#SOL14 - Mindset Reboot

I've been stuck in a circle of sorrow for the past couple months, choosing to have a pity party about my health issues  -- choosing self-defeat -- instead of focusing on the good things.

So my back hurts.
I can walk.
And my neck is chronically stiff and sore.
I can stretch.
I've gained weight by eating mindlessly.
I can focus on each moment and choose what makes me healthy.
I've slid back and am heavier and weaker than I was before.
I am completely capable of regaining the healthy body I want.
It's all up to me.

I turn 40 in September. I can choose to live mindlessly through each day and tumble toward that milestone without making any changes, or I can kick this bad attitude to the curb and start doing something about it. The time will pass either way. The real question is: so what am I going to do about it?

Since my doctors want me stretching daily but the physical therapy exercises are seriously boring me to tears, I decided to take up Pilates. I've done it before and loved it, and I know that when I love an activity I am much more likely to keep it up. I did my first round today, with Sass by my side. Since I want to workout from home, I decided to follow the beginner's workout calendar over at Blogilates. We laughed through most of it, even when she was rolling around on the floor yelling, "No more, no more - wow, this really hurts!"

Welcome to the burn, sister.

And since Grimm has come home, I need to work on leash training him. This is a great excuse to get out and start walking again. Eventually when my back and knees are stronger (and when he outgrows his puppyness), walking will become running. But I won't be able to run again unless I first walk.

Food is the easy part. By choosing to live in the moment and notice my choices, I tend to have great success in eating well. It all comes down to consistently making the smart decisions that will lead me to my end goal -- a long, healthy life.

Being active is the hard part, not because I don't want to do it, but simply because I ache everywhere and am sleepy all the time. Setting appointments for my daily walk and Pilates will be key to pushing through the first begrudging minutes. I know I always feel better about myself and am in a more positive mood with each workout I make it through.

I had hoped to do more of this during spring break, but the truth is I needed this week to just sit and think about what is truly important to me. I restarted my daily meditation practice and found myself falling easily back into that place where the past and future regrets and worries fall away. All that matters is today.

And I am very thankful for today.

I do my best to stay behind the camera these days. This was taken March 14, 2014 with Sass and Grimm!

#Slice2013 - Day 12 of 31

This afternoon on FaceBook I read an article about Bridget Zinn, who was offered representation for her debut novel back in 2009. Not long after that, she found out she had stage four colon cancer. She passed away in May of 2011. She was only 33.

Her quirky YA fairy tale, Poison, is set to come out this month. It's up to her friends and family to launch the book, and they're doing an amazing job of honoring her memory while making sure her novel makes it into the hands of readers everywhere. You can read a review of Zinn's Poison here.

Beyond the heartbreak I felt for Zinn and her family, beyond the desire to have her book in my hands, this article left me pondering the fickleness of time. Our best laid plans mean little if we aren't here long enough to reach our goals. Procrastination, fear, the busyness of life - all these and more have often become my excuses for not putting a bold effort toward my own goals. If my time on Earth is abruptly cut short, I wondered, what dreams will I have left unclaimed?

My mind first drifted to the partially edited manuscript for my own YA novel. To the picture book manuscripts unsent. To the half-written stories, and the seeds of stories wanting to be written. To the local critique groups I know of, but shy away from, too afraid to sit in that circle and be seen. To the days spent not writing, when writing is - has always been - where I am most fulfilled.

I have other dreams, of course. For my children, for travel, and other less precious things. But those dreams? The writing dreams? They are the dreams I have the most control over, yet push against the hardest. Those are the dreams I need to be actively running toward, because just sitting here thinking about losing them fills me with regret.

What about you? What unclaimed dreams are waiting for you to run and greet them?

A Wild Imagination

"I'll probably vomit, you know.”


I say this to my husband, avoiding eye contact.

I had just shared my student’s comments about publishing my writing with my husband, who just nods and smiles knowingly, as he's been trying to get me to send things out for publication for months. His smirk of a smile irritates me, and I roll my eyes.

"You don't know how hard it is!" I say. "There's research! And you have to write query letters and find the right people to send it to! It doesn't just happen overnight!"

And still he smiles.



Stupid smiling husband who thinks he knows everything.

And it's not as if I've never looked into it. I follow author blogs! I read agent and publisher websites! I know things, for goodness sakes!

I've been to the website for the SCBWI so many times I have their logo burned into my retinas. I haven't joined, because, you know, then I'd feel like I should go to the critique groups and then I'd have to actually share my writing with people.

Yes! With people! Is there anything more horrifying than that?

He doesn't even look at me.

"At least it'd give you something new to write about."

"I mean it! And I'd cry! I'd go to share my stuff, start crying, throw up, and die of embarrassment. Right there, on the floor of the super awesome writer's meeting."

He sort of half glances at me.

"It could happen," I say. I force my smile to rein itself in. Even I know I'm being ridiculous, but if he sees me smile, he wins this round.

He sets his book in his lap, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It could happen, I guess. They might kick you out for that. I probably would. But then you could write a new book about all the mean people, and it would be so good they would buy it and you could laugh at them!"

He wins. I can't help it; I'm laughing even though I don't want to.

But this publishing thing is just a fiasco. Have you ever seen those TV shows where some crazy dude is trying to solve a murder on his own, so he has approximately 800 yards of yarn strung back and forth all over a room connecting one newspaper clipping to another, with maps and headlines and big bold circles around the important bits?

Yeah. That's how I feel when I peek out from behind the curtain and view the big bad world of publishing.

Finding the Time

This morning while I read through my favorite blogs (my morning wake-up ritual), I discovered something fantastic.

Laurie Halse Anderson, author of several must-read books (Speak, Wintergirls, Twisted, to name a few), hosts an annual writing challenge and it starts today! The challenge is simple. Write 15 minutes a day. About anything. At any time. In any way. Just give 15 minutes to writing. See? Simple. So hop on over to LHA's website and check it out. I've joined the challenge, and will share some of my treasures here.

If I didn't follow the Two Writing Teachers or Ruth Ayers' Writes I may never have known about this. So glad I have been increasing my list of writer-mentor blogs! I learn new things and find inspiration daily.

I hope you join the challenge with us ... and if not, I hope you choose to spend at least 15 minutes a day this month following your passion.

Which reminds me -- where do you find your inspiration?

A Chair for my Writer, or The High Art of Procrastination

I've created a happy writing space in our new apartment.

Wait, let's back up a minute, shall we?

It's summer, and that means a few things. First, I have much more some a little time to enjoy the things I love. For me this boils down to my trifecta of relaxation: reading, writing, and photography. Oh, and this summer I've added something to the mix -- sunning sinfully by the pool. Add a margarita and a good Kindle read, and I'm nearly foaming over with delight.

But back to the trifecta. Most of the time I write first thing in the morning or right before I go to sleep. Any guess what this means? Why yes, you're right! It means that ten minutes into writing and I am passed smooth out. Not the most effective routine for the budding author.

Enter the desk. Now, we've had this desk for a number of years, but it's mostly just a big hunk of furniture in the corner. The desk's main function is to:

1. Display pictures
2. Creatively display piles of mail
3. Collect dust

As you can see, it's a handy piece of furniture to have around.

I gave the desk a small pep talk today, explaining that things were about to change. Since it didn't respond, I figured it was in agreement and I set to work cleaning, clearing off, reorganizing, and generally prettying up the space.

Tah-Dah!

Now this looks like a desk that wants to partner up with a writer, wouldn't you agree? Nice clean surface, plenty of supplies, aesthetically pleasing environment ... ah yes, we're ready!

One problem.

There is no chair.

How could I forget such an important factor?  Now, I could have just sighed and wandered off slump-shouldered in defeat. But that just wouldn't do. I could have grabbed my journal and headed back to the couch to get some writing in. But really, is it right to pick up one project when another one is left unfinished?

Exactly.

So began Operation Perfect Chair. I didn't think this would be a difficult task. After all, my requirements are few:

• must be cushioned
• needs a tall back
• must offer ample leg room, as my favorite writing position is sitting criss cross or with one or both of my feet tucked under me
• must fit under the desk
• prettiness helps

That's pretty much it. So why then, dear reader, is this search so tedious? Why have I been adding pics to my pinterest "chair me" board as if I were an eclectic old chair hoarder?

I wish I had the answer. Until then, the search continues. And please, if you happen to find my chair, let me know. In the meantime, I have some writing to do.

Shut Up & Write

I had a great conversation today with my sister about writing.  I told her that, if I were to be completely honest with anyone (booorrrring!), the truth is -- I have more unfinished pieces than finished.  Coming up with ideas is never a problem.  My insanely vivid and bizarre nightly dreams provide ample resources.  I could probably become rich and famous just blogging the weird & wacky places my mind travels each night.  Ideas are easy.  There is a very small list of things I know I do well as a writer.

In case you're wondering, dialog is not on this list.

Neither is finishing the damn thing.

I get angry.  I get mopey.  I get depressed.  I get more snacks out.  I get on Facebook.  I get the insane notion to research bits and pieces about my story that don't really need to be researched quite yet, and spend hours looking for obscure information.  I get tired.  I get a headache.  I get many, many things.

What I do not get, my friend, is further along in the storyline.

Last night, I was listening to a podcast at Writing Excuses and realized that I have GOT to stop staring at the same paragraphs, revising, rearranging, and rendering myself useless.  It doesn't matter if it's slop, at this point.  I have an entire storyline in my head.  I know where it ends.  I know the major conflict.  I play it out in my head over and over.

But when I see it on paper (word processor? stone tablet? whatever.) I get skittish.  Suddenly the words seem silly, the ideas aren't always what I thought they would be, there are parts that lag and need tweaking.

When I let my OCD Evil Twin take over, I will tweak that one part until my fingerprints disappear from manic typing.

So.  So what?  After the podcast ended, I just wrote.  I winced at some of the words, but kept going, knowing I will definitely go back later, because if I never push the story along, there will never be a story.

And that would be a miserable regret to look back on.

I started this post with the idea that I would give you a list of reasons (it was going to be ironic! sarcastic! witty!) why I can't write today.  But I guess even I have to admit, the only thing that ever truly keeps me from writing, is me.

**Interestingly enough, as I was sitting down to write this, I decided to check out a few of my new favorite blogs, and over at Shannon Messenger's blog, she's talking about writer's block, or the lack thereof.  Check it out!**

Wherein I Scatter Proper Nouns Hither and Yon

Today was an amazing day filled with poetry, and naturally, that made me very happy.  At NWP we talked about how to let kids use today's lyrics to get inspired for poetry.  We read poetry.  About dogs. (Completely unrelated to the discussion on lyrics!)  Poetry and cute little cuddly puppies!  C'mon, that's fun!

I know, I know.  The Husband often looks at me that way too.

This week, I need to finish eight (EIGHT) of my multigenre pieces, slap down a piece of writing I think is suitable for the anthology, and say goodbye to all my wonderful new friends from Summer Institute.  Not looking forward to any of that.  Well, the writing part wouldn't be so bad if I had half a second to think clearly and finish it.  Oh, and let's not forget the goal of sparing a minimum of 30 minutes a day on my WIP.

Tomorrow is our Open House (this is the post of many proper nouns!), in which I get to show off the amazingness that is Summer Institute to The Husband and friends.  Also, I will meet Donalyn Miller, author of The Book Whisperer!  I am so excited!  I certainly hope I don't do anything stupid, like say, babble incoherently and come off as a complete nincompoop.  Sadly, I can see both in my future.

And this is a particularly ridiculous thing!  I am a grown woman.  I am a teacher.  I am moderately intelligent.  She is also all these things.  What separates us?  A book.  A published book.

Oh, and the fact that she is quite obviously a teaching genius.  My rockin' awesone teacher status is yet to be seen.

Regardless, I'll be sure to take pictures, and attempt witty conversation.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Sorry, Dad.

I'm driving to work.
I'm in bed late at night, laptop open, working on a school project.
Sitting on the couch, watching some mindless tv show.
Pushing a grocery cart through the store, alternating between speed-shopping and contemplating ramming my cart into everyone in my way.

It doesn't matter what I'm doing.

When my phone rings, and the name "Dad" glares at me from the screen, I always feel the same.

A sucker punch to the gut.
The air rushes from my lungs.
Suddenly, I feel as if I may either pass out, empty the contents of my stomach onto the nearest (hopefully) empty receptacle, or both.
And the guilt.  The horrible, nagging, heart-wrenching guilt that follows as I watch the call pass, listen to the voicemail alert, and slip the phone back into my pocket.

One day I may regret this.  Sometimes I watch my phone sadly, wondering if he's calling to say he's sick, something's wrong, he needs me.

But for now, all I can hold onto is this small degree of separation, this minute piece of a barrier between alienation and the emotional onslaught that will most definitely hit us like a tsunami the next time we speak.

Perfecto!

Things I have decided I must have, forthwith, to get on with it, already(!):
1. fancy tripod that won't break, damn it
2. flash for my D80
3. new running shows to fix that rascally over-pronating issue
4. iPhone case to prevent any more stupid damage to the ridiculously fragile thing
5. iPhone armband thingy for the gym

Uhm, I think that's it for now.

And no. This is not a list of procrastination. I am highly offended that you would even suggest...no, that you would even dare to let the tiniest hint of that thought creep through the little brain marquee bleeeping out its pretty letters in your skull. Pft. Like you would know.

I need these things. How can I be expected to do anything worthwhile if I don't have the proper equipment?

Geez. Amateurs.