Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers

So here's the straight truth. A year and a half ago I had a small interest in writing. I mean, I've always enjoyed writing. But for publication? Never. I decided I should take a writing class from BYU. My professor was very encouraging and put me into a class at a BYU Writer's Conference.

I had never heard of such a thing. A conference for writers? Was I a writer? Did I want to be a writer? I spent a week in a class with Ann Cannon (A.E.Cannon) and 12 other writers in an advanced novel class. They were so patient with me. They talked about critique groups and the other conferences they had been to.

The conference was loaded with great authors and I even had a chance to meet with an editor from New York. She looked at a few pages I had written and the interview wasn't terrible. Despite my having no idea what I was doing.

I returned again this last June and had another great week in Utah. It's such an odd, but great feeling to be encouraged by people who've published numbers of books.

So here I am, preparing for my return trip to this conference, not just as an attendee but as a participant in it's formation. And I've had the privilege to see some of the hard work that goes on behind the scenes to make it feel like a trip to Disneyland for those who attend.

I hope to see you there.

http://wifyr.com

Writing and Pregnancy

Um, did you know I'm working on a novel? Two actually, but mostly one at the moment. Sometimes it's fun to tell people you're writing a novel and sometimes not. It's like being pregnant with no due date.

"How much longer?"
"Are you almost done?"
"When can I buy it?"
"Are you published yet?"

Part of me says yes, yes, I'm expecting. Isn't it exciting? But then after awhile it feels more like that last month of pregnancy where you're all, "Get this thing out of me." And people start saying, man you look like you could have that thing any day now. Except they say, are you still working on that? Or, aren't you done already?

That's when telling regret starts. Because growing a baby is dang hard work. And that poor baby/book, it gets the worst treatment. Cuz I don't know how to be a pregnant lady or writer yet. (Note to readers, I'm actually quite familiar with being pregnant, but I'm talking about the first time.)

So in the book I'm writing I think, I need more of this. Kind of like how I told my husband, more hot dogs and cheese are needed. At midnight. And then i see another pregnant lady in her cute pregnant aerobic outfit (you people make me sick) jogging down the road and I think, I'm doing this all wrong, because I just read this book and it's excellent and it's nothing like what I'm writing.

Here's the real deal with my first pregnancy. Vomit. A lot of vomit. The feeling hitting me, running to the bathroom and vomiting on the kitchen floor and slipping in my own vomit and sliding in my own vomit and ramming into a door all covered in my own vomit which made me, vomit. And this relates to writing. Yes it does.

I'll be minding my own business, just typing away when a scene will hit me. And I'm suddenly a crazed lunatic. I'm weepy and teary and I don't want to sit there anymore. Or sometimes I crack myself up because let's face it, I'm funny. And there's just too much sarcastic punk in me to not let it slip into my characters.

And it's all a bit of a mess. But you have to write that way. Or alteast I do. The clean up comes later. Sometimes one scene will bring another one out, like slipping in vomit. Other times not. That's called dry heaving writing. I hate that kind.

So now you feel all educated about writing and vomit and you think, why would I ever want to write? Because duh, eventually the baby comes and you think, maybe that was all worth it.

Conflict of Interests

My youngest was home with me today. And I'm in a hurry to finish my manuscript.
Is it just me, or does this seem like a conflict? Of course. Because don't you know,
"There's nothing to do in this whole house."

So I thought, okay, I don't really write ALL DAY anyway. Just a few hours on a good writing day.
List of non-boring things we did:

1. Make a miniature of our dog Peanut with a conglomerate of crafty kid things we have. Which included the use of a glue gun. Which means yes, I touched the hot glue a few times trying to stick the little eyes on.

2. Read picture books by Judy Cox and Kristyn Crow. Voices included.

3. Shot each other and the windows and t.v. with nerf guns.

4. Ate food.

After all of this I felt like a good mom. Until there was a 3.4 minute pause in the action wherein I was reminded that, "There's nothing to do. Nothing is fun by myself."

At that point I did what any book writing mom would do, I turned on Scooby Doo and then started to write. But even Scooby Doo is boring if you have no one to tell all the parts to. He's a sports broadcaster in the making. Kid gives a great play by play.

Someday I'll finish.
In the meantime, I'm sharpening my mad nerf gun shooting skills.

Writing the Hard Stuff

So I'm not the best at blogging.
Anyway.

The book I'm currently writing is an emotional one. And one that picks scabs off of past scars. I write for a while and feel great, and then I feel it affecting me. It's pretty hard sometimes, actually. But I know I'm supposed to be writing it.

So what do you do when you feel all emotionally confused? You talk to Carol Lynch Williams, the author of some of the best, hardest books, ever. And you whine and cry and tell her too much personal information. And then she tells you the best advice. Because she's Carol.

First, you need to read her books. Did you? Okay. She said, you can't put it all in one book. Our lives require more than one. Pick one big thing, change it a bit, because you're writing fiction, and then pepper it with smaller events. So simple. And something I can see so very clearly in her writing now that she mentioned that.

I'm not done writing the book, but I have the whole thing in my head. And today, my goal is to write out those events that belong in the book. Seperate from the book. My plot is already mapped, and I have much of the book written. It's in the revision that the possible changes will take place.

I just love formulas. I love patterns. I listen to what other writers have to say, to their advice, to their experiences. It's just that sometimes, one person will say what I need to hear in the only way that will get to me.

Thank you, Carol. And thank you to all my friends and peers who have helped me along this path.

Christmas and Eve Thereof

Brendan and I stayed up until 1:30 in the morning on Christmas Eve wrapping and assembling one of those arcade type dual basketball hoop thingies. Normally a late night such as that wouldn't bother me. But I literally fell asleep a few times holding some things steady for Bren. I guess when you take quadrillion pills for sizillion health issues, it gets to you.

Sleep. This thing was unheard of during college. Ask my roommates. Even ask friends who weren't my roommates with whom I talked to all night. And ask my husband with whom I dated very late into the night. (Children, disregard that sentence.) But come on, he was so cute.

Christmas wasn't that great once middle school rolled around. Cuz it was just clothes and bleh bleh. I know not everyone felt that way. I have friends, (Tonya) who thought the other 364 days of the year were meant to prepare for this Holiday. Buying gifts for others was always fun.

BUT. Christmas came alive for me again after Madelyn was born. Yes, she was only 3 months old on her first Christmas. But I couldn't wait. I was so excited. I woke Brendan and Madelyn up at 5:30 in the morning to open presents. And ever since then, Christmas has held it's magic.

I loved having them line up at the top of the stairs. Wait for me to go down and turn the Christmas Tree lights on. Then let them take a few stairs at a time and stop to pause for effect. They were all happy. Happy at what they got, happy for what their siblings got. Happy to rip the pretty paper and make messes. And happy to eat stocking junk food before breakfast.

It was a good day. Because I have them. Because I have Brendan who always feels whatever he's gotten me isn't enough because he wants to give me the world. And it was a good day, quadrillion pills or not, because I was there.

Even when expected, death is difficult

One of my sweet friends called a bit ago to say that her husband had just passed away. The tears haven't quite slowed yet.

When I was young, I walked to Elementary School. On the way there and back I would stop and visit with an elderly lady. I wish I could remember her name. I don't know how or when we became friends. I think it started with me watching her fill her flowerbeds and tend to her garden. It was the first time I heard about peat moss.

The two of us spent a lot of time together. I remember sitting at her table, talking about who knows what while eating her fresh made fruit leather. One of her walls had all kinds of sailboats on it. I loved everything about her little house and her. This lady who didn't even know who my parents were but shared her life with me, a 7 year old.

I have always had an affinity for gray hair and wrinkled eyes. As I, myself age, I've come to understand cognitively what I felt in my heart for so long, that our bodies succumb to a corruptive process, but our spirits stay youthful and vibrant.

This friend of mine who just lost her husband, though her wrinkles are plentiful, is the same as me on the inside. I consider all of this time that she has taken care of her ill husband and I love her even more. He suffered from the same disease that plagues my body. I see myself in him, limited by the shell we carry. And at the same time feel comfort in the knowledge that I have a husband who will care for me with all of the love that my friend has for her spouse.

I cry with her today. For her loss. For her service. For her empty home. My heart is with you, O.J. Richard has gone home to his Father in Heaven and is finally free of his pain.

Christmas Quotes from my Children

"Are we really getting nothing for Christmas?"

"I hope Christmas is like last year when I got a new tetherball and it was fun."

"I already knew that, the Tooth Fairy is dad, but Santa is real."

"Make sure you remember everything I want in my stocking."

"We already had Christmas last year."