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Archive for the ‘Story Sessions’ Category

In Praise of Good Community

Posted in Andilit, Beauty, Hope, Story Sessions, Thanks, Writing on June 27, 2014| 4 Comments »

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It is not easy to define what support looks like in practice.  It might seem easy.  Then you meet people and discover that they often find it difficult to take others’ needs into account when they are deciding how they are going to behave in life.  This might surprise you, but it probably shouldn’t, as you are people, too, and have probably not centered your own life around what the general “other” needs.

It’s even more complicated when you’ve been burned.  When you thought what you had was support but found out that what was really going on there was agenda.  Or when you had an agreement, and that agreement was not honored. Or when you really did have support – one that you thought would last forever – right up until the moment that it ended.

Today, I want to talk about two places I’ve found support and what that looks like.  I want to talk about two of my online writing communities.

I also want to invite you to join us, because, dear reader-writer-friend, I want you to have support, too.  If any of this interests you, follow the links to find out how you can get involved.

The first online writing community I joined was the writing community at Andilit.  It was created by Andi Cumbo-Floyd who wrote The Slaves Have Names (click and buy – you know you wanna) about the people who were enslaved on the land where she grew up. I am boggled, both by the enormous amount of research it took to tell as much of their story as possible and by the humble grace and beauty with which she tells it.

I joined because I had this scrap of a manuscript, and I needed fresh eyes. What I found exceeded (and continues to exceed) my expectations.

I get monthly editing for up to five pages of work from a professional editor.  Five pages is a drop in the bucket as far as a full manuscript goes, but for the turtle-esque pace with which I edit my own work to the point that I am willing to let another human being see it, this works out perfectly.  I am saving up for a grand editing once the manuscript is totally finished (and if you are looking for such an editor, I highly recommend Andi), but it’s great to have help along the way as well.

I also get monthly editing from a workshop of others in the group for up to five pages.  This was the part that scared me when I first joined, because I tend to helicopter-parent my characters.  They’ve been through so much already; I want to protect them from judgment. But as with most overzealous protection, this doesn’t help them grow, so I begrudgingly submitted pieces for workshop.  It has been a godsend.  It’s a critique, but from nice, friendly people who write very different things but are still enthusiastic in their desire to help you make your work better, and they expect the same from you. It doesn’t mean the critique doesn’t ever hurt, but it hurts in the good kind of way, like having sore legs the day after a challenging run.

In addition to all of this, Andi facilitates a private Facebook group for members where we post articles or posts on writing that we find, our own blog posts, and anything else writers might find helpful to their craft.  She ends out weekly writing prompts to keep us from getting stuck.  Andi teaches several online courses at reasonable rates. She also lives on a farm where she is hosting a writer’s retreat in July (another thing I’ll be saving toward so that I don’t miss it again next year).

The second online writing community I joined was Story Sessions. I meandered into Story Sessions via Elora’s blog after I read Every Shattered Thing (go ahead, click and buy – I’ll wait) and thus had the insatiable urge to read everything she has ever or will ever write. I feel almost as protective of her main character as I do of  mine.

There are many options for membership.  All of them, however, include a private Facebook group and private members-only content on the website, weekly writing prompts, a monthly newsletter, and story coaching with trained coaches. There are e-courses offered (I’m in the summer session of Story 101 now, and it is glorious) as well as various collectives (mini-courses on a variety of topics), virtual retreats, movie nights, and an annual in-person retreat. We also meet in person in more casual groups on a regular basis, because we just can’t help ourselves.

My favorite thing about Story Sessions are the write-ins.  This might sound funny to members, because my crazy schedule doesn’t allow me to engage in them very often, but I LOVE them. Many of the blog posts I’ve written in the last year of which I am most proud (and all of the blog series I’ve started) were birthed at a Story Sessions write-in. On a weekly basis, members are invited to an online Fuze meeting where we are given prompts, time to write, and an opportunity to read what came out of that time to the other people attending the session.

All that I have said is just a small taste of what you would get from membership in these groups. These words don’t do them justice, because the people in these groups are my friends, and when have words ever done a friend justice? I have read many a snotty piece on how Internet relationships aren’t real relationships, but I can’t help but wonder where those authors are looking.  I know online relationships can be real, because I experience them. And while it’s even better when we have a chance to get together in person, the foundation of our friendships started via the Internet, and they flourish there.

I love these people.  Mercy, how I love them.

I would consider myself lucky to have just found one such community, but I have two.  If you are a writer/artist in need of support, give us a try.

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Create – Week (?) of Getting It Together

Posted in Getting It Together, Story Sessions, Writing on June 23, 2014| 1 Comment »

I’m just going to give up counting the weeks.  The number doesn’t matter; the plan does.  So here we go.

This week is Create – tackling the writing nook.  It’s called the writing nook, but its function goes beyond writing.  It’s where I read. It’s where I organize and coordinate the schedules of my life. It’s where I store my sewing machine (although I really don’t like it there, so that might change soon). As areas of the apartment go, this is the one that gets the most attention, because 1) it’s where I spend most of my time and 2) it’s where I work, so it has to stay functional and organized.  Because sanity. In fact, technically, I’ve already started on this area, because fixing one thing in the living room snowballed into rearranging all the bookshelves in the room, most of which are in the writing nook.

When I sit down at my desk, this is the reminder that greets me:

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Equally important reminders, but let’s focus on the larger one.

I have only seen this quote in these exact words on Pinterest and in Aiki Finthart’s The Yu Dragon, which apparently you can get for free on Amazon today, but the sentiment is most often attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche (although here’s a fun investigation into its actual origins, if you’re interested). At any rate, it is important for me to remember that while what I’m creating might not have an immediate, obvious product, that doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile or that it’s not beautiful.  It is important for me to remember that despite input from ambitious, results-oriented friends (which is not a bad way to be…generally speaking), my life and goals don’t have to look like theirs in order to be fulfilling.  Maybe this is taking some liberties with this quote, but that’s the reminder it gives me lately.

It also reminds me to keep dancing, both figuratively and literally.

This week is not just about cleaning and organizing.  This week is about honoring what the space is meant for – creating.

This week’s plan is:

  • Get back into the habit of a 15-minute free write every morning.  I used to do this regularly, and not only was I more alert and less harried by the time I got to work, I also got more writing done than I do now. And it just so happens that a 15-minute daily free write is my assignment in Story 101 this week.  Bonus!
  • Finish reorganizing bookshelves. The end is in sight.  It’s very exciting. I might actually have room to grow (which is both dangerous and fantastic information).
  • Figure out what to do with the luxurious, newly empty space on my desk, now that I’ve moved the smaller reading lamp (which I never used in this space, as I have a large one right behind the chair) to the bedroom.  It seems like that would be the perfect spot for all the different journals I am using, but we’ll see.
  • File/shred all the papers from the end of the spring semester.
  • Speaking of filing…figure out something there.  I want to have a space in the file for fabric, but first I have to deal with the utter chaos that currently lurks behind those opaque, closed drawers.
  • Work on my cork board. I am trying to cover the back of my kitchen armoire with wine corks. At first, I was overwhelmed by how many corks that would take, but as it turns out, my friends and I drink tons of wine, so it should be completely covered by the end of the year. My short-term goal is to use all the corks I have by the time I have my July 4/sorta-mid-project party.

I hope your week is full of creative fun as well!

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Red

Posted in Getting It Together, Story Sessions on June 16, 2014| 5 Comments »

I don’t have a lot of “signature” things.  I have favorites, but you’ll notice that that word is plural.  I don’t have a signature fragrance, because I have many favorites – lemon, coffee, caramel, vanilla, amber, apple, coconut, etc. – and I use them pretty equally.  I don’t have a signature dish, because I have many favorite foods and favorite meals.

I do have a signature color. Red.

That doesn’t mean that red is my favorite color (if pressed to choose, it would probably be orange.  Probably.).  It doesn’t even mean that red is the color I wear most often – that would be green (because UNT…and well, let’s just say it – I look awesome in green).

I consider red my signature color because it’s the color that most closely expresses my habits and leanings.

1. My emotions are red.

I don’t always express my emotions, but when I do, they come out red.  It’s anger.  Or passion.  Or when I’m really riled up, it’s both.  It’s fiery. I’ve been told that, because I tend to be reserved, sometimes the fire is shocking.  I accept that.  I mean, I’m in my head, so I know that it started as a smolder, but I can see how it might look like I go from zero to flame-thrower in no time.

2. My environment is red.

Say what you want about fire, but you can’t deny that it’s warm.  Red is the color I am most drawn to when I decorate.  If they sell an appliance in red, that’s the one I’m going to want.  Red invites me.  It invigorates me. It defies complacency. Red sparks lively conversation.  I try to pour as  much red into my surroundings as possible.

3. My life is red.

Red signifies change.  For someone who claims to hate change as much as I do, I certainly do a lot of it. My life seems like a constant state of editing, revising, regrouping, reordering, and reevaluating.  As much as I like schedules and order, and as much as I value good time management and the reliability of sticking to what I say I’m going to do, there’s something so satisfying about taking that proverbial (and sometimes literal) red pen, slashing through whatever is not quite working, and replacing it with something better.

Today at the end of our launch meeting of Story 101, Elora asked us what we needed to give ourselves permission to do. My gut reaction was “permission to change,” but I don’t think that’s the whole of it. More specifically, I need to give myself permission to view change as productive instead of negative. I need to stop seeing all those red marks as failure and start seeing them as what they really are – fine-tuning.  They are the refining fire that burns away all that is almost and not quite in order to leave what is just right.

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Badger

Posted in Hope, Story Sessions, Writing on May 16, 2014| 2 Comments »

I loved this boy once.

We were close.  And we both knew that the love between us was uneven.  We both knew that I loved him more than he loved me. We knew that one day this would bite us. But it seemed a shame to cut ties and run – to ruin everything over my silly little broken heart.

When he started spending less time with me and more time with the woman who would become his wife, I didn’t handle it graciously.

Heh.  That’s putting it mildly.

I acted like a lunatic.

I was angry and scared, because I realized that I had this whole life planned that wasn’t going to happen. I understood how badgers feel when they get caught in a trap, and they know they’re never getting out alive, but they refuse to lie still and die.  They fight it until they’re dead.

So I fought.  I pleaded. I argued. I was manipulative and vicious. I refused to be her friend (even though she’s a perfectly nice person), and I refused to listen to anyone who tried to smooth things over (even though they were only trying to help).

I wrote a multiple-page letter detailing why he would be better off with me.

For the first time in my life, I was proud of something I had written, and not because someone else told me that it was good.  There were no pretty bows to tie up the loose ends. No healthy conclusion reached, no lesson learned, no silver lining on the rain cloud. It was just opening a vein and bleeding on the pages.

For the first time in my life, I did not betray myself in order to keep the peace.

For the first time in my life, I felt like a writer.

And when he read my letter – the very soul of me, poured out in ink and tears – and put steel in his gaze as he responded simply, “No,” I asked to have it back.

The letter – and the heart it represented – didn’t belong to him anymore.

There are very few moments in my life that I can point to and say, “That one – that’s the moment it happened,” but that curt “No,” is one of them.  In that moment, the boy who saw me more clearly than anyone had ever seen me before lost his right to do so.

Part of me wishes that I could go back in time and handle things differently.  I would be calmer and more reasonable.  I would behave sensibly, with wisdom beyond my years. I would bear the torture of not being chosen with dignity. I would protect the mutual part of the love between us that was our friendship. Of course, this part of me, knowing the boy wouldn’t really love me back, would be too petrified of falling in love with him to get close enough to have that amazing friendship in the first place.  I would advise others against acting like a lunatic.

Part of me is sorry.

Another part of me, however, understands the badger.  The badger wanted what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to say so. The badger fought, because she had a right to be happy. The badger argued, because she could not fathom how anyone graced with her love could possibly turn it down.  The badger is actually grateful to the boy for standing up for what he wanted and for the cruel way he did it – for that shining moment of asshattery that made everything so clear.  But being grateful doesn’t mean that the badger can abide such foolishness.

Another part of me is the badger, and the badger’s not sorry.

Because she got free.

And she got out alive.

(This was an aftermath of a Story Sessions Write-In.  You should join us.)

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A Remarkable Force – A Guest Post for Story Sessions

Posted in Story Sessions on April 11, 2014| Leave a Comment »

I’m guest-posting over at Story Sessions today!  We’re sharing memories this month.

“Do it again, Ut-zanne! Do it again!” Julie giggled as she toddled her tiny body in front of me again.  Her face was flushed.  Her hairline glistened, and one ringlet stuck to her cheek while the others swarmed her head like bees around a busy hive. Her hands clapped around anything that could steady her and immediately released it, lest it keep her from getting to where she was going.

She was radiant and irresistible.

So I answered her outstretched arms by hugging her against my knees.  She sat on my feet.  She could not stop laughing, so we both just laughed for a minute.  Once she was secure and comfortable, I rocked back and forth a couple of times.  We had a song:

“Rocky the Rocking Horse

Was quite a remarkable force.

He’d run fast ahead…”

Then we rocked all the way back.

“…And roll back instead.”

I held her sides as I flipped her over and placed her feet on the ground by my head as we both squealed the last line –

“But did he have fun? Of course!”

Then she ran back around me as fast as her little legs could go.

“Do it again, Ut-zanne!”

And I would.  This could go on for an hour.  Whoever says that almost-two-year-olds don’t have long attention spans clearly has not been exposed to the wonders of Rocky the Rocking Horse.

Julie was usually the last one to leave the daycare where I worked when I was in college, so we often had long periods of one-on-one time. We played.  We danced.  We made up songs. On afternoons that had been particularly chaotic, we went on treasure hunts (i.e., “find the toy that’s out of place and put it where it belongs”). Her mom always had a story for me when she arrived about Julie singing our songs to her stuffed animals or telling her that something was “we-mock-a-buh.”

I love Julie.  I love the freedom with which she danced.  I love the utter abandon of her sweet voice belting out songs as loud as she could.  I love that her favorite word as a toddler was “remarkable,” and that she could use it correctly in a sentence.  I love that she listened and learned and voiced her opinions.

I love that she knew that she was a remarkable force.

(Originally posted at Story Sessions)

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What I’m Into – March

Posted in Andilit, Books, Food, Story Sessions, TV, What I'm Into on March 31, 2014| 4 Comments »

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March is my favorite month.  October is a close second, but it cannot compare to March, because March is my birth month!  The thing I was into the most was turning 39.  I received both yoga pants and wine as gifts, and I appreciated them, so clearly I am right on schedule with fulfilling the stereotype.

Winter persisted into the first week of the month and royally screwed up my class schedule, but I can’t even be mad about it.  It turned Spring Break into two weeks for me at the school where I teach, since I’m only there on Mondays.

Story Sessions had its first Story Feast (in-person meeting of local peeps), and ours was a small feast, but Marvia and I had fun hanging out at La Madeleine.

I got to spend a little time with Mom and Dad over break.  Mom had her first cataract surgery, so I went along to keep Dad company while he waited.

I took care of my friends’ dogs while they were out of town for about half a week.  While I was there, I had an uncomfortable realization. One of the dogs was dumb and needy but the sweetest dog in the world, and the other was smart and funny but also kind of an asshole.  I was dog-sitting every guy I’ve ever dated or liked.

I am also in the middle of two classes – Brandy Walker’s Be Course for Lent and the Reframing Collective through Story Sessions led by Jennifer Upton.  That’s why you’ve been seeing more pictures than usual.  I’m taking more.

Oh, and I got an iPhone.  This will be the first phone with a data plan I have had (I know, welcome to the 21st century, and I can stop churning my own butter now). I haven’t activated it yet, but I do have active plans to become addicted to Instagram.

Those are the highlights.  Here’s what was playing in the background.

To write:

I have Fishbowl mapped out.  I put the chapters in order.  I know how it’s going to end, and I know how I’m going to get there.  This is huge.

I have an idea that’s been brewing a while concerning the things people say to single people (and specifically, what I could stand for them NOT to say. . . just ever again).  So April, I’m going to write it out.  I’m going to bleed 2,500 words a day to see if I have enough words to start another project.  This could easily become a community project in the future, but for now, I’m going to see what I have to say about it.

My two favorite posts I wrote this month:

– My link-up piece for The Girls We Once Were, called Renaissance Girl.

– My answer to Andi’s prompt to give myself ten nuggets of writing advice.

To read:

– Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.  I loved it, particularly the parts about solitude.

– Vonnegut’s Welcome to the Monkey House.  My favorite story was “Who Am I This Time?”

– Stephen King’s 11/22/63.  Whose idea was it to have an 800+ page book for book club?  Oh, right.  Mine.  Well, I share the blame. I guess we all chose it. It’s a quick read, though, for 800 pages.  Because Stephen King.

Goodreads tells me that I am 11 books behind schedule on my reading challenge (100 books) for the year.  I would exclaim, “800 pages!” but that first book I read this year was really just a transcript of a speech, so I’m going to call it even.  I am trying to remember that I catch up in the summer and not let Goodreads psych me out. And maybe I could also remember that the world won’t end if I only read 90 books this year.

Some gorgeous things were written on the Internet this month.  These are my favorites:

When I Measure the Distance of God by Preston Yancey

Speaking Fear, Praying Shalom by Osheta Moore

You Don’t Have to Be Pretty – on YA Fiction and Beauty as a Priority on the Belle Jar

How Riding is Worship by Katie Rutledge

When World Vision Drops Me by Benjamin Moberg

The Internet has also been a tough place to be this month.  Lord, have mercy.

To watch:

Three words –

House.

Of.

Cards.

I watched both seasons in three days.  I couldn’t look away.

I am avoiding Psych and Scandal spoilers.  I’ll watch them after the semester’s over, when I can devote the appropriate measure of time to them. I think I’m actually going to start Psych over and watch from the first season.  That will give this season time to come out on DVD so that I can have it for my very own.  I love that show.

I finally saw Catching Fire. I liked it just as much as I liked the first one. As much as I like the story, I feel that I should have more to say about it, but no.

I had a nice time this weekend re-watching one of my favorite movies – Under the Tuscan Sun – and drinking wine and eating my weight in pasta.

But my favorite thing that I saw this month?  Veronica Mars, of course.  These were the highlights for me (and I don’t think any of them are spoilery):

– Veronica is back with the old school pop culture references – “You weren’t planning on carrying me through the airport, were you?”

– “You should only wear this.” Both times.

– Logan leaning against the car.  Rewind and pause.

– Dax Shepard cameo, for the win.

– Mac’s hair.  If I could pull off short hair at all, this is the haircut I would wear forever.

There were so many other things I loved about it, but any time you could spend reading about them would be better spent watching it.

To hear:

The Be Course has me dancing as a spiritual practice and also eating very fattening things so that my spiritual practice needs to take on some movement lest I gain 50 pounds during the class. So music has been mostly house and trip hop.  My neighbors don’t even know what to do with me.

To eat:

I have had a lot of baked goods this month (observe the pear tart above).  Brownies, cookies, cake.  I am in a constant state of sugar high.  This has to stop.  Of course, it’s chocolate chip cookie week in our e-course, and I’m a very good student. . .

During the dog-sitting/House-of-Cards-watching days, I developed an unholy affinity for peanut butter puff cereal.  I enjoy both the Mother’s and the EnviroKidz (yes, with a z) versions of this treat. As with all sugar-laced cereals, I try to mix it with plain Cheerios or plain puffed corn or wheat, but I have had at least one bowl a day for the last half of the month.

On Saturday, I took the marinara that was left over from supper club and mixed it with browned sausage.  I shaved a liberal dose of Parmesan over the top and put it on pasta.  So simple, yet so perfect when paired with birthday wine.

I’m linking up with Leigh Kramer – come by and tell us what you’re into!

 

 

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Beauty – March Edition

Posted in Beauty, Story Sessions on March 21, 2014| 4 Comments »

So you know how I wanted to have a picture of myself every month?  How that was a thing I said I’d do?

Well, I have zero pictures of me from this month.  So instead, you get this picture of a brief moment in my bathroom.

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I’m in the room, so it totally counts.  I think you can see the shadow of my hand if you look closely enough.

Or, hey, speaking of my hands, which are probably my favorite part of my body (not as default – I have seriously cute hands and feet.  But feet pictures are coming next month.  Springtime feet.), here is my hand this morning as it clutches my coffee.

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It’s a little scraggly, because I did dishes last night and didn’t moisturize properly.  I always forget to do that – to take care of myself as well as taking care of everything else.  I’m taking part in the reframing collective with Story Sessions and Brandy Walker’s Be course for Lent.  Self-care goes right along with those.  I’m learning; I’m just doing it slowly.

Here are a few images from our reframing – our finding the extraordinary in the everyday –

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I love this little pot on my windowsill.  It knows that spring is right outside the window.  It is empty now, but soon, it will hold new life.

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Chocolate batter for birthday brownies.  I love this rich, deep color.  And I wish you could smell it, because I totally added rum.

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The fence around my apartment building has tree limbs breaking through.  A lot of trees were cut down last year to make room for the new apartments next door.  But these ones got to stay, and they’re claiming their place.

There will probably be more of this next month…

You know what?  I’m going to stop talking about next month.  I’m going to stop planning the way that beauty comes.  It always changes and surprises me anyway.  So I’m going to let it.

Linking up with Amy Young’s Trusting Tuesdays where we discuss our OneWord365.  Join us?

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Advising Myself

Posted in Andilit, Story Sessions, Writing on March 17, 2014| Leave a Comment »

This week’s prompt for our writing community at Andilit is to write out ten pieces of advice that I would give myself as a writer.

I do love a good list.  I’m writing this to me, but maybe you’ll see something that applies to you, too. Disclaimer: if you are looking for advice from a writer who has actually published something…then you should go read that (Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird or Stephen King’s On Writing are my top recommendations), because brilliant as I may be, I’m not there yet.

1.  Get it together!

My schedule is crazy, so if I don’t plan, it doesn’t matter how many story ideas or “I should write a blog post about that” I have.  If I don’t plan, writing doesn’t happen.  Schedule writing time, but don’t stop there.  Schedule specific blog posts by topic and date.  Write ahead so that when something comes up on that day, all that is left to do is copy, paste, and click publish. Organize writing time into specific sections for each WIP, self-editing, editing for friends, blogging, and poetry, or, because I know me, I know that I will spend the whole time writing ranty posts that, while fun, will not get that manuscript finished this year.

2. Have different editors for different days.

I need tough criticism.  Most days, that’s the kind of critique I want.  But some days, when Bob (Fishbowl’s main character) is feeling particularly fragile, I just want to protect and defend him, even when he says stupid things that directly contradict what he said two weeks/chapters ago.  So on those days, I need to read feedback from people who love Bob almost as much as I do. There are all sorts of tips out there on the kind of critiques that will make your work better, but I don’t think there’s just one kind that helps.  I teach public speaking, so I’ve had to give a lot of feedback, and I know that hard critique doesn’t mean it’s bad – it just means that it could be better.  But I also have a mean inner critic and dark seasons, so sometimes I need the outside voices to tell me all the good things so I can remember that I’m not a total hack and that there’s no need to host a Fishbowl bonfire.  And because I hope that my book will be read by lots of different people once it’s published, it just makes sense to get feedback from lots of different people before it’s published.  I like to think of it as collecting preliminary ratings.

3. Learn the difference between distraction and inspiration.

When I take a writing class that is prompt-intensive with lots of deadlines and designed for people who need help getting started, I get distracted by the socializing and the prompts and my compulsive need to be the best student ever, and I don’t actually write anything toward the projects I already have started.  When I participate in NaNoWriMo, I focus and write like the wind.  When I watch Friends, I’m just vegging out.  When I watch Firefly or Gilmore Girls, I end up pausing it so that I can rewrite some dialogue on a piece that hasn’t been working. I can’t tell anyone else what their distractions or inspirations are, and I imagine that they differ wildly from mine.  But I know what distraction and inspiration look like.  If it spurns you to create, it’s an inspiration. If it spurns you to nap, it’s a distraction.  I’m not saying eliminate the distractions, because sleep (and by association, whatever gets you there) is important, but inspirations should outnumber them.  And if any of them leave you no time to write, see #1.

4. Write every day. That means all the days.  Is it a day? Then write at some point during it.

Failure to do this is how I end up at the end of the month with little more to show for it than I had at the beginning of the month.  Having made the schedule (all things circle back to #1), stick to it. If I skip a day, that’s a day I get nothing done.  Obviously.  But it also makes it exponentially easier to skip the next day.  And the next.  And then it’s Friday night, and that’s one more week that I’ve delayed finishing all that I’ve started. That’s one more week that I’ll never get back.

5. Set goals, and tell someone about them.

Since I keep going back to #1, I’ll pause and let you know where the things on the schedule come from.  I make goals.  The most helpful thing to me about the community Andi facilitates is that every Monday, we set goals for the week.  And every Friday, she checks in and asks how those goals are going. She doesn’t let us get away with just making plans.  She comes back and says, “So…those things you meant to do.  Did you do them?” Have someone who does that for you.

6. Every once in a while, let a polar bear walk through.

Confession:  I didn’t watch Lost until it was finished and came out on DVD.  I stand by my decision to do so, because it gave me angst, and I would not have survived the week-to-week (not to mention season-to-season) wait.  Many things have stuck with me about the show, but this scene is one of my favorites:

I can see the writers sitting around, wondering where to go next with the crazy plot lines on this shows.  I imagine that it’s 4:00 in the morning, and nothing new or fresh is coming to any of them.  Then one of them says, “What if they were chased by a polar bear?” and because they’re filming in Hawaii, the rest of the writers look at this person like she or he has lost her or his mind.  Then, because it is 4:00 in the morning, and losing one’s mind is the normal thing to do at that time, it starts to sound like a good idea.  And that’s how polar bears wind up on Lost, sparking dialogue and becoming part of a memorable scene.

I don’t actually know if this episode was written by multiple people, or if so, where the sun was when they wrote it.  I just know that sometimes, you have to throw a polar bear into the mix.  I mean, it can be a penguin.  Or a car crash.  Or an unexpected visitor.  But don’t be afraid to surprise everyone.  Especially yourself.

7. Read all the things.

Read Elmore Leonard to learn how to write dialogue.  Read Robert Jordan to learn foreshadowing (specifically, how to act like you’re dropping a plot point and then pick it up four hundred pages later).  Read Twilight and Bridges of Madison County to remind  yourself that even if you and all the Internet hate it, someone will like it enough to make a damn movie out of it.  Read other people’s work, because that’s how you learn.  Read other people’s work, because you want others to read your work.  I don’t trust writers who don’t read.

8. Don’t be stingy.

If you want people to read and edit your work, return the favor or pay them to do it.  It’s rude to ask people to work for free, and editing is W.O.R.K.

9. Speaking of people…have some.

I never stuck to a writing schedule before I joined my online writing communities via Andilit and Story Sessions. I didn’t start my manuscript until I admitted to friends that I wanted to be a writer, and they called me on it by saying, “So…what have you written?” I can make a goal and really mean it at the time, but I will let myself off the hook when something easier with more instant gratification comes up if I’m the only one who knows about it. Knowing that others will ask how it’s going is sometimes the only thing that keeps it going.

10. If you break every rule, don’t dwell.  Move on.

I read lists like this, and I am tempted to say, “Oh, there’s all the things I’m doing wrong.” Then I focus on how wrong I’m doing things.  I give it a good, long ponder.

All my other distractions put together don’t waste as much time and energy as this does.

Obsessing over doing it wrong is doing it wrong. It’s good to know what trips you up.  It’s good to recognize distractions.  But self-awareness is the means, not the end.  Letting mistakes stop the process is like looking in a mirror, noticing you have jam on your face, and letting it stay there. Wipe it off, and then put the mirror down and go on with your day.

So here I go.

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Renaissance Girl

Posted in Hope, Music, Renaissance, Story Sessions on March 8, 2014| 17 Comments »

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OsOUcikyGRk

(There are many performances of this piece online. This one lights that third movement on fire, the way it was meant to be.)

“The girls we once were are coming back to us now.” – Brandy Walker

I was a Renaissance girl.

That girl did everything.  Even when it was hard.  Even when people tried to tell her that she couldn’t.

At holiday, the girl I once was shaped homemade candies and learned how to get them to turn out right.  When she was shooed out of the kitchen because her help became a frustration, she went outside, formed a kitchen of her own, and made mud pies.

She learned cross stitch.  She made intricate gifts and Christmas ornaments that are still cherished and hung on Mom’s tree every year.

The girl I once was shelled peas and was taught to make jam.  She grew up understanding the connection of sustenance to the land  She unraveled mysteries of the universe over the pings of Cream Crowder peas in a metal bowl.

She walked out of the backyard and sat down at the piano with bits of dried mud pie still under her fingernails. She heard the beauty of the trills and the thunder of the bass.  She began formal training at the age of eight, and she practiced an hour a day, even when she didn’t want to.  In early junior high, when she played a simplified snippet of Liszt’s Second Hungarian Rhapsody at recital, the winner of the top performer award told their teacher, “She should have won this.” The comment was reward enough.

The girl I once was worked hard at gymnastics, and although no one who knows me now will believe it, the balance beam was her best event.  She took ballet, tap, and jazz dance lessons.  For the first time in her life, she had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to be average.  She loved it.

She was heavily involved in her church.  Every time the door was open, she was there.  Everything she could do – youth group, choir, VBS teacher, children’s music camp assistant, handbell choir, sorting clothes and food for the mission – she did. Her yes was always yes, and her no was rare.

In high school, the girl I once was was told that she couldn’t do everything – that she had to eliminate some things.  So she did.  She crossed off athletics and Future Farmers of America. Everything else – she did, and she did it well. National Honors Society, the speech and drama team, Texas Association of Future Educators, marching band, flag corp, jazz pianist for stage band, concert band, Future Homemakers of America, UIL, the gifted and talented program, and probably a few others that I have forgotten.  And she graduated second in her class.  Because she could.

Her senior year, she played Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata – the whole thing.  She played it so often that she memorized it.  She played it so often that even now, twenty years later, my fingers still move whenever I hear it. At her senior recital, she won that top performer award.  She also won the award of awed silence between the final note and the first applause.

One day, the girl I once was forgot what she could do.  Someone else told her that she had to choose, and this time, she believed it.  She believed the lie that she couldn’t do all the things that she’d always done, and because she couldn’t possibly choose, she stopped doing it all.  She grew up and became good at waiting.  She grew up and became good at watching the whole world go on without her.  She grew up and learned the lie that things just don’t work out for her and that expecting them to do so would only make her a fool.

But this girl?  She’s not done growing.  She has learned to set healthy boundaries and has embraced the luxurious freedom of no.

And that girl I once was?  She is coming back.

In every verse I read in shaky voice, she is coming back.

In every meal I make and share with others, she is coming back.

In every coconut nougat dipped in chocolate that I taught myself to temper, she is coming back.

In every pie I bake in this kitchen of my own, she is coming back.

In every blanket I knit, she is coming back.

In every story I write, she is coming back.

In every song I sing and every move I dance, she is coming back.

In every “Our Father,” and “Lord, in Your mercy,” I pray, she is coming back.

And if I have to eat Ramen noodles for six months and sell everything but my books, I will get a good keyboard this year, because she is coming back, and she’s going to need one.

She.  Is.  Coming.  Back.

Some of the people who are helping her get back are my Story Sisters.  Today, on International Women’s Day, we are telling the stories of the girls we once were.  Join us.

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What I Would Do Differently

Posted in Story Sessions on February 27, 2014| Leave a Comment »

This post is an answer to a prompt from today’s Story Sessions write-in.  The prompt was “What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?

My initial response was –

*snort*  Nothing.  I do what I want.

Then I immediately thought of three things. Well, that was humbling.

1.  I would wear sleeveless shirts so that I could feel both rain and sun on the skin of my shoulders.

I know that I am the only person judging the appearance of my upper arms.  Let me rephrase – I am the only person judging the appearance of my upper arms whose opinion I care about at all.  I’m sure there are catty acquaintances who would have snide things to say behind my back. But I am the only person whose judgment of my arms stops me.  One day, I just need to put on a sleeveless shirt or dress and walk out the door without grabbing a cardigan or checking the mirror.  If I did, I might never wear sleeves again.

2. I would date inappropriate men.

I would date men whom I would have otherwise dismissed because they didn’t exactly fit The List or because I would feel too much need to justify dating them to concerned friends. This is an area where the judgment from others sings loudly.

I like men who love words more than they love hammers, drills, or guns.  They wouldn’t fit as well into my family, but they would fit better with me.

I occasionally like men who are outside the bounds of a 10-year radius in age from me.  Some are younger (still legal, just to be clear), and one or two have been older.  I seem to talk myself out of saying yes to them or pursuing them, though, because I just don’t want to be bothered by the bullshit stigma it might place on me.

I occasionally like men who are outside the bounds of my religion.  I don’t know how this would work for me long-term, but  I do know that it has worked and is working for others.  I know that it would bring challenges, but I also know that challenge is relationship’s middle name. Some days, I feel outside the bounds of my religion, and even on those days, I still work with me, so I’m not convinced that it would be the end of the world that some friends seem to think that it would be to date someone who lives there.

I like charming men. There.  I said it.  Charm is an art, and I like it.  Throw all the verses about how deceitful it is and the warnings about smarmy (not the same word as charming – can we just recognize that?  Perhaps there’s a reason?) fellows at me that you want to throw. I still like it. I like not having to babysit a guy at social occasions, and that makes charm super attractive. Liking it and being bamboozled by it are not the same thing.

3. I would edit the words that come out of my mouth less strictly.

I have a well-trained inner editor.  Sometimes, she goes on vacation, but most of the time, she is one hell of a watchdog.  I am grateful for her.  In fact, I wish more people had one, because it’s okay (read: preferable) for every thought that we think not to spring off our tongues.

But sometimes, my editor is a workaholic.  I’ll hear someone else say something and think, Yes. That’s what I actually wanted to say. I envy them a little, but mostly I’m just glad that it got voiced.  And mostly, I’m sad that I didn’t have the courage to be the one who voiced it.

How about you?  What would you do differently if you knew that you wouldn’t be judged?

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