January is synonymous with two prevalent resolution themes: weight loss and self-improvement. What kind of blog would this be if I didn’t somehow manage to address both?
As a writer, I have the annoying tendency to think in metaphors — to see the patterns in my life reflected in seemingly unrelated pursuits and find symbolism where others might not.
It occurs to me that Weight Watchers® shares a few common threads with my thoughts on editing a manuscript and re-shaping my life. I am a lifetime member of the Weight Watchers® program, after successfully achieving my goal weight following the birth of my first child, so I consider myself familiar enough to discuss the basic principles. Here are a few that come to mind, and the lessons I continue to find in each of them.
Stay Hydrated and Nourished. Every two hours, it seemed like I was shoving something in my face whether I wanted to or not! How was this supposed to make me skinny?! To my surprise, it worked. My body regulates my metabolism based on regular consumption of calories, and it needs lots of water to do it right. I think the same probably applies to writing and life. New experiences, human interaction, reading other people’s books, and just getting out of the damned chair all help fuel my imagination. I can’t write about what I can’t imagine. And I can’t fully appreciate what I haven’t experienced. So get out and live a little, I say. It keeps us from becoming one dimensional and our stories from becoming flat.
Be Accountable for What I Consume. For six months, I carried measuring spoons and cups in my purse and a diary with a calculator. I counted fiber, calories, and fat and measured every portion. And you know what I learned? I was happier when I consumed things that nourished me, kept me “regular” and gave me long term energy. Similarly in life, I learned to nourish my soul with the right kind of support. I learned to measure and evaluate my relationships to make sure I’m getting out of them what I put in. And I learned to seek sustenance and eliminate the junk and fat… those people who make me feel good for a short while, only to let me down, hard and fast as a sugar rush. I learned that I can choose who I surround myself with, what I feed myself, and finally to be honest with myself and accountable for the results of those choices. In writing, I am fortunate to have chosen an amazing critique group… supportive, encouraging, and sometimes painfully honest, but I know they have my best interests at heart.
Everything in Moderation. Denying myself the foods I love inevitably leads to a hard fall off the wagon. When I was weight watching, I indulged my guilty pleasures every week (thin crust pizza and ice cream were my favorite Saturday treats), but I had to be accountable, and keep it in moderation, making sure I didn’t compromise my goals. In life, this has meant rounding out my interests and becoming more than just a mom, or just a wife, or just an employee, and making sure those new pursuits compliment the long-term goals I’ve set for myself. I am delighted to learn this same lesson applies to editing a manuscript! Too many modifiers have the same effect as an Oreo binge. The first few taste pretty good, but after a while, it’s a little sickening and leaves me with that odd artificial feeling on my tongue… you know the one. And too much exposition can weigh a scene down in much the same way as a double portion of a dense dessert. Sometimes, less really is more. Essentially, balance in all things keeps life light and moving forward.
If It Doesn’t Feel Good, Don’t Do It. Let’s face it. When we’re brutally honest with ourselves, we know (and our bodies know) things that make us feel bad are usually bad for us (ie: the Oreo cookie binge). I’ve learned to trust my gut. It’s never let me down before. I’ve learned to trust the little voice that says get rid of that stagnant chapter, or in life, “this isn’t the right path for you.” I’ve learned to check my characters’ voices and actions for authenticity. Would they really do or say that? Am I true to them? Am I true to myself?
Exercise Every Day. It doesn’t have to be a marathon run, or a daily strong-man competition. A little bit, consistently every day, becomes the foundation for a new routine and allows the behavior to become habit-forming. When I started Weight Watchers®, I walked for twenty minutes a day. If I think of my mind (or my career) as a muscle, then the same principle applies. It takes a little self-development every day to keep it strong, improve, and grow in the direction of my goals.
Weigh-In Every Week. A defining characteristic of a goal is that it be measurable. Every week, I attended a Weight Watchers® meeting. Yes, I weighed-in. I took off my shoes and belt and earrings, and wore shorts in the snow to give myself the benefit of the doubt, but I got on that freakin’ scale every week! Sure, there were those weeks when I didn’t hit my goal, but part of the journey was honestly acknowledging both my achievements, as well as my failures, and finding a way to get back on track. Every day was a new day to be honest with myself. Every week was a new chance to see the fruit of my efforts. Now, my scale is my word count, my blood pressure, and time spent with my children. And, I weigh-in. Each week I take stock of where I am in relation to my goals.
Do It For Reasons That Last. The reason Weight Watchers® worked for me is because I was committed to a lifestyle change, not a quick fix to fit in a cocktail dress for a singular event. While editing my work I ask myself, will this scene or this character pull the story forward? Do they contribute to the overarching plot? Or are they empty calories? I’ve made some pretty monumental changes in my life this year, and with each one I’ve asked myself, will this choice result in a lasting happiness?
Ideally, a life lived in accordance with these basic tenets should result in a healthier self, a more fulfilling life, and a svelte and sexy manuscript.
How about you? What changes have you made in your life or your lifestyle since weighing-in on New Years Day? Are you staying true to yourself while making changes toward a lasting happiness?
It’s New Years Eve. I’m writing. I haven’t slept. I’m bleeding and sweating for my dreams in 2011. I have a goal, and a self-imposed deadline. This blog post will be short, but I couldn’t let the New Year slip by without acknowledging what it means to me.
I will remember 2010 as the year I learned what it means to take risk. To sacrifice wealth, stability, and sometimes relationships in search of my authentic self. It was the year I stopped straightening my hair, choosing instead to embrace my unruliness rather than squashing it flat. It was the year I stopped listening to those voices outside of myself, and started heeding the one within, and found the courage to let it speak out loud.
As a children’s author, I know that Henry Miller isn’t an obvious choice for inspiration. But this sentiment resonates with me. It is my truth for the new year.
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there.”
— Henry Miller (1891-1980)
May 2011 be the year we all discover our own power, appreciate our own beauty, and have the courage to speak our own truths.
I wish you all a sparkling, joyous, and most of all, an authentic new year.
As we all look ahead to 2011 and wonder what the future holds for us, I thought it might be fun to dust off the old Magic 8 Ball.
Ask your question out loud and press the button for reliably random answers to all of life’s greatest mysteries.
Post your question and the 8 Ball’s answer as a comment if you dare!
In my favorite chapter of Dead Blue, Gena serves up a hearty, spicy stew. Her dish was inspired by my mom’s recipe, and it was actually what I had for dinner the night I wrote this part of the story. My parents live in Mexico on the Mayan Riviera, where my mom experiments regularly with local ingredients. Her natural ability in the kitchen means she rarely measures or records, and often improvises, much to my frustration. She’s a tough act to copy, but this recipe is pretty darn close to the real deal.
Gena’s Mexican Chicken Stew
2 ½ lbs skinned, boneless chicken thighs
1 large clove garlic, minced
1 large onion, chopped
1 jalapeno, seeded and minced
1 red pepper, seeded and chopped
1 green pepper, seeded and chopped
3-4 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 can diced tomatoes
2 small cans Herdez Salsa Casera
2-3 Tbs fresh chopped cilantro
1 can whole black beans, drained
1 can corn, drained
In large skillet, brown garlic and chicken in 1-2 tbs olive oil.
Season chicken with salt and pepper while browning.
Remove chicken and set aside.
Add onions, peppers, and carrots to pan. Cook until onion is translucent.
Place chicken on top of vegetables. Pour diced tomatoes and salsa over chicken.
Add cilantro. Cover pan and cook for 15 minutes. Then add beans and corn.
Cover and continue cooking. Stir frequently.
Let chicken simmer for 1- 1 ½ hours.
If necessary add small amount of water.
Serve over rice with following toppings: chopped grated cheese, sour cream, cubed avocado and fresh cilantro.
“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”
— Albus Dumbledore
There is power in a name. Ask any faerie. To know a faerie’s name is to wield immeasurable control over him. He will not give it to you willingly.
Why? Ask any student of Hogwarts and they will tell you the story of “He Who Must Not Be Named”. The Dark Wizard’s name invoked such terror, other wizards dared not speak it, fearing it might invite evil upon them. Yet Harry Potter, the boy who lived, confronted his enemy. Harry called him by name. He spoke it aloud. Voldemort! And by doing so, claimed control of his fear.
And sometimes — in our less than supernatural world — we must do the same. By naming our enemy, we solidify our understanding of it. We give it shape, identity, and definition. We take smoke and fear and confusion and we ball it up in our hands until it is something tangible. What we can touch, we can influence. What we can hold, we can control.
A year ago, my oldest son was diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome. A neurologist (who will not be named… I know, I know… but it’s a necessary concession to the dark powers that be) told us we would be better off if we didn’t diagnose him at all. In his professional opinion, Tourette Syndrome carries too many stigmas for an eight year old boy to bear. He felt it would be better not to call it Tourettes. We should simply tell people that he has tics. Perhaps he would outgrow them, he’d said.
We tried this route for a while. It hovered over us, casting dark shadows, an evil without a name. It had no definition, and because there was no definition, there were no answers. When my son asked, “Why does my body do these things?” I had no response. We were grasping thin air. We had no finger-hold. No way to contain or control the enemy that caused my son’s body to perform embarrassing movements and noises. Because we couldn’t explain it, no one else could understand it. Fear and prejudice were born of ignorance, and the teasing began. By denying the name of our enemy, we left our son without a weapon. He had no tool to control his fear, or the prejudices of others who couldn’t understand why he made strange faces and why he couldn’t sit still.
So we changed battle strategies…
We told our son that he has Tourette Syndrome. We armed him with information and facts. We consulted teachers like Brad Cohen, authors like Dylan Peters, listened to speakers like Marc Elliot, and other kids with TS. We educated his peers, his teachers, and his friends about it. We gave our enemy a face. We gave our son back his courage and his pride.
Now, my son is surrounded by friends and teachers that support him. They clearly identify his enemy and they’ve got his back every day. He is a member of his school’s Distinguished Honor Roll. He says he doesn’t notice his tics anymore, because he’s too busy and having too much fun to care. My son is the boy who lives.
In our home, we call Tourette Syndrome by its name. And we control our fear of it. If you know a child or parent that needs help understanding and educating others about Tourette Syndrome, the Tourette Syndrome Association can help.
How did she do it? I smack the book into my forehead. Bang it over and over again, hoping the seventh knock against my skull might be the magical one. Osmosis. I need to somehow soak up her gift. The ability to capture a kiss in three little words.
So what, you may ask, are those three little words?
“Sweet, soft demolition.” — Kelly Creagh, NEVERMORE
Kelly Creagh manages to do in three little words what most writers struggle to achieve in three overly-written paragraphs, and still does exquisite justice to Varen and Isobel’s kiss. Masterful. I suppose it’s true that sometimes less really is more.
I wrote Nearly Missed while living in a jungle tree house overlooking the Caribbean Sea.
So, you are probably asking yourself… what does a jungle tree house overlooking the Caribbean Sea look like?
A palapa is an open-sided dwelling with a thatched roof made of dried palm leaves. I can see forever from the roof deck — across the jungle, over the beaches, and all the way to Cozumel — and it’s particularly magical during a meteor shower.
The chapters of my books roll through my mind like scenes of a movie. I can see them as clearly, and hear the dialogue in my mind. They have moods and texture. When these mini-movies play in my head, they are accompanied by background music that sets the tone. The music puts me in the right frame of mind to translate what I am seeing and feeling into written words. What I am left with is a collection of songs that reflect not only my moods while creating the story, but a soundtrack that correlates to various scenes in my book. Essentially, a book soundtrack is the author’s playlist.
I’ve shared my playlists for each of my stories under the Extras section of my website.
There is one particular band that appears several times on my playlists. The recent success of drumfish inspired me to complete my first manuscript, Nearly Missed. I hope you will join me at their concert in Baltimore at the 8×10 on February 5th.
A lot of people ask me how I come up with my stories. Usually, a story idea evolves from an image, or a snippet of conversation, or while people-watching, or visiting an inspiring place. After the initial spark, my mind starts rolling with a series of “what if questions.”
The idea for The Suffering Tree came to me while chaperoning my son’s school field trip to the Westmoreland Berry Farm. As the bus rolled through winding, green country roads, we passed this peculiar scene. A handful of very old headstones were scattered around this wretched skeleton of a tree, which stood in stark contrast to the green fields and forests all around it. It was so picturesque, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I started asking myself… why? Why is the tree dead when everything around it is alive? Why has no one chopped it down? Who is buried in this small cemetery?
And then came the what ifs… What if this were a colonial plantation? What if there was a witch hunt? And a tragic love story? What if there were zombies?
Here is a photo of the dead tree that inspired my current work-in-progress.