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Posts tagged ‘expectations’

May 4

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Cathy: Mishap Tai Chi

My apologies if you read Korean, this is my first attempt

My apologies if you read Korean, this is my first attempt

Those of you who have been getting to know me here may have begun to notice a certain tendency toward being a wee-bit cock-eyed or shall we say, taking a lot of left turns off path. I think I read that old Robert Frost poem at a very young age and have taken the path less travelled in virtually everything I do ever since. Like trying to finish my book for instance, and all the various things I can so easily find to distract myself from doing so.

So there I was sitting at the back of S’s Taekwando class when Master Ko offered a sign-up sheet to the students for their parents for a free tai chi class at 8 a.m. on Saturday morning. Master Ko and I have a lot of difficulty in communication. He apologizes for his ‘bad English’ and I apologize for too many rock shows in my youth leaving me relatively deaf at a relatively young age. Rarely do I come away from a conversation having completely understood what has transpired. I’m still not exactly certain the cost of S’s class from month to month, but he just smiles and takes my check, no matter what I make it out for.

Saturday, I arrived at 7:45 a.m. No one there, door locked, and my coffee hit. I really needed to pee. So I darted back home (around the corner, so to speak) and wondered if I should have shown up next week. Darn, when I was signing up with wiggly C on my lap, I didn’t look at the top of the page, either. When 8 a.m. rolled around, I hopped back in the minivan, and darted back around the corner. Four vehicles were in the lot, but still the doors were locked, and aren’t martial artists known for their punctuality? Could it be I am merely one among dingbats, or did Master Ko have an emergency this particular morning?

Well, I made a few cell phone calls, deleted some voicemails. I watched a couple of people start half-hearted and conversant stretching exercises outside the door. 8:30 a.m. rolled around and well, I needed to pee again. OK, I know — tmi — but these things are important considerations in about a year’s time after having a baby, when you’ve already had other kids, too. I got out of the van, practically dancing, to talk with the one guy who had a black belt, and he suggested we could go around the side of the building where he could get us started on some tai chi in the grass while we wait for Master Ko. So I corralled other reluctant participants from their vehicles, and we did just that. I was nervous the whole time that I would pee my pants with the exercises, but I survived by looking at my watch every thirty seconds or so. At 9 a.m. I asked, ‘do you think he’s here yet?’ It had been indicated earlier that he usually arrives by 9 for another tai chi class on Saturdays. Black Belt Guy peeked around the corner, and yes, Master Ko was unlocking the doors.

After my run to the ladies room, and I do mean run, The Four Dingbats and Master Ko straightened out the confusion re: the free class for parents of students business that was to start the following week to last through next month. Of course, I will be out of town for the ‘first’ class. Master Ko kindly merged the Dingbats into his usual 9 a.m. tai chi class, of which only one participant had shown up. He was very informative and really tweaked us into the proper positions. When all was said and done, I ended up with a 90-min intense beginner tai chi work out. It really cleared my head, felt great, and set me up for a day to prepare for that night’s slumber party of half a dozen 13-14 year old young men. I survived the party, too, even with the all-out Nerf gun war occurring at 1am.

Bottom line? I highly recommend tai chi for all of us who have been having difficulty getting that last 10-20 pounds off, or those of us with achy joints, or bad backs, or saggy mommy bellies. It’s a great all-around workout combining stretching, cardio, and strengthening exercise all at once, and works the core most of all. Throw out the dreaded treadmill, it’s collecting dust anyway. The weights and the exercise ball are taking up room in a corner or your gym membership is ignored. The yoga tapes are also collecting dust. And best of all, once you get the hang of it, tai chi is easy enough to do for the rest of your life. I know. I have had elderly Chinese neighbors in most of my condo complexes and even in this single family home neighborhood throughout my adult life. Even on chill winter mornings, they are outside, even up in their nineties, making slow graceful circles with their arms, cutting through their clouds of breath.

I find, if I keep myself moving, it keeps the cobwebs out of my mind, so the muse doesn’t get hung up in them. I can make the connections between where I left off and what needs to occur next in my manuscript. So, for all us sedentary writer types, I really do recommend some kind of movement, and having tried it all, tai chi seems the best option so far.

Mar 26

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Cathy: Oh Well

I’ve been having an odd week or so, and it continues into next week.

Baby C’s 1st birthday is approaching, and nothing seems to be working out to get people together as planned. There is an event conflicting with my planned party date that the couple of baby friends we wanted to invite will be attending. My parents are up before their town zoning board around the same time, trying to split their property so they can keep living in the house we grew up in, so they can’t travel from Connecticut. My aunt-in-law’s son is competing in a statewide math competition on the same day I planned the party, so they’ll be in Richmond instead.

My husband has some kind of lump in his neck that hurts, and he’s been bringing it up to me for well over a week now. He vacillates between thinking it’s cancer or a tooth infection that is swelling a gland to press against his carotid artery, and hurting all the way into his chest. I’m somewhat worried, his mother is worried, but I’ve reached a level of impatience about his not making an appointment to see a doctor about it, which is making me say inappropriately, “Call the doctor, or shut up and die. I‘m tired of your complaining about it to me and not doing something about it!” On one level, I’m trying to be humorous, but I’m worried and annoyed he’s stalling making an appointment.

I also have a few friends facing bad mammos and other tests, setting them up for consultations with surgeons of various types and one whose house just burned down on Friday.

My novel is progressing in fits and starts, and I just want it to end now so I can move onto the next project, or breath between them, or fly a kite or something. I’m getting tired of not being finished with it. It’s been so close for so long.

Spring has officially sprung, but now it’s cold again and seems to want to remain that way just so I can’t get out there to garden. I still haven’t finished that darn room excavation of boy numero dos; and I can’t seem to find baby gates like the ones I used to have ten or so years ago, where the press handle is at the top and you can easily open and reset it with one hand, while holding the baby in the other and don’t need to screw it into the walls or stair rails.

Nothing seems to be going my way, but surprising, I’m calm. I have a very casual attitude about it all. “Oh well’ has become a mantra.

I took a silly facebook quiz: Which of the Seven Deadly Sins Are You – and came up as Sloth. The way the multiple choices were phrased, just struck me that my answers weren’t of the prideful, gluttonous, pornographic, jealous, wrathful or particularly greedy persuasion. If nothing bothering me too terribly much makes me lazy, so be it, but I prefer to think that it shows I’m remarkably well-adjusted in my mid-forties. If all of the above mentioned personal dilemmas going on isn’t fazing me too much, I’d say I’ve reached a milestone in my life. I know in my twenties any one of these would have sent me into dramatic reactions played out before an audience, and if I didn’t have one at hand, I’d go looking for one.

But for now, I press my husband to make an appointment a few times a day. I walk away from the computer to go read or play with the baby or something else entirely rather than sit on facebook with my manuscript open and pestering me on the same screen. Instead of taking everyone else’s conflicting plans around C’s birthday as a personal affront, I just say, “oh well, guess it’ll be lower key than I thought, and now we can do cake on her birthday rather than the weekend before.” S’s room stays messy for another week, and the gardens remain unplanted until the weather warms a bit more. And I feel pretty confident in telling my friends that I’m sure everything will be alright for them, the important thing is they are taking care of what needs to be taken care of and only a cat was lost in the fire — a beloved cat, but not a human loved one.

I’m hoping this sense of everything being okay anyway is grace. I’m taking a page from my friend whose house burnt down. She took it as a harbinger of change to come, rather than dwell on the loss.

Mar 24

17 Comments

Miranda: Letting go, looking up

During the past 15 months, this blog has grown into a beautiful community. Those of you who make yourself known on these “pages” mean quite a lot to me.

As our sisterhood developed, I created a steadfast structure: at least one post every weekday; a contest post every Wednesday; a bi-weekly Friday Breakfast interview; an off-week Friday Open House roundup. I committed to that structure and I met the commitment regardless of how difficult or inconvenient. That’s just my compulsive personality. I know that daily posts and regular features are key elements in any successful blog (and I would not hesitate to call our blog “successful”). How could I settle for less? Not my style.

I love the blog, so it rarely felt like work, unless I was scrabbling to post at 1:00 a.m., or in the weeks when the only bloggers posting were Cathy and I. But I rationalized that this blog’s content is not only dear to my heart, but relevant to my book. I can test ideas, observe what resonates — it all makes sense, right? Yes. Unless I’m blogging about writing my book without ever actually having the time to write it.

During the past year, but especially during the past three months, I wrote off a lot of stress in my life to having an infant along with four older kids, selling a house, buying a house, and moving. But now my infant is 10.5 months old and the real estate dramas are over. Life is settling down. Except that this huge weight on my shoulders has not lifted. There is still more to do than I can accomplish. My interest in pretending to be Superwoman is waning. And who am I kidding? I really CAN’T do it all, and I haven’t been doing it all. Two of my kids are having belated birthday parties this month because I couldn’t manage to plan their parties closer to the actual birthday dates. I missed an important deadline for a special form pertaining to my son’s college financial aid applications. I am frequently late picking someone up or dropping them off.

I have too much on my plate — and I’m the only one to blame. My eyes are bigger than my stomach. This Sunday I experienced an unusually high level of stress as I fretted over when I would get the bills paid and the accounts balanced, when I would find time for the latest round of college financial aid forms, how I would get all the pressing client work done, how I would corral help for folding the Mount Fuji of clean laundry in the hallway, how I would train for my upcoming road race, how I would create those party invitations and get them mail, how I would take care of a few important house projects. It’s all the usual stuff for me, but I no longer seem able to coast through it all on adrenaline and a couple of prayers.

As someone pointed out to me recently, accepting that you “can’t do it all” sometimes means letting go of something that you love. It’s painful. It may sound funny, but that idea was actually novel to me. Why would I let go of something I love? Why should I? But then I thought it through and realized that I really have cut out everything that doesn’t feed me in some way. The junk has already been excised, aside from a few minutes that I spend on Facebook now and then. I used to do the Boston Globe Magazine crossword without fail every Sunday morning (one of my favorite activities) and I haven’t done a single one in nearly a year. I’m too busy taking care of all of other things — and people — clamoring for my attention.

I do want to be able to do things like create hand-made party invitations and make pretzels with the kids. I want to be able to play with the children without struggling with anxiety about all the “stuff” I have to get done. Something has to go, at least for a little while.

You know where this is going, don’t you? I have to step away from the blog. I’ll still be here to moderate the flow of blog posts, and I will post when I feel so moved and have the bandwidth, but I will no longer fret about having at least one post every day. I will no longer be able to sustain the weekly creativity contest or the Breakfast interviews. This makes me sad, because I enjoy those things and I think they’re of value to many of you — but during the more intense weeks, I spend up to 12 hours in blog-related work and that is time that I have to reclaim. I may use that time to write, make something, hang out with the kids, or do nothing. All of those options are important.

I hope that our regular bloggers will continue to post here. Remember that cross-posting is always welcome — if you post something relevant at your own blog, we’d love to see it here too. This blog will now have a more organic, free-form nature. Who knows — maybe that will be even better than the structure that I created.

I welcome all of your feedback, as well as any extra effort you feel like tossing into the ring while I take a breather. I love you guys, and I have every confidence that our connections will perservere.

Sep 9

5 Comments

Cathy: Pleasant surprises

 

As I write this, it is Sunday evening. This morning I made another rare go of getting myself, one son and the baby off to church. This will not be a religious blog, I swear. One reason it is tough for me to attend church regularly is my son S’s autism. He’s high-functioning, most likely Asperger’s, but as is often the case, his diagnosis is a general one, and the fight for a specific one is exhausting and expensive. His behavior in public places can be very disruptive, especially when the expectation of quiet and stillness reigns, such as church. So, this morning, I went, I warned, and I will attempt to take him next week. If you didn’t notice, my tone is very dry here, as it often is when discussing S, who brings more spontaneous joy, and more challenges, headaches and avoidance of many social situations than any kid I’ve ever known, and I’ve known a lot more than most people. We have a small circle of friends, it is very small, and mostly where we used to live. If he is not directly responsible for this, he is indirectly, as challenges with him are probably my most visited topic of conversation. I love him dearly. It’s a tough kind of love.

So I came home, and he was still sitting in front of the TV, Honey was bemoaning that he wouldn’t listen when asked to turn it off, S and K almost immediately got into a back and forth, which escalates his voice in pitch and volume to a decimal level unlike any other human utterance. Oh boy. I’m not feeling great about him today. There have been many challenges all week with the transition back to school, and I hate to say it, but I’m kind of ‘over it’ already. K’s friend came over, and I basically forced them to include S, just so I wouldn’t hear another screech and have to deal with it. I will add now, I am incredibly sleep deprived from exclusively nursing Baby C until the six month mark (three weeks from now), when I will jump for joy when she eats her first cereal, because it won’t be me.

The guys wandered out of K’s room a while later quite noisily, and I’d just nursed Baby C to nap. I kicked them out to fresh air. K and friend exited the front door, S the back, left to wander the backyard on his own. I began to dread what would happen next, assuming he would come back in whining that K and friend wouldn’t let him play with them. Instead, he came in announcing I needed to get rid of the caterpillars all over my garden. I was only half-listening, which, I hate to say is often the case because he says everything with such urgency. So he repeated it several times until his message got through and he had my full attention. “They look like monarch caterpillars! I’m throwing dirt on them so they’ll go away. They have these orange things they stick out when I throw it at them.”

“Please leave the caterpillars alone. They aren’t hurting anything, you don’t need to torment them with dirt.”

“But MO-om, they’re eating up your garden! Get some pesticide!”

“Did you say monarchs?! Show me!”

He lead me out to the garden, and there they were: six monarch caterpillars all over my nearly leafless carrot stems.

Now, you may be asking what all this has to do with creativity. One: my son inspired me out of my funk and to love him a little more once again. And two: It’s monarch chrysalis season! Is there anything more inspiring than that?

I really hope they stay to build, transform and emerge with their wet wings flapping right there on my naked little carrot stems. I am so happy to sacrifice those carrots, even if I’ve worked very hard on my little vegetable garden, which has been largely decimated by rabbits through the hole in the fence, squash bug invasions, and other critters this year. If they do stay, I will gladly share more pictures with, hopefully, some spinning, some butterfly brewing stillness, some wet wings flapping and flying away dry, royal, orange and black. I wonder if the storm that turned out to be not much of a storm blew them in?

Jul 28

7 Comments

Cathy: Confession time

treeMy big goal for while my boys are visiting at their dad’s for a month is to work regularly on my youth novel. I moved it from the back burner to the front, I turned on the burner, I even stirred the pot a little. Instead of bringing it to the heady steaming boil, and really adding some spices, I turned the burner to low, and have been simmering instead.

What’s that old saying about the road to Hell? Ah yes, my road looks like this from The Monday Page last week:

this week’s goals: paper org, 2 contests, 1 blog, review and work on novel. at least 1 chapter, per 3 days. 5-10 pages each, kid novel, less ambitious than harry potter. more like a jerry spinelli or sharon creech. complete 2 by end of week. is this unrealistic with nursing baby and mil sitting in office with me?

So I re-read, check. I revised minute typos and grammar, check. I got caught up on storyline, check. Then I stared at one new paragraph about waking up on Thanksgiving morning for about 5 days straight. I bopped around the internet with the excuse that I was looking at how other creative moms squeezed in their stuff around family. I took the dog and baby C for lots of walks. I did bits and pieces of Wreck This Journal. I let myself get peeved about something about some of the time my boys are spending with their father and stewed that for about a day and a half. I took photographs on my walks. See evidence here. I even had some lovely scheduling advice from Miranda on The Monday Page, to help me with my goal. In the end, one paragraph does not exactly equal two five-ten page chapters. Then I remembered:

Baby steps. It’s been a long time since I worked on a large project. It’s been a long time since I actively thought about this particular project. I believe in an earlier blog, I mentioned admitting to myself that my creative production is a very difficult thing to schedule. It happens in its own time, no matter how hard I try to be a good doobie and write my lists, write my intentions and schedule down, what comes out seems to have its own pace and nothing I can do can force it otherwise.

Now the good part is that I have re-read it. I am swimming in the dream of what these characters are doing next. Through this website and the blogs by many of the creative women on this website, I am maintaining an open channel to my creative nature. I have a lot of thanks to give for that. Thank you. Now, let’s see how progress goes this week. I meditatively breathe out the fact that I did not meet expectations, which were after all, only mine. I breathe in the chance to do it again.

And I did complete two contest entries and this blog. My freelance business cards arrived, too. So there. Now, I’ll turn up that burner again. Maybe I’ll even write the serving of the Thanksgiving turkey this week.

May 8

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Christa: My life, my work

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working on an article for one of the trade magazines I worked for before I had children. I don’t do much of this anymore. I learned early on that I could only write articles when I could be sure that sources would be patient with the possibility of hearing little voices in the background, and for the most part, I couldn’t be sure of that at all.

Last December, I did manage to write a strong article using two sources that had no problem hearing little voices. (It helped that my in-laws were available to watch the boys one of the days, and that my husband had a 10-day school vacation.) The experience was so good that I thought maybe I could write more articles. So when a friendly source emailed at the end of February to ask if I’d work with him again, I jumped at the chance.

And it went great, as I expected. He’s a great source. He’s fun to talk to (even a little flirtatious, which does wonders for my self-image even underneath the kid-crusts and unwashed hair). And he’s incredibly well-connected and helpful. This time around, in fact, he set me up with all the sources I needed. I didn’t even have to make first contact, and I didn’t have to wait on people. He forwarded my emails. He stayed on top of them.

Which turned out to be absolutely critical to my being on time. By the time my husband’s April school vacation rolled around, I realized I’d hardly started this article. (The source’s schedule was as much to blame as mine.) But he honored my request to wrap it up that week, while I had childcare, and so did his contacts. The weekend after I completed his and another interview (and got two emailed replies to my questions), Puck came down with a 103F fever, and I had a house showing two days before the article was due. One of my last interviews was done in the car while Hamlet stood outside, drenching my window with water from the hose.

Yet I got it done on time. And realized that in general, I cannot write any more articles until both children are in school.

Which is a damn shame. Along with the kick I get from being flirted with (not the first time this has happened with a source, though rare), I really do get a charge from writing articles on public safety, a subject that is near and dear to my heart. I recognized this today especially, when I woke up out of gas, moved through the day like frozen molasses (much to my older boy’s chagrin), and then–at the end of the day, my worst time–magically improved as I spoke to one of my editors on a different topic.

I need to work. I need to interact with adults on very specific topics–I need to feel competent as a human being before I can feel competent as a mother. And I need to create. Would that my sons were both happy to hang out on their own while I talk on the phone for an hour, but they aren’t. It will be at least another year before I can find that fulfillment. But at least now I know it isn’t completely dead.

Apr 22

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Miranda: Infant versus internet…a losing proposition?

storkAn article in this morning’s Boston Globe has added to my anxiety about managing work, creativity, and a new baby. Last time I had a newborn (three years ago) I didn’t work as much as I do now, and I wasn’t quite as plugged into the internet. Even so, I felt guilty about the amount of time I spent nursing while typing with one hand, eyes glued to my computer screen instead of my beautiful baby.

I tried to tell myself that it’s not much different than staring at the pages of a book, but it is. When I’m reading and my kids talk to me, I hear them. When I’m staring at my laptop–either working, being creative, or goofing off–the machine seems to cast this hypnotic spell that enables me to tune out the rest of the world. Sometimes the kids have to jump up and down to get my attention.

Obviously, I’m not alone. The Globe article, entitled “Connection Failure?” discusses mothers of newborns who are glued to their computers much of the day. The article raises several concerns: time spent on the web is associated with depression; mothers of newborns may be satisfied enough with their virtual connections that they stop trying to get out and establish tangible relationships; and worse, that Mom may end up more connected to her computer than she is to her infant. Pretty much a lose-lose situation for baby:

Mothers have always multitasked, from foraging with babies strapped to their backs to sewing, engaging an older child, or even cooking while nursing. Is Internet use any different?

“If you observe women who, let’s say, knit, their gaze is moving back and forth from the baby to knitting,” Rich said. “The Internet demands a lot more attention. You’re receiving and sometimes sending communication, so there’s sustained concentration away from the baby.”

Habitual Internet use while nursing, especially if the baby’s awake and seeking the mother’s eyes, concerns Rich. “It can be a real rejection for the baby, for whom you fill his or her world,” he said.

Ouch. For me, this time around–with so much on my plate, including a nonfiction book in progress (and four other children), I’m worried. I don’t want my new baby (or any of my kids, for that matter) to think of me as inseparable from my laptop. I know that my goal needs to be boundaries, but I’m not sure what that looks like. I have childcare in my home three days a week for my toddler, but I imagine that for the first four months, my childcare provider won’t be doing much with the baby aside from changing the occasional diaper. This means a lot of nursing during work time/creative time, as in, nursing while staring at the computer.

How have the rest of you navigated this mine field? How bad is the guilt? (Like we need one more thing to feel guilty about.) Does your family threaten to cut the cord on your computer? When you’re sleep deprived and you want to keep up with your blog reading while feeding the baby, what do you do? If holding your baby while typing your novel is the only way to finish your book, do you bite the bullet and hope for the best?

Apr 10

1 Comment

Alana: Introducing myself!

Thank you for the invite to join this wonderful group of writing mums. I feel like I’ve just walked into a room of old friends having just been on a holiday with a bunch of strangers. At last, people with my problems – and my ambitions! Thanks for the invite Miranda, and if it suits everyone, I’ll bring along a bottle of wine, put on my Abba CD and kick back with you girls for a while.


I’m a mum of two from Dublin, Ireland – one is 2 and a half and the other is 10 months… yes i know, I’ve told my husband he’s not allowed to even pass me on the stairs for at least another year…


I gave up my high-octane job after I had Daisy, and despite loving being her mum, i morphed from being the workaholic Iron Lady to the housework weary Ironing Lady. So I began to write. Ironically having kids has allowed me to fulfill my lifetime ambition of being a writer. I now write regularly for parenting magazines (although that makes me sound like a full-blown freelancer – the reality is I write when they sleep, and when I can’t sleep) and am attempting my first novel (note the optimistic use of ‘first’!).


Some days… most days.. I feel like a piece of my daughters’ playdo – uber elasticated for easy pulling in every direction, and maleable enough to morph into different shapes when the demand requires – mum, wife, cleaner, cook, writer, daughter, friend, mum, secretary, engineer, mum, daughter-in-law, mum, neighbour, houseworker, shopper, planner, mum, hugger, play friend, teacher, ……. me?


Every second of every day has a specific task dedicated to it – the nano-second my babes are down for their lunchtime nap (my greatest achievement was getting them to sleep at the same time!) I’m at my computer writing until the first squeak on the monitor pulls me back to the day job.


My novel takes a back seat so much of the time, it might as well be in the car behind. My mum and my husband tell me to slow down, and calm down, and sit down, and MOST IRRITATINGLY OF ALL tell me not to push myself with the book. I need to rest. Yes i do. But i can’t rest for needing to write another line. I have to get off chapter 5 for god’s sake – it’s been 4 months!


I have the same angel / devil on my shoulder arguments as you Miranda – should I rest and forget the burning (more like smoldering) passion in me, or do I plough ahead and write the damn thing? Every day when I’m beyond myself with exhaustion after another interrupted night (we’ve all been sick pretty much without break since the week before Christmas) and I look enthusiastically at the computer but gaze longingly at the sofa, I can hear Oscar Wilde sidle up to me and whisper his famous quip: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of one’s trousers to the seat of one’s chair.” Clearly he was a man. With no kids. I write standing up, on the loo, in the bath, in my head as I wait for the traffic lights to change and in between verses of the Wheels on the Bus.


Anyway, I’ve turned into one of those irritating people who turn up at a party and hog the floor. Just wanted to say I’d love to join your group, I understand, empathise, and share your struggle and hope we can all get a few words written in the next wee while. Every little helps….

Apr 5

7 Comments

Brittany: Where’s the finish line?

Christa’s post last week left me with a lot to think about. I’m sure I had read it before, that authors are often judged on the basis of their debut novel’s sales, that depending on its success and failure, a career can be born or lost. I probably skimmed over that part in some guide book, thinking that it didn’t apply to me. But after Christa mentioned it, and I responded with a pollyanna-esque comment that now makes me cringe, I started to re-consider my point of view. Her concern is something that bears contemplation… which I have been doing nonstop ever since.

Since that post, I haven’t been able to write. I’ve been happy with my re-writes up to this point, but I wonder now if I’m as far ahead as I thought I was. Is my sparse writing style enough? Can I do better? The other big questions that spring to mind are when will I really be finished? And will I know I’m finished when I get there?

It’s ironic that my book is about home improvement when time and again I have likened the re-writing, re-editing, re-assessing process to the continual construction of the Winchester Mystery House. I think we can safely say that the “additions” to that house didn’t improve it in any way. I wonder about this as I tear apart my novel and try to reconstruct it into something better, something more functional. Am I simply making additions or am I actually making improvements?

I can see this going on indefinetely. The more I learn of the cut-throat behind-the-scenes business of the publishing industry, the more my fear grows that I’m never going to be finished. I was always the student who wanted to turn in my best work, but deadlines always loomed at school. Now there are no deadlines. I can tweak endlessly. And because I lack the experience to know when enough is enough, I might very well end up doing that.

So my question is to those of you who’ve declared your project finished and have gone on to see it published: How do you know when you’ve reached the finish line?

Apr 4

2 Comments

Nina: What can I bring to this party?

Well, since I’ve been invited to the party, I am wondering what I have to bring to this gathering. I’m honored to be included in this creative sisterhood, and I’m impressed with what I’ve read and seen since I arrived. But I still am trying to figure out what I have to offer. I’ve been thinking about it all day . . . . . while I was at my daughters’ school listening to first graders read “Never Say Never” over and over and over again. I thought about it after school when we drove down the hill to WalMart to buy the new “Alvin and the Chipmunks” dvd that I promised Gracie if she earned her “Good Worker Awards” at school this week. And I was still thinking about it when we arrived home with way more “stuff” than I intended on buying on this little shopping trip. Oh well, that always happens whenever I go shopping with husband and kids in tow. “We really need these, Honey,” he’ll say as he throws in a pair of slippers and a 10-piece miniataure tool set. “Look at THIS, Mom! We REALLY need a new sleeping bag / tote bag / sun glasses / flip flops / Dora watch,” whatever . . . . I’m tired and I just want to go home!

Having been a mother for almost 35 years (yes, I probably am old enough to be YOUR mother!) I’ve had many experiences and years of joy and heartache . . . . .maybe THAT’s what I can bring to this party. Not that I know so much more than younger mothers, it’s just that I’ve been doing this for a really long time, and most people who know my husband and I wonder if we are totally insane that we decided to adopt our daughters after all our other children were grown up and most of them having families of their own. Could be . . . . but I guess we are happy crazy people! Being a mom can be very exhausting, especially if you have a creative spirit. I am always amazed at the other moms that I meet who seem to have nothing else to do but drop their kids off at school, and then go home and watch Oprah. Now, not that there’s anything wrong with watching Oprah . . . . . I guess, I don’t know because if I had an hour to do whatever I wanted to do, it sure wouldn’t be to watch TV, no matter who’s chatting with whom on a couch in the middle of a studio audience!

So how do we balance the demands and responsibilities of motherhood with our need for time to express our creativity? I’ve tried lots of different things, including the one hour bath time, the dining room table tent, and all kinds of other tricks to appease my sense of . . . . what? . . . . guilt? . . . . . that I need time for ME! We are all such creative moms, whether we write, paint, dance, sing, design, sew, draw – and that is just who we are. And that is OK! And whether or not you believe in a Higher Power, or God, or whatever works for you, I think it is OK with the universe that we, as women, as wives, as mothers, as people, need time to be who we were meant to be. So . . . . my first offering as an invited guest is this: Let yourself be yourself. Simple, right? It really is, because if there is one thing I’ve learned in all the years that I’ve been a mom is this one straightforward truth: if I collapse under the weight of the “expectations” for my life, I am not really very helpful to those who really, truly do need me. Oh, expectations . . . . let’s chat about THAT topic one of these days!

If you can afford a few hours a week for child care, even if you are “just” working at home, do it for YOU. Or trade with another mom who also needs some time to herself. Find a way, without feeling guilty, to allow your creative spirit to soar beyond the everyday demands. Give yourself the gift of YOU, and that gift will overflow to everyone else in your life. Don’t waste the years that I wasted, thinking that if I just worked a little harder, a little longer . . . . just got a little less sleep, or deprived myself so that others could have everything they want and always be happy . . . . . . it simply didn’t work then, and it won’t work for you, either. Lower the bar . . . . isn’t that what one of you suggested? Touche!

Mar 23

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Miranda: New leaves

new leafI gather that spring may actually be coming to New England. The vernal equinox was March 20, and even though it’s hard to believe, I trust that within the next month our season will actually shift. We’ll stop needing coats and scarves. The snow will finally melt. And then: the growing season. I dream every day of that pale green blush that suddenly appears on our bare branches, slowly erupting into dewy new foliage. It’s like magic, every year.

The prospect of warmer weather has framed my thoughts about many of our recent posts. There’s a struggle between the Little Engine that Could’s “I think I can…I think I can” and a mother’s reality of “You’ve got to be kidding me.” For some of us, myself included, quitting–even temporarily–has seemed like the option of choice, or perhaps inevitable.

I think I got caught up in my plans to finish my nonfiction book, and–as Bethany recently blogged–suffered from unrealistic expectations in terms of output and regularity of schedule. The bar was too high. That said, while it may be the path of least resistance, I don’t want to include quitting on my menu. I can’t. I think about it, but I know what will happen: I’ll go back to being miserable, cranky, self-absorbed, and resentful. Not only do I owe it to myself, but I owe it to my husband and children. I am a better person when I create. It doesn’t have to be monumental, but if does have to be regular enough that I can erase the question marks from my calendar.

So I’m stepping back, while stepping up. Each of us needs a strategy for NOT throwing in the towel. (Sure, we’ll all need to take a little break from time to time, but that should be a positive, proactive choice–not a painful, wistful resignation.)

Instead of a milestone goal for each week (such as “Finish Chapter 3″–a goal I’ve stated more times on the Monday Page than I care to admit) my goal is going to be to work on my book for 10 minutes every day. That’s it. You may know, as I do, that this is a great trick to play on yourself. You know you can commit to 10 minutes–ANY of us can do that–and so the prospect of sitting down to write is not so intimidating. On many days, I may really only have 10 minutes–but on many others (such as this afternoon) I might “accidentally” write for an hour. If I only write for 10 minutes, I am a big success. I’ll be keeping the creative flow going, and will be thinking about my work even when I’m not working, because it will be fresh. And if I stumble into a bonus, well then, brilliant.

Christa has on several occasions noted her success in shooting for a very low output, and being satisfied with that. It makes perfect sense. Why turn up your nose at a fleeting keyboard session, only to hold out for a “real” creative stint–that never happens? Much better to keep yourself going in minor, even microscopic–intervals. Brittany can also attest to the critical mass that suddenly appears after inching along for what feels like a very long time. I need to adjust myself to this paradigm, because in the near future I’m going to find myself back in Land of the Newborn–where long stretches of anything simply don’t exist.

In the vein of “we can do it,” I’d also like to celebrate a few successes on this blog, as detailed on the Monday Page: Brittany finished her novel and is deep in revisions (huge round of applause, Brittany); Jenn has written more than half of her contracted textbook; Lisa completed her contracted history book (awesome!); Lisa and myself both revised short stories and submitted them to contests; Bethany finished at least three chapters of her novel and is shopping material; and Christa finished at least three chapters of her new novel.

Pretty damn impressive. I never made the cheerleading squad, but if I could, I’d do something eye-catching to congratulate everyone. Hard to believe I’m quoting Dory for the second time in a week, but, “Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…”

Oh, and keep an eye out for spring, if you’re living in the glacial northeast.

Mar 20

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Christa: Confession time

I’m going to admit to something that I haven’t wanted to admit to myself for a long time: the reason for my creative funk, all my questioning and browbeating, is at heart a temper tantrum. Why? Because I didn’t get my way.

By now, I was “supposed to” have landed an agent. I really was convinced that my writing was good enough. Even though I knew it was certainly possible that it wouldn’t happen within six months, I didn’t really think it wouldn’t. I believed at least that I would get requests for fulls and that those would tide me over.

I did get those requests, but early on, and nothing since about Thanksgiving. While I’m aware there are other options in publishing (I’m looking at small presses), I’ve still found myself wondering: what’s really in store for my career? Is this really what’s meant for my life?

I hope not. Because the thought of not being a novelist really, really depresses me.

But here’s the other thing, the other part of this confession. What I was hoping for was to be a wunderkind. I’m turning 33 in a month, and I really just wanted to be “discovered” and published before I turned 40. I wanted this because no one has ever thought much of me (at least until I met my husband). I was “nothing special” for many years. Two teachers loved my writing, but my parents didn’t love it and my peers didn’t get it. I have always wanted to “prove” myself, even though none of those people will ever be satisfied.

An author gave me some advice a few years back that I’ve kept, and now that I’m in this position, her words mean a lot more to me than they did then: “There’s been a lot of discussions of youth/writing recently. But you know what? There’s absolutely no percentage to being a wunderkind because, eventually, they’re going to take the kind away and you’re going to have to be a wunder on your own. And, at the risk of sounding very, very vain, I’m fairly confident that there’s not a 30-something on the planet who can write a wiser book than I can. Better, more beautiful? Sure. But there are things we learn as life goes on that makes writing richer with each decade. So think about the life as part of the writing, and don’t beat yourself up.”

What elicited her advice? My fear, even then, that I wouldn’t get anything done because of my kids.

In many ways I’m in a better position now than I was then. I have a number of short story credits in good, reputable markets; I’m helping to edit a magazine. So I can’t say I’m still stuck in a rut, and that’s good. Meanwhile, like I wrote to Bethany, fiction is an intrinsic part of my sense of balance. For my own sake and that of my family, I need to continue to pursue it. Even if it’s only a few sentences a day. And that “wunderkind” thing? Well, maybe that’s my personal bar that needs to be lowered.

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