Category: Writing

Making sense of the world

Bloganuary: Why do you write?

I like to make a note of my first thoughts on these prompts. In the case of this one, it was:

I need to.

That seems to sum it up.

Of course, writing also made my list of what brings me joy (see yesterday’s post).

“Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, it doesn’t feel like I should be doing anything else.” ~ Gloria Steinem

This quote resonates so hard with me. For me, it really does feel like that. And when circumstances conspire to keep me from writing, I’m not fully myself.

Maybe because this other quote about writing also resonates:

“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” ~ Joan Didion.

I write to make sense of the world. I write stories to explore issues while having fun. (Yes, even in something like Coffee and Ghosts.) If other people pick up on the subtext, great. But if not, that’s fine.

Because the subtext is for me.

The story is for everyone else.  

Comfort and Joy

Bloganuary: What brings you joy in life?

The first things that popped into my head were:

  • Talking with my kids
  • Writing
  • Curling up with a good book and some hot peppermint tea at the end of the day

That being said, I wonder if those things simply bring me deep contentment. These aren’t necessarily significant things, after all. They don’t change the world. But maybe that’s okay. When I manage all three of those things on any given day, I consider that to be a stellar day.

So I’m going to take those small things and hold them close.

They are comfort and joy.

They are enough.  

The questions we didn’t think to ask

Bloganuary: What is a treasure that’s been lost?

There are so many things you could say about this prompt (from the very personal to the very controversial), but for me, what hits home is the stories I’ve lost with my mother’s death.

When my sister and I were sorting through some of my mom’s things, we found so many items that astonished us. My mom was the last of her generation in our immediate family. So there’s no one left to ask when questions arise: Who are the people in this photo? Where did these art prints come from? Where did you get this keepsake?

What’s doubly confounding is I want answers to questions I never thought to ask when my mom was alive, like the story behind this advertisement.

This is one of the things my sister and I unearthed while searching for mementos and photos for my mother’s memorial (you can click to enlarge the text).

And seriously? What on earth? How did my parents end up featured in the Seattle Times classified section? Also, the conventions of the era? Their address? Really? Why? In case random strangers wanted to drop by?

Still, this little slice of their life is delightful, even without the context around it. I’ll never have the complete picture, but I can pull some of the puzzle pieces together.

Of tonsils and candy stripers

Bloganuary: What is the earliest memory you have?

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.

Embracing deliberate ease

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.

Again, deliberately.  

Small Acts of Bravery

Bloganuary: How are you brave?

My first reaction to this prompt was: I’m not.

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.

That’s brave.

2023: Deliberate Ease

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.

So for 2023, I hope to ease back into the world.

Deliberately.

How’s the Water: Taking Stock Before the New Year

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.

Take a moment to breathe.

Craft article: But It Really Happened That Way

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.

But It Really Happened That Way: Tips for Blending Real Life into Fiction

Of fallow fields and second acts

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.

More importantly, I still want to be.