The Squash Plant of Plots

Every spring when I plant my garden, squash plants reseed themselves from the compost I use. In the past I have pull these volunteers out to allow space for the other plants to grow. This year, however, I kept one. It had sprouted in an empty spot so I figured what’s harm. I put a tomato cage around it and encouraged it to grow upwards instead of on the ground. But it was a very happy squash plant and grew and grew. Expanding outside the tomato cage, around the other plants and even outside the garden bed itself.

One day as I stood in awe and wonderment looking at it, I realized it was just like a story plot. I start off with many ideas which I prune and pluck out until I am left with one. Into that one, I pour my energy, thoughts, and love. The story absorbs it all and demands more and more which I struggle to find and give.

And then at some moment in time, I take a step back from the writing and see that the story has taken on a life of its own. Maybe going in an unintended direction which can be good or can be really bad. Maybe be growing outside of the shape I had imagined it in the beginning.

As with the squash plant, I then battle with myself. Do I prune it back? Let it run wild? Try to find my way back to what I had imagined?

For this squash plant, I am letting it go. I have made soup with one squash and wait to see what else the plant will produce. With one story, I am prune it back to find the essence of what sparked my curiosity in the beginning. For another story, I am letting it run wild. So many paths!

Taking myself seriously

Is writing a hobby or a profession or something entirely different? When asked what I do by a stranger, do I add write picture books to the list? Am I belittling my work if I don’t mention it? Am I not taking it seriously?

A few years ago I tried adding writer to the list of things I do. I felt courageous and proud. But then the next question inevitably was “Oh cool. What have you written?” And I was back to feeling insecure and wanting to defend and protect my writing.

After ten years of writing, nine years of being in a critique group, more drafts/revisions and rejections, I decided that the writing process was something to be proud of. The struggle, the persistence, the work itself showed me that I am a writer. I think that is when I was ready to apply to graduate school because in my over educated and biased mind, a degree provides a level of validity to the work I am doing.

Yesterday I took another step to taking myself seriously. I bought a file cabinet. No longer will my drafts and research lay scattered around in piles. No longer will they get mixed into the household bills. No longer will my desk be a dumping ground for everything. Or at least that is what I am telling myself in my clean state of pristine. I will see how long that lasts.

But the joy I received at creating labels for the different stories I am working on, for the 1st graduate residency, for the notes and worksheets from workshops made me realize that I am moving forward as a writer. I am taking myself seriously.

critique submission

I made my first submission packet for VCFA the other day. I have submitted in various ways before. It continues to amaze me how each time brings its own set of nerves, anxieties and insecurities. Is the piece good enough? Am I good enough? What will others think?

I remember the first time I submitted to my critique group. While it has grown into the safest space, it might have been the scariest. This was the first time I put myself out as a children’s book writer to others who were already in profession. Not only would strangers be reading my work but also deciding whether or not I was worthy to be in their group. They did accept me and, after seven years, I now I realize I had worked myself up to quite a tizzy when these fellow writers were looking for new members and wanted to help grow and support others while they received the same support and encouragement.

But each time I prepare the packet for submission, the same feelings return in differing degrees. On positive days, I convince myself that maybe these nerves push me to make sure that my writing is better. On negative days, I doubt the entire process is worth the mental effort. Luckily the positive days are more plentiful than the negative ones.

Now I wait and wonder what my new crit group will consist of. What will I think of their writing and what will they have to say about mine. Oh the joys of putting oneself out there in the world. It is not an easy thing to do but I am told it is the best way to grow so I continue to do it.

New Chapter

Last winter, after many years of debate, thinking and questioning (and I mean many), I applied to Vermont College of Fine Arts Masters in Children’s Book Writing. I found it ironic to request an undergrad transcript from my college. After 30 years, I was not convinced it was the most accurate way to judge my current academic capability. However on the positive, the process was much easier and more streamlined thanks to the internet than I remember it from prior. Writing the personal essay was a quirky turn of events. Each fall I assist high school seniors with their essays. Now I had to lay my soul out on the table and expose thoughts and feelings while someone read them. I wonder if I will bring a different perspective to my meetings with the seniors this coming fall. Then the biggest hurdle, the critical essay. I had not written one of these in what feels like forever and very well might be. With help from people at VT College and friends, I struggled my way through it. What a relief when I pressed the Submit button.

The bigger thrill was the acceptance call I received a number of weeks later. I am in! Yipee! The first residency was scheduled for July. Two weeks away from home in Montpelier, VT in summer. Very pretty. Surrounded by writers dedicated to children’s book. Great. Sharing a room with someone else? Hmmm.

But then the corona virus hits and life is throw upside down. The residency was switched to an online one. No escape from family and responsibilities but I get to sleep in my own bed. Pluses and minuses.

Now I am looking at deadlines, writing and critiquing. I am eager to see where my writing goes and how I grow and develop as a writer. I plan to use this space to document my changes. Here’s wishing myself the best of luck!

How are problems solved?I

I remember sitting in writing workshops where others speak about how writing must be done every day and how to set up a desk or space each of us to write in. I wonder how to go about doing that and if it would work for me. I spent more time thinking about the physical part than the writing itself.

Then in the middle of night when I woke up again because who can sleep all the way through the night, an idea came to me on how to solve a problem in the story I was working on. I lay there thinking how am I going to remember this tomorrow. Will it be like the dreams that float off upon waking? I told myself the idea a number of times, figuring if I repeat it enough I would remember it. When I woke up, there was the idea. I was so happy because it worked. Now at least I am able to find some good in the nights where I lay awake with my brain racing.

Every morning I walked our dog, Rex. We passed through the streets of our wonderful neighborhood and I check out the gardens and houses while Rex checks out which dog has recently passed. Many days I walk out of a sense of duty since Rex needs to move. Then when I am least expecting it, an idea will pop up for a new story. The rest of the walk passes by with me thinking of possibilities of where to go with the story. Who are the characters? What will happen?

Writing happens for me in many different places and in many different ways. If not for my brain working when I am not focused on it, my stories would not be what they are. I try not to beat myself up about the fact that sitting down and writing does not always occur. At least my brain is still working.

Thank you to everyone who helps us talk with children

Between work and family, I have born witness to some events lately. While they make me think and explore my feelings, I wonder how a child would react and process these occurrences. I am amazed when I search for picture books, I find these topics addressed and discussed. Books which tackle these and other large, weighty themes with sensitive, humor and an eye for how a child might struggle. I am thrilled to see such creativity and awareness on the part of fellow authors to address them, to agents who work the authors to find the correct publishing house and editors who are willing to published them.

My five-year-old niece has leukemia. I sent her books on losing her hair and how other kids felt. I hope it is reassuring to her not to be alone and not only the other kids in the hospital which she identifies with as sick.

A client’s elementary school child identifies as non-binary. In my children’s high school many, many students are gender fluid. I love how mine look at me like it is so odd that I think about this, question it and at times find it confusing. When I stumbled upon one picture book about gender, identity and stereotypes, I realized that there is a growing body of books that allow children to realize they are not alone or provide a window for other children how to accept their friends.

We live in an exciting time where windows continue to be opened. I hope this continues and expands. How special is it that we, authors, can write a story to assist someone else.

Living Together

On a street near my house, there was a cherry tree. Although I have no idea on its age, it clearly had been there for quite a while. Every spring, it joined with the other cherry trees flowering and creating a beautiful canopy to walk under. 

One day I glanced up. I must have tilted my head differently because I realized that there in crock of the branches grew a birch tree. The crock was about five feet off the ground so the birch did not reach the ground. This was not a sapling or young birch. It, too, had been growing for quite a while. The two trees seemed so happy together. 

The cherry would flower and change to leaves. The birch would fill in the spaces with its leaves. For many years they grew together. Then a storm came with very strong winds and overnight everything changed. 

Now all that remains is the stump. I am eager to see if a shot comes out of the stump. And if it does, will it be a cherry or a birch tree? 

The Dreaded Rejection

A lesson that writing continues to teach me is that rejection happens and that is okay. After a few days of thinking about a painful one, I enjoy watching myself bounce back. Generally, the process starts in my morning walk. I think of a different spin on the story and then I am moving forward. Rejection happens in some many areas of life that I am lucky that writing allows me the space to explore my feelings. On to the next story!

Hello!

Welcome to my first blog post. I am excited about this wonderful new webpage that Gaia Cornwall designed for me.

I write picture books to answer questions I ponder, like how was a potato discovered? what does it take to come back from a mistake? what would happen if you floated out a skylight one night? how to knit a perfect scarf and how to conquer dyslexia. Come visit my webpage and learn more about me. 

I'll be posting here, every month or so, about my writing process and whatever is inspiring me.