Christmas Traditions

Another Christmas has come and gone, and now it's time to focus on finishing this year's reading challenge on Goodreads and to make my New Year's resolutions.

But I couldn't let this Christmas season (which technically began yesterday and runs until Epiphany, for those of you who are keeping track) pass by without sharing our family's unique Christmas Eve tradition.

We take part in many common Christmas traditions.  We decorate, bake cookies, light the Advent wreath, keep up with an Advent calendar, leave cookies for Santa, and set out reindeer food.  But my favorite Christmas tradition is our annual Christmas Eve meal at Outback Steakhouse.

Stick with me.

When my husband and I were first married, we owned a little townhouse in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina.  We bought a cute little tree that I referred to as our "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree", and we decorated it with a few ornaments and a tiny strand of tinsel.  Two tiny gifts sat underneath the tree, which was perched on a cheap TV table.  We didn't have a lot of money, but I purchased a couple of steaks from the butcher and baked potatoes, ready for the grand debut of married life Christmas Eve dinner.

The potatoes were in the oven and I had just put the steaks on the stove top to sear when the power went out.  For no reason.  It wasn't raining.  There were no wind gusts.  It was a beautiful Christmas Eve.  With no power.

We waited for a few minutes as my heart broke apart even further--our first Christmas, and it was ruined.  And more so--I had wasted all of this money on the partially-seared steaks.

Eventually we had to admit that the power wasn't coming back on in time to salvage our meal, so we got in the car and agreed to stop at the first restaurant that was open and had power.  Lo and behold, the Outback Steakhouse sign illuminated the darkened sky!

And so, every year since, we've made it a tradition to have our Christmas Eve meal at Outback Steakhouse.  The kids have even gotten into the tradition, and they make us tell the story each year as we nosh on cheese fries and that wonderful, warm bread that soothed our bellies fifteen years ago.

Some holiday traditions come out of culture or even family backgrounds.  But often the most meaningful traditions are the ones we make for ourselves.  They remind us where we've been and help us keep perspective at a time of year when it is easy to lose.  Perhaps our meal at Outback Steakhouse doesn't seem as significant as lighting candles, singing traditional songs, or visiting family, but it certainly brings us together (except when we're fighting over the last cheese fry).

Slow Down, Lady

I am a person who goes one hundred miles an hour at all times.  Seriously, ask my students.  I decided early in my teaching career that if students didn't have time to get distracted, they wouldn't be a problem.  It's worked for me for fifteen years.  Additionally, I am passionate about that to which I dedicate myself.  Thus I get really, really excited...about teaching, about conversing, about puzzles, about baking, about music, about--well--everything. 

So I've lived my life at a rapid pace for some time now.  I get up each morning, get ready, dress my son, shoo my daughter downstairs, make breakfast for my son and self, throw together snacks for my day, get my son's teeth brushed, and drive my daughter to school (hubby handles our son--praise!).  At work, I get everything together for the day, perhaps run morning car line, teach classes, meet with students during "planning periods" about college essays or help with class, sit in club meetings at lunch, and then meet with students or fellow teachers after school.  I pick up my daughter, go to the gym (if there's time--there usually isn't), come home, cook dinner, get my son in the bath, dress him, read to him, check on my daughter's homework, get a shower myself, pick out clothes for tomorrow, and get in bed with a book.

This is a normal day for me, but I've come to realize it isn't normal.

I'm an over-committer.  And this pneumonia has been a swift kick in the rear, a reminder that I need to take care of myself.  Caring for myself isn't being selfish; it's being respectful of the gift of my body, my mind, and my emotions. 

I imagine a lot of you are over-committers, like me.  The real problem is that I genuinely want to do all of the things I've over-committed myself to doing.  None of it is a chore to me.  There's nothing I'd easily cut out.

And yet, I am certain that's what I'm being called to do.  To sand down the business of my life and leave time for myself.

Did you notice what was missing from my "daily routine"?  Writing.  And yet, as I've written here before, I am, at my core, a writer.  And in denying myself the time to write, I'm denying a bit of who I truly am.

In the past few days, as I've languished on the couch, unable to focus on writing and unable to do any work, I've watched amazing movies: Black Panther and Call Me By Your Name, read two books, and watched two Trevor Noah comedy specials, the pilot of The Man in the High Castle and the pilot of Victoria.  I love movies, and it's crazy to me that I'm just seeing these two.  I love reading, and yet I still need to read ten books to meet this year's goal.  I love escaping into comedy and into period dramas, and yet I don't take time for that either.  Amazingly, though I haven't felt like "myself", my high-speed, go-get-em self, for the last week, in some ways, I've felt more like myself.

My anxiety has decreased amazingly.  Granted, my chest still hurts, but it's not from anxiety.  I've cancelled almost everything on my calendar for the next two weeks, excepting church services, which feed my soul, and, of course, Hamilton.  And I'm finding that I'm okay with that.  I learned to own my "no" a long time ago, but being able to wield a "no" and knowing that you have to are two different things.  I'm grateful to be learning that now.

All of this is to say, that I encourage each one of you to take a look at your life right now.  Take inventory.  Write down your typical day and decide which parts of it are for the benefit of YOU--your physical, mental, and emotional health.  If you don't see it there, then I ask you to honor yourself and make some time.  Say "no", not because you want to, but because you need to.  And in so doing, you will say "yes" to yourself.

Literary Illness, Take Two

Evidently I'm prone to pneumonia.  So I, along with my 80-year old relatives, will be lining up to get a pneumonia vaccination as soon as I'm well.

I had pneumonia back in 2016.  I've written on this blog about how it was during that time that I began sending out queries for Sweet Divinity after a hiatus.  Pneumonia is a very literary disease, and by that I mean that it seems to be the ailment of choice in a lot of classic literature, and also, that one can get a lot of literary work done whilst recovering from it.

I tend to pretend I'm not sick and keep living life at a ridiculously rapid pace.  And then in comes pneumonia, knocking me on my rear end and reminding me that I should actually listen to my body.

And so I've spent the better part of three days quarantined in an upstairs room, occupying myself with Outlander, Black Panther, The Man in the High Castle, and Trevor Noah stand up.  But I've also been writing.

I've been trying for months to pound out the opening of the sequel to Sweet Divinity.  I've written some funny stuff, but nothing that is just right.  I love the opening of Sweet Divinity.  Its sequel deserves something just as grand.

And then this morning, snuggled under my blankets, eating crackers (which is basically all I've eaten in the past forty-eight hours), it happened.  I opened a document, titled it "Aunt Annie Mae", and went to town.

But I'm not thanking pneumonia.  It's a horrible illness that really wrecks lives, but I am thanking the cosmos for the swift kick in the pants, and thanking my amazing doctor who's given me some good stuff.  I'll happily crawl back beneath my covers now and rest a bit.  Until the next bout of inspiration hits.

I advise you to take some quiet time for yourself...no...I advise you to choose some quiet time for yourself.  Only then can we hear our inner genius.

Thankful

I have a lot to be thankful for, and I am aware that there are so many people who struggle on this day to find gratitude in lives that are lived with so much struggle.  So before I begin this list of things for which I am thankful, I send out a prayer of gratitude and a prayer of supplication for those who struggle to find the places of gratitude in their lives.  I wish that they would, in the coming year, experience the love and acknowledgement of dignity that we, as humans, have the ability to gift one another.  I will strive to do my part.

A few things I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving:

1. My children.  Even at six o'clock in the morning on a Saturday when I hear, "Mommy...Mommy...Mommy...Mommy" in monotone.
2. My husband.  Who lives with a writer.  Enough said.
3. Books.  I just finished Warlight, by Michael Ondaatje, a fantastic read.  I was swept back in time by this convoluted tale.  I could feel the smoke closing in around me.
4. Words.  I'm currently reading Born a Crime, by Trevor Noah.  Words matter.
5. Food.  I know that I am blessed to have more than enough to eat, but I'd be lying if I weren't especially thankful today for cranberry sauce and sweet potato casserole (with brown sugar pecans, no marshmallows).
5. Family.  We don't agree on everything, but we agree to love.
6. Friends.  Man, a tribe is so necessary.
7. Beauty.  It's everywhere, but I find it so particularly in nature.  I love to be in nature, first thing in the morning, when the creatures haven't yet been disrupted by our human antics.
8. Mary Oliver.
9. Beds.  My favorite moment of the day is getting in bed.  Under the covers.  Snuggled with a book.
10. Lemurs.  They're adorable.  Weirdly adorable.
11. Central heating and air.  And blankets.
12. Faith.  Believing in more than myself keeps me centered.
13. Bubbles.
14. Puzzles.  They focus my mind when it tries to pull me astray.
15. Art.  Because expression is of utmost importance.
16. Chocolate.  My body may not tolerate you, but my taste buds are grateful.
17. Stars.  They keep my self-importance in check.
18. Seashells.  Natural art.
19. My abilities.  I must write, and I'm so thankful that I can.
20. Support.  If you're reading this, thank you.

There's much more, but I'll stop, for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is on the horizon.  I wish you and yours a happy Thanksgiving.  May you eat, drink, and be merry.

Let It Flow

Full disclosure: my children are watching Frozen in the background, so you should probably sing the title to this blog post if you're going for authenticity.

I've found myself giving a lot of writing advice in recent weeks.  I've neglected this blog as most of my free time as been taken up advising others on creative writing.  I've been working with high school seniors consistently since the beginning of August.  They're writing their college essays, and I'm amazed at how complicated it's gotten since I applied for college.  I recall writing my admissions essay on how inspired I was by my grandmother's trek on her tractor to rescue my baby cousin during a blizzard.  These days, most of my students are writing at least four essays, and the topics range from fascinating to absurd. 

I've also been working with my creative writing class and with a student who is working on a novel for her senior project.  I love this work because I get to experience different processes, inspirations, and abilities.  I, for one, have no gift for writing fantasy or science fiction, so when I encounter a student who is able to create a whole world in the stroke of a pen, I'm completely taken in.  I'm also astounded every day by the bravery of my students.  They often write about what they know, and they know far too much about the struggles we face in life.  Yet their ability to transfer experience and feelings to paper is remarkable.  When they begin, they're hesitant and afraid of their vulnerability, but they press on.  That's courage.

I am also working with a friend who has asked me to ghost write her memoir.  What an honor it is for someone to trust me with such a huge piece of who they are.  Her story is one of the movies, and one we need right now.  It's a story of racial integration, prejudice, innocence lost, painful revelation, and also, somehow, hope restored.  I am certain this story will not only sell like hot cakes, but that it will impact its readers at the deepest level of their souls.

With all of these writers, my repeated message is, "Just Write".  I've found that almost every one of them is suppressing their voice with worries about word count, structure, detail, perception, and point of view.  Every one of them has asked me, "Am I doing this the right way?"  The answer is always--yes.  When you've got a story brewing inside of you, you unleash it.  Let it tumble out of you, rush forth onto the page, flow like the roughest waters.  When you're telling your story, and often when you're telling someone else's story, don't allow yourself to question your purpose under the guise of "I don't think I'm doing this correctly" or "But I don't know where the story is supposed to begin."  Those are concerns for a later date.  My advice for beginning any writing project, especially one based on your life, is always the same: for now, just write.  Often you will find the central story somewhere amongst your words and your memories.  So just write and worry about the structural elements later.  Don't hold back.  Don't put it off because you've convinced yourself that you aren't a writer.

We're all storytellers.  And whether we tell those stories through the written word, with our voices, through a paintbrush, or through a camera lens, we create texts with our lives.  We need these texts to remind us of what it means to be human in all of its beautiful and terrifying complexity.  We need these texts, because we need stories.

We need stories now.  I call on you to share yours.

Musical Words

Music has always been an integral part of my writing process, and of my life.  I've shared playlists for several of my projects on this blog, and I'm currently building a new one for my next project.

I'm also someone who gets outrageously excited when it's a free week on satellite radio; I love the decades channels and the songs they help me recall.

There are so many songs that take me right back in time: "Iris", by Goo Goo Dolls, takes me back to driving with a friend up a mountain on a hot summer day, windows down, the wind in my hair.  I was eighteen, and the lyrics, "And I don't want to world to see me/ Cause I don't think that they'd understand./ When everything's meant to be broken/ I just want you to know who I am," made my chest clench, because they spoke the words that I felt inside but could never articulate.

"Hit Me with Your Best Shot", by Pat Benatar, takes me back to my Florida home, where I lived for the first four years of my life.  One of my earliest memories is my Aunt Lisa teaching me the lyrics to that song as I wore a t-shirt that hung off of my right shoulder and read: "Gag me with a spoon!"

"Today", by Smashing Pumpkins, puts me back on a charter bus, in the dark of night, when T.J. Chastain put his headphones over my ears and said, "Listen to this song.  This is amazing.  Just wait!"  I nearly jumped out of my skin five bars in.

The opening chords of "Where the Streets Have No Name", by U2, make me close my eyes and inhale.  I've always said that seeing the band perform that song live is a religious experience, and I'm filled with the spirit every time I hear it.

And "The Scientist", by Coldplay, makes me weep every time.

There are so many songs, so many memories...enough to fill a book with.  And then there are lyrics that I find so beautiful that they pop into my mind at random times and fill me with beauty.  Here are some song lyrics I wish I had written:

"The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds, cut out of the sun." "Read My Mind", The Killers

"I pull up in your driveway with magic soaking my spine."  "Read My Mind", The Killers

"I've got soul but I'm not a soldier."  "All These Things That I Have Done", The Killers

"Oh, the deeper I spin,/ Oh, the hunter will sin for your ivory skin./ Took a drive in the dirty rain/ To a place where the wind calls your name/ Under the trees, the river laughing at you and me"  "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses", U2

"You're the reason I sing./ You're the reason the opera's in me."  "Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own", U2

"Ain't it funny how we pretend we're still a child/ Softly stolen under a blanket sky" "Galapagos", Smashing Pumpkins

"Wait a minute baby/ Stay with me a while/ Said you'd give me light/ But you never told me about the fire."  "Sara", Fleetwood Mac

"Drowning, in the sea of love/ Where everyone would love to drown"  "Sara", Fleetwood Mac

"We're just a million little gods causing rainstorms/ Turning every good thing to dust."  "Wake Up", Arcade Fire

"Just you and me/ on my island of hope/ a breath between us could be miles."  "I Love You", Sarah McLachlan

"A paperweight, junk garage/ Winter rain, honey pot/ Crazy, all the lovers have been tagged."  "Country Feedback", REM

"Me, my thoughts are flower strewn/ Ocean storm, bayberry moon/ I have got to leave to find my way."  "Find the River", REM

"The ocean is the river's goal/ A need to leave the water knows/ We're closer now than light years to go."  "Find the River, REM

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?/ Can the child within my heart rise above?"  "Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

"You fill up my senses/ Like a night in the forest." "Annie's Song", John Denver

"She tied you to her kitchen chair/ She broke your throne/ She cut your hair/ And from your lips she drew the hallelujah."  "Hallelujah", Leonard Cohen

"And all the ways I got to know/ Your pretty face and electric soul" "Young and Beautiful", Lana Del Rey

"When you're looking at your shadow,/ Standing on the edge of yourself,/ Praying on the darkness/ Just don't take the money."  "Don't Take the Money", The Bleachers

"So let's hang an anchor from the sun/ There's a million city lights/ But you're number one."  "Fire Escape", Andrew McMahon

"I went out walking through the streets paved with gold/ Lifted some stones/ Saw the skin and bones of a city without a soul" "The Wanderer", Johnny Cash

"I might have been born just plain white trash/ But Fancy was my name."  "Fancy", Reba McEntire

"I believe you love who you love/ Ain't nothin' you should ever be ashamed of/ I believe this world ain't half as bad as it looks./ I believe most people are good."  "Most People are Good", Luke Bryan

"Love is blindness/ I don't want to see/ Won't you wrap the night/ Around me?/ Oh, my love/ Blindness." "Love is Blindness, U2  (I wish I had written the entire song.)

There are so many more...but I think I've spent enough time on this post for today!

What songs/song lyrics inspire you?

Big News!

Dear readers, after years of queries, requested manuscripts, constructive criticism, full edits, heartbreak, and hope, I have signed a contract for the publication of Sweet Divinity! (Cue uproarious applause!)

This journey began many years ago with a story told to me by a friend, a funny story about her brother's shenanigans.  When I wrote it down, the rest of the story flew out of me.  Perhaps that is because, in many ways, it was my story.

Since that first draft was completed, I have written a full literary fiction novel and have begun three others, including the sequel to Sweet Divinity.

I spent years querying agents, engaging in substantial rewrites with them, and even sending them divinity candy (which is SO darn difficult to make!), but with no ultimate professional relationships established.

Then, while at the beach this summer, I decided to take a different tack.  I had been afraid to reach out to small presses, afraid that I wouldn't know how to advocate for my work, afraid that if I exhausted those options, I would be left with a novel I knew was special, but nowhere to take it.

I spent many afternoons cooped up in the beach condo.  My son is three years old, and he has no love for the sand, while I, his doting mother, have no love for slathering him in lotion for fifteen minutes of beachtime and a bathtime consumed by screaming as I try to wash sand out of his mouth, elbow creases, and hair.  It's exhausting.  So most afternoons I sat inside with my laptop while my husband and daughter played on the beach and my son napped upstairs.

One afternoon I found myself seeking small presses, particularly those established in the South, since that is where my novel takes place.  I wanted a press that did actually print novels, a press that established personal connections with its writers, a press that would help me navigate the marketing of my book, a press that had happy, excited authors on their list.

I found Prospective Press.  I queried right away because I wanted exactly what they had to offer.  And the great news is, they wanted me too.

And so, readers, I have signed my first publishing contract.  I will now go into my Inbox where I have kept the "Rejections" folder and, in it, every rejection I have received.  It's time to move the folder to the trash can.  It's time to look forward freely and with anticipation of the road ahead.

I can't wait to get started on this project of publication, and I can't wait until Sweet Divinity is finally in your hands!  Today is a day to celebrate.  It is evidence that, if you press on, your professional goals can be met.  It's all in the timing, but you have to be present when it's time.  And now, at last, it's time for my precious Sweet Divinity.

A Nomadic Heart Roaming the Page

I am a sedentary nomad.  I love change.  If I were left to my own whims, I would move from here to there, throughout the United States and to myriad small villages and towns across Europe.  I would rent a tiny apartment or home in each place and then live there until the wind changes directions (not totally unlike Mary Poppins).  

And there are so many jobs I'd love to explore.  Museum curator, research librarian, college professor, anthropologist, life coach, motivational speaker, pastor, church education coordinator, freelance journalist, event planner, newswriter, literary agent, baker...how am I supposed to choose just one?

Yet there is always a constant in my life, the career, the vocation, the calling that centers and grounds me: I am a writer.  No matter how my life is progressing, how busy I am, or how hard my nomadic heart is pulling me, writing is the home I always return to.

I am constantly writing.  While I'm doing yoga (and not clearing my mind), as I drive to work, when I'm in the shower, as I'm drifting off to sleep.  Words are like breath for me.

So this summer, I've been working on three projects.  Three very different projects to fit my various mindspaces.  Here they are:

1. Gratitude: This project is near completion.  For years I've wanted to write a nonfiction book for young people that teaches them how to cultivate gratitude.  This summer I sat down and plowed through, and now I'm wrapping up the first draft.

2. Reliance: If you follow my blog, then you already know I'm working on this literary fiction novel about a corrupt preacher on his deathbed.  It's a slow going project, but it's worth the time.  I'm currently sitting still, staring at the page, wondering what happens next.  My fingers are poised, and I'm waiting for the story to take its next turn.

3. Sweet Divinity sequel/My Literary Boyfriends: This one is tricky.  I have a few stories that are ready to be told, and so are banging on my head with their little hammers, striving to get free and onto the page.  The trouble is, I'm not sure which project they are attached to.  So I'm writing my stories, releasing them and letting them find their way.  Both projects are women's fiction, one of course the sequel to my dear Sweet Divinity, and the other based on my tendency to refer to William Faulkner as my "literary boyfriend".  We'll see which project takes flight.

I am a writer.  Just as people know that they are teachers, doctors, fathers, artists, musicians, mothers, speakers, comedians, and healers, I know that I am a writer.  This monadic heart can explore the world through the written word, and she can bring along a few friends.  What a beautiful life, to be a writer.

Art from Life

A lot of what I write comes from life.  Now, don't worry, our personal conversations and your trials and tribulations aren't going to show up suddenly in my next novel.  I always ask permission before I use specifics.  My friends will now automatically say things like, "And you can use that in your book" or "Okay, I've got something for your next book".  So many of the best novels are those that present people as they are, in all of their hilarious, loveable, and broken ways.  Don't get me wrong, I've loved many a story with a talking sheep or an android with a heart of gold, but often the ones that really get to me are those that dig at the complexities of the human person.

Books like Sweet Divinity are so obviously inspired by who I am and what I've experienced.  Like Amanda Jane, I grew up on a farm and then left home and now live in a bigger city (or at least the suburbs).  I, too, find it difficult to reconcile the parts of me that were formed in the country with the rest of me that loves the diversity of experience in a larger hometown.  The opening scene of the novel comes from a completely true event that one of my friends experienced in her childhood.  While the details are mine, the hilarious circumstance is all hers.  And although I'm not a baker like Amanda Jane, I do love a yummy baked good.  If you follow me on Instagram, then you already know that I have no resistance when it comes to donuts.  Especially the fluffy yeasty ones with that chocolate icing that's slightly firm on top and messy once you skim the surface.  I think I sense a metaphor here...

Reliance, my literary fiction manuscript, was of course inspired by photographs I purchased at the country fair last year, an experience I've written about on this blog.  However, much of the plot of the novel comes from my life.  Several years ago I had a relative who was succumbing to cancer.  He had been instrumental in my life, positively, but also negatively, and I struggled with his deterioration and decline.  During the period of his struggle, I learned that he had a second, secret family, and this news shook me to the very foundation of who I am.  I questioned everything I had experienced in childhood.  I questioned everything I knew about him.  I questioned the validity of all of my relationships.  It was grueling.  I tried to write during that time and I could not.  It frustrated me, because I believed that if I could purge myself of the pain by transferring it to the page, then I would be okay.  Of course, this is not what would have happened, but it couldn't anyway because I simply could not write.  I couldn't write a poem, a paragraph, a sentence.  It was as if all of my emotional stores were used up.  I had nothing to give.  And so I lived through that experience (with the help of an amazing counselor), but it remained unwritten.  My husband actually collected various "artifacts" from that time and boxed them up, as he put it, "for when it's time to write the novel".  The time finally came, and that novel is Reliance.

I'm now beginning work on the sequel to Sweet Divinity.  I had a vague idea of where I wanted Amanda Jane's story to go when I wrapped up her first novel.  There were several main plot points that I was certain of, but I was still waiting for her to tell me how she would develop as a person.  I love sharing her journey, and I want to make sure that I do it justice, that I allow her the emotional development she deserves.  And so, for good or for ill, life always provides.  This summer has been spectacular so far, but one thing I know for sure is that there will always be another challenge, and that challenge has hit me this week.  I'm grateful that, as a writer, I can face my challenges as opportunities, and I can write my way through them.  I'm grateful that this time I don't have the emotional block I experienced in the past.  This time, I know that I, and Amanda Jane, are ready to live through it.  And thus the blinking cursor becomes a manuscript.

Natural Beauty, History, and Donuts...A Recipe for Inspiration

I would be remiss if I did not begin by describing the scene in front of me.  I'm sitting at a high top table, perched in my cushioned seat, legs criss-cross-applesauce, gazing out the open sliding glass door at the ocean.

It's a beautiful day.  The beach is clear save for a few rainbow colored umbrellas and the occasional shovel-bearing child running through my line of sight.  The ocean is rolling along with the occasional whitecap, and I can see where the shades of it transition from light brown, to deep blue, to a greenish blue.  And there's one of my favorite creatures, the pelican, diving in search of lunch.

I am so grateful for this beauty, though I'm pretty sure I'm a horrible travel companion.  It's the fourth day of our vacation, and I'm midway through my fourth book.  I sit and read A LOT at the beach.  Sure, I'll go for a walk at the ocean's edge, play "Oh Dear Lord Almighty, Look at the Beach!" with my daughter (a game where we swim out to where the waves first break and then scream those important words at the pivotal moment so we know to turn and avoid being smacked in the face with saltwater), and dig in the sand with my toddler, but more than likely, I'm reading.  Reading on the beach, reading on the balcony, reading on the couch, reading in bed.  It's like a Readers Retreat.  And I love it.

I've also been working on Reliance while here.  I was so excited yesterday morning when suddenly one of the narrative voices started talking to me and I got up early, before the rest of the family, so I could record what she said.  And just this morning, she filled in some gaps for me.  Her story was tragic, unexpected, but it explains so much about how her brother turned out to be the morally ambivalent man he was.

As a writer, you have to trust the voices in your head.  But in order to do that, you must be able to listen to them.  Life is so busy.  When I'm home, even in the summer, when my work schedule is flexible, I'm going-going-going.  I have to create moments of quiet so that I can hear more clearly.  Sometimes it's when I'm reading, when I've escaped my life so completely that another can find space inside my mind.  Sometimes it's when I'm falling asleep and I've surrendered the day.  Often it's first thing in the morning, before the day's expectations usurp all of my mindspace.

For me, there aren't many places as conducive to opening my mind as the beach.  Maybe it's the sound of the surf, the comfort food (see my recent Instagram posts of donuts...and more donuts), or the fact that I'm able to leave so many of the expectations of my everyday life behind.  Maybe it's being in a city with hundreds of years of history, so many stories it could tell.  Maybe it's a little bit of each.  What I do know is that the novel is flowing, and I can feel it in every bit of me.

It's All in the Timing

The querying process is many things: exciting, distressing, exhilarating, dejecting, affirming.  But what I find most intriguing about it is that it's all in the timing.
 
There are a few big no-nos in querying, and one of them is to not query the same agent with the same project once she's passed.  You might be reading this blog, thinking to yourself, "Well, obviously, Megan!"  I know, I know.  But sometimes mistakes happen, and sometimes, they're illuminating mistakes.

Years ago, when I first queried Sweet Divinity in its initial iteration, I queried an agent from the South who I thought would like my super-southern premise.  I sent her my query letter as part of a slew of queries.  As a teacher, I spend my summers full-on pursuing my writing career; heaven knows that during the school year there's hardly time to do laundry, let alone establish a new career!  Needless to say, the agent passed, and so I moved her rejection email to the proper folder in my inbox, and I moved on.

Fast forward several years and a baby.  I had reworked parts of Sweet Divinity, but the general premise remained the same.  I added a few scenes for character development and for humor, and once again I sat down to send out my queries. 

This time I had my priceless, pink planner, and I systematically noted every agent I queried, along with their agency and the date I sent my materials.  This was during the "summer of pneumonia" I've written about on this blog.  A very literary summer indeed.

As I submitted one particular query and then recorded the information in my planner, I suddenly realized that this name was familiar.

I yanked open my laptop and, in quite a panicked sweat, pulled up my email, opened the "Rejections" folder, and did a quick search.

And there it was...I had queried the same agent.  A duplicate query. 

I threw myself across the table, chastising myself for not being more systematic and organized the first time around. 

And if you know me, then you know that this is typical.  I'm an extremely organized, yet cluttered, person.  My natural state is to exist in a room surrounded by trinkets, my mind jumping from one project to the next, forgetting to do simple things like, I don't know, actually go to the appointment I scheduled. 

And so I am a systematic planner.  I keep the family calendar, with all of our appointments listed in precise time increments; I have a second giant calendar on my desk to provide a monthly view; and I have to-do lists on post-its on my computer screen and on my desk.

I am naturally cluttered, and so I over-organize in anticipation of my distraction and "Squirrel!" moments.

And it drives me nuts when I fail.

As I saw the agent's rejection email staring at me from the screen, I chastised myself and prayed that the rejection would come quickly and without an acknowledgement of what I had done.

And what do you know?

Same manuscript, same query letter, same author bio, same first ten pages.

She asked to see more.

I'm learning more and more about writing, publishing, and myself as I mosey along in my journey towards publication.  One of the unexpected lessons I've learned is that sometimes it's all in the timing.  I won't be duplicate-querying other agents, not by any means, but I will remember that a rejection isn't an outright rejection of me, my abilities, or my work.  In fact, sometimes, and maybe often, it's simply not my time.  So I will keep working until it is.

What I'm Reading

Hello Readers!

It's almost time to make my summer reading list, that blessed day where I enter the library empty-handed and emerge an hour later with ten beautiful books in my arms!

But while I wait for the big day, I'm working through some books that appeared on my radar last year and just haven't made it to my hands until now.  Here's what I'm reading:

As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner:  If you've met me, then you know that Faulkner is my literary boyfriend.  I read this novel years ago, and I even taught it for a year, but I'm now reading it again with my literary book club.  It's a family saga as only Faulkner can present it: with a handful of narrators and an examination of identity, tradition, responsibility, and humanity.

Fen, by Daisy Johnson: This one was recommended by one of my fabulous former students.  I'll read anything she suggests. Fen is a short story collection that blurs the line between fantasy and reality...it reminds me in many ways of a magical realism text.  The focus is on relationships, both with oneself and with others...in particular, the physicality of relationships.

Strange Bird, by Jeff Vandermeer: I loved Borne.  And I write that with full acceptance that I typically have an aversion to science fiction (I don't know why, so please don't ask.  I will simply shrug.).  This novella takes place in the Borne universe, one I was excited to get back into.  The bad news here is that I have momentarily misplaced the book...which lets me know it's time to declutter my life.

Before I make my library run, I'm wondering...what's on your summer reading list?

Life Begins Again in the Summer

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald

You know what stinks? Anxiety.

And I'm not talking about common anxiety, anxiety that makes you nervous before a test or that causes you to say a prayer before you set off to travel. That stinks too.

I'm talking about Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

This is the kind of anxiety that can call your life to a screeching halt, cause your body to ache from head to toe, prevent you from doing anything, from driving to work to going to the concert you've been looking forward to for months.

I am someone who has been dealing with a Generalized Anxiety Disorder since my sophomore year of college, the year 2000 (I know what some of you are thinking...oh! I was born that year! Awesome.). My anxiety came along after one of my best friends died at the hand of a drunk driver, and I found out that my family was falling apart. It was a lot to deal with, and I didn't know there were options. So I suffered quietly. I didn't go to the Backstreet Boys concert, because I was convinced I would die on the interstate. I started bailing on plans right and left, unable to explain to anyone that my whole body was telling me to stay home. I started ending friendships because I didn't know how to deal with confrontation.

This went on for YEARS. For twelve years, to be exact. It wasn't all bad; some really amazing things happened during that time, and I could deal with them decently. And then life took another dreadful turn, and I was broken. And that's when I found my options, and I started to put in the work. And it was hard work. I still work on it every day.

Once in a while, life seems too difficult to bear. Work gets overwhelming, my children are so needy, I want to be everything to everyone. And there's no time to write.

But one thing I've learned about myself is that I must balance my life. I must work. I must love my students. I must be there for my family. I must go to church. I must go outside every day. I must find time to work out my body. I must cook fresh meals. I must kiss my children. I must go on dates with my husband. I must read every day. I must write.

And so, as dear Nick Carraway once said, life begins anew in the summer.

Sure, it's going to be hot. And it's going to be busy. I have vacation plans, the kids have camps, I have tutoring.

But I'm making some goals for myself.

I will take care of myself. I will not overcommit, even if I want to. And I will want to.

I will finish Reliance. Draft One, at least.

I will send Sweet Divinity to independent publishers.

I will begin the sequel.

I will live each moment.

Here's to the summer of 2018...it's going to be inspiring!



*If you suffer from anxiety and don't know what your options are, please reach out to your doctor and ask.  For me, this was the best thing I've ever done for myself.

Rut

"Don't give up on me / 'Cause I'm just in a rut / I'm climbin' but the walls keep stacking up." -The Killers

I've been in a rut.  A writing rut.  And while the sound is alliterative, I assure you that there's nothing poetic about it.  I received a particularly demoralizing rejection, and it sent me into a vocational crisis.  Actually, it sent me into the upstairs bathroom where I locked myself in and sat on the floor Googling writing jobs at Disney for a solid half hour.  The result is that I found some jobs, but my husband was less than enthusiastic about suddenly moving to Florida or California.

In the meantime, work has become extremely busy.  So many papers to grade, books to read along with the students, extracurricular demands.  So I allowed myself to be swept away from writing for a while.  Swept away from this blog.  Swept away from Reliance.

Yet my return was signaled by an unlikely source.

Let me be upfront: I really love country music.  I love almost all kinds of music (straight up Screamo the only exception), but I listen to country mostly in the summer.  On the last day of school, every year, I have a tradition.  I roll down the windows as I drive home, and I blast "Barefoot Bluejean Night" by Jake Owen.  But last week we had a very "summery" day here in South Carolina (and on Saturday it will be windy with a high in the low 60s...because South Carolina is a tease).  And so, unprepared without a charged iPod and without Jake Owen on my phone, I turned to the local country station.  And there it was.

Now I rooted for Carrie Underwood on American Idol; I loved me some Bo Bice, but I was cool with Carrie winning.  However, I never really went all in on her country career.  I was in a bit of an alternative rock renaissance at the time, and now I'm more of a Miranda Lambert girl.

But last week I was driving home from work, AC blasting, ready for my country moment (the AC can serve as a fantastic wind machine for car performances), when I heard "Dirty Laundry" by Carrie Underwood.  And let me tell, you, that song didn't just pull me out of the rut.  No, it yanked me out and set me up straight.

Sometimes when you're writing, you pour your main plot out on the page, and it's wonderful, and beautiful, and emotional, and then you realize that something is missing.  There's been a climax, a resolution, but it isn't enough.  Something else was going on the whole time, but you can't quite put your finger on it.  And the characters aren't saying a word.  So you think, and you feel, and you wander around the wilderness of your mind searching for a signal.

And then it comes to you like a spark, like a forest fire.  Suddenly you see the tiny flame flare up into an inferno, take over the manuscript, flicker then rage, not destroying, but purifying as we're told fire can.  And ever so quickly, you fan the flames.

And there it is.  And no wonder the characters were afraid.

Grab some kindlin'.  There's gonna be a blaze.

Time

Time.

My old friend. 

Time. 

My muse. 

Time. 

My enemy.

I often pray that I can stop time.  My daughter is about to enter middle school.  My baby has somehow turned three.  I want to hit "Pause" right this instant.

I often dream that I am forward in time.  My book is published.  I'm holding readings and signings.  I'm travelling, promoting this book that I love, that I fully believe in.  I'm ready.

I often feel that there's never enough time.  I'm grading papers as new papers come in to me.  I look at the stack, yet I long to write.  I long to escape back into the fictional world I've created.  But there's no time for that right now.

I often feel that time passes so slowly.  Some mornings I awake and immediately think ahead to the moment I climb back into bed, the covers pulled up and over my head, darkness in my personal cave.

Time. 

My love. 

Time. 

My reality. 

Time. 

My dreamer.

Reliance, Part II

Flip Flop Burgers (https://www.flipflopburgers.com/) is in a large, wooden building with corn hole boards, chairs, and a fire pit outside.  It's attached to the Hiawassee Whitewater Company (http://www.hiwasseewhitewater.com/).  We walked into the enclosed porch which had been made so by an assembly of about a hundred old window frames, mismatched, stacked on top of and next to each other.  We were immediately greeted by the couple who own the businesses, Mechell and Bryan Mayhew.  Bryan was stoking the flames in a wood burning fireplace and Mechell told us to make ourselves at home.  And that was how I ended up eating a juicy hamburger and fries while pulled up to a fire in my rocking chair, watching the Olympics and listening to country music.  In other words, how I found my home.  Mechell and Bryan told us about how busy they are in the season, and described the bonfires and live music they have on summer weekends.  I can't wait to go back there when it's full of life, but I have to tell you, I was loving this place on a cold winter's day.

After lunch we drove to the Higdon Hotel (1914).  I have a fascination with abandoned buildings, and this one was one of the niftiest I've seen.  Unfortunately, there was a prominent "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted" sign on the front of the house (photo on Instagram), but we did get to take some pictures and note all of the beautiful details of this building.  I was overwhelmed imagining all of the stories that building could tell.  That's why I adore abandoned buildings.  There are so many words there, so many stories.

We stopped by the Watchman's House (1895) on our way back to the historic district (photo on Instagram).  This building sits just above the train tracks and now serves as a guest house (yes, I will be staying there).  The "Reliance" sign serving the railroad tracks is a great touch.

We drove around the mountain and ended up at a small store with many trucks parked in front.  It advertised BBQ and bait, so we went in and were immediately greeted.  I think it was obvious that we weren't from around there, and honestly, the people looked surprised to see us.  In the back of the store a group of seven or so older men were sitting at tables (meant for the BBQ patrons, I assume) just talking and enjoying.  It reminded me of the convenience store down the road from our family farm and the men who used to sit in the back laughing and drinking.  They were a constant in my childhood until the store was sold to a gas station chain.

The woman at the register was so welcoming to us that I bought a Moon Pie (not that anyone needs a reason to buy a Moon Pie) before we walked around outside a bit.  There was a back deck that I'm sure is full in the season, and a little covered walking bridge that crossed the creek to a well-worn path.

We headed back to Reliance and to our last stop: The Vaughn-Webb House (1888).  This is the house in the photograph that inspired my new manuscript (photo on Instagram).  It had even more character in person.  The blue flower pots had been replaced by dark planters, and there was a beautiful, blue glass ornament on the weather vane that stood up from the front gable.  The grayness of the day cast a darkness upon the house, and I realized immediately that the photograph I had purchased had been enhanced in color.  The ornate gingerbread around the gable and the detailed decorations around the porch spoke to authentic craftsmanship and pride.

I was looking at the curtained windows, considering the characters that people my novel, when a voice broke my reverie.

"Are you guys following me?"

It was the black and white dog and the woman who had picked him up in her truck.

Her name is Tammy, and she takes care of the Webb holdings.  Harold Webb owns the house, the church, the general store, the hotel, and the nearby farm.  Tammy takes care of it all.

We also officially met Gray, the dog, who was incredibly friendly and who knew right away that Jennie is a dog person and so loved her almost to the ground.  He was named Gray, Tammy told us, because "everybody names their dog 'Blue', so he's named 'Gray'".  We chatted with Tammy for a while, learned that Mr. Webb was at home but that he currently had guests, and asked questions about the plants we had seen along our way...plants are Tammy's specialty.  She encouraged us to come back in the summer to see all of the plants in bloom, and she promised that she would remember our faces.

Everyone in Reliance was friendly, welcoming, and above all--happy.  There is an ease of life there, an appreciation for nature, a friendliness of spirit that made these strangers feel like we were part of this place.  And everywhere we went, we found daffodil bulbs in bloom.  I think that was Tammy's touch.

As we drove out of Reliance, I felt inspired, more than I expected to be.  Reliance is alive for me now, and as I inhaled the clean mountain air, I know I took a bit of its character with me.  I am so excited to return to Reliance.  And so excited to let this story flow.

Reliance, Part I

On Saturday morning, my dear friend Jennie and I began the journey to Reliance, Tennessee.  I admit I was like a kid en route to Disney World, but I tried to keep calm for the sake of everyone I was to encounter.

We drove up highway 411 in Georgia and passed into Tennessee.  There were so many fascinating sights along the way.  Perhaps the most intriguing was a Creole restaurant in a cement building on the side of the highway.  I've been around long enough to know that you would either have the absolute best meal of your life at a place like that, or one so offensive you'd pay and run out the door.  We also passed a house with a mannequin standing up in the front lawn, a scarf painted onto her head,  her frozen arm waving at the traffic.  Fascinating.

We turned off 411 onto 30 and were greeted by a yellow sign with a black horse and buggy on it.  I knew there was an Amish community nearby, as its members come to our family farm in the summer to pick their blueberries, but seeing this sign was a treat, and as we curved through the mountains, I began to realize what dangerous territory this was for the Amish.

I had already written that the road leading into Reliance was like a snake, and let me tell you, it was even twistier and turnier than I could have imagined.  We wove around the mountain, through thick, dense woods, and alongside the broad Hiawassee River.  That river has agency, and as it was a dreary, windy day, it was rolling around quite rapidly.  There was power in that water.

We passed a sign that read, "Reliance, Unincorporated", and the house in my photograph appeared immediately on the right.  I won't reenact the moment for you, but let's just say my enthusiasm was clear.  We drove on to get the whole picture before we began to explore, and so passed the Union Baptist Church and drove into an park that offered a boat launch, picnic tables, and a rental store closed for the season.  As we turned in, a beautiful dog with coarse, black and white hair began to run alongside our car and then pulled away once we were in the park.  He would turn out to be our guide of sorts.

Stretching above the park is a railroad track on a bridge.  It comes out of the forest and crosses over the river before running alongside the mountain.  On this day, the parking lot was empty and we saw not a soul, so we stood enjoying the natural beauty around us, and I walked to the launch and dipped my hands in the water since this river plays such a central role in my novel.  It felt right to commune with it for at least a moment.

Our attention was caught by the sound of a pickup truck and someone hollering at the dog who was still racing around the park entrance.  A woman got out of the truck, lifted the dog in, and made her way to where Jennie and I stood.  She pulled up to Jennie and I arrived in time to hear her: "I hope this dog didn't give y'all no trouble."  We assured her that he was fine and with a smile she pulled away.

Next, we visited the Union Baptist Church, built in 1899 (picture on Insta @meganprewittkoon).  We were captivated by the foundation, which is composed of stacks of rocks that lift the building away from the ground.  I imagine it was to prevent flooding since the church is perched at the river's edge.  The building has a rich history as a church, a Masonic Lodge, and now a community center.  The doors are absolutely beautiful, and were absolutely locked on this day, so we peered in the windows to see the pews, an antique settee, and what looked like an old piano/organ.  The sconces on the walls held antique lamps.  Behind the church were some old bridge trestles (We later discovered they were from the original bridge to cross the river.  The trestles were all over the town, often used as gates or fencing.) as well as a lemon tree that had long, massive briars growing around the center of the plant, which produced a round, citrusy fruit that looked unlike any lemon I'd ever seen.

We visited the Webb Bros store next (photo on Insta).  Unfortunately, it was closed, but inside I could see historic artifacts, Reliance t-shirts, and outdoor gear for rent.  The store served as a general store/post office/library in the past, and said it would reopen in March.  All the more reason to return!

At this point we crossed the river on the new (1992) bridge and stopped off at Flip Flop Burgers, the only business we'd seen open thus far.

Read on in Part II

Books for the Road

Next weekend I will be packing my bags for a research trip to Reliance, Tennessee.  My friend Jennie and I are heading into the mountains with a playlist of mountain music and no itinerary.  I like to think we're like Truman Capote and Harper Lee.

I've been reading a lot to prepare for this trip.  Several months ago, I began reading Our Southern Highlanders by Horace Kephart and The United States of Appalachia by Jeff Biggers.  I'm now adding Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance, Cold Mountain by Charles Frazier, and everything by Ron Rash to the list.

But I've also been reading books with voices that are new to me, and books by some of my favorites.  Here's what I've finished recently, and what I'm currently reading:

Recently Finished:

The Hate U Give by Angie Brown: What a powerful book.  Written through the point of view of an African-American teenager who watches as her best friend is shot by a police officer, this novel looks society's stereotypes in the face and scoffs.  I honestly learned so much from this book.  It presented me with complex views on situations and lifestyles that I had grossly oversimplified.  THIS BOOK IS IMPORTANT.  Read it.

Ugly by Robert Hoge:  When my daughter finished reading this book, I heard her slam it shut and then the sound of her running feet in the hallway.  She came into my room, thrust the book into my hands, and insisted I read it immediately.  Fans of Wonder will like this book as well, a nonfiction account of a man who was born with a tumor on his face, and his quest to reclaim the word "ugly".

Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine: I have never read extensive works of prose poetry, and now I think I've spoiled myself with this one.  What a powerful testament to what it means to be a citizen of color in the United States.  Bold, creative, heartbreaking, strong.  We need this story now.

Letter to My Daughter (and Amazing Peace) by Maya Angelou: I've been on an Angelou kick recently.  Her words bring me comfort and hope, but also make me uncomfortable when they should.  Letter to My Daughter is a handbook for life.  I need to purchase a copy for myself and every man or woman raising a daughter.  I'll even make it a package deal with Enough by Kate Conner (which I was reading at this time last year).

Reading Now:

On Living by Kerry Egan: Nonfiction collection of stories by a hospice chaplain.  Just over halfway through and I have already made positive changes to my life and my perspective. When's the last time I considered how amazing my hands are?  And in case you think this book would be a downer, you're wrong.  It's inspiring.

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward: I'm struggling here.  I know, I know.  This book is right up my alley.  It won the National Book Award.  I don't get it either.  But I'm not giving up!

The Play of Death by Oliver Potzsch: I absolutely adore The Hangman's Daughter series.  Historical, mysterious, funny, and full of characters I enjoy spending time with.

What I'm Teaching Now:
A Streetcar Named Desire: And not only so I can justify showing the movie every year.  This play is spectacular.
Modern Poetry: Have I mentioned yet how much I adore ee cummings?
LaLa Land: One of the great joys of teaching a film class is watching as half of the class is singing along while the other half looks as if they're slowly dying every time someone bursts into song.

As you can see, I have so many words in my life.  It's the way I love to live.  Actually, perhaps it's the way I have to live.  And I love it.

Where Am I?

One of my favorite aspects of working on a new manuscript is immersing myself in the place of the story.  I've written in previous posts about my love of the American South.  But within the South are so many regions, so many unique places that vary dramatically.

Sweet Divinity was set in a place I know well.  The rural foothills of northwest Georgia is beautiful country with rolling hills, trees so dense you can lose yourself in them, and fresh, clean air that fills the lungs and the soul.

Miranda is set in early 20th century Charleston, SC, a place I lived during graduate school, a place that certainly has a character all its own.  One of my favorite stories of my time in Charleston involves a co-worker of mine from Drayton Hall Plantation.  For the record, Drayton Hall is the only original plantation house you can tour in Charleston.  It's the real deal, and all of the museum educators (we were more than "tour guides") have relevant college degrees.  When you travel to Charleston, choose Drayton Hall.

When I worked at Drayton Hall there was a man named Bob who had been a museum educator there for so long that he actually knew the final Drayton to live in the house.  He himself lived in a carriage house downtown in a compound with another man who collected antiques and Bentleys.  Every year they opened their homes for the Charleston Tour of Homes, and so the year I worked at Drayton Hall, I of course went to see Bob's house.

I went to see the antiques next door, the most memorable being a pair of giant iguana feet turned into mugs.  I also went to see the Bentleys which were kept in part in a double-decker garage.  But what I really wanted to see was the portrait above Bob's mantle.  It was a thing of legend with the other educators, and I was itching to get a peek.  So I dragged my husband downtown and we waited patiently to enter Bob's home.

I wasn't disappointed.  Bob had a dog named Beauregard; in fact he had had several dogs over the years, and all were named Beauregard.  And above his mantle hung a portrait of Beauregard.  Bob had taken a portrait of a Confederate general to an artist who took the human out and put the dog in.  Before me was a painting of a golden retriever in a Confederate general's uniform, holding a pen, signing a document, looking incredibly regal.

Charleston is full of such stories.

My new manuscript, Reliance, takes place in a small, southern mountain town in the early 20th century.  I'm planning a road trip to Reliance, Tennessee, in a few weeks to fully immerse myself in the place and in the culture.  But for now I've tried to capture Reliance in my imagination, and here's what I've come up with:

The road into Reliance is like a snake wrapped around the heart of the mountain.  The trees are dense, primeval, untouched by the hand of man.  The people of Reliance are just as untouchable, and just as swift to strike.

I can't wait to go to Reliance and listen to what the mountains are ready to share with me.

We Needs Your Stories Now

Today, across the nation, Women's Marches were held, uniting men and women in working for social justice.  As I stood at our local park, looking at the variety of signs and listening to the speakers share their unique stories and call for constructive action, I began to think how today, perhaps more than ever, words matter.

Words matter because they are the means by which we communicate our needs to one another.
Words matter because they are the means by which we lift each other up and thrust each other down.
Words matter because sometimes we communicate without the fortune of seeing the facial expressions or without hearing the vocal inflection of those speaking to us.
Words matter because our choices matters.
Words have denotations, connotations, cultural significance, historical significance.
Words have power.

We have seen how words have been used to manipulate, violate, assault, denigrate, and oppress.
We have also seen how words have been used to elevate, console, form, connect, and save.

Words have tremendous power.

As a wise one once said, power comes with responsibility, and we have all seen the pain and hurt that comes with using words irresponsibly.  We can all think of times when we have used words irresponsibly and times when we've seen those in power misuse words and be faced with significant consequences.

In a world where we are often limited to 280 characters, it is more important than ever to acknowledge the power of words and to choose them well.

So today, as I stood in the sun and looked and listened, I saw and heard some words that held great power, power that I believe is working towards positive change. 

"Every vote counts, because every person counts."

"As if the words make the science any less true."

"I am the wilderness."

"Only knowledge erases fear."

"Don't let anyone else steal your narrative."

We all have stories, and as I've written on this blog, we need stories now.  So today I'm ruminating on my narrative.  I'm trying to choose the precise words, to give power to the words, and to let the words speak the truth and work towards goodness.  I hope you'll do the same. 

Tell your story.  Take control of your narrative.  Choose your words.  Choose words that are the most precise words.  Choose words that are true.  Choose words that use your story to create and to grow rather than to shame or to regret.  Choose your words.  Take control of your narrative.  Tell your story.

Words matter.
We need your stories now.



**And thank you to Sydney for recognizing in the moment that the words heard today needed to be recorded.

Do Something Beautiful for the World

Today we celebrate the life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Many of us are off from work or school, and so we have a day to ourselves, to pursue whatever calls to us, or whatever tasks we didn't quite get completed this weekend.  I plan to work on Reliance; in fact, I'm practically bursting with story!

And yet, perhaps today we could also spend some time doing something positive for the world.  I realize that by the time you read this post, it may be late in the day and so too late to plan a large-scale project, but I don't think it takes large-scale projects to make the world a better place.

Sure, the world is in need of major positive impacts.  Next weekend I will be volunteering with a group of friends to work on a Habitat for Humanity house.  I'm so excited for this day, not only because I love getting my hands dirty for the improvement of others, but also because I took a Stagecraft class back in college when I was majoring in English but also working in the theatre, and I haven't used those skills in a while!

But there are so many smaller ways we can make positive change, and I encourage you to take part in one of them today.  Perhaps you could write a note to a friend, a family member, or even a mere acquaintance who may be in need of encouragement.  Take a container of hot cocoa and marshmallows to the family next door.  Pay for the meal of the person behind you if you go out to eat.  Go through your trash and pull out the recyclables, then put them in that blue container you use to collect leaves in the fall (the one with the recycling symbol on it).  Go for a walk and meditate on this beautiful creation all around you, and consider what part you play.  Make cards and drop them off at a hospice house nearby.  Sit on the couch with your child or a friend, and watch that movie you've been meaning to get to.  Spend time together.

A couple of years ago on parent-teacher conference day, I had back to back parent conferences where the parents told me that their children had a passion for the arts or humanities, but that they had told the children that the only career path they would support was in engineering.  Really, this happened, back to back.  I was so frustrated and also insulted as clearly they had no qualms in implying that my career, or one like it, was not acceptable for their children.  When the third conference began, I was demoralized, to say the least.  And yet, the first question out of these parents' mouths was, "Our daughter loves creative writing.  What can we do to encourage her and help her get better at it?"  This family went on to tell me that part of their children's allowance each week depended on the children "making something beautiful for the world".  One was a creative writer, one wrote original songs on the guitar...you see where we're going with this.  They gathered as a family on Sunday evenings to share their contributions to the world.  When I heard this story, I was overcome.  And I will never, ever forget that conference or that student.  She was one of the happiest students I've ever known.

Today, make something beautiful for the world.  Make the world a little better because you're here.  Leave a positive impact on this day.  You can do it, even in small ways.  And perhaps this practice will teach us all to use our gifts to make the world even more inspirational.

Playlists

When I sit down to write, the atmosphere around me and within me is essential.  I like to write in one of four places: my back deck at night or in the early morning with the twinkle lights glowing, Exchange Company, a fantastic coffeeshop that works with local charities and has a killer groove, the armchair in my home's library, backed up against the bookshelves, surrounded by books I love, or my completely cleaned off kitchen table (and I have two children, so this one is a rarity!).

But just as important as the place is the sound.  I'm extremely auditory.  My children and students are forever amazed that I actually heard what they just mumbled (and half of it I choose to ignore!).  When I hear a song on the radio, it doesn't just "take me back" in a nostalgic way; no, it transports me.  I can see, smell, and feel in my chest exactly what I felt in that moment.  One of my favorite poets, Walt Whitman, wrote, "I hear not the volumes of sound merely, I am moved by the exquisite meanings".  That's it exactly.

And so with every novel I write, there is a specific playlist that acts as companion.  The songs put me in the right mindset, but even more so, put me in the right place.  When I wrote Slings and Arrows, a modernization of Hamlet, I was an angsty teenager again, back in the halls of high school.  When I wrote Sweet Divinity, I was transported back to the country, to the farm where I was raised.  When I wrote Miranda, I needed to feel the emotions of my narrator, a combination of desperate need and painful longing.

Music takes me there.

And so below I share my playlists.  Perhaps they'll transport you as well.

Slings and Arrows
"Hero/Heroine", Boys Like Girls
"Glycerine", Bush
"Sweetness", Jimmy Eat World
"Thirty-Three", Smashing Pumpkins
"Galapagos", Smashing Pumpkins
Hot Fuss, The Killers

Sweet Divinity
"Good Directions", Billy Currington
"Let Me Down Easy", Billy Currington
"What Was I Thinkin'", Dierks Bentley
"Barefoot Blue Jean Night", Jake Owen
"Do You Believe Me Now", Jimmy Wayne
"Drunk on You", Luke Bryan
"Mountain Music", Alabama
"Mama's Broken Heart", Miranda Lambert

Miranda
"Lust for Life", Lana Del Rey
"Love", Lana Del Rey
"Video Games, Lana Del Rey (Pretty sure this is the anthem of the novel)
"Ultraviolence", Lana Del Rey
"Born to Die", Lana Del Rey
"Young and Beautiful", Lana Del Rey
"Old Money", Lana Del Rey (yes, I listened to only Lana Del Rey on repeat during the entire editing process...she's magical)
"Intro", XX
"Moonlight Sonata", Beethoven
"Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92, Beethoven
"Adagio for Strings", Samuel Barber
twenty one pilots (everything)
"Madness", Muse
"Believe", Mumford and Sons
"Inside Out", Britney Spears
"Elastic Heart", Sia

Reliance (still building this one)
"I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow", Roscoe Holcomb
"Little Birdy", Roscoe Holcomb
"Graveyard Blues", Roscoe Holcomb
"Little Sadie", Clarence Ashley
"Dark Holler", Clarence Ashley
"Sweet William and Lady Margaret", Jean Ritchie
Crockett Family Mountaineers
Basically anything that falls under "Appalachian Folk Music"

Sending My Baby into the World

My goal was to have Miranda in clean manuscript form by the end of the year, and last night at 10:30 I did just that.  I finished the final read-through, made some tweaks to the dates within the piece to firm up the timeline, and polished the consistency of phrasing throughout.  Needless to say, I was pretty darn excited, and so celebrated the new year with a rousing family game of Bananagrams, a toast with sparkling grape juice, and a good night's rest.

Today I will begin the query process for Miranda.  If you've been reading my blog, you know that I'm no stranger to this part of the publishing journey.  I've had some major highs such as engaging in a rewrite process with a literary agent, a process that improved my manuscript and boosted my confidence.  I've also had some pretty major lows; it's never easy to face rejection, especially when it's a rejection of something you feel is a part of you.

But today I will begin again.  And I can't think of a more poetic day to start anew than New Year's Day.

Sending off a query, a partial, or a full manuscript is a bit like sending your child to school on her first day.  Miranda was first conceived over ten years ago (probably more like fifteen) when I picked up a vintage photograph at a craft festival.  It's been the work that has lived within me the longest, and we've fought each other along with way.  Searching for a narrative voice, having a main character veer from the path I'd laid out for her, taking me down twists and turns I wasn't prepared for, the revelation that there would be a whole other novel within this one.  It's been a long, winding road, but I wouldn't trade a moment of it.

I love this novel.  I started work on it when I was in my twenties and the whole world was open to me.  Before I was a mother, before I was a teacher, before I was a mother of two, before I began work on Slings and Arrows, Sweet Divinity, My Literary Boyfriends, before any of it and through all of it, there has been Miranda.  I've changed so much since this work began.  I've grown, matured, gained experience (and hopefully wisdom), and the novel changed with me.

And so today it feels like I'm dropping Miranda off for the first day of school.  I've prepared her for this day.  I've washed her hair and combed it down, I've explained to her how to put her best foot forward and to be patient and respectful to those around her, and I've told her that she is strong, and beautiful, and good.

I know that there will be struggles along the way.  I know that my heart will be hurt.  I also know that there will be moments of affirmation and immeasurable joy.

I am ready.  And Miranda is ready.  It's time.