Life's Short -- Eat Cheetos

My fingers are stained orange as I type this because I ate crunchy Cheetos for lunch.  You’ll see why later.

None of us knows the exact time and date of our deaths. Mortality statistics give us the impression that we'll live to a ripe old age (76.3 years for males; 81.1 years for females).  Without a firm idea of the time we have left, some of us put off doing things (saying things), believing we have all the time in the world.

That’s why I read obits. These stand out in my memory.

• the vivacious 19-year-old woman who suffered a fatal seizure
• the 45-year-old woman who died after a recurrence of breast cancer 
• the 52-year-old father who had a heart attack while sitting in front of his home computer
• the adventurous 23-year-old who died in an avalanche while snowboarding

I don’t know any of these people personally. But I wonder how they spent their lives. Did the 45-year-old woman always skip dessert thinking the calories weren't worth it? Did the father regret how often he brought work home instead of playing catch with his sons? Did the 19-year-old have a fight with her dad and didn’t have a chance to say she was sorry?

Whether we live 20 years or 100 years, life is short.  And regrets are a bitch.

• Call the estranged relative.
• Take the vacation.
• Write the book.
• Retire at age 55.
• Buy the house (or new chair, or bicycle, or shoes).
• Eat Cheetos for lunch.

The Critique Sandwich: Tough to Swallow?

Most writers partake of (choke on?) some version of the Critique Sandwich (whether they are aware of it or not).  It goes like this:  to avoid completely demoralizing a writer, the critique partner (editor, loved one, etc.) says something positive first, then follows with what needs improving, then ends with something positive.

When we’re lucky, the ‘filling’ on the critique sandwich isn’t so thick as to overwhelm the ‘bread.’

I’ve been an editor for too many years to count. When I was younger, I was often guilty of throwing a whole lot of filling at writers without softening the critique. I thought I was being direct, saving everyone time, getting to the point.

Well, ladies and gentlemen…during those years, I missed the point completely.

People matter. People’s feelings matter. And there are always nuggets of gold buried in what we may think of as the worst essay, book, short story, poem, song or painting. 

The life of a creative is hard enough. We battle our own inner critic and self-doubt daily. Encouragement of any kind can make the difference in someone forging ahead or giving up her creative dreams.

Today, I received the nicest rejection from a literary agent. Just the right amount of bread and filling -- definitely not a Dagwood special. Instead of being utterly disappointed, I’m feeling pretty upbeat.

Comfort in the Tangible

My friend, Christi, posted on Facebook this amazing photo of a young boy reading in a bombed-out bookstore in WWII London. The powerful image stirred up a bit of emotion.

I write and edit for a living. But on a day-to-day basis, I don’t appreciate the importance of books — or hell, any written type of communication. Words transport, inform, inspire, incite, enrage. I shudder to think of a world without written communication. While I love television and film and YouTube and vlogs (yes, you, Lizzie Bennett diaries), I like the permanence of the written word. I like referring back to books, to links on the web, to my own journals. Life is fleeting. Tangible is comforting.

And yet, it was an image that inspired all this emotion I'm feeling. Hmmm…even more to think about.

Your Biography -- Courtesy of Google

I saw a tweet from a publisher who warned writers that agents and publishers always Google prospective clients. I mean, they have to make sure you’re not a crazy-pants, raving lunatic or a highly opinionated person with cringe-worthy views on politics, religion or the like.

I purposefully don’t post my views on politics or religion on Twitter or Facebook or in this blog. I’m not trying to hide anything. But I’m aware that polarizing views can make publishers leery – after all, I could be alienating a whole segment of potential readers.

I Google myself from time to time. You can piece together a good bit of my history if you bother to keep reading to the 7th, 8th and 9th pages of results.

• I’m the author of quite a few nursing articles because I was editor of The American Nurse newspaper for the American Nurses Association in Washington, DC.
• I edited publications for the United Nations – so my name is connected to tuberculosis, HIV/AIDS, and other UN priorities, sometimes in French!
• I was executive director of the Women’s Resource Center in Durango.
• I teach continuing education classes (writing, marketing, graphic design) at my local college.
• I have a communications and marketing business on the side called mlm communications.
• I drink a LOT of McDonald’s iced tea and post about it way too much.
• I have a cat (and post about her way too much).
• I have a blog!
• I have a Pinterest board on cake decorating.
• In 1982, I was crowned state queen of the Slavonic Benevolent Order of the State of Texas because of my rousing speech on What Fraternalism Means to Me. (This deserves a whole post!)

My life is an open book, so to speak. And so is yours, yours and yours because of social media. But is your book one you’d want the public to read?

Ditch the Expectations and Watch Out for the Good Stuff

I recently watched a movie called The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. An exchange between two actors has stayed with me all week.

Evelyn: Nothing here has worked out quite as I expected.
Muriel: Most things don't. But sometimes what happens instead is the good stuff.

This couldn’t be more applicable for my writing journey. Many authors write multiple books before ‘the one.’ I was certain the first book I wrote was the next “Secret Life of Bees.” (It wasn’t.) Then, I was inspired to write my first young adult novel — which featured a ghost just as the market was getting oversaturated with ghost/paranormal stories. Then, my cozy mystery flowed so effortlessly (well, not that effortlessly) and was so well-received that I sensed I’d have a career as a mystery writer. (I didn’t.) 

Somewhere along the way, I went back to an idea that had been niggling at my brain for some time… a story about a high school girl whose face had been burned in her stepfather’s meth lab explosion when she was little. I had even purchased a couple of books on burn survivors for research purposes.

This week, that book (titled Facing Fire) is featured in two different online contests whose purpose is to get book excerpts in front of literary agents. My book is doing well in BOTH contests. One agent loved my excerpt so much, he asked to see the full manuscript immediately. In the second contest, my excerpt was chosen one of 60 entries that 15 agents will review next week. There were 427 total entries.

It takes some faith (and tears and chocolate) to keep writing, to keep revising, to keep querying. But when I put away my expectations for what a writing life should look like, opportunities opened up. I need to remember this feeling for the tears/chocolate times ahead.

Rescuing the "Self" from Selfish

In late February, I spent more than 37 hours in the air or in an airport during an eight-day period. (One travel day was 17 hours because of snow delays.) I can’t even describe the exhaustion I felt upon my return. (Let’s just say there were tears involved.)

A family function I felt I had to attend in Texas piggy-backed a stressful business trip. The family thing was important, and I’m glad I did it. But it brings up some issues for me related to self-care. I kept telling myself “I have no choice! I have no choice!” That's a steaming pile of horse manure.

I always have a choice. To stay in my current job or venture into something new; to exercise regularly or watch more TV; to eat more protein or stress-eat with sugar; to foster nurturing friendships or guilt myself into staying in one-sided relationships.

The crux of the matter is that taking care of myself is the harder choice because most of us are conditioned from an early age to think that self-care is selfish. And the first baby steps we take to put ourselves first often results in guilt.

I’m convinced it just takes practice. What do you think?

Easy is a Four-Letter Word

I bought a beginner’s yoga DVD about two years ago. As of yesterday morning, it was still shrinkwrapped and unopened.  I’ve been sick for about three weeks with a lingering cold (and haven’t exercised in much longer than that) so I thought I’d give it a whirl. Surely, it’d be easy! What a gentle way to ease back into exercising.

So, yeah. Today, I can’t lift my arms over my head, my knee is tweaky and the bones in the top of one foot ache. So much for easy.

From time to time, don’t we all make assumptions that something will be easy?  How many times have you uttered, “How hard can it be?” only to then utter, “Damn hard.”

One of my resolutions is not to make assumptions.  Another is not to give up on something that isn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. Like writing daily. Like staying connected with friends even though I have hermit tendencies. Like exercising often, even if it’s just a walk around the block.

Is there something you've stuck with even thought it was harder than you thought it'd be? (I mean, besides marriage.)