#writerproblems: When Life's River Changes Course (Or, Transforming #Writing shortfalls into Successful #WritingGoals)

Well, here we are. Thanksgiving came and went before I could even show you Blondie’s lovely art project for November.

I do so love anything that reminds me of stained glass windows. xxxxx

I had hoped to share another 1,000 or so words of What Happened When Grandmother Failed to Die with you.

National Novel Writing Month called to my imagination with the promise of storytelling in spite of all life’s commitments. Thousands take up the challenge, so why can’t I? And I was realistic about this, too. I knew 50,000 words was impossible, but surely there could be SOME way to accomplish a meaningful amount of words. I’ve done it before, and dammit, I could do it again!

But if you saw my banner for November, you might already know what changed the course of my plans.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t the motherhood. I managed to turn Biff’s day of fever into a quick morning of writing.

No no–it was the teaching. Yeah, the final projects from my University students were once again a big drain on time, but those at least I knew how to manage. The subbing among six different school districts, however, was constantly unpredictable. A small agreement of a three-hour stint would change into a six-hour haul among several different grades. I’d show up expecting to work with a special needs kid only to find out I’m actually teaching 1st grade math to kids more eager to stab each other in the eye with pencils than to just sit the Godfrey Daniel down. (You can decipher that bold phrase if you channel your inner WC Fields.) This doesn’t even include the 5am phone calls of, “Can you come in today? All day. There are notes here for your duties, I think. We’ll look when you get here.”

It was a busy month. Busy, and rough. I’d be rushing from hours spent with a kid who refused to use kleenex and therefore had a steady stream of mucus running from his nose into his mouth while eating his snack and then coming up to hug every single adult and myself and to give us high fives with those same boogery hands and I had to prevent myself from gagging all over this kid OLD ENOUGH TO USE A FRICKETY FRACKIN’ TISSUE and then get my own kids, NOT let them hug me so I wouldn’t spread whatever germs are smeared in green on my person, and grade finals.

And the typical bits of motherhood don’t vanish,do they? Blondie needed to work on her piano. Biff and Bash needed to do their homework, and they needed to attend their occupational therapy. All three needed to be fed with actual food, not just, you know, dog bowls on the floor. (Though that would be SOOOO much easier.)

At the beginning of November, I was certain I could use the same tactics I had in previous years to write while parenting and teaching. And if my life’s course was still just motherhood and teaching online for the university. it could have worked.

But this fall, the course of my life changed when I added the substitute jobs. The river no longer flowed in the way I understood it. It went from this…

…to this.

I missed writing so much.

I wanted life to continue its typical course with my writing floating atop. I might row for ten miles one day, just around the bend the next. But at least I’d be writing again.

Yet at least two weeks of November passed with no writing at all.

I had failed.

“Failures, repeated failures, are finger posts on the road to achievement. One fails forward toward success.”

C.S. Lewis

That failure hung on me like twin boys determined to make me a tree. It hung on me like the face my daughter used to make when I’d say time and time again, “Not now.” It hung on me like the words my husband couldn’t say because I had to work. I had to do more. There was always more to do.

And that, Dear Friends, is when it’s time to stop.

You may think you can walk upon the river’s stones. You may think you can continue on your course your way because you are you.

That’s what I thought. I put on my sensible shoes and figured I could portage my writing across the rapids without *too* much trouble.

I was so bloody determined to carry my writing through these unpredictable waters that I failed to look on what I had done as any sort of accomplishment.

It’s so easy to get caught up in what we fail to do, isn’t it? We get daily notifications of a gazillion new authors all hot’n’fancy with readers we’d LOVE to have for ourselves. We check out the new best-seller brew-ha-ha and wonder what on EARTH inspires people to spend money on such’n’such garbage when there’s *our* stuff ready and waiting. We hear of yet another remake/re-imagining/reboot/re-whatever and wonder why no one notices the bounty of fresh fiction we create.

We look so longingly at the accomplishments of others that we forget what we ourselves have accomplished. No, I didn’t finish my story, but I did work to help keep Blondie in music and Biff and Bash with their therapy. No, I didn’t finish my story, but I did inspire my daughter to start her own. No, I didn’t finish my story, but I did get to split my sides laughing while Biff and Bash shared their favorite quotes from a Captain Underpants read-a-thon (Seriously, Biff sat and read an entire novel out loud with Bash silently listening. It was AMAZING.)

So Friends, please don’t dwell on what wasn’t finished. There will always be a course to travel, and it will always be a mystery beyond the bend. What matters is that you take a step, then another, then another. One day you may take one hundred steps, the next one thousand, the next, just one. Every single step–every single word–is something to be proud of.

~Stay Tuned Next Week!~

I’m going to start posting on Sundays instead of Thursdays, so now you have to wait until next Sunday for some awesome writing music, updates from Blondie, and perhaps some writing craft study on an old holiday favorite. More author interviews are underway as well, so be sure to stop by and see who’s on the hot-seat in the coming weeks!

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

Guest #BlogPost! Blondie, World-Famous #kidlit #author of #fantasy, shares her latest #book. I am one #proudmom. #creativekids #imagination #writing #NaNoWriMo

Hello! I am Blondie, as you might know already. Right now I’m writing a book called An Expert’s Book On Dragons. It has all the information you need when you go out dragon watching! It includes facts and drawings of dragons you need to look for! Included on this blog post is pictures of the cover, introduction, and first dragon in the book!

This is the words of the introduction and first dragon:

INTRODUCTION

So, people who are reading this book, I, the author, will pose as Firewing, a fire type dragon that ”wrote” this book. Inside this , there will be facts about the dragons,their habitats, and their tracks!

Enjoy!

Firewing (and yes, I am a dragon that can write)

SHARK DRAGON

A shark dragon can spread up to a mile in length, and up to half a mile in width; one of the largest dragons. It can swim in water swiftly. It has webbed feet and 2 fins to help it swim. It lives near the U.S.A., China, and Japan. It has tracks like a duck, but WAY larger.

FIREWING FACT

Did you know that shark dragons are omnivores?

FUN FACTS:

-Shark dragons are often mistaken for giant sharks near California, Oregon, Washington, Maine, Florida, and other seaside states.

-Shark dragons only eat once a month.

-Shark dragons never eat humans. they normally eat fish and plants and other stuff.

-Shark dragons can talk.

-If you save a shark dragon’s life, it will devote it to you and you can tame it.

I have made one other new book and I will update you on that soon! I hope you like this blog post!

Sincerely,

Blondie:)

My daughter was so excited to share this post with you! This ol’ mom’s heart is all squishy with love’n’pride. 🙂 Now, let’s see if I can jump back into my own story and nudge protagonist Chloe to reveal truly matters to her. I hope you’ll join me!

Click here for a complete list of chapters for What Happened When Grandmother Failed to Die.

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

A #HappyHalloween in #Wisconsin! Let’s move from #October’s Hollow #Haunts to #November’s #NaNoWriMo #writers and #kidlit #legendsinthemaking.

Welcome to All Hallow’s Eve, my friends! ‘Tis a day for scary stories and magical pumpkin patches, eerie streets and spooooooky music.

It’s the perfect sort of day to explore a place hollow and forgotten, one where ghosts maybe, just maybe, linger in our world. That place is The Alexian Brothers Novitiate.

I learned of this peculiar estate while reading Wisconsin’s Most Haunted Volume II. What started as a loving father’s home for his wife and disabled daughter turned into a home of sadness: both the father and daughter died before the home was completed in the 1930s. The widow donated the home to the Alexian Brothers in the late 1940s, since her late husband had befriended them in Chicago years before. Novices and monks lived there for only a few decades when, without warning, the Menominee Warrior Society took the Brothers hostage and demanded the estate be turned over to the Menominee tribe. It took two months, but the Brothers and Tribe finally reached an agreement for the tribe to purchase the land from them. A few months later, a fire ran through the estate, and the tribe could not finance rebuilding any of the structures. The Menominee returned the estate to the Brothers, but they no longer had use for it either, so….here it sits.

I had hoped Bo and I could road-trip it up to the small town of Gresham, the closest community to the Novitiate, and see if we could take a look around. But finding time and an all-day sitter were impossible during Bo’s hellish work schedule this past summer, so we managed a visit to the House on the Rock instead. (Considering I didn’t know if we’d have even access to the grounds, I think we came out ahead. x)

Ghost hunters still visit the site sometimes, but I’m not sure what they’ll find. The history of the Novitiate isn’t bloody, like these creepy locations in the Dairy State. It’s tragic, not bloody.

But one doesn’t need a bloody past to imagine a magical future, one perhaps where shapeshifters make their home, where teens foolish to run where angels fear to tread discover a race mankind has all but forgotten…

Oh yes, you bet your boots I’m bainstorming a story about this place! And this isn’t even the novella I’m working on for NaNoWriMo.

Do I think I can write 50,000 words in 30 days? Heeeeeeell no, I’m not delusional. But I DO need to step up and start writing every day. My family needs me to be a working mom, so my hours for writing are now in tatters. That’s not going to change any time soon.

I need those tatters to make something for the sake of my own sanity.

If I can just do 500 words a day, I’d be ECSTATIC. So that’s what I’m going to do, and you’re going to have to watch!

Yup, I’m going to make myself post my draft here on WordPress. That means it’ll be rough’n’raw, probably not coherent. But it’ll be me writing, dammit, and that’s what counts. I’ll be happy to read your comments, or just know you’re reading. That, to me, is more of a “winner” badge than anything NaNoWriMo can give me. 🙂

I’m not the only one burning the creative oil around here, either. Biff, Bash, and Blondie are all digging their own unique storytelling grooves here, from nonfiction to comics and back again. I had them talk about their stories with you…so I could share their Halloween costumes, too. They’re all homemade this year, which I just LOVE!

My three Bs had a blast roaming my mother’s neighborhood for Tricks or Treats. Some towns are content with a few ghosts or pumpkins out in the yards, but not my mom’s neighborhood. Not by a LONG shot.

Some houses filled their front yard with beach balls and balloons for kids to play in. Homeowners handed out candy and popcorn to kids while parents got adult “treats” like chili and beer. One owner we talked to had been working on his decorations since July.

A few houses freaked the kiddos out, and I couldn’t blame them. One man was dressed in a bloody doctor’s outfit running around his yard with a chainsaw–not a fake one, a REAL one, revved and ready. Dude, simmer down! Others showed just as much love for the day without, you know, potential loss of limb.

These are all painted wood cutouts. Aren’t they amazing?

We had a magical evening together, banding about in the misty rain while the Monster Mash echoed up and down the streets. Eventually Robot Biff was ready to go back–“Beep boop, too many people!”–and helped his grandma hand out candy while Bash, Blondie, and I continued on until twilight’s end. From my little wonders to yours…

…may you have a safe and happy Halloween, and a most fantastical National Novel Writing Month!

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

A #summer of #writing and #parenthood: #Celebrate #nature and #imagination with a little #summertime #adventure in your own #backyard

Welcome to July, friends around the world, and Happy 4th to my fellow Americans!

Yowza, July already! June whipped by thanks to summer school for the kiddos. Biff and Bash have been doing a class to help them get ready for 1st grade, which means time with the three R’s and some extra socialization. It also means me going through all their kindergarten work to pack up the most memorable bits, including their writing. After going through their pieces, I couldn’t help but ask Biff and Bash about their favorite work.

For a girl reticent about meeting new people and trying new things, it was a bit of a challenge getting Blondie to participate in summer school. With the bribe of a computer gaming class, I was able to sign her up for photography and geocaching. Lo and behold, she’s found those courses way cooler than playing ol’ computer games!

(This isn’t the only chat I’ve had with Blondie lately! Moss Whelan interviewed us both for his Story in Mind podcast. Check out our awesomeness!)

For some, summertime means going on adventures in far off places. But my experience with Blondie in the Horicon Marsh was a beautiful reminder that one doesn’t have to travel far to escape to other worlds.

From accentnatural.com

So often we think we have to travel miles and miles to escape the humdrum.

from cityofwaupun.org

We presume the truly fantastic is beyond the horizon, just out of reach.

From horiconchamber.com

But if we take a moment to step outside, we might just discover adventure awaits us in the here and now, be it in the nearby marshlands…

From horiconmarshcalls.com

…or with the imaginations frolicking in our own backyard.

What are your imaginations up to this summer? Any recommendations of fun daytime-adventures with kids? Let’s chat!

Looking for some summer adventures? There’s free fiction to explore on my site as well as a fantasy novel on Amazon that’s free via Kindle Unlimited. Many thanks to Ronel Janse van Vuuren for her recent review!

Did you miss my monthly newsletter? Catch the July edition here, and subscribe here so you don’t miss another update.

Stay tuned… I’ve got some terrific interviews lined up this summer, starting next week!

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

#Creative #Children, #Writing #Friends, and a New #Publishing #Adventure

Let’s start with something sweet, shall we?

Matching shirt day!

Blondie finished the school year with a straight-A report card. She was particularly proud of her last story for writing class: “The Invention that Changed the Chicken World.” It’s a suspenseful tale of action and intrigue as Zach, a lowly chicken residing on a dairy farm on the slopes of Mount St. Helens, discovers that special rocks from the volcano will help him build a jet pack. He successfully builds a model only to be discovered by a nefarious squirrel…well here, you read it:

Little did Zach know that two sinister eyes were watching from the trees. Later Zach was walking back to the coop when suddenly, a squirrel jumped in the way! He was wearing an eyepatch on his right eye! Worst of all, he was pointing a GUN AT HIM!!!

“Gimme your rocks, sonny. Then you can have anything you want,” said the squirrel calmly.

“What do you want with MY rocks? Go get your own!” shouted Zach. The squirrel leaped at him, took the rocks, adn sprinted away. Chickens, you might say, aren’t very fast. Zach, however, was just the opposite. Zach ran like a lightning bolt and caught up with the squirrel and took the rocks.

Blondie, “The Invention that Changed the Chicken World”

The tale continues, but Blondie refuses to read it out loud for me, the stinker. 🙂 Her story was such a hit with Biff and Bash that Biff even started his own story:

“a chick who makes a space ship”

Blondie’s promised us all more stories about Zach the chicken this summer, and I’m excited to see Biff truly enjoy drawing and writing. Bash, meanwhile, is turning out some amazing creations with Lego; even we will set them apart so that no one else can wreck them.

The little droids meet Chopper and Orgo. Orco. Or-something.

Next week the boys will finish their school year with an end-of-year party at the carnival on the edge of town–the one that leaves its bones bare to the winter months, and where Biff fell from a platform and took a steel girder to the head.

You can imagine how excited I am for all of this.

GIF appropriately from Kindergarten Cop

But even though the kids are wrapping up their school year, my current term at the university has a ways to go. Plus, I’ve taken on a new job as substitute teaching aid at another town’s school district. It’ll help the family income, plus it gives me a chance to work with kids aged 4-18. If I want to write for these people, I should probably, you know, hang out with them’n’stuff…

(Side Question: Why the heck does anyone think four-year-olds can learn to walk on stilts? These kids can barely remember to use a kleenex, let alone tie shoes, and we trust them to walk with GIANT METAL RODS?!)

Ahem.

Anyway.

Let’s move on to the lousy news next.

In January of 2018 I announced Aionios Books would be publishing my novel Fallen Princeborn: Stolen.

The plans had been to publish the entire series over the course of a few years, starting with Books 1 and 2 to come out pretty close to each other. We individually published six short stories over the summer and fall to help promote the first novel, and on October 31, 2018, Fallen Princeborn: Stolen hit the shelves.

Well. You might have noticed the second novel’s not out yet.

The folks at Aionios Books chose not to continue with my series.

Am I bummed? Of course I am. It feels like that moment in A Fistful of Dollars when Clint’s caught by the baddies after helping a girl escape. They beat him to a pulp, taking extra care to cripple his shooting hand. One look at him, and you’d think he’s a goner.

Only he’s not. He manages to escape despite his injuries and hides away in an old mine. Over the course of his recovery, he slowly, surely, tenaciously, teaches himself to shoot with his other hand.

Yeah, I may be down, but I’m a professional, dammit. It’s a wild world out there in indie publishing, and every fighter’s got to do what he/she can to survive. Aionios made the call they felt was best for them. So, we just need to do our own parts in helping Fallen Princeborn: Stolen stay alive while also adventuring off in our own directions.

In my case…well, first I’m learning to shoot with the other hand.

Publishing solo.

This means I’ve got to do a complete overhaul of my platform: website, social media, the whole kit’n’caboodle. Don’t be surprised if a link’s down one day and up the next–we’re talking years’ worth of posts to revise.

I intend to rework and re-release my six short stories of Tales in the River Vine.

I’m also excited to publish a new tale, a tale that hearkens to those wild days of territories stitched with railways and bounty hunters ready to kill for a few dollars more…

“Between you and me, I doubt they’ve got the know-how to outsmart Night’s Tooth.” Sheriff Jensen narrows his eyes at the poster like he could scare it. “No proper description of the man, and a modus operandi as bizarre as hell.”

“Why bizarre?” Sumac pulls the poster from its pin and stares thoughtfully at Night Tooth’s name.

Now the sheriff goes all quiet again, thinking. He’s really sizing Sumac up this time, like as not making sure Sumac’s not crazy as a loon. “Because they find bite marks in the rail cars’ walls, that’s why. This man’s got a wolf with him, somethin’ big as a bear and twice as smart.”

That’s a whap Sumac’s not expecting. No doubt his lady employer would have a good laugh over that one. “Well, as I see it, Sheriff, some creatures are born into killin’ like others are into dyin’. I reckon Night’s Tooth is of that first camp, wouldn’t you?”

“And yourself?”

The wind whistle-whines against the glass. Another train cries out from the rails beyond La Crosse’s commercial center.

Sumac smiles. He knows he doesn’t have to answer.

And, God-willing, before 2019 ends I’m going to publish the next installment of the Fallen Princeborn series.

“Charlie.”

The name sucks the air clean out of Charlotte’s mouth. Her lungs shrivel, her mind bleached like bones in the desert—

Someone stands out in the middle of the Wild Grasses. Pale arms hang perfectly still against a sparkly shirt. The breeze plays with red hair too bright to mistake. It carries the scent of bus and berries to Charlotte’s nose and stings her eyes to tears. A pink bubble inflates out of the mouth. Baby blues shine like search lights.

Pop. “I’m still waiting for you, Charlie.” Pop.

The Voice rushes to the bellows within Charlotte, brings air and feeling back to her lungs. One, two, don’t let Orna get to you.

Charlotte heaves a breath as deep as she can. Her legs don’t want to move, she can’t move, but she will move. She forces one foot forward, then another, commands her back to straighten, and she screams, “I know who you really are!” She chews the unsaid words “you bitch!” like gristle, wishing desperately to spit them out at The Lady wearing her sister’s shape like some Halloween costume. But even the shape of Anna forces the hateful speech to stick between Charlotte’s teeth. “Go back to your hole!”

“You should have died in the Pits, Charlie. She’s got something a lot worse planned for you now.”

“’She’?” It was just a tiny word, but its reference jabs the Voice in Charlotte’s heart good’n’hard.

Baby Blues grin like some damn playground secret.

“Don’t fuck with me, Orna.” Charlotte’s walking before she knows it, wading into the Wild Grasses, arms swaying fists, teeth clenched, “You’re the one never leaving this land alive, I swear!”

The berry and bubble gum stink to Charlotte’s nose now, all its pungent sour sweetness driving its way up into her sinuses and stinging behind her eyes.

More and more red hair blows over the Baby Blues, more hair than Anna ever had, and it grows longer, longer. She’s engulfed in hair like some Ginger-fied Cousin It.

Charlotte’s almost close enough to grab a lock and yank it off. “Take my sister off!” She lunges forward—

But Cairine’s teeth close upon Charlotte’s shirt, her nose a sharp chill on Charlotte’s neck. Cairine pulls Charlotte back as a bubble pops under all that impossible hair. A new voice grinds under Anna’s punctuated soprano:

“Let’s not rush. I’m still owed a sweetheart.”

Red hair spins round, tightens, stretches, into a giant red bubble. It floats above the wild grasses and pops to the echoes of girlish laughter.

In the meantime, I’m excited to spend June celebrating my dear friend Anne Clare–she’s releasing her debut novel this summer!

I’ve known Anne for decades, and like me, Anne’s been balancing teaching, family, and her writing life. For years she’s been researching and crafting a story that spans countless miles and years–just like our friendship. xxxxx

I am so, so proud of you, Anne!

I’ll be interviewing Anne and the impeccable James J. Cudney, who has another cozy mystery on its way to bookshelves next month.

What else lies in store? Oh, some world-building craft, methinks, and a study of the incredible Italian composer Ludovico Einaudi. I shared one composition of his weeks ago, but it haunts me still. Let this song carry you on its magic into next week, where we sit, and listen, and imagine together.

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 this site to find out more.

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

#Whole30 #Writing Log: Day 29

Certain moments promise tears.

Maybe that moment is in a story…

…or hidden within a song…

For me, at least yesterday, it came as a question.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Innocent enough question, right? Routine interview question from the panel, right?

Yet there I sat before the faculty, tears welling in my eyes.

I apologize for my reaction. I understand the question. It just calls me back to…well, I should be honest. It calls me back to when my children were infants and I suffered postpartum depression. 

Very, very bad postpartum depression. 

I would tell myself over and over that all would be better in five years. 

In five years, when the kids were out of colic and not fighting so fiercely, all would be better. 

And here I am these days, telling myself that in five years, when my sons are older, things will be better…

In regards to the University, I like it here. I want to continue teaching here, whether it’s full time or part time.

 I want to help our students succeed because I know how hard it is for them because I’ve lived that insane balance of raising a family, caring for loved ones, and maintaining a job. 

I want to make our curriculum meet our students’ needs because so many just don’t see how important writing is to their success.

 I want to help them learn that, see that, for the next five years and farther.

So that should sum up how the interview went this week. I didn’t have many professional, verbose, academic answers for them.

Just a lot of heart.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe not. No matter what, I’ve done my best and will continue to do my best. With the love of my family and dear friends like you, I won’t stop running with the wind, leaping as a wild child, never quite grown up, never quite done learning. And always ready to share that magic with others.

In the meantime, Bo’s ready to pour a glass of wine for me tonight because dammit, it’s been a long week, and I’ve already cheated the Whole30 code anyway.

Thank you for sticking it out with me, my friends. x

Oh! I finally got my newsletter out this afternoon, including a sneak peek at Fallen Princeborn: Chosen. Check it out!

Noooooow it’s time for that wine. 🙂

#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 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 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