The art of the balance beam

Published on May 16, 2012 in writing. 0 Comments

I loved gymnastics when I was a little. Doing cartwheels, somersaults, and handstands were a source of both fun and pride for me. I swung on the trapeze bars so much that I literally got an infected blister on the palms of my hands and had to go to the doctor for treatment.

Of course I loved the balance beam. It took awhile but soon I learned how to focus on an object ahead of me to keep my balance. Once I got the hang of that, there were balance beams everywhere you looked–the neighbor’s low wall, the curb, the plank that separated the lawn from the garden, the brick wall surrounding the tall tree in the back yard. I spent hours learning to steady myself, learning to look straight ahead, discovering one day that I no longer needed to hold my arms straight on either side of my body in order to stay on whatever I was trying to stay on.

That was years ago. The other day, I tried to do a cartwheel for my son. It was a half cartwheel, nothing like the glorious ones I used to be able to do. Still, he loved it, laughing and asking for me. I had to say no. It hurt my hands to put that much weight on them! No wonder gymnasts are all so short and small.

Anyway, these days, I’m re-learning the art of the balance beam. We women are supposed to be experts at multi-tasking. I am learning that when I multi-task, I do nothing well, and my focus is so scattered, I have trouble completing the job. I’m learning to do one thing at a time.  I’m learning to put one foot in front of the other, to steady myself by holding out my arms if I have to. I’m learning to focus on the object ahead, the one thing I want, the one thing I need to do, to complete, in order to keep my balance and my sanity.

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The Cosmic Yes

Published on May 4, 2012 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

In one of my favorite novels, E.M. Forester’s A Room With a View, a father tells the protagonist to help his son, not by falling in love with him, but by showing him that next to the eternal question of WHY, the universe is writing an answer: “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This past week, I worked hard to secure a full-time tenure track position at a community college where I already work. I didn’t get the job. I would be lying if I didn’t admit my pride was a little hurt or  that I was a little disappointed.

 BUT

In the end result, I’m glad. Before each interview, I spent a lot of time sending the message out to the universe: Whatever is best for me, my writing career, and my family.

I honestly thought that the universe would favor the what is best for my family part of that phrase and thus give me the job so that I had a more secure salary that is twice what I currently make. Not because I honestly thought that was best but because I figured that’s what everybody else would think was best.

Yes, yes, yes, I was sending messages out to the universe. Sometimes I call the universe God and sometimes I call God the universe. I realize this makes me sound like a fruitcake. So okay, I’m gonna be a freaking fruitcake! I don’t know what else to be anymore!

Here is what I realized: the universe has rewarded me with the what is best for my writing career part of the phrase. No full-time tenure track position equals more time to write for me.

Dear Universe, I am sitting up, taking note, and I will comply. I will use this opportunity to focus on my writing career.

All week, I have been thinking about the sangoma at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in Durban (Westville campus) who told me that my big sister—the one my mother miscarried, the baby that a random sangoma in South Africa couldn’t possibly have known about but in fact, she did know about it—was watching out for me, was sitting right beside me (she sits exactly the way you are sitting, she is that close to you), and “she wants you to own yourself, own your own time. When you get up in the morning, she doesn’t want you to belong to somebody else, for somebody else to have ownership of your time.”

Yes, I am a fruitcake who lives in northern California who believes what a sangoma in South Africa told me. But I knew that sangoma was telling me the truth. And I knew what she  meant instantly. Because that is the job of a writer: to own your own time. It’s what I’ve always wanted. 

Thank you, Cosmic Yes. I’ll embrace this gift you are sending me.

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Calming the Squirrel in the Cage: The Magic of Saying No

Published on April 11, 2012 in mother writer and writing. 1 Comment

Note: I posted this at www.motherwritermentor.com two weeks ago, so it’s dated–I’ve already been to Jamaica and am now back. But I think the essence of the message is timeless and thought I’d post it here for my readers that come here and don’t go to the other website. Jessica

Last Saturday, I lay awake until 3 in the morning, my mind whirling with all that I needed to do and all that was preventing me from getting it done. Some of this was writing related but most of it was not, unfortunately. When I cross one thing off the list of things to do, another thing is added. There is no “Wow, I’m done” moment these days, only the endless list. And most of what I need to do prevents me from writing.

Of course I realize the problem. I can’t say no. I get asked to do a lot of things—this author event, or that writerly thing there, or something else. All of them are good things to do. Some of them even help pay the bills, though actually that is rare. People expect artists of all kinds to do a lot of free events—to give back to the community. (I’ve been giving a lot back to the community these days and to be perfectly honest, it’s made it hard to pay the bills!)

The real problem is that all of these good things to do prevent me from doing the most important things—namely, spending time with my son and writing my next book.

By the time you read this, I will be taking the first real vacation I’ve had as an adult. I’ve travelled a lot but it’s always been for things—business trips, to attend a conference, to do research, to go to a wedding. And sure, I’ve packed a lot of tourist stuff into those trips, but I’ve also always taken along my laptop and worked in every spare moment. This trip, I’m leaving my computer home (*gasp*). And one of the things I’m going to do as I lie there on the beach in the sun drinking beer is to let some of the dross fall away. I’m going to find the courage to come back and say no to some people.

No, I can’t help you write your novel (though I would love to) because I need to write mine.

No, I can’t come to your daughter’s classroom (for free) (though I really would love to) because I need to grade my student’s papers.

Etc.

Etc.

Etc.

No.

No.

No.

I can already feel the stress lifting.  

Of course, I will say yes to a lot of things too. Yes. Yes yes yes! I am a big believer in Carl Sandburg’s “The People Who Say Yes,” that when you say yes, more opportunities follow, and when you say no, doors close.

But sometimes, you need doors to close. Sometimes, there are too many open doors and  you simply can’t go through all of them.

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Juggling a Kid on a Hip at a Snooty Literary Conference and thank God for good friends and for family

Published on March 5, 2012 in mother writer, women and writing. 4 Comments

This past weekend, I went to AWP in Chicago. I took my 17-month-old son with me. He amused and, perhaps, annoyed people on the plane, on the train, and in taxis with his insistent “HI!” and “BYE!” repeated many times over. He likes to look over the back of the airplane seat and blow bubbles at the people sitting behind us. In airports, he insists on walking by himself (the stroller is at least useful for wheeling around the luggage, diaper bag, and jackets) and he doesn’t want to hold my hand, either, so this trip, I made him wear a little doggy backpack with a tail that functioned as a leash. He doesn’t want to sit around in the hotel coffee shop talking to my friends, certainly won’t let me sit through any panels, and would rather ride up and down the escalators at the hotel where the conference was held. During lunch, he amused some of the staid and academic writers by discovering the joys of ice. (Actually my friend Denise popped an icecube in his mouth and I about had a heart attack wondering if he could choke on it before I decided to relax.) He banged the table and smiled winningly at the man sitting across from us as icy water dribbled down his chin and pooled all over the table in front of him.

Starting at 3 months, my son has gone with me all over the country to library and literary conferences. I’ve felt like it was important not to let the fact that I was the mother of  a baby interfere with my professional writing career. And if anybody faults me for bringing a baby along, I thought, screw ‘em. Most people love babies so it worked out just fine while he was very young, and I took care not to let him be fussy in the wrong place at the wrong time. The screw ‘em thought didn’t keep me from being very conscious not to let him interfere with other people’s ability to work or to listen or to enjoy what they had come for.

Nevertheless, starting at 7 months, it was clear that although I still needed to bring him with me on trips, I needed childcare while I was doing my writerly things. So the real reason it’s worked is because there are some really good people in my life.  My in-laws drove to Tucson to watch Nesta for me when he was five months old. In New York, my husband’s cousin watched my son and her baby in my hotel room while I signed books at the BEA. In New Orleans, my good friend Holly drove down from Alabama and took Nesta all over the French Quarter or swimming while I signed books and gave a short talk at a breakfast that my publishers had arranged for me. At a booksigning in Austin, a friend Lindsey held him for me while he slept. At a booksigning in Grand Coteau, Louisiana, a friend Jason took him outside into the sweltering Louisiana night while I read and talked and chatted with the people who came. Jason sang him to sleep until the mosquitoes came out. My mother flew out to Chicago for an entire week of babysitting while I sat on panels, gave talks, and signed books. And this past week in Chicago, my friend Ann watched Nesta while I read on a panel. No, I didn’t go to any other panels this particular trip but I was grateful for the time I was given. It was enough.

I’m probably forgetting somebody somewhere who helped me, but I certainly wouldn’t want to forget mentioning how fabulous my publishers have been about letting me bring my son along to all my publicity events. (Remember this, moms, when arranging your book deals! How friendly is your publisher to the fact that you aren’t a single entity but there are some small people literally attached to your hip?)

Being a writer seems like such a solitary act. We sit in front of the computer alone. We work with words and characters and plots and rhyme and language and metaphor and symbol all alone. We think and we walk and we observe and we bumble our way through the tensions of relationships and people and our mixed desires and our fears and, for the most part, as writers, we do it alone.

Except we aren’t alone and we should never forget that.

The truth is–and I think this is true for all writers, not just writing moms–I wouldn’t be able to write at all if it weren’t for the good support system I have, starting with the most important person of all, my husband, but then continuting to all the people who, in big and small ways, do the necessary things to make it all possible. That includes my agent and editors and publicists. But it also really really really includes my friends and family. Most of my support system isn’t local. It would be so nice to be able to pop on over to my mom’s and leave Nesta for the day so I could write without paying for childcare. But the good part of that support system not being local has come in handy this past year when I travelled all over the country and people came to my rescue.

A big Texas-sized thank you to all the many people who have supported me and my writing, not just since my son was born but for the last fifteen years. I couldn’t do it without you.

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Are we sexist…or smart?

Published on February 24, 2012 in Family. 2 Comments

I have a babysitter I love but sometimes she gets sick or needs a day off; unfortunately, I still have to work on those days or I get behind. So yesterday, I put an ad on care.com for a backup babysitter.

This morning, it occurred to me that I didn’t see any guys seeking jobs on that website. Why not? Couldn’t a man be a great babysitter? My favorite babysitters when I was a kid were all guys.

I want to believe that I am not sexist, that just as women should be able to have any job they want to have, and receive equal pay for it, men should be able to do the same. And yet, I probably wouldn’t hire a male babysitter. It has nothing to do with a man’s inability to do a good job. Rather, my first thought would be, “Is he a pedophile?” And even if there was no evidence that he was a pedophile, and even with a criminal background check (all of which care.com provides), I wouldn’t risk it.

Of course, I will be extremely careful about any of the (female) babysitters I hire. But I find it sad that this is my first reaction. And I don’t think I’m alone. We have now embraced the stay-at-home dad, the male nurse, and other men entering so-called “female” professions. So why are we so suspicious of a man who might legitimately enjoy being around children and who might enjoy working in a daycare or being a babysitter? Are there really that many pedophiles running around?

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Anthony Horton: Rest in Peace

Published on February 9, 2012 in homeless, literature, writing and Young Adult. 2 Comments

Many a lot of you didn’t hear about Anthony Horton’s death. Probably most of you don’t know who he is.

Anthony Horton spent the last thirty years living underground in New York City’s subway tunnels. Sunday he died in a fire in the subway tunnels and investigators found his body in a couple of rooms which he had turned into an apartment of sorts, with a living room and a bedroom and bookshelves on the walls (and books!). He was an artist who had painted murals and other artwork in the tunnels, art that very few people ever saw.

Anthony Horton is also co-author of a young adult graphic novel, Pitch Black, by Youme Landowne and Anthony Horton. It is the true story of Anthony’s life as a homeless man and an underground artist. As such, he is part of the young adult writer world. So Iwanted to write a short tribute to him, and to his work as a writer and artist, and to making others aware of the plight of the homeless. May he rest in peace.

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I made the list

Published on January 25, 2012 in writing and Young Adult. 2 Comments

This Thing Called the Future made the ALA 2012 Best Fiction for Young Adults list! Whoo-hoo! Party tonight!

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What Have You Given Up (in order to write)?

Published on January 23, 2012 in writing. 1 Comment

Madeleine L’Engle was one of my favorite writers as a child, and I remember being startled by an excerpt in her memoirs when she remembers the time her family gave her a standing ovation when she actually cleaned the kitchen floor. 

This made a huge impression on me–the knowledge that one thing (writing) could be more important than another thing (a clean house). It was Madeleine L’Engle’s ability to prioritize and let some things go that allowed her to write through years of rejection letters when she had three kids and she and her husband were running a country store. She worked full-time, she was a full-time mom, and she wrote. Her husband was the one who got up early with the kids and got them off to school so she could stay up late and write.

I could tick off a whole list of things I’ve given up, partly for my writing career and also partly because these things happen naturally when you dedicate yourself to a life of the mind, to a life of creativity. It’s all part of carving out more time for myself and also carving out a life of stillness amidst the noise of modern life and motherhood.

  • Without a doubt, housework suffers. While I would love to be more organized, I am not willing to spend my writing hours keeping the clutter at bay or cleaning toilets. My house isn’t a wreck but Martha Stewart would definitely have a heart attack.
  • I do not go to parties. I will not use the word “never” here but it is just about. The last party I went to was over a year ago, and it was a gathering of writers, so I can justify it as work. But I am selective about those types of parties, too. Networking is important, and having good writing friends is also important, but most good writing friends understand when you beg off the party in order to write.
  • On the weekends, when my husband is home and hanging out with the baby, I catch up with writing–not with housework and not with friends.
  • I watch very little television and we don’t go to the movies.
  • Most significant, I have given up a full-time job with health benefits, job security, and a good salary.  I might add that, until this year, my husband didn’t have those things either.

The hardest thing I’ve had to give up is more recent, and it has everything to do with being a writing mom. A nightly glass of wine has been my habit for the last decade but recently I have given it up. Why? Because I need to work after my son goes to bed, and I don’t feel like working after a glass of wine.

Most of this happened gradually. I used to go to parties, but over time, it got easier to say no, until that was just second nature. I used to be more organized, but then I married Chris and he isn’t the most organized of people. I quickly decided that I could spend all my time picking up after him…or I could let it go. I chose the latter. This has translated into laxness with housework overall, and it has bought me more time to focus on writing.

I don’t think you have to give up everything to be a writer. And I don’t think everybody has to give up the same things. This is what has worked for me. But what about you? What have you given up for your art? Or what is one thing you are willing to give up?

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Do A Little Bit Of Everything Every Day

Published on January 7, 2012 in mother writer and writing. 7 Comments

Before I became a mother, I had carved out a pretty cushy writing life for myself. I teach college writing classes online and I do freelance writing and editorial work, so my job was extremely flexible. In the morning when I woke up, I made myself some coffee and sat down to write for four or five hours. Then I would go for a walk or the gym, take a shower, and spend the afternoon grading papers or doing other bill-paying work. If the morning’s writing session had gone particularly well and I didn’t have a lot of pressing “other” work, I might spend the afternoon writing as well. I took weekends “off” but usually spent a couple of hours on the weekend writing anyway.

Writing-wise, I got a lot done. And I could justify the small amount of money the writing actually brought to the household budget because I was getting published and was becoming recognized as a young adult writer of some talent. Costs were minimal and I brought in enough money through teaching and editorial work to make up for what I wasn’t bringing in through writing.

Enter the birth of my son 15 months ago and I was ushered into an entirely different reality. When I wake up in the morning, I still make coffee–but now I hang out with the baby while he plays. I work hard to check my email and get a shower before his morning nap so that I can hit the ground running as soon as his head hits the pillow. I’m still juggling the bill-paying work with my writing career, and it seems like that money doesn’t stretch as far as it did before, so I’m always drumming up new ways to make money, which eats into the writing time even more. I do have a babysitter, but I need her to get the bill-paying work done, especially since my son is a poor sleeper and rarely takes naps longer than an hour. (Hour long naps happen only when I’m lucky!)

I’ve lost the luxury of time, something any mother knows all about.

So I’ve been learning to write in increments. The best advice I’ve received all year came from another writing mother who also juggles a demanding full-time faculty position at a community college. Her kids are older but she knows what writing moms deal with. I was making an appearance at a literary festival and fielding audience questions and her question was this: “How do you balance it all?” I laughed and said, “Not very well!” Afterward, she came over and told me that the year before, she’d started her new job and was wondering how she would keep writing and still keep up with her workload. She’d noticed–as I’ve noticed–that many of the other full-time English faculty “used to write.” She didn’t want her writing to be a casulty of the job. So she asked another faculty member with a strong publishing record in poetry how he managed.

And this is what he told her: “Do a little bit of everything every day.” Do a little bit of grading…do a little bit of writing…do a little bit of committee work…

Her advice hit me like a ton of bricks. My strategy up to that point had been to clear my plate of everything else and then try to get a morning to write. I was always frustrated, though, because I’d get my grading done (it had to get done, after all) and I’d get the editorial work done (I was on deadline, after all) but when I sat down to write, inevitably, that would be the morning when my son wouldn’t take a nap. Or he’d be sick. Or I’d sit at the computer with nothing to write because I wasn’t in the mode for it. I’d never had that problem before–the writing always flowed. And it always flowed because I sat down every day and what I was working on was always in the back of my mind. Take a week or two weeks off and then try to write for several hours–uh-uh, wasn’t happening. The juices take a while to flow and you have to keep them flowing. So writing just a little bit every day makes total sense. If all you have is 15 minutes, do it. If you’re lucky enough to have an hour, take it.

That advice isn’t just for writing, by the way. If you’re anything like me, you battle daily with Creep and Clutter. I’m learning to attack one thing every day. That means I’m not trying to keep everything bright and shiny, but if I can clean one drawer in 15 minutes, at least that one drawer is better. I’m hoping that this will help me get and stay organized over all.

And as for the writing, it’s happening. It’s just a whole lot slower than it used to be….

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Sleepless Nights and the Life of an Artist

Published on December 15, 2011 in mother writer and writing. 2 Comments

14 months ago, I became a mother, and the sleepless nights began. Every other baby I know has gone on to sleep through the night, but not my son. He gets up at least 3 or 4 times a night, and frequently gets up 5 or 6 or even 7 or 8 times a night. He wakes screaming and it can take more than an hour for him to go back to sleep. (I learned the hard way that if you leave him in the crib, he’ll just keep crying.) And sometimes he’ll just be awake–wide-awake–for a long time, like last night, when he was up for close to two hours.

I’m not writing to complain. Though I’ve noticed the perpetually dark circles under my eyes, and though some mornings I have to drag myself out of bed, and though some nights I get super mad at him (like last night, where I finally said, in a firm, almost cruel voice, ”Play time is over, my friend,”), I’ve learned to deal.

In fact, recently, I decided to use that time to write. Obviously, I can’t write write. But I can write in my head. I can think about my current novel-in-progress and work out plot problems. Or think about my dreams (which are dramatic and spell-binding and memorable, especially since they get interrupted in media res) and how they could translate into a story. I’ve never been the type of writer who would drag myself out of bed at 3 a.m. to write because I had to get an idea down, but now I’m dragged out of bed most nights at 3 a.m. so at least I can think about things, and then take notes come morning.

I’ll let you know if it works.

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