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So this is a little personal tradition of mine.  I like to set a few goals and hopes for the coming year, and review the goals and hopes I set for last year.  Generally, I’ve tried to set goals that I can work on, but that require some divine intervention to bring to completion.  I’m getting away from that a little bit, because this year I’ve seen how making a few small changes can have a dramatic effect on my life.  I want to focus on that for this year.  So here’s last year’s stuff.

1. I would like to finish the book I’m working on, and possibly do a draft of my next project.

I did finish the book I was working on, and I’m now on the second draft of the next project.  I have recently discovered some changes I want to make to the old book, and I’ll be working on that this January.

2. I would like to get pregnant this year.

I did get pregnant, but unfortunately we lost the baby.  Perhaps I should have been more specific.

3a) Take a sabbath.

I did take a sabbath every week this year, and it was awesome.  I found that I can accomplish a lot more when I take a day off, because I’m free to schedule more stuff on the other days if I know I’ll have a day off.  This has greatly improved my quality of life.

3b) Make a date night a priority again.

This went awesome.  Ben and I had 50 dates this year, and that has made our busy schedules much more bearable, and I think brought us a lot closer too.

3c) Keep to a 40 hour work week between my nanny job and my writing.

I stuck to this most weeks, and I definitely spent more time writing.  Whether I got more writing done or not is hard to tell due to the nature of my current project.

3d) Make no more and no less than one appointment to connect with someone every week.

I suck at this.  But, given the other goals in this category, the appointment thing was kept somewhat in check.

4. I want to work out three times a week.

I was doing okay at this until May, when I started P90X.  Since then I’ve worked out six days a week and stretched on Sunday.  This also has helped a lot with my quality of life.

5. I would like to get published this year.

There were no books published this year, which is what I meant.  However, I have been paid on several occasions to perform my poetry, which has been awesome.

So here we go with 2011.  Wish me luck.

1.  Read 50 books, one of which will be the Bible, and one will be a Russian novel.  I read 22 books this last year, and I’d like to challenge myself a little in this area.  I’ve been working my way through the great Russian novelists for the last few years, and I think this year will be devoted to Gogol.

2. Go through The Artist’s Way.  This is a 12 week book on opening creative pathways.  I’ve heard great things about it, and my good friend Kim said she’d do it with me in April.  I’m super excited.

3. Since three was the magic number last year, I’ll do it this time too.  I have several goals for my current project.  I want to do a national tour with it, and here’s what I have to do to make it happen.

a. Research and apply for grants to fund it.

b. Put together a packet of info and promotional materials to present to anti-human trafficking organizations.

c. Research and connect with anti-human trafficking organizations in major US cities.

Other steps will depend on how I decide to pursue publication/printing.  But those steps would get me a lot closer to where I want to be.

4. Complain about other people less.  I usually like these to be measurable, but this is something I really want to work on, so I might as well write it down.

5. Have sex 365 times.

So I’ve had writer’s block for a couple weeks. I’d like to say that this is longer than normal, but I can’t really say. It always feels like forever when I’m in it and is quickly forgotten once I’m out. I’m sure it’s mostly due to some difficulties I’ve been having with sleep, which I’m certain is the result of general stressed-out-ness. That said, I realized something today as I was forcing myself to work on a little side project I started before the block.

I think I’ve been struck with the plague of perfectionism. I have to write most of what I write knowing that it’s not perfect and planning to go back later and fix it. Sometimes that later never comes because the stuff is not salvageable. Sometimes it turns out that it’s not as shitty as I think it is. And sometimes I go back, I see the crack, I smooth it over, and it’s like perfection a little bit. But that requires a level of comfort with imperfection for most of the process. Aspiring to that near perfection requires an element of magic or God or whatever I’m praying to that day. So it’s possible that I’m just stressed and therefore irritable and have less grace for my own flaws. Or, I might have lost faith in the magic.

One thing I know for sure. Pin-pointing the exact nature of my writer’s block doesn’t help that much.

“The thing is, you can’t write about writing. It’s been done to death.”
The expression on my neighbor’s garden gnome was fiercely determined.
“Everybody says to write from life. That’s my life.”
I don’t make it a habit of arguing with garden gnomes; they’re known to be particularly stubborn.
“That’s why it’s been done to death. Adult writers lock themselves up in a room to work on their craft, and before you know it the only thing they have to write about is being locked up in a room working on their craft. Haven’t you ever read The Yellow Wallpaper?”
As a matter of fact, I have.
“How is it that you’ve read The Yellow Wallpaper?”
“This isn’t a real hose, smart-ass.” He gestured with the ceramic spigot that was glued to his hand. “I’m not actually watering anything, I’m just decorative. I get bored.”
“So you read second-wave feminist literature in your spare time?”
The gnome sighed deeply enough to make his little pointed beard tremble. “Did you hear the part about how I’m just supposed to be decorative? I have a special appreciation for Gilman. I like Chopin too, if you were going to ask.”
I was.
“But we’re talking about you and your lame excuse for a story idea. Why don’t you get out of your house and experience something? Inspiration doesn’t just fly out of your ass.”
“Hey!” I was taken aback. After all, that was the very reason I was outside and available to be lectured at by a garden gnome. “I’m outside right now, just so I can get away from my desk.”
“Humph.” The gnome was not impressed. “Standing on your itty bitty lawn and bemoaning your missing talent is not a unique experience.”
“Talking to a garden gnome is pretty unique.”
“Bah! I knew you’d find a way to crawl back in your hole. Fine! Go then. Some creatures aren’t meant to see the light of day. Like earthworms. And moles. Grubs. Bats. Cave fish. Hoffman’s two-toed sloth….” He waddled away, mumbling the homo genus of various nocturnal and underground animals.

I have recently submitted my last book (The Other Side of Silence), to a publishing house. As it turns out, they’re a subsidy publishing house, so I will probably not sign with them. Nonetheless, it soothes a very non-picky part of my soul to hear that someone, anyone, is interested in my work.

This particular publisher is a Christian one, and specified multiple times on their website that they do not accept gratuitous sex, violence, and curse words. You’ve heard what I have to say on censorship (and if you haven’t, skip a couple of entries down), so it shouldn’t be surprising that I do in fact have curse words in my books. However, I don’t consider the curse words in my book to be gratuitous. Furthermore, this book has very little violence, and no sex at all. So really, I shouldn’t have to be too worried about objectionable content in this case.

What is far more concerning than the curse words, is the presence of a major character who is not strictly heterosexual. As I was reading through the manuscript myself (which I am doing mostly to clear my head before I plunge back into my human trafficking book), I realized that even if the acquisition department made it all the way through my alcoholic construction worker (who shockingly uses curse words), there is no way on earth they are going to be okay with my criticism on how the church treats even the mere consideration that one may not be entirely heterosexual. Ironic, since that character is also the most unapologetic Christian in the book.

But here’s what I’m hoping. Aside from getting published without an initial monetary investment and going on to fame and fortune. I’m hoping that whoever reads my book, or whatever part of it they’re going to read, will see a God they recognize in its pages. I hope, even if they absolutely will not consider publishing it, that they will feel sympathy for the character and be glad when God shows up for him. I hope the book will do its job. I hope it will inspire a little bit of awe for the creator of the universe and the savior of our souls.

I have no words to describe my totally amazing birthday party, but I will attempt it anyway. I’ve heard that’s what we writer people do. Fifteen performances, musicans, poets, spoken word artists, fiction writers, all of them fantastic. Four food artists producing deliciousness on a whole new level, which included a chocolate berry cake that I will be fantasizing about for the rest of my life. Ten visual artists filled an entire gallery with stunning pieces. Kids creating new art with paints and pastels. And in case you were wondering, a white wall plus a bucket of crayons equals the most awesome guest book ever. The theme for this party was “better than I expected,” and I was completely thrilled with it. As an extra bonus, my parents surprised me by flying out for the weekend, and my dad did an impromptu performance on his harmonica. I love, love, loved it. Here are some pics, there are more on my facebook.

Continue reading “Birthday Festival”

Once upon a time when I was a totally hopeless novelist, I could spend hours, days, months, happily sitting at my computer and writing. There wasn’t anything else to do. There was no way to pretend like I was working on my career if I wasn’t actually typing words in a manuscript. Not so today.

Today I have this weird side career as a spoken word poet and activist. I love both of these occupations and doing them makes my life way less sad and more purposeful. Let’s face it, no one ever conquered the world sitting at their computer and typing. Especially if that laptop wasn’t hooked into the internet. It wasn’t. But, finding, booking, networking for performance opportunities, planning events, inspiring and directing new volunteers, writing a blog, all involve an awful lot of work that is not actually writing. I send e-mails, I send facebook messages, I blog, I compress my latest video, I check to see how many views my favorite poem has gotten, I look at charts that measure the trajectory of my website traffic, I design new business cards. I do “things.”

The problem with the things is that they feel like work. In some sense, they are work. They are in some way contributing to my sphere of influence, increasing opportunities, doing good. But despite this, they are not my life work. They are not getting me closer to finishing my book, going on my book tour and setting the world on fire. I’ll get to setting the world on fire right after I finish this e-mail, I promise.

There is a certain amount of time waste that goes into any vocation, and arguably even more that goes into creative vocations. I accept this. But usually if I spend a whole day not getting any words written, it feels like death on a stick. Unfortunately, now that I have so many “things,” I can torch an entire work week without writing any words and hardly notice. This concerns me.

I’ve heard this same complaint from other artists. How much time do you spend on promotion as opposed to making work? How much time networking? How much time fundraising? I’ve even heard arguments about how much time to spend editing as opposed to creating new work. Oy.

I believe the overall point here is, I should really be working on my second draft and not spending time on this silly blog. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it.

So the weekend was a busy one. For the first time I helped organize one of these crazy art events. I decided to help because Source Ministries is trying to buy an apartment building and use half of it for transitional housing for women who’ve escaped from human trafficking. Because of my work with Breaking Free, I know that we could use hundreds of beds for this purpose, but right now we only have nine. So I put all my effort and influence behind this project, and we came up with a great night of music and poetry and art. Here’s a video of one of the pieces I performed that night.

Much love and appreciation go out to Brittany Delaney, Kat Weisberg, Christina Anderson, Pat VanErt, and Kiesha Lamb for their amazing contributions to the evening.

So here’s the thing. I get sick a lot. I get sick at inopportune moments. Christmas with the in-laws. Husband coming home from the hospital. Best friend recovering from surgery. And I’m sick. I go through transient periods where I don’t get sick for two or three months at a stretch and I think the curse is broken. I really thought maybe P90X and the strict diet would make the difference. But no. There was a ninety-six degree heat advisory today, and I dare you to guess what I had for dinner. Yep, that’s right. Chicken soup and oatmeal. And it was delicious.

I recently read a blog post (which I absolutely should not have clicked on) which berated P90X users for needing a program to get fit.  Real fit people, the blog argues, don’t need a plan.  This makes so little sense to me, it actually makes my head hurt.  To my understanding, people who are in good shape exercise regularly, and people who exercise regularly have a plan to do so.  Furthermore, following a pre-packaged plan that’s been put together by fitness experts and has been highly recommended by trusted friends who’ve actually used the program seems like a nice little recipe for success to me.  And in fact, doing such a thing makes me feel smart, and capable.

I apply the same kind of logic to my job.  I know that if I get the girls I nanny to the park in the morning before their naps, they take longer, easier naps, I get a break, the afternoon goes better, we all get some sunshine and exercise.  In order to make that happen, I have to start packing up the diaper bag almost as soon as I get to work.  I have to cycle the two older girls through the bathroom, get them dressed, and apply sunscreen and bugspray.  This doesn’t happen on accident.  I have a checklist of all the stuff we need and all the tasks that have to be completed before we’re ready to leave for the park, and this happens every working day the weather permits.  Consequently, we always make it to the park, the girls never get sunburned, I don’t get eaten by mosquitoes, and we don’t have to leave early because of a potty emergency or lack of a healthy snack.

My writing, yes my art, works the same way.  I have big blocks of time set aside on my calendar just for writing, and only writing happens during those blocks of time.  I always have coffee made and snacks ready when that time rolls around, I have a Pandora station playing that I’ve been honing for years, the dog has been fed, and I’m ready to create.  I have word count goals, specific task lists to balance prose and poetry, fiction and non-fiction, promotion, craft building, and old fashioned work.  I get a lot of work done this way, which you can see by the amount of poetry I write and perform, and the fact that I’m 26 and working on my fifth novel.  Not to brag or anything.

I’ve been accused more than once of not leaving enough room for inspiration and spontaneity.  While this could be a blog about how you have to plan for something to get it done, I know actual artists, even writers, who do real work on the fly all the time.  In fact, during the periods of my life where I was not as focused as I am at this moment, I did a lot of writing when the mood struck me, and actually completed my first book that way.

In my turn, I can get frustrated at the lack of structure in other people’s lives.  My cute husband is a great example, since he lives almost the exactly opposite way I do.  It is easy for me to say, “If you just always threw the garbage away after you’re done cooking…” or “If you want to keep your fitness going through the winter, you have to pick a sport that can be played indoors.”  But the fact of the matter is, the cute husband gets a lot of stuff done all the time.  He works full time, he’s in Vineyard Leadership Institute, he plans events, he codes for Android, and fixes computers in his spare time.

So, could we just get along?  Could I be okay with people who like a little less structure in their lives and admit that they somehow magically accomplish stuff?  And could people who prefer to live that way stop accusing me of being weaker, dumber, or less artistic because I find structure effective?  Could we do that?

I just returned from my grandfather’s funeral in California.  This trip was far less painful than I anticipated, and I am grateful for my family and glad that I got to at least speak to both of my sisters while I was out there.

Being at a big family funeral inevitably results in a lot of awkward moments, not only because I see people I haven’t seen in decades (and may or may not recognize), but because a family funeral connects me with people I love who are grieving.  After this experience, I have made the following observation.

When someone I love is grieving, I shouldn’t try to make it better.  This is a strong, nearly irresistible impulse.  Like sorrow is a vacuum at which happy feelings must be thrown to stop the sucking power.  Still, I should try.  Nothing I say is actually going to make them happier right at that moment, that comes later.  And it doesn’t come from me, it comes from a process, a relationship with the supernatural forces of time and God, which I should avoid stepping on.  There are certain phrases that I regard as red flags when they come out of my mouth.

“God works in mysterious ways.”  Duh.  How does that help?

“God is good, all the time.”  Ever notice that no one EVER says that when you might actually think God is good?  The resulting feeling is a not very well disguised guilt trip.  It sounds something like, God’s good no matter how crappy your life is, so don’t complain.

“God has a different/better plan.”  For this one I will quote my good friend Morgan, who said very aptly “Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy.  God doesn’t do that.”  So if someone or something is dead, lost, or ruined, quit saying God did it, okay?  Even if I think that’s what really happened, that is not the time to enter into a theodicy debate.

“Oh, were they Christians?” Even though it’s tempting, and I want to be able to speak accurately about the situation, asking this question always feels like a choice between calling grief unnecessary (if they’re in heaven now, what’s to be sad about?) and the infliction of hideous sorrow.

“They’re in a better place now.”  People know this.  If that was going to make them feel better, they would feel better already.  And what’s weird is, it might already be making them feel better, but my saying it like that should unravel all the complex feelings they have about someone dying is insulting to soul and intelligence.

In general, I feel that pat answers to grief are harmful.  Even when they are said with a true intent to help and comfort, they are avoiding the true nature of the thing.  Using a generic phrase to respond to what is challenging and confusing obscures the human relationship I’m involved in.  When I say things like, “They’re with Jesus now,” I’m avoiding contact with my friend’s grief and pushing that horrible feeling back on them.  In essence, I’m asking them to keep their wounds away from me, to come back when they’re happy and easy to deal with.  Not only am I hurting them out of my fear and self-preservation, I am losing a chance at a friendship that is deep and true.

This is my experience and opinion only.  I would love to hear about something that was said to you when you were grieving that really helped.