I Am

Ever since she discovered HGTV, Melina envisions becoming an interior designer. Thanks to shows like Property Brothers, Fixer Upper, and Love It or List It, she talks about open floor plans, wainscoting, and the difference between coffered and tray ceilings. She draws floor plans of houses she might like to help build someday, and her current project is a board game, tentatively called “House Hunters.” (Tentative because she realizes that the name is currently in use by the television show.)

So far, we’ve bought a mat to serve as the board, a fine-tip permanent marker so she can write words neatly, and small round counters (or chips) for use as money. Last night, I helped her cut up some blank index cards we had around the house to make the cards that direct players to the next step (and help them find the right house). They say things like, “This place doesn’t have a master ensuite. You can do better than this, people!”; “This house doesn’t have a basement. Not only do you want a basement, but you need a basement.”; “This house is really old, and you’re not really up for any ‘surprises.’ ” (She wrote these gems herself, and I’ve had a ton of fun going through them.)

As we sat to figure out how large the cards should be and whether or not I should cut them with the scissors or just fold and tear them, Melina took a long time with her decision. She flipped the cards over and examined each side, then she moved her fingers along the edges. She turned to me, a quirk to her lips, a furrow in her brow. She held up two cards.

Melina: I like that these edges are so precise, but somehow, this edge seems cleaner.
Me: You sound like you’re a designer.
Melina: I AM a designer.
Me: You are so far beyond me honey. Congratulations.

I high-fived the child and gave her a hug, and the pride I felt just about burst through my chest. Here I sit, a woman with a coffee table book and several published short stories and essays to my name, and I can barely call myself a writer, much less an author. And there she is, a ten year old kid, bubbling with confidence in what she knows and is interested in.

I’m taking my lesson from her today. I am a writer. I am an author. And if I truly feel that Melina will reach her dream of becoming an interior designer–and I do–then I need to have confidence that I’ll reach my dream of publishing my novels someday.

My new mantra:

Happy Writing!
~ Christina

(This post was originally published at Christina's website.)

Believe In It

Writing has been a large portion of my routine for the better part of six years now. And I can say, with certainty, that I have become more adept at the craft of writing, and at recognizing what constitutes good writing in both myself and others. Meeting up with The Plot Sisters every two weeks is the real reason behind that growth, but I should pat myself on the back, too: to keep a writing routine at all, no matter how much or how little, despite all the busyness that life bestows, is an accomplishment in and of itself.

But there's one aspect of writing that I need a little work on. Often, I read a book and I think, "This novel is published, and mine is not." And then, my mind spins into a downward spiral of self-doubt. The writing must be better. The query letter must be better. The premise must be better. A multitude of excuses for why my novel hasn't attracted an agent spring to mind.

And it's not for lack of trying, I tell you. My current WIP has been critiqued by my writing group, a published author, and a professional editor. It's been through multiple rounds of revision, and has been requested by agents. The problem isn't the book, or the feedback, or the fact that I live in southwestern Ohio and not New York City.

The problem is that I don't believe in it.

What does that mean?

I don't mean that I think the story isn't any good. I love the story and have always said, "It's a good story, dammit!" What I mean is that when I read other books and think about the fact that those authors are published and I am not, I always look at the negative, when I should be looking at the positive. Instead of lamenting the fact that my story hasn't found a good home, I need to remember that if the published book in my hand found an agent, then by golly, someday mine will, too. I have to believe in the process. In the book. In myself, really.

And that's just plum difficult to do in any aspect of life. Good luck to us all.

Happy Writing!
~Christina

Little Things

February brings with it so many conflicting emotions for me.

My mom's birthday falls in this month, but she no longer remembers that fact. The winter wind and chilly temperatures seem to burrow right through me, but Punxsutawny Phil taunts me with the idea that we still have more winter in store than I care for.

And while the days are getting longer—I no longer drive home from chauffeuring the children in the dark—summer seems just too far off to even adequately picture sunny skies and sandy, Michigan beaches (yes, Walloon Lake is already calling to me).

On days when the conflict gets to be too much, I look for the little things to get me through. Little things like:

A cup of hot tea

       Chocolate-covered pretzels

A new story idea

       Smiles from my kids

A kind word from a colleague

       A friend's triumph

The realization that it is, indeed a Friday.

I hope your Friday is going well and that you find what you need to make it through the next few weeks of winter.

Happy Writing!

~Christina

We Need Our People

A lot of writers say it's important to arrange a schedule and keep to it. Whether you write at the same time of day, commit to a certain number of words a day, or just grab ten minutes whenever you can--writing becomes a daily commitment. Habitual behaviors keep us well practiced in any field. I keep a schedule for myself that includes at least a couple of hours each weekday morning.

Life gets busier every year, it seems. Afternoons and evenings pile full of activities and commitments. I have two teenage children, three dogs, and an inability to choose between writing and music. Therefore, music gets the evening and writing gets the morning.

Problem: the Plot Sisters (my writing group) meet in the evening on the same night as I sometimes sub for a regional orchestra. This year, I have missed more than two straight months of Plot Sisters meetings. I haven't written much of anything. Sure, I keep up with their manuscripts, sending comments digitally in time for meetings I can't attend. During my writing mornings, I shuffle words around on my manuscript and make no progress.

I've been reading books, watching movies--even viewing Breaking Bad in its entirety because so many writers recommended it. These things distract, rather than inspire me. I have nothing to say. My manuscripts bore me, which is distressing. If I'm not interested, why would anyone else be?

With a little schedule tweaking, I make it back to the Plot Sisters. I'll have to skip one rehearsal a month in two different musical groups, but it's more than worth it. I've met with these women for five years now, and our relationship is important. At my computer, I write very little. Maybe it's a slump. I begin to wonder if I have the determination needed to continue.

Then, my turn comes. I have to share something. I scrape up a chapter here, a chapter there. They hang together somewhat. I felt inspired when I wrote them, but that feeling faded months ago.

We meet. They critique. Positive comments come in a generous and honest spirit. But the magic happens when they tell me what they don't understand, what doesn't work. They even tell me I've spent a whole chapter in a character's head and no action happens.

The light snaps on. Brilliant, lively, captivating. I know now what to do. I can fix all these problems. I feel glee--I've never spent a whole chapter in a character's head. If I could jump up and click my heels together, I would do it. This is progress!

And so, with thanks to my Plot Sisters, I have found inspiration again.

This post is a reminder: The screen gives us nothing. The schedule has no soul. We need our people.

P.S. Thanks to all five of you. I wouldn't have made it this far alone.~Jen