My Place on the Shelf

There is a philosophy that suggests if you put your desires out into the universe that those desires will come true. And while I'm often found rolling my eyes at my mother's similar “Think Positive” theory, I believe there must be some amount of truth in it. Not that I believe one can just imagine oneself rich and famous and it will miraculously happen. Success takes work. But the idea of visualization is something I can grab hold of, something I can easily implement in my daily life. Which sounds a bit like my dad’s way of giving driving instructions. "Picture it. Are you picturing it?”

My husband often asks me why I write. Is it because I hope to become rich and quit my day job? No, I am not delusional. I realize that most published writers require an additional income, and that very few are able to survive on the money they make from writing. Do I desire fame? No, again, this is the exception, not the rule. So what is it? (I mean, besides the aching need to get the voices in my head to stop telling me stories.)

I write because someday I hope to be able to walk into a bookstore, head to the YA section, search all the way to the near end of the alphabet, and find my book. A book. With my name on the cover and words that came from my brain spilling off of every page. Because when I tell people I’m a writer and they ask if they can read my book, I want to be able to direct them to the nearest online or brick and mortar retailer where they can buy a copy to read. Sometimes I find myself standing in a bookstore and picturing my book on the shelf. Is this the behavior of a crazy person, or someone employing the philosophy of visualization?

Last night I went out with three writer friends, all amazing women, all at different parts of their journey. The evening was filled with great conversation, not just about writing but about children, pets, birthday parties, and life in general. I felt so understood. And when I mentioned picturing my book on the shelf, they all shook their heads in agreement. And so we decided to go through the store and take a photograph of where exactly our book would live.

Shelf placement is a big deal. When readers are browsing a bookstore, what will make them grab yours? Maybe they were looking for a popular author and you happen to be close by. Maybe your books are situated near another writer of similar works. Like R.L. Stine? Try this! My friend whose first book debuts in May will be in between Rick Riordan and J.K. Rowling, two writers who most decidedly do not need day jobs. A girl I met for the first time last night has two books on the way and will be sharing the shelf with Tolstoy. My book, when it enters the world outside of my laptop, will be down low, sure, but close to Ned Vizzini (RIP) and Markus Zusak, best selling authors who weren't afraid to take risks with their work. I’ll take it.

After we took the photos, we talked about starting a Twitter hashtag, and my immediate fear was that people would think it was pretentious. I mean, I’m pointing at a gap in the shelf as if to say, yep, my book will live here someday.

But it’s not pretentious. It’s optimistic. It’s the power of visualization. It’s about having a dream, pouring your blood, sweat, and tears (and a whole lot of hummus) into that dream, and one day being able to stand back and admire your accomplishment.

And for me, it’s about having a place on the shelf. Not just for my book, but for me. The writing community is a warm supportive place most days. But there are days when I feel like I don’t fit in, when I doubt that I’ll ever be part of the exclusive club of published authors, when I convince myself that the whole idea is a crock of garbage and I should just give up entirely.

Then I have nights like last night. Where my thoughts and ideas are valued, where I feel connected to other writers and encouraged to continue on this path. Where I feel nestled in between other stories, stories that prop me up when I start to falter.

So, without further ado, #ThisIsMyBookSpot:

Picture it. Are you picturing it?

Yeah, I'd watch that over and over

I'm not a big fan of GIFs (as you can see by the complete lack of them on my blog). Something about the perpetual repetition makes me uneasy. But sometimes there are moments in life that I wish I could turn into a GIF. Like when P laughs so hard that he snorts or when J hugs me with every little piece of energy in his body. (He is the world's best snuggler. Really and truly.) Lately, P has taken to jump scaring me, and although I'm pretty sure one of these days I'm going to pass out and/or have a heart attack, I'm sure the look on my face would make a very entertaining GIF. Not that I would want that circulating the internet.

Hm. I'm suddenly worried about my future on social media once my child has a phone.

Yesterday I experienced a total GIF-worthy moment. I work at a community college helping students with disabilities navigate the world of higher education. Part of my job is to administer entrance exams that the students must pass in order to begin their program. If they don't pass, they are required to take non-credit courses in either math or English (or both) until they can prove competency. Many of my students are older and have spent much of their lives struggling with math or English (or both) and the tests create a lot of anxiety for them. They are often placed in the remedial courses and even then may be unable to pass and move forward. It can be extremely disheartening.

But then there are moments like yesterday. A young woman came in to take her math test with us after a previous attempt at the test, two attempts at the class, and an intensive training session over break. There was no doubt in my mind that she wanted to succeed and had been doing everything in her power to break through to the next level. When I went in to check her scores and we discovered that she passed, she jumped out of her seat, screamed, high-fived me with both hands, and then gave me an enormous hug. She started to cry and told me how thankful she was that we were able to help her on her journey. I couldn't help but grin and tear up a bit myself.

There's a video feed in the lab and we can watch saved footage at any time, something I usually only do when I suspect cheating. But I plan to watch the footage from yesterday whenever I start to feel overwhelmed, disappointed, or just downright sad. Life is full of heartbreak, but those moments of pure joy and accomplishment make up for it.

I am so inspired by that student and by many others who overcome obstacles daily in order to pursue their dream.

Now please excuse me while I check the hallway for hidden cameras.

Operation NO MORE NAGGING: Day One

Last night hubs and I had a rather heated parenting discussion. Oldest is halfway through fourth grade, which for students in our district means he is a mere eight months away from

~~MIDDLE SCHOOL~~

Pardon me while I collect myself.

Okay, I'm better now. The way I see it, there is a significant amount of mental and physical preparation required in the months ahead. We've already warned him that "THE TALK" is coming this summer and I've started to make sure he knows all the anatomically correct names for body parts so that we can skip over the giggling and get right to the sighing and nose pinching (he pinches his nose and shakes his head when he deems the conversation cringe worthy).

Side note: the day I taught my kids the word "anus" we were in the car on the way to weekly dinner with my mother in law. The boys entered her house loudly chanting "ANUS, ANUS, ANUS!" Perhaps not the best timing.

Aside from the coming of age inevitabilities, we are trying to create a stronger sense of independence and internal motivation so that the boy is able to handle the increased work load and hands-off approach of his future school years. Let me tell you, this is not easy. Hence last night's argument.

P is asked to complete various charts that track his progress, and each chart has a set number of required minutes. He is supposed to read 30 minutes a day, review math facts 10 minutes a day, and practice his violin 20 minutes a day. Personally, I don't think one hour is all that unreasonable, but tacked onto that is daily math and spelling homework that usually take him an additional half hour. Still not too bad. We get home three days a week at 2:30 and he has time on the other two days to complete his homework during the after school program. Soccer is two nights a week and scouts is one. It is entirely possible to complete his required work AND still have plenty of time to relax and have fun.

The problem is the charts. Days pass and he forgets to fill them in. I nag. He makes up numbers and asks me to sign the sheet. But if I don't, there isn't much of a consequence at school. The charts have little value to him, and it frustrates me to watch him become complacent about his responsibilities. I nag some more. He acts as if I've asked him to cut the grass with a pair of scissors.

And now hubs has started to rally against my nagging. He told me yesterday that if I keep kicking our son along the only thing he's going to have is a bruised ass. But I don't know how to let go. My parents tried to push me when I was in school and it didn't work. I was smart but also pretty lazy and knew how to do just enough to get by. It wasn't until graduate school that I finally figured out that, hey - if I try hard I can do amazingly well! I don't want that to happen to P, but my pushing is only repeating the cycle.

So after having it out with hubs last night, he challenged me to give up nagging for one week. No reminders to practice violin or read a book in the required genre. Let P figure it out for himself and if he fails, he fails. Of course there's a big math test this week, and it is going to take a whole lot of discipline for me not to tell him to study. Last night we sent him upstairs to get ready for soccer practice. He had ten minutes to change and get his bag together. 15 minutes later he was still upstairs screwing around with his brother. I bit my lip. Eventually he came downstairs and ended up being seven minutes late for practice.

That kind of stuff makes me batty. But something has to give, and I can only hope that in this next week he'll realize the method behind my madness. That I just want him to do his best, to do what is required and then a little bit more because that's what keeps you ahead in the world, and... sigh... it's going to be a long week.

GOALS! What are they good for? Absolutely Nothing!

Wait.

That is no way to motivate somebody.

It's January third. Right about now there are people everywhere feeling gung-ho about their new year's resolutions. But give it time. Because while some may actually change their behavior, most of us fall short of what we originally intend when we make our drunken promises to the universe on December 31. In other words, we fail.

Example: Every year I swear that I am finally going to get organized, to purge my house of unwanted things and live simpler. It's actually become a running joke with my future self in the annual Christmas stocking letter. I got really close once. Read an article in one of my mom's magazines about how you need to assign a week to each section of your house and go through every space, showing your useless crap no mercy. In six weeks your house would be free of clutter. I made amazing progress until I got to our den and was hit with the brick wall of SO. MUCH. PAPERWORK.

And then I quit.

Because goals are hard, especially the ones that try to re-shift our entire way of thinking/living. And at some point you may need to accept something about yourself that is less than perfect, and that's okay. But it doesn't stop you from making the same goal over and over again. I tried again last year, with a book about decluttering, a new calendar, and a promise to myself that this time it would be different. It wasn't. I barely scratched the surface. Or dusted it for that matter.

Is it healthy for us to constantly try to fix what we, or others, think is wrong with our bodies, houses, lives in general? What if, instead of setting goals that focus on some unattainable perfection that would likely leave us miserable, we set goals that are bite sized, within reach, and fit within the confines of who we are naturally meant to be? I'm not saying don't challenge yourself. Challenging yourself is good. Push outside the comfort zone every once in a while. But don't be ashamed if you have to crawl right back in. Growth is best made in baby steps rather than huge leaps. In my opinion anyway.

More importantly, have a strong support network. One of the other goals that I routinely set for myself is to let go of fear. This may seem very fluffy and over generalized, but I have a lot of very specific, very irrational fears. Sometimes I am forced to get over them, at least to a degree that allows me to function (somewhat) normally. One of my many fears: Phone calls. Most introverts will join me in the joy that is text messaging - the ability to communicate without having to dial someone's number and wait for them to answer, secretly hoping it will go to voice mail but then talking so randomly when voice mail answers that you sound like an idiot. When I interviewed for my current job I was asked to name something I don't like to do. Easy. Talk on the phone. Well, my former boss thought maybe I needed to get over that and she had me making phone calls ALL THE TIME. Each one required pre-call practicing and "I can do this" mantras and was accompanied by a racing heart and sweaty palms. It's better now, but I'm by no means "cured". My husband recognizes this about me, has helped me celebrate my progress, and happily dials for take out so that I don't have to.

He also knows that social interactions with strangers are not easy for me. Today after church we needed to sign up for a newcomer's group and the hubs announced, "I'll go get the kids, you sign up." Not sign up on a sheet, mind you, but talk to the guy at the information desk. I stood in the hallway for a few minutes and contemplated running into the bathroom and telling hubs that I just couldn't hold it and could he please sign us up? But I knew what he was trying to do; I felt his gentle shove. Took a deep breath and did it. (In two hours we have to actually GO to the event and talk to more strangers, but baby steps...)

If you want to change, have someone on your side who knows exactly how gently you need to be shoved.

Another example: Two years ago I participated in a writing challenge for the new year. As per usual, I didn't make it all the way through. But I made some amazing virtual friends who have supported my journey and make me smile when I need it most. This past November I did a lighter version of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month - where writers attempt to complete the first draft of a novel in one month) called WipMo which allowed participants to set their own goals and work at a pace that fit their current needs. I rocked it and was so fueled by my success that I set the same goals for December. Butt in chair at least three days a week and 2500 words or more.

And then I quit.

All those zeros are really depressing. And even more depressing was facing my extended family who all asked how the book was coming. It's easy to get discouraged and throw in the towel. Convince myself that there is no way I can regain momentum. Goals can do that to a person. Make them give up and not want to bother.

But we have to be resilient. To accept who we are, figure out where we want to be, and how to maintain enough motivation and heart to get us there. Will I ever be one of those people I envy on Twitter who crank out a thousand words+ a day? No. Is it reasonable to blame the holidays and forgive myself for slacking off and then vow to get back on track by locking myself in my writing room until the zeros disappear? Yes. Will social interactions continue to rattle my heart like a caged animal? Yes. Am I going to let that stop me from living? That would be foolish. Will my house ever be completely clutter free? When we move out, sure. Until then, not likely. Can I focus instead on having one or two organized spaces and shoving everything else into the den and shutting the door? Sounds like a plan.

Good luck with your resolutions, whatever they may be. I'm off to end the zeros.

The Writer's Journey

When you decide to become a writer and not just someone who writes *(see difference at the end of this post), you agree to travel down a path of highs and lows. Some examples:

High: You come up with a great idea for a book. The idea hits you one day and doesn't let go. You must write this book.
Low: Writing a book is hard. You have no idea what you are doing, how to plot an ENTIRE NOVEL and keep the story fresh from the first page to the last. The first several attempts are so bad that you are pretty sure the whole thing was a bad idea.

High: You don't give up, convinced that you just need the right inspiration. You read books on craft, and start telling everyone you meet that you are writing a book. Eventually you make connections to other people who write, both in the flesh and blood world and the online world. You learn strategies, like how to plot, develop believable characters, and write strong beginnings. You make new friends. You find a whole community of people and feel connected to a larger force.
Low: Some people in the writing community are mean. They criticize mistakes made by newbies (mistakes that you rush into your manuscript to fix - like omg did I describe my character by having her look in a mirror?) and sometimes do things that make you feel excluded. You worry that you will never fit in, that people won't like you. Or worse, they won't like your work.

High: You finish your book. Holy crap, YOU WROTE A BOOK! It is brilliant. Everyone must read it. Now.
Low: You make the mistake of sharing your un-edited manuscript with friends/family/random strangers online because you are just so unbelievably excited about having wrote a book. An actual book. The friend/family member/random stranger points out the ten million things you need to fix. Every flaw is exposed and you feel as though someone has taken your heart out of your chest and stepped on it. Repeatedly.

High: You recover from the criticism and learn who to trust to give you solid, helpful advice about how to make your book better. You revise, revise, revise, and feel incredibly good about the growth you've made as a writer. Idea number two pops into your head and you think, I can do this whole writing thing after all. You attend conferences and meet new people. You start to put your work out there to professionals in the industry. They appear interested.
Low: You get rejected. Over and over and over and over. You watch other people get snatched up by agents, published, and inundated with praise. It makes you want to crawl under a rock. Give up. But you keep plugging along and working on project number two. Or three. Because maybe that's how long it is going to take.

That's as far as I've gotten, but I know that the rest of the journey is fraught with more ups and downs. I've seen agented authors wait years to secure a book deal. Celebrated when the day finally came. I've seen friends experience heartache when their book is pulled from the shelves because of problems with the publishing house. I've seen authors in agony over bad reviews and/or their lack of sales, worried that their editor will reject every new idea. Done my best to encourage others to keep putting their work out there because it is beautiful, beautiful stuff.

It's not an easy life. But as writers, we create worlds everyday, and I think we need to sprinkle a little of that fantasy in our own day to day experiences. What keeps me writing is not so much the idea that one day my words will be out in the world, but the release I feel when I let myself get lost in the page. When I shut out the minutiae of daily life and plunge into the story. It feels like nothing else.
So why can't I do the same for my "real" life? Walk into a bookstore and picture my baby on a shelf. Imagine myself reading chapter one in front of family and friends at my release party. Celebrating every small success instead of wallowing in bitterness over every failure.

With each rejection I give myself permission to wallow for a brief moment, and then move on. With each high from someone else, I say hello to the green-eyed monster and then tell him politely to move on. There's no room for that in this life. When I wanted more than anything in the world to get pregnant and become a mother, jealousy was camped out in the front of my brain all the time. It was exhausting. But we are all on different paths, and the important thing to remember is that everyone, EVERYONE, has highs and lows. Celebrate the highs - your own, your friends, the random stranger you met online, and recognize the lows - give them their chance to exist and help you grow - but don't allow them to take over.


*Someone who writes: anybody really; grocery lists, thank you cards, letters to Santa - these are all things that someone could write.

A writer: A person who has dedicated part or all of his/her life to putting ideas on paper, to telling stories, to creating something meaningful from words.

Turning Forty

The big day is nearly here. The day when the clock turns over to 1:01 pm and I will have officially been breathing on my own for forty years. The months leading up to this event have been interesting as while I firmly believe the cliche that age is just a number, it has not escaped my sphere of thought that I am about to enter a new decade. And that means changes.

Some changes are a little tough to swallow. The gray hairs on my head seem to multiply while I sleep, and I shy away from the camera because the bigger I smile, the more wrinkles appear. And as many of my friends are discovering, I just can't party as hard as I did in my twenties and not expect to pay for it the next day.

Some changes are welcome. Like the wisdom to realize that life is too short to waste on drama. It's easy to get caught up in the web of trying to keep up with everyone else, but what for? I was happy to be myself in my teens and twenties and didn't care what other people thought - why start now? If anything now is the time to boldly pronounce that you're either here to have fun/be supportive/share in life's journey or you need to move on. It's a tough proclamation and not one that will make me very popular. But here's the thing about forty: I don't care.

I've made it halfway (? avg lifespan in my family is around 80) through life and it feels pretty amazing. There have been good decisions and bad ones, kind people and cruel ones, positive life experiences and ones that left me crushed and defeated. But I have traveled through it all and plan to keep on trucking. My thirties were all about being a mom. Waiting to be a mom, feeling completely clueless when I finally became a mom, and then figuring out (which I'm still doing) how to be the best mom I can be. In my forties I hope to keep rocking the mom thing and to discover what else makes me whole. It isn't so much about having a plan (I tried that in my twenties. Ha.) as it is about finding what fuels my soul, and then going out and doing it. Not being afraid. Not making excuses. Setting goals and reaching them.

When I set out to write a novel, I was naive and green. Oh so green. But I read up on the craft, expanded my social network to include people who could help me get a clue, and kept at the project until it was finished. It may never see the world outside my small circle, but that is okay. Because there's something else I've learned on the cusp of turning forty. I've always wanted to leave my mark on the world, but I never stopped to think about what that really meant. I have used my writing journey as an opportunity to teach my children about passion, about risk, and about perseverance. About the fact that you don't always get the thing you go after, but often the expedition is its own reward.

So bring it on, forty. Bring on the gray hair, the wrinkles, the sagging skin. Bring on the day afters because mama is going to keep on dancing. Join me, if you want.

Oh, and in case you like this sort of thing, here are highlights from the last four decades:

five years old... I wanted to be a model

seventeen years old... away from home for the first time and so not ready for the real world

twenty seven years old... solo trip to Hong Kong to visit hubby on deployment

thirty nine years old... dancing with the band

The road to independence is full of potholes

My oldest is now in fourth grade. Next year he'll be in middle school, changing classes, using a locker, and generally being independent.

Hopefully.

We have a bit of distance to travel before then, and my plan is to use these next 11 months (pardon me while I spend a few moments in denial.... ... ... okay, I'm back) getting him ready for the next phase of his life. That means letting go. Letting go of the nagging, the reminders, the doing everything for him because it's much easier than waiting for him to do it himself. Letting go is not easy for me. I like to be in control of the minutia of life; it's one of my character flaws. It is nearly impossible to enforce such levels of control over two young boys, but I try anyway. And now it is coming back to bite me. Because now I want P to do things without reminders and to make good choices and to not procrastinate until the last minute.

Needless to say it's not going all that well right now.

There is a lot to keep track of in fourth grade. Daily reading and math logs, spelling charts, and math homework. Violin practice. Cub scout requirements. Remembering to bring his gym bag home so I can wash his sweaty clothes (this has only happened once so far. ew.) We'd also like him to do chores around the house - nothing too complicated - simple stuff like keeping his room clean and collecting garbage once a week. And I want it all to happen without nagging.

As if it were that easy.

Last night the hubs and I had a convo with P about not letting his daily charts go until the end of the month and then scrambling to get them finished as the bus is pulling into our court. After our son went off to bed, my husband said something about the boy following in my footsteps. I am desperate for that NOT to happen.The procrastination struggle is real and a lifelong monkey to peel off one's back. My grades in school were not nearly as good as they could have been if I had actually made an effort. Turned things in on time. Worked up to my potential. Of course my parents said that to me in an endless loop and fool that I was, I didn't listen. And now I fear that we are wandering down the same path again, only this time I'm singing the "don't get swallowed up by the ease of mediocrity" tune. And the boy is clearly zoned out into the happy place where I spent a large part of my childhood whenever my parents lectured me.

The plan is to try and let him make mistakes and hope that he learns from them. My parents rescued me a lot, even into young adulthood. And while I appreciated it in the moment, it took me a long time to figure out how to stand on my own. It wasn't until graduate school that I learned how to focus on the task in front of me and give it 100%. (Admittedly that philosophy has not transferred into all the other areas of my life... but it's a process.) I don't want the boy to wait that long. I hope that if I allow him to fail, he'll eventually see that there are intrinsic rewards for doing your best work and getting things accomplished on time.

Mama just needs to step back and figure out how to guide him in the right direction without standing behind him and giving him a huge shove. We'll see how that goes.