Category Archives: All Things Writing

Sometimes the Joy’s in “The Done…”

William Shakespeare is always a great resource for a good quote, and one of my favorites is “Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.” I like that one so much that I even have a plaque inscribed with it hanging in my laundry room (I put it there in a futile attempt to convince myself how much joy I get out of The Doing of laundry–so far unsuccessful, but I still like the quote).

Generally speaking, I agree with the spirit of the quote–there’s a certain anticlimactic feel, sometimes, in the completion of a task, particularly one in which you’ve invested a great deal of time and energy. For example, I remember when I finished my first full-length work, a novella: I had worked on it for over a year, and when it was finally completed, of course, there was joy, but there was also a brief period of “What now?” that followed–The Doing” had filled my life with joy for such a long time, that it took me a little while to figure out what to do next. Of course, once I moved on to the next project, I was back to being joyful all over again. I know, I’m so fickle–isn’t it awful?

But then there are the other times, times when you’re in the middle of a long-term project (which I am now), when occasionally The Doing isn’t living up to that joyful rep–times when it feels like you’ve been DOING this same project forever (which, of course, you have); it will never be done (which, of course, it won’t); and the prospect of doing any more work on it, even one single paragraph, is enough to make you want to sock ol’ Bill Shakespeare right on his pointy little chin.

Not so much joy there, now, is there?

Those are the days, and today was one of them, when I find it helpful to step away from the keyboard for a couple of hours and focus on things that are finite in duration; things that have visible, tangible results–in other words, things that can be DONE.

So today, I focused on a laundry list (no pun intended) of mundane tasks: a trip to the DMV to renew my driver’s license (that’s a bonus task, because it always provides fresh fodder for new characters); replacing burned-out light bulbs in all the chandeliers (hovering at the top of a 10-foot ladder has a unique way of clearing one’s mind of all distractions); scouring the kitchen sink (ugh–’nuff said). Throw in two loads of laundry (I pointedly avoided looking at the plaque while I was in the laundry room), and I found that my head was cleared, my soul was refreshed, and inspiration had returned.

So yes, while I do (on the whole) agree with Shakespeare that you can find a lot of joy in The Doing of your work, I also find that sometimes, you just can’t beat that feeling that comes from The Done.

But just because I felt the need to engage in some domestic chores today, don’t think I’m planning on doing that laundry thing every day; we all know that that one will never be The Done.

Let’s do the time warp again…and again…and again

For this twenty minutes, I am forcing myself to take a break from my manuscript. I’m finding, as I’m spending more time on it now, that it is increasingly easy for me to get lost in that other world and lose all sense of time.

For example, when I settled down to work on it on this morning, I anticipated spending an hour or so on it before moving on to other projects. Um. I was shocked to look at the clock just now and find that I’d been writing for over two-and-a-half hours straight. It felt as though I’d only just sat down! Hence the title of this post: I had entered The Time Warp, that magical place writers visit when they are neither here nor there; when their bodies slump carelessly over notepads or laptops, seemingly lifeless but for the scritching of pencils or clicking of keyboards; when the words come on and on, heedless of the passage of time (or the increasing insistence of full bladders, which is what finally broke the spell for me. I think this may be why so many writers I know drink so much coffee while they work: it creates a biologically timed round trip of sorts, forcing you to return to the real world occasionally. This is just a theory, but a plausible one, I think).

The Time Warp doesn’t always happen for me. Sometimes the writing is a grueling chore, where I count every word and swear that I can actually hear my hair growing while I wait for inspiration, so when I do ‘warp’ away for a while, I am extremely excited and inspired about it. It usually means something good just happened in my book. I think it did this time–time will tell, right?

It’s time to go back now, at any rate: I’ve taken my little break from the manuscript, attended to a few biological imperatives, and refilled and nuked my next cup of coffee. I am ready for my return warp–I hope it didn’t leave without me. See you next trip.

Back to school…again

Wow. I knew it had been a while since I last posted, since I sort of “gave up” writing for the summer (at least, non-paid writing), but I didn’t realize it had been quite that long! Sorry for the long absence, I hope to make up for it with increased blogging now that the kids are back to school.

Ahh. I thought I’d be a lot happier that they’re all back in their respective off-site learning environments, but this year, I find myself actually (gasp!) missing them, and it’s only Day Two. Go figure–maybe I spent too much time with them this summer. Usually I think of that as a bad thing, but the strangest thing is happening: the older my children get, the more I like them, like to be around them. It’s not that I didn’t like them before, but let’s face it, it takes a certain kind of personality to really enjoy being around babies and toddlers for 18 hours a day, and I learned a long time ago that that was not my personality type. I am enjoying their ages right now.

All three of them have always had their own unique, distinct personalities, right from the womb, but they are all getting to those magical ages now that they are becoming their own distinct people, complete with riotous senses of humor, rock-solid likes and dislikes, and independent and inventive ways of thinking that are beginning to draw me to them like a moth to a flame. So yeah, I won’t deny it: I miss the little buggers. This is just a preview, I guess, of the day not too far in the future when they will all eventually take permanent flight from our nest, so I guess I’d better get used to it.

The downside of all the pleasure I took in their company this summer was that there are, in fact, only so many hours in a day, and something had to give. I had the opportunity to expand my freelance writing and editing efforts this summer, which was great, since it paid, but I also wanted to create a new face for my freelance business (which I did: new web site, company name, and business cards–ooo! so formal!), which left me the decision of what would give: time with my kids, or my novel and blog.

I think you know which one won.

BUT! It’s another new year, the kids are back to school, and I’m full of inspiration and fresh back-to-school-empty-house-angst, so it’s back to work to fill these newly vacated hours (and, of course, finally get that manuscript to my editor.)

Here we go!

An Unlikely Muse…

 Two rings and a rock. That’s what the box that arrived in my mail last week contained. Specifically, two turquoise rings and a geode. For those of you who are not fascinated by geology, a geode is not just any old rock, but a very special kind of rock.

In their unbroken state, geodes are pretty unremarkable, resembling dirty snowballs more than anything. But their true wonder lies hidden inside: break a geode open, and you are confronted by sheer beauty, as their interiors are crystalline and streaked with wondrous colors.

There was no note or letter inside the box, but I knew immediately upon seeing them the origin of the items inside–they were sent by (get ready, complicated family ties ahead) the niece of Ann, my grandmother’s best friend.

I knew they weren’t sent by Ann herself, as her niece had informed me several months ago of Ann’s passing, an event I mourned, even though it had been more than two decades since I had last seen Ann in person.

She was a remarkable lady, spending a great deal of time with my mother, my siblings, and me. It was she who gave me and my sisters our awful (and now laughable) bowl haircuts; who gave me a new stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh every year of my childhood; and who took me and my sister to the rock shows (not concerts, folks, think geology here) where we were first introduced to the geode.

I often think that Ann was a stand-in for us kids for her dear friend, my grandmother, who passed away when I was only four years old. Ann certainly felt like a grandmother to me, anyway. Even after she moved away, we still stayed in touch via phone calls, letters, and a yearly holiday greeting card.

It was important to me to maintain those connections with her, to share with her all of the important events of my life–my college graduation, my first teaching job, my marriage, the unexpected death of my mother, the births of my three children, all the “biggies.” And when I began to pursue writing, I shared that with her, too, not knowing what her reaction might be. She’d always chided me forcefully on my lack of interest in becoming a mathematician (stop laughing–the woman thought there was nothing I couldn’t do if I only put my mind to it), so I wasn’t sure if she’d agree with my formal decision to pursue the literary arts.

She surprised me, though, as she often did: “Well, it’s about time,” she said. “Your grandmother wrote, your mother wrote, your brother writes, and you’re a gifted writer, too, always have been. I was surprised you went into teaching. It’s about time you figured it out.” She could’ve knocked me over with a feather.

That was several years ago. I’ve been writing steadily ever since, continuing to work at something Ann clearly thought I was meant to do. But when you’re pursuing a dream, doubts come with the territory, and I’ve had my share of those (as you know, if you’re a regular reader). I’ve been having some doubts lately, as I undertook the latest revision of my book (the one I’m going to send to my editor for help when it’s completed).

I did a lot of thinking, a lot of soft writing, and nothing really seemed to break. And then, the box arrived, with a geode and two rings, both of which had belonged to Ann.

I lifted the geode from the box, running my fingers along the rough edges of its crusty exterior. Then I turned it over, and gazed in wonder at the crystals lining the cut side of this miraculous rock.

And it hit me. Like a rock. I don’t know what to call it, inspiration, a divine spark–I don’t know, but with the weight of that rock in my hand, I was ready to write, all doubts were gone.

In life, Ann always reminded me a little bit of the geodes that fascinate and enchant me still–unassuming, deceptively rough around the edges, not particularly interested in appearances. But her soul, the person she was, was incredible–bright, sparkling, and inspiring. She’s my muse now, and I keep her rock next to me as I write. I hope to do it justice someday.

Thank you, Ann.

Sometimes you have to open that window yourself…

Well, it’s been a couple of weeks now, and I’ve moved on. This time around, I had a plan in mind already for things I would do in case it wasn’t grad school again this fall, and having a backup plan has made things a lot easier.

So what am I up to now? Well, on the novel front (which I am still working on, thank you very much), I’ve decided, at least for now, not to go with the mentoring press. Number one, it was much too expensive (at least, too expensive unless I win the grant I applied for–I’ll save that for another blog post), and number two, after having a small, trusted group of terrific readers vet it for me, I realized (again) that the book is just not ready yet.

That realization, I think, was more depressing than being rejected for grad school again, but I’m getting smarter about never jumping out of these metaphorical planes without a parachute firmly strapped to my back. I had a plan already in place–it’s time to see a doctor. Not a psychiatrist, though that probably wouldn’t hurt. No, I have met with a “book doctor,” because this physician just can’t heal herself (or her manuscript) at this point.

I was worried about going down that path–after all, I’m an editor, shouldn’t I be able to do this myself? Um, can a brain surgeon perform his own lobotomy? Helloooo! No, he can’t, and at this point, I know I need another (professional) set of eyes.

Any concerns I had turned out to be fleeting: in a single meeting with this editor, she was able to tease out the one tiny thread holding together a huge Gordian knot that’s been wreaking all kinds of havoc with this manuscript, and I am ready to set it on fire now (figuratively, not literally–are you nuts? It does need work, but I wouldn’t actually burn the darned thing)! What I really mean to say is that I am on fire, filled with renewed enthusiasm for my story, something that’s been missing for several months, so at least for the moment, I feel like I’m back on the right track.

Embarking on another revision is daunting, but I think this will be the one. No, I’m sure it will be, actually, because after I finish the revision, and my editor works it over to her satisfaction, I will declare that it IS DONE and then I plan to publish it as an e-book. I will definitely let you know when it goes live, but first, I’ve got some work to do, and I’m actually excited about it for the first time in months–a very good sign.

On the work side of things, I am giving my freelancing business face a makeover: Stretching my fledgling graphic design wings, I’m working on a new logo, corporate name, web site, getting everything all shiny and updated for a launch later this spring (good to know that tuition wasn’t wasted, at least), so keep your eyes posted for lots of updates about that.

I guess the real bottom line for today’s post is that a lot of doors slammed shut in my face over the past few weeks, and I wasn’t seeing any windows flying open, either. Just giving up and walking away might’ve been the easier (and perhaps saner) thing to do, but whoever realized their dreams by being sane and taking the easy route?