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Every hero has a flaw, and so does every writer with goals to get their hero onto the page. At least that’s what I tell myself when I look back at the week and wonder at all the moments when the writing didn’t happen. The one thing I know about myself and my writing patterns is that I do best with getting to the fiction when my life is running on an even keel, when the patterns of my days are consistent and predictable.

Yeah, I know. Because life is SO often like that.

Still, know oneself, right? I try not to beat myself up about a lag, and I try to give myself a little shake and remind myself that it’s gone on long enough. And I do try to give myself credit for the things, however small, that came along to shake up the routine and that, in their own way, demanded attention and time.

Hence this week’s Friday Five post.

1. Son is playing bass in the high school’s punk-rock production of Julius Caesar. It’s tech week, which means, in general, practice from the time school gets out until 10:00 at night. With a few modifications for the band itself (a bass, a guitar, and drums) which, of course, fluctuate on any given day. But pretty much mean that yours truly is VERY much up past her bedtime.

2. I’m driving the other car this week, seeing that my car is in pieces in the garage after breaking its timing belt. While it waits for donor organs (the new head parts husband will install), I’m driving around town in our old Vanagon. Which I love and which you can see from a mile away, although it takes more time than usual for me to drive that mile and get close enough for you to see that, yes, it’s really me. It’s kind of like riding in the shopping cart that you’ve stuck on the conveyor belt at the department store. It’s also a little like PARKING that shopping cart. But still, fun. Until you know, the brake light comes on and you have to call husband and start your conversation with the line, “Please don’t shoot the messenger.” More parts on order. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in here somewhere.

3. At work, I turned around a last-minute grant application that popped up out of nowhere and was a must. I tell you, it’s like those funders don’t know that I’m trying to keep a nice, neat grant calendar going! I also shifted hours a bit, because–hey, if you didn’t need to finish your work day in synch with that 3:30 school pick-up time, would YOU get up at 5:30 a.m. to go in early? I think not.

4. I did some of that non-writing writing work we all have. I took the plunge and started researching slush piles, having tested the agent waters with my picture book, getting some very positive response, but pretty much verifying my gut feel that one completed picture book is not the best route to agent representation. The picture book is now resting on one editor’s virtual desk, and I have several picture books published by another editor in my on-the-way-from-the-library pile. Another path along which I can only see to the first curve, with some fog along the way, but it goes in a direction that seems right for now.

5. I started physical therapy for my back. Just a minor strain or pull or something from not listening to my yoga teacher about props a few months ago, but it’s not going away, and it’s time to grow up and do something about it. Luckily, the PT place is two doors down from the high school, five minutes from home, five minutes from work. And also luckily, I really like the physical therapist herself. I mean, if you have to listen to things like “stability” and “flexibility” and “you’re trashing your back because you can’t bend,” you’d better be hearing them from someone nice. And I am being a very good client and actually DOING the exercises…TWO DAYS RUNNING! I can’t say they’re pleasant, and I’m still not sure I’m doing ANY of them right, they’re manageable and relatively uncomplicated and, like I said, part of being a responsible adult who’s trying to be supportive of the body she needs to use for several more decades.

Okay, there you have it: the things that came along new this week and said, “Hey! Fit us in! Schedule? We don’t need no stinkin’ schedule!” This weekend probably entails some moral support in the auto shop garage and, hopefully, the first Xmas shopping trip of the year. But now that I’ve recognized that my non-fatal flaw has reared its ugly head again, I’m hoping to tell it to shush and spend SOME time with the YA.

How’s your week been?

When I was nine, we moved to a new house. The house we’d been living in was a basic tract home, in which I shared a bedroom with one of my sisters. It was pretty much a nice-sized box, with some remodels my dad had one and a smallish backyard with a swing-set for us. Nothing super fancy. The house we moved into was one my parents had designed by an architect to their vision, it was on top of a hill with an awesome view of the ocean, and it had a huge yard (already being filled with the fruit trees I would have to weed around for the next 9 years, but we won’t go there…). It had bedrooms for all of us, for which we each got to pick a new bedspread and hanging lamp (It was the seventies, barely, so I won’t go into the gruesome details of my choices). Three stories, big rooms, you name it.

I liked the old house better.

I can’t remember how long it actually took between the time my parents bought the lot and when we moved into the completed house. It had to have been at least a year, right? Plenty of time to adjust. But to me, at the time (okay, possibly still a little), the change felt sudden, dramatic, and even traumatic. I can remember walking along the framed-in rooms, everybody else excited and happy, and me thinking nothing but, “I’m going to have to move here.” I may have pouted. A lot.

Obviously, I didn’t do change well, as a child. I’m pretty sure my sisters did it a lot better, at least that time. I pretty much hated change–I always felt things were okay, fine, safe, happy–whatever, the way they were, and then…boom! Someone or something would come along, and I’d have to step out of my comfort zone and take risks.

I’m not a child anymore. Obviously, I know change still happens out of nowhere–unfortunately, it’s usually the bad things. And I think I’ve probably been lucky in the last couple of decades, just about all the changes in my life (although not all) have been of my choice, of my making, and with all the lead-up time I needed to feel right and, if not always happy, at least accepting of them. Still…things also feel, I don’t know, as if they  have more context. This week, a very good friend is moving out-of-state. As much as I’ll miss her, I think this change has been coming for a while. THINGS have led up to it, and the things she’ll be doing in her new place are, I think, building on the person she’s been becoming. Also, while there are going to be losses and nervousnesses, I can see (and I know she can) the good things that will be coming to her from this change she’s making.

Is it just that, as an adult, the changes are more often in my own court? I don’t (completely) blame my parents for making the move without consulting me. But, obviously, every time I’ve moved as an adult, I’ve been–if not in charge–definitely one of the active participators in the decision. Or is it that, when things do change, I have more of a life to set them against–more past to reassure me that change can be okay, even good, and maybe even a longer view into the future to know there may be some excitement and even fun coming from this change? Was I, as a child and teen, less able to step out of the moment when change hit and less able to experience it as anything but a shock?

Either way, I think it’s a place of difference for me, now, and for the teen characters I’m writing about. Yes, obviously, change has to happen more dramatically in adult novels or we’d put them all down and just read MG and YA (Oh, wait…). But I wonder if this construct of fiction isn’t even more so in writing for and about teens. It may be why I so love the genre–because change at that age is so much more…more extreme, more sudden, more impacting. I always feel, when I’m reading a really good book for teens, that this hero is on the edge of something, of a moment that has the capacity for awakening, decisiveness, transformation. As much as I believe that I, at my age, am still very capable of growing and changing, it’s all based on a history of having done it before. It’s part of a continuum. Perhaps change, to teens, feels much more like a first. And perhaps that’s why the books are so engaging to readers. To me.

What do you think? How do you see change in your life versus change in the books you’re writing? Do you have to find a way to consciously shift from your older point of view, back to the time when you didn’t want your own bedroom, thank you very much, or does it come naturally when you sit down at the keyboard? It’s not a matter of vocabulary or sentence length, I don’t think, but an entire perspective/feel. A challenge to achieve, yes, but worth it.

Wow, when I said I’d be posting less, I didn’t expect that to send me into a “Blog? What’s a blog?” state of mind. But it’s been a while, that’s for sure.

Here’s what I’ve been up to.

Digging deeper into the new job. Working on balance out accomplishing specific tasks and putting out daily fires with seeing the big, long-term picture and pulling things together into some form of organization. Getting good news, even about the bad news, as I learn more about how to do this development thing. Stopping off at The Mmoon on the way from one museum to the other to pick up empanadas for myself and whoever else wants to text me their order. I know it’s not traditional, but I can highly recommend the macaroni, ham, and cheese empanada.

Outside those hours, I’ve been very productive in letting the house stay messier, the laundry stay unfolded, and saying yes when the guys suggest a dessert run to Trader Joes–and then sneaking in a short list of other stuff we need, hence eliminating one of my own grocery runs for the week. Yep.

I’ve also been making serious progress on the YA plot. I’m telling you, if I thought I could balance the new schedule with my first-ever NaNoWriMo, I’d be signing up right now. I’m pretty sure, though, that I’d also be signing up for a slightly insane breakdown, so I’m just shooting for getting the plot done by our next critique session, which we’ve all decided will be a writing session, so we can GET some stuff out to critique! I think I’m that close. It’s still slow, but I’m finding that the concentrated time on my days off and weekends really makes me push myself to figure things out. I hit stalls, and then I force myself back to the laptop to THINK about that gap or that block or that imbalance. And I’m finding solutions. Oh, I know I’ll still face questions and make big changes when I start writing, but the links are starting to click closed on each other, and the characters are starting to say yes to the storylines I’m offering.

And I’m mentally prepping myself to add one more thing to my life in November. I may not be up for NaNo, but I will totally be doing PiBoIdMo. This, too, intimidates me a bit. Last year was INSANE, with my son being hospitalized for pneumonia that month, and me and husband getting the bug that was going to turn into bronchitis (me-TWICE) and pneumonia (him-ONCE!) in the next month. Still, I persisted, and I’ve told them both they canNOT get sick this year. I did get my 30 ideas (more), and while I only developed two of them fully this year, I now have two in-some-revision-stage picture book manuscripts that I am in love with. The intimidation comes mostly from the idea that I still want to finish up THESE books at the same time as I run as-much-full-blast-as-possible on the YA, and YOU tell ME where all the time to do these things plus MORE picture-books is going to come from!

Not a reason to avoid getting the ideas, though. *stifles mad giggle*

So there you go. That’s what’s new with me, and it’s all good and all a little crazy, and maybe those are the same things, right? What’s keeping you (happily) busy these days? Drop a comment in and share!

And Happy Autumn–my favorite season!

A few days ago, Joyce Moyer Hostetter, posted on Facebook that she was looking for something new to do, a skill that would stretch her brain. She got lots of ideas, and I can picture her now–with those little cartoon lightning bolts shooting around her head.

I think we forget how much we need this new stuff, some activity that’s different from our norm, even when the norm is what we absolutely love to do. Patterns get created, then grooved, then–too often–settled into concrete that hardens around them. It does take a new hobby or exercise to shake things  up.

I’ve got this new job, and a lot of little bits of it are doing that shake-up for me. Sharing an office, mixing up steady work with the putting out of small fires, meetings! and lots more. But the biggie–the one that’s turning out to be the most fun–has totally caught me by surprise.

You might want to cover your ears just a bit for this one. Or, you know, duck down behind the nearest bunker.

I’ll whisper it…budgets

I know! I can hear you now: Budgets?! But that’s…MATH!

The thing is, it’s “creative” math. 🙂

Actually, I think what’s going on is that right now, with this job, a budget has become a tool I need to understand and actively use. It’s also a thing that, when you have a specific purpose for working with it, becomes actually understandable and real. (Unlike, you know, geometry, since I have never once had to, as an adult, actually figure out the surface area of a cylinder. Just saying.) And I am perfectly capable of adding and subtracting, even–with a little refresher “google”–calculating percentages.

I’ll share another little secret. A huge percentage (see how I snuck that in?) of nonprofit people working in the arts are former English majors. Or artists. Or theater people. Or dancers. And guess how they talk about budgets and numbers. Like this:

“You need to use those numbers to tell a story.”

“Look at what your budget narrative is saying.”

“Think about who’s going to read that budget and what they’re looking for.”

I tell you…I’m home.

Still, I’m not saying it’s coming easily. I’m having to stay awake and listen. I have to stop taking notes for later and concentrate on what the teachers are telling me now. I have to do little scribbles of math in my notebook (yes, me!) to make sure I have things right. I raise my hand and describe my situation–you know, as an example to help everybody else in the class–to get confirmation that I’m on the right track.

And, yes, it’s waking up my brain. Instead of coming home from a days’ training workshop dull and lethargic, I come home tired, but amped up. I’ve talked to people who have been doing this kind of work for decades, and they say this is the stuff you keep learning–this is the stuff that keeps the job new and interesting. And I’m willing to bet a WHOLE lot that they didn’t start from as early a stage of financial understanding as yours truly.

What’s new for you? What have you recently added to your life that’s stretching your brain and catalyzing those neural chemicals? (And, no, I don’t care if there aren’t actually any neural chemicals to catalyze–I don’t have to know that to write a budget!) What are you thinking about trying out?

All-righty. This tale may take a few moments in the telling, and may also feel rather Becky-centered. BUT…I swear, there is a lesson in here for us writers. For this one, anyway.

In terms of my writing and my reading, I’m not usually a big fan of symbols. Or maybe I’m just not a big fan of when they’re, oh….let’s just say it: Not Used With Skill. I know, as we come up the literary-analysis ladder in school and on into college (and maybe book clubs?!), symbols are something we learn about and something we look for in books and weave into our essays. I always thought, though, that the emphasis that gets placed on them as a big deal can get a little heavy, and that symbols themselves often end up feeling something like that cartoon anvil landing on your head.

This morning, I got a little punch in the gut about how symbols can actually sneak up on us in life and–to extrapolate–that maybe I’ve been a little dismissive of their reality and the power they can carry in a story. You know, when they Are Used With Skill.

Going back in time a ways–a few years ago, my husband and I switched banks, opening up a new checking and savings account. As is pretty typical, the bank official asked us if we’d like credit cards to go with the account. We sort of did the Why Not thing, which–smart or not–is not the actual story. The story starts when the very nice official told me…ME…that I didn’t qualify for a credit card.

There were plenty of logical reasons, the most prominent being that I hadn’t had a work-for-an-actual-company job for ten years. I’d been freelancing, and–you know–the income wasn’t seriously high. (If it had been, I might very well still be doing it!) So, yeah, I got it–on paper, not such a great credit risk.

Still…

I felt like a stereotype. Like a woman who was living in the 1950s, not the 2010s. I felt like, as much as I love my husband, this was tying my identity just a bit too much to his. Honestly, I had to take a few breaths to take down the slight, but actual nausea I was feeling.

Anyway, guess what I did today. I had to get some cash from the bank ATM, and I had a few extra minutes, so I popped inside and talked to a teller about whether, having had a p/t time for a few months, I might actually qualify for a credit card. Of. My. Own.

According to the teller, yes, I do. Now I know I haven’t filled out the paperwork. I know I haven’t submitted it, received approval, or got the card yet. But I walked out of the bank with an application.

I walked out with a symbol.

That symbol carried a lot of thoughts and feelings with it. Independence. Security. Pride. A sense of starting over at a not-so-young age actually mixed in with a little bit of that much younger Wow! that I remember when I got my actual first card decades ago. Frustration and some anger that I had been in a place where the application wasn’t a possibility, even though I went into that place for reasons that I thought then and still think were good.

A whole mix of shades and layers.

And I thought, Oh. And I thought of the automobile in my WIP. It’s been playing its way through the plot and character development work I’ve been doing. It’s connected to my MC, but is it the right one for my MC? Does it carry enough weight in her personal story? Does it have the weight and resonance of, oh, say…a simple, little credit-card application?

Symbols. Yeah. They’re a part of life. And maybe I need to be a little more open about letting them be a part of my writing.

Here, really.

Well, not here-on-the-blog here. You may have noticed that! But here, as in my usual area on the planet. Which just occupies a bit more physical space these days and a little less virtual space than before.

I knew things were going to shift when I took my job. Basically, it’s all shifting in a good way–the work is busy and interesting and challenging and being done in the midst of great people. I’m making slow, but steadier progress on my writing. I’m sticking with yoga and even adding back a little more other exercise than I’d been doing. And the sanity-management is going fairly well, I’d say.

Still reading plenty, of course!

But, yeah, the blog has suffered.

I’m not letting it get to me. I love all my blogging friends who show up every few weeks just as much as those who post multiple times a week. I check in plenty, even if I’m commenting less (another less-free-time hit for me). Also, I started blogging Way Back When I realized that my comments on other blogs were getting long enough to be considered…posts. I started for me, because I do love thrashing out ideas about writing and reactions to books I’ve read and, oh, yeah, just ho-humming about life stuff. And I do still enjoy putting up posts.

It’s just not, obviously, going to happen as often.

I am fairly sure that–at some point in the future–my posting will pick up the pace again. Something will come into my life, or I’ll see a sparkle that needs to be followed down a path–and all of a sudden, the ideas will be popping, the need to share and question and clarify will bubble up, and the posts will fly. Knowing this (as I never did when I was young) is one of the things that is making life so interesting these days. And it’s one of those things that keeps me from panicking at the lulls in any one specific activities or from pushing myself to get everything done. At once. Immediately.

Life changes. And then it changes again.  I’m not usually one for sports metaphors, but–better to ride the wave than get bonked in the head with your surfboard, right?