Theory of Convergence

Last week I encountered some of the most exciting moments of my writing career, and I also endured one of the hardest days as a parent I’ve ever lived through.

Remember the movie Say Anything with John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler? Boombox blaring “In Your Eyes” anyone? There’s a scene I’ll never forget from that movie when Lloyd’s love interest, Diane Court, says, “I have this theory of convergence that good things always happen with bad things. I know you have to deal with them at the same time, but I just don’t know why they have to happen at the same time.”

Yep. That was me last week.

Hitting monumental strides on the writing front. And nearly losing it as a parent.

I’ll get to the rough stuff first. On Thursday, a sixteen-year-old male student from my daughter’s high school was arrested and charged with one count of terroristic threats and acts. I understand, sadly, this type of thing has been happening all over the country. Makes me sick to my stomach to think this kid had a plan. As Thursday went on things grew even more terrifying though. What began as occasional texts from my daughter escalated into an entire day of confusion, intermingled with rumors, on social media and among the students, of a lockdown, “friends at the high school determined to finish the job,” helicopter surveillance, beefed-up police presence, a hallway off-limits, buried guns, teachers locking doors, and most of the student body picked up by parents mid-day due to an additional threat. This threat, via Twitter, ultimately culminated in another student’s arrest after school that same day.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more conflicted as a parent. And angry. And scared. No parent ever wants to coach their child what to do if someone is firing bullets at them. I’m extremely proud of how my daughter handled the events of that day. But that’s just it. She shouldn’t have had to deal with that! Something broke open inside me as I feared for her safety. This cannot continue—parents sending their kids to school wondering if they’ve made a mistake. Students fearing for their lives. It’s time to embrace change.

Now for the exciting news...

I’m now represented by Marlene Stringer with Stringer Literary Agency and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I loved my conversation with Marlene last week. She’s everything I’ve been looking for in an agent, plus she’s passionate about my novel. I could go on and on about what brought me to this point in my career, but those are stories for another post. I’m here now, represented by a stellar agent, hopeful about what the future holds.

Call it theory of convergence or life in general, I’m choosing to be grateful through all of it.

*I'll be back March 12th

Putting Fear in Its Place

In our culture, where it seems everything is not as it seems, it helps to see things for what they really are. This quote caught my attention. Maybe it’s because fear is such a universal feeling, so pervasive and potentially destructive. Or debilitating. Or it could be because of the poignant visual it conjures.

Fear, at first creeping up the spine, then shaking to the ground. Until eventually you’re able to stare hard at the shiny splinters of what attempted to pierce—prevent.

Whenever I’m gripped by a certain fear it helps to reflect upon what I can control. And what I can’t. It helps to seize perspective.

What helps you when fear starts up your back?

Write What You No

If you’re a writer you’ve heard the expression write what you know. Actually, it’s probably been drummed into your head so much you might feel hammered down inside a box, inhibited by what you might dare tackle in your work. But I’m going to alter that advice today.

I’m going to suggest you write what you no.

There is an untapped power waiting in the areas you keep saying no to. What am I referring to?

Three areas in particular:

What you fear

What you believe you’re inadequate to write

What’s too painful

 Write what you fear

That topic that you keep locked in the closet because it feels more like a raving monster than something—anything you’d ever want to write about. Do it. Write about it. Trust me, every single person has at least one of those red-eyed, sharp-toothed things hiding in their closet.

And when you get brave enough to finally put it on the page, you might be amazed to find the thing isn’t so scary after all. Painful, perhaps. Powerful, likely. Worth it…absolutely.

Write what you feel inadequate to write

If you don’t feel inadequate before beginning a project then you’re probably overconfident.

Every writer doubts their talent and ability to create. Anne Lamott says, “But it is fantasy to think that successful writers do not have these bored, defeated hours, these hours of deep insecurity when one feels as small and jumpy as a water bug. They do.”

Consider it a strong nudge whenever you feel this way. Pay attention to what’s playing in your mind. Maybe it’s that very slide show you’re supposed to explore in your story. Because insecurity or not, the show must go on and you are the ultimate director.

Allow your insecurities to point you toward the work you’ve been avoiding.

Write into the pain

No, it’s too painful. I don’t want to go there. I’ve already healed from that. What’s the point of diving back in? What good would it do?

Some of my favorite books depict characters enduring great tragedy. The Art of Racing in the Rain. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. The Book Thief. I’m reading Between Shades of Gray right now. It’s a poignant story about a fifteen-year-old Lithuanian girl named Lina taken from her home and thrown into a cattle car by the Soviet secret police. This book is quickly becoming one of my favorites because of the beautiful risks the author takes, how she delves into an unimaginable hardship. Ruta Sepetys evokes a rich sense of empathy for the characters and invites readers into Lina’s harsh reality.

After I read Ruta’s bio I understood she had to write into the pain. Her own father was a Lithuanian refugee. Her bio goes on to state, “Ruta wanted to give voice to the hundreds of thousands of people who lost their lives during Stalin’s cleansing of the Baltic region.”

To give voice.

Write into the pain to give voice.

Paint your unique brushstroke on the canvas of human experience.

We come together in this. We grow. We change the world.

Next time someone tells you to write what you know, think about writing what you no instead.

I double dog dare you!

Where the Wild Things Are: A Writer’s Journey through Self & Back Again

There’s a funny thing that happens when you commit to being a novelist.

And by funny I mean an in your face confrontation where once you bump into some of the deep-rooted (at times gnarly) emotions driving your work, you must decide whether to run like mad or body check the beasts.

I’ve learned to write directly into the heart of my fears. When I do this I’m able to connect with my readers on a deeper level, trusting they’ve experienced similar trepidations.

This brings me to the woods.

What lurks amidst the pine needles and towering trees, those shadows of doubt and memory of pain, that’s where I allow myself to wander when I write. I escort my characters through these forests. There are times I hold their hands and times I let go and hide, watching how they’ll react to the owl’s hoot, the wolf’s howl, and the swishing of leaves that sends electric shocks of terror up their spines.

I remain in the woods with my characters at all times. Feeling. Entering their world—enmeshing with their emotions. Here’s a glimpse of what some of my forest treks have resembled…

Fangorn Forest from Lord of the Rings

Like the hobbits, aware Fangorn Forest is the only way to where they need to go, I tremble. I know what’s in there. Orcs. Sharp-eared, sneering, relentless in their pursuit,    hungry to devour me orcs. And worse, other nameless, indescribable things that might very well be the end of me. Raking me through past hurts and future worries.

And yet I take the first step in, leading my characters onward as the trees groan. Yes, we come across a bloodthirsty orc, but because we persist, we don’t give up, we also happen upon a forest filled with some other rather unexpected kindly characters that end up lifting us to higher ground.

Rotten apples from The Wizard of Oz

Dorothy and her friends clutch tighter as the road darkens. The rows of trees serve as bookends around the motley crew determined to walk the yellow brick road. But the trees are feisty. Feisty apple-throwing trees. And the felt presence of the witch’s nearness fills them with dread.

Criticism, judgment, names I’ve been called. Might as well call them Macoun, Red delicious, and Braeburn as I roam these woods. Like apples chucked at my head these are visceral reminders of how often I’ve failed. Insecurities and even pride rotting my insides far quicker than any of these apples could.

So what I do when I come across these apples as I write? I pick ‘em up and bite. I bite back. I throw back. I duck. I don’t let the apples get to my head.

Confusing Characters from Alice in Wonderland

The Cheshire Cat, Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum, the smoke-ring blowin’ Caterpillar. I think we can all agree Alice came across her share of enigmatic characters on her forest hike.

I’ve so been there. Real life truly can be stranger than fiction sometimes. People can be rude without warning in the woods I wander through. Deceptive. Just plain perplexing, leaving me to question next steps.

After stumbling across this lot, it’s often I’ll offer a kind word, grab my character’s hand, and take the nearest exit. Remembering. Always remembering and learning how it felt to be scared and treated in such a way. Remembering to not pass it on.

Max from Where the Wild Things Are

There are enough atrocities in this world to cause the whole earth to implode with anger. Max understood this. He got anger.

And then he got to escape it all.

He ventured to where the wild things are and instead of cowering, he “stared into all their yellow eyes without blinking once” and found his safe playground. Crowned ruler, Max conquered his fears. Until loneliness set in and he understood all-day rumpuses with the wild things aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

He went to the woods.

And then he came home.

There are few more allegorical descriptions of what I feel I try to do as a writer than the one of Max and his forest excursion. I bring my reader into the woods with me and my characters. It’s safe (even though tension and conflict are ripe). We rumpus. But then I find a way to bring my readers home.

To take what I’ve written with them, as I am challenged to do the same.

And to believe the power of imagination has the far-reaching influence to change anything.

Do you write into the heart of your fears? Which forest description resonates with you most?

*photo by stock.XCHNG

**Last (at least for a few months) All “I”s on __________ on my FB writer page