Chasing Chapters

Procrastination

2012-03-07T21:16:00.000-05:00

I am procrastinating.

Again.

Does everyone do this, I wonder?

Sure, I've been procrastinating about the usual things I get tired of doing, like cleaning and laundry and filing paperwork.
The monotony of those things automatically make them perfect for the Perpetual Waiting List, and quite honestly, I don't feel all that guilty about putting off any of them.

But it's not as if I'm just putting off things I don't want to do.

I am also dragging my feet about reading a book I need to review, which is something I usually enjoy.
And I am putting off doing other reading and writing-related things, all of which I have been anxious to get to.

Now that I've given up one of my three part-time jobs/activities, I had hoped to feel a bit rejuvenated, or at least less burnt out and more raring-to-go.
But, no, apparently it's not so easy.
I am still tempted to spend my evening site-hopping or tv watching, when I should be working on either of my works-in-progress, or writing an essay or a review, or...(ahem) composing a more meaningful blog post.

I don't know why I am so unproductive, when I have every reason and desire to be more productive right now...

What do you do when you feel unmotivated?
When you know you can make the time for things, and you really do want to, but you just...don't.
How do you pull yourself out of it and get going again?
If you have any suggestions, I would welcome them!

Meanwhile, I suppose I will continue to procrastinate while simultaneously wallowing in self-pity over my procrastinating ways.

;)

The More Things Change

2012-03-04T11:39:00.001-05:00

Alex Wolff of Nat and Alex Wolff,
Brighton Music Hall, 2/24/12

So many changes since I last posted...
Some pressures have eased, while others have not, but that's what keeps life interesting, isn't it?
Right now, the dripping faucet in my kitchen has morphed into a major plumbing project, there is an escaped gecko hiding somewhere in the house, and there's still never enough time/money/what-have-you.
Some things change, and some stay the same.

I started thinking about how things change when we took my daughter to her first concert last week. She's had a recent interest in Nat and Alex Wolff, formerly featured on Nickelodeon's "The Naked Brothers Band" several years ago. They're still young (14 and 17), but there's some definite musical talent there, and they certainly weren't hard to listen to, even for us chaperones. They also have a dedicated fan base, of which my daughter is one of the more enthusiastic.

The show was held in a small venue, a less overwhelming first concert experience for a twelve-year-old than one of the large stadiums the more "popular" acts could fill. It turned out to be a great show, and my daughter and her friend were among the many fans who had the opportunity to meet the boys, get autographs, and even have pictures taken with them. A terrific experience, all around.

It was interesting to me, though, to see that although the screeching "fan girl" attitude was much the same as it may have been when I was twelve or thirteen, some things have definitely changed. Instead of dancing and really getting into the music and the atmosphere as we used to back in the days of waving lighters, most of this audience was far more intent on taping/taking pictures with their phones (note the iphone in the foreground of the picture, above). I lost count of the number of phones held up in the sea of mostly pre-teen girls.

The performers had to encourage the audience to clap along (since, of course, phones had to be set aside to actually clap!). They were clearly an appreciative and excited audience, regardless, and I can understand why they were so determined to tape the performance; I can only imagine how excited I would have been to have had the opportunity to videotape Aerosmith or Bob Seger, or any of the other concerts I went to. Back then, it was "no cameras" for the most part. We all would have been thrilled to have something other than the old Polaroid Onestep (a bit too bulky to sneak into concerts!).

And yet...I couldn't help thinking that they were missing out on some of the real thrill of a live concert. After all, how much can you fully experience something if you are merely a videographer? With your eyes primarily on a small screen in your hand instead of the stage before you, the excitement simply can't attain the same level. The audience was certainly enthusiastic, but not in the same way I remember.

That's the way of most changes, I suppose. There are pros and cons, good parts and not so good parts.
My daughter and the rest of the audience that night may have seemed a bit less completely immersed in the experience than I might have been at that age, but they do have plenty of memories in pictures and video.
Maybe it's a good trade-off. Just as Nat and Alex have changed, evolving from those cute kids in that TV show to "real" musicians, everything needs to change and evolve eventually, and I suppose the concert experience is not immune. And in the end, this new generation doesn't know any different -- it's only us old folks who see it.

If they are missing out, they don't know it. And maybe that's just how it's supposed to be.

The Outlander Series: Why it's like the unpredictable teenager on my bookshelf

2011-03-27T15:20:00.004-04:00

I've decided that Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series is a lot like a teenager.

When I first discovered Outlander (thanks to a very intuitive friend), I was blown away. It impressed me as no other book has, before or since. The way it brought history alive, the timeless love between Jamie and Claire, the time travel, the depth and breadth of the writing itself...it was something I'd never experienced in quite the same way with any other author, or in any other book. I ordered all of the books back-to-back, hanging on every word, often rereading from the beginning. Thus began an obsessive love of the story and Diana Gabaldon's writing.

Yet, much like an unpredictable teenager, the road isn't always smooth. There have certainly been hiccups along the way. Moments when I wondered where the author was taking me, or why. Moments when things have dragged on forever and I almost gave up (the Gathering at Mount Helicon in Fiery Cross, anyone?), or times when I was annoyed or disappointed by the path the characters or story had taken.

Kind of like living with a teenager, don't you think? ;)

But no matter what happens, I can't seem to give up on Outlander, and I can't seem to lose faith enough not to see the series through. The most recent book, An Echo in the Bone, was a disappointment for me in that it veered away from Jamie and Claire so much, and took them places I would never have believed they'd go...and yet...even though I ranted and raved, and whined and complained, vowing that I'd wait for the next book to end up in the library before reading it, I know I'm fooling myself. I'll buy it. Whenever it's finally ready, I know I'll be there.

In spite of my disappointment in Echo, I still follow Diana's blog. I may not agree with everything in the books, but I admire her thoroughly as a writer, and I still read all of the excerpts she generously shares with her readers. I've even become a recent lurker on another blog devoted to the Outlander series, Outlandish Observations (which I happily recommend to any other Outlander Obsessive!).

Because even if there are some interminable slogs through slimy swamps, gratuitous amputations or endless clan gatherings, there will always be some spectacular, deeply moving moment in there somewhere that somehow makes up for it.

And strange as it may be, with both a book series and a teenager, one really good moment often has the power to help you forget all the bad. Or at least allow you to put the not-so-great stuff aside long enough to appreciate that nice moment.

It seems that my love for the Outlander story and characters far surpasses any "mistakes" they may make, or my disappointment in the paths they've traveled. I just can't abandon them, and I will always care to know where their journeys will lead them. I am devoted, sometimes reluctantly so, even if I'm just an outside observer with no say in what they do or where they go. So I'll be there when the new book comes out, regardless of whether I agree with their actions or the roads they've traveled thus far.

It can be challenging, and has it's share of head-scratching and cringe-worthy moments, but I just can't seem to turn away. Somehow, I just know it will be worth it in the end.

Kind of like that with a teenager, too, isn't it?

"But...weren't you an English major?"

2011-02-20T15:21:00.004-05:00

I've actually heard those words, generally in reference to some novel or poetry collection I've admitted to not having read. Those who ask the question clearly imply that there must have been some massive book list requirement for all English majors, and that if I've not read something like War and Peace (which, by the way, I haven't), then I don't really belong in the club.

I do have a degree in English. I am also the daughter of a college English professor. My love of books and reading and writing is undeniably ingrained in my heart and soul, possibly even engineered into my genetic makeup.

The truth is that while I've probably read countless books in most every genre, there are so many classics which I have to confess I have not read.

I can definitely say that I've read nearly every novel published by a Bronte sister (thank you, Dr. Heineman and my beloved Victorian Lit class!)...

But...as much as I've loved every movie adaptation of Jane Austen's works, I have to admit I've not yet gotten around to reading many of her novels.

I've read Homer, Shakespeare, Twain, Poe, Swift, Kafka and so many more, for both assignment and pleasure.

But... I've never read Anna Karenina.
Or the aforementioned War and Peace.
Or even The Count of Monte Christo or Les Miserables.
Even (brace yourself!) Oliver Twist.

I am currently reading a book for review which is loosely based on a less well-known work of a very well-known author. When I realized that the referenced book is one I have not read, I had a fleeting moment of shame, as if I should have somehow known that one day, it would be important to read that obscure title, and what kind of English major do I think I am, anyway?

Because aren't people who have English degrees, by virtue of their very existence, expected to have read pretty much all of the classics? To know each and every Important Author and their particular contributions?

Maybe.
But then again, maybe not...

Realistically, even the most dedicated of readers cannot possibly read everything.

And while I know I can't realistically read it all, I am thrilled that there will always, always be a book to be read, something new (even if it's only new to me).

I've already got a huge list of books in my TBR pile, some literally piled on a bookshelf and some sitting in my Nook, waiting.

But I've also got Project Gutenberg bookmarked, because so many of these wonderful gifts of classic literature are there, free for the downloading now that their copyrights have expired. Many of these are available directly through Amazon for the Kindle and through Barnes and Noble for the Nook.

I don't believe I ever did see that monumental list of required classics for English majors, and regardless of those silly, fleeting moments of guilt over not reading what I "should have" read by now, I am so glad that there will always be a way to read those I missed, and that there is still plenty of time to catch up.

The only hard part is choosing what to read next, isn't it? :)

I'm thinking that I'll start with everything Austen, and maybe, one day, I will work my way toward War and Peace...

Maybe. :)

Are there any classics that you've always wished you'd read?
Are there any that you plan to read soon? Or re-read?

**DID YOU KNOW??

Did you know that you can help Project Gutenberg?
Volunteer to proofread one page a day!
I just registered -- maybe you want to give it a try, too?
See the link on the Project Gutenberg site, or go straight to the Distributed Proofreaders website, here. :)

Romantic Expectations

2011-02-13T17:25:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and more likely than not, most of our significant others will be making that frantic attempt to fulfill the traditional Valentine's Day expectation of romance, be it in the form of candlelight dinners, flowers, chocolates, poetic cards or all of the above.

While I certainly enjoy the extra attention Valentine's Day can bring, I've found that I don't really put as much emphasis on it anymore.

Not that it isn't a nice idea to have a day devoted to appreciating the one you love. I am all for that! And giving our men/significant others a little reminder to appreciate us can never be a bad idea. But really, shouldn't that be an everyday thing?

There was a time (pre-marriage, pre-kids), when I wanted all of that Romance, with the capital "R." I wanted the flowers (roses, if you please), the intimate dinners, the moments filled with heartfelt declarations, and all of the grand gestures of True Romance.

Flowers and pretty sentiments are all well and good, on Valentine's Day or any other, and while I enjoy those grand gestures when they come around, I don't require them in quite the same way.

Now, don't get me wrong -- I certainly won't dream of turning down a dozen red roses if they're offered. ;) But they're not necessary in the same way other things are, maybe because what I consider romantic or sexy has changed as I've grown older.

Interestingly (maybe oddly?), my favorite heroes of the romance novels I've read in recent years aren't the type for grand gestures, for the most part. They're more quietly appreciative, with love expressed more in word and deed than with flowers and gifts.  I'm far more impressed and intrigued by a man (fictional or not) who can truly appreciate a strong, independent woman while understanding the value of a gentlemanly gesture, or one who can give his woman strength when she needs it, but knows she can hold her own and admires her for it (Outlander's Jamie Fraser comes to mind...easily my favorite romantic hero).

Back here in the real world, though, sometimes it's simply the little things that I find sexy or romantic. For instance, here are a few of the type of moments that can make me melt more than a box of chocolates on a sunny day:

      A big man cradling a tiny infant in his arms...

      Fathers dancing with daughters...

      A cup of coffee refilled without asking...

      The words, "No, honey, you sleep; I'll get the baby/let the dog out/make the coffee."

      Sharing a glass of wine while the kids are settling into sleep...

      Being told, "Don't worry; I'll take care of it." About anything.

      The gas tank being filled so I don't have to stop...

      Finding my car warming up in the driveway just before I was going to do it myself...

Well, you get the idea. :)
Real romance is just so much more than can be captured in one day of expression, isn't it? It's in the most ordinary of moments sometimes. And for me, it's everyday mutual respect and consideration that I find truly romantic. And worth so much more than an annual bouquet of short-lived flowers.

Here's hoping your Valentine's Day is filled with whatever you consider the most romantic of moments. :)

Things to ponder...

Does Valentine's Day mean the same to you that it always did? How has it changed for you?

What do you consider truly romantic?

Would you give up all the roses and chocolates for something less traditionally romantic? (okay, maybe not the chocolates!)

Who's your favorite romantic hero, from book or movie?
Feel free to share in the comments! :)

Image courtesy VintageHolidayCrafts.com

Snow Day Simplicity

2011-02-01T18:02:00.004-05:00

"A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water." ~ Carl Reiner

(Courtesy of
www.karenswhimsy.com)

Here on the East Coast, we are once more in the midst of a blizzard, even as we still valiantly (if unenthusiastically) attempt to dig out from the massive amounts of snow already on the ground.

In the few weeks since I last posted, we've had three storms and roughly three feet of snow (or more? I've lost track). At this point, exiting driveways and certain roadways is an act of faith, what with the inability to see any possible oncoming traffic past the mountains of snow drifts. Accelerate and pray...

Of course, this is New England; snow and blizzards and lousy driving conditions are a given, as are occasional power outages. During one of these recent storms, a tree limb came down onto our power lines, leaving us in the dark for nearly 11 hours. With no electricity, a long, dull day seemed to
loom ahead.

But as the day went on, and my initial antsy annoyance at being cut off from computers, phones and appliances waned a bit, I found myself beginning to appreciate it. We all gathered around the fireplace, rather than spread out with our various individual activities. We played board games, which we somehow rarely find time for these days. We read by candlelight. And we talked. And actually took the time to enjoy one another's company for a change.

And what I noticed most as I sat by the fire, reading by the light of a couple of candles, was the quiet.

No television, no constant electrical hum in the air.

It was...peaceful.

And surprisingly comfortable.

I won't say I wasn't happy when the power came back, but while it lasted, it really wasn't so bad. It made me feel less stressed, somehow. As if I were living in another time, back when there was no electricity and no modern conveniences, and most evenings were necessarily spent in quiet activity near the fire, the only source of warmth and light.

I've often wondered if I am enamored of historical romances in large part because of the depiction of those simpler times. I enjoy contemporary novels as well, but not nearly as much as those that manage to bring to life the days when there were no modern conveniences or affectations. There is something calming and intriguing about the thought of a life without the noise and madness we all just accept as necessary these days.

As wonderful as our daily conveniences may be, there is a trade-off involved; we've given up much of the calm, peaceful quality of life that used to exist in a less modernized world. And though I know I wouldn't want to be cut off from all of it forever, having that unexpected day of true simplicity wasn't merely tolerable, but actually rather nice. And I'm sure that the next time the power goes out, I won't grumble. Instead, I'll just let myself bask in the peace.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live in the 18th or 19th century?

Would having to wear a tightly-laced corset be a deal breaker, or would you love to dress in the frilly fashions of another time?

What would be the worst thing about it? The best?

For me, I think the lack of running water would likely send me screaming into the night eventually, but how about you?

Never Too Late

2011-01-05T20:52:00.000-05:00

"It's never too late to be what you might have been."

~ George Eliot (1819-1880)

The above quote is one of my favorites. Not only does it originate with a woman who certainly knew how to go after whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, it also serves as a reminder that my tardiness in entering the world of writing is far from uncommon.

Now that I've reached my mid-forties, I confess to having moments of slight regret over what I have not yet accomplished. On particularly bad days, I beat myself up a little for not following the "writing bug" back when it first bit, which was...well, so long ago I can't even really say! Books and reading and writing have been a part of my life for so long that I can't pinpoint the genesis of my love for it all. It's just always been there, like the air I breathe. My mother tells stories of peeking at me in my crib when she thought I was asleep, only to find me quietly flipping pages of a cloth baby book, so maybe it started that long ago.

Whenever it began, it's never ended, and in the last few years the need to put pen to paper has only grown stronger, even as my time has seemingly grown shorter. And on those bad, woe-is-me, why-didn't-I days, I've found it helps to remind myself of all of those other people who started following dreams late in life and managed to find success and (one presumes) contentment. For those of you out there who, like me, find themselves regretting time not spent pursuing writing or something else you've always wanted to do, here are a few others who didn't have it all figured out by twenty-one either! :)

George Eliot - she was forty when her first novel was published (Adam Bede, 1859, followed by The Mill on the Floss in 1860 and Silas Marner in 1861).
Laura Ingalls Wilder - her Little House books were published when she was in her sixties.
Kenneth Grahame - The Wind in the Willows was published in 1908, when he was forty-nine.
Richard Adams - he was in his fifties when Watership Down was published.
Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings was published in 1969, when she was forty-one.

This is just a small list pulled quickly from Wikipedia, so it's by no means exhaustive. There are dozens of artists, musicians, filmmakers, entrepreneurs and writers who didn't settle into following their dreams until later in their lives.

And if we think about it, it makes a good deal of sense. What do we really know at twenty or twenty-five? How much richer and deeper might our books or stories or paintings be once we've had a chance to live a little, lose a little, experience more?

So I'm choosing to see my late start as a good thing, and hope that by waiting until now I've given myself a chance to grow wiser and, with any luck, it will all give my future work more depth and meaning. I may not be able to reach my goals in the next year, or even two, but I'll keep going, knowing the trail has been blazed by the likes of Maya, Laura and George, and that being late to the party may turn out to be a good thing after all.

Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T15:13:00.001-05:00

2011 has arrived!

I, for one, couldn't be happier to bid farewell to 2010 and welcome in a new year, and a new start.

So many wonderful blogs out there have posted today, with wise and thoughtful reflections on the past year and the one to come (for a perfect example, see my friend's post for today, here ).

I don't know that I'm feeling quite as eloquent today, and I certainly couldn't say it better, so instead I will simply share a few of my own hopes for the year to come:

I hope to remember that every day is a new opportunity to set aside mistakes and misjudgements and move forward with new wisdom.

I hope to remind myself when I open my eyes each day that every sunrise brings another opportunity to be who I want to be.

I hope to remember that I am not responsible for everyone and everything, and that I don't want to be.

I hope I'll learn how to tap into my own inner peace, which I know is there, so that I can better handle the unexpected or volatile situations that come my way.

I hope to do what I can when I can, and to know when to step aside.

I hope that whatever comes my way, I will find it within myself to handle it with graceful acceptance.

And I hope that each and every one of you will see your own wishes, dreams and hopes fulfilled this coming year.

Happy New year! :)

Showered with Ideas

2010-12-30T09:47:00.002-05:00

I get most of my story ideas in the shower.
No, really.

I don't know why that it is so, but it is. I think that it's probably because time in the shower is my only true "alone time." Even when no one else is home, I can't always concentrate for all the distractions -- laundry to be done, things to be picked up, dishes to be washed, dinners to be prepared. I think my mind is just always too full of things to do. But in the shower, somehow it all seems to fall away long enough that I am able to really think about story ideas, or the review I'm trying to write. I suppose it's the lack of any real noise, with no phone ringing, no television blaring Nickelodeon, no one asking me if I saw this or did that...just the peaceful sound of the water gurgling down the drain

So, all of that to say that I had an unexpected idea for a scene in my long-suffering story while I was in the shower today, and for once I actually made the time to write it down. It seems that so often I come up with something and don't take that next step of actually jotting down the idea before it leaves my head. Which it inevitably does...and then later, I wrack my brain trying to remember the amazing, life-changing, story-saving, sure-to-one-day-wow-a-New York-publisher idea. But it's gone. *sigh*

I don't often make New Year Resolutions; it's just much too easy to break them and feel like a failure, and really, who needs that? But I do plan to make at least one this year: to take that moment or two every time I think of something to do with my writing and actually write it down before it's forgotten in the overcrowded recesses of my brain, lost among hockey schedules, band concert dates, and endless things-to-do lists. If I truly want to be a writer, and perhaps one day an Actual Published Author, I know that I need to start acting on these seeds of ideas, plant them somewhere and see if anything grows. I won't be able to do that if I let them disappear into the abyss...or down the shower drain.

Where do you get your ideas? In the shower? While driving?
How do you keep it all organized?
Are you making any writing resolutions this year?

Baking with "The Boss"

2010-12-24T09:17:00.006-05:00

I am -- like everyone else, I'm sure --currently in the midst of holiday baking and all of the other pre-Christmas craziness. Up until this year, I've been spoiled by being able to work on all of this (as well as shopping, wrapping, etc.) during the day. Now that I am working, albeit part-time, I have to admit that it's gotten a bit more hectic and I am a lot less organized. Not to mention way behind on my preparations.

But I know it doesn't matter all that much. To paraphrase my favorite Grinch, it won't stop Christmas from coming. I'm surely going to end up with a few less cookies on the cookie platters, but that's okay. Everyone's "special requests" will still be there, because I can't not make my father-in-law's favorite coffee cake, or a friend's favorite shortbread cookie, or my stepsister's caramel apple pie. (But maybe we'll skip the coconut macaroons and the snickerdoodles this year, if only to allow me a wee bit of time for sleep! ;) )

No, a few less cookies won't matter, and probably won't even be noticed. This year, I'll concentrate on those few baked goods that are the only ones that do matter; the ones that you make because you truly want to, because they will bring an appreciative smile to the face of someone you love, will let them know you are thinking of them, and will make Christmas day just that little bit sweeter.

Happy baking! :)

Do you have something that you always make for the holidays, no matter what?

Any great recipes with special meaning for you?

Feel free to share in the comments! :)

** Since I need to bring it up a notch today, I am borrowing some Christmas Spirit from Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Enjoy!

Hard Bleachers and Beautiful Noise

2010-12-14T23:13:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post the morning after my daughter's holiday band concert.

The thought went through my mind as I sat there that no one past the age of thirty has any hope of ever again being comfortable on hard, wooden bleachers...and yet, strangely enough, once I settled in, I barely noticed the numb bottom anymore, because there is just something wonderful about school band concerts.

Yes, often they are off-key, or lose their places, and on that rare occasion they do manage to butcher a piece of music into an unrecognizable cacophony of discordant notes. But they try so hard, and no matter the level of perfection in their performances I love to watch and listen to them, every time. I love the look of nervous pride on all their faces, their thrill at standing to greet the audience applause, the noticeable expelling of breath when they've finished their most difficult pieces.

Mostly I think I just love witnessing these beautiful creations of ours learning to create their own beautiful noise.

And that, I think, is worth every minute on those bleachers.

In Pursuit of the Spirit of the Season...

2010-12-10T21:06:00.001-05:00

In my ongoing effort to recapture my Christmas spirit (I'm getting there!), I thought I'd share one thing that nearly always helps guide me back to the true meaning of the season: Josh Groban, singing "O Holy Night" at the Rockefeller Center a few years ago. Never fails to give me chills. :) Enjoy!

Striving to be a Grinch

2010-12-08T19:33:00.002-05:00

I admit it.

I have no Christmas spirit this year.

I'm not quite sure why. Normally, I am very determined in my pursuit of the spirit of the season. I decorate, bake, make gingerbread houses and shop and wrap with the best of them. But I just can't seem to motivate this year.

Maybe it's because as much as I'd love to go out and buy the usual boatload of gifts for everyone in my life, I simply can't do it this year, and it saddens me to have my spirit of giving stifled by circumstance. Combined with other personal challenges at the moment, it's exhausting to think of how much there is yet to do and how little I seem able to summon either the energy or the finances to do it.

However, I keep reminding myself of what I've always told my children: Christmas isn't about getting gifts or spending money, but is a spiritual reminder of the importance of giving of oneself to others, of remembering what's truly important.

Which, of course, leads me to the Grinch.

Yes, the Grinch, that curmudgeon of coddled Christmas spirit, so jealous of the joy in others that he tried to steal it away in his effort to pull everyone down into his pit of grinchdom. I've always found it curious that the Grinch is most commonly remembered for his lack of Christmas spirit (or "grinchiness") when in fact it's the eventual discovery of it within himself that seems the most important part of the story. My favorite moment in Dr. Seuss's How the Grinch Stole Christmas is when he has his epiphany, and "...the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day. And then the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches plus two." It's that moment, when he opens his heart to love and sharing, when he holds out a hand to little Cindy Lou Who ("who was no more than 2") that has always held such poignance for me (and countless others, I imagine).

And as silly as it may seem to draw on an old children's story for my own Christmas spirit, the Grinch truly is an inspiration for me. Part of it, I know, is that he was my father's favorite character, too. My dad, one of the sweetest and most giving men I've ever known, always loved the Grinch best, and joked at being "grinchy" himself. One Christmas, I made him a Santa hat with the word "Grinch" spelled out in glitter on the cuff. He grinned beneath that hat proudly every year, and those Christmases are among my most cherished memories of him.

So this year, in spite of the current slump in which I find myself, I'm determined to find my Christmas spirit however I can. I'll decorate the tree, snap precious pictures of the annual Gingerbread House Decorating Day with my daughter and niece, and wrap whatever presents I can give. I'll remember my dad smiling around his pipe with that silly hat on his head, and I'll remember to count my blessings of past, present and future. I'll remind myself, too, that Christmas is more than what I can put under the tree, and will bring smiles and laughter even "without packages, boxes or bags."

In fact, I'm going to try to be the best Grinch I can be...

Do you have a favorite Christmas character? Any special Christmas memories wrapped around Rudolph or Frosty or the Grinch? How do you find your own spirit of the season?
Feel free to share in comments! :)

The Allure of the Romance Novel

2010-11-23T10:02:00.006-05:00

All anyone has to do is peek over at the list of authors on the side panel to see that when it comes to reading, I am currently a huge fan of the romance genre. With the possible exception of Diana Gabaldon, whose epic Outlander series somewhat defies any true categorization, all of the talented women listed are romance novelists.

There was a time when I had little interest in even picking up a romance novel. In the past, I've tended more toward mysteries and thrillers and general popular fiction. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, John Grisham...you get the idea. They are still prolific, talented writers I admire, but I no longer seek out their novels as I used to.

While I still consider Stephen King an amazing, one-of-a-kind author, I find I no longer want to spend any extra time considering "the dark side" of life. No more of King's rabid dogs and murderous sewer clowns, Koontz's lab experiments gone horrifically wrong, or Grisham's lawyers running for their lives. The daily news has enough of the horror and fear; it seems I can't bring myself to seek it out as entertainment.

Ah, but then there's the romance novel. Especially the historicals. With these, I can truly escape to another time and place, one that doesn't hold quite so many echoes of the world we now live in. The inhabitants of that historical romance world dress better, behave better, and appreciate the world around them and the people in it. They live more simply, gathering together to read a book or listen to a concert in a neighbor's drawing room. They hold house parties and balls and interact with the utmost civility and good manners. Children are respectful of adults, men strive to be gentlemen, and hard work is both expected and pursued. In the historical romance world, there are no televisions, iPods or cell phones. When people are together, they have actual conversations; they don't walk along texting other people, ignoring the person beside them. They appreciate the company of others.

Naturally, a good portion of the allure of the romance novel is the romance itself. Who doesn't love love, after all? Who doesn't always hope for happy endings? And with a romance novel, there will always, always be one. It's pretty much guaranteed. And despite what some believe about the sex in romance novels, while they may vary in intensity from mildly steamy to erotic, in my experience they are almost invariably written with sensitivity and with the goal of conveying the natural progression of love.

Of course, the characters in romance novels are not perfect. There are always conflicts and misunderstandings, arguments and sometimes danger. But these are inevitably worked out or overcome, and the villains receive their comeuppance while the heroes and heroines discover love and begin their Happily Ever After. And these days, I would much rather set aside the endless stories of crime and unhappiness, and choose instead to remind myself of the possibilities of love and hope.

Friendship and Perseverance

2010-11-21T11:34:00.002-05:00

It's been a long week.

There have been unanticipated challenges, deadlines, and worries...and the end result is that it's been days since I've opened my story file. I'm fairly certain I will not reach my 50K word goal by November 30th. I still plan to write, whenever I can, right up through the end and beyond, because I find I am no longer willing to simply throw in the towel when it comes to writing.

It's only recently that I began writing again, but I have a long history of wanting to. In high school, I wrote a short story that everyone oohed and aahed over, which was essentially a regurgitation of a book I'd read (in other words: completely unoriginal!). In college, I lived for researching and writing all those papers. In those pre-computer days, I'd spend evenings in the library, with my box of index cards and notebooks, writing everything out longhand before pulling together a final draft on my new electric typewriter. I still remember those nerve-wracking but proud moments of handing in papers I just knew were good.

I interviewed for jobs in writing or editing, but my lack of an internship (I'd worked a secretarial job through college) knocked me out of the game. I ended up taking a full-time position as a secretary/administrative assistant. And then another. And another. A few of them allowed me the opportunity to do a small amount of writing or editing of company newsletters and such, but nothing truly fulfilling in a "writerly" sense.

And when the jobs ended, the parenting began. I made time to be a wife, a mother, a homemaker, a bookkeeper...everything but a writer.

And so I stopped. And along the way, it seems I lost my confidence, pushed back the desire until it barely registered.

I no longer identified myself as a writer.

As my children have grown, I've felt myself growing, too. Coming out from behind all that Mom Stuff I'd needed in the early years, reaching out for something I knew was missing, but I didn't know what it was.

And then fate led me to a new friend I'd never expected, who reignited a passion for reading and soon, for writing. She shared her own fantastic work, encouraged mine, introduced me to another writer friend who shared her journey, too, and helped me find an audience for some of the thoughts in my head. And now, I can claim at least one published essay, a freelance job as a book reviewer, and perhaps even the title of "aspiring author." And if not for that one friend reaching out and recognizing something in me that I'd pushed so far back I no longer saw it myself, I would never have taken those first hesitant steps on the path I should have followed all along.

How far we can come when we open our hearts to friendship, and how unexpected the gifts can be...

The road to here has been a long one, but I'm hoping I've only just begun the journey. I'm blessed with many friends and family who support me in all that I do, who encourage my efforts to continue becoming. While I may not have learned how to juggle it all yet, I've discovered I don't need to stop being me in order to be Mom, Wife, Employee, or anything else that I need to be. I can keep writing, keep trying, even if half of what I write today is garbage and even if I won't be able to grab that title of "NaNo Winner."

After all, there's always next year.
And I know I'll still be writing...

Making Time for NaNoWriMo

2010-11-14T08:51:00.010-05:00

Time.

Time is always the problem, isn't it?

Finding enough time for the things we really want to do. For me, this November, that would be NaNoWriMo. Like last year, I am trying to meet the NaNo challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. And, like last year, it seems I am unlikely to succeed.

I certainly don't do my best writing under the limitations required for participation; namely, quantity over quality. It seems I am a hopelessly determined editor. Spelling errors haunt me, awkward prose nags at me, and dreary dialogue pounds away at my temples, screaming for rewrite. I find it nearly impossible to forge ahead, letting my last poorly-rendered sentence fade away, forgotten as I move on to the next. The words beg for deletion, plead for reworking, and it's all I can do to put them out of my mind and forge ahead, telling myself I'll revisit them again, sometime in December.

Choosing historical romance as my genre requires a huge amount of research, and I realize that I should have spent the month of October locating all of the information I needed, outlining my novel, and organizing myself for the frantic month ahead. Alas, I didn't. Historical inaccuracies abound, I'm certain, and all I can do is hope that my basic premise doesn't balance on some fatal flaw that will ultimately bring the entire thing crashing down.
If only there were more time.

Time that is free of concerns, worries, and every other thing unrelated to the story currently whispering to life in my head?

That kind of time, I know, will never be mine. Nor anyone else's, I'm quite sure. Women, especially, seem to have the ability to juggle so many things at once, and it's hard to realize sometimes that we can't always "do it all," that often we can only do, well, enough. And sometimes we need to make time for ourselves, for the things we want most to do, even if other things need to be set aside for awhile.

And maybe that's the whole point with NaNoWriMo. Trying to meet the challenge is a training exercise of sorts. I am learning that despite whatever is happening in my life, I can make time for writing, even if it's not the recommended 1667 words per day. Some days I can't write a word, for one reason or another, and that's okay. That's life. But other days, I can surprise myself by writing 2k words in one sitting, and that can be pretty okay, too.

I may not make it to 50,000 by the end of this month. And I definitely won't have a decent novel by then, either. But maybe I'll have the bare bones of an idea, a few scenes to work with in the future. And regardless, I will know that I have the fortitude to keep writing through all the personal challenges, to work toward a goal that may not be met on a certain timeline, but has the potential to be met someday. I'll know that I have it in me to keep going. And maybe, for a writer, that's enough.