If I get through the next two weeks, I tell myself, I’ll be scot-free.
It’s that time of the semester. The last week before finals, and I have two major assignments coming in on Friday. And two essay exams the week after. And then summer and internships.
Summer and internships are a lot easier, because my time is more my own. I have paperwork, grading, and internship visits, but I have more freedom to schedule them. And I have time on my own.
Maybe I’ll get something written.
My first time camping was in college. I had gone with a friend of mine to Illinois Yearly Meeting (an annual meeting of Friends, or Quakers). Lodging at the Meetinghouse was primitive, rustic two-person dorm rooms. My friend Joan and I decided we would camp in the camping space across the road from the Meetinghouse.
Joan and I put up the tent (not a fancy one like we have nowadays) and we spent the day in activities. The tent was still standing by bedtime, which was a good sign. When we settled in, with our belongings tucked around us, it was a crowded time in the tent and we were tired. Not too tired to notice that my head lay on a tree root.
It stormed all night. Illinois thunderstorms are particularly resonant, so I couldn’t sleep very well. I finally fell asleep after the storm quit. Scant hours later, I woke at dawn, and noticed my air mattress was … floating.
“Joan?”
“Mrrph.” Joan was not a morning person.
“Joan? I think the tent flooded.”
Joan jumped up, and we assessed the state of the tent. Yes, it had flooded at one end, as had the entire campground. We were surrounded by dismayed people noticing that they, too, had taken water in their tents.
Joan and I did the only thing we could — we busted up laughing. We sorted out our clothing (mostly dry) and hung our tent and sleeping bags in the tree to dry. Needless to say, we slept in the dorms that night.
That was my first time camping. The fact that I’ve camped more than once is a testimony to my perseverence. Or my short memory. One of those two.
I feel most productive in the mornings. I wake up at 5 in the morning, sit in bed reading for 20 minutes, then get up for the day. Then I eat breakfast, write this blog during coffee, and by seven-thirty am ready for the workday.
My mind is at its sharpest from seven till about 2 PM. By then, I’m not what I’d call productive. I get most of my work done in the morning, and teach classes in the early afternoon. By three PM I’m ready to take a nap, although I’m not done until 5. My productivity is just not very productive in the late afternoon.
In the evening, I rest. I go to bed by eight, because I’m a morning person.
Hello! I’m Lauren’s husband, Richard. I’m also a writer, having written a smattering of short stories, some poetry, two novels, and multiple screenplays. I also on occasion help with a little bit of story development on Lauren’s two current book series: the Hidden in Plain Sight universe and her Christmas romance series, Kringle Conspiracy, which features several stories set in a fictionalized version of the town we live in here in NW Missouri.
So suffice it to say that while this post IS a bit of blatant marketing (hint, hint) in that I’m writing about Lauren’s writing in hopes of generating sales, it’s also because I think she writes thought-provoking series with interesting characters, and although her Hidden in Plain Sight series touches on some serious topics (yes, there’s a threatened species-wide apocalypse for humanity), you shouldn’t be put off by that, because (spoilers), humanity does survive. As writer Elizabeth Scarborough put it: “Luckily there is a sequel.”
So what I would suggest is reading the books to get to know her characters: the near-immortal Archetypes, the humans gifted with talents from Gaia, the members of the aforementioned Kringle Conspiracy who really do spread the spirit of Christmas(tm) while stumbling through their romances.
Trust me, you’ll find a good read in all of them.
I write a newsletter once a month for my (potential) readers. My reader list came from posting free copies of my book on BookFunnel, where people would read it in exchange for being put on my newsletter list. If you’re wondering what it’s all about, it’s a lot like this blog — a reflection that relates to the books, followed by book news and a freebie link to BookFunnel.
I have 2808 readers, most of whom (I suspect) do not read the newsletter. But that’s okay, some people are reading it. I don’t think any of them have bought a book. But that’s okay, someday they may. That 2800 people subscribe to my newsletter amazes me.
If you want to subscribe, drop me a line and I will put you on the subscriber list.
Indie-publishing a novel was a risk. Writing it was a Big Audacious Goal, but I could have left the book in a file folder forever. Letting it out there for people to read was a big risk.
What is the risk of putting my work out there for others to read? There’s a risk of being ridiculed, of being ignored, of losing one’s confidence in oneself. These bring up a lot of fear, like standing in front of a door, not knowing what is on the other side.
I took the risk by walking through that door. My first book published was a Christmas romance, The Kringle Conspiracy. It was a project whose seeds were planted in a high school short story I’d written. To publish, I had to edit the document, run it across some beta readers, and then the hard part: uploading it onto KDP (Kindle’s publishing arm) and hitting the button to publish.
I could have walked it back. I could have unpublished it before the wheels of KDP released it to the public, but I did not. I took the risk.
My results have been mixed. On one hand, I have not had a lot of readers (except for the 3300 who read it for free in exchange for getting put on my newsletter list.) On the other, the few people who have reviewed it have given it 4.5 stars out of five. It’s a modest success, but that’s not the reason I took the risk. I took it because it was another Big Audacious Goal, one that I could only accomplish through stepping through the door.
I’ve noticed that when I’m having writer’s block, I make a post about it, and then I get back into writing. As if complaining about my writer’s block solves it. Like griping is a magic incantation.
I’m going to have to find an alternate way to break my writer’s block. You all deserve better than to hear me bitch about my lack of production every couple of weeks.
So even though I’m back in a lull, I will not try to convince you that this horrible dry spell is the end of my writing career. It’s just the end of the semester catching up with me.
This is not going to be a very exciting answer. If I were a better person than I am, I would say something like meditation or reading, or walking. But the truthful answer is that I come home, recline in the recliner, and surf the Internet on my phone. I kill time in the most prosaic way possible.
I am a voracious reader of minutiae. It comes from wanting to absorb information and having a short attention span. So I binge-read Wikipedia, science websites, and Quora, looking for things to learn. I also like to read advice columns, because I like to know the right things to do in an awkward situation.
Sometimes I fall asleep in the recliner. I guess this is how one really winds down.
When I was about 11, the music director at the church had put together a children’s choir for Easter. There weren’t many of us, to be sure; it was a small church. We rehearsed in the choir loft on Wednesdays.
On Easter, my friend Kay, who was in the choir, was set in charge of her cousin Denise. Denise was older than us, but she had developmental disabilities and the maturity of a six-year-old. Therefore, she ended up in the choir loft with us. The choir director, Mrs. Rose, said it was okay as long as Kay didn’t let Denise sing because Denise would “ruin the music”.
Denise was crushed. One of her favorite things to do was to sing. As I stood singing, I felt a creeping sense of remorse. This was God’s house, and we were denying Denise an opportunity to worship the one way she knew how. We had decided Denise wasn’t worthy to be heard. This didn’t sound like the God we learned about in Catechism. It didn’t matter to me that Denise would ruin our rehearsed music. I felt the music would be perfect if all our voices were heard.
At the end, Mrs. Rose gave each of us a dollar coin. In those days, a dollar coin was an impressive size and was considered special. I took mine, ashamed of myself for having been one that had rejected Denise. This was my fifty pieces of silver. Soon, I left the choir, and it didn’t last for long after that because there weren’t enough of us.
I tell this story, and most people don’t understand what the big deal was. After all, we had rehearsed for the opportunity, we had a specific sound that Mrs. Rose wanted to capture, and Denise would have ruined it. But I believed that God loved everyone, and that everyone was welcome at God’s table.
Later, much later, I became a Quaker because everyone is welcome at their table. And, if liturgy had been part of their services, they would have let Denise sing.
There are six words that someone can say that make me so nervous, I have to work not to panic. They’re not uncommon words either. All it takes is the phrase “I need to talk to you.” It doesn’t matter if it’s my boss, my husband, or a friend — the phrase makes me spiral.
In my mind, nothing good comes from that phrase. It speaks of being called into the office and reprimanded, or worse. My heart rate goes up, my stomach churns, and my mind searches for what I may have done wrong.
It’s even worse when someone says that to me and they can’t talk to me until the next day. I spend that entire day in near-panic mode. I can lose whole days to the nervousness.
Usually, however, the actual message is not nearly as nerve-wracking as the wait. It’s usually about something like taking on an extra class for the semester or leaving the bath mat on the floor. Nothing worth two days of terror. My mind, however, refuses to believe that the next time someone says “I need to talk to you.”
I advise anyone who says “I need to talk to you” to give me a synopsis of what we’re talking about so I can prepare for the meeting. But really, it’s so I don’t lose my mind worrying.
Words Like Me 