Roots?

My family is still on Hawaii time this morning as we dive back into routine and take on the day. There’s no way I could choose a favorite experience from our trip because so much of what we encountered the past few days has left a deep impression. A spattering volcano. A black sand beach. Raging waterfalls. A free-range horse ride, and stunning waves to name a few, not to mention the unplugged time together.

When we trekked down through a lava tube (a hole carved out underground from the fierce flow of lava) my eye kept gravitating to the roof of the cave-like tunnel. Long tendrils spiraled down over our heads. I asked our guide what the moss-like stringy roof décor was, conjuring stalagmites and glow worms in caves I’ve seen on nature programs.

The answer = roots.

Roots, of course. Because plants will grow where they will.

And I couldn’t think of anything else in the world that I can relate to more right now.

Why? Because we’re moving again. A year ago we signed the contract on our home in Georgia, and sometime in the next few months we’ll be signing a contract on a home in California.

I may not have roots planted in deep soil when it comes to a home town, but I have established memorable friendships and have garnered a strong sense of adaptability. I’m a pro at moving. But it comes with its own share of anguish, stress, fear, and raw emotion.

This song says it all . . .

Onward.

Story Ideas & the Toy Vending Machine

You know when you wrap up at the dentist and the hygienist offers you a shot at the itty bitty vending-type machine, and you get a little excited wondering what you’ll get? This process similar to what it’s like coming up with story ideas for me.

Ideas bombard me at any given moment. I keep a notebook by my bed, in my car, and on various counters of my house. Because they sneak attack—ideas do. And every time I weigh the validity of a story idea it feels like selecting something out of a toy vending machine. I’ve gotten better at figuring out which are the best toys to get.

Some days I end up with . . .

A bouncy ball

You think this is a good one at first. Mildly entertaining. Fun to zing up to the ceiling. It responds to your exertion. All good, right? But there comes a day when the bouncy ball is quarantined under a sofa and gets coated with so much dust it’s difficult to see what it ever was in the first place.

Silly string

Yay. It’s fun. It’s entertaining. For about two seconds, then it’s a mess.

A stuffed animal

This one is tricky because it likes to fool you. Look at me, I’m so cute. You can cuddle me and love me. Until I end up in the back of your closet because my weird eyebrows and overly stuffed stomach freak you out at night. Stuffed animals seems like such an ideal grab at first, but they’re quickly neglected. Especially the vending machine variety because they’re made cheap, prone to ripping easily and destined to bore.

A plastic slinky

Another initial cheer when an idea like this strikes. I take notes. I think I’ve got a good thing going, but have you ever tried a plastic slinky? They have the power of Eeyore before a nap. And they readily twist up. Not writer’s gold, the plastic slinky. Better to slink it back.

Fake teeth

I have a thing against chewed gum. And fake teeth. And anything that has the potential to collect saliva. Fake teeth also seem intriguing at first. Try ’em on. Have a laugh with them. Then what? They sit in some drawer gathering germs, forgotten.

It’s not until Silly Putty falls into my hands that I know I’ve got a real thing going.

Silly Putty

More like writer idea gold. When a concept like this sparks, I trust it’s transferred from something that’s left a great impression on me, such a lasting impression it leaves a stamp on me. (Think Silly Putty and a newspaper.) Then, and here’s the coolest thing, with an idea like this, I know I’m able to smash it up, bend it, and contort it into an entirely different shape—that impression. And if you’re like my kids were when they were little, you smack Silly Putty and leave it smashed onto your forehead for as long as humanly possible. And I don’t think I know a writer alive who doesn’t want people to have their stories smashed on their foreheads. Silly Putty is the holy grail of toy vending machine grabs. It’s the idea maker and giver all in one.

Authors, always root for the Silly Putty to fall into your hands.

*Blogging break. Be back on April 9^th.

Writing through the Chaos

When I was a kid I begged my mom to drive me to a neighboring town so I could audition to be a tightrope walker. She refused. Hmm…wonder why? I suppose it makes sense to me now that she had reservations about me joining the circus.

I’ve identified a good deal with a tightrope walker in my writing life lately. Major life events, as well as plenty of routine day-to-day demands swirl all around me as I work hard to maintain my focus. I decided to take a step back and assess what helps me to stay in line with my target goals and what presents the greatest distraction.

The following are six strategies that have kept me committed to writing and my writing goals during times of upheaval.

When life’s a circus . . .

I remind myself to breathe fire

Writing is a proven stress relief for me. I allow this mantra to echo in my mind as a reminder of what good it’ll do me to take some time to peck out a few thousand words. It calms my nerves, slows my heart rate, and has a magical way of putting my mind at ease. Breathe fire. Let out the stress.

I make things disappear

I poof the expectation I have to make a meal everyone will enjoy every night or vamoose the lunch appointment with that individual who has mastered the art of sucking the best out of me. I’m a magician when it comes to my schedule, keeping committed to only the things of utmost priority and making all the rest disappear.

I periodically look back with respect at the elephants in line behind me

I view this in two ways. There are times I need to reflect upon just how far my discipline has gotten me. Also, looking back at the elephants behind me is another way of telling myself other authors—great masters of discipline—have done this before—climbed these steps, kicked up to great heights. I’m inspired to keep at it when I remember to look back.

I clown around

When I’m in the midst of a chaotic life change, I make sure to seek out laughter. It’s a reward. Whether plotting a novel or drafting a key scene, I find creative avenues that are sure to spark laughter in me. It’s part of clinging to my sanity. And it’s just a fun way to live.

I’m okay if a few plates fall

I’ve learned the incredible freedom that comes with granting myself some grace. Plates will topple. It’s part of it. The key is to not obsess over what’s broken on the ground and to keep my eyes on what’s amazing above. I may not reach my word count. Or a kid might not get their favorite things in their lunch bag. The world will go on spinning.

I grab on to hands that are reaching out

One thing more than any other indicates where I land on the pride meter. Am I able to grasp on to others when they’re offering help or am I stubbornly insistent on doing it all myself? Flinging myself through times of turmoil without reaching for and hanging on to the help offered is a futile undertaking, a surefire way to run myself ragged.

Life is a circus right now. I want to be intentional about what I love. I want to write through the chaos.

I Am Here

Every morning I read something inspiring. It’s my way of starting the day off right. I happen to really like how Shauna Niequist communicates. Could be that she enjoys food, wine, and fellowship as much as I do, but I’m pretty sure it’s more about how she expresses herself with a blend of both vulnerability and motivation. I love when those two traits mingle.

I had to laugh at a devotion I read the other day. In her book, Savor, Niequist writes how she used to perceive her future as a rock only to watch it turn into a magic carpet, becoming a “slidy-wiggly thing, full of equal parts play and terror.” Nodding. Laughing more. She finishes the message with this, “There is a loosey-goosey feeling to the future now, both a slight edge of anxiety like anything can happen, and a slight bubble of hope and freedom that, well, anything can happen.” If ever I’ve wanted to color a big dot on a page and scream I am here, this was the page.

This is that moment for me.

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

Greatest Belonging

Finally, I got to go see The Greatest Showman yesterday in the theater and man, oh, man, I loved it! It reached me on so many levels. Throughout the movie I kept thinking how central to the human character it is for all of us to find some sense of belonging. I teared up during one scene when P.T. Barnum’s wife, Charity, says to him something like, “You don’t need everyone to love you, just a few good people.”

A few good people.

I know what it’s like to be seduced by lights, to desperately crave approval from others. I’m well-acquainted with circles, sitting blissful, and at times, ignorantly excluding in the center of them. I’m also achingly aware of what it feels like to be carelessly tossed out of circles. Whether on my own volition, or because someone decided I no longer had a place, it’s devastating to lose that sense of belonging.

I’ve navigated beyond these losses, daring to create new bonds. Being familiar with the intimate pain of what it feels like to have belonging stripped away, I seek ways to help others to feel included. Wanted. Cared for.

That’s what was so mesmerizing and beautiful about this film. We all struggle with a freakish nature. We are all afraid to be shockingly vulnerable, scared that our secrets, our shortcomings, our oddities, and our “otherness” will be found out. Know what we all really desire?

To be embraced and loved for who we are, where we are, as we are.

There’s also beauty in learning to discern who the few good people are—the small ring of folks in our lives who will always be faithful, who love us through and through.

The Power of Story

I’m a sucker for Olympic stories. I’ll root for you if you give me a moving piece about your past and what it’s taken to get you to this place.

That’s why I believe this story immediately piqued my interest.

It’s not of the Olympic variety, but one of memoirs, a shared bond, and a love written between the pages.

I adore memoirs. I read both WHEN BREATH BECOMES AIR and THE BRIGHT HOUR, struck by the bravery, eloquence, and insight that two memoirists exuded as they captured the equally tragic and poignant perspective of what it’s like to be dying.

Both memoirs were published posthumously.

The spouses were encouraged by their dying loved ones to enter a new relationship or remarry after they pass away. The article uses the words radical permission to emphasize this.

And so . . .

John Duberstein and Lucy Kalanithi came together.

I’ve read these books. I understand this union is the farthest thing from a fairy tale box office bond. I love how the article I linked detailed one of their first interactions as obscenely vulnerable. I’ve always happened to believe great things come when we risk being vulnerable.

Finally, the article concludes with this hopeful message. “For now they are relishing their time together, in all its complexity.”

Because doesn’t that just say it all? Relish through the complexity. Relish despite it. Amidst it. Relish the time we have.