Prayer for the New Year

I should preface this with the statement that I don't know that I'm a Christian. I pray to God, but I do not feel comfortable with what Christianity stands for today -- a right-wing identity politics that encompasses white supremacists, prosperity gospel, and a xenophobic populace. I am, at heart, a Quaker and a progressive one at that. A large number of Christians would say I'm not really Christian, and I'll take their word for it.

But I pray:

•  I pray that we implement the vaccines for COVID quickly and fairly, so that we get a herd immunity of vaccinated people (the only way to get herd immunity without a higher body count).
• I pray that we find a safety net for those unemployed by catching COVID or by being let go due to COVID shutdowns.
• I pray that we find compassion in our world, especially for those who are discriminated against.
• I pray that this country finds a unity in behavior that honors our neighbor, lifts up the downtrodden, and aids the poor no matter their religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, and disability status.
• I pray that I find a way to make a difference in my own little corner of the world. 

************

As I get older, I think differently about prayer. I believe we pray for a reason, but I believe less in that concept of deity that, in effect, grants wishes. Because not everyone's wishes get granted -- and not everyone's wishes should be granted. 

I do believe in what my good friend Mariellen said about prayer, that we give God our troubles and She hands them back in the morning with more strength to deal with them.

I also believe in prayer speaking to that of God in everyone, a good Quaker concept. What if prayer mobilizes those who hear it into action?  That being said, I must be at heart a panentheist, believing that God is the gestalt of that of God in everyone, and that God speaks to the whole of humanity to see who will take the message up and create the miracle. 

Therefore, when I pray like this, I speak to myself. I speak to the Gestalt. I hope someone listens.

Goals for the New Year

 I don't make resolutions for the New Year because resolutions are flimsy. They are usually worded vaguely. They're often worded in results (which may not be realistic), and they're not worded in a way that suggests the actions that need to be taken.

So once again (I think I've written about this before), I reach out for SMART goals. SMART stands for:

• Specific
• Measurable
• Attainable
• Relevant
• Time-bound.

So let's take one common resolution (and one of mine, actually): To lose weight in 2016. What's wrong with it?

There are so many things wrong with it. How many pounds a week? What is the process by which one will do it? What's the time parameters? Why is this focused on the result (weight loss) and not the action (Changed habits)? Is it realistic? With no real parameters it can set someone up for failure.

We can change the goal to action-oriented: I will eat healthy and exercise. 

Now, it's not specific enough; let's change it -- I will eat two fruits and two vegetables a day and walk every day, working my time up to half an hour daily by increasing my walk five minutes a week.

 But there's no time parameters. so let's add them.: Starting January 1, I will eat two fruits and two vegetables a day and walk every day, working my time up to half an hour daily by increasing my walk five minutes a week for the rest of the year, to be evaluated monthly.

This is a SMART goal. It's easily followable, easy to see if it's not working and needs adjusted. 

So my goals for the year (not resolutions): 

• Starting January 1, I will eat two fruits and two vegetables a day
• Starting January 1, I will walk every day, working my time up to half an hour daily by increasing my walk five minutes a week, for the rest of the year, to be evaluated monthly.

These are typical resolution goals, but then there's my writing goals broken down:

• By March 31, I will send 50 queries out for Apocalypse to science fiction/fantasy agents from Query Tracker. 
• By October 31, I will send 50 queries out for Prodigies to science fiction/fantasy agents from Query Tracker.
• By March 1, I will finish the rough draft for Gaia's Hands.
• By June 1, I will revise the rough draft of Kringle in the Night
• By August 1, I will put the final touches on Kringle in the Night
• By September 30, I will prepare Kringle in the Night for publication -- formatting, copyright, and cover production; To be published by November 1.
• By December 1, I will have three short stories written.

It's good to have all this written out, because it will be easier to accomplish. Now to get the vision board built, because I will need it by January 1. 

Thank you for being part of my writing ritual

 It's inevitable -- after I write a blog post about losing my will to write, I have a productive day of writing. I should be ashamed of crying wolf all these times, but as I'm a writer, I'll take it. 

Writers often have their rituals -- some have to have a room where they write, some use a specific pen or typewriter. Some warm up before they write, some have to listen to specific music. 

Mine, apparently, is whining when I'm in a writing slump. And morning coffee, but I don't think that's a writing ritual as much as a general morning ritual. And writing my blog instead of starting straight into the novel or short story I'm writing. 

That means you, reader, are part of my writing ritual. When I feel hopeless about writing, I look at my total visitors for the day. I only have a consistent average of 25-30 visitors at a time, but that's more than I started with. You give me the belief that greater things (or at least a little bit better things) are possible for me. 

I know I whine sometimes, but it's because I'm scared I'm going to lose my writing. But I imagine you reading, and I feel better and the words come out. 

Thank you.

Losing my Will to Write

 I'm losing the will to get published.

It was my big goal for 2020, and I fulfilled it through self-publishing The Kringle Conspiracy. I got to do all the things I wanted to do with that publication -- a book launch party, signing books. I didn't sell many copies with royalties so far at $37, but it got the attention I thought it would get.

Now, I don't feel the need to get published, which was the factor driving me to write. I am sitting on several books in the fantasy genre, and I'm having a horribly hard time getting the attention of agents. One has been sitting at DAW for so long with no response that I think it has mummified.  I don't want to self-publish them because I don't know how to market them as they deserve. 

So right now there is no stretch goal. There is no goal at all for my writing, and this is hard to struggle against. If anyone has any ideas for how I can get my mojo back, please let me know. 

My life in writing

 There's days I've sat at my computer screen and ask myself, "What can I say that I haven't already said?" And not just my blog, but stories in general? 

Christopher Booker, in his book The Seven Basic Plots, holds that there are (you got it) seven basic plots in fiction out there, and that they all share one basic metaplot: being called to the action, a positive, almost dreamlike state, frustration, meeting the enemy, and resolution. If this is the case, nothing I write is original -- unless you take into account the characters (especially the protagonist(s)), the setting, the specifics of the plot, etc. The reader expects the plot but revels in the journey to the end.

And so I keep writing, because I care about the characters first and foremost, and want to see how they fare on the journey. I want to see their journeys.

And I want to see my journey as well. In all of my posts, there is a journey, although sometimes (especially in writing Gaia's Hands) I go in circles in the wilderness. My journey is not as sharp and clean as a novel or short story, and it doesn't seem to have a plot. I doubt my memoirs will be worth reading. But as a series of essays, it may not be too bad.

The First Day After Christmas

As much as I love Christmas, I'm glad it's over.  Jolly is a temporary feeling, for which we should be grateful.

It's nice to get back to the calm of a Saturday in normal time, past the frenzy, not absorbed with Christmas preparations. I'm playing Philip Glass instead of Christmas music, and today I may just tackle my work writing (or making a couple grading matrixes if I want to put off writing again.)

I'm feeling mellow and introspective. It could be the Philip Glass, or it could be the very good coffee (My husband's my roaster). Or it could be that it's finally time to relax before the new semester's taken hold. 

I want to mention, though, that I'm thankful for all my readers. I know some of you are bots, particularly the Russian entity that hit my blog 20 times without reading anything. I think most of you are real, although I don't know most of you. Thank you for reading. 

P.S.: The title of the post is from the song "The Twelve Days After Christmas, which is a fine palate cleanser for Christmas. 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

 I am having a rather introspective Christmas this year, thinking of getting older yet still having a sense of wonder at the joyousness of the year. Thinking of all my friends who are suffering -- two with COVID, one with pancreatic cancer. Thinking of my father, who still mourns at Christmas for my mom who died thirteen years ago. Thinking of people I've never met who don't have the families they need.

How suffering can co-exist with joy is a mystery. My mother's last words to me, thirteen years ago on the 23rd were "You look bored -- go out and have some fun." This captures this season more than anything, I think.

So this is Christmas. I'm going to spend my day with Richard, watching the rest of the Lord of the Rings trilogy that I started last night (remastered set) and drinking yaupon tea and playing with my Kaweco brass pencil. 

Christmas Eve

 

It's Christmas Eve, and we're up to cooking a decently big meal here tonight.

When I was growing up, the big meal was at Christmas Eve, because it was a potluck at Grandma's house. I got to see all my cousins and open up packages from relatives and Santa. It was a near-perfect late 60's/early 70's Christmas. I felt pretty spoiled, and we would leave late in the evening so that the stars were bright in the crystalline cold. 

Christmas day was my celebration with my immediate family, and we ate more relaxed food -- in fact I remember cheese, crackers, and summer sausage for brunch. 

Things changed as I got older, as all of us children in our own particular baby boom got too old for Santa, and Grandma got too old to host Christmas at her house.

This year, in isolation, we're reverting to my family's schedule. The big meal is tonight: Rib roast with horseradish and my orange/golden raisin/cranberry relish; rice and broccoli casserole, homemade bread, oil and vinegar slaw, and mini mincemeat pies for dessert. 

Tomorrow we have a veggie/relish tray, crackers, cheeses, herring nibble over Christmas presents. I already know everything I'm getting except for what Richard managed to smuggle in my stocking.

We don't have children, and sometimes I think that's because we both had traumatic childhoods. But we still have a childlike wonder for the holiday season. 

A Time for Nothing

 I'm done putting together my classes for Spring, which was my task for the winter break. Now what? My mind is all for relaxing and hiding from my work in progress, but I'll probably do something with that during break.

I feel like I could sleep forever. I just got up and I'm already wanting to go back to bed. I don't know if this is latent depression or I'm just so relieved to be done with the semester that I'm catching up on time without thinking. 

The semester must have been far worse than I'm registering. I tend to be stoic and plow through the semester with blinders on, not stopping to lament much (other than my lamenting about lack of writers' retreats in these pages). 

And now, because of COVID, I have no choice but to relax. No visit to my dad and sister, no going out shopping, maybe a stop at the Board Game Cafe if it's not crowded, but ... 

So I'm working on relaxing. 

Exploring Christmas Music

 So I'm listening to something from my childhood -- the New Christy Minstrels, which was (is?) a large folk ensemble from the 60s that probably continues in some form to this day. They have a Christmas album, which we're perusing in our great search for new Christmas music. It's beginning to grow on me. Especially "Sing Along with Santa", which brims with quaint snark. It's very early 60's -- folky and earnest.

Then there's the Apple Music playlist Hard and Heavy, which includes the AC/DC hit "Mistress for Christmas", which I can't quite reconcile with Christmas. I'm holding off on Bummer Holiday, another Apple Music playlist, until I am drinking some Christmas cheer and can laugh it off.

Everyone with a microphone has recorded at least one Christmas song, it seems, and compilations don't capture all of them. I haven't seen one with "Dominick the Christmas Donkey" (for which I'm grateful) or "Christmas at Ground Zero" (maybe it's on "Bummer Holiday"?) 

My happiest Christmas album discovery is Annie Lennox's Christmas Cornucopia, which has been remastered and re-released this year. I could listen to it all day, as it's the anti-Last Christmas.

Now we're listening to Kids' Christmas, and I should be hearing "I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" any minute now.

Happy Christmas!

Sigh.

 It's almost Christmas.

I'm done putting together my classes (except for minor touches).

I haven't gotten anywhere on my story.

It just figures, doesn't it? That story (Gaia's Hands) will be the death of me.

I think I'll do those final touches on class today.

Gaia's Hands is certainly not doing well. Sigh. 

Dear Santa, I need a breakthrough on this story for Christmas. 

If the Fates allow

"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is still my favorite Christmas song.

The melancholy and longing in that song seems especially poignant this Christmas, when we find ourselves separated by COVID and the measures we must take to keep from getting or spreading it. 

"Through the years we all will be together/if the Fates allow" seems extremely pertinent this year. The Fates did not allow, and we with short memories act as if this has never happened. Anyone with family in the military, in service professions, in estranged families will tell us that this happens all the time. Fate doesn't allow everyone to get together for Christmas.

I have spent Christmas alone and with strangers, in a private psychiatric treatment center and cooking dinner for the poor. I have spent it with family, and this year I will spend it with my husband and my four cats. 

If the Fates allow.

This story has no flow

 I am really balking on Gaia's Hands again. Enough that I would rather work putting together my spring semester classes today than write on it.

I think the real problem is that it's not writing from scratch; it's working in already written parts to the story. In other words, it's not a flow activity. And flow activities are where it's at, according to positive psychology.

As I've discussed in the pages previously, flow is a concept that's related to happiness. Flow is the experience of satisfaction, challenge, and timelessness one feels when one is in the "zone", which happens when performing a task where one can focus and where one has the optimal level of challenge and engagement. Too simple a task, and one gets bored; too difficult a task, and one gets frustrated.

When I was writing Kringle in the Dark, writing was a flow activity. I could write 2000 words at a sitting; it was even more of a flow activity when I went on word sprints (timed writing activities) -- 20 minutes at a time of just writing. 

Gaia's Hands is just work right now -- the old plot warring with what might be the new plot, old parts needing to be revised, etc. The story has been a problem child since I wrote it, and I hope that this iteration will be the winner. But it's hard, which is the enemy of flow.

Maybe I'll write on my class sites after all. 

Christmas Music

 The music playing in the house during the Christmas season is all Christmas, all the time. I'm not tired of it yet (except for "All I Want for Christmas is You").

The Christmas album I grew up with was The Little Drummer Boy, the original 1958 version from The Harry Simeone Chorale. This is the one with the blue and white cover with a drummer boy playing on a red marching band-style drum. And how is drumming going to be good for a newborn baby? (Harry Simeone has a lot to answer for here.)

The album is very good. Choral pieces, many as medleys of Christmas music with a basso voice narrating pieces of the Christmas story. It's a performance piece as much as anything, and if you get anything other than the 1956 version (or the reissue of the album in 1967 as a Texaco promotional item as I had growing up), you'll miss the narration, which makes the whole album.

My most pleasant surprise is how much I like The Waitress's 1982 hit "Christmas Wrappings". I don't know how I missed it all these years. It has a frenetic New Wave sensibility and a very 80's happy ending. 

And oh, I really like Pentatonix. Too bad they only have four Christmas albums.

Christmas music is one of our music rituals in the household. We also have classical followed by jazz on Sundays. (So right now, it's classical Christmas followed by jazz Christmas on Sundays). 

After Christmas we go back to the usual music, with me favoring the singer/songwriter playlists on Apple Music, and Richard favoring classical. By then, maybe I'll be tired of Christmas music. Probably not. 

Finding Josh

I'm finally making progress on Gaia's Hands. I'm at the beginning where I'm supposed to show a glimpse of my protagonists' lives, and I struggled to write the closeup on Josh, without which the book may well not exist.

I have a better feel of Josh now, finally. He's quiet and serious with a droll sense of humor. He sees visions and keeps them to himself, because people would think he was crazy if he mentioned it. He's very involved with his writing and his aikido, but there's a loneliness about him. And then, in the next chapter he sees his former crush, a professor 20 years older than him, and has a vision about her. Everything turns upside down for him.

This is a romantic fantasy, and I need to be able to punch up the romance without losing the fantasy. This should be a challenge, and I hope I'm up to it.

I wish I had someone who could draw my characters for me. All the artistic people I know don't do commissions. Oh, well, here's hoping I learn how to visualize my characters. 

P.S.: Chloe's upstairs in my room recovering from her spay surgery; she's moving a bit gingerly, but she seems to have forgiven me. 

Chloe's New Adventure (which she would rather avoid)

 

Chloe (AKA Little Girl) is going to the vet today to get spayed. Right now she's in the cat carrier and very unhappy. I doubt the surgery is going to make her much happier. 

Chloe is about 8 months old at this point, and just as much a devil as she was as a youngster. She still bites my toes to wake me up, and she crawls up on my clothes rack to hide. I can't see her getting any calmer as a grownup cat.

I worry a little about putting any cat through surgery, but I also wholeheartedly believe in spaying and neutering cats. There are too many kittens and cats in shelters (as Chloe was an unwanted kitten at the Humane Society). There are too many feral cats out there having kittens. 

So Chloe will go to the vet's, and then she will come home groggy and disoriented and not very happy with us. And we will shower her with love.

Ask Myself

• Do I feel like more of a writer since self-publishing The Kringle Conspiracy?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I finally got a novel into the hands of readers (not many but) who liked it, I got to sign copies, I got to advertise it a bit, I got my hands on a paperback copy. 

• Will I self-publish another book?

Most certainly I will publish the sequel next Christmas time, I will.

• What about all those other books I'm sitting on? The fantasies? 

I'd love to get those traditionally published, but the shape of trad publishing and my inability to get traction does not encourage me. Alternately, I may put those into the self-publishing marketplace (aka Amazon) if I give up in frustration. There is one (Gaia's Hands) that could go self-published, as it's another romance novel.

• Will I ever give up writing? 

I don't think so. It's grown on me. I love creating, and I'm really bad at knitting. 

My male protagonist scares me

Josh Young, my male protagonist in Gaia's Hands, is my worthy adversary.

He scares me because he is a younger man in love with an older woman (He's 25, she's 45). It's still taboo in this day and age, more so than an older man with a younger woman. In the latter case, people turn their heads away with distaste (and, for older men, envy). For women who would date younger men, the outrage raises to a pitchfork-wielding pitch.

A lot of this is based on outdated gender roles. According to these, men aren't even marriageable till 30, when they're well on their way to conquering the world, according to dominant culture and romance novels. Women, on the other hand, can't be as accomplished as the men and their basic commodity is their youth and childbearing ability. Relationships are based on this exchange, which is hypothesized to result from the biological imperative of reproduction of the species.

But at the same time people adhere to the cynical, commoditized view of the above paragraph, we believe in a true love that transcends all barriers. And people write romance about transcending those barriers. Except for an older woman and a younger man.

The barriers assume that all twenty-something males are the same, that they are at a specific (and one may say arrested) state of development that includes a societally-endorsed mix of partying with the guys, living in apartments crawling in garbage and dirty dishes until their mother comes and cleans up the place, and gaming unbathed for days on their PlayStation. 

I want to assume differently. Josh Young is 25, with a Masters in Fine Arts and a job as instructor at his alma mater. He has a best friend who he met years ago at aikido lessons, and he himself is ranked 2nd Dan in aikido. Because this is a fantasy novel, he keeps a secret -- visions that guide his life, and one of his visions brings him to the side of a woman twenty years older. And he resists, not because she's too old, but because he's too young.

I'm bathed enough in dominant culture that this is hard to write, but at the same time I'm compelled to write him as significantly younger, if a bit wiser for his age than typical. 

Wish me luck. 

PS: There are apparently older woman/younger man romance novels. Maybe I can pull this off!

PPS: Apparently there is a whole genre of Korean drama that features older women/younger men. Woo hoo!

My Temperament Today

 So I'm listening to Apple Music's Acoustic Christmas playlist and getting a bit weepy. I hope it's just the stress of the end of the semester getting to me. Or the allergy to benzoyl peroxide I'm still dealing with after 2 days. Or the frustration at trying to write and not quite getting my hooks into the main male character. Or the book itself. Or COVID.

I hear that writers are temperamental. I'm pretty temperamental at times, so I guess that's part of the job description. I try not to be temperamental, because I need to be nice to my husband, so usually I just announce how I'm feeling. Just like I did above.

Being honest about my feelings allows me to take them out and look at them and ask myself if the reasoning behind them (if there is reasoning) is true or a misgiving. And then, what can I do about it? Vent, write, distract myself, make something happen? 

Today is split between vegging/taking care of myself and doing something. Confronting my novel in pieces. Interrogating Josh again. Something.

Cold is the absence of heat

 

I don't know when I learned that cold was the absence of heat, but I suspect it was during a grade school science class. They never gave me an explanation of why in school, so I looked it up.

It turns out that heat comes from kinetic energy; that is, the movement of molecules. The faster they vibrate, the hotter it gets. We as humans become warm because heat sources (themselves quickly vibrating the molecules of air) transfer warmth to us.

If cold is the absence of warmth (pardon the switching up of the synonym; I have a purpose), then how does this translate to people and relationships?

I think the metaphor works well. Someone who is cold seems elementally so; without movement, glacial, without emotion (which could be considered heat). 

I think about this because I have a character in the Christmas romance I'm writing, Brent Oberhauser, who believes he's cold. The truth of the matter is that he's trying to deny himself feelings, which is not the same thing. He has feelings; he has heat but is suppressing it. 

One of the other characters, Santa Jack, points out that this isn't true. But I don't put in the cold/heat metaphor. Should I? 

The Manuscript as Adversary

 I am done with the grading and have completed my semester, for which I'm very happy. I will be spending the next few weeks putting together spring classes for hybrid (in class and on zoom) and enjoying the season. And writing, of course.

The current project will be tearing into that first novel again (the one that has been edited and rewritten about forty times). This story is my adversary, in a very spiritual sense. 

• "Without the aid of a worthy opponent, who's not really an enemy but a thoroughly dedicated adversary, the apprentice has no possibility of continuing on the path of knowledge"

                                            -- attributed to Carlos Castaneda

This manuscript does not know what it wants to be. It's mystical, romantic, fanciful, mundane. It features the unexplainable in plain sight of an academic setting. It has a secret which is also the theme. 

But I think I finally have it. Someone once told me it was a romance novel, and at its core, I think it is. Two people who struggle trying to understand strange events happening to them fall in love while chasing the meaning of what's happening -- and facing the mysterious villain who's trying to foil all their work. Their unlikely relationship (a twenty-year age difference) makes sense because there aren't others like them around.

Whew! That's a lot to unpack, but I don't want to lose any of it. So fantasy romance it is.

Now to face my worthy adversary.

Note: I know that Castaneda's writings have been proven to be a hoax. These quotes are still great quotes and worth thinking on.

Where's my Cookie?

 

I can tell I'm under much stress when my psyche asks for external gratification -- not help, but gratification. "I've been good, God, where's my cookie?"

The origin of this was discovering as a child that cookies could improve my mood by giving me a serotonin rush. Of course, I didn't understand "serotonin rush" as such; just that sugar made me feel better. Thus began my lifetime relationship with carbs, one that gives me trouble to this day. 

When I was older, "cookies" took another form, external validation. Attention from cute boys at first, then recognition for my writing, and sometimes hoping the Bluebird of Capital would drop some money in my lap. 

Good things, however, don't come on demand, and if they did, they wouldn't be the surprise that could lift spirits. They would be expected. So I don't really want the cookies I want, and I'm aware of that. And no amount of what you don't need will replace what you do need, as Bernard Poduska pointed out in his book Till Debt Do Us Part.

What do I need? Rest, self-care, a break from the semester, all of which I will get soon.

Where Do I Go From Here?

 The good news is that, with my NaNo project of writing the sequel to The Kringle Conspiracy, I have found my love for writing again.The bad news is that I don't know what to write next.

One possibility is writing the serialized novel called "Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Universe," a light-hearted space opera. Another possibility would be to write Hands, which would be the polar opposite of Kel and Brother Coyote, a very psychological book about a boy who can heal -- or kill -- by touch. The one problem with this is that it would be set in the year 2005 in Krakow, and I don't see any way that I could immerse myself in that era and place to the extent it would feel authentic.

There are still other possibilities. I could write the third story in the Kringle Chronicles, but I want to wait till NaNo next year to write that. I could write a sequel to Voyagers (or lengthen it to a full novel). I could write the sequel to Apocalypse, Gods' Seeds.  There's so many choices.

But for now, I will edit the slightly problematic sequel to The Kringle Conspiracy, known as Kringle in the Dark. That will keep me busy.

Growth Mindset in Our Endeavors

 Today I'm just waiting for straggling exams to come in. This means it's time for some creativity.

My first reader (aka my husband) says the second half of my latest book goes too fast. He's right, of course. So the task du jour is to work on adding a little more substance into the second half. This is not, I repeat not, an easy thing to do without disrupting flow. So my work is cut out for me.

This is a reminder of what I learned a long time ago in writing books, but it may be a good piece of advice in general: Never fall in love with your results so much that you can't hear constructive criticism.

I believe so many things are a process -- writing, teaching, any skilled labor or hobby. We can take them just for fun, but those with a growth mindset will always push themselves to improve.

It took a lot for me to get there, in part because I think writers' immediate response to writing a book is "This is my brainchild! My masterpiece!" Our second response is "This is horrible! I can't bear to edit it!" Somewhere in-between that is the desire to write the best book possible. That's where the growth is. 

Romance is not Picture Perfect

 It's dark and foggy outside my window, tempting me to set foot on the porch and feel the mist -- 

Noooooo! It's cold out there!

Just one of those moments where a romantic notion is foiled by reality. 

Winter wonderlands filled with frostbite.  Hiking solo and getting lost. The elaborate ring presentation interrupted by the sound of eyes rolling. Sex on the beach with sand getting in very personal places.

Yet we still persist in trying to emulate impossible romantic scenarios as seen on TV (Hallmark Channel, I'm looking at you!) Instead, we should be finding romance in our own lives. Sharing traditions, having tea for two no matter that your tea set is two mismatched coffee cups and a pot you bought at a yard sale, telling stories in front of a fireplace (even if it's not yours). It's the presence of people together, or even a solo person and their dreams, that makes it romantic.

The fine moments you think about later are the romantic ones, the moments that gave you joy and connection and shared meaning. They do not need to be made picture-perfect, because pictures are not perfect in real life. 

Tired

 

I'm so tired.

I'm in the end stretch, with final exams to be graded Monday and Thursday, and office hours online all week. It's not going to be too hard, but I still wish it was all over. 

I get it. I'm getting older, old enough that I reminisce about Christmas past and old music. Old enough that I would like to do nothing except write till January. (And celebrate Christmas). Old enough that I don't feel younger than my age anymore. Old enough that I don't imagine younger men getting crushes on me. I have become a more sedate version of myself. And, after this semester, a more tired one.

I would like my heart to be lighter. This may not be the year, and perhaps what I need is a reprieve from work rather than joy. 

There will be Christmas

 

Christmas is our respite from the year of COVID.

Even if we can't (or at least shouldn't) visit our loved ones, even if we can't travel, even if we have lived with this threat for months which has changed our lives, we have Christmas.

Some will have a subdued Christmas because they have lost family or friends, or because a friend or family member has ended up in the hospital because of COVID. I have one colleague with lingering symptoms and another in the hospital. Others I know have seen loved ones die.

Some will have a smaller Christmas because of restrictions on gathering size, the riskiness of travel, and the fact that hotels and restaurants are among the best places for contagion. This has been a big part of why my husband and I aren't going to Illinois and staying at Starved Rock State Park for this Christmas. 

But there will be Christmas, and there will be workarounds for friends and family. We will put up our Christmas trees, even early, because we need that color and light. We will Zoom with family and friends. We will find a way to celebrate, because we as human beings need that celebration in the grey skies of December. 

Find a reason for joy this season, even a flickering moment of joy, because that is part of our legacy as humans. And if you can't, let something lighten your heart for a moment and understand that the hurt will lessen and the memories remain.

The Wild West of Amazon Publishing

From what I'm reading, the traditional publishing industry is in trouble because of Amazon.  Given the oligopoly of book publishing giving writers few if no options and putting out a homogenized result (which are the hallmarks of an oligopoly,  or market in which there very few sellers), it's a hard time if one wants to be traditionally published. The oligopoly takes few risks; writers are often disposed to take risks in writing.

This is where Amazon/Kindle Direct Publishing comes in. Amazon is a free market of publishing. They don't look at content; they assume you've done the work with copy editors, developmental editors, and the like. 

The good news is that the process is easy for writers to self-publish their work almost seamlessly, they can involve themselves in marketing as little or as much as they'd like (understanding that sales will suffer if they don't market) and their work is out there for people to read. 

The bad news is that many writers haven't done that work, while others have. Thus the only way a reader can find good quality works is to look at the ratings, and even then there are ways to game the system (although most authors are under an honor system not to do so). 

In a way, Amazon is the Wild West of publishing, but there are opportunities to be had. 

Another #PitMad and a New Way of Seeing

 Wish me luck -- I'm doing #PitMad today.

#PitMad is a Twitter competition where writers with unpublished novels try to attract the attention of agents with their pitches, or short blurbs about their novels. Agents will then ask for queries, or the typical packet that is sent to an agent (cover letter, bio, synopsis, first 20 or so pages). 

So #PitMad is going on right under your noses on Twitter and you won't know it unless you've discovered Writers' Twitter. (#writingcommunity, #writerscafe)

I haven't had much luck with #PitMad -- in other words not a single nibble from an agent. I still try because there's always serendipity. There's always the possibility of someone to see my pitch in a different way than they have before. There's always the possibility that my topics have come into vogue when I wasn't looking. There's always a possibility that I haven't seen yet.

I feel more comfortable with failure this time than I have other times. I know about the disarray that the traditional publishing industry currently suffers from, and I have given up on a Big 5 (oops, Big 4 with the latest merger) publisher in my life. I've self-published, which has stilled the clamorous yearning to be published.

I want to see what becomes of my work rather than search the earth for validation. It's a good feeling

Aside -- my writing lately

 

A poem of mine, "Deep Touch", will be published soon in Tempered Runes Press' inaugural issue of

Bluing the Blade. I'm really proud of this accomplishment, which reminds me: I haven't been submitting short stories and poems lately.

I'm not sure why; probably because I haven't written any lately, and I'm running out of good poems to submit. I have a lot of poems I'm not that enthused with. As for stories, I have a couple I'm in love with, but they haven't caught traction. 

Time to think about writing short stuff again, even though one selection of serialized short stories is arguing that it should be a novel. Then again, given the space opera premise of the stories, serialized may be the best use of the material. 

Muse, where are you? I need some inspiration!

To Give or to Take

"Don't try to take something away from a person, because you can't give them something they need in return." That was one of the pieces of advice my mother gave me when I was growing up, and the older I get the more I see the wisdom of it. 

Sometimes we take away a person's culture and meaning. My grandfather told stories of going to a Catholic mission school for the local Ojibwa tribe (my family had married out and assimilated by then) and watching the Ojibwa kids get beaten by the nuns for speaking their own language. The nuns justified it by saying they were "beating the Indian" out of the children and that they would be better for that. I am wary of proselytizing religion for that reason, because it seems to me a manipulation to take away a culture's gods.

When we take a problem away from a person, we take away their self-determination and initiative, and leave them with another dependency in their life. This is why therapists and case managers believe it's vitally important for the client to come to them, so that it's their wish to exchange the problem situation for something better. This is very hard for families and friends of the person with the problem, because the most they can do is persuade their loved one. The person with the problem has to make the decision to seek help.

So our best intentions may be wrong if we try to use them to take away from others what we perceive as burdens. Those burdens may be their culture or their crutch or their curse, but it's theirs. Hell might be preferable to loss of their culture, and the devil they know preferable to the one they don't know. Rather than taking away, we should think of giving, and giving in a way that honors culture and struggle and autonomy.

 

Decking the Halls

The halls are decked! Well, actually, my husband decked the living room and left the hall alone. I'd get pictures of the living room, but the coffee table is a bit cluttered as always. No House Beautiful home here.

On the bench next to me we have a display of Christmasy stuffed toys -- a vintage Coca Cola stuffed bear, two Ty Monstaz (Holly and Tinsel), Velveteen Rabbits male and female, Hello Kitty with a Christmas present, a sloth wearing antlers and a scarf, and Plum Puddy. If Christmas is a holiday for children, I want to indulge my inner child a little.

I'm working from home for the rest of the semester, with a dead week followed by online finals. So having the house decked out and Christmas music playing helps. Right now "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" plays on the stereo and, well, it is.

Our Christmas celebration, constrained as it is, may be just what we need right now. The pre-Christmas winter celebrations heralded the passing of the longest night and the slow return to the bright days. The Christians held onto many of the customs, knowing that they needed a celebration to get through winter. We hope for a vaccine for COVID in the New Year, so we turn to the brighter days just as our ancestors did. 

Grateful to write again (short entry)

 I think I have fallen in love with writing again.

I hadn't written for a while, instead editing several works I have that I haven't been able to get traction on traditionally. (I still have one that I need serious editing on, given that it was my first novel. I'm lost with that one). But I needed a writing project for NaNo, and I needed a sequel to The Kringle Conspiracy, a Christmas romance. 

So I wrote the sequel I'd been imagining for a while, Kringle in the Night, and I'm editing now. And it has been so fun! I'm writing again, creating something tangible from my fantasy and my memory and my ear for dialogue and all those good things. 

It feels good to create again. 

Our Inner Child and Christmases Past

Do we as adults look for touchstones to our childhood Christmases?

My husband and I spoke about this while we were listening to Little Drummer Boy (Harry Simeone Chorale, 1959 version), the harbinger of Christmas in my childhood. I was born in 1963, but the trappings of those late 50's still lingered in my house, as we listened to the album (33 1/3) on a 1957 Magnavox Continental console. 

This is the exact make/model of our old stereo. I wish I had it because a restoration would be lovely.

My husband grew up in a town smaller than mine that still managed to have a Christmas parade, unlike mine. Both of us remember captivating displays in local businesses. He remembers church choirs, while my childhood was more secular. 

We both remember Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer complete with the GE tie-in commercials, and we watch that and How the Grinch Stole Christmas and other children's Christmas TV staples, and we still watch those every year. 

We remember the iconic outdoor displays of our home towns -- me, the industrial pipe frame-and-lights tree on top of the Nabisco carton factory, and he the star on top of the grain elevator. I remember a whole era of my life where I could look out the dining room window and see the tree lit in green or red across the neighborhood, waiting for my father to get home from his job 30 miles away, waiting for Rudolph to come on TV, worried about my father traveling through the snow.

We've made our own traditions -- one of those being going to Starved Rock State Park in my hometown area to visit my dad and my sister's family every year. Starved Rock Lodge was also a piece of my childhood, a massive log construction that existed since the 1930's. To me it's the epitome of Christmas, which its Great Hall sporting Christmas lights and families getting together there to open their presents. Again, a part of my past. We will not go there because of COVID, and I will miss that.

This makes me wonder if other people have this sentimentalism for the past when it comes to Christmas. Are we touched by our childhood Christmases and clinging to the traditions to keep our adult selves buoyant? I wonder this especially for this year, when we can't have those big gatherings because of the contagion, when we put our Christmas trees out early for the colorful lights of hope. 

The Relief

I finally have a break! I'm tearing up with gratitude.

This has been the most exhausting semester I've ever had. Not necessarily the hardest, although teaching both live and on Zoom at the same time was somewhat difficult and gave less than stellar results. But long and exhausting, waiting for students to drop in on Zoom, sitting in a empty office, scuttling from office to restroom with my mask on. 

The sunny days out the window seemed so distant from where I sat, even though I have the best view on campus out my window. Then the leaden skies came, and at least they matched my moods.

There was the constant threat of COVID. There was a point where 9 out of 60 students were out over either isolation (COVID positive) or quarantine (contact with a COVID positive). The virus swept through peer groups and Greek life, and although I taught social distanced and masked, the random trips through hallways and in bathrooms worried me.

I focused on the task, knowing that thinking about any of this, much less all of this, would break me. And so I became an automaton, checking off each finished class session, each office hour. Not waiting for break, because that seemed too distant. 

Now I'm here, at break, and I want to cry. After this week, I have a week of waiting for students to ask questions over Zoom (and they never do too much of this) and finals week, where their exams are essay and take home. I will be at home, comfortable, during all of this. So, in effect, I have survived the semester.

And I feel like crying. 

 American Thanksgiving is fraught with a misleading mythology. In the great American myth, the first Thanksgiving was a dinner held jointly between Native Americans and the white settlers, bringing them together.

There are several problems with this scenario:

• It assumes the Native Americans had no thankfulness rituals, when indeed they did.
• It assumes that the white settlers and Native Americans lived happily ever after, when in actuality the Indians were systematically killed and driven into successively smaller parcels of land, all in the name of Western expansion. 

Americans are indoctrinated into the myth at an early age in our schools. We cut out Pilgrims and Indians and learn about the myth  of the First Thanksgiving. Although that dinner actually happened, we are kept away from its aftermath. We are told (or at least we were in my time) that the Indians don't really exist, but we are not told why.

The myth and its originals are personal for me. I am a child of the white settlers and of the Native Americans. I count Michel Cadotte and  Ikwesewe of the Lake Superior (now Lac du Flambeau) Ojibwe as ancestors. Mostly white but for the stories of my family, where we remember ancestors with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. 

For me to celebrate Thanksgiving, I have to separate the thanks-giving from the mythology, and at the same time remember the thanks that my ancestors gave to their Maker. 

Stages of Writing

 I have just gone through the first proofreading pass of the second book in the Kringle Chronicles, Kringle in the Dark. In the book, Brent Oberhauser, self-professed nerd, falls for Sunshine Rogers, who keeps the books for Yes, Virginia, a Christmas charity. Her boss, Jack Moore, receives blackmail letters in the mail and Sunshine finds significant mysteries in the paperwork buried under the category of "miscellaneous". In a clash of wills, Sunshine and Brent break up to avoid heartbreak later. The two must find a way back together to try to stop the blackmailer and solve the puzzle of Yes, Virginia.

Right now, I rather like the book, being amazed that I could produce something that good in less than 30 days (aka NaNoWriMo project). But that's just a stage in my writing. Here's the stages of my writing:

1. Beginning: Look how effortlessly I write!
2. After a quarter of the way through the book: I'm just slinging words onto pages. This book is going to be a mess.
3. Finishing the first draft: Thank goodness it's done.
4. Proofing the first draft: This book is actually good!
5. Finishing the first draft: There has to be something wrong and I can't wrap my head around it.
6. Receiving document back from my in-house editor (i.e. husband): No, look it over again. What's WRONG with it?
7. Second draft: This book is a mess.
8. Fast forward to book in hand: This is MY book. Don't you hurt my little book!

I guess this means I'm a writer. 

About Time

 

Maryville, MO is under an emergency order which limits gatherings to ten people or less and enforces the mask ordinances because of an upswing of COVID. (It does not shut down local businesses or enforce shelter in place.)

And it's about time. Many residents of the town have proven that they can't comply with the existing mask ordinance, thinking that their legal rights are being impinged upon.

Hint: No, your rights are not being infringed upon; you're being asked to do what's good for America and your fellow human beings. Don't you want to do what's good for America and your fellow human beings? Then we'll make you wear the mask because the governor is calling the National Guard out to help in the overwhelmed hospitals and morgues.

It's not like I'm not suffering as bad as the anti-maskers are. I will not be spending Christmas with my family. I will not be in Kansas City for Thanksgiving to watch the lights. I have ZOOMed my entire semester of classes. I feel lonely and would feel more lonely if I wasn't married. But I adhere to the rules because I don't want to be responsible for contagion. 

I'm angry right now at all the people who should have refrained from meeting in large groups with strangers, who have gone about without masks and with a bad attitude, who have ruined Thanksgiving for all of us because they kept the contagion going.

Thankful for my Burdens

I make a habit of being thankful for the adversity in my life as a way to make peace with it. This year is no exception:

• I am thankful for the social isolation I've faced with COVID-19, because I have had to learn to be patient and to wait for those vacations and writing retreats to be scheduled in an unforeseen future.
• I am thankful for my bipolar disorder because I've had to learn to take care of myself.
• I am thankful for my learning disability (the inability to visualize) because it has made me work harder on my writing.
• I am thankful for every argument I've gotten into with my husband because we've both learned from them.
• I am thankful for not being rich because I haven't lost my sense of perspective.

I know that it's an odd thing to be thankful for adversity, but to me it's more powerful than to be thankful for one's blessings. I have many, and I could go on about those. It always feels to me, though, that being thankful for one's blessings is rubbing it in to others who don't have those blessings. It's easier for me to be thankful for my burdens. 

I guess I'm busy.

 I ordered eight paperback copies of The Kringle Conspiracy to sell after my book signing party requested copies. And do you know what? I lost the list! AAAAAAAGH someone threw out the piece of paper I'd written them on. I can't believe it!

So now I'm asking my Facebook friends again who ordered copies. I think I've found most of them anyhow. Just missing two or three. 

I feel like such a flake sometimes! Maybe most of the time, but with all the stuff going on (teaching, grading, writing, rewriting, emotional meltdown over Trump's scary refusal to concede the election.) maybe I can't be blamed for being a bit flaky.

What is left to do before January 1st:

• Grade Case Management final case files
• Grade exams in Case Management and People Money and Psych (in a couple weeks)
• Meet with classes Monday via Zoom
• Edit (first round) Kringle in the Night
• Set up my pitches for PitMad December 3
• Narrate 8 presentations for Personal Adjustment (i.e. Positive Psychology)
• Finish setting up Personal Adjustment, Case Management, and People Money and Psych for spring classes
• Get those books out
• Rest (I don't do that very well)

I guess I am busy. Busy is not necessarily a good thing if it stands in the way of accomplishment. Perhaps I need to learn to do things more efficiently. If I had time, I'd study that.

But today is Sunday, and I've finished grading a major assignment. Now to edit another chapter of Kringle. Ahh...