Why I Need Your Crazy Aunt Myrtle's Dentures

As I writer, I keep my eyes and ears open for interesting settings, unusual people, strange conversations at the coffee house. I jot down these details in case they’re a good fit for a novel or short story I’m working on.

It may just be a germ of an idea that will take root later. For example, the other night my husband said he’d love to know the exact date and time of his death; that it’d make it easier to know how long to work, when to retire, when to take that trip he’s always wanted to take. I disagreed with him (long story) but the point is that I now have a great idea for a short story where a group of couples form a commune off the grid so that they can keep the dates of their children’s deaths a secret from them.

Sometimes I have really great luck in running across ideas. Other times (like now!) I am asking my blog readers to help me.

I am working on novel number three. The main characters are women in their 60s and 70s in a long-standing book club. I have some general ideas of who these women are: one’s a socialite, one’s a hippy, one’s a retired school teacher. But I need to see them in my mind. That’s where you come in.

Do you have a crazy Aunt Myrtle you could describe to me? Does she play with her dentures, eat only beige foods, or garden in the rain? Is your Grandma Hattie a socialite who’s lost all her money and traded in her real jewelry for cubic zirconia?

I’d love to hear any unique, quirky character traits some of your older relatives possess or possessed when they were alive. I may use these details -- or they just may be the germ of an idea that will blossom over time.

One End, New Beginnings

Yikes! Where did the month of April go? And shame on me for not blogging once. I found these two quotes recently and wanted to share:

• “The worst thing you write is better than the best thing you didn't write.”
• “If you wait for inspiration to write, you’re not a writer. You’re a waiter.”

I haven’t really figured out my latest bout with writer’s block (writer’s procrastination). At first, I blamed it on my day job creeping into my writing days. But who let that happen? Me, myself and I. In truth, it’s more about a funk I’ve dropped into since completing two books and not finding an agent yet. It’s been hard to throw every bit of myself into these books, truly believe in them, and still not get them recognized.

Agent and prolific blogger Rachelle Gardner recently wrote a column titled 4 Reasons You Should Write Several Books before Seeking Publication.

Eye-opening, sobering and hard to swallow – yet pretty on target. Sometimes writers need to strengthen their craft. Sometimes they need to write a book that’s more marketable. Sometimes we need to let go of the things we love, even if that thing is a manuscript.

It’s time to commit to book 3 — I’d hate for it to be the best thing I didn’t write.

Just Who Do You Think You Are?

One goal of The Artist’s Way course in creativity is finding ways to silence the destructive voices that derail when we try to follow our dreams. They warn us:

1. You can’t do that.
2. You’re not good enough.
3. People will laugh/talk/judge.

I’ve completed The Artist’s Way once – and have revisited several chapters since then. And you know what? I’m still listening to those destructive voices. It takes almost a daily meditative practice to remind myself that those are old scripts that have no place in my life anymore.

Last night I had dinner with a friend of mine whom I consider brilliant, bold and powerful – a pillar of self-confidence. We began talking about how we limit our possibilities. Yes, even she struggles to silence the voices.

She brought up a common and destructive phrase that all of us have used from to time. It’s so generic and open-ended that it’s easy to call up on a moment’s notice.

“Who am I to think I can__________?” [fill in the blank]

• Who am I to think I can be a published author?
• Who am I to think I can learn to play the bass guitar?
• Who am I to think I can open a successful art gallery?
  
• Who am I to think I can influence my city council/state senator/Congressman/President?
• Who am I to think I can ask for what I need in this moment?

My friend and I agreed to form a *buddy system* so that when either of us lapses into this thinking, the other can kick her butt. But since most of this destructive thinking is internal, we may be on our own to stop this futile exercise. Maybe we can all just STOP and BREATHE…and then write a different script.

What have you told yourself was impossible but you made it happen anyway? Or what have you vowed to do for yourself in the future?

What's That, You Say?

Clear communication is as rare as unicorns. And it’s easy to understand why. Even when words are in black and white, we all read with a lens that is uniquely our own. That lens draws on the baggage, beliefs and assumptions we’ve accumulated over a lifetime.

Let’s take e-mails as an example:

• Brief, to-the-point e-mails are often viewed as terse.
• E-mails with tons of exclamation points and emoticons can be construed as over-the-top or insincere.
• One supercharged word can alienate the reader from the get-go and the rest of the message is essentially lost.
• Long e-mails will be scanned by busy people and the most salient point can be overlooked.

Now, extrapolate these assumptions to longer communications like personal letters, reports or even books. We all have the same 26-letter alphabet to string together words, phrases and paragraphs. Are we certain that our apology comes off as sincere or that our argument is persuasive and not snarky?

What’s that you say? People should communicate face-to-face and there wouldn’t be these problems?

Ha! And double ha, I say to you. In-person communication can be just as fraught with inaccuracies based on perceived attitudes, gestures, body language, etc. We may be so antsy waiting for our turn to speak that we completely miss nuances in the other person’s words. A person looks at his watch and we think he's not interested in what we're saying.

So, how do we become clearer in our communications? Let me know what’s worked for you – or if you have any examples of miscommunications to share.

The Ripple Effect

Last week I was in Charleston, SC, for Goodwill’s annual meeting. To make a long story short, I hate to travel for work. The flying, the food, the hotel stays. BUT…the bright spot is visiting with Goodwill colleagues I don’t see but twice a year or so.

Two conversations touched me deeply and stay top of mind even a week later.

A Goodwill CEO from Michigan (who used to be a colleague of mine and is still a dear friend) mentioned over dinner that she reads my blog. No one ever comments on the blog so I assumed very few people even read it! She said she was so inspired by my passion for writing that she has begun to capture on paper her memories of her mother (who is 95 years old).

The next day, another staff member at Goodwill’s national headquarters engaged me in a conversation about how much he wants to begin writing and that he feels stuck. He, too, mentioned my blog. I shared my struggles and some resources that help me. Later he emailed and asked if we could chat monthly to keep him on track. I am so honored that he asked.

Rarely do we have evidence of how our actions affect others. It reminds me of what the keynote speaker at the conference said: Our actions and words always leave a wake. I feel blessed that these friends shared where the ripples of my writing ended up.

Friday, Friends and Rollercoasters

I hate rollercoasters. Yet, I’ve chosen a profession that makes me feel like I’m trapped on one.

• Whhhheeeeee! Manuscript finished and ready to send to beta-readers.
• Whoooaaaaaah! Revisions, twists, turns, can I actually make it up that incline?
• Yeeeeeeee! Literary agent is interested.
• Owwwwwww! Rejection – and I'm upside down with my heart in my throat and my lunch about to come up.
• Wheeeeeeee! Great idea for a new book. Can't wait to get started!

You get the picture. It’s a constant back-and-forth-up-and-down-full-speed-ahead-full-stop type of existence. It’s making me kind of crazy. (Husband would dispute "kind of.")

Some days, it's a monumental task to stay focused and positive in the face of rejection. Good thing I have friends, family and fellow writers who support me no matter what.

I recently entered blurbs from Hannah’s Half in contests held on writer and agent blogs. Other writers who commented were thoughtful and encouraging, even when making critiques. My sister-in-law, Camm, tweeted me with enthusiastic comments while she read Hannah’s Half – in one day. My husband, Andy, exclaimed "Goose poop!" at the agent who emailed with a 'pass' this morning.

So, today I want to say thanks to Andy, Tessa, TracytheWriter, TracytheFriend, Camm, Christi, Wendi, Arlene, Jenni, Hunter, Micki, Kathryn, Alison, Tim, Joanie, my bookclub and the dozens of others who always ask how the current book is coming along, who always give a “like” on Facebook when I post good news, who always suggest ways to pamper myself when I get bad news, who always read a blog about writing just because the care about me.

What Would St. Valentine Say?!

In honor of Valentine's Day, Oasis for YA, an online community for writers of young adult fiction, has asked writers to post a romantic and/or sexy excerpt from their books. The following is from my novel, Hannah's Half. A bit of info to set the scene: Hannah's love interest, Adam, is a ghost who's unable to move on to the afterlife. He and Hannah are twin flames (or halves of the same soul) who've spent several past lives together ... each time with disastrous results.

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“I need you, too, Hannah.”

He kissed me roughly and I kissed him back. When he pushed me onto the bed, I didn’t stop him. He pulled off his tee shirt, which left his hair disheveled and wild. He straddled me while we both pulled at my tee shirt.

“What if this doesn’t work?”

He stopped my question with another kiss — long and deep and perfect. I unzipped his pants and he pushed my hands away, removing his own jeans while I tore at mine. Our knees bumped clumsily as we kicked to free our legs.

Touching Adam felt like being under water. Our movements became softer and slower as if I was buoyed by the pressure of his body. His kissing slowed and his hands became less desperate and more deliberate. I shuddered when he pulled my leg around him.

Every movement I made was accompanied by a flash of memory; all our past lives in one tornado of emotion. I moved my hand over his smooth chest and down over his belly, hooking my thumb in his boxers – it was the present and past all in the same instant. I’d never felt so complete.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“You’ve always had me,” I said.

“Then I want you even more.”