Author: beckylevine

Becky Levine is a children's book writer, working hard to strengthen her picture-books skills. She is the author of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide, a book to help you get started with a critique group, learn to revise from a critique, and strengthen your own critiquing powers. She has also published two nonfiction children's books with Capstone Press. She is currently seeking representation. Becky lives in California's Santa Cruz mountains, where she spends a lot of time sitting on the couch, knitting needles in hand, thinking through the next revision. At her day job, she writes grants for a nonprofit healthcare organization.
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Problems: Don’t Forget to Blame Your Hero

Posted on by beckylevine

We all know our heroes have to encounter problems along their path–obstacles, detours, crises. But sometimes we forget that some of those problems, sometimes the most important, have to be created by the hero herself.

Sure, you can throw all sorts of stuff at your hero from outside–betrayal from a best friend, a parent who holds the reins too tightly, even a stick of Acme dynamite from some random bad guy. And your hero can fight through these obstacles, conquer them, and march through to the other side. Victorious. Strong.

And not so real.

Remember that flaw? The big character one with which all our heroes are supposed to come equipped? It’s important. It’s not enough for a flaw to be part of how a character thinks, or that shows up in the words he says. We need to show this flaw in action. We need to show this flaw making things worse for the hero. Partially because we all have those kinds of flaws, and we’re trying to create heroes that feel, at least a bit, like someone we could meet on the street. (Okay, more interesting, more fun, more tragic, but…just a little like us.) If you don’t believe me, go to 4:15 in this video and listen to Stan Lee. You’re not going to argue with Stan Lee, are you?

There’s more, though. The other reason we need to see this flaw in action is that it sets up our hero for change. Growth. That other all-important factor in a story our readers can relate to. If your hero starts out perfect, or even just perfect in action, where are they headed? To an ending in which they’re exactly the same as they started out. Why change when you don’t need to? Why change when your behavior keeps you safe and lets you easily tackle anything from an irritating fly to a massive avalanche?

BUT…if your hero is causing problems for himself–if he’s tripping on his own straggly hem, so to speak–then he’s got an important path to follow. He needs to gain strength, access his intelligence and imagination, step up to the plate. Otherwise, he’s going to stay stuck in the same story, with the same problems. You know the saying, you can’t run away from your problems? Just as true in fiction as in real life–only in fiction, you end up with a boring story as well as an unhappy person.

So, as you’re setting out to create those obstacles, the ones that add tension and excitement to your storyline, keep your hero up front in your planning. Yes, let the locusts swarm, let the bad guys drop the bombs. But don’t be satisfied with just letting things happen to your hero. Make sure she makes things–bad things–happen as well.

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Thankful Thursday: Hours and Hours

Posted on by beckylevine

It’s been a nice week. Son’s camp–at which he’s had a wonderful time (yay!)–runs from 8:30-4:00, and it’s a ways away, and I pulled a little less carpool duty thanks to a wonderful husband and some other very nice parents. Which has pretty much meant…

Time. Slow time.

I actually did use it. Last weekend, I sent a new picture book off to my group for critique, and this week I drafted another one and started brainstorming a second one. Both obviously need work (okay, probably all THREE need work)–the complete draft that poured out of me on Monday is more of a moment than an actual story, but I think there may be a story hope at least in it. The second one, still in thinking stage, has a hero I like, some great ways to (possibly) weave true science into fiction, and an antagonist that needs…oh, you know, at least a personality.

I got work done that needed to be done. I kicked a couple of life tasks off the to-do list. I did yoga. I read.

Next week, camp’s over, relatives come, I do some travel–for which I’m thinking I’ll actually leave the laptop at home. The pattern’s going to change again, as it always does. And next week will be good, too.

But for the leisure and the relaxation of this past week, I am definitely thankful.

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The Problem with Endings

Posted on by beckylevine

You’re writing along. Things are good. You’ve got a sweet, but not perfect protagonist developing, the supporting cast is strong, and you’ve hit the funny bone in some of the right places. You’re happy, you’re feeling like…oh, yeah, I’m a writer! Basically, that first draft was a:

And then you get to the end. The wrap-up. And your brain turns from a bubbling cauldron of brilliance to this:

Pardon the 80s valley talk, but basically you’re like…Whoa! What?!

And you realize the following:

  • You don’t really have your MC being quite active enough through the story. Because if you did, you’d have a much better idea of what he was supposed to do now.
  • You haven’t settled on the true purpose/meaning/theme of this story yet. Because you can’t really tell if this conclusion ties in with whatever you thought that was, or if it’s totally random.
  • You look at that ****load of art notes and feel relatively certain it’s too big a ****load, and start asking yourself if 1) you’re not telling the story well enough with words and 2) is there an illustrator on the planet that wouldn’t hate you if they saw this manuscript.
  • The word “goal” starts bouncing around in your head, at the end of questions like: “What is the protagonist’s…?” and “Do you even have a clue about the darned…?”
  • You wonder if the blueberry muffins are really enough.

So what do you do when you get to this stage? Well, if you’re me, you shout, “First Draft!” and drop-kick that evil editor out of the picture, at least for now.

You spellcheck, do a word count, and you pop that puppy into an attachment and email it off to your critique group. Who love you no matter what.

And then you start looking for the next picture-book idea to brainstorm.

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When Procrastination Pays Off

Posted on by beckylevine

Okay, you know how it goes. You haven’t quite got that story to the place where you’re ready to write. Or maybe you’re a pantser, and you’re always ready to write, but for some reason it’s not flowing today. The pants are too tight. Too loose. Whatever.

So you find something else to do. Something you need to do. Oh, it’s part of the writing process. Maybe it’s research, a book you’ve found that really does have all the details you need. Or there’s an actual site you have to check out, to get the description correct in this scene. Sure, yeah, that site happens to be at the beach. Next to the ice-cream truck. On the most beautiful day of the year. Hey, it’s part of the writing process. No research? Surely there’s a writing workshop you need to take–the new one on settings you’ve heard so much about, or the one that promises to teach you the trick to writing a foolproof query. Yes, absolutely. All important. Part of the writing proc—you get it.

For me, it’s almost always plot. You probably know that by now. When I get muddled or frustrated or lost, I back out of the words and try to see the sequence, the structure, the map. And, yes, like all my other examples, it’s something I need. Truly.

It’s also, though, oh…just a little bit of procrastination. That’s what it feels like, anyway. Especially when I am frustrated or lost, and I have strong doubts that the plot work will lead to anything helpful. Heck, by that point, I usually have doubts that Hermoine Granger could come up with anything helpful. And I end up being pretty sure I’m just playing head games with myself, coming up with an excuse not to face the hard stuff, filling time instead of filling pages.

Oh, and isn’t it nice when I’m wrong?

Today, I did just what I’ve described. I stopped by my Bookmobile and got most of the picture books that Eve Heidi Bine-Stick dissects in  How to Write a Picture Book, Vol 1: Structure, and I started reading. First the picture book, then Bine-Stock’s breakdown. I got through Leo the Late Bloomer and Harry the Dirty Dog (a book I have always loved so much, I didn’t even have to get it from the library; it’s already on my picture-book shelf!). Not only did these examples wake me up to the fact that I’m probably writing a simpler/younger picture book this time around, but they helped me see the structure more clearly and–as usually follows upon that clarity–got the story ideas popping!

I ended up where I always end up with a good writing-craft book: putting the book down and racing for my computer.

And, of course, doing the happy dance.

Such a happy dance that I’m not even embarrassed to paraphrase something from the A-Team: I love it when a procrastination plan comes together!

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Saturday Six: Steps in Starting a Picture Book & New Thoughts on PiBoIdMo

Posted on by beckylevine

I had a lovely (really!) Friday Five post about how time shifts in the summer, but I think WordPress was having problems for a few days, and that post went…POOF! and vanished. Since I don’t feel like rewriting it, I’ll change gears and tell you about the steps I took this week to get started on a new picture book.

  1. Opened up my PiBoIdMo file of prioritized ideas and started scanning it. No, it wasn’t the ideas that I had previously labeled Top 10 that caught my interest, which just shows…something. Instead, a few ideas scattered randomly through the list got my imagination going.
  2. Started new files for a few of those ideas and brain-dumped ideas into the files. Closed one and opened another, because I’d get a few thoughts dropped in and then the interest in that particular idea would fade. Until…
  3. I saw a character. The basic idea, in terms of what I’d written during PiBoIdMo, was not so great–kind of flat and with a bit too much of that, “Oh, I’ve heard this before” feeling. But I started typing in random thoughts, and suddenly he was there. In my brain. I can see the guy. II know what he looks like, I know his problem, I know the basic sadness he’s feeling, and I have snapshots images of him in contrast with the other characters, in ways that look pretty funny. It’s amazing, really, how the more “good” stuff you dump, the more your brain keeps filling up. Kind of like that tale of the magic porridge pot I loved as a kid.
  4. I opened up a Draft 1 file and wrote half a page. I ran out of steam and I didn’t like what I had. It felt, kind of like that original idea, flat and uninteresting. Also, a little off-balance–like all the weight was in the words, which were okay, but the story itself had no steam. Along with that feeling, though, was the sense that what I’d written wasn’t good enough for my new character, that I wasn’t getting anywhere close to how cool and sweet he is. Which just confirmed, for me, that this was a story worth pursuing. Because there’s something there.
  5. I pulled out my writing books and started reading. As usual, I knew what I needed…it was back to structure. I needed to get that balance right, needed to think about the KINDS OF STORY PIECES that belong in the beginning, middle, and end. Then I’d be able to start thinking about my specific story pieces. Or, rather, this character’s specific story pieces. And I found my pattern, in How to Write a Children’s Picture Book, Volume 1: Structure, by Eve Heidi Bine-Stock. According to Bine-Stock, it’s everybody’s structure, but as I studied her example, my guy started waving at me and telling me what things to shuffle around and where to put problems and actions and resolutions. His problems and actions and resolutions.
  6. I opened Word and wrestled with the Table feature to get that basic structure into a file. I tell you, don’t ask me to work with pen or paper anymore, especially with a plotting template. Bine-Stock uses a basic timeline setup to show what happens in each story, and when. Sure, I could draw that out and fill in my stuff, but then I start scribbling and then I want to erase, and it doesn’t erase completely, and the paper smears and tears, and I’ve got nothing. So I set up my own table template that may not look as pretty, but works with my brain. And I dropped in a few things I already do know about my guy–his problem, the general sort of thematic description of what has to happen in the different acts, and possible ideas for plot twists and what Bine-Stock calls “pinches”—moments of foreshadowing that move the story forward and add a bit of underlying tension. And I saved that file.

That’s where I’m at. The next step? To actually read through the books Bine-Stock uses as examples and get more comfortable with what her structure pieces actually mean, what actions and events other authors have put into those plot points. And keep thinking about my guy. Because he’s the thing that is going to make this story happen.

Eventually.

A little side-note thought about PiBoIdMo. Honestly, as I started going through my list from last November, I was feeling a little discouraged. So many of those ideaswere flat, blah, and so few of them sparked any interest in me at the thought of taking them further. Now, granted, last November was not the easiest month for me, I got bronchitis, my husband and son both got pneumonia, my son ended up in the hospital for two nights with it, and we were all so sick we missed seeing The Muppets in-theater. So…I can see reasons that I wasn’t at my most brilliant, and I still pat myself on the back for getting that idea-per-day accomplished. Still, I’d been thinking that I’d get several pb ideas out of the heap, even if it mean really working to push myself past the flat feeling and dig deeper for interest.

Now I’m starting to think that may not be the way PiBoIdMo works for me, or even for everybody. Maybe it’s more like the rest of life, where the % of positive response you get from a lot of effort is pretty small. You know, send out 100 marketing brochures and get one or two calls. Submit 30 queries and hope for one “Please send the manuscript.” Send out X number of resumes and get a call-back or two for an interview. And, you know, if this is how it all works, I’m cool with it. That pile of “meh” ideas I came up with has suddenly become worthwhile, because out of it, this character showed up for me to think and write about.

I wasn’t sure, the last few months, about whether I’d do PiBoIdMo again next year. Right now, I’m feeling the exact opposite. I’ll be there, and I’ll have my notebook, and I’ll be dropping ideas in. Just so I might get one more like this.

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Believing in Yourself

Posted on by beckylevine

With this writing thing and with so many other Life things, the trickiest part is often convincing ourselves that we can do something, that we have the skills, talent, ability to take on a project or a change and succeed at it.

This week, for various reasons, I’m about seeing the positive in change, the exciting in the challenge. So, for today, a quick post about the things that make you feel like you can be creative, that you can write and write well.

  • Praise. Which pretty much means letting other people read your writing. Yes, in a critique group, you’ll be hearing plenty about what you haven’t yet done right. In a good group, however, you should also be hearing about what’s right, what’s good, even what just rocks the world.
  • Accomplishment. Finishing a chapter, writing a poem, plotting out a new scene, kicking A on a piece of dialogue. All these are things we need to do and that, when we’re done with them, we need to celebrate. With something as small as a smile or a self-pat on the back, with something as big as a dance around your writing space or a bowl of your favorite ice cream.
  • Starting something new. Yes, there’s the fresh brainstorming and creativity that comes with a new writing project, but–for me–it’s something more. It’s the fact that I’m doing something for the second or third or fourth time. This week (and, yes, this is partly what today’s post is about), I’m calling “Done” on my first picture book. (Done, at least, unless and/or until an agent or editor asks me to make more changes, obviously!) And I opened up the picture-book folder on my computer and started another one. Guess what? It feels WAY more doable than the first time around, simply because…itisn’tthe first time. I know what I’ve done before, I know the fears I’ve faced and the writing bumps, and they’re more familiar, just a little more friendly this time around.
  • Seeing someone else do it. Again, this is where that critique group comes in handy. Especially one in which you critique multiple drafts for each other. You watch another writer go from that draft about which you gave GOBS of feedback to a draft that is so close to beautiful you find yourself racing through it and barely noting anything. And all of a sudden, you remember that–oh, yeah–this is possible.
  • Magic moments. They might be a word or a sentence, beautifully phrased. They might be a character about whom you write a few notes and then find yourself deep in love. They might be a few lines of that great dialogue; they might be a plot twist that you worked your butt off to figure out. The little bits give you belief that you can do the big stuff. And you keep going.

As I write this list, I’m seeing a common thread. All these things that help us along, all these places where you get the reward of knowing we can do it–they all ask the same thing from us. They required that we put in the time. If we don’t show up, guess what? We don’t believe that showing up will help. But if we actually do put that butt in a chair, actually do open a file and start typing…all of a sudden that belief shows up for the ride.

Which, really, makes everything else worth it.

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Summer Vacation: A Few Memories & A Spontaneous Giveaway

Posted on by beckylevine

Yesterday, my son finished up his sophomore year of high school.

Excuse me a moment…

Anyway…other than an ever-increasing freakout the older my son gets, what the last day of school means to me is Summer. More specifically, summer vacation. Which comes with a load of feelings and memories from my past decades years. Like…

  • Carrying the heavy backpack home from school, loaded up with all the junk from my desk. No, I didn’t have the neatest desk in the world back then. Actually, it looked a lot like my bedroom. If you don’t believe me, talk to my dad. Wait, don’t, you’ll just give him a nostalgia-based ulcer.
  • Reading, reading, and reading. And more reading. And then some more reading. In bed, in my room, with the drape barely opened. It’s only with age and the colder winters we’ve been having that I’ve become anything like a sunshine and warmth fan. As a teen, I wanted a dim, shady cave of a room, where I curled up on my bed with the book of the day. (That’s why there was always a clean path from my door to the bed, well–okay, from the bookshelf to my bed. Again, talk to my dad.)
  • Camp. Not a lot, but at least a week of Campfire Girls’ day camp at Camp Takeneko (I am absolutely positive I am not spelling that right!), with our straw mats that were miserably itch to sit on and singing songs that–if you started me off today–I could join in on and sing easily to the end. And a couple of summers, the big sleepaway camp, also through Camp Fire, at Camp Natoma, where we slept under the oak trees (and the oak worms). We made key chains out of that plasticy stuff–you folded four pieces over (and under?) each other–oh, what IS that stuff called? OKAY, SPUR OF THE MOMENT SUMMER GIVEAWAY: THE FIRST PERSON WHO LEAVES A COMMENT WITH THE NAME OF THAT PLASTIC STUFF (without looking it up–you’re on the honor system here!) wins a copy of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. JUST BECAUSE.


    We did macrame, too, it being the sixties and early seventies, we swam & showered & had the backs-of-our-ears checked for cleanliness. Good times, good times.
  • August vacations. August. In the summer. Since I grew up near Pismo Beach, and a lot of those vacations were driving ones (luckily, way back then, we could all read without getting carsick), we spent quite a bit of time sweltering through Arizona and New Mexico. Once Hawaii and once Texas. (Tip: Don’t ever go on a double-loop roller-coaster, twice in a row, in 113-degree heat. Just don’t.) We had good times there, and I mean no negativity to all of you who live happily in those regions, but you might be able to guess why I fell in love with Oregon and Washington. And ended up living in NorthernCalifornia.
  • My first summer jobs. I’d give away another copy of my book to the first person who guessed where I got my first job ever, but it’d be just too easy. Yep, the used bookstore in town. (Owned, by the way, by the past secretary of my elementary school, in who’s office I sat with the flu and vomited onto the floor just in time to prove to my mom that I was actually sick and not faking it. But that’s another story.) I worked part-time at her bookstore (mostly telling people that, no, that month’s issue of that particular romance series hadn’t shown up yet) and part-time at a children’s clothing store in Pismo Beach. There I sold sweatshirts to kids who had come over from the central valley, to our foggy coast, in shorts & tank tops; and I learned to make a bow out of wrapping ribbon, by hand, to top off the grandparent-to-grandchild presents I wrapped.
  • Typing up dog and cat records and cleaning exam rooms. After paying my dues in retail, I ended up working summers for my parents at their veterinary clinic. Yes, you’re right–I’ve listed only the glamorous parts of the job. Seriously, other than some of the cleaning and some of the holding down of dogs with sharp teeth that didn’t want to be held down, I loved that job. We were almost always busy, and I met some wonderful people. Their owners were often pretty nice, too.
  • Quiet birthdays. Since I’m an August-born and, at least back then, pretty shy, I remember feeling pretty detached from my school friends by the time birthdays came around. I know I had parties when I was young–I remember Musical Chairs in the kitchen of our first house and some Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and I had a couple of small sleepovers when I was older, but I think I was probably happiest with family cake and, you know, a new book. This might be a memory to check with the rest of the family, though!
  • Afghans. One more repeat–sixties and early seventies. One summer, I think I was twelve, my cousin came to stay for a week (more?) and she, a good friend, and I all crocheted granny-square afghans. And I mean granny-square. One. Big. Square. I believe mine was made up of yellow, orange, hot pink, lime green, and purple. I could check, if I were so inclined, because I still have that afghan. No matter how much you’re inclined, as an adult, to purge Stuff, there are some things you just don’t throw out.
  • Boredom. Yes, I think this may be the true function and purpose of summer vacation. To give the kids just enough off-time so that when the end of summer rolls around, they’re–if not ready–at least resigned to school starting back up again. Ready for something different. I know I was. Plus, you know, there were all the cool school supplies to buy–notebooks that were waiting to be written in, pens that were still filled with ink, Pee Chee folders to doodle on. Teachers that still had all the potential, at least, to be wonderful. And friends to see again. One more fresh start.

What about you? What are a few of your favorite (or not-so favorite) summer memories. Join me in a few moments of time travel and share something from those vacation weeks. And don’t forget, if you know what that plastic stuff is called and you’d like to win a copy of my book, leave a comment to enter!

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Some Explanation: Why I Love Structure

Posted on by beckylevine

I’ve been going on here for a bit about plotting and having a structure for my novel and figuring out what happens, technically, at various points in a scene. And I think sometimes I may sound like I’m looking for a quick fix for something that is just a long process.

Quick?! Do you know how long I’ve been working on this book?!

That’s not really it.

Martha Alderson, author of Blockbuster Plots and The Plot Whisperer probably says it best, although I’m paraphrasing here: We need a bucket for the inspiration to flow into. (Okay, she probably didn’t end her sentence with a preposition!)

I think I need a sturdier bucket than some other people do.

When I write, I have an image in my head–not a visual, but a sort of flavor–about how I want this book to feel. With my first book, a mystery, I knew I wanted light and funny, and I wanted some good action–arguments, sneaking around, a good chase scene. (Oh, I had fun writing that chase scene!). I know what all those things feel like when I read, and I think I hold that feeling out somewhere in front of me, as a goal to reach. I’m not trying, obviously, to copy the voice or writing of another author, but I know when pacing–for example–feels right on. I know what it’s like to read a book where the character layering is perfect–not too heavy, not too flat. And I want to achieve those things in my own writing.

What I don’t always (often?!) know is the how of that achievement. I do, however, believe there are techniques–ways of structuring a sentence, a paragraph, a scene–that are part of that how. I know, because it’s what I do when I critique–make suggestions about how to tighten a sentence, how to layer movement into dialogue, how to trim words that slow down action. I know it, too, because when I sit down and analyze a book, really look at what the author’s doing, I can see their buckets. I don’t know if they actually went out and built their buckets–if they picked and chose the right metal, a cool handle, welded everything up themselves–or if they are so good they basically waved their magic writing wand and just made the bucket appear.

I just know I’m pretty much out here cutting the metal, rolling it up and putting in rivets (rivets?), somehow getting a nice solid bottom into it, and making sure that handle doesn’t come off when I fill that bucket and pick it up.

Luckily, as I do the work, I can feel the inspiration bubbling. I get ideas that I send myself in an email (hey, it’s a long way from the couch workshop to the computer!), and I start to see the layout of the book. I start to know what has to happen when, who needs to make it happen, and where I’ll need to be rearranging plot points and character arcs. For me, the bucket is a necessity. And I have to believe that, if I do the work, someday that bucket will look a lot like this.

Posted in Scenes

More Work on Understanding Scene Structure

Posted on by beckylevine

This week, I’m hoping to get through some chapters of Save the Cat. I just barely started on the structure section, where he shows the basic outline he uses and starts explaining both sections. So far, the things he says are making little bells chime in my plot brain, which is good. I managed to work up a thematic premise for my WIP, and–as he does in his examples–I found a way to show that in an early piece of dialogue.

Which of course, will almost certainly change. But still…

The other thing I’m doing is going back to my shelves and rereading some of the YA books that have really hit me, in the tightness of their prose, in the way they move seamlessly through time without feeling in all those details of time-actually-passing. In some of these, the story takes place over a longer period of time than just a few days, and yet the pacing moves quickly and effectively. The best way I can describe it is a lack of any unnecessary clutter.

So far, the books on my to-read-again/take-apart list are:

I’d love to hear any suggestions from you. (Despite the apparent slant of my starting list, the books don’t have to have the word “girl” in the title!) Remember, I’m looking for YA, in which the author keeps their focus really tight, with almost no padding between scenes, and yet manages to convey the passage of time without confusion. I want books in which the story thread is almost always at the forefront, not shadowed or taken over by transitions or background material. (I’m not at all saying that I haven’t read wonderful books that do use a slower lead-in to scene action or take more space for those transitions. It’s just that I’m trying to push myself to a new place, structurally, and I need to be looking at some good examples of stories in which that kind of structure is used.)

Thanks ahead of time for any recommendations you want to leave in the comments!

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Friday Five: Relaxing in Busy-ness

Posted on by beckylevine

My son’s sophomore year has been a pretty calm one, but as it winds down, I’m remembering how much happens in High School, with approximately 98.88734387% being fit into the last two weeks. The week’s been a bit busy, to say the least, probably in part because there were only four days to it. Still, I tried to remember about slowing down and taking time to enjoy what was going on at the moment. So, from me to you, tips for keeping it calm and happy.

  1. Read a good book. Duh. But you knew I was going to list that. For me, in weeks like this, it’s pretty much comfort reads, so I’ve been back to the bookshelves for the kids’ books I grew up with. Of course, I missed the Bookmobile on its last trip through the mountains, so next week I’ll be revving up to new reads again.
  2. Sit with your family and friends. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. Spend that little time together, check in on the phone or for a walk, touch base.
  3. Get sushi. It always helps. Add a little more wasabi to the soy sauce just to clear out those sinuses and shake yourself up a bit.
  4.  Another obvious one. Try and make some time for the writing, or whatever it is that feeds your brain. Yes, you’ll be a little frustrated at how little you might get to, but you won’t feel like you totally lost contact with your WIP. The longer we stay away, the longer it is to get back, I think.
  5. When you’re at a point where the to-do list is out of reach, say…oh, a Thursday night jazz concert in the park, LET-IT-GO. This is always a tough one for me, but I’m working on it. Last night, I sat and listened to the middle school jazz kids, my son’s HS jazz band, and a local Big Band (smaller than both of the others!!). We were outside, the weather was beautiful, and I was separated from all the things I needed to get done. I tapped my feet, snapped my fingers, and–on some of the slower songs–stretched out my legs, leaned back, closed my eyes, and just let the music flow over me. Awesome.

Basically, take a moment…