PLB Online

The Verge

2011-10-11T20:51:00.006-04:00

Ever get a fortune from a fortune cookie that haunts you? I have.
I got a fortune a few weeks ago that pumped me up, shot me down, and then leveled me out.

"You are on the verge of something big."

Oh. My. God. Really? Wild thoughts flew through my head. One of those editors who has my manuscript may actually be reading it. Maybe I'm going to get an offer, any day now. Maybe the story I'm working on now will be a hit. Maybe I'll find time to write that screenplay novel I've been thinking about and it will be a box-office smash. Wow, this is it! I'm on the VERGE of something BIG. I know it! Woooo!

Silly that a little slip of paper could make me dream so much.

Weeks went by and nothing 'big' happened. I went back to my story and reality hit me full force. It was just a silly little paper. My current WIP is still unfinished, I've received no calls from editors (or emails or postcards, for that matter), and time to write a screenplay? Pah.

I settled back into the hard work of writing my novel. (Did anyone mention that writing is hard work? It is. Be prepared.) Stupid me, getting my hopes up. On the verge of something big... yeah right. Grumble, grumble. Down I went, and my hopes of 'big' tumbled down with me.

I had nothing better to do, soI wrote some more. I brainstormed with Katia (Thanks, K!) and got excited again. I cleared my head and found a way around a block that I've had. This story is working once more. I'm enjoying the necessary hard work.

And then it dawned on me: I am on the verge of something big!

Dictionary.com (because I'm too lazy to find my Webster's dictionary) defines the "verge" as "the edge, rim, or margin of something." Also: "the limit or point beyond which something begins or occurs; brink."

And there I am! I'm on the edge... I'm at the brink. Aren't we all?

Aren't we all at the point where we could have something bigger, be someone better, do something great? We're ALL on the verge. So what pushes us over the edge, into greatness? What gets us past thr point which something (big) begins or occurs? What's the difference between being on the brink of something great and the actual greatness?

Shouldn't be too tough to figure out: hard work. You know, people, if you haven't learned this already then you haven't watched The Karate Kid enough. Hard work. Practice practice practice and all that jazz. Everyone who is successful will tell you: it's not easy.

Back to work I go! I've got to work myself off this darned VERGE. Kind of tired of sitting on the edge. I've got to put in the effort to get to that BIG... and so I shall.

My most recent fortune cookie fortune: "A big fortune will descend upon you this year."

Now let's define "this year."

-PLB

Scrabbling

2011-08-29T19:04:00.004-04:00

Not scrambling... Scrabbling.

You can find the game of Scrabble in many forms online. Recently, I came across it as "Words With Friends" on Facebook. I made the mistake of clicking on it to see what this game was all about, since I saw multiple friends playing it. I saw it was Scrabble and quickly clicked off. No thanks, no Scrabble for me.

But nooooo.... I couldn't get away from it so easily. Several friends sent "invitations" to games. Okay, I have this innate sentimentality about being there for friends. I hate to let friends down, even in something as simple as playing a game. So I would just play these two rounds and be done with it. I was okay with walking away as a two-time WWF winner and never playing again. (I won, but I also didn't really enjoy the victory.)

Ack! It was not so easy to walk away. I won those two games and got sucked into two more games with some serious WWF addicts. Maybe they're word-aholics. Strategists. On-line game lovers. Zealots. Who knows. All I know is that I am NOT addicted to this game. I am not still enjoying this.

Why not, you ask? I'm a writer, shouldn't I enjoy a word game? Not really.When I'm writing, I toil enough over words. I try to find the right word with the right meaning for the situation. I try to use kid-friendly words in my writing, and somewhat intelligent-sounding words in my work reports. I consider the tone, meaning, rhythm, and even the sound of the words when I write. If I'm going to struggle to find words, I at least want those words to contribute to a story in some way.

Scrabble is not really about words. It's about points. It's about placement. It's a strategy to put the right letters in the right place... but not really words. Yes, it helps to know if "hu" is really a word (it isn't), but there are so many programs and websites available to help you verify and spell words that you don't even really need to know the words. You just need to know where to plug your letters in correctly to maximize your points.

The one benefit of WWF that I've found so far: it does make you think about words. I've looked up plenty of non-words lately (like romula), and learned some new words too (like morula). (Morula is a stage of egg-division in an embryo, and is worth 30+ points if placed correctly.) Did you know that scrabbling is actually a word? To scrabble is to dig frantically, or to struggle for possession of something. Seems appropriate for this game--wouldn't you agree?

I'm giving up Words with Friends and going back to my writing. And, I'm decreeing here and now: no more Words with Friends!

Just as soon as these two games are over.

-PLB

Hard Work and Inspiration

2011-06-24T21:40:00.004-04:00

I don't feel like writing.

I just don't feel like doing it. It's too hard to get through to the end of a draft. I'm too tired at the end of the day. It's been a busy week and I worked late three days out of the last five. It was a rough week on the job. I've got too many other things to do. Writing will just have to wait.

Last week I had an unexpected few days off. Wow, what an opportunity to be productive, I thought. I can get some writing done! Where should I start? I was productive, just not in the way that I had hoped. Nothing got written.

Monday, I wrote to a friend. Monday I'll start, Butt-In-Chair as the old VCFA motto goes. I just have to show up and write. I'll get into a routine. I'll get started. I'll do it.

I didn't.

Every night this week, I did things here and there that inched me closer to writing. I uploaded to Google documents every WIP that I left unfinished when I was in school. This way, I'd never lose them again. (Earlier this month I thought my system wouldn't recover from a mammoth trojan that invaded my computer, and I thought everything I'd every written was gone. I didn't lose everything... just the last three years of emails.) I read and reread notes that I got from Margaret Bechard about my ghost story, and remembered where I wanted to go with it. I opened that story three nights in a row and revised words here and there. But when I came to that blank page at the end, all I could type was "Chapter Ten."

I struggle not so much with the story--I have a complete outline, a map, a timeline, everything in detail about what I need to do with this story--but more with the act of writing. I mentally defeat myself before I even start. I work in a pretty intense field, where I have to deal with some unpleasant subjects on a daily basis. My heart goes out to the children I work with. I want to heal them all and carry them to safety. I can't do that. I can only do my part. So when I compare that work with my writing, the writing seems trivial. I'm not likely to make an impact through my books, I think. So I don't even try.

But tonight on Facebook, I was given a gentle, lovely reminder. I can make an impact. Every author can make an impact in the life of a child. Every PERSON can make an impact in the life of a child. One child, or many children, and adults too. Look at this:

This little girl is reading. She lives in Ethiopia.

One of my VCFA advisors, Jane Kurtz, makes a difference with her books, every day. Her books and her efforts have had a positive impact on children around the world, particularly in Ethiopia. She is an active member and board member of Ethiopia Reads, a program which collects books for libraries in Ethiopia, Africa. Through this organization's efforts, Ethiopian children have the opportunity to learn and read and explore the world through stories.

Don't kids get to do that every day? Don't all schools have libraries? According to the NEA, fifty-six percent of youth say they read more than ten books a year.

Not in Ethiopia.

In Ethiopia, and other underdeveloped nations, books are rare. Reading for pleasure is not promoted. There are so many other, more basic necessities lacking that books are gifts, treasures, luxuries. The staff at Ethiopia Reads "believes that education is the key to improving the lives of the next generation of Ethiopians, a country filled with children, and that books are the key to fostering a genuine love of learning." Through the hard work of Jane Kurtz and many others, a new generation of Ethiopians is being fostered: a generation that loves learning, education, and books.

I love books.

I can make a difference by writing a book.

Just as my work with children in the foster care system is tough, so is writing a book. None of it easy. But the results can be phenomenal, if I work hard enough. I can help to find a child the right family, make sure that she's safe, or give her the adventure of a lifetime, that she'll read over and over again. I just have to work hard enough.

I'd better get writing. Chapter ten awaits.

-PLB

Happenings

2011-05-26T20:00:00.002-04:00

Hi All,

I'm gearing up to go to another conference, the NJ SCBWI annual conference. I'm looking forward to seeing some old friends, hopefully making some new ones, and hopefully making some connections with editors and agents. Mostly, I'm looking forward to getting pumped up.

Conferences always exhilarate me. I'm not only among people who love to write, but I'm among zealots. I'm among people who do this for a living, people who make a living doing the same thing I love to do. It's exciting, refreshing, and fun. I will come back with words coursing through my veins, and fire pouring from my fingertips. I will be ready to write.

In the everyday course of life, sometimes it's hard to get pumped up to write. I do a lot of writing for work, and sometimes the last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer for another hour or two. I'd rather kick back and read, or exercise or watch TV with my kids. And many times, I just don't have the mental energy. I'm like an old lady, falling asleep earlier than I ever did before. (Next I'll be napping at my desk in the afternoons.) So, I could use a little pep to my routine right about now.

What else is happening? Check out JACKET KNACK: Spring!

And my good friend Trent Reedy was featured on Al Roker's Book Club for Kids segment of the today show. Check out his video here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/43108547#43108547 If you haven't read his book, WORDS IN THE DUST, you should. It's fabulous... well written and a great story. The story behind WORDS IN THE DUST is heartwarming, too. Check it out here: http://www.trentreedy.com/

Enjoy your spring! Next time, I hope to have lots to share about a new story that I'm working on, more about the conference, and maybe even some good news.

In the meantime, keep writing!

-PLB

Practice

2011-04-21T00:46:00.001-04:00

When I graduated from the Vermont College of Fine Arts, I wanted to write something different. I was inspired by my friends and classmates Carol Lynch Williams, Jandy Nelson, and Trent Reedy, who were all writing very passionate, compelling stories. I wanted to write something passionate and compelling, too. I could do it--I knew I could.

The day after I graduated, I started writing. I was still on vacation! No matter--this story wanted to come out. Over the next 2 years, I wrote and revised my current work-in-progress (WIP), Angel, Baby. I've written about this many times, as it's consumed my free time and my thoughts and my blog posts for what feels like eons. I'm proud of it. It's passionate, compelling, and moving. My writer friends tell me so.

Now it's in the 'circulating' stage. It's in the hands of some capable people who I hope will love it. I'm not revising it again unless one of those capable persons specifies what needs changing. That leaves me with a blank page in front of me!

I have many choices about what I can work on. I left a ghost story unfinished, after working on it for months with two of my four wonderful advisors. I started a new ghost story last fall and never made it through my first draft. I have ideas for new stories, too, that I would love to write. And then there's the old stand-by... the story about the witch's daughter.

I've blogged about this story a million times, too. It won an award, received high praise in a manuscript review, and gosh, so many people have loved it over the years. (Especially Katia Raina, my writing partner!) But as I opened up my most recent edition of this story, I was so unenthusiastic. What do I have to offer this story? What do I have to make it new and better at this point? Am I just going back to the same old struggles I've had with making this story try to come together and stay together once again? That's been an ongoing problem for me. Something just isn't working, and I just can't figure out what it is.

I brain-stormed with Katia last week, and I found a new angle for this story. I read some YA fantasy fiction to put me back in the fantasy mindset. I wrote in my journal to set details and clarify some of the finer points of this story for myself. I put on creepy music and put myself in a fantasy frame of mind. Finally, I tried out my new angle. I wrote a chapter, and I was shocked. Shocked, I tell you!

First person, present tense... wait a minute. I wasn't writing the same old witchy story... I was writing Angel, Baby! I was writing passion, emotions... a compelling story! Yes, the subject is fantasy, the story line is one-hundred-eighty degrees different from the story about the girl with cancer. But, but, but! The emotions are there. The angst is there. The drama is there. The feeling is there.

I sit back and wonder what I just did with the last 2 1/2 years of my writing life. Did I just have an elaborate practice exercise for this story? It's very possible. It's a completely real possibility that everything I just dredged out of the depths of my soul to put into Angel, Baby will be tapped again for the witch story. I think that's okay. No, in fact, I think that's great!

I only wrote one chapter so far. I realized that I need to outline a little further before I can go on. But I feel like I'm now chartering familiar territory with this story. I can make it gel--I made the last story come together. I even added kissing in that story. Maybe I'll add some kissing to this story, too. After all, I've been there, done that. And I can do it again!

-PLB

Looking at Life

2011-03-04T08:37:00.004-05:00

Someone said to me recently, "You have four kids, a full time job, and you write? I don't know how you do it. You make it look so easy!"

I was at a family function and I was discussing the masters degree program I was in up in Vermont. We talked about my job being so busy, the kids schedules being busy, and life in general, just being busy. We've recently started taking care of my mother-in-law on a more-than-part-time basis. And soon, soccer season starts. Yes, my husband and I have been busy.

I don't know how we do all of these things, either. We just do. It's part of life for us. What some people see as something extraordinary, we see as normal.

The conversation made me think about my recent WIP, the story about the girl with cancer. I've gotten comments about how detailed it is, how the medical aspects ring so true. Those comments were from my non-medical friends who read it. A few of my nursing friends read it and didn't mention those parts. Why? They're pretty ordinary details for nurses--things we see every day.

Our job as writers is to take those ordinary details, the things we see and deal with all the time, and make them see unusual. We zoom in on them and make them extraordinary. How do we do that? We pay attention to those details.

I watched Lord of The Rings: Return of the King the other night. There was a scene in which Arwen was speaking with her father in the garden at Rivendell. She was sitting on a stone bench, holding a book. Her long, pale fingers caressed the pages until the book slipped slowly from her grasp. It tumbled downward, pages shuttering in the breeze as it brushed the folds of Arwen's flowing, pale blue gown. It hit the hard ground with a deep, resonating boom. In essence, the book fell.

Peter Jackson (the director) could have shown just that: a book falling to the ground. It would have taken two seconds of film time. But he chose to draw it out and make a moment from it, just as I did in the above paragraph. I don't know that Tolkien did that in the book (I can't find my copy! I think Andy stole it.), but in the movie, it was a dramatic pause in the story. Nothing unusual, nothing huge, just a normal little event which was turned into something big.

You can do this with your writing. You can look at your character's life, filled to the brim with activity and busy-ness and make it seem ordinary. Or, you can take minute details, meaningless events and make them HUGE. It's all in how you look at the situation.

Take a moment to think about what details warrant exploring in your story. What details have an impact in your character's life? Does the fact that your character has long, flowing auburn hair really make any difference in the story? Maybe not, unless she's earned the nickname "Rusty" as a result. What does your character do that seems perfectly normal to them that might seem unusual to the rest of us? Maybe he paints hermit crab shells. Maybe he lives at the edge of a landfill. Explore these details.

And have fun exploring!

-PLB

Where I Am, Where I've Been

2011-02-15T19:52:00.012-05:00

Yes, it's been a long time since I've posted here. Not because I forgot about my blog, not because I didn't want to or feel like posting, and not because I didn't have anything to say. In fact, I had too much to say.

My posts tend to be long. Long = time consuming, energy consuming, and thought consuming. Too much of a production. I spent some time in these last few months considering what I wanted to do with this blog before I posted again. I decided that this year, I'm trying a new format for my blog: short and sweet, sister!

So here's where I've been in the past few months:

On my elliptical.
I injured my back, went to physical therapy, and got an elliptical machine. I hate it. I use it, but I am not fond of this contraption. It forces me to ... ugh, it pains me to even say the word... EXERCISE. But, I have to do it. My trainer says so. Or my back will hurt forever.

I've also been HERE:

Getting together with my writing buddies! This is me and Katia one Sunday morning, marveling over books that our friends have published and brainstorming our own books. It's fun and it's motivating. All writers should have writing buddies or a writing group. I'm pretty lucky - I have buddies, a partner, AND a group!
Check out Katia's blog at http://katiaraina.wordpress.com/
She's much better than I am about keeping her blog updated. :)

I've been HERE, too:

READING! READING READING READING!
Lots and lots of books! My friend, Trent Reedy's book WORDS IN THE DUST came out. (Check it out! www.trentreedy.com .) Someone at a book reading I attended recently asked about writing across cultural lines. Think it can't be done? Think again. Trent is a young white man from Iowa who wrote from the viewpoint of a teenaged girl from Afghanistan. It is marvelous.

I've been reading Dickens' BLEAK HOUSE, MATCHED by Ally Condee, MOCKINGBIRD by Katherine Erskine, ONE CRAZY SUMMER by Rita Williams Garcia, WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON and PAPER TOWNS by John Green, and more. I retreat into a good book every chance I get. On Sunday, I couldn't pull myself away from BLESSED, by Cynthia Leitich Smith--which reminds me, I was HERE:

Cynthia toured New York and New Jersey, and I was able to meet up with her in Cherry Hill for her reading, a hug, and some Texas-style cheer. Cyn is such a lovely person to begin with, but add to that: phenomenal writer, children's book expert, and teacher extraordinaire. Her energy and enthusiasm are contagious. I came home from our visit ready to jump back into my fantasy writing. It was wonderful!

Last but not least, I am HERE:

Writing, again, as always.

-PLB

PS So much for short and sweet.

Go for it!

2010-10-25T21:16:00.002-04:00

Whoa, golly. It's almost November.

I've been meaning to post this blog entry for awhile, but I've been busy. I have been revising, editing, combing through, grooming, foof-ing, polishing, primping and preening my current WORK IN PROGRESS (otherwise known as WIP). And as a result, I am happy to say it is no longer a WIP. It is now a "submission." Yes, I happily sent the darned thing off for some professional review. I offered it up to an editor and some agents in hopes that one of them will love it so much they will want to take it home with them, in a manner of speaking. Once a manuscript is submitted, it's best left in a drawer until agents and editors have responded to queries. They may have feedback for the writer, and they usually aren't happy if changes have been made before their feedback is received. So, my WIP is now resting peacefully, waiting for feedback.

What should I do now? I have nothing on my writing agenda, but a million things to work on.

One of the many glorious perks of the MFA program at Vermont College of Fine Arts is that I was always encouraged to try something new, to branch out and dabble in different genres. I left the program with many WIPs--picture books, middle grade ghost stories, YA drama, middle grade fantasy... each one has special memories of friends who critiqued it in workshops or faculty members who coached me through revisions. I couldn't decide which to work on first, so I decided to start something new.

Ever heard of NaNoWriMo? It's the National Novel Writing Month. It happens every November. Check it out: http://www.nanowrimo.org. You sign up, and then, basically, you write 50,000 in a month. And at the end of the month, if you've reached that 50,000 word mark, you win! No prizes or anything, but you have the bones of a new novel. (No guarantees you'll be done your story by that point, but you will have achieved a solid start as well as the daily habit of sitting down ("butt in chair!") and writing. Without showing up every day to work on your story, it's hard to get through. NaNoWriMo is designed to help you start the writing habit. I'm looking forward to getting back into the groove and writing a novel.

What do you really need if you want to be a writer? You need to write. That's it. You need to sit down and put words onto paper (or into your word processor, if you're being technical about it).

There's even a NaNoWriMo for kids--the Young Writers Program. (http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/) It's fantastic. There's a dare machine that dares writers to do different things with their stories (such as adding a three-headed puppy and a phony watch salesman). There are "pep talkers," challenges, and even competitions between friends. Most of all, there's loads of help for kids who really want to be writers.

What are you waiting for? NaNoWriMo is almost here. Get onboard. It's time to write your novel!

-PLB

The Power of People

2010-09-11T09:24:00.001-04:00

It's September 11th, and I'm watching the 9-11 Memorial on TV. I am amazed but not surprised at the number of people there, at the "Ground Zero" site, to support and remember those lost in the World Trade Center attacks. All of the people lost that day have someone remembering them, someone they were connected to, someone who loved them. God bless the victims of 9-11 and all of the people they have left behind.

We all have people we connect with, people we're attached to and people who are attached to us. What is amazing is how those other people in our life can motivate us to do things, how they can cause us to have extreme emotions, and what they can teach us--through their words and their deeds. As writers, it's great to have people around us who know what we're going through and who know how to help us. I have a few of those people around me and I have to sing their praises because they help me more than they will ever know.

My friend and classmate, Trent Reedy, has a book coming out in January, 2011: WORDS IN THE DUST. Trent has a phenomenal story to tell and more stories in the works. (Visit him at www.TrentReedy.com) He's my collaborator, one of my biggest cheerleaders, and a slave driver. Write write write, Patti Brown, he says to me. Pages? he says, and This is terrific! You HAVE to finish this! He makes me want to write my story. He makes me want to keep on going when it's easier to give up. Trent is a first-rate writing partner and friend.

My local writing partner, Katia Raina, is also a first-rate writing partner and friend. She and I meet periodically (though not often enough, in my opinion) and brainstorm--whether it's her story or mine. I leave my coffee-dates with Katia feeling uplifted and inspired to go and write, write, write. (And no, it's not because of too much coffee!) Katia has some really interesting projects in the works, too, and a great blog at: http://katiaraina.wordpress.com/ I can't wait to see some of her stories published!

And my other writing partner, Carol Brendler, is my idea-person. She is a great resource to me whenever I need help with some area or another. She is in charge of JACKET KNACK and she's always finding great resources online. She helps me out with reading pages when I need, and I do the same for her when she needs. Carol is the reason I didn't scrap my current work-in-progress to begin with--she believed in it and loved it from the start. Without her support, I would have surely abandoned it long agin. Check out http://www.carolbrendler.com/ to learn more about Carol and her book, WINNIE FINN, WORM FARMER.

These are my writing people. These are the people who have invested in my writing, who push me and prod me and coddle me as needed. These are the people who I am invested in, whose work I admire and enjoy, and who I want to see succeed as much as I want to succeed. I meet with them whenever I get the chance, I collaborate with them, and I adore them.

If you are a writer, then take this message to heart: get yourself some people. Find people! They can live nearby, or they can be far away. (Trent lives across the country from me, Carol lived in another country for a little while, and Katia lives 20 minutes away. It doesn't matter--they are all important to me.) They don't have to write what you write (though it helps if they at least like to read what you write), but they should at least understand what you, as a writer, have to go through to get one chapter down on paper. They should be people that you don't mind learning from, and who don't mind learning from you. (Carol Brendler is a classmate of mine, but she's also one of the best teachers I've ever had.)

Writing is a very solitary business. It's not social. It takes thought, concentration, and sometimes isolation to produce good work. But that doesn't mean every step of it needs to be done alone. Writers need to commune, talk about their work, and share their feelings about writing. Have you ever been to an SCBWI conference? (That's the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.) If you want to write children's books, you need to find a local SCBWI conference or chapter. If you attend a conference, chances are, you'll leave feeling like you have the next NBA book in your head, and you want to do nothing other than write, write, write that book. Plus, you will meet many other writers who may be suffering the same writer's block, frustrations or loneliness as you. I met some fabulous friends at SCBWI conferences (shout out to Gayle, Sandy and Karen!) and I look forward to meeting more.

On this day of sadness and remembering, I mourn the loss of so many American lives lost. And I am remembering the people who are in my life now--I don't want to lose any of you. I am thankful for all of my friends and family, and right now, I'm thankful for my writing people. Without you guys, I would not still be a writer.

-PLB

Revisions

2010-08-18T22:09:00.004-04:00

I've spent my summer revising my current work-in-progress. Whew! It's a lot of work and it's still not done. But it's coming along--almost done, I think. I'm adding layers, filling out areas that seemed a little sparse in the first 147 drafts, and just generally making it a better story.

That's one of the things I have learned through the revision process. You can't get everything you need to make a story perfect into the story in the first draft. The first time you write a story, you're focused on getting to the end and making sure your plot makes sense. When you read through the finished draft a few times, you realize you might have skimmed over certain parts. For instance, your main character might walk outside and then proceed to get run over by a car. When you read through, the plot might work, but you might realize that it doesn't make sense that your character just walked outside, for no reason. So you need to add some motivation and answer the question of what she was doing out there to begin with. Was she getting the mail, in hopes of finding her Reader's Digest Sweepstakes entry form? Did she hear a noise and take her binoculars out to see if it was the elusive ruby-throated hummingbird that she's been hoping to see? These are the kinds of details that you add when you revise. And this time around, I'm adding lots of details. Lots!

So, I have been busy. I haven't blogged in quite a while because I didn't have much to say about writing. I was fixated on my story and not so much on the writing process. Truthfully, I stopped to briefly wonder why I blog at all, especially after reading Kidlit.com's post, "Should Unpublished Writers Have to Blog?" I don't have any books published yet, so, other than people that I ask to read my works-in-progress, I don't have readers following me. But I do have an MFA in Creative Writing for Children and Young Adults, so I do know a lot about writing. And someday in the hopefully not-too-distant future, I'll have readers or even fans who may be interested in reading my blog.

In the meantime, I know I have friends who come by. (Anyone owe me an email? Time to pay up. Okey-dokey?) I've met some great agents and editors who may pop in too. (Shout out to my editor friends in Brooklyn! Thanks for the Cheerios!) And of course, I need to keep the spammers busy. What would life be if they didn't have a place to repeatedly post links for all their male enhancement products? (Thank heavens for comment moderation.) But otherwise, I'm happy just to have a little web presence here. I have a web page, too, if you haven't visited there yet (see the link at the top of the blog). It was fun to put together, and is due for some updating.

But I need to get my revisions done first. I'm almost done this round.

Almost.

-PLB

PS Visit us over at JacketKnack! I post there every month.

Creativity

2010-07-03T00:08:00.004-04:00

I had this great post on creativity written. It was a good little blog entry--shorter than most of my posts, but to the point. And the point was: be creative. There are so many ways to be creative. Then my internet connection went on the fritz and I tried to refresh the page, but ultimately, the post was lost.

I won't try to recreate the whole little rant I had about the virtues of creativity. Probably only the Pisces in my readership would have appreciated the ramblings, anyway. I ultimately wanted my readers to know that, though I haven't been posting anything much on this blog lately, I have been pursuing other creative ventures.

Like what? You might ask. I haven't done much on my works-in-progress lately, but I made a photo book for Andy's high school graduation, I wrote some lengthy emails to some long-lost cousins and a dear old college friend, and I wrote good wishes to many of the high school graduates in our life. I've been reading, critiquing, and I've written a few good work reports and memos.

Here's a new creative venture I'm proud to join: Jacket Knack. This is a blog about children's book jackets. It's really neat--Carol Brendler and company do a fine job of finding the most interesting covers in the world of children's books. I'm the fantasy correspondent. Come check it out!

So, my point is this: keep it going. Keep creating. Feed your imagination, and feed your soul. You may not have the luxury of sitting and writing for hours (usually, when I have the time I don't have the energy, and when I have the energy I don't have the time). But there are plenty of other ways to stimulate your brain. Reading, writing, drawing, dancing, painting, music, poetry... who says you have to write to please your muse?

-PLB

Chop, Chop, Chop

2010-05-12T18:12:00.004-04:00

I feel like an awful mother. I have to kill my baby.

It took me years to grow this one. It's not just a baby, it's practically a child already. It has a life of its own. This baby has been nurtured, coaxed, and bounced around plenty. This baby has been blessed by brilliant authors such as Marion Dane Bauer, Uma Krishnaswami, Jane Kurtz, Julie Larios, and Margaret Bechard. Jane Yolen loved this baby. I loved--still love--this baby. It pains me to think about hacking apart what Margaret not only blessed but practically baptized. It won an award and praise a'plenty. This is one beautiful baby.

The problem is that this baby won't grow up. It's eight years old and still in the toddler stage! It can't even stand on it's own yet. And as a writer, I have to admit: my story won't float.

There's a reason I can't get through a whole draft. There is a fatal flaw. I have a character who doesn't know what she wants. She knows what she doesn't want, but that's not enough to sustain the plot line. It just won't carry us through. And there are things in my story that just don't make sense. Maybe Margaret was too kind to tell me that during my last semester at VC. Maybe Margaret was so tired of reading it that it started to make sense.

This baby of mine, unlike my real children who I would never in a million years consider hacking apart, is well deserving of a good dissection. I tried to avoid it... I tried doing character sketches, synopses--both long and short, time lines, flap copy, everything. These are all tricks that writers can use to get to the heart of a story. If a writer can't summarize the story in a few sentences (jacket flap) or a few paragraphs (elevator pitch), then maybe the story needs a little trimming. Or, more accurately, honing. Get to the point. Find "the bottom line" of your story by summing it up. My story is about the daughter of a witch who... . She doesn't want to be a witch? She wants human friends? She doesn't fit in? Yes, all of those apply. But I need to take this story apart, bone by bone, to see what is at the very heart of it--which of those statements sum up my story the best.

Writers, don't be afraid to do this! How, you ask? How do you dissect your story? Cynthia Leitich Smith tells of a time that she wrote out a whole story--I think it was Tantalize. She finished the whole draft, and when it was done, she hit the delete button. I don't think I can bring myself to do that, nor do I feel the urge to purge the whole story. But I think picking apart your story is healthy. You learn not to get attached to those perfect sentences, those pristine paragraphs. Chop, chop, chop, and then write it again.

Here's what I'm doing: I am going through with a red pen and underlining what I find to be most pertinent to the story line. What actions does she take to move the story forward? What thoughts does she have that are absolutely necessary to understand her problem? What shows what this character really, really wants more than anything else? That can stay... but, here's the hard part: nothing else stays.

I'm cutting. Slashing, hacking, tearing it apart bit by bit, rather like an axe murderer. I'll see what's left and then rebuild from there. And then I'll write it again

This is a painful process, because I know there's good writing in there. Margaret told me so. But that's the beauty of being a writer: if you write it well once, you can write it again, better.

Because writers write, right?

-PLB

Ideas are Springing Up Everywhere!

2010-05-04T21:28:00.005-04:00

Flowers blooming, birds singing, sun shining... aaahhh. Spring! It's my favorite time of year. I love to go barefoot in the warm grass. But this year, it's more like Spring! Aaahhh-choo! Pine pollen is everywhere. It comes in through my windows, covers the dashboard of my car, and gives everything a yellow tinge.

I don't like pollen, but I do like what pollen represents: productivity. The male flowers of the pine release the pollen into the air so it can find its way to the female cone for reproduction. (Figures, the males make all of this mess!) All over, nature is growing, producing, becoming. What a busy time of year! That's what I love about spring--everything comes alive.

I have a stack of projects piled up to be finished. My fantasy about the witch's daughter... always on my to-do list. (Maybe I'll actually finish it soon.) I have a ghost story, a fantasy about a mermaid in the woods, a new ghost story that I've sketched out, a screenplay, and more. I feel so alive, and ready to tackle all of these projects at once, along with my messy back yard, my window boxes, the back room walls, insulation and flooring, my downstairs bathroom... I am motivated to do it all. Whether writing projects or house projects, spring gives me that super-woman feeling: I can do it all! Bring on those projects!

Many of my writer friends work on more than one project at once. Some writers prefer to focus on one story at a time, devoting their creative energy to that one piece until it is done. Even then, most writers have other projects in some stage of development--outlined, an idea jotted in an idea book, or maybe even started.

Where do writers get their ideas? That's a question writers hear again and again. Honestly, ideas are about as common as the grains of pollen floating on the wind. Ideas are endless. You could probably come up with quite a few story ideas if you try. So how do we do it? How do we find a story to write?

Start with picking a subject. Who will your story be about? A dog? Okay, let's go with a dog.
Next: action. What happens to that dog? Or what does the dog do in your story? Let's say... he applies for a job.
Does he get the job? Well, if you say yes, you might not have much of a story unless you throw some twist in there. Let's say yes, he gets the job. He's a newspaper-delivering dog, and he brings home his pay to support his disabled owner. Plot twist: he gets kidnapped by the evil circus owner who wants him for the big top show.
What next? It's your turn to think of something crazy to happen to him. The monkeys help him escape, but the clowns catch him? Who knows. Be creative!

When you think of a story, make it unique. Make it your own. Make it different than other stories. Don't try to write a story that has already been written. Sure, you could write about a young girl who lives with her aunt and uncle who hate her, and one day she discovers she's a witch, and her name is Harriet Spotter. But hasn't that story been written already, only about a boy named... you get the idea. It was someone else's idea already.

You can find ideas everywhere. Just look around. You might have to dust some pollen off of them, but you'll find them, if you try...

Special "Industry Q&A" for my cousin:
-You're a writer! Can you help me get published? No. I can't even help me get published.
-You're a writer! I have a great idea for a book, can you write it for me? No. I have plenty of my own stories to write (see above). I can help you get started, point you in the right direction, critique your writing for you (I am a master in creative writing, after all), but I can't write your story for you. Only you can write your story.
-Do you have any contacts in the publishing industry? Well, yes, but none that could help you--sorry. (Sorry Mike, I can't help you win her over with my contact list... LOL!)
-I have a friend who published his own book. (Note: that isn't a question, but people say it to me all the time.) That's great for your friend. I hope to find other people to publish my books.
-When you get published, can I have a copy of your book? That's like asking a painter to give you one of their paintings, or a musician to write a song for you. Writers don't get boxes of their books to simply give away to people. You could help them out by buying one of their books, because the only way that a writer gets paid is if their book sells lots of copies--not by giving them away.

I hope you are not discouraged by these answers. You should not be. If you want to be a writer, you just have to give it a try. Look around for an idea, use your imagination, and write. Let your story come out!

-PLB

Life Choices

2010-04-14T19:38:00.002-04:00

We've spent the month of April trying to figure out the best place for Andy to go to college, as he winds down his last few months of high school. We visited a bunch of these colleges before he applied, so we do know that he likes them. But "likes" versus "wants to invest thousands of dollars and the next four years of his life there" ... two very different feelings.

This decision is an enormous one for us. And it hangs over us, every day, with the deadline date of May 1 looming like a thick, dark cloud, threatening to burst open and pour all over if we make the wrong choice. What makes the most sense? What's the "right" choice?

Ever have to make a decision like that?

I gave one of my characters a big heavy choice. She gets to choose between... wait, I don't want to give it away. (You'll have to read the jacket flap!) Let's just say, it's pretty huge. It will impact her whole life. It hangs over her, looming like a thick, dark cloud... but she is more decisive than we are right now. She made her decision in a day. I wish we could do that.

When I wrote my first draft and I got to the part that Angeline has to make this giant choice, I thought to myself, Is this really what Angeline would do? Would she really have the nerve to pick the option that she does? It seemed, in some ways, wrong. It seemed like she was leaping off a cliff after spending the whole story creeping along. Her final decision was such a departure from the character that I had developed through all of these chapters.

But that was okay.

Sometimes characters surprise us. Sometimes life surprises us. Departure from the expected is not always a bad thing! It certainly makes for a more interesting plot twist. The real question is, is her choice believable? Could it really happen? Will the readers believe that it could happen that way? One of my friends revised the ending to her story recently, and she told me that her character surprised her when she 'flipped out.' But when I read the revision, I thought it was completely believable and well done. The character had so much rage building in her that it seemed natural that she went a little crazy at one point. It made me, the reader, feel some relief with the character for having vented her anger.

If your character surprises you, go with it. Take the twist, and make it work. If your character flips out, seemingly out of nowhere, go back and work in some anger. In your revisions, add some layers that make the surprise, whether it be an action, a choice, a statement, or whatever... make it work. It will often make for a more interesting story. It's also an option you don't have in real life--no revising, going back and adding elements to make sense out of decisions. In life, you have to make sense out of the options before you make the choice.

And that's not always easy to do. Just ask Andy.

-PLB

Writing Space

2010-03-01T22:40:00.003-05:00

What do you have in your writing space?

I haven't posted anything in a while because we've been in the midst of some renovations. My 'office' is now in my daughter's old bedroom, along with bookshelves, toys, and a million other things crammed in boxes and stacked all around the rooms. Many of my creature comforts and inspirational aids are in boxes in the corner. I'm not intending on keeping this as my office space--it's only temporary while we're putting new flooring and walls in the back room.

Hopefully, it will be nice and I'll have a lovely writing nook when we're done, but it's taking a long time to make happen. So many major changes going on at once. Writing time has warped into demolition time. I'm not crazy about the switch. Demolition has been hard work. Writing does not give me splinters.

When I moved my desk in here, I thought I wouldn't be here long. So why should I bother unpacking all of this extra stuff? (And believe me, there was plenty of extra stuff! Inspirational poems, pictures, quotes, books, cds, computer parts, and more.) Now, I have writing books accessible (but not unpacked). I have only two items in the space where I write: a bell that one of my advisors gave me and my MFA hood. Though I feel silly putting it on when I'm writing, the hood helps to remind me that I put in a lot of time and effort to get a degree in creative writing. I really should be writing!

I have some practical items here too: a clock, a dry-erase boards for notes to myself, a clock, a cup of pens. I still have a cat on my lap every evening while I write, and one who sometimes sits on the desk and watches me. If you've seen my website (www.PattiLBrown.com), you have an idea of what my desk looks like--coffee stains and all.

Okay, PLB, what's the point of this blog? I'm not writing aimlessly here--I'm writing to make a point. I used to think that I needed all of this writing paraphenalia around me to inspire me, to put me in the mood, to make me want to write. I needed music and tea, reminders and craft books and notebooks... all of my notes from my semesters at Vermont College... scores of books written by my friends and advisors and esteemed authors that I met at conferences. I must have had a dozen quotes from writers about writing posted on the wall by the desk. I had a mindset that I needed these things, all to motivate me and remind me that I am a writer.

Now, I have none of that. There's only one, hand-written quote on my marker board. It's not a famous quote (though the writer is well-known), but it was said to me at a conference directly in regard to one of my stories. Jane Yolen said to me, "Finish!" And that's what I have to remember every day. I need to finish that story and all of the stories that I've started.

I need nothing in my writing space. I don't need to consult craft books or notes. I don't need quotes to inspire me. I need to show up and write.

When you sit down to write, what do you need to have around you? Do you have music playing, or the TV on? Do you have a bright light, or a soft one? Do you use your laptop, and move around to different places? Or do you sit at your desk, day after day, turning your words into stories?

You don't need to have anything with you or around you to write. You need to show up to your computer or your journal every day, and the only thing you need to bring is your imagination. (And maybe a pen.)

If you think about it, the concept of "space" is infinite. There are countless possibilities of what's in space. If you think again, you'll see that writing offers you the same number of countless possibilities. So, "writing space" really offers you countless possibilities, times two.

You just have to show up, and write.

-PLB

Reading Into Myself

2009-12-10T17:38:00.004-05:00

Oh my gosh... nearly three months since my last post. And I call myself a blogger? Oy.

I have actually been busy. I've been rediscovering myself.

It sounds silly to say it that way, when in actuality I've been doing nothing but going to work, being a mom, and working on my book. And reading, I can't forget that. How on earth could I rediscover myself doing exactly the same things I've been doing for years? I've been working on this book since I graduated in July of 2008. I've been writing since 1997. I've been a mom since 1992. I've been a nurse since 1990. I've been reading since I was five. What's to discover?

In October of this year, I went to see a girl that I've known through my child health nursing job for seven years. She's practically an adult! We're helping to get her on her feet and be independent, since she has a lot of medical issues to juggle. I thought my visit was going to be routine--I would come back to my office with a list of tasks to do for her, and that would be that. I didn't expect her to cry. She's never cried at a visit with me before... I never knew she was unhappy with her situation. I realized on the way home that, despite the fact that I was doing my job all these years, I didn't know a lot about her at all.

I had to stop and ask myself why. Not because I haven't been doing my job... more likely because I've only been doing my job. I did the tasks that needed doing, and I thought I was meeting her needs. But that wasn't making her happy. I never looked below the surface to discover that. So I changed the way I looked at her whole case, and now I'm working hard to get her medical needs met AND to make her happy. Is it easy? No. Is it rewarding? Much more so than just completing tasks.

So I started to look at the other areas of my life. Am I just scratching the surface, or am I working hard to make a difference? Being a mom? It's easy, it's hard, and it takes work, always. But making my family happy is the most rewarding part of my life--something I'll always put before everything else. Reading? A routine part of my night (a half hour before I go to sleep every night... the perfect way to end my day). It takes work, though, to remind myself to find new books to read. It's so much easier to just pick up a book that I've read several times. Now I'm hunting for more quality reading, and taking the time to reserve books at the library or order them online.

What about writing? What about writing the book I've been working on since July of 2008? Am I really doing what I need to do for this book? I've already looked below the surface of this story. I finished it. I finished revisions on it. I sent it out, I got rejections, and then I did more revisions on it. I keep doing more, more, more! And I got to the point that I asked myself, why? Why am I still writing this story? I don't have to write this story. I finished my master's degree, so I have no more obligations, no more real reasons to write. I finished a book that I am happy with--what more do I need to do? I could be satisfied with knowing I completed a master's level education and wrote a good book as a result.

And besides, I told myself, I've already taken lots of time away from my family and my work to get that education and to write this book. Maybe it's time I should be giving back to them instead of taking more time away from them. So, I quit writing for a while. I spent time with my husband and kids and read a lot. It was nice, no pressure and no brain-wracking writer's block. No guilt about playing Bejeweled night after night.

I didn't know what to answer when my hubby asked me how my book was going and when was I going to submit it. I couldn't say I was done with it forever and I was never going to submit it... I knew that wasn't true. Well, maybe I'd just polish it up a little and send it off to just a few agents I met this summer. Yet, I couldn't really do that either.

It took three trusted friends to make me read into myself for my own answers. Yes, I'm a writer. No, I didn't write this book just for my own satisfaction of writing a good book. And lastly, I'm not done yet. I have work to do. I have more to do than just a list of tasks. Just like I had to do for my young friend, I have to look deeper. I have to do more than scratch the surface of this story, and my own life, to find out the real story.

As a writer, you can't be afraid to dig deeper. You can't be afraid to go back again and again, over and over, to find out what isn't working and then find out how to fix it. Whether it's in your own life or in your stories... keep working at things until they come out right. It will be worth it in the end.

It doesn't take an master's level education to make you a writer. It just takes the strength and willingness to go back again and again and again until you've done the best job that you can possibly do.

-PLB

Family Ties

2009-09-28T21:00:00.002-04:00

Wow, it's been a while! I was busy this summer, with a trip up to Vermont and a trip down to D.C, and several day trips to the beach. For the most part, it was a pretty good summer.

The summer ended on an 'up' beat: I saw a lot of my family at an anniversary party for my aunt and uncle. I laughed more than I have in years with my cousins, and I needed that. It was the perfect stress-buster. We drudged up memories that had been long forgotten but are still chuckle-producing. It was a wonderful night.

On the long drive home after the party, I couldn't help thinking about my family. Some of my cousins are very much alike. Their gestures, their expressions, even their voices are similar. Yet others are so different... it's a wonder that we all come from the same gene pool. I wonder the same thing about my kids sometimes, too. They are four kids with the same parents, yet they're so very different at times. At other times, we would swear God used a cookie-cutter to make them--they can be so much alike, too.

It's amazing how much family members can be so similar without even noticing. Little things--like how they hold a fork, how they chew their food, how they brush their teeth. Two of my kids will rub their eyes with their fists when they're tired--just like they did when they were little. My daughters fight with each other because they're so much alike, and they don't even know it. My husband and his mother laugh exactly the same way, though he doesn't think so. Familial traits and habits are hard to notice sometimes, from the "inside". But for outsiders looking in, similarities among family members can be seen as plain as day.

Writers tend to forget about likenesses in their characters. We're always looking for ways to differentiate between characters, and make them stand out from each other. It gets too confusing if our characters are alike, doesn't it? After all, characters in books are truly only words on paper. Readers would beg to differ with us. The very best characters take on lives of their own, off the pages. Think of Charlotte, or Willy Wonka, or Albus Dumbledore. Wonderful, vivid characters. They've lived in the hearts of readers for years--more than just words on paper.

So, why would we want to make characters similar to each other? Well, think of the Weasly family in the Harry Potter series: many of their familiar traits sort of 'brand' them, and make them easy to recognize as part of that family--red hair, freckles, tall, and skinny. Fred and George are almost interchangeable at times, they are so comparable... but they don't have the same fate, do they?The Weasly kids are introduced as a group of very similar characters, but they grow to be very different individuals by the end of the series. And that growth and differentiation makes them much richer, more real characters for the readers.

The Casson Family from Hilary MacKay's Saffy's Angel is probably one of the quirkiest families in fiction. Mrs. Casson is an artist and often simply falls asleep without making dinner. Mr. Casson is a typical "Type A" personality. The kids all have names from the color chart. The Casson house is often chaotic, but none of them seem to notice or mind. This peculiarity is part of what makes the whole family unique and memorable. MacKay couldn't have made this family so unusual if she hadn't first established what was "normal" for them--the habits and traits that the family members don't think unusual, but outsiders looking in find quite strange. Saffy and her sisters are like each other in many ways, but Saffy begins to grow and change when she notices her differences from her family members. In the end, Saffy has to learn to accept her differences so she can still function as part of her family.

Traits and habits are just small ways to make the lives of your characters more interesting and realistic for your readers. Similarities as well as differences from family members can be sources of tension for characters. (Think of how often Ron wished he was different than his brothers!) Personalities tend to run in families: hot tempers, stubbornness, and strong but silent are just a few types that pop into my head. Look for different ways to infuse these attributes into more than one of your characters.

You can build a fascinating background for your character when you create a family for them. Your main character can be a fourth-generation onion hater, whose great-great grandfather decreed no onions would ever pass the threshold of their kitchen door. Have fun with it! Open your eyes and take a look at what habits and quirks you can find in your own family, and then take a look at other families around you.

And most of all, don't forget how fun families can be!

-PLB

Not the Norm

2009-07-10T21:57:00.005-04:00

It's been a long time since I wrote anything about my mom on my blog. Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of her death. It's always a hard day for me--brings back sad memories of that day, of the whole time she was sick, and of everything we used to do together. I wasn't in a bad mood all day, but I was occasionally tearful. I was feeling generally down.

What was kind of odd for me was that while I wasn't my usual chipper self (at whatever degree of chipper qualifies as 'usual' for me), many people around me were perkier than usual. My kids and my husband are really the only ones who know and remember the significance this day holds for me, so I wasn't surprised that they were incredibly kind and well-behaved with me. (Thanks for the flowers, Honey!) But other people around me, for reasons I don't know, were happier and more up-beat than they normally are.

The contrast felt really strange and almost mysterious. My writer-brain turned on at some point, and thought, "If someone came into this room looking for an murder suspect, they would probably pick me, just because I'm the only one in the room who isn't happy." I was the odd man out, simply because I wasn't laughing, joking, smiling. I was the character unlike the others. What an easy way to stand out in a crowd--be the unhappy one.

So, how different are your characters? I'm back to work on my fantasy story, in which my main character wants desperately to be like the other kids in town. I've been realizing more and more that I can't make her stand out and be different until I determine what the norm is. What do all my town kids have in common? What draws her to them? I've been spending so much time looking at her that I haven't looked at what she's trying to blend into--the crowd she wants to join. She'll never stand out until I figure out not only what makes her different, but what makes them normal. Or, at least, what makes them different from her.

While I reminisce about my mom, memories of my adolescence come back to haunt me. How desperately I wanted to be in the 'popular' and 'pretty' crowd. Thick glasses and braces that stayed on forever pretty much killed my chances of being included in any of those groups. Now, looking back, I can't remember much more about the people who made up those cliques other than they were pretty, or popular, or both. I remember their names, but do I know a thing about them? Our prom queen was very pretty. I knew her since seventh grade. That's all I remember about her, and it might be all I ever knew about her. These are the characters who make up crowds in stories. They make up the "norm." Superficial details are all you really need for these insignificant characters--decide what 'normal' is in your town and paint a bunch of characters with details that fit this description. Then, your character who doesn't fit the definition of 'normal' will really pop out.

My favorite memories with my mom come from my young childhood--age five to seven. My least favorite memories (not just of my mom, but of my whole life!) come from age thirteen. I also love the memories I have of my mom with my kids. I'm glad she got to see them all, and most of them knew her. It makes me sad that they won't have any more memories with her... so, I think for at least one day, I'm allowed to be melancholy. Pretty soon, I'll go back to being my chipper old self.

I almost said "I'll go back to being normal," but then I realized that I don't think I ever made it into that group, either.

-PLB

Emotional Motions

2009-06-14T20:17:00.003-04:00

Not too long ago, I was having a difficult conversation with a coworker who feared losing her job. She started crying--serious tears. I felt so bad for her. My heart was breaking and I wanted to hug her and help her, but I didn't get teary. I was dry-eyed the whole time, despite the fact that I wanted desperately to cry with her, to show her my support. I don't understand why I wasn't moved to tears. It seemed the appropriate occasion to cry.

But yesterday, I was crying at my daughter's dance recital. And I know you're probably thinking, Of course she cried there, watching her daughter perform. What mother wouldn't? Yes, I did get teary to see my little one on stage, basking in the spotlight with glee. She was beautiful. But I was in tears well before that--I started tearing up at a number where the girls were dancing hip-hop in their tennis shoes. It was great. They were intermediate schoolers, having a blast with the music, with the dance, and with each other.

I can't figure out what it was about the dance that plucked at my heart-strings. I can't figure out what was lacking in that previous conversation that left me dry. So, I searched my psyche for what sorts of things make me cry. I came up with:

Parents losing children
Children losing parents
Babies being babies
Kids adoring people--the happy laughter of children makes me well up just thinking about it!
Ghost stories, psychic phenomena, and the spirit of my grandmother
Old people reflecting on their lives
My children performing on stage (closing night requires a box of tissues)
The mere thought of living without my husband or any of my kids

Some of those things are obvious, because I am a mom and a wife. But other things? Why do happy kids make me cry? I don't know, but they do, time and time again. My heart swells with joy and on go the waterworks.

This kind of reflection is essential in writing. If you want to evoke that kind of emotion, you have to know what will evoke that emotion in yourself first. I don't know that I could find that kind of emotion in a scene involving a man begging not to be fired or a woman discussing how devastated she was when her company went bankrupt. Those sort of things just don't move me--probably because I try to control emotions in the work environment. I let myself be happy, sad, mad, and glad, but tears are not part of my working gear. Maybe I feel too vulnerable at work. More likely, I would be crying all the time if I stopped to look at the realities of my work in the field of child protection.

I recently wrote a novel, though, and I was able to write a few moving scenes which brought me to tears as I wrote. I still cry sometimes as I read it, simply because I can remember how I felt when I wrote it. I remember my own memories that evoked those feelings that I put into that scene. It's not an easy thing to do.

I've had a few people read the novel and comment that they were moved to tears. Success! I was able to reach back into my own past, find situations that caused the same sort of heartache, and transfer that heartache to my character. Her situations aren't made of my memories, but the emotions within my memories.

I've wondered how else I can harvest emotions without actually having to dredge up all the ghosts of my childhood. Let's face it: that's really hard to do, especially if you didn't have a particularly emotional childhood. (I did--nothing tragic or horrific, just emotional. I have always been emotional.) The best way to do this: cheat! Use other people's emotions.

How the heck do you use someone else's emotions in your writing? Don't you have to feel something to be able to write it? Well, yeah, but you don't have to experience it firsthand. Look around. Observe the emotions around you. I saw a mom who startled when her child almost tripped. There was a momentary panic on her face, and she reached out toward her child as the child was heading downward toward the hard tile floor. The child lunged her foot forward and caught herself, quickly righted herself, and ran along her merry way as soon as she had her balance again. But the mom? She didn't recover quite as quickly. She pulled her hand in and patted her chest. She let out a deep breath, and then strained to see where her daughter had gone. She had been speaking with another mother before this, and she didn't go back to the conversation afterward because she was distracted by the incident. The other mother wanted to keep the conversation going--this mother had no interest anymore. Her child almost got hurt and her protective instincts were turned up to high. This mother's actions spoke volumes about her emotions.

Try watching people having a conversation, particularly where one person is only interested in telling their tale and is not listening at all. The second person might indulge them for a little while, but after not being able to get a solid word into the conversation, they usually stop listening. Or, they will talk over the non-listening party. Their boredom/frustration/disinterest shows in their demeanor, their body language, their gestures. They might swirl their drink around and around, staring at it, then throwing it back before they walk away. They might shift their weight, look at their watch, or pick their nails. All of these gestures stem from their emotions. Their facial expressions are sometimes as interesting to read as a good book. Eyebrows raising and eyes opening wide before they roll to the left, accompanied by a smirk: disbelief. Downward gaze, staring at the little vortex that their ice cubes are forming in their glass, lips closed: boredom.

I could go on and on, but hey! I might need to use some of these examples in my stories. Find your own examples of emotion. And use them!

It's what writers do.

-PLB

Paving the Road for Story

2009-04-20T20:50:00.004-04:00

There's a discussion going on in the Vermont College student forum. Topic: Plot.

Question: How do you plot your story?
Is it character driven? Do you think of a character and then figure out what happens to them?
Is it event driven? Do you think of an event and build the characters around that?
Do you plan your story plot before you start writing?
Do you just dive in, not knowing where your story will take you, but trusting that you will find a satisfying ending?

I didn't participate in the discussion--for lack of time more than anything--but I read the many interesting responses. (And many thanks to the excellent VCFA MFAWFCYA students for providing great points that I'm summarizing very generally here.) Some are meticulous about outlining and planning their plots, others know where they're beginning and where they plan on ending, but allow the characters to lead their own journey to their destination. Some will write the whole first draft before doing any revision at all while others will stop halfway through to question if their character's actions make sense.

Right now, I'm struggling with the plot of my fantasy story--more specifically, the why of the story. My MC isn't necessarily working toward her goal, she's just doing things. She has her problem, but she's not actively solving her problems, or acting to solve her problems. So I'm going back to the plot. I've realized my problem, so now I need to work on solving it.

For me, plotting and planning a story is rather like building a road. Here's how I do it:

1. Clear the way: I have to know where it starts and where it ends. Unlike others who just go toward that end, allowing their characters to experience the journey between the two points, I need to have a sense of direction. I need to be able to say roughly how they are going to get to that end point. So I have to make a clear path (though not necessarily a straight path) to the ending. I have to get a rough first draft (and I mean rough!) done before I can smooth anything out. I have to know that my character can walk this journey from start to finish.

2.Pull out any major obstructions: So maybe I didn't quite clear that big boulder out of my character's way the first pass through. Maybe there's some major personality disorder that should prevent her from acting heroic and rescuing the baby from the burning building. Maybe she's agoraphobic and I had her push through the gawking crowd to rescue that baby anyway. It really doesn't fit together. My first round of revisions is usually pretty major. I usually cut out lots of little detours that I've taken into backstory and unnecessary explanations. I try to make the path to the end more direct and more smooth. In road-building, you're taking out big obstacles and filling in the foundation with stones to make the path a road. In story-building, you're doing the same--making sure your character can get from the starting point to the ending point without major potholes in your plot.

3. Fill in the gaps: At my school and writing conferences, this is referred to as "fleshing it out." To flesh out a story, you have to add depth to it, and fill in gaps. Think of this as the asphalt over the rocks. It starts in fluid form, then gels together and eventually hardens. When you're fleshing your story out, you're giving your character the details they need to explain those potholes. In my current story about an adolescent girl with cancer, the girl started as boring. She was very flat, one dimensional. Her life in the story that I made was all about the cancer. While that ultimately is what my story is about, it's not everything the story is about. That girl has a life, friends that she left behind, activities she had to quit when she got sick. Her little brother has a nickname--why? Those were the details that needed filling in to make the story come alive. When you flesh out a story, you add another dimension to the plot and to the characters that make readers want to see them get to the end.

4. Polish, polish, and polish again: You know those big rollers that go over and over those newly paved roads, again and again to get them smooth and flat? That's what needs to happen in your final rounds of revisions. Notice I said revions, plural, and not final revision, singular. It takes many passes over a story to catch mistakes and weed out the details that don't work. In my recent story, there was one point that my character named Jen says to her mother (when asked who is on the phone), "It's Jen." Jen shouldn't tell her mother it was JEN on the phone, she should say that it's Angie on the phone! No less than eight people read that without catching it. Details like these are hard to find on your own. Often, you think your story more than you read it. You think a word is right because it's the word your brain has filled in, even if it's not on the paper. This is why it's a good idea to put your story away for a little while before you get to this point. Let your brain forget those words that you've filled in, and read it fresh after two weeks. Let someone else read it, and they may be able to help you smooth out those little bumps and wrinkles. It's VERY important to do this before you send it out to an editor or agent. You want your story to be as polished and professional as it can be.

I am going back to scour my plot road for the pothole that I can't seem to get around. I know it's there, I just don't know how to fill it so that it makes sense. It might ultimately be too deep to fill, so I may have to re-route the whole story and come to a different end point (it will be in the same neighborhood as the end of the story now, but just west of it, I think). I am nowhere near smoothing. I can fill in some of my gaps, but without knowing where this story is going, it doesn't make sense to worry about those details right now.

In any case, I'm plodding away, plotting away... (sorry, that was an eye-roller). Drop me a line with your plotting tips. I could use all the help I can get right now.

Here are some resources I've come across along the way, along with some that fellow VCFA Writers have recommended:

Anastasia Suen: Picture Writing (great for PB's especially)
Don Massey: Writing the Breakout Novel
Robert McKee: Story (Actually a screenwriting books, but good sections on structure)
Gary Provost: Make Your Words Work (Very helpful with the revision process)

More VCFA Writers--At Through the Toolbooth, a writing blog by VCFA Alum, Helen Hemphill gives not only good advice, but a chart and checklist too. Check it out here: http://community.livejournal.com/thru_the_booth/100532.html

Another method is called the "snowflake method" and can be found here:
http://www.advancedfictionwriting.com/art/snowflake.php

More resources? I'd love to hear about them.
Happy plotting!

-PLB

Pregnant Pause

2009-04-08T22:11:00.004-04:00

Let me start by saying: NO. I'm not pregnant, nor will I ever be again. (I know my cousins will ask me if they see this title.) But, as a mother of four, I have a plethora of experience with pregnancy. It's a lot like writing a book.

When you first become ripe with an idea, it's exciting. It's a little worrisome too. Should I tell anyone about it? Will it turn out okay? What if it doesn't work out?

Then the story grows. And it's a wonderful feeling. You can feel it becoming it's own little entity... nowhere near being ready for the world but it's there. It's a real story. It's a little tiring, getting it all together, but it's exciting. And you start to tell people, "I have a first draft!"

Soon, it's showing. People are noticing. You share with friends and they comment on this baby's shape. As it gets bigger, and more mature, those comments start to get a little irritating. But you keep working on it, nurturing it and helping it grow and develop.

There comes a point where it gets tiresome. This baby has grown so much already and you know it's not fully grown but you wish SO MUCH that it was, so you could be done with it and enjoying it and passing it around for others to hold. So you do your best to nurture some more, stay positive, know that everything will be alright, hope that everything will be alright...

Then there's the end--the birthing process--the part where you want to push it out and it just won't go. The incredibly painful part of finding someone to help you get it out into the world, because you can't do it on your own. It's a labor-intensive time, pardon the pun. A time that you dread and look forward to at the same time.

So I'm in the third trimester of my story. This sucker is ripe. It's grown to a nice size. I'm tired of it, but it's not ready to go out yet. I know there's still some growing and nurturing to be done, but I don't have any more energy to give to this story right now. I just want it to be over with, done, finished. I want to share it with the world. But it's not ready!

This is the difference between pregnancy and writing a book: I could be pregnant with this book forever. Real pregnancy has a nice time frame--nine months, give or take a few weeks, and you're done, one way or the other. But not this. I've been working on this book for eight months already, begging my friends/classmates/former teachers/the guy walking down the street to read it for me, tell me what's wrong with it, tell me how to finish it. Some kind souls have given me great direction already. (Thanks, friends, for listening to me whine about the discomforts of this pregnancy.) I am so grateful to have honest, enthusiastic critics who will share this story with me. But, much like my second son, it doesn't want to come out. It's just not ready.

The advantage that writing has over being 'with child': you have the option, at any time, of putting your book on hold. You can't do that with a baby. You can't put this baby aside to work on growing another one for a little while, and come back to it at a time that's more convenient to you. With a book, you can take a break. Pause. Gather your energies. Tickle your muse. With a book, you set the pace and deliver it when you feel you're ready.

My youngest will turn six in a few weeks. I remember that pregnancy well! That little girl sent me into a panic by threatening to come out too soon. I had been feeling large and awkward, I was looking forward to having this baby and not being pregnant any more, and then yowza! Preterm labor was a wake-up call that we weren't as ready as we thought. She needed more time. I needed more time. I could wait a little while longer, I really could. (She ended up holding out until 37 weeks and was 8 pounds 10 ounces. I was glad she didn't go to 40 weeks!)

So, I've had a nice pause with this story. I took time off, and then I revved up again and did more revisions. I'm getting near the end, I know it. I still have to pour more time and energy into making this story complete. But I don't want to be pregnant with this story forever. So, I'm going to set a due date for myself, and see if I can deliver it by then. It'll be painful, but the baby at the end will be worth it. (I hope!)

-PLB

Fragrant Writing

2009-03-26T20:07:00.006-04:00

I had Pop-Tarts for breakfast today. Yes, it's pathetic that I'm eating Pop-Tarts at forty-two years of age, but I like them. So I paced around the kitchen, waiting for the toaster-oven timer to sound its sickly ping! As the timer ch-ch-ch-ch'd the seconds away, my clogs with the hard rubber soles clopped across the laminate floor, tocking and clocking each of the five steps between the counter and the refrigerator and back again. I could hear these sounds and describe them and find words for them easily. If I had to write those sounds, I think I could. I just did, right?

I can easily write about the appearance of the kitchen, the shiny stainless steel toaster-oven, the brown laminate floor, and more. I could easily describe the cool ridges of the refrigerator door or the smooth slick feel of the cold counter with a tacky ring of dried-up coffee.

But as I stepped closer to the toaster oven, I smelled the oh-so-fragrant smell of those Pop-Tarts cooking. Pop-Tarts have a unique scent as they heat up--light, slightly spicy, and sweet. Wait, can an odor be sweet? Am I doing my Pop-Tarts justice with such a common, mundane word like sweet?

What's the difference between an odor and a scent? A scent and a fragrance?
According to Merriam and Webster, an odor is a quality of something that stimulates the olfactory organ (i.e., the nose). A scent is effluvia from a substance that affect the sense of smell. Er, okay... effluvia? An invisible emanation--basically, a by-product in the form of a smell. (Think 'skunk'.) A scent is also a characteristic or particular odor, especially one that is agreeable. Ah, now we're getting a little bit more decisive. Scents are pleasant, and odors are, possibly unpleasant. But a skunk's scent is usually quite unpleasant, so there goes that theory.

Let's look at fragrance: a sweet or delicate odor. Ah, so, yes! An odor can be sweet. Or delicate. But what does that really tell you about my Pop-Tarts? Does "sweet" really describe their fresh-baked goodness? Does "sweet" capture the effluvia of the frosting melting under the radiant heating element? How do you describe an odor and really capture its essence?

One of my writer-friends wrote a story which I recently had the pleasure of critiquing. It's about a girl who has a magical way with horses. As you can imagine, there's lots of barn action happening in the story. My friend has a magical way of bringing us to that barn using sights, sounds, sensations, and yes, smells. (Thankfully, she didn't give us a taste of the barn.) She had fabulous descriptions of the most minute details, and smells. Lots and lots of glorious smells. A foul, musky odor of a grizzly bear... the barn's usual sweet grassy scent of clean hay... Those fragrances carry us right to that barn, right into that story.

I'm the first to admit: I'm hard of smelling. That's probably why I have a hard time writing with scents. My writing doesn't stink, and that's a problem. It doesn't smell of roses, either. It doesn't smell at all! I can't capture the core of my Pop-Tarts, their luscious, blueberry goo steaming out of the crumbly crusts. My nose just doesn't know enough to find the words. My nose needs to study up--maybe that will help my writing. Okay, in addition to sweet, what other words can I find to describe my breakfast?

In my quest for scent-sational words (ooh, that was bad--sorry), I came upon a great article from Cognitive Daily about helping to identify scents by naming them. (Read the article here: http://scienceblogs.com/cognitivedaily/2009/01/naming_smells_can_help_you_ima.php .) It would be great if I could actually smell something. I looked all over the internet--someone please GIVE me the words to use! Let me pick from a list of all the scents available, and all the descriptors that accompany odors, fragrances, and scents. Instead, I find out: noooooooo, it can't be that easy. Smelling is a very subjective sense. Sure, I could pick from a stock list of scents, but I may not be representing the very best of my Pop-Tarts if I do that.

This is getting tougher and tougher. Maybe I should just resign myself to savoring the scent of my toaster pastries on my own and not bother sharing it with the world. But I love Pop-Tarts! Whenever I smell them, I'm reminded of so many Saturday mornings when my sister and I would get up before our parents, make our Pop-Tarts and watch cartoons. That smell transports me back in time, ever so briefly, to such a lovely spot. The scent triggers that memory... what if I could bring that scent to someone else, simply using words? Is it possible?

The article "A scent is not easily put into words," by Leffingwell & Associates (a company that is "dedicated to serving the Perfume, flavor, food and beverage community"), brought this whole in focus for me: "Although it seems to be a difficult task to remember a scent, the powers of imagination connected with the memory of a scent are immense." "It's by smell and taste alone," Marcel Proust writes, that we can recover "the vast structure of recollection." How true! Looking at a Pop-Tart doesn't take me back to my childhood, but smelling it sure does.When I think about it, Pop-Tarts aren't my only olfactory-related memory triggers. Honey suckle, pool chlorine, Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with orange glaze, stagnant creek water, wet dog... I could go on. These scents bring vivid images to my mind.

As writers, we use snippets of our memories to enhance our writing. We should pay attention to the memories that our noses bring to us. We should seek to associate smells, odors, fragrances and scents with words and images in our lives. Use your nose to sniff out meaningful memories. Take time to smell the chocolate-raspberry coffee that you smelled for the first time in a little gourmet food shop on South Street in Philadelphia. (Oh, that was me. I remember the incident clearly--the beginning of my love of coffee, and still my favorite flavored coffee.)

So, go! Inhale through your nose! Stimulate your olfactory receptors! Strengthen cranial nerve #1! Take a trip down memory fumes! And then smell the sweet smell of... better writing.

(You thought I was going to say Pop-Tarts, didn't you?)

-PLB

Creative Diversions

2009-03-18T23:10:00.004-04:00

Never try to write while you're battling a stomach virus. Keep your muse as far away from the GI germs as you can. Writing while sick can be hazardous to your health. At least, that's what I learned today.

I've been tending sick kids for two days, doing some work from home while keeping an ear out for anyone scrambling for the bathroom. Today, after spending some not-so-high quality time in there myself, I decided to actually use some sick time and not try to push myself to do work work. I thought, oh wow! Some time to myself for a change. So instead of trying to work, I thought I would write instead, somehow convincing myself that this wasn't actually work since I'm not actually getting paid for it. (Yet.) And hey, nausea and stomach cramps aren't as bad as a migraine--I didn't even need to stay in bed.

I could not coax my muse out of the bathroom long enough to write a word. Even trying to read my last round of revisions made me want to throw up. (The writing isn't really that bad, but I'm writing about a girl who has cancer. Reading about her feeling sick was making me feel even worse.) But you have time, Patti! You should be writing! I repeated this phrase over and over as I watched the minute hand march around the face of the clock like a soldier. It didn't help. Guilt added to nausea makes the stomach feel one hundred percent worse.

Finally I resigned myself to piddling around and doing something which required no concentration, something I could easily pick up again when I had to stop to tend to a sick child or sick me. I thought I would just do a little work on my website while nibbling on saltines.

Well, my website proved to be a nice diversion for both me and my muse. It's now flash central! I had fun making little sparkly things come out of the pen and pictures glow when the cursor rolls over them. Cleaning up my website lead to cleaning up and revamping my blog site (hope you like it). It was a little challenging, time consuming, and it made me feel better (by keeping my mind off my nausea, no doubt).

I spent hours going through dozens of writing resource links that I've collected over the years, picking out which I wanted to include on my site. In the process, I stopped to read many articles and bookmark new resources that I found in my web wanderings. I think I spent an over an hour on Cynthia Leitich Smith's website, and I didn't even get to all of the pages! I wasn't writing, but at least I was doing something writing related.

You'll have to poke around my new website and check out the writing resources I found. I'm not done yet, but I've got a great start. I'm excited to have a website that can provide resources to young readers and writers (and not-so-young readers and writers, too). Despite the physical discomforts and the worries about my two sick kids, it was a relatively productive day. Who knows when I will have time to do this again? Hopefully not too soon... me and my muse have seen enough of that bathroom today.

I'm praying that my husband and my other two kids don't catch this GI bug. I need to get back to writing. And, we're running out of saltines.

-PLB

The View From a Bouncing Ball

2009-03-11T21:23:00.002-04:00

Imagine sitting on top of a basketball as it bounces around a court. Up and down, up and down, and boing! A pass across the court to another player. Over the seven-foot-tall player's head and down and flying up toward the rim, hitting the edge, flying backwards to a bunch of hands reaching up and grabbing. Zoom, passed down the court toward the other basket.

This is how I feel reading a multi-POV story. I'm in the middle of The Amber Spyglass, which I am enjoying, but I feel a bit jostled. I don't particularly like popping in and out of Lyra's thoughts in the middle of her dreams, and usually leaving midsentence. (And midthought! I hate that!) I don't like that we drop in to view these characters that we've never even heard of before--we've never even heard of their species before!--and then we're expected to follow along, just as a basketball bounces.

I've been thinking about what bothers me about this and I've come to realize that it's not the bouncing around that bothers me so much in this book. It's not the new (and admittedly interesting) characters. What's bothering me about this book is Lyra. Or lack of Lyra to be precise.

Maybe I just need to keep reading. I did say that I'm only a third of the way through, right? So far there are many people--er, creatures--looking for Lyra, one who's hiding her, and a myriad of folk who want her dead. But Lyra was the focus of the first two stories, and I want more Lyra, darn it! I'm not that interested in the scientist who had appeared in all of two or three chapters in the last book. I like Will, but he doesn't even seem like the same old Will anymore. I want Lyra. I'm tired of bouncing. If I want bounce, I'll watch basketball.

I guess this is the risk you take when you write a series, or take on multiple POVs. (Or is that PsOV?) You risk losing your readers over one character or another. It does give me to think about with one of my works-in-progress. My ghost story does switch back and forth between my ghost and my MC. But I think I can avoid bouncing my readers. A neat but suspenseful little wrap up should do it. Let the time spent with each character be meaningful and move the plot along. And at the very least, I'll leave my readers with complete thoughts before I bounce away.

-PLB

The 80s or bust?

2009-02-16T22:27:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, the best way to get the creative juices flowing is to read a good book. Nothing to put me in a fantasy frame of mind like a trip to somewhere fun... Narnia perhaps? Hogwarts? I could name many different worlds I'd love to get caught up in. And it's probably the kick I need right now. My muse needs a good kick too. But we're stuck.

Currently I'm stuck in the 80s--Back to the 80s, actually. Laura's show is coming up, and despite my efforts to reduce my show-mom-related workload to the program/playbill (which is done and was submitted already), I've somehow gotten stuck with more. I have odds and ends to clean up, parents to corral into helping, directors gifts to buy, and a party to plan. (A party at our house? Wait a second, did I agree to that?) I have to work on teasing Laura's--I mean Tiffany Houston's--straight, thick hair, and I have to turn up my old prom dress. (I can't believe she's wearing my senior prom dress in her play. And it looks better on her than it did on me.) And don't even get me started on Princess Leia!

Work has been busy, weekends have been busy, and the library was closed on the one day I had time to browse a little (today!). So I'm stuck reading repeats. And I'm not even reading repeats... I'm generally just opening them up and looking over a few pages before I fall asleep, wondering and worrying and waiting.

I sent out queries last week, and now I need to forget about them. But I can't forget about them. I lay there at night, thinking--either about the play, how soon I'm going to be rejected, or both. I should be thinking about my fantasy. I should be outlining. I should be escaping into some other world and getting into a fantasy frame of mind. But no. It's 80s. Queries. 80s. Queries. 80s. Aaaaggghhhh!

Could someone pull my muse out of the 80s and toss her into my fantasy world, please? We have work to do, and she won't come when I call her. You shouldn't have a hard time finding her... she's the little fairy with the big hair, singing "Girls just wanna have fu-un... o-ooh girls just wanna have fun!"

Dang. I'm heading to the library tomorrow. I'm getting desperate!

-PLB

The Virtues of Outlining

2009-02-03T21:57:00.006-05:00

"Patti, just stop thinking about it and write the damned outline!"
That was Uma Krishaswami, my first semester advisor at Vermont College, who was always encouraging about my fantasy story The Witch's Daughter. Uma's encouragement did wonders for me, since this was the story that won the Marion Dane Bauer scholarship in January of 2007. I was quite honored.

But Uma didn't make that comment in a packet response in my first semester. She actually said it to me a few weeks ago, when I was visiting Vermont. I've been encouraged, nudged, prodded, yelled at and harassed into working on this story again. Jane Yolen told me "FINISH!" in October (she critiqued the story for me in January of 2008). My writing friends ask about it constantly, and my classmates will remind me of it from time to time, too.

In fact, this is the story that refuses to stay on my shelf. Sure, I let it collect dust from time to time, but ultimately, it ends up on the desktop again, begging to be written. I did write some of it--45 pages, to be exact--for my creative thesis. I worked on it for four semesters with four advisors, every one of them adding their touches and flavor to it. But now I have no advisors (although all four of my former advisors told me in January that they'd love to see it finished) and I have nobody to guide me through this process. I'm ON MY OWN. Scary thought, because last time I worked on this alone it ended up being about 500 pages with about 16 subplots trailing off in different directions--not good!

Well, it's back on my desk now, looking up at me pitifully, wanting to be finished this time--really finished. The task seems daunting because I know what the story is about, I know what plot elements I want to keep in, and I know how it ends. Duh, what else do I need to know? Um, how about how to take the story, incorporate those elements, and land it at the ending, where I want it to end? So simple. Not! If it were, the WD would have been done ages ago.

Margaret Bechard told me at the end of my fourth semester, rather resigned and apologetically, "Well, you might just have to write an outline." ACK! No, say it ain't so, Marg! (I never actually ever called her anything other than Margaret.) I HATE outlining! Why didn't she just tell me to cut off an appendage or volunteer for a root canal? OUTLINE! Yuck! When I saw her a few weeks ago, she said the same thing to me. As a matter of fact, all four of my advisors (whom I've never had all together at one residency before this, I might add) told me to outline this story. I was holding out for Jane Kurtz or Julie Larios to pull me aside and say, "Well, really, Patti, you're clever enough to pull this story off without an outline, or ANY planning or forethought, for that matter..." But that didn't happen.

Why do I hate the thought of the outline so much? It's so much work. I have to figure out what scene comes next and what flows where and what plot points are needed to move the story along... all those story elements that usually come so naturally to me as I write... wait a minute. Do those story elements really come so naturally to me? Or to any other writers, for that matter? And if they do, do their stories make sense?

Hmmm. Well, when I drive up to Vermont, I know where I want to end up, too. And I usually have a pretty good idea of how to get there. But there are some roads that I really am not sure if I'm supposed to be on, and turns that I'm not sure I should have made. I often don't necessarily take the quickest route, simply because I didn't plan my trip closely enough. (Ask my husband--he's been dragged along through many of my "scenic routes.") I rely on my internal navigator but it's not always that reliable. But I love maps and always have one handy for my car trips, so...

Grumble, grumble, grumble. I want to finish this story. I don't want to meet up with Jane Yolen again without being able to proudly announce, "I finished The Witch's Daughter, and... [fill in the blank about what wonderful fate becomes it when I start 'shopping it around'.]" It's a story that I love and am proud of. Marion Dane Bauer liked it too, when she read it for my very first workshop at Vermont College. I HAVE to finish it. For me. For her. For every person who has read it and loved it. For all those readers who haven't read it but will love it. (Of which I hope there will be many.)

I guess I'll go work on that road map now. But I'm refusing to call it an outline. It's just a map, really... right?

-PLB

The Writing Process

2009-01-25T18:15:00.002-05:00

I love to write. When I'm writing, I'm carried off to a world in my own imagination, where I can make anything happen. I picture a scene taking place, and I put myself there. I'm a fly on the wall that can follow any character around at will when I'm in third person omniscient POV (point of view). I'm a camera zooming in, noticing every little movement, muscle twitch, and heartbeat in third person close. Or, I can be that character in first person. I can put on their clothes, dream their dreams, and feel their pain. But the problem is, it takes time to put on someone else's clothes.

There are some writers who can sit and write in short snippets--meaningful work, for their current work-in-progress, or short stories, anything. Last summer, during my last residency at Vermont College, the wonderful, sweet Martine Leavitt gave a lecture that started with a five minute writing exercise. I listened to the lecture as I drove to Vermont this week to watch friends graduate. The five minutes of the writing exercise weren't exactly exciting to listen to, but I remember the exercise well. Try it! Sit at your computer or get out paper and a pen, and write for five minutes. Don't stop. If you can't think of something to write, write "I don't know" over and over. At the end of five minutes, stop. Count your words. Did you get a hundred? Many people at that lecture did. Martine's point was to show us just how little time it actually takes to write.

I didn't write one hundred words. I don't think I even wrote fifty words. I was too busy changing my character's clothes. It was then that I realized I can't slip in and out of writing as easily as a lot of writers do. I can't sit and write and bang out ten glorious pages in the space of waiting for Susannah's dance class. I can't write that way at all.

I'm a marathon writer. I take my time getting into my writer's mindset. I read what I've written last in the story, and sometimes the eight chapters preceding it. I make myself a pot of tea to sip while I'm writing. (Sometimes I need it to warm my hands more than anything else.) I sometimes listen to music on my ipod--especially if Andy or Laura are right on the other side of the room listening to their music. It's more to drown out distractions than to create mood or anything writing related. The cat usually hops on my lap and takes what feels like an enternity to situate my lap to his liking. But once he's settled and I'm settled, I sit back and think.

The prep period--these little rituals and habits--are all absolutely necessary for me to coax my muse out of hiding. Believe me, after a day with me at work, my muse has left for an extended vacation in some tropical locale. When my character is a thirteen-year-old girl with cancer (as in the story I'm currently revising), it can be hard to jump into her shoes. It can be hard to step out of her shoes to see which reactions don't work and which dialogue sounds forced. It takes focus, concentration, and time.

And when do I have the time? Not very often. My dear husband graciously gives up weekends and evenings with me so that I can change my 'clothes' and woo my muse out of hiding. Sometimes, just sometimes, I manage to steal a day for writing. Nothing else: not housecleaning or kid-tending, no phone calls or laundry. They are few and far between, but these days are exactly what I need for my writing process.

Oh, what a luxury! What a treat to spend all day elsewhere without actually leaving my house. (Getting dress is an annoyance that's part of that thing called a "job.") Ah, slippers and sweats. Ah, a quiet house. Ah, time to escape. Vanilla rooibus tea, Mozart softly in the background, and the dog sleeping at my feet. A day like this is a gift from heaven.

Stretches of writing time are rarity, and I often have to work around that. Thankfully, I have occasional motivating forces that make me skip the tea and shoo the cat. When I was in school, I had monthly motivating factors called "packets"--writing that was due in to my advisors on a schedule. Since graduation, I've had to self-impose deadlines and jump back into my writing group to get myseld going. It's working. My muse isn't that thrilled with the whole arrangement, but she'll get used to it.

She has to. She has to suck it up, just like I do, and pump out some stories, no matter what our preferred process its. Now there's another motivating factor, another monthly deadline to deal with: student loans!

-PLB

Middle of the Night Delirium

2008-12-13T01:02:00.004-05:00

Yes, 1:00 AM and I am awake. Exhausted, yawning, bags under my eyes for the fourth night in a row, but awake.

When I was four and we lived in a split-level, my bedroom was right at the top of the stairs--about five steps above the living room. Whenever we had company, I would open my door a little and peek out. (Invariably, I'd get caught and get in trouble for it, but hey, I was four.) When we didn't have company and my parents were all the way down in the den (five steps below the living room), I would sneak down and sit on the top step and watch TV from there. It was a treat for me, but it was also the beginning of the late-night, sleep deprived pattern that I still tend to live by.

What do I do at night, awake so late? And why don't I just go to bed? (Two questions Mr. Brown has just stopped asking.) The answer to both: I don't know. I'm not addicted to chat rooms or even Facebook (though I do tend to keep an eye on it to see what my friends/family/colleagues are doing). I don't have any particular websites that I simply can't get enough of, and I'm usually not doing anything important. I'm not even always online.

But I am always awake. (When I am stressed, as I am now, I am awake later, later, and later.) Last night, I made a vain attempt at going to bed a bit earlier than usual. I read, which I almost always do, and I finished the book. (James and the Giant Peach, which was funnier when I was a kid.) Then I laid there in bed, tossing, turning, staring at the ceiling, and thinking. I shoo'ed the kitten off me a couple dozen times, and I watched the clock tick. And I thought, and thought, and thought.

If it were constructive thinking, like, oh, about what I should write in my next blog, or how I can resolve some of my story issues, I wouldn't mind it so much. But I tend to think really ridiculous thoughts while I'm waiting for sleep. Like, what if I can't fall asleep all night but can't stay awake at my meeting in the morning? Will I get fired? How long would it take them to fire me? How would they fire me, on the phone or in person? What would I wear to that meeting, knowing that I could be getting fired? Should I wear something that would be comfortable to sleep in? Or should I wear something uncomfortable so I won't fall asleep and therefore won't get fired? What's the best way to wear my hair when I'm getting fired? Up, or down?

I tend to worry and make lists in my head that I can't remember the next day. Oh, that can drive a person insane... 'I know there was something else on my list last night, but darn it! I fell asleep and forgot it. I should have just stayed awake so I wouldn't forget it.' I used to work nights, so I live under the delusion that I can stay awake as long as I please. I can stay awake forever, if I want to. (The longest I've stayed awake was about 40 hours in a row.)

I think I'm an awake-aholic. I just like to be awake. I have always adapted poorly to change, so this is probably an extension of that personality disorder (of which I have many). I hate going from being awake to being asleep. Yet, since we're talking about sleep, I love it. I love to sleep... sleep for hours and hours and hours. Nine hours of sleep... ah, I love those morning dreams that I have (the only dreams that I remember). Sleep is wonderful. I could also be a sleep-aholic. I hate to wake up.

Maybe I'm not addicted to either sleep or awakeness.
Maybe I'm just change-aphobic.

-PLB

I love books.

2008-11-19T23:04:00.002-05:00

I really love books. The library is one of my favorite places to spend time. Tonight, despite the hoards of rowdy teens that were hanging out in and around the library, I enjoyed a little trip that Ben and I took to our library. He needed a book for school. I needed books to occupy my waiting time.

I finished my early YA/MG story--the one about a girl with cancer--last week, and revised it, and revised it some more. And after I combed through it for about the third time, I had to send it off. There's nothing more I can do to it at present. The reason being... I don't know if it's any good or not.

Well, because I have a master's degree in creative writing for children, I can say with some certainty that it's pretty good. But I don't know what to change. I don't know what works or what needs to be axed. What I need now is feedback. So, I sent it out for feedback. I posted a few chapters to my Cliff-Hangers critique group, and I sent some chapters off to writer friends. I know they are all busy. But this is killing me!

I just want to know. I am so eager to work on this story--so eager to get something done. Jane Yolen told me to FINISH. Jill Santopolo told me to FINISH. But I want a little more than just finished. I want this to be submittable. And I want it now!

Criminy, I sound like Veruca Salt. I want it nooooowwwww, I want it ALL now... How utterly impatient I am. Now that it's finished, I want it completely done. Yeah, I'm Veruca. Isn't this a coincidence? I checked out Charlie and The Chocolate Factory from the library tonight. Actually, I got it for Ben but Andy confiscated it and read the whole book tonight. I'll have to wait a little for that one. Ben's turn next.

I went looking for a book called Magic For Beginners, recommended by fellow fantasy lover Gwenda. The online catalog said they had it, but it wasn't in the place where Ocean County Library claimed to have put it. How utterly irksome! And the librarian had the nerve to be annoyed with me when I suggested that she go look for it? I had already looked for it in all the places she suggested that it might be...I wouldn't go away easily. In a snit, she walked over to the places she suggested and guess what. It wasn't there. Hey, snit or not, I would have been happy if she had found it. At least there would have been some compensation for her snittiness. But no, I not only got librarian-style attitude, but I also didn't get the book I wanted.

I got Counting Stars by David Almond instead. I'll let you know how it is. If it takes my mind off of WAITING FOR FEEDBACK, it will be an acceptable substitute. Otherwise, it will be a hellish week--waiting for feedback and waiting for Ben to finish Willy Wonka!

If any of my writer friends are reading this blog instead of sending my feedback, know that you're killing me slowly. Tick, tick, tick...

-PLB

Post-election Prattle

2008-11-11T16:46:00.005-05:00

WOW, it's been way too long since my last blog. To think that I had two comments to my last entry that I didn't even know about for six weeks. Shame on me! See? I don't even read my own blog... LOL. Thank you, dear friends, for coming by to read my ramblings.

But, in my defense, I did state right up front in my last post that I was a little pre-occupied with the state of the nation AND that I was trying to finish my novel. I am happy to report that the country took a turn for the better and my book is finished.

David, I loved reading your reply to my blog on the political system. I love your ideas for shortening the election season to five months (though the pundits wouldn't agree but who cares) and for electoral college reform. After the 2004 election, I went nuts over the electoral college and vowed to start a "ONE MAN ONE VOTE" movement to disband the electoral college. It didn't go far because people like the "Momwriters" I was associated with and my political-&-legal-education-teacher husband didn't really care that much. I have to admit, with this election, it was far more exciting to see those states turn blue early on (Vermont was first--yay! Pennsylvania called for Obama with 1% of the vote counted--yay!) than to wait for the popular vote to be tallied. But is there really a benefit to the country? Why not just count the popular vote?

When I think back to the 2004 election, I shudder. There are so many avenues of corruption in the political system. Purging of registrations, hacked voting machines through malicious software programs, failing to register voters abroad... there are obvious ways that elections can be fixed. (Find stories here: Was the 2004 Election Stolen?, Princeton scientists Hack Diebold, and RoveCyberGate.com. I know they may be biased stories, but the possibility that they could be true is very scary. Thank you, Julie, for those links.) I am so thankful that there was no question about this election. But what about future elections? What can we do to protect our future votes? There has to be a better security system in place. That's more of an issue than the electoral college, in my opinion.

But! Election season is OVER! My candidate won, reason has prevailed, and here's hoping that this new president is what is needed to turn the country around. I know there are many people who voted for McCain this go-round. Living in a red county in a blue state (does that make me purple?), I am painfully aware of that fact. My own family supported McCain--Dad liked Palin, eww! But as I've said for many years, that's okay. We're all different. I can respect differences in opinion. For eight years, we've had to tolerate an administration that we disliked. Now it's their turn. (Except, our president will hopefully make good things happen and they won't have to endure what we did.)

One thing that I hope the Republicans will respect and (eventually) appreciate is the effect our new president-elect has on the rest of the world. People are celebrating all over the globe because of Barack Obama--and not just because of his skin color. George Bush has been profoundly unpopular around the world. Why is that? (You don't really have to answer... there's not enough room in the comment section.) Assuredly, it's for many of the same reasons he's unpopular here. And like it or not, the Republican candidate was viewed as an extension of the same failed Bush policies by our allies and enemies alike. Barack Obama is bringing the U.S. back to a position of power around the world.

On election night and the following day, it was amazing to see the rejoicing that took place. The Obama effect was immediate. I received emails from my international and long-distant friends offering warmest congratulations. I watched friends' statuses (or is that stati? I never did find out) on Facebook change from disbelief to hope to victory cries. It was wonderful to see, hear, and be a part of. People were thrilled around the world.

Here's something sad: while the rest of the world rejoiced, kids in Ocean County, NJ, were taught to ignore history. Neither of my elementary-aged children were taught in school about the history-making election that had occurred. In fact, they were told not to talk about it because it was political and "Politics causes fights." Instead, because their guy didn't win, the administration chose to ignore the whole election. This is so wrong. My children proudly wore their Obama shirts that I hand-made (since they didn't sell any in their sizes at the Obama Store). And my husband and I taught them to be proud that they were a part of an event that will forever change the face of our nation.

Alright, I'll stop the political rant and step down from my soap-box. It's time to sit back and hope that the new government will make a difference to all of us--not just to the rich guys or the billion-dollar corporations.

On to my writing news: [Project Unnamed] is now done. As predicted, I cried a lot. It's not easy to give a kid cancer and then make her life even worse. Her hair falls out, her face blows up, her friends avoid her. Ooof. But it's done. The first draft is done. It's in a somewhat scary state... my grammar sucks (I blame my nursing degree for that, all those science credits that I had to take), my verb tenses slip and slide in and out of present tense, and I keep coming up with bits and pieces that I need to add. And even scarier: nobody--not one person--has read even a paragraph of it. I haven't started revisions yet. (I cleaned this weekend, which is something I haven't done in months.) But soon. I will. I have to!

A few weeks ago, I drove down to Virginia to an SCBWI conference. It was great. Jill (a fellow Cliff-Hanger) was there, as were some writing friends (Tami, Sandy, Maja), and Jane Yolen was a speaker. She didn't remember me from our meeting at VC in January, BUT she remembered my manuscript! I take that as a high compliment. She said, "I have one word for you: FINISH!" I will, Jane, I will! So, am I back to The Witch's Daughter? Or is [Project Unnamed] still eating at my imagination? Or, I have lots of good ideas for Five Times Around--my ghost story--that I could work on. I feel like I owe it to Margaret and all of my advisors who helped me with WD to finish that. In any case, I'm going to get writing.

Thanks, Reader Friends, for bearing with me through this looonnnggg blog. I'm going to make a point of posting shorter but more frequent blog entries. And, shout out to Mikki! Shout out to Liz! (Liz, are you still there? You should join Facebook--at least we can see each other's statuses. Or stati. Or whatever.) Shout out to David! Yay, this blog is done!

-PLB

PS. Happy Veteran's Day. THANK YOU, Veterans!

And PPS. I am proud to announce that I am mother to WILLY WONKA for the April 2009 Kidz-For-Kidz performance of WILLY WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY Jr. Wa-hoo! Way to go, Andy!

It's Election Season, People! You expect me to blog?

2008-09-29T22:30:00.002-04:00

Okay, two months is a little long between blogs, since I know many of you have been aching to hear from me. Sorry! I am, really.

I can't blame Facebook, although I do visit there daily to feed my virtual puppy. I get my green-patch plants that my long-lost high school friend sends me daily, and I check out what other people are doing (specifically, if my kids updated their statuses--or is that stati?--today, because if they did, tomorrow's status will read, "grounded from the computer for two weeks"). That's about it. Feel free to send me Flair. And feed my puppy.

I wish I could say I've been too busy writing, but that would be a boldface lie. I am happy to report that my story about the girl with cancer is now 25,000 words long. It's about 3/4 of the way done, and I'm stuck, so I'm blogging tonight. At least I'm writing. But, writing has not been a big enough distraction for me either. (I wish it were!)

Mostly, I've been caught up in politics. And the economy, which these days is the same thing as politics.

I've determined three things:

1. Sarah Palin needs to go back to Alaska and stay there.

2. I'm tired of looking at all of these candidates' faces. They are all politicians, and they are all putting on their happy faces for America. I wish they would all wear masks right about now, because the caked on make-up to cover the wrinkles and the sparkling white teeth that gleem with every smile... it's making me sick.
Let's see... John McCain could wear a Superman mask, because he's going to swoop in and save us all. He did that today, with this Bailout Plan. Oh, that's right, he dropped us. Whoops!
Barack Obama could put on a Ronald McDonald mask because he's so darned agreeable. Doesn't he ever get mad? I want to see him really go for it, get McCain's dander ruffled up. No no, can't do that, but here's another happy meal. Instead, we get to see the lovely Mrs. Palin and her ever perfect hair and smile, and Mrs. Obama who color coordinates with her husband whenever possible. (I shouldn't jest--I do that too, as much as he hates it.) (And try finding out what the Democratic candidate is going to wear every morning before you get dressed! It isn't easy to coordinate with him.) (Just kidding, Honey. You know I prefer to coordinate with you : ).)
They all look so perfect, from crown to cuticle. Just more reminders that you need to start with money to get to that level, money that most of us will never be privileged enough to know.

3. The average American would like to just skip the remaining 36 days and vote tomorrow. It's like watching two very tired, worn-out old farts trying to sprint to the finish line. It's painful to watch. The crazies will vote for the crazy one, and the rest will sit back and hope there is enough sanity left in the country to win the election. Let's suspend the campaigns and VOTE TOMORROW!

I think the closer we get to Election Day, the less political I get. I know who I want. I'm doing what I can to help. No sense arguing, I think. We need to vote. Agreed? Great, let's go vote.

Here's a shout out to my blog-reader Liz--hey Liz! (You could be my only blog reader, Liz!) Great to see you at all of those back-to-school nights this month. Now, if we could just get together for more than five minutes in a hallway? Great. Feel free to join us for Sangria on Friday nights, just don't mind the mess. It's soccer season.

Everyone else, feel free to shout out and let me know you're here and reading, and I'll try to come by and write something amusing more often than every two months. And don't give me any of that Field Of Dreams, "If you write it, they will come..." malarky. I have stat counters, you know.

And if I don't make it back before election day, at least you know where I'll be.

Gobama!

-PLB

To be a Master...

2008-07-24T08:43:00.004-04:00

I'm done. I went up to Vermont, lectured, read, graduated, and ate ice cream. I had a wonderful time. I caught up with old friends, got to know new friends, and drank wine with all of them. Much bonding was done. And now, I can proudly say, I AM A VERMONT COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS GRADUATE. I have a Master's degree in creative writing. I DID IT!

Now what? I've been asking myself that question ever since Margaret approved my creative thesis. No more packets due, no demands or requirements, nobody needs to know what happens to my characters... yes, I want to finish those two stories. And lots of people, Margaret included, think it's a good thing that I have several projects to work on so that I keep writing. But I don't want to write those stories. Not just yet.

I came back from Vermont pregnant. Not literally, but pregnant with a story idea that is growing inside me. I don't want to talk about it yet. I'm still in shock over the story idea myself. It's good. It's emotional--I don't usually write emotion. But this one will be emotional. It took me several days to do anything more than think about it. Now I am feeling it grow, feeling it form, and I wrote two chapters last night. It is going to be a rough nine months. It is more emotion than I've written in my cumulative years at VC!

I wondered why now. Why did I get this idea the night before I graduated? Why, as I sat listening to Carol Lynch William's incredible story of polygamy, did this story suddenly occur? My story has nothing to do with polygamy. It's not related to hers in the least. Except... emotion. The only answer I can find is that this story will require my complete education to write. And Carol's reading simply capped everything off with a message: you can write emotion, Patti. You can, and you will.

So, off I go. I have already cried three times in doing research. This story is about a girl with cancer. I have a feeling I'm going to cry a lot. But that's ok. It's worth it.

For those of you who are curious,I didn't shed tears in Vermont this residency. Heaven knows, previous residencies saw enough tears from me. I got a little sad at my reading, giving my thanks to the many wonderful people who supported me during this program. But I did not cry. I did not cry at graduation. I didn't cry saying good-bye to my friends, though I was sad about leaving.

But I will cry now, writing this story. Because I am a master. And I can master those emotions.

Really.

-PLB

Networking... Yeah, That's What I'm Doing.

2008-06-29T01:28:00.005-04:00

I'm a blur, alright. I'm just flying around town. Haven't you seen me?

I actually have been biking and walking. Funny how I don't feel thinner. Don't look any thinner, either. What's up with that?

I am happy to report that I've gotten lots done. My thesis and all of my end-of-semester paperwork went up to Vermont without a hitch--not even overnighted, either! All the little quirky things that I forgot to add were added, and I got Katie's nod of approval. Yay! I can almost graduate.

Not that I don't still have lots to do... and again, blogging is not on THE LIST. You know, The List of Never Ending Chores and What-Not? That list. It goes on and on. Critiquing Katia's story is on that list, which I've been doing, slowly but surely. (There are a lot of pages, Katia.) Finishing my grad lecture--another item, right up near the top! Getting my party invitations done, cleaning the house, doing some bills, mundane boring old chores that never really end...

Ok, note well: Joining a social networking website? NOT on the list. But hey, I read some folks were discussing it on one of my email lists. It was intriguing. And I couldn't resist the temptation. So, I am officially a Facebook member.

Oh my. Oh the hours I could waste there, just reading Andy's posts and checking out his 100+ friends .Wait, 100+friends? I need some friends. So, I went hunting friends. Found some of my friends on there already. Cool! Then I needed to send them all some Flair. Then I needed to make my own Flair to send them. Then I needed to check out my friends' photo albums. Wait! I needed a photo album. So next I uploaded photos.

This is more addicting than Neopets Solitaire. Good heavens. I feel so connected and pathetic at the same time. What groups can I join? Who else can I find on here? This is fun and shameful at the same time. I should be OUT networking somewhere.

Soon enough, I'll be back in Vermont, networking there. With live people.
Really. But until then, there's always My Facebook.

Maybe I should put it on The List, too. At least then I wouldn't feel so guilty about it.
: )

-PLB

Shout out to Liz

2008-06-06T23:14:00.005-04:00

Growing up, growing old, growing wide... pick one. They're all happening around here.

T & I got new bikes for Mother's & Father's days. We've been trekking all over the neighborhood. But somehow, even with five bike-rides this week (which is more exercise than I've done in months), I'm still Patti-at-large. Or maybe just large Patti.

I've been trying to be good and stay away from my kryptonite, ice cream. But the cookies, cakes, and brownies that are served at every stinking end-of-the-year party are too tempting, especially since I'm not the one baking them. And since we have something going on night after night, those oh-so-sweet calories are adding up. Just a little here, a little there, and suddenly, I've got a lot right there. (You know where.) Time to get that you-know-where into high gear.

Now that I've got 24 gears to choose from, I hope you'll be seeing less of me when you see me. Or, I'll be flying by so fast that maybe I'll be a blur. (A fat blur, but a blur nonetheless.)

In other news,
- I won't be moving to Canada (Yay!) even though my friend Carol B did. (Yay for Carol! She wanted to move there.) Go, Obama!
- I got a promotion and a raise (though neither of those things makes me terribly joyful. The workload increased too much and the pay, alas, not enough. Figures.)
- My creative thesis has been approved and is in the process of being formatted, so I am ALMOST DONE!
- My son's hair is still a mess (old news). He did well academically and, with straight As, he doesn't have to take any finals. Wish they had that policy when I was in school!
- My little one's dance recital is costing a fortune... not really news, is it?
- My older daughter's leg is not broken (two hours in the ER for a bruise... diagnosis: drama).
- My athletic son stole the show in his third-grade chorus concert... the lone "I-don't- want-to-be-a-performer" offspring is finally coming around. (Sorry, honey. He'll still play soccer, I promise.)
- School will be out in a few weeks, and I'll be heading back to Vermont. Yay!
-While I'm in Vermont, I'll miss Laura's drama performance, Susie's dance recitals, Ben's baseball picnic, Tom's class reunion, and I'll miss all of them terribly. Boo!

So, spring has sprung and so have I. A million, gazillion things on my "to do" list (blogging was not one of them, but oh well; Liz needed new reading material) and a hundred events to attend. I think I spend as much energy thinking about getting kids to each event as I do going to said events.

It isn't that I don't enjoy these events, but there are a thousand little annoyances to go with each one. It wasn't until after I went to five different stores looking for lipstick #919 that I found out, ooops, it was a typo. Any bright red will do (I bought three substitute shades for #919). Dang! As we're running in from a dance dress-rehearsal and running out to a band concert, I discovered the camcorder never got charged. Crud! So, Ben's brief moment in the spotlight (doing an air guitar solo) was recorded on the camera, which blinked "memory card full" halfway through the performance. Oy. Life's little nuisances. But, at least I'm here to attend these events. Watching my kids perform sure does make me proud. Kids, I love. Nuisances, not so much.

Look for us around town. We're either buzzing from one event to another, or buzzing by on the new wheels.

Either way, I hope to be a blur :)
-PLB

What do you want to be when you grow up?

2008-04-07T22:30:00.004-04:00

I bet you're all thinking, "So, Patti Brown, did you change your life yet?" or "Write a best-seller yet?" or "Did you change anything yet?"

I don't blame you for those questions. I think those thoughts sometimes (about every ten minutes) too. I'm a pretty big skeptic when it comes to me and my own abilities. I've been kept somewhat humble by my life circumstances, but that's okay with me.

Truth is, I did change a little in the last two weeks. The changes are pretty small. I'm getting up a little earlier, and I'm trying harder to keep my chin up more instead of getting beaten down and complaining about it incessantly. I stopped playing solitaire. (My husband will call that a major accomplishment for me.) I'm making my time with my kids a little better quality and a little less grumpy.

I went to an excellent conference this weekend by Dr. Bruce Perry. He's a child psychiatrist who works with kids who have suffered trauma in their lives. He's an incredible speaker and very inspiring. (Here's the website for the non-profit group he works for: http://childtraumaacademy.org .) And, he confused the hell out of me.

I've been working in the child protection field for seven and a half years now. I have wanted out for about six and a half years. Mostly because this is hard work--emotionally hard, not physically or mentally difficult. Trying keeping your feelings on the back burner when you're speaking with a parent who has starved their child and then denies it to your face, while the skeletal child languishes in front of you. It's hard to do year in and year out. (Thankfully those kinds of situation don't come up too often.) And yes, there are gratifying parts. But the positive parts seem to be fewer and farther between as the years go by.

Dr. Perry reminded me that I have a passion for this. I want to help these kids. I want to make a difference. But how am I going to do that? Will I ever feel good about this work? There is so much bureaucratic garbage to deal with daily. I can't deal with that aspect of the work very well. As a daily way of life, it generally stinks.

Then, throw in on top of that, I WANT TO BE A WRITER!!! I don't want to be a nurse any more! Thanks a lot, Dr. Perry. Like I needed more confusion in my overtaxed soccer-mom brain?

I thought about how I could help these kids in some different capacity than I'm helping them in now. Maybe I could be a foster parent. Okay, stop laughing. Maybe I could go back to school and... and rack up some more student loans while I try to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. There are a million "maybe"s...

Today, I worked on getting up earlier and thinking more positively. I'm working on getting writing done, and finishing my work that's due soon.

Tomorrow, I'll work on changing the world.

-PLB

Lovely Bones

2008-03-26T22:33:00.009-04:00

Happy Easter and happy spring!

It is a new season. Time for planting, producing, starting new things. The spring equinox was last week--the first day of the astrological year and supposedly the best time of year to start new projects. I started something new: the "Yes, Patti, You CAN Change Your Life!" project.

A few years ago, I took time off of work to reassess my life. I looked at my job, my life, my interests, and my time. I was not in a healthy place. I needed time to curl up into myself and nurture what was trapped deep inside. I needed the creative bud that was withering deep inside to grow and bloom. I had to find myself.

Oh, that sounds so cliché... "find myself"... as if I had gotten thrown out with the trash or something. In some ways, I mentally had to wade through a lot of garbage to "find myself." In other ways, I had to define who I was. However I look at it, that period of time was needed to figure out what the heck I was doing with my life. Was I doing the kind of work that I dreamed about? Were my days well spent? Was this life something I would be happy to look back on?

Out of that deep and dark period of reflection came my decision to go back to school--for a subject that I loved, not study that would simply better my career. Two years later, as graduation nears, I wonder what in my life has really changed.

I write better than ever. I write more than I used to. I know more than I did two years ago. (Gee, my advisors will be relieved to hear that.) But I still go to the same job. I still fight the same battles. I still get the same stagnant pay.

On Easter, I got the book Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. Wow, great story. It was moving, engrossing. I won't spoil the story for those of you who haven't read it. It was a well-crafted mystery--funny to say that, since we know on page one what happens and who does it. But the desire for closure for Susie, for some glimmer of hope and happiness, carries the reader through the book.

In some ways, I feel like this about my life. I already know what is happening... the 'what happened' and 'who did it' parts of my life are already solved. I'm a wife, a mother, a nurse, a writer ... those things are done. My family is complete and my path is pretty well defined at this point. I'm not saying those things can't change--I know too keenly that nothing can be taken for granted. But that glimmer of hope and happiness, that desire for closure and a happy ending, is what moves me along through the story of my life. It's what led me to Vermont College two years ago.

I've met some wonderful people at school, both staff and students. I've realized loads of interesting and strange things about myself. Mostly, I realize that I want change. So, in this season of new life and growth, that's what I'm working on. I can do it! I'm thinking more positive thoughts, letting go of my past, and opening my mind to new beginnings. I am trying new things. I am not expecting different results when I'm doing the same old things. Life doesn't work that way.

Soon I'll be finishing something I started two years ago, but it really is just a start for me. I can change my path in life. I just have to try heading in a different direction--one page, one word at a time.

-PLB

That way... Madness... Lies

2008-03-12T21:20:00.006-04:00

I look back at my blog posts in the last 13 months. I've written about my life, my kids, my writing, and my time. I don't get into politics. My political views are different from those of most of my family, many of my coworkers, and who knows how many of my friends. I don't discuss religion with them either--people just don't like to hear something different from what they believe. God bless them.

But tonight, I cannot soothe the anger and outrage that not one but TWO prominent women in politics have caused inside me. So, I'm blogging about it.

Let's start with this: I support Barack Obama. I want him to win. I keep up with the primaries and caucuses. I'm familiar with positions on issues.

I gave Hillary a fair chance to sway me. I always thought that if she won the nomination I would vote for her, simply to cancel out my father's vote against her. I wanted a Democrat to win--ANY Democrat had to be better than the nonsense we've put up with for the last 8 years. I'm sick of the war, sick of the B.S. that is happening in the White House, sick of Bush. I am so tired of people being afraid of other people in our country simply because they don't speak English. I'm tired of the ranting about others who simply don't feel it necessary to have "IN GOD WE TRUST" printed on every U.S. minted coin or bill. I'm tired of the negativity toward gays and the "Holier-Than-Thou" attitude from people who CLAIM to be good Christians. (This is what MY Christian upbringing taught me: "Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned, forgive, and ye shall be forgiven."
~Luke 6:37~)

I don't rant about this anywhere. I don't talk about it. I don't forward those judgmental, hypocritical, asinine emails that promote negativity among Americans. That's not what we need. I ignore them and delete them. Know if you send me one, it will get deleted. If you send me more than one, you're heading for my spam filter. And if you keep sending them, I will eventually tell you to stop. I've confronted friends who felt it necessary to spew these kinds of negative attitudes across the internet. Some of them are still my friends--the ones who can keep their political opinions to themselves or who can discuss it without cutting down whole races of people.

So, what has me infuriated at the moment?

Geraldine Ferraro. Her racist remarks over decades of politics. She commented that the only reason she was given the vice-presidential nomination all those years ago was because she was a woman. Huh. It sure as hell wasn't because she was qualified for the job or the best person for the job! To suggest that Obama is where he is right now is because of LUCK? He's luckier than Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton? Both of them ran for the nomination... LUCK.

Maybe Obama is lucky. He's lucky to have been given by God a sound mind, a clear vision, and a persuasive voice. Wish I could be so lucky. Geraldine Ferraro is just lucky that someone doesn't pummel her at this point.

And then there's Hill, good old Hill. "Regrettable." Her comment about Ferraro. What?!? Ok, here's REGRET for you, Hillary: I regret that you don't have the spine to stand up and speak up for a whole race of people who have historically been disadvantaged in this country. I regret that you and Ms. Ferraro are representing the women of the Democratic party because you're doing an awful job right now. I regret that I won't be able to vote for you in the fall if you DO get the nomination because I have seen your true face--mean-spirited, selfish, and low.

Keith Olbermann spoke my heart tonight in his special comment. (Read it here: http://thenewshole.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2008/03/12/762678.aspx )
I'm one of those retching Democrats that he speaks of.

I won't be voting in November if Hillary is our nominee. I have no faith in her. I have no desire to spend four more years under the Republican regime. I simply won't vote. I'll be moving to Canada instead.

Who Do You Write For?

2008-03-06T00:14:00.004-05:00

I know, that technically should read, "For whom do you write?" I've been writing for pleasure for many years, just for me, myself, and my critique group. For the last two years I've have an advisor added to that list, and fellow students, and anyone I swap work with. Grammar is obviously not at the top of my priority list. They're used to it by this point, I think.

I turned 41 yesterday and took the afternoon off to enjoy myself, relax, and get some writing done. I thought, "Oh, a few hours to spare! I could write a couple chapters!" Ha, silly me. Crabby kids, worrisome work cases, and afternoon sleepiness sapped me of all mental energy. A couple chapters? No. A scene? No. A blog entry? Not even. It was a Solitaire type of day. I haven't been writing much at all lately, mostly because I've been stuck. Kids and busy work weeks aside--I'm working on two books that I'm simply stuck in, somewhere near the middle. So my writing non-production is always blamed on writer's block, a stuck story, something other than life going on around me.

Now, my blog, that's another story. 'Why haven't you been blogging, Patti?' I asked myself, when I saw that over two months have gone by since my last entry. I tried to summon up the same excuses as I use for my novels, but I realized that those excuses just don't hold up when it comes to a blog. Blogs can be quick and easy. They can be simple, silly, or even scandalous (except that there's no scandal going on in my life). So why haven't I been blogging? I'm sure you're all dying to know.

The bottom line is this: I don't know who I'm blogging for. Me? I get enough of my own thoughts daily. I don't need or desire to see them in TimesNewRoman size 12 font on the world-wide-web. It's not like I have a following--generally, you have to have a book PUBLISHED before you get fans. Friends? Romans? Countrymen? Who is out there reading this?

Writing a book is like that too. You often don't know who you're writing for. Who is your audience? You need to have an idea of what age group you're targeting when you start a story, for language and content and complexity. But do you know those kids? How do you know you're going to be able to connect with them?

My friends' kids are vastly different my own, and all of our kids are leagues away from the kids I work with. I doubt I could write a story to suit all of them. But I can probably write a story to please some of them, if I try. If I try... if I try... try!

Try, Patti. You can't please any of your audience if you don't write a word. Here comes the devil on my shoulder: how are you going to write if you can't figure out your story? Don't you have to know what's going on in the story before you can actually write it? Yeah, it helps. But it figuring out the story isn't the only thing you can do to get started writing again. One trick is to call your advisor and brain storm for a couple hours. (Thanks, Margaret!) Another trick is just to sit down and write--anything. A short story, a character sketch, a new scene, a BLOG... write something! Anything! Don't worry about who you're writing for, or what's going on in the story. Write for nobody. Write for yourself. If you can't even do that, why call yourself a writer?

So, here I am, blogging again. I can't make any resolutions to blog weekly because I hope to be spending more time writing my books that I'm working on. But since I have this blog, I might as well write in it.

It's what writers do.

-PLB

Smacked in the face

2008-01-01T21:41:00.000-05:00

I was smacked in the face today by 2008.

Two-thousand eight! Blows me away to actually write that. It's probably because, with the holidays, a lovely little GI bug we passed around, company in from out of town, and a busy time at work, I haven't written much of anything. I know, I know, excuses, excuses, excuses... but it's life! It's the way it is! Sometimes I need a break, right?

Today I got an email from FutureMe.org, a site that I occasionally log into for the purpose of sending myself emails at some future time. Usually those emails pose questions like, "So, published yet?" and needlers like "You can't get published unless you submit something, Patti." Today's email was of the latter variety. And it needled me well.

A few days ago, my sister-in-law who I haven't seen since the summer, asked if I had currently anything submitted to publishers. She knows of my quest to be a published author, and not just a writer with an MFA in writing. She's a physics professor, so her question is a bit elevated from the usual, "How's the writing going?" that I usually get from friends and relatives who are interested.

I was embarrassed to answer her. I was irked by my own email. I have not, in fact, submitted anything in a while. I got a response a few weeks ago on a piece I sent out last spring... and it was nice of them to respond to me, even though it was a denial. But I won't even be getting denials unless I get moving and write more. I'm a writer, so that's what I should be doing! I've got some great stories started. But it isn't good enough. I need to get some great stories finished.

In 11 days I will be off to Vermont again. I am looking forward to it. But, there's reading and writing to be done. I can get a lot done in 11 days, and I don't just mean laundry.

My mantra for 2008:
Write! Right? Right. Write!

-PLB

My Oldest Son Is So Awesome, And His Hair Is A Nest

2007-11-01T20:28:00.000-04:00

... NOT of handsome, like he thinks. And I am not being mean.
My iPod is shiny and pink.

The preceding statements were made as a result of Andy's suggestions for blog topics. "Write about how awesome your oldest son is, and that his hair is a nest of handsome!"

Ha. He is awesome but his hair is simply... strike that; it's not simple. It's a mess. His hair is a complicated, gnarly mess. I got called mean for saying so, and he threatened to say mean things about me on his blog (http://cw3andy.edublogs.org/). "Like what? My roots are showing? I need a trim?" Both are true, neither are mean, and neither was his comeback: "Like... your iPod is shiny and pink." We both just laughed. He's a goof.

I thought about blogging on hair, but there is nothing interesting in hair news around here. We all need haircuts, and that's not news. I thought about blogging about Andy, but he's awesome and that's not news either.

I read Andy's creative writing blog (see link above) and that was interesting. So I'm blogging about blogs. I was reading the "mass of ridiculousness" that goes on in his head, and in many teens' heads these days. It is strange to think that this creative, goofy young man is the same child who, at age three, wanted to be an attorney during the week and play baseball for the Yankees on the weekends. He doesn't even like baseball now. What a dozen years will do!

When I see his friends who he grew up with, I feel like I am meeting new people. The faces are similar... Mike still has a baby face, and Pat-man will always be Pat-man, but they are so mature now. They aren't the same goofy kids who used to race around the yard before cub-scout meetings. (Heaven knows, they could all do with a little racing around these days.) They don't giggle like they used to. Now they have private jokes and teen talk... bone saws and band names that I've never heard of. I find my son's blog, and those of his classmates and friends, fascinating yet odd. There are meanings here that I will never know, since I will never be of his generation.

I read their writing and reflect on my own. My thoughts: I'm forty and not so deep any more. I do write those feelings from my childhood, but I don't dare go back to my adolescence. It scares me. I have my journals to take me back to those days if I feel so inclined. I prefer to go back to an earlier, happier time--when I was running around and playing before my girl-scout meetings. I much prefer the middle-grade mindset. I connect to some facet of that age group much better than I do to these older, odd-ball teenagers. (Could be just my son and his friends that I don't relate to. It's probably just me.)

Too bad middle-graders don't blog.

-PLB

Missing People

2007-10-11T23:02:00.000-04:00

Hi Folks,

Wrapping up my critical thesis for hopefully the last time... and, as I did last month, I'm feeling free. I've been enjoying time to do creative writing again. I have many friends to thank for reviews left and right--some for creative work, some for critical work, some folks just for supporting me in general. Friends are wonderful to have :)

Tonight, Ben announced he had a pictorial milestone chart to make--due tomorrow. Grrrrr. Why are sons like this? Laura would have had this project done before dinner on the day it was assigned. Andy would wait until the morning it was due. Susie fusses because she doesn't get homework in preschool! But Ben... Ben. Hmmmphhh. So, of course we had to scramble through pictures to find "firsts" of Ben (that is, all of us except Andy--he was working on a project that's due tomorrow, too).

I found these two amazing pictures: one of Susie as a baby, and the last picture I took of my grandmother before her death. I can see Gram's smile on my little one's face. When I came across these two pictures tonight, tears came to my eyes. They make me feel so wonderful, and make me miss my Gram something fierce. Let's see if I can do this properly:

That's Gram on the left, in case you couldn't figure it out ; )

We had lots of laughs with Ben over old Halloween photos, goofy faces, and fabulous memories. It was great to see familiar, friendly faces that I haven't seen in a while. I've got some great shots of my cousins, with chicken pox, wearing Easter bonnets, and all decked out in Christmas finery. I'd try to work some bribes from these suckers, but my cousins will just bribe me back with the many (and probably much worse) shots they have of me. (Braces, glasses, big 80s hair.Yuck. I'd end up paying a lot more than they would. All of my cousins are pretty darned cute.)

I am thankful to have lots of pictures of loved ones who are gone. I have always loved to take pictures. Now that my mom, grandparents, uncles and cousins are gone, I'm glad I can look back on smiling (and sometimes silly) faces and reminisce on good times. I'm thankful to have pictures, if nothing else.

Despite the fact that I have thousands of photos (15 GB on my hard drive, not counting all the prints I have in boxes or albums), there are people in my life still missing, at least in the pictorial sense. Teachers who had big impacts at various points in my life (Ms. Louden, Dr. Myers, Dr. Selekman), old boyfriends, and coworkers all fall into the "Missing" category. I have a few of each, but nothing the real memories that I have: Louden with her clipboard in the auditorium, directing our plays; Dr. Myers with his bowtie, greeting us formally each morning, and Dr. Selekman pounding on some asthmatic kid's ribs, teaching me chest percussion in nursing school. These are pictures in my mind, memories that I wouldn't trade for anything. These people, and other people, are missing from my photo albums. They will never be missing from my life though, since they live in my heart and memory, and helped to shape who I am.

I wish I had taken more pictures.

Wonder if my coworkers will mind me bringing my camera to work this week... :)

-PLB

Coming Around to Me

2007-09-23T02:23:00.000-04:00

It's 2:30 in the morning. What the heck am I doing blogging at 2:30 AM?

Well, it's only 11:30 PM on the West Coast, where my advisor lives. (She's Julie Larios and she's wonderful!) My packet is due by midnight her time, and it's zooming to cyberspace to her right now. Yippeee!

I'm not sitting here happy as a clam because I sent in my packet a half hour before its due time. I'm jubilant because my critical thesis is tucked away nicely in that packet. Wa-hoo! It's complete, not done but complete, and it's turned in. It is a great feeling to have it sent off, with a little space to breathe. I'm close to the end. Julie could turn around and tell me in a day or two that I have to re-write the whole damned thing. That's ok. That is o. k. I have two days before I have to start that. As long as she doesn't take nine days to tell me everything that's wrong with it, I'll be ok with that.

I am excited! Free time... ah, time to be creative again. Laura and I, with a little help from Susie, created a story together tonight. We plotted it out. It was great--about an empowered princess. I'm going to write it for them, too. I can start tomorrow.

My critical thesis was about empowered girls in fantasy fiction. It sparked so many thoughts about girls, and people's perceptions of girls, and girls perceptions of themselves. It sparked many memories, both good and bad. I remember all too well being a 12 1/2 year old, suffering from the worst nickname in the history of all nicknames. So awful I can't repeat it here... it obviously traumatized me. Seventh grade was the worst year in my social life. I was mocked and ridiculed, and it just stunk. I remember, too, being a sophomore in high school, with my new contacts, new hairdo, and no more braces. All sorts of new attention and self-confidence. It was a hard period, too. I wasn't used to it. The three years between those two periods? Awful. Just awful. Self-defining, miserable, and plain awful.

All of this critical thinking makes me want to go and shout out to these girls. I want to tell them to buck up, hang in there, it will get better. I wish I could give them a little crystal ball to look at themselves in the future, and know it will be ok. I have so many things to say to these girls! I'll start with Laura. I can empower girls, one at a time, right? (Susie, you're next.)

I'm a happy camper right now. I wish I could preserve this feeling. I'm forty years old and I wish I could savor this feeling for another forty years. Except for a stupid knee accident that I had last week, that left me sitting on my butt and hobbling like a granny all week, I'm feeling good. I'm coming around to my time. I'm opening a door and I'm moving forward. I'm coming around to me!

Now, if I could bottle this feeling and send it to each of you for your birthday. That will be my next brilliant discovery. : )

-PB

Saying No, Saying Yes

2007-09-11T20:42:00.000-04:00

First, I'd just like to acknowledge September 11th, 2001. It was a tragic day in American history. I wish all of you peace, and I hope that peace can spread through every nation in our beautiful world.

September 11th makes me think about our connections in this world. I had a recent revelation about connections that I'd like to share.

I was a 'Yes'-er for many years. I 'yes'-ed everyone who asked me to do something. I 'yes'-ed the PTO. I 'yes'-ed class mothering, I 'yes'-ed soccer team mom-ing, and I 'yes'-ed when we were asked to greet at church. I had time to give and good reasons to give it.

I gave my time to everyone and anyone. I asked a question in an online gaming forum and ended up as an assistant administrator there. (Hello to all my SimPilot flight simulator friends!) I made friends all over the world through that forum, and I gave countless hours of my time. Once, Trev Morson, Rudy Stubbs and I did a marathon anniversary 'celebration' and stayed in an online chat room for twenty-four hours consecutively. Wow! I don't think I could even stay in a chat room for twenty-four minutes consecutively at this point in my life.

Slowly but surely, I burnt out. I realized that my time wasn't my own. I no longer enjoyed reading flight simulator messages. I didn't even fly a simulated plane.

PTO became my priority. I ended up as Vice Pres for years. (I even had a brief stint as president, but it was thankfully a short-lived stint. VP-ing was good enough for me.) My PTO friends and I met twice monthly, or more if we felt like being creative and painting. We put together gala auctions and raised, over the span of five years, hundred of thousands of dollars. (We were good!) It was a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of fun.

Eventually, the time and work amounts grew to the point that none of us were having fun any more. Small town politics killed our spirits. We fizzled out, one by one.

I still 'yes'-ed every other cause, though. I filled old PTO time with soccer ref assigning. Creative writing grew to a more serious hobby. A fourth child took a big chunk out of any time that I called "free".

But I still 'yes'-ed. I 'yes'-ed and 'yes'-ed and 'yes'-ed my time away until I was in such a funk that I had NO time for me. Soccer time morphed into Stage Mom time for my kids' school productions. And it kept going on. A major depression made me learn the meaning of the word "NO."

For the past two years, I've been a 'NO'-er. I've 'no'-ed soccer ref assigning, soccer mom-ing, class mom-ing, and community play production volunteering. We haven't greeted anyone at church in ages. We haven't BEEN to church in ages. No time. No energy. I have school to focus on, taxiing kids to their activities, and my house to clean. (Ok, well, no time for that either. The house stays messy.) I've become 'NO Woman.' No, no, no.

It hit me the other day that I really have become NO Woman. NObody asks me to help out with fund raisers any more. NObody asks me to contribute for team dinners, NObody calls to see if we will be greeters. NObody calls to get together for painting, for meetings, or for many other reasons any more. I've No-ed my way out of so many things that I'm NO longer connected where I used to be. NObody at the elementary school even recognizes me any more! (Ok, a few people did, but still...) NO is as depressing as YES was.

I miss those connections. I miss my old friends. My PTO friends have moved on to become dance moms or choir members or yacht-club board members. My flight sim friends are still flight simming, but we only connect to send holiday greetings and an occasional 'hello.' I've 'no'-ed myself out of many things that were important... all for the sake of some free time.

I know I can't keep every connection that I've ever made in my life. My free time is now sucked up by school work, and my school friends, spread all over the country, are awesome. I wouldn't give them up for anything! ANYTHING! (You know it, Deb!) But I can't have them over for an evening of hanging out. I can't swing by their house to drop something off and to get a quick hug. I have to wait until we're together again in The Wine Pit in Vermont for those hugs and the hanging out. It's great, but it's just not long enough. There's never enough time!

That's the bottom line: There's never enough time. I can't do it all.

So I am coming around to this life lesson: I can't do it all, so I better choose carefully. Saying NO doesn't have to mean saying NO to everything. Saying YES doesn't have to mean saying YES to everything. I just have to choose carefully.

I'm not going back to PTO meetings or the flight-sim forum. I still have school to contend with until next July. But last night at Back-to-School Night, when the sign-up sheet circulated for class moms to assist with some fun, I connected with another mom and said YES.

And I felt how nice it was to say YES again.

-PLB

Oh, The Thinks You Can Think

2007-08-30T23:09:00.000-04:00

I've been MIA from this blog for a month because I'm too busy thinking.

Thinking about my critical thesis, writing my critical thesis, thinking about writing my critical thesis... I don't have a milliliter of mental energy left. Throw into the mix: back to work full-time, getting the kids ready to go back to school, kids auditioning for a community play, and... (du-du-du-dum...) soccer season started. It's enough to drive a good mother batty.

I sat in a doctor's office waiting room today because I have one little thing that I need to have checked out. It's stupid and I am sure it will be fine, but it has to be done. There I was, in a room packed with other waiting patients, watching the second hand on the clock tick slowly forward. Tick... tick... tick. I brought some work related reading material that I was glad to have a chance to look through. Its a good thing, because I waited a LONG time. Four o'clock on a Thursday afternoon - what was I thinking?

Concentration was difficult as people all around me were voicing their thoughts. First, there was Judge Judy on TV. Interesting to hear her opinions, and even more interesting to watch the folks on the stand squirm. (I don't think I've ever watched that show before.) Then a lady across the room recounted a time when she thought she saw an angel after she crashed her car. Then, a man a few seats away telling a young mother not to let her little son chew on her bottle of eye drops. Good advice, but he thought that three drops of the stuff could kill the child. "Three drops!" he said. "It only takes three drops!" (At this point I'm thinking, "Think about what you're reading, PB. Don't be a nurse--think about what you're reading." It didn't help.)

I thought that the pace of patient inflow would pick up after a little while. Huh, silly me. I sat for an hour and a quarter before they even called me up for my co-pay. So I thought better and rescheduled it.

I have a Mayor of Whoville and Little Susie Who to contend with now. I watched the first rehearsal for Seussical last week, and it was cute. It's going to be a lot of work teaching Susie Who how to sing and dance and 'look scared' at the same time, but I think we can do it... I think.

I think I'd better get my critical thesis done first.

-PLB

Pottering Around

2007-07-26T19:52:00.000-04:00

I have no Dursleys to deal with. I do not live in a cupboard under the stairs. I have no prophecies that foretell doom in my future, and no evil dark wizards trying to kill me. (At least, none that I know of.) But for ten days in July and ten more in January, I feel like Harry Potter.

I have my own brand of magic within me, waiting to be mastered and tamed under the guidance of the professors at my school. It has always been there. I just don’t know how to use it. So, I hop aboard the Vermont College Express (better known as Shawn’s car) and take that magical trip north. The scenery changes and the air grows clear. I feel so wonderfully alive, all the way to my core.

I love school. The Vermont College of Fine Arts is as special to me as Hogwarts is to Harry. I mingle with students in all different houses (though we call them ‘semesters’). We hang out in our common rooms, and we all wait anxiously to be ‘sorted’ into our advisor groups. We eat in the dining hall, and sometimes magic even happens there. It’s not usually because of the food, though the NECI house elves try hard. (None of us would be surprised to find pumpkin juice and kidney pie on the menu.)

We learn Charms from Professor Larios, and Professor Darrow helps us with the mystical art of Divinations. We transfigure our rough drafts under the guidance of Marion Dane Bauer, who has been at VCFA longer than McGonagall’s been at Hogwarts. We learn Defense Against The Dark Arts from Cynthia Leitich Smith. (Or it that simply The Dark Arts? I’m so taken in with her fantasy worlds that I sometimes lose track.) And, if we’re very, very good, some times we even get the chance for a jaunt down to Hogsmeade—er, Montpelier.

I could go on and on, but I won’t. School is over, and summer vacation has begun. Unlike Harry, I don’t have months of freedom to do nothing but figure out how to save the wizarding world. I only have a few days before I will be home again. Then it will be time to weave some of my own spells—hopefully, I can transfigure a stack of blank pages into a critical thesis with my wand. If that doesn’t work, my keyboard will have to suffice. Unlike Harry, I will enjoy the small bit of time I have with my family.

Maybe there will even be time to read… Harry Potter, of course.

-PLB

Days That Count

2007-07-09T18:03:00.000-04:00

My days are numbered.

This is day #14,735 for me. On day #14,741, I'll be going to Vermont again. Yay! But I have a lot to accomplish before then.

Day #13640 was the worst day of my life. It was three years ago today, and my mom died. Today was hard to get through, because I can't stop thinking about Mom, yet I want to be looking ahead instead. The wallowing in grief won out over anything productive, but at least I am writing about it. Maybe it will be therapeutic... though my therapist wouldn't be happy to know she's been replaced with a blog. (You haven't, Doctor ... really!)

Thinking about what I "should" be doing or what I "could" be doing really just adds to my misery. Then I feel guilt on top of my grief which already sits upon me like a wet blanket. The guilt makes me feel like the dogs laid on that blanket and drooled all over it. It's worse than the grief itself.

I sit here and think, "I shouldn't be this way! It's so selfish of me to want to see Mom again, to wish she had lived, to wish she was still here." Selfish because I know she was suffering at the end... but what's so selfish about wanting my mother? As a mom, I want my kids to want me around. My mom would want to be around. Well, at least around my kids. She doted over every grandchild that she had. The best thing I did for my mom was contribute to her grandmotherhood! I have to console myself with knowing she is watching over them, taking care of them in her own way now.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I'm trying not to let my life tick away, day by day, without doing something meaningful. I know weeding my flowerbed isn't likely to win me a Nobel prize, but it means my neighbors don't have to cringe when they pass our house. It doesn't mean I have to write a Newbery winner each day. (Though, one day I would like to... any day!) There are a thousand little contributions that I can make to my family, friends and work that will make someone's day or make someone's life easier. If I don't wallow, if I don't sink myself in the pit of "What good am I?" or the abyss of "I can't do it", maybe those little things will add up. Wallowing isn't meaningful or productive. Still, days like today, #14,735, make that pit feel a little cozy. I could get used to being stuck down here.

Wait. Day #14,736 is right around the corner. Tick, tick, tick.

Today I'll wallow. I wrote this blog, so I was a little productive. Maybe I'll pack something. Mom would want me to. Heck, Mom would be packed and ready to go by this time. Ok, Mom, I'll pack. I can wallow productively, right?

Vermont, here I come.

-PLB

Twenty questions... at four

2007-06-18T21:56:00.000-04:00

Ever play Twenty Questions? You pick a famous person and others have to guess who it is by asking yes or no questions. We play it in the car when we're taking long rides. It's a great time killer, and helps to avoid other questions like "Are we there yet?" and "When are we going to eat?"

There is nothing more fun than playing Twenty Questions with a four-year-old--or at least my four-year-old. Susie participates in our games as much as everyone else.

She will make us guess and guess again as to her "secret person" 's identity. We'll ask, "Does this person have the same name as a scrumptious dessert?" She says, "No..."
So we'll ask, "Is this person friends with a girl who has the same name as a fruit?" She says, "No..." We ask, "Is this person berry sweet?" She says, "No..." We ask, "Is this person Strawberry Shortcake?" She says, "No..." Then eventually we give up, and she says, "It's Strawberry Shortcake, of course!" Silly us, why didn't we guess that?

(Ben, though he's eight, isn't any less predictable:
Anyone, asking Ben: "Is it an athlete?" Ben: "Yes..." )

What's even more fun is that Susie is such a good guesser. I can't list all of her amusing questions because there were just too many, but here is a sampling of her most recent questions about our secret people:
-Does he take turns and share?
-Does she stay in her house a long time when she's sick?
-Does she paint pretty pictures?
-Did his grandfather die on the twenty-first eve?
-Does he jump over fences?
-Is he a dog?
-Does he watch movies?
-Does he cut his hair when it grows longer and longer?
-Is he dark and gray?
And, my favorite,
-Is it you, Andy?

Ah, the fun, the innocence. I want to write down every word. I can remember all too well when the older kids were little, but I can't remember their funny little sayings. I can't remember what their nightmares were about. I can't remember what they fought about (then--I can certainly tell you what they fight about now). Yet it was only a few years ago. They grow too fast, and they leave too fast.

I think adolescence prepares the parent for the flying of the coop... they first get all attitudinal and sulky, making us want to throw them out. Then they go off and spend half their nights sleeping at other kids' houses. Pretty soon they will be driving everywhere on their own. (I'm not ready for that!)

Then, we'll be playing a different version of Twenty Questions.

-PLB

Doors and Windows

2007-06-16T16:58:00.000-04:00

Ever hear that expression, "Every time a door closes, a window opens" ? There are many versions, some include God... Well, let me ask you this: If you just had a door 'slam' in your face, would you really feel like climbing out a window?

These past few weeks there were doors slamming and windows opening all around. Opportunities coming, but not ones that we had expected or hoped for. Life can be that way. And when things don't necessarily change for the better, it is easy to be bitter about those changes and where they come from.

I had to step back and look at things from a different perspective. Life was going along swimmingly when BOOM! Not only does the door slam, but it hits us in the nose, too, and hurts. But if that door hadn't closed, we would have just kept going with the current, even if it wasn't necessarily in a good direction. Maybe the current was taking us into water that was over our heads. Maybe the current was pushing us into a little alcove that wouldn't let us go forward... instead, we would have just collected in the weeds with the rest of the flotsam. The door slamming was a huge push... a push to go in a different direction.

Now we float along, not sure what's happening or where we're heading now. It doesn't matter. We've got windows to climb through. We're moving onto better things. We're keeping our heads up. We're not going to beat our heads against that door trying to make it open again, and we're not going to sit and sulk by an open window.

I don't have much else to say for now. Until next time, heads up and keep moving forward!

-PLB

Writing Letters

2007-06-03T23:51:00.001-04:00

I recently found an old newspaper cut-out. It was a letter to an editor that I had written in high school. I was ecstatic when it was published, and my teachers were proud of me. I was supporting the local bus drivers after a parent complained that they did nothing to keep the kids on the bus in order. I, at the tender age of 17, told parents all across our community that it was the parents' job to teach their children to behave. It was the bus driver's job to drive the bus. I was so proud of that letter. The bus drivers loved me.

Over the years, I've gone on to write more letters. Some I sent, some I didn't. Some I shouldn't have sent, and some I didn't send but should have. After lots of practice, I am a decent letter writer.

I recently wrote a letter that I sent. It was a letter that I regretted sending, not because it did any harm or hurt any feelings, but I stepped in where I probably shouldn't have. It probably won't have the effect that I was intending, not because it wasn't an effective letter but because the recipient just didn't care.

I recently didn't send a letter that I wrote that I know could effect a lot of people... I think it would be received in a mostly positive way, but a few people I know would feel worse because of it, even if it isn't directed at them. I can't send that letter.

Tonight I wrote a letter to accompany an application for a conference. (It's an 'invitation only' conference that I really, really, really want to go to.) It was similar to a query letter that a writer sends to an editor, trying to entice them to read a manuscript. I spent some time selling myself, and in the end, I felt like Shrek's donkey saying, "Pick me! Pick me!" As much as I think my letter accomplished what I needed it to, I still wonder how it's going to be received.

Not knowing who is going to be reading a letter makes it harder to write a good letter. Should that matter? Probably not, but it does. Trying to figure out what appeals to an unknown recipient is like trying to decide what flavor ice cream will be the most popular in your kid's second grade class. You just don't know. Could be vanilla, but it could also be mint chocolate chip cappuccino swirl! Some kids love mint chocolate chip cappuccino swirl, while others won't get past vanilla. Maybe they'll move on to vanilla bean or French vanilla, but it's vanilla all the same. If you even put one chocolate chip in it, you've moved way beyond the vanilla into the vast array of chocolates and boom! That's it, you're through. They hate it.

It's hard to 'sell yourself' with vanilla. Personally I love vanilla--my secret ingredient for everything I bake--but it isn't my favorite ice cream flavor. I prefer a little caramel. Ok, a lot of caramel, some fudge, and maybe a few crunchies too. I don't know if someone could convince me of anything with plain vanilla. So how much should I add, and what, to make this letter a winner?

I realized there was one thing, one flavor, that I could add to make this letter a winner. I felt so cheesy putting it in there at first, because it felt very gimmicky. "Look at me, I'm a scholarship winner!" But the more I mixed it in, the better this letter tasted. It's because I was honored with this scholarship - the Marion Dane Bauer Scholarship. My work was chosen for this award. It is truly an honor. And that made this letter a heck of a lot better than plain old vanilla.

Who knows if I'll get invited to this conference. I have two months to wait to find out. In the meantime, maybe I'll write some more letters.

-PLB

PS There should be no surprise at the appearance of ice cream in my blog. It should be a surprise that it took me this long to talk about ice cream. It is the best invention ever.

Ever!

PPS. I celebrated winning my scholarship with my classmates at Ben&Jerry's in Montpelier. Turtle Soup in a waffle cone... better than champagne!

Blogging my heart ache

2007-05-25T21:05:00.000-04:00

Sorry I didn't post this blog on Monday, like I usually do. It was not a great week.

The weather was beautiful, it was my wonderful hubby's birthday, and generally, there were a lot of things to celebrate. But most of the week I didn't feel great. I had a non-stop allergy headache, then an earache, and then an old ski injury in my neck flared up. Worst of all, my heart ached the whole week.

I have always reserved this blog as a writing related, creative outlet for my thoughts and ramblings. Lord knows, I can sure ramble. I usually try to forget my work-work and spend this blog on my creative-work. This week, my work-work is haunting me.

Ok, without going into a detailed explanation, for those of you who don't know this: I am a pediatric nurse. I work with my state's child protection agency. I've always enjoyed working with kids, but never really loved nursing. This is a hard field to work in... child protection. Usually, we try to protect and prevent children from getting abused. Sometimes we have a lot of success. Sometimes we're just too late. This was one of those 'too-late' weeks.

FYI, the details of these cases appeared in the local papers so I am not telling you anything confidential.

My first tough case of the week was a five month old baby. She was shaken by her mother's paramour to the point where her brain swelled and she died. I read the medical expert's report and cried. The baby sustained numerous fractures (old and new) including a protruding collarbone fracture, many rib fractures, and leg fractures. What really gets to me is this: she had bite marks on her. Bite marks. Clearly, the person who did this had some kind of mental disorder. It doesn't make me less angry that he did this to an innocent baby... bite marks. God rest her little soul. Her organs were harvested and through her death, some other children can live. She is a true angel.

My second case hit close to home, for the child was a sibling of my 8 year old son's friend. A three-year old drowned last weekend at the home of a friend. The two families got together, the kids went off playing, and the little one got away unnoticed. He was found in the pool. His father (a doctor) did CPR to no avail. I had to interpret some medical info for the caseworker. Again, I cried. I used to be very clinical about things when I worked in the PICU. I was the calmest nurse in a code scene. I could just go on auto-pilot and do what needed to be done, and cry privately later. Not now... not on cases like these. God rest Declan's soul, too.

My heart breaks for these families. Both will be wracked with guilt forever. If I had only... If we had just... I wish I could roll back that time for them so they could just...
I want to scream out, I want to plaster all over billboards, I want to make the headlines read: Only YOU can prevent tragedy. It makes me want to go on a major campaign: PREVENT PREVENT PREVENT. Make sure you know where your kids are - make sure that pool gate is locked. Make sure you know who is watching your child. And never, never, never shake a baby.

I want to be a writer. I want to tickle kids and make them laugh with words, move them with my stories, and make them love books as much as I do. But I also want to save these kids. Save them from harm, save them from heartache, and save them from all the bad things that this world has to offer. I'm no superwoman. I can't do it all.

I don't want to be a nurse. I want to be a writer. I am tired of my heart aching for the children. But I can't stop nursing now. I have to use the skills that I have in writing to save some children. I don't think my heart will stop aching until I at least try.

As much as I really want to jump right back into my fantasy story revisions and go to work on the last packet of this semester, I can't. My muse refuses to budge. She has dug in her heals and will not turn on even a trickle of creative juice until I have done my job. For as much as she pesters me to get back into my creative writing, she also pesters me to do my job. All week I've ranted about how preventable child drownings usually are, and how I want to make everyone aware that they need to be careful. Now my muse won't rest until I put my pen where my mouth is... and in this case, where my heart is.

I look forward to a happier week next week. Happy Memorial Day, everyone. Enjoy it!
-PLB

The Third Day of Mothers

2007-05-14T20:35:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends,

I hope you all had a great Mother's Day. I didn't.

Now, let me just say right up front: my husband and kids gave me a lovely day, with lovely gifts. The weather was gorgeous, and we had a really nice brunch with my mother-in-law. I painted my adirondack chairs all afternoon. Everyone helped, mind you, so it wasn't just me doing chores all alone. But it was a chore and it was Mother's Day. It was also my choice.

For weeks, I was asked, "What do you want to do on Mother's Day?" and "What are your plans for Mother's Day?" and "Are you doing anything special for Mother's Day?" My answers: Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I didn't want to have a not-special day, but I didn't want to do anything. I didn't even want to think about it. I didn't want to try to dissect my mood, but eventually, I had to get around to it. It's not that I didn't want it to be a special day, I just didn't want it to be Mother's day.

This was the third Mother's Day since my mom died. Of course the first Mother's Day was really hard. Of course I really missed Mom then. Last year seemed just as hard. Somehow, I expected it to be better. This year, I simply dreaded it.

When I was younger, Mother's Days were special, like Easter. They were family days, beautiful sweet sunny days. We would go out with my grandmother... we would see family and have a nice dinner. After I was married I would have my parents down or we'd drive up to see them for the weekend. Sometimes we'd even treat Mom to a fancy dinner! It was a nice time together. There was a reason to get dressed up, a reason to go out, a reason to celebrate... Mother's Day was about celebrating my mother.

I miss that. I miss her. This was the third Mother's Day without her. I keep thinking it would be easier and less painful as each year passes, and in many ways, it is. Almost every other day of the year, it is. She's not suffering any more. She's not stuck in a world that confuses her, or that she understands but can't acknowledge. She's not starving for food that chokes her when she eats. She's not watching her life fade around her anymore. She's gone on to a new life and I can feel that she's relieved of her burden.

Mom is not here for me to honor any more. But as I scrubbed my paint-coated fingers and fanned the bristles of my crusty old brushes, I was sad that my third Mother's Day without my mom was gone. It's one more year farther away from her.

I decided to write about this to remind myself of the meaning of Mother's Day. It is a day to honor our mothers. I didn't do much to honor my mom this year, nor to be honored myself. And that's sad. My kids deserve to grow up with the kind of Mother's Days that I knew - that they used to know, before Grandmom died.

This third day of Mothers is the last that I will allow myself to wallow in my sadness. Next year I will again honor my mother. Heck, maybe I'll even pick someplace fancy.

-PLB.

Creation Recreation

2007-05-09T19:03:00.000-04:00

Hi folks,

Sorry this blog entry is late. My older daughter broke her arm over the weekend, which caused all sorts of scurrying for health care, doctors, referrals, X-rays... which sapped my creative juices as well as my writing time. I spent a few late nights tweaking my latest chapters, but finally, late last night, my school work was submitted.

This evening, I headed back to my home office as usual. I did the routine checking of the email, checking the bank balance, and checking the Brotherhood 2.0. Then I sat in front of the monitor, staring. Was there something I was supposed to be doing? An assignment to write? An essay to revise? I've been 'going-going-going' so much lately that I feel like I always have a deadline looming or something to catch up on. (Thankfully I recognized my current state of over-extension and reigned back on some extra activities. I tend to keep taking on more without considering the time commitments needed for said projects until I'm worn out. My husband is reading this right now and saying, "No kidding!")

What should I be doing right now? My inbox is still full of emails-needing-responses... I could take care of that. My office is a mess... I could do a little cleaning. I have a writing project due in just a week or two... I really should work on finishing it. My website really needs some attention too, not to mention my late blog. But I just didn't want to do any of those menial tasks. I wanted to create something.

Did you ever get the urge to just make something totally new? Something you've never tried before? I'm not talking bungee-jumping. I mean, starting from scratch: a blank piece of paper, a plain white canvas, a pristine block of clay, or some other medium for creativity. There is something so completely gratifying about shaping it, molding it, coloring it, or changing it into some beautiful form. I love to work with clay, and I love to paint. I love to scrapbook, I love to draw. But, for me, all of those methods of creation require some intense scrutiny of some form of life I am trying to replicate in some fashion. I remember about 9 or 10 years ago when I was doing a watercolor of our dog, Sunshine. By the time I was finished the rough sketch, I had repositioned her on the recliner no less than 27 times.

There's one form of art that requires very little scrutiny for me. It's something I can just sit down and do: writing. I love to create the world the way I want it, to make characters say the things I want them to say, to have purple-haired giants and three-toed slugs rule if I want. I can write happy endings or kill off the mean-old neighbor if I want. I can do whatever I want. I can make a cozy world to slip into when the pressures of this world are mounting.

Tonight is a rare moment of freedom for me. There's nothing immediately looming over my head, no running to do with kids, no end-of-school year concerts or sports banquets. I am awaiting feedback from my advisor before I start on my last packet of the semester. I'm not having company soon so the cleaning can wait, too.

I'm off to write myself another world. A world where I can eat ice-cream forever and not get fat, where presidents are pure, where kids never talk-back, and where I get a raise every time I smile. Maybe I will call it Brownsville, USA. Maybe I will color it purple. I can do that--it's my own world.

-PLB

PS. I did find that essential truth, finally. It walked up to me as soon as I stopped thinking about it.

Distractions of a Sunday Night

2007-04-30T19:02:00.000-04:00

Sunday night is the worst night of the week.

Sundays are relaxing, leisurely, and calm (at least some of the time). I garden, I clean, my husband grocery shops and sometimes I even cook. Sunday evenings are peaceful. The kids are kicked off of their computer and the Wii is put away for the week. Ahhh, the peace of Sunday in the Brown house. It's lovely.

Then, two o'clock rolls around. AM, that is.

Yes, very often at two o'clock on a Sunday-going-into-Monday morning, I am still awake. Why? I can tick off a handful of reasons. On Sundays, I sleep later and get up later, I drink my coffee later and take my vitamins later, I write a lot and I read a lot, Monday morning is just around the corner... and a lot of times I just can't stop thinking.

Last night, I tried to do a lot of thinking. It started early--about 10 AM when I got up. I thought all day. I thought while I was at my daughter's soccer game. I thought when I was gardening. I thought when I was doing laundry. I thought when I eating dinner. I thought at two AM when I was supposed to be sleeping. All I've been thinking about is that ever-elusive Essential Truth. (Yes, a week later, still thinking about it.) The chapter I wrote didn't cut it. I had to try something new.

I was supposed to be finding that Essential Truth when I discovered all sorts of distractions. Maybe if I found some spooky kind of music to play that suited my fantasy story... maybe then I could think. Now I have an impressive audio library of all sorts of creepy music, along with a lot of other interesting songs that I found but didn't really need. Maybe if I found a famous quote to start the story with... maybe then it would come to me. Now I have an impressive collection of quotes.

(An aside--the best quote I found is from The Hobbit:

It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one.

-J.R.R. Tolkien)

Still, the Essential Truth teases me, and stays just out of my reach.

Tonight, I resolved myself to writing, Truth or No Truth. Forget the thinking, just get to the writing, Patti. And I will! Just as soon as I finish my blog, add some kid quotes, charge the iPod, check the weather, respond to a few emails...

-PLB

Happy Birthday and The Essential Truth

2007-04-23T22:13:00.000-04:00

I just got back from the Eastern PA SCBWI Annual conference in the Poconos. It's the third year in a row that I've attended.Usually I come back from this conference revved up and ready to write... Not this year.

It's not that it wasn't fun. Sure was great to see my friends again, and meet new faces. The presenters were good and so was the food, mostly...except for that broccoli thing they served me Saturday night. I won two teapots for my collection from the raffle, and I met a wonderful author that I'd love to have come to my little guy's school. The weather was great. All in all, it was a good weekend.

But, I discovered what my story is missing: an 'essential truth.' Editor Nancy Mercado described this as an underlying theme for a story. She asks, "What captures the heart of your story?" Wow. I've been struggling over these opening chapters to my story for the better part of a year now. And this is why: I have no essential truth. I think I have a sort of superfluous truth. The 'bottom line' of my story is about as clear as chocolate pudding. So, I came home from the conference pumped up to restart my story again, after I actually find it. The 'finding' part is weighing me down.

I didn't stop to find my story today, because it was my little one's birthday. She turned four, and has placed herself next in line for the British throne, I think. Her poor older sibs are little more than servants to her, and if they don't play with her when she wants them too, off with their heads! Its hard not to laugh when she's being so saucy, because she takes herself very seriously. She's a good girl when she wants to be. We just have to keep encouraging her in that direction. If I have to, I trump her 'queen' card with my all-prevailing ace: the 'queen mother' card. Sometimes I have to, in order to free her servants from her now-four-year-old tyranny.

My fantasy story that's missing an essential truth is all about a mother/daughter relationship. I reflect on my relationships with each of my two daughters, and only find bits and pieces of what I really want to convey to my readers there. Tonight, as I held my little one in my arms and remembered the day she was born, I faced going way back... back to my own childhood. Time to drudge up my own rocky adolescence.

I do so with some angst... it wasn't pretty. My mom died almost three years ago, so the journey back to those years will be bittersweet. But it's necessary. Once I find that truth, I can finally birth this baby and let it live on its own. And let me just say right now, I'm looking forward to that happy birthday!

-PLB

An increase in World Suck today

2007-04-16T18:49:00.000-04:00

I am a big fan of The Brotherhood 2.0.
(If you aren't familiar with John and Hank Green, check them out here:
http://www.sparksflyup.com/2007/04/april-16-brotherhood-of-traveling-pants.php .)

John and Hank work towards decreasing "world suck" in many different ways. From Eco-geeks to Peeps to sock-puppet theatre... these Nerd Fighters are doing a good job. Today, there was a giant jump in World Suck. The Green brothers couldn't combat this level of world suck unless they had an army - a psychic army at that.

I didn't hear the news about Va Tech until my husband came home, worried about our friend's son and his former student who is now a student there. We frantically made calls until we reached Paul's mom who confirmed that he is safe and unharmed
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a trance-like state. I had my laptop on my lap and the TV on, and I typed work reports while listening to the accounts of the events in VA.

I was reminded of other sad days in my life when I didn't have any personal attachments to those involved in tragic events, but my heart still ached for our nation. January 28, 1986: the space shuttle Challenger blew up. I was a freshman at Ursinus College. April 20, 1999: Columbine. February 1, 2003: the space shuttle Columbia blew up. And then of course, there was September 11, 2001.

I think back on those days as World Suck days. I realized that many, many times, our nation mourns together. We join together in our sadness. But when do we ever rejoice together? When do we all celebrate 'World Doesn't Suck' events? What national events ever cause the level of happiness across the whole country? I can't think of any spontaneous happy events that cause our nation--in every size and shape that we come in--to stand up and cheer.

Holidays cause us all to be happy, but we don't all share the same holidays, with two exceptions: Fourth of July and Thanksgiving. Those aren't spontaneous, but they are pretty happy, usually. I propose that we celebrate 'World Doesn't Suck' day on the Fourth of July. (On Thanksgiving, we're usually too stuffed to stand up and cheer. Or stand up and do anything.)

I had a nice blog entry planned out for today, about how there's more of me online now... (No, I didn't post nudie pictures anywhere, and no, I didn't get published. At least, not by an official publishing company. I published my web page today. A modest, boring little website, but my own website nonetheless. See more of me here: www.PattiLBrown.com ). That's all I can say about that today, because of World Suck.

My heart goes out to all of the families in Virginia who lost loved ones by the hands of a madman today, and to the community at Virginia Tech as they mourn their losses and try to move on.

-PLB

Good Books by Patti L. Brown

2007-04-09T21:54:00.000-04:00

Hola.

We had a busy Easter weekend. Friday we took a trip to Philadelphia; Saturday we ran around to soccer games, birthday parties, and shopping; and Sunday we entertained the in-laws.

After our company left, I watched The Passion of The Christ Sunday night. It was incredibly moving, on many different levels. The spiritual and religious level is self-evident. But I found several other facets of the storyline to be fascinating as well.

First, the story started the day before the crucifixion of Jesus. It ended the morning of his resurrection. The movie covered a short period of time, yet look at all of the events that occurred in such little time. Those events (as they happened in history, not the movie) changed the world. Jesus knew what He was doing, but the other people... their actions caused so many things to occur at a frighteningly fast pace.

This minor observation led me to think all day about how much can happen in a day. I am not comparing the events in my life to those in Jesus's life--simply a point to ponder. How much can I make happen in a day? In a few days? I had a very busy weekend... what did I accomplish (other than spending a lot of money)?

The second observation: did those people know what they were doing? Did they have any inkling that they would be remembered for thousands of years by their actions? I'm not just referring to the big-wigs involved--Herod, Pilate, the Pharisees, but also the woman who gave Jesus a drink, the Roman guards, the other little people who played minor roles but were there, were watching, were part of it.

I pondered about this today, too. I can't imagine that any of my actions will be remembered for thousands of years, but how long will my actions actually be remembered? And by whom?

I've read loads of books, as a child, teenager, and adult. Many of them have 'stayed with me' over the years. Charlotte's Web was my childhood favorite. Judy Blume was a favorite author... I was a fourth-grade nothing. In my teen years, I found fantasy fiction and, I am not ashamed to say, horror. Mary Stewart's Merlin Trilogy (Crystal Cave, Hollow Hills, and The Last Enchantment) are still my all-time favorites. And my Stephen King collection was pretty large. (My son has recently claimed those books.) In my adulthood, I found drama. Gone With the Wind, Marley & Me, and The Lord of the Rings still wait on my bookshelf to be re-read another day.

I summed it up for myself tonight as I resisted the temptation to sack out of the couch with my little one. My conclusion: if I want to be remembered by readers, if I want to touch people the way these authors have touched me, well, I better start making some events happen fast. I need to keep going, keep working and keep learning. I love writing! It's what I want to be remembered by... good books by Patti L. Brown.

If you are a Christian and haven't seen The Passion of The Christ yet, please see it. Yes, it is hard to watch. But watch it and remember it. And then reflect on your own life. Which of your actions will you be remembered by?

-PLB

Exercising My Muse

2007-04-02T18:56:00.000-04:00

The fog is lifting.

For weeks... no, months... well, maybe years... I've been in a mental fog. Some days, even thinking is hard. And creative thinking is even harder. It's easy to chalk it off to age, a busy lifestyle, stress, not enough sleep, depression, or all of the above. I could blame it on whatever. But those whatevers aren't changing. Life continues, and I'm not about to give anything up. I happen to like the things that I do. (Well, ok, I would give up work if I could.)

There are some nights that even a cattle prod doesn't rouse my sleepy muse. I try to coax her out with tea and pretty music, but the fog is too thick to actually get any work done. And when I have a writing packet due in a matter of days, fog is bad! Fog stinks! Fog will bring me down. And my muse doesn't help. She clings to me and sinks with me.

But this weekend, I found something that my muse really likes: the iPod song. It's actually called Flathead by The Fratellis, but it got my muse up and walking. And running at times. And hopping around, and bopping to the music. (Thank God nobody was watching.)

I'm not opposed to exercise. I am in decent shape, for no good reason other than I take the stairs whenever I can. In fact, I love to ski, but that's season limited exercise (not to mention budget limited too). I love to ride my bike, but it has some sticky stuff on the handbars that I haven't been able to get off, and it still has the baby seat on the back. Since the baby already has a bike of her own , I probably should take it off. (When I have time...)

I like to walk. We live a block away from a beautiful river with lovely views and a gorgeous park attached. I love to walk with my hubby, with the little ones in tow in the wagon. But that tends to be a production, and I'm a weather wimp, so it doesn't happen as often as it should.

After sitting in front of the computer all weekend and not accomplishing much, I noticed my muse was getting a little flabby. (My muse, not me!) Then, we heard the iPod song, courtesy of my musically hip son, and then it was on the iPod, and next thing I knew we were on the treadmill. Me and my muse. Getting the blood pumping. Clearing the fog. Peeling off the flab.

My muse was good to me following our little pump-up session. In exchange for a gallon of sweat, she gave me lots of fresh images and mental energy. It was all good. At this rate, I'll be pretty buff by the end of the semester. Whatever it takes!

I just hope my muse doesn't want me to clean for her, too...

-PLB

Fasting

2007-03-27T20:14:00.000-04:00

Completely unrelated to writing...

Sorry I missed my Monday blog. I was fasting. I had to have some routine bloodwork done today. It was "fasting" bloodwork, meaning I couldn't eat or drink for eight hours prior. (Don't want to trip you up by using highly medical terms.)

Now, I usually fast every night. I rarely (if ever) get up to eat in the middle of the night. So fasting was not a problem. But what followed the fast was the problem: morning.

Mornings and me don't mix. I have to start my mornings an hour before I actually get up. My son, God bless him, makes coffee for me and brings it in before he leaves for school. I sip it. I hit snooze and hope my coffee cup isn't in the way. I do that four or five times. Eventually, I get up (sooner if I spill the coffee), and I hit the carpet... well, shuffling somewhat quickly. I don't think I could do mornings at a faster pace if someone was thrashing my behind.

Shower, put my eyes in, send my little guy to get dressed, do the hair, help the princess to get dressed, go down to the dungeon in search of my own clean clothes (in the perpetual laundry pile), send the little guy to redress since he never gets it right the first time, do a load of laundry while I'm still down there, come up, put my face on, find socks for the princess, find shoes for the princess, gather my work stuff, pour more coffee to take with, ...eventually we all get out the door. Not when I'm "fasting". Then I'm actually slowing. It took me three times as long to do everything today.

Plus, when you're fasting, time slows. Sitting and waiting for the lab lady to call my name took hours. It was at least ten minutes. I was hungry, uncaffeinated, and tired. When the lab *itch called "Pat" three times, I didn't answer. I almost punched her when she said,"Pat-ti?" in a terribly-annoyed-because-nobody-answered-her voice. My name's not PAT! I thought better of the punch before I actually got to the little lab room with her. She had needles. It wouldn't be a fair fight, especially since she still had to jab one of them into a vein. Besides, I was too slow to fight. I was fasting.

My fasting day started slow. Of course my body knew that the 24 ounce WaWa coffee at 10 AM is not the usual kid-made coffee, sipped from the tall periwinkle mug while still cozy and supine in my bed. No, coffee that's drunk while standing up just isn't the same. There's no time for it to diffuse into my system and help me to gain momentum before getting up. It's just boom, there in my stomach, taking its good ol' time and kicking in way too slowly. The whole day dragged by.

My conclusion of the day's events: you can't ever speed up the slowing that happens after fasting. Why did I ever decide to do this on a Tuesday?

-PLB

Persnickety Serendipity

2007-03-19T22:14:00.000-04:00

There's a work in my head that is screaming to get out. It is applying force to every convolution and curve of gray matter that I have. Buzzing like a small but very determined gnat. Very VERY determined.

My writing friends know of this work. All of them have read it at some juncture, and some (pity them) have even heard it aloud. It is the story that compelled me to write in the first place... the story that has to come out.

When I applied to grad school, I included it since I had only a few other things. (I included them too.) When I was accepted, I exhaled slowly, a sigh of contentment, and put that manuscript right up on the shelf. It stayed there until I discovered I had to submit something for workshop. So I dusted it off and sent it in. Then back on the shelf with it.

Could it stay on the shelf? Nooooo. Despite the numerous other things I sent my advisor, she wanted to see this piece. So, another layer of dust was brushed off, and off it went. It tormented both of us all semester, but of course, when it came time for a scholarship submission, well, it was all I had ready. Off it went again, prologue and all.

The semester ended, and my advisor and I rested. The ms was back on the shelf and I was not dredging it out for the rest of my studies! I had to do something else. I wrote a piece specifically for my workshop simply so I did not HAVE to submit the first.

Well, guess what. Lady Luck spun the wheel, and my story won a scholarship! I was honored. I was thrilled. I was shocked. I was pleased to put that award on my shelf next to the manuscript. I would work on it again, someday, since someone liked it.

A new semester, a new advisor, a new focus. Except... except that little annoying gnat which buzzed around me, taunting me with thoughts like, "I could use this technique for that old story..." and "This would work for that old story..." I didn't solve any problems of my new manuscript but I had a lot to add to my old manuscript.

Serendipity. Funny how she works. Funny how cranky she gets when we don't notice her messages. Funny how she beats us over the head with her messages until they get through our (ok, my) thick skull. Persnickety, ain't she?

Guess what my advisor and I are now working on. THE story. THE manuscript. THE award winning, dusty old poured-over book. I'm actually looking forward to it again--so I can solve its problems once and for all.

-PLB

UN-day

2007-03-14T19:45:00.000-04:00

I'm two days late for my blog. That's because Monday was UN-day for me.

I want to know whose came up with the un-conscionable idea to change the time twice a year. It had to be some sort of un-funny joke. I know it! I think daylight savings time must have started with a conversation that went something like this:
"Bob," says one farmer to another, one dark morning, "I sure could use another hour of daylight."
"You know, Bill," says Bob, "You're right. Do you think anyone will notice if we set the clocks an hour ahead?"
"Good idea," says Bill. "Let's propose it to Congress."

Thus, the birth of DST and LOADS of confusion. Un-cool!

I know the time change happened on Sunday. But who checks the time on Sundays? On Monday UN-day, I was un-accustomed to my alarm ringing an hour earlier. Because of a new un-couth law by Congress that un-fairly moved the time change date, the office clocks were un-changed. That wreaked havoc on my un-bearably obnoxious internal clock that was screaming inside me, "Ha! I knew you were wrong!"
Thus, Monday UNday was un-settling for me. I was un-easy all day. Un-real. I was un-derstandbly late for everything. It was un-nerving.

In the Un-ness of UNday, I un-wound a bit in the evening after the highs of my weekend. My daughter's play at her junior high was a huge success on Thursday and Friday mornings, and Friday and Saturday nights. I was so proud of her and of all the kids in the show. I wasn't able to attend play practices like I did last year, but I did a lot of background work. Fundraisers, dress-making, emails to parents... lots of 'f-un' stuff. But I knew many kids from last year and I had fun with them. The whole cast was exceptional. The director has an artistic flare, and always manages to impress. It was un-believably fantastic, and un-precedented in school district history.

Now that Monday UNday is over, I've finally started to have a real week. My son's play is this weekend, and I'm looking forward to another dazzling weekend at the theatre. I have nothing to do but un-obtrusively sit and watch three performances. I'll be playing my un-mistakable, un-paralleled life-long role as "Proud Mama."

Un-derstated? Un-likely!

Un-til next week...
-PLB

I need a bigger plate

2007-03-05T17:51:00.000-05:00

Some people say that they have too much on their plate, they can't handle everything that's going on in their life, they have too much stress... yada yada yada. Not me. I am a mother to four great kids, and a wife to a great husband. I work just about full time. (At least, my employer considers me full time.) I also go to school full time. (At least, my school considers me full time.) I help out with my kids' theatrical productions at school. I read a book every two days. I don't have too much to do--I just need a bigger plate. Inevitably, my gripe with life goes back to my last post: time. I am a "do-er". I spend my time doing things, not watching, waiting, or hoping. I can accomplish a lot if I set my mind to it and deprive myself of some sleep. But I don't mind that! I'd rather have more time for doing.

Besides, sleeping is over-rated unless it happens between 8 and 10 in the morning. Morning sleep is my favorite sleep... it is dream sleep, creative and fun sleep. In morning sleep, I can be in the cast of my daughter's school play or I can walk along the beach with a loved one who died long ago. If I had a bigger plate, I'd give myself an extra serving of morning sleep. Hmmm.... maybe when all the kids have gone off to college? Only fifteen more years to go!

Despite the fact that I have little free time, I am happy for it. My life is rich with my family, my friends, and my writing. So today, as I turn forty, I sit back and smile. No morning sleep for me today... I was busy cramming more onto my plate. Tonight, before I blew out the candles on the incredible gooey German chocolate and caramel cake that my husband made for me, I stared at those wax numbers melting away like years in front of me. Then I wished for a bigger plate.

-PLB

Timing

2007-02-26T18:33:00.000-05:00

These days, time is a rare commodity. It is more valuable than gold and more precious than jewels. No, I'm not getting maudlin because I have a birthday coming up. Just the opposite. I am thankful that I have a birthday coming up!

My husband, friends and family gave me a surprise party this weekend. It was not a true surprise, but that did not matter to me. I was looking forward to it. I was surprised by all who were there. My dear friend Stephanie went out of her way to host the party. The decorations were gorgeous, and the food was delicious. The cake was from my favorite bakery and it was out of this world.

Most of all, I loved the time--the time that my husband put into running around to get everything taken care of, to email the guests well in advance, and to think about little things that I liked. I loved that Stephanie took extra time to make special placecards and decorated to the hilt. I love that my cousins and friends took the time to drive all the way across the state to share in my special day. I love the time that we spent together, catching up and laughing with each other. That was the real gift to me. I am so thankful that my birthday was special enough for their time.

Now, two days later, time is flying again. I have a class to teach tomorrow and I still have to finish the lesson, and three dresses to make, also due tomorrow, for my daughter's play which is coming up too quickly. I desperately want to write, to finish my next packet for my advisor, to get through the novel I am working on... but there's no TIME for that now. It's all happening at once. What bad timing!

Well, I'd better get going. I have no more time to blog. Until next week...

-PLB

PS Thanks for taking the time to read this!

New Mantras

2007-02-19T14:06:00.000-05:00

Well, I guess isn't a daily blog. Weekly, yeah, that's it.

Here's my Monday Post:

It was a rather sucky week here. And yes, sucky is a word--at least around here it is. It accurately described my week.

My health was sucky, the weather was sucky, finances were sucky...

I had some kind of minor GI bug that gave me a low-grade fever and a case of nausea that rivaled my fourth pregnancy. Fever is not a symptom of pregnancy, and neither is my monthly red-blood cell depletion, so I wasn't worried about it. I just felt lousy. And to put the chocolate-covered cherry on top, it started on Valentine's Day.

The weather, while a massive snowstorm everywhere else, was just rain here. In the middle of an artic freeze, we have one day of 40º weather - the day it was supposed to snow. So, I had to deliver my little one and a dozen double-decker heart-shaped cookies to nursery school while extremely nauseous in the bitter cold pouring down rain. So much for romance.

It took days for me to feel better, but as soon as I did, my cat started getting sick. He's prone to urinary blockage because he's deformed in the genital region. Poor little deformed kitty. He's a sweetheart, but he's costing us a fortune with his convoluted urinary tract. I saw the bill and felt nauseous all over again.

It was this vet bill, and my immense desire not to return to work that led me to seek some new inspirational writing mantras. I found two incredibly motivating quotes. I posted them by my computer because I need constant reminding that LIFE IS SHORT! No, that's not one of the mantras, but it is the truth.

One of my inspirations in the writing world, Marion Dane Bauer, lost her son recently. My heart goes out to her and her family. Peter Dane Bauer was 42 years old. I will be forty in two weeks. Those two things together are unsettling for me. He died of something similar to what my mother died from. What if I only have two years left? Or no years left? We never, ever know.

"A sobering thought: What if, at this very moment, I am living up to my full potential?" - Jane Wagner

"Nothing is as far away as a minute ago." -Jim Bishop

I am off to write, write, and write some more. It is my dream and my passion. I will only have more time to write if I take more time to write. You can quote me on that :)

-PLB

"I do not want to die... until I have faithfully made the most of my talent and cultivated the seed that was placed in me until the last small twig is grown." -Katie Kollwitz

Bloggity Blogger

2007-02-12T14:13:00.000-05:00

Never thought I would blog myself online. I mean, why? I tend to ramble (as you will see), my grammar ain't that great, and my thoughts are often...silly.

Well, after seeing lots and lots of blogs, I caved. The lure of the blog was too great for me to withstand. Besides, I am almost 40 and I'll only live once.

With that, welcome to my blog! Feel free to post.
-PLB