Filling My Toolbox

 Over the last several months, I've been playing with writing prompts. I began with the typical prompts: the ones someone else writes. They might be open-ended; they might offer a theme or a starting sentence, or even an inspiring visual. Some trigger an immediate response; others I blow right past, looking for something to spark inspiration. In any event, they come in handy when it's time to do my ten-minute writing session and my mind is as blank as the page.

I've also been playing with collage and, in the process of clipping words and phrases (my stock-in-trade) for those projects, I've come across phrases used in catalogs that don't fit the theme of my collage projects, but yet spark inspiration -- not about the content of the catalog or magazine (sorry, advertisers), but about my characters or setting. I've begun clipping those, too, and putting them at the top of a page in a notebook. Insta-prompt!

Lists, too, can spark ideas. This is not surprising, given the fact that list articles are so prevalent in both print and online publications. I can use one item from the list and answer it for each of my characters, or I can go through the list, answering each item from the point of view of a different character. 

All these ideas have helped me stick to my determination to write daily, even if only for ten minutes, and even if (especially if) I've fallen off the wagon and have missed a day (or three). The goal of my ten-minute writing sessions, after all, was to put pen to paper and create. What I create doesn't have to have anything do with a particular project. It just needs to keep my writing muscles toned.

Many things conspire to lure me away from my writing. Right now, the two biggest ones are preparing for the upcoming semester and rehearsing a play for the York Fringe Festival. While the first one drains me, requiring creativity and the use of those writing muscles in planning and devising assignments, the second one trains me -- an outcome I didn't expect.

Developing characters has always been my favorite part of writing, and the thing I do as soon as a book idea presents itself. In retrospect, I think some of this came from years of doing theatre, taking a character from the page to the stage. As I learn my lines for Roman Fever, I'm asking myself the classic, almost comical, actor question: what's my motivation? This helps me to do what every actor does -- imbue the lines with layers that may or may not be visible to the audience, but that guide every movement and facial expression.

Last week, the director asked me a question about my character's backstory -- one I didn't yet have a clear answer to. Determining that answer is important because it informs the reading and inflection of even the shortest of lines, just as knowing that answer (or uncovering it) when I write helps me decide what my character will say next, as well as what she'll never say, even to herself. This morning, I came close to the answer -- a first draft of it, if you will -- and it gave me a new perspective on everything from the character herself, to the reading of lines that are simply in response to another character's question.

When I set my ten-minute writing goal, I was feeling pretty depleted. It was close to the end of a challenging semester during which both my writing and my motivation to write had fallen by the wayside. I'd be lying if I said the thought of leaving it all right there in that ditch -- at least until I retire for real in a few years -- hadn't crossed my mind. I needed something that would create a spark -- something simple enough to fit into my life on a daily basis and keep me writing with or without an agenda. Ideally, it would focus on creativity more than productivity. 

My ten-minute solution has accomplished all these things. Best of all, it's enabled me to uncover parallels between digging more deeply into the reading of a character someone else created and the creation of my own characters for the page, providing me with a mini writing lesson of sorts. Slowly but surely I'm recognizing that a variety of fun, creative pursuits contributes to the enhancement of my writing skills -- even on the days I don't manage to put pen to paper. It has reminded me that, even on the days when my writing gets pushed into a ditch by the demands of daily life, I have the tools to pull it back out again.

More important, I have the desire to do so. 

(Photo credit:Image by Th G from Pixabay)

Duck, Duck....

 At least once a year (and often twice), I write about flip flop day, a day that has nothing to do with footwear and everything to do with changing priorities. Typically, my end of summer flip flop day, in which I take off my writer hat and put on my educator hat, comes during the first week in August. This year, I took a staycation last week (that's another post entirely), saving the official flip flop for this week. 

This afternoon, partway through today's appointed planning and preparation, it occurred to me that I felt as though I was in the deep end of the pool as I tried to turn all the big picture "great ideas" I had in May into detailed assignments for the coming semester. While that analogy might not have given me much comfort, it did give me the topic for today's post (hey, better late than never!), so I went in search of a picture to accompany it.

Nothing could be more on-the-nose than the one above. Like the ducks, the ideas that seemed so fun and creative last spring now sit at the edge of my to-do list, waiting for me to take them from concept to fully realized activity. Of the many ducks ready to jump into the water, some will mysteriously sink, some will get halfway across the pool, and some will be blown off course by bigger and more essential ducks. Others will stay right where they are, lined up along the perimeter of the pool, waiting for me to find them a place in the syllabus. A lucky few will make it all the way across the water, where they will wait to see if they make the cut for next year's syllabus.

These brightly colored plastic waterfowl look so innocent, so light, so endearing. But don't let them fool you.

They're a lot of work.

Still, they are cute and tempting, promising to inject color and interest into the grayest corners of my curriculum, and so I will spend the next two weeks bemoaning the quandary of these quackers.

So many ducks, so little time.

Who Are These People?

Image by Pacholek-cz from Pixabay

 Many, many moons ago, I had to write a thesis to earn my master's degree. I zoomed in on the concept of identity, and it's a topic that still resonates for me decades later. My work-in-progress has the theme of identity at its center. So did the one before that and the one before that, though I'm not sure I realized it at the time.

Most of my readers haven't yet met Genevieve (my last project) or Kelsey the one before that) -- something I hope to change soon. Readers of what I've come to call the "MAC (Marita, Angel, and Charli) Books," however, might have recognized these themes in those novels even before I did.

Marita is, first and foremost, a mom. That's the role we see her in first, and the one she works hardest at. She has a professional role, but it's mostly to pay the bills, and whether her poor relationship with her own mother stems from their constant head-butting, the fact that she puts no work into it, or some combination of the two, or something else entirely is something I'll leave up to the reader (although I have my theories). :-) At the center of the conflict in these books is Marita's attempt to balance her identity as a mother with her identity as a woman, something she has "back-burnered" in an effort to be a better mother to her daughter that her mother was to her. But as that long-neglected part of her identity begins to resurface, she needs to come to terms with how to balance the two.

Her best friend Bets is, on the other hand, completely comfortable in her own skin, and brings a "take me or leave me" attitude to, well, pretty much everything. Still, as Marita's life, responsibilities, and priorities change, Bets works hard to remain a supportive friend, despite having little-to-no first-hand understanding of what Marita is up against. In the process, she grows up a bit, too, as she works to find a way to maintain the "fun" that has always been a driving force in their relationship.

Marita's daughter's stepmother is similarly sure of who she is and who she wants to be. She's accomplished much of the latter but when a significant portion of her desired identity fails to fall into place, she's forced to do some reconsidering of her own as well.

When my daughter was in high school, she and I and one of her friends had a discussion about how much of the stuff we dig out of books in literature classes was actually put there intentionally by the author. As I look back on my own writing, I wonder the same thing. Sure, I knew some of this, but it was only in seeking recurring themes in my own work that I was able to couch it in these terms.

If you've read any of the MAC books, what do you think? Do you see Marita, Bets, and Angel in the same way? 

Procrastinizing

 I love writing.

Revising? Not so much. 

Submitting? 

Hey, does that smelly trash need to be emptied? Does that mountain of laundry need attending to? Anyone need anything from the grocery store an hour away? 

Submissions are the writing version of a beauty pageant. There are numerous categories in which it's necessary to excel -- query letter, synopsis, appropriately targeted editor or agent -- not the least of which is the manuscript into which the author has poured her blood, sweat and tears. The competition is fierce, and most of the categories are for the benefit of the judges (editors and agents), not the writer. And, what's worse, if don't win a beauty pageant, you know. If an agent or editor doesn't like your work, they're very likely to mentally pass on your submission, then just move on to the next contestant without an actual acknowledgment. Silence is perhaps worse than the dreaded rejection letter.

Gee, I can't imagine why I avoid this process. 

Yesterday, I promised myself I'd once again dig into this onerous process, something I've been putting off for a couple of months for many reasons, some of which are good and others of which are pathetic. Determined to skirt the excuses, I even wrote the task in my planner on today's page in order to hold myself accountable. 

Have I done it yet? 

I have not.

I've done a bunch of other things, though -- things that were also on my list, but not necessarily assigned to today's to-do list. Mostly, I worked on clearing the post-vacation detritus from the dining room table (another biggie because the piles are getting on my nerves), a task of the one-thing-leads-to-another variety. As morning turned to afternoon, I chided myself for procrastinating.

But was I procrastinating? Or was I prioritizing? 

The truth is that it's probably a little bit of both. The payoff of a cleared-off surface is more visible and obvious than the payoff of working on a query letter or synopsis, or reviewing the feedback from my critique group on my existing query letter. In addition, circling the dining room table and putting things where they belong allows me to add steps to my FitBit tally, which is another goal that's easy to miss in the summer when sedentary tasks like reading and writing yield plenty of entertainment but zero movement.

So, I am prioritizing. The question is whether or not I'm prioritizing the "right" things. And, truth be told, I'm also procrastinating. I know this because I'm choosing to do the faster and easier items on my list (unloading the dishwasher, writing this blog post) rather than digging into that query letter which, in addition to being a more difficult task, stirs up a witch's brew of uncertainty and insecurity. 

Ah. There it is. The telltale symptoms of procrastination: avoidance.

Busted.

When I signed up for this beauty pageant, I was prepared to manage the talent portion and even the interview. Now I have to tackle the swimsuit competition: dressing myself and my manuscript in metaphorical Lycra, at least on the page, to earn the judges' approval so I can move on to the next tier of the competition.

There's still time. I just have to stop procrastinizing.

Wish me luck.

The Ingredients of Summer

 Over the weekend, my husband, daughter, and I checked out one of "places I want to get to" this summer: the Barnes & Noble that recently opened in a nearby shopping center.

It did not disappoint. We spent way too much time there and one of us (I plead the fifth) spent too much money as well.

Next up: the beach vacation that's a standard summer trip for us, hopefully with our daughter along for the first time in several years. My husband (the planner) has been making lists and "necessary purchases" for the past two week. I (the pantser -- as in "by the seat of my pants") have been tossing things into laundry baskets and making piles of things to take along (can you tell my organizational style is I need to see it?) And yes, I've also gone old school, creating a few lists to keep track of what's been done and what remains to be done. 

I have a few other lists, too, of things I want to do between now and the start of fall semester. Like my beach lists, they fall into predictable categories.

• What I’m reading: Sooo many things! I actually made a short list of books to finish this month so I could focus my reading pursuits. The goal is to complete at least two of the books on the list. Unfortunately, I'm so delighted to have time to read whatever I want that I find myself hopping from one title to the next which doesn't bode well for successful completion of the original short list. 

• What I’m watching: One of the books I'm hoping to finish (What's Next?) focuses on the television show The West Wing, which I recently finished re-watching. The book has inspired me to check out another old Aaron Sorkin show (one that was new to me) called Sports Night. I’m also watching a baking championship show and trying to work my way through the list of miniseries and movies on my to-be-watched list. If you have a suggestion for something worth watching, please drop it in the comments.

• What else? (a.k.a. other fun stuff): Duolingo – mostly French, but also chess. I'm making time to work on my collage projects, drawing and coloring, along with doing more cooking than I do during the semester, but that’s not really saying much. Hopefully also getting back to crocheting and journaling. Oh, and digital games, mostly the New York Times puzzles and Words With Friends.

• What I'm writing: In addition to my minimum of 10 minutes a day of "new words," I'm hoping to pick up the threads of other projects that get dropped when things get busy -- an article here, a submission there -- as well as being a more faithful blogger and perhaps coming up with a few new ideas.

• What I hope to accomplish: Painting the trim in the dining room (don’t ask me how long ago I painted the walls. Again, I plead the fifth). Getting rid of the equivalent of a magazine a day until I get rid of the backlog. (Buying two new ones at Barnes and Noble did not help, nor do the active subscriptions that bring new issues in the mail). De-cluttering my basement, one box or bin at a time which has been, at times, an interesting trip down memory lane.

• Who I want to hang out with: Family, of course. I'm also looking forward to a succession of lunches and coffee dates with friends -- far  easier to schedule in the summertime. But, with so many things to keep me occupied, hanging out by myself isn't such a bad deal either.

How about you? What are the ingredients of your summer? Do you lean toward getting things done, chilling out, or a combination of the two?

(Image by André Santana Design André Santana from Pixabay)

Different Key Ring, Same Jersey Girl

 In reviewing past posts for a today's entry, I went in search of one I'd written about flip flop day -- the day that I switch my priorities from teaching to writing (or, in August and January, the other way around). Quite by accident, I found the one below and, since it, too, references flip flops, I decided to use this one instead. 

These days, my key ring is a little different. I'm on my second or third "Jersey Girl" ribbon, having replaced earlier versions where the print rubbed off. I no longer carry my work keys (now plural) on my key ring, and the car key that graces one end of the "Jersey Girl" ribbon is no longer a standard key, but an updated electronic version that unlocks an entirely different vehicle. My starfish is still there, though, along with my Bucknell key ring, my Leah charm, and a slightly tacky shamrock with green glass beads that reminds me of Ireland -- a place I hadn't yet visited when I wrote the post below.

An updated version of my Jersey Girl character.

In novels, dialogue and actions reveal character. By paying careful attention to what characters say and do, a reader can pick up a lot of clues about what makes characters tick and what's important to them.

Possessions can be revealing, too, both in novels and in real life. This afternoon, as I was waiting in my car for a family member to return, I took a good look at my keyring -- an item I pick up at least twice a day. Some of its contents aren't mysterious at all. Keys to the important places in my world -- my house, my car, my shared office at work. A "Leah" charm with a pigtailed little girl on it, and another imprinted with Bucknell University, both of which have been on my key ring for so long I forgot they were there.

Others go beyond face value. The bright pink "Jersey Girl" ribbon that comes in so handy for plucking my keys out of the depths of whatever bag I'm using isn't just about being able to take the girl out of Jersey, but not taking the Jersey out of the girl. I bought it on one of our first trips to take my daughter to college in Connecticut, and every time I see it, it reminds me of that trip and, by extension, my 

Did I mention my house key is in a flip flop print?
(Photo: Home Depot)

daughter.

The pale, nubby starfish hanging from my key ring brings back memories of another trip -- the one and only cruise we took. I no longer remember which Del Sol, or even which Caribbean island, for that matter, I bought it in, but every time the sunlight hits it and it turns purple, I remember not only the trip, but also the tough days in which that magically purple piece of plastic made me smile and, for just a moment, picture being back on a Caribbean island.

Finally, there's the Miraculous Medal that I added to my key ring when my mom was sick. I was driving back and forth between Pennsylvania and New Jersey pretty often, and I got in the habit of tucking a Miraculous Medal into my pocket when I traveled. For a while, my mom wore one around her neck as well and, when this one showed up in the mail, I wasted no time adding it to my key ring collection. It brought me hope and comfort in a time where both were in short supply; perhaps that's why it has lingered on my key ring.

One thing's for sure: my key ring would be lighter and less bulky without all these extras. Then again, it would have a lot less character.

Which of your possessions tells a little too much about you?

The Power of a Habit

 My days are filled with a multitude of small habits. Learning French (or maybe Spanish) or playing chess on Duolingo. My quick AM journal, beginning with three gratitudes. My ten minutes of writing. My allotted time on my coursework as an instructor and maybe some time on Coursera (for fun). And then there are things like laundry and cooking and tidying up, punctuated by a larger household or organization project.

It's the stuff that summer days are made of.

I call my dad each night and we talk about our days. Sometimes, I feel as though my reports sound like just that -- a recitation of things that, singly, don't amount to much.

At least not over the course of 24 hours.

During our conversations, I often find myself saying that I have nothing exciting to report but, over time I'm beginning to recognize that these small habits are adding up. Ten minutes of writing a day has gotten me back into the habit of putting words on the page. Right now, those words are a sort of mishmash: a burgeoning fiction project, sprinkled with responses to random prompts that serve to help me meet my daily goal, but don't necessarily contribute to the larger anything. 

Time on Duolingo has not only brought my high school French back, it has taken me to a point where my fluency surpasses what I could do back then. I'm still not ready to be dropped into the streets of Paris to fend for myself, but I'm getting closer.

Chess lessons on Duolingo have taught me aspects of the game I never learned when I tried to teach myself. Similarly, I'm not ready to challenge my nephew, who plays at an advanced level, but I'm getting better at strategizing although, truth be told, I get frustrated a lot of the time.

My morning journal, along with the meditation practice I'm trying to incorporate, helps me start out positively and on an even keel or, when used later in the day, it helps me regain my keel.

While it's true that I often have nothing exciting to report, it's also true that, over time, the developments are pretty exciting. Growth is incremental, and often so small that we don't see it, even when we're looking directly at it, or reporting it in a phone call.

But it's there.

With persistence and curiosity, growth is inevitable. And that's a pretty good way to spend a summer.