With a Year's Worth of Stuff Bottled Up Inside My Head

So it is just over a year since I have attempted to blog here. Just over a year since I have given myself the power and freedom to just dump whatever it is, inside my head, out on the page. I thought I would blog about writing here, or about unschooling my three children here... and perhaps I have, occasionally, with various degrees of success. I have never had much success in dividing my life into spheres. The writing me, the mom me, the farmers market manager me, the me that is attempting to help publish books for others... it's all just me, really.

I am who I am.

And I've long stopped apologizing for my varied interests and focuses. You hear that, ME? I'm not going to say I am sorry any more. It's not a lack of focus, an inability to commit, or a fear of failure (or success!) I love writing. I wouldn't give up the last 19 years of holding motherhood as my primary "job" for anything. I absolutely love the way that my work as farmers market manager has given me roots in this community and has helped me to feel more at home. I get a kick out of formatting books for publication (and I'm pretty darned good at it). I'm not a half-bad editor either... except for my own work. (I suck at editing my own work.)

I am a creative being, who adores the orderly nature and power of a spreadsheet.

Is that weird? Well so be it. That's who I am.

This evening, I went to a reading of Notable Kansas Authors at the William Allen White Library on ESU's campus. Notable Authors include my good friend, Cheryl Unruh, and my friend and co-author (Green Bike), Kevin Rabas. I almost didn't go, because I've been in a stay-at-home frame of mind, of late, but I talked myself into going at the last minute because I have never been let down by the experience of listening to story tellers. Notable authors also include the prolific, Max McCoy and Jim Hoy, both of whom I have very much enjoyed listening to in the past.

Sure enough, The event was barely getting started as my mind started collecting ideas and inspirations. Why am I not writing? I asked (inside my head). Okay, I mean, I am writing (novel-in-progress, 3rd draft) but why am I not writing this... and this... and this... and this?

Oh, if only there were more hours in the day.

I've got enough projects to keep me busy through the sundown of my life.

There's plenty to share... inside my head, there's no need to hide it.

If I know it makes my heart smile, I shall say YES!

Late Night Post: Coffee + Writing Group

We had a mini-writers group tonight as this is Spring Break week and several of our members were out of town. I enjoyed a custom made coffee drink of almond and mint flavors made by a very friendly and entertaining barista. Mostly, I enjoyed the conversation. Talking about writing with other writers is almost always a pleasant experience. I especially like that our group is so diverse and we each bring different perspectives and experiences to the table. These people are very accessible and non-judgmental. In past writing groups I've sometimes had problems feeling intimidated by the other members or like I am somehow less of a writer because my work is different or not as worthy. With these folks--and we are still a relatively new group, getting to know each other and each other's work--you can talk about the writing you've been doing, or admit to the fact that you've not been writing much at all, and there are nods of understanding all the way around.

Tonight, we talked a little about process. I don't tend to categorize or even know the terminology for what I write or how I get from start to finish, though I'm sure I've developed a process over the years that could be described if I took the time to examine it. When I have been at my most prolific--cranking out essays or articles on a regular basis--there is certainly a pattern or a form that I tend to follow; at least, as far as the way a piece is constructed. I think of this pattern as circular. Whatever the introduction, the piece has to work itself around and somehow end by coming back to the initial thoughts or experiences that started the piece. Those are my favorites, anyway. Sometimes writing like that just flows and the circle is apparent as I am working. Sometimes these pieces take several drafts and revisions; I can't even see the circle until I put the piece away a while and review it later with a brain that does not necessarily remember the specific details that got me started.

There are two distinct modes of writing for me. I am either generating new material, or revising and making tidy packages of past material. These modes sometimes alternate in short bursts of days or weeks, but the larger, more honest pattern tends to be that I spend many months (years?) generating material and then I will slide into months of editing and reworking that material.

When I am most published, in fact, I often find myself feeling least like a writer. I will actually start to fret because I am producing no new material. How will I keep publishing, I wonder? What will I do when my personal slush pile is cleaned up? And that's usually a sign that a cycle of generating is about to begin again.

I have been in generating mode for quite some time now. If you don't count the freelance work I have done the past several years (I am not counting that for the moment) it has, in fact, been years since I've published any new, internally driven material. I've come to the conclusion that it is simply part of my rhythm or years-long routine. Most advice on writing will tell you to write, write, write everyday, but I'm less convinced now that I was a dozen years ago that this is the way to go. (I do tend to write everyday, but not necessarily to sit down and write in lengthy prose or on anything that might eventually turn into a story, an essay or an article. Often my writing more amounts to note taking. Copying words I find inspirational. Jotting lines or thoughts or ideas. Occasionally recording all I can remember of a dream or a conversation. Sometimes just putting some inner dialogue on paper in hopes of getting it out of my head.)

Occasionally I will take a few days to review the bits and pieces of writing I have done and it is very satisfying to see how much material I have generated. I may put on an editing hat long enough to enter a contest or two here and there, but the rest of it is left to simmer and wait for the moment when I'm ready to move forward and complete the work-in-progress.

All the above, however, is assuming that I am choosing to exist for the moment without outside deadlines. Until I stopped (unofficially) freelancing sometime last year, I was most often doing writing work on a deadline. This is a very different kind of writing, and I entirely understand why some who consider themselves to be writers of the more creative variety might avoid this kind of work. While at first it can be exciting to earn a paycheck for your words, this work can quickly become mechanical and I, at least, found myself sometimes lacking passion for the words I was writing.

At the same time, writing like this has greatly improved my confidence. I learned that I could, indeed, master just about any subject, and since I tend to be easily drawn to an eclectic variety of topics anyway, I was perfectly content becoming expert on educational loans for the time being or brushing up on the language of dentistry. Immersing myself in the philosophies of hospital management and healthcare was thrilling, for a while, and a stint generating romantic proposal ideas for less creative thinkers was a hoot in more ways than one. In many ways freelance writing feels a bit like a dream where you get paid for just learning new stuff.

I was content, but I grew tired of it (the isolation was depressing me) and so my writing turned in another direction, once again. Honestly, I don't know that I've completely settled on a direction for my writing for the moment. I have a completed draft (1.5 draft?) of a novel that I honestly believe I will eventually publish. (Of course, I've said that before.) I have drafts of three other novel type entities that I sometimes believe might yet hold promise. I have short stories galore in all stages of composition. I have that beast that I knocked my head against for years that I finally put down, declaring it my "under the bed" manuscript. But that silly thing still creeps into my consciousness at odd moments and I find myself wondering if there might still be a way to fix it. In fact, I thought of it this evening at writing group and experienced a wave of excitement, just for a moment, about its potential.

I used to worry that all my efforts, my trying out of different kinds of writing in various times and places was a sign of distractability, proof that I would never succeed. Somewhere along the way my mind has turned a corner and I believe now that all these efforts have just been part of the process, part of my process. I've written all these ways and forms, with and without deadlines, with and without heart, because there was something I needed to learn along the way. I'm still learning it. Hopefully, I always will be on that path of improving and learning to finish better.

Years and years ago, I put away an attempt at novel writing because it just felt too big. I couldn't imagine how to process an entire story, how to get it from start to finish. I wrote columns. I wrote blogs. I wrote highly personal pieces on having babies and raising toddlers and living while my mother was passing away. I took classes and workshops and was published and rejected. Rejected and published. I entered contests. I avoided contests. I peddled my words for dollars. I created content. I edited work for other writers.

I'm still not entirely sure that I'm there yet, but most days I can now imagine myself writing even something big like a novel. Or maybe just a series of something-smalls.

Our barista on Monday made me a custom drink because I wanted the flavor from a cold menu item, but suggested, when I was ordering, that the rainy evening made it feel more like I should be drinking something warm. Later in the evening he performed like an airline stewardess, announcing the minutes till closing and directing us to the exits at the front and the back of the store. We applauded him. He bowed. And I envied him, for a moment. How does a person gain enough confidence to just make up a recipe for a stranger, or to clown in public without fear?

How does a person gain the confidence to put their words out there for just anyone to read?

Others do it differently. I am finding my way.

How about Words on Wednesday?

Today's Mailbox Candy: A real letter from my Big Sis.
It's lovely inside and out... even the envelope is a keeper. 

Several blogs I read post Wordless Wednesday entries. I was thinking about doing something more of a Writers' Workshop on Wednesday. Or What I'm Writing Wednesday. Or maybe What I'm Not Writing would provide more fodder. <g>

Today I got a good old fashioned paper letter in the mailbox, and it reminded me that I recently purchased some new stationery for the very purpose of writing more letters. Of all the writing that I do and have done, it is the good old fashioned pen pal exchange that I think I miss most with the wonder and advances computers have brought us. I love reading those words that were written just for me. I love the little glimpse into my sister's life. I love the words she chose to share with me and that she took the time to think of those moments and knew just which stories and events I would appreciate. 

My son joined International Pen Friends last year, and it was fun to watch him eagerly check the mailbox for his list of potential friends to write. It was a long wait for a boy who is accustomed to instantaneous email delivery. In the months since, he's sent about a dozen letters and he's received about a half-dozen in return. One young lady from Germany seems to be a faithful replier and the two of them have fallen into a somewhat routine letter exchange. I'm tempted to join IPF myself!

I was thinking of all the letters I used to write and receive. I have had several great pen pals over the years. None were so great as my mom, of course. As soon as I moved off to college, her letters started. I think she would keep an open letter to my sister and I going at all times. She'd add a note before breakfast or after doing chores. Sometimes she would add a few words and sometimes she would add pages and pages. I was never at a loss for knowing what was happening on the farm. I kept up with my niece and the neighbor kids through the words of my mother.

I once had a pen pal from Africa. We didn't exchange letters long because something political happened in her country and the mail was prevented from moving in or out. I am ashamed now that I really have no idea what exactly was going on. I was very young, and I probably could not have even found her country on a map at that time, but it was a thrill exchanging letters with her while it lasted. In one letter, she wrote me that they were having trouble with the monkeys getting into the bananas in the yard. It was exactly as we would have talked about the trouble with rabbits in the garden.

When I was 16, I spent a summer living in Nebraska, working as a volunteer at the state developmental center there. Several of my friends from high school wrote me faithfully. My friend Elizabeth and I probably exchanged letters twice a week. My friend Ann Marie, who was also away from home for the summer, sent me a cassette tape with a recorded letter and music from the Beatles, Yellow Submarine! I sometimes wonder what that summer would have been like with the options of internet and texting that kids have now. Somehow, I don't think anything could be more delicious than that letter that would come in the mailbox. 

I wrote letters to the friends I made that summer for years after, but eventually we lost touch. Not even the world-wide-web has managed to reunite us. (Diane Asche! Kathy Swanson! Rob Kettleson! If you are out there, drop me a line!) It was through snail mail exchanges that I learned later of the death of the woman who hosted us that summer.

My dad would take us on travels across the United States every summer and I almost always came home with a new Pen Pal. Most of these folks were shirt-tail relatives, as my mom called them. A third cousin in Oregon. A second cousin once removed from the deep, deep south.  

I still have all those letters. Unlike email, which you can store in some electronic cloud until it eventually wisps away completely, those pieces of paper that can be folded and creased fit nicely in a trunk or shoe box (I've got both)....Okay, so you could technically print an email and store it too, but folks rarely send an email worth saving these days and, really, let's think of the trees!

In modern life, I have found that letter writing, like blogging, can be a nice prompt for the muse. When I'm itching to get some words out there, but find myself lacking direction or focus, directing my pen toward a singular audience can a good way of getting the words to flow. Sometimes a letter opens the door to a whole new topic to write about. 

Sending or receiving, it's really hard to go wrong. 

Friends, Freunden, Amigos, Amis

About two or three years out of college I remember having the thought that I would possibly never have another new friend. I was friendly with several of my co-workers. I maintained a lot of friendships from my past, but for some reason, at that point in my life, I felt like new relationships were going to be limited... at least on a deeper, most meaningful level of exchange where a person is more than an acquaintance and becomes a true friend.

I was eventually proven wrong, of course. I can't explain why I maintained that idea for a while that my window for making friends had closed, but I am happy to report that it opened again. There are new friends to be made after age 20! (Just in case any of you were worried.)

Of course the very nature of how we define friendship these days has changed, as well. If I "friend" is someone found on Facebook, then I have exactly 323 of them. Since I have chosen to draw lines on Facebook and do not accept friend requests from anyone I have not actually met in real life, one might assume that is a fairly accurate number. But honestly, since one meeting is all I require, the bulk of those people would probably fall into the acquaintance category or are simply people I once knew and was once at least friendly with.

I have blog friends, of course, that pre-date Facebook and these friendships, quite honestly, generally feel more real, or at least more intimate, that many of the relationships I have with people I've met in person. Because I've followed them for years and I've gotten to know them through shared quests or philosophies... perhaps simply because we share a common language in writing and comfort sharing words... these friends have grown to be a part of my life as much as those I see daily or weekly or even just occasionally (and the work at coordinating calendars is always totally worth it). 

Lory, a fellow writer and mother, is one of those I was drawn to for our common ground. She recently gave me a Liebster Award, an award intended to connect bloggers, specifically those with less than 200 followers. I admit, that I had to consult my resident linguist (hubby), because Liebster -- in my mind -- was a little more intimate than friend, and my online translator defined it as "a sweetheart, beloved person, darling." I'll take it!

In the blog world, it is a friendship award, and I am honored to receive it.

And so the rules are:

• Show my thanks to the blogger who gave me the award by linking back to them.
• Revel my top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
• Post the award on my blog.
• Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the internet--other writers.
• And best of all -- have fun and spread the karma.

#1 - I will return the gift to Lory. I did not even know she had a German maiden name until this award came up, but I did know she has a passion for writing and the reality of juggling the writing life with a life with kids and those are the two things that have drawn me to read her blog for years now. I believe Lory and I met on a writing mom's list. Somehow, somewhere, she was listed as a Kansas writer and that's always a clue to me that there might be a connection. She has since left Kansas, but we still visit each other's blogs regularly.

#2 - I will send out to my friend HeyMom whom I do know by real name and have met in real life though she has since fled the land of Oz, as well. (What's with all these people leaving Kansas?) She is one of those creative mothers who also unschools and I love reading her thoughts and following her adventures in gardening and making her place in the world.

#3 - Although there is a chance Cheryl falls outside of the 200 followers category, I can not, in good conscience, post a friendship award without adding her name to the list. Cheryl and I met via blogs before I moved to Emporia and has been my introduction to this town (and so many towns in Kansas) from the start. I love when blogs and real life meet. She often has a way of making me fall a little more in love with Kansas.

#4 - Shala is an artist in multiple mediums and I've enjoyed getting to know "inside" brain of my real life homeschool friend and fellow mom. Besides, though both Kansans, the distance between us makes getting together rather difficult. I am happy to call her friend.  

#5 -  I also select Nancy for this award as she is a writer (yes, Kansan) who encourages other writers to create and submit and take chances and try new writerly things. She is a very accomplished, yet down-to-earth writer who has practical advice for writing as well as encouraging words.

Thanks for the award, Lory, and I'm looking forward to seeing that work-in-progress of yours published one day!

I'll be in my cave.

A few weeks ago I found my son under the desk with the keyboard in his lap. Why under? He had a perfectly reasonable explanation. He was feeling, apparently, that the instant feedback about his writing (auto correct "fixing" words for him and spell check letting him know when he had typed something of questionable spelling) was getting in the way of his flow. Never mind the fact that his sisters were playing Wii games in the same room and his mom was probably singing to the radio in the too-near kitchen. He had place himself beneath the desk so that he could just focus on getting his story out and not be bombarded by the distractions.

I'm not sure how long he lasted, but I've found myself thinking a lot lately about the merit to his method. Sundays have become a big writing day for me because this is the one day I can usually manage to reserve with few distractions. Perhaps a cave-like space with just me and my keyboard is in order to finish a writing project or two. Most days I manage a moment to jot down notes, scribble something on paper and even, lately, add a few words to my work-in-progress. But distractions are always lurking and I have always been a sucker for things that sparkle. Even worse are the distractions I manage to turn into obligations. Or perhaps I should call them better...

If I lived in a cave with my keyboard, would my writing eventually grow dull and colorless?

That's part of the balance we seek as writers, I think. Sometimes it's okay to follow the distractions. Sometimes it's better to crawl under the desk and pound away at the keyboard until you've gotten all the words out.

Step into the Unknown, Dwell There, See where it takes you...

This is something Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg said at the retreat I went to a few weekends ago. It really stuck with me and I've been writing daily since. Trying new things. Trying to shrug off this editor in my head who has been demanding productive time rather than creative time. I started by making a list of things unknown to me. The list is still in progress; I've been adding to it nearly every day. And then I write. I just put words onto the page and write, write, write, reminding myself not to worry about where it is going or why I am writing it or what I'm going to do with it when I am through.

It feels good. It makes me feel alive inside. It makes me feel, each day, as if I've take some time for myself rather than always giving all my time away to others.

This morning I woke with a story in my head. I grabbed my notebook and started writing. Sat at the table until the whole thing was outlined -- beginning to end. I couldn't stop. I wrote at home while uploading pictures to put in last year's picture book. I wrote at the coffee shop while drinking some crazy espresso drink to get through the afternoon lulls. I wrote after catching up with the dishes. In one day, I've completed an outline of a story and 6,500 words.

It's unlike anything I've ever written before, but I'm dwelling there. I'm looking forward to seeing where it will take me.

Day 2: Wherein the Computer Gods Smile on Me

You can breathe a sigh of relief... I've stepped down off the ledge. 

After a day of moping cleaning house... folding laundry is cathartic... a clean sink just makes me feel good... I finally gathered the courage to push the button on my antiquated laptop and it said....

"Windows is loading..."

I haven't reviewed the damage. but I've backed up the rescued copy of my novel, as well as the "pre-rescued" version. With luck, I've lost no more than the final 1/2 hour of so of yesterday's editing.

Day 1: Wherein the Words Kill Me

When my friends toasted the New Year this morning they all kept claiming it was going to be a very good year. I raised my glass... okay, actually it was a small Styrofoam cup... but I raised it, none-the-less and cheered and agreed.

What I have learned so far this year is this: I will likely never make a living as a novelist. It may very well be the novel, in fact, that kills me.

Perhaps a little backstory is due.

Months. Years. I can't remember when, exactly, I stopped talking about writing the novel. A novel. Anything fictitious at all. If I ever write a damned novel I will have a wonderful essay -- post publication -- on the stages of becoming a novelist because all along I've been collecting little anecdotes to share. You'll just have to trust me that they are/were clever and amusing. It doesn't really matter now.

The trouble with backstory is deciding where to start...

NaNoWriMo? That lovely month of November when wanna-be-writers challenge themselves to write 50,000 words in a month. (See badge on left sidebar -- I succeeded in 2009.) I was also an early NaNo participate. Back in the day, before they had the cool website with the graph and the whole world was doing it. So I've been a wanna-be for a while now. Wanna-be novelist, anyway.

Somehow, over the years, I became a writer. I can churn out hospital profiles at a rate of nearly a half-dozen per week. People pay me for my words. People sometimes pay me for their words. I take their thoughts/brainstorms/imaginings and turn them into something readable.

Occasionally, I have berated myself for this distraction. This "other writing" that I do. Because the dream... The dream has always been to write novels. It doesn't matter if I'm admitting it or not admitting it. It doesn't matter that my plate is full or busy or if it's with writing or not writing. These little fictions have always grown themselves in my mind and eventually they find their way to paper. Half formed, maybe. But there. Existing. Reality always in the future I imagine for myself.

When I am being kinder to myself I say that this "other writing" has always been part of the plan. It's all part of the learning curve. Convincing myself I am capable of finishing projects. That I am full of something beyond idea generation and starts. (But oh how I love those ideas... generating... starts... I bought three thick blank journals a few weeks ago just because I couldn't resist the lure of those empty white pages.) This "other writing" has taught me that my range and my depth is greater than I once imagined and that I can, quite literally, write about anything once I put my mind to it.

Where was I? NaNoWriMo.

This year I decided I was done with the starts. I was ready for a finish. I decided rather than start a story from scratch, I would approach a final draft with the same diligence I approached NaNo last year and I would complete the novel. I didn't actually think I would finish it in a month, but thought perhaps three would do. Three months (more or less) of daily toil and I was convinced I could safely tuck this thing--this finished novel--beneath my bed and get on with my life.

Get on as what? Doing what? It didn't matter really.

I longed to say this task is done. A novel. My novel. Even if you never read this novel. Done. Put away. My mind cleared for other things...

For three days I have been composing an email to my writer friend, Cheryl. (Because, yes, though I wasn't talking about the novel, there is always someone who knows even the things I am not talking about. Cheryl is one. I think probably my sister. The hubby. My good friend Melissa, more or less, she at least expects, I imagine, what I might or might not be talking about.)

My email went like this:

"It is done."

Yes. Three days to compose that. Not the polished version, of course.

But... it's not done.

In fact, just hours ago... it disappeared. As thoughts were going through my head like... "This is really it. You've done it. Yeah, it probably still sucks, but it has a beginning, a middle, an end and I am satisfied. I can tuck this one under the bed. Okay, one more read through. One more, and I will be done."

I was ttttthhhhhhhiiiiiiissss close. (You can't see the space between the fingers I am holding up as I type this with one hand -- that is just how close I... was.)

Because...

It disappeared.

Just like that. My fingers on the keyboard and suddenly the screen is blue. Incomprehensible words telling me something about a major system melt down... world coming to an end... dumping... My computer actually said it was dumping me... or something of the sort.

It did suggest I restart the computer to see if the problem goes away.

"Operating system not found."

This is what it tells me now. Or told me.

My fingers were on the keyboard.

.... this close....

And now I've bathed in scalding water and shaved my legs (Why did I shave? Just a need to play with razor blades?) and sobbed like a baby. And I'm blogging why? Just getting it off my chest, I suppose. Until just hours ago, I was (also) working on a blog entry titled "Day 1" anyway. I don't remember what it was going to be about. Resolutions and some such nonsense...

(Note: I had not resolved to blog daily. Day 1 just seemed appropriate on the first day of this *glorious* new year.)

And bloody hell... this damned little voice inside me (okay, maybe it's hubby I'm hearing) is saying things like, "You don't actually know that it's gone." Maybe tomorrow I'll push the magic button and it'll all be there just as I left it. I'll back it up, of course... first thing. (No -- I haven't checked yet on my last backup. My gut tells me it was 30,000 words or so ago.)

Because... I'm still in tantrum throwing phase. Or perhaps just a little past it now. Because I'm feeling a little better, believe it or not. (Not a lot, but a little.)

If you've made it this far... or if you are here at all... thank you for indulging me my little tantrum. No computer advice, please. I'm not in a place to process fix-its. But if you are inclined to stomp your feet with me a little, you are more than welcome.

Happy 2011, by the way.

Hope yours is going better than mine.

Whittling Away Words

I'm working on entries for the Kansas Authors Club contest, which are due postmarked on Tuesday. I've got a handful of pieces I've been working on for a few months now, but the problem is that all of them are way over word count. I seem to be in the rambling, generative phase of my writing process rather than the tidying, making things readable phase. I've spent much of today on a piece that was somewhere around 4,000 words, unfinished, when I started. I've pulled it apart and reconstructed it in a couple of different ways. I can usually find three or four essay topics among the first words I spill onto paper, and in the end maybe only one or two of them are worth writing about. Even then, the finished product is rarely anywhere close to what I imagined I would be writing when I started out.

Each time I've tackled the piece--from start to finish--I saved it in a new file marked with a revision number as a way to save my heart the anguish of actually throwing words away. There is no place for sentiment in editing. I know this to be true, yet struggle with it every time. Falling in love with a line does not make it fit. The mood or meaning may belong in an entirely different piece, to be tackled later, or forgotten entirely.

This last revision, marked only #2, netted 1,800 words. I have been known to write 4,000 words an hour on a productive day, and it seems I can whittle about half that in six hours when I'm under the gun.

I needed this deadline. It feels good to be writing with my own voice, topics purely of my own choosing, words I can afford to tuck away and save for a later day.

How to Surprise Yourself in 30 Days

Biked by a Bear in the Redwoods Today

Middle Munchkin asks, "Why is it time passes so quickly on the days you are having a great time, and so slowly on the days you wish would pass quickly?"

I guess my life is filled with great times these days. I can't even seem to keep up with which day it is, except by number due to my daily logging of NaNo words. Day 21 and--if nothing else--I've proven to myself that I can make the time to do the things that are important to me. I've checked in for 1600 words per day (usually more, occasionally less) and I'm still very much in the game. This has been on top of work and activities with the kids and house projects. It's all about priorities, I suppose. And perhaps about sitting on my duff a little less.


Other happenings around here...

When we started on this ceiling project, we imagined it would be just that... a new ceiling. But when you tear down one thing in a house as old as ours, you soon began to see many other things (that sometimes you'd just as soon remain ignorant of). The northern wall of our house, of course, in this room where we tore the ceiling down, turned out to have no insulation. So those drafts we've always imagined we were feeling? Well, clearly, they've been very, very real. New wiring, the ceiling, and now the walls have become a project, as well.

The girls and I tore down all the old lathe this week and prepped the walls for new cover by insulating them. The girls loved tearing down the walls. They took to those hammers and pry bars like pros. Such enthusiasm! We foamed cracks (so many cracks!) and by the end of the day we could already tell a big difference. Hubby and I put up wall board today, so we now have one wall of our project complete.

It is a lovely wall, if I may say so myself.

Middle Munchkin was taking pictures. I'll try to load some soon.

Munchkin Boy had a 24-hour round with the flu this week. He spent the second 24 hours doing a lot of sleeping, but today he seems to be entirely back to normal. What a relief. I was having trouble even remembering the last time one of my kids had a throwing up kind of sickness. We decided it's been since we were living in Dodge City. Back when hubby was teaching school, he brought us something home every flu season, it seemed.

I found myself putting a little extra effort into cleaning and scrubbing, thinking perhaps I could just sterilize the house enough that nobody else would come down with whatever it was that he had. So far; so good. (Fingers crossed!)

And the bear, you ask? Sometime early last spring I swore to myself that I was not going to spend another winter being cold and allowing myself to simply hibernate and pack on pounds for the winter. I decided that when the weather turned cold again, I'd join the gym.

As soon as that snap of cold hit, hubby signed us up. It then warmed up again right away, and I was a little sorry that I had gone and committed. However. There is this cool new toy at the gym that may entirely change my mind forever about the gym and exercise equipment. It's called Expresso biking. Expresso bikes offer an interactive riding opportunity. You get to chose your course and set your pace. In the past week alone I've biked through Mayan ruins, along an ocean coast, round and round a bike race track, and through the redwood forest. I raced my pacer through the redwoods and beat him by almost three minutes. Talk about a rush. Then I rode the circuit again, this time taking my time and just looking at the scenery. That's when I saw the bear, a big old grizzly bear!

So maybe it's not exactly like biking in the redwoods, but it's better than not biking because of a little cold out.

I'm looking forward to being a bit less of a momma bear this winter.

Busting My Buttons... or, er... at Least Buttons are Being Busted

So those who have followed my career path probably know that I have worked in all manner of writing/editing/print type environments for both work and pleasure. In the last 10 years (give or take a few), I have concentrated on a freelance path that has become gradually more focused over time. My current "elevator speech" involves a considerable amount of ghostwriting.

Being a... ghost... has its advantages (fairly lucrative as far as freelance writing goes) and disadvantages (I don't see my name in print as often).

So yesterday I was checking out some of my client websites, just to see how they were handling my material... I mean, the material that they purchased from me. I'm always curious about the end product. Turns out, one of my clients has gotten some recent news coverage - an appearance/interview on a major news show. I was beyond giddy when I realized that the interview was about an article that had appeared on the client's website.

Yep, it was my article... one I had written in their name. The whole interview was filled with little graphics and bullet points -- my words right up there on the television screen (well, I watched it online).

I had mixed emotions, initially. That's me! Yet not me. But me, none-the-less!

I finally decided... though I really can't share the link... that I'm going to go ahead and let myself swell with a bit of pride.

NaNoWriMo.... Still Writing!

It's a silly little thing, but I get a kick from entering my words each day and watching these little bars appear on my NaNoWriMo site. I am at 9,013 words as of day 4. My friend Cheryl and I have been sending daily check-ins. I think she's having as much fun as I am.

Believe it or not, this is only my 2nd time doing NaNo. I think the last time I tried it was 2001, and I've pretty much spent the last 8 or so years tweaking that novel, or some version of that novel, or some spin-off from that novel about related characters whom I thought might be more interesting to write about. In 2001, they did not have the cool bar graph function. I'm not even sure that they had a website.

Back to work this week, as well. I'm back! All refreshed from a month of vacationing... recovered from a month of vacationing!? Feels good to be in the routine again. Kids seem to be feeling it, too. Munchkin Boy has even taken on his own sort of NaNo project. His goal is 10 words a day on his story about Bob the Water Flea. So far, he's averaging 20! I can't wait to read it.

A Writer Rambles

With the number of half written blog posts, short stories, and essays in my head and on my hard drive, I could fill a library. I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with the finish line, at least when it comes to some of the more personal writing projects I continue to work on (or dream about working on). On the stuff that comes in with deadlines, I do just fine. I can write an article to specification on just about any topic. At least, that seems to be the case once I sit myself down at the keyboard. My head isn’t always convinced that I can do the job, but when I know I have to get the task done, I manage to do it.

Unfortunately, I think this has resulted in a lot of “*itching & moaning” on my part. Or perhaps (hopefully) it is just the hubby who hears it that way. He came home yesterday and pulled up this article from a blog by J.D. Roth. He’s convinced that I need to separate my work and life space a little more clearly. I was resistant to the idea at first (I’m doing what I love, I’m finding a path where my work and life aren’t so separate, I thought this is what I wanted), but the more I think about it, the more it kind of makes sense.

I recently went through a couple of weeks where the work load was very low and it felt like a vacation. I barely touched the computer (well, except to see if any jobs had shown up) and I had myself a sort of great re-connection time with the kids, full days where I just hung out with them and worked on projects we always talk about working on but rarely get to. It kind of pulled us out of our rut. Shook up the activity in the house a little and it felt good. The kids really noticed, as well, and they all commented on it.

So I can see that there is a downside to having my work station in the corner of the bedroom. It’s always there, and there are times when I do find myself struggling to pull myself away, or I find myself struggling to make myself sit there and get the job done when there are more interesting (and fun) things going on in the house. I think the biggest change since going from mom who writes for fun and occasional publication on the side to mom who works from home writing is that those fun projects—the ones that make me feel passionate about writing and rewriting and finding just the right word—are continually put on the backburner.

One of the comments on the article I linked to above really spoke to me:

“That lack of boundaries between work and life is why several of my attempts at working as a freelancer failed. It does become difficult to draw those boundaries, and then you start to hate the work you love.”

I don’t think this is me. I’m not hating the work I love, but there are days when I can feel hate (maybe disdain is a better word) sneaking up on me. As much as there are days when I would love to go back to being the mom who writes for fun, this is not the reality that works for me right now. This is the next best thing; I’m sure of it. And maybe hubby is correct that I could use a few more boundaries in my life.

I think I’m getting stuck at this place, a quote by Stephen King from his book, On Writing.

“It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life is a support-system for art. It’s not the other way around.”

Perhaps I’ve been hanging on to this idea too literally, or perhaps it is simply the fact that I am not currently focused on artful writing, that kind of straight-from-the-gut creativity and making sense of the world or creating worlds through words. As much as I enjoy the process of putting pencil to paper, or fingertips to keyboard, and seeing where my mind takes me, the bulk of my writing is a tool right now. It’s a tool for making ends meet, for cushioning our budget, and getting braces for those three kids who might be needing them, one after the other, just down the road. (The cost of braces – something we just didn’t consider when planning our closely spaced family.)

I’m not being artistic so much as I am helping other people with words. It’s an act of creativity that does bring satisfaction, but it’s not novel writing. To some extent, I am just punching the clock. But it is a clock of my own making and it affords me a much greater range of flexibility which is very important to me at this point.

Yes, there are days when I longingly look at the classifieds and wonder if it might not be easier to stock shelves at the local grocery store or answer phones for a busy office…

…but then I remember that they would not let me take the day off to go play with friends whenever I felt like it or let me squeeze in “my work time” before 8am or after 8pm when it suited me. I like that I can get my work done before my kids are even out of bed. I like that I can turn down a job or designate a different due date if it doesn’t fit with my needs. I like that if I complete a job quickly, I don’t have to hang around for another four hours just to finish my shift.

Somehow, I’m building the life I’ve always envisioned. There are so many things I wish I had known before… about writing, about living, about putting it all together in a way that sustains you on both a physical and an emotional level, but I’m getting there. I’m learning and I’m adding to my arsenal. I’m writing.

There is a balance to be achieved, day to day, obviously, but from a more long-term perspective, as well. I think, just like with growing kids in the house, there has to be recognition that what works changes over time. Right now, I think I do need to better define my boundaries. One day maybe I’ll be in the place to put that desk in the corner of the room again.

I’m not stuck doing this anyone else’s way. I can do it my own way. I can do it the way it works best for me right now. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I’ll get there.

Words Matter

Sounds like the title to a really deep entry, but in fact I am only informing you of an upcoming contest.

2009 District 2 Writing Contest
Words Matter

The Kansas Author’s Club District 2 is now accepting entries for the 2009 annual Writing Contest. The contest is open to all writers and includes four prose categories and four poetry categories.

Prose entries, which have a 2000-word limit, include: short story; memoir; inspirational; and children’s story.

Poetry categories are: classic forms (sonnet 14 lines, all others up to 40 lines); free verse (40-line limit); rhymed verse (40-line limit); and haiku (3-line limit).

All entries should be unpublished.

Prizes of $20, $10, and $5 will be offered for First, Second and Third place in all eight categories. Honorable mentions will receive certificates.

Closing date for entries is March 31. Winners will be announced May 9.

The entry fee is $3 per submission for KAC District 2 members, $4 for non-members. Only the title and category (no name) appear at the top of the first page of each typed entry. On a separate cover sheet, type name and address, including email address if available, a list of entries submitted by title and category, and indicate whether a District 2 member or non-member.

The submission plus entry fees and a self-addressed stamped envelope should be sent to:

Norm Ledgin
KAC District 2 Writing Contest
P.O. Box 23571
Stanley, KS 66283

Writerly Progress

The hubby commented this morning that it has been a very long 4-day work week. He was hoping I'd remind him it was Friday, I think, but I could only be honest and say that it was Thursday.

It has been a long week, but in a good, long way from my perspective. I finished my holiday Monday with a nice long chat with my writer-friend, Cheryl. Sometimes when we get together we just briefly review our progress and efforts and then move on to other topics. Sometimes we spend more time digging in and talking about goals and tactics and the art and craft and realities of writing. (Could I use more ands in one sentence?) This was one of those weeks were we talked most about writing, and I left feeling a bit supercharged. She'd given me the little extra inspiration I needed under my belt, I think.

For the past couple of years I've been very time-obsessed in my writing efforts. Because I'm building a work-at-home career and it's felt very necessary to make sure I'm making progress financially as well as personal satisfaction, I've been very careful to log in and out of "work time" and track my dollar per hour earnings. I figure if I slip below what I could be earning at the local copy shop, I might as well give it up and go back to sniffing fresh reams of paper and ink (actually a somewhat-attractive prospect to the likes of someone like me).

Anyway, after all this time of working hard at it, I've come to the place (again?) where I am resenting the clock. I'm tired of feeling guilt for taking a moment to read a thoughtful blog entry or putting off some personal correspondence or writing in my very own journal just because I've got myself "clocked in" and working. I've felt myself struggling a bit with this, and it finally occurred to me to just stop!

I can be a little slow, I guess. But a bonus of working this way is making my own rules, right? So why not change the rules?!?!?

No clock this week. I'm still sticking to general guidelines for hours since I do have my kids at home and when I turn myself over to mom-time I like them to know I am doing so completely. But instead of logging minutes this week, I've simply been keeping a list of projects completed (or stages of projects completed). It's been amazingly productive. Instead of just getting my current work assignments completed, I've managed to do them plus a little bit more. I've been tackling that list of avenues to try, queries to get out there, and bigger projects I'd like to get rolling.

Feels good. Feels like a very long, very good four day work week. And the fourth day isn't even here yet!

Today is a very good Thursday. I hope you all are feeling the same.

More on Fiber Fun Day...

can be found here.

As well as photos #1, #2, #3, and #4.

_xxx_ Published Pieces and Counting!!

Way back when I first started writing with the idea that I really wanted to be a published writer... or a professional writer... or whatever it was that I was thinking at the time... I was really attracted to those writer bios that said "hundreds of articles published... blah, blah, blah." 100 seemed like a magic number. I had this idea that if I could cross the "100 published" line, maybe I'd finally feel like a real writer.

In January 2007, my total count was forty-one. And that number was only arrived at by going back and counting the items I had published in newsletters while working for ORBIS International, which I wasn't completely sure I should count... but I did thinking it would help me get to 100 faster. I did write those articles, even if I wasn't thinking in terms of being a writer at that point. I suppose I could have gone back and counted everything I'd written through four years of high school publications. That might of gotten me there quicker.

Forty-one felt like a very, very small number for all the work and tears that had gone into my writing efforts.

Well this morning, in an excellent act of procrastination, I updated my "published list" and was a bit surprised to find that my number of published pieces (not self-published, but work other people have printed and/or paid me to write for them)... is 190!!!

I'm very, very near to being one of those writers... "hundreds of articles published." Woo-Hoo!

Work, Not School

This morning I had a phone conference with a client for whom I have been writing quite a bit of content. It has been a pleasant job. One of those that has picked me up a bit out of my comfort zone and really put my brain to work in an attempt to a) understand what I was writing about and b) write about it so that other people would understand it too.

As we are nearing the end of this particular client's project, the jobs have lost the leisurely pace, a bit. Last week I was writing and rewriting (not my originals, but for other writers) many pieces to help them meet deadline. This week there have been a few more loose ends to tie up. Today I spent over an hour on the phone with one of their subject gurus in order to gain an understanding of some of those very important loose ends.

I'm not always my best on the telephone. I'm definitely a person who thinks and translates best through my fingertips, not my mouth. So when I'm having a conversation (or listening to a lecture) and a person pauses for questions, I don't always come up with them even though I know there are probably good questions that should be asked. Instead, I am a furious and detailed note taker and I usually manage to give myself enough prompts that I can almost conjure up the person's voice in my head again as I attempt to fill those notes out and make sense of them.

So this morning, I was doing my best to stay tuned in to my lesson. I felt myself zoning out, at one point, and I kind of had this funny little deja vu feeling. I was in school, once again, and listening to a lecture on a subject I really didn't want to know much more about. "I hate this class," I heard myself thinking. I was able to pull myself out of it pretty quickly. I'm getting paid for this lecture, after all.

But it felt kind of funny, for a moment, and many hours and four articles later, I'm feeling pretty darned pleased with the knowledge I have gained. Not only did I apparently get enough out of this morning's lecture to turn around and "teach" someone else about it, I think I've gained some knowledge that I can probably use, but would never have explored if the opportunity to write about it hadn't been presented to me.

A Writerly Update... or 2007 Resolutions in Review... or Whatever...

I believe the last time I made serious mention of my writing progress was July. If you were thinking I've forgotten about my resolutions this year, you'd be wrong.

My general goal this year is to do something about IT (as opposed to not worrying about IT like I did last year). In general, I’d like to weigh a little less by year’s end… and have written a little more. Beyond that, I’m not committing to a year-end goal.

Instead, I’m committing to making goals. I’m willing to take it week by week. I’m happy to let the wind blow in new and different directions. But progress, of some sort, will be made…

I eliminated talk of my "weight issues" from the blog by February because, quite frankly, I hate to be that person. I've tried to be more active, in general, this year and mostly I think I've done okay. Pants status is still about the same, at least. It's certainly not worse. And as long as I remember to stand up straight and suck the gut in when people take photos, I can't complain too much.

As for writing, the wind did, indeed, blow in new and different directions this year. Perhaps one might say I was finally able to leave that artistic, angst-filled, will-I-ever-be-a-real-writer? self behind... again.

Nah... who am I kidding.

That person will never stray too far. At least, as long as I'm breathing. Let's just say that for the moment I've got her tied up and gagged... and dang if life ain't peaceful without her. Don't worry. I still let her out to play sometimes on evenings and weekends. Heck, she may be making an appearance right now!

Ack! Go away!!

;-)

Excuse me.

Anyway, I'm playing the writing game for real and I've never been more pleased with the results. Fiction is fun. But content, press releases, non-fiction articles, and/or ghostwriting any or all of the above is money in the pocket. And quite frankly, that's where I want to be for the moment... putting money in my pocket.

2007 Resolutions Results = Progress was made.


P.S. If you live in the Kansas City area, pick up the most recent issue of Kansas City Parent. My by-line, I believe, is in there. You might not recognize me as it is a reprint. In other words, I barely remember having kids that young!