Writer Mama

I am a “Writer Mama”. I write this sitting on the floor next to my almost 9 month old who is sitting in a pile of toys to keep her distracted. The hum of my other daughter’s monitor buzzes behind me as she just settled into sleep. This is how I write-juggling my creativity with my 24/7 duty. I know I am not alone.

When I was reading Stephen King’s On Writing I was struck by how much time he said he wrote and how you weren’t really a serious writer if you didn’t spend every free moment writing. Well, Stephen, clearly you were not up all night with your crying, teething kids or making the school runs. I don’t really want to call out the king of horror though because I fear I may ending up like Sissy Spacek in Carrie. No thanks! (I’m legit scared. Sorry Mr. King)

This article by Dorit Sasson discusses how this balance takes place in so many lives and how she is able to overcome it. I love her honesty and tips for maintaining our sanity while trying to carve out a writing life.

Personally, I feel guilty when I am writing and my child wants me. I’ve started giving her a “quiet basket” filled with activities and books she could do on her own so I can get a moment to write. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Writing at night after they’ve gone to bed almost never happens. I’m tapped out and usually ready for bed myself. I use that time to read articles, catch up on emails and check all the internet nonsense that would be a distraction during the rest of the day.

But here I am, still plugging along. Writing myself notes here and there for when I have time to work. I just had to pause in order to change a diaper. That’s how we get it done. To all my Writer Mamas (and Dads) out there, I salute you and keep it up!

How do you carve out your writing time? Do you have magically cooperative kids? (If so, can we swap? Just kidding, I love my kiddies)

P.S. Another Writer Mama-THE Writer Mama- who has a lot of great advice is Christina Katz. Loved her book: Writer Mama, How To Raise A Writing Career Alongside Your Kids-check it out here.

 

Sweet Retreat

“In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.”

[The Minotaur]”
Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays

Sometimes the hardest thing to do as a writer is to find time to write. I know that for myself, I often go to bed with the best of intentions: “I’ll write first thing in the morning and if that falls through, I’ll get some time in the afternoon and if that doesn’t work then I’ll write when the kids go to bed.” What happens the next day, you ask? Nothing. Life gets in the way-kids won’t nap, laundry piles up, the dog needs a walk. By the time the kids go to sleep I can hardly string a coherent sentence together.

I was lamenting about this problem the other day while bouncing a teething baby on my lap and I came across this link while scrolling through Facebook.  A whole blog by School Library Journal about writer’s retreats for children’s writers! I gotta say that I read the page several times, day-dreaming about each retreat.

Look at those cozy cabins!

Wow, the view from that place!

Could I really sneak away to Oregon??” 

While I probably can’t make it to Oregon (at least not this year), there were so many other retreats that seemed doable. The list had something for everyone and I am desperate to go.

“You mean there is a quiet place I could focus on my writing? No screaming kids? No barking dog? Sounds like heaven!” 

So if you see me picking up pennies on the street, just know what I’m saving for. Hope to see you there.

 

 

Yeti DNA??

I saw this article yesterday about a geneticist apparently unraveling yeti DNA. It made me think about why he was wandering the Himalaya Mountains  but, of course, I already knew why-I wrote a book about it!

It’s still cool to read more and more articles referencing the science behind solving these mysteries. The truth is out there, folks! As the poster in Mulder’s office read: I Want To Believe

The Return?

When I saw this article yesterday, I thought our old friend, The Jersey Devil, was back in town. Perhaps he heard that I was writing a story about him and wanted to check up on it. Perhaps he wanted revenge for some unknown slight. Well, it wasn’t The Jersey Devil but a runaway goat on the Pulaski Skyway. For those that are not aware of the Pulaski Skyway area, it’s an urban area that should NOT have a goat running around it…at all.

If it were JD, I’d hope that he’d be proud of my WIP so far. The story is about a girl who finds out that it is her destiny to be the one to banish The Jersey Devil from the woods of New Jersey. She reluctantly embraces her fate and, with the help of some local witches, faces off in an epic battle against the monster. I hope to post the first chapter here shortly for preview/opinions.

In the meantime, stay alert, watch your back and do go out alone-The Jersey Devil may be lurking….even on The Pulaski Skyway!

Jersey-Devil

What Ever Happened To Predictability?

What ever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, evening tv?

(Okay, I may be dating myself there with that reference but I couldn’t help myself.)

I recently finished up an outline for my next story. It’s about a girl whose chance reading with a psychic leads her to discover her true destiny is as the one person who was meant to banish the Jersey Devil forever. The momentary elation of finishing a solid outline was quickly eclipsed by my old friend, self-doubt. Self-doubt whispers to me that it is sure there are dozens of Young Adult Jersey Devils books and they are all way better than anything I could have possibly dreamed up. Self-doubt also told me that my characters were flat and the whole story was impossibly predictable. *sigh* Despite anything self-doubt tells me, I’m going to plow ahead with a first draft.

Can a story be predictable and still good? Are there any great, predictable stories?

Dare Greatly and Vulnerably

So I was watching Super Soul Sunday on the OWN network yesterday. Does anyone else watch it? I’m kind of obsessed. I miss my Oprah everyday but I enjoy her on Super Soul Sunday so much more than when she was on the talk show. Every show is about bettering yourself. I’m even doing the 21 Day Meditation Challenge with Oprah and Deepak Chopra! I really dig this bettering yourself stuff.

Anyway, yesterday Oprah was talking to Dr. Brene Brown who I was not familiar with prior to the episode. (First of all, Brene is a cool character name to keep in the ol’ back pocket) Dr. Brown has written a few books with the latest titled Daring Greatly (love that) and she became somewhat famous for her Ted Talk on vulnerability which you can see here. Very interesting stuff.

One thing that they discussed during the show was that “vulnerability was the cornerstone of courage”. So in order to be truly courageous, to really put yourself out there in the world, was to be vulnerable. I found that so interesting and what an important lesson for all the writers out there. In order to become successful, you have to become vulnerable. I think it’s so hard to do but probably some of the best advice I had heard in a long time.

Do you agree that you have to be vulnerable to be a better writer? How do you think being vulnerable has helped you? Has anyone read Dr. Brown’s work and if so, have you found it applicable to your writing life?

Write on!

Full Exposure

Here is the first chapter of my current Young Adult WIP: Full Exposure. I’m knee-deep in revisions so please be kind. If you see anything you like or don’t like, let me know. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Write On!

CH.1

I walked outside into the cold March morning air and found myself looking squarely at the saggy naked butt of my neighbor Mr. Hendrickson. While this might be a shock to most people, I was no stranger to nudity. My family owns and operates Lyon’s Gate Nudist Camp (at least for now) and I grew up here, so the sight of a bare ass is not out of the ordinary. What is out of the ordinary though is why Mr. Hendrickson is out naked at 7am when it is barely 40 degrees.

I shrugged off my backpack and walked over towards him. “Mr. Hendrickson, it’s too cold to go without a coat today, you’ll freeze.”

“Ah, when I was in the war it was twice as cold as this. I nearly froze my balls off-with my clothes on!” He huffed. “This is nothin. I wanna get some bulbs in the ground for spring.”

“Did you take your medicine this morning, Mr. Hendrickson?”

“Who needs that stupid medicine? I always forget to take the damn things.”

I helped him back inside and he sat at the kitchen table while I got him a glass of water. Mr. Hendrickson was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and he got confused a lot. He had no other family so we looked after him as much as possible, which was sometimes a lot of work. I gave him the water and he took his medicine.

“Now don’t go outside without a coat on today. It’s too cold. I’ll plant those bulbs for you later when I’m done with school.”

“Thanks, my boy.” He never called me Josh anymore.

I helped him to his recliner, turned on the news and gave him an afghan that was on the back of the couch. I hated to leave him and I could only hope that if he tried to go outside again, he’d be with-it enough to put on some clothes. I knew Mr. Hendrickson for a long time and he was like a grandfather to me. Always quick with a funny story or some life advice-now he hardly knew who I was. I worried about him while I was in school but some of the other regulars, the people who lived here year round, kept their eyes out for him too.

I said goodbye and headed out the door. Mrs. Rosenthal was picking up her newspaper next door to Mr. Hendrickson’s trailer.  Thankfully she had on a coat. I waved to her as I picked up my backpack. “Oh, Josh, I’m so glad I saw you this morning. I have something for you, don’t go anywhere. She shuffled back inside with her skinny old legs sticking out from under her white puffy coat, like two tooth picks in a marshmallow-two wrinkly old toothpicks. She came back holding a small bag and grinning ear to ear. “It’s a fresh pastrami sandwich. It’s the good stuff. My niece brought some from the city yesterday and I know how much you like it.”

“Thank you Mrs. Rosenthal, I appreciate it.” I smiled as I took the bag and shoved it in my backpack.  “Oh, can you keep an eye out from Mr. Hendrickson today? He didn’t take his medicine again and I found him out without a coat. I got him settled back inside now.”

“I will, Josh. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Easy for her to say.

“Thanks again.” I waved and headed off to the bus stop. I spent the ten minute ride on the bus just trying to warm up my body. The cold had permeated my shoes and I daydreamed about crawling back into my warm bed so I wouldn’t have to face the day. As the school came into view, you could almost hear the collective groan. Hill Top High, home of the peacocks, yup…the peacocks.

Brianna met me at my locker, as usual.

“So, how was your weekend? Clothes or no clothes involved?”

“Very funny, Bri. I had to help my parents do some landscaping maintenance so I guess you could say ‘no clothes’ although I was very fully clothed. You?”

“ Ugh, homework and tv-pretty lame weekend on all accounts, although the Teen Mom marathon was fun to watch.”

“Oh are you thinking of getting knocked up? I’m sure there are some guys here that are willing to be your baby daddy.” I said, looking around.

“Ohhh I will! I’d love a little baby. How cute are they to dress up?” Devin squealed as he came up to my locker.

“Devin, you’re gay.” Bri said back.

“Oh thanks, Captain Obvious. It doesn’t mean I can’t have a baby. My parts work just as well as any other guy’s. Probably better.” He smiled. “Besides, you’re not my type.”

“Because I have a vagina.”

“Among other things.”

Devin and Briana were my best friends. We’ve been a trio since freshman year when Bri and I found some guys trying to fight Devin after school. Luckily, Bri’s older brothers were football players and the guys recognized her and left Devin alone. We’ve been a team ever since and nobody has messed with Devin when Briana Gold was around.

The Gold’s were very well known at Hill Top. The two oldest brothers were practically legendary in our school. Frank was the school’s best quarterback and Dennis was the top wide receiver in the state his senior year.  Bri also has a twin brother, Michael, who is now the new quarterback and in the top of our class.

Bri is no girly girl but she’s not much into sports either, which makes her an outcast in her own family. Not only were all of her brothers athletes but her dad played college football and her mom played volleyball her whole life. Bri exists in her brothers’ shadows and it also allows her some protection of sorts. She’s off limits to bullies which makes us off limits too.

Devin is another story. His mom had him when she was nineteen and he grew up without a dad. He is also openly gay and wears his sexuality as a badge of pride. He once came to school completely decked out in head-to-toe rainbows for gay pride week. It looked like a box of Lucky Charms had exploded all over him. Devin loves to be outgoing and makes friends wherever we go but he also attracts a lot of hate. People fear what they don’t understand.

I understand about being an outcast, though not for my sexuality. Growing up in a nudist camp is not exactly the fastest way to make friends. It was hard to invite anyone over to play when their parents found out where I lived. I tried to explain that my parents would never be naked around them but people just didn’t get it. They think that we are all perverts or sex offenders. I checked that sex offender list online and not one person from the camp is registered. My mom always says that I would grow up a better person for having lived amongst nudists. At the time, I just wanted to have friends like everyone else but I’m starting to get it. I do believe I am better off, though my list of friends is still rather small.

I don’t practice nudity. Not that I’m against it, it’s just that my parents never forced it on me. As a kid, if I wanted to walk around with no clothes on, I did. If I wanted to have clothes on, I did. As I grew older, I preferred having clothes on so that’s how I stayed. Not everyone at the nudist camp goes naked. It’s just a lifestyle choice that they think it’s perfectly natural to be nude and nobody should be ashamed of their body. Mr. Hendrickson always said, “They’re just boobs and balls-we all got em!”

Devin and Bri were very understanding of my situation and the first time they came over to my house was an experience, to say the least. It was Memorial Day weekend and the camp had a huge barbeque for all of the returning summer guests. They got the full experience, if you know what I mean. Bri didn’t know where to look and Devin couldn’t stop looking. Once they got used to it, they figured out that these are just regular people having a good time with other like-minded people. Now they come for every barbeque.

“Don’t look now but Tyler Hunting is coming this way.” Bri warned. I braced myself. Tyler Hunting was the star of the soccer team and also the student body president, he acted like he ran the school and most people let him. He was also the son of town councilman Chip Hunting, who consistently filed complaints against the nudist camp for being “lewd and perverted” and “harboring pedophiles and sexual deviants.” They were a bunch of jerks and I wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow them whole.

“Hey freaks.” He said as he walked past us, laughing with his buddies.

“Hey Tyler, I’m surprised you got the balls out of your mouth long enough to say hi. Good for you.” Devin answered. He had long ago gotten used to the slurs people flung at him and luckily he was just as quick with his words.

“Fuck you, you queen.” Tyler laughed.

“Nice comeback, did you stay up all night thinking of that one?” Devin fired back. Although it wasn’t the first time he’d been called a name, I know it still stung him despite his not showing it. Just as I was about to come to Devin’s defense, Bri’s brother, Mike, strolled up to us.

Mike was the epitome of cool. He was athletic, smart and funny but people liked him mostly because he acted modest-as modest as someone like him could be. He walked with confidence and even teachers gave him wide berth in the hallways. You could never find one person to say a bad word about Mike-except maybe Tyler.

“Hey guys. Hey Bri.” He said as he came up to us; his eyes glaring towards Tyler. No words were spoken between them, but Tyler got the message.

“I’ll see you at the meeting.” He sneered and walked away.

“Bri, can you tell mom that I’m gonna be late today? I have practice after school.”

“Ugh. Why can’t you tell her, dork?” Bri teased.

“Because you’re my stupid little sister and have to do what I say, dweeb.” Mike teased her back.

“I’m only younger by 4 minutes-god! Fine, I’ll let her know but you better help me with my Algebra when you get home.”

“Deal. Later guys!” Mike smiled at us and continued down the hall.

“I’ll never understand your relationship. I’m glad I don’t have any siblings.” Devin said. We walked towards our first period. Bri and I had Biology together and Devin had gym which he usually found an excuse to miss.

“What time is the meeting tomorrow night? I want to make sure my calendar is clear.” Bri asked.

“It starts at 6:30. Do you guys want to come with me and my parents? We’re leaving around 6.”

They agreed and we went off to our classes, although I suspected Devin was headed to the nurse with some excuse to get out of dressing for gym. Bri and I took our seats in Biology and Mr. Hanger, our teacher, got right down to business. He stood in front of the class, arms stretched wide and said in his nasally voice, “Alright, now I’m a star fish…” This elicited lots of muffled laughter from the other students and normally I would be just as amused; the teachings of Mr. Hanger were well known for their unintentional humor.

Instead of joining in the fun or paying attention, I couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting tomorrow night. This town council meeting was yet another chance for Chip Hunting to try to formally close our camp. He had been trying to shut it down on and off for half of my life. For whatever reason, he felt morally superior to us and since winning his position as a town councilman, he has mercilessly pursued closing down Lyon’s Gate.

In the early days, nobody paid him any mind because people liked us and our residents never bothered anyone with their lifestyle choice. Recently though, a nudist camp in Florida was forced to close because some news show found a group of child molesters taking refuge there. That got people talking around here and Mr. Hunting happily fanned the flames of distrust. His quest has picked up momentum as news trickled out about how those child molesters lived there as unregistered sex offenders while the camp owners were paid to keep quiet.

It has been tough for my parents and the few residents that live there year round. My parents make the bulk of their business in the summer and, so far, bookings have been down. People are afraid, and rightfully so, as most folks don’t take the time to get to know each other before they judge. We are trying to get as many supporters together to go to the meeting but there is no guarantee that it will help. We have to wait to see what the board will rule.

The only thing that could rouse me from my preoccupation of the upcoming meeting was Allison Lawson. Ahh, Allison Lawson. She was unbelievably gorgeous and unbelievably unattainable. Allie, as her friends called her, was part of the crowd that ran with Tyler Hunting, public enemy number one. She was smart, the school treasurer, and played on the girls soccer team; not my type at all but that didn’t stop me from being in love with her since the 6th grade.

I watched her now as she stretched down to get something out of her backpack. Her brown hair hung straight and long, nearly touching the ground as she leaned over. She sat close enough that sometimes, if the windows were open and the breeze blew just right, I would sometimes get a whiff of her apple scented perfume.

I was lost in one of my many daydreams about me and Allie Lawson. You know, the ones where we run to each other on the beach or run to each other across the Brooklyn Bridge or just run to each other in any place and time. Mr. Hanger interrupts my thoughts with one of his starfish questions. He is pointing to the diagram of one on the board and I had no idea what the questions was. I froze. All of a sudden, like the angels whispered from heaven, Bri says “Tube feet”, almost inaudibly. “Tube feet.” I answer. Placated, Mr. Hanger returns to his lecture.

I let out a sigh of relief, turned to Bri and mouthed the words “Thank you” to her. Once again, Bri comes to my rescue and I am reminded that I will be forever indebted to her. The bell rang and we gathered our stuff.  “Will you take a payment of my first born child?” I asked her.

“What are you talking about?” She said.

“You always seem to swoop in and save my butt and I never have anything to offer you so will you take the promise of my first born and call it even?”

“You’re nuts, but I’ll consider it; I am always saving your butt. Speaking of butts, I wouldn’t have to save you so much if you weren’t so busy staring at Allie Lawson’s butt. Geez, you were practically eye-humping her!”

I rolled my eyes and kept walking. I wasn’t going to have another conversation about Allie with Bri; she just didn’t get it. To be honest, I couldn’t explain my fascination with Allie either but could you really explain love? Could Romeo and Juliet explain their love? Okay, bad example, but I knew that conversation wouldn’t get us anywhere, so I dropped it and hoped she did too.

The rest of the day was pretty normal. I went back and forth between daydreaming about Allie and fantasizing about ways to destroy Tyler and tried to keep my mind off of the meeting tomorrow. By the time I boarded the bus for the ride home, I looked forward to the distraction of having to help Mr. Hendrickson plant bulbs. Anything I could do to keep my mind off it all was a welcome diversion.

Stay Connected.

First, apologies for the length of time between posts. My computer cord died and it took a while to get a new one. I was computer-less for almost two weeks so, obviously, I got nothing done.

I recently read this interview with Scott Avett of The Avett Brothers and if you don’t know them, you should! Anyway, Scott is a musician who tours frequently and when he’s not doing that, he is an accomplished painter and father of two. What I found interesting in the article was how he talked about staying connected to his art even while going about his daily life. He tries to integrate it with everything he does during the day. I need to figure out how to do this.

My life isn’t particularly crazy. I have a lot of the normal issues that most people have. Two kiddies, who have been sick nonstop this winter, a husband, a home with a mortgage and all that comes along with that, some pain from recent dental work-nothing too stressing. But even I have a really hard time staying connected to my creative self. After spending the day dealing with my 3 year old and 1 year old, I’m spent. My mind is so tired that trying to write feels impossible. As it is, it took me almost the entire day to write this short post.

Do you have the same issues? Are there techniques or daily rituals that you do to stay connected? If you feel creative most of the day, please tell me your secret!!

I’ve included some Avett Brothers that I You-Tubed to help put you in the creative mood(Head Full of Doubt is my fav but Laundry Room definitely helps get the creativity going):

Avettcarpenter

AvettHeadFullofDoubt

AvettLaundryRoom

(p.s. I don’t own any of the video content, I’m just a fan and spreading the love via You Tube…don’t sue me)

Write On!

Storyboarded

Just ran across this interview with author Jo Knowles on Debbie Ridpath Ohi’s website. I really like the way she explains her storyboarding technique and I think it’s a good way to go, especially after reverse outlining your manuscript. Even if you aren’t creating a picture book, it’s good to know where your story stands visually. I always feel like if it won’t make for a good scene in a movie, then it might not make for a good scene in a book. I look forward to exercising my stick-figure drawing skills!

Happy Writing (and revising)!

 

 

Here’s the long form if the above link doesn’t work:

http://inkygirl.com/inkygirl-main/2013/2/8/interview-with-jo-knowles-on-writing-process-writer-advice-s.html

I’m a Half Plotter, Half Pantser.

This post by Writer’s Digest came at just the right time for me. I have recently been staring at my computer screen  revising my story and it has been slow going to say the very least. I’m not a very enthusiastic reviser. In fact, I keep finding other things to do with my valuable writing time. Some fun (catching up with the new season of Girls) and some bordering on tragic (cleaning my bathroom).

Just a few weeks ago I was telling my husband that I had the urge to storyboard my manuscript as a way to revise. In college I had studied film and television and we often used storyboards for creating our projects. While I thought it was a decent idea, it also seemed so daunting to storyboard the entire story. I’m not a great artist but even sketching out rough stick figures would take forever.

My husband then sent me an article about reverse outlining, which is outlining after you write your story. Perfect, I thought, except part of me still wanted to storyboard. Well in this article, the author uses storyboarding BUT only uses about 20 squares or enough to cover each chapter. They only put the most pivotal moment of each chapter on the storyboard. Well, duh! I could do that!

Sometimes you just need somebody else’s perspective to help fix your own dilemmas. So, are you a plotter or a pantser? I usual start as a pantser and then plot as I go along.

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/jan-29