Author: lleachie

I am an associate professor of human services at a regional Midwestern university. I am also a writer of fantasy and romance, hoping to get traditionally published. I have one husband and am owned by four cats.

Rain

I sit in my favorite Maryville coffeehouse, the Board Game Cafe, and watch the rain outside. 

I love rain. I love gloomy skies and the hiss of car tires on the pavement. I love gentle rain misting the garden. I love watching gullywashers as the torrent of raindrops sheet across the street. I love the patter of the raindrops on the metal garage roof and the boom of the thunderclaps. I love the feeling of resignation I get when I’m so drenched there’s no use in dodging the raindrops anymore and I love the warmth of the indoors.

Rain reminds us that we don’t have total control of our lives, and that’s a welcome realization to me. We plan, and then we miss something, like what to do when the picnic is rained out, or whether we packed an umbrella in the car. Not only do we not have to be perfect, but we can’t be perfect, because we can’t predict everything. 

Like, for example, the rain.

 

Make time

I need to start writing today!

I’ve spent the last couple of days prepping and planting in the garden (there will be more to come) and not touching the edit of Apocalypse. But I’m close to done with the beginning part, which is the part I had to add to the manuscript. I don’t know if rewriting the second part with its many faults (point of view confusion, dragging plot places) is going to be easier or harder.

I’m going on a writing retreat tomorrow afternoon through Thursday morning at Mozingo Lake. That will get me away from the many distractions here (including cats, which my husband will take care of before joining me). 

I suppose the break was good for me, although I feel like if I don’t write today, I’ll find something else to do like making plant labels. Or shopping for more plants — stop it! 

I still have to make myself a routine so I don’t spend the summer surfing. I’m going to have a TA to help me organize classes, so I need time for that. And my summer class next week …

I’m obviously an extrovert, because I’m thinking with my mouth open — or, more accurately, while typing. But there’s an important lesson here for writers: Make time.

Garden update

I’ve been fighting depression again lately, and a touch of illness, but —

I get to plant things today!

I just got a plant order in from Richter’s Herbs in Canada, a combination of prosaic (Italian parsley and lavender), intriguing (nepitella, which tastes a bit like an oregano-mint) and fun (scented leaf geraniums). Most of these will go on “the hill”, a dirt-covered rip slope whose sparseness actually duplicates the origins of many of the herbs we love.

I also have to harden off my indoor seedlings so they can be planted without sun damage. Tomatoes and peppers and flowers and more herbs! 

I will probably plant my roots and greens this week, which is the breathing room between end of semester and internships/online class/other things I need to do. Then I will spend an hour each morning making sure I give my plants the attention they deserve — weeding, picking produce, etc. 

Some of the weeds we will eat. Lamb’s quarters taste better than spinach when cooked. I considered eating the poke sallet that keeps infringing on the shady spot I want to transform into a hosta garden, but I just can’t warm up to a green that you have to cook three times over to make it non-toxic. I’ve also not cooked dandelion greens this year — by the time I notice them, they’ve flowered, and they’re too bitter to eat.

The other thing I should mention — everything I plant is edible, one part or another. This year there will be an exception — I am putting in a moon garden by request of my husband. The moon garden will be romantic but deadly, which sounds like a stock antihero in fiction, doesn’t it?

 I am hoping the summer hours and the gardening will get me out of my depression. I don’t tell you a lot about what the depression is like, so you’ll have to take my words for it. Wish me luck.

Summer productivity

My school year officially ended at noon yesterday, after I finalized my grades and finished my office hours. Now I’m officially in summer mode. 

That means I have some uninterrupted blocks for writing. This doesn’t mean I’ll only be writing this summer. I have a class I’m taking in administration of disaster mental health programs, I have at least twenty interns to supervise, I have research I should do, I have classes to put together for the summer, I have my gardening …

Professors don’t really have the summer off, we just have more freedom to schedule things as we need them.

So, writing. I’m celebrating the end of the semester with a writing retreat in a cabin at Mozingo Lake next week for two nights. I’m hoping the change of scenery will help me get ahead on the rewrite for Apocalypse.  

I’m talking this all out loud because the concept of planning out this summer productivity is new to me. Before my bipolar diagnosis, I pushed myself hard at the end of the semester, usually swinging between hypomanic and depressed, then collapsed on the finish line and slept for two weeks. Or longer. A lot of summers went by when I could barely function to do my summer work. 

Being able to enjoy productivity on my own terms is a very new concept for me. And I plan to enjoy it.


Self-esteem, according to Positive Psychology

This essay is my answer to an essay question I gave my personal adjustment class on their take-home final:


In positive psychology, there are two theories of self-esteem, and they lie at polar opposites to each other. One is sociometer theory, which says we get our self-esteem by how others see us, and the other is self-affirmation theory, which says we get our self-esteem by what we tell ourselves. 

The general belief in popular culture that affirmations can help our mood is based on self-affirmation theory. I will admit that my daily affirmations — “I am worthy of love/I am worthy of luck/I am worthy of success/I am worthy of good things” make me look at my life more positively. 

But my gut tells me that sociometer theory may be dominant in explaining self-esteem. We have a natural need to fit in. It’s a survival mechanism, so it’s only natural that we base our self-esteem by the ability to fit in. When we look at bullying and its relationship to teen suicides, we see sociometer theory at work, because bullies target the victim’s need to look outward for self-esteem. 

On the other hand, society needs outsiders as well, people who don’t fit in, because that’s where societal change happens. Maybe those people (and I consider myself one of those people) use self-affirmation to have the strength to live their lives courageously. I find myself longing that I could fit in, because it would be so much easier, but I work hard on my self-affirmations so I can continue to function.

Writing in the Middle of Finals

I’ve been pushing myself to write at least 600 words a day on the novel despite finals week. That’s not a lot of words per day to be honest; in November (NaNoWriMo month) I can write 2000 words per day easily.  

To write, I need to have at least two hours blocked off. That’s not a big problem finals week, because I have fewer classes and more flexible time. The big problem is unfettered time to think. During finals week, especially Spring semester, everything seems urgent: Grade all the end of semester student work. Write and grade finals. Prepare end of semester/end of year paperwork. Pledge to do things differently next semester.

So this week I don’t have the space in my brain for ideas to flow. The ideas feel frustratingly compartmentalized. I check Facebook entirely too much.

This too will pass, when I take a deep breath after turning my grades in, and then schedule a summer routine where (between interns and a class I’m taking) I will schedule time to write.

 

Thunderstorms

It’s six-fifteen in the morning and it still looks like night. We are in the midst of thunderstorms, although I think we’re between fronts right now. 
 
I grew up listening to thunderstorms at night, convinced it was my duty to wake up the family if the house got hit by lightning. I love thunderstorms despite a childhood short of sleep; they became my confidante late at night. 

Today I wait for the rumbles of thunder as the glowering clouds travel closer, the swishing of the trees, the gouts of rain. I fancy myself a witch of the storm, holding my arms skyward, drenched by an onslaught of rain. In reality, I’m afraid enough of lightning that I would not do something that foolish. 

North of us, the roads are still flooded by a freakish mix of melting snow from the Dakotas and hard rain. South and east of us, there’s a chance of severe weather, which includes hail, high winds, and tornadoes. Lightning strikes kill people every year. 

Thunderstorms command respect. Even as I enjoy them, I keep them at a distance.


The joys of rejection

I am beginning to like rejection.

No, honestly, I don’t like rejection. After all, who likes rejection? Who gets up in the morning and says, “I’m so looking forward to getting rejected!”?

I like improving my work, honing my craft (although that latter phrase sounds so pretentious to me and nothing like the actual process with all its sweat and tears and cutting savage chunks out of a work in progress). 

I like looking at an old draft and wondering how I thought that was the book as it should be. 

I like the image of myself as someone who cares enough about their work to seek out a developmental editor. Who cares enough about their readers to not put out a rough version of that book.

I also like the idea of getting published, so wish me luck.

Hard Work

Got a rejection for a short story yesterday. I’m not too upset; I think I shoehorned my entry into the theme and it didn’t quite fit. I only have one thing out there now, and that’s Prodigies with a major press. The likelihood of this being accepted is very low, I’ll admit, but it will still hurt a lot if I get rejected.

What from there? Try to shop out the dev-edited version of Voyageurs, which is short at 70,000 words but we’ll see. Work on the rewrite of Apocalypse (which will take a few months at best guess) and send it back to my dev editor.  See what tweaks might help Prodigies‘ saleability and shop it back out. Send Whose Hearts are Mountains to dev edit. See if I can salvage Gaia’s Hands in case Apocalypse gets sold and it needs a prequel. Write something else, maybe finish Gods’ Seeds.

It’s hard work, and so far has been fruitless. But if I’m going to be published, I want it to be my best, and my expectations have been raised by beta-readers and dev editors and my own revelations about where my stories could go. 

Someday, I hope,my hard work will bear fruit.