Stephanie Knipper

Thank You

2012-01-31T13:42:00.000-05:00

I'm finishing up an article for the May issue of Kentucky Gardener today, so I only have a moment, but I wanted to pop in and say Thank You to everyone who read and passed along last Thursday's post. My hope is that by sharing it with others we will start a dialogue and maybe change the way we interact with each other. Although we're different, we're also the same. We all want to be loved. To be heard. To fall asleep knowing that our life mattered. To know that somewhere, someone cares for us.

So again, Thank You.

Reading is...

2012-01-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday! I hope you spend it dreaming!

Poetry Friday

2012-01-27T08:48:00.000-05:00

It's Poetry Friday. Normally I'd be sharing a clip of a poet reading his or her work. Since yesterday I wrote about my daughter Grace, I thought I'd share some of my poetry (which she inspired) today. To give you some context, the following pieces are part of a book-length collection of poetry I wrote about adopting Grace and finding out that she is disabled. The pieces below have all been previously published. In a few weeks, I might share some of the poems in the collection that haven't been published yet.

I hope you enjoy!

An Autism Fairytale
(Published in the Summer 2011 edition of Poetry Quarterly)

　
Smooth and river rock-round, the girl’s voice spilled
like spring water from her lips as she danced

in word-puddles and slept in a sea of songs.
Like all gods, the sun was jealous.

One day, the girl opened her mouth and the sun
melted her voice like lemon drops on her tongue.

Moss grew up the girl’s throat, stretched over her lips,
her nose, her eyes. Her hair grew like ivy,

twined around her toes, and pushed into the ground
until she was rooted among roses and delphinium.

Her mother scraped the moss from the girl’s mouth,
and scribbled words on red tissue paper,

words like Please and Hope and Love and Mommy,
fed them to the girl like lavender ice cream,

then pressed her lips against the girl’s and blew,
as if the girl’s heart had stopped and not her own.

Lost
(Published in the Spring 2011 edition of Tipton Poetry Journal)

I often wonder about your words,
whether they are lost or hiding,
instead of stolen by autism.

Maybe they are in that space
between your molars and your tongue,
trapped between your heart and your mind.

Once, I stuck my finger in your mouth.
I pushed it back into that gap,
hoping to feel something--anything.

Instead, you bit me,
and I wore bruise-marks
from your tiny teeth for a week.

Sometimes I pick words for you,
tongue twisters--
she sells sea shells by the sea shore.

Although I would settle for less--
play, hungry, thirsty.
Home, love.

Mommy.

My grandmother was born tongue-tied.
A thin piece of tissue trapped her tongue
on the floor of her mouth.

She could not speak
until the doctor clipped it.
Nothing is holding your tongue down.

Maybe your words are in a cosmic
lost and found, sandwiched between
lost socks and dreams.

I would go there if I could.
I’d root through forgotten hats
and misplaced pens until I found them.

I’d bring them home and feed you
words until they overflowed,
dripping from your lips.

Then I’d catch them as they fell,
and save them like pressed petals in a book,
in case you ever lost your words again.

Written on Rose Petals
(Published in the Summer 2011 edition of Poetry Quarterly)
　

In my dreams you whisper
my mother’s words.

I want to sink into that place
where you speak and she lives,

but sunlight on the roof
or the sigh of roses wakes me.

Is it the sound of God listening?
Or your own small voice?

The one I still don’t know.
Maybe it’s a hymn

the stones share with you,
His name on their lips

the silent song you sing
as I pull you from bed

and we tumble up a hill--
do I shape you or do you shape me?

My back bends toward yours
as you straighten toward me.

I push your feet into cool clay,
stretch your arms to heaven,

and compose a hallelujah of silence.
You breathe me and I breathe you,

as if air and clay are enough,
as if your name is written

on rose petals that spring
from the ground at your feet,

a storm of prayers in minor
chords my mother sings--

she holds the stones
and they speak your name--

as I wash clay from your feet,
and carry you home.

Please Read This Post--One Book Thursday

2012-01-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

My daughter, Grace

This is not a post I wanted to write. I like things that are bright, and shiny, and beautiful. I like uplifting, encouraging posts.

This is not one of those.

A few days ago, I finished reading The Book Thief. I know, I know, I'm waaaay behind the times. The book was published several years ago. That's what having four kids does to you.

If you don't know, The Book Thief is about a young girl living in Nazi Germany. Appropriately enough, the book is narrated by Death. The Book Thief is full of tender, beautiful moments juxtaposed against the horrifying backdrop of Germany during WWII.

I could not read this book in one sitting. I would read a little and have to walk away. But just as much as I had to walk away, I had to come back.

Let me tell you why.

A few years ago, I spent two weeks in London. I toured fascinating places like the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, Harrods Department Store (hey, I like to shop!)...and The Imperial War Museum (IWM).

Touring the IWM is difficult. The exhibit showing how children were evacuated from London during the Blitz made my throat swell shut. What if that had been me and I had to send my children away to keep them safe. Could I do it?

Honestly, I don't know.

Then came the Holocaust Exhibit. I knew it wouldn't be easy. My mother taught history. I grew up in a house where we talked about the past as a way to prevent such horrifying things from happening again. Dear Reader, I thought I could handle it.

I was wrong.

The lights were dim as we entered the exhibit. No one spoke. I wound past a pile of black discarded shoes. Survivor's stories. Newspaper clippings. A wooden funeral cart with use-worn handles.

Across from the funeral cart was an impossibly white, child sized dissection table. Above the table was a picture of a naked boy. His body curved like a question mark. His eyes were spaces a bit too far apart. His tongue lolled from his mouth. His stomach had caved in on itself.

He was five.

A plaque next to the picture explained that he was taken from his mother and sent to an institution. Later, his mother received a letter saying he had died of a "respiratory illness". The dissection table with the drain in the middle said a respiratory illness did not cause his death.

He looked like my daughter, Grace.

I looked from the table to the picture of this boy, so like my daughter, and I cried. In the middle of the room, I sobbed for this boy someone labeled broken, worthless. I cried for his mother who never got to hold her child again. He wasn't worthless to her.

This child was one only boy among millions killed because someone decided they were "wrong". Jews. Homosexuals. Romas (Gypsies). Slavs. Dissenting Clergy. Jehovah's Witnesses. Anyone deemed "undesirable".

People with physical and/or mental disabilities. Like my daughter.

250,000 mentally and/or physically disabled people were murdered during the Holocaust. People like Grace.

So why am I telling you this? Because I'm concerned, Dear Reader. I'm concerned about the way we talk to each other in this country. One both sides of the political aisle we are labeling each other. Look at the list of people above who were rounded up and killed during the Holocaust. It contains people vilified by the American Left and people vilified by the American Right.

Dear Reader, Nazi Germany started with words. As Markus Zusak writes in The Book Thief: "The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Fuhrer was nothing."

Words have power. The power to build up and the power to tear down. In our rush to win, to be right, we seem to have forgotten this. We choose the words that come out of our mouths, and too often we're choosing to wound instead of heal.

It hurts my heart. And it scares me. The anger in this country--this country that was built on the freedom to be different, to disagree with each other--terrifies me. It needs to stop. Right now. Not after the election. Not tomorrow or the next day. Right now.

We are not enemies. We are brothers and sisters.  Mothers and fathers. We are different, but different is a good thing. Different makes us strong. Different is why people from all over the world come here. Because they believe in the dream of a place where all men are created equal. All men. Not all men who agree with you, or look the same as you, or speak the same language you do. All. Men.

Dear Ones, we need to stop. We must stop. And it's so easy. Really, it is. I'm not asking you to change your opinions, or agree with someone you disagree with. As I said above, our differences (including our differences of opinion) make us great.

I am asking you to think about your words. I'm asking you to choose words that heal. Words that build up. Words that create. Leave behind words that destroy and tear apart.  If you agree with this post, please pass it along.

Remember the boy at the IPW. He died because of someone's words. Let's stop hurting each other.

Please.

Gregory Maguire Amazon Interview

2012-01-25T08:00:00.000-05:00

I absolutely adore Gregory Maguire. He's best known for his Wicked series--which is Fantastic, if you haven't read them, get to a bookstore now! I also have to give a shout out to one of his (slightly) more realistic books, The Next Queen of Heaven. It's a funny and beautifully written tale of kindness and self-discovery.

Since Mr. Maguire is also an adoptive parent, I love him all the more. Below is a recent interview he gave. His remarks about his kids keeping him grounded really made me laugh!

Enjoy!

Progress Report

2012-01-24T09:11:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I promised an update on The First Book. There's a lot of information out there about query letters, selecting agents, making sure everything is perfect before you query, but not much about what happens after you sign with an agent. I suspect it's because the process is slightly different for every author so what happens in my case may or may not happen in yours, and it's difficult to write a one-size-fits-all template for the process.

Here's how it's working for me. When I first signed with Dan, we talked about some of the changes/edits he had in mind. As I've said before, they're pretty extensive. One of the biggest is changing the POV for one of the main characters from 3rd person to 1st person. If you're a writer, you know this is more than just changing pronouns. It completely changes the lens through which that character (and therefore the reader) experiences the story.

My novel is told through 3 points of view, so making this change meant I had to go in and rework almost a third of things. That's okay. I like working, especially when the changes make the story better. Which I think (hope!) they did.

I made those changes right before Christmas and sent everything off to the editor I'm working with. After the holidays, she started working on it, graciously fitting me in to her already tight schedule. (Have I mentioned everyone is so nice? Really, there's no reason to be afraid when querying. Book People are generally Good People. Go forth and query without fear.)

After sending off my manuscript, I sat around feeling stressed for a week or so. This is what I do to relax. I tell myself I'm taking some down time, and then sit around worrying that I'm not doing anything. One week of down time was all I could take. To de-stress, I started a second book. By the end of this week I should have about 20,000 words.

As for the first book, right now I'm waiting to hear back from the editor. Possibly by the end of this month, but as I said, she's fitting me in around books she's already scheduled. I just popped up out of nowhere, and she agreed to help. (I love her for that!) Things could easily get pushed back a bit.

So, that's where things stand. Hopefully in a week or so I'll have a manuscript with lots of red marks all over it. I feel a little bit like a kid waiting for Christmas. Which is strange, I know, but as one of my professors once said--A good critique is a gift.

He was so right. A critique is the best gift I could ask for, and I can't wait to unwrap it.

Squash Your Internal Editor

2012-01-23T09:35:00.002-05:00

This is one of those days I don't feel like writing. I don't even want to think about it. In fact, just thinking about it gives me a sick little feeling in my stomach. It's as if a little man is sitting in there, stirring things up, whispering, "The sun's out and it's January. January. That's a sign. Don't write today. It's not going to be any good anyway, so pack it in."

The man does not confine his remarks to writing. He also whispers about my parenting skills, my cooking skills, and anything else that happens to wander through my mind.

Welcome to my own brand of craziness.

This little man crops up more than I care to admit, and he's never happy. If you're reading this blog, I suspect you have some experience with this. You might not be a writer. You might be a mom. You might be a college student. Whoever you are, I'm willing to bet you've got your own little man filling you with negativity.

So how do you deal with such confidence-sapping thoughts? This is how I handle it, and it's pretty simple. Whatever he says, I do the opposite. "Don't write today." I write. "Sit on the couch and watch TV because there's nothing worth doing anyway." I get up and do something. "You're the worst mother in the world." I kiss my kids.

It's not always easy. Sometimes (like today) I have to force myself to write (or whatever). But I always feel better after doing something. Even if today's writing is horrible, at least I've done something, and I can be proud of that.

Try it. I promise you'll feel better and that negativity will slip away from you like water down a drain.

Tomorrow, I'll post an update on the first novel. See you then!

Poetry Friday -- Li-Young Lee

2012-01-20T08:00:00.000-05:00

This Friday, I want to introduce you to Li-Young Lee, another poet I love. This clip is about 4 minutes and you're lucky enough to get two of Lee's poems and a short biography. Enjoy!

Three Book Thursday -- Quirky Characters Edition

2012-01-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

I love reading about people who are a little...off. In fact, I love it so much that most of the books I write feature one or more characters my grandmother would have called "odd ducks". To celebrate my love of strange things, my recommendations this week all feature characters who live outside of the norm. I hope you love them as much as I do!

The Little Giant of Aberdeen County

Transcendent

Icy Sparks

Luminous

The curious incident of the dog in the night-time

Intriguing

The one thing you don't want to do...

2012-01-18T08:00:00.000-05:00

My puppy Whitman after reading a particularly uninspiring bit of prose (of course, he prefers poetry to fiction).

is bore your reader. After I finished the first draft of my novel I went back and read it, and guess what? One of the main characters completely bored me. At that point I had a decision to make. Go with what I had written and try to find some other way to punch up the character or completely rework the character and thus the story.

I chose the second option and like Frost's path less traveled, that made all the difference. Yes, it was a lot of work, but it was worth it.

The bottom line, if you think something in your work is boring, your readers will too. Do the work and fix it. It's a lot better than putting something out there that's less than your best work.

What's Behind Door Number One?

2012-01-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

Tower of London, 2010

Two years ago, I spent a couple of weeks in London. It was the first time I had ever been to London, and I fell in love. There's an entire street dedicated to book stores, and the tiles at the Baker Street tube station sport Sherlock Holmes' silhouette. I won't even mention Poet's Corner. The city is built for bookish types.

While there, I took several pictures (like the one above) through doorways. I loved the mystery and the intense focus on a single object (normally whatever is right beyond the door) framing a picture this way created.

I'm starting on my next book which means I have to face things like The First Chapter. The Inciting Incident. I have to write something that makes the reader want to Turn The Page and keep on reading. As I was writing today, I remembered my London doorway pictures, and I started thinking about first chapters and other scary things.

I'm a visual person and the picture above helps me think about how to structure my first chapter. The beginning of the book is the setup for everything else. It needs to entice the reader. It needs to have a bit of conflict and suspense about it, something that says, "Keep going, there's more just around the corner."

Look at the picture above. Note that the viewer is not out in the courtyard. They are in the Tower, looking out at a blue lamppost. There's a hint of the world beyond the doors, but nothing more than a hint. The viewer wants to walk through the doors to find out what else is outside. It looks good. Enticing. But this is the Tower of London and the viewer knows nothing is what it seems. Beyond the door could be the crown jewels or the spot where Anne Boleyn was beheaded. To find out the viewer must walk through the door.

That's what a good first chapter does. It places the reader in an intriguing doorway, one they must walk through. The chapter provides enough of a view to what's beyond the door that the reader simply must walk through to find out what's on the other side. Note that the view is narrowed, focused on one thing--the other side.

The first chapter is typically a more focused or limited view of your novel's world. It provides bits and pieces of the world before opening it up to a more panoramic view. In later chapters you can pull back and show the reader around your world. But in the first chapter you just want the reader to walk through that door.

Thank You, Dr. King

2012-01-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

My family does not look "normal". We have one biological son and adopted our other three children from China. Every time we go out, people stare, trying to figure out how we fit together. That's okay. We know we belong to each other, and we don't mind answering questions about how our family formed. Our unusual family is normal to us, and our children know that families are formed in many different ways. Blood isn't the only thing that ties a family together.

Not too long ago though, my family wouldn't have been possible. The crazy blend that is our family would not have existed. My children would have been considered second class citizens. It is only because great men like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stood up and pushed this country forward that my family exists. It is only because Dr. King, and others like him, fought for dignity and respect for all people that three of my children are here.

We still have a long way to go. We still don't live in a society where people are judged by the content of their character instead of the color of their skin. We still don't give full rights to all members of our society. But because of Dr. King, we are closer to the dream of a society where all men are created equal than we were decades ago. So today I say, Thank You, Dr. King. Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for believing that we could be more than we are. Thank you for your dream.

Thank you for helping to create a world where my family could exist.

Poetry Friday -- Mary Oliver

2012-01-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned on Wednesday, I'm trying to live deliberately this year. Poetry is one of the things that helps me pause when life gets too crazy. In that spirit, on Friday's I'll be sharing poems that I love with the hope that you are moved as much as I have been. If I get really crazy, I might share a few of my own poems.

Originally I wanted to reproduce the poems here on the blog, but I don't want to infringe on the poet's copyright. Therefore I'll be passing along clips of the poet reading his or her work or links to sites that have obtained the permission to reproduce the poem.

Legalities out of the way, I give you one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, reading her poem Sunflowers.

Three Book Thursday

2012-01-12T08:27:00.003-05:00

People are always asking me to recommend great books (something I'm always happy to do!) so I thought I'd start a regular Thursday feature called Three Book Thursday. Every Thursday I'll post three books that I've loved, accompanied by one word I feel best describes them. Why one word? Because I like a challenge.

I want to feature the unputdownable (how's that for one word?) books. You know, the books you can't put down, even though it's two in the morning and your alarm will go off in four hours.

Without further ado, here are my first three picks. I read all three of these over the Christmas break, and I loved each one.

Charming!

Magical!

Shining-esque!

Deliberate living

2012-01-11T08:00:00.000-05:00

Oxford, England in 2009

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life..." Henry David Thoreau

I do not make resolutions. I'm old enough to know that most likely, I won't keep them so why set myself up for disappointment? However, I have been thinking about the direction I want my life to take. (Okay, I'm always thinking about that. It's one of those weird things about me that I can't seem to shut off. That and adopting more kids. There's always room for one more, right?)

Anyway, this week, I came across Thoreau's quote and it made me stop. I haven't been living my life deliberately. I've been stumbling along, getting caught up in the stress of parenting, life, and everything else without stopping to "live deep and suck out all the marrow of life." Like Thoreau, I don't want to get to the end of my life and discover I haven't lived. I've been close to death enough times to know how short our lives truly are.

But sometimes I forget. I worry about dog hair on the carpet or milk-soaked Cheerios stuck to the table. I make To Do lists and diligently check everything off.

Now these things aren't bad. After all, I get a lot accomplished with my lists and my worries. But when lists and worries take the place of sucking the marrow out of life, well, that's a problem.

Living is dear. I want to live deep and deliberately. For me, that means putting aside Cheerios and dog hair to live in the moment. To be more present with my kids. To take risks with my writing. To stop everything and play with our puppy.

This year, I will live deliberately and suck the marrow out of life. That's not a resolution. That's a promise.

On The Road

2012-01-10T08:00:00.000-05:00

I took this picture when we were in San Francisco in 2010. Someone had taped all sorts of sayings on the sidewalk. This one struck me. It's the beginning of 2012. What road are you on? I hope it's one less traveled (I know, I know, mixing Kerouac & Frost) and that it brings you joy. And if you don't like where you are, there's always a way to make things better. It might not be easy, but it will be worth it.

Carpe Diem

2012-01-09T14:13:00.004-05:00

Classes start today at the University where I'm teaching a fiction writing class this semester. I won't be scrambling onto any desks (I'd likely fall off and break my neck), but I will seize the day in my own slightly less neurotic manner. Most likely it will involve brownies or other baked goods.

Carpe diem, everyone!

Garden Pictures

2012-01-06T13:53:00.000-05:00

Chrysanthemums from my fall garden. Since my oldest daughter's Chinese name means chrysanthemum, we always make sure we have plenty of these in our garden!

In addition to writing fiction and poetry, I also write for Kentucky Gardener Magazine. This week I finished up two articles for the April issues. Writing for a magazine means you're always slightly out of step with the rest of the world. You turn in your articles several months before the issue goes to print which means while there's still snow on the ground, you're writing about creating a garden of beautiful blooms.

Since I provide the photographs for my articles, I also have to take bloom times for various plants into consideration. All of this means I have to start eight months to a year out to write a three page feature article. It also means I carry a camera with me almost everywhere and frequently embarrass my family by climbing over fences to snap pictures of particularly beautiful William Shakespeare 2000 roses.

I thought I'd share some of the photos I didn't use in the article to brighten your January day. All but two of the pictures are from my garden last year.

Hope you enjoy dreaming of warmer weather!

One of the hanging baskets I designed and planted for my front porch.

Morning glories, cleome (spiderplant), and purple coneflowers in my front garden.

Violas I planted in my grandmother's teacups this past fall.

My front garden again. This time showing the salvia and morning glories. Believe it or not, in the spring, this bed is full of tulips, grape hyacinths, daffodils, and irises.

Honeysuckle vine twining up the stone steps at the Spring Hill Cemetery.

Crape myrtle from my front yard. I adore my crape myrtle! I'm at the northern most part of its growing zone so it spends the most of the spring looking dead. Then it bursts into bloom with these magnificent puffs of flowers that last most of the summer.

I took this picture when we were in Sonoma Valley at a vineyard. I haven't been able to find out the type of flower, but it looks like an annual to me. (Of course I could be way off! California's growing climate isn't exactly like Kentucky's!)

I'm convinced a rose by any other name would not smell as sweet! This is before rose rosette gutted my garden and we had to pull out all of our roses. Even the hardy knock-out roses I have had flanking our porch. Yes. I cried a little. Okay. A lot (or alot).

Hey Kids, Let's Play Name That Illness!

2012-01-05T12:28:00.000-05:00

Today is Doctor Visit Day, so I don't have a lot (or Alot) of time, but I just had to drop and update those of you following my doctor-drama.

Today I saw the ortho doc. Remember when I told you that this was NOT Crohn's related? Turns out I spoke too soon. Yes, that's right. My shoulder bone is likely swelling due to Crohn's disease. Fun. The tear in my tendon, now that's from Grace. But the swelling, that's all Crohn's. Does this mean the disease is active again? Don't know. Aside from a sore shoulder, I feel pretty much the way I always do. I see my GI (Crohn's doc) on Wednesday, so I'll ask him.

The ortho gave me a shot it the shoulder. Not on the shoulder, in the shoulder. The bone people! He slid the needle into a tiny space between my shoulder bones. It was a Big Production. It took four people in the room to prepare for this shot. First betadine was slathered all over my skin and then it was sprayed with something that looked like those air cans you use to clean your computer keyboard. Then came the needle, gently maneuvered between the shoulder bones. When he pushed the plunger and injected the meds, there was a lot of pressure. It felt like someone was stretching my shoulder-bones apart. And yet, compared with most of my tests/procedures, it really wasn't that bad.

After he pulled the needle out, the doctor looked at me and said, "You're someone whose had a lot of shots, aren't you?" Um, yeah.

He then gave me a scipt for pain meds, telling me I would be very sore for the next three days. So far, it's sore, but not painfully so.

Now I'm on my way to the hematologist to get hooked up to an IV for another round of iron (also due to Crohn's). Fingers crossed that they get the needle in the first time. Last time it took six sticks before the IV took.

I know, you're all jealous...

2012-01-04T08:00:00.000-05:00

Since my oldest son was smaller than this when he was born, I choose to believe the latter. How about you?

In With the New

2012-01-03T10:17:00.000-05:00

Happy 2012! I hope you had a wondrous holiday and that this new year brings you new dreams and inspirations!

First of all, an update on the health front. On Friday I had an MRI of my right shoulder. It showed a small tendon tear, some swelling, and a bone bruise. Bone bruise? How did I do that? I'm clumsy, but I'm sure I would remember hitting something hard enough to bruise the bone.

The best I can figure is that the daily wear and tear of caring for Grace is finally showing up. After all, it's not like she has stopped growing. She's over 4 feet tall now and more than 50 pounds. Almost half my size. Sigh. More fun in the life of parenting a special needs child. Oh well, the good far outweighs the bad.

I'm seeing an ortho doctor on Thursday, but luckily it seems like I should be able to get by with some physical therapy and NO SURGERY!! YAY!!! I've had enough of those. The arm still hurts, but it's slowly improving.

Now, on to the writing content of today's post! Since handing off one round of edits to my editor, I've needed something to keep me occupied. What better way to keep busy (and to keep from continually messing with the current novel!) than start writing a new book?

Like most writers, I accumulate ideas like dust bunnies accumulate under my sofa, bed, table...well, you get the picture. I keep a Word file where I jot down new book ideas as they pop into my head. So when it was time to start working on a new book, I opened up my file and looked over my notes, finally choosing the one that inspires me the most.

I wish I could say my file is efficiently organized with headings and outlines under each thought, but it's not. It's more a rambling mess of sentence fragments and half-developed ideas or images. This time, I've combined two images (and one character) that seem to fit together. Not in any obvious way, but in the way they feel. Not very precise is it? Well, welcome to my inner self. I'm not organized or precise either.

As I'm starting this new book, I'm thinking about the feel or tone I want it to have. Think Edward Scissorhands meets The Yellow Wallpaper. In my mind it's something strangely beautiful. And a little bit...off. I have a few mental images and a main character. Possibly a ghost. And a strange house. I also know I want to write this one in first person, probably with a single narrator.

That's it. No plot. No Inciting Incident. Just fragmented images and a feeling. But this is how I write. I gravitate toward images that inspire me (I often try to link seemingly disparate images) and build a world around them. The image can be a setting, a person, sometimes a color, it doesn't really matter what the image is, only that for some strange reason, it moves me.

This isn't how everyone works. This is only what works for me. I'm not suggesting you write this way, but I would challenge you to think about what inspires you. Is there an image or song or feeling that you're fascinated by? If so, why not try meditating on it for a bit. Who knows, something wonderful could come from it.

My question for you is, what inspires you?

A delightful day indeed...

2011-12-28T11:20:00.001-05:00

Warning: This blog entry is powered by Vicodin. Possible spelling, grammatical, and other errors ahead.

Christmas is over. The presents have been opened and broken already. As usual, Christmas didn't turn out exactly as I planned. This year I injured my rotator cuff (muscle around your shoulder). I'm not sure how I did it, most likely it was from lifting Grace into bed or from her yanking on my arm. I knew this day was coming, but I didn't think it would get here so fast. She's now over fifty pounds and only a foot shorter than I am. She's seven. Sigh. (I'm thanking God for Sarah, my oldest daughter. She has been a GREAT help to me. I hope everyone has a teenage daughter like her. She's wonderful!)

Anyway, I spent Christmas Eve at urgent care and most of Christmas day in bed. Yuck. Luckily, I was able to watch the kids open their presents and then it was back to bed. On Friday I have an MRI to find out if the muscle is torn or just swollen. If it's torn, it might mean surgery. Needless to say I've crossed my fingers, toes, legs and anything else I can think of that the muscle is just swollen, not torn. Of course it's my right shoulder and I'm right handed.

On the bright side, it's not Crohn's related. Yay! It's almost a relief to have a "normal" injury.

Anyway, in a effort to speed the blog posts will be very brief until I'm back to normal. I'll still be posting, but things will be abbreviated. Once my shoulder is better and I'm off of the pain meds, I'll start posting about my editing process and give everyone an update on that. Until then, thanks for hanging in there with me, and I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas!

Peanut Butter Candy

2011-12-23T09:46:00.003-05:00

My last gift to you is the one that means the most to me. Every year for Christmas, my mom used to make peanut butter candy. Christmas was her favorite time of year and she did her best to make it special for us. Part of that was her peanut butter candy. I've tweaked her recipe a bit, but it's still just as good as I remember. More than lights or presents, this makes it feel like Christmas for me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Peanut Butter Candy

Ingredients

3/4 cup milk
1/3 cup peanut butter
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 tablespoons light Karo corn syrup
1 tablespoon butter
1/4 teaspoon salt

Prepare

Grease an 8x8 pan. Set aside
Combine sugar, brown sugar, salt, milk, and corn syrup in a large pan
Stir over medium heat until it boils
Cover and let boil for 2-3 minutes (don't stir)
Uncover and continue to boil over medium heat (don't stir) until syrup dropped into cold water forms a ball (for me this normally takes 3 minutes or so)
Remove from heat
Add peanut butter and vanilla
Stir until thickened.
Spread into greased pan
Let cool and cut into squares when firm

Merry Christmas and may the coming year make dreams come true for all of you!

Simple White Bread

2011-12-21T12:48:00.000-05:00

Sorry the posts aren't as regular. Four kids at home during the holidays leaves little time for blogging (or anything else!) But I'm thinking of you and so grateful for all of you. I wish I could reach through the screen and hug you all.

Today I'd like to share this recipe for simple white bread. It's one of the easiest bread recipes I've found, and my kids love it! They ask me to make it all the time. (All credit goes to Great Tastes Baking.)

Simple White Bread

Ingredients

2 1/2 teaspoons instant dried yeast
1 teaspoon sugar
2 teaspoons salt
3 2/3 cups white bread flour

Sprinkle yeast and sugar over 5 oz warm water. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Leave alone for 10 minutes or until yeast is foamy
Combine the flour and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer with dough hook attachment. Make a well in the center
Add another 5 oz warm water to the yeast mixture
Add yeast mixture to the flour (pour it into the well you made)
Set mixer to lowest speed and mix for 2 minutes or until dough forms
Increase speed to medium and knead dough for 10 minutes or until it is smooth and elastic
Grease a large bowl with oil (I use olive oil) and transfer dough to bowl, turning the dough to coat it in oil
Cover bowl with plastic wrap and let dough rise for 1 - 1 1/2 hours or until dough has doubled in size
Knock back dough by punching it gently. Turn it out onto a lightly floured work surface.
Shape into a rounded oval and transfer to greased baking tray.
Cover loosely with a damp cloth and leave for 30 minutes or until doubled in size
Preheat oven to 375
Use a sharp knife and make three diagonal slashes on top of loaf
Bake for 40 minutes or until it sounds hollow when tapped on base
Transfer to wire rack to cool completely
Serve with butter or olive oil and balsamic vinegar

Enjoy!

Chocolate Chip Cookies

2011-12-19T11:57:00.002-05:00

Christmas snuck up on me this year. With all of the excitement over finding an agent and working on revisions, I fell behind pretty much everything else, including Christmas. This is Not Good when you have four kids. Not Good At All. We just put our tree up this weekend. (I'm hanging my head in shame.)

Anyway, yesterday I finally finished my Christmas shopping, and as I was doing so, I was thinking about you, Dear Readers. I'd love to reach through the blogosphere and deliver presents to each of you, but alas, I can't. So I thought I'd share some of my favorite recipes this week in the hopes that your family will enjoy them as much as mine does.

Today, I give you the World's Best Chocolate Chip Cookies. These cookies are fantastic, every time I make them, I get requests for the recipe. I hope you enjoy them as much as we do.

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
1 cup brown sugar packed
1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Preparation

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Grease cookie sheets or line with parchment paper
Sift together flour, baking soda, and salt; set aside
In medium bowl, cream together the melted butter, brown and white sugars until well blended.
Beat in the vanilla, egg, and egg yolk until light and creamy.
Slowly incorporate the flour mixture until just blended.
Stir in chocolate chips.
Chill the dough (I normally pop it in the fridge for 20 minutes).
Use a cookie scoop to drop out dough onto the prepared sheets--space cookies about 2 inches apart.
Bake for 15-17 minutes or until the edges are lightly browned. (I set a timer for 7 1/2 minutes then rotate the cookie sheets so that they cook evenly.)
Cool on cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then transfer to wire rack to cool completely.

Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Happy Friday

2011-12-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

My wish for you: that you wake up and find your dreams have become your purpose.

All I want for Christmas

2011-12-15T08:00:00.000-05:00

One of the things I dream about is having a room of my own, a space that's just mine. A space where I can spread out my papers and line the walls with books. Preferably, a room with a window overlooking the garden. Or better yet, an entire studio in the middle of a garden. One where I can't hear the kids when they stand in the middle of the house screaming, "Mommy! I need a pink crayon! Where are the pink crayons?"

Right now, I work anywhere I find the space--often at the kitchen table or propped up in bed. It works, but I'd love to have somewhere I can leave my stuff without being afraid that the kids will use my novel for coloring sheets.

Since Christmas is coming up, I've decided that this is what I'll ask for. Specifically, Santa, I'd like to request a replica of the cottage above (and the garden to go with it!) Please, Santa, I've spent enough years writing in the toy room next to a Thomas the Train table. I'd like a grown up space now.

Thanks. I'll leave out some extra cookies this year!

So true

2011-12-13T09:00:00.000-05:00

I love this:

Writing retreat

2011-12-12T08:00:00.000-05:00

Today I want to talk about writing retreats. I'm in the process of revising my novel and in desperate need of A Room of My Own. Since this is difficult to come by in a house with four kids, two dogs, two cats, an assortment of fish and frogs, and one husband, this weekend I checked into a hotel to find that quiet space where my mind could wander.

I grabbed my novel and left the house on Friday afternoon, not returning until Sunday afternoon. (Let me pause here to say, Yes, I have a Very Supportive Spouse. If you are a writer, you must get yourself one these.)

I have been writing for a long time. I was not under the illusion that I would be sipping wine, Thinking Great Thoughts, surprising myself with my brilliance. No. This would be work. I brought my laptop, a hard copy of my manuscipt, and my iPad (I'm thinking of having it surgically attached to my body).

I set a goal for the number of chapters I wanted to get through, and as soon as I checked in, I got to work. Dear reader, I thought I was prepared. I write every day at home. Every. Single. Day. But I've never spent a weekend immersed in my work.

It was invaluable.

It was exhausting.

I got home and wanted to crawl into bed. It probably didn't help that I ate like an 18 year old college student--caffeine and carbs--all weekend, but diet aside, I did not expect to come home utterly worn out.

And yet, what else should I expect? I'm creating this world. Everything in it comes from somewhere in me. Shouldn't the act of creation be exhausting? Isn't bringing something new into the world worth the effort?

It is for me. Coming home exhausted means I poured myself into my work, and as a writer, isn't that the point? Isn't it about finding your own voice and putting it out there? That's not easy.

This weekend, I got through a large amount of text, and I was able to think through some issues I was having with the book. I feel like I have a handle on this stage of the rewrite. That will probably change later, but for now I'm feeling good.

And tired. I'm also feeling tired.

Just so you know

2011-12-09T08:00:00.000-05:00

If I haven't told you yet, you're important to me.

Inquiring minds want to know

2011-12-08T08:00:00.001-05:00

I've been getting a lot of questions since signing with my agent. Much of the information I used during my agent search (and before that, while I was writing my book) came from blogs like this one. So, with the hope of helping my fellow writers along their path, I thought I'd answer some of the more frequent questions I've been getting. If you have a question I haven't answered here, feel free to ask it in the comments section. I'll do my best to answer.

Did you have an "in" with your agent?/Do you know anyone in publishing?

Nope. I'm a slush pile success story. I didn't know anyone in the industry. I did exactly what agents tell you to do. I researched agents and sent out queries. Then I bit my fingersnails to the quick and tried not to check my email every five minutes.

How did you decide which agents to query?

I read a lot. If I read a book that was similar to mine, I found out who the agent was then added them to my list. After that, I checked the agent's website to make sure they were still interested in my type of book. I specifically looked for agents who were interested in quirky, off-beat characters and magical realism.

I also subscribed to Publishers Marketplace, which is a great resource. It's $20 a month but you can research agents and the deals they're making. You can sign up for a month, do your research, then cancel your subscription.

Plus, I spent a lot of time on querytracker.net. It's a great way to organize the agents you are interested in. I also checked the forums on Absolute Write, so much information is available on that site. Everything from query letter critiques to information about agents and agencies.

Finally, I read interviews the agents gave. Two blogs were especially helpful to me there: Mother. Write. (Repeat.) (she has interviews with several agents) and Literary Rambles (they spotlight agents who represent children's books, but a lot of agents rep both children's and adult literature.)

As you can see, I put a lot of effort into figuring out which agents would be a good fit for my book. Using a scattershot approach wastes you're time and the agent's. Why query someone if they don't represent the type of books you write?

Now this wasn't something I did overnight. I started researching in the spring, months before I began querying. My thought was to spend a bit of time here and there to create my list, then when I was finished editing/revising my novel, I'd be ready to query.

How many agents did you query?

I sent out 16 letters.

How long did you spend querying?

I sent out my first query on 10/31/11. Dan Lazar offered to represent me on 11/29/11. This is not typical. Don't get discouraged if it takes longer. Keep going. You will get there.

Did you have a system?

Sort of. Months before I began querying, I made a spreadsheet and divided it into columns: Dream Agents, then agents A, B, and C. (Keep in mind that I only queried agents I would have been thrilled to work with. Everyone on my list was fantastic and often it was hard to seperate the agents into categories. Most of the time it was based on which books they already represented.)

When I started sending out my letters, I chose agents from each column on the list. I sent out roughly 4 letters a week. (I didn't query all of the agents on my list right away just in case my query letter wasn't good enough. I wanted to make sure I could rework it if needed.)

What is something you wish you had known before you began querying?

This is going to sound weird, but I wish I had known how truly nice everyone was going to be. It would have been a little less stressful for me. As a writer, you spend so much time researching what agents want, trying to make sure that you get everything just right, that it's easy to forget agents are people too. More than that, they're fellow bibliophiles. And let's face it, we book people tend to be pretty nice (at least to our own kind!)

Since this has ended up being a very long post, I'll end here. I was planning on talking about query letters, but I'll save that for another day--probably some time next week. I hope this helps those of you on the agent quest! Good luck to everyone, the world needs your books!

This is my new motto

2011-12-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

As you know, I'm diving back into revisions. It's a wonderfully scary thing. Wonderful for all the obvious reasons. Scary because I don't want to mess it up! Not the book. The opportunity. So I've decided that whenever I get worried, I'll repeat my new motto:

(In case you're wondering, I'm saying it now. Don't tell anyone.)

For the Moms (and Dads) Out There

2011-12-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

The day I signed with my agent was absolutely one of the best days of my life. You see, like many of you, I've loved books since I was a little girl. Some of my best childhood memories involve curling up with a book, long after I should have been asleep. I'm a writer, but the idea that someone can create a world out of nothing but words still awes me.

We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up. Our house was falling down around us. Half of the shingles on the roof were gone, and when it rained, water poured down the walls. Not a trickle or a few drops.  A stream of water running down our walls, making puddles on the floor. In winter, the thermostat was set at 55 because we couldn't pay the electric bill. I spent many days covered in blankets, sitting on the floor register, trying to get warm.

The one thing we did have, the one thing my mom made sure we had, were books. Lot's of them. Books from the library. Books of our own. Our falling-down-house was filled with books. Not only that, but from the time I was a baby, to the time I was reading Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. my mom read to us. She read to us at night before we went to bed. She read to us at lunch.  My brother and I ate.  She didn't so that she could read to us.

Not only that, she made up stories that we starred in. Many nights my brother and I fought with the rebellion against Darth Vader and the Emperor. Or we sailed the seas with Prince Caspian and the Dawn Treader.

My mother not only gave me life, she gave me dreams for my life. One of which came true last week. It was bittersweet because my mother, the reason I'm a reader and a writer, died three years ago and is not here to share this with me. And yet, in a way she is.  If she hadn't shared her love of reading with me, I would never have written a book. I would never have signed with an agent.

This part of her is always with me.  One of the last conversations I had with her was about a book we had both read--Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. She had loaned it to me, and I had just finished reading it. (Beautiful book by the way.) I have a closet-full of books we've read together. Books we talked about.  Books we planned to share, but never got the chance. So you see, she is still here. In the dreams she gave me. In the love of books she planted deep in my heart when I was too young to see that she wasn't just sharing a story with me; she was sharing a dream.

This is what I hope to do for my children. This is what my mother did for me.

It's official!!!

2011-12-02T08:53:00.001-05:00

I have an agent! I just signed the contract, so now I am represented by Daniel Lazar of Writers House! I'm still stunned. I only started querying on Halloween. I expected to spend at least six months looking for an agent (and that was being optimistic.) Never in a million years did I expect to sign with such a fantastic agent in such a short amount of time.

So, here's how it all went down. I queried Daniel on 11/9/11. He requested the full manuscript the same day. His wasn't the first request I received, but I was nervous anyway. If you're a writer, you understand. Every time I sent something out to an agent it felt like turning my skin inside out. Scary. Very Scary.

Still, life goes on, especially when you have four kids. I went about my day. I refrained from checking my email every two minutes--showing great restraint, I only checked it every five minutes--and tried to forget (HA! as if that was possible) that an agent might be reading my book right this very second!!!

Fast forward to this Tuesday (11/29/11). I got an email from Daniel asking if I had time to talk to him on the phone some time that day. Um, yeah. I had time. I spent the day walking in circles with both my cell phone and my home phone tucked into my pockets. I tried not to get too excited (didn't work). He might be calling to ask me to revise the novel and resubmit it. He might be calling to say he read it, but didn't love it. Or...he might be calling to offer to represent me.

Finally, at 4:30, the phone rang. Three of the kids were home. Attempting to appear professional, I bribed them into silence and ran into the other room.

It was The Call. He offered to represent me. I was stunned. He said he liked several things about the book, but that there were also several things that needed to be changed. If I accepted the offer, big rewrites would be involved. I suspected this because the entire time he had the manuscript he would periodically email me with his thoughts on edits the book needed.

If you're a writer, you know what a great kindness this is. You know how it feels to wonder what's going on with the manuscript you submitted. Agents are busy people. They don't have to update you. You're not their client. They have no obligation to you. Taking the time to do this was one of the (many) things that impressed me about Dan.

The other thing (okay--besides the fact that he's a Rock Star of an agent!) that impressed me were his suggestions about the book. The things he thought needed to change were not small things, but they were the right things. If I accepted his offer, I would work with an independent editor to revise the manuscript before he submits it to publishers.

All of this was going through my mind during our phone conversation. (Well, that and trying not to embarrass myself too much!) Another agent had my manuscript so I didn't accept his offer right away. I notified the other agent and waited to hear from her before making my decision.

Obviously, you know the outcome. I'm thrilled to say that I am now represented by Daniel Lazar. I have a lot of work ahead of me, but the thing that's so exciting is that I'm working with people (I just got off the phone with my editor and she is Fantastic! Really, I love her already!) that get what I'm trying to do with the story.

So what's next? Well, I dive into the revision process. Again. And I'm excited to do so! After that, we try to find a publisher which is a whole different process!

This makes me happy!

2011-11-14T15:21:00.001-05:00

A few months ago, the Borders by my house closed. Today, Joseph Beth opened in the same spot. I have a book store again!

Quest for coolness

2011-11-10T10:45:00.001-05:00

I am not cool. This might shock you, but the kid who carries Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time books around high school and wins Star Wars and Star Trek quoting contests does not win Prom Queen. For a while, I thought I would outgrow my inner geek.

I. Was. Wrong.

Not only have I not suddenly become cool, it seems I've drifted even further down the geek scale. This week, two things made me realize my quest for coolness will forever elude me.

First. On Monday I took the kids to Best Buy so they could give me ideas for Christmas presents for them. Something shiny caught my attention. An iPad 2. It was loverly. I wanted to rip it from its display, clutch it to my chest, and run out of the store hissing, "My precious. It is my precious!"

Thankfully, I was able to control myself. It might surprise you to learn that this was not the moment that made me even less cool. No. That moment occurred when I got confused by all the apps and my 8-year-old and my 15-year-old had to show me how to use it. I don't know how this happened. I used to be the kid showing her mom how to use things. Now I'm the Mom. What's next? Rocking on the porch saying, "Back in my day I walked to school. In the snow." Oh. Wait. I have said that.

The second thing is even worse. I was going through my closet, looking for clothes to donate to the Vietnam Vets, when I pulled out an old pair of jeans. Dear Reader, they were acid washed. They were high waisted. They were Mom Jeans.

Thankfully, I have not worn them in a long time. But not from any fashion sense on my part. It's because I've found something even better than Mom Jeans. Yoga Pants. I wear them every day. Yes, Dear Reader, every day. I don't even do yoga. At least not any more. I went through a phase when I thought I'd get in shape. I faithfully practiced yoga several times a week. Then I discovered I that wearing the pants while eating Hershey's dark chocolate was much more fun than contorting myself into Downward Facing Dog.

Dear Reader, I must stop this downward spiral. I am one step away from embroidered Christmas sweaters. Today I am giving away the Mom Jeans. I am changing out of the yoga pants and putting on Old Navy jeans. (Not high fashion, but at least not high waisted.) And I am going shopping. Right after I finish watching a rerun of The Sarah Connor Chronicles on Syfy.

Why writing is important

2011-11-04T09:27:00.001-04:00

This week, I taught a class for a professor friend of mine who was sick. It was an undergraduate fiction writing class, and let me just get this out of the way--I was Impressed. These writers were on the ball. The knew what they were talking about when they critiqued their peer's work. The stories they handed in were well written and interesting. It was Good Stuff, people. I'm telling you, Good Stuff.

I came away from the class inspired. Here was a room full of students who were passionate about writing. Some were English majors. Others were not, but they all had one thing in common--they wanted to write. So they did. They knew how difficult it is to make it as a writer, but they wrote anyway.

Writing is Hard Work. You don't just sit down and doodle out a story in 15 minutes then sell it for millions of dollars and become the next J.K. Rowling. No. Not even close. Not even a little bit true. Let me say it again. Writing is Hard Work and there's no guarantee of a pay off (I mean a monetary pay off).

So why do it? Why are these kids sitting in a creative writing classroom when they probably realize they'd have a better shot at finding a good job if they were sitting in a computer programming class? Because writing is important.

I don't think writers hear this enough. We know that doctors and teachers and engineers are important, but we don't say that writers are important.

Yet words have the power to change things. What do dictators do when they come to power? They burn books. Even fiction (maybe especially fiction). Why? Because stories transform the way we see the world. They open our minds to new possibilities and new ways of thinking. That's monumental, world changing stuff.

Now, not every book is going to impact the entire world, but think back to when you were a child. What books shaped your world view? I'll bet you can name several that you still cherish all these years later. We knew parents and teachers had the ability to mold a child's life, but writers? How often do we think about writers having that kind of power?

Not often enough. In fact, sometimes it seems the only people who realize the power that books have are people who want to ban books. I think it's about time the rest of us stand up and say, (to ourselves and those writers around us) Writing is important. Keep going even when you want to stop. Even when it's hard. Even when you think no one cares.

Because the truth is, someone does care that you're out there, working as hard as you can on your manuscript. I care. And so do a lot of other people. Because what you're doing matters. What you're doing is important. It matters.

Wow. Just wow.

2011-10-29T15:33:00.000-04:00

Last week I got an email from our adoption agency. The people in charge of international adoptions in China are putting together a book of adoption stories. Somehow, they remembered when we adopted Grace and have asked me to write her story. In 2005, the year we adopted Grace, almost 8,000 Chinese children were adopted. I can't find exact numbers for the years since (although I believe that due to changes in laws, the number has dropped) but assuming about 5,000 Chinese children have been adopted each year since then, that means about 30,000 Chinese children have been adopted in the six years since we have adopted Grace. (Again, I'm guessing here, I don't have exact numbers.) Out of all of those kids, they remembered Grace.

This is both humbling and sad. It's humbling because Steve and I did not set out to do a Big Thing. We just wanted a family. We still do not see adopting Grace as a Big Thing. A Hard Thing, yes, but not a big deal.

But most of all it's sad. They remember Grace because there are so many children with severe needs and so few of them are adopted. As a result, the people who do take on kids like Grace stand out. In fact, when we were in China adopting Caleb, we met a family who had initially been presented with a child who had trouble walking. She would need a wheelchair and physical therapy. The woman had been outraged. "Can you imagine?" she said to me. "A wheelchair? Spending your whole life like that?" She was not talking about the little girl, she was talking about spending her own life caring for a child with such needs. They refused the little girl and then demanded another child. She sounded like she was talking about picking out a dog from the pound and not adopting a child. I couldn't take it any longer. I walked away while she was still talking.

Unfortunately, this happens a lot. I know of several families who have made this decision.

On one hand, I understand. I really do. Raising a child with severe needs is hard. It's exhausting. It's frustrating, and it's unbelievably sad. I understand her fear--because I do believe it was fear that motivated her decision. But it's also wonderful and life-changing. More than anything else, Grace has changed the way I see the world. Yes, there are times I wish I wasn't on this path. It's so, so hard. But I can't imagine my life without her. Yes, I wish every day she could speak to me. And sometimes (often) I don't feel strong enough to handle her needs. But surprisingly, I do. (Well, we do. Steve plays his part too!)

Since getting the email from our adoption agency, I've given Grace several extra hugs, because I can't imagine her among the children who have been left behind. Also, I think about the children who've been so close to finding a family only to lose that chance. I wish things were different because everyone deserves a family, and no one should be judged based on how the things their body can't do. So I will write Grace's story and hope it will help. Because, yes this path is hard. But I don't want an easy life. I want a life filled with hope and love and struggle and joy and heartache. I want to look back at the end of it all and say, "God, I'm tired, but it was so, so worth it."

Make a difference

2011-10-18T10:17:00.000-04:00

As usual, I'm a bit behind on book world news. So this morning after I got the husband off to his new job (that's right!! A new job! More money! Yay!), the kids on their assorted buses (4 kids = 3 buses), the dog walked, and most importantly, had my requisite two cups of coffee and cinnamon Pop Tarts, I sat down to catch up with the publishing world. I do this by reading various blogs, one of which is literary agent Janet Reid's.

I read the first post about tweeting etiquette and laughed at the things people do, then I scrolled on down to yesterday's post. I was appalled. Absolutely appalled. Let me summarize the situation for you. When the National Book Foundation announced their nominees in the YA category, they included Lauren Myracle's book, Shine. This was a mistake and they meant to nominate Franny Billingsley's, Chime. Instead of simply adding Chime to the nominee list, there were several very public debates over whether to keep Myracle's book as a nominee. In the end, they asked Myracle to withdraw.

My heart breaks for Myracle. To be told that your book is nominated for a prestigious award and then to endure the spectacle of a public debate over whether your book should stay nominated or be removed from the list would be agonizing. However, Myracle handled herself with such grace. She withdrew and then asked the National Book Foundation to donate to the Matthew Shepard Foundation.

To compound the tragedy, Shine is about gay teenager who is beaten and left for dead, and October 12 was the 13 year anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death. I remember hearing about the brutal attack on Shepard 13 years ago. My heart broke then. I struggled to understand how anyone could be so cruel. I still struggle to understand that. Now, I'm a parent and that adds a whole new dimension to the crime. What if that was my child? How could I live with the knowledge that not only had my child died, but that he had died in such a hateful, brutal fashion? It makes me want to stand up and scream, "What's wrong with the world?!"

I want to change it. I imagine Myracle wants to change it too, and that's why she wrote Shine. I can not change what happened to Shepard. I can not change the way the National Book Foundation (mis)handled this situation. But I can buy Myracle's book, and I can talk about it. You can too. And maybe little by little, we can make sure that no one else's child ever has to suffer the way Matthew Shepard did.

Things I wish someone had told me...

2011-10-10T12:38:00.000-04:00

This weekend, we had some good friends over and had an absolutely wonderful time! Really, it was the first time in a long time that I wished everyone could have stayed longer, but alas we all have kids and one thing no one ever tells you when you become a parent is that your days of sleeping in late are OVER. Which in turn means, you nights of staying out late are also OVER. That is, unless you want to be a giant grouch the next day. Giant Grouch = Bad Mommy.

Anyway, I started thinking about why we had such a good time. First and foremost, were the people. Is there anything better than getting together with friends you’ve known for such a long time? Not really. It’s one of life’s great joys. Even on Monday, I’m still missing everyone.

The second reason is particular to those of us with special needs kids, and it’s why I decided to write this post. Every time we go somewhere with Grace, we’re always the ones who have to leave early. You see, when you have a child with moderate to severe disabilities, you can never truly relax at someone else’s house. You’re constantly on the look out for something that will hurt her, or something she will break. It’s exhausting. In the almost six years we’ve had Grace, we’ve only taken two family vacations because it’s so hard.

While everyone else is relaxing and having a good time, you’re up making sure your daughter doesn’t shove decorative stones into her mouth and choke. Or that her suspicious twitches aren’t a sign of an impending seizure, because like an idiot, you left her Diastat (medicine that helps stop an overly long/severe seizure) at home. And even if you did bring it, will everyone be horrified when you roll your seizing daughter onto her side, whip out the Diastat and gently push the GIANT tube into her rectum and push the plunger to stop her seizure? Will you be able to do it in time before she vomits all over the nice carpet? Probably not.

Why am I writing this? Because, just like no one ever told you that your days of sleeping in were gone once you became a parent, there are even more things no one tells you when you have a special needs child, and let me tell you, the learning curve is steep. I’m writing because I wish someone had done this for me, even if it was only to let me know that I wasn’t alone. Because waking up and finding that your child isn’t like everyone else’s is terrifying. I’m going to list some of the things I’ve learned. If you have a child with special needs, I hope it helps you—even if it’s just to let you know you’re not alone. If you do not have a special needs child, please read the list. You probably have a friend or family member in this situation, and maybe by understanding what they are struggling with, you can make their life a little easier.

So here goes. Feel free to add to the list in the comments section.

1. You will be terrified, and other parents won’t understand.

2. You will not think you’re strong enough—but you are.

3. You might lose some friends, but you will gain new ones.

4. You will mourn the life you thought you’d have—and that mourning might go on for a long time. Dreams for retirement with your spouse, college and marriage for your child, grandchildren, they all disappear.

5. These dreams will be replaced with new dreams. These new dreams are not better or worse than your old dreams. They are only different.

6. Sometimes, you will wish you weren’t on this path.

7. Some people will be afraid of your child. They will pull their children away from your child as if what she has is catching. This will always hurt.

8. Some people will surprise you with their compassion and generosity—often the ones you least expect.

9. When your child is screaming on the sidewalk, people will stop and stare. Just wave and wait for your child to stop screaming. Then help her up and keep walking.

10. Your child might qualify for Medicare. This is a Godsend.

11. If you have a child who roams at night and they are too big for a crib, investigate a Sleep Safe bed. It will keep them safe at night and you will be able to sleep without worrying. Also, it might be covered by Medicare.

12. You might still be changing diapers on a ten-year-old.

13. Your child—who still wears diapers—will find new ways to take them off at night and throw the mess around her room. She might not be able to feed herself, but she will be able to get out of her diaper. To combat this, duct tape the diaper tabs to the diaper.

14. If your child gets out of her pjs at night, put her in footie pjs, but put them on backwards.

15. Finding a babysitter will be difficult.

16. There is respite care available for special needs kids, but they won’t watch your non-special needs kids.

17. There are summer respite programs/camps for your child, and often they are covered by Medicare.

18. Sometimes your other children need a break from your disabled child. Take them to a movie or to the park. Or put your other child to bed early and play a game.

19. Sometimes you need a break from your disabled child. Even if it’s just going for a cup of coffee while someone watches your child. Do it. You are more than your child’s caregiver, and you must take care of yourself so that you can take care of your child.

20. Laying down across your child to restrain her while a nurse tries to place an IV will become normal, but it will break your heart every time.

21. You will learn to differentiate Bad seizures from Normal seizures.

22. If you have a daughter who has seizures, they might increase when she hits puberty.

23. Along the same lines, there are shots to stop her periods once she hits puberty.

24. Still on adolescence, you will worry that someone will hurt her (by hurt, I mean rape) and she will never be able to tell you.

25. Your other children might become wonderfully accepting of others because of their disabled sibling.

26. Your heart will break as you watch your daughter longing to play with other kids, but unable to.

27. Going to the park might be difficult if your child eats mulch.

28. You will love the kids who reach out to your child.

29. Sometimes people will say stupid/hurtful things. Try not to let it bother you. I tell myself they are speaking out of ignorance.

30. Sometimes people will act as if you are a saint because you have a special needs child, when you’re just trying to be a parent. This is extremely irritating. Again, I just nod and tell myself they are trying to be nice.

31. You will develop your own way of communicating with your child. It might not be standard, but you will understand each other eventually.

32. Sometimes, you’ll need to take a break from the speech therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy and just be a Mom/Dad. This is OK. Do not feel bad about it. Do not let others make you feel bad about it.

33. Everything you feel will be intensified. You will have higher highs, and lower lows.

34. Some great blessings will flow out of parenting this child. So will some great hurts, but this is true for every parent.

35. Humor helps everything.

I’m sure I’ve forgotten a lot of things. If I have, please add them in the comments. This list is not meant to scare anyone, but to let you know you’re not alone. Everything you’re feeling is normal, and some of us have walked this road before. If you’re reading this and you don’t have special needs kids, the best thing you can do for someone who does have a special needs child is just to be a friend. It’s difficult and lonely sometimes, but having friends makes everything easier.

Another Commercial

2011-10-05T08:00:00.000-04:00

After posting the Darth Vader Volkswagen commercial, people started sending me their favorite commercials. In the spirit of sharing, I give you The Swagger Wagon. Thanks, Doug!

BTW - This is what Steven & I do every time we load the kids into the minivan....

House gets stuck in a rut

2011-10-04T10:15:00.000-04:00

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m a big fan of the TV show House, M.D.. Last night was the season premiere and I was ready for it. I rushed the kids through the bedtime routine and herded them upstairs with strict instructions to “Go to sleep Now!” I was even willing to resort to bribery since Zach normally gets out of bed three or four times to ask me whatever burning question pops into his head before he falls asleep--Mommy, is dark matter the same as anti-matter? Mommy, did you know that the sun orbits around the center of the Milky Way? (If you haven’t guessed, his space is his newest fascination. Sigh, butterflies are a thing of the past.)

Luckily, I didn’t have to part with the two dollars I had slipped into my pocket—hush money for Zach—because he actually stayed in bed and fell asleep. Probably because Steve drove the boys to the unfinished part of our subdivision so that they could do some star gazing without interference from the street lights. Have I mentioned that Zach’s newest interest is space?

Anyway, for weeks, I scoured the internet, eagerly devouring any tidbit about the upcoming season of House. Trailers of House in prison garb had me giddy with excitement. Finally, I thought, after dropping the ball half-way through last season we’ll get to see House struggling with the emotional fallout from his behavior.

Nope. Not at all. Oh sure, there are a few lines where House reveals that no one has come to visit him in prison. That he didn’t hire an attorney and accepted the first deal the prosecution offered in order to punish himself. But where is the substance?

Half way through last season, House and Cuddy broke up. Rather than deal with his pain, House ignored it until in a fit of self-destructiveness he drove his car through the front room of Cuddy’s house then ran away to a tropical island. This season opens with House in prison as a result of that stunt.

Now I like the idea of House in prison. The writers could do some really great stuff with that. House isn’t in charge. His Vicodin usage is monitored. Wow. We might actually get to see him struggle to control himself. Instead, House, being House, finds and accurately diagnoses a sick inmate. Same thing he does when he’s not in prison.

I wanted to see the scenes they just talked about in this episode. I want to see House deciding not to hire an attorney. I want to see him trying to destroy himself. I want to see Cuddy confront him (I know, I know, Lisa Edelstein is no longer with the show—but she should be). I want some CLOSURE to their relationship. I want to see Wilson abandon House.

The reason I love(d?) the show is that it wasn’t the same old boring medical drama. Yes, it’s interesting to see a brilliant doctor diagnose a case. But good grief, enough already with the doctor-dramas. Yes, House’s abrasive, destructive personality is enticing, and I love seeing it. But the real appeal is watching House want to be more than he is and never quite attaining it. That’s why I loved the House/Cuddy relationship. Because it gave House the opportunity to change. And he did. A little. But those little glimmers of humanity were enough.

For a story to remain interesting to readers/viewers, the characters must grow and change. Now, the change doesn’t have to be for the better, House could spiral completely out of control. He’s never going to be a warm and fuzzy guy, nor would I want him to be. What I want to see is his desire to change. His struggle with the knowledge that he’s never going to be able to maintain a “normal” relationship.

I realize that David Shore (show’s creator) has said that he believes people don’t change and that’s why House keeps doing the same things over and over again. Okay. Fine. I can buy that. So don’t show us a changed House. Show us he desires to change, but fails. Scenes that could have shown that desire (House not hiring an attorney, House taking the plea, interaction between House and Wilson, House and Cuddy, etc.) were glossed over in a bit of dialogue. The show broke the cardinal rule of writing—Show, don’t Tell. They told us about these moments, instead of letting us see them. As a result, they lost whatever emotional impact they could have had with the viewer.

Hugh Laurie is a fantastic actor. He could play the hell out of those small moments, but he’s not getting the chance. Instead, we’re getting the same thing over and over again. Next week, it looks like House will be back at the hospital, doing the same old thing that he did before. I'm extremely dissapointed that a show with such brilliant potential has become stuck in a rut.

May the Force be with you

2011-09-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

I know this is about a year old, but it's running again and I just have to say: Best. Commercial. Ever.

Why yes, that is a duck pen...

2011-09-26T09:30:00.000-04:00

If you ever thought a writer's life was glamorous, perhaps this will disabuse you of that notion:

That's right. I'm using a duck pen to edit my novel. The best part? It quacks when you push the head down.

2011-09-23T08:45:00.000-04:00

All four of the kids are finally in school!!! Yay!! (Picture me throwing confetti and doing a Happy Dance!) I never thought this day would come. I finally have more of that most precious resource--Time.

The week before school started, I took the three little kids to Kmart for some last minute school supplies. The cashier looked at the crayons and folders strewn across the register and then at Zach and Caleb who were holding up gum and Skittles yelling, "Hey, Mommy! Can I have this!"

She looked at Grace who was drooling on the register and elbowing me in the stomach because she didn't want to stand in line. She wanted to run through the store, pulling things from the shelves and stuffing them in her mouth.

The cashier went a little misty eyed. "Do you cry every year when they go back to school?"

Cry? Do tears of joy count? "Um, no," I said as Grace started biting the counter.

"I cried every year when mine got on the bus," she said. "But I stayed at home with them."

Good grief, I wanted to say. That's why I want them in school. Because I'm home with them every single day. Of course I didn't say it. "I'm home too," I said as I picked Grace up and held her under my arm like a football. (For those of you who don't know, Grace is BIG.) Grace kicked me a few times, then flapped her hands and giggled.

As we walked to the car I wondered whether my Extreme Joy at the thought of the kids being in school made me a Bad Mother. Then Zach and Caleb started leaning across the back seat to hit each other.

No, I thought over their screams. It makes me human.

Hmmmm?

2011-07-28T07:46:00.000-04:00

I'm in the process of doing a final round of edits on a novel I hope to start sending out in the fall (yep, when the kiddos are in school!) While researching agents, publishers, etc. I came across the following article about self-publishing that I found fascinating.

Now, my plan is to query agents in the fall. Land my dream agent on the first try, and sell my novel for a 6 figure advance...(stop laughing. It could happen!) But, if things don't work out that way, maybe this is another option.

All in all, an interesting time to be a writer.

New Poems

2011-07-23T10:22:00.000-04:00

The Summer 2011 issue of Poetry Quarterly is out and four of my poems are included. As a lot of you know, I just graduated with my M.A. in English. My final project was a book-length collection of poetry about adopting my daughter, Grace, who is autistic and developmentally delayed.

I consider myself more of a fiction writer than a poet; however, I had been trying to tell Grace's story for years. When I stumbled into poetry, it seemed like the perfect form for her story. With poetry, I felt like I could capture snapshots of our lives together without the need to wrap up everything in a nice neat package at the end. Life with Grace is difficult and wonderful; exhausting and exhilarating. The one thing it isn't is tidy. I think poetry respects that.

The poems are available online. Click on "Open Publication" and turn to page 5 and you'll find my work. To zoom in, just click on the page.

Enjoy!

Where did the years go?

2011-07-21T10:02:00.001-04:00

I can't believe summer break is almost over. As usual, I've been too busy to post (summer with the kids limits my time), but I wanted to quickly share this video I made for Steve's birthday, which was yesterday. Yay! Now he can't tease me about being older than he is!

A lot of you have been with us through some of our rough times & through our adoption journeys. I thought you might like seeing how the kids have grown & how our family has come together.

I hope you enjoy it!

Stephanie

Encouragement

2011-06-02T09:21:00.000-04:00

Ah friends, I have been too long absent from the blogging world and it's not going to get better any time soon. Today is Day 1 of Summer Break (otherwise known as my long descent into the Ninth Circle--err, I mean that wonderful time of year when I get Quality Time with the four kiddos) which means my computer time will be even more limited.

Since my time is limited and I only have so many words in me each day, blogging through the summer will be spotty. I'm doing the final edits on my novel (YAY!! It's almost finished!!) which I plan to start sending out to agents at the end of summer, so I must save the few words I have for my Great American Novel. After all, A LOT of my words go to the kiddos in this form: "STOP JUMPING ON THE COUCH!" "DON'T HIT YOUR BROTHER!!" "WHAT DOES GRACE HAVE IN HER MOUTH??" "WHY IS SHE EATING MULCH??" I'm a quiet person. I'm sure you can see how that eats into my allotted words for the day.

I promise I will pop in and post when I can. Mostly, to share tidbits like this from The Rejectionist. Read it. If you're a writer, you need this encouragement. If you're not a writer, you need this encouragement.

Gardening as therapy

2011-04-29T12:06:00.000-04:00

Mom holding Zach when he was a baby.

I have a love/hate relationship with April. Love because spring is finally here; I can get out of the house and into the garden (well, if it’s not raining). Everything is green and flowers are blooming everywhere you look. As someone who can’t stand being cooped up inside, April feels like God’s reward for enduring winter.

In addition, a lot of good things have happened for me in April. As a lot of you know, I was very sick when my first son was born 8 years ago. I went into the hospital on February 26th, 2003 and after doctors told my husband on at least three occasions that I probably wouldn’t live through the night, I finally came home on April 1st, 2003. I still remember inching my way up the steps, only to see Darby the Wonderdog wagging her tail and wiggling her whole body with joy when she saw me. I broke into tears right then, overwhelmed with joy to be alive and home.

Good things continued on April 16th, 2003 when Zach finally came home from the hospital. He was born 10 weeks early on March 12th, 2003 and weighted 2 lbs, 14 oz. Doctors told us he would probably stay in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) until sometime around his due date (May 22nd). He surprised everyone and came home 4 weeks earlier than expected.

Like I said—Good Things.

However, both of my parents died in April which makes the month feel bookended by grief. As I mentioned in an earlier post this month, my dad died on April 4, 2001. Three years ago, my mom died on April 25th, 2008. However, she lived alone and I didn’t find her until April 29th which makes today especially hard; therefore, in spite of the cloudy weather, I’m spending the day in the garden.

I feel like I’m part of something larger than myself when I’m in the garden. The physicality of garden pulls me outside of my head. Yanking weeds, planting seeds, digging sod all require a good amount of strength which means that for a little bit, I have peace. In addition, the repetitive nature of the work becomes meditative. It allows me to drift back and remember the every day moments I shared with my mom—like our trips to garden stores.

Both of my parents loved gardening. My father dug up a large part of their back yard to grow vegetables, and my mother loved container gardening with flowers. (Actually, I think she liked planning the containers and then looking at the flowers more than the work!) I am a mix of them both. Like my father, I actually enjoy working in the garden. But like my mother, I love flower gardening. Gardening lets me hold onto them a little longer. For that, I will always be grateful.

Poetry publications!

2011-04-27T11:27:00.000-04:00

I'm happy to announce that four of my poems have been accepted for publication by Poetry Quarterly! The poems: "Written on Rose Petals", "Unknotting String Theory", "Meeting Grace", and "An Autism Fairytale" were part of the book of poetry I wrote for my master's project.

Beyond the encouragement this provides (think Sally Fields--You like me! You really like me!), it puts me one step closer to finding a publisher for the entire manuscript. The process for publishing poetry is a little different than for fiction. Publishers of book length poetry want to see that you have a track record of placing the poems in the collection with literary journals before they'll take a chance on you.

As of now, a little over 10 percent of the manuscript has been published. WooHoo! I'm hoping that by this time next year, I will have found a publisher for the book.

Let’s get dirty!

2011-04-22T09:27:00.001-04:00

My red jade crabapple tree last week.

Happy Good Friday! Happy Earth Day! Spend it in the garden! That’s right, it’s time for Friday in the Garden. Oh wait, you thought I meant the other kind of dirty….

Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s talk dirt. Good soil is the foundation of a beautiful garden. When I started gardening, I’d dig a hole, plop a plant in, and wonder why my flowers didn’t flourish. Now I sit back and shake my head at my young, naïve gardening self. Just like people, plants need the right conditions to grow big and strong. If you fed your children a steady diet of gum and potato chips their growth would probably be stunted right? Same thing here.

Good soil does several things. It provides nutrients like nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. It provides the proper ph level for your plants. And soil with the proper texture allows water, air, and plant roots to move properly.

If you have bad soil, you’ll have bad plants. It’s that simple. So, how do you know whether your soil is “good”? It’s pretty simple actually. If you’re just starting out, the absolute best thing to do is have your soil tested by your local county extension office. Most of them offer free or very cheap testing.

Collecting a sample is easy. In the area you plan to plant, collect several (I normally do 5-6 depending on the size of the site) thin, vertical slices or hunks of soil about 4-6 inches deep with a garden spade. You need about one cup of soil. Mix the samples together and transfer it to a plastic container. Take it to your extension office. Then sit back and wait. It normally takes about a month to get the report back so plan accordingly.

Once you get the report back, you can talk to your extension agent and she will help you figure out how to amend your soil. (Adding organic matter, peat moss, compost, manure, etc. It’s different depending on your soil.)

Here’s what I normally do. First, remove the sod. My husband likes to skip this step. He simply tills up the grass and leaves it in the bed. This makes me crazy! I spend all summer yanking grass out of my flower beds. Trust me. Do yourself a favor and Remove the Sod.

I convinced Steve to Remove The Sod from a bed we dug last fall for spring bulbs.

Because I live in Kentucky and have thick clay soil, I till composted manure into the soil to create a nice loamy texture. DO NOT add sand to clay thinking that will improve the texture of your soil. It won’t. You’ll end up with cement-like soil.

Finally, plant your flowers and cover with a 2 inch layer of mulch to discourage weeds. Then sit back and enjoy!

The same bed last week, bursting with blushing lady tulips and grape hyacinths.

It’s a little more work upfront, but trust me, you’re saving yourself a lot of work later. Plus, your plants will thank you!

Introducing Mary Anne Reese!

2011-04-21T17:12:00.001-04:00

One of my poet friends on the radio reading her poem, Strangers in the Night.

Mary Anne is a fantastic poet and her recent chapbook, Raised by Water is available from Finishing Line Press. (Scroll down, books are listed alphabetically by the author's last name.) Make sure you check her out! Mary Anne is a poet to watch.

You might be a writer if...

2011-04-20T08:54:00.000-04:00

So. Tired. From. Storms.

Last night some severe storms rumbled through the area. At around 1:00 am the storm sirens went off. When I turned on the TV the screen was black. Large white letters said, "TORNADO WARNING." So, I did what any writer/mother would do. I grabbed my laptop and kids and headed for the basement. The kids because, well, they're my kids. The laptop because I couldn't stand the thought of losing my work. Yet more proof (as if you needed it) that writers are a little weird. The part about the laptop--not the kids.

The writers out there are probably nodding to themselves thinking: Of course you brought your laptop.

The thought process for the nonwriters goes more like this: You stopped to get your laptop?? Are you crazy?!

To steal a line from the great philosopher of our day, Charlie Sheen, "Duh!"

As you can tell, I'm a little tired. We stayed down there until the warning expired. Luckily, nothing happened.

(And yes, I made sure Darby the Wonderdog and the two cats were down there with us. Oh, and Steve of course. Can't forget the husband!)

Friday Fun!

2011-04-15T09:34:00.000-04:00

First things first. Master's project has been successfully defended!!! I am now finished with my master's degree. WooHoo! Now on to more important things. Because I believe that every once in a while you need to stop and refill your writing well, I'm going to do something a little different on Fridays (at least through the summer). Drum roll please....Announcing Friday's in the Garden.

A tiger swallow tail (AKA The King Butterfly according to my son) stops by for lunch. You can't go wrong with butterfly bushes (Buddleia). I've had this one for six years. It was transplanted from my mother-in-law's house.

Ahem. It was much more impressive in my mind. Confetti. Fireworks. Balloons. Some cake...

Anyway, some of you may know that I write for Kentucky Gardener. One of my favorite things to do is work in the garden. Don't let this scare you. For most of my life I had a black thumb. Everything died around me. Then we bought our first house and I started gardening. Everything still died. Really. It was like the Black Death for plants. Horrible.

But slowly, I got better. (I was also smart enough to begin gardening in the back yard where no one could witness the destruction.) I learned if the little label on the plant says "full sun", don't plant it under the shade-dense canopy of an oak tree. I know, seems simple but like I said, I had a Black Thumb. I kept at it, and soon my plants started thriving. Eventually, I took courses to become a Master Gardener.

Since I'm a writer, it seemed only natural to combine writing and gardening, which is how I came to write for Kentucky Gardener. (In fact, if you hurry I have one of the cover stories for the April edition. On newsstands now!) Which brings us to today. I truly believe that to be a better writer, sometimes you have to step back from your work and do something else that refills your soul. For me, that's gardening.

Two days ago, my oldest daughter asked why I liked gardening so much. That was easy enough to answer. Watching my flowers bloom makes me happy. That's all. It just makes me happy.

So, on Fridays I'm going to offer garden tips. If you have questions about gardening, post a comment and I'll do my best to answer. Since this post is already long enough, today's gardening tip is simple. Try it. In the beginning you might have a black thumb, but trust me it will get better.

Gardening is not just about growing plants, but it's also about cultivating patience and growing joy. There's something about sitting back in April and watching bulbs bloom that you planted in November. Start small. Pick a spot in the back yard if you don't want your neighbors to witness your trials and tribulations. But just try it. I don't think you'll be sorry.

An ant crawls along hydrangea petals. This one was also transplanted from my mother-in-law's house.

Yikes!

2011-04-14T09:38:00.000-04:00

Today is the big day. I defend my final project at 4:30. Until then, I will be biting my fingernails up to my elbows...well, actually I'll be weeding in the garden. Have to put my nervous engery somewhere.

Wish me luck!

And now for something completely different...

2011-04-13T11:02:00.000-04:00

Now that the semester is winding to a close, I’m finally able to get back to reading through submissions for Echo Ink. The past few months have been crazy (surgery, finishing my master’s project, kids, kids, kids…you get the idea) and I haven’t had enough time to devote to reading your submissions. For that, I am truly sorry. I’m a writer first and I know what it is to wait to hear back on submissions. Not. Fun.

Anyway, I want to do two things with today’s post. Bear with me, they are connected. First, I want to tell you what type of short story I DON’T want to see. Then, I’m going to tie that into a brief review of Stephen Leigh’s, The Woods. Remember a few posts back when I mentioned Steve’s adventures in self publishing? Well, here’s the follow up!

So, this morning I read through several short stories for EIR. They were good. Well written. No big grammar, spelling or tense issues. But I’m going to pass on all of them. Why? Because there wasn’t anything at stake for the main characters. For some reason, everything I read this morning centered around teen angst. You know what I’m talking about. A Miserable Teen who’s parents don’t understand him/her. Blah.

Maybe it’s because I have my own Miserable Teen right now, but really haven’t we all read this story before? If you’re going to write about teen angst, make sure you have a unique perspective. Don’t just jot down a slice of life where we see a teenager moping around and his/her parents ignoring their pain.

I’m not sure why this story line is big right now. Maybe it’s due to the popularity of YA literature. Maybe it’s something else. Whatever it is, it really doesn’t matter. Unless your story presents a different perspective on the whole Teen Angst thing, put it on the shelf and come back to it in a few years when you can make it unique.

Of course, what I’m saying here flies in the face of traditional publishing. What I’m saying is send me a story that doesn’t fit neatly in a traditional category. Sort of like Steve Leigh’s, The Woods. (You see what I did there? You thought I couldn’t tie the things together didn’t you? Cool, huh?)

Simply put, The Woods doesn’t fit. That’s why Steve self published it. His publisher didn’t know where to put it. After reading the book, I can see why. The main character is a teen boy (yet his adult self narrates the story). The book itself is about those in-between places. Between childhood and adulthood. Reality and Fantasy. There are some delightfully creepy scenes in the book. (My favorite involve a dead dachshund named, Kitty, Kitty.) Yet, in spite of the creepiness & fantasy, The Woods is also a coming of age story. Sort of The Body (movie title: Stand by Me) meets Bridge to Terabithia. Sort of.

I loved it because it didn’t fit. Because it was different. Recently, I read an article about Laurell K. Hamilton and why her books were successful. In the article, the author said it was because at the time, Hamilton did something no other writer in fantasy was doing. She created a strong female character who grapples with real life issues in addition to hunting vampires, etc. Hamilton reached a new group of readers this way. Women who grew up reading fantasy but who turned to other genres when fantasy didn’t seem relevant to their lives.

The Woods does the same thing—not with female vampire hunters, but with breaking the mold.

Thinking about this and Steve’s novel and the short story submissions I read has me wondering if publishers aren’t missing the boat. I grew up reading fantasy, yet as an adult, I’ve turned to genres that feel more relevant to my life. I want more stories like Steve’s. More stories that step outside of the “traditional” publishing boxes. I think we’re leaving an entire generation of readers behind when our writing doesn’t evolve as we mature. Let’s look outside of the box and create something new. Who knows what we’ll find.

I can see the finish line!

2011-04-12T17:42:00.000-04:00

On Thursday, I defend my final project for my master’s degree. In addition to inspiring nightmares in which I show up late, forget the room number, drop my papers all over the floor--well, you get the picture I’ve been reflecting on my time in the program.

I know there is some debate about the value of an advanced degree for writers. What I can say is this: No, you don’t need a degree to write. You just need to write. But that’s not why I entered the program. I had been writing for years before I went back to school for my master’s degree. My undergrad work was in English. I’ve been a reader my entire life. I have several shelved novels gathering dust under my bed.

So why did I go back to school? Well, aside from being the kind of person who actually enjoys school (I’ll pause now for the requisite nerd/geek jokes), I wanted a time in my life that was dedicated to improving my craft. I could have found an online or local crit group (in fact, our library has a Fantastic writer’s group that I belonged to) but I wanted the pressure of deadlines and assignments. I have four kids and in the day to day grind, setting aside time to write was often the last thing I felt like doing.

Being accountable to someone made me work. I needed this. It has made me a better writer. And, it’s made me a better mother. Having something for me—just for me—has helped me balance my life. My kids will eventually grow up and leave (well, 3 of them will anyway—Gracie, it’s you and me forever!) When they do, I’ll have something to hold onto.

The time I spent in NKU’s program was a gift to myself. I was lucky enough to find a program where the professors encourage students to find and develop their own voice. (A rarity, let me assure you.) You want to write graphic novels? Go for it! You want to write sci fi? Good for you! Literary fiction? There’s a place for you here also.

No, I didn’t need a master’s degree. But if a life is built out of your experiences (and I believe it is—both good and bad) then my time at NKU will always be one of the highlights of my life.

Ten Years Ago

2011-04-04T13:45:00.000-04:00

Ten years ago today, my father died. It still seems like yesterday, and yet somehow, enough time has passed that I’ve now spent ¼ of my life without him.

He died about two months after Steve and I told him doctors said we couldn’t have children. He never met any of my children and I that’s one of the hardest things of all. I want my kids to walk through the woods next to him and have him point out which plants were edible and which plants were toxic.

I want him to tell them about the time he was camping with his future brother-in-law and a cougar appeared on the other side of the campfire. My dad got away without a scratch, but the other guy wasn’t so lucky! He caught a paw-swipe across the chest.

I want him to name the constellations for them and explain that a quark is an elementary part of matter. I want him to tell them of the time I was nine and he bought me a book bag with “Anything boys can do, girls can do better.” When I told him some of the boys in the class were upset, he laughed and smacked his knee. “I bet they were,” he said.

I wish he could see how much, Zach, our only biological child is like him. Most of all, I wish my kids had the opportunity to know what a wonderful grandfather they have. I still miss you, Dad.

On Autism

2011-04-01T09:38:00.000-04:00

Wow, two posts in one day. The end of the world must be near!

I can't help it, I just have to share this post by Kim Lionetti from BookEnds, LLC. As you know my daughter, Grace, is on the autism spectrum. Therefore, I have a special place in my heart for other mothers of special needs kiddos. Kim's son is autistic. In honor of World Autism Awareness Day (tomorrow, April 2nd), Kim wrote this beautiful piece about what she has learned from her son. (What a Cutie! Check out his picture on the front page. Love those eyes!)

More than likely, someone in your life is autistic or has special needs. Check out Kim's post and then leave a note on the Good Things that have come into your life through that person.

I'll start. Even though Gracie is a handful (those of you who know her, know what I mean!) I smile just thinking of her. I'm more exhausted, more worried, more stressed since she came into my life. But I'm also happier. Who wouldn't be? She laughs when the wind blows in her face!! She flaps her hands and pushes up on her toes when paper crinkles. She plops into my lap and signs "music" before she nestles into my chest.

Grace changed the way I look at life. She is one of the happiest children I know. She taught me to make my own joy even when everything seems dark. Now it's your turn. How has someone with special needs touched your life?

An Experiment

2011-04-01T09:06:00.000-04:00

With all of the talk about self-publishing ebooks my friend and teacher, Stephen Leigh, is self publishing his novel The Woods. The really cool thing about this is that Steve is going to chart and report his sales to you and to me. I think this is a Great Idea. We've all read the stories about (the 1 or 2) authors who have skyrocketed to fame and fortune through the miracle of self publishing.

Steve has been a published author since the 80's. He writes fantasy and science fiction and it's really good stuff. The worlds he creates grab you by the neck and pull you in (especially his Nessantico Cycle). (You'll find a link to his site on the right--Farrell Worlds. Check it out!)

So, what am I asking you to do? It's simple. Hop over to Steve's site and follow him on his blog as he reports on sales for The Woods. Also, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you download a copy & read it yourself! I'm buying my copy as soon as I finish this post, and I'll report back with a review after I've finished the book.

Should be interesting!

Can't Stop Laughing!!

2011-03-25T08:47:00.000-04:00

Slowly making my way back to the land of the living...master's project is finished (mostly) so I actually have some time on my hands. Time that I desperately need to wallow in despair as my inbox piles up with rejections. Yes, dear readers, this is why your writer friends might sometimes appear slightly neurotic. Rejection is part of the process.

This used to be the way I dealt with it: Sigh. Complain to Steve a little. Update my entry on Duotrope. Eat some chocolate. Decide I might be better suited for a career as a garbage collector. Eat some more chocolate. Scour the net for examples of Really Bad Writing so that I can feel Smuggly Superior. Look up and find a Really Awful Published book on the shelves and dissolve into despair. How did this Hack get published??? Eat more chocolate. And so on.

Now, however, I think I'll take this approach:

Aghh!!

2011-03-07T18:02:00.000-05:00

I have my defense scheduled & I'm drowning in the final revisions of my poetry manuscript. (Note to self--must remember to breathe....)

The Importance of Poetry

2011-02-25T09:04:00.000-05:00

It's finally here! The long awaited post on the importance of poetry. I know, I know. You've all been sitting in front of your computers hitting refresh, praying that this post finally pops up! Wait no longer, poets! It's here!

So, let's get right to it. Is poetry dead? How many times have you heard someone say they just don't "get" poetry. How many times have you said it yourself? For most of us, poetry is something we're made to study in college. Something we struggle to wrap our minds around. Once the class is over, we gladly leave it behind. Until I discovered Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass (LOVE IT!!!), I was among the poetry scoffers. But then I read,

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Wow. Every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. The line is beautiful in its simplicity & the truth it contains. Whitman is saying: We are one. But because he says it so beautifully, it stays with you. It has an emotional impact. The best poetry is read with the heart as well as the mind.

Good poetry takes your breath away. It makes you feel something. It connects you with another person--even if it's only for the moment you spend reading her words on the page. We need this connection. We're starved for it today. Even with Facebook, blogs, email, and everything else we're more disconnected than ever.

Poetry has power because of its ability to connect with someone on a deeper level. Poets spend time (a lot of time) pondering issues that impact all of us. Love. Death. All the biggees. Little things too. Have you read Mary Oliver? She finds joy in everything around her.

I don't know about you, but I need that joy. I crave it. It feeds my soul in a way nothing else does. As a society, I think we've neglected our souls for too long. I don't mean this in a churchy way. I mean that we have become so caught up in our fast paced, gotta cram everything in world that we've lost a bit of what it means to be human. Poetry, good poetry, reminds us. It makes us stop for a few seconds and embrace our better selves.

Sometimes (okay, a lot of times) I forget that the world can be beautiful. Living with Crohn's disease and a disabled daughter can make me short-sighted. When my body hurts, or I have another surgery, or Grace is just being Grace (if you know her, you know what I mean!) it's easy to forget that the world is an amazing, beautiful--and yes, terrible--place. Poetry helps me remember.

If you are a writer, you love words. You love language. Sometimes you fall in love with a well-turned phrase and repeat it to yourself throughout the day. This is poetry.

A friend of mine said that poets mirror our society. If so, what does it mean that so few of us read or write poetry? Are we living an unexamined life? Are we so caught up in the turmoil around us that we're starving our souls? Could this account for the bitterness that infuses our public debates?

Possibly. What if we took Whitman's words to heart? What if we really believed that, "every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you"? Would we be so quick to speak harshly to each other?

I don't think so.

Trials and Tribulations of a Poet...

2011-02-24T09:09:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow we will talk about the importance of poetry. Yes, it is important. Yes, even today. Why? you ask. Tune in tomorrow and find out.

Today, since this blog is supposed to be about sharing my experiences and (admittedly limited) knowledge of writing / publishing, I thought I’d go on a bit about my own submission process.

As you may know, I’m working on book length poetry manuscript about adopting Grace. Because I hope to one day publish said manuscript, I’m in the process of sending out individual poems to various literary journals. Why? you ask again, curious reader. Because, poetry publishers want to see that others have already taken a chance on you and published individual poems before they commit to a full length poetry book. It’s fun all around!!

Anyway, waaaay back in August I sent out a group of poems to a particular journal. As you might know, it takes a while to hear back from literary journals. This one in particular said to wait six months before contacting them if you haven’t heard from them yet. So, I waited. And waited.

Meanwhile, my little submission sat there on Duotrope, the days out getting higher and higher. This is good! I thought. Maybe, I haven’t heard anything because they LOVE my work and it’s winding its way through the approval process. (Don’t laugh too hard, this has actually happened a few times.)

Finally, I passed the six month mark and did what any good writer does. I emailed asking about the status of my work. A few days passed, and this morning the long awaited email appeared like magic in my inbox. With butterflies dancing in my stomach I opened the email.

Was it an acceptance? A rejection? No. To both. Instead, it read something like this. “We’ve looked through all of the poems submitted in August and your poems weren’t there. Maybe you sent them to a different journal.”

Sigh. And just to be dramatic, Sigh again.

This is what happens when you have 4 kids. I don’t think I sent them to another journal, but maybe I did. Then again, maybe my computer ate my submission. Either way, it’s obvious that my poems will not be appearing in that journal.

This is why I only send my work to journals that take simultaneous submissions.

Writing the Anti-hero

2011-02-23T09:56:00.000-05:00

Before I went in for surgery, I promised posts on the importance of poetry and on writing a good anti-hero. Because I’ve posted a lot about poetry recently, I’m going to tackle the anti-hero today. But never fear poetry lovers; I’ll get to the poetry post either Thursday or Friday.

My husband—who is not a writer—says, “The bad guys are always more interesting.” I would agree with him, but add that even more interesting are bad guys who are actually good. Anti-heroes. You know, the characters who on the surface appear bad, but despite themselves, they end up being the hero. For me, this type of character is the hardest to write. Probably because they are the most complex. Which is why I LOVE it when I find a great anti-hero.

As I was recovering from surgery I watched a lot of TV. I mean A LOT of TV. As in all day. Not normal for me, but hey, there’s not much else you can do when you’re on Percocet. Lucky for me, USA ran all day marathons of one of my favorite shows—House, M.D. I love this show. The main character is Gregory House, a brilliant misanthropic doctor who heads a team who diagnose patients with mystery illnesses.

The viewer has ever reason to hate House. Misanthropic doesn’t even come close to describing him. He’s beyond rude to his patients (and friends). He breaks into patient’s houses. Believes that everyone lies. Has yet to have a “normal” relationship with anyone. He is arrogant, abrasive and thinks the rules don’t apply to him. Plus, he’s right all the time. Really, don’t you hate people who are always right?? Due to an incorrectly diagnosed infarction in his leg, House is left in chronic pain that leads to a Vicodin dependency. So, you have a selfish, condescending, drug addict with a very limited view of morality. Doesn’t sound like a hero does it?

And yet...there’s something about House that makes the viewer root for him. People aren’t tuning in just to watch House solve medical mysteries. If that was the case, they could turn to TLC and watch real doctors do the same. No. They are watching because the writers have subtly balanced House’s many negative characteristics with small flashes of humanity that lead us to believe that House, who believes that everyone lies, might indeed be lying to himself.

House believes that he doesn’t need anyone, and yet he’s surrounded by characters who are Good and loyal to him. His love (even if he won’t admit to himself that it’s love) for these friends--Wilson & for Dr. Cuddy--show us that House is capable of feeling. In addition, although he is/was a drug addict, the scenes where we see House dealing with the pain from his leg humanize him.

Although House believes “the rules” don’t apply to him (he steals when it benefits him, etc.) it’s this very willingness to buck the rules that often allows him to save his patients. Especially in the U.S., we admire this sort of rugged individualism.

There are so many reasons to hate House, and yet by adding depth and dimension to his character, the writers have given us someone we love. Someone we root for. He has all of the qualities of a great villain, and yet...he’s the good guy. The one we want to win. On the surface House seems like a one dimensional jerk, but he’s not. The writers have balanced negatives that seem overwhelming with specific qualities that we admire. It is because of House’s complexity that we love him. We know, (even if he doesn’t) that there is more to him than meets the eye.

This is what we must strive to do as writers. We must create multi-dimensional characters. Balancing darkness with small glimmers of light creates fascinating people. Readers return to characters like this over and over again, because the truth is we are all a mix of light and dark. Take some time out and watch House. Then go and add some depth to your characters. Your readers will love you for it!!

P.S. -- there are a lot of parallels between House & Sherlock Holmes, but that's already been covered by other writers. Check it out on the web if you'd like.

Fascinating...

2011-02-18T08:52:00.001-05:00

Please set aside 30 minutes and watch this video of Margaret Atwood discussing the state of publishing. Several fascinating ideas. I especially like the thought of writers coming together and forming their own publishing group like actors did with United Artists. Lot's of food for thought...Let me know what you think.

Borders Bankrupt!

2011-02-17T08:44:00.001-05:00

So, I'm sure you've all heard that Borders has filed Chapter 11. To say the past few years have been tumultuous is an understatement. The industry is changing in a big way. There's anxiety among everyone in the industry. Sometimes if feels like we're walking into the Bookapolyse. Any day now I expect four horsemen (dressed like the firemen in Fahrenheit 451) to ride down the street and into bookstores where the buildings will crumble under the weight of their hooves.

So is publishing doomed? Will writers stop writing and readers stop reading? No. I don't think so. Things will change. The industry might have to reinvent itself, but that's true of all industries. We might need to develop new ways to produce and market books, but I believe there will always be those of us for whom there is no greater pleasure than curling up with a good book.

In fact, I think that in a few years that segment of the population will increase. Why do I say this? Look at the YA market. If you've walked into a bookstore any time in the past few years, you've seen it expand from a few shelves to several aisles. This means kids are reading. When kid readers grow up, what do they become? Adult readers. These same kids who are devouring YA books now will keep looking for great stories as they grow up. That means there will still be a market for books.

Think about it. How many of you were readers as a child? I know I was. I was such a book geek that I was actually disappointed when I didn't win the Biggest Bookworm award in high school. (Yes, I know, it's sad.)

We might be a small group when compared to say, movie goers, but I don't think you'll find a more dedicated group than readers and writers. After all, even if the Bookapolyse occurs and the industry implodes, will YOU stop reading? Will YOU stop writing? I don't think so. And that means one thing. Hope.

Yes, things might change. (Amend that-things will change.) But that's okay. We're a creative group. Surely we can figure out a way to embrace this change and even make things better than they have been.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2011-02-14T08:42:00.000-05:00

I'm finally back! The surgery is over. I'm percocet free, and I can finally get back into life! I was planning to write something completely different today, but then I got half-way through the post and realized it was Valentine's Day. (This is what 16 years of marriage & four kids does to you!)

So, in honor of the day I want to talk about Love, that is how to write about love specifically in poetry. It's not as easy as it seems. In fact, I know one poet who has a list of words he never uses in his poems and "Love" is one of them. Why? I believe it's because "love" and other words like it are abstract. What do I mean by that? Let me explain.

We think in images. Say the word, "Love" and one person will picture a red heart. Someone else will see the face of their children. Someone else will see their lover's face. Yet another person will see Cupid. It's different for everyone.

If you're writing a love poem, it's not enough to use the word love to elicit the specific feeling you want in your reader. You must go deeper. What specific type of love? Young love? Mature love? Parental love?

There's a difference in writing, "I love him! He makes me happy!" (Exclamation points are a must when writing Bad Poetry.) And writing:

I trace our history in the lines that curve
around your mouth and sweep down from your eyes
like the wisteria that falls from the arbor in our yard
where last night you pressed your lips
against my forehead (we are written there also)...

You get the picture. (This isn't even close to a perfect example. It's a quick start of a poem I just wrote for this post.) What I would probably do if I was to finish this poem, is write about growing a life together with my husband. The entire poem would be a love poem, but I probably would never use the word "love."

I would want to create in the reader a quiet feeling of a long, secure love. Something that twines two people together so that everything about them is tangled like the roots of two trees that grow next to each other.

Do you get the picture? Saying, "I love him!! He makes me happy!!" (even with several exclamation points) doesn't really make your reader feel anything. Yes, it might take more words. It might take a lot of thought, but you can do it, and the results are worth it.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite love poems by Billy Collins. Notice that he uses "Love" as the title, but not once does he use the word "love" in the poem.

Love

The boy at the far end of the train car
kept looking behind him
as if he were afraid or expecting someone

and then she appeared in the glass door
of the forward car and he rose
and opened the door and let her in

and she entered the car carrying
a large black case in the
unmistakable shape of a cello.

She looked like an angel with a high forehead
and somber eyes and her hair
was tied up behind her neck with a black bow.

And because of all that,
he seemed a little awkward
in his happiness to see her,

whereas she was simply there,
perfectly existing as a creature
with a soft face who played the cello.

And the reason I am writing this
on the back of a manila envelope
now that they have left the train together

is to tell you that when she turned
to lift the large, delicate cello
onto the overhead rack,

I saw him looking up at her
and what she was doing
the way the eyes of saints are painted

when they are looking up at God
when he is doing something remarkable,
something that identifies him as God.

We Interupt the Regularly Scheduled Programming...

2011-02-01T09:56:00.000-05:00

Just a quick note to say that regular blog posts will be interrupted for about week. I'm going in for surgery tomorrow & unfortunately, I won't be blogging from the hospital. (Or maybe that's fortunate. After all, do I really want to take morphine & post? Probably not!)

Anyway, when I return I've got several good topics for you all. I'm going to talk about writing a good anti-hero (it's harder than you think). I'm also going to talk about the importance of poetry. Yes, even in today's world--okay, especially in today's world--we need poets.

That's it for today. Tune in next week for New & Exciting blog posts!

Wendell Berry

2011-01-26T08:57:00.000-05:00

I don't have time for a long post today, but I wanted to share this clip of Wendell Berry. As some of you know, I'm finishing my Master's degree in English and my final project is a book length collection of poetry. As a result, I've been spending a lot of time immersed in poetry--which is just wonderful!

In a week or so, I'm going to dedicate a post to my thoughts on why poetry is important today. But for now, since I'm short on time, I'll leave you with one of my favorite poets: Wendell Berry. For those who don't know, Wendell Berry is a Kentucky poet (actually he writes just about everything--poetry, fiction, essays) who explores our connection to the natural world. I would love his work even if he didn't remind me so much of my father. Just click on the link below. Enjoy!

Being: "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry | Wendell Berry and Ellen Davis in Land, Life, and the Poetry of Creatures

Guest Post: Fact Vs. Fiction: What is the place of “Truth” in Creative Nonfiction?

2011-01-25T12:40:00.000-05:00

I'm very excited to have Amber Whitley from Ink Affairs posting today. In addition to being a great fiction writer, Amber writes creative nonfiction. As you may know, creative nonfiction is huge right now. Given the explosion of the genre, and the fact that I don't write a lot of creative nonfiction, I asked Amber to tackle the sticky area of "truth" in creative nonfiction.

Enjoy! You're in for a treat!

Fact Vs. Fiction: What is the place of “Truth” in Creative Nonfiction?
by: Amber Whitley

The term “creative nonfiction” is an oxymoron. Creation implies imagination and fabrication used to develop a story whereas nonfiction requires an absolute veracity that leaves no room for anything except the truth. So how, as artists, do we navigate this potential minefield?

Very carefully.

Think back to a moment that was important in your life – a first kiss or wedding or death – and try to remember the scene as vividly as you can. It’s difficult, right, to get all those little details like conversations, attire, setting, or even names. Now think back to something that happened last week. Is that any easier? Of course it isn’t. If we cannot trust our memory to accurately relate something that happened to us last week, then how could we ever expect it to remember all the details necessary to write a nonfiction piece about something that happened five or ten or twenty years ago? This is the problem inherent in writing creative nonfiction; unfortunately, it doesn’t have a neat solution.

Writers handle the “truth” problem in creative nonfiction in many different ways. Some writers try to stick to the factual truth of a story and will not put in any elements that they don’t directly remember or can’t verify by speaking with a family member or looking at a photograph. These writers usually don’t incorporate dialog in their stories because, let’s face it, it’s almost impossible to remember a conversation word for word without having videotaped it or otherwise recorded it. Other writers – myself included – aim for an emotional rather than strictly factual truth. What’s important to me isn’t that the particular details remain unchanged, but rather that I stay true to the deeper emotional truth of what happened.

In a piece soon to be published by Breakwater Review, I relate an experience that happened to me while a Peace Corps Volunteer in Kazakhstan. While dining out with friends, we were invited to join three businessmen at their table where we talked about politics and lesbianism and women’s role in society. It was an experience that has stuck with me years later, but in the telling of it I had to create certain facts, skip over others. For example, although I remembered what the men looked like and were wearing, I had completely forgotten their names. Also, I was faced with the challenge that this discussion was done in a foreign language, so not only did I struggle to remember verbatim what people said, there’s also the distinct possibility that I might have mistranslated something. Should I not have written this story because of the fallibility of memory? Did I change what happened? No. The place, the people, what we were drinking, the Cuban cigars, all of that happened. For the dialogue, however, necessity forced me to stick to the meaning and heart of the conversation, thus sacrificing word choice on the altar of creativity.

So where is truth in creative nonfiction? It’s there; it has to be. Without a solid foundation in factual truth, you might as well call your story fiction and be done with it. But what do you do when you don’t have enough factual memories to fill in the details or when you need to combine five ancillary characters into one for the sake of good narration? Each writer will have to decide that alone.

Sometimes you've gotta frog it...

2011-01-24T09:17:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned in a post a few days ago, I have some hobbies other than writing. One of those is knitting. I’m not very good at it, so far all of my projects have been hats and scarves. In fact, if you know me at some point, you might get a hat or a scarf from me. If you do, just smile and pretend you’ll wear it, then stuff it in your closet when you get home.

Since there are only so many scarves and hats to knit, over Christmas I decided to take a huge leap and start on a shrug (for those who don't know, it's a short sweater). For several weeks now, I've been working on it, and was about half-way finished. If you're an astute reader--and I assume you are because you're here after all--you'll notice the operative word, was. It was half-way finished. All these weeks I've been merrily knitting along, happy that I could create something more than a scarf or hat. Alas, for some days now, I've noticed that the shrug looked a little small. Okay, it was very small. As in, it might fit my six-year-old, but there was no way it was fitting me. Sigh.

For several days, I postponed the inevitable. I stopped knitting. I stretched the yarn, hoping to pick up a few inches (didn't work). I thought about starting something else. But in the end, I knew I had to make it work. So this weekend, I ripped out all of the stitches and started over. In knitting, that's called frogging it.

So why am I telling you about this? Because sometimes in writing, you've just gotta frog it. I know it hurts. I know the last thing you want to do is scrap months or even years of work. But sometimes that's the only way to fix your work.

I've had to do this several times. The most painful was a few years ago with a novel I was working on. I loved the story. Loved the characters, but it was flat. Boring. The story I was writing had been told several times, by already published authors. So I frogged it. I gutted the novel. Completely changed one of the main characters. Changed the story line. Even changed the names of two major characters. I threw out years of work. That's right. Years of work.

You know what? The story is better for it, and it's almost finished. Finally. Frogging it is tough. It's hard to look at your work and say, "This is not my best work. But it can be, if I start over." But, it pays off. I'll be finished with that frogged novel this spring. In the summer, I'll start sending it out to agents. It might be good enough for them. It might not. But at least I will know that I've done everything I can to make it my best work.

From reading short story submissions for Echo Ink, I can tell you that most writers don't do that. A lot of people send out stories that need to be frogged. Step back from your work and take a good hard look at it. I know it's painful, but if your story doesn't make you sing, if it feels like you could push it to the next level, to make something really special. You might need to frog it. It will hurt, but you'll be better for it. I promise.

Because I love her...

2011-01-20T10:06:00.000-05:00

Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets. Watch this and I think you'll love her too.

In which I digress for a moment...

2011-01-19T08:34:00.000-05:00

My youngest son, Caleb, talks to himself. I don't mean a little bit, sometimes. I mean a steady stream of chatter that Does Not Stop. In the car. In the bathroom. At the dinner table. It doesn't matter if anyone is around him or not. He talks. Constantly.

At the risk of sounding like a Bad Mother, I'm going to admit that this can get annoying. Sometimes I just want to tell him to be quiet! Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels this way. The other day Caleb was chattering away when my oldest son snapped, "Why are you talking to yourself?"

Caleb stopped talking and looked up at him. "I'm not talking to myself," he said. "I'm listening to myself."

I've been thinking about Caleb's response and how it applies to our society. Unless you've been living under a rock, you've heard about the shootings in Arizona. Don't worry, I'm not going to get all political. I'm not blaming anyone other than the shooter for what happened there. Not his parents, not talk radio, not CNN news. You get the picture.

But I do wonder if as a country, it's time to stop talking to ourselves (let's face it, we all hold our own political beliefs and rarely can you change what someone believes by screaming at them and calling them names), and start listening to ourselves. We talk a lot. We'll do anything to "win". Anything to prove our side is right.

But what if our side isn't right? What if our side is right on some things, but not on other things? No one is right all the time, are they? So why have we drawn a line down our country and segregated ourselves into right and left? Why are we willing to vilify friends, neighbors, and family members who disagree with us? Most issues are not black and white. There are shades of gray in everything.

Maybe I'm showing why I don't feel like I fit with either political party. I agree with the Democrats on some things. I agree with the Republicans on some things. I know, Gasp!! She said the "R" word. Or--She said the "D" word.

I have friends, close friends, on both sides of the political fence. Somehow we manage to disagree, yet get along. Why can't we, as a country, do the same thing?

I think it's time to change things. And I don't mean we need to go march on Washington. Hold signs up and picket. I believe changing the tone of our political rhetoric is simple. It doesn't start in Washington. It starts with us. If we are angry and nasty with each other, if we insist on calling each other names, if we can't hold a civil conversation with someone who disagrees with us, how can we expect the people in Washington to do the same? I do not think we mirror what's going on in Washington, I think Washington mirrors what's going on with us. After all, what do the people in power want? Simple. To stay in power. So if they think we want fighting, and name calling, and angry rhetoric that's what they're going to give us. If they think we want civil discussion about the issues that's what they'll give us.

You see, that's what's wonderful about the United States. The government derives its power from the people. Not the other way around. I think we've forgotten this. We've become so wrapped up in Winning, in being Right ,that we've lost sight of what's important--loving each other. That's it. It's really not that hard.

Guest Blogging

2011-01-17T11:54:00.000-05:00

Today I'm guest blogging about what editors want (and don't want!) on Ink Affairs. Drop by and check it out!

Time for a refill?

2011-01-14T11:42:00.000-05:00

My mint Christmas cookies

I'm going to admit something shocking--sometimes I get tired of writing. I'm not blocked, I'm not editing or in-between projects. I'm just burned out.

As writers, we don't talk about this a lot. We love words. We love stories. We love poetry. We believe in their power to change lives. But sometimes we just don't feel like doing it. I'm not talking about those mornings/evenings/afternoons (insert whenever you write here) when you sit down in front of your computer, stare at that blank page, and are seized by anxiety. I get that every time I sit down to write. Then I write a little and it goes away. Until the next time I sit down to write. That's garden variety stuff.

What I'm talking about are those times when you're just tired. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually. You are tired. You are empty.

What do you do? Some people will tell you to push through it. You must keep writing. If you don't keep writing you'll stop and never start again. Okay. They might be right. But they might be wrong.

I'm going to tell you what I do. A lot of the stuff I write is emotionally draining (especially poetry) and I get "empty" pretty fast when I'm doing that. When I get that empty feeling, I'm not a good writer. There. I've said it. So you know what? I don't write. I take a break and recharge. Everyone knows what happens if you never refill your car's gas tank. Eventually, you will run out of gas and then, you're really stuck. You, like your car, need to stop occassionally and refill.

For me, that means doing something creative that does not involve stringing words together. In the warmer months, I garden. I love designing unique gardens that combine different flowers. I'll spend hours drawing out plans. Sometimes I implement them. Sometimes I don't. Either way, something about the time I spend in the garden or thinking about the garden recharges me.

Recently, I've been baking. Maybe it's because it's winter and I'm stuck inside. (More likely it's because I have a massive sweet tooth!) But creating something that's beautiful and tasty is fun for me. Fun is the operative word here. Sometimes we need to stop working and have some fun. I used to feel guilty about the time I was wasting having "fun" when I could have been writing. I don't any more. Spending a day in the garden or baking cookies or knitting or drawing (all things I do to recharge) is not going to make me stop writing. Most of the time, it helps me return to writing with a renewed perspective.

Developing non-writing hobbies has another benefit. You've heard "Write what you know"? Well, thanks to my time off, I know flowers, baking, knitting, drawing, horse riding (yep, did that too for years), and all kinds of other things. Most of the time, that stuff finds its way into my work. In fact, thanks to my interest in gardening I became a Master Gardener and now freelance for Kentucky Gardener where I'm actually PAID for the stuff I write.

So if you've never heard it before, let me be the first to tell you--it's okay to take a break. Your ability to write will not shrivel up and die. You will not forget the feel of your fingers on the keyboard. You will not run out of words. I promise.

My Mandarin butter cookies (this week's creation!)

Why I Still Can...

2011-01-12T08:34:00.001-05:00

When I first started writing seriously, I had a list of reasons why I couldn't write. I wasn't good enough. I didn't have enough time. Mom's don't really do that kind of thing. I'm taking time away from the kids. They'll be scared for life. I need to walk the dog, cook dinner, fold laundry...you get the picture. As a result, when I finally decided that I wanted to give this writing thing a try, I had to wade through a whole bunch of mental junk before I could even sit down and write. I suspect a lot of you went through similar experiences. Oh, and let's not all those rejection slips. You finally work through your stuff, write a great story/poem/article/etc. only to get rejected. Ouch.

Yesterday, I had to go to the ER. Some of you know that I have Crohn's disease. It's an autoimmune disease like Lupus or MS. Living with it means my life is a little bit like tip-toeing over a rickety rope bridge stretching over a bottomless cavern. I can go to bed feeling great, then wake up at 3:00 am and have to go to the ER (yep, that's happened). Some days are good. Some days (like yesterday) are not so good.

2003 in ICU

The thing is, Crohn's could easily become a reason/excuse to stop writing. I can't tell you the number of times I've planned to write, only to end up curled up in bed in pain. I have Crohn's disease and four kids, one of whom is autistic and developmentally delayed--carving out writing time is a challenge. Sometimes, I want to scream, "NOT FAIR!" Sometimes, I want to quit. Sometimes I want to be that person I was years ago, who had a million reasons not to write. The thing is, we all have reasons not to write. You might not have Crohn's (and I pray you don't) but you've got something else.

I wanted to be one of those people who get up at 3:00 am to write (not for an ER trip). I wanted to be one of those people who write for five hours every day. The thing is, I'm not. Sometimes my writing schedule is erratic. I don't write every day, even though I want to. But that's all right. I've made peace with it. It would be easy to measure myself against other writers and find that I come up short. So you know what? I don't do that. And you shouldn't either. Be the writer you're meant to be. And you know what? The writer you're meant to be might be different from the writer you want to be. Just know that despite the challenges you're facing, you can still write. And so can I.

Endings

2011-01-11T09:35:00.000-05:00

We spend a lot of time talking about story openings. Most of you probably know that if your story has a flat opening, if it doesn't grab an editor's attention right away, you're probably getting a rejection slip. Well, the same thing is true for your ending. In fact, if people hate the way your story ends they're not going to remember your subtle characters, your wonderful dialogue, your deft use of the semi-colon. Instead, the only thing they're going to remember is how disappointed they were by the ending.

This does not mean your story needs a "happily ever after" ending. Sometimes, that's the worst way to end your story. What I mean is that the reader must be satisfied with the ending. You want your reader to walk away from your story thinking, "Yes, this is the way that story was meant to end." Maybe someone dies. Maybe the girl doesn't get the guy. Maybe she does and everyone lives happily ever after. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that the ending fits. That it's satisfying.

Let me give you an example. If you're old enough, you remember the television series M*A*S*H (if you're not old enough--I don't want to hear it)! The final episode of the series, titled, Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen was the most watched television broadcast in history (until the 2010 Superbowl) and for good reason. I'm not going to recap the episode, it would take too much time; however, if you're interested here's a link to a good summary.

I wouldn't classify it as a happily ever after ending. Yes, the war ended and the soldiers/doctors went home; however, they left knowing most of them would never see each other again. In my opinion, the reason the ending works is because the writers stayed true to the characters. The characters grew while remaining true to themselves. It was bittersweet. It did not downplay the horrors of war. It wasn't all "YAY, we get to go home!" It was a whole bundle of human emotion--good and bad, beautiful and ugly. I was in my early (very early) teens when the episode originally aired and I still remember it. That's good writing.

That's what a good ending can do. I've seen plenty of shows end since then, but that final M*A*S*H episode is still the best. As writers, we need to spend as much time crafting the endings to our stories as we spend writing that perfect opening. I've rejected several good, really good, stories simply because the ending fell short. Don't let this happen to you. You deserve more. Your story deserves more.

Short Story Cover Letters

2011-01-06T08:21:00.000-05:00

Today I'm going to talk cover letters. (I'll pause until the fireworks die down.) As you know, I've been serving as an editor for Echo Ink Review which gives me some insight into the workings of a literary magazine. This means my inbox overflows with short stories and cover letters.
Now some of you might be wondering why I'm even talking about cover letters. After all, the cover letter doesn't really mean anything. It's the story I'm after.

Well, yes. And no.

Yes, the story is King. I want a story that grabs me by the throat and doesn't let go. I want to become so engrossed in your story that when my kids pound on the door I ignore them and keep on reading. So you're right, it's the story I'm after. We're not publishing cover letters after all.

However, the first thing I see is your cover letter and believe it or not, that letter tells me a lot about the quality of your writing and your level of commitment to the craft of writing. If you haven't bothered to research the guidelines for your cover letter, if it's two pages long and full of grammatical errors, if you go on and on and on about the theme of your short story, well then I know without even reading your story that you are a beginning writer. I'll still read the story, but I'm going to start reading expecting to reject the piece. And you know what? So far, the quality of the story has always matched the quality of the cover letter.

Here's an example of a good cover letter:

Attached please find my short story, Insert Title Here. My work has been published in several journals, including: Journal Name Here, Journal Name Here, and Journal Name Here. My story, Insert Title, was recently nominated for a Pushcart.

This is a simultaneous submission, and I will let you know immediately if it is accepted elsewhere.

Thank you,

Your name goes here

That's it. You don't need to do anything fancy. Short. Sweet. To the point. If you don't have any publications yet, don't worry about it. Every editor wants to be the one who discovers a great new writer. Just leave off the publication history part of the letter. If you have an MA, MFA, etc. that's good. List it if you'd like, but it's not necessary. No awards? No biggie. I don't care. If I've commented on a previous story you've sent to Echo Ink Review, please feel free to mention that communication. In fact, I welcome that. Unfortunately, we read so many great stories it's hard for me to remember everyone's name.

Do Not tell me you modeled your short story after Big Name Famous Author. Or that in your story you grapple with Pick a Big Important Theme and Insert Here (Life, Death, Coming of Age, blah, blah blah.) Your theme should be evident when I read the story. If you have to tell me about it, the story is not working.

You don't need to tell me about your day job unless it pertains to the story you're writing. For example, I'm a Master Gardener and write for Kentucky Gardener. If gardening plays a role in the story, I mention that I'm a Master Gardener and write for Kentucky Gardener. Those facts tell the editor (who might not be as familiar with gardening as I am) that I understand my subject matter. That's the only time I mention other jobs, etc. However, if you're writing about child abuse/drug abuse/alcohol abuse/blah, blah, blah I don't need to know that you have personally experienced any of that. I am sorry for you, but honestly it's just not my business. Finally, please don't tell me about your wife/husband/kids/dogs/lizards...you get the picture.

I hope this has been helpful. Spend some time crafting a simple, respectful cover letter and editors will take your work more seriously. This shows that you have taken the time to research the field and study the craft of writing.

Happy New Year!!

2011-01-05T10:03:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is the year I resolve to write more and do everything else less...Ha! It's only 1/5/11 and I've already broken that resolution. Still doing too much with too little time (as is the same for you Dear Reader, I suspect). This week I've written and submitted my next article for Kentucky Gardener (on Long Lasting Perennials for my fellow flower lovers) and written two new poems for my Master's Project.

This is my last semester of grad school. I'm finished with my classes and am spending most of my time finishing my final project. It's a book length collection of poetry about adopting my youngest daughter, Grace. Some of you know we adopted Grace five years ago from China. At the time, we had no idea that Grace was autistic and severely mentally retarded. (Yes, they still use that word--I've made peace with it, it's just a diagnostic term.) It was, and still is, one of the hardest things I've ever done. Grace demands more time and energy than my other three children combined, but she also inspires me in ways I never dreamed of. Writing helps me deal with it.

I suspect a lot of writers are alike in this way. You might not have a child like Grace, but we all have challenges. Things we don't understand. Things that make something inside of us say, "Wait a minute, I never signed up for this. It's not fair! Can't I get a refund?" And then you hear something like this, "Nope. Sorry, no refunds. Suck it up." Or worse, you hear nothing at all. At this point, you have two choices. Dissolve into a blubbering mess. Or suck it up and move on. (Okay, I have to admit, I bounce back and forth between these two options. Some days I'm a mess. Some days, I'm okay. Same for you, I suspect.)

The wonderful thing about being a writer is that you can transform those things in your life that are so hard you just want to give up into something positive. Stay with me as I geek out for a minute and give you a Harry Potter analogy. Harry's parents were murdered when he was just a baby. His mother died trying to protect him. Horrible, right? Of course. Losing your parents is earth shattering. (I miss mine every day.) But this horrible thing that happened to Harry was his salvation several times. What protected him from Voldemort? How did he become the famous "Boy Who Lived"? Through his mother's sacrifice. The thing that caused him so much pain also brought him life & light.

You and I can do the same thing. We can reach inside and take those things that are the most difficult, the most painful and turn them into something beautiful. Why can we do this? Because we're writers. And if we have a superpower, this is it.

Rejection

2010-06-21T17:06:00.000-04:00

I went to get the mail today, and there in my mailbox was a SASE. It was sitting there, all by itself and for a moment I wanted to close the box and pretend I couldn’t see it. However, being the consummate writing professional (HA!) I am, I reached in without fear and grabbed the envelop. I knew what it contained, but felt a surge of hope anyway as I stood in the driveway and tore it open. Alas, writer friends, the hope was short-lived as I pulled out a two inch by two inch piece of paper that told me I had been rejected by yet another literary magazine. Sigh. I didn’t even rate a full sized sheet of paper. Good for the environment, bad for me.

If you’re a writer, this is a common occurrence for you. Rejection is part of the game. In fact, I didn’t really feel like a writer until I got my first rejection. (Since then, I’ve put that silly notion behind me and decided that rejection stinks.) Anyway, today I’d like to offer a slightly different perspective. I was reading through some of the stories submitted for EIR, and came across one I really wanted to like. I mean REALLY. It was a subject I think is important and underrepresented. The plot was interesting, yet simple. The writing was clean…and yet, I felt like it just wasn’t there yet. The characters weren’t fully developed and seemed distant, and for me, that’s a killer. Hopefully this story will find a home with another journal. Or the author will rework it and resubmit.

People say that editors are looking for a reason to reject you, and in a sense, that’s true. My inbox is overflowing, the faster I can get through it, the better. But I don’t start reading a story hoping I can reject it quickly. I’m rooting for every story I read to make it. To be The One. Last week I found a story like that, and I’m still thrilled. My guess is that most editors are like me. They want to find a story that grabs them and won’t let go. They’re disappointed when a story they’re rooting for falls short. I don’t think most of us read to reject. I think we read because like everyone else, we Love a good story.

Even the submissions I really don’t like, for whatever reason—subject matter, writing style, the author needs to work on the craft—even those stories get my respect because someone had the guts and the determination to sit down and commit those words to paper. I know how hard that is and I respect the process. So when I reject a story, it’s never a rejection of the author. In sending out their work, the author has already accomplished something most people never will—they’ve finished a story and had the strength to send it out there. That’s something to celebrate, not mourn.

Thinking about it this way helped me handle the rejection letter I found in my mailbox today. Most likely, my work just hasn’t found a home yet. Maybe it was the subject matter, maybe not. Whatever it was, like other writers, I’ll keep sending it out until I find that one editor who likes it. That’s all I need, just one person to like it. And that’s all you need too. Keep working. Keep sending your work out. And know that even when you get rejected, you’re already a step ahead of most people. Celebrate that.

Some great poets

2010-06-17T08:59:00.000-04:00

Last time, I talked about the "death" of poetry. This time, I'd like to write about a few poets who prove that poetry is very much alive. The are some of my favorite poets because whether they are writing about a beloved pet, the death of a lover, the bond between parents and children, or capturing the beauty and diversity of the city, when these poets write, they capture and illuminate that universal connection we all share. Their writing is emotional and transcends boundaries, reaching to the heart of what it means to be human.

First of all, Mary Oliver. If you haven't read her work, then what are you doing here? For God's sake, get yourself to the bookstore and buy Thirst or Red Bird (two of her more recent works.) Oliver's language is simple, but her message is complex. Her joy in life is evident in everything she writes. Without a doubt, Oliver is one of the best poets writing today. I think Oliver captures what is best about being human. She is without a doubt, one of the finest poets working today.

Second, Li-Young Lee. I just finished his, Book of My Nights. Absolutely beautiful. Lee is the son of exiled Chinese parents. His poetry is simple and evocative. There is a silence and peace about Lee's work. You will find yourself thinking about his words long after you've closed his book.

Finally, Michael Henson. A few months ago, I had the privilege of hearing him read They All Asked About You, among other poems. Wow. If you have the chance to hear him read, you absolutely must go. He captivates his audience with his voice and his presence. His poetry is complex, yet approachable, and most of all moving.

Honestly, I could go on and on. There are so many wonderful poets working today. Go to the bookstore and browse the poetry shelves, but don't stop there. Several of today's best poets are the least known. Search them out, you won't be sorry.

Poetry is not dead

2010-06-14T09:50:00.000-04:00

I'm happy to announce that Echo Ink Review will soon be accepting poetry! We're still working out the details, and once we figure out the logistics, we'll let everyone know. So start working on some poems and send them our way!

To celebrate, this week the blog is all about poetry. All of the posts will deal with poetry in some way. Now we've all heard that poetry is "dead" and that people are not interested in it anymore. Recently, I've spent a lot of time wondering why that is. Given our ever shortening attention span and our love of twitter and texting, one would think that poetry would be rising in popularity. After all, concise communication is a basic tenet of poetry. So what is about about poetry that scares people away?

About a week ago, I had to get some blood drawn, and the phlebotomist asked what kind of work I did. When I told him I was a writer he said something interesting. He told me he wrote poetry, but didn't read it. When I asked him why, he said it was because he didn't understand it. So here's someone with an obvious interest in poetry but isn't reading it because it's not accessible to him. I can't tell you the number of times I've heard a version of this comment. If this is true, then poetry suffers from a problem of perception. There's a market, but because people think they won't understand it, they won't read it.

So what do we do? Well, talking about it is a step. So much wonderful poetry is out right now. Tell your friends about poets you love. Tell them that poetry is not dead, that it's not just for the elite. Good poetry speaks to the part of us that is the most human. Those moments and emotions that transcend race, gender nationality and any other artificial barrier we construct. And it does all of that with as few words as possible.

Poetry has the power to unify, to inspire, to reach out to people and let them know they are not alone. It doesn't take a degree to understand this. It just takes opening your heart and your ears.

Let's start talking about poetry. Let's find those poets who speak to our souls and celebrate them. Tell our friends and neighbors about them. Who knows, we might just start a revolution.

Obsessions

2010-06-10T15:10:00.000-04:00

This post is coming one day ahead of schedule because tomorrow I leave for vacation! That’s right, all next week I’ll be lying on the beach, soaking up the rays, sipping frozen drinks with little umbrellas…or at least I would if I didn’t have four kids. Alas, the days of lounging by the pool are over for me. Instead, I’ll be breaking up fights and trying to convince my youngest son that he will not die if he gets his face wet. Think National Lampoon’s Family Vacation and you’ll get the idea. I’m going to try to post, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to.

First a programming note: As I am both an editor and a writer, I’m going to have posts from both perspectives. My plan is for the posts on Monday and Wednesday to deal with editing issues. Then on Friday, I’ll switch and talk about the writing process.

Now that that’s out of the way, today I want to talk about obsessions. Not the kind that get you thrown in jail for peeping through your neighbors windows, but the writing kind. In my poetry writing class last semester we had a great conversation about writing obsessions. You know, those subjects you keep returning to over and over again. Some of us had them (okay, it was pretty much just me) and some didn’t.

Even when I don’t set out to write about a certain theme, I find them cropping up in my stories anyway. Sometimes this is a good thing. I always have something to write about, and if writers are supposed to write what they know then having an obsession means you know your subject really well. But sometimes, I worry that my readers will become bored reading the same themes over and over again.

What about you? Do you find yourself circling back to the same subjects, and if so do you think it’s a good thing or something you want to break away from?

What I don't want to see

2010-06-09T08:31:00.000-04:00

Last time I muddled around and vaguely answered the question "What are editors looking for." This post won't be so vague. After working on two different literary journals, there are some things I see over and over again. Things I'm honestly tired of seeing.

However, before I go on, keep in mind that this is just my opinion. Others might differ. As I said in my previous post, write what you're passionate about. If you're writing what you love, then it honestly doesn't matter what I think.

So here it is. A list of things I'm tired of seeing in short stories.

1) Stories about drug/alcohol abuse. Really, I don't know why people seem to think it's literary. It's not. It's overdone and it's boring.

2) Stories that are just a slice of life where nothing really happens. There's no character growth, no tension. It's just a snapshot of someone's life. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Stories need tension! It's what draws a reader in and keeps them reading. Short stories especially need tension. You might get away with a slice of life scene in a novel (although even there I'd argue you need a reason for it) but not in a short story. If it's not moving the story/characters forward, cut it.

3) Sex or violence for the sake of sex or violence. As with drugs/alcohol it's not literary. It's not shocking. It's overdone and boring.

4) Stories where a character dwells on the description of a grandparent's hands. I don't know why people keep writing about this, but they do.

5) Priests / ministers abusing (sexually or otherwise) children. I know it happens, and it's horrible when it does, but there are sooo many short stories about this topic that the plot is becoming predictable. Really, as soon as a priest / minister shows up in a story I know he's going to be the bad guy. You know what I'd like to see? A short story where a priest / minister is just human like the rest of us. He or she is neither all bad nor all good. That's something I haven't seen.

6) Stories that are too concerned with making a point (political, religious or otherwise) and forget about everything else. By all means write a political or religious story, but make sure you remember you're writing a STORY.

7) Finally, stories that are submitted before you've fully mastered the craft of writing. Please, do yourself a favor and learn the craft. Research proper manuscript format. Use it. Make sure you are always sending out your best work.

Now get back to writing!

What are editors looking for?

2010-06-07T17:52:00.000-04:00

So many times as writers we wonder what editors want. If we could just find out what they want, then we would write that and presto! Published Author!

The truth is relatively simple. What we want is a good story. That’s it. I don’t care what genre it’s in. I don’t care which POV you use. I don’t care if the protagonist is male, female or some odd mix of the two. What I do care about is the story. Pull me into your world. Make me care about the characters. Make me feel something. Make me forget that I’m looking for reasons to reject the story. Make me forget that I’m wearing my editor’s hat while I’m reading it. Simple, right?

Of course it’s not simple. If it was, I’d be whipping out two or three novels a year and we’d all be published in the New Yorker. The truth is, writing a good story comes from loving the story you’re telling, and there’s no formula for that. Find a story you’re passionate about though, and I’ll bet it will come through in your writing. Write that story and an editor will love it.

Since this post was maddingly unspecific, next time I’ll tell you what I don’t want to see. And yes, I’ll be specific!

The Importance of Research

2010-06-04T13:03:00.000-04:00

As promised, today's post is on research. Really everything I have to say can be summed up in two words: Do It.

However, I suspect you're looking for a little more than that. So here goes. Why is research so important in fiction? I mean it's not like you're writing a dissertation on quantum physics. You're writing fiction. In fact, you might be writing fiction specifically to avoid research. Sorry to burst your bubble, but research matters, even in fiction. Heck, even in poetry. I recently wrote several poems that I had to do a lot of research for.

Research matters because it goes to your credibility as an author. You're asking people to invest a significant amount of time reading your story and if you can't spend the time to get your facts right, why should they spend their time on you? I am not saying that you need to have an intimate knowledge of the rainforest ecology or cardio-thorasic surgery or whatever you're writing about, but you do need to know enough to get the details right. Which means you're going to have to do some research.

You obvioulsy have access to the internet. Use it. If you can't find what you're looking for there, try your local library. Ask the research librarian for help. She/he would be happy to help. If you're writing about a specific profession, call or email someone in that field. People love to talk about themselves, and most are flattered to answer questions.

Then use the details you find out in your story. It will make your work more believable, it will show that you take writing seriously, and that you have enough respect for your readers to get it right.

Nothing (okay, almost nothing) makes me reject a manuscript faster than a writer who hasn't done their research. I can--and do--forgive minor errors. But if you are writing about gardening and you have daffodils blooming in November, or tropical plants growing outdoors in February in Michigan, well that's an automatic reject.

Don't tell me you're writing fiction and the reader should be willing to suspend her disbelief. If you're asking your readers to accept that daffodils bloom in November in your story, then you need to explain why. Perhaps the climate has shifted. Perhaps the story is set in another world. Either way, you need to know when daffodils normally bloom so that you can explain what's different about your world. If you don't get your facts right, mistakes like this will jar the reader out of your story.

Keep in mind that most editors for fiction journals have other jobs. You don't know what field someone is in. What if you're writing a story filled with incorrect legal details and you send it to an editor who is an attorney at her day job? You're just asking to be rejected.

Don't make things harder on yourself. Do the work. Respect your reader, and respect yourself enough to send out your best work.

Shameless Self-Promotion

2010-06-03T12:51:00.000-04:00

Obviously I'm past due for an update. Between school, the kids, and my own writing, things have been a little crazy, but never fear Dear Readers, I'm back!

First, a few updates on some of my recent publications. I know, I know, you've all been dying to read some new stories by Steph. So here's my shameless self promotion:

Short Fiction:

My story Modeling Life is in the current edition of Echo Ink Review. The journal is absolutely beautiful. Rush out and buy one, you won't be sorry.

Narrative Nonfiction:

My story Being Enough is in the current edition of The New Plains Review. Again, another gorgeous journal with some impressive work. This piece has a special place in my heart. Along with being my first published piece of nonfiction, it is about my Mom's death and my daughter Grace who is autistic. Although it might sound like some heavy stuff (and in some cases it is) I believe the ending is uplifting in a bittersweet way.

Poetry:

This spring I've been writing a lot of poetry. My first published poem, Lost, is in the Spring 2010 issue of Tipton Poetry Journal. The poem is also about my daughter Grace and autism. My poem To Mary Oliver will be in the Summer 2010 edition of the Tipton Poetry Journal.

I'll wait now while you search for your credit card and order your copies....(drumming my fingernails)....(singing to myself -- The Rainbow Connection if you're wondering)....

Ahh, you're back. Now Dear Readers, I'd like to make an programming announcement. While you were purchasing your copy of Echo Ink Review, you might have noticed my name is not just on the front cover of the journal, it's also on the Masthead. No, I did not publish my own story. Founding Editor, Don Balch, scooped up Modeling Life. The story won the journal's Writing and Editing Award, which carried a six month stint reading manuscripts for Echo Ink. After my six months was up, Don generously offered me the position of Managing Editor, which I happily accepted.

So what does all of this have to do with you? Two things. First, I will be blogging again on a more regular basis. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I will have a new post. (Maybe more if I can wrestle the computer from my 13 yr old.) Second, as I cull through the incoming manuscripts, I will share some editing tips. Basically, I'll let you know common mistakes I'm seeing, what I'm looking for, what I'm seeing too much of, and anything else I think will help.

This is Very Valuable Stuff. Use it carefully. Use it wisely. But most of all, just use it. Knowing what an editor is looking for will help in your own quest for publication.

Friday's post is going to be about research.

Happy Writing!

Nothing...

2010-02-16T08:15:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here, trying to think of a blog topic, just hoping that something profound falls into my head and spills out of my fingers, when it hits me...that I've got nothing.

Luckily, I'm a writer and realize that this is what the Writing Life often is--sitting at a blank screen and realizing you're empty. You stare at your computer, or notebook, or the walls and hope you haven't run out of things to say.

Some days the words flow. Other days, they don't. But you sit down and stare at that blank screen anyway. You wrestle with the words and somehow get something down on that page/screen. Often, you go back and what you've written is the kind of stuff you pack into a shoe box and push under your bed, because you will die of embarrassment if anyone realizes you wrote that.

But sometimes it's good. Sometimes you can't tell that you had to wrestle each word onto the page. Sometimes you look at it and think, Did I write that?

People seem to have this image of writing as an easy, glamorous job. You sit down, the Muse shows up, and you transcribe her words onto the screen. Not so. For me writing is more like hunting the Muse down, then banging on her door until she answers.

For example, it wasn't until writing this line that I remembered that my short story Nothing is out today. That's right. I'm writing about nothing and titled my blog post Nothing after forgetting that my story with the same title debuts today. This was even after posting a link to it on my Facebook page! Welcome to the Writing Life!

In this post, I'm talking about having nothing to say. My story Nothing is quite different. It's about a woman struggling with body image after undergoing a mastectomy.

I think that body image is something we all struggle with at some point or another. Even without undergoing something as radical as a mastectomy, our bodies change as we age and some days you just don't recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror.

But in the end, does it matter? I've never had breast cancer, but I have Crohn's disease and have had several surgeries as a result. In the past seven years I've had five surgeries. Each one has scarred my body and my mind. And yet, I'm more comfortable now with who I am than I ever have been. Even with all of my scars. Maybe because of my scars.

And I thought I had Nothing to say...

What's it worth?

2010-02-03T11:55:00.000-05:00

Nathan Bransford has a survey on his blog asking how much you think an ebook should cost. This got me thinking, not just about ebooks, but about pricing for books in general.

Because of the whole Amazon/Macmillan debacle, there’s a lot of discussion about profit models, how much it costs to produce an actual book vs an ebook, and everything a publisher has to pay for out of the small profit they make. All of this is great, and I’m all for everyone being able to make a profit. Most people in the book business (from writers, to agents, to editors, etc.) are here because they Love books. Trust me; it’s not for the money. I’ve worked as an editor on two literary magazines and had several pieces published. With the money I’ve made I might be able to buy a Starbucks Latte every day for two weeks. Maybe.

So while I’m glad there’s a lot of talk about how little profit is actually made in the industry (witness recent layoffs) I feel like there’s something missing in the discussion, and that is what you’re actually buying when you purchase a book.

We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. Okay, we were broke. Often there wasn’t enough food, and the only meal I ate was lunch at school. Our house was old and falling apart. When it rained, the holes in the ceiling were so bad that water poured down the walls. It was so cold in the winter that I spent most days curled up on top of the registers, waiting for the heat to kick on (which was infrequent because we kept our heat set at 55—except for the times my brother and I snuck over and turned it up.) This wasn’t a short-term thing. Things didn’t start getting better until I was 21, and my parents declared bankruptcy because my dad had a massive heart attack, and we didn’t have health insurance (another post for another time.)

My point in all of this is that even when we couldn’t afford anything else, my mom made sure we had books. We bought them when we couldn’t afford anything else. When I was curled up on the heat vents, I had a book. When rain was running down our walls, I found a dry spot and read. We had books because my mom understood that they were valuable. Not because of the paper or the binding or the artwork on the cover (although these are all Great Things) but because books hold Hope. Books hold Dreams. Books make you Think. They open the world to you.

Why is it that one of the first things dictators do when they come to power is burn books? Why do people ban books? Why is the Freedom of Speech the first thing listed in our Bill of Rights? Because books are more than paper and ink. They are Power. So whether it’s in traditional book form or an ebook, I know when I hand over my money I’m, getting more than paper and ink (or pixels on the screen.) I'm getting Dreams, Power, and Hope. New worlds are opening, and to me that’s priceless.

More News...

2010-02-02T09:03:00.000-05:00

So, since I last wrote - November? Could it be that long? Where does the time go--oh, yeah, four kids, a husband, school, and this pesky thing called writing. I suspect we're all in the same boat.

Anyway, I have some more publication news. My short story "Nothing" will be published in the Winter edition of Melusine. Also, yesterday I got the news that a narrative nonfiction piece I wrote last semester ("Being Enough") has been accepted by New Plains Review for the Spring edition. This particular piece means a lot to me because it is about my mom and my daughter, Grace, who is autistic. I write about the impact that they each have on my life simply by being who they are.

I feel like we're all under so much pressure to do something extraordinary with our lives--you know, have a big impact, make a big splash--that we begin to feel insignificant if we haven't accomplished something BIG. My feeling is that loving those around you is BIG, and if, at the end of our lives, we are able to say that we've loved the people around us and have been loved in return that's enough.

When I think about the people in my life who have passed away, it's never the stuff they've done that I miss. It's their presence. I miss who they are, not what they did. When someone you loved has died, wouldn't you give anything just to sit next to them again? To feel their arms around you, or hear their voice again? I know I would, and I suspect it's the same for you.

I wrote "Being Enough" with this in mind. My hope for everyone reading this is that you realize you are "enough" just the way you are.

Good news!

2009-11-05T08:35:00.000-05:00

Like bad news (see my swine flu posts of a few weeks ago), good news seems to come in waves and for once, my cup runneth over! As I mentioned before, I recently won an award for my short story Modeling Life. For the next six months, I'll be serving as an assistant editor for Echo Ink Review. My stint started on November 1st and already I'm reading through manuscript submissions. It looks like it's going to be a great experience, and I'll post about it as I go along. (Maybe pass on some hints about trends -- both good and bad -- that I'm seeing with the story submissions.)

As if that wasn't enough fabulousness, when I checked my email yesterday I found a note from an editor at Simon & Schuster about the first three chapters of my novel. Some of you might remember that back in May, I won a critique of my synopsis and the first three chapters of my novel through Brenda Novak's online auction for diabetes.

My mom had died the year before and we had just settled her estate. We had a small amount of money and I was planning on buying a necklace or something to remember her by when I found the auction. My mom was my first reader. She was the one who opened up the world of reading for me when I was little. What better way to memorialize her than to bid on a critique of my novel? I ended up winning a critique by both an editor & an agent.

Well, yesterday I got the feedback from the editor and it was great! I was expecting her to find all kinds of issues, to tell me that I was wasting my time and I should move on to something more productive, like fly fishing. Instead, she loved the idea and most of the plot points, said my writing was very clean and then she ended by complimenting me on a job "really well done."

Remember Sally Field's acceptance speech at the Oscars? "You like me! You really like me!" I feel like that. Here is someone in the publishing industry with no ties to me and no reason to lie to spare my feelings when giving feedback. I'm not saying she didn't find anything to improve on the manuscript, she did and her points were spot on. Areas to really emphasize, a character's voice to improve, etc. But overall, her feedback was positive and makes me feel so much better about all of the hours I've spent staring at a blank computer screen, creating a world and characters from nothing.

Writing is such a solitary affair, and sometimes you get so close to your work that you can't see the flaws. It feels good to get some outside affirmation every once in a while.

Since I also won an agent critique, I'll be sending the chapters and synopsis off to the agent in the next week or so (after I've incorporated the editor's suggestions.) Hopefully, I get some more good feedback that I'll be able to use while revising the novel. Then I just have to finish the revisions, write a query, find an agent...still a lot of work to do, but I feel better about doing it!

The messy parts

2009-10-29T08:31:00.000-04:00

Lately I've been writing a lot of creative non-fiction. It's completely new to me and a big departure from what I'm used to writing. As a result, the process is, well, let's just tell the truth--it's painful.

In fiction, there are fewer limitations. If the plot's not working this way, switch a few things around and viola! Problem solved. Not so in creative non-fiction. Even though it's creative there's still the sticky problem of The Truth. While taking some creative license is okay, fabricating entire plots, characters, etc. is not (or at least not in my definition of non-fiction.)

In addition, writing the truth hurts. It forces you to confront emotions and situation that are hidden under happier, more pleasant memories. That's not to say that you can only write angsty, depressing non-fiction, but let's face it, life is messy and messy is interesting. Or at least it is to me. As fiction writers, how many times do we hear, "Conflict! Your work needs more Conflict!" Where does that conflict come from? The easy, sunshiny parts of life or the ugly, messy parts?

It's the same for creative non-fiction. Conflict=interesting. Without it, there's no story. The difference with non-fiction is, the conflict comes from the painful parts of your life. And those parts aren't always easy to write about. But those are the parts people want to read about.

Why? Well, my theory is, reading about someone else's messy life gives us a feeling of connection to that person, and humanity as a whole. Even with Facebook, My Space, Twitter, blogs, etc., we're more isolated than ever. We're only getting headlines from other people's lives. So, you might know that a friend has cancer, but you don't know how it felt when her hair fell out in clumps. Or what it felt like to have your body fold in on itself under the strain of the treatments that were almost worse than the disease. Life seems so much more sanitary than it really is, leaving us unprepared when disaster strikes in our own lives.

This is where creative non-fiction comes in. Reading about other people's lives helps us to deal with our own. And that's why it's so important to write the Truth. To write the ugly parts. The messy parts.

Must be genetic

2009-10-22T08:50:00.000-04:00

Halloween is fast approaching and my six-year-old son, Zach, has decided he wants to be a butterfly. Not just any butterfly, but the King Butterfly. Now you have to understand that for the past two years, he has spent his summers running through the neighborhood, net in hand, capturing any poor butterfly that had the misfortune to fly too close to his net. He has become quite good at it, and often has a trail of kids running after him, wielding their own nets and capturing their own butterflies.

Most of the butterflies he gets are the little cabbage white butterflies, but once he got a yellow swallowtail. Zach plopped the swallowtail into a cage and christened him the King Butterfly. The rest of the day Zach spun elaborate yarns about the yellow swallowtail. The King lives in a certain tree at the edge of the woods that line our property and if you knock, he'll come out (this actually happened once.) There is a Queen butterfly, a prince, and a guard butterfly.

The stories went on and on over the summer until the neighborhood kids started building cardboard houses for the King and his entourage. Some mornings I'd walk outside and find little plates of food under our butterfly bush, gifts someone left for the King.

So of course, when Halloween rolled around, Zach wanted to be the King Butterfly. What else would he be? So while I was cutting out yellow fabric to make wings for my son, I started thinking about the myths he created around the King Butterfly and the way he passed those stories on. He spent so much time chasing butterflies and telling stories about them that no one is surprised that he wants to be a butterfly for Halloween. Really, what else would he be?

We have four kids, but Zach is our only biological child. He is always coming up with weird interests which is the way I was when I was young. I was the weird kid in my class, and now I guess I've passed that on to my son. I don't think this is a bad thing, my dad was the same way, it just makes me wonder. Is there something in our genes that pushes us toward writing? My dad was a chemist, but he also wrote poetry and creative non-fiction.

So many of us are compelled to write. We don't do it for fame, or money. We write for the joy bringing our stories to life. Even without the promise of publication we write. Even when we've been rejected by every publisher or agent out there, we write. It's hard, exhausting work, but we keep at it. We are like Zach, chasing butterflies and spinning tales about the King. And I wonder, is there something in us that pushes us to write? Is it that inner weird kid still pushing her way out?

What do you think? How many of you were the weird kid?

Zach in the garden

My first writing award!

2009-10-19T08:31:00.000-04:00

Amidst all of the swine flu drama, I got some good news. The short story I just got accepted for publication, Modeling Life, has won an award! I am the first recipient of the Echo Ink Review Writing & Editing award! YAY!

I'm one of those people who never win anything so this is a Big Deal for me. Not only is there a small monetary prize, but even better, I have a six month assignment as an Assistant Managing Editor for the magazine. I am very excited about the opportunity to work on the journal and learn all of the behind the scenes stuff that goes on in putting together a literary journal. This isn't the first time I've worked on a literary journal, I was one of the editors for NKU's Licking River Review, but this will give me some more experience outside of a University setting.

In totally unrelated news, this is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time! It even got a laugh out of my husband. Since watching it, he's been walking around the house cracking Kraken jokes.

Enjoy!

Short Story Stats

2009-10-16T08:59:00.000-04:00

Swine flu seems to be on its way out. Sarah went back to school today and the boys are out in the kitchen making up words to the Wonder Woman theme song. Their conversation goes something like this:

Zach: In your satin tights, fighting for your Caleb! (giggles)
Caleb: That's me!
Zach: Can you imagine if you were Wonder Woman? (more giggles)
Caleb: I want to kissy kissy her!
Zach: Get us out from under Wonder Caleb!

Yes, I get the Good Mom award for letting my kids watch endless TV while we were all sick. Thus, my boys know all the words to the Wonder Woman theme song (and trust me, their version is much better.)

Anyway, now that everyone is feeling better and I feel like getting up off of the couch, I thought I would post the stats on my recent short story submissions. When I started sending stuff out, I was always curious about how long it took to get something accepted for publication. I submitted Modeling Life to 14 literary journals. I got 6 rejections and after it was accepted at Echo Ink Review I had to withdraw it from 7 journals. I started sending the story out in April and it was accepted for publication in September. (Echo Ink Review had a very fast response time. I sent the story to them on September 16 and they responded on September 22.)

Most of my submissions were electronic and I used Duotrope, which made keeping track of everything much easier. (I used to keep Excel Spreadsheets but then our computer crashed and I lost everything. Duotrope is so much better!)

Currently, I have two other short stories making the rounds (and a third I'm putting the finishing touches on.) Once I find homes from them, I'll post their submission stats.

Hope this was interesting and hope everyone has a Swine Flu free weekend!

Life happens, writing suffers (or is postponed)

2009-10-14T17:01:00.001-04:00

So the week started with Sarah developing a fever and cough on Sunday. It progressed to Steve getting sent home from work on Monday with the same symptoms. An hour after he got home, I got a call from Gracie's school saying she had a fever and was crying. Since she's non-verbal, it's really hard to figure out the problem when something's hurting her. After all, it's not like she can tell us. She just screams, which could mean anything from "I'm hungry" to "I'm having a seizure."

Anyway, I took her to the doctor (where she threw up in the car) and she was swabbed for swine flu and strep. Both were negative. So home we went. She stops crying and is her normal happy self.

Come Tuesday, Steve and Sarah are still sick so they head to the doctor where Steve is swabbed and the winner is....SWINE FLU!!! It's like winning the lottery (that is if you like your lottery Shirley Jackson style.) At the same time, I start a fever. Three of us are down.

Now it's Wednesday and Grace and Caleb wake with fevers. Swine flu for all! Zach, the only healthy one, is at school. Or rather, he was until we get a call from the school nurse. That's right, he's sick.

On the plus side, Steve and Sarah are getting better. On the down side, I'm getting worse. Sigh, this is the downside of parenting. No curling up in bed with a good book and riding it out when all FOUR of your kids are sick.

And that folks, is why I struggle to find time to write.

Especially for the writing moms

2009-10-13T09:17:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about what I wrote in my last post about making time to write being like an affair. For the lucky few who don't have this problem, feel free to skip this post and pop over to HULU to catch last night's episode of Heroes.

For the rest of us who have to write between kids, spouses, jobs and the general messiness of life, read on.

I don't know about the rest of you (especially you writing moms out there) but finding the time to write is my hardest challenge. It's harder than writer's block, plotting, characterization--basically, for me it's harder than everything else combined. I think it's especially hard for moms. After that first kid comes along, it's like a switch is flipped and your world shifts from being all about you, to being all about this new little person. Even when you make time for yourself to see a movie, go out to dinner without the little bundle of joy, or whatever you do for fun, somewhere in the back of your mind a large portion of your brain is occupied with The Baby. You pull out your cell phone to make sure you're getting proper reception just in case the babysitter calls. You plot the fastest way home if there's an emergency. You call home, "just to check."

I have four kids, ages 12 - 4 and still have trouble turning my Mom Brain off. Even as I write this, part of my mind is on my kids--two of whom are in the other room watching Ratatouille. My thoughts go something like this:

They've been watching T.V. a long time. Should I stop blogging and make them do something productive? Maybe I should make them go outside and gather leaves?

I don't really know what we'd do once we have the leaves...I just have a vague impression that gathering leaves is a more Mom-like activity than blogging about writing.

So this summer, I struggled over hiring a baby-sitter to do something as self-indulgent as write. I worried about the expense, I worried about the time away from my kids, I worried about their safety, I worried that the house would burn down and they wouldn't get out in time....You name it, I worried about it. But there was a small part of me that said I needed to do this. So I did, and it was wonderful. Each day I came home happier and calmer. And I was able to spend the rest of the day playing with the kids without thinking, I need to write. I need to write. I can honestly say it was one of the best summers we've had.

For me, writing is about more than plot-lines and characterization. It's about taking time for myself to feed my soul. There's a part of me that shrivels when I don't write. I become less than my best when I don't feed that part of me. My kids notice it, my husband notices it. And honestly, my kids don't mind when I take time to write. My husband doesn't mind, in fact he encourages it. (I'm much calmer when I take a little time for myself!) I am the only one who worries about it.

So my advice to you is to make time to write. Do it however you can, at night, during nap-time, in the morning. Whenever. Just find the balance that works for you and get writing.

Short Story News

2009-10-10T11:04:00.000-04:00

As usual, it has been a long time since I've posted, but I have a good reason. I've been writing. As a mom in graduate school with four kids, something's got to give. Since social services will get involved if I don't feed or bathe the kids, and my professors are picky about little things like turning in homework, the blog drew the short straw.

But what about the summer, you say? Couldn't I have posted then? Well, yes, but over the summer I indulged my wild and wacky side and hired a baby-sitter to watch the kids three days a week so that I could write. It was better than an affair (not that I would do that...Steve wipe the last sentence from your mind.) Sitting at Starbucks with a toffee-nut latte and my laptop. No one asking me to wipe their nose or other body parts. I wrote and wrote. It was wonderful. Sigh, the memories...

But never fear, here is what's quickly becoming my semi-annual post. In writing news my short story, Modeling Life has been accepted for publication in Echo Ink Review. It should be out in February. So mark your calendars and buy a copy!

Also, back in May I won a critique by an editor and agent of the first three chapters of my novel. The chapters are with the editor right now and as soon as I get them back, I'll be sending them on to the agent. Hopefully they will fall in love with my beautiful prose and make me an offer...(sorry, faded out into my fantasy world, I'm back now.) In reality, getting an honest critique by people in the industry is invaluable. No matter what comes of it, at the very least I'll be getting feedback on my writing which can only help.

Let's see, other news on the writing front...as always I'm working on several different projects--novels, short-stories and as the result of a class I'm taking, I'm tinkering with creative non-fiction. It's a stretching process but fun.

So that's all of the news from the writing front. I will do my best not to let months go by without posting again.