Writerly Ruminating

 

NaNoWriMo 2022

I cycled through three possible projects before I settled on the one I'm working with now. It's a concurrent sequel to the book I wrote last year, and I have such a complicated mix of feelings towards it. The story is unfolding well because I've been in this world with some of these characters for so long and I know their universe. But I'm not nearly as connected to the main characters in this book as I was to the ones in the last book. I also keep getting hung up in editing mode because I've been polishing up their world for so many months that some days I can't let things flow. And yet, despite this project feeling harder and less energized, I suspect the quality of my work is better. It's so confusing. I'm keeping pace (13,434 words in 8 days at the time I'm writing this, and 35.7k for the total manuscript), but without my weekend morning hyperfocusing, I wouldn't be there. The chaos of the weekdays has been debilitating for my creativity. Hanging in there, though. 

Mood Pitch

I had no idea what this was until literally the day before it happened. In fact, I pretty much counted myself out because I was discovering it so late in the game. The cliff notes version is that writers create a small mood board or collage along with a wildly concise premise of their book so that literary agents can scroll through pitches quickly. There are official agents that participate in Mood Pitch, but lots and lots of others that join in to see what's out there. If your post gets liked by an agent, it means they are intrigued by your pitch and want you to query them. (More on that below.) So on Mood Pitch day, I was taking a break from my WIP and doing some scrolling. I was seeing all of these awesome pitches and thinking, okay, I might be late to the game but I could totally do this. It was maybe noon at this point, and Mood Pitch was only running from 8am-8pm. I decided to whip up a quick collage for my book and see if I didn't hate it. (I didn't.) So then I attempted to write a teeny tiny synopsis and got frustrated. I took a shower instead, and somehow several options came to me while shampooing my hair. I tapped them out in my notes app before I even dried off. Once I was dressed and able to edit my shower inspirations, I tossed it out to the internet thinking, hey this was fun practice for the next round. Most pitches don't get any likes. And then...minutes later, an agent liked it. My eyes have never bulged so much. For the rest of the day, I was revising my query letter and reformatting my manuscript and basically losing my mind, and before bed, my first official query was off into the world and in the hands of industry professionals. I realize it will probably amount to nothing, but it was a huge milestone, and I will never forget that day. 

Am Querying

So, like....I planned on procrastinating the shit out of this step in my writing journey. I was still kind of chipping away at the process, but mostly focusing in on NaNoWriMo and letting last year's book take a big old back seat. But when Mood Pitch went the way it did (and I also saw several agents saying they were collecting their last queries of the year before the week of Thanksgiving), I decided to just give it a little bit of extra attention. I did some agent research, started beefing up my query spreadsheet, and contacted several more after writing each of them personalized query letters. If you are unfamiliar with the writing process, writers approach agents with something called a query letter that introduces them to your book (including genre, word count, synopsis, tropes if any, etc.), lets them know who you are, and requests that they consider taking you on as a client. Each agent will ask for a sample of your manuscript, and they all want something different. It can be as little as a synopsis or your first page, or as big as the entire thing, and anywhere in between. (5 pages, 10 pages, 3 chapters...literally every single one is different.) There's a lot of work that goes into finding agents that you think would fit both you and your book, and then making sure you cater to their requests. I spent a whole day on just querying three agents. And when you do this, you're contacting each of them unsolicited, so the exciting thing about Mood Pitch is that you're basically skipping the slush pile by having an agent say "yeah I wouldn't toss this". So, anyway, this is time consuming AF and also freaking terrifying because it means pros are reading your work and could very well tell you it's trash.

Dreams

Yes, this is all a dream come true, but I'm also literally dreaming about all of this. Even when I'm sleeping, I'm revising little details of my query letter, thinking of a detail I wish I'd added to my manuscript, coming up with a new scene for my NaNoWriMo WIP. It's madness. I literally never set it down. I will, once November ends - in fact I'm declaring a general writing break for the month of December so that I can actually survive the holidays and not entirely burn out the language center of my brain until there's nothing left but smoldering ashes. But for now? It's all writing all day, baby. I can't even describe how tired my mind is at the end of each day. I can't wait to zone out to Hallmark movies in a few more weeks - phew.

Give them words.

I've become a writer. By choice, and by practice.

After years of wanting to be able to say that with any amount of legitimacy, I finally feel like I've found it. Even though I didn't earn the feeling the way I expected to. I've published nothing more than blog posts and some miniscule-content journals. But that doesn't even matter to me anymore.

When I study writing, I get it now. It sinks in. When I read, I see how the author wrote it. Sometimes I wish I didn't - without the fourth wall, the way I read is forever changed. 

But most importantly I'm just...finally not ashamed to be called a writer. My new therapist calls me a writer - recently she told me how she couldn't put her finger on something about me before I told her that I write, but then she immediately knew. "You speak like a writer," she'd said. "It's in the way you form your sentences and the words you choose - everything makes sense, now."

I didn't know what to do with that at first. I'd never been told that before, and it made me cry. To be seen that way - to be seen as what I've always wanted to be is an incredible feeling. And it's coming from several directions. I'm hearing it from friends, from my husband - from everyone that knows what I've been up to. The more my projects become reality, the more it just is. 

Maybe I've given myself permission to accept being a writer because I've written a whole novel. (I still can't believe I did it.) I did it in the sense that there's a 400+ page document containing 95,000 words about a couple of characters that I created out of a dream I had and some of their friends, but it's not...good.

It has its moments - but I wrote with the goal of getting it down and getting it done knowing that I could go back and fix it. And now...I don't really know the best way to do that. Sometimes, it feels like a hot mess. Steaming hot. There are some places where I either know what's lacking or how to fix it or both, but there are plenty of places where I don't know either. Where I just can't figure out how to make it work. Some of those chapters have been re-written three, five, seven times, and they're still not there. 

And I suppose this is where an editor steps in, but it doesn't even feel ready for that. In the same way one wants to clean before the cleaning service arrives, I want to make sure that I'm not wholly embarrassed by this manuscript. It needs polishing that I know I can still give it before it's fixed professionally, but the task feels tedious knowing that I'll have to look at all the glaring flaws while I do that. I will do it - because I'm a writer now, and because I love these characters as though I know them in my waking life. And because I want to be not just a writer, but an author. 

Man, that's interesting.

I've always wanted to publish something - to be a published author. It's my life's dream, second only to being a Mom. But for the first time in my life I actually want to build a career. Like a whole-ass, all-in, make it happen career. I will create it - even if it's only on a small scale. Even if it's only something I "do on the side." Because it's who I am. Because it always has been. 

But the doubts poke at me daily. They say things like - maybe I can't articulate things the way I think I can. Maybe my abilities as a writer haven't developed as much as I thought they did. Maybe I have no actual freaking clue what I'm doing. Laughably.  Maybe even the most voracious romantic fiction reader who loves a shitty, sappy novel for the respite it provides from this dumpster fire of a world would find what I've written to be absolute crap. It's not the story or the characters I'm worried about - it's the way I've delivered them to the world.

I told myself that I was going to spend time studying before I edit - reading books on writing, watching videos, reading more comps in the style of my story. All of that should arm me with more tools to polish my book. And I've been doing those things. But I'll be bumping along, collecting new understanding, and then suddenly need to get back to my book. I'll miss my characters, or feel like I got what I needed to fix one particular scene or chapter, but then I can't stop. Because I've gone back to their Universe (and I like it there - because it's mine to create, and there's no covid or school shootings or racism in their world), and I don't want to jump back out. Honestly, my superhero name would be Captain Hyperfixation. (Well, either that, or like...Indecision Girl! Able to avoid the smallest decision in a single bound!) The ADHD is strong with this one. OMG - no one tell my husband I just semi-quoted Star Wars. Clearly I've been force fed too much of that Universe.

I know I'll get there. I know there's a way forward and I'll figure it out. Because I spent 37 years wanting to write a book, and about 738 attempts later (approximately) I figured that out. I'll get this, too. But it's scary and shadowy and molassesy, so I'm calling it out from under the bed to spritz it with my monster spray. Looking it in the face. Talking to it. Communicating. Doing what I know best.

Because, the stickiest things in life, I find, are slowly cleaned up when you give them words.

So yeah, that writing journey.

I haven't said much lately about my journey with writing, and I'm sure you're all dying to know what the deal is.

(All 2 of you that have evidently looked at my posts and I don't know who you are but Iloveyouandthankyouverymuch.)

So, to end the suspense, here's the deal.

I'm very much confused about my role in life right now. Midlife identity crisis or some shit. I had side gigs and hobbies, but for the last decade (2009-2019) my main role was Mom. Of course that hasn't changed - it's not like my kids are out voting and buying lottery tickets - but that phase of life was just so mothery. It was diapers and cups full of cheerios and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and getting kicked in the head while nursing.

And now it's just.......sitting in pickup lines and regretting saying yes to the PTA.

I love that I can hold full, comprehensible (and often humorous) conversations with my kids and like, get to KNOW them beyond what foods they absolutely will not eat and which toys they must have or face spontaneous combustion. I love that we have a history of traditions and a familiar flow to how our family operates and heaps and heaps of authentic love for each other.

But my job as Mom now is not so much 24hr caretaker as it is back corner support system. I feel like that person at the corner of a boxing...uh, pen? cage? (what the hell are those things) that squirts water on the dudes and rubs their shoulders when things get tough, but really just stays there in the corner waiting to be called on. My kids can wipe their own butts and pour their own cereal and put their own (poorly matched) outfits on. Which is GOOD! Obviously. But like, what should I be doing while I stand over here waiting in the corner?

I thought I had it pretty figured out, and don't get me wrong - writing is still just a natural function for me. It's a part of my daily (literally daily) life in one form or another, and I feel unsettled until I spend time on it. It feels......very intertwined with my dharma.

It's just that, I don't know...my projects and ideas all have these slow burns to them, and that's fine. Maybe perfect even? Because I get to set them down often to refocus on family and get through busy seasons. It just doesn't feel very purposeful that way. And I get lost in the needs of life.

When this school year started, I thought I'd have all this time and maybe I could actually follow through with plans and focus my efforts on something real, something for me - and it turns out that life is kind of a bitch. Five hours fly by incredibly (shockingly) fast, and kids get sick or forget things for school and suddenly my meticulously planned week of productivity and focus is all stirred up and backwards. And with that momentum all jackknifed, it's super hard to convince yourself that it's okay to jump back in where you are because you're 700% sure it's just going to get all messed up again.

So I'm left in this limbo-y place of not being needed enough and being needed too much.

Fun fact: I do not like transitions. I never have. I'm good on this side or that one and I'll deal with whatever is there, but I cannot stand floating somewhere in the middle. Like March. Frickin' March! One day it's Winter, the next it's Spring - GET IT TOGETHER!

I am in the March of motherhood and I hate its guts.

I'm left feeling like, well, as I said - I'm not completely clear on my role. And I'm torn all of the time. I want to be available to my kids, but I also want to know who the hell I am when they're adults. I want to be in their classrooms and their school communities and I also want my own job to do and my own community. It's just hard, man.

So specifically on the writing front? It's going. I guess. I haven't taken any more of the free writing courses I'd planned on, and I haven't read any of the books I've collected to study it further. But I do add to my projects whenever a life experience calls for it. (They're all non-fiction, and largely memoir-ish.)

AH, that just reminded me of something Lisa Brennan-Jobs said about her book, Small Fry.

"I think I just have always been a writer and I've always been observing and the book was a way to make sense of my own story in a profound way so that I could go and do other stories. I'd actually love to write other books and I was dearly hoping to find another subject before writing this book and I just could not."

I feel exactly this way about my largest project. But when the idea came to me, it was so OBVIOUS that I needed to do it. She went on to say...

"I think with a lot of artists there is this first big project that has to be in some way autobiographical. [...] Certainly with writers - novelists, nonfiction and fiction - who often make their first projects highly personal. Maybe because they have to like, Marie Kondo them before they move onto their next projects."

I think it must be, because nearly all of my ideas are tied up in my life experience and it's almost like the Universe keeps shoving them at me until I finish one of them and clear the pipes. I'm trying, but it's sloooow going. And I just haven't quite figured out this Mom-Work balance thing since I'm currently just re-balancing the Mom side of it.

Anyone else out there in the March of motherhood? Or have been there not-too-long ago? How did you work your passions into your life? Where did you find space for your dharma? How did you keep on track with your own personal goals when half of your identity was still tied up in children?

For now, my writing goals are to simply.......try. I'm going to attempt to schedule a writing day with Matt weekly (well, he works, I sit in the squashy chair in the corner of his office and write, but there's usually coffee involved). I'm going to find time to write when the mood strikes, which sounds lazy, but you'd be surprised how often it strikes. And I also believe in inspired action.

I don't know what else I'm going to file under "try," but I'll post more when I get somewhere.

The Plot Thickens.

This weekend, Matt and I found a house that we love.

It's probably not going to happen, but that's not even the point. I just had this nudge that I needed get spiritual about it so I asked my guides for a little assistance.

I did so not really expecting any sort of response, but then I got this insistent urge that I took as a reply that said something along the lines of, "apply for the aide job now."

Allow me to explain. My safety-net backup plan for this journey (or really any possible future paths I could take) was to fall back on my education as-is and take a job that would allow me time to be with my kids. I have a Teaching Assistant certification from when I got my degree, along with a smattering of other childhood education certifications, which qualifies me to be a Teacher's Aide.

My path for this particular avenue was: stay available for all manner of volunteering while Jake is in Kindergarten, apply to be an aide substitute next year and get experience in many schools and with personnel in the district, the following year jump on a more permanent aide position with my gleaned experience and name recognition.

It was all arranged to not get in the way of my writing or my freedom for this very first year on my own.

It's funny, though. The conversation of subbing had come up twice already this school year (which has only been 2 weeks long) - once with a current aide, and again with an aide substitute. How odd is that? Not odd at all, really, if you believe in the orchestration of the universe and the gentle nudges from our guides, as I do. I just had no idea that it was potentially leading somewhere.

So I get this spiritual insistence while I was in the shower (I often get them there), and as soon as I was finished I texted an acquaintance of mine that is currently an aide sub. She responded quickly with the name and email of the person in HR I needed to talk to and directed me to where I should apply.

Did I plan to spend most of my Sunday updating an old resume and filling out an application? Nope. But what's even more out of the blue was stumbling on two permanent aide positions at my sons' school and seriously considering them.

I haven't made up my mind on that just yet. The hours are perfect, the days off are the same as my kids'. The only thing that would change is my hours of freedom that I'd planned to put towards writing would now be put towards a job. Depending on the actual aide position, though, it could be a really rewarding job. I always loved working one-on-one or in small groups with kids. I even love the monotony of school paperwork. LOVE it, actually. It's just a difficult thought to consider giving up this free-flowing time I've waited over a decade to have.

If we decide to move forward on a new house, I would more seriously consider it. We'd need the extra income, for sure. If we stay put, though, I think I'd like to stick with the flowy rebel-friendly schedule I've just finally established.

I'm really not sure what the future holds - even the in-two-weeks future. The past month has been so incredibly transitional for all of us and my mind can't seem to settle on a new normal or a clear path. We'll get there, I know. It's just interesting how life has its own path and it keeps on moving along it even when you're busy carving your own.

Revelations From Week 2.

I maybe got a touch dramatic earlier this week. I mean....I was tired.

And frustrated. But it was an emotional malfunction I needed to have.

Because, I emerged from it all with clarity and understanding. It's not that I wasn't allowing myself flexibility and compassion in the middle of a highly transitional season for my entire family. It's that I was also trying to shove myself into a box of productivity that looks like everyone else's.

And if there's one thing I've learned about myself over the past few years, it's that I function differently than the masses and I'm way more successful when I operate within my tendencies.

I can't help but drive myself crazy with my inability to keep a normal schedule or to hold myself to specific standards (rebels tend to annoy even themselves). And I approached this new phase of life with its 25 free-flowing hours a week thinking, here's my chance! NOW I can make myself do it. I have the space to see things through without being interrupted for snacks or argument mediation.

But what I learned this week is this: just because conditions are closer to ideal doesn't mean that my entire temperament has changed.

And also this: just because I don't currently financially contribute to our family and I feel guilty for not having an actual job-job doesn't mean that I have to force myself to keep normal work hours in some punishing sacrifice of my time.

In an ideal world - were I an Upholder or an Obliger, I had a few more hours in a day, the funds to hire a maid - maybe I could fit myself into one of those neat and tidy schedules. Or if the well-being of my family depended on it, maybe that would be the motivation I need to (probably miserably) force myself into it. But I don't have to right now. And I'm not going to get anywhere (especially when I'm not being compensated for it) by pushing and shoving. Why make it so hard on myself? Why let the ego keep on making plans when I am so good at listening to my heart and soul (when I let myself)?

So, that said, week 2 of my journey is wrapping up, and I can pinpoint 4 specific revelations I've had this week. Here, here to progress.

Screw the schedule (Dedication is enough)
You know what self-help got wrong? Telling you that strict time management is the ideal way to accomplish a goal. Screw that. Listening to your soul and following your passions as they present themselves to you makes a lot more sense to me. I already knew this! WHY? WHYYY was I trying to work against that? (I blame you, society.) So I've decided that if I keep an evening checklist of tasks to do for my future self, and I wake up early enough to leave my house on time, the rest of it can go to hell. I am dedicated to writing now, and while my time gets annoyingly filled up with errands, appointments, chores, and sick kids - they will not be able to steal all 25 of my kid-free hours every week. Writing will still happen.

Take Your Wife To Work Days For Focus
I set out on this journey with the intention to "write on location" at least once a week - preferably on Thursdays. My list of places to utilize being: Matt's work (aka, my in-laws' house), Starbucks, Panera, and the public library. I've been doing this, and it's a great change of pace sprinkled with quality time and coffee breaks with my husband. While all of the locations are good for inspiration and a focus on writing (there's no sink full of dirty dishes guilting me away), Matt works in an actual home - with blankets, squishy furniture, a coffee maker. It's so easy and cozy to settle into a day of writing there without distractions but WITH the comforts of home. So if alllll the other days of my week have been eaten up by other tasks, I just decide to go to work with him and boom -  my writing hours are protected.

The 2 Day Rule
I've been treating school drop off for Luke as my morning commute. It's a super-quick drive (seriously, like maybe 1 minute tops), but no matter where I go next - even if it's right back home - it feels like a morning drive. I'm enjoying it - it feels refreshing. While on this commute, I listen to the morning radio show on our local top 40 station, and I picked up a little piece of advice from the hosts this week. They shared a clip from THIS video about how a man made a habit of fitness by never missing the gym two days in a row. Applied to anything else, this rule makes sure that you work on your goal or your habit at a minimum of every other day. It allows you take breaks as often as every 24 hours, but requires you to pick it back up in equally as long. This is a great strategy for rebels, and I plan to use it in my writing goals going forward.

Writing with Luke
My son was given his first middle school writing assignment this week. He whipped it out in study hall and brought it home for me to check for spelling errors. Only, after reviewing it, I realized that the only thing his story had was a timeline of events and a loose setting. There was actually no plot to be found. When I pointed this out, he reacted with stress and anxiety, which lead to conversations that lasted well after bedtime. We had conversations about middle school being a different ball game than elementary school, about caring about the quality of your work rather than the speed at which you turn it in, and about not being afraid to be seen because of doing a good job. (He didn't want to bring extra attention on himself.)

I promised him that I would help him edit and revise his story, and he'd have a final copy completed by Friday. The assignment isn't due until Monday, but this way he could enjoy his weekend without having to think about his story at all. Together, we've brainstormed ideas, edited his grammar, and turned his work into a story worthy of a middle schooler. He ended up coming up with all of the plot points and specifics all on his own - I was only there to re-work sentences and make him rethink a few word choices.

It was torture to him - but it was great fun for me. I played the role of editor one other time in my life. I used to edit a community blog for a parenting network, and I LOVED that job. I've always had that work in the back of my head as something I might like to do again. Some of the questions I set out to answer on this journey center on my future specific career paths and the education needed to follow them, and this experience has reminded me that both teaching writing specifically (or any ELA centered curriculum) and editing are both careers I wouldn't mind spending my time on. It's funny, though - in all the years I spent dreaming of teaching as my profession (even as I sat in education-based classes), I only ever pictured myself working with the early education set. Maybe my actual place is with kids Luke's age - 9, 10, 11, 12 - kids needing to refine their abilities to carry them through their higher education and not yet understanding their own voice.

It's not a decision by any means, but it's a piece of the puzzle, for sure.

Also done this week? I finished my first online writing course and wrote two short stories in the process. Things are moving along!

I hope all the other weeks to come prove to be this thrilling. xx

Things I'm Failing At Lately.

Sigh.

That's what came out when I sat down to write this. Not because I'm beating myself up for anything, but more out of complete exhaustion over the fact that I still, at 35 years old, cannot seem to get my shit together.

I don't mean that in an extreme sense - I'm a functioning, generally courteous member of society thankyouverymuch. I was just born without the ducks in a row gene. My house, my daily life, my schedule, my comings and goings - they're a freaking hot mess.

Blame it on motherhood, sure. Blame it specifically on active-loud-messy boy-motherhood if you want. But that's not it, guys. I've never had it together. Except for maybe two semesters of college. And like a month when I was trying to sell my first house.

I know myself enough to understand that I don't operate well with tight schedules and restrictive routines, but with my kids all in school this year, I tried anyway. In fact I made multiple variable schedules with that in mind, so I actually have TEN of them - carefully crafted to operate precisely even when I have volunteer shifts, doctors appointments, and errands that pop into my schedule and get in the way.

THAT'S RIGHT. I took the time to craft TEN to-the-minute schedules that I can choose from to follow Monday-Friday based on what is on the docket for that week.

And I still can't do it.

I still sleep through my alarm, I still find ways to consolidate tasks into hurried half-assed jobs, I still shrug and say "meh, I don't feel like yoga/a shower/writing/doing dishes" when the time arrives to do those things. I'm a Rebel through and through, and I just don't know what to do about it.

I use so many of Gretchen Rubin's habit strategies and happiness hacks it's not even funny. I try my ass off to make everything convenient. I plan my loopholes and rewards. I remind myself to do things for my future self so that I'm able to protect the time/goals/plans I have for ME. And I still. just. can't.

You know what it is?

I blame this on human design. I've mentioned it before, but "life stuff" - the mundane never-ending tasks of life drain us. It's particularly disheartening for a generator or manifesting generator (like me), because we build up all of this juicy life force energy, ready to put it into something amazing, and then we have to spend it all on household administrative bullshit.

Since school started last week, I have been EXHAUSTED - physically, mentally, emotionally. I cannot get enough sleep. I try to slurp it from coffee mugs as big as my head and find myself disappointed when I discover that once again, it's not at the bottom of the cup. I fall asleep at 9:30 or 10 (which is a solid 2+ hours earlier than normal) and I still want to throw my phone out the window at 6am when it attempts to wake me up.

And my house is still a wreck, I haven't written nearly as much as I wish I had, my library books are still all over-due and unread, my pantry is on month 4 (or maybe 5) of being disastrously disorganized, and my bathroom is about 35% renovated and missing switch plates, towel holders, and a toilet paper dispenser.

I. AM. A. MESS.


When I made those schedules, I made sure there was time set aside for the can't-escape-it shit like dishes, laundry, packing lunches, slogging through homework time, making and cleaning up dinner - ya know, the day to day operations of running a family.

You know what I didn't account for? A kid getting strep throat after 1 week of school and asking me to lie down with him for 10 hours a day. The kitchen baseboards that need scrubbing. The bathrooms that need constant attention because...I don't know what the hell my kids are doing when they brush their teeth, but the entire wall ends up plastered in toothpaste after 2 days. (I should photo this to show you what I'm working with, over here.) THE MOUNTAINS OF PAPERWORK THAT COME HOME WITH THREE KIDS IN SCHOOL THAT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH. The time needed to emotionally pep-talk pre-teens for their school days and assignments. The endless, endless, endless need for an army's worth of food. The time needed to organize freaking ANYTHING.

We're on school day 6, writing journey day 10. And I want to set fire to my carefully crafted schedules.


Whenever I start feeling bad about all the ways I'm dropping things, I repeat 'ol commandment number 5: "Be Mom First". It's okay - admirable even. But for the past week, I feel like that's all I've been able to do. I looked at this school year as my shot, ya know? My chance to tackle something bigger - something for me. And I know it's early - I know we're barely into this school year and all the weeks that follow won't be so emotional or germ-filled. But it's hard, man. I was so ready!

All I want is to be on time to places, have a clean cute house, have endless time to write when I'm inspired, be able to keep up with my blogs, have real connections with my kids every day, always be in a cute outfit with good hair, always have my house stocked with decent food, and to not have to stick to a schedule to do all of that.

IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK.

On Keeping Working Mom Hours.

This is going to sound like I've never held a job before, but - I feel like I'm not cut out for the length of a work day. Holy exhaustion, batman.

I've worked in dealerships, offices, retail - for endless hours, some with long, stressful commutes. Some while being exposed to the elements. I used to pride myself on my hardcore work ethic and my motivated stamina, and now I can't wrap my head around how I ever did that.

I'm older, obviously. I haven't held a job out of the house in nearly 11 years. That's a decent amount of energy loss. And I've got a decade-long habit of navigating life in leggings and shutting myself in my room for a half hour when I need a breather. I have to adjust - and I guess I sort of overlooked this part of treating writing like a job.

I knew there had to be routines and schedules. I've got those all carved out, complete with screenshots on my phone to help me set morning and evening habits. I push myself to stay on track even when I'm tired. I do things for my future self by staying up after the kids are in bed to set out clothes, prep lunches, and run the dishwasher. I've even been sticking to my one-snooze rule and getting up before the sun to make sure there's time for all of us to get ready for the day.

It's just....now that all of my daytime hours are carefully carved out for writing, research, errands, volunteer shifts, two different (and spaced out) pick up times - my days are a non-stop whirlwind of both physical and mental exhaustion. I no longer have the space in my schedule for a 2 or 3pm coffee and quiet time in my bed because now I'm off on pickup #2 duty. (Refraining from all of the immature jokes, there.)

This week especially has been tricky. I've had to honor commandment #5 (Be Mom first) every day as my kids transition into their new normals at school. They need me to care for and encourage their tender hearts and to help them get prepared to tackle their days while they're out in the world without me. That has meant putting my writing time on a shelf. I've still been able to fit some in, but it's been frustrating.

I'm a Manifesting Generator (find more on that here), and one of our tell-tale marks is being drained by the mundane to do list tasks of life and lit up by our passions (even if our passions require hard work). If there's something I WANT (like, to finish a book, to write a blog post, or to redecorate a room to my exact vision), I can do it all day. Ten hours, twelve hours - bring it on. Then I go grocery shopping and wash a sink full of dishes and I want to sleep for a week.

I love my kids, I do - and being their mom brings me a satisfaction and pride that not much else can. But the fact is, taking care of them requires a lot of monotonous revolving-door chores that make me want to scream. So I've had to tell my writing itch to hang on while I recycle school papers and clean lunch boxes when every fiber of my being wants to do the exact opposite. I suspect this is to blame for the long and draining nature of my new work days. And I'm not sure how I didn't see this coming.

As a stay at home mom, I had two distinct "clock out" times. One somewhere around 2:30-3:30 when we were in for the night after school. I'd brew coffee, sit and watch a show or read a book. I'd get moving again around 4:30 - tidy up the house, make dinner, clean up. The kids would head to bed around 8:30 and I'd clock out again. I'd be in bed with my book and nothing could stop me. But now, if I don't keep moving and do my future self some favors, I can't protect my work hours. And we don't make it home for the day until after 4pm.

In short....I'm tired.

And to every single mom that drags herself out of bed at 5 or 6am and pushes through task after task, maybe a job (or maybe not), and runs the household until well into the evening (with maybe only 30 or 45 minutes to yourself before exhaustion overcomes you), well done. I forgot what it was like to live the way you do. Or rather, I didn't have to care for other people last time I had to do this.

And, if you can, answer me this. Is this actually sustainable?

Day One, With Threes & Fives.

Yesterday was my birthday.

So now that I'm 35, it's time to get busy.

I've got work to do in order to make 36 year old me proud.

Sometimes I get sad that it's taken me so long to find my path and feel connected to it. But then I remember that rather than pursuing ambition, I spent most of my adulthood on my family. On turning babies into children, and on love. And all of the experiences, questions, growth, hurdles, traditions, and viewpoints of life wouldn't exist in my psyche had that not been true. The journey I'm embarking on today wouldn't be what it is. What it could be. What it will be.

So 35 is just fine. No reason to feel like the train left the station without you, self. Thirty five is a vibe.

Do you know, that all my life, 3's and 5's have followed me? I have 3 boys, there are 5 of us in our nuclear family. Two of my boys were born on the 15th (3x5) and the other was born on the 25th (5x5). It took me 5 months to get pregnant with the boys born on 15's, and 3 months with the one born on the 25th. I had 3 major romantic relationships. I've had 3 step-siblings. One of my parents has been married 3 times. My husband and I got engaged on 3/25 (5x5). I currently have 3 cats. I could go on, but these numbers serve as confirmation and understanding to me and probably not a whole lot to you. But it dawned on me, just this morning, as I approach a project that has felt more purposeful and ME than anything I've ever tackled, that I'm doing so armed with my numbers - a 3 and a 5.

It's like I have my own set of spiritual guards flanking me as I navigate this next year. They mean business. They have a lot to show me. And they won't let anyone or anything get in the way.

I spent the second half of my summer planning this journey, and I did so thinking that I would start by playing with writing in ways I haven't before. And while that's still true, I have an actual project going now that basically leaped at me a few weeks ago. It jumped to the forefront of my awareness from allllll the way back in the recesses of my consciousness (where I had it kept in a dead-bolted iron box). I didn't plan on it. I didn't even want it. Yet it demanded my attention, and as soon as I obliged...I knew it was the right thing to do. So I'm starting today with a path even clearer than I'd imagined. I'm beginning with more than hopes and a rough guide. I'm committing to an actual something that could equate to a new existence 365 days from now.

(Isn't it interesting that a year contains my 3, my 5, and a multiple of 3? If I ever needed confirmation that a year is the right timing for this project, I just found it.)

I hope you'll stop in from time to time as I travel and say hello.

Self-Care & Hard Work.

The closer I get to the official start of my journey, the more I'm looking at other aspects of my life.

I wanted to be so singularly focused on writing (and particularly on treating it like a job), but humans are not exactly singular beings, are we? I suppose some are more than others. But me? As much as I've tried, I never really have been. Jill of all trades type, here. Always too many irons in the fire.

Having a main focus, however, has inspired me to get clear on all the other parts of life. It would be shortsighted to not consider how everything else effects your ability to do a job, after all. It's just surprising to me how much of that consideration is aimed at taking care of myself. It's like some instinctual part of me realizes that if I'm not in good condition, then my work won't be, either.

Part of it is simple and surface level - I won't have the time or freedom to maintain my work hours if I haven't seen my kids off to school, gotten myself showered and dressed, fulfilled my external obligations, stocked my house with healthy food, spent time on my mental wellness, and most importantly: ensured that I am physically well. Which has resulted in the creation of schedules and check lists to keep me on track. (It's going to take everything in me not to ignore them completely.)

But it also inspired me to want more for myself. To make a habit of wellness and growth.

For starters, I picked up Weight Watchers again in July. Not because I relish the back and forth of dieting and not dieting, or because I was terribly unhealthy, but because I was starting to feel less like myself and more critical of my outward appearance. I already feel so much better, and I'm already back into my "happy range". I've got a little ways to go towards my ultimate goal, still, but I have felt so uplifted and just good overall.

In September, I plan to pick up my yoga class again. I'm going to take a daytime class since I will have the daytime hours to myself for the first time in my adult life this school year. I'm also going to keep my own practice at home in the evenings for the month of September. I'd love to keep it going even longer, but I am careful with my commitments so I don't scare the rebel in me away. (It's easy to do.)

I've also got some specific health-related things to take care of (that I'm not sure I'm ready to share just yet), and I have never felt any amount of peace with it before but I think I may have found a small slice. It's good.

I also think it's important to remember that when we are chasing a dream or tackling a goal or fighting to become an ideal version of ourselves (simply because it's what we want from life), there has to be a balance of grit and care. Like getting sweaty and dirty and tiring out your muscles and following it up with a steamy shower. Little bits of daily care are the yin to hard work's yang. For me that will look like yoga routines, painting my nails, putting an outfit together, sipping mugs of hot coffee, wrapping up in fluffy blankets, reading stacks and stacks of books, spending time in my husband's arms, kissing my kid's squishy cheeks, cuddling up with my pets, and slipping some pieces of chocolate into my week.

I'm looking at hygge, ahimsa, and balance as my guides.

My Writing Year Commandments

The longer I'm on this journey, the more apparent it will become that Gretchen Rubin serves as a personal development guru in my life. She doesn't know that, of course. It's just that through her books and podcast I've admired her dedication to challenging herself to do more, to do better, and to seek happiness in everyday life. Her ideas and methods have inspired me greatly over the years.

This whole journey is kind of a Happiness Project in itself (a personal development strategy she came up with) with the way I've organized it. So you'll find that I employ her methods often.

One of the things she did while organizing her first Happiness Project was to create a list of commandments to guide her as she worked through her goals. As I journaled about my writing year, I noticed that I was naturally sketching out rules for myself, and I realized that I should probably have some set guiding principles before I begin so that I never veer too far from my purpose.

And this is what I came up with.

1. Be Jenn.
2. This is a job, remember to treat it like one.
3. Set the mood + shut out distraction.
4. Stop to take care of yourself.
5. Stay annoyingly organized.
6. Be mom first. (Second only to Jenn.)
7. In writing: bravery + honesty first, creativity second, quality third.
8. Vibrations matter. High vibe people do high vibe work.
9. The only way through it is through it.
10. You already know the answer.
11. There will always be a weight until you do it.

This list will go with me everywhere. It's copied into my planner. It's written in my little quote notebook that travels around with me. I'm going to place it in the sidebar of this blog next. And from all of these repeated locations, it will guide me through the next 12 months of hard work and dedication.

That's the concise version, and maybe all that you're interested in. For the sake of remembering "my why", and in case you are curious, though...here's what each of my commandments mean to me.

1. Be Jenn.
This one is a straight rip-off from Gretchen, and over the years many people have taken her first commandment on as their own. It felt like a nice dedication - but also an extremely important reminder to not be afraid of being who I really am. I'm the only one that can offer the world what I have to offer, and for someone somewhere - that is a gift. I'm not as religious as I once was, yet it still moves me when I hear that it's an insult to God when we don't see our talents through because He expects us to use them. As Florence Scovell Shinn says in her book The Law of Destiny and How to Find It, "There is a terrible penalty to be paid for not using one's ability."

2. This is a job, remember to treat it like one.
One of my failings with writing and blogging and any other side-job that has something to do with those things is that I've never dedicated enough time, attention, or seriousness to the endeavor. I've never said, "these are my work hours, this is what is getting done, and nothing will stand in my way." I want to be flexible with my hours and my scheduling, but I want there to be enough planning and dedication that it feels like the same level of respect I'd give to a job that I'd interviewed to get and have someone to report to.

3. Set the mood + shut out distraction.
I'm very bad at letting phone dings and social media badges pull me away from a task at hand. I'm going to make sure my workspaces are clean, my phone is face down, and the mood is set (if I'm working at home). I think it would be a good idea to give my husband a clear way to contact me during my work hours, too, so that I know should only break in those instances. Or maybe a specific ring tone that I assign only to calls from him or from the school so I only look at my phone if I hear that ring tone.

4. Stop to take care of yourself.
I'm bad at this. I'm a Manifesting Generator, so when I settle on a task I tend to get "in the zone" so deep that I forget to stop and eat meals, drink water, or get up and stretch every now and then. I'm going to try and make a note on my work plans for quick stretches and glass refills, and always stick to my scheduled lunch time.

5. Stay annoyingly organized.
I enjoy the process of organizing, but I'm really bad at maintaining things once I've organized them. Some examples of this are: forgetting to use my planner daily after buying a pretty new one,  not updating my blog calendar when post plans change, tossing things in drawers sloppily instead of putting them in the areas I've set up. I'm striving to be relentless about organization this year - both in my writing goals and around the house. If my home life is in order, it will help me keep my goals in order. Keep the pantry organized. Clear out the fridge. Update blog tabs. Use that pretty planner all day every day.

6. Be mom first. (Second only to Jenn.)
No matter what other jobs I take on in life - personal, paid, volunteer - the most important job I do in this life is raising my kids. I haven't worked full time since I've become a mom so that I could be the one to spend their days with them and to be involved in their school lives, and that comes before everything else until they're off on their own. Some days, life will ask me to be super-hands-on-mom to one (or all) of them instead of what I had planned for that day, and there should be no guilt or regret in that.

7. In writing: bravery + honesty first, creativity second, quality third.
A psychic once told me that if I speak honestly from my heart, it won't matter how "right" I am. We were discussing my writing and blogging dreams and I told her that a fear of sounding too authoritative held me back from being too brave or public because "Who am I to say things?" She encouraged me (both from herself and from spirit) and said that the most important thing is that I say things, not specifically what those things are. After brave honesty, to me, comes creativity. Wrapping things in beautiful or unexpected packages is the artistry I've always admired in writing. And while grammar and "correctness" are important when you're trying to publish something, if I focus on it too much I'll never get the messages out. It's more important that I form them into something worth correcting later on.

8. Vibrations matter. High vibe people do high vibe work.
If there's anything I've learned through my spiritual journey, it's that high vibrations produce the best results. A coach I follow on Instagram, Andrea Crowder always says (via one of her businesses), "Women who feel good, do good." Sometimes that will mean stopping to raise my vibes and feel good about ME and MY day before I can produce any worthy work.

9. The only way through it is through it.
I said this to my friend recently when she was going through a breakup, and she mentioned that it had become kind of a mantra for her. I realized that it could be applied to many things - refinishing a room, weight loss, writing a book. Sometimes you just have to dive in and get through it.


10. You already know the answer.
This one....is important. I have an emotional authority (Human Design lingo), which means that I feel an answer to all of life's questions in my body. Very often, I let my ego run away with fears and anxieties and I talk myself out of things or redirect to something safer. But often, when I just can't make something work and I ask myself why, I already know why...I'm just trying to ignore it. So this is a reminder to face things, to do them anyway (despite fear), and to not second (and third and fourth) guess a decision, because the truth is - I already know. (I ripped the page above out of a beautiful book and hung it on the wall of my office as a reminder.)

11. There will always be a weight until you do it.
Remember that psychic I mentioned up there? She said this one to me. She'd also said some version of "you already know the answer" when I asked her to pass along spiritual guidance about what I'm supposed to do with my life. She told me that the spirits around me (specifically my late Grandma) want me to know that I already know what to do and that until I finally do it, I will carry a weight around with me. And that is the whole point of this journey...to finally do it, to drop the weight, and to follow my heart.

One thing you might notice about my list vs Gretchen's is that I stopped at 11 and she has 12. Eleven is a powerful, spiritual angel number (as is 111 and 1111) representing an invitation to cross a new threshold and step into an open door. Two 1's together almost look like a doorway or a gateway themselves. It can also be seen as a sign from your guides that you are on the right path, and to intentionally step forward is to accept an invitation and continue on your way.

And maybe you'll find that a little bit odd or superstitious of me, but I always believe that when you work with your guides (and their little hints like number combinations, pennies left in your path, symbols strewn throughout your days), you'll always be more successful. Take a look at the times my posts publish or how often 3's and 5's work their way into my life. ;)

Bravery & The Conception of My Writing Year

It was less than a month ago when I sat down to (yet again) analyze what to do with my life.

It's been a puzzle.

Stay at home parenthood creates this strange balance of helping your children develop their identities while working to maintain and improve your own. Naturally, through those evolutions, I've chiseled away at the raw materials that make up my life to find what actually exists at the core. The things I've wanted to do - as accomplishments, careers, contributions - have all changed (as much as they've stayed the same). And I'm finally approaching a crossroads where I get to choose what I want to act on.

It's consumed a lot of me.

Here's a journal entry of spilled thoughts from July 7th.

The subject of what I'm going to do with the rest of my life (now that all my kids are school-age, or will be in the fall) has been a reoccurring theme. Usually, I flounder with the thoughts, but I think I may have figured something out. Finally. For once.

Like any relationship, I need to (once and for all) give my connection with writing a real commitment to see if there's anything truly there.

I've considered going back to school and what exactly makes sense for me, and after talking with Matt, I have carved out my own path: 12 months of dedicating my time to writing - in all forms.

Including: studying it, practicing it, participating in challenges, editing, researching publishing, dedicating writing time, keeping my blogs active, creating a writing resume, talking small courses, and (gulp) sharing.

Oh, and the big one: finishing a book.

Children's picture books are bonus. I've written one! Only a few people know. I need to polish it up and then see what I can do with it, but as I'm sure is predictable: I'm scared.

Anyway, this idea is a lot, I know. I'm going to do my best to organize the tasks and timelines into manageable pieces per month (a la happiness project) and track my progress as I go. Maybe that old book blog? I'm going to treat it like the job it deserves to be and see where it leads me. My year has three objectives. 

1. Have a finished manuscript as well as [title of my children's book redacted] ready to work with in the publishing world. 

2. Make a decision about school. Do I need it to continue a writing career based on my feelings on how I did? If so, is English the right major?  

3. Is writing for me long-term? Or should I pursue something else?  

The last question to answer is: when do I begin? I love the poetry of ending my year of writing on my birthday in 2020. And I need time to organize the year before I begin, which gives me the rest of the summer if I start on Sept 1st. Such a fitting start time with school, as well. There's the added bonus of not eating up the last of my summer (and the last of my time of having a child home with me daily) with work, and I want my kids to have as much of me as I'm able.

It feels so good to have a plan. I have felt directionless for so long - always hesitant to dedicate myself to one thing. It's not quite a 5 year plan, of course, but it's perfect for a rebel like me. Options, chances to reassess, flexibility, but within structure and commitment. 

And so my writing year was born.

During this phase of preparation, I'm equal parts thrilled and terrified. I enjoy looking for resources and compiling my own personal syllabus, but when I consider the actual act of writing, I start to feel a clamming up - right in my throat. I have a defined throat center and a clear throat chakra nearly always, but the subconscious fear of exposure creates a reaction that feels a lot like hiding.

I'm realizing that I'm scared of being understood. Of being seen as too human, too emotional, too strange. When you write, your mind is made tangible. I see writers as being brave above all else. Above talent, ability, and creativity. They willingly put their inner self on display - often disguised in fiction, but still there.

I'm not yet sure if that level of bravery is a part of who I am.

 

 

 

The Knowing, the Fear, and the Curiosities of Writing.

In high school, armed with meager babysitting budgets, my friends and I liked to get horrifying $3 lunches from a tiny Chinese restaurant near the grocery store. They were gross and made of God knows what, but we could afford them and that was all that mattered.

I was probably about 17 at the time, mouth full of mushy orange chicken and rice, when I cracked open my fortune cookie and found this:

"You are a lover of words. Some day you will write a book."

I laughed, but not really. You know those laughs - more like a hmm or a huh as a way to express the feeling of "imagine that"? One of those. It was an agreeing, yet doubtful sort of laugh. A "yeah, sure," kind of laugh. But I tucked that little slip of paper in my wallet before I'd even finished chewing.

It was the only fortune cookie that had ever meant something to me.

By then, I'd already written countless books. Somewhere in the depths of my mom's basement were boxes full of construction paper haphazardly stapled together and riddled with stick figures and nonsensical plot lines. As a child, I fancied myself an author.

Stories floated through my mind at all hours of the day - both awake and asleep.

I had recurring dreams with details so clear that I can still remember them vividly 30 years later. I was also a killer daydreamer in school. I'd tune out the boring history lessons with ease and replace them with romantic story lines, or I'd build little characters out of sticky tack in the hidden confines of my desk. I used to make my Grandparents sit in their rickety lawn chairs and play the part of my rapt audience while I picked up stones from the walkway that lead to their door and told them the stories hidden within. Each stone had a previous life as another object (apparently), and I regaled my audience of two with the sagas of how they came to be stones. I was absolutely brimming with stories to tell.

In fifth grade, there was a standardized writing test that I KNEW...without a doubt, knew I was going to slay. Not only was I going to take that test down, I was going to be given some sort of award, or it would be suggested that I skip a couple grades of English because my stories were so good.

I'll never forget the day the letter was sent home to my mom to let her know that I had failed - epically failed. My submitted work had apparently been full of carelessness. I mixed up paragraphs when I copied my final draft over from my first one. My sentence structure was a mess. I'd start describing a dreamy, artistic moment that I could see so clearly in my head, but I'd get distracted by it and fumble over the words needed to express it. Maybe it was being eleven and all, but I didn't care that those were hurdles I could learn to jump. I instead took it as a sign that I was talent-less - the state said so. I was an awful writer, and compared to my peers, I was resting at the bottom of the barrel.

That feeling followed me through the rest of my schooling. My stories fell by the wayside. What's the point in being full of stories if the state educational system says you're unable to get them out?

I won't get into the ways school failed me during those years (where was the rehabilitation?), but I think to say that a standardized test crushed my spirit is clear enough.

Instead of believing that I was primed to write, I suspected that I was actually awful at it and that because I was so bad at writing, school would always be a struggle for me. So I let schoolwork take a back seat to my social life and I did the bare minimum from then on. I draaaagged my way through that 11th grade English Regents exam and all the formulated essays required to practice for it. We were told as a class that it was nearly impossible to do well on, and knowing my history with writing exams, I was convinced I'd fail. So I was shocked when my report card showed up displaying an 86 for my exam grade. Not award worthy, but not even near failure.

It was a start, but when I started college I noticed that I was terrified of writing again. Surely, a professor or a teacher of that level would instantly see how dumb I was. I would get so worked up about my essays that I wouldn't go to class and I wouldn't turn them in. I didn't want my classmates reading them and critiquing them because of course they were awful. Somewhere in my psyche I had decided that failing because I chose to fail was better than failing after I'd tried not to. The fear was a trench that ran deep - carved eight, nine years prior by a fifth grade test. And so, it took me three tries to be brave enough in English 101. On that third try, though? I walked away with an A.


I was a pre-Elementary Education major (technically, Humanities and Social Sciences with a seamless transfer into Elementary Education after two years), and there are a lot of tests and certifications required along the way. In order to be accepted into the EE program, we had to pass a test with a certain grade - the name of which I no longer remember. It had a heavy writing element that was graded much like the 11th grade regents exam, and I was nervous. My Eng101 A carried me through, though....and not only did I pass it, but I got a perfect score.

In my 200 level English classes, I started to find a little confidence again. That confidence poured into other courses, and I found it increasingly easy to walk away with A's.

On the first day of my final semester, a fellow student saw my class schedule out on my desk and said, "Oh man, you have Dr. P for English? Transfer. He's a nightmare - no one does well with him." Cool cool - thanks for reactivating my writing fear.

Only, I quickly realized that Dr. P was a man with zero tolerance for apathy and disinterest, and if you came to class willing to read, write, and discuss, it was not only easy to pass - he would personally help you succeed. (Writing this made me wistful for those days so I googled him, and you'll see the same sentiments repeated in student reviews.) I learned a lot from him in the short time he was my teacher, and for the first time, I was sorry to see an English class come to an end.


In May of 2006, as I finished my final exam and handed it to him, he asked if he could walk me out to the hall. He took a moment to congratulate me on graduating, and then he said, "I just wanted you to know that you are an excellent student of English, and I hope you never let it go."

So did I let it go? Well, that's the rub - life rolled on. I was engaged to be married, set to move to Charlotte, and unsure of what my next steps would be. I had been accepted to an EE program at UNCC, but then decided not to register once I realized that I wasn't sure if teaching was my path. I was (and am) certified as a Teaching Assistant and I did complete a Humanities degree, but I kind of wanted to live life for a while before I settled into a specific role.

And so came a house, a wedding, a baby, a move, another baby, and then another, and then a dog. Somehow, thirteen years have passed since Dr. P said those words to me.

It wasn't the last time we spoke, however. Five years or so after I graduated, I decided to reach out to him and a few other teachers that had meant a lot to me. I'm not sure why I did it. I was on a recognition spree of some kind and writing emails to people that deserved some praise gave me a sense of purpose at a time when I felt like "just" a mom. I needed to remember other facets of my identity.

I've saved his reply and I read it over sometimes when I'm feeling inadequate.

Hello Jenn!

And I understand busy very well.

How nice of you to write to me. And your well-written message arrived at a good time, just as I am grading papers and trying to wrap things up a bit. Your letter gave me a boost.

You certainly have been busy, but good busy. A marriage, a career, and other good things are coming your way, and you are most deserving.

I thank you for your kind remarks regarding my class. You must understand that you are also a very willing student who, although often quiet, does reflect a genuine interest in your studies. Give me an entire class of hardworking, intelligent, sincere, and determined Jenn ***s and I would be in academic paradise. So give yourself some credit.

Thanks for keeping in touch, and do continue to write as time goes along. I will do my best to reply in a reasonable amount of time.

Sincerely,
M. P.

I'm sad to say that I didn't keep in touch, and since his retirement in 2015, I haven't been able to find a new contact for him. And I guess that's okay. There's no real reason for me to keep correspondence with a retired English professor, other than the fact that he gave me more hope and confidence in working with the written word than anything that came before him or since. His words will stay with me regardless.


Now, as my kids have all aged into their school years, I've found myself seeking purpose again. And the one thing that has followed me through all of these life phases, without fail, is writing - my own as well as others'. I've kept blogs and online journals for 18 years now. I've read 40-60 books each year - devouring as much as a mom of three can. I dabble in writing stories and delight in my kids' imaginations. I frequent the library and volunteer in the one in my boys' school.

I love books, and I write to process life, and those truths have remained since my youth. Other interests, ideas, and trends have come and gone, but books have stood the test of time.

It's been hard, though - trying to commit to writing. There's obviously the motherhood balance, but when you haven't taken it as seriously as one takes a career, it's difficult to not only get off the ground, but to have confidence in what you're doing. Dr. P. and my perfect test score certainly bouyed my opinions on my writing ability - as have nearly two decades of blogging and experience with hundreds of books. But that doesn't mean that old fifth grade scar has completely faded, or that it hasn't deepened with the threat of social media trolls and the vast exposure of modern day authorship. I'm self conscious. I still cling to my run-on sentences and have a bad habit of passively structuring even the appropriately sized ones. (Don't go back and point them out, I already know.)

I'm not sure what happened to that fortune cookie paper over the years. It sat in my wallet for at least a decade, but it disappeared somewhere along the way. Probably around the time tiny fortune cookie slips tend to disintegrate. I'm also not sure if my childhood creations will be the only fulfillment of that fortune or not, but that's what I'm here to find out.

In September, I will embark on what I'm calling My Writing Year. I will spend 12 months committing to the study and the act of writing so that I can (once and for all) decide if it might mean something more to my life.

Going back to school is an option, but I hesitate to commit to an English degree without knowing for sure that a writing career is the one I want. What else is there to do with an English degree that will feel worthwhile? What if I actually hate the full process of writing? I can't say that I've ever seen it through long enough to know. So I have questions to seek the answers to, a writing muscle to stretch, and a plan of attack to help me get there.

This summer is for ironing out the details and filling in that trench of fear. Or at least, building a bridge over it.

I'm Published In A Book!

* * This post was originally created and formatted for www.enrychment.com & has been cross-posted.
See the original post, here.

- - -

Something you may or may not know about me is that my big-scary-dream in this life is to be a published author.

Not because I have anything wildly profound to say, or because I think of myself as particularly talented, but because I enjoy the process of writing, the intricate nature and beauty of words, and the enduring qualities of a book. The lasting legacy of a name in print.

Through the years, I have gone back and forth with my feelings on writing - what form it should take, what genre I want to play with, my ability to sell myself and be personable, and a million other insecurities and doubts. And I still don't really understand what it will ever amount to, if anything.

But a really cool thing has happened.


In May of last year, a friend put out a call for people that had stories of religious miracles or faith-in-action to tell. I raised my hand (figuratively speaking), and shortly after, her mother in law (Lorene) emailed me to chat about it. I told her my two stories and we discussed them for a bit, and that in itself was a rewarding experience. It was fun to share those stories with someone and to have them appreciated in return. Shortly after, she let me know that she would be including the stories in a book she was writing, and as a thank you for contributing, the publisher would send me a copy when it was finished.

Here's where it gets a little crazy.

One of the stories was about using a St. Joseph statue to help sell our Charlotte house. This particular practice is done by many Catholics - it's one of those "things" that we just heard we should do growing up and that St. Joseph was the patron saint of real estate, and what was the harm in trying? The same week I submitted this story to Lorene, my husband was working hard on a big landscaping project in our front yard. While tilling the dirt, he unearthed a St. Joseph statue! It must have been used and left behind by one of the previous owners. The timing was wild and fitting (considering we'd already lived here for 6 years and didn't find it until the very week I told my story!) and I rushed to email Lorene and let her know of this extra confirmation of faith. She told me that it made her day, and it capped off the whole experience with a sense of rightness.

For MY actual St. Joseph story (which had its own set of interesting shows of confirmation), you'll have to read the book. Because what kind of author would I be to give away the plot? Kidding....I have no claim or rights or even royalties from my stories, but I certainly want to help share this book with the world!


A week or so ago, around the time when black friday packages were rolling in, there was an interesting envelope addressed to me with a return address from a publisher. I was so confused (just not having this book on my mind at the time), but as soon as I pulled the book out, I knew exactly what it was. I opened it randomly to just page through it quickly - and it opened directly to one of MY stories! How crazy is that?? I stood in my kitchen, looking down at my own name and my own words, printed on the page of a book. An actual BOOK - with pages and a cover and a search result on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. MY NAME! IN A BOOK!

I hurried to tell my mom and my grandma, feeling as though they'd appreciate it the most (mostly because of the content of my stories.) I snapped a picture of my name on the page and I posted it to Instagram and Facebook, squealing about what that moment felt like.

And in the middle of making dinner and the evening rush, I found myself with a quiet moment alone in the kitchen with nothing but the book....and despite it not being MY book, I hugged it and thanked the universe for that moment. It inspired me to go in search of many more (and even bigger) moments like it, but also in wild appreciation for that moment itself. If I never get another one like it, I got to taste my dream - just a little bit.

I have yet to read the book...I can't even bring myself to read my own stories. I haven't gotten passed reading my own name, haha. But maybe the most rewarding part of it all? When Luke asked me if he could read my stories, and watching the smile of pride and awe in seeing his mom's name printed in a book. I sat next to him while he read through my story, and when he was finished, he was amazed by it. He asked me questions about patron saints and what it was like to have a prayer answered like that. It makes me want to write 100 books so I can see that look on his face over and over again. Books that are full of MY words, instead of just 4 or 5 pages of them.


This experience - the whole thing - start to finish - has felt like intense guidance and reminders of myself. The process over the last year and a half was so quiet, and so in the background and simple, that I hardly noticed how important it was to me. But all of it, every step, was dripping with rightness and faith and purpose.

And before I come off sounding overly religious or devout, I feel like it would be dishonest to let you go on believing that I am an intensely practicing Catholic. Yes, I made all of my sacraments to date, I went to a Catholic private school growing up, and I had my children baptized. But over the years, my spirituality has grown and evolved, and I put less stock in dogma, and much more in love, kindness, forgiveness, equality, and intention. And so now, to me, God/Jesus/Infinite Spirit/The Universe/Spirit Guides/Light/Prana/Chi are all words and ingredients of the same thing. It's okay if you disagree, but to me it is all a part of an overall sameness.

To me, whether you ask a patron saint or the universe to bring you your heart's desires, if you have good intentions and blind faith in whoever or whatever you're asking, you'll receive them. I know that there have been many micro-miracles in my life that have happened by tapping into this source of life and love, and having two of them immortalized in print is something I will treasure for as long as I live.

Here's to chasing dreams, being true to yourself, and being thankful for every minuscule miracle.
xo

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If you'd like to purchase the book, I'd adore it if you'd grab your copy from Amazon (HERE) using my affiliate link. Though my return on this book has already arrived, in the form of inspiration and purpose, it would mean the world to me to see it landing in the hands of interested readers!

As stated, this post contains affiliate links! Thank you to the ends of the earth for supporting my blog! xo

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