Revision and Seeking Inspiration

Hi folks,

Yes, I'm back.  This week I'm wrapping up the revision to a novel. I began listening to this youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=829vaz2CxiI.  I can tell you that this conversation between John Grisham and Stephen King had me shouting with laughter. I was getting a lot of odd looks at the gym. Yes, me, Youtube videos and the gym. A magical combination. So back to the point. I'm a southerner and John Grishman's way of thinking resonates with me. I also find to Stephen King to be interesting like a beetle one finds on the back screen of the house and you stare at in fascination for hours.

Anyway, these guys have both sold a gazillion of books and I thought maybe their success would rub off on me. They both talk with superior voices that I hear from many successful writers. Gushing goes on: Oh, it was easy and miraculous. I was lucky. I was persistent. I'd do anything for a buck. That's what comes across. I figure they worked hard and lost sleep to make their magic happen.

I noticed that Stephen King states over and over again, "buy my books." This seems like a begging that should be beneath someone that has sold so many books, but with this guy probably has stuff he needs to pay for, it seems like he is still about the money, and it has always been about the money. Both also liked that people think they are awesome.Grisham liked to talk about how much money he has made and can't believe the Baptist God hasn't struck him down for blasphemy.

Anyway, they made me laugh with writer stuff like Grisham buying 1000 books thinking everyone was going to care about his work in a small town in Mississippi. My revision happens to be about a girl passing for white in a small town in Mississippi. Why this story? Ticking in the heart of me is a bonfire of anger about bright people who don't have a shot in this world because of something plain evil. I don't think any snake ever tempted anyone. The ugliest snakes I've ever seen, have faces like people I might pass at the gym, or the grocery store, and have made choice after choice that has turned them from beings of light to creatures slithering on their bellies and ready to inject me with poison.

I am finally old enough to stop worrying about making folks angry and suddenly my storytelling is on fire. I am on page 100 of the revision and have 170 or so to go. I have been scratching at this book for some years and have finally got something singing for me. I hope this revision pass singes my readers with some of that bonfire in me. I dream of folks reading my books even though reading isn't fashionable. I dream of my books made into movies.  I dream of talking to writers across the planet and giving them the kind of boosts that so many have given me.

So here is a tiny bit of revision advice. DO THE WORK. There you go. 

I will be back next week with more SEIZE the day.

Here is a quote for your pocket.

“The writer must have a good imagination to begin with, but the imagination has to be muscular, which means it must be exercised in a disciplined way, day in and day out, by writing, failing, succeeding and revising." Stephen King
Here is a doodle.  Halloween, folks! Rainbow Unicorn Kitty Chicken. Check out CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN. (By yours truly...)

Have You Failed at All Attempts To Be Conventional?

Hey, Artist, you started hearing it in elementary school: Gosh, that girl is weird. You remember wondering what the Dickens weird was. In your head, you were a slice of Wonder Bread. And what was weird about that?  It is true conventional is not your style. The whole "be at work at eight a.m. and leave at five" meme is just unnatural to you. 

What happens if you have an idea at one in the morning?  It won't wait for the "correct" time frame.   When you work all night, it is tough to get up in the morning. Some manager person at work points a finger at you and says you are trying too hard and bucking the natural order. You feel that you should receive a medal, but instead, you get a pink slip. 

Now, you are out of work again. And you are supposed to unhappy about that. Instead of being unhappy, tripping glee is coursing through your veins. It had been a dumb job. Now you finally have time to work on the art projects that on the back burners. You pull them out and take long walks at the park and enjoy the chance to breathe. You are a bubbling cauldron of "toil and trouble" and that is a wickedly good thing. 

One day at lunch with your friends, strangely your friends always have the time for lunch, you mention that you don't understand why people think you are weird. Someone leans back in a chair and entreats. "Dear God (insert your chosen deity here or revise with chosen curses), why would you want to be normal?" That makes sense and you forget about being weird and focus on that important discussion about Star Trek that you and your friends have been arguing about for the past five years.  

The next day between your stare-out-the-window time and your hour to stare at a painting that you think is cool, it occurs to you that you have failed at all attempts to be conventional. You have been fired from every conventional job.  People call you lazy, but you know that you are the busiest person you know. The truth is immutable. You are an off-beat Bohemian. 

You probably know the solution for world peace. You also know how to stop all inequality among people. You even have a thought or two about stopping world hunger. This kind of rebel knowledge does not endear you to the world at large, but leads you to hard knocks from "The Man." You wish you had a nickel for everyone that has told you that you will never amount to anything.  It has not gone beyond your notice, that those folks are specks of dust on a small planet, in an average galaxy, in a mongo universe, that's probably part of infinite multi-verse. I mean. 

Here is my bit of advice, avant-garde Weirdo.  Thank your lucky stars.  Thank them every day. Do your thing. Never stop. 

You need a doodle. Here you go: 

Here is a quote for your pocket from a weirdo, the great poet, John Lennon. 

You may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us and the world will live as one. 

Close to the Bone: KA

Hi, folks, I've been writing a series all about  a time in my twenties when I was part of religious cult. Last week I wrote a heart-breaking story from my past about G and his sad demise. This is my version of the Valley of Dry Bones from the Book of Ezekiel. I'm calling it Close to the Bone. This is the final in the series.

Toward the end of the dark days of the cult, I was failing around for purpose. A teacher from college, Dr. Van Riper, ran into me at the supermarket and demanded to know why I had three children instead of writing books for children. I had no answer. She'd told me what to do, and I'd ignored her.

I was slowly waking up in these days. God's chosen people were now looking like a bunch of uneducated country folk, plus a bunch of kids that had choked on embracing the future after college. That's when I saw the ad in the newspaper about some group called SCBWI.

Fellow-shipping outside the church was forbidden in a manipulative, oblique way, but this was business. I figured God would give me a pass. I remember heading to that first meeting and feeling so welcome. There were 8 or 9 women and they were so gracious and kind.  I remember the first conversation in a long time without having to say praise the Lord or how God was directing me every third word. I also remember KA. She was a real author and the leader of the SCBWI group. Her first picture book had come out but she talked to me like I was a colleague. Bam, I was in the inner circle.

I can not tell you  how much KA's leadership meant to me. I tried to keep secret from the church my fraternizing with the world.  KA was a Unitarian. That was something I was supposed to fear. Of course, by now, I understood that I was supposed to fear everything, and it was sort of ridiculous and tiring. KA believed in me as a creative person. She never let me feel like I was a little off with my long dresses and three kids in three years. She accepted me just as I was. It was the most Christian thing I'd ever experienced.

I remember being invited to another SCBWI member's house called DC. I had friends outside the church for the first time in almost eight years.  I was hanging out with a group of women, totally normal women with varied backgrounds. It was sort of dizzying. I was supposed to have left the world behind, but now I sneaking back into it. Oh, and the big problem? I loved it.

SCBWI became an island of normal in my life. Like Phoenix, I was rising from my ashes. KA tried to convince me to go to Los Angeles for the annual conference. I chickened out, but her encouragement planted a seed in me.  KA convinced me to volunteer for events, write letters to editors, and even submit my drawings to the SCBWI Bulletin.  My first credit was as an illustrator in the Bulletin. I was so proud. I was engaged in the pursuit of liberty. I had expressed myself.  I made $50. It was mind-blowing.

When Tim and I decided to move away the place we had known such tragedy, KA continued to encourage me until I left town. I have no idea if she had any idea of how lost I was, and how much I needed help to become a normal person again. She never said anything when the sorry story of my entire life was reported in the local newspaper. KA encouraged me creatively, commenting on my work and giving me suggestions, and once she sent me a card stating there would be a day when she said she knew me when. She bridged the way for me to absolutely normal. I turned into the funky person I had been before all the religious nonsense. I came to my senses.

Well, this is end of these posts and also time for big news. My blog is moving over to Niume.com.  I hope you consider following me an my content there.  You will receive updates of posts if you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or tumbler.

One of those early drawings. I sent to the Bulletin on a notepad paper, a big no-no. SM bought them anyway.

A quote for your pocket:

My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel.13 Then you, my people, will know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. 14 I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it, declares the Lord.

Ezekiel 37: 12b-14

Teachers Who Helped: A Writer's Perspective

Hi folks, school is about to start, and I am thinking about all the wonderful teachers in my life.

As a teen, I was a small town country girl with big dreams. I lived 45 minutes outside of one of the biggest cities in the United States, Houston, TX, but that drive might has been as far away as the moon. When I walked to the bus stop, I stared at a cornfield.

My favorite teacher in high school was Mrs. Baugh.  She taught drama, speech, and English, my all time favorite subjects at Waller High School.

In a school world that expected me to do nothing (I was a less than stellar student), Mrs. Baugh expected everything. She always told me I was a surprise. She said she saw a tenacity in me that she'd never seen in a student before.

One of my favorite moments was when I had returned from a speech tournament with an oration that she had given me a D on. I had won first prize at the tournament, and I was waving my little speech under her nose.

"YOU failed me when I turned this in!" I said.

She looked at me over her glasses. "Whatever is in your hand does not resemble what you turned in to me. That was a first draft, but I knew you'd eventually get it figured out. You always keep at it."

What she said was true. I was a strange student.  If I failed a paper (I failed many), and I was unhappy about that, I would keep working until I was satisfied.  Long after we moved on in class, I would still wrestle failed  papers. I could never work fast enough in school, but given time, I could do good work.

Mrs. Baugh understood this about me and encouraged me at every turn.  She is the first teacher who believed in me.  I am still writing today.  Her belief is still with me.  I also know that my need to make it better will eventually lead to my best work.

Yay, for good teachers.  I hope you all have the best year ever.

I hope you take time to appreciate the teachers in your life and the gifts they have given you.  I will be back with more this month.


Here is a doodle.

Here is a quote.

One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feelings. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child. Carl Jung

Bloom (in Frosting): Mixing Magic and Realism, Guest Blogger - Alexandra LaFaye!

 Did you know it takes warmth to make flowers bloom? This month's series is called Bloom. It should make you really toasty! Join me in welcoming the talented author A. LaFaye as she takes over Seize the day! She is about heat up your mind with a huge dose of mixing magic and realism. Writers, get ready to bloom!

Bloom (in Frosting): Mixing Magic and Realism

 credit: Bigstock

Many of the rules of fiction haunt us – like spirits of drafts past or critiques gone wrong—they loom over us chanting, “show don’t tell” and the like, but as a writer and a mentor of writers, I’m not a fan of “the rules.” In fact, I would suggest that rules, grammar, and all of the conscious mind clutter that occupies our thoughts in the editing phase should take a backseat in the creation stage. Writers are often more empowered, creative, and productive if they write from their subconscious and leave all of the rules for the revision, or better yet, the editing phase.

And my topic for today is about getting our readers to move closer to their subconscious and loosen their grip on the rules of reality as they’re reading so that they can buy into a fictional world that resembles their own, but is infused with elements of fantasy—young wizards living under the stairs, angels hidden away in the potting shed, and the like. I’m not talking about magic realism here. That’s a whole other approach to writing that is very culturally grounded and often misunderstood. For more information on magic realism, this article would be a great start: Magic Realism

What I am talking about it reality-based fantasy or stories so well-grounded in reality that a.readers are surprised to discover that the world they’re in contains elements of the fantastic and/or b. the fantastic is convincing enough to allow readers to “buy into” the otherworldly elements being portrayed.

Since I’m generally opposed to rules, I’ll have to say that for every guideline I give you here, you’ll no doubt know of at least half a dozen works that thwart the general rule and that’s the mark of great art—knowing the rules well enough to work around them or defy them all together—creating your own magic as you go. Still, these guidelines may be helpful in giving you a place to start.

And the starting line in reality-based fantasy is “A Voice in the Fog”

On a foggy night at sea a sound in the distance has a magical quality to it simply because we cannot explain it. The change in our environment puts us on edge just a little, piquing our interest, and leading us to question our surroundings—keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

This “voice in the fog” in a story is the small element that tells us something is not quite normal in the world we’ve just entered.

To illustrate my points, I’m going to use my short story “Testing, Testing 1, 2, 3...” from the anthology Shelf Life edited by Gary Paulsen and filled with great genre-based stories by writers like Gregory Maguire, M.T. Anderson, and Jennifer Holm who are quite good at drawing readers into realistic worlds fused with fantasy and I hope my story holds its own among this talented crowd.

In “Testing,” the main character, Patrick Troy is struggling to pass standardized tests in eighth grade and in jeopardy of not being able to enter high school, so he’s only allowed to leave the house to attend school and keep up his lawn mowing job. His newest client, Mrs. Whitamore, has hired him through the mail.

As he explains, “That may seem odd, but I get a lot of weird stuff in the mail. When I hit second grade, I started getting a blank card each week. I didn't know who sent them. There was never a return address on the envelope. No postmark. Just my name. Each one was a different blind you bright color, but they never had one word on the card inside. Mrs. Whittamore's card was bright too. There was no return address. I even thought it was another blank card, but instead she asked me to mow her lawn for her every Saturday at noon.”

Here, we know something is out of the ordinary, but we’re not sure exactly what it means. This gets our “magic sense” tingling and moves us into the next element of combining fantasy and reality:

The Scully Factor (AKA Plausible Deniability)

When we’re given a fantastic premise, “being hired through the mail” it should be deniable at first or at least explainable. Here, we learn that Patrick has often gotten strange things in the mail. What we learn later is that the lawn mowing request and the cards that came before it are also a test of worth (an early stage of the hero quest plot pattern that appears in most fantastic stories). But when we first encounter them they are a foreshadowing of the magic to come and an undercutting explanation for why he’d get hired through the mail.

To draw readers into the fantasy within the realism of a story like this one, writers must

Incubate Their Dragon Eggs

Besides their size, dragon eggs aren’t that shocking. Why they could simply be housing a fetal emu for all we know. But when the dragon hatches, it’s no longer possible to deny that something fantastic is afoot or awing. And in reality-based fantasy, writers must raise the stakes, increasing the elements of fantasy, decreasing the elements of reality until the fantasy is no longer deniable—it is the new reality of the story.

When Patrick accepts the mail-delivered job offer, he is excited to see into Mrs. Whitamore’s yard because she has nine foot hedges and is suspected of being a witch—no one sees her, she has a hidden yard, and there are odd chimes emanating from her house. When he arrives, the wind opens her screen door and ushers him through the dark house to a backyard with rings of flowers that spin right up to her back porch—all increasingly unusual things that could be explained.

Mrs. Whitamore doesn’t speak, she delivers directions on cards that are, at first look, blank, but as Patrick describes the first one, “As I got up farther, the card seemed to have gray squiggly lines that moved around like curly hair caught in the wind. Standing right in front of her, squinting, the lines darkened and stiffened into letters. I thought I needed to get my eyes checked for new glasses. That happened every spring.

The card read, ‘The butterflies need exercise.’

She smiled, her misty eyes getting all shiny.

Here we get a sense that she may be writing them with her mind or he may have eye sight issues—plausible deniability (the Scully Factor at work), but we also learn that Mrs. Whitamore is a bit more than unusual because she wants him to mow her flowers to give her butterflies exercise.

His payment that first day is a blank book. He finds this odd, especially when his watch tells him the whole job took only five minutes—but he blames the time shift on a broken watch—he often makes them stop on account of his “magnetic personality,” so reality is still in the lead, but when he returns the next week and discovers that the flowers are as tall and in full bloom as they were the week before we know for certain that magic is definitely at play.

And when she tells him that the book she gave him is as blank as the card she’s holding, Patrick realizes that the magic in his life is undeniable and he has a enchanted book that eventually teaches him how to stop time and finish the standardized tests that have dogged him all year long.

In many ways, reality-based fantasy is

Like a Layer Cake with Mythical Frosting

credit:amazingdata.com

At the base, you have a pretty ordinary plate that may be wrapped in foil, but alone it’s as ordinary as mowing the lawn, then comes the first layer which is mostly cake and homework and standardized tests, and then there’s a layer of mythical frosting where reputed witches can hire you to mow their lawn through the mail, then you mow rings of flowers as a host of butterflies take flight—the decorations on the layer of cake that’s all lawn clippings and tests looming.

Layer by layer, the elements of reality shrink like the layers of the cake and the frosting and decorations—the magic of fantasy—take center stage and we have a kid who can stop time to give himself the room he needs to learn what he wants to know and finish the blooming test. When you look at the story as a whole the glittering magic is what resonates with us, but the emotional satisfaction of a test passed is the cake in our belly.

So, I’ve either shown you how to mix fantasy and reality or simply made you hungry for cake. Either way, I’m so grateful that you joined me on this journey and I want to offer you the opportunity for seconds or at least “cake” decorating tips. AKA What questions do you have for me about blending fantasy and reality?

After all, I have this short story, a novel about a girl who discovers her adoptive parents are shape-shifting seals (Water Steps), a novel-in-verse about an Appalachian girl who can see the future (Pretty Omens), and a book about a girl whose widowed father is confidently waiting for his wife’s return (The Keening).

But don’t just take my word for it. Feel free to explore other approaches to the same fusion of reality and fantasy, here’s a good article from Fantasy Faction to get your started: "Reality Made Fantastic" If you have questions or comments, please share them here. You can also stop by and visit me on my own blog Wordy Wanderings Thank you once again, to you for reading, and to Molly Blaisdell for the opportunity to be a guest on her blog. Have a famtastic—hopefully, cake-filled day!

www.facebook.com/alafayeauthor
www.alafaye.com
a@alafaye.com

Thank you for sharing your genius, Alexandria! This whole post warmed me up. I'm about to bloom. Readers, thank you for dropping by and I hope that you come back next week for more of the bloom series.

Finally, we already had some doodles, but here is a quote for your pocket:

She told me about rolling hills covered with cornfields and treeless miles of land without water. I dreamt of cornfields dotted with yellow rosebushes A. LaFaye, The Year Of The Sawdust Man

Lucky March: Luck of the Irish

Hi, folks! Welcome to the next series. I'm about one quarter Irish, hence the luck of the Irish is with me as a writer. ;) Luck is all about random circumstances that end up sending good fortune your ways. Do you want some luck of the Irish in your life?  Here is a sure fire plan.

The whole luck of Irish meme was started by miners in the gold fields back in the day. Those Irish miners kept finding gold. It's a good thing they didn't stay in Ireland. I've learned a thing or two like my Irish ancestors. Stay where you are, and things will never change.  Do things the same, and things will never change. Don't ask for help, and things will never change.

A few years back I took a novel revision class with Darcy Pattison. In this class Darcy offered an exercise, identify the weakest chapters in your book and then revise to make them awesome. As we all know, luck is really about dropping yourself in opportunity rich places and then reaping the benefits. I've made it a practice to choose the three weakest chapters of my book when I have a solid draft and revise them. I make the better. How?  I make better stuff happen. I dig into the emotional core. I cut the fat. Ooh, I was punching the sky when I finished my revision notes.

So whatever creative stuff you are doing, go to the gold fields.  If you are searching for gold, you know where those fields are. Gear up and prospect. First study the land. For you writers, read, read, read. Lose the dreams of get-rich-quick. Band together with other prospectors. You need writers who work hard and show up.  Dig in. Luck finds the tenacious. It does.

So there you have it, a road to the luck of the Irish. I will be back next week with more Lucky March.

Here is a quote for you pocket. A traditional Irish blessing:

May the blessing of the rain be on you—the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.

May the blessing of the great rains be on you, may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool

where the blue of heaven shines,

and sometimes a star.

Creativity: Hope for the Neurodiverse Tribe

Hi folks,  Did you grow up being called the weird one? Was the teasing because you were "a different" that was off the charts? Are you a member of the neurodiverse tribe?

Here's the deal. The neurodiverse outlier faces a tough world. She is labeled (lazy, procrastinator, excessive talker, disorganized, rebellious, poor listener, challenging), shamed (you don't try, you don't care, you're disrespectful, stupid, weirdo) and failed (F for you). I am speaking from experience here. Shake hands, I'm a member of the neurodiverse tribe.

Here is a picture of my life. I'm intelligent but you may be interested to know that I am minimal student. I've failed so many classes that I have lost count.  Note, just because I failed didn't always mean I didn't learn the subject. It generally means that I was stressed out about the tests and projects. I couldn't answer the questions fast enough, or I had a tough time managing my schedule again (i.e I'd forget I had that class until it was too late -- stupid rules). Note: I make As if I'm really crunching on a subject.

I find that it is best for me to learn one subject at a time, with school it is always five at a time or more. I avoid school because there is no place in the world that will kick the confidence out of me like a school room. Now to make you laugh, I love to learn. LOVE. LOVE. LOVE. I want to know stuff. I read like crazy. I'm always learning new stuff. I do Khan Academy lessons for fun. The internet is my friend. There is a picture, video, or blog for that. Beyond that I like to read books, attend lectures, and go to places. I am always tucking stuff inside me.

I have the same problem of all the neurodiverse: I lack this so called "self control." Let's be clear about self control -- I arrive late often. I have trouble keeping my sleeping schedule on 8 to 5 system. I tend to make As in subjects I like. I get super focused and tend to forget things. I burn up about one pan per month. The sink overflows sometimes. Note, I'm not lazy, I'm just not working according to the "rules" whatever they are. Yes, this makes people very angry: I'm traumatized like every neuro-diverse person on the planet.

Now for the creative angle. Creativity is hope in the neurodiverse (Pandora's) box. I'm a creative soul. It seems to ooze out of my pores. I sometimes wish that I could be here with Vincent Van Gogh. We could commiserate about people not getting us.  Creativity is currency for me. I think in ways that other people don't. My mind will not give up. Even if I give up, my creative soul will come to my rescue. Creativity is a geyser within like Old Faithful. It keeps spewing stuff regularly. No efforts from me needed. It makes me optimistic against all odds. It lifts me up when I can't lift myself. Remember that if you are neurodiverse.

I hope this brought some happiness to your creative soul. I believe a day will come when the world make room for the neurodiverse tribe. We will stop trying to drug it or fix it and just accept that some of us march to the beat of a different drummer. Then we will make room for the differences.

Next month, I will be back with a new series.  Yay!

Here is a doodle. A Troubling...

We are NOT average people – we are not satisfied to just do what we are told, or to do the same job for the rest of our lives without loving what we do. Arriane Benefit

Novel Craft: Beginnings

Hi, folks! Welcome to a brand new year! This year I'm starting out with a series on novel craft. This week I hope I offer you some good advice about how to start your book. That's right, your book is like no other. Your start is like no other. A good novelist has come to trust her mojo. Books start in a myriad of ways: some with dialogue, some with backstory, some jump into the action, some blather on inside the main character's head, some start with the character waking up, some begin with the sunrise.  Regardless, a good beginning will spill some of that writer magic on the page--the I've-got-this-attitude.

Where does this attitude come from? There is no magic formula but here are three practices that will infuse your beginnings with your mojo. First, write and write and write. Next learn how to take charge and be your own boss. Finally give yourself pep talks. I will chat about these three hallmarks of a great beginning. (A hallmark is an invisible stamp that shouts this is one authentic book.)

First, you must write, not think about, not talk about, not plan about writing, but actually write.  This involves at least a million words before you reach minimally competent. So whatever it takes, begin to write. Type page after page. Fill journal after journal. Write failed story after failed story. You have found the road to a good beginning!  Kudos!

Next you must own your writing. If you are a writer, you should be receiving regular critiques of your work. That is awesome. Now you must learn to learn what to listen to and what to toss. This will take hundreds of critiques and hundreds of misses. Take the big risks. Go to that craft workshop you've been thinking about. Read the competition and then compete. Own failure and define it as a stepping stone to success. The thing you must realize -- you are the Boss. Expose yourself on the page, take the risk. You may fail. You may go broke. Regardless, exercise your exclusive rights, own your writing. Ownership will infuse your beginnings with you.  Good stuff.

Finally, learn how to pep talk yourself.  Here's the deal, the awesomeness must come from within. This is where your voice is. The self talk needs to work like this: I can do something awesome. Why not? I will write something that will shake the foundations. This beginning will blow my own mind, and it will totally transform everyone's universe. I will make this better, faster, stronger. I'm going to totally six-million dollar man this! (Note: if you are not doing 1 and 2, and doing 3, you are not looking like a genius...)

Take a few minutes every day and give yourself the pep talk. Do not neglect this step. Don't try to get this juice from others. If you are like me, call on the grace of I AM. No, no, you don't deserve unmerited favor, but ask for it (somebody out there really loves you), and then give the glory to the Architect of all things.

I just dropped a teacup of useful stuff in your brain: Work hard, be the BOSS, and finally pep talk yourself. All this will build beginning inertia for you. Inertia is all about getting you in a tendency of writing AWESOME beginnings. If you tend to write awesome beginnings, you will continue to write awesome beginnings.  This is something you can trust.

I hope you come back next week for more Novel Craft.  If your resolution is to finally write your novel, follow the steps.  (P.S. this advice works for every creative endeavor.)  Good luck!

Here is a doodle.

Finally, here is a quote for your pocket.

Writing is wretched, discouraging, physically unhealthy, infinitely frustrating work. And when it all comes together it’s utterly glorious. ― Ralph Peters

Gifts: Empathy

I'm continuing my creative gifts series. This is all about writerly gifts that I've received from others on my journey. I'm extremely wealthy when it comes to receiving these gifts. This week I'm going to talk about Holly Cupala. Holly is someone who has been generous to me in so many ways I cannot count.  She is one of the most deeply empathetic people I know. She aware of the feelings of a wide range of people; she feels deeply what they are going through. She is a gift to us all.

I tend to be socially awkward. I do care about other people, but I end up seeming really callous sometimes. One reason is I don't always feel what others feel. I recognize they are feeling something, but inside me I don't feel it. I have deep sympathy for them, but that is not the same as empathy. Everything I write has to relate somehow directly to my experiences, what I have felt. This limits my creative spectrum, but there it is. Exposure to the empathetic has helped me become a better writer and a better person. 

Here is how this thing works: I've been bullied so I can write authentically about that. I wasn't at 9:11 and did not personally watch anyone die that day so I cannot write authentically about that. Empathetic people feel what others feel. The clueless part of me is I forget that people are feeling what others are feeling, because I don't. When I see someone writing about something outside his or her experience, I struggle with: "Is this authentic? Some rare individuals really do connect with experiences that are not their own. I'm blessed to know one of these people.

Holly has helped me learn to respect how others feel even if I can't feel it. She has taught me how empathy expands your world. When I am hurting, my first thought is to get away from everyone, wrap myself in blanket and deal with feeling pain.  Empathetic people feel something and realize there are people all over feeling that and reach out to others that feeling the same thing they are feeling. Empathetic people surround me. I think they get it more than most that I need some help. 

Holly's writing really shows off  her empathy for others. Her characters have greatly varied experiences. Even when she is working out of what she knows, she's injecting what she has felt from others too. Her influence has forced me into the shoes of my antagonists. No character should be flat, but each one should be full of life. Exploring the intersection of characters has greatly expanded under exposure to Holly's empathy.  

I hope something about empathy helps you march toward authenticity. I will begin a new series in the new year! Happy New Year!

Here is the cover of one  of Holly's books. 

And finally a quote for you pocket.

Good fiction creates empathy. A novel takes you somewhere and asks you to look through the eyes of another person, to live another life. Barbara Kingsolver

Chicken by Chicken: A Glitch in the Software.

I'm continuing my Chicken by Chicken series. I am writing about my real challenges in hopes that my story will help you find your way.

This week I will chat about a glitch in the software of my brain. Along with the whole blind-in-one-eye thing, the anxiety thing, the depression thing, daily, I face dyslexia.

What is that like?

I have a hard time distinguishing left from right. I leave articles out of sentences.  I repeat letters in words. I leave letters out of words. I skip words. I don't put words in the right order. I flip bs, ds, ps, and qs. I love lists, but I really hate numbered lists. I thank God that we don't have to look up stuff in dictionaries manually any more! Also, I'm am freaking brilliant with math as long as calculation is not necessary.

I think you get it--glitch in that brain. .

I have hundreds of "work arounds" for this problem. I read my writing backwards. (Ah, yes, reading backwards or forward, right side up or upside down makes little difference to me.) I change fonts. I change the size of fonts. I change the color of fonts.  I only copy edit 5 or 6 words at a time. For math, I'm horrible at calculation but amazing at estimation. I solve every problem until I get the same answer three times.

ADVICE: If you are older, be sure to find some expert on dyslexia to offer you new ideas to deal with your glitches.

Dyslexia makes some easy things very difficult to me.  I have found it is useful to work with the problem and not against it. I am full of stories. Here is a fact. My stories have to be stronger than the average story because I have to get professionals to look past the fact this writing needs "more editing than most." So be it. I'd pit my imagination against, the best grammar any day. I also am one tenacious soul.

In the end, dylexia has brought me some wonderful gifts. The best one is empathy. I love chatting to kids with reading and writing problems. Reading is not about the AR points you can rack up. Writing isn't about the grammar.  Reading is about finding a secret door into new worlds. And writing is about expressing ideas that only you can express.  I can seriously say, "Don't let a string of teachers slapping Fs on your papers stop you from opening secret doors or sharing your ideas."

A deep truth--we are all hopelessly flawed.  Everyone has glitches in their software.  We are having to deal with "work arounds."  If you are full of stories, do your best work and know that is enough regardless of the challenges you face.

For fun check out my Chickens video.  If you would like the book, CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN, check it out here.
And now a doodle:

Here is a quote for your pocket.

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved. Helen Keller

Chicken by Chicken: Life in the Blur

Hi, folks. Just a little peek at my life and times first: I had the pleasure of attending the SCBWI conference in College Station, Texas. I met the brilliant Kimberly Willis Holt, who was as wonderful as I hoped she would be. I was so grateful to have the chance to meet such a fine writer, and she spoke to my soul, which is a thing so beyond words. I also had the chance to meet the Balzer and Bray editor, Kelsey Murphy, who shared great stuff about creating authentic characters, and was full of energy and the love of children's books. Feeling pretty blessed.

And now on to my Chicken by Chicken, where I talk about the real. We all face challenges. I am like everyone, I have challenges too. This week I'm going to talk about life in the blur. I was born with anisometropia amblyopia. Also known as lazy eye.  There is nothing wrong with my eye. The brain doesn't work. Currently there is a rosy outlook for this condition. For folks my age, not so much. I am legally blind in one eye. My other eye is corrected to 20/40.

I am extremely lucky that my good eye meets the threshold for driving without restriction. If I lose any more vision, I will no longer be able to drive at night or over the speed of 45 miles an hour. Having only one eye means I do not have stereoscopic vision. This makes me clumsy and I trip over things a lot  and bang into curbs with my car. I wish all curbs were painted a color. I also suck at sports that require you to hit a ball with a stick. I also sort of run into things randomly in a way that makes people roll their eyes.

I am posting two pictures so you can see what I see without my glasses.  The first one is what I can see with my bad eye. This is all it can ever see. The second one is what I can see with my good eye without correction.   As soon as my glasses are off I am blind.

This condition has shaped my life in a million ways. I trip on steps, fall off curbs, and run into pesky poles. I hate crowds because I bump into people and get scolded: "Are you blind?" This happens to me 3 or 4 times a week  and has happened for my whole life. Did the math. That is well over a hundred thousand times. If my glasses get knocked off for any reason,  I am blind. It annoys many people when I ask them to help me find my glasses. See pictures above. Could you find your glasses? Only if there is really, really good contrast, which there rarely is.

How we perceive the world defines us.  Anything that requires depth perception is just not in my wheel house. That means no diving, no flying planes, no playing video games, no driving motorboats, blah, blah, blah. I don't see things the way others do. The end. I am kind to myself. I accept my limitations and live on in the blur. We are all making do. A good thing to remember.
I will be back next week with more Chicken by Chicken.

Here is a doodle.

Finally a quote for your pocket. 

The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it. ― Moliere

Chicken by Chicken: The End of the Long Dark Night.

It's October and time for Chicken by Chicken. This is going to a long post. I will also post about my fun Halloween chicken project at the end. I've been doodling chickens for years. They cheer me up. This past year has needed a lot of cheer.

I joined the Presbyterian church recently, and have been reading The Book of Confessions. It's a book that affirms basic Christian truths. It's the response of this denomination of Christians when it has been blindsided with confusing and destructive ideas.

So here is my history. For the past year my poor noggin' failed me. It's connected to my work. Here is the deal: you fail much as a writer. It is part of the gig. But a dark cloud came over me last year and just would not budge. I never thought my work would fail. Church, yes. Friends and family, yes. Body, yes. Circumstances, yes. But never my work. A friend told me once that my work is what keeps me floating above it all. Well, my work sank, and I sank like a stone in a deep ocean.  I headed to the doctor and, yes, learned I was suffering from straight out major depression.

My thoughts were not about taking my life or even dying. This was all about failing at my life's work. Here's the deal, good writers get paid for their hard work. Their books sell. I put out a book as dear to me and with as much of my soul as I could on a page, PLUMB CRAZY, and the result was no one cared. I sold less than a hundred copies.The publishing house cancelled my contract. Then, I began submitting a book called PROFIT that I believed was the best thing I'd ever put to a page. I had one partial request, and the agent never got back to me. Everyone else ignored my submissions.

Here's the painful litany: Fool. Idiot. Stupid. These words branded me. All those people who said you were full of it for wanting to be a writer, they were right. No one cares. You can't write a single word that anyone cares about. All the people who have passed on you, they just didn't want you to know that your work is substandard and will not rise. You are irrelevant. The success of reaching others and making a difference in this world. The dream you would be able to make a modest living at this, over. You could have worked for real all these years and your kids wouldn't be pulling out loans to get college educations. You messed up your whole life and there are no do overs.  You chased a dream, and nada. You are a freaking failure. (It's okay, folks, these words don't burn into me like hot coals any more.)

This has been hard on so many levels. My mother suffered major depression when I was a teen. She didn't really get over it until I went to college.We had no healthcare when I was kid, so mom just suffered. Thankfully, that is not my story, but even good doctors can't wave a magic wand to make me better. It's been a long road this past year. It has been terrifying.

Depression feels like a band is tied around my waist, tight and painful. It's like being plated with metal armor that you can't take off. It like living in darkness. My art has suffered. I've thought about giving it up. Another choice mom made. Man, this has been a mess. Still, I continued to move forward, but my arms were heavy like led weights, my stomach ached, and my poor brain just sank into a pit. I cried more tears last year than I ever have in my life. I'd be standing in line at the grocery store and realize my face was wet with tears. Oh, why am I at the grocery story when every movement is agony?  I refused to stop functioning through this pain. I wiped the tears and moved to the next thing on the list. I wrote a lot of lists last year.

So here is the journey. I got clinical help, and I worked on seeking goodness. I had to let some things go. I cut down on the writing events. I shoved aside the novels for almost six months and worked on picture books. It was a struggle to write one word and that is the whole picture book game. I left the church I was attending. I'd been going there for almost five years and didn't really know anyone. This was no longer acceptable. I found a church that was more open to ideas and people with differences. I planted a tree.  I hugged the cats. I wrote my lists and drew my chickens.  Silly chickens make me laugh, and I love to laugh. I taught teens who to write through a summer program TEENS Publish at the library (no pay). Gosh, I loved those young writers, so full of passion and dreams. BTW, this was a totally unprofessional act, I know, but it brought some happiness to my heart and mind, and this year happiness has been worth more than all the gold in California.

I am coming out of the long dark night. I'm working again. The dips aren't as deep. Positive thoughts are back.  I still have a ways to go, but I am hopeful. Finally my  book  CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN  http://ow.ly/SVYcB  is for sale. I was so blessed by the silliness of this book. I hope that it blesses a few of you. I will be back next week with more confessions, chicken by chicken.

Here is a doodle for you.  It's a picture from the Chicken book.

A quote for your pocket: There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke. Vincent Van Gogh

Plenty of Margins

Hi folks, fall is upon us. My husband Tim is going on an scientific expedition with JOIDES Resolution for the next two months. This is the link to his blog.  He is flying to Darwin, Australia today. I will hold down the home front for the next two months. I have all kinds of mayhem planned for this time period. I just released THE CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN with Caney Creek Books.  I hope that you give this a peep.

This week I will chat about the fab-ness of creating this book. Doodling Chickens is all about play for me. It's also about the love of the imperfect.  I have grown weary of machined edges of all children's art in these days.  There is a choking perfection in children's book making these days that leaves me cold. I am still thinking about the good times with Mr. Rodgers when he would dig a hole in sand, pour water in, and then watch the water disappear. You know, for kids.

Return to your inner child this week. Take some time to play. If you have some children, all the better. Blow bubbles, play cars, pretend to be dinosaurs...whatever floats your boat. Staying close to your early years opens up your work. Believe the impossible things. Don't listen to the voices that say no. Reconnect with the wonder of days. Reconnect with silly. We grown-ups do tend toward the deep waters of serious. Come with me and splash in the shallows for a while.

Don't orchestrate everything. Leave plenty of margins in your life. Be kind to yourself. The child-self forgives easily,is up for new things, and is open to new friends. May your days be filled with laughter. May you find surprising twists and turns in your plots. May your life be filled with sweetness, health, and peace.

THE CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN is all about homemade childhood. I had fun making this book, and I hope that fun spills into your life.

Buy the THE CHICKENS DO NOT TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN written and illustrated by Molly Blaisdell on Amazon for $7.99. (Way more awesome than a Halloween card.)

Follow The Chickens on Facebook. I will be posting a new chicken doodle every day in October.

Here is a doodle for you. Spanish Girl

Here is a quote for you.

Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood. Mr. Rogers

Not Type A

Hi folks, this month there is no series.  These topics all stand alone.  It's my birthday month and I want to dig deep and be more. Here's one thing I've been thinking about. Welcome to my meandering.

I cringe every time I hear the dreaded words: I'm a Type A personality -- high achiever, driven, worker, leader, competitive. Man, if you need the most cookies, take them.  On my worst days, I'm a type D and on my better days I am a Type C.  I lack assertiveness.  Type As are always apologizing for being Type As even though they are thrilled by their achievements and are determined to achieve more. Uh, this is not humility.  Here's the deal Type As, every personality type has a downside.

Don't think this a Type A bashing post. Type As are getting the most cookies, so chill.  Type Bs don't care if they have any cookies or not. Type Cs would like cookies but are too shy to ask. And Type D, those folks needs therapy, drugs and understanding.  But I digress, back to Type As. They are missing out some good stuff.  I was with a friend at a yogurt shop nodding knowingly about not being a type A.  We both have felt that "odd person out" feeling about not being Type A. 

We were laughing about typical Type A stuff. They think that everyone wants to be them and are sold are on the idea that you must be positive and have it all together 24/7. The rest of us types cringe, continue to play Candy Crush,  enjoy the frozen yogurt, and wander off topic by discussing the hotness of actor Robert Vaughn from the old TV show Man from U.N.C.L.E. vs hotness of David McCallum, who is now a nice old man on a show call NCIS. This would drive type As crazy...but we were happy as clams. That's right, not stressed, not organized, and totally chill. YAY!

So how does personality play into my life: I would like a writing cookie, but if it means I can't smell the roses, do my own thing, and daydream days away, no cookies for me. I also need lots of time to read books, enjoy good conversations, and afternoons poolside. In kindergarten, Mrs. Crabtree impressed on me the importance of being yourself. She believed that every child would shine and made sure that every student in her class had a moment to do so. Overall she taught me that life is about our relationships and nothing else. 

You are needed. We are all needed.  So "Not Type As" take a deep breath. It is okay. 

I will be back next week with more. 

Here is a doodle. 

And finally

A quote for your pocket.

Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it. Bruce Lee

Sprout Wings

Hi folks, I struggled with this blog. So many pressures from every side. Writing is not in a vacuum. It is in the real world, and this world is full of troubles, big and small.  I began to think about an idea I have always held this weekend.  If you fall in a pit, get up on the side closest to where you to want go, crawl out, and keep on going. A new idea came to me. 

Why don’t you just sprout wings and fly away?

How? I mean sprouting wings would be a pretty big miracle and this is the age of information and reason. We don’t live in a world that is NOT clinging to the mysterious. I wondered about the idea of sprouting wings. It felt very evolutionary to me.  You know, life adapts, and a lifetime of crawling out of pits made me long for something more. An evolutionary step seemed better than the same old reaction to stupidity.

Perhaps this is the heart of what makes us human -- three dimensional thinking. Your stories will pop if you think about making your characters evolve.  We tend to the ordinary, consider the extraordinary.  I think the best writers don’t wrap it all up. They deal in imagery and theme.  The unseen world is how they live their days.  Writing is to akin to dreaming, except you are awake. Our dreams can be chaotic and meaningless, but they can also help us make sense of the chaotic meaningless world.  Those words you are putting on the page, you are bringing light into darkness.  Keep going!

Finally, I considered my idea of sprouting wings. There is nothing new under the sun. An old scripture whispered within me: They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They shall soar on wings like the eagles. It is strange how the words of the Prophet Isaiah from around 720  BCE  resonate within me today. I love writers. They are thinking ahead. They are reaching to the ages ahead.  They see into the murky darkness of the future and they see you.

As you write, think about shining into the darkness of the future. You have the potential to transform the world. 

I will be back next week with more of TEENSPublish. I hope that you keep writing. Someone needs those stories. 

A sneak peek at an illustration for my soon to be indie published picture book: CHICKENS DON'T TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN!

Do you not know?

Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He will not grow tired or weary,

and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary

and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint 

Isaiah 40; 28-31.   Write this on your heart, folks.  

PLUMB CRAZY Journey -- The Good

Hi, folks, this month I'm focusing the blog on the writing journey of PLUMB CRAZY. I'm calling this series: PLUMB CRAZY Journey -- The Good, The Bad, The Ugly and The Transcendent.  I'm going to dig deep into the generation of my novel and dynamics of that creative journey. Be aware that I write as Cece Barlow for this work. It will be released at the end of this month.

This week I'm focusing on the good of writing my book PLUMB CRAZY. It was the fifth novel I've written (the other 4 are unpublished) and it is the closest to my real, every day life. There is much good that wraps into a book like this. Here are some of the layers.

One layer of good comes from basing a book in a world close to my own. The setting was easy to visualize. You really know the space you are working in. I know what it feels like to drag in after a seventeen hour day, my hands bleeding and back aching, even though I'm just a girl of seventeen. I know the heat of Texas and understand it is actually a character on the stage in this part of the world. I know how a drill feels when it jams and then beats against my fingers. This knowledge of setting saved some research hours, added authenticity, and gave this writer needed confidence.

Another layer of good that comes from basing a book on a world close to my own is all about mining memories.  I mean we all have gold in our hilly pasts or even mountainous pasts. It was good to reexamine my younger days from the perspective of adulthood. I see things differently now than I did then. The Dragons that roared at me as teen seem like puny lizards now. My drama feels bland.  I also see strengths in myself that I didn't realize at the time. I found myself celebrating who I am. Any journey that causes that is a good one.

The last layer of good that I'm going discuss (but by no means the only good I found) is all about the redo. Fiction is not exactly life. Life isn't always interesting. It doesn't always make sense.  Good doesn't always triumph in real life. Writing a story gives you the freedom of what if.  I found that writing PLUMB CRAZY reopened a few old wounds but then allowed them to really heal. Writing from the heart of my life helped me appreciate who I am. This is such a good thing. You might try it.

I hope you come back next week for more of the PLUMB CRAZY journey. I'm glad you dropped by. Happy creating.

It's Easter. Here's a whimsy doodle for you: Superhero egg designs.

Put this in your back pocket and bring it often.

I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Walt Whitman

Golden Advice: Inspired by I Corinthians, Chapter 13 -- Love

Hi folks, this is my February series on Golden Advice. I like to spend the month of February digging into the wisdom that has come my way, and that guides my art, my craft and my life. I find having some wise stuff in the soul helps me write stories with purpose. This week's thoughts are inspired by I Corinthians, Chapter 13, The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis, The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman, and a vast number of other books.

 I can barely touch a teacup of this topic in one blog. I hope that this little cup helps.

I think a lot about love. I think we live in a love-starved culture. People consume and consume trying to fill the love void in their lives. The McDonald's culture prevails. We are a throwaway, instantaneous, junk food society with a huge bucket of voyeurism and gossiping thrown in. Ugh.

Love does not thrive in this society; I am talking real love. Love is not safe; it's about risking all of yourself for nothing in return. It demands many things of you, but on the love journey, you gain your true self. I think of every story I write as a love journey. I think of my life that way too.

My definition of love flows right out of I Corinthians, Chapter 13.  Here's a verse: Love is patient. When was the last time you saw patience lifted up as a good thing. Patience often means spending mega time waiting for someone to change and suffering some wrong while waiting. It may also mean you wait and the other person never changes. Dang this tough. 

Here is the  big deal. Love is kind. It's about not digging into someone else even when you are are in pain. Kindness is about listening. It's about hearing. It's about admitting you are wrong.

Love does not boast. I come short in this one because I feel inadequate. It's not about tooting my own horn -- cough, avoid Facebook. I hope everyone who knows me feels more connected to me than my possessions, my achievements and my abilities. You know, I want to keep it real.

Love does not dishonor others. Ack. I struggle with this one too. I look at the mega success of others and feel like the smallest potato in the bag.  I have found myself saying ill favored stuff about others, because I feel lame and he or she has what I want. Dang, I don't deserve any cake. Taking time to offer kudos instead of degrading: note to self, get with the program. Creating characters who cling to honor, really is what I want to be all about. 

And at the end of the day, love never fails, even if you are shattered into a million pieces. Drag them all together and love through those pieces. You might nick others with  the shards inside of you, but don't let that keep you from loving. 

So that is the teacup of love for the day. 

As you create you artistic works, let each stroke be lit by love. Let each word be lit by love. Love is the light in darkness. Let it shine. Let it shine. Every little thing is going to shine. 

Here is a doodle for you: Tangled Hearts

You still fascinate and inspire me. You influence me for the better. You’re the object of my desire, the #1 Earthly reason for my existence. I love you very much. Johnny Cash to June Carter Cash

Gifts: Keep the faith

Hi, folks,

I try to be honest on my blog and also keep things upbeat.  Here at the year end, I know this to be one of my most challenging years as a writer. I've tried things and found many that don't work. I haven't found many that do. I yearn with the depths of  myself to say something that useful that will be of great help to many. I haven't found success. I wonder if this is what is like to wander in the desert? I hope that I find an oasis soon. I'm keeping the faith. 

I have been grateful for my routine during this season of wandering. I cling to it. Write every day. Read every day. Take a walk every day. Do your chores. Do the shopping. Answer the emails. Cuddle the cats. Look for the moon. Watch the weather. There is something so beautiful and comforting to me about routine of my days. The sum of these moments are my life. 

I think that routine is what I love about writing. Writing is walking an ancient path. I'm searching for the touchstones of story. There is magic in this journey. I rejoice when I find a touchstone. The first touchstone is the moment everything changes.  My hands shake and my stomach does flip flops when I find this moment. It doesn't matter if I wrote the story or if someone else did. 

Finding the touchstones of story is like skipping across a creek from stone to stone. I looking for the call to adventure, the turning point, the darkest moment and the climax and all the wonderful touchstone in between. These are the defining stones of who we are and what we want. It is my desire to find a pathway that connects with readers.  So much so I cry when I think about it.  I don't know how to describe this ache within me. Many believe that I will find my way. I have no words for my gratefulness for the support. 

As I journey on, I keep in mind that each sucky moment is what leads to lovely ones.  Wherever you are on your creative journey, keep going.  This unseen place that you feel is ahead, you will find it. This story that is brewing within, it will appear. Just don't stop. 

I will be back next week with more Gifts. 

Here is the doodle. Tossing out my Star Wars: "Patience, you must have." 

Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep. Carl Sandburg

Uplift: The Conversation of Freedom

This is my last week of my series Uplift. This week I'm going to do a response blog. I was really moved by this talk by Ursula K. Le Guin. This statement in that speech just made me want to stand up and shout: "There is a difference between a market commodity and the practice of an art"  and this statement: "the profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art." I felt like someone hit the reset button within me. So here goes my meandering.

It's really hard to live a life that thumbs its nose at the idea of making money. Somehow money making is connected to popularity in my head. I call it the Frisbee effect. People will buy a thing because everyone else is buying a thing. There are very few people who will actually use the thing. The market is looking for the next BIG book that will sell like a Frisbee. Art is not necessarily that. There is a force called capitalism in our society. The idea is supposed to be that financial success is a result of hard work. In a perfect world this would be awesome. That said, I am no fan of forced wealth redistribution either, but I  do wonder if freedom in the market place -- the gain as much as you can philosophy -- actually works to withhold freedom from many people. There must be some central balance between the extremes that will give us the best of both ideologies. This of course is my hope.

That said, I came into this world with nothing. I will leave with nothing.  I am a dreamy sort of person. I am always hungry for viable thoughts, things not so much. Black Friday was yesterday and I didn't go to one store and buy anything. I didn't order anything online. The acquisition of goods means little to me. I like to buy things when I need them. On top of that, I find the greed driven, those addicted to experiences: travel, clothing, games, entertainment, housing, idleness, etc. to be an epic tragedy. A select few on our planet living a premium life seems off kilter to me. I admire those who have spent their life pursuing justice, mercy, and humility. I admire those who are content in whatever circumstances they find themselves in. These folks always seem the most wealthy to me.  

There is a cost if you want to be an artist/writer. A popular bit of advice has come my way again and again. It goes like this: You are going to have a hard time reaching an audience because you write to a not so chic and not so urban teen. And then you expect teens to face serious issues like pregnancy, poverty, and prejudice without acting like their lives suck because you believe "your life is your life and you get to define if it sucks or not." There is my deal. I do believe that. The one power you have as a human being is to define yourself and not let your circumstances define you. I like to write about that. You are greater than all the stuff life throws at you. You just are. I get it. This is not a money making scheme.

So what  am I all about? I'm interested in the practice of art and not in market commodity.  Hence, many will admire my work but few will get behind it.  I am not a sure thing.  What kind of nutcase refuses to bet on a sure thing and places all their money on the long shot?  I  totally understand that.  I am the long shot. I may be irrelevant. I may waste my days. I may never achieve what I am seeking. Can I live with that? I have, can and will. I have been blessed in life. I have food. I have shelter. I have a life dedicated to art. I hope to add something to the conversation of freedom. I hope that you will consider adding to the conversation too.

I will be back next week with a new series. Thanks for dropping by.

Here is the doodle for the week: "Ark"

Here is the quote.

There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not? Robert Kennedy

Literary Aspirations with Sharknado Thrown In

Hi, folks,

A confession. I have literary aspirations but with some serious Sharknado thrown in. That moment in the movie where the guy slices open a shark with chainsaw, that never gets old for me.  I want to write something meaningful and uplifting, but you know with some geekiness in the mix. So I have a I-want-to-write-something-important complex, but I also want to create something so epic-geek-weird-that-it-creates-a-cult-following-lasting-for-generations. I know this is messed up. I'm good with that.  

It's time for me to write another book. Part of me want to cling to the myth that I can study the formulas and create a bestseller, but  I know the deeper truth -- I'm blowing on some dice and am about to throw them out on a table. I wish that so many decisions weren't a crap shoot. I wish life wasn't that way. But I am living on a molten ball of lava that is covered by a thin skin of rock material near a massive fusion reactor (the Sun). Life is fragile, unpredictable, and I have a mere heartbeat of time to share my thoughts with the universe. I have little control and have learned I must take my chances. These are my only days. 

So I started a new book this week. I have no idea if anyone will ever like it. I have my literary aspirations with my geek slant as usual. This time I'm adapting Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing into a down-home Texas mold. I'm making my choices. I will live with them. Life offers no guarantees.

I'm taking my chances. I hope that you take yours too, and if that includes some Sharknado, so be it!

I will be back next week with more.

Here is a doodle:

As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world - that is the myth of the atomic age - as in being able to remake ourselves. Mahatmas Ghandi