Category: Fiction

When Life and Writing Collide

traceTShirtIMG_20140428_093331If life unfolded according to plan, I’d be writing this from a villa in the south of France while my personal assistant tracked the rise of my latest best seller on the New York Times list.  The villa would be luxurious and clean, the pool refreshing, and my muse would be in high gear . . .

Okay, forget the fiction. In reality, if life unfolded according to plan, I’d be on the treadmill writing six hours every day and ignoring the dust, the dog hair, and the dirty dishes.

I’m not. I’m getting some writing done, and I’m doing it on the treadmill, but I’m being pulled in a number of stressful directions which is wreaking havoc on my routine.

A few weeks ago, Trace, the male half of Team Sheltie, had surgery to remove a lump that was supposed to be small, but ended up being much bigger than the vet anticipated. Recovery has been slow and he has needed careful watching, even wearing his fancy T-shirt to stop him licking the incision.  Thank the Canine Gods the lump proved benign.

Then, just after Easter, my 89-year-old mother-in-law ended up in hospital.  Last year she faced life-threatening surgery and was hospitalized for three months (That was a routine killer, let me tell you). She recovered and went home, but she’s been frail ever since. She has also relied on family to get her groceries and take her to various appointments. It’s no small commitment since we’re on the island and she lives on the mainland, about three and a half hours away.  With this latest hospitalization, the ferry trips have started again as we wait for a diagnosis and prognosis. Though I’m concerned for her, I also recognize that we might be facing months of work disruptions and punishing expenses (thank you, BC Ferries).

And in case I’m not feeling committed enough, my mother is scheduled for two surgeries over the next six weeks.  They’re relatively minor in the scheme of things, but she’ll require hands on support for a day or two afterwards, and I’m the chauffeur, caregiver, cheerleader.

Needless to say, I’m distracted these days.

Here are some thoughts on how to cope when life interferes with the best of (in my case) writing plans.

Focus more on less.  Whether your job is writing or something else, when a crisis hits, zero in on what really matters. Your loved one. Your own health. If there’s time and energy left, pick one professional commitment that matters to you. For me, that’s writing. Everything else – social media, emails, reading blogs and professional sites – slides.

Prioritize.   As soon as a crisis erupts, I mentally scan my professional ‘to do’ list and slash it in half. I determine what, if anything, must be addressed immediately. If I’m on deadline, that moves to the top of the list. I contact my editor and alert him or her to the situation. When my mother was hospitalized with a pulmonary embolism three years ago and I was on deadline for an article, I contacted the editor, explained the situation and asked for a few extra days to complete the assignment. She was very understanding.

Stay flexible. When my stepfather was dying from lung cancer, I found it difficult to produce fresh writing but I was able to focus on short articles. Though I wasn’t happy about it, I let the fiction slide for a few months. I’ve never regretted it.

Say no when you can.  This isn’t the time to bake two dozen cupcakes for the school bake sale, or take on a rush assignment. And don’t be afraid to change your mind and say no when you previously said yes, particularly when it comes to personal commitments. People understand as long as you tell them what’s going on.

Keep going.  As frustrating as it can be to have plans derailed, I’ve found some comfort in taking small steps. I might not be able to write 1500 words a day on my work in progress, but with half an hour I can read over the last scene and make a few notes in the margin. I can read up on my setting or research another aspect of the story.  The novel may not advance as quickly as I’d like, but a few minutes a day on peripheral work can keep the story in my mind and make it easier to return to later.

Maintain healthy habits. Easier said than done if you’re spending a lot of time at the hospital or traveling to reach a loved one, but it’s so important. For me, that means eating high quality food, avoiding alcohol and sugar, and getting regular – and that means heart-pumping – exercise. Doing this helps me sleep, and that’s another thing to maintain during times of high stress. Good sleep habits.

Get organized.  Maybe it’s just me but when life is chaotic, I take some comfort in having the basics under control. I like to have a fridge full of food, the laundry done, the grass cut. It’s not always possible, but spending a few minutes every week thinking about meals, for instance, frees me up to concentrate on what really matters.

And finally:

Everything is temporary. This too shall pass. Repeat as needed.

 

 

My April Reads

 

happy_easterHappy Easter everybody!  It’s been a busy few weeks: getting taxes ready to file, pruning the fruit trees, turning garden beds.  Along with garden and tax chores, I just finished up page proofs for The Art of Getting Stared At, and I submitted a partial book proposal to Orca for another in their Limelights series.   They got back to me very quickly – in two days! – with a yes, we’d love to buy it.  That’s the kind of thing a writer likes to hear!

On the down side, all the activity hasn’t left much time for reading. I’ve averaged about a book a week which is on the low side for me. But with Easter almost here, my sweetie and I are sneaking away for a few days. That means no taxes, no garden chores, no writing deadlines. Instead there will be books. Lots and lots of  books.

Here’s what I’m reading right now:

 

On the Kindle:  Waiting on You by Kristan Higgins

In My Bag:  The All You Can Dream Buffet by Barbara O’Neal

Beside The Bed: Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

 

Books Read to Date in 2014: 27

My March Reads

1888860_10151992389321295_1814062724_oIt doesn’t happen often, but yes, we do get snow on Vancouver Island.  Ironically, the last couple of times we’ve had any real accumulation, it’s been near the end of February when the snowdrops are in full bloom.  This time was no different. As well as snowdrops, the buds on my plum trees were swollen and pink, just days from opening, and the crocuses were poking out of the ground too.  I was downtown when the flurries started and some of the tourists arriving from south of the border grumbled and shivered as they waited in line for cabs.  This is nothing, I wanted to tell them. You should see what the poor souls in Winnipeg are dealing with. Out there, the ground is so frozen city officials are telling residents it might be June before it’s completely thawed.  But it was too chilly to talk. So I pulled on my toque, whipped out my gloves and picked up my pace. Once my downtown business was done, I had important things waiting at home: Team Sheltie wanted to romp in the snow. I had a fire to build. And I had books waiting to be read.

Beside the Bed: The One That I Want by Allison Winn Scotch

On the Kindle: Love in a Pawn Shop by Bonnie Edwards

At the Gym: Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein

Books Read to Date 2014: 22

Books Bloom with a Sense of Place

1331aI had a writing lesson from the garden the other day.  If you want to get technical, it wasn’t directly from the garden, but it was garden-related.  I like to force bulbs at this time of year. I love having blooms in the middle of winter.  This year I had a left over pre-packaged kit of paper whites. They were destined to be a Christmas gift, but at the last minute another gift was switched in and I decided to keep them.

I set three bulbs into a regular garden pot and surrounded them with the premade soilless mix that came in the kit.   That pot went on my kitchen windowsill.  I nestled two other bulbs in a vase filled with colored stones and water.  I put the vase in my living room on a cabinet across from the front door. I figured they’d be a great welcome home as they sprouted and bloomed.

The two bulbs in the living room showed signs of life within a few days. Tiny green sprouts shot out of the bulbs, sturdy and purposeful.  The three bulbs in the kitchen languished.  I made sure they had just enough (but not too much) water. I attempted to keep the temperature cool. I hovered for a bit and then turned a blind eye.  One bulb eventually put out a tentative flicker of green and then stopped. I’d never had much luck with soilless mixes, I told myself. Forcing in water seemed more a sure thing for me.

After about a week, the shoots in the living room were up about a foot and flowers were starting to form.  Frustrated with the lack of action in the kitchen, I moved the flower pot into the living room as well. Maybe a different setting will help, I thought as I set it on a cool windowsill. Sure enough, within two days the bulbs in the soilless mix were happily sprouting, racing to catch up with their watery siblings.

The whole experience reminded me of why setting is important in a novel. We sometimes forget about it, or think of setting as only an afterthought, but a good setting – actually the right setting – can make a book stronger. A poorly selected or negligible setting is a lost opportunity. I can’t remember who told me that setting is as important as your characters. I believe it.  In fact, in some novels setting becomes as important as a character. Choose your setting wisely.  Make that sense of place come alive.  And watch your book bloom.

 

My February Reads

27424-squareI’m on a Jojo Moyes reading kick at the moment.  I hadn’t heard of this British novelist until about a month ago when a writer friend recommended I read her novel Me Before You (thank you EC Sheedy).  I get lots of reading recommendations. And I have a ‘to be read’ pile that deserves its own zip code. But Me Before You – a layered and thought-provoking love story – sounded interesting. Plus, it was available at the library and in hard cover (and I’m always looking for hard cover books to read on the elliptical) so I picked it up.  I figured I’d read it, in fits and starts, when I went to the gym.

It was a well-intentioned plan. But it failed. I read Me Before You in two days. I read it whenever and wherever I could (once when I was cooking dinner). When I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about it. Or, more specifically, thinking about Louisa and Will.  Me Before You made me laugh. It made me cry. And as soon as I finished, it made me go out and get another Jojo Moyes book.

What I’m reading right now:

At the Gym:

The Last Letter From Your Lover by Jojo Moyes

Beside the Bed:

Stitches by Anne Lamott

In the Tub:

The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult

Books read to date 2014:  14

 

A Most Bookish New Year

dogswindow.jgpActually, it was a bookish Christmas at our house. That’s nothing out of the ordinary. I tend to give – and receive – books for Christmas. I scored big-time this year with new titles by Kristan Higgins, Lisa Gardner, Jodi Picoult, and Anne Lamott. Once Christmas was over (and it was a doozy this year with two very sick dogs,though they were well enough to watch out the window as the company left), I settled in to read.  It occurred to me that I should set myself an annual reading goal – say two books a week, which is an easy target for me.  Ultimately I decided against it. I’m stretching myself with some extra writing goals this year. Reading is my reward; I don’t want to turn it into a ‘should.’  Having said that, I am going to track the number of books I read over the next twelve months. I’m curious to see if I read as much as I think I do. Here’s what I’m reading right now:

At the Gym:

The First Phone Call From Heaven by Mitch Albom

Beside the Bed:

The Perfect Match by Kristan Higgins

On the Kindle:

Man For Grace by EC Sheedy

Books read to date 2014:  4

Giving Thanks

thankful 2 When I do author talks or school visits, one of the questions I’m often asked is what I like best about being a writer.  The question came up again the other day.  Until now, my answer has usually been twofold. I’m most thankful, I generally say, that I can write in jeans and slippers (there’s something incredibly freeing about not having to pluck, mousse, iron, and endure heels before plonking down at the desk). I also admit that because I’m a writer I feel entitled to spy on people at the grocery store. I do. Character is truly revealed in the generally mindless acquisition of food (is my subject buying Kraft dinner or quinoa? Wearing sweats or silk? Do they stack and toss? Smile or glare? Rush or linger? Treat the cashier with kindness or indifference?)

With American Thanksgiving now upon us, I’ve decided to ponder the question of thankfulness more deeply.

I am most thankful to be a writer because:

I can ask questions of anyone, anywhere, and at any time, all under the guise of research (Although I do refrain at weddings, funerals and during bikini waxings).

I have a valid excuse for an extra twenty pounds since writing requires sitting for many long hours (given that I’ve just set up a treadmill desk, this sentence is subject to revision).

I get to read. A lot. And this I can do on a treadmill or an elliptical. At a stop light even. Until the guy behind me honks.

I can write anywhere and at any time. Though I don’t recommend mixing laptops and hot tubs. Especially after midnight. Trust me on this.

I set my own hours which means I can get a root canal in the middle of the day or take off to watch a movie do heavy, intense research. And I don’t have to ask my boss.

I am always learning. Fun, neat facts like ‘intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair’ and ‘women blink twice as many times as men do.’  Without these random bits of trivia my life would be seriously incomplete.

I’ve met many wonderful people through my writing, and I’ve made lifelong friends too.

I get to experience the thrill of the unknown twice a year when the royalty checks land in the mailbox. Sometimes I even get to shop afterwards.

I am allowed to daydream. Staring into space for long periods of time is mandatory. And my family understands that even when I look like I’m paying attention, sometimes I’m not.

I play every single day. And that, really, is the thing I am most thankful for. I play with words, with worlds, with people and emotions. In my slippers, on my laptop, at the gym or in my office. I play. Only everybody else calls it work.

 

A Block or a Blessing

writers-block (1)The subject of writer’s block came up a few times this week.  One friend is writing again after a long bout of being blocked. Another writer asked a group of us for our suggestions on overcoming writer’s block so she could compile a list for a writing course she is teaching. I also had a conversation with a third friend about the gifts inherent in writer’s block.

Yes, gifts.

Taken in literal terms, writer’s block is an inability to get to the writing, to move forward with it. But that’s not my personal yardstick.  There have been times in my life when I’ve put the writing aside, sometimes willingly, sometimes with regret.  A few years ago, I was ill for three months and couldn’t do much of anything, never mind write.   I took time away from writing in those months after both my children were born too . . . and before and after the death of my stepfather as well.  Even though I may have wanted to write back then, circumstances made it difficult.  I wasn’t blocked. I chose to put my attention elsewhere.  Life comes first for me, then writing, otherwise there’s no life in the writing.

Having said that, writing is my job, and barring illness, birth or death, I show up pretty much every day.

My writer’s block is when I show up and the words don’t flow. Luckily it doesn’t happen very often, maybe because of my training in journalism.  As a reporter in the field, I’d sometimes have fifteen minutes to put a story together. As a news announcer I was on air hourly, and I needed fresh content for every newscast. I wrote or I lost my job. It’s amazing how unblocked you get when the clock is ticking and you need to eat.

That training comes in handy. Still, there are times when I’m working on a novel and I get stuck. Blocked. Sidelined. Enticed by Twitter, the squirrel outside my office window or the oven that suddenly needs cleaning.

Dennis Palumbo, author of ‘Writing From the Inside Out’ suggests writer’s block isn’t always bad. It might be a signpost, he says, of something we need to pay attention to.  He explains it in psychological terms as a call from our subconscious.

I agree. And my subconscious usually calls because something in the story isn’t working.  When I step back, I’ll often realize something’s off in the plot or the pacing, or I’m missing something about the character. The block is a blessing, a gift, a way of calling my attention to an issue that needs addressing. It’s an amber light that says, ‘slow down, wait a second here.’

But waiting can be hard, especially when you aren’t sure why you’re waiting in the first place. So, while I wait and ponder and try to uncover what this particular gift means, here’s what I do in the meantime (aside from whining, moping, cleaning the oven or spending too much time on Twitter) :

Work on another piece of writing for a day or two.

Do something with my hands – dig in the garden, cut vegetables, paint a wall.

Get physical – walk the dogs, ride my bike, do yoga.

Feed my muse by watching a movie, reading a book, listening to music.

Reread what I’ve written, paying careful attention to the small details I’ve randomly thrown in.  There is gold in the details. Perhaps something can be fleshed out that will add depth or new perspective to my story.

Interview my character. Or write stream of consciousness stuff, in long hand, from the main character’s point of view (and sometimes the secondary characters too). What are they trying to tell me that I’m not hearing?

Finally, if all else fails and I still can’t fathom why I’ve come to a sticky place in the manuscript, I make myself write anyway. Even if it’s garbage.  Garbage can be turned into compost. Words can be revised.  Remember the words of Natalie Goldberg: “The only failure in writing is when you stop doing it. Then you fail yourself.’’

 

 

My November Reads

 

Into_the_Sunset_by_AK49BWLWe set the clocks back this past weekend. While some people don’t like to see the darkness settling in earlier, I do.  For one thing, I’m a morning person and I like waking up to brighter skies.  For another, if it’s dark outside I’m not tempted to work in the garden. Instead, I’m happy to curl up in my favorite chair and read a good book after dinner. Here’s what I’m reading right now:

 

At the gym: The Last Original Wife by Dorothea Benton Frank

On the Kindle: In the Midnight Rain by Barbara Samuel

Beside the bed: Beyond Belief: My Secret Life Inside Scientology by Jenna Miscavige Hill

One Step Closer

There’s lots happening lately ‘below stairs,’  in the office where I exercise my muse. I’m gaining traction on a new YA, finishing up a set of revisions on another and learning to do it all on a treadmill desk (more about that in an upcoming blog). Last week I took a break from both of those projects to read the page proofs for Hot New Thing. I’m pleased with how this novel turned out and I’m looking forward to the official launch in March 2014.   Meanwhile, here’s a sneak peak of the back cover copy and the striking cover produced by the creative folks at Orca Book Publishers. Everybody is thrilled with how it turned out!

How much is Lily willing to sacrifice for a shot at fame?

Lily O’Neal is thrilled when she’s discovered by a big-name director while auditioning for a role in a toothpaste commercial.  Even better: he wants her for his new movie, but it’s shooting in L.A. and Lily lives in Vancouver. With the help of her Chinese grandmother, she convinces her parents to let her go to LA.  When she gets there, however, Lily learns that if she’s going to be more than the flavor of the week, she may have to pay a price that’s far too high. 

Hot New Thing