Blog Hoppin'

I don't usually blog about writing, but last week I was invited by my St. Louis, MO-based friend and writer extraordinaire, Sue Bradford Edwards, to participate in this "blog hop interview." The idea is pretty straightforward: She sent me some interview questions, which I answer (see below), and at the end I tag a couple of other writers who will in turn answer the same questions on their blogs next week. 

Please check out Sue's answers to the questions at her blog, One Writer's Journey. Feel free to leave a comment and tell her you heard about it from me. 

And now, without further ado--

THE QUESTIONS

1. What are you working on right now?

• I am in the process of writing an article for Children's Writer Newsletter   on the subject of following up on submissions/queries. Then, hot on its heels, I have an article about writer/editor relationships to write for Writer's Guide to 2014. (The link takes you to WG2013, which also cantains an article of mine). In addition, I am  putting the final polish on my middle-grade historical fiction novel about the cliffdwellers of Mesa Verde--working title: The Flight of the Cliffbird--which is under contract with Royal Fireworks Press.

2. Why do you write what you do?

• Because I like to. The articles on writing give me opportunities to interact with publishers, editors, agents, and other writers, and glean from their wisdom. Middle-grade fiction, though, is my favorite thing to write. You can dive in deep--into characters, setting, plot. I get enough starting and stopping from the articles I write, so a long-term project is great to keep on the burner to work on in between the shorter stuff.

3. How does your writing process work?

• For articles, it usually looks like writing a set of interview questions, researching editors etc. that are willing to answer said questions. Once they send the interviews back to me, I pull the article together blending quotes and research in a hopefully writer-ly way. Fiction, though is a much more organic process for me, in which I alternate between times of inspiration where sentences flow so easily that when I read back through, I can't remember writing them, interspersed with sectors of revising and polishing, working on the overall structure and deepening characters, plot, pacing, and all those elements that go into making a good story.

4. What is the hardest part about writing?

• Starting. That white computer screen staring back at me while I try to formulate the first sentence. It's funny, but I always want my beginning to be perfect, even though I'm willing for the rest of the article or book to evolve. But most times perfection doesn't happen right off the bat, so I'm like a kid teetering on the end of a diving board trying to pysche myself up enough to take the plunge, even if it's not a perfect dive.

5. What would you like to try as a writer that you haven't yet?

• I would like to explore poetry. It would help if I actually understood poetry, but mostly I don't, especially contemporary poetry. I mean--what makes a certain conglomeration of non-rhyming, non-metered words poetry?

So there you have it, even if you didn't ask the questions, you now have the answers. The writers I've tagged are posted below. Check out how other authors answered these questions and more! 

Posting July 4 – Cheryl Harness at her blog
Posting soon: Patricia Newman, SCBWI RA for Northern CA at her blog--http://www.patriciamnewman.com/bio.html

Thankful

I am drifting around here today turning a blind eye to several household chores that need to be done, trying to bolster my sagging morale by engaging in other activities. I want to:

• Eat Chocolate
• Check email
• Read a book
• Eat more chocolate while reading said book
• And--

There is no and. That is where I find myself, and only the fact that I have no chocolate in the house and I do not want to make the effort to go get some is keeping me from my plan. 

Where is Mary Poppins when you need her?! A snap of the fingers and everything marches to its place, folds itself, and even shuts the drawers behind itself. My household seems to be quite the opposite--everytime I turn around, it appears that more debris has erupted from the baseboards, sinks, side tables and carpet. It drags me down and if I'm not careful I can end up forgetting all the things that are right in my world:

• I'm getting to spend time with my granddaughter. Sweetest child.
• I am surrounded by friends and people I love.
• My husband gives me flowers.
• I am living where I want to live.
• Opportunities are opening to me.
• Coffee is brewing which I will drink from a favorite cup.
• I do not have to do the housework if I don't want to.

This is just the index!

And I'm noticing the direct correlation between what I focus on and how I feel. When I focus on housework that is not getting done, I feel bogged down and slightly resentful. But as I begin to recount my blessings, I see what an amazing life I really do lead in spite of dishes waiting to be washed and toilets needing to be cleaned, and my heart is lifted. Such a simple principle. What we focus on can give us strength for the day, or drain us until we see no silver linings and hear no words of hope. It reminds me of the verse, 

"...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things, and God's peace will guard your heart and mind..."

 I also find it interesting and rather irritating that focusing on the negative aspects of the day is so much easier than dwelling on the positive, and that negatives can so quickly drain us of hope and initiative, robbing us of the strength that good things bring, though in actuality, all our positives never changed. They just became obscured. Overshadowed. It makes me want to pick up a sword and start slashing at that invisible yet somehow tangible veil. I've got way too much good in my life to be dragged down by the few not-so-amazing aspects I may be dealing with. So I think that instead of seeking comfort in chocolate, I will pick up my list of thankfulness and do battle. Let's see. This includes:

• Sleeping cats
• Sleeping kids
• Peace
• Safety
• A God who loves me
• A new day stretching out in front of me full of unexplored blessings 

Yes, chocolate is awesome and I still want some. In fact, chocolate is on my list of excellent and praiseworthy things. But today I'm taking a large helping of thankfulness and not only does it taste very good, my whole day is looking up!

Memories in the Making

Today's experience is tomorrow's memory. 

Why, then, does it often feel so mundane in the here and now? I find this interesting, along with the fact that often the making of the memories is rather unmemorable or even not that enjoyable. For example, we recently went on a hike to a nearby lake, then panned for gold in a tributary creek after exploring the entrance to an honest-to-goodness goldmine from the 1800's and a nearby stamp mill  complete with gold sluices and ore crusher. Brilliant stuff.

Reality? It was hovering close to 100 degrees. Just standing brought a sweat, much less the mile and a half hike. Two out of three of the teens involved were ready to be finished befiore we ever set out, and not only did we find no gold, the water was so cold we went numb from the ankles down. The kids kept pressing to be finished and back at the car while my hubby and I lagged behind trying to soak in the moment. This was only partially successful--I find it hard to soak in a moment when I'm aware that not everyone is thrilled.

But in memory? I see blue skies and tall trees, hear again crystalline water tumbling over rocks and the singing of wind in the pines. Holding hands. Laughter. Wonder. The excitement of discovery. And the more time goes by, the harder it is to recall the negatives. In fact, just today I told the story to some friends and for the moment truly forgot there were any less-than-happy campers or less-than-ideal circumstances.

Sometimes we want to live in memories because they are much more comforting and comfortable than the here and now. One of the flaws in this practice, of course, is that life passes us by while we look backwards at what has become in our memory a high point in life. Taken to the extreme, this backward yearning can cause us to lose whole chunks of our timeline. You see this sometimes--people re-living, recounting, recalling their glory days, while their very life slips by them unvalued. What a waste, for if we spend our efforts seeking to re-live or re-create the past, we cannot store away as much of today. And
today is the fuel of tomorrow's memories.

At the same time, this phenomenon of only remembering the best moments seems like a very useful piece of information to keep in mind during the day-to-dayness or the harder parts of life. If I remind myself that one day whatever less-than-amazing thing I'm experiencing will be past, and that I will look back at it through the golden veil of  memory, then perhaps those elements will seem less like slogging it out and more like something purposeful and ultimately fulfilling. It reminds me of a favorite verse--

"For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." NIV

With that in view, it only makes sense to embrace this day--mundane or otherwise--in such a way that we have a foretaste of that glory, so that when tomorrow comes, we can look back on moments made richer and more intense by the value which we have given them in the now...

Ground Manners

For what started out partially as a blog to chronicle my journey with Honor, my Arab/Quarterhorse gelding, my posts have been quite lacking in horse-related updates lately. So today I think I'll remedy that.

Honor is a pretty boy--a bright red dun, slick and shiny and brave as they come. He also needs some work on his ground manners, because no one wants a 1000-pound animal with very hard hooves stepping on their feet or bumping into them because he's too busy looking  for grass and is clueless as to his affect on those around him--namely me. He's been  on a nine-month vacation and reminds me of a teenage boy who just sort of grew up without much instruction: a whole lot of energy but a bit deficit in the department of social graces.

In the world of horses, it's commonly said that the one who moves the feet is in charge. That means if I'm moving to get out of his way, he's calling the shots. Not only does this make for sore toes, it can spell disaster in the saddle, for if a horse won't listen to you on the ground, he sure isn't going to be very tuned in when you're on his back.

So I'm working with him on basics--yielding to the leadrope without stepping on your leader. Standing still while getting feet cleaned out. Paying attention to the person holding your halter rope instead of dodging the noise off the the left, right or behind you, and I'm doing it through communication, horse style--teaching him to respect me, my space bubble, and pay attention to what I'm asking him to do. Whoa when I say whoa. Move when I ask him to. Stand still when it is time. It's really all about letting him know what is expected of him, how what he's doing is working for me, and being patient and understanding with hiim in the process.

I find it not so very different from human communication, actually, and Honor is like far too many of us-growing up with little or no instruction in how to make known what's happening inside us and what we need from other people. People long for connection, but often when they get close, they end up getting stepped on or stepping on the very person they're seeking to connect with. It's time for some remedial work! For Honor, this looks like me walking along beside him, pulling his attention back to me if it strays, poking him in the shoulder to move him out of my bubble if he moves into it, and teaching him to listen to me.

For people, we're probably not going to lead them around with a rope, prod them to get them to move over, and twitch their lead rope when their attention strays. But communication? Definitely need that. It's time to leave off the non-verbals--the sighs, the withdrawal, the angry or sad eyes (that don't work very well as communication tools anyway). Just say it. I'm feeling _____________ because ___________. I need ____________________--will that work for you?

It also sounds a lot like boundaries. Sometimes people don't know how to treat us in a way that safeguards our hearts. We keep hoping they'll just "get it," but like Honor, they have yet to learn effective communition or to pay attention to how they may be affecting others, so they continue in default mode--which is usually to reflect whatever type of communication style they grew up with--trying to get their needs met. Often, the truth is that we ourselves may not be much better than the other guy at communicating the inside stuff. Not only does this errode connection in our relationships, drain the pleasure and inject fear into the relationship, it's just a painful way to go through life!

How much better, no matter how scary or foreign, to work on ground manners: to communicate what we're expecting or what we need and begin to expect the same from others. Instead of an angry, blaming bluster to get a controlling person to back off, just kindly and patiently giving them some good information with which they can adjust their approach if they want to be with us. Rather than feeling stepped on and unseen, and hoping someone will notice our misery, we can take what's inside and share it in such a way that the other person gets the message without feeling trampled themself.

Groundwork: It's helping Honor's manners, and it's really saving my toes!

High Places Calling

Spring is well established in Northern California. We’re past daffodils and first faint veil of greening tree leaves. The Bradford pears have bloomed and gone and the season of iris, daisy, and lily are upon us. But before that, of course, was winter.

Ours was not a winter as some experienced winter this year—snow to the knees or beyond and day after day of bone-chilling cold. But it was not spring, shall we say.

I love spring. The green is so fresh and welcome, it almost hurts your eyes. Bare branches boast new clothing, and gone are the browns and tans of wintertime.Yet without winter there can be no spring. Without spring, no summer. If summer does not happen, there are no leaves to turn colors in the autumn, and without the autumn to send the earth  to sleep, instead of pulling sap inward, plants and trees would die when winter rolls around.

I got to thinking about this and about how often we are willing--even  desireous--to skip seasons in our own lives. If given the option of fast-forwarding the finals week at school, skipping the stress of change, or waiting for a broken bone to heal, we definitely would.  

But here's what's highlighted to me:

 If we seek to fast forward or skip to the end of something, we shortchange ourselves, for we miss out on what would have been our process.

In a world where escaping pain has almost become an overarching life goal, one might argue that to skip a currently uncomfortable, unpleasant set of life circumstances is the whole point. By all means, fast-forward. 

But what if—rhetorical question here—what if we need the process of the season we’re in to ready us for the one to come? Opting out would leave us unprepared for our next stage in life. I find it interesting that what is usually a verb—process, to process something—is also a noun. Being in process. Synonyms include prepare, refine, distill, transform, change. 

I once read a story in which the character had a book that contained his life. When he didn’t like what was happening—an argument, an unhappy employer, a very cold winter day—all he needed to do was turn the page and skip the unpleasantness. Too tired to get up? He’d turn a page and find himself back home that
night. He never had to live through any pain at all. But the problem was, of course, that as he fast-forwarded those times, stages, or seasons, they were past, and one day he came to the end of his book and realized two things: one, he had reached the final page and there was no way to skip dying, and two, that his life had been so short. Tragically short,  and so lacking in depth of memories, challenges met and conquered, character acquired. His relationships were shallow because he had skipped over the more gritty aspects of working things out with people he loved. He mostly had happy memories, but they were not deeply happy moments, for he had never experienced the lower, painful places of his life and because of that, he could not really feel the heights of joy that might have been his.

Not too many people actually like the hard stuff. Me included. But there is a verse I love that puts it in perspective for me: "...the sufferings of this life are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. (Romans 8:18) As we go through the processes of  life, we have the opportunity to let them transform us, refine us, change us, and if we do, we get to experience not just pain and unpleasantness, but the heights of love and joy and beauty. Justice. Loyalty. Friendship, and so much more.We escape from the flat plain of neither pain nor pleasure, where abides neither sorrow nor joy. While we do not invite pain, we need not fear the low places in our lives. In fact, perhaps we can rejoice in the process as we move through these seasons, for they and they only develop in us the capacity to feel deeply, to experience the upper reaches of the pleasant happiness we all so desperately want. Whatever may be the valley, it exists between the heights, and those high places call us ever upward.

MT Shasta

Choosing Relationship

Choose Relationship. 

That was the phrase I woke up with this morning, and with it a picture and a perspective to ponder...

We need truths. We do. They anchor us in life, like the North Star, like Mt. Shasta above the surrounding mountains, like the sun ever rising in its strength. But truth is tricksy, for while it is immovable-- a pivot, the axis on which life revolves--it is comprehended by beings who at best will only grasp a portion of its entirety--the individual portion we see and understand.

Truth is also a bit like a rock on which the waves crash. They rush upon it, kiss it, embrace it--but ultimately break and run off, and the rock is left alone. Relationships with people are like the ocean that swirls; connected, cohesive, filling everything. It teems with life, it sustains life and is a thing of beauty and wonder. While I agree that a rock can be beautiful too, it has no life in it nor can it sustain life within its makeup. Yet a rock encompassed by, washed with, and adorned by the acean illustrates the lovely interplay between truth and relationships.

I'm also pondering the difference between believing truth and being right, and the sad fact that if we choose being right (defending truth as we see it) over relationship with someone who may not be seeing truth from our perspective, it will erode our connection. And if we consistently choose our definition of right over our our relational connection with another person, we will destroy the bridge that links them to us.

Being right is not the same thing as embracing truth, and needing to be right results in choosing truth as we see it over a person we may love but with whom we disagree. When we do this, the truth becomes a shell, a structure devoid of the life that it might have held and even if our "right" thing is an important truth, we lose any chance of it healing, helping, or enriching people when we defend our truth as if it is more valuable than they are.

And one last analogy: Truth is a banqueting table loaded with food. Needing to be right--defending our truth at the cost of relationship--is like placing the table within sight, but barring all entrance to partaking. Ah, but if we can share that truth in a way that values the other person and preserves the relationship, we put silverware in their hand and make room for them to dine!

I'm not advocating that we abandon truth or partner with error in order to get along, but rather that relationship with people remains priority so that our presentation of the truth is done with connection in mind. The alternative--interacting with our perceptions of truth--fine-tuning them, rehearsing them, finding comfort in them by reiterating them to ourselves and to anyone we haven't already alienated by elevating being right over relationship is a very sad and lonely way to live.

Choosing relationship is a thing of beauty and a joy forever :-) 

Finding Gold

Like a day out of a dream-scape, the sky-hued creek flows through the green hollow.

Winter-bare trees hug hills of velvet , looking down upon a scene that might have been taken from the goldrush days more than a century and a half before. We, gold seekers for the afternoon, bend over our pans of streambed gravel.

In a patient process that alternates agitation with a gentle slipping of the layer that has risen to the top, bit by bit we reduce the contents of our pans, careful not to wash so vigorously that the gold we court with such care slips out with the sand.

Washing

Bit by bit we reduce the contents until there, hugging the pan in the midst of the final clean grains of sand, a piece of gold smiles up at us. Apart from the thrill of history and the magic of walking where gold seekers of 1849 also walked, I am struck with the process of panning itself and the strong parallels between the search for physical gold and the finding of treasure in realms other than the world we see with our eyes.

More washing

Almost always, gold is hidden away from plain sight,
and certainly we see none as we survey this particular Northern California creek. But that's to be expected. Below the ripples where the water slows, we scoop up a mixture of dirt, sand, and gravel, and to the accompaniment of birdsong, we wash the mud from the sand and gravel, agitating, stratifying, rinsing until the water runs clear.

Color?

When looking at all the gravel and mud, it may be hard to believe any treasure exists. It's tempting to give up half-way or almost at the end, when nothing has yet come to light. And not every pan shows "color". We may wash through three or four shovels of stream bed for every litle piece of gold. Still, the truth remains: real gold lies hidden there.


In much the same way, whether treasure obscures itself in the hearts and souls of the people around us; lies quiet in the every-day-ness of our own lives; or waits in the realm of the Spirit for us to find that which the God of creation  has hidden for us, the analogy holds true. Value and worth is there, but rarely does it lie on the surface--easily seen, easily found. No, we must search for it, eyes ever watchful for the gleam, and sometimes, there is much mud, sand, and gravel to sift through before something of  value shines out.

It was a good afternoon, full of friends and laughter and fresh air, more precious than the small bits of gold we found. Indeed, mere gold cannot compare to the wonders awaiting discovery within ourselves, our fellow man, our kind Creator.

Gold!

Even one glimpse into these eternal realms surpasses mere earthly wealth, for to know each other, to know ourselves, and to know God in His infinite beauty--these are quests grand enough to last a lifetime, worthy of countless days spent thus pursuing.


And to each goldseeker belongs the knowledge that of all things they could do in this life, what they have chosen and the treasure they find will remain long after the riches of this earth have perished.