It is Hard to be a Catholic

I will be 49 in a few months.  Seems like I just received my first communion yesterday.  In fact, I still have my 70's inspired communion dress hanging in my closet.  I am a cradle catholic.  I am a cradle, questioning, trying to be good, catholic.

Oh, but it's hard.

It's hard for so many reasons.  And not in any particular order, but the first that comes to mind is the churches stand on female priests.  Yup, I know both sides of the argument but fundamentally for me it is simple.  I was called.  I felt a clear, persistent calling as a teenager but couldn't follow because I was catholic.  It is also difficult to tell your daughters you can be anything you want except the most respected job of your religion because of your sex.  Your gender.  The one thing you can't change.  It is also hard because when you talk to the parish priest about they think - they say that it just doesn't feel right if there isn't a man on the alter.  Huh.

It is really hard to be Catholic.

I live with a small measure of guilt if I don't attend mass on Sunday or the required holy days.  I see my first grade teacher, Sister Ann, drilling those days into my small, pliable mind.  Yet, here I am, not of the retirement-get-of jail-free-age but truly struggling with pain and I just feel guilty.  It's only an hour.  And I sometimes get something out of it.  But the work to go is so hard.  The pain to sit on that bench and loose the feeling in my leg.  Ugh.  The guilt because I know it is only an excuse as I stare at the man who died on the cross.

It is really hard to be Catholic.

I endured the joy and eventual disappoint in Pope John Paul II.  Yes, this may anger quite of few people but I expected more when he became Pope.  I expected radical and sweeping change.  I know I was of an age when you want everything to move quickly and why shouldn't it, says your 20-year-old self.  Realistically, now, I know that change in the Catholic church is like dancing with an elephant.  I was disheartened when the next guy came in.  He looked so ghoulish and hard. Yet, now I am cautiously optimistic.  Maybe, there will be some change.  Or the beginning of change.

I am also trying hard to find a Pollyanna way to end this essay.  Not sure how.  Only that I am still Catholic.  It is hard to be Catholic.

Perhaps that is the point.

Old Classics

I love the old classics.  Not the traditional greek or Canterbury Tales.  No, Agatha Christie, Dorothy Gilman and old Xanth fantasy.  Those books that I read a young girl who eagerly devoured them from cover to cover. 

The winter is leaving and outside I hear bursts of song birds.  The air is still cold and the snow hasn't quite left yet.  Here in NE Ohio we have been known to have snow into April.  I am not sad about the snow leaving.  I am sad about the winter leaving though.

When the sky is gray with bitter cold winds and large snow flakes, I read.  Something in me reaches for those tried and true classics that feel like a warm sweater.  I dip in and force myself to slow down so I can read each and every word.  I slowly turn the pages as I greet each sentence like an old friend.

Of course I know the plot, characters and dialogue by heart.  But I still do it anyway.  The comfort of those books keeps the depressing gray skies from bringing in too much doom and gloom.  Those books are old friends that I keep on the shelves.  We visit every winter and spend many a peaceful time together.

Soon warmer weather will be here for good.  Then I will be outside, planting flowers, taking walks, riding bikes and reading new books.  Spring and summer are perfect for new friends.

Winter is perfect for the old.

Musings from the Couch Deux

I read an article a few years ago proposing that there is nothing new in the world.  No new thought.  No new ideas.  Nothing new.  The author proposed that what we conceive as new are really two separate ideas combined in different ways.

Sad.  I rather like the thought of new in the world.  But that is for another post.

Today, I wanted to address that he could be right.  Just go with me for a moment . . .

I was fishing in a video game I play with my son.  I caught a squid.  As my digital, cartoonish character held the wiggly squid aloft I realized that this guy could be right. 

The squid was a opaque white with dangling tentacles and eyes on opposite sides of his body directly above the tentacles.  I knew it was a squid because it said so on the screen.  Looked nothing like the squid from the aquarium or from Sponge Bob.  This was no Squidward.

Nope, this was an Ood.

Yes, you Dr. Who fans are saying of course Ann, the Ood were based on squids.  But you see I never saw it really.  They carry their brains in glowing balls.  I was far more focused on that detail.  And those tentacles came from their mouth atop a large body.  Sorry, but the resemblance is pretty far fetched to a squid.

So you can see why I think this author is right.  Someone, somewhere, in Dr. Who writing world, created a character that resembles a squid.  This character is so surreal and strange yet very familiar.  Creative but the same.

Yup, I do believe that perhaps creativity is not something from nothing but two different nothings creating a something.

Musings from the Couch

The internet flickers now and again and of course, whatever I am watching or listening comes to an abrupt halt.  Then follows those flights of thought that take wing in alarming directions.  I thought that was a nice turn of cliché, huh?

So this post will focus on two of those recent flights.  I will call them Netflix Folly and SyFy Ignorance.

The first is purely from a writer's point of view.  I much prefer writing -- screen, novel or any - where the plot and points are tied up nicely.  If the author starts a thread of thought then please resolve it.  Drives the dedicated reader crazy when they can't figure out why the purple sweatered girl was mentioned in the café scene.  What was the purpose?  JK Rowling and Joss Whedon are masters at this craft.  Their stories are so finely interwoven with clever prose that you are guaranteed that every word is treated like precious gold.  They do not fritter or scamper with their plot points.  They are placed there for a precise reason.  If you don't know it yet -- you will.

Hence the folly of Netflix for all those screen writers that do not treat the written word as religiously.  For now, there are whole seasons, hours and weeks of TV to replay without interruption.  Those plot holes you hoped to  slip by unnoticed are now glaring, gaping maws of monsters.  (another nice turn of phrase -- feel free to borrow.)  If you start a character down a path and then the next episode is nowhere near that path -- we will notice.  And wonder.  And stop watching.  Be warned.  You can't escape from normal viewers anymore.

Now onto the SyFy ignorance.  Ignoring the stupid network title - really folks?  really? - let's focus on the true lack of corporate support.  Over and over, the network starts a great show with a focus on good writing, acting and interesting premise.  Then who knows what happens, not enough profit I suppose, they stop.  Or they veer off and make no sense.  I don't know but it is very irksome.  Yes, I like science fiction/fantasy as much as the next person.  I am a closet trekkie - but who isn't anymore thank you Benedict Cumberbatch.  That doesn't excuse this complete lack of support for quality programming.  Get your head out of the ledger, commit to a show and then watch the money flow.  Go as you are now, and you will be doomed.

Now, I will put away my eraser, crystal ball and go back to Netflix.  If the internet is working again!  

Next up, AT&T and Sprint - get your act together!

Pure Peace

So my husband and son are at the local football game.  My daughters are doing whatever college kids do on Friday nights – I know, I know but please don’t tell me.  I am enjoying a quiet evening home and I made a slight mistake.

I made an over strong rum and coke.

I mean really over strong.  I am slightly tipsy.  And writing my blog.   This promises to be very funny.  Or very wrong.  Who can tell?  Well, tomorrow I can tell.  But right now, let’s just roll with it.

Most days I do my work with video rolling constantly in the background.  The sound and plot other thoughts intruding.  Thoughts like when will I die? Will my son be OK?  Do I really need to clean this?  I can just keep moving and those thoughts move to the background.  Maybe never to be heard.

At one point I thought I was the only one with thoughts that circled endlessly.  Now I believe that anyone who goes through trauma has the same problem.  Endless circling thoughts. 

Tonight I was watching Grey’s Anatomy, slightly tipsy, and a moment of pure thoughtlessness occurred.  The song “Sun” by Sleeping At Last came on.  The song has a beautiful refrain.  “We are the dust of dust, We are the apple of God's eye, We are infinite, AS the universe will hold you inside.”  For one brief moment all that I heard was the refrain.  No inner dialogue.  No to do list cycling through.  Only those haunting words.  And a moment of connectedness.  A moment where time stopped and I felt whole.  A moment of where I connected from earth to sky.  A pure moment of peace.

Thank you rum.  Thank you Sleeping at Last.  Thank you Greys .  Thank you.

When Someone Believes in You

I know my family believes in me.  Yet a complete stranger called and asked that I write a story on traveling to Disney with an autistic child.  Then he asked for another story.  And another.  And another.  Plus, he paid me!

I know that it seems small to some people.  To me, it is huge! It is the faith of a complete stranger in my work. Similar to a complement of a stranger on your clothes. Somehow we place more value on a strangers complement than our own family.

I get that and I do understand why.  Our family feels the obligation of being nice and they love us unconditionally.  A stranger doesn't have to say anything so their complement is more meaningful.  Sure, makes sense.

Yet, I would hope in my heart that my family really means it.  I mean it when I complement them.  I am honest when I tell them what I think and why.  I would hope that is reciprocated.

Yet, there is a thrill when a stranger does it.  So I am sending a sincere thank you to God for all the editors that believe in me!  Thank you Thank you Thank you!

Quick question for you reader, what was the last complement you received from a complete stranger?  Comment and share the positive!

Adjustments

My daughters are now in college.  How I envy them!  I remember those days so clearly.  Young, able bodied, exciting and safe all at the same time.  Looking back I realize that college was more than another text book to read but an environment to practice being an adult with your parents nearby.  The independence of those years was intoxicating.

I also miss them.  It is cliché to say it seems like yesterday but there is truth to clichés.  While I don't remember my breakfast this morning, I do remember feeding them their breakfast fifteen years ago.  I remember all those tedious details of hair combing, clothes selection, meals, homework, and all the drama involved with young girls.  Sigh.

I am now a woman in a house of men.  Not that I talk about it with my husband because he was outnumbered for so many years.  And I am certainly not the feminine sort.  Yet, I miss helping with their outfits, hair and the general chatter that follows them.  I feel very alone sometimes.

Or perhaps it is loneliness that stems from their leaving whether they are girls or boys.  The house is quieter.  I make far less food and wash fewer clothes. 

No, I do miss them.  I feel that we became more than mother and daughter in the last few years.  I hope we became friends.

Perseverance

I published on wattpad one week ago and I have half of the book posted.  The book went from the backroom listing up to fifty and on the front page.  It has dropped down to 80 but I know now It is a real roller coaster ride.

I read quotes on courage all week.  For the past five years I have been circling around the events that occurred during my cancer treatments.  Coming to terms with the stress, I suppose.  I used humor, therapy, art, group therapy – you name it and I tried it.  I hope this book is the last of my therapy.  It has certainly took courage to put it out there for critique.

Yet, the roads of any one following their faith is hard.  Christian, Muslim or Jewish – they all require faith and perseverance. 

Persevere I will.  I made it through treatments and five years beyond.  Yeah, I got this!

Look, Leap and Breathe

Yesterday I gained the courage to post my memoir on Wattpad.  With the support of family and friends, I took the leap!  Wow, has it paid off!  In less than twelve hours, I had more than 100 people reading the first four chapters.  No, not a Wattpad record but certainly a record for me.

Publishing this story is quite difficult.  The content is very personal.  For those that know me, I try not to be evangelical.  I am certainly not the Church Lady.  Yet, I did experience something profound.  I am following His directions and pray that I heard them correctly.

For those of you reading my book, thank you.  Your support is genuinely appreciated!

For those who haven't read it yet, you can find it here http://www.wattpad.com/story/8219934-please-god-how-do-i-sit-on-the-toilet.  This site is free and accessible online or with a free app on all types of devices.  Search on my name or the title, Please, God, how do I sit on the toilet? 

Enjoy and God bless!

I cannot believe it has been a year since my last post.  In my aged and seemingly feeble mind, it feels like yesterday.  I apologize to my loyal and few followers on a true lack of follow through and procrastination.  Hmmm, maybe that is why there is few?

In my defense,  it has been an exhausting year.  I stopped just about every non Mom part of my life to focus on my family.  My middle child graduated, received her Gold Award, traveled overseas and started college.  My oldest completed her second year of college and traveled this summer working.  My youngest completed fourth grade and began the adjustment of being the last kid home.  All in all – a very busy year for Mom.  Enough of the bragging already!

Now that everyone is off and moving in their own life direction, I can refocus on my extra-curricular activities.  I am blessed to be surrounded by such incredibly talented people like Laura Schweitzer.  She created my new book cover.  I will be posting about it soon. 

Why not now you ask?  One aspect of building an author’s platform is finding exciting material for a blog post.  If you are friend on Facebook, lucky you I posted it there recently.

 Yes, there will be more . . .    All will be revealed I promise!  Check back soon and I will have all the info my new book, where you can get it and how much!

How I Handle Rejection

An old childhood friend recently posted on my Facebook wall that I shouldn't talk about rejection but be positive about publishing.  Yes, I agree that being positive is important (hence the title living in the upside) but rejection can be important as well.

All writers get rejected.  Let's face it -- there are far more of us than there are publishers.  That's is a fact.  Rejection letters are not really rejection.  They are replys that mean you are not a good fit for us today but perhaps in the future.

Basic sales philosophy.  Not today only means not today.  Perhaps next time or perhaps you need to look at your presentation or perhaps I am in a bad mood or perhaps I am too busy or . . . 

So sending queries and asking for the contract is selling.  Look professional, sound professional and someone, somewhere will pick you up.

And Again

So I was rejected twice in two days.  That makes a total four rejections in the past few months.  I know that seems so little but until you see those actual words "You are not for us," it really sends you.  Right back to the middle school feeling that you are just not good enough.  Ugh, like a punch in the stomach.

The punch felt so physical that I resorted to the turtle and hunkered down under the covers and hid.  For almost two weeks.  I just licked my wounds and felt sorry for myself.  I was almost convinced that I wasn't good enough.

Amazing how those adolescent wounds are so fresh more than 30 years later.

So I did what I always do - open up Google and research rejection.  Thank you www.onehundredrejections.com for the inspiration.  I am reminded to reach deep down like I did fighting cancer and autism.  Reach deep down and find the resources to keep going on!

I can do that!  Not can but will!

Hit Send

Friday, September 7, 2012 at 12:08 pm marks the time and date that I hit send on an email query for my memoir, Umm, God, How Do I Sit on the Toilet?  I am going to take the process slow and target first Christian publishers and literary agents who are open to this genre. 

If that fails, I will refocus the target list towards any publishers/literary agents open to memoir.  Paticularly those who are OK with multiple submissions.

As far as I can tell, it can three to six weeks for someone to respond.  Wow, it may take a long time to find someone.

But that's OK, because I finally feel that I have a little time!

Drafting a Query

Drafting a query is an exercise in brief.  Convey your idea minimally and quickly.  Hit them hard and fast and try to leave a positive impressions.

That is the advice from the book I just finished on query letters.  Good advice with a well thought out formula.  So why then the first initial rejections.

Not that I don't expect rejection.  I expect enough rejection to line the walls.  But what I found missing was my voice.  Following the outline was a good exercise in presenting my case quickly and concisely.  Yet there was me there.

So I reworked the query for the past three months.  Yes, that sounds like a long time but remember my fingers don't always and there are children involved.  Writing will always come second while they are home.

Today I am hopeful.  I woke up this morning with an idea in the front of mind.  I rolled it around and began to get excited.  I think it could really be a good hook.

Here goes:

The distance from the average toilet seat to the ground is sixteen inches. That is a long fall with tubes sewn into your leg. Yes, I fell often and talk about in my humorous and inspirational memoir, Umm, God, How Do I Sit On the Toilet?   . . . .

What do you think?  Maybe someone will sit up and take notice.  Here's hoping!

Memoiring Again

Last spring I put the final touches on what some publishers would call a memoir.  I am not sure what the genre is - part self help, part story, part devotional and part guide.  The book is titled "Umm, God, How Do I Sit on the Toilet?"  As you can see, there is a great deal of humor too.

Now, I am working on query letters, researching publishers and hoping that someone will take a chance on me.  So far, nothing but I am hopeful.

The difficulty is the query.  Advice is that the query should reflect your style of writing.  As you know, I am a former English teacher and published author but my most comfortable style of writing is conversational.  I like to feel that I am writing and speaking directly to you the reader.  Perhaps that will resonate with some readers.

I hope to have a solid draft on the query by next week because I also need to start work on another project.  Next years Kid's for Christ VBS program.

Sigh, if only these deadlines came with a paycheck . . . .

My Niece and Wonderlust

My beautiful and talented niece Kelly Taylor (who has traveled everywhere!  Yes, I am jealous!) is really promoting her blog www.getwonderlust.blogspot.com and her Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/#!/GetWanderlust.  I am so proud of her and only wish I could take a little credit for her success.  But alas, I can only admire her travels from afar and give the credit all to her own adventurous spirit!

I believe we all need a little wonderlust so I challenge all of you to breakout your top ten list of places I want to visit before I die and start wondering.

Here's to you Kelly!

How did I do it?

I was asked recently how did I get through the past fifteen years.  Yes, it is the subject of my manuscript but the answer can be summerized into a few simple steps.

My mom calls it "crisis mode."  Just like waging a war, a person under attack can shift into crisis mode.  This is the same tactic you see in parents when their child is injured.  Unfortunately, crisis mode is an all too familiar  area for my family.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer and Adam with autism; my husband and I quickly reevaluated or to-do lists.  Our lists went from fix this or that to call him or her.  Information gathering was our priority.  The more we knew, the better we could decide our next course of action.

Crisis mode also means that you have to dampen feelings.  Anxiety, fear or even happiness all become secondary to purpose.  Purpose being doing what you have to do to survive even if it is scary or ugly.  Like a starving person eats old food in order to live, a person takes the chemo or listens to her son's screams in order to treat the illness.

Of course, prayer is a constant.  Crisis mode is necessary but not without prayer.  It is only by God's grace that we do live. 

Six More Months!

Break out the bubbly!  I have passed my four years, six months exam.  No sign of a tumor so I am dancing with NED for six more months.  I just love NED - no evidence of disease.

I am back home with the kids off to school and now I can continue to work on the house and my manuscripts.  Goals for the next six months:  begin and maintain diet, exercise, finish manuscript/start next manuscript, submit manuscript, porch/patio, organize house and more.

As each healthy passes and I am encouraged that I will live a healthy future!

Six Months Out

August 1st usually means dog days of heat, humidity, shorts and sun.  For me, it means all of that and more -- planning for winter vacation.  Yeah, six months out and I start thinking ahead for what to do over Thanksgiving and Christmas break.

I began to watch the airfare and see if they have specials over winter.  The fall fares are already out and winter fares are just beginning.  I check the school schedules including any concerts, benefits or extra activities that would affect planning.  I put a quiet reminder to my busy husband to watch for any scheduling conflicts or issues that may affect planning.

I know my family.  I know one child may or may not be home from college.  The other two are willing to go anywhere at anytime.  Just let them know and they will be ready.  This includes my autistic son who by now knows trips mean fun and adventure.

Today I will grab my travel notebook and start working through my lists.  Maybe we will go somewhere - maybe we won't.  But I can't wait until the week before break to decide.  Now is the time to plan.

The Empty Bucket

I have mentioned it before but I face it again.  My creative bucket is nearing empty.  I find myself  craving alone time so I can fill my creative bucket.

The problem is simple.  It is summertime.  The children are home.  I have a great relationship with them.  I want to spend with them.  They want to spend with me.  So I am talking with one of them. or all of them, all the time.  There is never quiet, alone time.  Without alone time, my bucket never fills up.

Which wouldn't be a problem except for the promises I made to others and myself.  I promised to work on publishing my memoir.  I promised to start writing my new teen fiction novel.  I promised to write the curriculum for next years vacation bible school.  Where I will find the inspiration, I don't know.

The other side of the problem is this -- the added stress of the cancer and fibro pain and worry for children - scoops out any creativity in my bucket.  I do find time to meditate, blog or pray and little bits of creativity creep in and leak into my bucket.  I cling to those beads of creative moisture.

I need to work on a method of instantly filling my bucket.  I need a method or idea that will generate creative thought and energy with simplicity.  Perhaps one of those beads moisture will yield a good idea.