Rollerskating, risks, and the season of Story

31
May

Once upon a time…

Did I tell you bout the time when…

You won’t believe what happened to me today…

These are all invitations into story.

Whether formal or conversational, they all extend a moment of connection — to us, to our experience, potentially to something on an even bigger scale. Even if someone relays a story written by someone else, it’s something that registered, landed, something they retained as significant, if only for it’s humor but possibly for the meaning behind it. When they share it, it’s an opportunity to learn more about someone, to know some of their history and their life.

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When my kids were little rascals (as opposed to the bigger rascals they are now) I started writing my first novel. It began as a story about rollerskating.

Yup. Rollerskating.

See, when I was in college the school organized rollerskating nights at the local rink. They were fantastic. There was pageantry as we donned out best Ragstock 1970’s rainbow suspenders and tube socks. There was romance — you felt like a junior higher again as the DJ announced it was time for the Snowball and you dreaded the wrong person might ask you to skate and were mortified if the right person did. There was drama under the disco ball lights…and in the snack line and in the bathroom.

My story morphed into a chapter, which morphed into a section, which morphed into a novel.

And all of it happened while my husband and I were teaching one child to stay in their crib, potty training another, and trying to make sure the third could identify the color green.

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Once I wrote the rollerskating novel, I realized there were more novels in me. I’ve written another, more than half of a third and have the beginning of a fourth (which I am not allowing myself to work on until the third is complete). Throughout the process of writing I have tried to learn about the business of publishing and what people do to pursue traditional publishing.

All that learning, all that writing, but very little risk-taking.

I’ve taken very few steps to pursue getting my novels out into the world. I’ve done a couple things, but was more like a turtle peeking its head out and then immediately pulling it back inside its shell.

I need to take more risks. I need to collect more rejections. I’ve registered for a writing conference and at that conference I’ve made an appointment with an agent. TERRIFYING but true. Nothing might come of it. But something might. Without taking that risk I will never know, so I’ll do it even if my hands shake and my heart races.

Did I mention that the next season of Get Messy Art Journal is the Season of Story?

The Season of Story — can you stand it??

It’s just perfect. And it comes at a perfect time in my own writing life.

I’ve felt like I need to exhaust more options before I can let go of this publishing dream. (You can read more about this revelation here.) I want to knock on more doors, make a few spreadsheets to keep track of where I’ve sent letters of inquiry (or query letters if you want to get all formal), basically really go for it.

This sounds crazy. I realize that.

But I want to know I did everything in my power to go after getting my writing published before I look at more “indie” options. Those are totally valid and pursuable options; I just want to cross off more traditional options first. So, I’m going to start doing that. Now.

There’s also been a story growing in me that’s quite different than the novels I’ve worked on. It’s a book intended for folks who have a child receive a diagnoses of Type 1 Diabetes. The story involves a purple stuffed animal kitty and a little girl who both love the Fair. Any resemblance to actual living people is not at all coincidental. I’ve got the characters down but I need to write the rest of the story. That will happen. Now.

During the next eight weeks, the Season of Story, I will share bits of the purple kitty story here on the blog. I hope to have illustrations to go along with it. Problem is, my cat drawing skills are less cat skills and more squirrel/spikeball/giraffe drawing skills. That’s okay though. You’ll know what I’m trying to do, right?

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I know you’ve heard me talk about Get Messy Art Journaling before, because it’s been such a fantastic place for me to connect and grow. This year I have the tremendous privilege of being on the Creative Team. Yahoo! Well, besides all that, I think I’ve forgotten to share an important piece of information, in case you wanted to know more about Get Messy Art Journaling. Here’s a quick summary:

They have tons of content, some of it for free, some of it for members only.
People can buy a membership for a whole year, for a month, or for a specific season. The Season of Story memberships are only available from June 1-7 so if you’re thinking about it, now’s the time to make your move. (Details here.) **
When you have a membership, you’ll be in for a mind-boggling amount of arty goodness (meaning tutorials, webinars, classes, forums, prompts and general inspiration).

It makes sense to share more details about Get Messy now because of the Season of Story (which launches tomorrow, by the way). I’m so super excited about the Season of Story because I feel like it dovetails so well with the world we’ve already created on this tclarson website. Of course there is absolutely zero pressure on you; I just know it’s been transformational for me, which is why I want to share it with you.

I hope to pop in more often, if only to hear you make fun of my attempt at drawing cats, but I have to admit Instagram is my favorite spot so let’s follow each other if we’re not already. Thanks for coming along on this creative journey.

**If you sign up using this link, I receive a small commission. YOU ARE NOT CHARGED EXTRA and it totally does not affect your purchase.

Writing, painting, and cramming everything into the last half of May

19
May

It’s a busy time of year, is it not? So much to do and the clock is ticking down the days until summer and the shift that comes along with the changing of seasons and schedules. There’s a feeling of immediacy, a flipped version of squirrels storing away nuts for winter. But it’s in the air and there’s an urgency to get things done.

Originally I called this post “Light a fire under my writing” but that sounded like I was going to set it on fire and burn it down, which is the exact opposite of what I mean, so I had to revise.

What I actually meant is that I’ve had a revelation: although I’ve been doing a lot of painting which has been my focus for a while now and which has been really great experience, I’m not done with writing. I had a moment of clarity, when the restriction of a more externally-dictated work schedule loomed and I almost wanted to cry with disappointment that I’d never accrued enough rejections or taken enough risks in pursuing more with my writing. That reaction really surprised me, and I think it revealed more of my passion.

Over the past few months, I feel like my words have returned after a long hiatus, and I want to pursue developing them, and getting them out into the world. That means submitting things to various publications and contests (scary), as well as trying to post here more often. In addition, I’ve registered to attend a local writing conference this summer where I have an appointment with someone from a literary agency (terrifying). I don’t know if it will lead anywhere, but I think I need to try.

I KNOW I need to try.

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That doesn’t mean I don’t plan to paint anymore. Not at all. I still love it; I totally enjoy the physical process, I love learning and trying different techniques, and I’ve found a wonderful online community through art journaling.

That’s a great segue to let you know there are a couple more weeks of the Get Messy season of play, and I thought I’d share a couple pics I’ve grabbed.

Dontcha just have certain color combos that make something ring inside you?

My playful superhero, spreading glitter and mischief wherever she goes. (She never gets it in the carpet though.)

This week I had a tutorial on the Get Messy website and I showed people how I made this. I used lots of stuff that wasn’t meant for paint or art. It’s surprising what you can do with the goodies in your junk drawer!

Page made using Legos, a cushioned mailing envelope, a leftover party napkin and lots more

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Because it’s been the season of play, it just felt right to put googley eyes on as many things as possible.

Oh there are more, but I’m holding back.

You’re welcome.

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On top of trying to make myself meet a specific word count, create meaningful and not entirely ugly art journal pages, stick googley eyes on everything without getting caught, and work at my work-from-home job, it’s the end of the school year. And as anybody with school-aged kids knows, this time of year is bonkers.

So here’s to trying to get all the things done, everybody! Let’s aspire to achieve all our dreams, even if some of them are delayed or if it will take a bit longer until we can put in the work to make them happen. And good luck getting to all the kids’ programs they’ve all got scheduled for the same week. Maybe if we all sign a petition they’ll quit doing that to us…but probably not.

Hoarding Stories (and when to give them up)

23
Nov

I have a confession.

I am a hoarder.

I know that conjures up certain images, primarily (probably) from reality shows that depict houses with bedrooms so full of materials (papers hangers boxes clothes baskets goldfish) that you can’t even see the bed.

I’m not that kind of horder.

I am a hoarder of stories.

I keep them; I treasure them up; I preserve them and greedily I hold them all to myself.

I don’t even tell them to myself all that much; I just don’t want YOU to have them. Sounds reimicent of a toddler, doesn’t it? MINE! No no! A lot like this kid: https://youtu.be/MA11NlkIREA

I’m beginning to think that keeping the stories to myself comes from a place of fear. I fear that if I tell you the stories and they are as insignificant to you as they are significant to me, then I will have wasted that story. I’ll feel as though the value of it is somehow diminished by it not being as significant to someone else as it is to me.

When I keep stories to myself I’m coming from a place of fear because I worry that by sharing the stories I will encapsulate myself in those stories and you will think there’s nothing more. You’ll think that story is the sum of who I am. You’ll assume that one story, that one moment, is the definition of what that story represents, rather than being one snapshot of one significant moment. I’ll be held to it (or if not me, then the other subjects of the story) instead of it being seen as one point on the arc of a life development.

I find that I hoard stories of the people I love because if I share those you might think that you understand who the person was. Is a person only as much as the stories about them? Can a person’s life be summed up in a few stories, even a book full of stories?

We’ve all had those times when we have told someone the story of something significant to us. Then, months later, we have returned to the story only to have the other party tell us, “Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that.” As if one telling of the story can communicate all the nuances or all the significance of what that event meant. As if one telling of the story is a full rendering of that story.

We all know that isn’t true.

But I still want to keep many stories to myself. Maybe it comes from being in an age of over-sharing and online image grooming. The thought of telling an imperfect or unfinished story, especially about ourselves, just doesn’t fit into the curated, highlight reel we try to present, whether that’s knowingly or unknowingly. I think it’s refreshing to hear real stories of imperfect resilience and unfinished, unresolved showing up for our own lives.

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With that said, I’m getting ready to tell you a story.

I don’t know how it ends. Sometimes we have to be ok wth that. This is one of those times.

Here’s the thing you need to accept about this story: magic.

Photo credit: Morguefile @svklimkin

I don’t mean magic that requires spells or a cauldron, but simply magic in the sense of serendipity, beauty, or wonder. Magic.

See, I know of a magical parking lot.
You don’t believe me?

I know it’s unlikely, but it’s true.

I know of a magical parking lot where unplanned meetings between strategically placed people happen at opportune moments.

Of course, I didn’t know it was magical when I first found it. The first few times I parked there nothing happened. It may have been because I wasn’t paying attention or I wasn’t looking forward to anything. The first times I parked there it was just a parking lot and I was just parking a car. But when I discovered it was magical it was because I was different.

That’s all I’m going to tell you for now. You’ll have to check back in a few days for the whole story (you can subscribe to make it easier if you’d like). You’ve got enough to think about. Because besides asking you to accept magic, I’m going to ask you a question: if I share my stories, are you willing to consider sharing yours? Maybe not with me, but with someone?

See, I don’t think I’m the only one who hoards stories. I think there’re plenty of other people who do it too. You might be one of them.

It doesn’t matter if it reveals that we’re not perfect, or that we do t have everything figured out. It’s time to share those stories, to let them speak for themselves, to let them give voice to one perspective or one moment and have the sharing of it be enough.

Final NaNo Excerpt: A Long Distance Argument

26
Nov

I must concede NaNo this year. Yes, the same way I conceded last year. Don’t rub it in. There’s just no way for me to make up the difference in four days between where I am and 50,000. Not unless I totally cheat, which I’m trying not to do since it won’t really feel good to hit that 50k mark and know that it isn’t all new material generated during this month. Maybe I’m being a stickler but that’s how imma gonna do it. Then when I DO win, sometime in the future, I’ll know it was fair and square.

P.S. Why on earth do they organize this thing during the month of November? Why not a month with no national holidays, or some throw-away winter month when it’s way too awful outside to do anything so everyone’s holed up indoors? Maybe this is how they weed out the wanna-be’s from the truly committed. Well if I had made time to win, the rest of my life would have suffered so I had to let it go. It wasn’t easy, and there’s definitely a sense of losing rather than winning. But isn’t that a funny game I’m playing with myself? I don’t actually WIN something if I hit 50k. They don’t give out winning treasure boxes with trinkets inside, or anything more than a badge you can use on your website to say you “won.”

Even though I’m a loser (in the NaNo sense) I still want to put up a final excerpt from the WIP. This will be my last one for November, so I’m going to leave you with a scene between two characters who are trying to navigate a long distance friendship-with-potential…and finding it challenging. Have a wonderful evening, and as always, thanks for reading.

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Abby heard the phone ringing in her dorm room just as she stepped onto her floor. She ran down the hall, silently praying her roommate hadn’t been her normal vigilant self and locked the door again. She got into the room and snatched up the receiver on the clunky school-issued phone.

“Hello, hello?” she practically yelled.

“Whoa, hello to you too. That’s the angriest greeting I’ve ever heard. ”

She let her backpack slide to the floor and she pulled out the hard wooden chair from the desk. “Sorry, I just barely made it to answer the phone. I’m not mad.”

Jay chuckled on the other end of the line. “I know you’re not. Unless you are, but I think I’m starting to be able to pick up on that over the phone even. It’s easy to tell when we’re in person.”

“It is not.”

“Oh really? So you can see yourself when that vein puffs out on your forehead?”

“It does? I never knew that.”

“See? One more reason to keep me around: self discovery.”

Abby smiled into the phone. “Okay, I guess I’ll keep you. But I’m not even keeping you around ‘cause you’re never around.”

“This long distance thing is starting to get on my nerves, too,” he agreed. “Bur think of it as being the best of both worlds. You have a devoted admirer who is extremely understanding of your long study hours and the way you go out with your friends. If I was closer I might not be so easy to live with.”

“You do like to play more than I do. Well, not more,” she corrected herself, “But more than I’m able to play. This study load is heavy and I don’t even know exactly how well I’m doing.”

“You did great on your last test, didn’t you?”

“Sure but that was a pretty limited scope. I know how to study, but it’s different than knowing your overall grade.”

“You’re too picky. You think you should get 100% on all your tests, but Abby, nobody gets that.”

She picked up a pen and started doodling. “I know.”

“But you don’t really know. You still think you should be able to. Maybe you should talk to some of your professors and see what they say? Not about the grade on a test, but overall how you’re doing. They’ve got to be able to tell if someone’s cut out for nursing.”

She doodled a stethoscope and he waited.

“What would I do if I asked and they said I’m not cut out for it? I don’t know what I would do. It’s the only thing I’ve ever pictured myself doing. I don’t have a plan B.”

“You won’t need one. You’re the studyingest person I ever saw, and you’re definitely putting in the time. It was only a suggestion. You already know it’s what you want to do. If you talked to them, they’d probably just tell you to let up a little, go have some fun with that cute guy who keeps calling you.”

“Which one?” she quipped.

“Ouch.”

“I’m joking,” she said . “Youre the only cute one. The others are just muscle-y.”

“Not funny.”

“Although there was that one with the convertible. That was fun.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m coming down there.”

She smiled. “You can’t come down here. You’ve got to do your thing and I’ve got to do mine. Remember? That’s what we decided. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Don’t make this an issue, ‘cause things are good. We’re good. We’re friends, we date once in a while, that’s working for us, isn’t it?”

“Is it working for you?” Jay asked.

Abby paused, unsure how to — “I’m so busy, Jay. It’s so busy and there’s so much studying. It’s an unreal amount of studying. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it. And if you were here, it would just be another distraction. A good one,” she hurried to add, “But it would make me feel guilty and I hate feeling guilty.”

“Why would you feel guilty? I wouldn’t come if I didn’t want to.”

“I know, but I’d feel guilty that you’d come all this way only to be practically ignored. And you wouldn’t be happy here,” she continued. “You’d be wandering around waiting for me to get done with class, but when I get done with class, I go to the library or the lab or a study group. We wouldn’t see each other much more than we do now.”

“So we wait.”

“I think so,” she answered quietly.

There was a long pause on the line. Abby spoke up. “Jay?”

Pause.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for wanting to be here.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said.

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being my friend.”

“I love being friends with you, Windy Gail. But you want to know something?”

“What?”

Jay steeled himself. “When the time is finally right, I don’t want us to be friends anymore.”

Abby felt the blood drain from her head. “What do you mean? You don’t want to be friends. There’s an expiration date on being friends?”

“Nope, that’s not what I mean.”

Even though she could barely hear the sound coming from the phone anymore, her ears were ringing so much, she had to ask. “What do you mean?”

“I think we’d be even better friends if we were more than friends.”

“Jay, I can’t even think about that right now…”

He stopped her. “I know. And like I said, I love being friends. That’s good enough for now. But that won’t always be good enough. I think we’re made for more than being just friends. And I’m willing to wait it out to see what that looks like.”

She felt her voice get stuck behind her teeth and couldn’t will it loose.

“Are you still there?” he asked after a long minute.

“Yeah. But Jay? Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“What?” he demanded.

“See? You’re already getting mad. Just listen for a second.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s just that I don’t want you hanging on for something that may or may not happen.”

He asked slowly, “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be.”

“I don’t want you to be anything you’re not.”

“Maybe you do.”

Jay huffed into the phone. “Listen, I haven’t asked for anything from you. I don’t expect you to call me, which is good because you don’t. I don’t expect you to come home any more than you do to see your family, I don’t expect to get any extra time at Christmas. I haven’t asked for anything from you. How can you say that?”

“I feel it.”

“You feel it?” he virtually shouted into the phone. “You feel it? Since when did you become all feely? You’ve hardly ever said anything about how you feel before.”

“I’m trying something new,” she shot back.

“You could have tried it before we’re having this conversation.”

“What conversation is that? The one where you tell me what my life is going to look like, according to your plans for it? You don’t get to make sweeping edicts, Jay. You’re not the god of camp over here. People may follow you blindly over there, but that’s not real life. That’s not how we’re going to work. Ever.

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End of excerpt.

Whew, that was intense. I’m going to go decompress. You have a good night, and I hope to see you here in the future.

Leaf Revolt

29
Sep

The leaves seem to have taken offense with their tree hosts and are staging a protest by hurling themselves to the ground. This dispute seems to have erupted in my absence, since when I was here a week ago everything was quiet. Maybe in the weeks leading up to this, there were rumblings, whispers of a revolt that was only discussed at night when daylight could not reveal the source.

Which leaf said that?

Who started stirring up trouble?

I heard it was the maples.

We’ll never know.

Regardless, the leaves got fed up and are now beginning to fill the yard, opening up room for more patches of light to come through. They probably didn’t consider this in the calculations, that their forms could block much of anything, but their absence certainly has an impact. If the sun was still strong it would cook their shapes to a crisp, but lucky for them, it’s strength wanes as we tilt further from it and so they lay there, soggy activists forming a crinkled brown rug under the trees, the sunlight illuminating them like a cleverly aimed spotlight.

She Flew

24
Feb

The darkness crept along the outside edge of the door. Like smokey tendrils it fingered its way up the wall and clustered in a far corner of the ceiling. There it waited, quietly, unnoticed.

When enough of it had collected, the darkness snaked across the popcorned finish, down the arch that led to the cozy room where she sat, legs tucked unter her, covered in the cream afghan knit by her grandmother. It slinked across the hardwood floor, across the second-hand rug, and enveloped her, leather chair and all.

The weight of it was suffocating.

It seemed so slight a form, its particles each insignificant, but taken as a whole, it had the strength to slowly push her entire body. First the heaviness, next she hunched under it,

then she bent

down,

until she was folded, chest on legs flattened. She felt the weight, fought for breath against the darkness that threatened to crush her, cell by cell.

She tried to inhale but each shallow breath was poisoned by the cloud. It invaded her eyes, her thoughts, her neck, her mind.

http://mrg.bz/Kmn05j

She had forgotten.

In her lack of air, in her confusion, her sorrow, she forgot. When the thought entered her awareness, she was unsure of herself, it was so long since she tried. But the smothering darkness infiltrated her lungs and she knew it would not be long before she succumbed. She would go down and never re-emerge. The death, fear, disappointment, wrongs, shame, abandonment, rejection and heartache would claim her as their own and she would not resurface.

She clung to a warm day spent along the river, a day when hope and love frisked alongside her, darting in and out of wild daisies and rose bushes, then back again, almost tripping her as they wove in-between her feet. She filled her mind with this day.

She pressed against the heft of her sorrow,

strained,

and began to sweat as she insisted again what would trap her.

The darkness fell in shards around her as she pushed her way free.

As she flew out of the chair,

the living room,

down the hall and out into the crisp winter night,

she remembered.

She had always known how to fly.

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This post came from a word prompt during a write-in with Story Sessions. If you’re curious to find out more about them, they’re having a Twitter party this Thursday, February 27th, from 7p-9p CST, using the hashtag #jointhestory.

Do you have to strain against the darkness? What keeps you bent under its heaviness? Most importantly, how can you reclaim your ability to fly?

Not Just a Pretty Face

18
Feb

There are times when a blog looks nice but has little to say.

It is easy to navigate but when you see the content that’s offered, there’s not much to keep you interested.

Some sites have content that’s combative, argumentative, created to stir up strife and visceral reactions, many times with the purpose of driving traffic to the site, if only for the chance to spout off about how the author is nuts.

I’ve visited sites where I wanted to read the content but the visual layout or intense colors made my eyeballs burn and I actually said something to the point of: “You’ve got good things to say but I can’t read this.”

I find myself with elements of all these dilemmas as I launch this new site.

Will I have anything to say?
Will you, dear reader, resonate with the words I write?
Do I adopt a reactionary stance and give myself an ulcer from dealing with all the negative stuff out there?

The goal of this site is to be more than just a pretty face, even though I do have to say that I like the way it turned out don’t you?

What You’ll Find Here

While I know it is standard practice to “find your niche” and zero in on one certain area of expertise, I find that I’m a dabbler and have written about many different things. In trying to narrow it down, I’ve found a few themes in the past four+ years of blogging.

Tone

First and foremost, I desire that this be a safe, encouraging place. That doesn’t mean we won’t address difficult, sometimes painful topics. We can do so, however, with respect and an appreciation for the nuances of life. Over time I have come to realize that just about everybody is doing the best they can with what they’ve got, and if we can approach one another with a posture of honesty and trust, our conversations will be much more productive. Let’s treat each other with an extra measure of grace.

~~Now shut up and bring me that cookie dough.~~ Can we all agree to that?

(Just teasin’ about that ^^^, but if you have cookie dough to share, I’ll bring my own spoon.)

Stories

As a blogger, writer and aspiring novelist, I walk all day around collecting stories. It is hard to unsee the stories once you’ve noticed them, and so they are now everywhere. It’s a little bit maddening, but in a good way. Writing is a way I order my thoughts and when I find a helpful tool or a way to further develop as a writer, I like to pass it along. The practical side will be a small portion here, and primarily you’ll see the curtain at the front of the house, and not the backstage workings.

I’d also like to support other writers, so when I find that I have the opportunity to spread the word about their work, I plan to do so. That may come in the form of book reviews, but also helping host book launches and guest writers, and events from other bloggers. There is room at this writing table for all of us.

Mischief

As we get to know one another, you’ll discover that I like making a good memory almost as much as I like a good story. Some mischief here, some silliness there — there’s almost always a reason to laugh a little, even in the most mundane, uneventful day. I hope you’ll find this site has a good sense of humor.

Spirituality

In almost every corner of our lives, I believe we can find traces of God, whispers and shiny stones He leaves to lead us back to Himself. Or Herself. …Either way, my relationship with Jesus and desire to better reflect his character and priorities is something as intrinsic to me as breathing.

In this area of spirituality, I have observations about the Big C “Church” and theology, especially as it pertains to evangelicalism and women. There are a lot of things we could be doing a whole.lot.better. I recognize that I can be a part of the solution.

Family/Parenting/Woman-ness

I’m a wife and a mom. These roles/relationships inform my perspective and are ever-present as I approach the world. I am not a perfect wife or mom (or person) but I really do try, even when it may seem like I’m in over my head (but if we’re honest, aren’t we ALL in over our heads when it comes to this stuff?). I’m a work-in-progress so I learn a lot from the mistakes I make and the interactions I have with my kids and family.

I can’t escape the way being a woman affects my perspective, nor do I wish to escape it. We are an amazing and dynamic group, full of power, tenderness, creativity, intelligence and resources. There are times when events impact women in very specific ways. I would like this to be a place that discusses womanhood and the issues that effect us.

Your Role

You play an important role here. I have room for guest writers, as I mentioned, if that’s your thing. I love to interact with your reactions to posts, your thoughts an insights to questions I’ve raised. I truly believe we’re better when we help one another, and because of that, the more people we bring here to get involved, the better off we all will be. Shares, likes, retweets, pins, and all other forms of support, including notes delivered via carrier pigeon, are deeply appreciated.

Thank you for joining me here. Even though we may not know each other (yet), I hope in some small way, this blog can help to make your day a little brighter.

Here and I’ve done all the talking. Would you care to say hello? Introduce yourself? Please do so in the comments — I’d love to meet you.