Kim W. Justesen - Writer/Teacher/Presenter

I seem to find inspiration in weird places; like the laundromat for instance.  Just before I left for Yellowstone, the heating element in my dryer went kaput.  With only a day for turn around on clean underwear (the most essential item for me to have on any trip), I was forced to either hang-dry all my clothes, or go in search of a coin-operated dryer.  I guess I could have gone to my mom’s house, but she and my step-dad were on their boat, and I can’t ever get the code to their security system right.

When I do laundry at home, I’m stunned at the number of times I’m struck by a great idea for a story.  Sometimes it’s a terrific plot twist, and sometimes it’s a bit of dialog.  On occasion, I’m hit with a plot concept all while sorting whites from colors from delicates.  It’s funny, but it seems to work this way for a lot of writers - ideas come from the deep recesses of our brain, bubbling up when we are occupied with the mundane.  Some writers get ideas in the shower, or while driving.  For me, it’s laundry.  Go figure.

Of course long plane rides do this to me, too.  Sitting in the rigid-back seat, avoiding the typically obnoxious person next to me, I am able to tap into those deeply hidden ideas that are leaking through the cracks of my consciousness.  It’s so fun, at least to me, to feel the onset of an idea that has potential, feel it slither into my awareness and begin to take shape.  That’s one of the reasons I keep notebooks stashed all over my house, and in my purse, and in my car.  I love writing those bits of inspiration down and locking them on paper before they can escape. It’s like catching butterflies in a net and then transferring them to a big jar to investigate later.

I used to think this was a completely magical process, but I understand the way that memory and senses work to cultivate inklings into ideas, and ideas into stories.  When I need to, I can call up that muse on demand, but it is so much more fun when the thoughts drift in unbidden, like a surprise gift or money in the mail you hadn’t expected.  It’s almost as good as when my hubby brings me flowers for no reason! Or better yet, chocolate covered strawberries (very inspiring, if totally devastating to my diet).

So a playful little idea struck me while my clothes were drying, and it expanded and got better as I listened to my iPod between Salt Lake and Chicago.  Then, between Chicago and Burlington, it clarified and became a solid story line.  Now I’m in Montpelier, back in school for a Master’s workshop and serving for 10 days as a graduate assistant, and I am in my writing “home” so to speak.  There is so much about this place that inspires me, makes me want to sit at my computer and create for hours and hours.  I’m looking forward to the lectures, the guest speakers, and the opportunity to take this new concept on a journey and see where it goes!

More soon - guaranteed!

After finishing up my very hectic teaching schedule and waving good-bye to a job that was breaking my spirit, my husband and I and our youngest daughter took the annual pilgrimage to Mecca - Yellowstone.  It has been a family tradition for the past eight years, and we look forward to hauling the tent trailer and eating Dutch oven dinners. My sister, brother-in-law, and niece have joined in for the past few years and made it their tradition, too.

On the drive in through Island Park and Henry’s Fork, we noticed field upon field of wild flowers.  They were amazing! Daisies, Brown-eyed Susans, Yarrow, Queen Anne’s Lace - just a remarkable assortment around each bend.  Unfortunately, I had packed the camera inside the trailer, so I couldn’t take pictures except with my phone.  We decided we’d stop on the way home and get some photos of the carpet of color we were seeing. 

As we pulled into the parking lot at the check-in, we noticed patches of snow still lying on the ground.  It was June 30, and yet there were places where the snow patches were two or three feet deep still.  I asked the woman at the check-in desk if they had had a lot of late-season snow. 

“We still had 60 inches just three weeks ago, and got about 12 more two weeks ago,” she told me, as if she had told me that the sky was blue and the pine trees were green. 

“Wow,” was about all I could manage.

All that late-season snow had meant a lot of late-blooming flowers.  In all the years I’ve ever been to Yellowstone (and they are numerous - came frequently as a kid with Mom and Dad), I never remember having seen such a show of color before.   There were clusters of purple clinging to rocks, brushed across meadows, and poking from behind trees.  I found Rocky Mountain Iris, Columbine, and bright yellow stalks of “Eggs-n-Butter” flowers.  Wild strawberries were everywhere, their simple, white blossoms showing up throughout our camp site even.  In a month or so, that will be good eating for the animals in the park.

Speaking of animals, we got up early one morning and drove to the Lamar Valley to see if we could spot wolves (another tradition).  We got to see a large, dark grey male going after a buffalo carcass, then walking so close to the road you didn’t need binoculars or a spotting scope to see him.  Shortly after his breakfast, he was chased off by a pack of coyotes.  The bison were abundant, as were the elk.  We saw several grizzly bear, lots of mule deer, a mother osprey sitting on the nest with her two fledglings, and a mated pair of bald eagles.

We watched Old Faithful erupt before a fabulous dinner at the Old Faithful Inn. After dinner, we walked around the geyser basin, and lucked into seeing the Beehive Geyser go off (it doesn’t go at regular intervals like Old Faithful).

One afternoon we took a swim in the Firehole River. Chilly at first, but once you got in and drifted on the current a bit, it wasn’t too bad.  Of course, getting out was a bit frosty when the breeze picked up.

Yellowstone is an incredible place, and I could visit every year. Unfortunately, my sister and my husband are feeling that we need to expand our horizons a bit.  There is talk of Glacier National Park, or Rocky Mountain National Park.  It’s not that I’m opposed to going to other places, it’s just that I have this great soft-spot in my heart for Yellowstone. But that decision is at least six months away, and I may be able to convince them to do both: Yellowstone and another park.  We’ll see. 

Now - I’m off to wash clothes, repack, and head out in the morning for Vermont to go back to school for a bit!  I’m excited, though by the time I get home I’m going to be exhausted. However, this is the best way to get exhausted for sure.  At least it beats getting worn out from housework!

I had the distinct pleasure of working with two groups of young writers last week.  The Write-On Writing Workshop for kids invited me as a guest speaker to talk about writing and publishing.  It was a blast, and I was very well taken care of for the few hours I was with them.  It was huge fun to talk to the enthusiastic younger kids, to talk about keeping lists of words and playing the dictionary game.  They were great!  They were so full of energy and ideas.

Then I was fed a wonderful lunch and had the opportunity to sit with the interns who were helping with the program.  This was a gifted group of young men and women who asked meaningful questions, and with whom I felt a sort of bond.  I remember loving words and writing at that same age, and feeling like such a geek because of it.  This collection of talented people was committing its time to helping younger kids cultivate that same desire to express themselves through writing.  I was really taken with their dedication and support.

The afternoon session was spent talking about expressing detail and capturing specifics to express emotion and realism.  These were the older kids, the kids who already had a handle on words.  They got the concepts and instantly started taking them in their own, unique directions.  It was delightful to watch and to hear.  It was like watching waves break on the shore, carrying shells to be discovered later.  Ideas began to bubble up from the depths, and the kids’ eyes would grow wide with awareness!

I gave each group a challenge, and offered prizes for the next year.  I hope they keep up with it!  I wasn’t trying to get myself invited back, though I would love it, but really just hoping they would continue the work they started during the workshop.  I’ll collect the gifts and send them to the workshop directors to hand out.

It was a great time, and I am so thankful to have been made a part of it.

I ran across an article recently that presented an interesting mystery.  It concerns the book of Psalms in the King James version of the Bible, and Williams Shakespeare.  I’m a great fan of Shakespeare, and I guess of the Bible, too, though not as the literal word of God. That, however, is another subject for another blog.

As the article goes, if you look at the 46th Psalm, you will find a hidden reference to the Bard, himself.  It is hidden (ala “Da Vinci Code”) and requires a little counting to find.  Start at the beginning of verse 46 and count 46 words.  You’ll arrive (and I have checked this personally) at the word “shake.”  Go to the end of the 46th verse, count back 46 words, and you’ll arrive at the word “spear.”  I kid you not - go pull your Bible off the shelf, or the bed side table, and look for yourself.

Now comes the most intriguing part: the King James revision of the Holy Bible was underway in the year 1610.  Interestingly, William Shakespeare was 46 years old in the year 1610.

There are a number of scholars who believe that William Shakespeare was actually not the author of the plays and poems we have come to adore and study.  Noted scholars give the credit to a man named Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford (as in the dictionary). Critics like to point out that de Vere died in 1604, and Shakespeare continued to publish plays for many years after that.  They also contend that aristocrats of the 17th century would not have bothered themselves with writing anything other than letters and items of official business. The controversy about who was Shakespeare has deep roots, and actually dates back to the 18th century. This intriguing bit of biblical mystery only serves to make the mystery a little more fun.

The King James version of the Bible was commissioned by King James of Scotland, who took the throne in 1603.  His commission drew from a translation that was done by William Tyndale, a 16th century theologian who did his work while in exile.  He was persecuted for taking the text from Latin to the “vulgar” language of everyday English.  As punishment, Tyndale was burned at the stake in 1536 as a heretic. In an act of kindness, he was strangled first before being burned. 

I find the evolution of the bible to be fascinating, and this bit of Shakespearean legend mixed in makes it all the more interesting to me.

Look it up for yourself!

My oldest daughter graduated from high school this week.  This is one of those milestones that you reach and you remember for the rest of your life.  Her graduating class was huge - 850 kids.  That’s about 200 more than when I graduated, and I thought I went to a big school.  It was a nice ceremony, marked by the usual speeches and silliness that accompany such moments.  They show each of the kids on a big screen, just before receiving their diploma.  Some stood calmly and smiled, others danced or assumed poses. One guy pulled up his gown to reveal a college sweatshirt.  All-in-all, a day to smile and celebrate.

It hardly seems possible to me that my daughter could have reached this important point already.  I know that every parent feels this way - the time just flew by and I’m left wondering how this moment arrived so quickly.  Did I just go through this myself not so long ago? 

The whole space-time continuum is such a confusing thing to me any more.  Weeks rush by in a blur of activity and stress, and I wake up to realize the season has changed already.  I keep hoping time will slow a little, but life appears to be picking up speed instead.  I feel as if I’m looking around for a brake of some sort and finding an accelerator. 

A friend and I were discussing this very subject at lunch on Wednesday.  “I want my life to slow down,” I said across the table.  “I really like my life and I want to slow it down so I can enjoy it a little longer, or at least a little more attentively.”

“That’s the bitch of it,” she said.  “When life sucks, it seems like time slows way down, but when it’s good, it speeds up.”

I thought it over, and she was right.  “When I’m God,” I said, tongue firmly in cheek, “It will work the other way around.”

“When I’m God,” she said, “I’m stealing ideas from you.”

I’d like to think there is some tremendous reason for time to work this way - slow when you want it fast, fast when you want it slow.  I’d like to think that, somewhere in the master plan, it all makes sense.  Like maybe we have more good times than bad, so to balance things out, the time goes faster to make more room for the good ones.  I don’t know. 

Maybe the lesson is just simply to appreciate each moment.  I guess I could go all Hallmark card on that one, but I won’t. 

We’re hosting a party this weekend to celebrate this milestone with my daughter.  I’ll spend much time over the next few days cleaning house and getting food ready.  That will go slow, and the party will go much too fast.  I guess I’ll focus my energy on enjoying every moment of the party.  I’ll let you know how it goes. Fast, for certain, but I meant the concentration part.

Maybe you’ve had this happen before - or maybe I’m just weird? - but recently it seems I’m spending a lot of time in my own head.  There is definitely a lot on my mind, and much of my effort these days is cerebral as opposed to physical (although painting a good portion of the outside of my house last weekend was pretty physical). It has gotten bad enough recently that I had an entire conversation with my husband in my head, then when I tried to actually talk to him about it later, he had no idea what I was going on about. 

It is a chaotic time in our home right now.  One kid is graduating from high school, one is trying his level-best to fail, and one is beginning to emerge from her shell and discover the world.  I’m in the process of changing jobs (I currently have three jobs, I’ll be narrowing to two within a few weeks), and it is three weeks to finals for my students, so papers are coming in fast and furious. Just about everyone I know lives a chaotic life, except for maybe my mom and step-dad.  They are retired and like to travel, so chaos to them is making flight and hotel reservations.

All the activity and change is causing me to turn inward more often.  I’ve been lost in thought so often when I’ve been driving that I’ve missed the exit for my house leaving work about four times in the last two weeks.  Not only do I know how dangerous that is, but I’m pretty frustrated at how much gas it wastes as well.  I’m beginning to think I may need a therapist to talk to so I can empty everything in my head out and let someone else help me sort through it.  I’m not opposed to therapy, but I seriously don’t know when I’ll fit it into my schedule.  If I could find someplace like 24 Hour Fitness - maybe 24-Hour Mental Fitness - then I’d stand a better chance.  I think most therapists go home around 5:00 or maybe 6:00, so I’ll have to look for other alternatives I guess. I started journaling again, and while it provides some measure of relief, I always feel that if I’m going to spend that much time writing, I ought to spend it on something worthwhile like my novels.

I did get out the yoga DVDs the other day.  I had great intentions of doing some late-night yoga, but the DVD player wouldn’t work for me, and I wound up falling asleep on the sofa instead.  Of course, in a few weeks, everything will be different.  The most time-consuming job will be gone, I’ll be getting ready to go to Vermont for some much-needed battery charging at my alma mater, and it will fully be summer here.  It has been raining off and on for more than a week now, and I could use a good, long nap in the sun right about this point.

Being lost in thought like I am these days is a sure sign that I’m trying to work my way through something.  All the transitions going on in my life are certainly the biggest aspect, but there are other, more deeply-hidden things as well.  My goal right now is just to “power through” all of it.  Years ago, when my hubby and I were still dating, we went on a backpacking trip.  We had looked at a guide book and found what seemed to be a perfect place to camp for a weekend.  The guide book said the trail was “moderate, with some choppy terrain near the end.” It also said that the elevation gain was around 800 feet, and the hike should take about 5 hours. 

The reality was that the information was written for people who wanted to day hike.  In addition, there was over 1,000 feet in elevation gain, and 500 of that came in the last 3/4 of a mile.  Choppy?  Sure, if you consider large boulders and tree roots to be choppy, then the trail is definitely choppy at the end - at the steepest part, and we were each carrying a pack that weighed around 40 pounds.  Okay, mine may have been around 35, but it was heavy none-the-less.

Somewhere around the last mile, I started to have a physical and mental breakdown.  We had been hiking for close to 8 hours, and I was exhausted.  Every step I took hurt.  I wanted to throw my pack down in the middle of the trail and declare that as our camp site, but there were a lot of cheery day hikers who might have been a bit bothered by that, so I kept going.  Ultimately, I got myself lost in thought.  I began thinking about what I would fix for dinner when I got home.  I thought about a pair of shoes I wanted to buy, and figured out how to redo my resume’ so that I could apply for a new job.  Occasionally I would look up to see where I was, then I would think to myself, “Head down, power through.”  I watched the trail, took a few more steps, thought about cleaning out the VHS tapes that I had collected, and pushed forward. 

It took nearly an hour of doing this to reach the summit of the trail and find a camp site, but I made it.  The concept of “head down, power through” has been working for me ever since.  I finish novels this way, I get through death this way, I deal with uncomfortable situations at work this way.  Losing myself in my own thoughts keeps me focused, most of the time.  There is still that pesky problem of missing the exit.  I know it’s a defense mechanism, and maybe if I ever do find a 24-Hour Therapist, he or she will tell me that I’m just avoiding things.  Maybe so, but if it gets me through, and gets me through in one piece, I think it’s a technique I’ll keep in my bag for just a little while longer.

As with most things in life, the longer you stick around,  the more tricks you pick up.  I have found this to be especially true in the world of writing. 

My friends and fellow writers Jessica Day George (http://www.jessicadaygeorge.com/), Randall Wright, and I were having a conversation during the Provo Children’s Book Festival that centered on a comment someone had made to Jessica about her “overnight success.” I’d had a newspaper reporter say something similar a few years ago when I had four books released within five months of each other.

“Yeah, it’s overnight if you don’t count the six years I’ve been writing and submitting and going to conferences and workshops,” was Jessica’s comment.  Randall and I agreed. 

Much like Jessica, I had been studying my craft for a long time before I got recognized for it.  I’d actually had a number of things published, including an adult nonfiction book, a work-for-hire piece for the Klutz publishing group, magazine articles, and internet articles just to name a few.  I’d been working at writing for ten years before my books came out - even longer if you count the years I spent writing press releases, video scripts, advertising copy, and newsletters when I worked in PR and advertising.  But somehow, because a few things fell together at the same time, the reporter felt it was appropriate to refer to my success as “sudden.”

Writing has a learning curve to it, not just for the craft itself, but for business side as well.  Studying the markets takes time.  Finding the right publishers, the right editors at those publishers, at the right time, and with the right manuscript is as much a game of patience as it is knowledge.  Even then, it can sometimes be who you know, not what you know.  Spending the time (and the money) to attend workshops, conferences, and retreats is all part of the learning curve.  This is where writers meet each other, meet editors and agents, learn about what’s happening in the industry, and make those connections that can make a difference in a career.

Jessica talked about something similar, and then said the person in her conversation had added a sarcastic “Oh, so it’s not what you know, but who you know?”

Truthfully - yes.  That networking is as valuable as any other aspect of the conference.  Many editors will only accept submissions if they’ve met you at a conference.  But that by no means should indicate that studying the craft of writing isn’t every bit as important.  Children’s book editors are typically not interested in rhyming picture books with talking animals.  They don’t want another vampire or wizard book just because you think that vampires or wizards are the hot item.  The two elements, networking and knowledge, go hand-in-hand, and you don’t learn them by attending only one conference and proclaiming yourself a writer.  There is such a thing as paying your dues - and that usually comes in the form of a lot of rejection letters.

Many novice writers don’t have the stomach for rejection.  Sadly, a lot of good writers give up quickly because they take the rejection so personally.  When I first started writing, a wise mentor told me to save all my rejection letters.  “Create a ritual out of it,” she told me.  Her name is Cheryl Zach, if you’re interested. So I did.  I got a box and wrapped it in gold paper.  Then I used a calligraphy brush and painted the words “One Step Close” on the lid of the box.  I decorated it with ribbons and jewels.  Each time I got another rejection letter in the mail, I would put it in the box and I would say, “That’s one step closer to the dream.”  That ritual helped get me through some tough years, and kept me motivated.

Another thing I’ve learned over the years is patience.  In the beginning, I would put a manuscript in the mail and then haunt my mailbox for the next three or four weeks, waiting for the acceptance letter, or the big check that I was certain was on it’s way.  I could hear my mailman pulling up from half a block away.  Now, I often forget I’ve sent something out and am surprised to get an email or a letter from the editor I sent it to.  I realized recently that I’d sent an article to Highlights magazine seven years ago, which they bought and promptly shelved, that I’ve never seen in print.  I remember sending it, remember writing it, remember getting the check, but had completely forgotten about the whole thing until I was in Connecticut at my ICL training and someone asked if I’d ever written for Highlights.

Of course there are always the exceptions to everything in this business.  There are the “overnight” success stories, the writers who will publish a book just like one that came out a few months ago, etc.  These exceptions are the unfortunate cause of many novice writers believing that they, too, can publish a book just like “Cat in the Hat” called “Dog on the Log” and become the next great thing in children’s literature.  Those writers don’t want to spend the time and effort on the learning curve, and so they send 300 copies of their first-draft manuscript to every publisher listed in the Children’s Writers and Illustrators Market Book.  As a result, more and more publishers will not take unsolicited manuscripts, or work from writers who have never been published before.

I’m glad I wasn’t an overnight success, that writing didn’t come “all of a sudden” for me.  I’ve enjoyed the time spent learning, and the people I’ve been able to meet.  The learning curve is an important, valuable part of this whole experience, and gave me experiences I wouldn’t trade.

Good writing!

A great debate has been raging on one of the list serves in which I participate.  It stems from the use of the “f” word in a new novel.

There are those in my predominantly LDS group who believe that this - and all other swear words - is unnecessary and promotes “bad language” among kid readers.  There are those who believe that the word was used gratuitously by the author for shock value and attention.  And there are still others who believe that the use was true to the characterization and is, therefore, acceptable.  Having not read the particular book in question, I can’t speak to the characterization issue or to any assumed manipulation by the author.

Interestingly, another group with which I am newly associated was having a discussion on story endings.  One of the writers insisted that she wouldn’t read a book that was dystopic, or had a pessimistic ending.  “I guess I just have a more optimistic outlook on how life should be.”  Wow - okay, I don’t want to sound negative, because this person is certainly entitled to her view, and she is a successful writer, so her view is working for her.

So how are these two things related?  Everyone is looking for those “absolute truths” in writing; something that tells them you must do something one way, or you never do something this way, or whatever.  The fact is that for every absolute truth about writing, there are dozens of books and articles that have been successfully published in contradiction to that truth.  Take for example the absolute that a self-published book will not be successful in the commercial market.  Let me suggest to you The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn,

 which began its very successful, long run as a self-published book.  The absolute that you can’t write a good book using passive verbs is busted by M.T. Anderson’s Thirsty,

 one of the creepiest vampire books ever (not to mention funny, and filled with passive language on purpose). 

When writers begin throwing down rules about never swearing or only having happy endings (not that the writer mentioned above said it was a rule - just her own guideline for her own writing!), they leave out a crucial element: the story itself.  Every choice a writers makes, from swearing to “happily ever after” endings, should be predicated on the needs of the story.  If an element doesn’t serve the story by furthering the plot or exemplifying characterization or helping develop a theme, then what the heck is it doing there? I don’t enjoy reading gratuitous violence or sex if it is clear to me that the writer included it because he or she thought it would jolt the reader, but when I believe the writer has made either of these integral to the story, I can read just about anything. 

Lengthy passages of exposition are another thing that can go either way.  I can’t stand books that have paragraph after paragraph of talking about talking, or talking about doing, rather than showing the dialog and action.  However, if it is important to the story that the narrative be handled this way, I’ll go along with it.  For example, if a character needs to explain something because it’s too painful or revealing (or whatever emotion) to actually discuss with someone, that’s a believable use of exposition.  But when the writer simply uses the character to convey something the writer thinks is important that you know about him or her, that causes me to put a book down and never go back (see Common Mistakes [http://kwjwrites.wordpress.com/2007/10/18/common-mistakescommon-mistakes/]  for great examples).

Trying to mandate absolutes in any kind of writing is like trying to tell the waves where to break on the shore: some will end up where you suggested, some won’t, but few will do either because of your insistence. 

The best advice is to make sure that everything works for the story, not against it.  If a character swears it should be because that’s true to the character and the circumstances.  If the ending is happy (and not all my books have happy endings), it’s because that is the believable outcome of the choices made by the characters throughout the plot. Ultimately, it’s the integrity of the characters and the story that matter - that’s why the reader picked up the book or magazine in the first place.

Go write something good!

I spent the past five days in Connecticut, training for my new job with the Institute of Children’s Literature.  I met wonderful writers and supportive administrators, and I got to spend some time with my dear friend Jan Czech

who drove down (over? up? - I get so confused on directions back East) from Massachusetts to see me. After being away from home for five days, however, I was eager to get back to my husband, my family, my animals, my family, and my computer. 

During the 4 1/2 hour flight, I pulled out the lap top and started doing a little work, and thinking about all the information that had been crammed into my brain while I was gone. 

The people from ICL spoke repeatedly about “respecting writing time” and understanding that we were “writers first, instructors second.”  As I did a little market research and a little revision work on the plane, that thought kept rolling around in the back of my mind.  I finally decided I needed to pay attention to it, since it wouldn’t leave me alone, so I came up with my own classification system for how I view myself.

First, I am me.  Okay, that’s a big “well, duh” sort of thing to say.  What I mean by that is that I am a conglomeration of a lot of interests, jobs, responsibilities, hobbies, and demands.  But I own them all until I relinquish them for my own reasons.  I wear a lot of different hats, and they are equally important to me at times, so classifying one above the other is often difficult, if not impossible.  If I have to pick just one hat, it is my wife & mother hat.  I can’t separate them, because they are too closely related, and I can pick one over the other.  I’m not a mother first and wife second, nor am I a wife first and mother second.  Asking me to choose one over the other would be like asking me to pick my husband over my kids, or my kids over my husband. Sorry - no can do.  I love them all too much to relegate one to second place.

Second - I am a daughter and a sister and a friend.  Once again, don’t ask me to pick one over the other.  Both my mother and my sister have contributed greatly to the woman that I have become. My father did as well, but there is no longer a choice to be made on his standing.  My step-dad is very much alive, and the fact that he has been around a shorter amount of time does not diminish his importance in my life. I guess I could add daughter-in-law in here, too.  My mom-in-law is both family and friend, and she has benefited me in so many ways. And some of my friends are like sisters to me, like my friend Jan.  It’s probably a good thing she lives clear across the country from me.  Otherwise, she and I would constantly be getting into trouble!

Third - I am a writer.  Sometimes this aspect of my life gets stuffed behind the day-to-day requirements of life, but it is like a vital organ to me.  If I go too long without it, I suffer.  It adds a lot of meaning to my life and it is one of the most important ways I define myself.  Yes, I approach it like a job, because I need that level of discipline to keep me focused and directed, but in what other job can you go to work in your jammies, have this much fun, and occasionally get paid for doing so?  Writing helps me make sense of the world, and helps me fill a need to communicate that is apparently pretty deep-seeded in me.  I have always written - since I was very little (my mom still has the poetry and stories from my elementary days to prove it), and I will continue to write until the day my nose lands on the “h” key of my keyboard.

Fourth - I am a teacher.  I love teaching.  I love helping students to develop an appreciation of - if not entirely a love of - language and written expression.  I enjoy hearing a student say that he or she never liked English before, and now it doesn’t bug him or her quite so much.  That’s progress, in my book.

Fifth - I am a resident of my community, and a resident of a greater community.  I love the volunteer things that I do, and I love supporting my kids in their community service organizations as well.  Both my daughters are involved in Job’s Daughters (as I was a long time ago), and I am actively involved in Eastern Star, carrying on a tradition of Masonic involvement introduced to me by my grandfather. I am also involved in writing groups and professional writing organizations, and - of course - a few knitting groups and a golf league.

There are other hats and identities that I wear from time to time, and I could keep listing them for hours no doubt. 

So after I sorted this out on the plane, I started looking at how perfectly this new venture fits into my idea of my life.  It respects my number one priority (my family) by not asking me to be gone from them day in and day out, at nights or on weekends.  It is a job that emphasises teaching, but it focuses on writing, and it honors my role as a writer by making sure I have the time to do that as I need.  It is a perfect fit in my life right now, and it is a welcome change that both grounds me in my discipline and offers me stability at the same time.

I have taken another step forward in my journey.  The training is over, the gradual build up to being a regular instructor has begun.  The job that has caused me so much stress for the past year will be finished in five weeks, and I will be in a position to earn an equal amount of money for less effort, less time, and less stress so that my focus on writing can be returned and sustained.  That’s progress, baby - no matter how you look at it.

I feel more optimistic, more energetic, and more creative than I have felt in months.  A glorious return to normal - with a steady paycheck to boot!

Go write something good!

Human beings are complex animals living in a complex society.  We look for complexity, and strive to develop it despite books and media that tell us to “live more simply” or to “embrace simplicity.”  We like to try out the latest thing; we like to find new ways to spend our time, our efforts, our resources.  And frankly, I don’t see anything wrong with that to the point that it is an experience you add to your knowledge base.  But it’s when we strive to be something we are not that we make life more complicated than it needs to be.

This lesson was brought home to me in a two-fold lesson this weekend.  The first half of the lesson was amazing, and bitter-sweet.  My wonderful friends the Sister Wives Band (www.sisterwivesband.com) gave me the opportunity to sing on stage with them.

I love singing.  It’s been a part of my life almost as long as writing has.  I had a great time - such a thrill to be on stage in front of people again - and from accounts I heard, I did a decent job.  At least I was on key!  I was a nervous wreck when they invited me, and then as I got more comfortable, it was like catching up with an old friend.  I picked up where I left off six years ago when I stopped singing with the band at my church.  I started thinking about singing again, about finding ways to incorporate music into my life (other than wailing along with the iPod in my car). 

Then something dawned on me.  I made a choice about six years ago - writing over music.  Trying to find time in my life right now to add music would mean either giving up time at work - which just ain’t gonna fly, Wilbur - or it would mean giving up writing time - and I’ve worked too hard to get that back right now to sacrifice it to a hobby.  So, as much as I love singing, it will have to be confined to the occasional guest performance, or (ick) karaoke (”Those who can, do.  Those who can’t, karaoke.”).

The second half of the lesson came by way of my ex-husband.  He suggested I read a particular blog - which I did - where in a mutual acquaintance of ours explains how she has decided that she is a young adult writer.  She has one “published” book to her credit - a scathing attack on the LDS church via a woman who chooses to have an affair with her dentist to  deal with her failing marriage.  She writes a sexually explicit blog under another name, and now - all of a sudden - she must give all that up so that she can appear squeaky clean to her new audience.  Of course, she says that she has “always been” a young adult author, which in her mind may be true.  But having been in this business for more than 13 years now, I am always leary of those who wake up one day and proclaim themselves “children’s writers” - like they finally figured out that “cat” rhymes with “hat” and now they rival Dr. Suess for genius.

The truth is, we all have our gifts and we all have our desires. Sometimes combining the two is magic, and sometimes it is fate.  There are those times, however, when trying to be something you’re not is like forcing a 200 pound man into a size medium pair of sweat pants: you might eventually make it happen, but it isn’t going to be pretty, and it isn’t going to be comfortable.

There are going to be those (the afore mentioned woman being one) saying I’m just jealous and I can’t take the competition.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, I celebrate when friends, former students, and people I went to school with get published.  I think good writers should persevere and be published.  I’ve even posted messages from students who were formerly in a workshop or class I’ve taught, celebrating their new contracts.  I love to see good writers succeed. I’m about as jealous of this woman as I am of the guy who bags my groceries or the dry cleaning attendant. I just believe that proclaiming yourself a writer - any kind of writer - when you have little to no experience is a bit premature.

It’s like waking up one morning and proclaiming yourself a singer.  As if American Idol wasn’t evidence enough of the ridiculous belief that this works. And I’m a whole lot nicer in my critiques than Simon ever is.

Someone else may be tempted to say that I don’t believe we can recreate ourselves.  Not true.  We recreate ourselves constantly.  Each new event in our lives changes us.  When we marry, have children, change jobs, divorce, move to a new location; all of these things leave a mark on us and change who we are.  But just because I got divorced did not mean that who I was at my deepest core changed.  In fact, it was who I was at my deepest core that caused me to divorce my first husband.  Remaining with him would have been unauthentic. 

I recreated myself when I shifted from years in public relations and advertising to becoming a writer, but again, I was being true to my most authentic self when I made that change.  Instead of writing things for others, I began writing for me, telling the stories that were in me.  My earliest books were middle grade and young adult novels.  Okay, I confess, I did try to write picture books at one point - but they are not my voice. I didn’t waste a lot of time on picture books because I can’t write good ones.  I leave that to the geniuses who can tell a story in pictures and under 500 words!

Maybe, at some point, I will find the time for singing in my life again.  It’s not my priority right now.  I have to be true to what I believe is my calling - writing.  Down the road that may change, and I may feel compelled to focus on music again, but for now - this is my true self.  Everything I do, every choice I make in my life at this point is about my writing.  I lost sight of it for a year or so, and that made me crazy.  The renewed focus has meant renewed energy, and renewed energy shows that I’m on the right track.

Good writing (or singing, or painting, or whatever it is you do!)