The Porch Swing Chronicles

Following My Own Guidelines

2012-01-25T15:25:00.000-08:00

So, lately, I've been finding it a bit challenging to abide by my own words. I've been leaning heavily on facts, and letting them weigh me down, and forgetting to put weight on the other side of the scale, the faith side.

It's not that I've stopped believing - far from it - just that I've let the obstacles in my path become stumbling blocks. Instead of looking for a way around them - or, better yet, praying for one - I've stood and analyzed the obstacle. I've tried to make sense of it. Tried to break it up, smash it to smithereens. But it hasn't budged, and the process has left me exhausted. And frustrated.

Last summer, after hearing "Suitcases," I bought a Dara Maclean CD. So lately, in an effort to restore some balance, I've turned to music, which seems to be the most potent form of prayer for me. I popped in Dara's CD and opened my ears and my heart.

And I'm finding solace. And a little balance. Very few facts, very much faith.

I've always asserted that God gave us brains because we were supposed to use them - to take some responsibility for the choices we make. But lately, I find myself standing in front of obstacles trying to determine whether I should rely on that organ, or simply pray for everything I'm worth.

No matter what I do, the plan is out of my hands, and since ignoring either facts or faith does not bode well, I'll keep listening to Dara and trying to strike that balance.

Where Facts End, Faith Begins

2012-01-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

I am not a morning person. In fact, I may be the person for whom snooze alarms were invented.

Two Saturdays ago, I was lying in bed, delaying the inevitable, and berating myself for not jumping out of bed to greet the new day. My husband does it. My daughter does it. I, on the other hand, am a big fan of "five more minutes."

Just before I eventually got up, I realized what was keeping me in bed. I felt overwhelmed. I hadn't been feeling up to par, I had a lot to do, and I'd been sleeping poorly due to worries that resurfaced during the night. Most were small, day-to-day issues, and a few were pebbles turned into boulders by time, stress and a pinch of paranoia.

It finally occurred to me that in order to conquer these fears, I had to get out of bed. As I lay there wondering what conquered fear, I realized the answer was two-fold - facts, and faith.
Most of my fears could be minimized with a little research. Armed with the facts, I could face the fears and move forward in a direction I was in control of, which would shrink the fears to a manageable size.

But at some point, the facts would not be enough. Lacking a crystal ball, I'm unable to predict where exactly my path will lead and so, at some point, I need to let go and have faith. Faith that I've found the right facts, made the right choices and gotten on the right path. Beyond that, my own control ends, and I need to leave it to God. Where facts leave off, faith begins.

And that's enough to propel even a snooze-alarm-addicted, non-morning person into the day ahead.

The Help

2012-01-03T18:52:00.000-08:00

Over break, my daughter and I watched The Help. I read the book last summer and I loved it, so I initially had mixed feelings about seeing the movie. But, once the rave reviews started coming in, my hesitation vanished, and when my fourteen-year-old wanted to watch the movie with me, that sealed the deal.

I wasn't disappointed. Of necessity, some parts of the book were blended with others to keep the movie from becoming an epic, but no major story points were missed or misrepresented - at least not as far as I could tell.

Watching the ensemble of gifted actresses bring Stockett's characters to life was an altogether different experience from trying to visualize them in my mind's eye as I read the novel, but it was an experience that provided a wonderful complement to the book. Each enhanced the other, and I came away from the movie with an even greater appreciation of the book.

Most of all, I came away amazed - once again - by the bravery of these women. Yes, they were fictional characters, but I found myself wondering over and over again if I could have done what they did. As a writer, could I have written the forbidden story and seen it through to publication? As "the help" could I have trusted someone with my story - someone so like the people I'd spent my whole life being wary of? When I think that this happened in my lifetime - fictionalized liberties or not - I am in awe of these women.

Kathryn Stockett got a lot of grief for daring to write these characters - particularly Aibileen and Minny - because as a white writer, she could not possibly have written them (as far as her critics were concerned) authentically.

This begs the question that has long been debated - do you have to be the same race as your characters to write them effectively? The Help is a work of fiction - it does not promise to be an accurate representation of the life of every person who lived during that time, regardless of their race.

When the author of a work of fiction creates a character, he or she builds that character from scratch, imbuing her (or him) with heart, brain, mind, body and courage. Should an author be prohibited from creating a character whose culture or skin color is different from her own?

As a writer, I frequently take issue with the actions of the characters in books I read, and movies and TV shows I watch if those actions appear to clash with the core values of the character. Never once have I said "no white person would say that" or "no Jersey girl would say that" because I can't profess to know what every single person of a race or culture would or would not do. So much depends on the circumstances and, well, character of the character.

When it comes to The Help, this Jersey girl was moved tremendously by the fictional characters and made up actions of those author-created beings. Was it an accurate portrayal of Jackson, Mississippi during the 1960's? I have no way of knowing that. But would I have wanted to know Aibileen and Minny and Skeeter?

Absolutely.

Judging a Planner by its Promises

2011-12-27T16:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, while my husband and I were browsing at the warehouse club near my parents' home, I came across a spiral-bound planner. It was done in lovely florals and pastels and reeked of optimism. I couldn't help myself. I picked it up. I opened it, and was immediately overcome by one thought...

Are they kidding? If I could fit my life into these skinny little columns, I wouldn't need a planner!

Nearby, a binder called "the ultimate organizer" (in soothing lower case letters) also called out to me. This one offered to be the tool that put my life in order, but all I could think was that if I had time to file things by category and use all the lovely labels and folders provided in this beautiful, Type A tool, I would have already done so, which would render this system just as useless as the planner.

Don't get me wrong. I'm sure these organizers work for someone, and that someone will be overjoyed to not only flip through these tools, but purchase them and take them home. There, they will use them and reap the benefits proclaimed on the front covers.

It's just that I'm not that someone.

Those of us who struggle to keep things in order can be easily seduced by pretty covers and promising proclamations. The market is glutted with organizational tools that tease us with the hope of an end to clutter and easy retrieval of important materials and information. Unfortunately, if you don't think the way the planner thinks (so to speak), these pretty problem-solvers merely end up becoming part of the mess rather than the way out of it.

For the past several years, I've spent the early months of the school year teaching my fifth graders about organization. Far from a Type A paradigm of organizational virtue myself, I've taught my students not an organizational method, but the need to respect their own style of organization. What I hope they will be able to do by the end of these lessons is exactly what I did at that warehouse club - pick up a tool, evaluate its effectiveness for them and either purchase it or put it back based on an informed assessment of its attributes, not the promises it proclaims or the how pretty it will look on a shelf.

As you approach the new year and consider your organizing challenges, see if you, too can find a way to make your tools fit you rather than the other way around. Resolve not to begin the new year as a slave to a three-ringed or spiral-bound dictator. If you buy a pretty package, make sure you know what you plan to put in it.

Because after all, you can't judge a book by its cover - or an organizer by its promises.

Planner photo taken from Amazon.com.

At the time of this blog's posting, it was temporarily out of stock.

Juggling 101

2011-12-13T13:24:00.000-08:00

My friend Paul likes to juggle. He's good at it, too. Personally, I have difficulty with any kind of juggling, be it physical objects or the 10,000 things I have to do.

Okay, so I don't actually have 10,000 things to do, but this time of year, especially, it seems that way. And while I'm used to multiple people and tasks vying for my attention, December is the one month where they all seem time sensitive.

Being a writer - especially one of the unpaid, aspiring variety - is a constant juggling act. Family responsibilities and jobs that pay the bill,s trump writing time, making it particularly challenging to meet time sensitive goals that fall into the category of creativity. And while it's logical to set aside aspirations temporarily during the holiday season, it's also scary. What if that temporary hiatus goes on too long? A movie star who goes on hiatus can afford to rest on her laurels, knowing her body of work is out there representing her talents and drawing projects to her. But when your body of work is still on the hard drive, not speaking to anyone but you, that's a different story.

So I keep my writing on the to-do list, hoping to squeeze it in wherever I can, one more ball to keep in the air among shopping and wrapping and baking and decorating and corresponding. I try to allocate at least small bits of time to my blogs and projects before I'm too tired to string coherent sentences together. After all, it takes fewer brain cells to wrap a present than to write a chapter. And while I'm working on lists, perhaps I should add juggling lessons to my Christmas list.

Just a thought.

2011-12-06T10:17:00.000-08:00

When I was 29, I was engaged to an older man. We were of different generations, and one of the places where this was most evident was in the car, most notably in our choice of radio stations. I remember one ride in particular - to the airport, though I don't remember where we were going - I wanted music, preferably something upbeat and lively. He wanted NPR. He was driving, so he won. I was bored to tears.

I am now ten years older than I was when he and I met, and I have come to understand this proclivity, in the same way I now understand Erikson's stage of midlife, generativity vs. stagnation. My ex was there then. I was not. I was in a different place (intimacy vs. isolation, for those of you playing along at home), with a far less substantial interest in the goings-on of the world beyond that car, so the stories I heard on NPR were irrelevant to me, or at least to my priorities at the time.

Much has changed since then. Now the parent of a fourteen-year-old (identity vs. role confusion), I tolerate her music every morning when I drive her to school, but when she gets out of the car, I waste no time changing the station, usually to NPR. From her world to my world, and into the world that lies beyond our immediate concerns.

I never wonder if not ending up with that ex was a mistake - any lingering thoughts about that were erased when I met my husband - but I do sometimes wonder if he still listens to NPR.

Bag Lady

2011-12-01T04:55:00.000-08:00

I am a bag lady.

Last summer, a colleague from work began selling Thirty-One bags. Until then, I was able to suppress my addiction. Now, however, I fear that the monster has been unleashed.

It's not Heather's fault. Over the years I have accumulated enough canvas bags in varying sizes, shapes and depths to carry home at least a month's worth of groceries. Most of these I have not purchased. I've received them as gifts or laden with materials at conferences I've attended. I've tried to weed through them and thin the supply, but so many of them bear logos that I don't know where to recycle them. I keep a supply in the back of my car, and a stash in the closet at work, and still, I have a surplus.

As I typed this blog, it occurred to me that someone must be able to use these treasures - that a web search could yield someone somewhere who could use what I could not. So, I duly typed in the question: "where can I recycle canvas tote bags?" I hit "search," awaiting my solution with bated breath, but alas, a solution did not appear. Instead, I got a list of web sites selling tote bags made from recycled materials. Not. Helpful.

The weekend before last, I attended another Thirty-one party. I knew I should stay away, yet I didn't. Unlike the freebies filling my drawer at home, these bags are pretty and functional. And I can choose not only the style that suits me, but also the fabric my bags come in so that I'm not only organized, but coordinated as well.

But I'd really love to live by the "one in, one out" principle of organizing, so if you know
anyone who could use a few good canvas bags, let me know. They're free to a good home.

2011-11-27T13:28:00.000-08:00

My husband and I went shopping yesterday afternoon, and I was astonished by the number of people who have failed to master the concept of waiting their turn. Adult people. People who bear the societal burden of teaching manners and courtesy to their children.

Admittedly, we spent more time in malls yesterday than we have in the past six months combined, so perhaps the erosion of common courtesy has been on a slow - or even steep - decline for a long time now and I've just missed it. Still, it makes me long to find a copy of Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten and slip it into people's shopping bags. Should be easy enough. They butted in front of me to check out, so I'd have easy access.

Sales clerks are easy marks in this vicious cycle. Given the current state of our economy, these folks are eager to please, reluctant to lose any customer, and so they respond to every inquiry, no matter how ill-timed or ill-mannered.

I know we're all in a hurry, and I'm the first to admit that someone offering to let me go ahead of them doesn't need to ask me twice. But the key here is that the person offered. I didn't assume that my time, my question or my purchase was more important than theirs and take that entitlement onto my own hands.

Overall, my husband and I had a wonderful afternoon - lots of browsing, a few purchases, and a few ideas for future acquisitions. We also met our fair share of young, energetic salesclerks whose courtesy and friendliness gave me hope that rudeness isn't necessarily the wave of the future.

But I still think it's time to track down that copy of Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Next time I go to the mall, I want to be ready.

2011-11-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

Only 7 days left in NaNoWriMo - how did that happen so fast? My goal was not to write an entire novel, but rather to write every day. I've written new sections that bring my work-in-progress closer to its conclusion and knitted together previously written sections to make them flow. I've written blogs and a query letter. Last weekend, I reached my secondary goal - I finished the first draft of my novel - and now I find myself wondering what my daily writing should look like.

My sister has written over 50,000 words so far this month, which is pretty impressive. My output has not been as impressive, but like my sister's 50,000 words, my total represents words written when I was tired and I didn't feel like thinking, let alone writing. It represents words written when I would have preferred to have been doing something else, and words written when I couldn't imagine being anywhere except with my characters. It represents words scribbled on a scrap of paper after I got out of bed or the shower, words typed hastily at Starbucks before I went to work, in the allergist's waiting room and in between math problems during my daughter's nightly homework marathon.

This is what writers do. Very few of us write full time - at least very few of the writers I know. We write in between other things, forcing the words onto the page, whether those words number 50 or 50,000. We make ourselves write when we'd rather be curled up reading a book, and we recognize that developing discipline is the only thing that will keep the words from shriveling up and disappearing.

I don't mean to make it sound as though it's something horrible. If it was, we wouldn't stick to it. But we stick to it because writing is something we can't imagine not doing, even when doing it is incredibly laborious.

So in honor of NaNoWriMo, I'm going to celebrate every word this month, because even though I love to write, some days it would be easier to just take a nap. And while I'm at it, I'd like to congratulate my sister and all the other writers out there who passed up their naps and wrestled the muse instead.

Now get writing. We have only 7 more days!

Tis the Season? Already?

2011-11-19T11:38:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas music.

Just not ubiquitous Christmas music. In November.

It's just too soon. Christmas music before Thanksgiving gives me the same feeling as Christmas decorations in the stores before Halloween. "Hurry up and buy! While supplies last! Our bottom line depends on you!" And, oh yeah. 'Tis the season.

A friend of mine who works at Starbucks expressed frustration early last week when the Christmas display the staff had worked hard to create received less-than-stellar reviews from early morning customers. Some people had, in fact, been downright rude. It seems that they'd forgotten that the same person who had served them their coffee with a smile, who might even have remembered both their name and their order if the naysayer was a regular customer, might have had a hand in creating that display - might in fact, have even taken pride in the decor they were disparaging.

Like me, those people probably meant no ill-will. And while there's no excuse for being rude to the kind soul handing you your morning caffeine fix, feeling the seasons rushing by you as you're rushing through your morning routine can leave a person feeling a little grouchy.

So, all I ask (as I sit at the Starbucks where they know my order before I place it - and where the hustle and bustle behind the counter is currently overriding the music) is this:

Could you please wait until after Thanksgiving? I'd like the opportunity to savor one holiday before being thrust into another. For my part, I promise to remember that the decorations are a corporate edict, and not to complain to you about them, or to otherwise disparage your hard work.

Seems like a fair deal, don't you think?

2011-11-14T05:13:00.000-08:00

It's a Monday morning, and all too easy to just groan and hit the snooze button. But today is my daughter's birthday, and a celebration of one of the things in my life that I am most grateful for.

So, in the spirit of that celebration, I am going to post # things to be grateful for this Monday morning. Health, family and friendsmtop the list, but that's too easy, and not much of a blog. So, here are my specific things to rejoice and be glad in today, in no particular order.

1. My daughter is a teenager, and will still be seen in public with me. Most of the time.
2. I am less dizzy today than I was a week ago.
3. Despite dizziness and a full-time job, I have written something nearly every day this month.
4. I have a supportive family that makes that writing - and so much more - possible.
5. I have the honor and pleasure of helping to nurture a group of extremely talented fifth grade writers.
6. My parents are still a part of my life, and, as always, just a phone call away.
7. I have a job. With health insurance.
8. I have gadgets that make it possible not only to play Words With Friends, but to write and post a blog before heading to work.
9. I have friends to play Words With Friends with.
10. There's a venti iced chai sitting in the cup holder with my name on it.

That was easy. What are you rejoicing in and being glad for today?

Without You

2011-11-11T20:08:00.000-08:00

It was the early 1970s, and I was at a junior school dance - we still called middle school junior high back then. It might have been my first dance - I don't remember. I was the new girl at a new school in a new town, hanging out with my new friends. When a slow song came on, the dance floor cleared, and everyone stood around trying to look cool and as if they didn't care whether they danced or not. A few girls would moan, "Oh, I love this song!" in a transparent attempt to get one of the boys - preferably a cute one - to rescue them from the perimeter of the dance floor and take them out to the center of the floor where they would dance, while all of her friends giggled and watched and his friends dispersed to the food table.

And on that night, someone did ask me to dance. I didn't even know his name at the time, but he was kind of cute and I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I said yes. Besides, being in the center of the dance floor was better than standing on the perimeter. Way better.

The song was Harry Nilsson's "Without You," a plaintive ballad about being unable to go on without the girl in the song who always smiled, but in her eyes her sorrow showed. I didn't know the song that night, but I soaked in the lyrics, trying to remember every detail of my first slow dance.

Tonight, my daughter and her friend were in the back seat of the car, her iPod sending music out through the car's stereo speakers. The song was "Without You," but this was David Guetta's version. Equally plaintive, despite the digitized sound that lacked the crackle of vinyl, both girls singing along as though there was someone that they, now the age I was that night at that school dance, could not live without. Someone secret, who occupied their thoughts, but whose name would not be shared with the likes of parents. A quiet crush, intense as middle school crushes are, and meant for songs with titles like "Without You."

The symmetry made me smile. My daughter is a year older than I was at that dance, with a good head on her shoulders. She loves to go to dances with her friends, and for her, it's less about the boys and more about hanging out with her friends. As her mom, I wish I could freeze her in that place, safe from broken hearts and broken promises, where the lyrics to a love song hold both hope and despair, but her life experience favors the first.

But she's growing up, and - so far, at least - doing so rather nicely. And someday, a boy will break her heart - or she will break his - but for now, it's all about music and friendship and basketball.

That's a pretty nice place to live.

Lessons in Dizziness

2011-11-08T19:12:00.001-08:00

Nearly two weeks ago, I woke up, sat up, and the room began to spin. Had this been college and had I been drinking at the time, it would have made sense. But since neither was the case, and since I was not on a merry-go-round either, there was nothing, well, merry about it.

Not surprisingly, my doctor's diagnosis was an inner ear infection - a virus that would need to run its course. Almost two weeks later, I am feeling better, but by no means is my equilibrium restored.

It has been an interesting two weeks of forced rest, canceled plans and repeated excuses to drink the largest iced chai my friends at Starbucks will make me, under the guise of drinking plenty of fluids.

It hasn't been all bad. Yes, I canceled a massage and a manicure and had to forego my critique group writing retreat, retreating on my own to - you guessed it - a nearby Starbucks instead.

But, since I am not someone who is good at slowing down or trimming things from her calendar, this unplanned respite hasn't been all bad. I've been home more and have spent more time in quiet pursuits and less time worrying about accomplishing things. When standing up without falling over is an accomplishment in and of itself, you tend to lower your standards a bit.

This has also been an exercise in patience, sense of humor and relinquishing control. A virus that has to run its course won't be rushed or predicted, and try as I might, I can't make it go away. I can only begin to imagine how my friends who are battling cancer must feel.

When I look back on the most painful times in my life, I am profoundly aware of the lessons they have taught me and the ways in which they have shaped me. This nuisance of an illness has lessons to teach me as well, and when it doesn't make me cranky, I try to keep that in mind.

Next week, I see a specialist. I'm optimistic that he may be able to afford me some relief. And, if he can restore my equilibrium, he will have my undying gratitude.

And what a lesson that is - that sometimes the things we take for granted are the most important of all.

NaNoWriMo...Here We Go!

2011-11-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, peer pressure is a good thing.

I think my sister was the first one to mention NaNoWriMo to me this year. I was my usual non-committal self. Unlike my sister, I'm not so good at planning ahead, and given where I was in the progression of my novel, I wanted to make sure NaNoWriMo would be a blessing and not a curse.

Then, at last month's critique group meeting, Jackie asked the group if anyone was participating. The response was hardly raucous and enthusiastic. There were lots of murmurs, but no assents. At that time, November was only 11 days away, however. It was time to make a decision.

So I decided...to think about it. And then last night, impulsively, I signed up.

That seems to be how I do things, at least when it comes to these sorts of challenges. Back in June,
when Rachel Neal issued her 30,000 word challenge to another group of writers, I thought about it for a whole two seconds before e-mailing her that I was in. The time of year was terrible, but I adopted the attitude that I had nothing to lose, and only word count on my work-in-progress to gain.

Now, thanks in part to the progress I made in June because of Rachel's challenge, I'm in the home stretch of my novel, hoping NaNoWriMo will afford me the opportunity to finally complete it. And if I should, by some miracle, reach that goal before NaNoWriMo ends, I know exactly which project needs dusting off.

So, unlike many of my writing peers, I'm not hoping to write a novel from start to finish in November, but like them, I have a plan. Knowing I'm typing away as part of a community of writers gives me the nudge to keep typing, especially when some of them know me by name and can check up on me.

Once again, I'm off on a writing adventure! And, if this one is half as successful as the one I embarked on in June's, I'll have one more thing to be thankful for just a few Thursdays from now.

Visiting Eloise

2011-10-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

When my daughter was little, she used to love watching Eloise at the Plaza. Unlike many of the other things we watched over and over again when she was small, this movie was one I enjoyed watching with her.

And so it was not at all surprising that The Plaza Hotel made it onto our list of places to explore when we were in New York.

(Photo: www.theplaza.com)

We started with a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park. Eloise rode with a prince. We rode with someone else's discarded water bottle and the smell of the horse, but I'm not complaining. The weather was gorgeous, and it was a fabulous way to see the park, or a little corner of it. As an added bonus, our driver - like Eloise's - had an Irish accent. He accepted our payment in cash, though, not a meal from the hotel's Palm Court.

I wasn't surprised by the beauty and grandeur of the hotel, but I was surprised by Eloise's presence there. Her framed portrait graced a wall near The Palm Court (photo op!) and a boutique dedicated to all things Eloise had a place of honor among the hotel shops, a pink shrine that couldn't help but elicit enthusiasm from even a too-cool teenager. Said teenager walked away from the shops with Eloise lip balm to wear with the adult-sized slippers bearing The Plaza crest, which we'd purchased in the more upscale gift shop across the way.

(Photo: www.theplaza.com)

Despite the fact that we didn't find the wedding rooms from The Bride Wars, we spent much more time exploring the Plaza than my husband would have liked. Although he much preferred the Apple store with its shrine to Steve Jobs, I enjoyed watching my daughter taking in Eloise's digs just as much as I enjoyed the Plaza.

Maybe even more.

Saved By Springsteen

2011-10-24T16:08:00.000-07:00

It has been a Monday. One of those days where the frustrating parts of my job loom large enough to overpower the parts I love. With not enough time and too much to do, lunch seemed like a luxury. Nevertheless, I got into my car, and pointed it toward Five Guys Burgers and Fries on Haines Road, reducing the voice in my head that screamed about cholesterol to a mere whimper and fully intending to indulge my craving for fries.

I was not disappointed. The clerk who greeted me was pleasant, cheerful and patient. The kitchen staffer who took my "one more thing" request was equally courteous and friendly. I could feel the stress floating into the heavy air even before I sat down to take a breath and enjoy my lunch - a burger made to my specifications and more fries than I could possibly consume in one sitting.

I'd taken only a bite or two of my oh-so-worth-it burger when I heard it. A familiar piano riff trying to make itself heard over kitchen clatter and lunchtime chatter. Springsteen.

Suddenly, I was smiling. "Rosalita"? Nah.

"Thunder Road." No, wait.

"Jungleland."

My tension slipped away as I munched on fries and strained to hear every lyric. I couldn't, but that didn't matter. I was already transported.

I was back in Allison's dorm room senior year, sitting on the floor while she, Cindy and I listened to the song over and over again. Drinking wine maybe? I don't remember. I do remember analyzing the lyrics, dissecting the characters and having nowhere else we needed to be, nothing else we needed to do. The mental picture is hazy, but the feelings are clear.

I haven't seen Allison or Cindy in over 20 years. Sad, in a way, because we were close then. And I'm not sure why that memory leaps to the forefront of my mind so clearly when others are relegated to its recesses, but I know that I needed that song and that memory this afternoon, even more than I needed the fries. Definitely more than I needed the fries.

Funny how music has the power to slip into our subconscious and unlock things we'd long forgotten - or thought we had, anyway.

And amazing how so many years later, that piano riff sparks an instantaneous smile.

Places to Go, Issues to Read

2011-10-19T13:52:00.000-07:00

I love big city train stations - well, at least the few I've been in. They're like miniature cities, with shops, eateries and people coming and going. When we got to Penn Station two weekends ago, I wanted to explore, but my family just wanted to find a taxi.
On Sunday afternoon, though, I got my chance. Having spent a good chunk of change in NY, I didn't wander far, but I couldn't resist the newsstand.

In part, I blame the freelancer in me, always on the lookout for a new market or a fresh read, but the truth is, I've loved bookstores for as long as I can remember. As a teenager, I worked as a page in the children's room of our local library. Then, a year or so later, I got a job working at a used bookstore a few blocks away. I spent more than four years working in my college bookstore, and even after I had a full-time, grown-up job, I spent a summer working at a local Encore Books.

But newsstands are a different animal. Maybe I'd find them less fascinating if I'd grown up in NY, or another big city where I depended upon them to get my Sunday paper or my TV Guide. But in an age where our magazines come to our doorstep, newsstands are as rare as independent booksellers.

I've never actually bought anything at a newsstand on a city street, but I can't resist the appeal of its train station cousin. Such a variety of reading material on so many subjects, all neatly categorized and collated in top to bottom stacks of glossy, compact volumes that tuck neatly into a purse or briefcase.

When I was growing up, my dad used to stop at a newsstand near us for a Sunday paper from time to time. A cross between its city street and train station counterparts, it was similarly crammed with titles I was too young to appreciate at the time. Still, as I write this, I can picture it - or at least the way I remember it - in my mind. Thick Sunday editions of newspapers were stacked on the floor, tucked beneath shelves of magazines, neatly categorized by subject matter.

Come to think of it, maybe what intrigues me about both train stations and newsstands is the infinite sense of possibility each possesses. Standing in the middle of either of them leaves me with the sense that I can go anywhere - literally, figuratively or both - and that, although there is so much to explore, it is right there, just beyond my fingertips.

NYC-Bound!

2011-10-15T10:48:00.000-07:00

What a crazy week! I wrote this blog last weekend, with intentions of posting it and writing more, but here I am 8 days later, just getting it posted. It was a happy discovery on my iPad when I checked my blog and realized it's been nearly two weeks since I posted....

I'm writing this on a train, bound for NY City. It feels so romantic, writing from a train, and I feel as though I should have something weighty to express, but so far, nothing has materialized.

My husband and daughter have never traveled by train before, and although I'm hardly a seasoned traveler, I did take a few trips this way when I was in my 20s. I remember loving them, and being impressed by the grandeur of the Harrisburg train station and the bustle of 30th Street Station.
Today, we left from the Amtrak station in Lancaster, PA, which has truly seen better days. I imagine that it was beautiful some time ago, but now, renovations have made it dusty, and peeling paint has chipped away at its beauty.

When we got on the train, we had difficulty finding seats together, which got things off to a frustrating start, but once we were seated and underway, I began to remember why I had suggested this idea in the first place. And now that we have left Philadelphia, and I have upgraded myself to a seat alone, the romance has returned. Riding backwards now, I try to read the billboards and exit signs along the highway to get a sense of where I am before the conductor calls out the next station stop.

In my work-in-progress, two of my characters take a trip by train, and until today, I had to rely on memory and poetic license. It occurred to me as I stood on the platform in Lancaster that I could do some fact-checking, too, making sure that my details were in fact true for today's travelers.

And, when I got on the train, I of course checked the seat back for the Amtrak magazine, as Lori advised. I plan to leaf through that in just a little while, but right now, I have to check my phone. I think my friend just texted me a restaurant recommendation.

2011-10-04T14:17:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday morning, my daughter wore shorts to Sunday School. That's hardly unusual - she's worn them before - but the temperature last Sunday morning was hardly springlike. It was 39 degrees.

My daughter is a November baby, and an only child. Before she was born, my husband and I attended not only Lamaze classes, but infant care classes as well. There, we were told repeatedly that our child would be born during cold and flu season. Wash hands before and after changing her, they told us, as well as before picking her up and pretty much every time in between. Don't expose her to germs - keep her home as much as possible in those early weeks until her immune system begins to develop.
I don't remember whether or not we were warned to bundle her up, butas new parents, we did just that. I remember one particular Winnie the Pooh fleece sack that we were sure she needed to wear - in addition to being covered by at least one blanket - every time we took her out that winter.

There were a couple of problems with this plan. First of all, as we quickly discovered, my daughter hated anything that hampered the movement of her feet. Second, she was rarely cold.
I was a slow learner. She was probably close to two before I gave up the bundle-her-up fight, and by then, she was old enough to let me know - in no uncertain terms - the error of my ways.

As she progressed toward school age, I figured if she was cold, she'd put on a jacket, and my role became more clothing option provider than outerwear dictator. By the end of elementary school, she'd given up not only sweaters, but also long-sleeved shirts, much preferring a tee shirt to any other article of clothing. And still, she was rarely cold.

But as she headed out to Religious Education on Sunday, I couldn't help myself. It was 39 degrees, after all. Her teenager reply was at once indulgent and kind.

"Mom, would you feel better if I wore a jacket?"

"Yes," I told her.
And so she put on a hoodie, and ran out to the car.

In shorts and a tee shirt.

Guest Blog: The Traveling Writer, Part 2

2011-10-02T17:35:00.000-07:00

One thing I've learned about writers is that they're a generous group, willing to share knowledge, trade secrets and opinions if you simply ask. And since my friend and fellow Jersey Girl, Lori Myers, makes her living as a writer, I was happy to have her back to share some more of her ideas for the traveling writer.

Whether you're a frequent flyer or just a once-a-year vacationer, you'll find Lori's ideas easy to implement. So, check your bags, stow your carry-on and turn your attention to the writer paying more attention to the back of the seat in front of her than the flight attendant's memorized speech....

Hey, Lisa, thanks so much for having me back to your fun little corner of the Internet. It’s nice relaxing here on your porch swing for a bit!

Well, let’s see, where we were? Oh yes, finding new writing ideas when traveling away from home. In part one, I discussed how I get article ideas inside the airport terminal while waiting for my flight to depart. So now let’s stroll into the plane.

It’s time for take off. My carry-ons are safe and secure. My seat is up, I’m crunched in-between a burly businessman in a suit and a teenager snapping gum, and the flight attendant is pointing to the exit doors - just in case. I say to myself, “Ah, once the plane is cruising I can sit back, relax, and wait for the peanuts.” Not so fast. Now isn’t the time to take off my writing hat. There are ideas galore just waiting for me right here in my small - okay, tiny - space. A space that will be my home for maybe the next several hours.

The most obvious place for ideas will be inside the seat pockets in front of me in those in-flight magazines - both for domestic airlines and those based overseas. Right now I have the time to leaf through the airline’s own publication and see what sort of stories they accept. Most, if not all, accept freelance material. And if you think the stories and articles contained within those pages are all about propellers and rudders, think again. These publications are very much consumer magazine-oriented. In most cases, they contain a variety of articles on a variety of subjects.

For instance, let’s take a closer look at Delta Airlines’ publication called Delta Sky. In one issue, there’s a story on a lodge in Georgia, another about coronary bypass surgery, and yet another profiling a conservationist. There are business stories, decor stories, and an interview with a chef. As long as it’s a story of interest to the traveler then it’s in there. Other in-flight magazines include similar headings on food, business, and travel. Many have humor or personal essays. Another example is enRoute, AirCanada’s magazine. It has stories about celebrities, art galleries, and urban revitalization.

One of the wonderful things about these magazines is that if you find something interesting in there or think you have an idea and want to contact the editor, you can simply take the magazine along with you.

More writing ideas may just be a seat away. I take a close look at the people that are sharing my digs. That’s right. The businessman and the gum-chewing teen. They may look innocent and non-threatening, but imagine the treasure trove of ideas they have under lock and key. All I have to do is make some conversation and find out what they do, their interests, hobbies, thoughts, and opinions. What sort of work does the passenger in the suit do? How can he help me with business-related ideas? I’ll pick his brain a bit about the topics of concern to businesspeople. If this passenger is a doctor, attorney, or a plumber going incognito, I’ll ask about those professions and what’s going on behind closed doors.

Then I turn to the teen. What are the latest music and fashion trends? What political and social topics are they concerned with? I can transform these into articles for teen-oriented magazines or parenting magazines. How about a young adult novel? Can this teen perhaps provide inspiration for a book idea?

Well, the pilot has just announced that the plane will land in just 20 minutes. Now is the perfect time for opening up that in-flight magazine, grabbing a pen out of my pocket, and tackling that crossword puzzle. But don’t forget. More ideas are waiting at my destination.

2011-09-26T04:56:00.000-07:00

I have Elizabeth Sims to thank for this post. Odd, because I don't know Elizabeth Sims, but the fact is, she wrote an article that led me to look at my work-in-progress in a whole new light, and for that, credit is due.

I almost didn't read the article. As a rule, I keep an issue of Writer's Digest in my car for those times when I find myself with unexpected time on my hands. As it turns out, several Fridays ago was one of those times.

Over lunch at Subway, I perused the January 2011 issue (yes, I'm a little behind), flipping past anything that didn't capture my interest that day. It was that kind of a day. Since I'm long past the first chapter of my novel, Elizabeth's article, "8 Ways to Write a Five Star Chapter One," wasn't necessarily timely, but something about her opening caught my eye, proving once again that a strong lead matters.

In the article, Elizabeth posed a question I had never considered: Who am I and why am I writing this book?

Huh. As I said, I'm way beyond the first chapter of my novel; in fact, I'm closing in on the end. But this question struck me so intensely that I stopped reading and started writing, answering the questions she'd posed, and I found that I could articulate my answers quite clearly.

Far from being fluffy or irrelevant, these answers had been the guiding force of my characters' development and actions all along. In addition,they held the key to those reactions I couldn't quite put into words when someone in my critique group suggested a course of action that seemed at once perfectly logical and perfectly wrong.

As I complete and revise my novel, I will keep these answers in mind, knowing they'll help me stay true to my characters. And, to my writer friends, I pose the same question: Who are you, and why are you writing this novel?

Bitten by the Blog Bug

2011-09-22T05:52:00.000-07:00

This morning in the shower, the blog bug bit. How long has it been since you posted? The bug buzzed around the shower, nudging me to consciousness faster than a blast of cold water. At least post Lori's next installment.

Tempting. But as much as I enjoy posting guest blogs, I make it a rule never to post two in a row. It was time to make the time to write a post. My own post.

I always struggle with balancing my work as an educator, my work as a writer and my responsibilities as a parent once school starts. I write at work - emails, mostly, but now blogs as well, sharing information about parenting, resources and the classes I teach. Nightly, I struggle to remember chemistry and algebra - not my best subjects even when they were fresh in my mind - as I help my daughter with her homework. Sitting down to a blank computer screen with the remnants of my brain at the end of the day drops to the bottom rung of my priority ladder. I'd much rather play Cityville or watch reruns of Friends.

I'd like to say I'm writing this now because I've found the magical, foolproof solution, but the truth is, I've only found the solution of the day, which is a few minutes at Starbucks between dropping my daughter off at school and heading to work. Past experience tells me this will work for me again throughout the year, but I will also spend evenings at the computer, wrestling with the remnants of my brain. Writing, unfortunately, requires a synergy among the wakefulness, creativity and responsibility, and on different days at different times, a different aspect prevails.

Right now, the responsible part of my brain is telling me to go to work, and so I shall go, switching from my writing hat to my counselor hat.
At least until the blog bug bites again.

Under the Umbrella

2011-09-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

When I go to the beach, my work-in-progress often languishes. Funny. You'd think that time away would mean more time spent writing, but that rarely happens.

Still, the urge to write (or maybe it's just guilt) nags at me, and in the end, a different kind of writing often wins out.

I often have a blog extravaganza.

Maybe it's the vastness of the sand and sea that make the list of available topics seem equally vast. I don't know. I just know that after a day or so at the beach, if you give me a notebook and a pen and plop me under a beach umbrella, the words just flow.

Sometimes this happens with aspects of my work-in-progress, too - typically character development and backstory. But most often, the free flow of random ideas produces blog posts that aren't limited to the minutiae of daily life.

Time away - especially at the shore - is like taking a full body stretch after a long day of work: freeing, relaxing and a reminder that there's so much more to life than simply the tasks that fill our days. I sometimes wonder if this would still be the case if I lived at the beach year-round. While I'd be happy to test that hypothesis, it isn't in the cards any time soon, so for now, I'll have to make the most of my time under the umbrella.

Guest blog: Lori Myers

2011-09-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

While we're on the subject of travel...please welcome guest blogger, fellow writer and dear friend for more years than either of us would care to admit, Lori Myers.

Lisa, thank you so much for having me as a guest on your blog. I know you’re aware that you and I have a few things in common – we’ve performed in theater, we’re published writers, AND we’re from New Jersey. How did we get so lucky?!

Seriously, one of my favorite parts of the entire writing process is coming up with ideas for the articles, stories, and plays that I write. It’s like mining for gold or being an archeologist who discovers a first-rate artifact. I find that I’m always looking for new ideas that get the writing wheels churning. In fact, even when I’m away on vacation I just can’t seem to turn off that part of my brain.

So I’ve come up with a type of “itinerary” for gathering ideas that takes writers from the airport, to the plane, to the hotel. Lisa, for me it isn’t work. It’s just plain fun. And a challenge.

Imagine the typical writer. It’s vacation time and we’re schlepping the luggage, screaming kids in tow, gazing helplessly at the departure board with the words “cancelled” emblazoned on them. We gulp down some very bad coffee and down a hot dog as we wonder how we’re going to pay for this “getaway.” But I’m convinced that the writing life, like the Energizer Bunny, can just keep going and going. And there’s nothing wrong with that as long as you love doing what you do.

It all starts right in the airport terminal. While I’m waiting for my flight to whisk me away, I’ll take a walk around and stroll into those shops that sell magazines - not only regional but national publications. I always have a notebook and pen handy and so I’ll jot down information that I can take home with me. I’ll flip through the pages of some of these magazines and “read” them. I don’t mean cover to cover. I get a sense of them by asking myself “What is the focus of this magazine?” “What sort of stories does it publish?” “Do they accept freelance submissions?” The way to find out the answer to the last question is to compare the names on the masthead to the bylines within each individual article. If the names are not the same, chances are they accept articles from freelancers.

One or two of these magazines may accept the types of stories that are within my expertise. Those are the ones worth buying and taking a closer look at while I’m waiting for my flight to board. Here inside the terminal is also a chance to perhaps find magazines that come from other parts of the world and ones I probably won’t find in my town.

Perusing these publications inspires me. I furiously jot down ideas that are article- and story-worthy. I need to do this right away before I leave the shop because I know I’ll forget. Too much on the brain, I guess.

With new magazines in hand and maybe a candy bar or two, I’ll continue strolling down the walkway and take a look at some of the eateries. Sometimes airport restaurants can be rather unique. I also write food articles so I’ll walk into one or two of them, ask for the manager, and play detective.
I’ll look through the other shops too. Sometimes they stock unusual items or ones that represent the immediate area or region where the airport is located.

So there you have it. I haven’t even boarded the plane and the trip is practically paid for with soon-to-be-pitched writing assignments.

Lori M. Myers is an award-winning writer of creative nonfiction, fiction, essays, and plays. Her articles have been published in more than 40 national and regional magazines and her short stories have appeared in Phase, Absent Willow Review, Holy Cuspidor, Dark Fire Fiction, Fictitious Magazine, Milk Sugar Literary Journal and others. Her story "Maneuvers" was recently included in an anthology titled Off Season now available on Amazon. Lori's plays have been performed in Virginia and Pennsylvania. She is a professor of writing at York College of Pennsylvania and teaches workshops to students who love the written word as much as she does.

Appetizing Reads

2011-09-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

I think I trips to the beach are when I love my Kindle best. Currently, I'm reading Outliers, How Did I Get So Busy? The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth, One Day and Look Me in the Eye, along with a sampling of the magazines that appear in my mailbox monthly. Then last weekend, I started Crazy Love, though I have yet to finish The Shallows, which I started last summer. In addition, there's a stack of books - both fiction and non-fiction - in the mudroom and another in the living room, just waiting for me to crack them open.

I have trade paperback copies of four of the books at the top of the list, but only two made the cut for last weekend's beach trip (I won't say which two). The rest of them are on my Kindle, which, just as the commercial promised, allowed me to bring a stack of books without causing myself physical trauma from lifting half my body weight in reading material. In addition, my little Kindle contributed next-to-nothing to the already overstuffed carload of "essentials" that we took with us.

If you're a one-book-at-a-time reader, you may not fully appreciate the beauty of the Kindle. But if you, like me, frequently read numerous books simultaneously, you'll be quick to appreciate its lightweight, space-saving properties. While I appreciated those properties early on, it took me until last weekend to fully understand why.

Many of my friends shake their heads, wondering how - and why - I choose to read so many books at once. As I started Crazy Love (book #7 on the current hit parade, not including those I've abandoned as not living up to my expectations), I found myself wondering exactly the same thing. In addition, I wondered if I'd stopped being a reader and instead become a book taster - sampling many diverse offerings, but failing to finish any of them.

Although my Kindle, with its addictive "Try a Sample" feature has enabled this aspect of my reading personality, I've been a book taster for a long time. Typically, I'm sampling several non-fiction books at once, but only one novel. The structure of non-fiction books make it easy to dive back in effortlessly after life pulls me away, something that is much harder to do with a work of fiction.

As I'm drawn into a relationships with the characters in a novel, it becomes more difficult to walk out of their lives and into the lives of a new set of characters. Consequently, if I set down a novel and pick up another one, I'm unlikely to finish the first.

It occurred to me last weekend (about the time that I opened Crazy Love because I wanted to read something in that vein) that "tasting" and "sampling" really are the perfect words to describe my peripatetic reading style. Just as some days I'm in the mood for steak and other days I'm in the mood for pizza (cholesterol notwithstanding), some days I'm in the mood for one "flavor" of book and other days I prefer something else.

While I love my Kindle, and the enormous world of e-book convenience it affords me, I'll never stop buying traditional books. E-books may replace hard cover purchases - which I've only ever made sparingly to begin with - but I will continue to fill my home with overflowing stacks of trade paperbacks with their yielding bindings and distinctive new book smell, just as I will continue to feel the magnetic pull of a bookstore every time I walk past.

But meanwhile, I'll continue to be grateful that despite bookstore closings, we continue to live in a world that offers a luscious smorgasbord of books.

[One Day photo courtesy of amazon.com; all other photos courtesy of barnesandnoble.com]

Getting Away from the City

2011-09-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

As we prepared for our beach trip this weekend, I made a decision. My laptop was not invited. Thanks to the lightweight portability of my iPad, I decided to leave my laptop behind.

You may be wondering what makes this so momentous. I can still check e-mail and my calendar, still access the Internet and even Facebook.

The answer is games. I've enjoyed playing a variety of games on Facebook, but have developed what could be considered an addiction to Cityville. I successfully gave up Farmville for Lent last spring, lending credibility to my claim that I can quit any time I want.

But I hung on to my city, cherishing every zoning permit that enabled me to expand my realm, entering into quests for bridges and dams with a zeal that filled my wall with announcements and requests. Pithy posts vanished into the laundry list of updates for this pastime that beckoned every time I sat down at the computer, or sometimes when I was simply in the neighborhood.

And then I went back to work. My sessions decreased, but still, my city beckoned. It was time for an intervention.

And so I set out for the beach, leaving my laptop behind. If I really needed to, I could access my city, but the progress I'd made spurred me onward. I had promises to myself to keep, miles to travel and a new place to sleep, for the weekend, anyway.

And now, on a screened-in porch at the beach, Cityville is not calling me. If I'm to be honest, little else is either. It has been a relaxing, low-stress weekend. This exercise in self-control has been just one star twinkling in a seashore sky, but also one of the reasons I've read half a book, several magazines and several chapters of another book in which I'd fallen behind. I've penned a blog and am polishing this one, the first version scrawled hastily over lunch at Subway the day we were beach-bound. And oddly enough, I haven't turned on the TV either.

I have no delusions of an electronics-free life - I'm typing this on my iPad, after all, having used both my iPod and my Kindle on the beach earlier today. Still, it's nice to know that I can step back and be intentional about the technology that is ubiquitous in my life, at least for a little while. And until I can write my novel on my iPad, my laptop is on no danger of obsolescence.

But if you see my laptop, please don't mention the iPad. It's likely to get ugly.

Tough Love (Guest blog by Carole Brown)

2011-08-27T17:15:00.000-07:00

My agent, Diana Flegal, makes it a point to build connections among the writers she represents. We've dubbed ourselves "The Pencil Box Crew," and we make an effort to get to know each other, support each other and share our stories. (Fellow PBC member Rachel Neal issued the 30,000 word challenge in June that got my summer writing off to a flying start.)

This week's guest, Carole Brown, is one of the writing colleagues who inspired me to try this whole idea of guest bloggers. It can be tough sharing your space with other voices, but Carole does so regularly and generously. I'm happy to return the favor.

Tough Love

Her adult daughters demand money from her. They sneak into her prescribed medicine and steal it. They’re hooked on drugs. They’re whiny and spoiled, beg her to lie for them. She hates all this; hates the life they’re living; hates the life that surrounds her and almost absorbs her at times.

She loves them and doesn’t want to hurt them, so many times she gives in. She cries and begs for help. Guilt dogs her steps. She’s unhappy and feels weak.

My friend, Sheila (phony name to protect her) has struggled with standing against these demands and yet be able to show her love for them at the same time. My husband and I have consistently counseled with her and encouraged her. Stand strong. Demand respect. Refuse to participate—even in sideline participation—in their morally and illegal actions.

Granted she doesn’t have a partner who stands loving and firm beside her against the evils in her family, but is that a justifiable excuse for her?

Obviously not, given her constant imploring for reassurance.

So we continue to instruct her: refuse to give the prescribed medicine to them. No more lies; be upfront with them—let them know you refuse to give them “bill” money. Tell them you expect them to get a job, provide for themselves, contribute to the household expenses, get help for their drug addictions. Don’t be a continual taxi service for their every whim. Will it hurt them to walk half a block to get a can of pop?

And most of all, love them. Encourage every good attempt they make. Pray for them. Be there with them when they make a positive decision. Be firm but loving.

Jesus said, “The greatest of these is love.” There is no attribute greater. No emotion greater. Let it shine from our eyes, in our moves, in our lives and actions. They’ll feel it and respond. Sometimes we’ll never see it. Buried deep within them, they’ll feel a stirring of “something” gentle and precious. Sometimes response will be slow in coming. Years, maybe. And other times we’ll see it automatically. A quick hug. A comment, “She’s the best mom.” A confidence shared.

And perchance, a miracle happens and they get clean and become upstanding citizens, well, the joy and peace and pride that overwhelm you are all the reward you need. To be able to say, “That’s my boy/girl,” is better than any birthday present in the world.

I know. I’ve been there.

Carole is a suspense writer who many times deals with issues such as abuse in her novels. She’s self-published several children’s books dealing with character traits. She and her agent are working hard on locating a home for her novels. Wife of a minister, together they’ve traveled nationally and internationally, but love their little spot of country in SE Ohio. They have two grown sons who they love and are proud to say of either, “There goes my son.”

Check out her site at: http://sunnebnkwrtr.blogspot.com/

Pride and Pretzel Crumbs

2011-08-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

I have a great kid. She doesn't eat many vegetables, clean her room or spend much time practicing the piano. She snacks in front of the TV, and leaves a trail of crumbs. She'd much prefer to help my colleagues prepare their classrooms, unpack their boxes or hang up posters than spend time in my room at school.

But...she's kind. Conscientious. Respectful (most of the time). She has a good heart, and small children adore her. She makes her grandparents feel as though they are stars in her universe (rightfully so) because, well, they are. She does well in school, makes good choices and often blows me away with her maturity and insights.

Unfortunately, on a moment-by-moment basis, her mother has a tendency to focus more on the first paragraph than the second. Silly, really, because when she graduates cum laude from Harvard (!), who will care whether or not she made her bed or cleaned her room? A vacuum cleaner can eradicate crumbs, but not bad choices, tattoos or the effects of substance abuse. And time spent helping others for no reason at all is time not spent engaging in...well, some of the things girls her age are engaging in.

When I was in second grade, the nun who taught us our catechism told us how important it was to always tell our parents that we love them, because some day, they wouldn't be here to hear us say it. I remember very little of the catechism that I learned that year, but I have always remembered the importance of saying those words to the people I love - so much so that even the simplest of conversations often end with those words.

I told my daughter that story a long time ago, and she has grown up hearing - and saying - "I love you" on a daily basis. What I say much less often, however, is that I'm proud of her. Instead, I complain about the crumbs on the living room floor, cringe when someone else sees her bedroom in all its teenage glory and nag her to practice the piano.

So, here it is, world: I am proud of my daughter. In a perfect world, she would eat her vegetables, clean her room and practice her instruments, but this is not a perfect world, and part of what makes her the awesome kid she is are her imperfections.
But telling you isn't enough. I need to look for opportunities not only to tell her, but to tell her why. This is hardly an amazing revelation, but on days when the griping (mine) outweighs the gratitude (again, mine), it's important to step back and take a look at the big picture.

Right before I send her for the vacuum cleaner.

[photo credits: pretzels: www.snydersofhanover.com

vaccum cleaner: www.sears.com]

6 Non-fiction Keepers

2011-08-18T14:01:00.000-07:00

In my last blog post, I cited Henriette Anne Klauser's Write it Down, Make it Happen as an example of a book whose information has proven valuable years beyond the day I turned the last page. Earlier this summer, I gave a similar mention to Stephen King's On Writing as the writing resource that had the greatest impact on my writing, and which continues to resonate for me today.

That got me thinking about other books I've read which have a permanent place of honor on my bookshelf because the information they imparted was at once so simple and so useful that it forever altered the way I look at a particular topic or idea. They are, in no particular order:

Organizing for the Creative Person by Dorothy Lehmkuhl
Organizing from the Inside Out by Julie Morgenstern
Simplify Your Life by Marcia Ramsland
Kids in the Syndrome Mix by Dr. Martin Kutscher

It's not that novels don't make an impression on me - they do - but the books in this post all offered advice that I needed. Sometimes I knew I needed it, and sometimes I didn't, but what I learned stayed with me and informed my future actions and decisions. Not surprisingly, these are the books I recommend often.

What books have earned a place of honor on your shelf?

2011-08-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

Photo: http://www.daytimer.com/

Thanks to my appointments with myself, I seem to be getting back into the swing of things. I've written four days out of the last six, and since yesterday was my birthday, I think I can safely excuse myself...though truth be told, I was a little disappointed not to get any writing in.

There are a few things that maximize the success of these appointments with myself. Aside from the obvious ones like motivation and something to write about, it also helps tremendously if I have quiet and not only a bit of solitude, but the kind of solitude where I know everyone else in my house is happily engaged in something else. That decreases the guilt factor when my thirteen-year-old walks by and announces that "You've been holed up here all afternoon." Not true, and furthermore, I twice offered her my time and attention only to be told she was "fine."

But I digress, which actually brings me to one of the simplest, but most worthwhile tools that increases the efficiency of my scheduled time - a notepad. Not to be confused with the spiral-bound notebook in which I corral wayward ideas, the notepad is for jotting down the myriad things to do that only occur to me once I've sat down in front of the computer to work. Without the notepad, I'm likely to pop up and do the things that can be done quickly, or worse yet, forget about them altogether.

Any notepad will do, though my current favorite is a Frankly, Frannie notepad that was part of a loaded totebag I won during Educator Week at Borders. (a moment of silence, please, for Borders Books and Music). Notes are scrawled on it in no particular order, with to-dos for one day overlapping those for another and one small, square, orange Post-it with an item of particular significance stuck to the bottom of the page.

By jotting down the thing that occurs to me when it occurs to me, I save myself from, well, myself, and from the frustration of later trying to recall what it was that popped into my head when I was supposed to be writing.

Some time ago, I read an excellent book called Write it Down, Make it Happen. I don't know how many of the strategies I use I've incorporated from that book, and how many I do automatically, but I do know there's tremendous value in writing things down for a variety of reason, whether the thing I'm writing down is "call Mom" or the latest chapter in my work in progress.

So, my characters are moving forward, and so am I. Just wish I'd put the pieces of this "system" together earlier this summer.

Hey, if I finish the novel in the next week and half, it won't matter anyway.

Late for an Appointment with Myself

2011-08-09T11:47:00.000-07:00

Summer offers so many opportunities, not the least of which is the opportunity not to be yoked to the clock. Consequently, I avoid making appointments during the summer if at all possible.

imageenvision.com

But lately, I've been feeling adrift, having difficulty enjoying long blocks of unscheduled time, feeling as though I should be accomplishing something. My to-do list lurks in the back of my mind, and though I don't expect myself to go through it at warp speed, I'm very aware that the end of summer looms.

One thing I know I should be accomplishing is the final chapters of my work-in-progress, but the closer I get to the end of the book, the more slowly I go. It's as if I'm digging my heels into the dust, refusing to move forward. Silly, really, because I know what my destination is. I'm unsure of the path, but since I'm not a writer who plans things out ahead of time, that's not new.

And then last night, the answer occurred to me out of nowhere (much like most of my plot twists). Well, maybe not out of nowhere - I had lunch with a friend - a fellow writer - and I think that perhaps the conversation jogged the solution loose in my brain.

I have three exceptions to the appointment rule: scheduled vacations, medical appointments and meetings with friends. And I've decided that what I needed to do was to make a fourth exception.

If I expect to get this done by the end of the summer, I need to make appointments with myself. Daily. As a working mom, I've become accustomed to squeezing writing into small blocks of unexpected time. So accustomed, in fact, that when large blocks present themselves, I hardly know what to do. Consequently, they pass me by, filling themselves with projects, errands and odds and ends that check things off my list, but make no progress toward one of the things that's most important to me.

Determined to fix this, I got out my calendar, gritted my teeth, and set appointments with myself for the rest of the week. It felt a little odd, but also oddly liberating. The remainder of each day could be filled with chores, shopping, projects, leisure reading, a movie with my daughter - whatever presented itself. But that time slot belonged to me, and during that time, everything else would need to be set aside.

A simple concept really - so simple that I'm loath to admit that I was late for my first appointment with myself. Doesn't matter, really. Eventually, I showed up, and in time to still allow myself the block of time I'd planned on, even if it started and ended at different points in time than I'd anticipated.

Characters, beware. We're moving forward.

Book Review: Valorie Burton's Where Will You Go From Here?

2011-08-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

I have been very remiss in my book reviews! Although I started this wonderful book some time ago,
it has taken me a while to get through it and post this review - not because it's not well-written, but because this deceptively thin book is packed with helpful information delivered in a compassionate tone.

I chose Valorie Burton's Where Will You Go from Here? for a specific reason. Recent changes in my life had left me unhappy and disillusioned, and I found myself unable to shake them off with any kind of alacrity. Although I know that God always has a plan, I was so unhappy with the latest turn of events that I found little comfort in that usually healing thought.

At first, I thought I'd made a mistake. Though Valorie's voice and style drew me in immediately, the stories she told were about brave people facing major life changes. The changes I was anticipating were piddly by comparison. Maybe I just needed to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Then I got to Chapter 5, "Finding Stability and Strength." As I read, I felt myself tear up as Valorie began with, "You can climb your way out of the ditch in a calm, steadfast manner, or you can waste precious energy by kicking and screaming your way out." (p. 79) Well, I had certainly done my share of the latter, and it hadn't changed a thing. She followed that intro with "The Serenity Prayer," sketching out a blueprint for moving on despite the curveballs in life, big or small.

I'm a counselor, so none of this is new to me, but in Valorie's presentation, there was an undercurrent of validation for the feeling of frustration that arises when we are placed in situations beyond our control. While the early chapters helped me to keep things in perspective, the later chapters offered wonderful, practical strategies.

Valorie isn't shy about sharing her own struggles, nor does she over-share. This book is an optimistic, practical guide for moving on from whatever ditch life throws you into. Whether the ditch is shallow, or miles deep, Valorie commiserates without pity, and offers a caring, faith-based approach to dealing with the unexpected.

This book cannot be rushed, though. Although it's an easy read, it's best read slowly enough to absorb all it has to offer.

Open to a Book

2011-08-06T10:15:00.000-07:00

My friend and colleague Melanie Snyder's latest "home improvement project" puts my recent painting endeavors to shame. Melanie's adventures were recently featured in the Lancaster Sunday News, and she was kind enough to share some of her story as a guest blogger here.

Photo: Blaine T. Snyder/
Sunday News

Lisa's recent blog posts about balancing home improvement projects and writing have really resonated with me. Her feeling that she'd "binged on words and home improvement projects" captured exactly how I've been feeling. And her comparison of home improvement projects to childbirth made me laugh out loud.

You see, I too have been involved in a major home renovation project and a major writing project. But in my case the two are deeply intertwined.

Last November, my husband and I bought and moved into a circa 1915 rowhome in Lancaster that had been owned by a woman named Ruth. But it had been sitting unoccupied since 1989, when Ruth's mother had died.

Ruth had inherited and kept the place, which had been her childhood home. But she never moved into it. And it appeared she had left everything as it had been when her mother was alive.

When we went through the house for the first time last October, it was a time capsule. In the living room, stacks of books, letters, postcards and yellowed newspaper clippings sat on a bookshelf next to a green brocade chair with finely crocheted antimacassars on the arms. A "vertical grand" player piano made by Bjur Bros of New York, sat silent along one wall, with boxes of perforated paper music scrolls stacked beside it.

Fine china and crystal sparkled behind the glass-fronted china cabinet in the dining room. A lace tablecloth and a silk flower arrangement decorated the polished mahogany table. In the kitchen, a set of milk glass canisters in the floor-to-ceiling hutch still contained sugar, tea and flour. Pots and pans were stacked on top of the 1930's era Chambers gas stove.

Upstairs, bedroom closets overflowed with finely-tailored dresses and coats. Shoeboxes were stacked neatly on the closet floors, and hat boxes on the shelves above. Watches, rings, necklaces and tiny colored glass perfume bottles covered silver filigreed trays on the dressers.

The house also contained clues to Ruth's life: her pilot's log from when she learned to fly airplanes back in the 1950's lay on a wicker desk in one bedroom. Under the desk were several scrapbooks from her travels around the world. On the wall above the bed, a photo of her graduating class from Brenau Women's College in Georgia. A bookshelf held some of Ruth's college textbooks: zoology, French, physics, organic chemistry, quantitative analysis. Hanging in the 3rd floor hallway were two framed rifle targets (each pierced with a few bullet holes), Ruth's certification from the National Rifle Association as a "Certified Sharpshooter" and her amateur radio operator's license.

Ruth was born in 1925. For a woman of her era to have lived such a life seemed extraordinary.

Neighbors told us Ruth visited "Mama's house" several times a week, tending her mother's prized rosebuds out back and puttering around inside. What made her keep this house, though she didn't live here? Why had she left things intact rather than cleaning up and clearing out?

Something about this old place tugged at my husband and me. There was a spirit (or spirits?) here. But it was the green rocking chair pulled up next to the stove in the kitchen that captivated me the most. It looked like Ruth might have been sitting there, sipping a cup of tea, just before we arrived. I wanted to meet and talk with her. I wanted to hear stories about her life.

But it could never happen. Ruth had died in December 2009. We purchased "Mama's house" from her estate. Ruth had no children, and she had willed everything in "Mama's house" to the Salvation Army. I contacted them and asked whether they would give me the letters, photos and other relics from Ruth's life. They agreed, and in January of this year, a Salvation Army truck pulled up out front and they delivered ten huge containers of memorabilia.

Ever since, I've been cataloging the old relics of the fascinating life of this truly avant-garde woman. I've been sharing bits of Ruth's story through my blog as I've pieced it together, and am working on a book about her.

In between, we've been stripping wallpaper, painting, making repairs and supervising the small army of workmen doing the electrical re-wiring and plumbing and other stuff that's beyond our abilities.

So, like Lisa, I've been "binging on words and home renovation." It's been both fascinating and exhausting. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Postscript: This is the second time a book project has appeared out of nowhere for Melanie. Her first book, Grace Goes to Prison, about the life of another trailblazing woman was published in late 2009.

Leave it to the Experts

2011-08-02T18:07:00.000-07:00

Three weeks ago, guest blogger Linda Landreth Phelps talked about having the spiritual gift of hospitality. Unfortunately, I was not so gifted.

I want to be hospitable. I want to be welcoming. But I'm too much of a perfectionist to enjoy the process, particularly since cooking skills do not come naturally to me.

Some time ago, a dear friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer. Being teachers, one of the first things we did was make plans to feed her. While I happily (and with great relief) contributed to gift certificates, I put off signing up to make a meal, blaming the craziness of the school year. Besides, what would I make? I don't have a signature dish, and unlike my friends who like to cook, my forays into experimentation sometimes led to dubious results.

When summer arrived, I arranged to go to lunch with my friend. During lunch, we discussed the many meals she'd received, and I was amazed by the simple solutions that had completely eluded me. I can do that, I thought.

And so a few weeks later, I signed up to bring dinner. Something simple, with a purchased side dish and brownies for dessert. I could do this.

Then the day of reckoning - and, worse yet - cooking! - arrived.

First, I ruined the brownies. Okay, they weren't completely ruined, but despite my cooking limitations, one thing I do well is brownies. Not today.

This, of course, I took to be a sign of impending disaster. The meat dish I'd decided to add to the menu (because my original, simple plan suddenly didn't seem good enough) appeared on the menu for later this week. Worse yet, it was being delivered (in two days) by someone who cooked better than I (at least I assumed this to be the case) and who would almost certainly deliver it in style.

What had made me think I could do this?

Suddenly, a simple act of kindness had become an overwhelming task that I had to do right. I worked myself into a state over the taste, the presentation, and - at the root of it all - living up to my own expectations, particularly as they compared to the skills and talents of others.

Ah, there's the rub.

I knew that whatever I brought my friend would be appreciated. I also knew that it would be tried and true, and although not gourmet, completely edible. I also knew that she's the kind of person who would appreciate it, no matter what.

Didn't matter. Still not good enough.

Fortunately, nothing else appeared to suffer the same, still mysterious, fate as the brownies. Adding store bought peanut butter cookies to the meal as a back-up, I loaded everything into the car and headed over to deliver dinner.

I had a lovely visit with my friend, who was having a good day - or as good as they come for her these days. We talked and laughed and even gossiped a little, and I told her what a kick she'd have gotten out of my cooking neurosis.

When I left, she and her husband were sitting down to the meal I made.

I hope they enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed her company, but next time, I'm bringing a gift certificate.

Vacation Hangover

2011-07-31T21:32:00.000-07:00

One of the best parts of vacation is being able to do absolutely nothing and feel absolutely no guilt about it. Unfortunately, I seem to have brought that attitude home from the beach with me, along with some sand and a few items that are lingering in my beach bag.

Technically speaking, I'm still on vacation. I don't go back to work until late August, and so I should still be able to enjoy some guilt-free laziness, as my Facebook friends/colleagues were quick to reassure me. Unfortunately, I have less than a month left to complete all the projects that seemed like such a good idea at the beginning of summer vacation.

Take my dining room (please?) The walls are painted, but the baseboards and molding need to be finished. Since I couldn't very well paint them from the beach, I got a week-long reprieve, which has now expired. Doesn't sound like such a big deal...and yet, I haven't ventured into the dining room with a paint brush.

And the writing spree on which I embarked so enthusiastically in June, which I was sure would lead me to finish my novel before school started again. There's still time...and yet, I haven't unpacked my laptop from its oh-so-stylish bag.

I could go on, but that would mean that the two of you who are still reading this blog will stop, so I will, too. I must admit that this is a familiar spot - one I find myself in every summer at this time. And so of course, I have a plan.

The latest approach? Spend some time on at least one of my three main projects (my daughter's bedroom, plus the two above) each day until I can check them off the list. That should leave me plenty of time for guilt-free laziness, and time with family and friends.

Now, where did I leave those paintbrushes?

2011-07-27T20:40:00.000-07:00

I am not a beach person. I'm intimidated by the power of the waves, broiled by the rays of the sun and annoyed by the ubiquitousness of sand.

Yet every year, we come to the beach, and every year, we talk about the feasibility of buying a vacation home here. Someday.

The thing is, I love the beach - on my own terms. I hate to swim, surf or play games in the sand, but I love to sit by the ocean under an umbrella and read - or write - as the waves crest a safe distance away and a sea breeze cools me. I love to start my days on a screened-in patio, preferably with a Starbucks chai in hand, ceiling fan whirring overhead. And, about four days into our vacation, I begin to feel sad at the thought of leaving behind beach breezes and books on the seashore. Inevitably, we end up booking our next trip - in the fall, if we're lucky - before we even pull out of the parking lot.

For those who know me, it probably comes as no surprise that I like the beach the same way I like pretty much everything else - my way. And since the temperatures are supposed to climb to close to 100 this weekend, maybe it is time to go home. I like my beach days about ten degrees cooler.

And so our Labor Day weekend plans should come at just about the perfect time.

Guest Post: Marriage and Hiking

2011-07-24T10:10:00.000-07:00

I'm behind schedule in posting this, but thinking that's not such a bad thing. Even at the beach, it is hot, hot, hot and Cheryl's photos are a welcome, cooling sight. Thanks to my friend, colleague and fellow writer Cheryl Johnson for sending me this blog.

My husband and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary this year. We decided to spend our vacation and celebration in Banff, Alberta, Canada one of the most scenic places in the world.

Banff is located in the middle of the Canadian Rockies nestled between the beauty of glaciers and the magnificent Rocky Mountains. We love hiking and planned to do some on our trip. We had many beautiful hikes, one of the hikes started just below Lake Louise and climbed up, straight up! At about 5,000 ft elevation you are rewarded with a beautiful view of Lake Louise. This has a spectacular view of the mountains, glaciers and a turquoise colored pristine lake. It is breathtaking.

But if you stop there you miss way too much. We continued to climb; the trail was steep and difficult. There were places where you wanted to just give up, turn around and go back to a level where you could breathe again. Then you would stop and look around at the view from a new vantage point and it would propel you up.

When you are tired and out of breath you arrive at Mirror Lake, a small but beautiful lake in the middle of the mountains. There is a small waterfall, stumps to sit on, large rocks that border the lake, water an indescribable blue and some benches that give you a chance to catch your breath or just relax in the beauty.

But this isn’t the end; other hikers see you and encourage you to keep going, so you continue on with the steep climb hoping that the reward at the end will be worth it.

At 7,002 ft elevation you are at last rewarded with one of the most spectacular views I have ever seen. Lake Agnes sits like a jewel in the center of six glaciers. The view is amazing, the feeling of accomplishment and the beauty of the area will overtake you. There is nothing like going the distance to see this beauty in the sky.

On the way down the mountain, there again were areas of beauty to see and challenges because now we were walking down the steep mountain and in some places, snow covered the trail.

When we finally arrived back at our car, the memory of the beauty and the challenge of the hike left us with a feeling of awe and gratitude at having the opportunity to experience this place.

My husband and I have also been hiking the Appalachian trail this summer, yesterday we hiked from Pine Grove Furnace to Boiling Springs, about 19.6 miles. Hiking for me is all about the beauty, the challenge and the perseverance.

Along the way, each of took turns taking the lead. There were places on the trail where I needed my husband to help me up over a rock because the trail was in front of us, but so were these mammoth boulders. We just needed to find our way over them.

There were times when the trail seemed to be winning for each of us, but thankfully at different times, so the other could be the encourager. We even managed to spook a Timber Rattle Snake, which was not very happy and remained in his spot as we slowly and cautiously passed him. As we passed him, I was thrilled to see one so close in the wild, an animal that many people can live their entire life in Pennsylvania and never see. We finally arrived at Boiling Springs tired but thrilled to have accomplished another beautiful hike.

This morning I was processing the hike from yesterday and realized hiking is a lot like marriage. It starts out hopeful, full of expectations, and excitement but quickly you realize this is not going to be easy. There are places in any marriage that make you stop and ask is this worth it? The climb is too difficult and steep, but if, like a hike, you look around you and see the beauty beyond the challenge of the trail, you will be propelled to go on.

In any marriage there will be times when one will need to be the encourager to the other and take the lead to move forward. But if you are willing to accept the challenge, you will begin to see the beauty all around you in the midst of the struggles and every once in a while you will be rewarded with a spectacular breathtaking moment just like the lakes at Lake Louise or the opportunity to do or see something incredible like the snake on the Appalachian.

So yes marriage is a lot like hiking, but when each hike is over we are thrilled to have completed it and plan for the next challenge. I for one am looking forward to the next 30 years of challenges and breathtaking views!

Stephen King and Character Bread Crumb Trails

2011-07-16T13:14:00.000-07:00

My characters speak to me, and the really odd thing is that I never know quite what they're going to say.

Before you creep up behind me quietly with that straitjacket, let me tell you that I know other writers who feel the same way, Stephen King among them.In fact, SK is the one who gave me permission to write the way I do, letting my characters lead the way. Not me, specifically, you understand, but anyone who takes the time to read his book On Writing, which is my all-time favorite writing book.

Photo: amazon.com

In this wonderful book about his writing process, "Uncle Stevie," (as he's known to readers of his now defunct column in Entertainment Weekly), taught me three things:

It's okay for your characters to be in charge.
Adverbs are unnecessary.
Even Stephen King writes things he deems unworthy of publication.

But I digress. Last weekend, I blogged about being stuck. And as I was thinking about being stuck and thinking about how it's my characters who got me into this mess, I decided they needed to help me get unstuck.
And so I put them at the finish line. This is where you end up, guys, I imagined myself saying. Now, leave me a trail of bread crumbs back to where we just were.

The bread crumb trail is a bit scant, but by thinking both forward and backward, and feeling the need to come up with only bread crumbs, not fully-baked desserts, I managed to come up with something for each of the major players to do in order to narrow the gap between where I am and where I'm going.

I just hope I can type fast enough to stave off any hungry birds who think my plot twists look tasty.

Guest blog: Linda Landreth Phelps

2011-07-12T20:25:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of years, I've had the honor of being a guest blogger on several sites, so this summer, I decided it was time to be the hostess. Some guest blogs will be interviews, like this one, and others will be blogs written by the guest.

Today I welcome my first guest, fellow writer, Linda Landreth Phelps to my blog. Linda and I are in the same critique group, but like me, Linda's "not from around here" originally. I'm from Jersey - where do you call home, Linda?

First, thanks for asking me over to your porch swing for a chat, Lisa. It’s a great place to hang out on a hot summer day.

In Williamsburg, Virginia, we built, as we said then, “A front porch wide enough for a swing -- with a house attached.” We lived there for 11 years before my husband Art’s career brought us to Red Lion a couple of years ago. In all, we spent 38 years in the Tidewater area. I was born in Mom’s home town, Norfolk, Virginia, but my dad was Navy, so a lot of my growing years were spent roaming, but with a long, stable stay in Southern California in the ‘60s. I am essentially a Virginian, but I still feel a little schizophrenic—I like my Huevos Rancheros with grits!

Tell us a little about yourself and your writing.

Well, Lisa, I think being a writer always begins by reading. I remember being exhausted in grade school from reading by flashlight into the wee hours. I vividly remember discovering The Nun’s Story. There I was in my bed, covers over my head, sobbing my little 10-year-old heart out and biting my pillow so I wouldn’t be discovered and get my book confiscated. The power of written words to move people to extremes of emotion still amazes me.

I was a late bloomer when it comes to the actual writing. After all those years of reading lovely books, I never really considered being a serious writer myself until I got my first computer. Suddenly, what I wrote looked like what THEY wrote! I am a tinkerer when I write, and all the messy, scratched-out sentences, circled phrases with arrows to other places, and other clutter on my rough drafts were gone with the click of a “delete” key. With the encouragement of my old high school English teacher and mentor (who always had faith that I should be published), I submitted a short piece to Guideposts magazine. Somehow, I hit the lottery with the first ticket I ever bought. My piece, "Late in the Game," was published in June, 1999, and its theme was how God sometimes blesses against our will.

We tell our son Ben he was a surprise, not an accident. Ben was born when I was 40 and our other child, Ahna, was 17, and to say I wasn’t exactly on board with the whole idea of being the oldest mom in the PTA would be true…until I met my unborn baby on an ultrasound and fell in love. When Ben arrived, I realized this wonderful gift was just what I wanted with all my heart, I just hadn’t been smart enough to ask for it. Late in the game or not, we were blessed.

The success of this article led me to do more writing, and I was eventually asked to join the staff of a startup magazine, Williamsburg’s Next Door Neighbors, where I’ve been doing interviews with and writing about fascinating people who live in the Williamsburg and Jamestown area for going on four years now. I am also a regular contributor to Hampton Roads Magazine, a large regional publication. My biggest piece for them was about a group of young breast cancer survivors.

I’m not nearly as prolific as you, though, Lisa—not even close! My usual month’s writing consists of one or two pieces for WNDN, target length less than 2,000 words each. As I said before, I’m a slow tinkerer, so if I were to actually count the hours I put in and factor in my paycheck, it would be laughable. I’m not trying to pay my rent with my pen, thank God! I do it because I love the process.

Love also motivates my recent decision to begin my first novel. It’s a WWII romance based on my parents’ letters which I found in an old cruise box. You guys in the group called it “faction”, since it is loosely based on actual events and letters, but I’ll be inventing all the dialogue and fill-in action. I’ve never officially written anything but nonfiction before, so I’m finding this a fresh new challenge. I expect I’ll be learning a lot from my talented and generous critique group!

How do you balance your magazine assignments with your own writing?

That’s been a problem, Lisa. I get so caught up in one that I neglect the other. I’m intensely involved with whatever I am working on for the magazines and there’s always a deadline, so I try not to think about my project during that time. But sometimes I’m caught up so deeply in the 1940s that it’s tough to tear myself away to meet those magazine deadlines. I find that, physically and mentally, I only have a certain amount of daily writing hours in me. If I use up all my energy on one, then the other goes begging.

Do you have a favorite time of day to write, or a particular routine you try to stick to?

Routine? I’m not very disciplined about that. I have days when I’m so busy that I don’t write, and then days when that’s all I do. My muse has to be awake, too. Oh, yes-- she can be such a lazy slacker sometimes.

On your blog, you say, "I'm working on a novel and my garden." Which is winning?

At the moment, the garden is winning by a nose. Come hang out on my new deck and enjoy the flowers with me--I have a swing, too! I know the season for outdoor work is limited by the weather, so I tend to give it precedence. On the other hand, another type of season, that of life, is pressing me to write. My father turns 90 this year and I’d like him to see my book before he dies.

Another bit from your blog that I loved was "Food is my ministry." Can you tell us a little bit about that?

As you know, Lisa, one of the spiritual gifts is Hospitality, and I was blessed with it. (I was totally overlooked in many other categories, however!) I love having people over, cooking for them, and connecting. I joined a ministry of my church, Living Word, called Meals of Grace, supporting families within the congregation by providing meals when a baby is born, someone is in the hospital, or when a gesture of love is needed.

At work, when we're running in a thousand different directions - all important, I might add - my boss likes to say "What's on top?" as a means of identifying the most important thing. What's on top for you/in your life at the moment?

For an empty nester, I’m still pretty involved with family stuff, and have always tried to put them first. After that, I’m making my health my hobby, as my doctor suggested at the beginning of the year. I’ve lost 20 pounds recently by exercise and cooking with fresh, organic, unprocessed ingredients. I have another 20 to go, so wish me luck!

Then comes my writing: I know I need to apply some structure to it--set hours for it as if it was a real job and I wasn’t in my nightgown. Hmmm…I wonder how much would get accomplished if everybody was allowed to wear their jammies to work. Just a random thought here.

I hope that the spark of ambition and dedication that I see in you and the others in our group will rub off and ignite me to more action. I always come away from our meetings fired up and full of creative energy.

Anything else you'd like to share?

My goal is to break into the Pennsylvania magazine market, doing personal stories about interesting characters and occupations as I do in Virginia. I live here now, so it’s about time I write like a Yorker! Any ideas about how I go about doing that?

Thanks for inviting me to be your guest, Lisa. Keep up the good writing, and I can’t wait to see your next chapters!

A Day Without Writing is Like a Day When the Muse Sneaks Up on You

2011-07-11T16:45:00.000-07:00

I did it again. I completely forgot that a day with no writing is not necessarily a bad thing.

Yesterday, I puttered. I indulged in a Harry Potter marathon with my daughter and my husband. We transferred a box of books my daughter was finished with to the used bookstore and shopped for swimsuits for the beach. I most definitely did not paint the dining room baseboards or write anything besides a blog, and that was late at night, after the muse had made it clear she was on vacation. Indefinitely.

As I was getting ready to close out my files and step away from the computer, a funny thing happened. I got an idea.

It wasn't a big idea, but it was pivotal. And it simply popped into my head as I finished a bit of internalization before closing out a file.

And I think it popped up that easily because it wasn't forced to do so. Don't get me wrong - that finish line is still pretty far away - but I cleared enough brambles to find a trail that leads back to the main path, and from there, I can see the finish line.

And silly me, I'd completely forgotten that a weekend spent in other pursuits (analyzing the beautiful opus that is Harry Potter and how masterfully J K Rowling planted seeds along every step of the path) is time spent enriching myself, and thus, my writing.

This morning, I got back to my new idea and was happy to see that it bore fruit...although I sidestepped the aforementioned pivotal event, it was for a worthwhile cause - another one of those conversations I had no idea my characters needed to have.

Can't wait to see where my characters take it from here.

The End is Near

2011-07-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

I'm stuck. After barreling through scene after scene in June, aiming for that magic 30,000 word finish line, I've led my characters into some wonderful messes. Well, at least I think I have.

And now it's time to lead them out of those messes and to the finish line. I know where the finish line is - I can see it from here. The problem is, I can't figure out how to get there.

Yes, I have a synopsis, but I strayed from that a long time ago, as my characters led me down first unpaved roads, then dirt paths. Since dirt paths are very promising when you're looking for a mess, I duly followed.

I'm happy I did, but now I need to clear away the brambles that block the finish line. As I said - I can see it - but just barely. If the brambles were merely obstacles for my characters to overcome, there would be no problem. Been there, done that.

Compounding those obstacles, however, are the obstacles that I have to overcome. Making myself sit down at the keyboard when I don't know what I'm going to write. Putting something - anything - on the page in an effort to move forward, and perhaps even leading my characters into the cave at the end of the dirt road. I don't wanna go in there. It's dark and scary, and from there, I can't see the finish line at all.

I haven't lost faith, though. I might have lost my road map - okay, I've definitely lost my road map - but not my sense of direction. Though I wish my writing GPS was as persistent as the cursor on my computer screen, I know I will figure this out, just as long as my characters keep talking to me.

But that's a blog for another day.

2011-07-05T14:26:00.000-07:00

I am not a morning person. Never have been. And so for me, one of the beautiful things about summer vacation is being able to not only sleep in, but get up at a leisurely pace. I lie in bed, eyes still closed, saying a few prayers and working out the task list for the day

I woke up this morning knowing I should write and paint today, but having binged on words and home improvement projects over the past few weeks, it took some convincing. It is now nearly 5 pm, and I have done no painting, and very little writing.

Turns out I was in more of an organizing and straightening mood. So, I've done laundry, sorted clothes for consignment, then lugged three bags out of my house and to the consignment shop. I also put away lingering decorations from a few holidays (don't ask) and created lovely open space where piles had been living for longer than I'd care to admit.

In addition, I was a nearly-invisible hostess so my daughter and her friend could hang out, bake and take quizzes in magazines. Consequently, instead of working on projects that required quiet or made messes, I kept busy and (mostly) out of sight, appearing only to make lunch and start dinner.

None of this was planned, yet all of it was necessary. I am writing now, at the table in a dining room that remains in upheaval because the painting is not yet finished, but I have a sense of accomplishment about the things I did get done. And, although I wish the most visible rooms of the house bore evidence of the sorting and cleaning that went on today, it is lovely and restful to see newly clutter-free zones in the bedroom.

To me, today was the embodiment of a vacation day - releasing the tight grip on the to-do list long enough to notice other things that could be done, and taking advantage of opportunities that present themselves. The sink is full of dirty dishes, thanks to this morning's impromptu baking session, but that's a small price to pay for the time the girls had together (especially since my daughter will be washing them:-)

The painting and the writing will be there tomorrow, and the next day as well. And, once it is all finished, it won't matter whether the work was done in consecutive, back-breaking days or in small bites that allowed my daughter and me to have fun in between.

But right now, that matters a great deal.

When Lisa Got Nails

2011-07-02T14:52:00.000-07:00

This blog is a revision of an old favorite, in honor of all the

nails I wrecked in pursuit of a prettier dining room ;-)

(Photo courtesy of
Shutterstock.com)

When Harry Met Sally is my all-time favorite movie. I love Jess promising Marie that she'll "never have to be out there again," Sally ordering her meal in a restaurant, the scene in the diner (of course)...and Harry' speech at the end when he tells Sally all the things he loves about her brings me to tears every time.

What's been running through my mind lately, though, is the scene where Harry is talking to Sally about high maintenance and low maintenance women. When Sally asks Harry which one she is, he doesn't mince words. "You're the worst kind," he tells her. "You're high maintenance, but you think you're low maintenance."

Ouch. Talk about hitting a moviegoer below the belt. Except now that I've seen the movie more than a dozen times, I no longer harbor any delusions about being low maintenance. I know the ugly truth. No matter how hard I try to be low maintenance, it just doesn't take.

Gone is the twenty-something me who swore she wouldn't color her hair to cover the gray and who maintained her own nails, never giving fake nails a moment's thought. For Mother's Day three years ago, I asked for - and got - nails.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, and though I sometimes balk at the necessary investment of time, envying low maintenance girls who simply deal with God gave them, I can't turn back now. Now that I've seen the difference a little dye, a few highlights and the beauty of gels can make, I can't go back to lifeless hair and paint-your-own nails.

And these nails are super nails - under standard conditions anyway. The manicure lasts for two weeks, all ten nails are the same length at the same time and they don't break when I type or even slam them into things unexpectedly (another benefit of aging). The left hand took a bit of a beating during the recent painting of my dining room, but just make another appointment and, voila! Good as new.

Am I succumbing to vanity? Peer pressure? Probably. But like Sally's my maintenance level has more to do with who I am than how much time I spend at a salon. File off the fake nails and let my gray take over, and I'm still a high maintenance girl, no matter how much I try to pretend I'm not. I also try to be an attentive mom, a supportive wife and a good friend, so I figure that if the person on the inside is real, I'm not sure it matters whether or not the nails and the hair color are.

A juicy rationalization? Perhaps. but that's another movie.

One is Not the Loneliest Number

2011-06-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

I went to a private screening of Something Borrowed last night. It was my reward for hitting my 30,000 word goal a day early, and it was so worth it!

Okay, it's not nearly as exciting as it sounds. The truth is, I was the only one at the late showing of the movie at the $2 ($4 after dark) movie theatre. So, for $6.50 (admission and SnoCaps), I got a private screening.

But still, anyone who knows me knows I never do anything ahead of schedule, let alone a day early. When I woke up yesterday morning, I was a little more than 500 words shy of my goal. So when I discovered that the movie was playing (I checked out the marquee when I took a last minute trip to the grocery store yesterday afternoon), I promised myself that if I hit the target last night (a day early! Did I mention that?), I'd treat myself.

The movie did not disappoint. I loved the book, which is usually a sure sign I'll hate the movie, but that was not the case this time.The script was true to the story, the characters were well-played and the tension between them kept the story fast-paced. And I've never had a private screening before.

If I had any complaint, it was my standard - that material that takes up five minutes (or less) of the entire movie is enough to earn the movie a PG-13 rating. Not an issue for me, as I am over 13 - just a bit - but I had invited my daughter to join me. I ended up being glad that she didn't.

And just glad in general that I met my goal, and found such a cool way to celebrate.

Wonder what I'll do in July?

Labors of Love

2011-06-29T15:56:00.000-07:00

Home improvement projects are a lot like childbirth. You're so enthralled with the end product that with time, it's easy to forget how much labor was involved. Or at least how intense and sustained the labor was.

When we first bought the house, every summer brought a new project, mostly within the realm of painting and/or wallpapering. When my daughter was small, this tradition continued. She'd go down for a nap, and I'd start stripping wallpaper.

As naptimes subsided, but the energy required to entertain a preschooler did not, my enthusiasm for home improvement projects waned. We had some professional work done to the house during this time period - most notably an addition and a patio - and organization projects began to replace those involving sweat and climbing ladders.

Now, at thirteen, my daughter is old enough to help. We've lived in the house for almost 17 years, and the projects that improved our house in summers past are starting to show their age. So, on tap for this summer is repainting the dining room and my daughter's bedroom.

My husband wanted to hire someone to repaint the whole house, and if I'd had any sense, I'd have smiled, nodded, signed the check and kept my mouth shut. But I thought my daughter and I could handle it.

And we can - we are. She's much more capable than I gave her credit for (in my defense, my doubts arose from the fact that she's never wielded a paint roller, not that she lacks talent), which almost makes up for the fact that I'm much older than I gave myself credit for.

But I've still got it. It takes me longer, and I mind the trips up and down the ladder more - and sooner - than I did seventeen years ago, but that's to be expected. I've also done this enough to know when it's time to stop, and that ignoring the signs that tell me this will undoubtedly lead to mistakes and messes.

One of the dining room walls (project #1) needs one more coat of paint, but the early results are promising. There's a lot of edging and trim work left, which I hope will improve my husband's opinion of the color choice (with which he assisted, I hasten to add). As is typical, the project has increased in both scope and complexity since I started. (Let's paint that piece of furniture, too!)

We've already bought the paint for my daughter's bedroom, so there's no turning back. Let's just hope that the adrenaline carries me through.

Otherwise, I may need an epidural, which would definitely make it even trickier to climb that ladder.

Wall Calendar in a Planner World

2011-06-26T13:16:00.000-07:00

(photo courtesy of daytimer.com)

The world of education is filed with planners, and not just the paper or electronic kind. Most teachers are natural planners, wonderful at structuring their worlds. They make plans in advance, stick to routines, schedule what comes next.

I am a wall calendar in a planner world. I need big blocks of space that make me feel as though anything is possible.I can adjust to the smaller blocks in a desk-size planner, can do short stints in a pocket planner, but lined pages make me feel too confined, and graph paper might just put me over the edge. And don't even get me started on Blackberries and Smart Phones. I prefer that my phone be less intelligent than its owner, thank you very much.

During the school year, I adapt. A lot. In the summer, I aim for as many of those big, beautiful blocks of white space as I can find because those white spaces are filled with promise. The promise of projects that don't fit into pocket-sized blocks, days spent reading, writing or just plain dawdling for as big a block of time as I can imagine. Days that I can meet friends and linger over lunch. Or pull out board games and have a marathon without worrying about where I need to be next.

Sometimes, I envy the planner people. Their lives seem so smooth, so organized, while mine can seem like a crazy free-for-all. But when I think about being boxed in, I decide that trading places might not be the deal I'm looking for. It looks good on the outside, but makes me all knotted up on the inside.

So, I'll stick to admiring them, and waving at them from across the white expanse of my big blocks of unscheduled time.

2011-06-24T14:19:00.000-07:00

Visit me today at The Susquehanna Writers blog :-)

In Comes - and Out Goes - Company

2011-06-22T18:09:00.000-07:00

I took myself to the movies last night, something I haven't done since I was twenty-something and single. I had planned to treat myself to something sweet and chocolatey as well, but when I saw the ticket price, which had not only increased exponentially since I was twenty-something, but was also double the usual price because the film was a special feature, I decided that one treat would be sufficient.

The movie was the NY Philharmonic production of Company, a show I know by heart. I'd heard Terry Gross's interview with Stephen Colbert on Fresh Air last week, and it left me itching to go to see the production of which he'd spoken so highly.

The production itself did not disappoint, but the movie experience was flawed, to say the least. After sitting through previews for Winnie the Pooh and a movie featuring the Muppets, I wondered what demographic the folks in charge of trailers thought they were targeting.

The wrong one, as it turns out. When the movie finally began, it wasn't Company at all, but a summer film adaptation of a children's book instead. The audience groaned, and one brave soul went off to share our predicament and rectify the situation.

Two (more demographically appropriate) ads later, the film began. The musical was even better than I remembered, and the performances did not disappoint.

Until the top of Act II, when the screen went blank. We could hear Side By Side By Side, but we couldn't see a thing. While a few practical folks remained calm and solution-seeking, other segments of the audience grew less tolerant. The well-dressed woman sitting beside me - the one who'd traveled 30 miles to see the show - yelled, "We want a refund!" at the top of her lungs. The picture was restored, and we caught the tail end of the number...but then missed another scene where, from the sound of it, the laughs were in the visuals we were unable to see because the screen went blank again.

Despite all the glitches, I was glad I went. And, since the movie theatre comped us two movie passes each to make up for the inconveniences, I might just treat myself to another movie before the summer is over.

And this time, I might even get refreshments.

30,000 Word Checkpoint

2011-06-21T15:46:00.000-07:00

Nine days to go.

Earlier this month, I posted a blog about the 30,000 word challenge Rachel issued. As of this morning, she's right on track at 22,000 words, despite a gardening injury that has relegated her to hunting and pecking at her keyboard.

After a slow start, I picked up steam and was very excited to cross the 18,000 word mark last night. (I promptly stalled today when my daughter and I began painting the dining room, cutting deeply into my writing time.) The rest of the group is humming along as well, in various places on the word count spectrum. Like Rachel, Karina is likely to clear that 30,000 word hurdle, probably with words to spare.

At the beginning, I never expected to make it to 30,000, but I liked the nudge that the challenge gave me. Now, at 18,000+ words, I'd like to see if it's more possible than I thought it was.

Initially, I thought I'd just "count" words I wrote for my novel, but I didn't need 30,000 more words for my novel (unless I wanted to do a LOT of pruning later on). A few days in, I decided to count blogs, too, particularly since I didn't think I'd come anywhere close to making that 30,000 word goal without them.

This challenge has been interesting. We're emailing each other a couple of times a week, praying for each other in between. I'm remembering why I log hours of writing rather than numbers of words - for me, counting words sometimes gets in the way of the kind of progress I want to make. If I want to trim a paragraph, for example, or revise a scene that's too wordy, I can spend a productive morning doing just that. But when the net number of words gained is only in the hundreds - or worse yet, in the negative numbers - at the end of a couple of hour's work, I feel a sense of disappointment if I'm gauging my success only by number of words written.

Does that mean taking this challenge was a mistake? Not at all. In the beginning of June, I had no idea how far away the finish line was. With no concept of how many words I wrote in a typical month, I didn't know if that magic end point was down the street, across town, or on another continent.

And to be honest, I still don't know because this isn't a typical month. First of all, I am counting words, something I've never done before. Second, I am on vacation. My output has increased dramatically since I began this challenge on June 3 (2 days behind schedule), because I am not currently working full time and trying to wrap those words around an already jam-packed day. There's no way I'd have made it to 18,000 words if I was going to work every day besides.

So, Rachel, my hat's off to you. Whether or not I make it to the finish line, this has been great fun and just the nudge I needed to get my summer writing on track. And best of all, I have comrades in arms running the race with me, and keeping me in their prayers.

Talk about an auspicious beginning to summer.

Breezeway Bench Chronicle

2011-06-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

I spent last evening sitting on a bench in the breezeway at church, wondering just when I abdicated my social life completely. My daughter and her friends were socializing at the carnival, too old for me to tag along, too young for me to leave the premises altogether - at least as far as I was concerned. Since it was the third night this week that we patronized the carnival, the attractions had lost their luster, and I was content to sit on my bench near the fish pond, enjoying the ambient carnival sounds and cool evening weather.

But the carnival is just the tip of the iceberg. As my daughter has gotten older and more involved in school and sports activities, her schedule has become the centerpiece of our family life. Her social life has supplanted ours, and even the date nights that we planned when she was small have fallen by the wayside. Now, rather than being planned events, date nights happen when she is at a friend's house, a party or a sleepover.

Much of our time is spent doing things as a family, and as she continues to grow up - much too fast, I might add - I have come to prefer this arrangement. As her middle school years dwindle, I am profoundly aware of the fact that before I know it, there will be plenty of date nights and not nearly enough family time.

So, I will treasure even the summer evenings spent on a bench on a cool evening, as she checks in and we add and subtract kids, sending this one home with their parents, chauffeuring that one home with us. I will joke with other parents about how she stops by when she needs more money, or needs me to hold onto something for her, secretly relishing those fleeting moments because only she and I know that those stops are the teenage umbilical cord, the equivalent of the toddler running around the corner, then running back to make sure Mom's still there.

Mom's still here. And she's not going anywhere.

Starbucks and the Great Furniture Fiasco

2011-06-16T06:13:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, my favorite Starbucks - the one where I write - "upgraded" its decor, replacing the already-small, round tables with even smaller ones. The new tables certainly inspire intimacy; two people sitting across from each other would have to have their knees touching in order to pull up to the table. A patron with a laptop would be hard-pressed to fit the laptop, a drink and a snack all on the table at the same time.

I looked around, wondering where I would write. There was one rectangular table, well-suited to my purposes, but a discreet plaque on the table requested that I reserve this table for Starbucks'
wheelchair-bound patrons. I knew that other people routinely ignored this sign, but that wasn't an action I was willing to take.

Mercifully, the back-of-store seating area had remained unchanged. The padded sofa, the awesome orange high-backed chair...I would just have to hope they were available when I came in. I often took that orange chair anyway. I could make this work.

Still, I did what any loyal, disgruntled customer would do: I complained. Well, first I asked the barristas (who know my order by heart) about it. The told me the changes had come from a higher authority.

So, I fired up my computer and politely told the powers-that-be at Starbucks.com what a mistake they had made. To their credit, they sent me a prompt, polite, reasonably personalized reply. I also heard from the staff at both my favorite Starbucks and my other favorite Starbucks (my M-F Starbucks) that they'd received a number of complaints and were planning to rectify the situation with new(er) furniture.

Crisis averted - or about to be. Still, I moved my next writing session to my other favorite Starbucks (my M-F Starbucks), where I pulled a cushy green chair up to a round table three or four times the size of the new-and-improved tables at the other store and wrote for several hours.

Yesterday, I went to my favorite Starbucks to write for the first time since The Great Furniture Fiasco. There were people sitting in the new chairs that had replaced the padded sofa at the back of the store, so I sat at the counter, not wishing to invade their privacy or personal space. When they left, however, I relocated to the awesome orange chair, leaned back and enjoyed the rest of my writing session.

This morning, I went into my favorite Starbucks and placed my order. I walked to the back of the store to retrieve it, but something was wrong. There was too much space.

The awesome orange chair was gone. Seems it didn't fit with the corporate furniture restructuring plan.

Do I send another email? Suck it up and say "Life is full of changes, deal with it?" Ask my doctor for a prescription to help me deal with the anxiety caused by the removal of furniture to which seems to have become an integral part of my writing life?

I suspect I know the answer (and it's not #3).

But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Off to a Good Start

2011-06-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

It is the first day of summer vacation, and most of my ideal vacation day requirements are in place. I didn’t get to sleep in, because my daughter had a basketball camp to attend this morning, but that meant that I got a jump on the day, and a quiet house. The weather was perfect for the walk to camp – and back – and after checking a few things off my to-do list, I retired to the patio to write.

It’s amazing what an energy boost good weather and a good start to a day is. I threw caution and allergy symptoms to the wind (almost literally) and opened up the windows to air out the house because 70 degree temperatures in June are too good to pass up.

A quiet house. A beautiful day. A good start. Time to get some words on the page.

Wendy Writer vs. Suzy Homemaker

2011-06-12T16:48:00.000-07:00

Come visit me today at The Susquehanna Writers blog. :-)

2011-06-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

Ingredients for a (perfect) vacation day:

1. The ability to sleep in.
2. Sunshine.
3. Mild temperatures (70-something is perfect, but not required)
4. No pressing engagements.
5. Pleasant - or at least cooperative - offspring.
6. Time to write.
7. Unlimited Starbucks iced chai with with all of the benefits of caffeine and none of the unpleasant side effects.

As summer vacation begins, I wish all of you a few of these days, scattered strategically throughout the coming months.

Papers Vs. People

2011-06-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

It's the end of the school year and I am tired. It's hot. My students are picking at each other, the impending separation of summer vacation gnawing at them, causing them to poke (not usually literally) at each other. My colleagues are packing, anticipating moves to new classrooms, and in some cases, new buildings.

It is a season of change, of transition, and for many of us, it is challenging to manage.

Piles of things to do, to pack and to file litter my desk. Caretaking and facilitating are at the heart of my job, and the needs of the people around me supersede those of the papers on my desk.

Papers vs. people - my constant challenge. In terms of appropriate priorities, that would seem to be a no-brainer, and most days, it is. But as deadlines approach and the piles remain untouched, panic begins to set in as I continue to try to be all things to all people.

I know this is impossible at best, self-defeating at worst, but yet I persist because at the end of the day, I would prefer to have failed papers, not people.

It will get done, one way or another. It always does. And then vacation will begin.

Until then, I will cherish these people, or at least try to remain patient with them, and with myself, and hope that nothing important slips through the cracks.

And try not to think about the ratio of things to be done, and days remaining to do them.

30,000 Word Challenge

2011-06-07T05:15:00.000-07:00

It is the end of the school year, and one of my writing colleagues has issued a challenge: write 30,000 words by June 30. One has nothing to do with the other, except that this is a particularly difficult time to accept this challenge. Any sane person would simply smile and walk away.

Evidently, I don't fit that description. I thought about it for a whole two seconds before e-mailing her that I was in. Given the constraints on my time, I will be amazed if I hit the target, but I decided that keeping track of the words I put on the page was an interesting proposition, and that I had nothing to lose, and only progress on my work-in-progress to gain.

We writers are suckers for any proposition that offers us an opportunity for forward momentum. Like exercising with a buddy (something else I was supposed to tackle in June, but I digress...), writing with a buddy gives us a certain accountability. In this case, prayer is also part of the promise and proposition, and it seemed pretty foolish to turn down an opportunity to have other writers praying for me and my progress.

It is June 7 and I am at not quite 1500 words. School is out in not quite a week, opening up both my schedule and my daughter's. I'm not yet sure how that will work out, but I am sure of one thing.

I'm off on a writing adventure!

7 Things I've Learned So Far

2011-05-30T19:58:00.000-07:00

My guest column, "7 Things I've Learned So Far," is posted on Chuck Sambuchino's Guide to Literary Agents blog today. Stop by and check it out!

What Can You Do with an Old Name Badge? - Part 2

2011-05-29T17:24:00.000-07:00

A little over a month ago, I wrote a post inspired by a name badge I still have hanging in my office - the one I received at the first Rutgers One-on-One Plus conference I attended. The badge has been stuck to the same spot on the bulletin board on my office for almost 6 years, a simple, plastic-encased memento of a day spent immersed in the world of writers and writing.
Truth is, I don't have many days like that. The name on that badge represents a wife, mother, daughter, sister, counselor, friend....and most of my days are spent divvying myself and my time up into the various facets of my life and personality. Being a writer - real or otherwise - is only part of who I am.

Still, the desire to write never completely subsides, though it does go into hibernation, sometimes at the most inopportune times. It can also be driven into hibernation by careless - or even constructive comments. Because my writing reflects all those pieces of me, it is a part of me, too. And when it is criticized, the criticism can feel very personal. Personal enough to make the writer go into hibernation herself.

When I first wrote about the badge, I wrote about the role it played in making me feel like a real writer. And then last week, I experienced the dark side that every real writer experiences - rejection. One of those cold, hard realities that can cause a writer to question whether or not she really is a writer. Whether or not the time spent in those pursuits is worth the time that is removed from all of the other aspects of life.

I have a tendency to take on the most I can possibly handle - sometimes more - without even realizing I'm doing it. I often think I'm ready to tackle something, only to find that it's much bigger than I thought it would be, which makes balancing all the roles played by the person on that name tag more complicated than it needs to be.

For a long time, I've believed that everything happens for a reason and that things happen when they're supposed to. I know those sound like platitudes - and perhaps they are - but I prefer to think of them as ways of reframing undesirable situations. If we believe (and I do) that there is a season for everything, then maybe it's possible that we need a little nudge to keep us in the right season. Just as one warm, summery day in April doesn't mean that summer has begun, finishing a novel doesn't mean that my writing season will begin at that moment. I have no idea when - or if - that season will come, but in the meantime, my roles as wife, mother,daughter, sister, counselor, friend are definitely in season.

And sometimes it's good to be reminded of that.

It's All Michael Hyatt's Fault

2011-05-25T20:01:00.000-07:00

A little while ago, I sat down to blog about the rejection letter I received yesterday. One that really hurt. But, as is not terribly uncommon for me, I got caught up in reading emails. In short, I got sidetracked.
I had set out to thin out my inbox, but in the process, I came across a blog by Michael Hyatt. A guest post by Geoff Talbot, actually, that encouraged people to write about their disappointments. Which led me back to just where I had started.

So, you see, it's all their fault. I tried to spare you. I really did. But Mr. Hyatt and Mr. Talbot had other ideas.

My agent forwarded the email in question to me last evening. Funny, because I'd just been wondering about the status of this particular submission. The one that got rejected.

The rejection wasn't mean or spiteful or even tacky. In fact, it offered the editor's constructive criticism with specific examples and a helpful tone.

What it didn't offer was a contract, or the promise of a career as a writer. Where was the opportunity I had longed for and let myself believe was just around the corner? Where was the validation of my talent, the words of encouragement that would send me back to my computer, dying to write that next chapter?

That's a tall stack of hope for a thin piece of paper. No wonder I was disappointed.

In fairness, some of those things were there. The editor opened with what I did well. It was the rest of the letter that dashed my hopes.
This is part of the game. I understand that. But at what point does a writer admit that she's a minor league player, and that the majors are out of reach?

I'm well-aware that I'm in the wallowing in self-pity stage - I know it well. And I know just as well that after a few days pass, I will re-read that well-intentioned letter and decide what I think has merit, and what I think does not. I'll discuss it with friends - the kind who'll tell me the truth because that's the only thing that will make me a better writer. And I will try to remember that this is only one person's opinion - a knowledgeable and experienced person, to be sure, but still, just one person. And while I'm unable to pull myself up by my bootstraps just yet (due in part to the fact that it's May and I'm wearing flip flops), I'll hold out hope that some day in the not-too distant future, I'll be able to do just that.

Meanwhile, I'll be on the sofa, wallowing. And checking email.

In the Name of the Game

2011-05-22T16:56:00.000-07:00

When your child plays sports, you know that injuries are inevitable. Still, you push that possibility to the far reaches of your mind, reassuring yourself with probabilities vs. possibilities.

Yesterday, two of my daughter's teammates sustained injuries in a basketball tournament. Neither injury was serious - both girls were seen by physicians and well enough to participate in a team party a few hours later. One girl broke her finger, which will keep her off the court for two weeks. She was more upset by the two week rule than the broken bone. The other strained ligaments in her knee, and was laughing about how her mom freaked out when she got hurt. My daughter jammed her finger - not for the first time, and surely not for the last.

As a parent, I try to take these things in stride, not make mountains out of molehills and not communicate my fears to my child. I tell her to have fun, and the coaches tell her to play hard. And every time a child hits her head, I try not to think about how many concussions a child can sustain before damage occurs, about the price these athletes pay in the name of the game.

On Monday, my daughter will go kayaking as part of a school trip. Recent rains have swelled the river, along with my fears. It's a school-sanctioned trip, I tell myself. They'll be wearing lifejackets, taking precautions. Her teacher has taken kids on this trip before and can vouch for its safety.

Throughout our children's lives, we let them go a little at a time. Into the back yard, onto the basketball court, on overnight trips and sleepovers. We try to temper fear with rationality, to let our kids take supervised risks, while we hold our breath and reassure ourselves that we've given the right speeches, and have taken the necessary precautions. We're proud of their accomplishments, particularly as we watch them excel at things we never dared attempt.

Whoever said parenthood isn't for wimps wasn't kidding. If you told a mother in labor that this is only the beginning, that the challenges ahead will stab at her heart the way contractions stab at her womb...well, she'd probably hurt you. But the truth is, while parenting gets easier in some ways, in other ways, it becomes more difficult. It hardly seems fair that after pushing a child out of the womb, you spend the next 18 years preparting her to enter the world in a whole new way. And as a parent, you hope all the pain will be yours, if only you can spare your child, if only that second entry can be as painless for her as the first.

Today, my daughter was scheduled to play again, but she wasn't feeling well. Despite the speeches about commitment and teamwork that are a standard part of my parental repertoire, it wasn't difficult for me to let her off the hook today. I texted her coach, apologizing for her inability to play, and heaving a sigh of relief that for just one afternoon, I could safely put her in a bubble.

With any luck, that will make it easier for me to let her teacher put her in kayak tomorrow.

TV Role Models

2011-05-19T04:57:00.000-07:00

Lately, my daughter has been watching The Cosby Show. "It's hilarious!" she tells me. During one episode where Rudy broke a household appliance, Claire pulled her daughter up onto her lap and gently talked to her about what had happened. My own daughter glanced back and forth between me and the screen as if to ask me why I didn't whisper sweetly to her when she was in trouble. Rudy is six, I thought, and I did handle things that way when you were six. Besides, that mother has a script, vetted by a child psychologist. Eventually, I told her I was sorry she didn't have Cliff and Claire Huxtable for parents. She was noticeably silent.

Oddly enough, Cliff and Claire influenced me too - as did Mike and Carol Brady, Elise and Steven Keaton, Jason and Maggie Seaver and Shirley Partridge. These paragons of parenting could solve any problem, resolve any issue or untangle any dilemma in 30 minutes, minus commercials. And just in case you needed the other end of the spectrum, there was Archie Bunker, the perfect illustration of what not to do.

Who are our parenting role models now? Charlie Sheen's brother Alan on Two and a Half Men? Homer and Marge Simpson? The Desperate Housewives? Sure, these shows are funny - maybe even hilarious at times - but they provide us with plenty of Archie Bunkers and very few Cliff and Claire Huxtables.

Granted, if we are looking to television for parenting advice, we are pretty desperate indeed, but if the shows we watch are considered a reflection of the times, they are surely a reflection of how times have changed. Rob and Laura Petrie were confined to separate beds on The Dick Van Dyke Show, while twenty years later, Cliff and Claire had romantic moments that make me cringe when I watch the show with my 13 year old, but they were within the confines of a committed relationship. And above all, they communicated love and respect, not simply temptation and desire.

In the end, I'm glad my daughter has discovered Cosby, even if I'm not Clarie Huxtable.

2011-05-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was driving to meet my sister, feeling a little bad because I'd told my daughter to do something herself. It was something she was certainly capable of, but it was also something that wouldn't have been that hard for me to take a moment to do for her. But I was in a hurry, and annoyed with her for waiting all morning to tackle the thing she wanted help with, so I lobbed the proverbial ball right back to her.

I was feeling bad because I'd caught a glimpse of my WWJD ring and decided that not only would Jesus have chosen the kind, loving, generous path, but a loving mother would have as well.

Then I remembered something. Jesus was a teacher. Jesus said, "Give me a fish and I eat for a day. Teach me to fish and I eat for a lifetime."

Or at least I thought He said that. When I looked it up to find out the exact quote, I discovered that it was a Chinese proverb.

But the fact remains that Jesus was a teacher. Some of his messages were very, very clear. Others came through parables, discovery and experience. Sometimes the message was clear, sometimes it was cloaked in mystery. Sometimes the apostles had to figure things out for themselves.

And so it goes with kids. Being a loving parent sometimes means nudging them to do the very thing that they are capable of doing.

So maybe telling her to do it herself is exactly what Jesus would have done. Only nicer.

Me vs. the Inboxes

2011-05-09T16:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, so after posting last Monday's blog, I decided maybe I should tackle my inboxes. In small bites.
I thought spending ten minutes a day on my work inbox and ten minutes a day on one of my home inboxes (computer or iPad)would be a good start. Sounded easy enough...

Day 1: Never even got to the emails at work. Something called "work" intruded. At home, I spent my designated ten minutes reading a fantastic blog that I found via - you guessed it - an email in my inbox. Total emails cleared in the designated time: one. Proof that I really need to keep things endlessly because they may be valuable is totally reinforced. Guilt prompts me to promise myself to tackle the inbox while watching Castle later on tonight.

Day 2: Wish I'd made as much progress on my inbox at work today as I did on the inbox at home in front of the tv last night.

By lunchtime of Day 3, I'd been to four meetings, had one more to prepare for and hadn't even turned on my computer. No wonder there are over 5000 emails in my inbox at work.

So, in a classic case of overcompensation, I determined that I'd clear junk out of my inbox on my computer at home, figuring if it wasn't there, it wouldn't show up on my iPad and I'd kill the proverbial two birds with one delete key. Half an hour later, I'd deleted 719 messages - all advertisements! - and unsubscribed from one list. Success! And a new element to add to my plan...time to start unsubscribing.

Unfortunately, I can't unsubscribe from clients and co-workers, so on Day 4, I decided that starting with old emails at work might make parting with "essential information" a little easier. I deleted minutes of meetings, read the updated versions, deleted blog announcements, and added the relevant info to my favorites bar. I made a little progress, but still have over 5000 emails in my inbox, not to mention a pile of appointment requests from real people, who trump inbox maintenance. Moving on...

Though I'm trying to delete as I go, my little experiment has shown me how easy it is to become bogged down by this "convenient" form of communication. Any and all suggestions for inbox maintenance welcome, as my goal remains substantially reducing the backlog.... :-)

Till then, you'll find me in front of my computer, finger poised on the delete key.

Judgment Day

2011-05-07T14:40:00.000-07:00

For me, the test of a good book is how I feel when I get to the last page. If I don't want the story to end, I consider the book a good one. Attributes like literary value, escape value or quality of writing can nudge a good book into great book territory, but all I really need in order to be satisfied is the desire to spend more time with the people within the books' pages.

Wanda Dyson's Judgment Day left me with that feeling. I hadn't read a mystery/suspense novel in a long time, so when I picked up the book, I wasn't sure what to expect. I was intrigued by both the profession and the characterization of Suzanne Kidwell, who begins the book as a bully, but quickly becomes a victim. Dyson's characterization of Suzanne and the other major players did not disappoint. By the time I got to the final pages of the book, I was excited to find an advertisement for another book by the same author.

I sometimes had difficulty keeping track of the players outside the inner circle, though, and Dyson's characterization of them was thinner than I would have liked. This was especially true in the cases of Alex's parents and Suzanne's father-in-law-to-be. While I realize that in a book of this genre, characterization sometimes takes a back seat to action and plot, these players spent enough time on the canvas, and had a substantial enough impact on the key characters in the book to be worth a little more depth. Willard Mandeville in particular was very one-note, despite the fact that he appeared often enough for Dyson to have made him more complex and interesting.

Christian themes (forgiveness, good vs. evil) were apparent in this novel, but Judgment Day's Christian element wasn't an integral enough part of the story for me to truly consider this book Christian fiction. The most obvious Christian reference in the book was so convenient as to make me feel manipulated, which made the reactions that arose from it feel inauthentic.

Overall, however, Judgment Day was a good read, earning high marks as a page turner, particularly toward the end of the novel. When I finished the book, I wanted to read more about Suzanne, Marcos and Alex, so I'm hoping Wanda Dyson has another good book in mind with them in it.

(I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review.)

Wit of the Staircase

2011-05-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

(Weis Center for the Performing Arts, Bucknell University)

I get all sorts of interesting things in my e-mailbox through the newsletters I subscribe to. While information on writing and publishing makes up the bulk of the news, I sometimes find a tidbit that has little to do with my daily activities, but is a fun piece of information nevertheless.

One Saturday morning a few weeks ago, for example, I opened one of those newsletters and discovered that there's a French expression for that excruciating moment when a comeback completely escapes you. According to the French language portion of About.com, the French expression "avoir l'esprit de l'escalier" refers to the inability to think of witty comebacks (or any sort of intelligent response) until it's too late to be of any use.

The entry went on to further explain that "esprit" means wit, and the "escalier" (staircase) indicates that you're on your way out of/away from the gathering where the response was needed. But, my trusty newsletter informs me, you could also use this expression while still at a party; for example, if you come up with a response only after the topic has changed and it's too late for you to make your oh-so-brilliant comment without looking foolish.

How is this useful to me in daily life? It's probably not, since I'll undoubtedly forget the expression in the moment that it becomes relevant - ironic, isn't it?- but it's still fun knowing about it.

Sometimes, when information overload sets in, I delete some of my newsletters without even reading them, knowing new ones will arrive soon enough to provide me with new material. But it's little gems like "avoir l'esprit de l'escalier" that keep me from unsubscribing, knowing that someday, when I least expect it, I'll find a nugget of information that makes me smile.

2011-05-02T05:13:00.000-07:00

I really should clean out my inbox. The trouble is, I have too many of them.

The inbox on my iPad is in pretty decent shape, leaner than the others because I've set it up to hold only a limited number of messages. Still, there are unread newsletters, e-mails in need of replies, and multiple ads for sales I have no intention of taking advantage of. Given the time to do so, it's easy enough to clear out the junk - outdated information, spam, earlier versions of email conversations that are ongoing - but sometimes it's more difficult to tell trash from treasure. Pack rat that I am, I remain convinced that I may someday want and/or need the information hovering in that inbox.

Behavioral psychologists will tell you that intermittent reinforcement is the most powerful form of reinforcement. When a subject knows she will eventually be rewarded, she will keep working, seeking the reward she is convinced will come. If you think this is just a theory, then ask yourself why people continue to buy lottery tickets for years on end.

And so it is with my overflowing inbox. I keep getting the newsletters because I never know when one of those nuggets of knowledge will turn up, and pack rat that I am, I keep incoming mail long past its logical expiration date, knowing it may prove useful at some future point.

Some call it clutter. I call it an untapped respource.

Milkshake Lessons

2011-04-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

I don't often go to McDonald's, but the other day, my daughter was home sick and asked for a McDonald's chocolate shake, so when I did my grocery store run, I stopped at McDonald's on the way home.
It was lunchtime, and the line at the drive-thru snaked through both lanes and backed up into the parking lot. I hesitated. How necessary was a chocolate milkshake from McDonald's? But I'd put it out there, and if I went home empty-handed just because I didn't want to wait in line, I'd be disappointing my sick child. (Yes, I do both drama and guilt exceedingly well.)

So I decided on an alternative plan. I pulled into a parking space and went inside.

There was no line. Two patrons stood holding drinks and waiting for their orders, and a cashier asked if she could help me when I was still only halfway to the counter. I was out of the restaurant in five minutes, maybe less. Focused on my child instead of where I needed to be next, I wasn't keeping track of time.

Truth be told, had I been there over my lunch hour in the middle of a work day ordering a sandwich for myself, I'd have taken one look at the line, then driven straight out of the parking lot. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to park and go inside.

Maybe it's our need for speed that makes the inherently obvious option undesirable. As I write this on Saturday morning, still in my pajamas at 11 am, I realize that's exactly the issue for me. On days when I don't have a schedule to adhere to, I am most happy just puttering. The little voice in the back of my head scolds that I should be doing something productive, that grown-ups don't sit around in their pajamas all morning, that surely I have something better to do than play games on Facebook.

And surely I do. But without the occasional lazy morning spent lounging in pjs, I run the risk of becoming the person who forgets that getting out of the car and going inside the restaurant is an option. Am I less efficient? Perhaps. But in the long run, I think I'd rather be less efficient with more options available to me than vice versa.

I probably won't go back to McDonald's anytime soon - it's just not an eatery we frequent - but I hope the next time I'm in a long line somewhere, I'll remember that I have options, and that efficiency is only one of them.

Internet Road Trip!

2011-04-26T06:28:00.000-07:00

Come visit me! Sarah Reinhard has graciously invited me to be a guest blogger on her site, SnoringScholar.com. My blog will appear tomorrow, Wednesday, April 27.

The Electronics Wars

2011-04-23T12:00:00.000-07:00

Since I got my iPad last Christmas, I have been neglecting my Kindle. Not neglecting in the same sense that one would neglect a person, of course. Much as I enjoy my Kindle, I realize that it's an inanimate object without human emotions. Still, I've felt bad about setting it aside. It seemed wasteful to have such a great gadget, but not utilize it.

Then last week, I stumbled upon another way to enjoy it. After an extended, but unintentional hiatus, I finally got myself back to the gym last week. Before I left, I tossed my MP3 player and earbuds into my bag, and then added my Kindle, almost as an afterthought.

Time on the treadmill just flew! I used my MP3 player and my Kindle, alternating between listening to music on my MP3 player and reading the free samples I'd downloaded to my Kindle, but hadn't had time to read. By the time I left the gym, not only had I logged more time on the treadmill than usual, but I'd also checked two or three samples off my reading list. Talk about a sense of accomplishment!

I wondered briefly if this accomplishment, rather than being cause for celebration, was merely another example of how multitasking has invaded all aspects of life, but in the end, I decided that wasn't the case. I have tremendous difficulty finding uninterrupted time to read, and I have even more difficulty making time to go to the gym (three guesses which one I enjoy more). But by the end of that workout session, I felt as though someone had given me a gift. In one short trip, I'd exercised both my body and my mind, and I'd come away refreshed and satisfied.

I think my favorite use of my Kindle remains travel use - taking it to the beach instead of taking a huge stack of books - but using it to read on the treadmill is a close second. My iPad is too big and bulky for this use, and I much prefer reading on the non-glare screen of my Kindle.

I feel so spoiled, having all of these wonderful toys, and I feel a responsibility to use them so they aren't just a ridiculous waste of money. So,when I find a new use for one of them - a justification, perhaps - I am very excited indeed. Spoiled or not, I am well aware of how fortunate I am.

What Can You Do With an Old Name Badge?

2011-04-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

In her blogging workshop at the Catholic Writers Conference, Moderator Sarah Reinhard gave us the assignment of using an object to inspire a blog. I closed my eyes, spun around in my chair, and my eyes landed on the name tag from the first Rutgers University Council on Children's Literature One-
on-One Plus Conference I was accepted to.

The letter came on a sunny, summer day 6 years ago. My daughter was only 7, and she'd come out with me to get the mail. Standing on the sidewalk in front of my dining room windows, I pulled out the letter and screamed. My daughter was alarmed, sure something was wrong since Mommy didn't usually scream like that, let alone in public.
But nothing was wrong. In fact, everything was right. I'd been freelancing for 13 years in the nooks and crannies of nights and weekends and summer vacations and on that bright, summer day, I stood on my sidewalk holding validation of my efforts.

The conference did not disappoint. It was my first experience rubbing elbows with authors, editors and agents and I felt like a fan on the red carpet on Oscar night. The highlight of my trip was being paired with acclaimed young adult author, KL Going, who served as my mentor for the day. She was down-
to-earth, generous and gracious and I felt as though I'd made a new friend.

I went back to the conference once more after that, but my first trip remains my favorite. I traveled with my friend and colleague Laurie Edwards that first time, and so the journey there and back was as much fun as the conference itself.

I don't remember the breakdown of costs for gas, fees, meals and the hotel, but I do clearly remember the sense I had of being a "real" writer.

And that was indeed priceless.

Retreat!

2011-04-16T07:01:00.000-07:00

I woke up excited, but a little nervous, about my critique group's spring writing retreat this weekend. Find out why at www.thesusquehannawriters.blogspot.com.

Happy Writing!

2011-04-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

I was a good mom today - I got my daughter to school on time. I am usually running at least a few minutes late for everything in my own life, but I try not to make my daughter late. It's a mom pride thing.

Unfortunately, I'm not a morning person, so I have difficulty getting up as early as I should in order to make our mornings go smoothly.

So why not give up and just put her on the bus? Spend time over breakfast, finish getting ready after she has left since I don't have to be at work for half an hour after her homeroom bell rings?

Because I love driving my daughter to school. Specifically, I love our car rides. She takes charge of the radio and despite the fact that I don't always like what we're listening to, I do like that it gives me insight into what she likes. We talk. I get a glimpse of her world.

Sure, it'd be easier to have her catch the bus at the corner, then revel in a quiet house where I can have the bathroom all to myself. Sure, some days it's tempting to use my dad's line - you can choose the station when you get a car of your own - rather than listening to
music that makes my head hurt. And sure, there are some days when one of us is in a less-than-stellar mood and I wonder why I thought this was such a great idea in the first place.

But most days, I just like her company. And soon enough, she'll be in high school, just a short walk from our house, and these rides will be a thing of the past. I'll be able to take my time in the bathroom, listen to whatever music I want to, and maybe even sing along without embarrassment (to either of us).

Strangely enough, that makes me sad.

Keeping Track

2011-04-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

Late last summer, right before I went back to work, I was struggling to get myself into a writing groove. Specifically, I needed to make revisions on my middle grade novel. I hate revisions. I'd much rather create than revise.

So I went back to the tried and true. I set out in search of a calendar/journal for keeping track of my writing time.

In mid-September, I found the perfect calendar. I pulled it off a clearance shelf at Target and paid a whopping $1.74 for it, but I like it so much that I might just pay full price if I can find it again next fall.

At first, I made lots of entries - time spent writing and notes about what I was working on. Every once in a while, I'd make a notation about why I hadn't written - our wedding anniversary, automatic computer updates that stole precious time, the occasional weekend away.

Most weeks, I didn't meet the lofty time goal I'd set for myself, but thanks to my record keeping, instead of focusing on what I hadn't done, I could see written proof of what I had accomplished. Keeping track spurred me onward, through the revisions and into the Christmas season.

After Christmas, the entries grew more sparse, clustering on the weekends, which had become my designated writing time. I'd fallen into a routine, gotten into the writing groove that had been eluding me, and I had set my tool aside.

I still keep track of my time, often on the first page of the manuscript I am working on, but sometimes on a Post-it note, a scrap of paper, or even a receipt. Most of the entries make it into my calendar, but some don't, because now, with the dreaded revisions behind me, I can see my progress in the accumulated pages of my novel, and the increasing word count on the bottom of my computer screen as I work on my latest novel.

But I still love my calendar, and I still find it useful, especially when I get stuck. And during the times when it feels as though I'm not making any progress, it's nice to have written proof that that isn't the case.

Age By Age

2011-04-05T16:07:00.000-07:00

Lately, I seem to be having a lot of strange dreams. They are vague when I wake up, but the fact that I remember them at all is significant. Until I read that everyone dreams, I would have sworn to you that I didn't.
Among the most distinguishing parts of a dream I had over the weekend was that I was carrying a baby around and that she fell asleep in my arms. Lots of other things - most of them bizarre - happened in the dream, but that is the image that stuck with me.

Now, some might mistake that for what my friend Mary Beth calls "baby fever" - the irrational desire to have another child just because the baby smells sweet, with utter disregard for the sleepless nights, temper tantrums and parental responsibilities that persist long after the baby smell wears off. Okay, maybe that's my definition, not hers.

Don't get me wrong - I loved those baby years - but as someone who married in her early thirties, I was pretty sure our first child would also be our last, and so I enjoyed every age. I still do, in fact.

And no, I'm not delusional, or a pollyanna. I just believe that each age has something to recommend it. Just as the baby smell compensates for the poopy diaper smell, so the car ride conversations help to make up for the eye rolls. And seeing your child demonstrate the things you know you've taught them when you thought they weren't listening compensates for practically everything else.

So when I woke up with the image of that sleeping child in my arms still fresh in my mind, I didn't feel bittersweet. Instead, I puzzled over where the image had come from (a conversation earlier that day with my sister, most likely) and smiled at the memory of my daughter at that age - the same teenager who was, at that moment, still sleeping peacefully in her own bed across the hall.

The dream was lovely, but in my case, reality is the blessing. Most days, anyway.

Divine Appointments

2011-04-03T17:01:00.000-07:00

Josie Brooks is hot, thirsty and nearly fifty. Her life is organized, settled, predictable. Except for that nagging feeling that it’s not. As a woman in that same age range, I was looking forward to reading Divine Appointments.

Charlene Ann Baumbich’s opening pages did not disappoint, and initially I found Josie very likeable. Unfortunately, despite large blocks of narrative and description designed to tell me about her and those around her, I didn’t get to know her – or any of the other characters in the novel - nearly as well as I’d have liked.

Baumbich introduces three other point-of-view characters in addition to Josie, and the unfortunate effect of the multiple points-of-view is that rather than getting to know Josie deeply, I got to know four characters on a superficial level.

To the author’s credit, I was disappointed. She created characters I wanted to know more about, and who I wished desperately would interact more often, because when they talked to each other, the story and the characterizations deepened. Sadly, those interactions were greatly outnumbered by blocks of narrative, which I found tiresome by the middle of the book.

Baumbich also does subtlety well. For example, she has some really nice images surrounding the snow globe on the front cover. My favorite image, though, is one of Lyle Waters thumbing through his Rolodex – a simple act that advanced story, backstory and characterization in one beautifully written scene.

Baumbich also carries the thirst metaphor through the book (though I had difficulty "getting it" at first), with little touches that astute readers will pick up on and smile at. And while the story embodies a Christian world view, this is gently woven in through story and characters without being preachy.

Divine Appointments was an easy read, but one that left me wanting more showing and less telling.

*I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review.

2011-03-31T05:15:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I went to my daughter's first track meet. It was freezing. Okay, it wasn't technically below 32 degrees, but with the wind chill....let's just say we sat on the bleachers wrapped in blankets and I sorely regretted leaving my gloves in the car.

But I wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world. She ran only one event (the 200 - the penultimate event), but in the intervening hour and a half, I got a glimpse into her world.

My daughter has played basketball for four years, a game played indoors where it is warm and there is no wind chill. But in basketball, when the girls aren't on the court, they are are on the bench.

There is no bench in track. Between events, the runners litter the field, warming up, running around, cheering each other on. Who she's with, what she does - questions I only sporadically get the answers to off the field - reveal themselves in this unstructured, primally adolescent setting. Happy, in her element and totally un-self-conscious, she revels in being just where she is, and I marvel at her energy. On a Friday afternoon, when I am anxious for the weekend to start, she is burning off nervous energy at a rate that makes me wonder if she'll tire before it's her turn to run.

But she doesn't and when she runs, it's with determination and gusto. She doesn't place, but after the meet, she's flushed and happy.

Today, we get to do it all over again, this time at an away meet. This morning, snow mixes with rain in a fine mist on my windshield. She has packed her extra layers, and I have packed an extra blanket and a sweatshirt and the hope that the rain will stop before I need to take my spot on the wet bleachers. I wonder if she'll place today - that would make her happy - but this is a tougher team, and she may just have to settle for the satisfaction of a race well run.

I have lower expectations. I just want to stay warm and dry.

Are you using this chair?

2011-03-29T05:06:00.000-07:00

I go to Starbucks to write. I try to work at home, but always get either interrupted or sidetracked. I love it when the larger tables are available, but usually end up at a small, round table with two chairs. One for me and one for my paraphernalia.

Recently, a group of three - mother, daughter and granddaughter, perhaps - came in. They were actually ahead of me in line. Since there was someone behind them and my laptop case was heavy, I set my things on one of the two remaining tables for two. By the time they came to sit at the table beside me, I was set up - laptop on the table, butt in chair, case and purse on the "extra" chair at my table.

The middle woman - the mother, I suppose - asked if was using the chair - the one I wasn't sitting in. My things were on the chair. She was standing behind it. I thought the answer was obvious, but also thought that a person trumped "stuff."

At the table for four beside me, two other people sat with their "stuff" and at least one empty chair. I glanced at their chair and remarked aloud that I didn't know where I'd put my
stuff. I guess I was supposed to dump it on the floor so I could give the woman the chair.

Had it been the last chair in the coffee shop, I'd have given it up. Reluctantly, I'll admit, but without hesitation.

"I guess I'll just stand," the woman said.

"No, that's silly," I replied, standing, and wondering why the woman didn't appear able to
scan the small space for an empty chair.

So, I did it. I asked the people at the next table if they were using their empty chair. They
were not. Problem solved, seating conundrum resolved.

So why did I end up feeling petty and selfish? Well, at first, anyway. But then I felt
manipulated. "I guess I'll just stand"??

Perhaps I should have suggested she ask someone else. Perhaps I should have told her where to put the chair.

Admittedly, there are bigger problems in life than putting my stuff on the floor so someone
else can guilt me into giving up my chair when there are others available. So why is this such a big deal?

Because I am tired. Tired of stupid, thoughtless questions, of people who think their needs
trump someone else's. Of people too impatient to look beyond the solution that immediately presents itself to find one that benefits more than just them.

The group didn't stay long. When they left, guess who returned the chair and thanked the couple at the next table?

They were very nice, by the way.

2011-03-27T11:17:00.000-07:00

The other night, a friend of mine suggested that I read Larry Hicks' column in our local paper . Apparently Mr. Hicks had written on the topic of education and spending and how more of the latter doesn't necessarily create a better version of the former.

My friend is retired. His children are grown and long out of school, and I think he found a lot of merit in the column. I found some good points, too, along with a few that got my back up.

But I'm not here to rant and rave. I've done enough of that in the past few months as daily, someone who doesn't do what educators do suggests that there's a better/cheaper/more efficient way to do it. We've spent the last two weeks administering PSSA tests ad nauseum to prove that our kids know what they know, and I have found myself wondering on more than one occasion if the money involved in creating, shipping and scoring those tests was re-allocated to programs that actually educate children, how many tax dollars could be saved? Because, in case you don't know, we assess our kids. Regularly. And so the PSSA is, from where I sit, redundant.

But I am getting ahead of myself. My purpose here is not to complain (this time), but rather, to toss a question Mr. Hicks has raised out to you. He cites York Catholic as an example of accomplishing more for less. He acknowledges that York Catholic has the advantage of being able to hand-pick its students, and that its revenue stream is different from that of public schools.

The York Catholic Fact Sheet found on their web site lists their revenue resources as follows:

66% Student Tuition
21% Parish Subsidy
9% Gifts and Bequests
2% Student Fundraisers
2% Other

(I am assuming that "other" includes the tax dollars that York Catholic parents pay their home districts which covers the cost of services such as transportation and nursing, which is provided by the home districts, and is therefore a part of their budgets.)

In the public schools, not only do we not have tuition, we have families who rent their homes and therefore pay no taxes that cover the services their children receive. We cannot turn away a child whose behavior interferes with his learning or the learning of others. We must take everyone who walks in our front doors, and because we live in a democracy, we SHOULD take everyone who walks in our front doors, regardless of whether or not they are carrying a tuition check.

Please understand: I am not trashing York Catholic. In fact, I belong to a parish that subsidizes it. My daughter has friends who attend YC, and as a practicing Catholic, I see the value of a Catholic education. My question is this: from where you sit as a parent/reader/person who stumbled across this blog by accident, how can a public school replicate this? What funding streams are we missing? How, in this economy, do we maintain the quality of education we have been able to provide without reaching into the rapidly emptying pockets of the taxpayers who fund our public schools?

I agree with Mr. Hicks on one thing. We have no choice. Push has come to shove, and something has got to give.

But let's not make it our kids.

The Final Four...(Blogs, not Basketball)

2011-03-26T12:44:00.000-07:00

I know they've been a long time coming, but here are my final three Stylish Blogger Award winners:

Longing For Passionate Surrender (it's a Christian blog, get your mind out of the gutter!) I wish Ryan would post more often because his insights always impress me and make for good reading.

Fabianspace - Karina Fabian's blog. Karina put together the Catholic Writers Conference I blogged about, and once I started reading her blog (I was drawn in by a cartoon that just cracked me up), I kept scrolling...and scrolling...

Contentedly Neurotic - a fun Mom/Writer blog with a sense of humor.

Catholic Cuisine I am a functional cook - I feed my family, but don't really love cooking and don't really excel at it either. So, it's unlikely that I'll actually use the recipes, but I thought this blog was a perfect example of using God-given gifts in a unique way. I've read a LOT of blogs, especially lately, and this one's an original.

So there they are! Guess this means my days of easy blogging (?!) are over with and I'd better start coming up with some new material....

Getting More Than I Paid For

2011-03-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

This week, I have been spending time at the Catholic Writers Conference and I am loving it! My friend Laurie told me about it last year, and I registered, but missed it because I never managed to find the time to figure out how it worked. Not a huge financial loss (it's free!), but boy was I missing a lot!

Turns out it's very simple, and incredibly convenient. The workshops are all posted online, and you can go to as many as you want, at whatever time of day works for you (you can even attend in your pjs and no one will be the wiser!) I try to check in at lunch if I go somewhere with Internet access; otherwise, I visit for an hour or so after dinner. I'm following four workshops (I don't want to completely ignore my family or stay up until the wee hours of the morning) and learning new things, reinforcing old skills and making new connections, including at least one contender for my remaining Stylish Blogger Awards! Best of all, I don't have to worry about whether or not two workshops I want to take are being offered at the same time because they're all available 24/7!

For those of you who prefer live and in-person conferences, the Catholic Writers Guild is offering a traditional conference in Valley Forge, PA the first weekend in August. I've already put it on my calendar. I figure if I can manage to navigate an online conference, a live one will be a breeze! Of course, I might have to actually choose between workshops....

What Comes After Sold Out?

2011-03-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I found out that my first book, Acting Assertively, had gone out of print. I found out quite by accident when I called my publisher to order copies of the book to take to a workshop I was presenting and was told that the book is no longer available.

I wrote about this in a businesslike manner on The Susquehanna Writers blog, asking my fellow writers if they'd had this experience, and if so, what had they done? Very matter-of-fact. Very professional.

What I didn't say was that it was very sad. A little like Meg Ryan closing the doors on The Shop Around the Corner in You've Got Mail.

Okay, so maybe that's a little melodramatic. My book wasn't in print for 40 years, and it was neither an inheritance from my mother, nor a huge part of my growing up years. But the sense of "now what?" was very real.

Like Kathleen Kelly (Ryan's character, for those of you who haven't seen the movie), I was reluctant to let it slip away, and concerned that just as The Shop Around the Corner was overshadowed by Fox Books, until it was finally forced out of business, my little educational title stands a similarly poor chance in a publishing world interested primarily in big name authors and topics with wide appeal. Has it had its fifteen minutes of fame? Have I?

And just as Kathleen Kelly began weighing her options, I am now weighing mine. Ebooks. Kindle. Self-publishing. Foreign territory for which I have neither a map nor a tour guide. Yet.

The good news is that we've moved beyond the dial-up connection of the You've Got Mail era into the digital age, and so I do have options - options that could give my book a 21st century face lift.

And so I have work to do. In an unrelated discussion last week, a friend reminded me that when God closes a door, he opens a window, so I know that if I am patient, eventually I will feel a draft. And since this isn't my livelihood, I can wait. I have time.

So for now, I'm taking the necessary steps to make sure that when those curtains billow, I'll be ready.

And the Winners Are....

2011-03-05T14:40:00.000-08:00

And the Stylish Blogger Awards continue! Between the "Next Blog" feature on Blogger and the "Blog Roster" on Writer's Digest Community, I'm having lots of fun finding new things to read.

As someone who isn't much of a photographer, I've especially enjoyed finding blogs that are both verbally and visually pleasing. One example is Alice in Paris Loves Art and Tea, a blog I found through the "Next Blog" feature. I was especially attracted to this one because it features original art...another talent that skipped me entirely. It's vibrant and fun...and already attracted a People's Choice blog award.

Another blog with visual appeal - this one depicting a different sort of work in progress - is Melanie Snyder's blog. The author of Grace Goes to Prison, Melanie is in the midst of a home makeover, which you can follow on her blog.

Conversion of a Blogaphobe is a blog about changes of an entirely different sort. Writer Linda Landreth Phelps' recent blogs have been about her own life changes, with a lovely, reflective twist and self-deprecating humor. Good reads!

Another recent find (also from Canada, like Alice, above) was Janalynne Rogers' blog. I've enjoyed this author's posts on writing, especially the one about chick lit, and how easy it is to write a novel.

Two (or more) to go...but right now I have to go. Time to play chauffeur. Where is that hat when I need it?

Stylish Blogs Worth Sharing

2011-02-22T16:57:00.000-08:00

Thank you to those of you who sent me blog addresses!! I am still reading through some of your suggestions, but couldn't resist posting a few I've discovered/re-discovered so far. So here are the first five, in no particular order.

Random Thoughts from Midlife
This one is first because it truly is recently discovered! The most recent posts are a gorgeous travelogue of Italy, a perfect balance of words and photos. Plus, the name of the blog was a grabber in and of itself.

Susan Says and Cate Masters
Susan and Cate are fellow Susquehanna Writers and so I can't say I've recently discovered their blogs, but since they haven't been featured here previously, and because they're good examples of what a good blog should look like, I think they meet the Stylish Blog criteria. Mine anyway.

Donald Miller
This blog was one of the ones recommended to me by my friend Cheryl and is not one I'd have been likely to find on my own. I really enjoyed what I read there, though, and liked the variety it offered.

Some Mad Hope
This one was brought to my attention by blogger Holly Bowne who told me she always gets something good out of reading Heidi's blog. What I got out of Heidi's most recent post was a laugh and a huge sigh of relief that I'm not alone. Always promising.

I hope you'll check these out...and check back for the remaining 5-7 blogs I still have to honor. I'd also be remiss if I didn't point you in the direction of the lower right hand side of this blog, where there are links to the blogs I read regularly. I'm not honoring them in this post because they've already earned their place of honor on my bloglist.

To those of you named above: I will contact you directly and point you this way so you can see what I've said about you ;-) Your job is to post the Stylish Blogger badge (at the top of this post) on your blog, as well as:

1. Posting a blog that shares 7 things about you and

2. Passing the award on to 10-15 recently discovered bloggers.

If you'd like to thank me and link back to me, that'd be much appreciated as well.

Looking for a Few Good Blogs

2011-02-21T08:47:00.000-08:00

I was so pleased to receive the Stylish Blogger award from Tanya Reimer last week, and I would so love to share the award and honor other bloggers. I knew it would be a challenge to find 10-12 new blogs that piqued my interest and made me want to come back for more...mostly because I'm not sure where to look.

But the search has proven even more challenging than I expected. I've read, skimmed and flown past a fair number of blogs in the last week, trying to make a dent in the bestowal of this award.

Lest you think I'm a blog snob, let me tell you that my criteria aren't that tough. I want to find blogs whose content pulls me in, but does not offend me or my readers. A little humor is nice, but not essential. What is essential, however is correct spelling, grammar and punctuation. And no, I do not care to read about what you ate for breakfast this morning unless it's the lead-in to a funny, inspirational or informative story. One that is neatly broken into paragraphs that I can read in less than ten minutes. And, oh yeah - it should have been updated some time in the last month - unless you are a parent who's already an acclaimed author like KL Going. In short, it has to compete with, and compare favorably to, all the other things competing for my attention.

Okay, maybe I am a blog snob. But if you've read Tanya's blog or any of the blogs on my blog list (lower right corner of this page), they all qualify. And if you've read anything at all about blogging, these rules should already be governing your posts.

I know these blogs are out there. I stumbled upon Holly Bowne's blog when I was sharing the Sunshine Award some time ago. Her blog still makes me laugh often and some days, it takes my breath away.

So, I'm issuing a plea to all you blog readers/writers out there. Please help me find some award-worthy blogs not written by publishing professionals (editors, agents). Truth be told, I have a couple in mind, but "a couple" is only 20% of the 10-12 I am supposed to honor.

I promise that I will not trash anyone's work in this space (or any other). If I don't like the blog, I simply won't mention it - but you can mention it in the comments here, and draw traffic its way - because after all, not everyone likes the same things.

But if I do like it, and if it meets the criteria above, I'll be happy to make someone's day the way Tanya made mine.

One More Thing About Me

2011-02-18T08:16:00.000-08:00

I've been happily married to the same man for 18 1/2 years. Steve, I thought you deserved a stand alone post.

7 Things About Me

2011-02-18T07:55:00.001-08:00

1. I've lived in Pennsylvania for over 25 years, but am still a Jersey girl. Always will be.

2. I have been an elementary school counselor for more than 25 years.

3. I'm the author of two published books - Acting Assertively and Diverse Divorce - both in the education field and inspired by my work with my students.

4. I love my iPad, but hate autocorrect. Two days ago, autocorrect and I sent my sister an email with this sentence: "I don't think my veinglate to it was a boggie." (if you can decipher that correctly, I'll put your name in a drawing for a book...Lori, you're disqualified because you already know :-)

5. I think being a parent is the most important job in the entire world. Unfortunately, it's also the most difficult and exhausting if you try to do it well.

6. I am working on my third novel, and, with the help of my agent, trying to sell the first two.

7. I think chocolate makes the world a better place.

2011-02-16T20:44:00.000-08:00

I was honored to receive this award from blogger and fellow butterfly-chaser Tanya Reimer. Check out her blog, Life's Like That, and then check back here this weekend to find out 7 Things About Me...a list I must (gladly!) share as a requirement for posting this award. Since it's past my bedtime, I'll defer to Tanya for now, and post my 7 Things when I'm a little more coherent.

Off the Beaten Path

2011-02-06T11:23:00.000-08:00

As the owner/operator of a creative mind, I often wonder if it's a blessing or a curse. I love to come up with ideas, but am bored by the process of arranging all the details so the ideas can come to fruition. I can always come up with a long list of things I want to do, or things I want to learn about, but never have enough time to even scratch the surface of most of them. And when it comes to time management...well, I don't manage it well. I have lots of ideas and strategies, but none have stuck.

Sidetracked easily and mood-driven, I have difficulty sticking to to do lists. Instead, I have one long list of things I need to tackle, which I manage through a "what do I want to do now?" approach.

Don't get me wrong. I keep appointments. I meet deadlines. I organize large blocks of time into smaller ones, and manage to plan ahead at least most of the time.

But still I get sidetracked. I mean to tackle that writing piece, but get sucked into an online game instead. I try to dig into the mountain of paperwork, but get interrupted and pulled down a different path.
Frustrated, I resolve to do better, to morph into a Type A personality who makes lists and sticks to them, regardless of the unscheduled distractions that flit across my path like so many butterflies.

As an adult, I feel that I should have outgrown my chasing butterflies stage, and so sometimes I successfully stay on the path, striding down it with determination for days at a time. Invariably, though, a new butterfly captures my attention, and again, I stray.

I try to imagine life without those butterflies - structured, neat, compartmentalized. For a moment, it sounds wonderful. Organized. Out of reach.

But I know that it is within reach if I want it to be, and the truth is, I don't really. I like the butterflies. I like the new ideas that pop up, unbidden, luring me into some new adventure. And when my life is neat and by the book, rare though that may be, it seems as though something is missing.

So I'll go on chasing butterflies, and chastising myself for not being a grown-up, even though I know, deep down, that's exactly how I want it.

2011-01-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

I decided to break the rules about blogs and predictability, and try something completely different. Several of my colleagues do " I Am" poems with their students, so I decided to try my hand at one.

I am a woman of many words.
I am song and dance, but not basketball or hiking.
I am lazy, inspired; tired, energized - unpredictable.
I am a creature of habit.

I am mother, wife, daughter, sister - Jackie of all trades.
I am reader, writer, teacher, singer, creative by fits and starts.
I am smiling, praying, aching, nudging, taking it all in, and then spitting some back out.

I am who I seem, what you see is what you get.
I am late night re-runs, a romantic comedy, the loyal best friend.
I am tears behind smiles, a magnolia of steel, high maintenance but unaware.

I know what I want, I know who I am.
I am sure of right and wrong.

I am open arms and encompassing hugs.
I am a pinprick of light.

Hitting the Jackpot

2011-01-26T17:19:00.000-08:00

Outside my window, it is snowing, and I find myself wishing for that winter equivalent of three cherries on the slot machine - a snow day. I know my colleagues would frown, reminding me that we'll just have to make it up in June, but to me, the allure of an unscheduled day off remains delicious.

As a writer, I know I can always put these bonus days to good use. While the obvious choice is to park myself in front of the computer and create new pages for my novel, as a truly creative writer, I can find many productive ways to spend the day.

I can curl up with a good book - for inspiration, of course. I can turn off the alarm and sleep in so the muse will be well-rested. From the warmth of my office, or during a brisk, creativity-inspiring walk, I can name the neighborhood snowmen and create a plot for them. I can even lounge on the sofa eating bon bons - all in the name of character research and development.

Unfortunately, the odds of getting a snow day are probably about as good as the odds of getting those three cherries on the slot machine...unless, of course, it keeps snowing.

If you hit the jackpot, what would you do?

Christmas Tree Blues

2011-01-14T14:53:00.000-08:00

My Christmas tree is still up. There, I've said it. My husband suggested that we take it down last weekend, and I begged off due to busyness, but that was only part of the truth. I always hate to see it go.

Before you picture some withered, pathetic tree with crunchy, brown branches, allow me to assure you that our tree is artificial. I love real trees, but am allergic to them, and so the presence of a real tree in my house for a month (or more) is intolerable.

I also love Christmas, and it wouldn't take more than an armchair psychologist to figure out that keeping my tree up until mid-January is my way of hanging on to the beauty and magic of the season.

This weekend, our tree will come down. Its ornaments will cease to sparkle, its lights extinguish their glow until they re-emerge to greet the next Christmas season early next December. A lot will happen between now and then, none of which I can predict. What I can predict with a fair degree of certainty, however, is that the tree will still be up again this time next year.

Who am I to mess with tradition?

Teenage Tug of War

2011-01-12T18:56:00.001-08:00

When our kids are little, we watch them every second. Sometimes, we even creep into their rooms at night to gaze at them, particularly once they become mobile and sleep is the only time during which they slow down long enough to allow us to appreciate them for more than a millisecond.

Gradually, we allow them to explore the world more freely, until the time comes when they are preteens and then young teenagers, setting out to explore the world on their terms, whether we like it or not.

It is then that we need to remember that we are still in charge, and sometimes, we need to tell them so. In the process of pulling away from us, they sometimes tug harder than they should, leaving us face down in the mud in their independence-seeking tug-of-war.

As parents, it is our job to pick ourselves up, wipe the mud from our faces, and remind them of the rules because if we don't, we will soon find ourselves stuck in the mud, looking up at an overgrown toddler who believes s/he has the means - and the right - to run his or her own life. A dangerous mistake indeed.

A friend who was a stay-at-home mom and returned to the work force after her son was grown told me that he needed her more during the middle school years than at any other time. I tucked this tidbit of information away for future reference, as my own child was still in elementary school at the time.

Last weekend, as I was wiping the mud from my face, then later from my thirteen-year-old daughter's, I felt the veracity of my friend's words. Unlike toddlers who know they need us - at least from time to time - young teens are convinced they don't need us at all, except perhaps as a means of transportation.

And that is perhaps what makes them most vulnerable of all.

The Right Way to Blog?

2011-01-09T14:12:00.000-08:00

I've been reading a lot about blogging lately, and much of what I've read proposes creating a brand for yourself - at least if you are a writer. Narrow your focus. Post often, but not too often. Make sure your readers know what to expect.

My first reaction was panic - am I doing this right? And so I began to think about the blogs that interest me. Most have a certain degree of predictability - I know when I go to Holly's blog, I'll probably read about parenting not pig farming, but I was thrilled when I found movie clips there right before Christmas. Not parenting movies - just movies.

I know when I read Carole's blog, I won't stumble into anything x-rated, but I never quite know who I'll hear about or what topic will be discussed.

When I go to Rachelle's blog or Chuck's blog, I'm likely to learn something about writing or the publishing industry - but it will be through Rachelle's eyes or from Chuck's perspective.

I realized that the blogs I enjoy most aren't as much about consistency as personality. True, there's a certain amount of predictability to the topic, but there's also room to include something interesting that gives me a new insight into the person writing the blog.

I think a blog has to have a through line - especially if you aren't famous. But it seems to me that knowing exactly what to expect from one post to the next doesn't keep readers coming back. Instead, it sends them out in search of something more interesting and less predictable. That's what I think.

What do you think?

2011-01-04T15:55:00.000-08:00

I've never understood the Blackberry. An electronic tether? Really? Those teeny, tiny buttons? How could they possibly be useful?

And then I got an iPad.

True, the buttons are bigger, and so is the device. But the possibility of eliminating little scraps of paper in favor of centralized electronic notes all in one place... It's absolutely tantalizing.

So far, I have behaved myself - no expensive apps. The app I like best is a simple to - do list that allows me to write myself notes at home or school so I remember to do something at one place when I am at the other. I've only had my new toy for about a week, though, so I don't delude myself that I won't be tempted by flashier, more expensive apps.

And now I get it. The Blackberry. The iPhone. The whole electronic tether thing.

The trick, I think, is to remember who is tethered to whom. Or what. And why.

2010-12-27T14:55:00.000-08:00

As I lay in bed this morning, far later than I should have, even if I am on vacation and I do have a cold, I kept telling myself I was going to get up and write. Right away. I had allowed Christmas preparations to take huge bites out of my writing time, and now it was time to get back on track.

Several hours later, here I sit. I have puttered, tackled laundry, e-mail and my current online game addictions. I have chatted with my family, made lunch, cleaned dishes and checked email yet again, but I haven't gotten to that big project yet.

And so I'm going to share with you a piece of writing along the same lines as the infamous "what I did on my summer vacation" report, only this one won't be in retrospect. Instead, I hope that going public will encourage me be accountable, will give you license to nag me, or at the very least, will serve as a warm-up for those equally enjoyable New Year's resolutions.

So here it is....what I hope to accomplish on my winter vacation:

Make a dent in what I hope will be the final revision of my middle grade novel.
Organize my writing space: collect my thoughts and corral my papers, and if I'm really lucky, come up with a few new ideas.
Play! With my new iPad, with my family, in the snow...whatever presents itself.
Read. Grab my Kindle, that stack of magazines beside the sofa, or a good old-fashioned book-whichever suits my mood - and just curl up and soak up the words.

The theme? Recharging. Sure, the revising will be work, but actually sitting down and doing it will be less stressful than continuing to have it hanging over my head.

So far, I'm having a lot of success completing items 3 & 4, but could use a few good nudges to make 1 & 2 a reality. So if you're reading this, feel free to ask me how it's coming, or take a not-s0-considerable risk and tell me to get off Cityville or Farmville and WRITE!

Wish me luck! And enjoy any opportunity that you have to recharge.

Another Great Holiday Post...this one by an agent

2010-12-25T07:58:00.000-08:00

Rachelle Gardner's blogs are usually a great read, but her final blog before the holiday struck a real chord in me as a writer. Merry Christmas to all my writer friends - I hope you enjoy Rachelle's words as much as I did, and that 2011 will be the year your writing goals are realized!

Blogs I Wish I'd Thought of...Part 2

2010-12-21T18:13:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I knew earlier this week that I was going to make Write Expressions my next blog I wish I'd thought of....but then Holly did me one better and today's featured scene is from When Harry Met Sally, my all-time favorite movie! Just goes to show you that a blog can be more than words on a page!

Happy Winter Solstice!

Blog I Wish I'd Thought of

2010-12-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

In honor of the holidays, and in an effort to post more frequently, I thought I'd try a list blog. Alas, writing the annual Christmas letter must have sucked the last of my creative juices dry, because I came up empty.

And then I found it. The list blog (or series of blogs) I wish I'd thought of, and in the spirit of Christmas generosity, I decided to share it with my readers. Hey, just because I didn't think of it doesn't mean you shouldn't get to enjoy it.

My readers who are also writers will enjoy Christina Katz's blog, as will anyone still doing their Christmas shopping (is there anyone who's not still doing their Christmas shopping?)

So happy reading. And may the spirit of Christmas infect you - in a good way.

Not Always Super Mom

2010-12-14T14:31:00.000-08:00

Basketball season has begun, which means a number of things. Monday through Saturday practices/games/scrimmages. Packed weeknights. My daughter's first chance to play for a school team.

A totally different after school schedule.

Since she started sixth grade last year, my daughter has walked from "her" (middle) school to "my" (elementary) school. This arrangement has had its good times and not so good times, ranging from days where she generously volunteered her time to help in my building, to days where I wondered what had possessed me to think this plan was such a good idea.

But for better or for worse, it meant that my daughter and I connected at least an hour earlier than we would if she rode the bus home. On good days, it meant car rides home together, with my daughter sitting beside me in the front seat, telling me about her day.

For the first few days after practices began, it seemed really weird not having her show up 45 minutes before my day ended, and even weirder driving home alone. As we've begun to adapt to the new schedule, it seems less weird, but still, I miss seeing her after school.

And yet, it's not all bad. On nights when she doesn't have a game, my work day ends anywhere from half an hour to an hour and a half before her practice is over. On those days, I head home to an empty house. Some people might find this sad. I find it blissful.

My husband and my daughter are both people who like background noise, but to me, nothing is more relaxing than the sound of silence. And, with no homework or chores to remind my daughter of, and no one needing anything from me, I find myself with time. Time to nap. Time to write. Time to accomplish. Time to myself.

This all comes to a crashing halt when my daughter returns home, sweaty and bearing homework, but most days, the hour to myself is enough to sustain me. To provide me with an infusion of patience, which allows me to be the mom I want to be.

This mom does not nag, or berate or roll her eyes. She has time, energy and the wherewithal to withstand the frayed nerves and frustration that come at the end of a thirteen-year-old's overly busy day. She smiles and does not grit her teeth or mutter.

Unfortunately, this mom only shows up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Or maybe Mondays and Wednesdays. In any event, she drops in, but does not always stay. Somewhere between making dinner and prodding my daughter to study for the French test that mysteriously appeared on the schedule, the glow from the nap dims. The creative problem-solving engendered by the writing session fades. Super Mom sheds her cape, and Real Mom reappears.

As we continue to adjust to this new schedule, I'm hoping for more days where I can coax Super Mom out of hiding. Till then, Real Mom will take advantage of the time she has, in an effort to be more like her counterpart. Word on the street is that all it takes is a nap to turn Real Mom into Super Mom. I'm certainly willing to test that hypothesis.

Traversing the Conversation Divide

2010-12-06T15:29:00.000-08:00

I've never been good at saying something in only a few words when entire paragraphs will suffice. This is, however, a talent I need to perfect if I wish to communicate with my child.

I've seen the signs. The double-digit birthdays. The ever-increasing height differential (that I'm on the losing end of, by the way). The move into middle school.

But throughout it all, I've been able to catch glimpses of my little girl, and they have outnumbered the visits from her evil twin, ever on the horizon.

And although those glimpses linger, they are getting harder to see. And at the same time, my voice is getting harder for her to hear.

These days, I find myself trying to squeeze entire conversations into car rides and commercial breaks. When she was younger, I could claim parental prerogative, and simply commandeer the conversation. As we both grow older, however, it has become clear that although commandeering allows me the luxury of complete sentences, it by no means guarantees that I will be heard.

These days, I have about three words or three seconds to get to the point before her eyes glaze over, and no matter how much silence there is in the room...wait, I can't even finish that sentence. There is never silence in the room. A television, radio, iPod or laptop is always looming nearby, gushing sound.

And so I shall master the art of staccato speech. Rapid fire requests. Drive-by discussions.

And if a leisurely conversation meanders my way, I will cherish it, praying that more of these joyous occasions will present themselves. And if in a time shortly thereafter, I can be seen with her in public, I may simply swoon from the wonder of it all.