Do I have New Year’s resolutions? Not really, but over the next two days, I try to include all things that I would like to continue over the year. Some will be the habits I want to start; others the habits I’d like to keep. So I will write at least a little, walk a bit, drink coffee, and the like. It’s a superstition of sorts, a reminder of what is important.
We will eat good luck foods. The ones we have slated are pork (German), noodles (Chinese), and pickled herring (Scandinavian). Not simultaneously. We have Chinese peanut butter noodles on the menu, and that’s one of my favorite comfort foods, so I’m all in.
Every year, we have a Lord of the Rings marathon starting on New Year’s Eve. I’m not tired of it yet. We don’t stay up till midnight, because I need my sleep and my body is picky about when I get it. We don’t party because we’ve always thought New Year’s parties are depressing.
So if you wanted to know how two old nerds spend their New Year, here you go.
By the way, Reclaiming the Balance goes live tomorrow!
My novel Reclaiming the Balance comes out January 1st, and I’m feeling pretty blase about it. I had an online celebration for the first two books but found it awkward (just as I would a real book launch party, I suspect). I don’t throw myself parties well; I haven’t had parties for any of my milestone birthdays, for which I am relieved.
I find myself craving attention, but I feel embarrassed when I get it. I’d love the recognition as long as I don’t have to be there for it (“We had a party for you. It went great.”) This must be part of the phenomenon I have named ‘Midwestern female syndrome’ where one feels the need to be inwardly perfect while maintaining an external shell of mediocrity.
So I will mark New Year’s Day with a note in the blog, on Facebook and Blue Sky and maybe Threads. I highly suggest reading the book, although I would recommend the first two (Gaia’s Hands and Apocalypse) first.
We decided to stay in Des Moines overnight to break the trip back into a couple of days. Des Moines is a comfortable big city; I could live here. Richard, on the other hand, is worried about the snowy weather, which we are not having right now. It’s 46 degrees out and perpetually rainy. We’re waiting out the dense fog advisory south of us, so we’re at a Starbucks so I can write.
I’m bouncing ideas off Richard for a future novel in the Hidden in Plain Sight series. Apparently six is not enough. I like the characters in the series too much to quit writing. Right now, it involves the desert commune, Hearts are Mountains, and threats to the Archetypes there. If you’re preternatural beings with lots of power, this shouldn’t be much of a problem, right? But there’s the part where you don’t want to reveal your true, near-immortal identity. And the part where you used to be guardians of the humans, charged with keeping their ancestral memories, but as guardians you also can’t allow yourselves to be killed. The threat extends to the first child born in the commune, and the collective is immoderately protected of him… The story needs much more thought, but leave it to say there are problems with just killing the aggressors, and problems in not killing them. This is just an idea. There are other ideas, and we have another 2.5-hour drive to come up with them.
It would be nice if this story idea would break my writers’ block. I have been taking a break from writing because it’s not coming easily for me. I’m fighting the usual misgivings that come with being a writer. I have heard I would have these misgivings even if I were a writer on a contract like few lucky writers are.
Does the world need to hear my stories? Probably not as much as I need to tell them. But I always keep hope.
I met him on the stairs in the hall. I hadn’t seen him in forever, wizened man, twinkling blue eyes. He held his arms out for a hug; as always, nothing could make life any better than that moment.
He told me he ventured out to visit his other family, whom I had heard of but didn’t know. I watched him Out the door, into the cold.
Only then, I remembered we had buried him years before.
Today I’m sitting in the one coffeehouse in Ottawa IL that is not corporate, Jeremiah Joe’s. It’s housed in a former department store building, so it’s a large space with tables and comfortable chairs scattered throughout. My spot is a little drafty, located close to the large display windows. I’ve put on my coat.
I remember Famous Department Store, whose name is still outlined in the entrance to the building. We didn’t shop here a lot while I was growing up, preferring the less expensive Sears and Montgomery Ward’s, and often the deep-discount Bel-Mill (pronounced ‘Bel-Mell’) in Marseilles (pronounced ‘Mar-Sales’). There’s my obligatory useless reminiscence, which I feel is part of my reward for living 61 years.
I’m drinking an excellent latte, which tastes of an espresso blend with some real character. It’s cloudy enough outside that I’m wondering if we’ll get snow. The forecast says no. Ah, well, no white Christmas for us, but there’s Christmas music on the sound system and lots of decorations throughout Ottawa.
In a perfect world, there would be a university here, and I would be teaching at it. I would live somewhere in Ottawa, where I would be close enough to Chicago to occasionally pick up a play or concert. It is not a perfect world, however, and I work at a university in a town that could a little rejuvenation and some more quirk. We certainly don’t have ‘Feminists Against Fascism’ in Maryville MO. Or an independent bookstore, an indie coffeehouse or the jewel of the state park system. (To be fair, Maryville MO has a Starbucks in the university library, which makes it exceptional for both Starbucks and university libraries. Maryville also has a city-maintained park which features cabins, fishing, and a hotel.)
Maybe Ottawa would not be as cozy to me if I lived here. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like Christmas here if it were something I experienced daily. Maybe the lack of Trump signs here lulls me into a false sense of security. But people are hugging in the cafe, and the baubles hanging from light poles downtown add a needed festivity, and Wal-Mart is not the center of the community.
Let me soak up a bit more of the atmosphere and find myself window-shopping downtown. I need to store it up to last me a year or so.
We made it to Utica/Ottawa/Starved Rock Illinois, and we are settled in for the next couple days. The cabin is the same one we’ve stayed in previous years, with a fireplace and a cozy atmosphere. The bathroom is a bit chilly to remind the occupants that this is absolutely a cabin.
Before we checked in, we wandered over to Ottawa to check out The Cheese Shop. It is actually a decent cheese shop and deli, and the lunch special was that specialty of LaSalle County — pork tenderloin sandwiches. The tenderloins here are thin and tender and crispy and bigger than the buns — all one wants in a pork tenderloin sandwich. Ottawa is decked nicely, and there’s a Kristkindl (sp?) market near the river that I wished I had time to wander. It will probably be gone by the time we get back Monday.
I am in the Great Hall at the lodge proper right now. There are massive wood tables and low couches in a rustic style that have to be over 50 years old, probably older. I’ve seem lots of hugs; families are gathering for Christmas.
This is the fireplace in the Great Hall. It is actually two-sided, but the other side is blocked off for a wedding or something.
There’s a little gift shop just off the lobby. It’s an eclectic blend of souvenirs, jewelry, t-shirts, and outfits for women of all ages certain age who shop. Not me, though; I’m pretty casual (and cheap). There are some flannel shirts I covet on one display rack and what looks like a big leather backpack which I really covet (but can’t afford). Ok, false alarm — the backpack is not leather.
There’s a young girl in flannel pajamas with her father who’s wearing his flannel pants as well, and a gingerbread house contest spread along a couple tables. I think the replica of the hotel wing of the lodge (Made by the Maintenance Department) wins, with the chalet in second place.
I’m supposed to write a romance novel about this place. I wish I had the guts to ask to tour the kitchen, because it’s part of the story. I do know, however, what commercial kitchens look like and how they operate, because I spent my college years in them as a prep cook and my thirties volunteering as a head cook for a soup kitchen.
I have discovered that there is a paucity of outlets in the Great Lodge and the cabin, but there are (or at least were) a bevy of writing desks somewhere on second floor of the hotel section that probably have outlets. I’m going to have to give up my scenic view before long because my iPad is down to 36 35% battery.
Maybe some more typing (I might actually write some of the story) and then a dip in the hot tub and a nap or enjoying the fireplace in the cabin. It’s going to be a relaxing Sunday for sure.
I’ve spoken of this before — I’ll be going to Starved Rock State Park in Illinois, to spend five days in a cabin celebrating the season. The holiday comes with nearby Utica (‘North Utica’ according to the maps) and Ottawa, towns that have managed to not be too touristy despite their existence as a day trip out of Chicago. I often call Ottawa a great campus town without the campus.
The park (as you can see here) is scenic in the winter, with frozen waterfalls and canyons throughout. Hiking is a little hazardous without good boots, however, because sandstone bluffs are bad to fall off of.
The area has a good Christmas feel. The downtowns don’t have a lot of missing businesses, the streets are decked with lights, and last time we were there there were ice sculptures melting on each corner. They might have snow when we arrive there Saturday.
Ottawa is a great place to eat. Among our favorites are Lone Buffalo (a brewpub), B.A.S.H. (Upscale casual fusion — the name stands for Burger and Sushi House), and Sunfield Restaurant (breakfast). There’s also an indie coffeehouse called Jeremiah Joe’s. There should be more, but there are not.
One place we’re going to discover while we’re in Ottawa is the Cheese Shop. Yes, that is its name. It is, not surprisingly, a cheese shop and deli. I encountered it many years ago on a hike on the Illinois-Michigan canal path. I dropped off the path and ended up right at the Cheese Shop. But it’s hard to find, tucked over in obscure Ottawa side streets. I haven’t been there in, say, 20 years but it’s still there. They might have the famous Polancic tenderloin sandwiches (a local delicacy) for lunch.
There’s also decent window shopping in Ottawa and Utica. I’m not much of a shopper, but I love window shopping. There’s a decent bookstore in Ottawa; a winery in Utica, various little shops.
We’re going to visit my sister and her husband while we’re there. Not a lot, because my sister is more of an introvert than I am.
It should be a busy few days, but I expect some time in the cabin to watch the fire in the fireplace, or in the Great Hall to enjoy a bigger fire and people-watching. Hopefully some time to write, as my next Kringle adventure will take place there.
I would love a perfect spot for reading and writing. My space is not so perfect, being a corner of the living room, where I have a sofa laptop holder pulled up to a loveseat that rocks and reclines. It’s not the most comfortable, because I have to kind of hold myself in place while writing.
The ideal space would allow both reading and writing, and a sense of cozy privacy without being too small. The furniture would be a lot like the living room is set up now — a large recliner couch to read on with my feet up, and a loveseat that doesn’t rock set up with the lap desk. It wouldn’t need bookshelves, because I read exclusively on my phone. But the room would need to have a stereo and decent speakers for background music.
It would need a hot water dispenser for tea and coffee. I would make the coffee in a French press or maybe a Chemex. I would like a small refrigerator for cold drinks to complete the refreshment area.
To be honest, this is an awful lot like my living room, except for the clutter and the problem with the loveseat. Maybe I’m in the perfect place after all.
I really wanted the author fair to go better. But the weather was abysmal, and we only had about fifteen people come through. None of them wanted to read Christmas romances or serious fantasy romance, so I didn’t sell a single book. As I have been fretting lately as to whether I should be trying to market my books in the first place, I felt this was my message from the universe telling me to quit.
Then I got this urge to go to Starbucks with my husband afterwards, rather than going home to cry (I really did feel bad). There, I ran into one of the other authors, who had not sold any books either. We commiserated with each other and talked about what we knew was true about being an indie writer — the difficulties in finding venues to sell, the role of luck in getting recognized, and the need to just keep trying.
My husband and I went to Raku for ramen after that and ran into a young woman with whom I had a wild conversation the other day, about lots of subjects including writing as a way to get your feelings in order. She thanked me profusely for getting her back into writing.
So I think messages from the universe are present. As a Friend (Quaker), I have learned to listen for them. I don’t know what to credit them to — “The Universe” seems to have the least baggage attached to it. But I’m listening.
Today is the local author’s fair at the public library, and I am suffering from a severe case of impostor’s syndrome. This is new; normally I enjoy the author’s fair, given that it’s the only time I go out in the public and talk about my books. But this year I feel reluctant to do so.
None of these people is me.
It’s something I have been fighting for a little while, though. I’ve been wrestling with writing something new, I have been unmotivated, I’ve just been feeling blah about my endeavors.
It’s even more complicated than that, of course. I’m afraid of sinking (further?) into obscurity, and I’m equally afraid of my writing career picking up. I don’t want it to stay the same, either. I’m at an impasse where there’s a boulder on the road in front of me and a washout behind me.
Given all this, I would prefer my career to go forward, because that difficulty would come with a side of satisfaction, which is not as present in the other options. I’m all for climbing over the boulder somehow if I can manage it. There’s much I can’t manage in terms of promotion and the like; I am doing all I can within my time and money means. But I have a presence on Facebook, Threads, Blue Sky, and in this blog, and I send a newsletter to 2800 people. To torture my boulder metaphor further, what I need is a bolt of lightning to pulverize that rock so I can climb over it.
I guess what I want is for the effort to be worth it, because I’ve written 9 novels (plus one that didn’t survive) and I feel foolish writing another. If you have a moment for good wishes, wish for me to find a way over the boulder.
Words Like Me 