Sign Here, Please

Every writer gets them.  No one can escape them.  No one, ever, has been brilliant and perfect enough of a writer with universal tastes that everyone agrees with to evade the reality of bad reviews, angry comments, or rude messages. 

Rest assured, this is not a rant about a horrible review I just received.  I’m actually quite OK with people publicly declaring if they don’t like something I wrote. (In fact, if everyone agreed that my book was brilliant, it would look like I’m paying someone off.) 

What I want to discuss is how internet users sometimes hide behind anonymity in order to…speak ugly.  As if it’s okay to say anything under the sun as long as our name isn’t tied to it.

My position is this: Our name should be tied to everything we say and write.  It will solve a lot of problems.

In the book The Four Agreements, the very first agreement is to “be impeccable with your word.”  To expand on what being impeccable means…you speak truth, you stand by everything you say, you do what you say you’re doing to do, you don’t use your words to tear others down.

When I see that someone has taken the time to say they think my writing is awful (without giving any specifics) and then leaves their post “anonymous,” I feel like they’ve done the equivalent of putting on a mask to rob a bank. 

Anonymity is a wonderful thing when it protects the innocent from people who would silence them (I’m thinking of protecting the identify of the maids in the book The Help).  But it should not be abused as a free license for spewing out hurtful words and then ducking into hiding. 

As someone who deals a lot with online communities, reads a lot of blogs, and feels empathy for other bloggers and authors who are the victims of verbal onslaught by faceless people, I want to encourage us all to sign our names to everything we write. 

Words are incredibly powerful things.  Like a sword, they can be used for great good, or great evil.

Just the mere act of signing our name to what we say will cause us to think twice about it, and if we can’t stand by it confidently, we shouldn’t post it at all.  This will make otherwise angry reviews into (I hope) courteous but dissatisfied critiques that are helpful to the author and the author’s future readers.

Imagine a place where we can all carefully share our thoughts, positive or negative, in constructive ways to help each other.  Some of the best things I’ve heard were feedback that told me what didn’t work with my writing, rather than praise for what was working.

What would it look like to be impeccable with our words?

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Life Isn’t a Solo Sport

I don’t care how brilliant or inspired my writing is on any given day, it loses steam if I’m doing everything on my own. 

There’s something indescribable about sitting right next t to someone while I work that transforms me, my work, and my time into something of increased worth. 

Whether it’s cleaning house side by side, brainstorming creative ideas together, or just voicing fears out loud to someone who understands me, I can’t function for the long haul without the help and presence of others.  My position is this: We are all hard-wired for community.

I wrote longer version on this essential quality of community in a guest blog post last week.  It’s been getting very good responses.  Please check it out and let me know what you think.

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My Love Affair with Greek Myths

I have a long-standing relationship with Greek myths and retelling them.  Moonlight and Oranges is one of many projects I’ve created to interweave myth and story and character. 

I explained my “mythical obsession” on the Owl Tell You About It blog this week.

 

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A Year of Love and Courage

Photo Credit: Bev Lloyd-Roberts

 

A friend of mine made a recent facebook post that said:

This might just be me, but the longer I live, the more it seems that insecurity stemming from a lack of real love is responsible for most of the world’s problems.

Wow.  We all know if we watch the news that there is a constant state of flux for global problems all around us.  When I get overwhelmed with the reality of things, I like to remember that global problems start with people problems, and one thing I can do to affect things is look for the problems I’m perpetrating on my own small scale.

I think about the relationships, friendships, and family ties that I’ve given up on or walled off because the open-heartedness of love has been self-decreed as too painful, too difficult, and too unrewarding.  I’m selfish a lot of the time when I’m being “loving.” I want something back in return.

Isn’t it easy to love someone who returns the favor and makes you feel like a valid, attractive, worthy human being?  I know it is for me.  That’s why it’s so wonderful to have an affectionate boyfriend or husband. 

But I want to do more than “safe-loving” this year.  I want to love courageously

This means loving myself enough to trust and step forward even when I don’t know how to do the things I’m trying to do.  This means loving people who frighten me and make me want to pretend to be someone I’m not, someone less genuine and less open and tender.  This means refusing to give into bitter hardness, even when that’s the easiest thing to do in the face of pain and disappointment. 

And this kind of love will take a truckload of courage.  For me, the person who has caused me so much love and pain is my younger sister.  She’s definitely not the only one, but she’s my weak spot.  We were raised very close together and I shared my bedroom with her till the day I got married.

I wrote her a pretty gutsy letter last summer, and only had the courage to show it to her a month ago.  With her permission, I’ve submitted the letter to a collection of essays about love. If ithe letter is accepted, I’ll post the link to it.  If not, I’ll post it here as an unusual twist on Valentine’s Day. 

And solving the world’s problems on a small scale is not just about friendships and relationships (though that’s a heck of a good place to start). 

For me, it’s about operating on my day-to-day life without a competitive spirit’s feeling that there’s not enough of whatever I want to get my share.  It’s about living life as a team player who enjoys helping others with no strings attached.  It’s about stepping into a room full of people who don’t know me and sharing who I am with them in loving confidence that I am totally complete without their acceptance and approval. 

It’s a tall order, and it starts with the simple act of love. 

I’m always ambitious with myself, but I’m trying to keep it simple by avoiding the long list of specifics.  I’m not big into New Year’s Resolutions, because I hate it when I don’t make all the goals on a list, and I tend to be a pretty obsessive goal setter even without the new year rolling around.  However, Love and Courage is a mantle that I think I can carry.

How about you?  Now that the confetti is vacuumed and the gym membership is paid for and the leftover fudge is (mostly) gone from the house, what are your thoughts for this shiny new year?

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Guest Blog: Critique Groups

Happy New Year! 

To kick off the birthdays of Time and myself (we’re just one day apart), here is a guest post in which I reveal my experience forming a successful critique group.  I give instructions on how to replicate this with a small cluster of writing friends.  It can be quite tricky, but it’s incredibly rewarding!

My guest post lives on L.M. Stull’s blog.  She is a lovely, talented, and compassionate writer. 

Read How to Form a Writer’s Critique Group here.

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Abandoned for Christmas

Christmas tree and hearth

Christmas tree and fireplace at our townhouse

Sometimes the worst memories are also the best.

As a child, my family and I grew up very tight-knit and close.  I spent every single December 25th with my parents and siblings from the day I was born till the year I turned twenty. 

That year, my mother decided she wanted to go to Guatemala for her birthday, December 24th, and she went with my dad and siblings with her for an extended vacation.  She’s a native Californian, and she has no problem with warm-climate Christmas celebrations. 

I, however, was born in Seattle and every single one of the warm Christmases I’ve experienced felt “wrong” to me.  I can’t explain it, I just want to be snuggled up by a fire, hopefully seeing snowflakes in the air outside, sipping hot cider when that time of year rolls in.

I've spent Christmas on the beach. It was bizarre.

But I was an adult with a job that year, plus I had a serious boyfriend who would be in town.  I decided I didn’t need to take time off work to join my family, nor did I want to go through another Christmas that felt weird and “off,” anyway.  I chose to stay home. 

My boyfriend (now my husband) and I bought a tree and decorated it together at my parents’ house, where I was living.  We invited another couple over for Christmas morning where we planned to open presents and eat breakfast together, followed by watching the The Nativity movie. 

I was optimistic, busy as ever with present shopping, wrapping, baking cookies, working my job.  But when Christmas day was almost upon me, the loneliness tightened.  My mom has always told me that my theme song came from Disney’s The Little Mermaid when she sings “I want to be where the people are,” because I absolutely adore being around people, even if they’re not talking to me.  And especially if they’re my family.

This is what my mind wants for Christmas

I missed them.  I wanted to be with them, but they’d already left the country and were speaking Spanish, drinking fruit licuados, and walking under colorfully painted buildings in their cotton summerwear. 

To intensfiy matters, my girl friend who was going to spend Christmas Eve night at my parent’s house with me, cancelled at the last minute with the promise that she’d come over early Christmas morning.

When I realized I’d be sleeping in a house by myself on Christmas Eve, the depression punched me right in the chest.  There are many days in my life that I wish I wasn’t such a people-loving person.  This part makes me more dependent and social-butterfly-ish than is convenient in times like these–but I was what I was, and I still am a lot like this.  It means I love people in a deep way, so it has an upside.

I told James what had happened and how missed my family like crazy and how I didn’t want to be alone and he offered to come over before bedtime and tuck me in.  I changed into my pajamas and climbed into my bed, and he sat on the side of it, stroked my hair, and waited with me while I cried. 

Yes, I cried.  I didn’t want anything more than to be with the people I loved who knew me best–the decorations, the weather, none of that was as important, I finally realized.

he loves me more than I deserve

James waited till I calmed down, and then he made up a bedtime story so that I could listen as I started to fall asleep.  I think it was a story about a bunny, but what I remember more than the story, was how much James wanted to take care of me, how patient he was with my hysteria, and how much he loved me.

I have thought of that calm-Elise-down-with-a-story bedtime event for every Christmas that followed.  The next morning, James and I had sweet time with our friends, and even took a walk together in the snow, but the sweetest moment for me was when I was in tears and he was making up a story for me. 

Sometimes, in the middle of loneliness and frustration and fatigue, the sweetest gifts are born.

I want to look for that this Christmas.

Do you have bittersweet memories of the holiday season? An experience where light bloomed in your darkest moment? Your story doesn’t have to be about the holidays.  Please share!

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Sneak Peek at My Desk

I took this photo as I was getting ready for a sprint during NaNoWriMo. 

My friend, who has done NaNoWriMo several times before, (I consider her one of the hardened, battle-ready pros), told me to take a “before” and “after” shot of my workspace, because it was about to slide from well-intentioned organization mode down the slope to complete insanity survival mode.

The office didn’t get quite as messy as I thought it could have, but I did nearly lose my mind.

Results of NaNoWriMo:

  • I couldn’t spell words that I’d previously known how to spell (she warned me that would happen)
  • I was switching random words for the ones I’d intended, thus inserting ones that had no business asserting themselves in my sentences. 

    actual facebook post

  • I broke down and posted something on facebook begging my vocabulary to come back.
  • I wrote a story with a solid(ish) plot faster than I would have ever thought possible.
  • I met other crazy, kind, excited people and wrote faster than I’ve ever written in my whole life.
  • I nailed 50,000 words of story before Thanksgiving (I don’t know how to slow down once I rev into the gear called “madness.”)

Thus, something got messy, but it was my mind rather than my office.  Finishing was a good feeling.  I also wanted to roll over and have nothing to do with writing for several days straight. 

However, all NaNoWriMo diatribes aside, I thought it would be fun to show you a glimpse of my daily writing rituals. 

notebook

Front stage and center is my writing notebook.  Whenever I can, I buy plain, unlined sketchbooks from an art supply store in the University District.  I personally don’t like lines, but many of my writer friends do. 

I fold my pages in half to create columns.  This means that I have to move my hand less, and that I can cram more words on a page.

I use the wettest, slipperiest pens I can find, since I write freehand and then type it up.  I honestly can attest to more creativity and uninterrupted flow when I use pen and paper.

nalgene with green drink

You see that huge, ominous red Nalgene? That’s filled with what I call the “green drink.”  It got the recipe from my former employer, Mitra Ray, and that thing has seriously made it possible for me to get good nutrition and a good start to my day.  An unhealthy writer is a less productive writer.  If you want to try it, the green drink recipe is here.

My big bright window plays a huge part of my workspace.  I am a light addict.  Positioning myself with light as a main influence to my writing scene is crucial. 

Cockeyed photo of James and me

The framed photo in the window is one of me and my husband while we were still dating.  It’s sitting on the wrong side of the frame.  My husband did that to be funny, and I didn’t change it back because I liked it.

inspiring landscape

Right in front of my notebook, taped to the sill of the window are images out of travel magazines that I found inspiring.  Just staring at a mountain scene or a plump summer strawberry helps me feel richer and enlivened.

lady ice skaters

That picture on the left of the two women ice skating was given to me for my birthday by a dear friend from college.  She wrote on it, “When I count my blessings, I count you twice.” Just having that memento of her love strengthens me.

My desk is only one of the many places that I write, but it gives a decent perspective on the thoughts and arrangements that percolate through my head as I sit down to practice the craft.

Do you have special places in your home that inspire you?  Have you built yourself your own haven for creativity, or just for rest?  What rituals keep you focused and inspired? 

 

 

 

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“Barefoot” in Winter Omnibus!

Do you like shoes?  I never thought of myself as a “shoe girl,” but then I realized I had a story in me that told a detailed account of one woman’s life through all the pairs of shoes she ever wore, from cradle to grave. 

I am very pleased to announce that my short story, “Barefoot” has been accepted by the literary journal Omnibus and is now available for sale! Yay!

This story brought many of my beta readers to tears (the good kind),

My writer friend, Richard Porter, has a hilarious and thought-provoking letter in this the collection addressed to Whole Foods, as well.  I’m proud to be published alongside him.

You can purchase the most recent edition of Omnibus via Paypal by emailing Darren Cools $7 for a single copy.  Paypal email address: darrencools[at]gmail[dot]com.  Link to Paypal site here.

 

 

 

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My Dad’s Dragon

Cross a bridge of alligators and lollipops, braid the tangled hair of a ferocious lion, rescue a blue and gold baby dragon from cruel slavery…isn’t this the stuff that a kid’s dreams are made of? 

Before I started reading books to myself, my dad was reading them out loud to me.  My Father’s Dragon was a clear favorite from my childhood, but not just because the story was awesome and imaginative and the perfect dose of adventure for my little heart.

It was my favorite because I read it with my dad.  Now, maybe it’s because the words “my father” are actually in the title, and also because we have photos of my dad reading books to me but, to be honest, I  still think that the words “my father” in the title refer to my dad himself.

If you are planning to have kids, or already have them, please please please read books out loud to your munchkins.  Getting to snuggle up with your parents in your pijamas and close your eyes and imagine the world that they tell you about is such a precious gift to give them, and it costs nothing but your time.

This book became more precious to me over the years because I had difficulty with relating or feeling close to my father during most of high school and college, and the book served as a memory of the times when the relationship wasn’t frustrating, but warm and easy.

The inside cover of my edition has a sweet map of the islands that Elmer visits in the book.

My Father’s Dragon was an adventure book.  I had books on princesses and fairy tales, but I grew up reading the Adventures of Tintin (a childhood collection of my father’s), the Asterix and Obelix collection, and the Chronicles of Narnia, which infused me with my hunger for adventure before I knew it was happening.

I’m glad to say that things have been a lot better and are still getting better and better with my dad.  Since my wedding in 2008 when I moved out of my parents’ house and into my husband’s (Yes, you read that right.  This old-fashioned girl lived at home till she married), my father and I have been growing into close adult friends.

But he knows that no matter how many accomplishments or responsibilities I have, I still want to be his little girl.  It’s a growing process for both of us, learning how to relate and love each other in this season of our lives, but it’s one that I know we share the responsibility for, instead of my younger self’s behavior of blaming him for not putting in all the effort.

My Father’s Dragon is a book that ties me into the adventure I still hope to create in my life and in my fiction and reminds me of the sweet start I had in both books and friendship with one of my favorite people in the whole world: my dad.

If you’ve never read the book, I don’t care how old you are, for goodness sake buy it here or get it at your library.  Your inner child will adore you for it.

Do you have a special book from your childhood that links you back to great memories?  The books we loved usually were read during a healthy season of life, I’ve found.

 

 

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Interview on Arc of a Writer

My author interview is featured today (and for the rest of this month) on Elena Hartwell’s Arc of a Writer.  Elena is a talented playwright and delightful person who I had the honor to meet at the Edmonds Write on the Sound writers’ conference this past October.  I mention the archetype (character-template) that I love using over and over again.  Apparently, bad girls are a very difficult theme for me to extricate from my pysche. :)    Read the interview here.

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