfelt hope that we get snow soon and bury all those ticks six feet under.
(Hey, I found my pithy ending sentence after all!)
It's a beautiful morning.
And all I can think, as I look out my window, tea mug in hand, is,
"How many other tiny BRINGERS OF DEATH are lurking out there?"
Monday, the littles and I spent much of the day playing outside (I even brought their small table and chairs out so Joy could do school outside). We jumped in leaf piles, chased each other around, and altogether had a glorious time.
Then yesterday, as those of you who read my Twitter account know, I felt an odd bump on my back where I couldn't see very well, asked Carl to take a look at it, and the next thing I knew, he was grabbing for the tweezers and ordering me to hold still so he could get the tick out.
Thank God for my husband's steady hands.
As soon as it was out (intact, thankfully), I slid to my knees, and thence to the floor, passing out quite neatly with my forehead pressed to the linoleum. Haven't done that since I had a few issues with anemia as a teenager.
However, the point of this post is not, despite all appearances, to gross you out with my tick horror story (though you have to admit, it's a pretty good story). No, this is all just a prelude.
The result of passing out was a massive, unshakeable headache for the rest of the day, the kind that makes it impossible to get anything accomplished. I did manage to make cookies with the littles, as an apology for not taking them outside again (NO WAY were we setting foot in the death trap known as OUR BACKYARD). And in the evening, after the littles were in bed, I did get a few more rosebuds sewn on the blanket I'm making for Joy's new baby doll. And ... that's about it.
As a result, I'm behind in writing, in cooking, in cleaning, in laundry ... you name it, I'm behind. Missing one unplanned day due to a headache makes for more massive headaches trying to scramble to catch up for the rest of the week. Some weeks might not be a big deal, but Carl's mom and sister are coming out this weekend to celebrate birthdays (Joy's and Grandma's), which means at the very least, I need food in the house for them to eat, and to get the piles of clean laundry out of the guest room and clean sheets on the bed. Sweeping the floors and cleaning the toilet might be a nice touch, too.
Which means that, again, writing gets pushed to the back burner.
It's not that writing isn't important to me, or that Carl doesn't think it worth spending my time on. It's just that there are so many other things that have to get done. My family has to eat. We have to have clean clothes. The littles have to take top priority. Joy has to do school (well, ok, it was our choice to do homeschooling instead of public school, and my choice to do preschool with her, but those were both important decisions to us that have to be followed through with now).
I can't just ignore all of those in favor for writing, as much as I'd like to with some of them. And the other projects, the sewing and quilting stuff ... well, those aren't necessary, which is why they also often get pushed to the back burner, but they do help to satisfy my creative needs, and I get pretty cranky when those are left unsatisfied.
I'm not really asking for advice here - I know that most other people have the same problems trying to balance everything. I'm mostly just trying to keep it real here. A few people have mentioned how impressive they think it is that I manage to "do it all."
I don't. The plain truth? In order to do one thing, something else doesn't get done. Just the way it is. About the only two things I can do at the same time are make bread and wash laundry, because there's enough pauses between both to balance it out. Everything else? Every day I have to pick and choose which is most important. And, sadly, most days, writing is squeezed into the cracks or left out entirely. Not because it's not important, but because things like eating food are things we literally can't live without, therefore food has to be made.
And all this with a supportive husband who helps out around the house without even being asked (as I found this morning when I saw that he had emptied the dishwasher last night without me even asking - thanks, babe)! I can't imagine trying to do this without him.
I don't have anything catchy to end this with, any pithy sentence to sum it up or words of wisdom. Just a heartfelt hope that someday, maybe, things will get easier to balance.
And an even more heartfelt hope that we get snow soon and bury all those ticks six feet under.
(Hey, I found my pithy ending sentence after all!)
Monday, July 11, 2011
A New Story
Today, the story I want to write is about a mother. A mother who is also a writer. Or a writer who is also a mother? I'm not sure which it has been, but lately, this woman has been realizing that her priorities need to shift, so that she is, in fact, a mother first and a writer second.
This is a hard shift. Writing has always been this woman's passion, ever since she was a very little girl. Her family always recognized that, and worked around it. But somehow, in getting her own family, she has slowly started to realize that children can't recognize that.
She isn't giving up writing. Never that! She's just shifting her priorities around a bit, so that more of her time is spent interacting with her children, and less is spent pursuing her own dreams. Because one's dreams have to change once one has children, don't they? These children are given to us, those of us who are gifted with them, for such a short time, and these early years especially are laying the foundation of who and what they will be as they grow into adults and venture out into the world. That is an awesome responsibility.
So, this story. I'm not sure how it ends. I know how I hope it will end: with the woman becoming both a better mother and a better writer, with the children growing up knowing their parents loved them enough to set aside their own dreams for a time, and with the stories this woman writes becoming richer through her life experiences and sacrifices. (I also hope there might be a theme running through of the husband and wife sacrificing for each other - wife taking on extra so husband can study at times, husband taking on extra so the wife can get some uninterrupted writing time when she needs it.)
The ending? It's murky, but I'm certain it's a happy one. The story? I'm writing it as I live it.
I might not be around the blogosphere/Twitterverse/whatever else as much in these next few months, maybe years. I'll still be here, writing, commenting, posting, just more infrequently, so that it takes less time away from my family. I was starting to turn increasingly to these things as a way to try to get away from my other responsibilities, and it has been made exceedingly plain to me recently that I need to shift my thinking. So I'm trying.
And my question for you today is, if you have a family, how do you balance following your passion and putting your spouse & children first? I'm genuinely curious, because balance is always something I've had a hard time maintaining! I either get sucked dry sacrificing for my family, or I just "put in my time" with them and devote my full attention to my own interests. So any experience you want to share would be greatly appreciated!
This is a hard shift. Writing has always been this woman's passion, ever since she was a very little girl. Her family always recognized that, and worked around it. But somehow, in getting her own family, she has slowly started to realize that children can't recognize that.
She isn't giving up writing. Never that! She's just shifting her priorities around a bit, so that more of her time is spent interacting with her children, and less is spent pursuing her own dreams. Because one's dreams have to change once one has children, don't they? These children are given to us, those of us who are gifted with them, for such a short time, and these early years especially are laying the foundation of who and what they will be as they grow into adults and venture out into the world. That is an awesome responsibility.
So, this story. I'm not sure how it ends. I know how I hope it will end: with the woman becoming both a better mother and a better writer, with the children growing up knowing their parents loved them enough to set aside their own dreams for a time, and with the stories this woman writes becoming richer through her life experiences and sacrifices. (I also hope there might be a theme running through of the husband and wife sacrificing for each other - wife taking on extra so husband can study at times, husband taking on extra so the wife can get some uninterrupted writing time when she needs it.)
The ending? It's murky, but I'm certain it's a happy one. The story? I'm writing it as I live it.
I might not be around the blogosphere/Twitterverse/whatever else as much in these next few months, maybe years. I'll still be here, writing, commenting, posting, just more infrequently, so that it takes less time away from my family. I was starting to turn increasingly to these things as a way to try to get away from my other responsibilities, and it has been made exceedingly plain to me recently that I need to shift my thinking. So I'm trying.
And my question for you today is, if you have a family, how do you balance following your passion and putting your spouse & children first? I'm genuinely curious, because balance is always something I've had a hard time maintaining! I either get sucked dry sacrificing for my family, or I just "put in my time" with them and devote my full attention to my own interests. So any experience you want to share would be greatly appreciated!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)