A Day to Pay Homage to the Makers of our Coffee

A little love (and a lot of extra chocolate) go a long way in making any day better.
©2013 JELindsay

This past week I was hit with (what I’d like to think is) a marvelous idea. Random idea generation isn’t all that uncommon for me. I ask myself “What If?” all the time. But this time my “What If” is a little bit different. And it was spurred on by a cup of coffee.

As writers, one of the things we tend to talk about a lot is coffee. 

We need it to function, to awaken our muse. We drink it in the morning. We drink it in the afternoon. We drink it far too late at night and then wonder why we can’t sleep. (Of course we blame a new astounding idea for that!)

But there is one thing we don’t tweet about all that often. We don’t tweet about the people who go the extra mile when they brew our precious elixir of life. Our baristas.

Now it’s possible you stand in as your own barista and keep that coffee pot full yourself, but I’m a well-known face at more than one place. My favorite haunt is Rogue Roasters in Grants Pass. It’s a small family-owned shop that roasts its own beans right in the store and showcases a new local artist on the first Friday of each month.

It’s here that the baristas know me well enough they’ll come across the room to give me a bear hug when I first walk in. It’s here that I’m teased about my predictability in what I order every Tuesday afternoon. And it’s here that a special drink was invented for me on a day I couldn’t figure out what I wanted because I was far too frazzled by the challenges life presented me with that particular day.

My baristas make me smile. They make me laugh. And they inspire me each time I see them. As often as I thank them, I feel like there’s something more I can do to express my appreciation for the work they do. 

So today I’d like to propose a new holiday: Barista Appreciation Day.

On Friday, April 5th, I intend to make an extra effort to thank those who get up extremely early or stay up extremely late to make sure I’m alert throughout my day. I’d like to invite my fellow coffee connoisseurs to do the same. Whether it be a card, a flower, or maybe a little extra tip, do something to honor, appreciate, and encourage those who remain cheerful in what can be a very demanding and sometimes thankless job.

It’s because of people like baristas that our lives are a little better each day, and for that I am incredibly thankful.  

A New Way to Track Your Growth as a Writer

It doesn't matter if you wrote today or not. You are a writer.
It's time to start living like one.
 ©2013 JELindsay

You just glanced at your calendar and realized once again that your resolution to write 2,000 words a day has turned into praying you can reach 2,000 words this month. Who knew life could be so inconsiderate of your writing time?

Or perhaps, like me, you get so fixated on reaching a certain number that the words stop coming. The daily quota that was intended to encourage you to reach a goal has now become a 20-pound stone in the stomach instead.

Numbers, letters, and I have never mixed well (just ask my old algebra teacher), so this year I decided on a different approach to track my progress. I call it, “The Writer’s File.”

At the end of each day, I open up the Top Secret Document on my laptop. I type in the date and add an entry that looks similar to this:

March 2, 2013 — Today, I am a writer. I developed character sketches for two of my secondary characters who will ultimately play larger roles in my protagonist’s life, and discovered what they have to do with each other. I also posted a review of Jim’s newest book. Today, I fulfilled my purpose as a writer. Tomorrow I will do the same.

No matter how I spent my day (even the days I chose not to write), each entry begins and ends with the exact same words, and each entry is limited to 3 or 4 sentences. This serves three purposes:

1) The first sentence affirms that I am a writer now, not that I will be a writer someday. It encourages me to keep at it even when I don’t want to.

2) The short entries give me a concise record (sans emotions) of daily accomplishments and ideas. This gives me something more tangible to look back at on days when I’m stuck or I feel like a failure.

3) The last sentence puts my mind to rest when it’s time to sleep. It’s a reminder that, as hard as I try, there will always be something left undone. I did my best today and tomorrow (Lord willing) I’ll have the opportunity to do so again.

So if the words aren’t adding up for you this year, it’s not too late to try a new approach. However you choose to track your progress just remember one thing: You are a writer. Get out there and fulfill your purpose!

How writers put personal feelings to work

As writers we have the option of using our daily,
often chaotic, emotional range to our advantage.
Image courtesy of SXC.hu ©2005 je1196.

How is your writing going this week? Is your current project still exciting, or is it causing you intense anguish? Is the work moving forward, or have found yourself stumped and at standstill?

How are you doing this week? Are you proudly declaring yourself a writer or do you secretly fear being outed as a "fraud" because you haven't had a moment to devote to the craft?

As writers, it's common to feel an entire range of emotions regarding our writing and ourselves — sometimes several times in a single hour! But that emotional roller coaster doesn't have to be a curse. In fact, it can be a blessing.

Human feelings are complex, but the emotions we experience are universal. That's what makes the characters we love so much so relatable.

Feeling the arm-hair-raising thrill of anticipation? I'm sure there's a chapter in your book where one or more of your characters feels the same way. Take that excitement and work it into a scene.

Are you being pulled down into the darkness by the invisible weight of fear? One or more of your characters should feel that often. Time to tap into that boiling stomach acid and pour it out onto the page.

Uncertainty? Concern? Happiness? Heartache? Whatever describes your current state of mind, put it to use. Don't think about how pretty the words sound, don't worry about form or grammar. Just get it out and set those words aside in a special file for later. That way you don't have to wrack your brain trying to convey feelings that may be contrary to your own later on.

Franz Kafka once said, "Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your soul according to the fashion. Rather follow your obsessions mercilessly." 

He may have been speaking about writing in general, but the same is true of conveying emotions. We were created to feel intently, so let your characters (and your readers) feel what they are intended to feel. After all, the best stories are the ones in which we as readers believe that whatever is at stake for the characters is going to affect our personal lives as well.

By the way, I honestly do wonder...how are you doing this week? Feel free to share in the comments below.

Out with the Monday Panic and in with a week of Peace of Mind

Photo Courtesy of sxc.com ©2009 O_m.

"The more we are prodded the lazier we get, and the less capable of the effort of will which should carry us to, and nearly carry us through, our tasks." — Charlotte Mason {Vol. 3, p. 39-40}


It's Monday, which means my mind is full of all the tasks I have to accomplish this week as well as a nagging reminder of all I failed to finish last week. In many ways, Mondays are the hardest to get started because it seems that there is just too much to do in too short of time.

In fact, "The List" was in the forefront of my mind all morning as I was trying to get through my early morning routine. As usual I found myself distracted and then chastising myself for my lack of work effort. I don't have a single person telling me what I have to do right now — except for me — and I've discovered the more I try to motivate myself the more frustrated I've become of late. 

Rather than being productive, every glance at the clock reminds me just how much time I've wasted in a pointless internal struggle.

This is a serious problem.

So it was a blessing to see Charlotte Mason's quote posted on my mother's Facebook page this morning. For those not familiar with this incredible woman, she was a champion for improving the education of British children in the late 19th through early 20th century. She is also a hero to many homeschoolers. 

Charlotte was also my mother's inspiration as she raised us. Much of my love of learning stems from what my mother learned through Charlotte's methods. In seeing the above quote, I was reminded of the most important lesson I learned at my mother's feet: 

Focus on one thing at a time. Give it your full attention and when the prescribed time is up move on to the next task. Do not worry about what came before and what comes after. Just focus on what you need to do in this particular moment.

As soon as I read Charlotte's quote it seemed as if a huge weight came off my shoulders. It's so easy to forget that I don't have to tackle an entire mountain in one go. The work is done a shovelful at a time. With each shovel emptied, I'm one step closer to finishing my work.

I don't know what your week looks like. Perhaps you're far better organized than I am and have a system in place that works wonderfully for you. But if your Monday is starting out like mine with a sense of overwhelming doom, take heart in knowing you aren't facing your battle alone.

Mom always made me work in 15 minute increments when I was younger. It taught me to focus and it allowed me to move onto something else (even if it wasn't completely finished) about the time my attention started to wane. I learned later on it was an attention building exercise that also improved memory retention. (Which would explain why I've gone from remembering everything to forgetting what I was trying to say only moments ago.)

I figure if it worked then, it would work now. So instead of allowing my inner slave driver to goad me and make me feel worthless and lazy because I can't do everything at once, I'm going to tackle today — and the rest of this week — one moment at a time.

Happy Monday to you all, my friends! May this week bring you a sense of joy and accomplishment as well!

Are your current writing habits causing you to stumble?

As a little girl I loved watching figure skating. I loved how effortlessly the skater glided across the ice and pushed into a triple lutz or spiraled down and up in the Camel Spin. I loved the quick jumps to the beat of the music and rhythmic claps of the spectators. And if they fell, they bounced right back up and kept going. Nothing phased them. It looked like so much fun.

Some day, I remember thinking, I’m going to be just like Kristi Yamaguchi.

It wasn’t until high school that I finally got my first chance to step out onto the ice. I’d grown up rollerskating and figured I had the basic mechanics down. It was basically the same sport, right?

Not quite, I discovered. The instant my blades touched the ice my legs scissored outward and I fell. Hard. And I realized just how unforgiving the ice really is.

They make it look so easy, I thought of the other skaters passing me by as I clung to the wall and tried to walk on the ice. Now terrified, my eyes were glued to my toes and the moment I started to gain any sort of momentum I panicked and started wobbling uncontrollably until down I went onto my knees...again and again.

It took someone who knew what they were doing to come alongside me, coax me away from the perceived safety of the edge and into the smooth ice of the center where there were less pits and grooves.

It turned out the very thing I thought was keeping me safe and moving forward was actually causing me to stumble and fall.

With some gentle, yet firm encouragement I soon found my balance and was completing laps around the rink on my own.

Twelve years later my skating career is limited to an annual two-hour experience with a group of friends. Each time I step out I have to remind myself that skating isn’t easy but the worst thing I can do is worry about falling. The trick is balance. Keep your chin up, watch ahead of you, consider your surroundings, and just enjoy the moment.

“Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

I think the same is true of writing. After the initial excitement of becoming a writer wears off, once the first rejections start arriving in our mailboxes, it’s easy to become disillusioned.

We read incredible stories by writers who make it look so easy. We know we have something of value to share, but we discover the hard way that writing well requires a lot of dedication, patience, and work.

I think it’s time we let go of what we’re comfortable with as writers and explore new territory. 

It could very well be that the confines we’ve found safety in are precisely what has been holding us back. Now, this doesn’t mean we throw out all the rules and all that we’ve learned in the past. I mean it’s time we open ourselves up to branching out and in learning something new. If you write fiction, try your hand at non-fiction. Only write prose? Why not spend a month writing in stanzas?

Thankfully it’s easier than ever to find a bit of direction and encouragement from others who have been there before. Whether it’s through a great book on writing, a cherished mentor, or a friend who has a bit more experience, there are days we all need a firm yet gentle nudge to get us to let go of the wall, the crowds, and the most pitted ruts in writing rink to explore that scary open space where we’ll best have a chance to make our mark.

But first we have to be willing to accept the help.

I would never have learned how to skate had I insisted on doing it my own way. And I will never become the writer I know I want to be if I think I already know all I need to know and refuse to listen to the advice of others.

Easy reading may be damn hard writing, but it’s also worth the effort.

I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne would agree.

I am a Writer. Are you?

I am a writer.

Not an aspiring writer. Not a wanna-be-writer. Not a “Someday” writer.

I am a writer. Right here. Right now.

Why? Because after years of being told so by others who believed in me, I decided it was time I started believing it myself. I may not be able to hold a published book in hand. I may not have gone on any press junkets to promote my latest project. But I am a writer.

If you’re reading this post, chances are it’s because You are a Writer, too!

I became a writer at the age of five when I decided I was going to help my dad write the newsletter for the computer store he was running at the time. The pages consisted of the same up-and-down scribbles that cartoon characters have no trouble reading, in fact, it looked exactly like the story my cousin’s 5-year-old daughter read to me the other night. She’d written it herself and it was filled with all sorts of danger.

I started legibly writing down songs I knew, stories about my life (real and imagined), and poems when I entered second and third grade. In fourth grade I received first prize for a story I wrote for an Arbor Day Contest. It was my first and only blue ribbon growing up.

Looking back, I’ve always been a writer. I just had a faulty understanding of the what a writer is.

A writer is someone who writes. Not someone who is published and famous.

Some of the best writers of all time never found success in their lifetime. Consider Franz Kafka. His Metamorphosis is one of the most taught pieces of literature in college now, but when he wrote it….

I can’t forget Miss “I am Nobody, Who are You?” Emily Dickenson who had a few poems published in her lifetime, but the publishers significantly altered each prior to printing them.

And then there is the celebrated Jane Austin whose work had gone on to be one of the more recent entries in the Zombie Craze.

Others writers were widely read but died penniless. Edgar Allen Poe was found wandering drunk, babbling, and in “borrowed” clothes just before he died in 1849, and the celebrated Herman Melville’s passing was noted by a single newspaper in which he was referred to as a “long-forgotten author.”

Of course, writers aren’t the only one assailed by such a curse. It’s one of the risks we take when we pursue the life we dream of. But pursue it I will, just the same. This year I resolve not to be published (as I have in years past). My goal isn’t to become famous. My purpose is to write. And to write well.

Recognition is all well and good, but it’s not evenly remotely possible if the extent of my writing life is limited to thinking that “Someday I’ll be a writer.” I have to choose to be a writer today. And so, my friend, do you!

“So let it be written. So let it be done.”

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but what does that mean to us?

We’ve survived the biggest sales day of the year. We’ve shared viral videos of the mayhem and brawls in stores over this year’s “Must Have” items. Homes are lighting up with festive decorations and food flows both ways through the door as we gather together to celebrate the season.

It’s both one of the best times of the year and one of the worst.

We hold the end of the year up as a time to gather together and give thanks, to focus on thoughts of peace on earth and goodwill towards mankind, but sometimes it seems we’ve forgotten what compassion looks like. And so much is lost as a result.

As I walk through the streets of my town, I’m more and more aware of just how much I’m surrounded by eyes filled with hurt, with a longing for recognition and a simple word of kindness. And I’m not just speaking of the homeless. It’s in our nature to crave a gesture from someone that affirms we have value, that we’re important no matter where our lives have taken us.

The need to know our worth seems especially great this time of year.

Christmas is a season to focus on the needs of others. It’s a time to reach outside of our comfort zone and into the lives of complete strangers. It’s a moment in time that allows us to experience deep joy and a sense of fulfillment that only comes when we freely give of ourselves to others — with no expectation of any reward in return. 

The holiday season offers us a moment to say, “Your life has a purpose and it is valuable.”

For me, that’s what the birth of Christ is all about: God coming to earth to affirm our value.

It doesn’t matter if he was born in winter, spring, summer, or fall. God, in need of nothing, ruler of all creation, willing chose to become one of us. He experienced cold, heat, love, joy, grief, sorrow, pain, rejection, and abandonment by those he counted most dear. He knew what it meant to be homeless and hungry. To be hated by some and selfishly used by others.

He experienced it all, not to satisfy his ego, but because he simply wanted to know and be known.

The Christmas Story isn’t just about a birth in a stable, a sky filled with singing angels, and the worship of shepherds and wisemen. Like all the best stories, it’s a story of sacrificial love — the most powerful “magic” ever known to humanity. It’s the only kind of love that can battle through the darkest, coldest night imaginable against the strongest, vilest villain anyone could think to conjure up and emerge victorious in the light of the morning sun.

It’s that type of love story I want to write. Not on paper, but in life. And not just in this season, but in every season beyond.

Writing advice from a Sports Trainer

Do what you have to do to eat. But if you want to be a writer you have to write.
 Photo ©2008 MMagallan via Stock.Xchng

One of the hazards (or perks, depending on how you look at it) of working in the service industry is overhearing bits and pieces of guests' conversations. I've picked up conflicting advice on dating, overheard several heated political debates, and have tried to put out of my mind images from sentences I hope never to hear uttered again.

Recently a group of a hundred football players came through. They'd just won their first game of the season against one of our local high schools and most of them were spending the day on the river. After splitting my morning between my breakfast duties and driving shuttles I finally had a chance to clean the lodge.

Usually by this time of day everyone has passed through onto their morning activities and I'm able get through my daily checklist without feeling like I'm underfoot, but on this particular day the sports commentary coming from the TV above the mantlepiece was being ignored by a student who skipped the raft trip and was instead sitting enthralled in the tale of his chaperone.

I didn't get to hear much, but from what I did I learned that the man came from East St. Louis. Having spent some time volunteering there as part of an after-school program during my freshman year of college I had no trouble setting the scene. And like that part of town, it wasn't pretty. It was, however, incredibly intriguing and I found myself working a little slower as the mentor shared about a life that seemed straight out of a Hollywood film. As I walked away with my cleaning supplies I found myself wondering how he had found himself here in Oregon and what made his life so drastically different from some of his family members.

Later on while I was preparing the deck for lunch he came out and struck up a conversation with me. It turns out he's a sports trainer and he works with a lot of the players in his community (both amateur and professional). We started out talking about one of the players who was severely injured in the game the night before. While his teammates were trying to enjoy their victory, he was undergoing surgery. As the captain of three different sports (and he's only a junior this year), he's well loved and respected by his peers. According to the trainer, even if the doctor said he'd never play a sport again, this young man would be the one to prove him wrong. But even if he didn't, he'd do all right for himself. He's just that sort of kid.

There was no mistaking the admiration the trainer had for this young man, and our conversation eventually led into him talking with me about his own journey. By the world's standards he should have been another statistic. Instead he took on the world, put himself through college, started a business that while successful wasn't what he was passionate about, so he sold it and started up his training organization and has never looked back, even when the going was tough. He was living his dream and he couldn't be happier.

That's when he asked about me. 

For the first time in my life I boldly said I'm a writer. I told him how it wasn't what I first set out to do when I started college, but it's what I love. We talked about college, about working with youth, and about what I've been doing this past year. I shared a little about my book and my roughly sketched-out plans for the future.

As I spoke he shook his head and smiled.

"You know what? You're the real thing," he told me. "Don't stop. You keep writing. Don't let anything or anyone hold you back. Do what you have to do to make ends meet right now, but when you get home you make sure you write."

I don't know what encouraged me more, the fact that he called me the "Real thing" or that he took the time to have a real conversation with me. I've gotten so used to the superficial chats with guests that I never would have expected such a huge motivational boost from a complete stranger. In my mind I was just a working grunt. In his mind, I was one of his players who just needed a shove in the right direction.

It was a much needed reminder that my dreams are important, that work doesn't define an individual, and success is rarely what the world describes it as. I'm not the only writer who is working an odd job to put food on the table, so there is no need to feel defensive about it. Unless I use it as an excuse to do anything but write, that is.

Maybe it was his passion that lent me the gumption I needed. Or maybe he just helped me find my own inner fire again. Whatever the case, it was exactly what I needed when I needed it.

I'm still exhausted when I get home from work every day, but now I'm grabbing my laptop or notebook and writing my heart out before I pass out.

How a stranger's life changed my perspective on writing

I’ve spent the last few weeks caring for a gentleman transitioning from this life to the next. He was a man who up until June 27th I had never met. He quickly became someone I will never forget.

Due to the nature of Don's care I didn’t have much time to do anything but scribble out a few thoughts in runes (which resulted in some good-natured teasing when his grandsons caught me at it), but I was afforded quite a bit of time to think.

           

The life I saw before me this past month was the culmination of more stories than could fit into a library of books. Stories of triumph. Stories of loss. Stories of friendship. Stories of a nature that was beyond generous. Stories of a man who was by no means perfect but who always seemed to consider the needs of others…including complete strangers.

I find it fitting that during the church service I attended this past weekend the pastor spoke on Hebrews 13:2 which reads “Don’t forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.”

The Greek word used in this case was Philoxenos or “Love of the strange,”  so another translation could easily read: “Don’t forget to care for the needs of those who are unknown to you, those who exist outside of your comfort zone…” It's a statement that seemed to describe Don perfectly. It also cemented a thought that I'd been mulling over for some time now:

What am I regularly doing to show love and compassion to those outside of my inner circle of comfort?

I can't speak for everyone, but many writers are very schedule oriented. We tend to worry about deadlines. We get frustrated when our writing time is interrupted by "just this one little thing." There are just days when people become irritants instead of living, breathing individuals with wants and needs very similar to our own.

One of the reasons we write is because we want to add something of value to a life of a complete stranger, so we spend hours pouring through books, reading blogs, attending workshops, and working our craft in order to do just that. While that is in fact a noble ideal to aspire to, I think there is a point in which our quest results in us isolating ourselves from what's really important. When that happens we have a major problem on our hands.

It's time to re-evaluate our purpose as writers.

My favorite quote by Henry James Thoreau is "How vain it is to sit down and write when we have not stood up to live." Don's life was full because he lived his life in the world. He worked incredibly hard and he dedicated himself fully to every task he embarked on, but he managed to find that rare balance between finishing each job he started to the best of his ability and making each person he came into contact feel loved, appreciated, and important. 

Don's life was blessed because of his care for others, as were the lives of the countless individuals who streamed through his back door or called to wish him well during the last two weeks of his life. As I kept my vigil through his last night on this earth I found myself wondering if the same would be said of me someday.

So my question to us as writers this week is this: How can being more active in our relationships with loved ones (and strangers for that matter) improve our writing lives? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Knock. Knock.

The most terrifying and exciting aspect of knocking on a door
is not knowing what happens next.

I’m exhausted. Honestly, with the exception of my final weeks of college, I can’t remember a time in my life I’ve ever felt this bone-weary.

I’m terrified. In the past six months I’ve watched door after door close (or never open). Except for this one.

I attended a writers’ conference in April that I couldn’t afford because of the generosity of others. I met incredible men and women who were perfectly placed in my life in that specific moment to encourage me to lift my hand one more time. And I returned with an editor wanting a proposal, an agent wanting to meet, and two-thirds of a book to rewrite.

It feels like an eternity has passed, but in reality, it’s just been shy of two months.

Most days I feel like I’ve made little progress, but in reality I’ve finished a complete re-write of a nearly 50,000 word middle grade fantasy, and I’m about to finish the most in-depth proposal I’ve ever written for both the editor and agent.

That’s why I’m shaking.

During my conference I heard from more than one editor and agent that of all the writers they request work from more than 80 percent never respond. So, I thought, for every 10 pieces they ask to see, they get maybe two?

At the time I thought such behavior was completely insane. We’re writers. No matter what stage of our career we’re in we’re working towards publication, right? Being terrified of sending out queries and proposals cold is one thing. I completely understood that, but if someone was asking to see my work…that was the dream, wasn’t it?

Seven weeks later I have a better understanding of why so many writers drop off.

Perhaps, like me, they feel moments of intense pressure to submit something so perfect the editor can’t do anything but accept it.

Perhaps, like me, they love the fact that someone is waiting to see their work, but they fear the moment they send that piece out it will be yet another door that closes, or refuses to open.

And the pressure and fear continues to build until it becomes more than they can handle.

But what about the ones who push through, despite all of that?

For me, the past several weeks have seemed so long because they’ve been so full (and not with just writing). One day blurs into the next because I’ve had to train myself to focus on one thing at a time. First by finishing my rewrite, then by turning my attention to the proposal.

I’ve come to accept there is no such thing as a perfect book or book proposal. There is only my best effort to complete something I am heart-and-soul passionate about. 

No matter what my writing resume looks like, there will always be the chance an editor or agent will say no. But if I don’t take the risk and follow through, I’m not giving them the chance to say yes, either.

And, as a friend reminded me last night when I had a momentary breakdown, if someone asks to see our work it’s because they saw in us during that brief moment our paths crossed something that intrigued them. That made them want to know more.

The question I have been asking myself every day since I got home is: Am I one of the majority who holds back? Or will I be one of the few who despite the feelings of uncertainty steps out and keeps trying?

Which is why today, like every day for the past seven weeks, I’m plopping myself into my chair and blocking out as many distractions as possible so I can finish what I started. Then I’m going to go see if this door in front of me is going to open when I knock.

How about you?

8 Ways to Improve Your Writing Time

I don’t know about you, but I always have a hard time buckling down again after a trip. There’s always just one more thing I could do that leads to another day without much progress. Knowing this about myself, I made a list of eight ways to get me moving again when I got home from my trip. I share them in the hopes they might help you out a bit, too.

Remove distractions

Pick up major bits of clutter, toss in a load of laundry, or load the dishwasher as you mentally prepare yourself to write. Mindless activities can help stir up ideas, plus you have an hour of uninterrupted writing time while you wait for the buzzer to go off.

Eat well and stay hydrated

A good mom doesn’t send her kids to school with an empty stomach (if she can help it). Mental activity uses a lot of energy. Feed your body. Feed your mind.

Make sure you’re comfortable

If your legs are falling asleep and your back is killing you it’s time to find a better writing location. Whether at a table, desk, couch, or curled up in bed, we tend to be the most productive if we aren’t focused on our discomfort.

Change up your workflow

If you only use your laptop and find yourself staring at a blank screen, try pulling out the old pen and paper. (Bonus, it keeps you from getting tangled up in the world wide web.) If you always write at the kitchen table, try finding a spot in the sun. A change in scenery could lead to a change in perspective.

Know your limits

Some people press for major word counts. Some people set aside a specific time slot. If you have a daily goal of 2,000 words but can only reach 500 before your brain shuts off, that’s ok. Maybe you need to spread out your writing time in 20 to 30 minute segments.

Don’t beat yourself up!

If you miss a writing session, don’t freak out! Evaluate what happened. If it’s the result of procrastination take a moment to discover what you’re really running from. If a friend came into town remember the world continues to move while we’re writing. Memories aren’t things to miss. Give yourself a break and get back to work tomorrow.

Never compare yourself to others

Sometimes we have to ignore posts from fellow writers about what’s going right and wrong in their writing life. If it’s distracting you from writing what you need to write, turn off your social media notifications! You aren’t them. They aren’t you. Thank goodness! Our bookshelves would be dull indeed if every book on the shelf was a Zombie-Amish Romance!

Remember why you started writing

Writing is hard. Writing is frustrating. Writing is amazing! Write because it’s something you want to do. Not because you have to do.

The Writer's Conference and Confirmation

Now it came to pass that on the tenth day of the third month in the final year of an ancient calendar, an unmarked envelope was placed in the hands of a young woman. Inside, she found a cryptic note that would send her on a journey through the air and over land and sea to a place both beautiful to behold and dreadful to face when viewed through the eyes of a dreamer.

Surprise! You're going to Mount Hermon!

Crisis and Retreat

I first heard about the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference a year ago after my dear friend Xochi attended. She spent the next several months trying to convince me I needed to be there this year but there was a problem, my job was anything but secure and my life was anything but stable. In the subsequent months I watched as my world crumbled around me. I had no clue that each quake shaking up my life was in reality the result of a divine hand preparing me for something amazing.

To make a long story short, I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to attend any conferences this year. My sister had other plans in mind. At a surprise party celebrating my 30th birthday, she presented me with two envelopes. In the first was a travel itinerary to San Jose, CA. In the second, was the confirmation receipt for the conference. And so I spent the next couple of weeks frantically preparing for my trip, alternating between bouts of excitement and paralyzing fear.

No Coincidences, only Divine Appointments 

Goofing off and having a ball with Xochi!

This year’s keynote speaker was Liz Curtis Higgs, author of books such as Bad Girls of the Bible. She spent the week walking us through Ruth’s love story — an alien woman who had absolutely nothing and who was ultimately was blessed beyond measure. The theme of Ruth’s story: there are no coincidences, only divine appointments ordained in advance.

Her theme quickly became my theme.

I stepped onto Mount Hermon’s campus terrified, I left blessed beyond measure. The first night there I met a woman who not only helped me get around campus in the dark and moved to a room closer to the main campus the next day, but who also encouraged me to talk to an editor about my book. I somehow snagged his first appointment, got 30 minutes with him instead of 15, and he requested a full proposal.

Me with fellow nerd and web guru Thomas Umstattd of Author Media.

My new roommate came to the conference prepared to take the social media classes and I intended to take article writing. Once we got there we realized we were taking the wrong classes and switched folders right then and there. As a result I not only learned some new things, I made a new friend close to my age with similar interests (and who was also the presenter for the social media track).

When Life Mirrors Fiction

Returning to the place I've never been before.

One of the coolest things about fiction is as readers we get to see how events at the beginnings of the character’s life lays the foundations for the climax and resolution. We don’t get to see that very often in real life.

For a brief moment, I did.

Unknown to me, my mom attended a conference at Mount Hermon when she was in the early stages of her pregnancy with me. I was such a pill she couldn’t hold down a single bite. So, a group of women gathered around her in a little chapel in front of the fireplace and laid their hands on her stomach to pray. They asked that God would make himself known to the child at an early age and use his or her life greatly.

That little chapel was the very place I spent each morning setting my agenda aside to seek God’s direction for the day. I didn’t learn that until I called home at the end of the conference.

When I set out last week, I was questioning once again if I was on the right track or if I was merely chasing a foolish dream. I walked away encouraged and excited to see what is in store for me next. I have a ton to do, and I expect I’ll have plenty of potholes in the road ahead, but I have a new reason to move forward.

Perhaps you find yourself in the same place. Our world is currently chaotic at best. Our futures seem more uncertain than ever. But maybe, just maybe, the setbacks you’re experiencing right now are just the beginning. Who knows, the news you receive today may serve as the inciting event that sets your feet on a path that takes you to a destination more incredible than any ending you could think to write.

Finding the Perfect Balance

I recently spent a week at an Italian Villa-style home just outside of town. I was there as a house sitter, but it really was a sort of mini-vacation for me. The package included a small vineyard; wood heat; two ponds frequented by pheasant, deer, ducks and geese; two hyper bird dogs; and no cell phone reception. Now before anyone gasps in horror, know I wasn’t completely cut off from society. They had a working landline and wi-fi, though with the exception of spending a couple hours in the morning working on a contracted project I did exactly the opposite of what most writers would do in such a position — I didn’t write.

Instead I chose an activity I haven’t really engaged in for I don’t know how long. I read for the sole purpose of enjoyment. I picked up a book not to critique as a writer, but to experience as a reader. After I finished that book I selected another. As I read just for the sake of reading, I realized I’d forgotten how incredible it was to just sit still and be for a bit.

Late one night after placing more wood on the fire, I watched as moonbeams split snow clouds in half so I could enjoy the white silence without man-made illumination, and I pondered how I could allow myself to become so busy I’d failed to notice the little things — like a squirrel disappearing up a nearby sugar pine at midnight or the robin who welcomed the icy dawn with a lusty two-step.

The Pressure of Productivity

Many of my online friends are writers, so my newsfeeds are filled with updates and Tweets about coffee and word counts. In fact, if a random stranger were to look at our Timelines and Twitter Feeds they might wonder if we do anything but drink legal addictive stimulants, stare at a computer screen…and craft social media updates about our progress (or lack of it) and share links to other writer’s insights (or frustrations) about the realm of publishing.

Sometimes it’s encouraging to see what my writer friends are up to and I cheer them on; especially when I see their hard work pay off. Other times it’s discouraging; especially when I see their hard work pay off while I seem to be getting nowhere. It’s in those moments I most strongly consider calling myself a fraud and walking away from the entire business. But after scrolling through my newsfeed for another 20 minutes while pouting, clicking through a few more links, and try to decide if I really need to refill my cup again, I turn off my wireless and stare at my blank doc yet again willing the words to come.

It was during my retreat that the truth finally hit me. Yes, I really did need to fill my empty cup again. Not the cup that has a permanent seat to the right of my screen, the cup that sits in the hollow of my chest. The place where I feel the first tickle of excitement creep through my veins when I stumble across a new idea. The place where fear and dread plant their ice seeds when I think I’m about to fall on my face. It’s the spot inside me I dubbed my writer’s wellspring.

Finding a Creative Balance

I finally realized that in my rush for productivity I misplaced the sense of balance that comes from taking regular moments to just be still. It’s a concept that as someone who long ago decided to live her life as a follower of Christ, I should know to take better advantage of. During his ministry on earth, Jesus didn’t perform one miracle after another and move from town to town without rest. He made frequent stops to just be still. To get away from the crowds. To listen to what his Father had to say to him.

God himself didn’t create the universe in a rush and move on to the next project; He took the time to enjoy each step along the way to its completion. And when he finished on the sixth day, he took a vacation and spent time walking side by side with his new friends. (To this day I wonder if part of the reason He spent so much time relaxing in the Garden of Eden was partly because He knew there was a major war ahead.) The idea of just being still is an activity He continually invites us to join Him in, both in scripture and in nature. If you don’t believe me, spend an hour at a local park without any gadgets, you’ll be surprised how amazing you’ll feel afterwards!

It’s been proven more than once that when we regularly take the time to just relax our moments of productivity increase exponentially. Our mind is cleared of clutter. Our social meter is fully green (Yes, I play The Sims). And we can return to our writing with a renewed sense of excitement that has nothing to do with beating out our friends’ latest word count.

Now, I recognize that not everyone who reads The Writer’s Wellspring has the same spiritual beliefs that I do. However, I believe it’s impossible to take our personal worldviews out of our writing, and the need to find a balance between rest and work isn’t just a faith-based concept. When we rest we’re also reminded of the first rule of writing: Know your purpose. When we’re tired and forget our purpose in writing, our words don’t just ring false to us, something sounds off to our readers as well, even if they can’t put a finger on it.

If nothing else, my time disconnecting myself from my laptop taught me that is in moments of stillness I rediscover my connection with the Master Creator, find new purpose in my craft, and am reminded that while goals can be great markers to show me where I’ve been and where I’m going, I need to have balance. It’s the only way my writing time will be infused with a genuine passion to create instead of requiring yet another quad shot of caffeine to keep those fingers moving.

  

“Failure is Always an Option”

A few years back a family friend attempted to set me up with “the perfect guy for me.” On paper he sounded great. He had a good job, owned his own house, was sweet and polite, and he was looking to settle down. The one problem: He lived several hours away so meeting in person was going to be a challenge. So my friend suggested introducing us through Facebook. I didn’t have anything else going on at the time, so I agreed to a first “date” via Facebook chat and waited for “Randy’s” friend request.

Turns out Randy worked in insurance and where I was just planning on having a casual conversation, he had a list of questions he was determined to get through. I tried to answer each question thoughtfully and quickly noticed his answers were of the one word variety, which I just passed off as nervousness on his part. After our fourth or fifth conversation following the exact same format (including questions on my driving record and everything but my weight), I started wondering if he was interested in me as a person or as someone who fit his list of qualifications.

One of the questions he asked was “What is your greatest fear?” I had to think about that a minute before answering and in the years since I’ve realized it hasn’t ever really changed. My greatest fear is disappointing others; more specifically, it’s the dreaded word FAILURE.

“Do. Or Do not. There is no try.” 

For as long as I can remember I’ve been terrified of messing up. Growing up, I stuck with as many of the rules as possible because I didn’t want to reflect badly on my family (and being so uptight did cost me some simple and non-life-damaging fun). After switching my majors in college I was terrified of running into people from my science classes and my time volunteering at the hospital, because I didn’t want them to think I just couldn’t hack it in the medical field. And now as a writer, I face that fear every time I sit down at my laptop.

I turned 30 last week. My sister, wanting to do something incredibly special, got in touch with everyone I knew that she could find contact info for and, with their help, raised the money to send me to a writer’s conference in Mt. Hermon at the end of the month. It’s a conference I’ve wanted to go to, but just had no means to do so. I’d completely put the thought out of my mind, so this weekend when I opened the envelope with the airline tickets and conference registration all I could do was stare. I was touched. I was excited. And then the panic set in.

“All these people put in the money for this trip and I’m going to go and I’m not going to sell anything and I’m just going to have wasted their money and disappoint them!” was the first thought in my mind. I was (and am) incredibly grateful for this sacrificial gift but the churning in my stomach was threatening to spill over in my eyes. As my mother and future brother-in-law reminded me later on, they didn’t do this so I could sell a book, though that would be awesome! They did it because they wanted to do something special that would show me how much they love and appreciate me. The concept of Success and Failure didn’t ever cross their mind.

Insight from an iPhone App 

Late Saturday night came a “fortune” via my iPhone mahjong app: Failure is always an option.

The so-called fortunes are usually just something random and silly, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how true it is. When you allow yourself to fail, you free yourself to attempt the impossible. Yes, failing at something is disappointing, but it doesn’t have to hold the terror I give it. All failure means is that something I attempted to do didn’t turn out the way I expected it to. And I stress the word attempted.

Failure should be the least of my concerns. Doing nothing because I am too afraid to try is far worse. If I bake a cake and it falls flat I don’t throw the recipe out and resolve never to bake again. I use the experience I’ve gained and start at the beginning. Maybe I pay better attention to the directions; maybe I make a couple of new modifications. If all goes well, I have a dessert I can enjoy, if not, the birds do.

The same is true of writing. With each new draft I write, with each new story I share, I learn a little more. And as much as I hope others can one day enjoy my writing in a form other than a blog, it’s not just for others that I write. I write because it’s something I love to do. Whether my writing becomes a commercial success or commercial flop, it’s time to take FAILURE off my list of fears.

Now if I could only do the same thing with clowns….

Untitled Midnight Thoughts

It’s early yet. The night is still deep, yet as I step into the freezing fog to grab a few more logs for the fire the patio is washed in a pale glow. Looking up, a nearly full moon peaks through wisps of silver and I wish the cold weren’t sucking all the heat out of my feet so I could stand and watch a little longer. It’s quiet now, but earlier the frogs were calling out so loud it seemed as if they could fill the pond to Egyptian-plague-like proportions. Stepping back inside, wood in hand, it dawns on me. This is my last night in the stillness that can only really be found at the base of the mountains.

Tomorrow instead of watching the geese and ducks diving into the water it’ll be cars speeding through a street they should be more cautious on. Bass solos will replace the birds’ chorus, and competing television programs and the occasional wail of an emergency will take the place of the midnight chirps and croaks.

And surprisingly enough, as I add one last log to the fire, I find myself ready to go home.

How to Survive when the Unexpected Strikes

When mentioning Leavenworth, Washington in casual conversation I find I get two responses, the person has either never heard of the Bavarian-like village located near Stevens Pass, or if they have they’ve never visited. I’ve had the incredible pleasure of staying there the past two Presidents Day weekends as part of the leadership for a High School Winter Retreat, but this year was far more of an adventure than last. I would like to share four important things I learned through my experience that will help in my writing career.

1. When we pick up a book it’s generally because we want a break from our normal. We crave something new, something unexpected. That generally isn’t the case when in a van full of teens.

When it comes to a 9-hour roadtrip in a van full of high schoolers, you try to plan for unexpected contingencies such as extra bathroom/snack stops. But it doesn’t matter how early you leave when nature decides to dump a winter’s worth of snow on you and stretches that last 100 miles into an additional 3 hours of travel time because you’re forced to crawl at school zone speeds or risk becoming one of the several overturned cars you pass on a highway where there is little-to-no cell phone reception.

2. When the unexpected happens you have two choices: Try to pass the job off to someone else or adapt quickly.

Despite the whining and cramping of major groups of muscles, we did make it to our destination sooner than some of the other churches (who lived closer to Leavenworth than us Southern Oregonians), however, when it was time to head out the next day to enjoy the aforementioned dumped snow I was unexpectedly asked to help shuttle the students 5 minutes down the road to the snowpark.

I’ve driven in snow and ice before, but it’s been several years (I happily don’t live in a location where that skill is overly necessary), and I’ve never driven a 15-passenger van in those conditions. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having a sudden stomachache, sweaty palms, and a very pale face — and it didn’t get any better when I turned the key in the ignition and nothing happened. A third try had more success and I managed to safely ferry a group of crazy boys to the slopes while I myself curled up in the lodge and kept an eye on anyone who preferred staying warm to freezing their toes off.

3. When the unexpected suddenly compounds itself you have two more choices: Become a complete basket case or find a guy with mechanical skills and hope a text to your support group back home gets through.

Getting a little help from a friend. Photo ©John Bates 2012

When a van doesn’t start the first time you pass it off as a fluke from the cold. When you need to get frozen kids home and all you hear is a click when you turn the key you imagine yourself running through the woods from a pack of wolves. Grab a couple of guys to check the battery and discover that’s not the problem, you panic. When someone mentions a mechanic is needed and your starter is probably bad you picture yourself up a tree with the wolves circling below. Open your wallet to pull out the church’s debit card so you can go get parts if necessary only to discover it’s not there and that tenuous bough breaks right under you.

I checked every pocket, every bag I owned, and retraced every step from the night before and throughout the day until I was dizzy. All I could think of was having to make a phone call to the head of the church board to have the card canceled and wondering if I had enough money in my bank account to get everyone back home again. The only thing keeping me from bawling was that I was wearing non-waterproof mascara.

Fortunately for me, I wasn’t lost in that frozen wasteland alone. My friend Phil, who was there with his group from Seattle, is an amazing mechanic and showed me how to get a starter to unfreeze by banging it with a rock. We were then able to get the van under a covering so we could get out of the slush. Once there he was able to determine the culprit was a loose starter cable, not the starter itself. A screwdriver and a Northface snow coat used as a tarp soon had us up and running again.

Oh, and in case you’re still wondering about that lost debit card. It was safe and secure in the wallet of the man who drove our group from Grants Pass to Leavenworth and back again. His elderly mother lives there and our trip gave him and his wife an excuse to spend the weekend with her and to take care of a few projects around her home that needed to be done. Had I thought to call him first, I would have been out a ton of worry.

4. Tension sucks in the moment, but boy does it make for a great story later on!

Despite the panic, the retreat ended up being an incredible success. I was able to build new and stronger relationships with some of the students. I was able to share things about my life at their age that will, I hope, help them through some of their own struggles. And, as I mentioned before, I learned some things about myself that will help make my writing better.

We spend so much time trying to avoid tension and stress in our personal lives it’s easy to forget that we pick up books because those are the specific situations we’re looking for. We want to see how someone responds to a bad situation that is bound to get worse before it gets better (or not). That tension is something the first draft of my WIP was sorely lacking. Like the van, it’s not a total disaster that requires an entire rebuild; I just need a rock, a screwdriver, a coat, and a willingness to be out in the cold for a while to get it up and running properly again.

So now, with those stomach cramps, nightmares, and sudden panic attacks still fresh in my mind, it’s time to go back to those wimpy chapters and put my own protagonist through a nightmare or two of his own. He’ll hate life now, but he’ll be grateful for the experience later on.