#Author #Interviews: @cl_schneider shares tips on living the #indieauthor #writinglife as well as awesome #writingtips on #writing #epicfantasy and #urbanfantasy

Featured

Hello hello, lovely readers & writers both! This week I’d like to introduce you to the fantastic C.L. Schneider, writer of mystery and mayhem in worlds of fire and adventure. Born in a small Kansas town on the Missouri river, she penned her first novel at age sixteen on a typewriter in her parent’s living room. She currently resides in New York’s scenic Hudson Valley with her husband and two sons.

Today on Jean Lee’s World, she’s got two thrilling series and lots of awesome input to share on writing. I also picked her brain on balancing parenthood and the author life, because I need all the help I can get!

*

Let’s talk first about your kickin’ Nite Fire series. You do a lovely job blending mystery and fantasy in the urban environment. What did you find to be the most challenging about blending the genres?

Actually, I didn’t think about trying to blend the two. The mystery aspect developed organically as the characters and plot came together. What I really found challenging was (after spending years in the world I created for The Crown of Stones), I was suddenly working with modern, real-life elements, locations, and situations. The series is set in a fictional city, so I knew I had a tiny bit of leeway. But I was specifically concerned about police procedures, as well as the forensic and arson portions of Dahlia’s investigations. I did a fair amount of research, but I’m lucky to have someone on my beta reading team who’s in law enforcement. He’s only a text away, and I’m very grateful for his input.

Oh how cool! I wouldn’t mind having an herbalist in my pocket for my Fallen Princeborn series, not to mention a baker…or, well, I could try and actually bake better.

Ahem. Where was I? Oh! Dahlia Nite is quite the spitfire of a heroine (pun intended, hee hee!). I love her drive to fight and protect the weaker races like we poor humans. Now I see you write the Nite Fire books from her perspective. Can you describe the logic of your choice to write in first person for this series as opposed to third person omniscient?

I never considered writing Nite Fire in third person. While I do write in third, first person has always been my preferred way to write (and read). it’s the most natural to me. It allows me to step into my character’s mind and connect more deeply with them.  My hope is that it will do the same thing for my readers, giving them a personal, intense connection to the character and the story.

I won’t ask you to share any spoilers from Smoke and Mirrors, the third volume in the Nite Fire series, but I will ask if we’re to have as much murder and mayhem as we have in the previous books!

Oh, definitely! The “murder” portion is a bit of a different flavor this time, though. Instead of individual human victims, as in the past two books, someone is dumping dismembered body parts around Sentinel City. To make matters worse, most of the dissected parts aren’t human, and they’re too mismatched to put together a complete body. As Dahlia and Creed search for the killer (and the missing pieces), the mayhem unfolds 😊  

Coming Soon!

I can’t wait for Smoke and Mirrors’ release! At least we can read Crown of Stones in the meantime. Now in THAT series, your primary character is a male. As a female writer, how did you put yourself into a male character’s mind?

It’s funny. I’ve had men ask me how (being a woman) I wrote the character of Ian Troy so well. And I always tell them the same thing; I have no idea! Lol.  There was no prep. I didn’t think about Troy being male (or female). The story evolved entirely from the creation of his character, so I knew him very well before I even started writing. That’s the key: knowing your character inside and out. It’s crucial for writing any character, regardless of gender. I lived and breathed Ian for a while before I even started writing the first book. It was a level of familiarity that made it easier to put myself into his mind. I saw myself as him, experienced the story through his eyes, words, and actions. His gender didn’t matter to me. Just how best to tell his story.

In fact, I’d written Ian for so long, when I started Nite Fire, I was worried about writing from a woman’s perspective. But by creating her first (and letting the story develop from her), I had Dahlia as clear in my head as Ian was. And the rest fell into place.   

I have such trouble with working on names in fantasy: when to use a name that sounds familiar vs. creating a name vs. utilizing another culture’s names. How on earth do you choose what kinds of names to use, especially in the universe you built for Crown of Stones?

I don’t enjoy stories where every other name is impossible to pronounce. I’ve picked up a book and put it back on the shelf simply for that reason. If I can’t get through the blurb on the back because I can’t pronounce the places or names, I’m not reading it. I want to enjoy my reading experience, not stress over it! At the same time, I like unique names. So I try to have a balance, based entirely on what I’m naming. To me, certain characters or places scream to have a different sound or a hard sound versus soft. Sometimes, I look at names from other cultures. Sometimes, I take a name and mash it with another or switch up the spelling. Mostly, though, I think about the qualities of the characters I’m naming.

Are they vicious, kind, brave, intelligent?  What traits or abilities stand out about them? Are they a pompous king, a “what you see is what you get” type of person, a wise woman, or a hardened warrior? Where do they come from? What are their people like? If I’m trying to name a place, what are the conditions and terrain like? To put it simply, I look at specific qualities and try to create a name or a sound that best represents those qualities.

You’re an extremely active indie author who attends conventions and books signings, which can terrify the new author such as myself.  What benefits do you see from attending conventions and signings? How can an author brace himself/herself for the in-person appearance?

I love in-person events! Conventions and signings are great ways to form a connection with potential readers. You can convey so much about your work with a casual in-person chat that goes beyond a tweet or trading messages online.  If the interaction is memorable, hopefully it will encourage them to tell someone else about your work. And there’s nothing better than a repeat customer seeking you out at a convention to tell you how much they loved your book!  

As far as preparing goes, the best way to is to know your material. Since it’s your book, that’s the easy part! Be sure to have a few short hooks to reel people in when they stop and ask what the story is about.  Anticipate questions and practice ahead of time. If you’re nervous, say so. The people coming to your table want to meet you—the real you. Most importantly, smile and have fun. If you’re sitting there looking miserable, people will walk on by. Be friendly. Offer a giveaway and have a nice, eye-catching presentation to draw them to your table.

Awesome tips, thanks! Now I gotta ask you about family stuff, because your bio mentions two sons, and *I* have two sons who pull me every which way aaaaaaaall day. How do you balance writing and parenting? I’m always looking for new strategies!

Well, it’s a little bit easier now that they’re older (16 and 12). Though they do stay up and watch TV with me now, so I’ve lost that time at night to write. But it was definitely harder when they were little. I had to sneak my writing in whenever I could. I brought a notebook with me to soccer games and swim lessons. I stayed up ridiculously late or wrote when they were napping.  I used to bring the laptop into the kitchen, so I could stir dinner, type a few minutes, then stir again. Okay, I still do that. Lol. But I spent a lot of years “stealing” minutes at a time.  

Looking back now, though it would have been much easier, I’m glad I didn’t put my writing aside until they were older. Instead, I fought every day to fit in a few sentences or paragraphs, or (if I was lucky) a couple of pages. There was no prep, no process for getting in the zone. I took what time I could get, when I could get it. It was frustrating then, but it forced me to learn how to fall in and out of a story at a moment’s notice, which has proven to be an invaluable tool.  

Any other closing words of encouragement to help your fellow writers through the rough days?

I think a lot of new writers feel they have to write linear, but that’s not true. If you’re having trouble visualizing a scene, don’t stress. Leave it and move onto one that’s clear in your head. When I’m drafting, I rarely write linear. I jump around, writing the chapters or scenes that are most vivid in my mind. Then I go back, write what goes in between, and “marry” them together. I can always fix any changes or inconsistencies in rewrites.

In short: getting down what I’m visualizing best—emptying my head of what’s rattling around in there—frees up my imagination to concentrate on the scene(s) I’m less sure about. Many times, it will spark a new subplot or characters idea that I hadn’t thought of before. Writing out of order might not work for everyone, but it keeps me writing versus staring at the screen.

Thank you so much for your time, my friend!  You truly rock the indie house.

C.L. Schneider can be found in all sorts of places!

Website  www.clschneiderauthor.com
Twitter  https://twitter.com/cl_schneider
Facebook   https://www.facebook.com/CLS.Author
Instagram  https://www.instagram.com/clschneiderauthor/
Goodreads  https://www.goodreads.com/goodreadscomCLSchneider
Amazon Author Page   http://author.to/CLSchneiderAmazonPg
BookBub Profile Page https://www.bookbub.com/authors/c-l-schneider
Subscribe to newsletter http://www.clschneiderauthor.com/subs
Join My Street Team  http://bit.ly/2wyEO8ySIGNUP

Next week we’ll return to our discussion of that old chestnut of a writer’s problem known as character death. duhn duhn DUUUUHN! Don’t miss it!

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

Even the smallest #mom wields the powerful #magic of #love. #celebrating #motherhood #writing #kidlit #writinglife

“Why isn’t Huck Finn’s dad nice to him?” Blondie asks from  behind her beloved stuffed dog Sledgehammer.

Bo closed The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and stared at the cover a good long moment before answering. “Some parents are not that nice, kiddo,” he says, and goes on to talk a bit about alcohol addiction.

I came in after her prayers as I always do to give her a hug and kiss goodnight. “I hope Huck gets away soon,” she says.

“He can’t have any adventures if he doesn’t.”

Blondie nods, then brightens. “I can’t wait until my birthday party!”

So it goes when talking to an almost-nine-year-old: from horrifying parents to birthday celebrations in the blink of a beautiful eye.

It struck me, then, how few stories I read during my own childhood that contained positive parent figures. There’s no parents in the Chronicles of Narnia that I recall. Ramona Quimby had a mom, I think…but she wasn’t a major character, or at the very least, memorable. Fairy tale parents are usually evil or inconsequential. Babysitter Club books are usually about girls solving their own problems without parental help (why else would a babysitter be around?). I don’t recall Nancy Drew having extensive scenes with her folks. Few of the detective novels I read had much of anything to do with family, come to think, unless you count Sherlock’s brother Mycroft. But that’s a brother, not a parent, and he only shows up twice.

Huh. No wonder Blondie’s reaction to Huck Finn sticks with me still: I didn’t have that kind of exposure to the Nasty Parent at her age. Even the evil stepmom of Cinderella doesn’t go on drunk binges and whip Cinderella with a belt. Huck Finn’s dad is nasty. Scary-nasty. The sort of nasty that’s talked about on the news or in a television series, not a kid’s book.

Now why am I going off like this? Because here in the U.S. Mother’s Day approaches, and I want to celebrate the positive parent characters in children’s literature. Seriously, they exist! Like…um…oh! Ray Bradbury created a loving relationship between father and son in Something Wicked This Way Comes. Even Diana Wynne Jones, who had a miserable relationship with her own parents, could still create some flawed yet very loving parents in books like Archer’s Goon and The Ogre Downstairs.

Today, I’d like to look at one of the strongest moms in fantasy fiction, a widow with four young children, one of whom’s gravely ill.

I am, of course, talking about Mrs. Frisby.

Or Brisby, if you knew her by the Don Bluth film like I did.

For some reason the film adaptation of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH named her Brisby. I’d like to think it’s because Hermione Baddeley, who voiced Auntie Shrew, really rattles your teeth whenever she shrilly hollers Mrs. Brisby’s name.

With all due respect to Robert C. O’Brien, the book moves with a much…quieter, calmer pace, I’ll say, than the Bluth film.

And, well, let’s face it: O’Brien doesn’t have any electro-magic wielded by rats voiced by the majestic Sir Derek Jacobi, let alone a soundtrack composed by the ever-wonderful James Horner.

Bluth’s version of Mrs. Brisby is a widow just like the Mrs. Frisby of the book, and both versions do have four children and one suffering from pneumonia. But unlike Mrs. Frisby of the book, Mrs. Brisby is constantly facing certain death in order to protect her kids. From standing in the bones of other mice to speak with the Great Owl…

…to running under the farmer wife’s feet in order to sedate Dragon, the barn cat that KILLED HER HUSBAND, Mrs. Brisby puts her life on the line time and again for her family. I can still remember the terror racing through my little-kid heart when the giant rat guard tries to electrocute Mrs. Brisby at the gate into the rose bush…

…or when the Brisby home begins sinking in the mud and all the kids inside are gasping for air.

(Oh yes, Bluth’s films are both awesome and TERRIFYING. Just ask MG author Celine Kiernan—she worked for him!)

But because I felt the terror then, and saw this little mommy mouse defy her fears to run into a moving tractor to disable it while the ceiling started to cave in around her sick son, because I felt the panic in her pulling rope after rope around her sinking house to keep her children from drowning—because I felt all the fear Mrs. Brisby experienced, the courage she also displayed resonated with me very, very deeply; it resonates with me still, thirty years later. In a story of mice and electro-magic rats, I saw motherhood in its purest form:

Love, fearless and boundless, strong and eternal.

May our own hands brave the fire to protect those who matter most.

What positive parent characters appear in your favorite stories? Please share so I can give Blondie something to look forward to…

I’ll be the first to admit the moms of my own fiction are, shall we say, some nasty pieces of work. Scope out my novel and free short stories on Amazon and on this site to find out more.

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

A letter to my #father of #grief, #family, #Easter, and #StarTrek

Dear Dad,

Another Holy Week is almost over. Another Easter on the horizon.

Another Easter without you.

This time of year the stores are overloaded with Easter lilies, the scent of their beautiful white blooms permeating every aisle. Of all your allergies, Easter lilies were the worst, especially because the old ladies of the church flower guilds never really took it seriously.

Oh, you’d tell them, and I’m sure they nodded politely, but what did they do on Saturday? STUFF the altar with lilies for the Easter service Sunday morning.

So where are you during those two, sometimes three services Easter morning? Not in the pulpit, that’s for damn sure. Down in the pews, as far from the altar as you can get, silently praying you can at least speak your way through the service without passing out because your throat’s so constricted. Singing Easter hymns was not even an option, which sucked, because I know how much you loved them. Even if the flower guilds used a mix of fake and real lilies, it made no difference–your voice would always be so hoarse anyone would have thought you’d spent the last six hours cheering for William Shatner’s arrival at a Star Trek convention.

Honestly, that’s what initially got me writing this. Not Easter, but Star Trek.

All my listening to James Horner put Bo in a mood for Star Trek; one clip with the kids later, and Biff is hooked.

Oh, Dad. Biff’s so into Star Trek right now it’s hilarious and sad all at once. He stares at the ships, absorbing every detail. He’s transforming boxes into his own Enterprise, Excelsior, Reliant–the kid’s got the entire Starfleet parked on the end of his bed, manned by the brave comfies from Planet Teeny Ty. I can’t imagine what a conversation between you and Biff would have been like, especially when the little guy’d insist Excelsior is cooler than Enterprise.

And because I can’t imagine that conversation, I’ve been pretty damn sad.

My last picture of you and Biff–his first birthday, 2013. Probably can’t see it, but you’re wearing your Dr. Who-Harry Potter scarf fight shirt. I have a pillow with that shirt’s image now.

Bash shows me the first book he made about the Wall-E and Eve robots, and I can’t help but remember when I’d show my own stories to you, how’d we spend ages going over the stories I’d type on that goliath of an IBM computer.

How is this the only picture I have of you and Bash? Where are the others? I asked Bo, and he’s pretty sure our sister-in-law was the camera-holic at that time. I’ll have to get those pictures from her somehow.

I hear Blondie sing in church, and can’t help but remember those toddler years when she’d run up the aisle at your own church at the end of a service. You would pause the announcements, and just stand there, grinning, until she reached out for you with her little hands. You’d hold each other all through the announcements, recessional, and greeting, so happy to be together.

You and Blondie in Door County, Wisconsin, 2013

Blondie turns nine next month.

Bash, Blondie, & Biff, 2019

How you’d laugh with these guys now, sharing goofy faces and terrible puns. How you’d run after them at the park, caught up in epic battles of dragons and space ships. How you’d throw your hands up in exasperation when facing the latest generation of family stubbornness I know I got from you and have passed on to all three of my little B’s.

How I miss the memories that never were.

But this Easter, I’m doing my damndest not to let love known in the past prevent me from seeing the hope of a happy future.

Awake, my heart, with gladness,
See what today is done,
Now after gloom and sadness
Comes forth the glorious Sun!
My Savior there was laid
Where our bed must be made
When to the realms of light
Our spirit wings its flight.

From the lutheran hymn “awake my heart with gladness”

Despite those lilies, you loved Easter. You loved sharing its joy, its hope, its miraculous nature. If not for Easter, there would be no hope for us beyond these few years of mortal coils. Through Christ, death can only keep us apart for a little while; through Christ, we know that when our time on earth is done we will be joined together in Heaven, where we can share all the songs and smiles, stories and laughter we’ve gathered over the years.

Happy Easter, Dad. For once I can put a lily next to you and it won’t kill you, let alone keep you from singing the Easter hymns you loved so much.

The Easter hymns I still cannot sing, too choked with tears.

But no tears will ever choke my hope of seeing you again in Heaven.

Happy Easter, everyone.

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 30

Looking back, I must admit I didn’t reach the summit on this Whole30 climb.

Dairy: I kept my distance! No milk, yogurt, cheese. I never once desired a shake or sundae. The only bummer came when it was time for chili and I couldn’t have sour cream. Honestly, that’s the only dairy I truly miss. Even the clarified butter’s grown on me so that I don’t miss the typical wad of butter thrown into veg or mashed potatoes.

Gluten: Another success. It helps I had started cutting down on grain intake since Christmas. Sure, I like cookies and brownies. I loooooove tasty banana or zucchini or rhubarb bread. And PIE! Ah, sweet, sweet pie.

But these aren’t “typical” grains, like bread or pasta. Those I never missed, not one day. I used to eat oatmeal in the morning, but some reheated sweet potatoes have become an excellent substitute.

Sugar: So about those pies and other sweet treats…

Yes, I’ve successfully avoided desserts. This month has shown me just how often I’d dip into those cookies, brownies and jars of oh-so-honeylicious creamy peanut butter. But my one “cheat,” my one thing I just couldn’t give up, was coffee creamer. Almond milk, coconut milk, cashew milk–the consistency messes with my brain, and the taste feels like it’s embittering the coffee more than anything.

Out with the blech, in with the YUM!

I know I’ve talked about my resolutions already, so I won’t repeat that. What I would like to say is how deeply proud I am of Bo.

For a guy who used to shrug at health issues with the mantra of “We’re all doomed to die anyway,” he made this amazing mental 180 and has not only stuck to the Whole30 FOR the whole 30, but he has every intention of sticking to many of its guidelines. Yeah, we’ll probably award ourselves with pizza tomorrow to celebrate his completion, but we’re talking a slice, not a whole pizza. Sure, Bo’s going to enjoy creamer in his morning commute tea, but he’s sticking with salads, protein, and fruit for work instead of returning to sandwiches. He can feel the weight loss in how he sits and moves; I know it by how little he snores. It’s a change that was hard, will continue to be hard, but he’s not giving up.

No, I didn’t complete the sheer climb up the Whole30.

But Bo did.

I am more than happy to wave to him from my own road to the summit, whistling as I go, knowing that Bo’s more than ready to encourage me every step of the way.

So, this concludes my 30-day blog-a-thon! Now I’m going to spend the next few days climbing a new mountain–a far sweeter mountain–of likes and comments from you, kind readers. To each and every one of you who has followed my Whole30 journey in words: thank you so very, very much for walking this road with me. Cheers to you, Kind and Noble Company. May the Road ahead be one of adventure, laughter, and hope.

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 27

BEFORE THE KEYNOTE

I’m running around the house doing anything but prepare: laundry, readying kids for school, dishes–

Bo: “Know what you need?”

A sedative. A one-way ticket to Oslo. A chorus of Muppets performing a musical review of Animal Crackers.

“No. You need to go downstairs, breathe in those cinnamon pinecones on your desk, and pull out my copy of Isaac Hayes’ Hot Buttered Soul.”

But I can’t listen to it. It’s not Hot Clarified Butter Soul. Get it? Eeeeh? Get it? Whole30 humor!

Oh I’m going to fail on so many levels…

AFTER KEYNOTE

The opening slide of my keynote presentation! With, um, cover-ups. 🙂

Well…I spoke like a juiced driver on the Daytona track, but I didn’t flub my points or the snippets I read from Stolen and “The Stray.” Thank the Lord I could use my old–slogan?–“Writer of Fantasy and Adventure in Her Own Backyard” to be the theme of my talk. I delved into Wisconsin’s landscape and how it inspired my fiction from little on, and that any writer can create worlds unique to their stories with a little help from the everyday environment around them.

Building the extraordinary out of the ordinary, as it were.

Afterwards, I had many colleagues tell me they felt really excited to explore the favorite places from their own childhoods as I had with mine, and to take a crack at some fantasy fiction of their own.

Gotta admit: I felt proud of that. Relieved, but proud. x

Now I just need to read my nonfiction piece about Blondie without flubbing. Here we go!

AFTER NONFICTION READING

I cried.

No joke.

This moment with Blondie still pulls all those emotions of motherhood to the fore: guilt for writing instead of playing with her, pain for making her feel like work mattered more. Determination to make right, only to have my plans be too “scary” for her. Dammit, I’m going to cry again!

But the one good thing about tears while reading: it gets the listeners all teared up too. So never mind my editing snafus in the piece–I got the whole room cryin’.

Gotta admit, I’m proud of that. Of Blondie, of this day, of all of it, now. For once, I’m going to allow myself to be proud of myself.

Now I just need to survive that interview with the faculty panel tomorrow…

Oh! Before I forget: tomorrow is the LAST day my novel’s on sale for 99 cents. If you know anyone who loves fantasy, be sure to drop this title their way before March runs my sale out of town!

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 24

One week from today is Day 31.

Next Sunday, I can have peanut butter. Or pizza. Or pie. Or pizza and peanut butter pie slathered with whipped cream and chocolate chips and fudge chunks and kit kats and–

Now now, Jean. One week from now or one month from now, you got to stay the course.

Even my mom, who wasn’t enthused with our venture at the outset but has since grown impressed with Bo’s dedication, put a pretty important question to me:

“How are you going to stick with it?”

Because dammit, we have to.

Now I’m not saying I’ll never let myself have peanut butter again. But it can’t be a daily staple for me, either, just like ice cream, or cocoa, or heck, even bread. Even Bo’s accepting that label-reading in grocery stores has to continue so we can keep our sugar intake down. We both want to enjoy sugar, but on our terms.

That means creamer for coffee–yay!

But no sugar in our pasta sauce or canned goods.

That means the occasional pizza–yay!

But dairy’s off-limits in the daily fare. These past few weeks have made me realize just how many culinary sins I used to cover up with shredded cheese or wads of butter. Bo and I have always been pretty easy-going in our tastes–meat’n’potatoes folk, if you will. So long as we have clarified butter and a few good spices to mix up with the meat and veg, we’re good.

That means a nummy submarine sandwich–yay!

But grains cannot be a staple in meals. Bo’s got to keep taking salads to work. No more noodle-based casseroles during the week. All those carbs in the evening are just going to sit in our guts and do nothing.

Don’t forget dessert! Dessert CAN BE REAL DESSERT AGAIN! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

Eh. No. No, Jean.

When I was in graduate school, I could only afford oatmeal packets, rice, frozen vegetables, and creamed soup to eat. Ten bucks would buy me enough of those things for the week, with a little leftover to restock my coffee when that ran out. When I got married, Bo and I loved having all sorts of sundaes, brownies, cookies, cakes….we looooooooved our desserts.

But you know…that made them, well, not all that special.

I want that piece of apple pie to be special. I want to appreciate that sweet treat, not take it for granted.

Which is why, of course, I must eat an entire apple pie in order to appreciate it properly.

Oh, to be that child…

Ahem.

Now I better scoot. Trouble’s brewing upstairs over a certain 3rd grader’s Science Fair project.

In the meantime, enjoy a tasty dish of adventure with Charlotte and Liam before they wreak havoc with Arlen’s pies. 99 pennies will get you the whole novel plus some kickin’ bonus stuff. It doesn’t get sweeter than this!

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 23

ONE WEEK LEFT! WOOHOO!

My apologies for a super-brief post yesterday. I must be too old for writing on the mobile phone, which was all I had in the few minutes wandering one of my hometowns while waiting for a friend. Perhaps someday I’ll stay in the historic bed and breakfast here, the one my elementary classmates always insisted was haunted.

But that’s for another day. Last night was a lovely evening of laughter and griping about books, work, lives, and so on. I could feel a load of tension drop from my shoulders for the first time all week.

Of course, that tension grabbed right back on this morning.

Bo and I were supposed to drive across Wisconsin and Minnesota to attend a family function.

How the hell will I get work done? What if I don’t connect with the other people there? Can my mother handle all three kids by herself for TWO nights? Did they survive the sledding trip? What if we get stuck on the road? What if we get into an accident? What if–

You know how it goes.

We set off before dawn. Rain slid along the pavement, down our coats and along the car’s hood.

And froze.

Oh, the ice set in quick. The road was nothing better than a skating rink. We could see the trailers of semis slowly wing one way, then another. It didn’t take long for Bo to say, “No way. Rain’s one thing. Snow’s one thing. But this is all ice, dear. We can’t swing this.”

THANK GOD.

How could I not agree? Not just for my selfish “I need to work” reasons, but for our own safety, our kids’ welfare. Yeah, I felt bad about disappointing the MN relations, but kids’ needs first, period. Paragraph. Page. Book.

The return home was tense, but at least we only had a forty-some minute journey as opposed to the five-hour trek just to reach the Minnesota destination. I shook with my coffee carafe by the fireplace while Bo made the greatest breakfast food one could possibly hope for on a cold, ice-addled day:

Yup. Bacon.

S.J. Higbee made such a great comment to me last week after my anxiety attack about the importance of comfort. While the Whole30 diet has been important for Bo and me, the lack of comfort food has made recovering from anxiety all the harder. The new teas have helped, yes, and Bo found some essential oils I can use while driving.

But dammit, I miss peanut butter!

Bacon’s a good runner-up, though, and Whole30 compliant if you find the right brand.   That first bite took aaaall the tension knotted between my shoulder blades. We split the whole package of bacon between the two of us, and neither of us regret a single bite. After a month of remembering lost loved ones and fretting over future changes, the dangerous trek on the ice was the last straw for both of us.

Finding that moment of sensory comfort made all the difference.

So, now that I’m calm and safe, it’s almost time to head back out on the road to pick the kids up from Grandma’s!

(sigh)

Don’t worry. The rain’s finally let up and the ice is melting. My tummy’s got comfort food, I have comfy smells to smell, comfy music to listen to.

And a comfy Bo to hold my hand. x

So while we’re off grabbing children between the raindrops, feel free to check out my stories which are free here, here, and on sale here. Don’t forget to leave a word or two of a review when you’re done, because we writers LOVE hearing readers think!

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 20

Free Fiction Has Come from the Wilds (3)

Even though this day’s not even half over, I just had to write now because I ticked a victory against anxiety this morning!

Hmm. Maybe I should call this the “Climbing Anxiety.”

Anyway.

We woke up to another messy snow, but thankfully Dane County’s trying to keep all the kids in school. Whew! This winter’s already given us twice as much snow as the 2017-2018 winter season, so it’s nice to know that the schools aren’t going to shut down just because yet another couple powdery inches have fallen. Bo left before dawn at 6am, and I worked on getting the kids up and ready for school.

6:30 news: There are reports of an accident near the intersection of the interstate and highway___

Me: OH MY GOD IT’S BO HE’S DEAD

Hang on, Jean.

He’s an extremely careful driver.

He just had the car in for a tune-up.

He’s been driving this route for years now. He knows how the truckers behave.

He’s driven through worse snow than this, too.

If you don’t hear from him in 2 hours, check his work.

For now, focus on the kids.

I simmered down. Got the kids ready. Kept drinking water and muttering to myself about what I wanted to accomplish today, what I should discuss with the teachers at the PT conferences tomorrow. Made sure the phone was nearby at all times, just in case.

I did NOT have a panic attack.

My chest hurt, yes, and I had to do lots of deep breathing, but I didn’t get dizzy or develop tunnel vision or have a racing heart.

Ten minutes to eight: Bo’s at work, safe and sound. Roads were fine for most of the way.

I said a prayer of thanks and saw the boys off to school. I got ready to text him a quick grocery list, especially keen for him to find a tea I saw recommended for handling anxiety. But then I saw a winter weather advisory on my phone: freezing rain was coming through the county today starting at midday and going on and off into the evening.

Bo would be driving in that.

He shouldn’t be stopping at a store, Jean.

But every time I drive in snow–

Shut that noise. You CAN get there and back before the freezing rain comes.

You’ve driven in way worse crap and lived to tell the tale.

You have to face this, Jean.

It’s now or never.

(Sorry, that BOW BOW noise did actually enter my head at the moment. Better than “Final Countdown,” I suppose.)

I get in the car. There’s coffee, water, bad radio, old Christian rock I discovered in a binder from…college?…smelly lip balm.

Okay.

I go it slow and steady towards the interstate. Few cars both going around me, because the hilly country roads are just too damn risky for fast passes. Whatever accident had occurred had already been cleared. I get onto the interstate without sliding.

And fifteen miles later, I’m off the interstate into the hipster town with the hoidy toidy grocery store.

I made it!

It took smearing balm all over the skin under my nose, lots of talking at the radio, and interrogating myself if I actually stole that music from the Christian book store where I worked twenty years ago or legitimately bought it, but I got there.

The hoidy toidy grocery didn’t have the tea I was hoping for, but they did have another from the article that was strongly recommended. I grabbed it, another container of @#^!&$$ almond milk, and some grapes to reward myself for making it this far. I graciously accepted compliments from the cashiers for my Harry Potter hat, and returned to the car.

Time to do it all again.

Me: I got this far. I can do it again.

Damn right you can. You’re halfway there!

(Okay, I openly admit this song only came to me while writing right now and it was too perfect not to use. Who knew Bon Jovi would provide the soundtrack of my day?)

Not  one dizzy spell the whole drive home. The worst spell was actually just the last miles to town, where a semi decided to tail my ass on a road covered with windblown snow. But rather than freak out, my old-school driver-self took over, and I just kept it slow and avoided braking unless absolutely necessary.

And lo and behold, I’m home.

Driving’s always going to be a potential trigger for an attack. I accept that. But this morning I proved to myself that I CAN drive despite the weather and despite the fear.

That’s a win if I ever knew one.

FLAT FINDERS REALTY

Oh! Before I forget: for those of you who’ve read my novel, I’ve been asked to read an excerpt during my keynote. Any recommendations of a bit–ideally without too many cuss words?

And if you haven’t read my novel yet, you can snatch it up for 99 pennies. Or, you can just check out my free fiction here or here. It’s all good, I think. 🙂

Free Fiction Has Come from the Wilds (2)

Write on, read on, and share on, my friends!

JeanLee-nameLogoBoxed

 

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 19

Free Fiction Has Come from the Wilds (3)

Thank you all so very, very much for your encouragement and prayers. I know I left things on a bit of a cliffhanger yesterday, so I’ll just pick up from there.

We got the kids from school and fed them an early supper. I tried laying down to see if that helped, but it only made me so damn dizzy to go to the bathroom that I refused to lay down again. I tried eating a little in case I was just lightheaded from not eating–nope. My chest continued to hurt, and my limbs started to feel weird.

Now that, well, that freaked me out.

One look to Bo is all it takes. Short of shoveling food into the kids’ mouths, he gets their coats and says we’re all going NOW. I keep counting my breaths and holding Bo’s hand while we drive. The kids are quiet. Not scared, I don’t think. Probably a little disappointed, actually, considering when I had my first severe panic attack they got to meet firefighters and climb all over the firetruck while the ambulance took me to the hospital. They still recall that as being “a fun day,” the turds.

This time we’re at a clinic, and I’m going to see a doctor. My kids are in the waiting room with their little video games, and Bo has my hand. I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

And I think because I was there, and knowing I was there to get answers, the panic began to subside.

Figures I calm down just in time to see the doctor.

But it was still a good visit. A professional who knows how hearts and lungs should work is telling me everything’s working as it should. She recommends investing in a wrist FitBit (Pffft, like I have money for that) so I have a visual realization whenever it feels like my heart’s racing, it really isn’t. She does go through various medications, and that I could start taking antidepressants if I so chose.

I squirm a little. Why am I squirming? Didn’t I want an answer like this, a pill that will make everything better?

What IS wrong, Jean? Seriously, what’s wrong?

This month marks 5 years since Dad died, eight years since Bo’s dad died.

You’re in the running for a full-time faculty position at the university.

You got named keynote speaker, so the pressure’s on to stand out during the lit conference.

Your sons got suspended from school again, and now you need to work out their neuro-evals for the sensory integration disorder.

You’re wondering how the hell you’ll write if you do land that full-time gig.

You’re worried about your daughter. Are you pushing her too hard, or not enough? Are you spending enough time with her, or not enough?

Money. Always money issues.

Some other family issues I promised not to write about but have been weighing damn hard on me.

Bo’s finally caring about his health, but is it too late?

And the bloody cherry on top of aaaaaall of this is that my Aunt Flo came this morning. (sorry male readers)

With all that on you and then the monthly hormonal chaos, is it any wonder a panic attack slammed you in the chest again, Jean?

The doctor’s still talking. Not about meds any more, but sensory distractions: essential oils, for instance, working more with music. Drinking a calming tea. Taking a Vitamin D supplement to counter the severe D-deficiency we all experience in these dark winter months.

I take my notes, thank her for her time. The kids are starting to go nuts in the waiting room, but Bo is there. His hand finds mine.

It’s going to be okay.

Maybe I’ll still need those meds, but I’d like to try the tea and the D and the smelly stuff first. No matter what, I’m gonna keep fighting this. Anxiety doesn’t own me. It won’t break me from my family or what I want to do. If I need Zoloft or something to help me fight back, then that’s what I’ll take.

But I will fight this, God. You put me through so damn much to make me stronger. I will not stop fighting, I will not. Stop. Fighting.

Nor should you stop fighting, readers. Never ever.

Keep reading. Sharing. Writing. Shining. Reach out with your hands to those around you. You never know who needs that hand of love to pull them out of the darkness.

JeanLee-nameLogoBoxed

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 17

Free Fiction Has Come from the Wilds (3)

First, Some Found Pictures:

20190215_071021_2

Bash’s bugs! Preying mantises in the center. Spiny leaf insects on the left. Some ants. Some katydids on the right. Bash’s on the right as well, and…Biff? I forget.

20190215_132108

Look at that Blondie, all ready for volunteering at the humane society! She keeps asking when we can go back. Here’s hoping she maintains that enthusiasm after cleaning litter boxes. 🙂

~*~

Really, Really Bad Food Haiku Because My Brain’s Even More Fried After Working on that Keynote Presentation

Scrambled, fried, mixed up

In a frenzy of green veg:

Eggs. Again. Yippee.

 

You think you’re so smart,

Posing as pasta under sauce.

I’m on to you, cuke!

 

Dear Almond Milk, you

Do not my coffee sweeten.

In thirteen days–out!

 

I forgot how sweet

potatoes glow, delicious,

Kissed with coconut.

~*~

And now a really good Donald Maass quote I found about Setting. Yes, Wisconsin farmland’s in the background.

maass

That’s it! I’m tapped. My brain tells me it’s not going to give me anything new until tomorrow, when I can FINALLY get back to novel-writing. So until then, folks, you have yourself a lovely eve with the snow as white as coconut, and I’m going to go gnaw on a rectangle of smushed dates and cashews. Yum.

 

how much

Who is this lady? You got to visit my exclusive fiction from the Wilds to find out!

Enjoy a free story from the Wilds, or some free River Vine Fiction oooooooor some magic and romance for a steal while I coalesce. Convalesce? Congress? Coagulate? Conjugate?
I’m going to lay down now….

Free Fiction Has Come from the Wilds (2)

Read on, share on, and write on, my friends!

JeanLee-nameLogoBoxed