shakespearemom

My brother just got word (for the second time) that an agent is significantly interested in his novel…fabulous news!

I have yet to get that kind of letter, but I hear he sends out 30 sets of letters + sample chapters at a time…and I manage maybe five…and he’s more inately polished a writer than I am, and more edgy…and I’ve read his novel, and it’s very good! I hope this agent takes him on…it would make his year!

Although I have no such letter, and my rejection letter pile will soon be enough to fill a wall, today I am writing. I cannot hope to maintain my composure if I compare myself to everyone else. So many of those who read my blog (or whose blogs I read) are far more advanced into the writing world than I am. And they, like my brother, inspire me to keep working at it.

I am fortunate to have watched a friend’s child throughout the school year, and she is returning the favor(s) by taking my kids certain days. AND TODAY’S ONE OF THOSE DAYS!!!

My kids will have a blast all day, playing with different toys and four other kids, and I will tuck myself into my recliner, open my laptop, and write, and write, and write until my fingers are going to break off…and then I’ll write some more. I really want to get somewhere with all of this, eventually. I want to finish this book, and have the finished product really mean something.

Anyway, I need to get going! Lots of writing to do! I’ll let you know how it goes.

This blog has done what it was supposed to do…it has made me write much more than I was before. It has inspired me. It has pushed me towards my goals.

But it has also done something unexpected. It has helped me realize that I’m not alone. In just a month of blogging, I’ve met so many other people who are struggling with the same issues I deal with every day, especially those who are raising kids while trying to nurture their own authentic selves. My sister just found my blog (her webpage is the dragonfaerie one…cool title!), and she said, believe it or not, that she really understood what I wrote.

And I believe it. As different as she and I are, we are both trying so hard to be great mothers, to run households, and to write while we’re doing it all. I’m writing this blog right now (I just wrote “write now,” and had to go back and edit it!), but I’m also on a timer. The sprinkler in the front yard has to be turned off in half an hour, my son still hasn’t gotten his breakfast, and I have to call the doctor in forty minutes because my daughter has a persistent–and scary–cough. And I’m lucky, for I’m mostly at home.

My sister isn’t. So she is trying to keep a house running while also working full-time. And taking care of three fabulous kids (even if I haven’t met the last one yet, Roxanne was born on my birthday, so she must also be fabulous). Yet she’s also writing, often staying up late into the night to finish a chapter, revise a section, or read my blog (thanks!).

I know I’m not alone…so what is it that you are trying to balance? What do you neglect when your kids get sick, or the car needs new tires, or the dishes pile up in the sink? What is your heart longing for, that you’ve put too far down on your list of things-to-do?

I was just reading an MSN article about one of the homes built by Extreme Makeover Home Edition three years ago. My hubby and I watched that show for a season or so, but I found it hard to keep watching when the houses started going over the top. Some poor family living in a three-room hovel often came back in a week to find a four-bedroom mansion with six wide-screen televisions, three living rooms, or even a full-size indoor basketball court. It was simply too much.

I kept wondering what the family did with all that luxury, with all that space, all those extra things. And I thought of how many homes could have been refurbished with all that donated stuff. Instead of doing one home to the hilt, the same show could have redone an entire city block in the hood, helping dozens of home owners not live in shoddy housing. Each house could have gotten a single wide-screen tv, a single living room, and moderate help with utilities, etc.

Only now, with the MSN article, another ugly truth has come forward. It’s the standard truth, one I’ve seen too often in college, where I teach. People value what they have to work for, and they cannot value stuff that is given to them in the same way. The recipients of one of these extreme homes are now about to lose their home because they took out a $450,000 loan using their home’s equity, and squandered it all. They didn’t work to build their home, and thus didn’t value it as they might have if they had actually paid for it themselves. And now it’s lost.

I say I’ve seen this same pattern at college, and it’s usually involving student tuition. If a student is being sent to college by a parent, and is paying none of the fees himself, he very often has less invested in the class than someone who is paying for the class himself. Teenagers show the same behavior with cars. If a teenager has to pay for her own gas, she will drive around less. If she has to pay for the car herself, she will be more careful with it (since it’s HER responsibility).

It’s part of human nature to value what is easily acquired less that what is harder to get. That is why so many young people have an expectation that all will be given to them, that they won’t have to really work for anything. All of their lives, everything has been given to them, to the point that they simply don’t value it anymore. They assume everything will fall easily into their laps, and they don’t recognize the amount of work their parents put in towards getting those luxuries for them. So, once they go out on their own, they are mystified when they don’t get the jobs they want, when employers actually expect any work out of them, or when they can’t live at the same level their parents do. They don’t see the consequences of not paying bills, not showing up for work, and not investing in a relationship.

I need to be cautious to avoid this pattern with my own two children. They need to earn what they have, and learn how to work for what they really want. Once they aren’t under my roof, the monetary benefits end, and they will have to earn their way towards their own cars, homes, jobs, etc. And it’s my job to teach them that lesson now, before they blow $450,000 because they didn’t understand the value of what they had.

What if the person you thought you were was really just a mish-mash of all the things other people wanted you to be? You thought all these years that you loved your eggs a certain way, or had certain habits, or did certain things because you loved them that way. You thought you had the perfect home, the perfect life, the perfect opinions.

But then, when you are finally on your own, left to your own devices, you discover that you really prefer vastly different activities, habits, or homes.

I know I have done this. When I lived with my parents, all those years, I really thought I wanted the things they wanted me to want (I know that sounds confusing, but it really isn’t). I wanted to dress a certain way, act a certain way, even think a certain way. And if I itched to do or think something different, I’d sit down with myself to talk through it, reasoning all the excuses for why I shouldn’t think differently.

And then I went to college. And a met a man who didn’t want to be told only what he wanted to hear (he regrets that now, he informs me…says he had no idea what he was doing). And I met teachers who really wanted to know what I thought. And I discovered that, most of all, I really wanted to know what I thought. And what I thought mattered a whole lot more than what everyone else thought.

Now, after years of re-training myself, I think I have a pretty good idea what I think. I allow myself to disagree with everyone (though I am tactful, and often keep my opinions to myself). I also allow myself to change my opinion, to recognize when I’ve misjudged something. But I am the one who changes my mind. I am not goaded into it. Not EVER.

Yet I still listen too well to what other people think, enough that their opinions make me doubt myself when I shouldn’t. Others’ opinions–often too quickly and too loudly voiced–make me doubt my parenting skills, my taste in clothing, my life choices, even my abilities.

Fortunately, in the end, I usually realize they have opinions which are no more valid than mine, and since I’m the one who has to live with my choices, I’d better be the one to make them. And so I’m fine, at least until another overopinionated person tells me I’m not. And then it’s back to reassessing that what I’m doing is what I should be doing.

Are we all like this, or am I the only one off her rocker?

I’ve discussed this before, and I will most DEFINITELY discuss it again, mainly because I deal with this issue every single day of my existence. And I have yet to resolve it.

I love taking care of my kids. They are bright (of course they are bright! I’m biased!), charming, kind, and delightful. But if I spend every waking moment with them, I go insane. I become snippy, tired, and cranky, and it’s not because they’ve done anything wrong. But it’s too much for me, all the time. Suddenly everything seems a chore, everything irritates.

At the same time, I LOVE writing. And teaching. I love being at college, surrounded by students who are working at their writing, who are discussing literature. I love the academic side of who I am, and I need it. It is part of who I am. Yet I miss my children, miss putting them to bed on the nights I have class. Miss them when I am out signing books or telling ghost stories. And when a child is sick, and I have to miss class, or make other arrangements, the stress is horrible!

Right now, I am not teaching. My son has just come down with an ear infection, and his eye is now pussing up (which means he needs antibiotics). So tomorrow I have to call the doctor. Fortunately, though, I don’t have to worry about not being able to take him to daycare, or who will cover a class or meeting while I’m at the doctor’s office. And that is a huge blessing. If this were in the fall, I’d have to make some sort of arrangements for all of that.

My son is still two years from full-day school, although, if I choose, I can begin him in a year with full-day kindergarten. But do I want that? Is that what’s best for him, or for me? If I work full-time at a college, what will my hours be? Will I be able to get my kids to school? Will I be home when they are? Who will watch them? My daughter is five years from being able to stay at home by herself, and evenwhen that is legal, I’m not sure that’s preferable for her to be alone that much.

So, what do I do? How do I balance all this? What would be best for me? For my kids? For my husband? I don’t think we need different things. I believe what will be best for me will likely be good for everyone else.

Now I just have to find out what that is.

Is your life too quiet? Does your mind have too much freedom to think without interruption? Can you work on your beloved activities for hours–maybe even all day–without interruption? Do you sometimes forget to eat lunch when you are so caught up in something you love?

Well, I have the perfect solution for your problem: Children! Those sweet little people come out screaming, and as they grow they graduate to yelling, squealing, making machine gun noises, and–worst of all–playing with loud toys that well-meaning relatives gave them. Their favorite toys include cymbals, battery-powered sound effects, talking dolls, drums, and any animal-like toys that quack, moo, bark or ribbit.

And even if you can forget about meals, they can’t. You will never have to go through an entire day without eating again, or even a few hours, for their digestive processes work fast, and they need constant refueling. You’ll learn how to make lunch in five minutes, and you’ll never go hungry again. In fact, cleaning their plates will likely add much-needed fat to that scrawny frame of yours.

Your single-mindedness won’t be an issue with children around, either. No doubt they would love to help you with your activity, sharing your paints, pushing the pedal of your sewing machine when they believe you need it, accompanying you on the piano, even editing your manuscript when you leave your laptop unattended…but their attention spans won’t let you fixate on anything for long. After all, even as college freshmen they only have a 12-minute attention span, so when they are FIVE, their attention is more like 2 minutes.

So get yourself a child, and all your problems will be solved. Besides, they are really cute (even when getting into trouble), and you cannot imagine the joy they bring (even as they change your life forever). 

I believe, deep down, that I may have too many hobbies. I love sewing, painting, writing, reading, singing, playing piano…and the list goes on. I derive inestimable pleasure from these activities, but I cannot help but be troubled by one aspect of my interests: none of these pursuits has that much practical value. 

Certainly, sewing has value, especially when I am taking clothing in–clothing I would otherwise have to give away because it didn’t fit–or making household items, like patchwork quilts for my daughter’s room or throw pillows. But fabric is expensive, so buying fabric and making an outfit is not at all cheaper than buying the outfit somewhere. Besides, the time spent on sewing it could have been spent on doing laundry, cleaning, or performing some other “productive” task.

And the other activities aren’t that practical. I have yet to play piano well enough to accompany anyone who is singing–but that is what I am working towards. My singing pleases me, my kids, and my hubby (he’s always loved my singing), but it doesn’t really help anything. Not really. Painting is only useful if it creates beauty that is needed…and frankly, we already have more art than we have room to hang up, so the painting I am working on now will have nowhere to go.

I suppose it is the activity itself that is important, the act of creating, of singing, of allowing myself to flow into song, or envision something new and unusual, that is truly important. If painting were merely frivolous, no one would have anything hanging on their walls. If books were superfluous, no one would read. If music were just silly, no one would own an instrument, or play, or buy CDs, or listen to the radio.

I just need to see that purpose in what I do so that I don’t feel guilty spending an hour playing the piano each morning.

This is a rare sort of blog…usually, if I comment on another work, I’m discussing literature that is at least 150 years old (usually older), only today I cannot stop mulling over what my pastor said this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised, too, if this particular sermon affects me deeply for the rest of my life.

I’m sure some of you are surprised that a sermon could really have that effect, and the rest of you wonder why it hasn’t happened more often. I am lucky to attend a church where this happens to me at all, honestly. My pastor (whom we affectionately call Pastor Tom) is a brilliant man who is also willing to ask himself hard questions. I have only had one other pastor who did the like (thank you, Pastor Jeri in SC!).

But that is not the point…today Tom spoke of a tradition in Celtic Christianity: a belief that some places are “thinner” than others…that some locations or states of mind allow one to feel closer to the Spirit (the Creator, the Great Father, Earth Mother, or however you may envision this entity) than other places or states of mind. The “veil” separating our mortal world from the spiritual world is “thinner” in these places.

I can’t say that I feel there are certain geographical or physical spaces where I feel more spiritual connectedness, but I realized through the sermon that I have most certainly found that connection in other ways, ways that link me to my more spiritual psyche. Music has a huge effect on me in this way, particularly classical or new age music. I cannot count the number of times a song has brought me a message with it, one that calms me, comforts, or soothes my mind and heart.

I also find certain activities spiritual. Painting, for me, serves this side, as well as walking outdoors (treadmills are no more than torture). I love to be outside, surrounded by trees and flowers, slugs and bees. I understand how the Romantic poets equated the natural world with the spiritual…for I do the same, to a large degree.

So, what are your “thin” places? Where do you find contact with the spiritual outside–and within–yourself?

I plan ahead. I make a list of things to do in a day, and I even plan what I’ll do right after breakfast, how much time I’ll spend writing, what I’ll do with the kids that day, or how I’ll occupy them while I am writing…

But then it all falls apart. Before I know it, I’ve been playing games online for two hours, or checking out Craigslist, or watching a television show (how in the world can I justify watching SpongeBob, at my age?) And all my plans go out the window, and I end up scraping time together at the end of the day, trying to get at least two or three of my plans completed. Or I end up so tired by the time I put my kids to bed that I’m unable to stay awake to write, once they are sleeping.

Am I the only one who does this? Do all of you have more self-discipline? Am I simply not serious about writing, so I get nothing done when another person in the same situation gets a ton of stuff done?

Yet, when I look at what I’ve done over the past four years, just since my son was born, I can’t think that. I’ve researched, written, and published one book, written another novel, revised another one about a dozen times, written four full-length plays, and written a bunch of other stuff. And when I think about it that way, I sound hard working. Yet my everyday life is filled with so many other things, and I don’t make nearly as much time for writing as I should. (Or as much as I should.)

 Maybe I should stop whining, and start writing! That’s it…I need to get to work! I have a list, and I want to get to my writing today…

You’d think I was waffling just to keep from really digging into this novel, but I don’t believe that’s true. (I sure hope it isn’t or it might go on for the rest of my life!)

I have changed my mind about it again. I’m making the protagonist of my current novel a 16-year-old girl instead of a married woman. The bad guy, Kenneth, is her stepfather, not her husband, and her mom’s a messed up alcoholic/drug addict/punching bag for the guys she picks. It’s a much edgier idea, and it’s also YA, which feels so much better in my head than romance (especially since I can’t usually read romance at all).

And so her stepdad messes up (don’t want to say how), and the ghost of the house they’ve moved into chases him off. Emme’s mom takes off to find another man (losing her mind to meth for a while as she’s searching, no doubt), and Emme is trying to keep all of that a secret, stay in the house on her own, and not get sent back to foster care. And she’s also trying to figure out who this ghost (Charley) is, and what happened to him that has caused him to haunt the place.

 Perhaps that’s too much detail for now. Perhaps I’ll change ideas in midstream again. More than likely, though, each change is making my work better, and will eventually get me closer to an intense, interesting, and original story.

So, this is the path I’m taking right now, and I’m happy to be on it, if only for the moment.