Advice on Writing

I was introduced to this one today by Christine Bryant. Thanks for a beautiful sentiment.

Writer’s Guilt, or My Little Ah-ha! Moment

There has been a lot of discussion among my friends lately about the guilt that seems to come along with being a writer. For some reason, we seem to be burdened with a warped perception of why we should or should not be allowed to write.

Most, if not all, writers have specific reasons for pursuing the craft. Often, that has something to do with an inspiration, a belief in a God-given talent, a drive to pursue words and mold them into something that will inspire the world around us. Writing is part of who we are. We know we wouldn’t be complete without that part of our personality. Most of the people around us recognize that, too.

Enter the problem. Every time we sit down at the computer, every time we head off to a book signing or conference some little part of our brain pops up and says, “But wait! You left dishes in the sink. The baby was crying and clinging to your leg. You haven’t even thought about dinner yet!” On and on. Why is it that writers are so consumed with the feeling that they are doing something naughty, or being neglectful to our families, being selfish, even wasting time because we don’t have any tangible evidence we can really show people for why we spend hours locked in our offices?

After all, most people struggle with balancing their lives in some manner. They wish they could do this or that better, but nobody begrudges the doctor who has to take a call in the middle of the night- that’s just part of who he or she is. No one says the gardener is completely wasting their time because the deer will likely eat everything any way. No one wonders how the scrapbooker manages to care for her family and still have time for her talent. It’s all give and take, it’s all choices and priorities.

So, why does the writer tend to see their priority, their talent and gift as something that gets in the way of the rest of their life? Partly, I think, because we are driven by that need to write, every day and every chance we get. But, I think there is a bigger reason.

I think it comes back to the core reason we are driven to put things down on paper in the first place: our minds. Our heads are constantly dividing our attention between what is happening around us in real life and what we are trying to get to happen in a different reality that’s no less real to us. The doctor, the golfer, the sewer, the gardener can all put away the tools of their craft and walk away when they’re done. They may think about “Oh I love that paper, I should grab some for the next page I want to do,” or “It’s a beautiful day, wish I could be on the course.” But they are still present in the activities that are actually going on around them. It’s a fleeting notion. They know they’ll get to fulfill their desire at some point, then put it away and meet the other needs of their life.

A writer very rarely sees life this way. Even when we aren’t able to sit down at the computer, the story and words that consume us when we are there don’t get put down when we have to take junior to the soccer game. We carry them right along with us. Some portion of our mind is always fashioning and refashioning a thought we want to catch before we lose it. We look at the world around us and wonder how to fit it into our WIP. We can not take off the words and scenes floating around in our brain and walk away when we’ve finished our hour or whatever. It all goes with us every single moment of the day.

If that’s true, then what happens when we do get the chance to sit down and pour out our hearts on paper? There goes our subconscious again, doing exactly what we’ve trained it to do. Be divided. We are not fully present when we write because we’re not fully present in any situation. We sit down to write, which is what our brain has been wanting to do all day, so now our subconscious has to find something else to process, to mold while we actively work with the writing side of us. So, we end up with a reversal of thoughts. Suddenly, a small portion of us is obsessing over the consequences of feeding our children cold cereal for the fifth night in the row- our lives have now become the backstory we’re re-hashing and trying to get just right.

Make sense?

We sit down and our subconscious makes us feel guilty for being there because it doesn’t recognize a difference between the mental exercises we go through all day long with our writing and the time we spend actually spitting those words out onto the computer screen. It’s all writing and our brain starts to whisper, “Didn’t you already do this today?”
Often we become so caught up in the story that we truly have trouble remembering if we really did anything else that day. We may have challenged the phone company on a bill, gone grocery shopping, helped the teenager with a homework assignment, chatted with a neighbor having marital problems, even remembered to take a shower and get dressed. But, that’s all lost in the fog of figuring out the villain’s motivation for tying Sweet Sue to the railroad tracks. When someone else asks us (or when we ask ourselves) what we did that day we really have no idea, so we’re sure the day was wasted.

Our muse consumes us. It follows us everywhere we go, so we always end up feeling like we’ve neglected something important. We multitask too well. We’re never completely present in whatever we’re doing and we never completely walk away from what we want to be doing. It begins to feel like an addiction, a guilty pleasure that should be hidden or stifled. Oh, we still logically know and understand the inspiration behind our words, but how can we possibly consider ourselves a good mother when we sit back and watch the two-year-old’s tantrum with the gears turning about how we’d put his actions into writing rather than doing what a normal mother would do in that situation. (By the way, I have no idea what a normal mother would do since I’ve never been one of those.)

Do I have a solution for this? Nope. I only claimed to be a writer not a genius. I’d say, practice uni-tasking, becoming fully present in each area of your life, but that wouldn’t do the writer who has to grab his time in 15 minute snatches any good. By the time he gave his brain permission to think about the WIP his time would be up. I don’t have any miraculous solutions, but at least I understand what my problem is a little more. It doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty, but it does help me to put it in perspective. It clears my head just enough to remember what I’ve done and haven’t done, and my true motivations for what things I let in to my life and what things I leave out.

It doesn’t stop the train wreck that is my creative process, but it helps me understand that in reality my family was not in that train wreck. I may have just made a disaster out of my heroine’s life, but that doesn’t mean I’ve made a disaster out of my teenager’s life, no matter how many times she’s inclined to tell me I did. I haven’t destroyed their fragile lives because I was thinking about how to describe a character’s phobia while sitting in little Sally’s parent-teacher conference. I’m just allowing myself to be who I am. Hopefully, that will mean I’ll let them be who they are as well.

Besides, cold cereal is vitamin fortified. If they want something different they know where the fridge and stove are. I’m sure they can figure it out. Odds are it won’t hurt them one bit to do so.

Getting Rid of My Stuff

Okay, so I’m reading one of those “get your life together” books. I read a lot of those and none of them seem to stick, btw. As the book pontificates on stepping back to see how you really perceive and feel about all the stuff in your life, physical, emotional, activities, everything, I think I’ve realized something about myself. Well, it really is something I’m well aware of but I haven’t thought much about it in several years.

It seems that the main reason I get bogged down is because I’m still placing more value on what others think I should value than what I actually do. Does that make sense?

Since it’s the Christmas season, take Christmas card giving as an example. It’s a tradition, it’s a nice thought. But what happens when you sit down to decide who you want to send cards to? You write down all the names that come to mind, then you sit and stare at the list for days, adding names frantically as you think of other people you should acknowledge. You haven’t actually thought about that neighbor that lived by you 12 years ago in ages, but you don’t want her to know that because she sent you a card last year. What about the post man? What about his weekend substitute? What about the garbage men, they certainly deserve your gratitude. See where I’m going with this? Something that started out as a simple way to let people around you know they are loved turns into a bigger nightmare than going to six different stores to find that one special toy. Of course, everyone’s world would be forever shattered if they didn’t get a card from you this year and you don’t want that on your shoulders!

Thus it is with me and my stuff in all its forms.

Case in point #1: I have a large picture of a temple in my basement. It hasn’t matched anything in my décor for the last two houses (I’ve been in this one 8 years if that tells you anything). But I hang on to it. Why? Well, yes there is the standard, “It might match again some day” thought, but more importantly there is a huge amount of guilt that goes with imagining throwing it out. I mean, it’s the temple! If I throw it away that means I don’t value the temple, right? If I take it to church and try to give it away, will somebody recognize which temple it is and know it’s mine? Then they’ll think I don’t value the temple either! And, heaven forbid the person who gave it to me should ever ask why it isn’t on my wall! (Yes, she does thing like that- frequently)

Case in point #2: I have a sweet friend who is constantly inviting me to do things with her. She knows I don’t get out much and worries about me. What she doesn’t understand is I don’t get out much by choice. My life is very full with the things I will do for my children. My own ideal is a hot bubble bath, a good book, and total silence. I don’t want to go out and play nice, that’s just not me. I turn her down repeatedly, then begin to feel guilty-- thinking she is going to think I don’t like her and I’m rejecting her. So I go and come home with a headache and more tired than when I left. Because I went, she invites me more often. . . . Wouldn’t it be easier if I could explain that I’m not lacking anything and just don’t like socializing, that I won’t think any less of her for not inviting me? Wouldn’t it be easier if she could accept that and not fear that something is terribly wrong with me?

Case in point #3: My home is not full of nice things. It is not immaculate and beautiful. It is over-run with children and the evidence of those children. The clutter books all tell you to get rid of things, have a garage sale, sell them on ebay! I look around my home and fully realize that I’m pushing it by thinking someone at Goodwill would want my stuff. I feel bad. I long for something pretty. Something nice that will stay that way. Logically, I know it won’t. But I want to perceive myself as being worthy and capable of having something nice. I want those who see me, and those I actually let into my home, to think I’ve got it together and I’m a better person because of the way I live my life. So I put my foot down and go in search of that one thing I think I need. In the end I can’t bare to part with the money that “nice” requires, so I compromise. I have a baby grand piano in my living room that is the epitome of this compromise. I got it for $50 and some manual labor moving it. Sounds like a great deal, right? Well, it needed to be refinished, the key tops had been removed in preparation for the previous owner to get new ones, ditto for the peddles. No problem. When we put our minds to it, my husband and I can accomplish almost anything. For $50 we’d finish refinishing it and have something beautiful that both of us value, right? It’s been a year. It’s partly tuned, the rest is still as we got it. Now, instead of something beautiful I have another physical testimony to the fact that I’m a flighty, scatterbrained gal who can’t get it together. I feel bad. . . I get mad. . . I attack something, determined to make it into something I can be proud of. . . it backfires big time. . . I feel bad. Get the picture?

Have you figured out my “ah-hah!” moment yet? I think I’ve discovered the core problem with me and my stuff. My life is ruled by perceptions. Not what I think of myself and my things, but what I think everybody else thinks. Realistically, I may know darn good and well that my child’s Primary teacher isn’t spending all her time wondering why I haven’t taught my child to read better (though I bet she’s still wondering about his proclamation that his parents were married in a jail- which is true, btw). But all it takes is one passing thought like that or even worse, one innocent comment and my mind is in turmoil trying to figure out how to fix other people’s perception of me.

Do I want to get rid of the things that are weighing me down? Yes, but it begins much deeper than whether or not I have a picture of the temple that I haven’t used in years.

Gearing Up For NaNoWriMo

Soooo, here’s my dilemma. It’s almost NaNoWriMo time and I still haven’t picked my project. I went through my active files and chose the one I wanted to finish first, but I can’t decide if it’s cheating to start with 12,000 words if you still set a goal of writing 50,000 more.


The whole point is to start with only an idea and a determined spirit and come out the other end of November with a 50,000 word novel. No, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a good one. It’s more an exercise in kicking yourself in the pants and demonstrating that you really can write when you put your mind to it.


I could start something entirely new, of course. But that opens up another Pandora’s Box of decisions. My idea file is quite extensive and more than a handful are screaming “Pick me! Pick me!”


It’s quite a problem as you can see.
What would you do if you were me?

One Hit Wonder

Have you ever considered what happened to your favorite One Hit Wonder?

I mean, really. What happened? Did they just decide they didn’t like performing? Did they “sell out” for a bigger market and never made it? Did they just sing really awful stuff except for one song? Or, was it just their goal in life to make it big that one time, kind of an “I want to climb Mount Everest” kind of deal?

Personally, my goal has always been to be a Million Mid-list Master of Mediocrity. (Say that five times fast.) I don’t exactly want to be a best seller. I just want to someday be so prolific that people all over the world say “oh, yeah, her” when they hear my name. I just want to write. A lot. But every few days I wonder about that aspiration.

I recently started the final edits on my upcoming LDS novel, The Prodigal Son.

High point: I’ve had a few nice “wow, I actually wrote that!” moments. I still think it’s a great story and I’m amazed that I was able to find a way to tell it.

Low point: Letting Satan sneak back in to remind me that now this means I have to do it again, and again. What if I can’t? (Yes, Judy. I can hear you lecturing me on that one from the other side of the United States. You’re so awesome.)

Here’s the problem. I have several WIP in various stages of done-ness. I started each because I loved the premise and I wanted to tell the story, but then self doubt and rationalizations start creeping in. What if I get finished and it’s only okay, not amazing?

I’ve finished other projects since I wrote The Prodigal Son. I’ve liked them, too. But they are still waiting for some editor or agent to recognize my genius. A whole ‘nother problem of inferiority anxiety.

I specifically recall that these types of concerns never even entered my mind the day I announced I intended to become a writer. This is not what I signed up for. I just wanted an outlet for the voices in my head. I was under the impression that those voices could be a benefit to others so they needed to be published. Ah, naive aspirations.

My husband suggests I quit writing and take up crocheting. He knows darn good and well that I can’t crochet. So, I guess my only choice is to quit whining, dust off my “I can do anything ego”, and keep writing a few more books. They may turn out to be nothing special, but at least I wrote them.

I refuse to be a One Hit Wonder. Mid-list Mediocrity, here I come.

A Strange Sort of Keeping Up With the Jones

I guess every neighborhood has some sort of Jones family and those that scramble to keep up with them. My neighborhood is no different.

I live in a very small neighborhood. There is a circular road with 13 houses and a dead end street with another 10 houses. I live on the dead end street and this is mostly a tale of these 10 houses and our strange affair with the Jones.

Some years it's innocent enough. Like the year half the adults decided they needed bikes to ride with their children. Then, there was the spring of re-done flowerbeds. There was also a, "let's plant a tree" phase that was pretty. The, “let's have garage sales” summer was kind of a bust, but most of the time it's all innocent idea stealing.

Not this year. It started out about the same. Spring started with a two week, "gee we'd better cut down those dead trees" festival. The boys loved watching them all come down.

Then, the Jones virus left our area to spend some time among the houses on the circular road. They had a wave of serious illnesses and death. We don't envy their domino effect at all.

But, by summer “Jones” was back on the dead end causing trouble. I blame a friend almost at the end of the street. She and her husband decided enough was enough: this would be the summer they would replace the roof. Now this is distressing news in our household, because if they replaced their roof ours would win the "worst looking roof in the neighborhood" award hands-down. We'd been trying to put it off a few more years.

So, we watched with interest as they made their roofing choices and began to prepare. Then quickly decided there was no way in the underworld we were touching our own roof this year. It played out like this.

No sooner did they buy all the supplies and have them delivered than their well dried up. Stop construction to drill a new well. . .

Then, they tore off the old shingles and dutifully put up the giant tarps until the weekend.

Enter several torrential rain storms. The tarps did not hold up. They now have to replace most of the ceiling in their garage and multiple patches within the rest of their house. A new set of tarps went up.

They were finally able to start installing their new roof and another neighbor's well started bubbling up all over the yard. . .

And so it continues to circle through the neighborhood leaving havoc in its wake until this latest adventure. Currently, if I look out my front window, I can see not one, but two, power lines dangling in my neighbor's front yard. Yes, they are live. We know this because they dutifully went "zot-zot, pop-pop-pop" before breaking lose and landing there.

For the next hour we got to watch the local police officer, the fire chief, someone from the electric company, and a few other people we never knew what they did, walk up and down our road in saying "yep, it's a wire" before quartering off most of my neighbor's yard with caution tape and driving away. I wonder what they plan to do when it rains tomorrow. . .

As for our household, we're holding our breath. That Jones virus is due to settle on our house fairly soon and there is no telling where it will attack. Couldn't we have stuck with bikes and gardens?

I think all the men are having jealous fits. The circle's Jones virus for the summer is go-karts. They all turn green with envy (from their dutiful spot on roofs and dirt pits that used to be wells) when they go up and down the road.

A Happy Announcement

We interrupt our regularly scheduled book review to bring you a happy announcement:

Alison Palmer’s first LDS fiction title, The Prodigal Son, will be appearing on bookshelves everywhere in April 2010!

Yes folks the fanatical nonfiction writer has finally broken out of her shell.

It became official this morning when I signed a new publishing contract with my friends at Valor. (Thanks, Judy, for the excellent foreshadowing. What an awesome touch!) I am really excited about it and they seem excited, too. They like me, they really like me! ;)

I’ll be working over the next few months to make sure all of my renegade commas have been taken care of. If you know anything about me it should be that I can’t spell and I have this “thing” about commas. They show up where they don’t belong and forget to show up where they should be. It’s a conspiracy I tell you.

We expect my new baby to show his beautiful face just in time for me to show him off at the LDStorymakers’ Conference. (Insert cheesy grin)

The Prodigal Son is the first in a new series I’m stretching my wings with. We’ll see how it goes. Each book in the series will be a modern retelling of the scripture parables we all know and love. The Prodigal Son is, of course, the story of a wayward son and a mother who must learn to love him, even when he doesn’t want to be loved. I hope it will be a tale of inspiration and comfort for all those who have ever felt the pain of watching a child struggle with serious life choices.

I’ll keep you updated on my progress and hope you enjoy this new adventure of mine as much as I am.

Organize as You Go by Marie Ricks

Yep, it’s confession time again. I’ve had Marie Ricks’ book, Project: Organization, on my “to read” list for a long time. I never got organized enough to order it. Or something.

When her newest book, Organize as You Go arrived in my mailbox a tiny portion of my brain was excited. The rest was tired, a little scatter brained, (see that last post about my deadline) and a wee bit skeptical. I think I’ve mentioned before that I tend to be a bit of a self-help/DIY book junky. I think they’re fun to read and see what I can come away with to stress my husband. ;) So, I’ve read a few organization books in my time, some good, some not-so-good, and I’m still my same ADD self.

Here’s what happened as I read.

My first happy moment arrived when I realized how long the chapters were: never more than a few pages. Whoopee! That was totally do-able for my feeble and taxed brain.

My second came when I recognized some of the techniques I’ve used in the past to put myself in order. It was pretty self affirming. Organize as You Go seemed to be on my wave-length, picking out the best of a plethora of organizing tips available. I’m a big fan of the 10-minute, 30-minute, and 90-minute approach to life and I have absolutely no qualms about putting myself in time-out when I need to. It works for me in most things. Still, it wasn’t all things I have heard before, I had quite a few “ah-ha!” moments as I was reading. I am sooo taking duct tape on my next vacation.

There was another emotion going on as well. I was getting a little frustrated as I read. You see, Marie kept suggesting areas of my home or life that could probably use some attention, but wasn’t big on giving many specifics. I found myself whining, “But how?” I wanted more than what was there.

Then, a few days later I picked up a women’s magazine that promised to help me get organized. A flip through the pages and I discovered what usually happens. 98% of what they gave me as “real organization solutions” were totally impractical for me and my lifestyle. I could suddenly see the wisdom in the way Marie coached organization in her book. She kindly suggests where the problems probably are, a few things to think about, then encourages you to find your own solutions.

I did find a little bit of an answer to my whining though. Marie Ricks has a website. If you want something more specific about what you’re reading, I bet you can find some help there. I also got the impression from both the book and website that if I were to open my chaotic life to a professional organizer it would be someone like Marie. Her writing felt very non-judgmental and encouraging. There were no three-page rants on how my stuff is weighing me down and I’m stupid for hanging on to it.

Also, don’t expect the book to just focus on, um, stuff. Marie makes a good effort at pointing out that every aspect of our life has an affect on every other. She offers thoughts on how to organize stuff, schedules, crowded minds, families, etc.

There were the typical amount of copy problems, nothing that completely threw me off, and not more than I’d expect, but might be more than a language “purist” would be willing to read. (Okay, there are obvious copy problems with that sentence, so who am I to judge. :)

All and all, Organize as You Go is worth the read. It’s like a therapeutic talk with a wise friend. But, don’t expect it to solve all your problems. That’s doesn’t seem to be its purpose. Instead is just gives you gentle encouragement and points you in the right direction.

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

This week is turning out to be a little difficult for me. I recently learned that someone I knew many years ago passed away. I have not spoken to him for years, but I should have. A part of me realized that the relationship deserved attention but it would have been difficult to do so. Things passed between us that made it uncomfortable for me to be around him. I know that I owed him more than a cursory “We’ll keep in touch.” But, I never got around to making it happen.

Oh, I made a few attempts, some more serious than others, to find him and reconnect but life always got in the way. It seemed unimportant. It was uncomfortable to consider. I didn’t want to take that risk. It was easier just to keep things the way they were. I was sure there would be time and opportunity to set things right someday. Now there are no more somedays for me to count on.

I learned from his family that he felt almost the same way. He wanted to continue our relationship; our parting was hurtful for him as well. Probably more so than for me. He thought about trying to find me, but he didn’t want to rock the boat. He didn’t want to bring back bad feelings instead of taking the chance that we could erase them and start over.

There are things I should have said to him, “I’m sorry” being one of them. I was too scared and too comfortable in my life to say them. I wonder if at the time of his passing he looked down to check on me and realized that I still harbored my own sense of self-righteousness toward him. I still wanted to blame him and only him, even though I knew full well the blame was not his alone. It’s not easy to look in the mirror and realize there should have been repentance and restitution long ago. I thought I was doing the right thing by just letting it go and trying to leave it in the past. I was still counting on someday and dreading the very thought of it in the same moment.

Not that too late repentance is the best way to go about things, but I hope he checks back and realizes I really was sorry. I just didn’t know how to say it or what to do about it. I was too scared of being hurt again. Yes, I had scars that weren’t easy to heal but I forgot that while I was going on with my life, he was too. Only maybe, just maybe, his scars weren’t healing at all. My choices cost him happiness he could have had. Do I know that for sure? I can’t. I made a different choice and that is the path of consequences I now walk. I do know that it’s taught me that there are some things that just shouldn’t be put off, no matter how difficult they may be.

Finished (Sort Of)

Today, I'm happy to announce that I have finally finished my WIP. Well, the first draft of it anyway. This particular baby caused me a much longer labor than I usually like so I'm relieved to have him finally here. But, he also weighed in at a hefty 84,149 words which is pretty long for a YA and tells me that even though the story is all there now, I have a lot work and editing to do.

It's always a relief to get to this point, but the trip is far from over. Now, an entirely different type of work and creative process begins. I have to figure out if anything I've said is worthwhile. There are parts where I know I've done my job well, but plenty of parts where I wonder what I was thinking by putting such gibberish on the page.

Here's the really weird thing though: the bloody thing still doesn't have a really cool name I'm totally in love with.

I've been calling it Blood, in fact. Well, the official name I gave the file was Blood of the Gods but that's kind of a mouthful, isn't it?

Actual conversation held in my kitchen of late:

Me: "I got to work on Blood today."

Husband: "Good. How far did you get?"

Me: "I hacked out about another 2,000."

At which point my children have lost their appetite. Which is actually fine, since I didn’t want to cook dinner anyway. :)

Hopefully I’ll hit on just the right name while I’m doing revisions. Of course, it really doesn’t matter. If I ever get someone to publish it they’ll change the name to whatever marketing tells them will sell best but still. . . it’s nice to call your baby something other than “hey kid” don’t you think?

Toss the Guilt and Catch the Joy by Merrilee Boyack

I’ve found my New Year’s resolution book. Toss the Guilt and Catch the Joy: A Woman’s Guide to a Better Life by Merrilee Boyack seems to have much that I needed to hear right now. It addresses one of the biggest issues we as women face: guilt. What it is and isn’t, what it’s place in our lives should be, and what to do about the fact that so many of us have simply lost the joy in life that is meant to be ours.

I found myself relating to almost everything Ms. Boyack had to say. She’s very down to earth and practical. She opened by telling a story about a Saturday following a series of very stressful days. Her husband insisted that she needed a day to recharge and must leave the house and go “play”. Uh huh. If you’re a normal living breathing female your first thoughts were probably similar to mine. “I wish I could spend a day playing.” But take it a step further. Merrilee says she liked the idea, but when she thought about it the only things she could think to do were “should dos”: catch up the grocery shopping, finish her visiting teaching, take the car for an oil change. No where on her list of initial thoughts was something that could be considered “playing”. She thought harder. She admits that she honestly had no idea any more what brought her joy, what interested her outside of have-tos and to-do lists. What’s worse? She tried calling some of her friends to come out and play and help her find something to do. Every single woman turned her down because they had too much else going on in their lives.

Somehow I think Heavenly Father watches us women as we scurry about being anxious about being “anxiously engaged in a good cause” and would like to shake some sense in to the lot of us. Merrilee Boyack thinks that might be the case as well. So, the whole of Toss the Guilt and Catch the Joy addresses the weird and warped sense of reality that many women put upon themselves. She talks about finding out what really matters and how to make the most of who we are, not who we think we should be.

Title chapters include:

• Women of Joy, Not Guilt
• Women of Being, Not Comparison
• Women of Faith, Not Fear
• Women of Peace, Not Worry
• Women of Obedience, Not Defiance
• Women of Strength, Not Weakness
• Women of Eternity, Not Mortality

Yep. I found myself in every chapter. The good thing though was that I didn’t feel bad or rejected. I felt accepted and enlightened as I read Ms. Boyack’s thoughts on each subject. Yes, she wants us to be better, but better at being happy not better at everything we ever thought we should be. It was a good experience for me to read Toss the Guilt and Catch the Joy. I needed its warm and loving encouragement to see my life in a very different light than what I had been. I hadn’t realized how many ways I’d let Satan and his negative influences overtake things in my life that should be beautiful and fulfilling until I could sit back and read a little bit more about Heavenly Father’s plan of Happiness. Believe it or not, that does include women.

Now that I’ve read it through once, I plan to keep it close during the coming year. It really will be my New Year’s resolution book. See, I don’t normally make resolutions; they inevitably turn out to be one more thing to feel bad about in a month time. But I’d like to try an experiment this year. One chapter a month. That’s all I’m requiring of myself. I will re-read one chapter each month and work only on that attribute in my life. Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t, but I’d like to try. I’d really like to learn how to play again by this time next year.

Care to join me? Reading Toss the Guilt is a great place to start.

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Life is like Riding a Unicycle by Shirley Bahlmann

I’ve know Shirley Bahlmann for several years and have always found her to be one of the funnest (yes I know that isn’t a real word) grown-ups I’ve ever had the pleasure of counting as a friend. She loves happiness and sparklies. In fact, her whole personality just sparkles and makes you want to be near her just for the sheer joy she finds in life. So, a few years ago when we were enjoying a book promotion tour together, I wasn’t surprised to hear her announce her intentions to learn to ride a unicycle. In fact, I could totally see it! (And yes, I was a tiny bit jealous. I mean- a unicycle, how cool is that?)

Better yet, not only did Shirley want to learn to ride that unicycle; she wanted to use it as the basis of her next book. Oh, yeah. You can bet that was a book I was excited to get to read. Life is like Riding a Unicycle: Fun Ways to Keep Your Balance When Life Gets a Little Bumpy by Shirley Bahlmann is a fun little book that I recommend for anyone who has woken up with that weird little mid-life-shoulda-coulda-woulda-crisis tugging at the back of their brain. It’s full of stories from real-life people who have taken life by the hands and made the best of whatever their hopes and dreams could lead them to. It talks about raising children in your 40s selling your home to roam the country in an RV (a dream I’m still trying to convince my husband to give in to), learning to dance, exploring creative talents long ago left in the dust. You name it. This isn’t a book full of miraculous but unattainable stories, these are just everyday things that people have finally decided to stop putting of. Life is like Riding a Unicycle is about taking the bull by the horns and hanging on for dear life, but having the time of your life doing it!

I love the different stories, beginning with the first, “Do Lots of Things Badly” and ending with Shirley’s unicycle adventures. The book finishes with Shirley’s account of learning to ride a unicycle after the age of 40. It’s a fun and encouraging read. I love the fact that she lets you know how long it took her to learn, it’s spread out so that you can really see her progress (or lack of it) over time. That’s very encouraging for those of us that get a little impatient with our dreams sometimes. But I gotta say-- how many people can one person possibly be acquainted with that knows how to ride a unicycle? It seemed like Shirley found more than her fair share of people to glean advice and encouragement from. I think that’s just part of being Shirley though, that woman could find a friend in a wax museum. Still, I think I would have quit letting teenage boys on my unicycle it’s far to embarrassing to be shown up by them so often.

There is something for everyone in Life is like Riding a Unicycle, but the overall message is stated best in Shirley’s introduction.

“Sometimes you’ve just plain gotta do what you wanna do. The alternative is to live with regret, and living with regret takes a lot longer and hurts more than doing whatever it is you wanted to do in the first place.

Trust me on this. It’s true.”

That pretty much sums it up, but on a final note, Shirley also included the following quote from Mark Twain.

“Twenty Years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do, so throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails, explore, dream, discover.”—Mark Twain.

Oh, yeah. This was definitely my kind of book. Thanks for the great read, Shirley!

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Wearing My Bad Mother Badge with Pride

Today has just been one of those days, I guess. Here’s the thing: there have always been two consistent themes in my wishes and desires for my life since early childhood.

1. I always wanted to be an awesome mom.
2. I always wanted to be an awesome writer.

Now, given that these things have spoken to me with such clarity over many, many years, you can be darn tootn’ sure that Satan knows them just as well as I do. So, today he’s dancing a little jig and I’m ready to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

I woke up this morning worried about a deadline I had to make today that I still had no clear inspiration about what I was supposed to be doing with it. The day’s more than half over and I think I’ve written 100 out of the 750 words I need. Um, yeah. It’s not going well. This, of course, starts the famous writer snowball effect in which every writing “failure” I’ve ever had and the hopelessness of my future as a writer start doing the sugar-plum fairy thing in my head.

As sorry as that predicament is, it has nothing on my parenting skills for the day. Daughter A woke me up with a text message shortly after midnight to tell me about a problem that had just been resolved. This kept me up for another hour after the conversation ended, worrying about a text message conversation a few days prior to that with Daughter B who was worried that Daughter A was into something very nasty. What worries me is that quite honestly, true or not, there is probably very little I can do about it. I know all teenagers should wear shirts that read “Yes, I have been taught better than this,” but it still keeps me up at night worrying that I have somehow been the cause of their problems through the decisions I’ve made regarding their upbringing. It’s the bane of every mother, but it seems particularly difficult to bare today.

Btw- My daughters live with my parents during the school year which is another one of those tally marks in my bad parenting column when I let myself forget that there are real reasons outside of myself for them to be doing this. It’s easy for me to only associate this situation with other similar ones I’ve been familiar with. In each of those cases, children live with their grandparents because their parents can’t raise them. Yep, another tally mark.

Okay. Next, my autistic son asks if he can cook a frozen pizza. This is nothing new. He knows how to cook all of the foods on his small list of “acceptable” items that will actually enter his mouth. None of them are actually healthy. Another mark.

I came upstairs about 15 minutes later for something totally unrelated and heard him muttering to himself from the kitchen about never eating pizza again. Not a good sign either. The boy means it when he says things like this. I find him in the kitchen using an oven mitt to scoop up his pizza from the bottom of the oven. It took a while to get the story out of him, but he apparently burned his hand and let go of the cookie sheet that burned him, flipping the entire thing over in the oven. This I could not have prevented. What’s bugging me then? I was working on that darn article and did not hear the crash of the pan in the oven to even know there was a problem. He informs me it was rather loud. Another bad mother mark.

Now, for the finale. I was in the kitchen at 1:30 and absently moved aside my other son’s lunch box as it was in my way. Five minutes later it dawned on me that it should not be on the counter at all. My son was at school and it should be with him. That’s right. Precisely one hour after his lunch hour I realized I had totally forgotten to pack my son a lunch for school. No, he didn’t leave it on the counter by mistake. I just completely flaked on fixing one to begin with. I specifically remember him throwing on his backpack and asking if everything he needed was inside. I remember telling him yes. It just never occurred to me that he needed a lunch. Another mark.

See, here’s the thing. Because of some health problems I have been eliminating a lot of things in my life so that I specifically have the energy I need for my children and to write the things that bring me the most joy, not necessarily money. I can’t even claim that I was just too busy and pulled in too many directions. It’s simply been a bad mother badge day. Sigh.

I think I need to lower my standards. How does:

1. A mother whose children managed to grow into stable adults despite her.

And

2. A writer who didn’t go insane.

Sound?

Once More With Feeling

Okay, Okay. I realize October is over and I'm sure you've noticed I didn't exactly finish my BIAM challenge manuscript. Instead of 50,000 words I ended up with a measly 27,515.

My husband keeps reminding me it's because I let my life be turned upside down mid-month and lost all that convenient time I thought I was going to have for writing. He's also quick to remind me that if I cranked out that same amount every month that's 5-6 YA novels a year so I should quit whining and get back to work. Yeah, he's just ever so sweet.

Any way, I'm taking my wise husband's advise and continuing to write (like I could be stopped!) My goal for November is simply to finish what I started in October because I've got a few things on the back burner that are getting really tired of being shoved aside.

So, here we go. Another month another 23,000 words. Wish me luck!

Caught in the Headlights by Barry K. Phillips

Remember my comment about not liking to read self-help/improvement books because they depress me? Shockingly, I have just finished another one. I was tricked into it, I tell you! I got this seemingly innocent email asking if I want to review a book called Caught in the Headlights by Barry K. Phillips. Taking one look at the title, I laughed out loud and didn’t read any further to find out what type of book it was. Hey, give me a break the title totally described my life that day.

When it arrived, I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at the cover— Caught in the Headlights: 10 Lessons Learned the Hard Way. “Huh” says I, “It’s another one of those.” I consoled myself with the fact that at least it was short (105 pages) and flipped it open. I was immediately hooked. Not only was it short, it had cartoons! Okay, okay, it’s the little things in life, ya know? Before I knew it I’d read another “how to make your life better” books and had a blast doing it. Sneaky author.

Where Enjoying the Journey felt like a comfortable home, Caught in the Headlights felt like a fun vacation to a water park. You know the kind—where you climb all those steps, take a thrilling slide, have the time of your life, feel refreshed, then say, “That was fun… let me rest for an hour and I’ll be ready to do it again.”

That’s not a bad thing. Though Caught in the Headlights is small, it packs a powerful punch. Every chapter promises a few smiles and a few thought provoking messages that can carry you a long way if you take time to let them sink in. Mr. Phillips creates an interesting blend of humor and insight to show that we are sometimes guilty of viewing the things that we want from an upside-down and blurred perspective. This muddled vision of what we want creates an unachievable quandary for us. Mr. Phillips points out that if we go back to the root of why we want the things we think we need, we’ll find that our goals can be better accomplished through something different. I think the back cover says it best. “Have you ever gotten what you wished for, only to discover that it’s not really what you wanted after all?”

So, here are the water slides Barry K. Phillips offers you in Caught in the Headlights.

Happiness

Self-Esteem

Pride

Freedom

Control

Tolerance

Forgiveness

Success

The Big Event (dreams/goals), and

The Perfect Body

If you’ve found yourself chasing after any of these, wondering why it keep eluding you, then maybe Caught in the Headlights can offer some insight. Mr. Phillips shows you a vision of worthy goals, without the blinding headlights of the world surrounding them. I must say, I thought the view very refreshing.

The only part of the book I can’t vouch for is the poetry. Even though poetry is what introduced me to a love of writing (it was a teenage emoting thing), I now skip over every poem I come across in books. It’s not just Mr. Phillips; I’ve never read the prose in The Lord of the Rings trilogy or any other “must read” that I’ve probably read more than once. I just gloss right over it and can’t force myself to concentrate on it. Each chapter in Caught in the Headlights is formatted with a Pursuit (what we think we want and what it really is), a Lesson (how to go after what we are really looking for) and a poem, which I assume is meant to sum it all up. I got plenty out of the Pursuit and Lesson. Sorry Mr. Phillips. I’m sure you worked hard to create another learning method for your readers through the poems; they’re just not something I read.

Poetry aside, I would definitely recommend Caught in the Headlights by Barry K. Phillips. It’s straight forward and offers a perspective you may not have thought of. Caught in the Headlights would make a great bathroom reader, car, briefcase, or purse book. The chapters are just long enough for a few stolen minutes, when you finish one you can put it aside and let the message settle into your heart for a while. You don’t have to read it straight through, though I would recommend reading the chapters in order.

Barry Phillips will be on Virtual Blog Tour, promoting Caught in the Headlights, for the next few weeks. You can track his progress from here or read his personal blog from here.

Caught in the Headlights by Barry K. Phillips

Publisher: Cedar Fort (June 2008)

ISBN-10: 1599551675

ISBN-13: 978-1599551678

Caught in the Headlights can also be purchased from here.

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Specialize or Diversify?

When people find out I’m a writer, the question that inevitably follows is, "What do you write?"

This is always met with a confused look when I reply, "That depends on what day of the week it is."

I'm one of those that let my imagination visit many different camps. I'm commonly referred to as a diversified writer. OK, some call me eccentric but we'll not even go there.

Depending on what day it is (very literally) I could be writing medical professional study materials and articles, consumer health articles, children's nonfiction, children’s and adult fiction, and many different types of religious nonfiction. Every once in a while I'll throw something else in the mix as well. Yep, I'm definitely diversified.

Every once in a while I'll try to follow a more "prolific" (read- makes more money than me) writer's advice. I’ll try to go the other way and specialize. I get too bored. There are many writers who do specialize. They choose one field as their area of expertise and write only in that area, building a specific name for themselves with a specific clientele. They argue that doing so gives you "expert" status in your chosen area and keeps your name and talent in front of a specific group of clients. There's less fighting in the submission pile when the editor recognizes your name as someone who has written for them before. Your name comes to mind if they need someone to write specific content in your area. (You wouldn't ask a sports writer to do an article on unique spices from around the world; you'd also be a little more wary of the sports writer who pitched that topic to you.) Plus, specializing means you already have a set number of places that you know to look for work and a set number of places that will take your work. You don't have to go searching every time for a market that fits what you want to write or be constantly searching for new markets to write for. If you have to research a certain topic for one client, odds are you'll end up with more information than you need to write that article. For the diversifier those notes may be tucked away for "future reference". For the specializer you already know 6 other places that carry the same type of content and could very quickly provide additional articles to them as well. It saves time and appears to make more money.

On the other hand I've heard arguments for diversification as well. I mentioned the boredom thing, right? There is also the nasty fact that our economy stinks right now. What happens if your target market area has to down-size, cut back or completely dissolved? If you've built a niche wall around yourself it can be more difficult to break in somewhere else if you should need it. Yes, you could probably take your focus area and find a slightly different vein for it. Many do. The other factor in the diversify argument is money. There are very few specializations that offer a big enough paying pool to meet the writer's bills every month. (Well, sure if you are Cosmo’s number one time management expert you’ll do it, but for the rest of us…) Diversifying means many different people are willing to pay you for your work, it means that they know you can take any type of work that can be thrown at you and turn it into something readable and interesting.

Here's how the diversification money factor works out for me. I write for clients who pay me within a week of my work. I write for clients who pay me within a month of my work. I write for those who pay me in three months and in six. I write for those who pay on acceptance and those who pay on publication (two very different creatures). I write books that I don't see royalties from for a year or more after it's written depending on the publisher and content. All that means is that in any given month my money can come from a variety of sources, it may not be huge but it always comes. I can't imagine holding my breath waiting for one specific type of pay to come through. If I have a long term goal, I can look at larger markets with bigger payoffs after a long delay. If I have an immediate need (like having to replace the washer last weekend). I can focus on those who pay more immediately. If a project completely bores me to tears I can reward myself for working on it by spending some time with a more fun project. I have options, depending on what day of the week it is.

So, what about you? Do you specialize or diversify? Tell me why, I’d love to know what the experts think!

The People I Watch

I guess people watching is a natural extension to the way a writer’s brain works. We seem to be constantly processing our environment for new information and perspectives that we can use in our written words.

At any rate, I’m a people watcher. I watch the strangers I pass on any given day. I watch my family and I watch my friends.

Yesterday I was thinking how grateful I am for the many different people I have to watch. I’m extremely blessed to have so many different lives cross paths with mine. Now, before they all get paranoid, let me explain a little further.

In the past few weeks I’ve learned the following lessons from watching my friends.

Never forget how much God has blessed you.
Keep your problems in perspective.
Give better than you expect to get back.
When you really want something, it’s okay to let other things go.
Children are, um, delightful.
In the long run, little things can mean as much as big things.
It’s okay to give in and whine, just get back up again when you’re done.
Worship is a family occasion.

In short, because I watch, I learn how blessed I really am. I learn how to keep my own life in perspective. I learn more of who I am and how much my Heavenly Father loves me.

Yes, sometimes the stuff I see is great fodder for a story, but most of the time, what I see makes me a better me. So, for all those people out there that I’m watching – Thanks for sharing something of yourself with me. I want to be just like you when I grow up.

The Idea List

The other day I was cleaning out some old files on my computer and I ran across a list I hadn’t seen in probably over a year. It was an old idea list where I kept track of writing ideas as they occurred to me, or outstanding projects I wanted to go back to.

That idea list was over 100 entries long.

I was surprised to see how many items were on there that I had forgotten about until the list jogged my memory. I was a little disappointed to see how few of the items I had managed to accomplish. I was renewed in my commitment to write a little bit more each day and get some of these things off my list, out of my thoughts and onto the page before I once again forget where I put that blasted list.

Since creating that list, I have gone on to create several more. Each one is filled with my dreams and wishes for my writing career. Each one is a tiny spark inside of me that I’m longing to increase into a warming flame that fills my soul with its light.

It’s easy to forget those types of dreams in the messed-up daily grind of our lives. I was glad for the reminder. I’ve once again vowed to learn to write faster.

The Art of Procrastination

Why is it that we procrastinate? I seem to have perfected nothing else in my life but the ability to put off for tomorrow, or the next day, those things which should be accomplished today.

Yes, even as I sit here typing this I am procrastinating a deadline.

Why is that? Writing is the thing that I love most in the world. Generally, it doesn’t even matter what the assignment is, I just love the fact that I can sit down at my computer and create something with my words that someone else needs. I do have a selfish streak, I know. There are days when I just can’t write another technical word. I miss the creative side of me that doesn’t pay when I’m bogged down with “real” writing assignments. Still, even when my time is my own, and I can write those projects that fuel my soul, I have a grand tendency to procrastinate.

I think part of it has to do with the negative influences we let into our lives. I put off the task because I’m afraid my best won’t be good enough in some manner. Whether it be money, creativity, what my editor or employer thinks of me, or how much house work I’ve neglected this week, a million little negative thoughts can all jumble together into one big stumbling block of procrastination.

I’ll do it just as soon as I check my email; that assignment I’ve been waiting on may have come through.
I’ll do it just as soon as I give the dog a bath, I can smell her from here.
I’ll start again just as soon as I finish jotting down the thought I had for another project.
I can’t do it now; the kids will be home in 10 minutes.
I’m getting a headache; I can’t look at this screen for another minute.
I just remembered I haven’t balanced the checkbook, scrubbed the grout in the bathroom, or had that oral surgery, for months now. I’d better take care of it while I’m still thinking of it.
There’s a piece of pie in the refrigerator that is calling my name, I simply can’t concentrate until it’s gone.

The list of excuses could go on and on, but I’d really like to get to the bottom of this procrastination problem. It seems the more I put something off, the less energy I have for it. I put it off again and the nasty cycle begins all over again until I dread the very idea of the thing but I have to do it or else. So, dear reader, what is your favorite procrastination tool and your theory about why we procrastinate?