Book Report?

My husband discovered me reading (again) the other day. Amused, he pointed down at the notebook on my lap. “You doing a book report?”

I smiled and mused to myself that fellow writers know why I lug a notebook with me along with the book I’m currently reading. I’m not doing a book report, but strong writers have a tendency to bring out the best in my writing. Good books are excellent at pointing out holes in my own stories. When I’m inspired by a book I’m reading, I never want to be caught without a pen when the fresh idea hits or a character arc solidifies. This is also why I keep a notepad near my bed at night, and I’m seriously thinking it’s time to leave a pen and paper outside the shower.

Ideas are like prairie dogs, you never can predict when they’ll pop up. (I recently read somewhere that the language of the prairie dog is more advanced than any other animal language that’s been decoded.) I consider it part of my job to pay attention. Not only to the world around me, but the world within books. This includes everything from pacing to sentence structure to identifying something akin to a musical rhythm in the paragraphs.

Does this steal the joy from reading?

Absolutely not. Most of the time I’m doing these things without even realizing it. Like training a muscle, I started this practice years ago and it felt a little uncomfortable initially. Dissecting books did feel a little like writing a book report in the beginning. But now I hardly notice I’m doing it. I still read for enjoyment, entertainment, and to learn. I’m always pleasantly surprised when book starts to work its magic, when the sentences stir something in my brain and a lock is unhinged, a new idea freed.

This process of transference, reading good writing in order to produce good writing is one of the unpredictable thrills of writing. I never know when I’m going to stumble upon brilliant writing. Oh, but when I do! I want to savor every word.

Two books worth mentioning:

Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I’veLoved by Kate Bowler. Absolutely loved this book. I connected with this author’s viewpoint on so many levels. Highly recommend this read!

The Lightkeeper’s Daughters by Jean E. Pendziwol. Currently reading. I’m getting so much from this one. Character development is fantastic. Pacing and building suspense on point. Can’t wait to read more!

A Seahorse is Born

I saw her eye first. {See it?} Over the weekend, I knew I wanted to paint something on this wood. It was a project waiting to happen. And so this seahorse came to be.

As I painted I thought about how similar the onset of this project is to when I get an idea for a novel. Usually a novel starts with a specific character trait or a unique idea. Then, as I plot out the concept, I watch as the book gradually comes to life.

I encountered surprising details and twists as I brushed the seahorse to life on the wood. I didn’t know she’d end up with swoopy tendrils on her head. As I thought about what to paint next, I took hints from the knots and whorls in the wood. I find this happens a lot while working on a novel. I’ll wake in the middle of the night struck by a fresh idea. I’ll hear a conversation or conjure a memory and the pieces come together. I follow the creativity to see where it’ll lead.

I took breaks from painting to google what actual seahorses look like. Of course I veered from the actual depiction of a seahorse, but that was part of the fun—knowing what I was veering from and having a solid visual to begin with. One of my favorite things about my vocation is that I consider reading novels a necessary part of my work. Research.

It’s pretty cool when you think about it. My creative process shows up in everything I do. It’s more than a formula or a systematic methodology. It’s a way of life. Painting a seahorse (this one in all her quirky glory) is a far cry from writing an entire full-length novel. Except my approach to both felt amusingly familiar.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.

~ William Blake

Summer of Discernment

Thanks to our recent move, I’ve been enjoying the unusual and special privilege of spending a lot of time with my girls this summer. I’m making use of our time together. I’m teaching them the art of discernment. Age appropriate, I’m helping them to weed through impulsive words, to look for patterns, and to recognize inconsistencies and hypocrisy they identify in themselves and in others. I’m not making a big show of it. We don’t sit down and have family meetings about this. But I’m teaching it. Because now more than ever these things matter.

“Eomer said, ‘How is a man to judge what to do in such times?’
As he has ever judged,’ said Aragorn. ‘Good and evil have not changed since yesteryear, nor are they one thing among Elves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.”
― J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers

My Vow to Other Women

I’ve said a lot of things off the cuff through the years. The older I get, the more I want to weigh my words, to consider the how important something is—how valuable—before it leaves my tongue.

There is one thing I can’t stand being said to me. And believe it or not, I hear it a lot.

I bet you’ve heard it, too.

“You look tired.”

Major pet peeve. Why? Because it doesn’t take a genius or a clairvoyant to know I am tired. Most of us are tired and it doesn’t always have to do with lack of sleep. Sometimes it’s a sign we’ve sacrificed, we’ve cared deeply, and we’ve loved until we feel wrung out.

I’m learning to take better care of myself. This seems to be something I have to remind myself to work on. My natural inclination is to pour it all out for my family, but then I find myself crippled with exhaustion, depleted, and not all that useful to anyone.

When I see you and I catch you mid-yawn, or your posture is stooped, or your eyes are unscored with dark shadows, I won’t speak the obvious. Instead, I’ll elect to ask how things are going, how I might help, or I may figure out a way to connect and empathize with you.

I won’t tell you that you look tired.

Because we’re both feeling it. Really, we all are. It just shows up more on some of us.

Splotchy Solution

Two rooms down, one to go. I’m in painting mode. When it came time to paint my youngest daughter’s room, my husband and I took a step back and let out a “Ruh-roh.” We bought the gallon of chipper blue paint before we thought about how we’d move the massive bunk bed in her room. With each move it has taken multiple men to haul that beast (and that’s before they put it together). Our heads spun as we proposed a few ideas to our daughter. Paint only one wall? Chevron stripes? It seemed every idea was quickly shot down.

Until . . . stencils.

I got excited, found one she loved, then went to work. When it comes to painting I’ve never been an obsessive perfectionist, but I wouldn’t consider myself sloppy either.

That’s why my heart sunk when I peeled off the first try.

Maybe it was the brush. Or I went to fast. Or I focused on making the color too dark.

But this is what showed up . . .

I then brainstormed ways I’d solve my solution to the original problem. Use the original paint and paint over my splotchy attempt? Fill it in and create a polka-dot wall? My brain began to hurt.

Enter kid.

She liked it. She really liked it.

Still, stubborn as I am, I wanted to prove I could paint the stencil on the wall the way it’s supposed to appear.

And this showed up . . .

 And she liked both. Something about the variety spoke to her. And you know what? I agree. I’m a fan of how it’s turning out.

Oftentimes in life what we believe to be mistakes end up being the exact opposite. Splotchy solutions have merit. Perspective reigns, creativity thrives, and open-mindedness is an excellent teacher.

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.  

Fighting Dispiritedness

We’ve begun the initial stages of settling in to our new home. Painting. Arranging furniture. Recycling boxes. While I feel incredibly peaceful in this house, the weight of the world feels heavy lately. I’m disgusted and dispirited by irresponsible and heartbreaking politics, callous impulsivity, and a real lack of empathy and understanding in our culture. Often when I encounter this type of reaction I retreat. I shrink inside myself, tempting to block out the world—to insulate as a form of protection.

However, in time I’ve learned there are better ways for me to rise above moments of deep disappointment with the world we live in.

Eight Ways I Fight Dispiritedness

Initiate Meaningful Conversation

Not everyone agrees with me. Some may think the world is just fine as it is, some may even say it’s improving. Those are the folks I try to initiate conversations with. I don’t go in with a Debbie Downer approach, but I do believe the most successful road toward change is establishing a broad understanding of the path we’re on, this includes the people we’re walking beside. I have learned to have healthy, robust exchanges. We can disagree, that’s fine. But I crave for people to think. What gets me down more than anything is when people blindly back someone or a decision without garnering understanding first.

Get Outside

I know my triggers and when the world presses in with great intensity and I find myself unshakably sad, the outdoors calls. It’s restorative for me. I’m exceedingly grateful we moved to a place with a calming view and nearby outdoor playgrounds for me—the mountains, the beach, etc.

Seek to Understand

My husband often says, “But the world has always been a mess.” True. But as someone living here and now, I’m driven to understand what it is about our culture that’s pervasively destructive. What’s destroying us? I step back and take time to figure out specifically what it is that’s angering me so much, then I try really hard to dissect the situation, viewing it from unique perspectives.

Speak Up

As I feel led, I’ll reach out to those in a position of power, those who could incite change. I’ll become more vocal. I’ll root around for my voice, then use it.

Write

It’s what I do. For over twenty years the best way for me to sort through anything has been to get it down on paper. It’s freeing somehow.

Check in with My Kids

I have a major responsibility and I don’t take it lightly. I’m raising a new generation of thinkers. Of voters. Of doers. Of changers. I dialogue with my kids and share with them, as appropriate, the things that rattle me about this current climate. I’m curious, does it rattle them? Will she be the one to put an end to this or to create radical change?

I Laugh

It’s so basic, but it’s medicinal for me. Truly. It changes how my brain works. My youngest showed me this video not long ago of a little girl who’s renamed ice cream. I crack up every time I watch. I think it’s healing me somehow—laughter and this video. Maybe it’s the innocence of it all.

Hold Strong to Hope

I don’t always feel my faith. I wrestle more than I care to admit. But neither of those confessed truths alter the reality of hope. It exists. It’s steadfast. And trustworthy whether I cling to it or not. We have a God so billowing with love he won’t ever quit on us even as we destroy all he’s given us.

It can get rough out there, people. I strongly encourage you to figure out what will help you combat the dispiritedness. Because you’re necessary here. We need you. Change awaits.