My earliest memory is having my tonsils out when I was three years old. Most of these memories are fragmented. Being in a huge bed is one, although whether that’s true, I can’t really say. I was small for my age, constantly sick from my rogue tonsils. Any bed would have felt enormous.
The other memory, the most vivid one, was glimpsing ethereal, enchanting creatures in red and white. These teenagers. These candy stripers.
They made such an impression that when I turned twelve, I volunteered at our local hospital. At first, I had to wear the blue and white striped uniform (a visual cue for the nursing staff), but within a year, I’d graduated to the coveted red and white striped one.
My shift partner was a girl from the junior high across town. Rhonda was sunshine itself bursting into the rooms, often three patients in a room, chatting and laughing. I was endlessly shy. I busied myself refilling water pitchers, pouring juice, and being asked why I wasn’t as smiley and talkative as Rhonda.
We were a good team. She made everyone happy. I kept us on task and made sure everyone had fresh ice.
Each shift earned us a meal ticket to the hospital cafeteria, which thrilled us to no end. The macaroni and cheese with the breadcrumbs on top? Followed by chocolate pudding?
Chef’s kiss.
Sometimes I think about my rogue tonsils and how they led me down this path. I was never as ethereal or enchanting as the candy stripers of my memory, although I desperately wanted to be. But I like to think something came full circle during those three years of volunteering at St. Joseph’s Hospital.
I started the bloganuary challenge knowing that I probably wouldn’t be able to post responses during the week. It was enough, I decided, to write every day.
And I did! Very deliberately! And I didn’t strive to post. Also deliberately!
There are several reasons for this. When I shut down the computer(s) in the evening, I really shut everything down. I don’t want to switch from my work laptop to my personal one. I also don’t have the brain power for proofing and posting (and trust me, you want me to proof before posting).
Lately, work has been a lot. Work has been so much that on some days, I console myself with: at least I don’t work for Twitter.
Yeah. A lot.
So evenings are for things not related to computer screens. Because if I don’t embrace ease in my life, I won’t be able to do anything else—deliberately or otherwise.
But I do have several posts I can schedule for next week. Plus, I will have some time this weekend to proof those posts. I’ll just be a week or so behind.
Then I thought of caring for my mom these past few years. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I wasn’t sure I could do it. (I’m including my time in the Army and deploying to a combat zone in that calculation. Hands down, 2022 was one of the hardest years of my life.)
And I think that’s maybe what bravery is. Doing—or attempting to do—the thing you think you can’t do. And like small acts of kindness, I believe small acts of bravery are important.
Creating a blog and putting your words and voice into the world for the first (or tenth) time? That’s brave.
Confronting FOMO and deleting all social media apps on your phone so you can focus on what you want to do? That’s brave.
Starting a novel? Picking one back up? Painting a picture when you haven’t held a paintbrush since elementary school? Baking a cake from scratch?
Creating something—anything—and offering it to others with a:
Here, I made this. I hope you like it.
That’s brave.
Because maybe they won’t like it.
But I’m pretty sure someone will. It may take a while to find that someone. The catch is you must be generous first, offering up your talents, your time, your attention—offering that up without the promise of a return.
Bloganuary: What is something you want to achieve this year?
Well, one of the things I’d like to do more of this year is blogging. So, there’s that.
But, I’ve been thinking less about goals and achievements and more about process and intention. So my intention for 2023 is deliberate ease.
Deliberate because there are things I want to do, and I need to take deliberate action in order to do them.
Ease to remind myself I don’t need to do everything, and I certainly don’t need to do it all at once.
The other word I’ve been thinking about is foundation. Literal foundations like my physical environment, inside and outside (one of the reasons I signed up for the Prohort). Foundations for my writing, like writing more and setting up my own store. Foundations for connecting and community.
Between the pandemic and caring for my mom, my world has contracted. I’m afraid that—if I let it— it would continue to shrink.
In the next few weeks, we’ll be bombarded with all sorts of blog posts and articles, podcasts and self-help books about goals and accomplishments.
I have nothing against goals and accomplishments, but these messages often focus on lack: not being enough, doing enough, having enough.
Before all that happens, I want to remind you to stop, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that you already know things, have accomplished something, and have what you need.
If you’ve been on this planet long enough to own a device that brings you here, onto the internet, and (somehow) to my blog, then you have skills. You can read words and process them. That, in itself, is no small thing.
I think we don’t always recognize what we do know. Like the old joke, asking the fish how the water is, and the fish replies: What water?
We take for granted the things we do know and can do. Like the fish, it’s the water we swim in, and we don’t recognize that someone else may find what we do both fascinating and impressive.
So before you’re bombarded with all that you haven’t done or have yet accomplished, take stock. You know lots of things, and you can do lots of things, from the small to the large. Can you whistle? Know how to deal with a surly customer? Cook the perfect egg?
Skills. Serious skills. I mean, I’ve never been able to whistle, and all attempts to teach me have failed.
Take a moment to give yourself credit for everything you already do. Take a moment to celebrate your accomplishments—big and small—and recognize your value before the onslaught of the new year.
So, a craft article I wrote back in the dark ages of early 2020 is now up at Women on Writing. And with everything that’s happened between then and now, I have almost no memory of actually writing it. In fact, I had to check my saved emails to see the timeline of the process.
Apparently, in early March 2020, I decided to pitch the article. Why? I don’t know. My motivation for this is lost to the ages. The shutdown was looming, but I was still going into the office, my daughter was in school, and we were all holding our collective breath.
In late March, I got the green light to write the article. We all remember the second half of March 2020, yes? Things got weird, fast. But I was working from home, which meant no commuting, and I thought: Sure, I can do this.
Then I promptly came down with COVID. On April 1st. (Yes, really.)
Did I mention that the submission deadline was April 23rd?
Honestly, I have no idea how I wrote the article and turned it in on time—or how it ended up with actual sentences. But apparently, I did, and it did. And now, nearly two and a half years later, it’s up on the Women on Writing site with a lovely graphic.
So, if you’re in the mood to get crafty, hop on over and read the article I don’t remember writing.
This blog has been fallow for a while. And I’ve been thinking. Do I continue it? This is what I don’t know. But here’s the thing.
I miss it.
Or rather, what I miss is blogging from the early aughts, before social media grabbed everybody’s attention. I fell into that time suck along with everyone else—not blaming anyone here. Because initially, social media seemed like it might be a good thing—keep up with everyone in one place. Wouldn’t that be fun? Useful? Unifying?
We all know what happened with that. I find myself (doom) scrolling and not interacting. I miss posts if I’m not on the site(s) every day or even every hour. I know there are ways of finessing feeds, of filtering, and so on. I don’t want to work that hard at something so fleeting. And social media is still far too loud (for lack of a better word). It always has been. What seems like an introvert’s dream is kind of a nightmare.
Blogging, though? Like back in the day? Could that be a way to engage with a community? Everything old is new again? John Scalzi over at Whatever seems to think so. With the dissolution of social media, maybe blogs are coming into their second act.
Maybe I am too. I mean, I am fast approaching that stage of life where I get to call myself a woman of a certain age. Maybe I’m already there.
If I venture into blogging again, I’m thinking less promotion (although I’ll certainly post when I have something published) and essentially ignoring SEO.
Instead, I’d like to do a little more exploring. I’m trying out new things, like signing up for the ProHort Core Course (the self-study version of the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum’s Master Gardener Course). Certainly, I could blog about my misadventures with that.
I’m still reading blogs, but I realize that commenting and interacting is a way to find a new blogging community.
I’m still writing fiction, but it’s been a gradual climb back after my mother’s death. I’m still here.
So, I meant to write up and post these thoughts last year. Really. I did. I have longhand notes and everything. Then, well?
2021.
I may be a year late, but I think what I learned still stands the test of twelve months. I hope you think so too.
In November 2019, I conceived of the idea of posting a story a week for an entire year. With the upcoming presidential election in the US, I knew it would be rough going. I wanted to do something kind; I wanted a distraction; I wanted something to focus on other than the news. I even called the challenge The (Love) Stories for 2020 to remind me of my aim for love, compassion, and kindness.
Then, of course, 2020 actually happened. Oh, my sweet summer child—you had no idea, did you?
I’m not the sort of writer who could write and post a short story a week for an entire year. That’s not how I’m wired. (If you’re wired that way, more power to you; I am brimming with envy.)
That being said, I thought I’d share the things that helped me get through this challenge. I offer them up in hopes they might be useful.
Party like it’s 1999: Focus on what you love and what’s fun, what you’d do even if you never got any recognition or payment. This is essentially the dance like no one’s watching advice. It doesn’t work for everyone, but it does for me.
Plan like it’s 2020: If the last two years have taught us anything, it’s that things happen. Things will continue to happen. They may be external things well beyond our control, like elections and pandemics. They may be other things, like graduations and weddings, all the joyful things in life. Peer into your crystal ball as far as you can and plan accordingly, which brings me to…
Scheduling is your new best friend: I blog on WordPress, but I imagine most platforms have a draft and scheduling function. Scheduling posts several weeks in advance gave me breathing room. It allowed me to work on new and not-quite-there-yet stories.
Inventory on hand: Related to scheduling is having a fair amount of inventory on hand. Again, I’m not a fast writer. I might be able to write a story a week, but I’m not sure I could write a story a week that’s ready for prime time, so to speak. Also? In April 2020, I got Covid. Between inventory on hand and scheduling, I continued the challenge until my body and brain were back online.
It will take more time than you think it will: Always. Trust me on this one.
The takeaway:
A challenge like this is a way to create and/or preserve a body of work. The content is evergreen and can have more than one use. When you own the rights to your work, you can do any number of things with it.
There are those external rewards, such as blog traffic, SEO, comments, and finding new readers. But for me, the results went far beyond the external.
I loved discovering what resonated with readers. Some of my “just for me” stories resonated so strongly with others that it helped me trust my inner voice a bit more, which spilled over into Season Four of Coffee and Ghosts. I’m not sure I would’ve written that without completing this challenge first.
I loved spending time with my own voice, rediscovering patterns and themes in my own writing.
In a world that’s always so loud, both online and off, it’s easy to miss what’s surprising and unique about your own voice. My 2020 challenge helped me reconnect with that.
So, what are you waiting for? Go forth and concoct your own challenge. But remember:
Wrote 103,000 words (mostly on Season Four of Coffee and Ghosts)
Read 103 books
I liked the symmetry of that so much, I purposely didn’t finish reading a book on the 31st.
And while I’ve had better writing years, I’ve had much worse. Considering the state of everything in 2021, it could’ve been much, much worse. Not only am I really pleased with how Season Four of Coffee and Ghosts turned out, but I also had a lot of fun writing it.
I also started a Little Free Library this year. Traffic’s a little slow now that the snow and cold have arrived, but readers are slipping in new books and taking others. In the spring, I hope to do more with it. It will be easier for all once you don’t have to mount the snowbank just to peek inside.
What didn’t work in 2021: Weekly writing check-ins. Lately, I’ve found I don’t have much to say, at least not about my writing progress on a weekly basis.
I’ve been blogging in some form since 2003, and I’m certainly not going to stop now. Okay, I just did the math, and that’s nearly twenty years. In that time, I’ve changed platforms and formats, what I write about, and a variety of other things. I think it’s time to change and grow again, but in what direction, I’m not sure.
It may take all of 2022 to figure that out. But for now, I’ll wish everyone a Happy New Year. May 2022 bring you the peace and joy you need.
I may have mentioned that I have a time travel series idea that’s been knocking around inside my head for about … four years now.
I never claimed to be a fast writer.
Or thinker, as the case may be. I pondered season four of Coffee and Ghosts for a good four years before I sat down to (seriously) write it. True, I did do a trial run in 2020, but I jettisoned it because … 2020.
When I tried again this year, it only took me six months to write 100,000 words. That’s not a bad pace, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. The entire story includes pondering and note-taking and letting it all simmer.
Instead of being frustrated by this, I’ve decided to embrace it and make it fun. Because it’s not changing. How do I know this? I’ve tried. Oh, how I’ve tried. I have learned that I’m not one of those zippy writers who can write a book a month.
I’ve attempted to adhere to the pithy writing advice of Don’t think, write.
Guess what? It doesn’t work for me. What I get is a mess of a draft or a story that’s anemic.
I also don’t outline. I take lots of notes, create a framework or a roadmap, but I don’t go beyond that, either. And yes, I’ve tried to meticulously outline as well. When I do that, I overcomplicate the story.
So here I am, plotters to the left of me, pantsers to the right, stuck in the middle with me.
Writing Wrongs 