Lessons from a Photo Album

Today is a special day for me. It’s my 18^th wedding anniversary. I looked through my wedding album, trying to find a photo to share, and I noticed how many things have changed.

Definitely my appearance. And my husband’s. Everyone’s, really.

And I have to say fashion has improved. As have hair styles.

I remember when I was planning my wedding. Nothing ended up being the way I expected. I didn’t like my gown. I let my bridesmaids choose their gowns, as I wouldn’t have to wear them. I didn’t like their choice, either. I did like the flowers I chose, but the florist got the order wrong, so I didn’t have what I wanted. The hotel was good, but way overpriced. Thankfully my parents covered the reception, because we invited far more people than I wanted. Between my husband’s family and mine, I think the whole town was there. (Italian weddings are known for being big, but 500 people on the invitation list? Crazy.) The DJ played some music that I hated. Forget about giving a play list… I should have given him a don’t play list. The videographer was terrible, but the photographer was good, though, and you can’t tell things weren’t what I wanted.

Why do I remember all this?

Actually, usually I don’t.

What I typically remember is being surrounded by family and friends who loved us, who celebrated with us. Joyously.

Looking back, it doesn’t matter that plans fell apart. (tweet this)

It isn’t important that the material things were wrong. (tweet this)

What matters is that I married a man I loved with all my heart and soul. A man I love today even more.

Looking through the album is bittersweet. Some of the pictures are poignant because of who wasn’t in them—the beloved family members who had passed on before our wedding. Some pictures remind me of the people who were there that we since have lost. Then there are the nieces and nephews who were tiny children then… the same ones who are now adults.

Time marches on. Someday some family member will be looking through his or her album and remembering when my hair was long (and brown), or when my husband had hair (I sure hope he keeps his), or when my kids were still in school. I hope they can look at their albums then the way I look at mine now—not disappointed over the breakdown of plans, but with fondness. Happy because they married their soul mate, because their loved ones were there to celebrate with them, because life is good even when plans go awry.

Eighteen years ago I married a man who I thought I couldn’t love any more than I did at that very moment.

And eighteen years later I laugh at how naïve I was. My love for him has grown exponentially with each passing day. And I imagine will continue to do so.

So today, I’m not going to offer writing advice. I’m not going to recommend any books to purchase. I’m not going to talk about the importance of social media.

I’m certainly not going to obsess over the things that went wrong.

I’m simply going to enjoy my family, and suggest you try and do the same.

Are You Using Your Support Effectively?

I’m writing this post on Saturday, even though I’m going to schedule it for Monday at my usual post time. (Just so you understand the chronology here.)

This is a big week for us. My parents are visiting, probably mostly to see the kids and their sporting events, but I’d like to think they’re coming to see me and my husband, too. That means the stuff I usually put off until things are desperate (someone’s down to the last pair of underwear or the dogs have shed so much I could create a third puppy out of what’s left) need to be dealt with now. (Hey, they say if your muse strikes you should let some other things go. I take that advice to heart.)

Of course, my help has abandoned me. One child had a friend spend the night and now they are working at a school fundraiser. The other spent the night somewhere else and is at a practice. This afternoon, both kids have a two hour tennis lesson. That puts a lot of the work on my shoulders.

Enter, my husband. Hero to the rescue!

While I was playing chauffeur this morning, he was dutifully cleaning the kitchen (one of my most hated chores). Gotta love him.

I think it’s important that you have someone in your life to lean on. We have significant others we turn to in troubled times, family members we confide in, friends we talk out problems with, colleagues who work with us to make our craft better. A support system is key, for both practical purposes and our mental health.

I won’t be as available as usual this week. I’m entertaining guests! If I’m part of your support structure, though, (and if I am, I’m honored), and you need me, let me know. I’ll make the time.

Until next time, have a great week!

And writers, remember, your hero is only as good as his or her support team. Take the time to develop your secondary characters, too. They’re what keep your hero on track. (Think about Frodo without Samwise, Batman without Robin, Sherlock without Watson… Pooh without Piglet! These heroes need their backup, their sounding boards, their moral compasses. Use them well.)

Are You a Juggernaut? Five Ways to Become One

My daughter’s tennis coach calls her The Juggernaut. She hasn’t lost a match all season, and he says once she gets started (like a juggernaut), she’s unstoppable. That got me thinking about my vocation. Am I a juggernaut? Do I want to be?

As most of you know, I’m a writer. I wrote as a child, I got my BA and MA in writing, I was a professional writer for several years after graduating, and now I’m a fiction writer. So, in some respects, it’s easy to say that I am a juggernaut, because once I started writing as a child, I never stopped.

But what about currently?

I submit short stories to publications and contests. My first novel, Mystery, Ink.: Mystery Heir, was recently published. I have the first of a four part series with an agent, and I’m almost done with the second installment. I’m always writing. Or editing. Or reading.

Is that enough?

Is working daily toward your goal enough to say you’re unstoppable? (tweet this)

I say no, it’s not.

I write daily. But do I write long enough? Hard enough? With quality results?

Some days, yes. Some, no. I waste time on social media sites. I meet friends. I talk too long on the phone. Sometimes I even take a television break.

Not really qualities of a juggernaut.

The breaks I take could be good as moments of recharging. But some are just time-sucks. I know I need to do better.

But when I’m on? When the words are flowing from my mind through my fingers and the clacking of the keys beats an almost frenetic rhythm? Then I am The Juggernaut.

Sure. Breaks are okay. Too many are not. (tweet this)

I don’t know that I could sustain the pace of fulltime juggernaut writing, if I could maintain my sanity being in uber-writing mode all the time. It’s exhilarating, but it’s also exhausting. At the end of a productive day, I’m not just mentally wiped out; I’m physically beat.

So is there a solution?

You bet.

Here are the five steps toward approaching unstoppability without burning out.

Set small goals.
Telling yourself you have to clean the whole house, build a large pergola, write a whole novel… those can be monumental tasks. But telling yourself you have to dust one room, dig eight post holes, or write one chapter… much more easily attainable, especially before needing a break.
Eliminate distractions.
Your goals are smaller now, how do you make sure you reach them? Turn off your phone. Shut down your email. Don’t even think about turning on the television. Once you’ve taken your vice (or vices) out of play, you’ll find it’s much easier to get on a roll.
Play music.
This may not work for everyone, but I find if I have music on , I work better. And faster. Make sure your selections are in a genre you both like and find motivational. It would be kind of hard to train for a marathon if you were running to slow love songs. (And yes, I do have the Rocky Soundtrack in my playlist.)
Reward goal achievement.
Vices are vices for a reason: they’re hard to say no to. So don’t. Once you reach your new smaller, attainable goal, reward that accomplishment. Check your Twitter stream. Call your best friend. Just make sure you don’t give in to your time-sucking activity until you’ve earned the right.
Don’t take long breaks.
You did it. You focused, eliminated distractions, and hit your target. You just finished your reward. DO NOT START ANOTHER TIME-SUCKING ACTIVITY! You allowed yourself time to check your email. Maybe you returned a few texts. Instead of doing something else on your distraction list, start working again. When you hit your goal, you’ll get another reward.

We can’t be juggernauts all the time, but being one in short bursts much of the time will lead to more and stronger end products. Follow these steps and you’ll find yourself creating new habits—productive habits—that will benefit you for years to come.

Do you have any suggestions? A juggernaut story you’d like to share? You know what to do…

6 Life Lessons from Football (A Fan’s POV)

I love football season. My son plays. My husband used to play. If it’s autumn, then Monday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we’re in football mode.

My son’s high school team won its home opener this Friday. Penn State won Saturday. (Yes. I live a stone’s throw from the University of Arkansas, but I watched Penn State.) I couldn’t wait for Sunday, when the Steelers would play. That would be a two-fer for me. I’d get to see my favorite team and I’d get to see some Pittsburgh skyline shots. (Gee… do you think I might be homesick?)

Their game started off great. The very first play (kick off) they were gifted with a safety because of the other team’s error. They didn’t even have to do anything, and they had two points on the board. It was a great way to start the game. Then they drove the ball down the field on their first possession. I was overjoyed.

Until they fumbled near the end zone.

It kind of went downhill from there. Sacks, interceptions, punts, injuries… It was ugly. We had one good drive near the end and our offense finally put seven on the board, but we didn’t recover the onside kick. The Steelers lost, 9-16.

The good news is, the rest of our division lost, too. All four are tied for first place. Or last.

When the yelling and complaining and armchair coaching were over, I got to work. And as I prepared this post, I realized a few things.

Hard work doesn’t always result in a win. It does make you a better person, though.
Officials aren’t perfect (or they’re horribly biased). In short, life isn’t fair. Adapt.
If your choice of entertainment raises your blood pressure, it’s no longer entertainment. It’s a health hazard. Reevaluate your attachment.
In contests, there are clear winners and losers. But that doesn’t mean everyone can’t learn something from the process.
There are more important things than winning. Like, how you conduct yourself in the face of adversity and how and with whom you choose to spend your time.
Time spent with family is time to treasure. Years from now, no one will remember the score of the game, but everyone will remember the good times spent together.

We’ve got months left in the season. I’m going to try to keep my emotional investment to a minimum and just enjoy the sport for what it is—entertainment. Maybe you can help keep me in check. If I start ranting about the games, please remind me of this post.

For Writers:

Some of these lessons can be as important for your characters as they are for society. As you work, consider:

How hard your characters work at both enjoyable and miserable tasks. What do they learn from their efforts?
How one character can impact outcomes for another character. Do they make bad decisions resulting in more problems? How is that adversity coped with?
Do your characters have unhealthy attachments to something? Can they change their attitudes? Do they need to? Is it a harmless vice or a dangerous addiction?
At the end of a conflict or battle, have all of your characters grown and changed?
Do your characters have an opportunity to make a choice between a habit and a loved one? Which do they choose and why? What are the consequences?
How do your characters interact with loved ones? Can you write a scene or two about which, years from now, your characters would reminisce? One that is poignant enough for your readers to remember?

So everyone, what’s your take on these lessons? Why don’t you share (WIP stories or real life experiences) in the comments section?

First Friday Fiction Feature – Fifty Sheds of Grey

It’s the first Friday of the month. Time for another fiction installment. (Links for this and all Fiction Features can be found on the Freebies page.)

This short story is inspired by a writing challenge given at last year’s OCW Conference. That contest required the story to fit on a 3″ x 5″ index card. This story is a bit longer than that.

Fifty Sheds of Grey

Fifteen-year-old Mallory was a loner. Being alone was pretty much the only way she got any peace. When she was at school, she was the constant target of pranks and barbs.

Because of her cousin Polly.

While Mallory was born into a middle class family, Polly was born with a silver spoon in both her hands. Mallory secretly suspected she had one up her butt, too. Polly made her life miserable. When Mallory was younger, she’d tell her mother how mean Polly was to her, but her mother would say it was because she was jealous. Mallory didn’t know what Polly could possibly be jealous of, but as her mother never had any advice for her, she stopped talking about Polly and kept her pain to herself.

As they grew older, Polly only got worse. As the most popular kid at school, everyone followed her lead. And because she tormented Mallory mercilessly, the kids at school teased her, too. The only person who never followed Polly’s lead was Tommy. Mallory harbored a secret crush on him, but would never admit to it. Tommy was in Polly’s crowd, and Polly made sure Mallory wasn’t.

No wonder she preferred to be alone.

Given their history, it struck Mallory as more than odd that Polly invited her to her back-to-school bash. It was at their grandparents’ farm—known to the locals simply as The Barn. Mallory accepted despite her reservations.

“Wear lip gloss and bring breath spray,” Polly said. “We’ll be playing some… games.”

“Games?”

“Yeah. You know the shed by the barn? The games are in there. I call it ‘Fifty Sheds of Grey.’ Know what I mean?”

Mallory didn’t answer, but she knew what that meant. Polly, of course, had plenty of experience with boys, but Mallory had never played “Spin the Bottle” let alone been kissed. Ever fiber of her being screamed at her not to go. But not showing would be social death, and her popularity was already on life support. Better to go than be labeled a chicken.

Mallory procrastinated and stalled as long as she could, but finally had to take the plunge. She hoped to go late and blend into the background, but when Polly saw her, she announced her arrival to everyone. As Mallory approached the group, she was greeted to taunts about her inexperience.

How could they possibly know?

Polly, of course.

Mallory scanned the crowd, hoping to see Tommy’s friendly face, but she didn’t see him. To avoid acknowledging the never-ending jeers, she turned around and took in the surroundings. She used to feel so comfortable there, but when Polly started hanging out there with her friends, Mallory had stopped going to the barn. When she visited her grandparents, she stayed at the house and didn’t wander the grounds for fear of running into Polly and her friends. She missed it.

When they were younger, the barn was her sanctuary. She’d climb over hay bales and tuck herself into the corner of stalls with the cats and a good book or a sketch pad. Polly was too prissy to sit in straw, so it was safe to go there. Then Polly discovered how isolated the barn was, as it was far from the house and separated from view by the tree line. Polly started bringing her friends there, and Mallory lost her haven.

It had been about five years since she’d spent time at the barn. Not much had changed. Trees bordered the property on both sides, and the paddock spread out behind it. The barn itself, formerly a proud red but weather-faded to a mud brown, cast a shadow on a tiny grey aluminum shed with chipped paint and a dented roof. Polly gestured to the ramshackle hut. “Tommy’s been waiting in there for you. It’s time for your seven minutes in heaven.”

Tommy? Waiting for her? Her mouth was suddenly way too dry. She tried to swallow, but there was a huge lump in her throat.

Polly must have noticed her hesitation. “Afraid, Mal?”

Mallory didn’t answer. Her lips parted, but no witty come back came to her. She wouldn’t have been able to get a word past her lips if she tried, anyway.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? We know Tommy doesn’t.”

Everyone started taunting her. She had no choice. She tuned them out and wiped her palms on her jeans. Polly took her by the elbow and all but dragged her to the shed. Then she cracked the door open and shoved Mallory inside. She’d barely crossed the threshold when the door slammed shut behind her.

Plunged into darkness, she cried fruitlessly for help. Eyes tearing, the stench of manure choking her, she fought off the bile rising in her throat and turned to flee. The door wouldn’t budge, so she reached into the stifling blackness, tripped and fell. Her face landed in a mound of fresh straw-laced droppings from the horse stalls. Shrieking, she rose and plowed through the shed door, knocking Polly to the ground and vomiting on her head.

The tables, without any intentional efforts on Mallory’s part, were turned. The kids started taunting Polly. Chants of “Puke Head Polly” echoed throughout the farm, as well as a few cheers for Mallory.

With as much dignity as a filthy fifteen-year-old could muster, Mallory walked away, Polly’s screeches a cadence for her feet.

Labor Day Celebrations and Suggestions

So it’s upon us. Labor Day. The official end of summer. If kids haven’t returned to school yet, they will soon. The festivals are over, the picnics are done… Football’s starting!

Many of the national holidays we observe in the United States have a patriotic element. Memorial Day honors lost veterans, Independence Day the birth of our nation. We celebrate Flag Day, Presidents’ Day, Veterans’ Day. Labor . .Day, however, celebrates the working class.

There is debate as to who first proposed a day set aside to honor America’s laborers. Some credit Peter J. McGuire, general secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners and a co-founder of the American Federation of Labor. Others give the distinction to Matthew Maguire, a machinist and secretary of the Central Labor Union in New York. Regardless of who first conceived of the holiday, it was the Central Labor Union who adopted a Labor Day proposal and planned festivities for the day. On September 5, 1882, the first Labor Day was celebrated in New York City.

More than one hundred years later, we are still honoring the toils and sacrifices of our labor force. There will be parades and picnics, festivals and fun.

And then it’s back to work.

I had a productive week last week. And have a huge workload waiting for me. Instead of working on Labor Day, though, I’m taking a break and relaxing with my family. With school in session and the demands my husband’s job place on him, it’s virtually unheard of for all four of us to be home on a weekday. So we’re going to make the most of it.

If you find yourself with some down time this Labor Day, maybe you’d like to read some classic literature depicting the lives of the working class.

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck is a story of tenant farmers who lose everything during the Great Depression and set out for California in search of a livelihood, and more importantly, in search of their dignity. After suffering several losses on the way, they arrive out west only to discover there is little work, and even fewer rights for laborers. The story ends by showing how the family functions in the face of adversity.

Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis, is a portrait of the industrial city and the businessman. The novel’s main character is described by The 1930 Nobel Prize committee as “the ideal of an American popular hero of the middle-class. The relativity of business morals as well as private rules of conduct is for him an accepted article of faith, and without hesitation he considers it God’s purpose that man should work, increase his income, and enjoy modern improvements.” The protagonist is a realtor who becomes disillusioned with his life and seeks to improve his lot through a series of relationships and travels. In the end, he returns to the life that he thought was unsatisfying.

The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, is a story of the hard-working immigrant and his sacrifices while looking to achieve the American Dream. It focuses on two major social classes: the upper class, who are comfortable and corrupt, and the working class, who are impoverished and hopeless. The main character hopes to care for his whole family, but as working conditions decay, they are all forced into labor. The combination of the upper class abusing their power and a series of accidents and tragedies lead to the main character’s ruination. Desperate to turn things around, he leaves Chicago as a hobo, but finds things no better on the farms where he tries to eke out a living. He returns to Chicago and is enticed by the socialist movement. He eventually is employed by a socialist and resumes supporting his extended family, although they’ve all undergone significant change.

Are you spending the day with one of these books, or something else you’ve been waiting to get time to read? Will you be watching a movie, swimming, or picnicking? Something else, perhaps something unusual? I’d love to hear how you’re spending the day. Why don’t you share your plans below?

And Happy Labor Day!