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How To Love Revising!

Cheryl — Fri, 11 May 2012 15:39:14 GMT

Something miraculous has happened.... I am loving revising my work-in-progress. ME! -- a first-draft-loving pantser, who has been known to despise revising. Not this time.

I think it's partly because I stopped trying to read the manuscript through someone else's eyes. And so the work I'm doing is strengthening the story, making it whole.

Some people write too much and then have to carve away the excess, like a sculptor. But for me, revision is often more about deepening, layering, enriching. And I am loving it. I feel excited for my story and my characters, as more and more pieces fit together and the logic of the story world clicks into place.

I'm also loving it because I stopped seeing it as something other than real work, and because I have thrown myself into it wholeheartedly. I've been in that delightful stage where the world of the story walks through my day with me, whispering little secrets, bits and pieces that long to be told.

"You must be so disciplined," people sometimes say to me, "to be your own boss and get your work done." Discipline has nothing to do with it. Because I am enjoying every minute -- even the hard, stuck ones. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing (except, of course, lying on a beach.) For those hours of the day when my husband is at work and my kids are at school, I play, focused with body and mind, engaged with heart and soul.

The manuscript has become a friend whom I am tending with loving care, readying it to be sent out into the world -- zipping up its jacket and double-knotting its shoelaces, doing all I can to prepare it so it faces the world whole and complete.

All in the hope that some editor will adore it and start me on a path to revising it all over again

Happy revising!

What Is Your Work?

Cheryl — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 16:36:21 GMT

Yesterday was Poem in Your Pocket Day, part of the celebration of National Poetry Month. One of my favorite poets is Mary Oliver. I want to touch on two of her poems. The first is called The Summer Day:

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

And the other one I want to share is called Messenger:

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me

keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever.

I love the way she strings words together and the way she evokes so much feeling and meaning with so few words. I bolded the parts of these two poems that particularly speak to me. It's that question: What is it you plan to do with this life you've been given? What is your work? Not the job you go to each day necessarily, but what is it you bring to the world? For Mary Oliver, observing the world, being astonished by it and sharing that glory is her work. And maybe we all have more than one thing: like loving our kids and our partners, being there for our friends, etc. But when it just comes down to what you are putting out into the world, what difference you are making, whether it's through your job or your community service or your writing, what will you choose?

Finding Your Inner Spring Holiday

Cheryl — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 17:18:27 GMT

As the holiday weekend approaches, I've been thinking about the meaning of the various holidays, and how this time of year is a reminder about rebirth, renewal, and appreciating our freedom. The weather in the Bay Area is perfect for this right now: After many weeks of rain and fog, the sun is shining, the sky is the bluest of blues, the breeze is giving the trees a workout, and the air is that crisp, cool delicious that makes me so love it here.

In the last couple of days, I have begun playing with a new character. I don't know yet what, if anything, will come of it, but for now I'm trying to just enjoy her birth, her creation, and the feelings of renewal I experience in starting a new project. When I'm revising, which is what I've been doing exclusively lately, I start to feel dried out and low energy. Some writers love revision. It's the thing that lights them up and makes time stop. I wish I felt that way. But for me revision is laborious. I do like strengthening the manuscript. But my favorite part of revising is when I think up some new element to add and I have to write fresh material, which technically is creating, not revising. But first drafts, ahh, first drafts are my drug of choice. And so right now, in the midst of all this sunny renewal, I'm diving back into my craft, starting anew, remembering why I love this crazy business. And it makes me feel incredibly grateful for the freedom I have to pursue this life.

As you feast with family and friends, or even go on about your normal weekend, take a moment to focus on how you can bring the spirit of freedom and renewal back into your own life. Maybe it's about recommitting to your New Year's Resolutions, maybe it's about trying something new and a little bit daring, maybe it's about finding time for people or activities you enjoy. Whatever it is, I hope this holiday weekend allows you to find ways to experience your own renewal or rebirth, because even though it may feel at times like it's out of our control, really so much of it is up to us.

Happy holidays

Embracing Life with the Dreamer at the Wheel

Cheryl — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 16:49:28 GMT

As part of my focus on embracing life this year, I've been working at learning to accept life as it is, being with what is so. What does that even mean? It means that when something unexpected happens, instead of freaking out and trying to change it, I take a deep breath, remind myself to trust that this is what needs to happen right now, and that even if I don't understand why, it will make sense down the road. I'm getting so much better at taking things in stride and not getting hung up on how I wish things would be, enjoying life as it is.

But there's been an unfortunate side effect. Letting go of control has been very confusing for The Dreamer.

The Dreamer is an identity I've always loved. When I was young, people said it like it was a bad thing, "You're such a dreamer." But as a teen, I decided to own and embrace that. It was who I was and I loved that part of myself. I would dream up some future situation, set my mind on it, and work towards it with everything I had. Many, many times, those dreams came true. Sometimes they took longer than I'd expected, sometimes they were harder to make happen than I'd expected. But if I just kept at them, I could make them happen.

So when I started accepting life's bumpy road, started letting go of the need for control, started stepping back from the steering wheel a bit, The Dreamer went into hiding. 'I guess you don't need me anymore,' she seemed to say.

I miss The Dreamer! She was fun! She was bold! She was downright crazy most of the time! And I loved that about her. And without her I've been feeling dry and grey. So how do I find a way of blending these two elements -- the one who sits back and accepts life as it is and the one who drives with the pedal to the metal toward a goal?

For me, the answer is simple. I have to let The Dreamer run the show, because without her I'm not happy. And then, when life slings its arrows, I step back and say, 'Looks like that direction wasn't exactly where I needed to be heading, maybe I need to bear right at the intersection.' In other words, as I've said here before, the closed doors are signposts and there's no sense trying to knock them down. But there's no sense becoming passive either. Where's the fun in that?

So as I forge ahead, I will continue to embrace life as it is, but I won't be sitting back waiting for life to happen. The Dreamer will be at the wheel.

What Story Are You Telling Yourself?

Cheryl — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 17:12:11 GMT

My thoughts continue this week on the concept of embracing life. I've been thinking about how affected we are by our interpretations of events, by the way we label what's happening in our lives. As I read others' blog posts and listen to others' path to publication stories, here's something I notice: Some of us receive rejections and say, "I suck. I'm just not good enough." Others of us receive rejections and say, "This piece isn't there yet. It needs more work." And still others might say, "This piece of work isn't the best expression of who I am. This rejection is a guidepost, urging me to write the piece I truly long to write." Where do you fall on that spectrum? What story are you telling yourself when you hit a bump in the road? Or multiple bumps? How might you change that story to make it more useful to you?

Personally, I've found myself in all three of those positions. The interesting thing for me to note is the direction in which each story pushes me. I know that when I let myself feel like I'm just not good enough, I fall into a place that is neither kind nor productive and truly serves no purpose. Even when it has pushed me to try a writing class or seek out books on craft, I've come at them from a place of trying to prove myself. In contrast, when the story I've told myself is that the piece isn't there yet, I've come to the new class or craft books from a place of openness, a place of wanting to understand, to make the manuscript stronger. And I've learned a lot from those stories. But lately I'm finding that the strongest place for me is seeing the closed doors in life as guideposts, pushing me in a direction I might have otherwise resisted. And this ends up being the story that lights me up and sends me forging ahead on new paths.

The next time you meet a rough spot on the road, ask yourself what story you might tell about this that would be useful to you, and leave behind the ones that diminish you. See if you can't find a story that urges you onward instead of one that holds you back. Because the story you tell yourself is the only one over which you have complete editorial control.

Revision: Let's Pretend

Cheryl — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 16:49:13 GMT

I have figured out why I don't enjoy revision as much as creation. When I write, I fall into that dreamy, otherworldly place where time stops, where my thinking/busy mind settles, where intuition takes over. Some people find that place through drawing or dancing or windsurfing or cooking. For me, writing is what takes me there. But when I'm revising, I'm critiquing -- constantly. My thinking/critical/anxious mind decides it's the one for the job and takes over, leaving intuition and that otherworldly type of being behind. I don't like being led by the critical mind. It's not the nicest of bosses.

Last night in my writing group, I discovered something. When I was little, my brother and sister and I played imaginary games. I remember each of us adding, "And let's pretend..." hundreds of times in a given game. As we added layers to the world we were creating, we often went back and revised what we'd added before -- not from any kind of critical thought process, but from that wonderful place of "let's also pretend...."

So my goal for today, as I return to revision, is to go at it from that place of wonder and excitement, that place of childhood pretend, where everything is possible and changes can come from fun and adventure, not just critical thinking.

And then, when I've done all the revising I can do for today, I'm going to write something new. Because it's that wondrous land of time-stopping intuition that makes me feel alive.

Getting Inspired by the Uninspiring

Cheryl — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 17:32:30 GMT

Something I've been working on lately is learning to trust life, to let go of all the resistance that rises up so quickly to whatever might be happening. I know that so much of that resistance is fear. And I want to learn to calm down and take life as it comes and see its beauty.

Last night in my writing group we did two writing exercises. With both of them, the minute the facilitator announced the prompt, I thought, "Oh, great, that doesn't inspire me at all. I don't want to write about that. There's nothing interesting about that." But then, because I'm working on this trust thing, I made myself shut up. I didn't try to think about what to write. I just tried to get quiet inside. I forced myself to be patient, no matter how many precious minutes of our writing session ticked by, no matter that other people's pens were dashing across their pages. I sat still, not thinking. And then a few words came to me, and even though they didn't seem too interesting, I wrote them down. And then a few more came and I wrote those down too. And before I knew it, I was on a roll. And about twenty minutes later, when time was called, I had a complete piece written -- one that had depth and meaning, details and characters that came alive, a mini-story I felt good about. And when I read it out loud to the group and people reacted to it, I realized there was even more in there than I'd realized. All from a prompt that I'd found uninspiring.

It made me think back to this issue about life -- learning to fall into whatever it is that is happening -- even if it doesn't seem ideal or inspiring. Because the truth is no matter how much we think we know how we want things to be, sometimes letting them be what they already are can lead us to someplace better than we've ever imagined.

I'll be traveling next week -- an adventure I'm a little nervous about. There won't be a post then. But I'll be continuing to work on this issue, trying to meet whatever challenges may arise with acceptance and trust. If you find stumbling blocks in your path along the way, try letting that be okay, see if you can get still and notice what it is they want to tell you, toward what new direction they might be pushing. You might be surprised where it leads.

Out of the Comfort Zone

Cheryl — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 17:30:33 GMT

Yesterday was a long day, lots of driving, fieldtripping with 6th graders. And I missed my afternoon coffee. Luckily last night was one of my twice a month writing groups. I love my writing group, facilitated by the ever-wise Susanne West. It brings me back to a sense of wholeness and peace regardless of how flustered or scattered I am when I arrive. One of the things I love is the way she's able to help me step out of my comfort zone -- for example by writing poetry, which I never feel like I know how to do.

Last night, in one of our writing exercises, I was inspired by the last line of the poem "A Blessing" by James Wright in Roger Housden's Dancing with Joy. That line (in quotes) became the first line of my own piece. It would have been easy to keep this private since I'm not confident about my poetry. But sometimes one step out of the comfort zone encourages another. So here it is:

"Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom"

Because it is not just the barriers of skin and bone

That hold me back.

It is the weight of words

And beliefs that saturate my brain.

If only I could step away

For a moment or two, I would see

The way they tether me

Like gravity.

The voice that cries "never enough"

And the one that insists I'm wrong

And the ever-present chorus

Of scoffs and jeers,

The reminder that I'm small.

If I could step away

For just a moment and feel the grandness

Bloom, feel the unfettered, unjudged fullness

Of my being, I would blossom

Gloriously with sweet, divine wholeness

Such that when I returned to my skin

I would glow

I would dance

I would float

Would have trouble keeping my feet on the ground

Enveloped then in the nearness of my soul.

Rest

Cheryl — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 17:10:07 GMT

"Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths." ~ Etty Hillesum

It's my birthday today. I'm taking a rest

Have a lovely weekend!

Do Not Panic: Life and Critiques

Cheryl — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 18:11:56 GMT

I'm trying to learn to be more Zen about life, to take what comes without judging it or freaking out about it. I seem to be a slow learner in this area. When I was a kid and played board games with my brothers, I confess, when I lost I would often fling the game off the table. It wasn't so much that I minded losing as much as I minded one of my brothers (I won't say which one) making me feel like I was a Loser (capital L). This is a feeling that stayed with me into adulthood -- which made receiving critiques of my work painful. It meant that when fault was found with a manuscript, I pretty much threw it in the trash bin. It made it hard for me to understand that problem areas did not mean the work was unsalvageable.

And who knows, maybe I can't blame my brother for making me feel this way. I tend to react intensely to most things (okay, maybe not quite as much as Kristen Bell, but still.) My initial reaction is usually red alert -- adrenaline pumping, breath shortening, stomach lurching panic. To be fair, to look at me, you'd never guess. People think I handle things well, that I stay calmer than they would in a similar circumstance. It's only on the outside.

Yesterday I was leaving my house to go to the gym. Let me be clear, I am not a fan of gyms, and the only way I can get myself to go is by scheduling an appointment with a trainer for which I will be charged regardless of whether or not I show up. So, I was running a little late and rushing out of the house. I hit the garage door button and grabbed my shoes. Well, as fate would have it, the garage door broke, the emergency release wouldn't release, and I literally had no way of getting my car out of the garage. Naturally, I went into instant panic mode. OH MY GOD! The door is broken! I can't get out! I can't go to the gym! Adrenaline pumping, breath shortening, etc.

Um, seriously? Panic? Cause you can't ... go to the gym? *Giggle, snort* Ah, darn, I can't go to the gym. I'm stuck waiting for the repairman and I don't want to get too involved in working on something because he could show up at any minute. I guess I have no choice but to read for fun (!) I don't usually read for fun during "work hours."

Once I caught my breath and calmed the #$!@ down, I started to realize how much I do this in my life and in my work. Freak out, that is. And I vowed to do better. Can a high-strung, moody, sensitive, neurotic Jewish girl do that? Learn not to freak out and jump to conclusions?Yes! I can, because -- believe it or not -- I'm way better than I used to be -- even if that only means realizing what I'm doing sooner than I might have in the past. I know I've learned to take criticism on my work, to understand its value, to use it to improve the story I'm trying to tell.

Part of embracing all of life is learning to accept what comes our way -- which, of course, isn't always what we want. This is also true when receiving critiques of our work. In any of these situations, whether it's one of life's curveballs or whether it's a biting critique, there is a simple and straightforward process to take:

Step 1: Do not panic.

Step 2: Give your body time to calm the #$%@ down after it ignores step one without your permission.

Step 3: Let whatever is before you be okay -- whether it's the garage door breaking or a critique that stings. Know that you can handle it.

Step 4: Get to work.

If I can do it, you can too

"How the Light Gets In"

Cheryl — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 17:27:47 GMT

Have you ever read Rachel Remen's Kitchen Table Wisdom? It's a beautiful and inspiring book. In it she talks about a patient who came to her to deal with the emotional issues that came with having cancer. She asks him to draw an image that is representative of himself, and he draws a cracked vase. He feels damaged. At their last therapy session, she hands him his drawing and asks if there is anything he would change about it. He stares at it for a while, smiles, picks up a yellow crayon and draws light streaming out of the crack.

Similarly, Leonard Cohen sings,

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in

This is what has been on my mind lately. How we try to seem a certain way for so long until we crack. And that's when the light streams through.

In writing, isn't this what happens in one way or another to most of our characters? Characters have to grow or change in some profound way to make a book worth reading. It's not the mundane that interests readers, it's the cracking open. What does it take to crack your character open wide -- to help her move from being who she thinks she is supposed to be to being the person she really is? What will it take to crack each of us open -- to bring us to write our truths or be our whole selves? And once we're cracked open, how long will the effects last -- is it forever -- or will we seal ourselves up with glue and go back to the way things were?

This is what's on my mind today. What's on yours?

Embrace Life

Cheryl — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 18:25:23 GMT

I found this photo on the internet the other day and immediately made it the wallpaper on my desktop. I'm not sure I can explain what so moves me about it. I love the dreamy, mystical, almost eerie feeling of the sunset colors in the sky and on the water and how they blend with the woman and her clothing. I love the birds flying free and yet somehow in harmony with her dance. I love the beauty, grace, and openness of her leap. I love her commitment, how connected she is to this moment. I love that this image makes me smell the salty breeze and hear the ripple of the water and feel the last rays of the setting sun against my skin. I love that this woman is embracing life.

Mrs. V, a book blogger, commented on last week's post mentioning the idea of One Little Word instead of resolutions and that hers last year had been Embrace. I'm making that choice this year. It began with the idea of embracing who you are and is stretching to encompass the whole idea of embracing life. It feels like a bigger challenge than it seems like it should be. What's so hard about embracing what's in front of you?

We get so used to throwing up our guard all the time against any elements of life that are not pleasing, shutting down, trying to keep out the hard stuff. I'm trying to learn to embrace it all and trust that it's all leading me where I need to go.

I hope the image inspires you, as it does me, to embrace life, to let life take you where you need to be. Embrace.

New Year's Motto: Embrace Who You Are

Cheryl — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 17:30:29 GMT

In my final post of 2011, I talked about some of what I'd learned in that difficult year. And then, as I took a few weeks off of posting, I found that one of those lessons stayed on my mind. I decided that instead of giving myself any resolutions for the new year, I would give myself a motto -- a reminder of what really matters. And the motto is that final lesson from 2011: Embrace who you are.

What does that mean? It means cutting off the addiction to filtering life through what you imagine other people's judgments might be. It means living according to what is true for you rather than by what you believe will please someone. It means not trying to be the next J.K. Rowling or Lady Gaga or whomever you might aspire to be, and instead aspiring to be the first you. Writers, like actors, tend to be a fairly angsty bunch. And trying to please an agent or editor or market or fan base can dramatically affect our creativity.

I know that much of the writing I did over the past few years was written in an attempt to please. And that wasn't working for me. My current project is different. It was written from a place of need -- the need to express emotion and tell a story I needed to tell. And I have loved writing it. And I love what it has become. And maybe it will get published and maybe it won't. That is out of my hands. But the point is, I wrote it from my truth, from who I am, without trying to tame that or make it more acceptable or pleasing or less quirky. I'm quirky! Different, strange, peculiar, odd -- blessings all!

It's hard not to compare ourselves to others, to look at other's successes and want to embrace their truths. But their truths are only going to work for them. Only my truth will work for me. So as I step into the new year, I do so with this promise to myself: I value what I have to offer and intend to honor it. I hope you do the same for you. Here's to a brilliantly beautiful 2012.

Friday Five: Lessons Learned

Cheryl — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 16:24:58 GMT

This will be my last blog post of 2011. I blogged yesterday at YA Outside the Lines about goals for the new year. Today I'm reflecting on what I learned in this one.

1. It's best not to get attached to specific outcomes. Getting attached is the source of most of our suffering. This one is extremely hard to follow through on. But when I can remember to do it, I'm calmer, life is less stressful.

2. It's important to feel grateful for the mundane. Not because there's some Higher Power looking down and judging us for not doing it, but because it actually makes life more enjoyable. It slows me down, makes me present for this moment.

3. This moment matters. We should slow down and experience it. Not every moment is fun or easy, but every one of them matters. We rush. SO MUCH. We are SO BUSY. ALL THE TIME. How many moments of our lives are we actually experiencing vs. how many are we rushing through? I know there's a lot to do. I know it all has to get done. Breathe.

4. Things have a way of working out. Seriously. They do. You can stop panicking. I give you permission. They don't always work out the way we want them to or at the speed we desire. But it's okay. Things actually do have a way of working out for the best.

5. Embrace who you are. Do we ever stop struggling with this one? I'm trying! Trying to stop comparing myself to others, to stop judging myself according to other's lives, to stop attempting to be more like anyone other than me. I'm trying to accept and embrace that who I am in the world is different than who anyone else is. It's supposed to be that way. And dampening that serves no one.

So that's what I've learned this year. Will I have to learn it all over again next year? Maybe. But I think/hope I'm making progress. May all our lessons be gentle in the year ahead!

Gratitude for the angst

Cheryl — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 17:20:32 GMT

I've been blogging a lot about gratitude lately. But it's been on my mind. As I've mentioned before, my daughter has been facing a chronic illness since this summer. Just recently, her health has begun to improve (knock wood). And I find myself feeling incredibly grateful to see her stressing over homework and teen drama and the school play. As if this were the most incredible gift. And it is. And we take it for granted every single day. Our problems. We can't afford the newest technology. Or our lives are too busy. Or we have deadlines we're not sure we can meet. Gifts. Every one of them. I imagine that if my child's health continues to improve, as of course I hope and pray that it does, I'll be taking our lives for granted again in no time. And maybe that's human nature. Always looking up. At what we long for, at whom we hope to become. And maybe that's okay. Maybe that's what keeps us moving forward. As long as we don't forget to look around and give a leg up to someone who may need it.

Which is what I love about Christmastime, even though I don't celebrate the holiday. But I do love the spirit of the season. (Okay not the Black Friday mobs or the traffic that seems to grow at holiday time or the inability to find a parking space anywhere.) I love the spirit of giving that blooms this time of year, the stopping for a moment to remember that there are foster kids with no Santa to deliver gifts for them or shelters that need help serving food to the homeless or that a donation of a warm jacket or old sleeping bag could save a life.

Last year at Christmastime I found out that a dear friend was dying of cancer. Of course it made me desperately sad, and it also made me feel grateful for my family's health and well-being. But somehow that feeling of gratitude felt more academic. It wasn't until illness hit my family directly that I truly understood the depth of gratitude for the "normal", the healthy, the everything we take for granted. I generally consider myself to be a pretty empathic person. So why did it take so much for me to get to this place of understanding? And will I be able to maintain my sense of gratitude when (hopefully) we're all relatively healthy?

It's a question I don't have an answer to. I suppose only time will tell. Maybe the gratitude is one of those gifts that comes from the difficult times, one of those silver linings. Or maybe I can share it so you don't have to live through it: Take time out to be grateful for what you see as the problems in your life and ask yourself if maybe you're lucky to have them. It doesn't take away the angst that comes with having too much to do or feeling overwhelmed or wishing for more. But for me at least, it does bring a kind of peace alongside it.

Wishing you peace, love, joy and gratitude this holiday season

Gardens of Gratitude

Cheryl — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 18:59:22 GMT

Earlier this week I posted about gratitude over at YA Outside the Lines. I wrote about seeking out the gifts in difficult times and about how that which we tend is what blooms in our lives. This is true in life and also in writing.

If we listen to the inner critic day in and day out, if we tend its garden, blossoms of self-doubt grow. If instead we focus on whatever bits of our writing we actually feel good about, confidence and strength is what blooms. In the story itself, if we attend only to what's not working, it can be hard to find a solution. Instead, try writing the parts that are clear in your mind and see if they guide you to solutions for the more problematic areas.

I'm not saying it's easy. If you're anything like me, your natural tendency is to grab on to the negative and let it grow you a whole garden of thorns and prickers. I have to fight against that natural tendency and remind myself to look for the positive, to focus on growing the flowers. Gratitude is often the thing that helps me shift my attention.

So as Thanksgiving approaches, find your gratitude, let it help you find your way to tuning in to the beauty. Ask yourself: which garden am I tending?

It'll probably be a few weeks before I post again. Happy Holidays! Wishing you gardens of gratitude and beauty <3

Getting the story told: Butt-in-chair or Wind-in-your-hair

Cheryl — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 16:08:26 GMT

If you're anything like me, you were brought up to believe that one must work hard. You must push and push to get it all done and achieve. It has recently occurred to me that this might be a lie.

I have begun to toy with a different way. Instead of expecting productiveness at all times, instead of setting daily, weekly, and monthly goals, I'm taking things slowly. This is partly because of other things going on in my life, but it's also partly as an experiment. And what I'm finding is that the creative work has its own rhythm.

I know for a lot of people butt-in-chair is the rule they follow to get the job done. But what I'm finding is that even with less b-i-c time, the story still gets told. Here's why: While I'm out in the world doing all the stuff that has to be done, my mind is secretly working. I'll be driving down the freeway and whole scenes will play out in my head. I'll be in line at the grocery store and the solution to a plot problem will pop into my awareness. And the time it takes to get these ideas onto paper when they have formed themselves is far less than it would have taken me while sitting in front of a blank page.

So if life gets hectic or busy or overwhelming. Have faith that the story that needs to be told is working its magic. Give it a little space to do its thing. Get out of the chair and go take a walk or run your errands or deal with the day job or just sit and breathe fresh air before it gets too cold to do so. Spend a little less time doing and a little more time just being. Your story will still get told. It has a life of its own. And sometimes a little less productiveness on your part is just what the story needs to free it into form.

Be well

Writers Block: Getting Unstuck

Cheryl — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 17:30:42 GMT

I've been working on a first draft lately. I love first drafts. It's like reading a new book, learning what happens as you move from page to page, learning about the characters, learning what they're learning. This manuscript had been progressing really smoothly, as if it knew what it needed to say, and I was just there to get it down on paper.... Until I got stuck. Maybe it was because there's so much going on at home. Maybe it was because I was trying to work in medical situations that I don't yet fully understand and for which I need to do more research. But for whatever reason, I was stuck. And I hate being stuck. I sort of knew where I wanted to go, but I wasn't sure if that plot point was going to work and I definitely did not know how to get there.

Yesterday I came across an article about what to do when you can't figure out how to get from point A to point B in your story. It had some great suggestions. The one that resonated with me the most was the advice one of the authors had learned from Stephen J. Cannell, which entailed plotting the place where you're stuck from the perspective of the antagonist. It made me realize that I've been so busy moving forward that I'd forgotten about all the other juicy stuff you learn from taking a breather and seeing what your characters have to say about things.

So late last night (a time when I never feel alert enough to write), I set aside the manuscript and interviewed my antagonist, asking him to show me what was happening from his perspective. Even though I'd already had an overall idea of what he would say, it wasn't until he said it that I saw the complete picture. I'd been aware of his basic motivation, but not of the details of what had been happening along the way to make his choices make sense. And in discovering that, I was able to see how the rest of the story will play out.

Now, I just need to find the time to get it all down. So note to self: When you're feeling stuck, don't try to push through. Step back, seek out your characters, let them tell you what happens next. It's much easier than trying to think it up yourself!

Friday Five: When it rains it pours

Cheryl — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 15:09:09 GMT

Life's been throwing us some curveballs lately. I don't like curveballs. I like straight, slow-pitched tosses that are predictable and easy to manage. But here's what those ~~maddening, irritating, $#%^&~~ pesky curveballs have been getting me to think about:

1. Stay in the moment. Don't rush ahead. Don't let your worried brain spin out on possibilities that aren't happening right now.

2. Shifting directions may not be what you want to do in any given circumstance, but sometimes it leads you to a better path.

3. In writing, sometimes the author asks the question, "What's the worst thing that could happen to my character right now?" And then we make those things happen, which keeps the tension high and the reader reading. I'm noticing that when real life starts to feel like someone's up there asking that question, it pretty much sucks. But things could always be worse (knock wood they don't go any farther) and luckily, in real life, these rough patches usually pass. Gives me more empathy for my characters!

4. People always say to not take health for granted. And yet we do. Because we're so used to it. We think we can always count on it. Then when it slips away you realize how much of life is predicated on that assumption that health will be there. Feel grateful for it every day.

5. You know that saying, "when it rains it pours?" Yeah, maybe the southwestern states could send some of their drought our way. I could sure use a little sunshine <3

What Holds You Back

Cheryl — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 16:19:55 GMT

I had an epiphany in my writing group last night. (Thank you to Susanne West.) It's the idea that what holds our characters back from becoming fully formed is probably the same thing that holds us back in our lives. I know it's true for me. The places I hold myself back in life are the same places I hold my characters back.

Writing becomes therapy. If I can push my characters, challenge them to risk what I'm afraid to risk in my own life, they become more fully fleshed. And when I see them taking those risks, they inspire me to do the same. And that gives me more confidence to push them further. It's a positive cycle. But the opposite can also be true. If I won't let them take risks, I'm even less likely to take them myself, and then both life and writing become stagnant.

What risks are you willing to take in your writing was the question my friend Susanne posed. Think about it - and see if it isn't the same as the risk you maybe need to take in your life.