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Herein, children's writer Molly Blaisdell raves, rants, and rambles about her craft. She also muses about juggling a job, motherhood and writing books, and there is a good dose of rallying, psyching up and inspiring for anyone who needs to seize the day.
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Hi folks, I'm a novelist as well as a picture book author. I am especially fortunate that way, lucky, if you will. I am half a century old and over the course of my journey, the nature of luck has been made clear to me. This month my series is Lucky March, where I'm exploring the wonder of luck in our lives.
Oh, March has brought waves of luck to my life. My book Plumb Crazy
is almost ready to be released again as an ebook and in paper for the first time. It will be under my alter ego name: Cece Barlow! I'm traveling to Washington state to visit with dear friends in April for a writing retreat marathon. I feel grateful and happy. I am just glad to be part of the verse.
This week I will respond to Walt Whitman's poem, "Oh, me! Oh, life!" Go here to read his genius words.
Here is truth to me. I don't really understand myself, and life is so far beyond me--like the stars to a speck of dirt. And yet I'm caught up with the mundane of my species. I see multitudes people gossiping, slandering, and back-stabbing. I live with folks who share knowledge to ends of the Earth and wonder: has it helped? Art has lost value, faith is fading except for the worst of it, and foolishness flows over the edges of every vision, in this ad-driven, branded, socialized bumper sticker world. The sideshow prophets declare that written words are dying.
Don't think I'm not caught up in it all. I am in that multitude, my head turning toward the visual nonsense, the profane silliness, and the unholy devaluation, when I could spend this moment being so much more. Yes, I am just as faithless as the rest.
Here's the thing. I want light. I want meaning, I want purpose, but I am mired in empty useless years that I wasted for no good reason. I did not open my eyes earlier, so I must open them now. I am woven in the fabric of my times. I am asking, shouting really at the great universe, struggling to not let the waves of sadness overcome me.
What good can I do? I look out but those words fall on my beating heart. Life! What good can I do? My hands curl into fists, and I shake like a leaf being ripped by a storm wind.
The answer comes to me, whispering, still, soft. A voice! You are here, dear one.. You were born. You breathe. You are are. This is the great poem, and you are allowed to contribute one verse to it all. Write your verse. This is the gift of life.
Lucky me! Lucky you! I hope you think about the verse you are writing. I pray that you do the most with what you have to offer. We all need you to do that. I will be back next week with more Lucky March.
NO doodle this week! But here is a sneak peek at my book cover for PLUMB CRAZY! I am so excited to share this with you! I hope that you share it too!
Here is a an excerpt from PLUMB CRAZY for you to tuck in your pocket."The basic hidden thing that every Loser Girl knows—she has value, like every person, star, whale, rock, and slug. The whole universe has its share of risks. Slugs get stepped on, whales are hunted, stars explode, and people, well, people are fragile, easy to break. She was a secret unseen commodity, like di-lithium crystals found on planets that few would visit and even fewer could endure. Riches hid inside of her. No one had found them yet. But they would. It was just how the universe was put together."
Hi folks, I'm a novelist as well as a picture book author. I am especially fortunate that way, lucky, if you will. I am half a century old and over the course of my journey, the nature of luck has been made clear to me. This month my series is Lucky March, where I'm exploring the wonder of luck in our lives.
First, some lucky stuff coming up. Today is PI day, and this very morning at 26 minutes and 53 seconds after 9 a.m., we passed a date and time represented by the first 10 digits of π. How lucky is that? And how about this, on March 20 there will be a total eclipse by the vernal equinox sun. That happens about once every 19 years! So lucky.
If you go searching through the books on my shelves you will find quite a collection (not just books). I tuck four leaf clovers, owlet feathers, interesting seeds, fortunes, weird money, leaves, flowers, candy wrappers, drawings by my kids, and whatever other little bits I find in the pages of my books. When I reread my books, I always laugh when I come across one of my lucky treasures. These bits remind me life is full of surprises.
What is all this about? One thing my parents instilled in me is to never lose your childlike wonder of the world. My 80-year-old dad still gets down on the floor and plays make-believe with his 5-year-old grandson. My grandmother taught me to knock on wood to help good things along. I still wish on bales of hay. I will never be too old to play. I keep my eyes open to the world around and embrace the lucky gifts it has to offer me. I believe this practice enriches me and enriches my writing. I am ready to believe many impossible things before breakfast. I hope you are too.
Don't listen to those who scoff at the salt over your shoulder, your love for the number seven, your Maneki-neko collection, your bamboo plant on your desk, or that huge helping of black-eyed peas on the first day of the year. Luck is about our lack of control, our need for meaningful coincidence, our hunger for Divine providence. Like the three brothers of Serendip, forge a path that mixes sound judgement with the lucky happenings of your lives.
I hope you stumble upon many lucky things this week and that your life is filled with wonder. I hope you try and find ways to express this wonder to others. I will be back next week with more Lucky March.
Here is a doodle for you.
Finally here is a poem for you pocket from Ella Higginson(1861-1940), a poet from Washington state.
Four-leaf Clover by Ella Higginson
I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck—
If you search, you will find where they grow.
But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
You must love and be strong – and so—
If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
Hi, folks. I'm a novelist as well as a picture book author. I am especially fortunate that way, lucky, if you will. I am half a century old and over the course of my journey, the nature of luck has been made clear to me.
Some lucky people are born into wealth and privilege giving the freedom to follow whatever whim the wish. Some lucky people win the genetic lottery and just have more brain power than the rest of us. Another group of lucky people stumble into the right circumstances: winning a big prize or getting that big break. One more group of lucky people just have excellent connections. Then there are the people like me.
How do I tap into luck? I mean I live in suburbia. I drive a decade old minivan that needs some work. I live in a college town that has a university in it that is all about engineering and business. Artist don't flock here. There isn't an independent bookstore for almost a hundred miles. I did not attend an exclusive high school or college. I was a below average student. No prizes. No big breaks. And did I mention that I live in a place "scourged by fire ant and choked with bull nettle." People find me odd here. Many say "I'm so strange." My lucky secret: I do what I love and I basically do it for free.
Doing what you love for free is complicated. I volunteer some. If you are not being paid, folks doubt your professionalism and don't respect your work. Once upon a time anyone could write, but now people have MFAs have a real edge. There are other downsides: someone is always pressuring me to give up this low pay madness and get a real job. I hide at parties when people rave about the luck that has led them to overwhelming financial success. My year end balance sheet is beyond dismal, in spite of my high hopes and hard work.
And yet I feel oh, so, lucky. I write stories every day. I have joined a journey that mankind has been on since before our fledgling species could write words. I create provocative beginnings, middles, and ends. I've gotten better when I thought I couldn't. I have had the opportunity to work with awesome writers and love it. I feel so lucky to live a creative life. So throw away the bank statement and define your life however you want to.
In closing, I'm going to update my current work. At the end of March I'm going to rerelease PLUMB CRAZY. It will be available in paperback and as an ebook. It will no longer be written by me but by my alter ego, Cece Barlow. I hope that if you had not a chance that you will give my book a read.
You might also want to check out cecebarlow.blogspot.com, the new home from my work for young adults and the young at heart. It's still in the prelaunch phase but it is getting there. Please come back next week for more my Lucky March series.
Here is the doodle: Happy.
A quote for your pocket. Luck is a dividend of sweat. The more you sweat, the luckier you get.
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 my musings on Aldous Huxley's essay: "Sermons in Cats."
I've had author crush on Aldous Huxley since my teens. He wrote books like Brave New World. I read it, and we became best friends. He wrote screenplays: Pride and Prejudice (1940)and Jane Eyre (1944). He wrote essays, poems, travel journals, and even (gasp) a children's book. (You are making me look lame, bestie.)
This week I'm musing about his essay "Sermons in Cats." A young author once asked Huxley how to become a novelist. Huxley encouraged the young author to buy lots of paper, a pen, ink, and write. The young author was not satisfied with this answer and begged Huxley for his writing formula. Huxley then urged the young writer to go to a fancy university and study writing. The young author was still unsatisfied and asked Huxley "did he keep a notebook or a journal," did he jot things on napkins or did use cross indexed cards, did he read novels exclusively or be well read across all subjects, and more questions.
Finally Huxley had enough and he offered this: "My young friend," I said, "if you want to be a psychological novelist and write about human beings, the best thing you can do is to keep a pair of cats."
The young writer left disconsolate. He wanted some magic formula, but Huxley put some heavy truth on the table instead. What makes stories interesting is when we look under the veneer of "manners, conventions, traditions of thought and feeling." Cats are malcontents. Imagine the marriage of two Siamese cats. They are at each other throats and fur flies. It's no fairy tale. Watching the behavior of cats will keep you from banality and untruths that parade as true relationships.
I have two cats and they are true characters. They are friends one minute and sinking in fangs in the next. Those twitching tails indicate perverse plans in the future. They are also affectionate, nuzzling and rubbing, and then out of nowhere, biting. My cats will moan like the world is coming to an end at night outside my door, and then purr like motorboats when I let them in, and then scratch me a few seconds later. Yes, Huxley has something here. Some big sermons for writers are hidden in the lives of cats.
I hope that this series helps you no your journey. I will be back next week with my Lucky March series.
Here is a doodle for you:A quote for your pocket:
The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which mean never losing your enthusiasm.
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 my musings on Francis Bacon's essay "Of Boldness."
Francis Bacon was a philosopher and scientist who lived from the late 1500s to early 1600s. He's the guy that came up with the scientific method. His thoughts of methodology came onto my radar when I was college. I was so moved by his thinking that I read all of his essays and bits and pieces of his thoughts wove into the fabric of my life. One of his essays, "Of Boldness," resonated. And now for my musing.
Here I put some of his thoughts into the plain English. The heart of boldness is action. The only downside of boldness, humans are generally part genius and part stoopid. This makes boldness a tricky thing. If you are standing on a foundation of ignorance and/or "never going to happen," boldness is worthless. It will get you in trouble. You boldly make a promise and then, heck, you can not really pull it together. Then you end up reneging on that promise after failing shamefully. What artist hasn't had this day?
One true thing is that perfectly bold people refuse to admit they have bitten off something bigger than they can chew and instead brush over their failure and then turn in a different direction. It's a wonder to behold such bold people. Boldness is often ridiculous. Here is the plain truth: great boldness always comes with some extreme absurdity.
Boldness doesn't see danger or inconveniences. It's probably not a good idea for bold people to serve as commander in chief. They need to be seconds under the direction of others. At the end of the day, it's a good thing to see dangers, but when getting art done, it's good not to see those dangers unless the commander in chief taps him or her on the shoulder and says stop now!
As an artistic person, you may chafe because of all the bean counters, market gurus, editors and fans that direct your art. You are a person of ACTION. You have boldness in your soul. Yep, and now you have a clear idea of what that is all about. Trust the process, trust the gate keepers, trust the critique group members, trust your fans, trust them all.
Hope this strikes a chord with you. I will be back next week with the last of this series.
Here is a doodle for you. "Flowers"
Knowledge is power. Francis Bacon
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
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.
Today I'm going to reflect on Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essay XII: ART. You may read this essay here
if you wish.
Emerson always stirs me up. He shares that the soul is on a journey. It's not a static thing. Artists look out on this would and see the unseen. We see the light in this moment that will be lost forever if we do not capture it. We don't see the surface of the world but also the character of the world, especially when we turn the vision on ourselves and try to reveal ourselves through art. No mechanical device can capture what the human mind perceives -- we are attempting to interpret that spark of life we sense and place it on our canvases, in our songs, our dances, our stories, in our every form of expression. We are capturing our moment in time.
The art of every age is a reflection of more that just what is seen but the unseen times of the artists. If you want to know what is going on in your culture, what are the signs of the times, look at what artists are producing. They can't but help but let what is going on in their world seep in and shape what they are creating. That said, there is an inherent understanding in artists that we are an expression of this vast Universe -- an imperfect picture of the glory that we perceive. There is no other creature on Earth that is so desiring to interpret what they perceive. We feel the invisible undercurrents and bring the invisible to the forefront. When we create our art and then consider it, we always find things that we didn't intend and that takes our breath away.
Art has a big purpose in the course of human history. It's is our record of things unseen. It is also the thread that reveals who we are and what we want. We are not unconnected with the art that has gone before us. I think about the explosion of superhero, fantasy, and science fiction stories in our days as a good example of this. These stories are extensions of the human journey of myth. I feel an undercurrent in them that we very much all looking beyond our times, staring into the void and wanting to be much more than we are now. We are also wrestling with "villains" so great that they boggle the mind. Also a perception is evident: a desire to do good will triumph, it will overcome the darkness.
Does this seem like our world?
So what does all this mean to me personally. When art is making me uncomfortable, making me squirm in my seat, I must take note, especially when art slips away from a pursuit of beauty. I consider our larger world and reflect about what darkness looms. I cannot help but respond. For me I am searching for the good and lovely of my times and seasons. I hunger for every voice to be heard. I want to find beauty and holiness in new ways. I want to be brave and earnest and see what springs up from my heart. This is my prayer. My heart's cry. My deep hope. I hope that you join me on this journey.
I will be back next week with more golden advice.
Here is a quote for your pocket:
Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys.
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.
I like to start with American poet Carl Sandburg. I always have this feeling that Carl is with me on my writing journey. His words whisper in the back of my heart. Something about his homespun writing gives me hope that I can be so much more. This week I'm going to respond to Carl Sandburg's broadcast in the 1950s called "My Fellow Worms."
Here's the first thing up. You grow older and you start getting a sense of what you really believe. This is the stuff that is tried and true. If you ask the question, "What do I believe?" and then answer it -- you end up writing a book or making a cute poster with a smart saying on it. Carl believed in "getting up in the morning with a serene mind and a heart holding many hopes." I am one the fellow worms. This little thought makes me want to put on some music and dance. Life is all about the small, tried and true things. I hope that you are waking up to this truth.
We are small in this universe. Tiny, tiny, tiny. Like Carl said about us: insignificant speck of animate star dust each of us is amid cotillions of billion-year constellations. When you realize this, it helps put perspective on all those hills you are trying to climb. In view of the universe, the towers of achievement that men proclaim just don't make a lot of sense. Note: I wrote a poem to bless my friends or I wrote a book that reached the planet -- not much difference in the scheme of things. Always keep things in perspective.
Next up, stop being so freaked out by pride. Pride is a good thing though it has a bad rap as a deadly sin. Be proud of your achievements but stay out of the sticky glue of arrogance. You know, don't lose your perspective and jump into vanity -- look at me! Not so easy in this life -- we live in the look-at-me generation -- selfies, social media, online life. Keep out of the mirror gazing. Your personality is sacred. It's a holy thing. Keep that in mind every time you share a bit of yourself. If you cut off enough, you will lose who you are.
Finally, I share a love of platitudes like Carl. Occasionally I here someone disparage my love platitudes but old well used thoughts are hard won. Moral content and thoughtfulness is much more than banal. You won't convince me otherwise. We should hold old sayings dear and not use them as lip service.
Share the platitudes that you have earned the right to share.
I especially like Carl thoughts about preserving our freedoms. We live in a world that seems to forgotten that "eternal vigilance is price of liberty." We are all in the struggle of freedom. You must get up today and fight. You will do it again tomorrow. Every life will find some "fiery trial and agony." Don't forget that as you share those tried and true words and suffer degradation because you have trusted others.
We are small but wondrous. Every little thing is going to shine, shine. Every little thing is going to shine. I hope my response to Carl's wisdom helps you find your way. Let it guide your creative journey. I will be back next week with more Golden Advice.
Here is a doodle: Spring is around the corner.
Here is a quote for your pocket.
Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you. Carl Sandburg
Hi folks, I'm writing a series about how certain artistic skills enhance other artistic skills. I am an artistic and crafty person. I buzz around art. I will dip my toe into most forms of expression. There are a few that I've focused on and have found that those experiences have informed my novel craft. This week I'm going to talk about pottery lessons.
Once upon a time back in my college days, I had the time learn how to throw pots. I have found that those long ago pottery lessons have always been with me as a writer. At first, you need much support to even begin to throw a pot. Someone else chooses your clay. She walks you through how to prepare it. You are give many hints on how condition the clay to make it suitable for throwing. Beginning writers need this same kind of support. I needed others to help me recognize my viable ideas versus my dead-in-the water ideas. I needed advice on how to approach ideas so that I could even get on the road to producing something that would engage readers. Seek out help in the beginning.
Throwing a pot is about finding the center of the clay, and getting all the other clay to revolve around that center. At first it feels impossible. The clay bulges in weird ways. It will even go flying off the wheel. My hands and elbows would be scraped. I practiced again and again. Experience is everything. Finally the day came. I slapped the clay on the wheel and pressed it with my hands, and the clay instantly centered. I had to have confidence and a steady hand. The first important step to writing is finding that story center. Stories revolve around their centers. It took much practice to throw the clay of an idea onto the wheel of my imagination and then center it with the force of my will. I always feel that sense of knowing when I center a pot or center of a story. It is unimaginably satisfying.
One more pottery lesson, once a pot is formed and hardened, it's time to fire it. A glaze is applied to the exterior of the greenware. This glaze will harden into shiny coating when extreme temperature is applied. All stories must go through a refiner's fire to come to elegant completion. This is a dangerous time for a pot and a story. I have worked hard to get it to this place, but the refiner's fire can destroy my work. Pots crack, Glazes wonk. You may end up with something very different from your initial vision. You may end up with a muddy mess that has to be thrown into the scrap pile. Stories are the same. In writing, the fire is revision. Revision may lead to a new novel or it may lead to a worthless disaster. Regardless, it is the only way to success. You may feel fear during revision time. You are right to be afraid. You will have to apply your hottest thought force to make your finished story emerge, and there is a good chance you will fail. Writing is not for the faint of heart.
I hope these pottery lessons help you on your journey. One more week of lessons is ahead. Drop back by for it.
Here is the doodle.
Here is a quote for your pocket:
Beautiful forms and compositions are not made by chance, nor can they ever, in any material, be made at small expense. A composition for cheapness and not excellence of workmanship is the most frequent and certain cause of the rapid decay and entire destruction of arts and manufactures.
Hi folks, I'm writing a series about how certain artistic skills enhance other artistic skills. I am an artistic and crafty person. I buzz around art. I will dip my toe into most forms of expression. There are a few that I've focused on and have found that those experiences have informed my novel craft. This week I'm going to talk about sewing lessons.
I love textiles. I always have. I know how to knit, embroider, and crochet. I can even do some tatting. I know how to dress a loom and weave fabric. I also sew. I learned how to sew in junior high. I've made over a hundreds of shorts, jackets, Halloween costumes, dresses, pants, toys, and quilts. I know how to use a pattern. I know how to create my own.
When I write, my sewing skills always come to me. Sewing starts with a provocative idea. Making a well made garment takes time and work. I fully envision the garment I plan to make. I fully envision the book I plan to write too. This is something in my head. Yes, I draw sketches and doodle on paper, but the big work is a complete internal vision. I see the thing I want, then I proceed to bring it into the light of life. Writing a book follows the same process. Just like a physical garment, I must envision a physical book at the beginning of the process.
To sew something I need a pattern. I have to decide do I want to use a pattern off the shelf or do I want to try and go it alone. I start by looking through books of patterns. For writing I look at books in the genre. I gather together patterns that are close to my vision. I always tweak patterns for sewing and writing. I feel a need to put my stamp on my sewing work and my writing. I have certain sleeves that I love, and often those sleeves go into the WIP garment , even if the pattern calls for something else. I don't like the way certain collars look so I will modify to put on a collar that is more of my thing. In writing, I have certain scene structures that I use often. There are some sorts of pacing that I will never use. The list goes on.
After I've got my pattern, chosen my fabrics, picked out my notions, gathered my tools, I'm ready to sew. In writing, I gather scrap art, pick characters, research subjects, gather thematic elements, and gather my tools. I cut out the pattern, and it's time time to sew. I write an outline and it's time to write. Sewing is painstaking work just like writing. You have to pin each piece just so. You must also fit in each scene just so. I have sewn in pieces backwards, upside down, and on the wrong side. It hurts to pick out all those stitches. No matter how slow you work, there are always necessary adjustments. It's the same with writing. I put scenes in the wrong place. I have to reorder events, sometimes I have to edit out huge swaths of my planned plot. I've got too much going on.
Sewing helps me write.
I often find myself working through writing problems by comparing them to sewing problems. The comparison helps me find my way. Perhaps you have some artistic skill that will help guide you, Will help you out of tight spots, Will help you complete your WIP. Good luck on your journey. I will be back next week with more lessons.
Here is a doodle for your week: This was a doodle I did when envisioning a dress.
Here is quote for your pocket" Sewing mends the soul.
Hi, folks! I am an artistic person, and I buzz around art. I will dip my toe into most forms of expression. There are a few that I've focused on and have found that those experiences have informed my novel craft. This week I'm going to talk about screenplay lessons.
I've written a few screenplays. This experience has helped me with novel craft. A screenplay is a working document, it is not the finished product: the film. I've learned about writing novels by writing screenplays. Here are three useful bits that I've learned:
First, screenplays force you to think about scenes and pacing. A screenplay has a tight structure. It is much more compact than a novel and rarely has any room for internal thoughts. Becoming more aware of scenes has made me more aware of what to cut in my novels. Every scene in my novel must argue for its right to be there. Novelists tend to be in love with the beauty of the words, and sometimes that is at the expense of storytelling. Each scene in my novel must move the plot forward, develop the journey of the main character, offer serious conflict, offer a glimpse of the internal working of the main character, have laser focus on the goal of the story, and offer some beautiful language and deep internal thought. If I can't achieve this with a scene, I toss it on reject pile.
Second, screenplays can help you move forward when you are stuck. Like picture books, screenplays are a visual medium. Sometimes, I reach a place in the novel that I'm not sure how to proceed forward. I break open Final Draft or Celtx and move forward with my novel in a screenplay format. My first drafts are now always a mix of screenplay sections and narrative. Writing a screenplay is analogous to sketching. A rough draft is a sketch of the novel. All the needed scene pieces are broken apart: opening with setting, dividing the dialogue, dropping in an emotional tag, and then describing the action can keeps me from bogging down in a first draft. Next time your draft grinds to a halt, try writing the next scene in screenplay format.
Finally, screenplays can help you beat the static parts out of your novel. Screenplays do not welcome big chunks of dialogue, must keep action swirling on screen to entice the film goer, and must be aware that the person who plays the character in the screenplay is paramount in making that character come to life. I avoid prosy dialogue. Screenplays have made me aware of this. No one wants to read about nothing happening. It's surprising how easy it is to write about a character watching the sunrise or swimming in the lake, or reading a book. Blow up that sun, fill that lake with piranhas, and have the heroine toss that book into that arrogant so-n-so's face. Also characters must be nuanced. I really cast my characters now when I write. I learned this from screenplays. Character on a great journey is still a working document, the character in the screenplay vs the character in a film. It's the little things that set characters apart and make them spring from the page. You have to know if your character loves chocolate, scream when she is angry, or bite her fingernails.
Novels need to breath with life. Screenplays have helped me achieve that.
Hope something here is helpful. :) I will be back next week with more novel crafty lessons.
Here is a doodle: Clown
Finally a quote for your pocket:When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself, ‘I am going to produce a work of art.’ I write it because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial concern is to get a hearing.
Hi folks, a brand new shiny year! Love it! I hope that you are making goals and opening up to new possibilities. Fold up all those disappointments and failures. Take anything you learned from these experiences and move on. Look forward. Huzzah!
In January, I always explore one of my great passions and that is novel craft. I'm a novelist at heart. My first published book was PLUMB CRAZY. It was out from Swoon Romance in June 2014, but is going away soon. Cancellation--just like so many fantastic TV shows that get cancelled (cough, Firefly), so goes my book. C'est la vie.
Don't despair, you who hunger for a paperback of PLUMB CRAZY to hold. I am going to self-publish the book for anyone who is interested. It's going to take a little time to put that together, but the book should be ready to be a summer read again. :) Thanks to all the people who have supported this first novel publishing effort of mine! Galaxies of stories are ahead!
Anyway, onto to novel craft. I am an extremely visual person. I see three dimensional landscapes in my head. I also write in many genres and find that the skills I use in one genre inform me as I approach a different genre. These skills serve me well. Writing picture books helps me write novels.
When I write a picture book, I write the text and then I write what is going on in the picture. From an absolute telling perspective, I write what is going on in the scene before I actually write the text for the picture book. I do this for every page. It turned out that this is an effective technique to write novel scenes, especially ones I'm stuck on. I just tell what is going down in the scene in a fat paragraph. When I'm finished I write the scene with that word picture I created in the back of my mind. Writing the scene rolls out a lot more smoothly.
Picture book structure helps me plan the structure of my novels. Picture books have the same beats as a novel but they come much faster. I make sure that my novel has clear beats that echo picture book structure. What is a beat? Plot points, turning points, plot twists. If you are having a tough time figuring out if your novel has a decent story arc. Study a few picture books. What launches the action? How does the mc react? What happens at the midpoint? How does the action rise? What is the climax? How long does it take the story to resolve? All these questions and a picture book in hand should send you on your way while writing a novel.
Well, there is a tea cup of usefulness for your creative journey. I hope you come back next week for more Novel Craft.
Here is a doodle. :) PINK
Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.
Robert F. Kennedy
Hi folks! This is the last post on my series called Gifts. This is also my last post of the year. This week I'm celebrating the idea of good news. I've always been moved by a prophesy in the book of Isaiah that declares good news to the poor. The people are longing for for good news and the prophet tells them that is coming.
Writers for children are really about sharing the uplift of good news. Stories for children tend to be uplifting -- good news. It's something inherent in our work.
Here's a word to creative folk inspired by the words of Isaiah.
Good news is for everyone! Proclaim it whenever and wherever you can!
Do you see the brokenhearted? Bandage their wounds. Stop the bleeding. Do you see someone in prison? Throw open the doors. No more bars for you. No more dark cells. Anyone in darkness? Bring them into the light.
Listen. If you do this, everyone will throw a party. Every broken down house will be fixed up. Every forgotten town will be remembered.
Things will stop sucking. Forever.
If you spent this year creating books, thank you! I hope that you will find a place for that story! I will be back next year with a new series.
Here is a doodle. Blue Boy
The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, Isaiah 61:1
I'm continuing my series called Gifts. In the Bible, in the book of Jeremiah, there is a startling prophesy that so resonates with me. A holy people have been sent into exile for seventy years, and they really need to know what is coming to put up with this long exile.
The Lord spoke to his people through Jeremiah. He sent encouragement. I don't know if you have ever read something that you felt was speaking to your situation and your life. I feel that about these words in Jeremiah. This is what I hear.
Your writing life isn't where you want it to be right now, but I am the one who brought you to this place. Don't despair. I want you to keep writing and keep helping other writers. Enjoy any small success that comes your way. And also, the things you learned back you were in the thick of it, I want you to think about those things. Let your creative self prosper and don't complain that you don't have a place to share a voice, that you don't even know how to get there. That's a waste of your time.
Don't keep on taking on projects that aren't your vision. Those things are just wasting your time. You have to keep waiting and that might be for a very long time. But I've got a plan and I'm going to put your writing life back together. I have plans for you, plans to help you write brilliant stories, plans to give you a hope and a future. Be patient. Wait for it. The good days are ahead.
Hope this stirs you up like it does me. I hope that here words that speak to your situation and your life. I hope those words help you stay on the path. I am so glad we are journeying together.
Here is the doodle.
Here is a quote for your pocket.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves. William Shakespeare.
Hi folks, ah, the holidays, and of course, I'm running a little behind. This month I'm offering a little series I called Gifts. This will be short and sweet. There is a story in the Bible in the book of Ezekiel. This my retelling. Here how it starts. The Lord takes Ezekiel to valley of dry bones and asks him if the bones can live.
Ezekiel answers, "Lord only knows."
The Lord tells Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones.
(We don't prophesy in these days, and I sure do feel left out. The idea of a prophesy is to let someone know what is coming in the future. If you are a writer, you might understand this more than most.)
Back to the story. Ezekiel shouted to those bones."You dead bones, this is the Lord talking and not me -- I'm sending breath in you. And you will come alive. I'll put tendons, and flesh, and skin on you. I'll say it again, I'm putting breath in you, and will be alive. And the whole world will know I am the Lord!"
After that there was a noise. Bones rattled! They snapped together. Then came the tendons, and flesh and the skin. But instead of folks, there was a pile of dead bodies.
The Lord told Ezekiel to prophesy again. "Wind from the four corner of the Earth come into these dead bodies and make them live." And the wind came and a mighty army sprung up, rearing for a fight.
Then the Lord told Ezekiel what it all meant. "Those bones are my people.They have lost hope. They think they are dead. I'm going to make them alive and I'm going to give them the little corner they are hankering for. Let them know I'm doing this because that's the way I am."
To wrap this up, if you feel like an old pile of dead bones, and you are wondering if you will ever get a chance to snap together and march out there and take your corner. Remember this story. Wait for the wind.
I will be back next week with another of the Gifts series.
Here is a doodle. "The sun, Moon, and the stars"
Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less
. Marie Curie
Hi folks, I'm ending the year with Gifts. This has been one of my most challenging years as a writer. I've struggled more professionally than at any other time in my life. My book PLUMB CRAZY is soon to go out of eprint. The paperback is cancelled. The book after it is cancelled. The small publisher has decided to go in a different direction. I put a lot of myself in that book and this wasn't the news I wanted. I turned 50 this year. I have the most mundane part-time job on the planet. I've slipped into depression, the real kind that takes some support. This week, to add insult injury, I came down with a skin infection that has left me soo tired. A bumpy part of this road of life, but I'm determined to find the silver lining.
So what gift do I have for you? Here goes. The Grace of Kindness.
I'm a person people tell secrets to. Some are small. Some are mighty. Some people I know, some I don't know. Sometimes in the grocery store or when I'm buying gas. Sometimes over coffee or on a walk. I try to do little things every day that will help somebody. I build some margins into my life so that I can have time to listen and help whoever gets in my path .I'm nothing spectacular. I'm a small time kindness operator, but small kindnesses are as natural to me as breathing.
Kindness has been a part of me since I was very young child. Just like my flaws of a hot temper and my whining tendency (Hope I didn't whine too much above! Working on it.), I've had the grace of kindness. It's hardwired. I'm not perfect. My faults have spectacularly let some down when then really needed my grace. Still, in spite of me, the grace of kindness has generally reached out to others. And like all good grace has lifted me up in process and given me a sense of meaning when almost everything else has failed me.
I believe every person has some grace. Some sing like angels. Some are the most long suffering folks that have ever lived. Some have the gift of gab and can say a perfect word at a perfect time. To me, grace means unmerited favor. Something in you that is just in you. It's hardwired like breathing. Sometimes in our life the things we've worked for get stripped from us. We lose our job. A relationship doesn't work out. Our dignity is taken away. We suffer great injustice. What should we do?
For me, I lean into grace in my life during these times. I'm a storyteller. I forge on. I'm an organizer. I find something to organize. I'm kind. I find a place to pour that kindness.
Be aware of the grace in your life. For me all grace is a bit of the light of the divine, tucked away in the most flawed earthen vessel, I continue my journey to let it shine.
I will be back next week with more gifts.
Here is the doodle: The sun, moon, and the stars.
And a quote for your pocket.You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.Ralph Waldo Emerson
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 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 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
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
Hi, folks, as promised my amazing chicken doodle project will be featured at the end of this post! I am over the top busy right now, but that is a good thing. This week I continue my "Chicken by Chicken" series. This week's topic I'm talking about this Mess: "book products," Kindle, and why I feel there is big time mucking up going on with something I love. I'm in a ranting/ramble mood. I hope something in here resonates with you.
I'm totally not against writers making money. In fact, I am totally for it, but the technology books has sort of ruined books for now. I have this thing called the Kindle. I buy books on said Kindle. I sell books on the Kindle. I use it daily. But I am as not as happy as I could be! I have formed an opinion. I love this Kindle technology, but I hate the business side of the Kindle, that has turned book selling into a big box store enterprise with a store interface that is over the top annoying. The wonky Kindle interface makes finding good books VERY difficult. You can't trust the reviews because businesses exist to make reviews. You can't trust the ratings--people pay for stacks of ratings.You can't trust the search or rank features because Amazon is a publisher too and, yeah, they want to sell their books most-est....
So I'm stuck in a bookstore that has an agenda, and that agenda is to deliver me the content they love (cough,they've negotiated the best deals with the publishers), and curtail my access to any other content. Let me say this here: superior technology is not ruining the pleasure of buying books, it's the inferior book business of the book technological innovators. These technology gurus have invented an awesome way to deliver books to us all. I totally cheer that, but dang it, they are not content delivery innovators. If I could buy a Kindle and rip out their "buyer" interface I would do it in instant. I want Kindle to change.
I want to buy books from whoever I want on the Kindle, from Mom and Pop Bookstore on the Kindle. Period. I should be able to put what ever book buyer interface I want on my Kindle! You remember when every had to use Explorer? That is so over. Currently, I use Google to find books. I use bloggers to find books I want to read. I ask my friends what is hot. It's a way better method than the Kindle store. My method is OK but not great. Technology innovators please figure out a way to separate the book interface from the store interface! Can you imagine if the printing press had locked up selling only specific content back in the day? Boo, Kindle. Boo.
Here's the best way to buy books. Every reader in the world knows this. Mom and Pop decide to open a bookstore. They decide to make it a fun place to serve coffee and offer books. They do not sell tons of toys, games, and Doctor Who cookie jars (Okay, I will allow the cookie jars because I am a fan.) Mom and Pop read all the time. All their friends read. They love to chat up books. Their employees read. This crowd does not care who wrote the book, who published the book, how much marketing was spent on the book. They care that they like the book. They care that they offer books they hate too because these folks ought to have a free speech flag flying above their door. I love Mom and Pop.
The downside of Mom and Pop, they sell a book for $20 that can be purchased on the Kindle for $3. Overhead is a problem. Listen to me, we all have fewer dollars to pass around. This is a growing trend. I hear Marie Antoinette telling me to eat cake if I don't have bread, and we all know how it turned out for her. We need an innovative online way to sell content to readers on the Kindle that respects that some of us lack moola. And for me from small city Texas without even an independent bookstore,
I need everyday folk access.I want independent stores on my Kindle. Allow the middle man into your business, kind of like channels on TV. Make it happen.
Okay, rant is over. I feel better. I will be back next week with more of my series.
Here is a doodle for your pocket:
It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters. Epitctetus
Hi, folks, this week is another response blog. I heard a song called Constellations by Brendan James and it resonated with me. This is a long ramble, a thought journey, inspired by that song, and I hope that you find something to take with you.
I feel like don't really understand the world, and it makes me cry. I feel so out of step with the seasons and times. I can't stand reading the news, or even checking out my Facebook half the time. There are too many wars. Nation against nation. Neighbor against neighbor. Here inside me, I hunger to see people come together, to take a deep breath and just figure out where to go from here. I hope bridges are built, coalitions are made, and every voice is heard. I dream that we would all listen and find better ways. I don't want to join the madding crowd that wants to heckle the stupid, drop bombs, and dehumanize others, all in the name of a better world.
I see the Universe at night and how it is able to spin out wondrous things and at the same time wreak great destruction. I feel the transience of life and yet eternity hums in my heart. Everyone I know is trying to get through the day without dwelling on the darkness. Some take the "be positive about everything" route. Some take the "find a cause" route. I swing between the route of despair and the route of hope, that I might be the voice that breaks through the noise and says something helpful.
I have had unshakable confidence throughout my life that if I got a chance on a stage that I would move the hearts of those shivering on the edges. I have believed that I would grow like a wild weed, but now see so clearly that my life is just a breath and is gone. A Monarch butterfly was caught in between the window and the screen in my house. Some hapless caterpillar crawled between the window and screen and formed a chrysalis. The butterfly emerged and now would die if I did not figure out a gentle way to remove the screen and let it go on it's way to the graveyards of Mexico for the day of dead. When I figured out a way to set the butterfly free, it occurred to me that all of my life might be just for that. Perhaps those beautiful wings have more purpose than I will ever have.
This brings me to the heart of this thought journey. I have hungered for purpose. I have believed all my life that a day was coming that the gifts within me would become visible, like the span over us -- Orion, the Pleiades, the evening star, the moon, and the swath of the Milky Way. I have believed my gifts would come clear like those lights in the heavens. But here I am making less than minimum wage and imploding under the stress of another miss in terms of my intended goal.
In the end we are not in control of our story, and hence I must embrace the days given us. I find embracing the smallness of who I am is difficult. Megalomania is expected in rock stars, but not here in Suburbia. I have to laugh at myself a little and laugh at my little dramas.There is certainly a ridiculousness to me.
Ah, you are just a onion flower in the yard. Most folks will pass by the onion flower but, hey, go ahead and bloom. Touch ten hearts, fifty hearts, A copper star for you. Not the silver, not the gold. That's all, dear. Work it out.
Thank you for dropping by and remember every little thing shines. See you next week.
This week is a page from my Halloween project: CHICKENS TAKE OVER HALLOWEEN.
Here is a quote for your pocket.
The end of law is not to abolish or restrain, but to preserve and enlarge freedom. For in all the states of created beings capable of law, where there is no law, there is no freedom.John Locke.
I'm continuing the series of Chicken by Chicken. This week I'm writing about being shaken to the core. Have you ever had a period a time when you are working, and you are just not feeling IT? What is IT? IT is a sense of assurance that you will find your way, a deep internal knowledge that your work will reach others, and some kind of genetic thing that you are meant to do what you are doing. This feeling of IT has been with me for decades. I think that Socrates called this his divine something that guided him along his path. This divine something never told him what to do, but nudged him this way and that to find the sweet spots that would rocket him forward along the river of destiny.
So this IT feeling has left me.
I don't know exactly when. A few months back, I think. You can see it in my recent blogs. I'm digging into the bedrock to hold on. I want the feeling back, but I don't know how to make it return. I'm living my own little Ecclesiastes, Chapter 1. Meaningless. Meaningless. But I'm fighting back with there is a time and season for everything under heaven. There is a season to dig up the ground. And here I am digging. What have I found so far? Long walks lift me up. I think. I sing. I watch butterflies. It's good for the soul. Kind thoughts also help. I try to think of what I would tell someone that is the same place I am. Then I say those things to myself. I listen to Burl Ives songs. Here is a link.
I say my prayers. I keep on working, even though it is slow going. I do little artist things. Go to lectures. Hang out with other artists. Find ways to be helpful.
I'm shaken to the core, but I am confident that what can't be shaken will remain. I'm holding to that right now. I have a deep desire to do more as an artist, to jump up to something more profound, but I didn't see this piece of the journey ahead. I have no idea where to jump. I'm whispering hourly, "Heart find your way."
Every little soul will shine. We all go through deep waters. Rise up! Don't give up. I will be back next week.
For doodles this month I'm featuring doodles from my ebook Halloween project: Chicken Take Over Halloween.
This one is "Robot Chickens."
A quote for your pocket.
Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.
― Franz Kafka
Hi folks, I love November. The air is getting a little crisp, and I might have to put away my sandals soon. This month I'm calling the series Uplift. The idea of uplift is to improve socially, culturally, morally, spiritually, etc. We are all hungry, our hearts beating, struggling for contentment and a sweet spot to thrive. This week I'm going to respond to a quote by Stephen King article in Rolling Stone because it got me thinking.
This statement was the one that caught me though the whole article is good. I've thought about it a lot this week: "maybe all intelligent races hit this level of violence and technological advances that they can't get past. And then they just puff out. You hit the wall and that's it." Something deep with in me just goes all "Gene Roddenberry" at this statement, you know, that whole positive view of the future of the ending of wars, moving on from money, and focusing on exploring the galaxy. Maybe we rise up. Maybe be we do better. Maybe the whole universe is alive, and we just haven't found that way to perceive it. We started out with smoke signals back in the day and now we have interwebs. Who knows what is next?
I don't watch the news much because they are not in the business of sharing what is good and right about our lives. The bright light of gratitude and goodness doesn't seem to draw in the throngs like doom and despair. It's a little weird to me too, because everyone knows focusing on the positive is a sure way to success. You have to deliberately cultivate a life that sees good. I know I'm a broken pot like so many of us, but I have seen glory in a rock on the side of the road. I've seen it in my cat rolling on the sidewalk. I've seen it in the tree growing next to my driveway. Why can't the Voice in Suburbia says something useful and uplifting?
I find it helpful to put away the troubling thoughts in life, and do the Scarlet O'Hara thing, "I'll think about that tomorrow" and turn my thoughts toward lofty ideas. This desire has helped me respond positively to the suffering and degradation of life and find new directions. I think of this response like flinging open my arms and embracing the moment. I leap in faith. My deep-seated belief is good triumphs, death is not the end, and love never fails. I leap with these thoughts.
So what is the end game of this little rambling? There's an updraft, dear, perhaps you should jump in it and see where it takes you. Sounds good.
I will be back next week with more on Uplift.
One more chicken doodle: "Chicken Angels."
And a quote for your pocket.
We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. Abraham Lincoln
Hi folks, This month I'm calling the series Uplift. The idea of uplift is to improve socially, culturally, morally, spiritually, etc. We are all hungry, our hearts beating, struggling for contentment and a sweet spot to thrive. This is part of journey for uplift.
Today was a big creative day for me. I went to a workshop with Jodell Sadler pacing workshop with SCBWI Brazos Valley. I had a big uplift at this workshop. The idea that I found so provocative is to stop keeping an arm's length from your story. Of course this true, but immersion in the fictive dream is an absolutely terrifying place to be. You have to open yourself up.
I find that I want hide behind a mask in my writing. It's like in the early days of theater when actors put masks in front of their faces. The mask was supposed to help the actor vanish in to the role. It was used to transform the actor, to help the audience pretend to be someone else. Finally someone figured it out, if you drop the mask, it's much easier to project the pretend life -- that the audience would connect with the actor's emotional story in a more realistic way if the wooden mask were removed and the audience has access to flesh and bone.
I struggle to put down the mask. If I put it down, my flaws show. People see my double chin, the age spots on cheeks, the asymmetry of my eyes, the end of my bulbous nose. How will they every connect with my heart behind those eyes? There is this nakedness that must happen to write a true and viable story. It's a thing that resonates in me. It takes bravery to allow others to know you. We are all messed up. That's just the truth. Allowing others to see the blemishes also allows them to see the heart. Peel off the mask and let the sinew and bone show. Your soul will never escape if mask it.
I hope that this bit of uplift helps you on your path. I will be back next week with more uplift.
Here is a doodle for the week: "Star in her pocket"
And a quote for your pocket too!
Take this soul
Stranded in some skin and bones
Take this soul
And make it sing
Hi, folks! This month I'm calling the series Uplift. The idea of uplift is to improve socially, culturally, morally, spiritually, etc. We are all hungry, our hearts beating, struggling for contentment and a sweet spot to thrive. This is part of journey for uplift.
This week I'm going to wander some, but I hope that you capture the uplift from my words and find ways to thrive.
Here is a little story from my life. Recently, someone expressed disappointment in my lack of faith in in my writing and art. She seemed very assured that my work is total genius and the fact that I'm not doing more with it is a crying shame. She derided for my lack of respect for my own abilities. Part of me wanted to scream: You think I don't have faith in myself? You think I don't believe that my work is profound? You don't think I've tried to find a place for my voice? I had to squelch the wave of anger inside me and recognize that someone believed in my work passionately. I felt gratefulness for the connection.
Writing is a passion of mine. Almost every writer has a different reason why he or she writes. For me it is to connect with an audience. I want to say something that will kindle light within multitudes of readers. I literally ache with this need to connect. I am seeking an army of friends. This is a soul hunger within me. Some people want shiny stickers, truth on the page, I long for scores of letters and emails from people who have been moved by my art. I want to write back and rejoice in our connection.
My major writing goal is to travel close to the bone, and hence I put a lot of myself on the page. Here is some full disclosure honesty: my book, out this year, PLUMB CRAZY, was an intimate journey for me. My veins were opened and blood poured onto the page. My craziness. My laughter. My sadness. I know a few of you fell in love with my book, but that number is basically limited to my dearest friends and few new dearest friends. Of course, I TREASURE those who were moved by my literary journey, but I had great expectations that more people would love this book.
I've considered a new vocation of howling at the moon, but the better angels of my nature have appeared. My better angels whisper: all journeys bring gifts into your life. This is so true. I've learned a few things this year. My readers don't want prizes or swag. They don't want curse words. They really appreciate uber careful editing. I also see that my wheelhouse is sweetness, kindness, friendship and family, hence my sexy cover isn't exactly connecting for many. These are all good things to know.
I am not done. As I move forward on my creative journey, I plan to avoid the pop culture glue of brittle success and positive thinking, and guide my heart toward completeness and authentic thinking. I find denying failure and negative thoughts as a worthless endeavor. I embrace failure and negativity. These are a part of me, but I am so much more. I am joy and light, too. I am sinner and saint. I am angel and devil. I am art and craft. I am ridiculous and profound. I am mouse and lion. For me, true life is about being open to all this contradiction and embracing all of it with a tender heart. I will continue to put my garbled real on the page.
I will keep trying. I can respect this even if I ultimately fail. Giving up. This is the thing I can't respect. So stay the course or plot a new one. You may chose to abandon a dream but never abandon dreaming.
Come back next week for more Uplift.
Here is a doodle for you: "Cone Flower."
Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
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Hi, folks! This month I'm calling the series Uplift. The idea of uplift is to improve socially, culturally, morally, spiritually, etc. We are all hungry, our hearts beating, struggling for contentment and a sweet spot to thrive. This part of my journey for uplift.
Short and sweet, this week, folks. I have to say that my imagination is my biggest gift. It bubbles around inside me. It is the best part of myself. I had a fun conversation with an imaginary friend this week, and bonus it was not my imaginary friend but Sam Garton's imaginary friend. Sam is the otter keeper of Otter. You might want to check out this blog: I am Otter.
I followed Otter this week. You can too:
Here is our conversation.
I have to say, my conversation with otter was one of my favorite things this week.
Here's the deal. My capacity for play has never diminished. I still have my favorite doll from childhood. I still color and draw almost every day. I never stop making up stories. I love to imagine the possibilities. Even in my darkest days, the angel of my imagination stirs within me.
There are journeys ahead, friends. Trust the infinite possibilities of your imagination.
I hope that your are jazzed this week! Please consider letting your imagination run wild. Let it take you beyond the possibilities to the impossible. Open a new door. Turn a new corner.
I will be back next week with the last in the series.
A doodle from me: Twos.
When you have exhausted all the possibilities: remember this. You haven't. Thomas Edison