The Goodbye Makes the Journey Harder Still

My sister Holly passed away last week. I’ve been grieving hard since I heard the news. Words elude me, hiding in a thick fog.

When I was around ten or eleven she told me she always thought of me whenever she heard this song. . .

Songs are especially poignant for me in this time of grief. Much of the soundtrack of my youth revolved around music Holly admired. I miss her. I miss who she was and who she could have been. I miss all of it.

Still, I cling to hope as I simultaneously learn how to let go.

*I hope you have a peaceful Memorial Day. Make memories and be kind to loved ones. Life is fragile.

Creativity, Craft & Cadence

Hiatus is over. I’m back. After spending some much needed time in self-reflection and goal-setting, I came to some conclusions about this blog.

I’m here to stay.

And I know what I want to communicate.

From this Monday on, I aim to dissect the many facets of creativity. I’ve been paying attention. In particular to the way I choose to live day-to-day, and I’ve noticed one common theme in my life. An undeniable thread sewn through everything that I deem important—everything that excites me. I’m attracted to (and quite possibly addicted to) all things creative. For this reason, I’m going to be highlighting all aspects of creativity that catch my eye, set me sail, or light my thoughts on fire.

I’m also going to continue to share what I’ve learned when it comes to the craft of writing. Last Friday, I completed the rough draft of my sixteenth (maybe seventeenth?) novel. I’ve lost count. I’ve worked with some fantastic agents and have received hopeful feedback from readers and editors through the years. What’s more, I’ve tucked all kinds of helpful hints in the folds of my brain. And I want to pass along the goods.

Finally, I’ll be writing about girls like Cadence. The other day, while my seventeen-year-old and I were checking out prom dresses, a little girl came up to me outside the store. Boldly, she beamed up at me. “Hi, I’m Cadence, and I can do anything.” It was a random introduction. I’m not sure what it was about me that made this girl want to say hello. And say it with such assured confidence. Nevertheless, her greeting stuck with me. That’s when I realized I want to write about anything girls—females who live their lives with the hope of bettering the world—of making a lasting impact on others.

It is with great sadness that I share the world lost an anything girl this past weekend. Rachel Held Evans kindly wrote a guest post for this blog nine years ago. In the years since, I’ve watched her career skyrocket and her voice empower many. She inspired me in ways I could never find the words to communicate. I’ve hidden away a lot in recent years, tucked inside myself. I suppose there are many reasons for why I’ve done this. Rachel led the kind of life that reminds me how beautiful and poignant it is to speak our truth. To stand up for something we believe in. And to leave a legacy of, above all things, love.

“It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I’m not going to be silent.”

Madeleine Albright

Reacting to Brain on Fire

Brain on Fire. I read the book. I saw the movie last night on Netflix. Both times I was riveted and brought to an emotional place I try not to tap into too often. Don’t get me wrong, I usually love books and movies about struggle, and I especially appreciate topics that revolve around anything brain-related. But if I’m honest, I didn’t even want to write this post.

Because it drags up so much and it keeps it hot on the surface when I prefer it buried.

Keeps what hot on the surface?

The memories. The reality of my sister still living with a malignant tumor in her brain.

I identified a lot with Susannah Cahalan’s loved ones in Brain on Fire. Their struggle, as they grappled with the confusion and heartache that accompanies a rare diagnosis, felt achingly familiar.

When my sister was eighteen, after her fourth or fifth suicide attempt, in addition to other alarming behavior, a discerning doctor encouraged my parents to have her undergo more tests. I was thirteen when my parents sat me down and told me about my sister’s malignant tumor. Up until the radical behavior change, I’d admired everything about my sister, everything from her fiery attitude to her love of writing. She embodied an electric energy and I wanted to be near that energy every chance I got.

That changed. So much about my sister changed in the years that followed her cancer diagnosis. Other factors contributed to the disturbing behavior that escalated from occasional occurrences to everyday chaos. But I’ve always wondered what my sister would have been like—what she’d be like today—if she didn’t have that cancerous mass festering inside her brain. (Doctors attempted to remove the tumor soon after her diagnosis. During surgery they decided for her quality of life, they would only remove half.)

I told you before that I didn’t want to write this post. I seldom talk about this topic because it consumed so much of my life and waking thoughts growing up. I decided to write about it because I know I’m not alone. Not only do I have other family members who know what it’s like, I realize there are thousands of people dealing with the unique tragedy of losing someone alive. They’re there, but trapped somehow inside themselves. Whether due to addiction, mental illness, an accident, Alzheimer’s, or other brain anomalies, your loved one isn’t who you used to know and you’ve had to adjust to the new normal of who they are now. I cried hard at the hopeful part in Brain on Fire when Susannah makes strides toward recovery. I loved that for her, but hurt for those I know who won’t walk that same path.

People love to tell me it’s a miracle that my sister, who was only given six months to ten years at most at the time of her diagnosis, has lived into her late 40s. Yes, it is. It’s a complicated miracle. Because in many ways she’s still trapped. And she hardly resembles that fiery teen I put on a pedestal all those years ago.

But I love her fiercely. And no one said loving is always easy.  

Onward. Upward. Through.

One of my mom’s closest friends passed away this past weekend. As I digested this tragic news, I got

to thinking about my time here. And then, without warning, the hard questions infiltrated . . . as they have a habit of doing in moments like this.

I asked myself if I’m living fully.

Am I allowing fear to stop me from pursuing a dream?

Have I grown numb to living life on autopilot?

Am I putting relationships first?

Why do I keep fighting against thoughts that I know aren’t based in truth?

How much time have I wasted clinging to shame, regret, jealousy, and anger?

What’s stopping me?

And that’s where the questions slammed into a roadblock. What isn’t stopping me feels like a more fitting question to ask. Excuses. Past mistakes. Broken relationships. Bruises and scars. Fear of failure. The weight of other’s anger. Distractions. Insecurity and doubt. Mind traps—lies I’ve chosen to believe.

Futile.

There are castles to see, waters to sail, books to be written, girls to raise, a husband to dance with, a dog to walk, family and friends to embrace, people to inspire. There’s a whole world out there for me to engage with.

I have so much more life to live. I’d rather fight through the mire, than sit idly by.

It’s worth it to ask the hard questions in order to squeeze the most out of this short time we’re allotted here.

Onward. Upward. Through.

Make Your Character Do These Four Things

There are ways to ensure, as a writer, you are doing your part to create an unforgettable main character. More than tricks or steps, I view the following as food for thought when you’re in the process of implementing character-building traits. Bonus is that if done well, these considerations have the ability to serve both the character you’ve created and the reader.

Four Ways to Establish a Connection between The Reader & Your Main Character 

Make Him Sacrifice Something

Few things reveal a person’s inner goals and passions more than when they have to give them up for someone or something else. When a character is required to make a noble or respect worthy sacrifice, they often have to dig deep. They are perceived as more selfless. And instantly they become more likable to the reader. And when a character is more likable to the reader, the reader roots for that person. And when the reader roots for that person, they want to keep reading. Therein is the ultimate goal of a writer, to incite the reader to want more.

Make Her Wrestle with Something

When your main character wars with an internal battle she is instantly more relatable. Because who hasn’t wrestled with something big in life—an emotional decision, a time of letting go, a great fear? The reader feels privileged to be invited on this intimate or vulnerable journey. Being privy to an internal battle helps the reader feel like they have been trusted with the inside scoop. When the struggle is conveyed in a non-whiny, though life-changing manner, the reader will likely crave to know whether the MC works through the struggle or not.

Make Him Lose Something or Someone They Love

Cruel, right? Truth is, Mr. MC will reveal a lot about himself as he reacts to the loss. Encountering someone during a time of loss invokes empathy from even the most stoic of folk. We all know what it feels like to endure a heartrending loss. As humans we share an innate curiosity. We like to surmise what causes some to be resilient and others not so much. We also like to know whether a loss will push someone to eventually bounce back or sink at a time like this. The right answer or way to play this isn’t always to have him bounce back immediately by the way. Which leads me to . . .

Make Her Persevere

This one has brought me to tears during writing sessions. As writers we have dichotomous souls when it comes to breaking our characters down. It must be done. It’ll bring the deepest, rawest, most human aspects of them to the surface. And when this happens the reader becomes engaged. The reader cringes whenever tragedy after tragedy befalls their beloved character. However, the victory resulting in stalwart perseverance is that much sweeter because the reader knows all that the main character has had to suffer through. They’ve cheered her on, identified with her agony, and when the conflicts have touched on universal feelings of defeat or discouragement, the reader connects with the book—the character in a way that few other things can accomplish. Lead your character to persevere through pain and you create the potential for a beautiful and memorable bond to form between your MC and the reader.

Can you think of a character who will stay with you forever? Did the author who created them force him or her to endure any of the above? 

The Thing about Breathing

There’s a thing about breathing. We forget to do it. Or we go through the motion of it so mechanically we’re startled the second our lungs make a false start. Over the past few weeks, I’ve woken in bed with my chest rattling, wondering how to enter into the next blessed sleepy moment. Don’t waste time speculating what has me riddled with breathlessness. I’ll come right out with it. Among other stressors, the grief over losing my dog is walloping me. Yes, all the non-dog people of the world, now is the time to have a good laugh.

But the dog lovers. Those who’ve also loved and lost (or can’t imagine when that day comes). Well, I know you get it.

I had to teach myself to breathe again while restless in bed the other night. Training air to enter in through my nostrils and pour out through my mouth. And when I forced the inhaling and exhaling, concentrating until the act of breathing grew more natural, I eventually fell asleep.

Why am I sharing this?

Because a few times over the course of the last few days I’ve thought about the movie Sleepless in Seattle when Tom Hanks is sitting in his Seattle home opening up to his son about missing the boy’s mom, his deceased wife. Hanks talks about this breathing thing.

Then, as I’m only pages from reaching the end of a great book club read (The Husband’s Secret by Liane Moriarty) earlier today, I hit upon this line. “She hadn’t  realized she was holding her breath. This kept happening too. She had to remember to breathe.”

As convoluted as we humans can be, there really are universal strings that will always tie us together.

When we grieve and experience loss there will be moments we forget to breathe.

Which brings me to one of my favorite openings of all time. “From my first breath in this world, all I wanted was a good set of lungs and the air to fill them with—given circumstances, you might presume for an American baby of the twentieth century. Think about your own first gasp: a shocking wind roweling so easily down your throat, and you still slipping around in the doctor’s hands. How you yowled! Not a thing on your mind but breakfast, and that was on the way.” ~ Peace Like a River

I’ve decided it’s in the trusting—the trusting that the next breath will come that I’ll push through this. And in the slowing down and feeling, no matter how painful the emotions may be.

With confidence and somewhat bashfully, I’ll admit I loved our dog more than I have loved most people. It makes sense to me my breath would stop on occasion, tripped up like ornery bike gears.

Stumbling upon lines in great books like those listed above regarding conscious breathing and remembering Hanks talking to his kid, I’m reassured I’m not alone in this. Sometimes we need to go back to the basics. 

It’s here as we experience the raw art of breathing that we are able to humbly identify how vulnerable we all are.

Here in the inhale and exhale of grief.

The Story Behind the Dedication

I dedicated my novella, The Disappearing Key to my friend from college. Years ago, I could not stop bawling when I heard Erin’s story. Her loss settled so deeply inside me I felt compelled to write about it. So began the first scene in The Disappearing Key.

Recently Erin agreed to answer a few questions for my readers…

1. Erin, I’m moved you’re willing to visit with me to share about your experience. What would you like people to know about your loss and what life has been like for you since?

First of all, I am so very touched that my experience helped to inspire The Disappearing Key.  I appreciate the opportunity to share a little more about it.  Hopefully it will enhance your readers’ experience with the novella as well as in their own lives, as so many of us have been impacted by pregnancy or infant loss in some way. 

I never imagined that after an uneventful almost 39 weeks of pregnancy that I would have to say hello and goodbye to my first born child at the same time. My son Colin was born still on March 1, 2008.  He was a beautiful, healthy 7 lb, 6 oz little boy, the spitting image of his daddy. Colin's death was completely unexpected and I was utterly unprepared. I was fortunate to have some amazing support right from the start, but the grief process was long and hard. I don't think it is something that I have ever "gotten over," but I have learned to live with it, made room for it in my life, and moved forward.  It changed me in so many ways and I hope mostly for the better. 

Colin's little brother and sister entered our lives 16 months after he was born. They bring so much joy and love to our home. I thank their big brother for them because, without him, they would not be here. They know about their big brother and ask questions at unexpected times like 4-year-olds do. It is so bittersweet when they talk about him and wonder why they can’t play with him.  It brings me so much peace that Colin is not forgotten in our home. I think that is important for anyone who knows someone who lost a child during or shortly after pregnancy. The loss is real and it never goes away but the pain does diminish and is replaced by the life lessons and unexpected gifts that the experience brings. 

2. I’m grateful you sent me a poignant letter about what it was like to deliver a stillborn child. It truly helped shape my first chapter. What was your reaction when you read the first chapter of The Disappearing Key? And your response to the novella as a whole?

Knowing a little about the novella's subject matter and story, I was not sure how I would react to reading it or even if I would be able to read it. Oriana's birth brought back memories of my experience giving birth to Colin (along with a slight pit in my stomach).  I related to Roy and Gabrielle’s panic and desire to fix things.  I would have done anything to bring my son back to me. 

Once I started reading, I had a hard time putting it down.  I quickly became engrossed in the characters and wanted to know what was going to happen next.  It stopped being about the stillbirth itself and had me thinking about our role as parents, medicine, the effects of grief…loved it.  I am ready for your next book, Wendy!  

3. Thank you for letting me know that October 15th (today) is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day (& that October is the Awareness Month). This topic is close to my heart. Why do you think it helps for people to gain a greater understanding regarding infant and pregnancy loss?

I had the opportunity to connect with others who experienced a similar loss after Colin died and I know that is what got me through it. I have also had the opportunity to serve as a resource to families beginning their journey with loss.  Although the stories and details are different, we are connected in a way that only those who have experienced this loss truly understand.  Pregnancy and infant loss are more common than people realize (or want to realize) and it is not commonly talked about (by myself included).      

Pregnancies are celebrated and honored in so many ways, with so much anticipation and excitement. Yet when they do not go as planned, often people do not know what to do or say. Since it is not something that is commonly talked about, it can be a very isolating and lonely experience. By better understanding it, we are better able to support those around us who are touched by the experience. Importantly, a greater understanding honors and remembers the children that were so highly anticipated, desired, and loved. And hopefully, it will bring increased focus and resources within the medical community to better understand the causes of stillbirth and other forms of loss to reduce the instances in possibly preventable situations. 

Readers, how did Erin’s responses move your thoughts today?

Erin always takes pinwheels to the cemetery and has them at her house 
as a reminder of Colin. 

***

Here’s an updated picture depicting the numerous book clubs already participating in 

my Key Book Clubs from Coast to Coast Contest

&

The winner of Spreading the Key Chain Love Contest is Beth Vogt (with the creative vote going to Heather Day Gilbert). Beth, I’ll send you the key chain & Heather gets a coffee treat!

8 Things My Dog Would Say if She Could Talk ~ A Tribute

Korah died yesterday. I can’t think of a better tribute than to repost one of my most well-visited posts. Enjoy reading some of my favorite memories about her…

We taught our dog to talk. She can say I love you and out, though the two often get confused. We sometimes think she’s expressing her affection for us when she really just needs to hit the grass.

This got me thinking. What would our beloved canine say if she really could talk? Here are my thoughts on this I 8 Wednesday:

• I like how my mom (she calls herself that, but I’m no fool. I don’t believe I grew in her belly like those other three non-hairy ones) nestles next to me when she’s sad. Yum…salty tears.
• I’ve worked hard to master what they call “a cute puppy dog face” when I’m drooling, and dying to have a little nibble of what they’re eating. Mom caves easily. The non-hairy ones seem indifferent and usually let me take a few licks. Dad, he’s the hardest one. Gotta work on my face more.
• My family feels bad for me when I get squirted by a skunk. Sheesh, it’s happened enough times. What they don’t know is I’m the one who wins. They’ve never seen the skunk after the fiasco, have they?
• Mom must really enjoy picking up my poop. She saves it all for one day toward the end of the winter and spends over an hour scooping it up in the backyard (aka: my kingdom).
• Yes, I eat my own fur after they brush it off of me (if I can get to it in time). What they don’t know is every time I eat it it goes into my stomach and finds a way to grow on my skin again. So the brushing thing—it’s really a futile act. Wonder when they’ll wake up and smell the truth? Humans!
• The vet = public enemy #1. Cats in our neighborhood are spies for the vet. I can’t figure out what side the mail carrier is on. But I’m beginning to understand those pesky squirrels in the backyard (my kingdom) aren’t just gathering nuts. I think they’re transferring messages to the cats to take to public enemy #1.
• Yeah, so, I walked straight up to the police station where the animal control guy parks his truck? I wanted to see what it was like on the inside. Mom’s a writer. She gets this. All in the name of research, right Mom?
• I’ve been all around the country, but I’d have to say the coolest place my parents took me (other than a park in South Dakota where my parents had to chuck graham crackers out of the car…dropping some inside the car…in order to get past the enormous donkeys) was Mount Rushmore. Loved seeing those big rock heads. A little afraid they’d tumble down on us, but I tend to pick up on Mom and Dad’s anxiety and they didn’t act near as scared as when they do when they detect the first whiff of skunk.

What would your pet say if they could talk?

Also, I'm guest posting about being 14 over at Heather Sunseri's today. So grateful, Heather!