Vive L'imagination!

Feeling sorry for myself because everyone is out of town, escaping the wretched weather (yes, more snow in Chicago tonight). Writer's imagination to the rescue: this morning, with a little help from Fresh Market, I shall be having breakfast in Paris.

Winter 2014

A threshold I'm not so keen to cross. An article in the Tribune this morning said we adapt to the cold after constant exposure so that 30 degrees in November feels much worse than 30 degrees in February. Hmmph.
I'm trying to make the best of it by focusing on the good parts of a cold, snowy winter: hot chocolate, burrowing under thick blankets, escaping into a novel set in Jamaica or India, relishing comfort foods like mac and cheese, split pea soup, cassoulet. Given that 50% of that list involves high-calorie food, and that the weather is not conducive to exercise, it's no wonder the old jeans are a bit snug.
Nevertheless, there are a couple of things useful to the writer in these arctic days. I've been keeping a weather log because come July, I will have (blissfully) forgotten the details of things like ice around the inside of the front door, the shredded wheat dryness of my skin, and static electricity that jolts me every time I walk across the carpet in wool socks to touch a light switch.
There's also that intriguing theory of adaptability. In addition to frigid temperatures, what else do we become so inured to that it ceases to be something we view as problematic? We might have to shrug off the winter weather, but too much of the time it seems we just accept corrupt politicians, greedy corporate entities, a broken health care system, the disenfranchisement of large portions of our society . . . the list is endless, and the stories are limitless.

The New Year

2014 it is . . . and has been for two weeks. To the left is one of my fave photos, taken in Ireland in 2010. Nearly four years ago now, and yet another indication of how time slips by too quickly. Wasn't I there just a few weeks ago? The image is perfect for illustrating the threshold, the theme (and definition) for Liminalesque, and who doesn't have a sense of moving to a new space as we enter a new year?
For me, new stories, new adventures, and new characters await discovery, along with a few old friends who are hanging around looking for excitement. The first draft of the sequel to THE WORLD UNDONE is finished, and the revision process has started. Here's to Lamott's words of wisdom on "shitty first drafts", to the new year, and to crossing another threshold.

Forging Ahead

If you read this blog, you know I do a lot of thinking while I'm walking Woki. Two weeks ago, our regular walk route found us near the finish line of a bicycle race. Not so unusual along this beautiful stretch of the North Shore. We didn't pay much attention to the colorfully suited hordes streaming past us at ridiculously fast speeds. On a walk, Woki doesn't care about anything but squirrels, and this day, I was completely preoccupied feeling sorry for myself over typical writer-angst stuff. A story I'd worked hard on had been rejected, another one had gotten filleted in a critique group, and the novel-in-progress wasn't progressing. Poor, poor, pitiful me.
A mile or so down the road, we came across one of the bikers, sidelined with mechanical problems. She had almost made it to the finish line, only to have a flat tire ruin her day. I got to thinking about the hours and hours she put in training for this event, and how sad it was to have it spoiled at the last minute. Sounds a lot like writing. Spend hours and hours working on a story only to have it ripped to shreds in a fifteen-minute critique, or summarily discarded by an editor after a five-minute read-through. Woki and I stopped for a moment to talk to her and offer our sympathies. As so often happens, I got more solace and inspiration from the encounter than I could offer.  The biker, whose name is Antoinetta, smiled and shrugged as she said, yes, she'd spent months preparing for the race, but what can you do? Next time would be better.
The older I get, the more I realize that there really does seem to be some sort of ying yang, and for every crappy thing that happens, something good comes along to balance it out.
Did I mention that last week THE WORLD UNDONE was chosen as a finalist for Chicago Writers Association Book of the Year?

Courage

One cold morning a couple of weeks ago, Woki and I found ourselves surrounded by the college football team on their way to the Lake for an early swim. The air temperature was in the low 60s; the Lake not much above 45 degrees. More than one of the burly young guys muttered about the insanely early hour (which 7 am is to college kids) and the ridiculous chill of the Lake (they have something to complain about there, for sure).
As a little experiment, I decided to watch them from the bluff top. Call it schadenfreude or simply curiosity, I was intrigued by the various approaches the boy-men had in tackling (no pun intended) this sadistic requirement for team toughening. Some of the guys tippy-toed to the waters edge, testing carefully before forcing themselves in, inch by inch. Others ran full-tilt boogie like madmen, screaming all the way. In just a few minutes, it became apparent by the way they divested themselves of their shoes and tee-shirts how they would approach the water. The shirt-folders tippy-toed, the shoe flingers ran and screamed.
My eyes caught one young man pulling off his tee, dropping it casually on top of his shoes. He walked across the sand with a smooth, fluid pace, never wavering or changing his stride even as he reached the water's edge. Maintaining the same rhythm, he kept walking as if the water wasn't even there, until he was chest-deep in it, when he switched from walking to a smooth-stroke crawl. My first thought was that if I were hiring someone, this kid would be my choice. There was something not only deliberate in his movements, but confident. The kind of guy who would get the job done, no matter what the obstacles.
A good lesson for writers, too. Send out the manuscripts. Take the criticism and the rejection. Shrug it off and keep moving, even in the icy waters. Someone who thinks you're a cut above the rest might be watching.

It's All About Connections

My 16 new best friends.

One of the highlights of my summer was attending a Story Studio Workshop at Ragdale with moderator Anne LeClaire. Unlike other summer events that fade into the autumn light, I'm still reaping the benefits of that experience. Ragdale is famous for its beauty and creative magic, and both of those attributes were enhanced by Story Studio's ability to pull people together, along with Anne LeClaire's masterful way of teaching us the importance of embracing silence, then truly listening to one another.
There's something about sharing stories, both the fictional yarns spun from the influences and energy of a well-run workshop and the non-fictional tales of our "real" lives, which bonds a group of people quite firmly.
The sixteen people pictured with me in the above photo are the coolest of the cool. I'm so grateful to have met all of them and to have opportunities to further the connections we forged last summer.
It's now been over a month since our workshop, but we've stayed in touch. Four of them--Noreen, Sophie, Paul, and Nancy--came to an author talk I gave at Lake Forest Book Store. Two of them--Noreen and Sophie--will be joining my critique group, and three of us--Julie, Paul, and I--will get together to display our books at the Independent Authors Book Fair on November 2, 2013.
I'm really excited about this Book Fair--a dozen indie authors will have their books available at Re-Invent Gallery in Lake Forest. Oh, and did I mention that the Gallery is owned by Julie's daughter?

Re-Invent Gallery, Lake Forest, IL

It's all about connections. And having great organizations like Story Studio, Ragdale, and Re-Invent to make those connections come to life.

Fountain of Youth

You see that picture above? That is the fountain of youth. Yes, this summer I traveled back in time, back to the summer days of my childhood when the best activity for the day (often the only activity) was to ride my bike to the library and check out as many books as I could cram into the basket strapped to my handlebars. The next stop was Mr. White's Variety Shop where every kid in town learned to add and subtract by purchasing brown bags of candy. Mary Janes, Lemon Heads, So-Pokes, Boston Baked Beans, Milk Duds, Pixie Stiks, the list goes on and on in my memory. I would race home with my haul and spend day after day on the screened porch, lost in stories long after the candy supply ran out.

This summer, those memories were pleasantly jogged when a new shop opened in town. Jolly Good Fellows is by now pretty famous for its ice cream (and justifiably so), but they also have a fab selection of old-time candy favorites. I went a bit wild, purchasing a sack full of the penny treats (okay, in today's economy 25-cent treats). Next stop: the library for a load of books. My tastes in literature can run to the juvenile just as easily as my tastes in sweets, so many of the books I chose were because they are big hits with younger readers. (As a teacher, it's perfectly acceptable for me to read "chapter books," right?)
Whatever my motivations, the outcome was a return to my ten-year-old self. Lolling away a summer afternoon with a grand story and a sticky fistful of Twizzlers and Sixlets was the best vacation I've had in years.

P.S. Favorite books I read this summer: Wonder, R. J. Palacio; Callie Be Gold, Michelle Hurwitz; Divergent, Veronica Roth; Red Kayak, Pricilla Cummings; Gulp, Mary Roach; Wild, Cheryl Strayed; The Law of Bound Hearts, Anne LeClaire