Notes to My Kids on Mother’s Day

If people bring you joy, let them know.

If people are mean to you, don’t give them the time it takes to respond. Walk away and don’t look back.

If a lover breaks your trust, you will get over it. Move on. If a friend does, your heart will be broken forever.

When angry, walk away before you respond. Come back when you can talk.

Know there is nothing you can do that will make me not love you.

If there is an unmarked path, go for a hike.

If you’re near a lake, go swimming. Light a fire to warm up. Trust me on this.

Know that you have to be scared to move forward. New things are scary. Go over, under or through. Just keep going. You can rest when you get there.

Do something that brings you joy. Every day.

Know that if you can debate with me, there is no one that will conquer your spirit.

Know that you always have your family. And your cats. We’ve got your back.

Know that I make you keep your elbows off the table so you can go anywhere and do anything. Same goes for grammar.

Know that I made a choice to have children. One of you I got to pick. The other two I chose to have. There were four times in my life that I didn’t second-guess myself. You were three of them.

Know that I have grown more as a person being your mom than I ever would have without you.

Know that I will love you forever.

Don’t believe people when they tell you an idea won’t work. They don’t know of what you’re capable. And you won’t know either until you try. So try.

Know by the way I look at you how I feel. Words don’t always come out of my mouth the right way.

Know that if I didn’t have to work, I wouldn’t.

Understand what this means:

Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.  -Albert Einstein

 

Read.

Write.

Draw.

Dance.

Play.

Love.

Oh and please, for the love of all things right in this world, wash your feet. With soap.

-Mom

 

 

Folding and How Writing is Like Parenting: A Top Ten

Well hello. I’ve missed you.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind and I had to shut down a bit, become detail-oriented…

Sometimes the noise gets too loud and I rush along ramping up until there is nothing left. I took the other route this time.

I like to bake. I like the quiet of it. The precision. I like folding in the banana and chocolate chips into the batter. That cake there? Chocolate chip banana cake with a peanut butter buttercream frosting. Yummo. I finished it at midnight the day before the family birthday party for two of my kids.

I’ve been plugging away at my rewrites, word by word, sentence by sentence. When you bake a cake it makes a difference if you stir in the chips or fold them in. For some reason, stirring makes the chips fall to the bottom. Folding keeps them nice and plump throughout. Folding takes more time. Folding makes a better cake.

I’m folding my words at present. I had been stirring, seeing a sentence mashing it up and around and then moving on. But since I write in the morning, the rest of the day at work it would bother me. I felt as if I had left the oven on. So I stopped.

I know. Me. I stopped. I began to really look at the words and instead of switching around words, I disemboweled those letters until they were completely new. New words, new sentences. Ugly and painful and time-consuming but hopefully, the book will be better because of it.

And now because lists are fun:

Top Ten Reasons Writing is Like Parenting

1. The first one is always a disaster. You learn as you go. Either stick it in a desk, or screw the college fund and save for therapy instead.
2. The first book is neurotic. The last book is laid-back and going to run the world.
3. Books have a mind of their own. Don’t try to shove a plotline in there that doesn’t belong. It will rebel.
4. If you do shove a plotline in there that doesn’t belong, be prepared to take it apart and put it back together. See number 1.
5. The more you write, the better writer you’ll be. Don’t disengage. Quantity yields quality more times than not. Just keep going.
6. A book is made of black marks, then letters, then words, then sentences, then paragraphs, then chapters. Don’t worry about the chapters.
7. Think small to achieve greatness.
8. Be kind to your book. Sometimes it really is just having a temper tantrum and needs empathy. Avoid the urge to chuck it out the window.
9. There will always be people who do it better. And that will always be irrelevant. You are the only writer this book has. Work hard at it.
10. When all else fails, tuck the book in bed and pour a glass of wine. Maybe have a bit of cake. Better, right?

 

No More Cake

The last Christmas party is over. The big gift of the last party was my son’s Easy Bake oven. There’s been a whole mess of hoopla lately about the gender issue with the ol’ Easy Bake and there is one thing I just don’t understand. Why are purple and pink considered “girl” colors? Isn’t that the issue? How can a color be gendered and how stupid are we as a society to reinforce such an idiotic notion?

As shocking as it is, my son unwrapped his purple Easy Bake oven with girly swirls all over it, and squealed with delight. I then told him, “I had no idea they made them in Superhero Purple!” He nodded knowingly and then proceeded to carry the box around the room to show it to everyone. You may recall the day we painted his nails “Tough Guy Turquoise” because that was the color he wanted.

The part I want you to take a minute and wrap your head around is that grown adults are racking their brains to figure a solution to these mind-blowing issues. Marketers are being called in, accounting people, all to see if it makes sense to create a traditional girl toy in a different color so that boys can use it. Seriously. This is what we’re worried about.

In other news, I have reached maximum stomach capacity. I cannot eat another thing. Not a cookie, not a cake, not a cake pop, not an Easy Bake cupcake the size of my thumbnail. Nothing. My stomach is distended like a pregnant Bonobo and I could stare down a peanut butter pie without a moment of doubt as to whether I want a piece. If I could see the pie past my stomach. The toes are long gone.

I need water, air and maybe some iceburg lettuce. Maybe by next week some ice cubes.

The New Year fast approaches and I don’t have any resolutions. There are many things I’d like to focus on, but at my increasing age and sensibility (and did I mention girth?) it seems silly to put a all-out war on anything. I will eat less, I will run more, I will watch television less, I will read more, I will be kinder, I will write more…

Come on. Haven’t I said this all before?

How about this?

I will make a concerted effort to challenge every sentence I type out.

I will be kinder and gentler to my body which isn’t getting any younger.

I will play games with my children and when I’ve had enough I will tell them to GO PLAY.

I will write this book until it’s done, whether that takes a month or a year. It takes what it takes.

I will run when the feeling strikes me but hopefully before I outgrow every damn pair of jeans in my closet.

I will actively make a small choice every day to get me closer to my dream job.

I will.

Today I worked more on the book and finished typing notebook five. Only six and seven to go, seven only being about half a notebook. I have typed two hundred pages.

Booyah, baby.

Happy New Year to all of you. May your resolutions not kick your ass and if they do just remember: there’s always January 2nd to begin again.

xoxo

Fa la la la la, la la laaaaa BOOKS!

I realize that people keep on about the demise of the written word and all I have to say is BAH HUMBUG.

In that spirit, I’m doing my part and thought I’d share my bookish gifts this season.

1. For the four-year old boy on my list: The Sandman by William Joyce (He adored The Man on the Moon also by William Joyce, highly recommended. The pictures are stunning.) and This is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen.
2. Seven-Year old boy: Attack of the Fluffy Bunnies by Andrea Beatty (no idea but the cover is fantastic and it seemed to be the right combination of pictures and words to keep his attention) and Superfudge by Judy Blume (we just finished some short stories, The Pain and the Great One also by Judy Blume which both older kids loved. She hasn’t lost her touch for the age group).
3. Twelve-year old girl: Endlessly by Kiersten White (the last in the trilogy starting with Paranormalcy which my daughter has been eating up) and Days of Blood and Starlight by Laini Taylor.
4. For a soon-to-be divorcee of forty-something in need of escapist paranormal: Paranormalcy by Kiersten White, Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor and The Mermaid Collector by Erika Marks. Wait. How did that extra copy get in here? Merry Christmas to me.
5. For the sixty-something grandma reader: The Mermaid Collector by Erika Marks (she loved Little Gale Gumbo last Christmas) and The Rules of Civility by Amor Towles.
6. For the father who has everything: Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power by Jon Meacham (I saw the author on the Colbert Report and it actually made me want to read a nonfiction book. I know.)  and an encyclopedia of rifles, essentially my dad’s type of picture book.
7. For the husband: Oh. Hello there, dear. You didn’t think I’d fall for that trick, did you?

I’ve been trying to borrow books from the library more often as we’re running out of space. The last two books I’ve read were Telegraph Avenue by Michael Chabon and By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham

(oh my god how I loved this book. It has some emotional power that I still don’t understand. It is one of my favorite books of 2012 and I don’t even know exactly why. Is there anything better than loving something and not understanding its power? No. No there is not.)  They were both checked out of the library. So good, right? Now you have to understand that I freak out if I don’t have a book to read and as luck would have it I finished By Nightfall on my trip in to work one morning. Oh. No.

I snuck out of work and like any junkie found a crack house bookstore and before I realized what was happening, NW by Zadie Smith was tucked in my bag.

I returned home that night and laid it on the table. My husband, exasperated, looked at me, “Will you please not buy any more books before Christmas?” Oops. I think he may have rolled his eyes.

So goes the life of a book-loving gal.

What’s in your Santa bag?

Vacation Thoughts

 

A week in the mountains soothes the savage beast, no? On the long car ride home, I jotted down some thoughts in my notebook. For your amusement, here’s what my post-vacation brain looks like:

• I want Wes Anderson to create my life soundtrack. If you don’t own the Rushmore soundtrack, you should remedy that this instant and listen to it from beginning to end.
• A week without television-didn’t think about it, didn’t miss it.
• The pressure of the accomplishment is so backwards. All of it should be focused on the journey. I hate the cliché of the word “journey” so perhaps path, a path through a wood over roots and stones. In reality, what else is there other than the path? Why is momentary accomplishment weighted heavier than the trip? See writing, career, guitar, running, reading.
• Every moment should be with purpose. Time to sit and think is worth it. It is not a waste.
• Exercise-Kayaking and canoeing daily. Arms sore. Remember how great strong feels. Allow it to be a beginning towards health and building up rather than down. Choose active rather than passive in writing and in life.
• Life needs to be a balance. Bike, swim, run, write, music. Be the person you envy.
• Learn to make decisions. Even if it’s wrong, it’s just a different path. Err on the side of change and adventure. Great things come of bad decisions as well as good ones.
• Nothing is the end of the world even if it feels like if for a time.
• A job is only a job.
• Buy some short, Frye, light brown, motorcycle boots. Because well, they’re cool and life is too short to go without them.
• Dress, act, be who you are. Don’t wait to be thinner or any other accomplishment. Life Now.

Lyra’s vacation brain brought to you with love.

 

Thoughts on a Monday

My brain is scattered so please to enjoy…

• After seven years with the same company, my last day is tomorrow.  They are making it easier and easier to know I made the right decision.
• After working with one person for four years, a true friendship, I’ve realized that I’m picking arguments with him because I’m going to miss him. I push people away when I know things are going to change. No matter how evolved I think I become, I’m really just a girl sometimes.
• Went to the Mississippi Palisades for Father’s Day to hike around. While on a skinny path, with a steep embankment, my daughter yelled “You have a spider on you!” to my son who almost toppled over. New family rule: You may not yell “Spider!” when on paths where you can plummet to your death. Thank you.
• While driving the three hours to the Mississippi River, I was reading A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley. Imagine reading an awesome book, while being surrounded by the same farms she was writing about. Surreal. I haven’t seen the movie but it turns out, that it was filmed in a place that we passed.
• Reading said book has given me pause. Her writing is clean and simple, yet she builds and builds while still making you turn the pages for what will happen next. She writes big and succinct, somehow simultaneously.
• Sometimes the idea of getting my book to where it needs to be is so daunting it seems insurmountable. I try to convince myself that hard work can accomplish anything, but then I secretly wonder if it isn’t the case that some people just have it. I wonder what her first writings were like.
• Someone should put together a book of wonderful author’s drawer novels. It would be called There’s Hope For You Yet…
• I’ve been watching the first season of Mad Men and find it fascinating to see the characters before I knew them. I wish we could go back to dressing like them.
• I’m equally terrified and excited about my new job. I’m worried about getting deeper into my field and further away from writing.
• Sometimes the idea of running away is so appealing until you remember that you’re always with you wherever you go.
• Saying you can’t do something doesn’t soften the blow in case it’s true. It makes it true. Say you can and try it even if you fail. Work hard to prove yourself wrong.
• Figure out what your dream is. If you don’t know, how will you know where to aim.
• Go forth and write something. Even if it sucks, you’re getting better by the sheer act of writing and you are stilling your thoughts. Still thoughts are a gift, and not my forte. I better go write.

Love.

If Only…

If only I had more time to write…

That’s where it starts, the thoughts round and round my head, decisions I’ve made, how things could be different, always better in my mind’s eye, not things I’d like to admit, coming as they do from a place of someone has it easier, better.

If I spent time on my book instead of these posts…

I wouldn’t have met all of you. I wouldn’t have a dear friend whom I reach out to throughout the day with panic-stricken e-mails on the state of publishing. I wouldn’t have this posse, many of whom are now published or in the process, who get the joke, the one we don’t even admit to ourselves on most days, that although publishing a book is like winning the lottery, we think we’ll be the one. I wouldn’t be surrounded by people who think this is truly possible.

If I spent time on my book instead of planting with my kids…

I would have missed the moment when my son and I spotted an orange plastic Adirondack chair and somehow squeezed it in the front seat of my Honda Civic. I would have missed how hard he made me laugh as he squeezed into his younger brother’s booster seat, yelling “This is so embarrassing!” as the chair scratched up my hand every time I had to switch gears. We wouldn’t have been at Home Depot for the second time in as many hours because we forgot the dirt. We wouldn’t have gotten home, and the boys and I wouldn’t have planted random flower seeds into twenty-five small containers for our garden this summer. They wouldn’t be unfurling out of the dirt after five days. We wouldn’t have a border that will now be either Impatiens or seven-foot Sunflowers as we didn’t label the baby plants.

If I didn’t have to work, my book would be done…

And I’d spend all of my time in a panic about money, eventually losing my house. We wouldn’t have gotten a new washer when ours broke last month, and goodness knows, I barely use the vacuum. What the hell would I have done with a washboard and a metal basin.

If I didn’t live in the middle of nowhere, I’d have time to do it all. I’d be able to see my kids more, and write in all of my spare time instead of commuting…

If I didn’t live here, I wouldn’t have married my husband. I wouldn’t have two beautiful boys and my beautiful step-daughter. I would have a book and no family. I wouldn’t have my husband, the only one who knows me and loves me anyway. I can’t finish the thought. It strickens me to think of my life without him. I wake up at night sometimes in a panic at the idea of something happening to him, covered in sweat, a metallic taste in my mouth, the taste of adrenaline.

If I didn’t have the commute…

I wouldn’t have finished the book to begin with. I’d be doing most moms are doing, coming home, doing homework, taking care of business. My commute drudgery is also what allowed me to write a book, an hour at a time, an hour I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

Today I found out an acquaintance’s wife passed away. It is a year after she was diagnosed. I read her obituary and couldn’t get over her accomplishments in life, a full-life lived and cut short at the age of 54. 54. 54. She left behind a husband and two daughters. My heart breaks for them.

Every moment, every second is a decision. Cause and effect. And there are a bunch of “if only I…” segments. But as I started to think on them, it came to me that it is because of the things I am not doing, that I have what I have.

If I had made different decisions, I wouldn’t be me.

I’m forty years old and it’s about damn time I embrace the decisions I’ve made and start making the most of the blessings I have.

It’s only a damn book. All the rest? It’s my life.

One that I’m glad you’re all a part of.

The book will come in time, but if it doesn’t? I wouldn’t have traded one, single thing on my path.

They made me who I am.

Soundless Space

Important to remember that between each song on an album, there’s a soundless space; in each great novel, you gotta take a break to turn the page.

Silence.

Is it the most underrated sound?

Have you ever listened to music that didn’t know the value of a well-placed breath? Where it crescendos and crescendos and keeps going?

I’ve been thinking much about silence lately, how little there is of it. My husband and I did some Christmas shopping today and stopped by a mall. I detest shopping on the best of days, but Christmas shopping is the worst. The mall was full of desperate people standing in line to see Santa, kids pushed beyond any feasible limit, their watery eyes puffy, their cheeks splotchy messes of red. Angry parents telling scared children to smile. Oh my.

I get claustrophobic when I walk behind people I can’t get around, and it only adds to the chaos when there is piped in Christmas music in the main mall competing for attention with the insanely loud pop coming out of the retail stores. The lines for sale items at 60% off! were long and people were crazy.

For the end of the year when the country is in such an economic mess, the whole scene was surreal straight out of an indie movie where the retail clerk goes home and offs herself after one too many explanations of why the ad in the paper didn’t mean what it said it meant.

The quote above is something my husband sent me in an e-mail, my biggest supporter when the inside of my brain becomes the equivalent of mall space. It got me to thinking about times that silence is stronger than sound, when silence becomes the sound.

1. The split second after a child hurts himself and you see the mouth open and no sound come out. You run as though through rubber cement to get there before the wail. No sound is as powerful.
2. Have you ever said “I love you” and gotten no response? The silence is a physical presence of pain.
3. When you first dive under water and your ears become completely submerged into the vacuum. In a moment, you’ll hear muffled sounds coming from above and below the water, but initially the silence is complete.
4. Your children are playing. You sit down to read a book and realize there is silence in your house. Run! Nothing good is going on if kids are silent. At least not my kids…
5. “Does this make me look big?” (crickets chirping)
6. “Do you like this new hair color?” (generally speaking if you have to ask…the news isn’t good)
7. If I’m laughing really, really hard, no sound comes out. Tears run down my face, but not a peep other than gasps of breath. I remember being a kid and the joy it would bring me when I could make my dad laugh that hard.
8. Singing Ava Maria in church and having your voice crack. After the collective congregational gasp, there is a silence heard through the organ.
9. When you say “I’m sorry” and it’s met with nothing.
10. When you say, “I love you” and it’s met with a slight smile and a nod. And you know, it didn’t need to be said because it just is.
11. Barring an out-and-out thriller, the silence between chapters makes you appreciate the words.
12. Sitting with a friend who as you’re pouring your heart out, says nothing. Silence is perfect.

 

Lyra’s Top Eleven On How Business Can Inform Writing

I’ve been in business for fifteen years. Today it occurred to me that if ever I get someone interested in a book, I have some hard-earned skills that could help me as a writer playing nice with others.

So I bring to you without further ado,

 

Lyra’s Top Eleven Tips On How Business Can Inform Writing

1. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. Don’t argue with someone who is trying to help you even if you disagree. Save your commentary for your friends, offline, or your spouse, partner, plaything (provided this is not the same person listed above…). Then find something they said that was right. There is always a bit of truth when we get defensive.
2. Never get into a pissing contest. Someone always gets wet.
3. You don’t have to like someone personally for them to have value. You do have to be professional and courteous. If you act like an idiot, not only will you stoop to a level that is below you, but the people above you may be watching. Just don’t. See tip number one.
4. Mind the way you treat assistants. I was an assistant, along with a bartender, a babysitter, a garden center worker, a fast food slinger…the list goes on. When I overhear people mistreat their assistants or other people they consider to be below them, I remember that. Because I can keep my mouth shut when I need to, people may not realize the power that I have. It brings me great joy to bring these people down a notch. Or twelve.
5. Sometimes you only get one chance (subtitle: Don’t Be A Douchebag). Everyone has a bad day, yes. Sometimes bad days coincide. Know when to walk away, call back later, return the e-mail after a coffee break. I will forgive anger about a situation every time. I will never forgive a personal attack or if someone tries to go around me. Businesses are smaller than you think. Once you’ve earned respect, people tell you things. Once you’ve lost my respect, you aren’t getting it back. Despite what people may say, I think more people are like me than not. Don’t be a douchebag. If you are, apologize. And mean it.
6. Sometimes the person you will learn the most from is the toughest on you. Suck it up, pull up your big girl panties and learn how to take it.
7. Tough does not mean toxic. Eliminate toxic people by not engaging with them. It unnerves people when they are hostile and get no response.
8. There is no job that is not your job. If it needs to be done, do it. Help people and they will remember. They may not say a word, but they will know and the word will spread. Be someone who people want to work for them, or someone who people want to work for.
9. Entitlement has no place. You are owed nothing. Whether it takes a week or ten years to write a book, it has to be good and no one is making you do it. If it isn’t good, you haven’t worked on it long enough.
10. “No, it can’t be done” has no place. I make things happen on a monthly basis that people tell me can’t happen. The only response to “Can you do this?” is “Maybe.” It’s only a maybe because you haven’t figured out how to make it a “Yes”.
11. Be kind. You never know when you’ll run into the same person at a different place.

 

Hope Is For Your Thirties

Drive, passion and desire is for your forties.

And on that note, Happy Fortieth birthday to me!

This year, I am an official turkey girl. I get the day off of work, my favorite meal, a peanut butter cup pie for dessert and to be surrounded by my favorite people in the universe.

I am thankful beyond measure.

This year has been a whirlwind of writing, author readings, writing, meeting up with writers, writing and hope.

But it’s time I moved on from hope. Hope won’t get it written. Hope won’t do the job. Drive, determination, never-say-die…that gets the job done. I know how to get the job done. And now I’m old enough to do it.

Unlike many people who feel angsty regarding their new decade, I am joyful. I was speaking to a friend of mine today. He’s in his sixties and he told me, “Women are just getting started in their forties. This is where it gets good.”

And on that note, my birthday gift to all of you is this list of debut novelists. You’ll notice they all have something in common. Enjoy, my friends.

1. Sherwood Anderson – Winesburg, Ohio (40)
2. Frank McCourt – Angela’s Ashes (66)
3. Sybille Bedford – A Legacy (45)
4. Laura Ingalls Wilder – Little House on the Prairie (65)
5. Richard Adams – Watership Down (52)
6. George Eliot – Adam Bede (50)
7. Annie Proulx – Postcards (50)
8. Isak Dinesen – Seven Gothic Tales (50)
9. Sue Monk Kidd – The Secret Life of Bees (54)
10. Julia Glass – Three Junes (46)
11. Henry Miller – Tropic of Capricorn (43)
12. Elizabeth Strout – Amy & Isabelle (42)
13. Paul Harding – Tinkers (42)
14. Raymond Chandler – The Big Sleep (51)
15. Belva Plain – Evergreen (50)
16. Charles Bukowski – Post Office (49)

Thank you all for being part of my thirties.

But this is the part of the story where it gets good.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love.