NaNoWriMo 2016

Been gearing up for something big, scary and exciting...

My first ever NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) where you sign up and pledge to write 50,000 words of a novel during the month of November. Mother did this last year with a Young Adult fiction project and I have been stymied by a lack of urgency and focus throughout 2016 so I believe this is just the thing I need. Luckily I have also found a writing program called Scrivener and it may not write the book for you but it is a powerful tool to help organize and consolidate all of your work in one place. I just love it.

It's a lot of words and I still have all my normal responsibilities and activities to manage, not to mention the Thanksgiving Holiday. But my story has been churning in my brain for over a year and it needs to be realized. The toughest thing is not to squander time or get distracted. Let's do this thing...

On Writing

My New Year's Resolution this year was to read a book that had nothing to do with parenting. Just one was the goal. Mission accomplished and it only took 7 months!

I was once an avid reader, especially when I was in school--it also didn't hurt that I was an English minor with an emphasis in literary criticism. But since becoming a parent, I have found my time highly fractured and overcommitted.  The anguish of trying to read a novel or long-form story with that constant pressure, outweighed any perceived benefit. To fill the void, I consumed the snack food of the literary world: magazines, graphic novels, comics and fan fiction (some of the best-worst stuff ever written, btw). Of course, many of the moms I interact with participate in book clubs and I marvel at their ability to finish 'real' books. That should have been my first (and continuing) clue that I was making excuses. Also, I just need to step away from the Facebook, hours upon hours get sucked down that insatiable black hole.

Anyway, I set my expectations low on purpose because I didn't want to fail. But during our recent LA vacation, I read Stephen King's writing memoir On Writing. I discovered this book when I briefly considered signing up for an online class about writing adult fiction--a genre I have no experience writing. Well, that's not entirely true: there were earnest (though misguided) attempts in college where overwrought self-awareness and a profound lack imagination combined into a cringe-worthy mess. But while reading reviews about the online writing course offered by a prolific fiction writer (not Stephen King), many people instead praised King's memoir as being a superior, highly instructive awas a much cheaper alternative to the class.  By coincidence, my mom, who is writing children's fiction, credited the tools and advice in his book for helping her break though to a major revision and advancement of a story she's been working on for years. And after reading her energized and imaginative revision, I was all "I'll-have-what-she's-having." With enough mental reserves to appreciate King's solid advice, our kid-free, care-free LA trip proved to be a perfect time and place to read On Writing.

In high school, I devoured a sampling of King's work like It, Tommyknockers, Misery, The Dark Tower, The Stand and one of his short story collections. The accessibility of his writing was something I always admired even if the subject matter was unsettling. A few weeks ago when I was only half done with On Writing, we lunched in Santa Monica with a college friend who is a writer. I recommended this book to him in an "I've-discovered-something-new" way.  He assured me he'd read it 3 times since it came out 15 years ago. Oops, late to the party again. But the book still stands up, no question, which explains why I was #14 deep in Seattle Public Library's hold queue for it. 

One thing I always disliked about "writers" as opposed to actual writers, is that "writers" were people who debated, agonized and over-analyzed writing (I'm very aware that I'm toeing that line right now.) But the people who just sit down everyday and put in the time are the shit. Even if it's drivel. The output won't often be inspired and it's not guaranteed to be good but like anything else, you have to put in the time to practice. 

I think at this point, the audacity of writing a fiction novel is like deciding to run a marathon just because you bought new shoes. I haven't trained a lick but, by gawd, I have the shoes. Still there's something so plucky and fresh in that. Another thing King said, and I'm not spoiling anything here, is that a good writer reads. I think my English teacher in high school, Maggie Bates, mentioned that too. Seeing how others make ideas flow, develop characters and tell a story is the other half of "marathon" training. 

One main thing King emphatically championed was a writing space with a door to shut out the world. After a few years of envying everyone else's retreat space in this house, I finally commandeered part of our guest bedroom, which will continue to pull double duty but at least it's something. We'll see what comes of it. No excuses.

Financial Literacy: Teaching Kids About $

Here is the just published Red Tricycle article I wrote on Teaching Kids about Money: http://www.redtri.com/time-to-tackle-teaching-kids-about-money

An Individual of the Species, who happens to be female

Last month, Ken and I saw a play called “Female of the Species.”  It was an incredibly smart, funny and cutting examination of how Feminism is perceived in present day.  As I watched this play, I was reminded of my own exposure to “the Feminist movement” (from my mother naturally) and what I’ve come to understand the role of women in society today.  But I also left wondering, where is Feminism now?

Just recently, coverage of a dust up at The Daily Show reminded me that fueling the rage of feminism is inflammatory business that is profitable in these days of page views and click through ads.  (From Jezebel, the article asserting that the Daily Show could be sexist.)  The story goes that there aren’t many female staffers at the Daily Show and those who are there are allegedly subjected an old boy’s club.  Slate.com accused Jezebel’s article of being a “prime example of the feminist blogosphere's tendency to tap into the market force of "outrage world"—the regularly occurring firestorms stirred up on mainstream, for-profit, woman-targeted blogs.” And “petty jealousy, cleverly marketed as feminism.”

So if the Slate and Jezebel posts are any kind of indication, the attention to inequality between the genders as discussed from the feminine point of view, seems met with a contemptuous “media blogstorm” and accusations of profiteering.  Lovely.  Are we all doomed to highly polarized rhetoric like we get from Senate Democrats and Republicans?

I was raised to believe you could achieve anything you wanted as long as you were willing to do the work.  This was especially true in school leadership and academics where I planted my flag and sought to excel.  I didn’t perceive that gender, race or any other “identity-based” attributes had anything to do with my success or failure.

Feminism struck me as the double-edged sword of empowerment and entrapment.  To me, Feminism defeated its own purpose because it called too much attention (the wrong kind) to the thing that it was trying to overcome. (See, I’m a woman and you should listen to me because I’m a woman). You may get close to what men get but as long as you keep throwing your gender in their face, but there will always be a divide and there will always be inequality.  I felt it better to be an Individualist in the “listen-to-what-I-have-to-say-because-it’s-good/true/smart/useful (regardless that I am a woman).” 

In college I worked shoulder to shoulder with men and women alike.  Pushing the boundaries of broadcast production to the point that it made no difference whatsoever what gender you were.  All of us could direct, produce, shoot, edit, write.  I graduated with some of the most talented and passionate people in their craft.  It was a wonderful microcosm of what could be possible.  And then I entered the real world…

It wasn’t obvious or immediate but I began to see our still “gender-fied” world outside of the protective walls of college and academia.  It was so subtle that I didn’t even see it for years.  I was already working in the male-dominated industries of broadcasting and hi-tech so I could roll with misogynist jokes and attitudes and bend them to my purposes.  I commonly had to prove myself but usually won the respect of my peers through hard work and devotion to improving.  I progressed upward, with full exposure to mid-level and upper-level leadership, clients and vendors.  And it was there that I began to see certain “boys’ clubs” which I could never progress beyond or be a part of.  My shock to their existence was naïve but I convinced myself I really didn’t want to go higher in the leadership chain because of the stress and the demands.  Which is partly true, but it was also just so unsavory and unwelcoming.  Toward the end of my working stint, there came a subversive and patronizing undercurrent which I got swept up in and I just got tired of fighting it. 

When I got married, I soon noticed that my husband was treated differently in identical scenarios.  The foremost example was when dealing with customer service for a wood blinds company that made a mess of our order.  We both separately spoke to the customer service folks, asking for the same things.  But Ken got a lot farther than I did when it came to getting refunds, comp products and special accommodation.  The same held true when we were bumped from an Alaska flight to Pullman a few years ago.  For our trouble, we got not one, not two but three round-trip tickets anywhere Alaska flew—EACH.  I was grateful for his success but I felt for the first time disheartened by the realization that I wasn’t able to get what I wanted and deserved for myself.

To be honest, in the last few years I’ve felt frustrated but more than that, disappointed.  Disappointed in me for giving up and accepting the situation.  When I was on my Individualist kick, I wouldn’t succumb to a defeatist attitude or have a secret gratefulness to have a husband who can talk to the customer service people of the world.  I realize bending to this; I became part of the problem. 

When I found out I was pregnant though, priorities changed.  The daily ego-fueled ideological scrapping and proverbial dick-measuring at work struck me as futile and banal as it always was, but I no longer got stuck in it like fly paper.  My world view expanded while focusing on something so small and fragile.  Funny how that happens.   (Watch now as folks come out of the woodwork, “See, see a woman shouldn’t be compensated like a man because she can’t keep her eye on the ball and give everything she has to her job.  The minute she gets knocked-up she coasts.”)  Such an American, work-yourself-to-death view.  I’ll take actual work-life balance, please.

Currently I’m doing the ultimate feminine job: full-time mothering.  It doesn’t get more female than this, it doesn’t get more multi-taskingly challenging than this and it doesn’t get less paid then this.  I’m sure the original Feminists didn’t intend for someone like me to stop down a 12-year career to stay home raising a child. But I wonder when I rejoin the working-outside-the-home crowd if this experience will have a marked effect on my attitude toward the genders or my role in the workforce?  All I know is that I still want to be judged for what I bring to the table.  But maybe what I’ll be bringing will be a little more perspective, an even better ability to multi-task and (hopefully) some skills to win over customer service people.  We’ll see.

Illogical Propositions Bankrolled by Love

Yesterday I attended my second Western Washington SCBWI Writing and Illustrating for Children Conference. An inspiring keynote "sprang" from author Bruce Coville, one of the most engaging and animated authors I've ever seen as well as a thrilling demonstration given by funny, grace-under-pressure illustrator Paul O. Zelinsky. This annual conference drew an impressive array of editors, agents, authors & illustrators to bestow the in's and out's of crafting children's books to 400+ aspiring writers and artists. (In my case: those who lack prodigal writing talent and need to try much harder than they currently are.)

If I'm lucky AND good, maybe children's writing will be something more than a hobby. But walk into a book store and go to the picture book section. Behold the 100's nay, 1000's of books that already exist in the genre. The selection is dizzying. So why in my right mind would I pour my heart and soul into such steep competition and slim revenue potential? The only answer that comes to mind is love. Love of children and the magic picture books bring into our lives. Stories that move, shape and deepen our connection to the world and each other. Love is the only logical answer to an illogical proposition. I try to keep this in mind as I slalom through inspired creative curves, stretches of bumpy self-defeat and moments of reality-induced free-fall.

Spanning all of those feelings in one single moment yesterday, I got to talk to an editor for 10 minutes about one of my manuscripts. She read it and had comments. Lots of comments. Comments that require some serious revision. Ms. Editor was brutally honest and I respect that. Because every bit of her feedback made sense but I just wish I'd figured it out first. She said I could send her the revised version--and thus begins my mission.

The most important thing I've learned is that writers write. It's so simple yet so intimidating. Could I have tried harder these past few years? Yes. Have I given it my full commitment and attention? No. Will I do better? Absolutely. To me, being a writer is a commitment and responsibility because like Deborah Noyes Wayshak of Candlewick Press said, "Nothing is lost on writers." Being a writer is peeling away assumptions and looking for universal truths. When you open yourself up this way, you see the world just like a child does and in that there is magic. Here is to finding the truths...