Yes, it's always like this

A while back, I somehow fell into the job of costuming for a dance company. It isn't anything I'd ever intended to do. 

Every show presented more technical challenges. How to get the pleats to lay flat? How to secure the boots that were too loose? How to ensure that a girl's top stays in place? All these little details that I had never thought of before. I mean, who thinks of these things? Well, now I think about these things. But that wasn't the biggest challenge. 

You see, I didn't grow up as a performer. I did a couple of plays in high school. Small shows and I had very small parts, which was fine by me. Now, suddenly I was involved in these huge productions with elaborate and expensive costumes. Hundreds of pieces to keep track of and repair and replace. It all seemed pretty straightforward and each show started out that way.  Alas, it never went as easily as I planned. Things were torn, or misplaced. There were last minute casting changes that led to last minute alterations.

Early on, one show went especially wrong. I hadn't thought about that evening in a long time and then I read Maisey's post and it all came back to me in sharp detail. It was one crisis after another all night long. I literally didn't sit down before my name was called again by panicked dancers - Torn pointe shoe ribbons, tights with holes, makeup stains, ripped tulle, lost headpieces, tears and stains, glue and thread and needle.  Finally at the end of the night, the star was back on stage - neatly sewn into his costume with the broken zipper - and I turned to some of the veteran performers. They were celebrating our success in getting everyone back out on stage on time. The audience had no clue how frenzied we were back stage. My hands shaking with an excess of adrenaline, I couldn't see anything to celebrate. "Tell me it isn't always like this," I said, half-joking. I wanted some reassurance that some day I wouldn't have to do this, some day in the not too distant future I would get it right.

They assured me that it was indeed always like that, and if you were very prepared and very lucky, the audience never knew. It was one of those moments when the world shifts around, like a kaleidoscope, and suddenly you see a different pattern. 

I wasn't supposed to get it right every time. It wasn't supposed to be done. I wasn't supposed to be done. Being accomplished didn't mean being finished. I carried that thought with me out of the theater that night and it quite changed the way I thought about my life.

I'm not perfectly organized or getting everything right. Every single day is an adventure. I'm making it up as I go along.

My Words Are Not Me

I was playing around on twitter a bit this week, but still managed to get nearly everything I wanted done. It was a bit of a surprise since I've kept up for once with nearly all the blogs I've followed, chatted with people about their holidays as well as been super busy with my real life obligations. One of the things I saw this week was yet another author having a meltdown over a bad review. It doesn't matter who or why it was this time. All of these incidents have a certain sameness to them. I always worry about these authors. I used to think it was because I doubted they had any true friends. You know, the kind we all need; the ones who will tell you to knock it off when you are making an ass of yourself.

Then, while I was messing around making jokes and reading #engineersmut on twitter, I saw a random tweet.

Camryn's words made me think of the narcissistic way some people love their own creations: their writing, their painting, their kids even. It can never be anything more to them then an extension of themselves. This is why so many writers are struggling with the bad reviews. It's not the reviews themselves, which often seem unremarkable to me. It is that the author is taking the criticism of the flaws in their work as comments disparaging them as a person. It's crazy-making to do that and can't lead to anything except the sort of public bad behavior that has become all too common.

Not everyone will like my writing. And that is okay. It's not the end of the world. It doesn't mean they are stupid or wrong. But it doesn't mean that I am either. Art is so personal and intimate that every individual experiences it in a different way. Just because someone doesn't like what I write, doesn't mean that they dislike me. It doesn't mean that we wouldn't have a wonderful time talking and laughing over drinks or that they think I'm inferior somehow. And even if they do think that, it doesn't have to bother me.

Writing becomes a visible manifestation of your intellect, your heart and your soul, but it is, by it's very creation imperfect. It's not all of the writer, or even all of the writer's vision of the story. Courtesy of the ever lovely Lynn Raye Harris, I found this little book on writing by Ann Patchett. She writes at length about the process of creating a magnificent story in your head and failing to capture it properly as you wrestle it onto the page. I feel it is exactly like that for me. I know that what I've ended up with isn't as shining and beautiful as the story I've created in my mind. If I could ignore it and go on with life I would, but it plagues me until I bleed it out onto the page. While I'm writing it, I pour my energy into making it as good as I possibly can, but then, I try to let go.

Because the words on the page are not me.

My Big Adventure

So. I took this little trip. I hadn't been planning to run off and leave my husband behind. My stepmother called last spring and asked if I'd go along with her on a vacation.

To China.

It was completely amazing. After an insanely long flight, we arrived in a country which was both like home and totally foreign. Fabulous coffee was served with breakfast. The streets were packed with people walking their dog, rushing to work every morning just like here. But I couldn't read the signs, or even the label on a package. Even the beer and the Coke tasted different. The cities we visited were surprising.  Both older and more modern than I had expected.

Beijing's old quarter

Shanghai at night

Can you see how worn those steps are in places? Pretty scary  on the way down.

We climbed the Great Wall.








We ate amazing food one afternoon, prepared in our cook's home.  Lotus root - who knew you could eat that?









We strolled around markets where busy families bought their dinner.

People were gracious and patient with us, as we fumbled our way through a Starbucks order. We chatted with university students eager to practice their English on us.

Just like home!

What a Wonderful Year

My New Voices entry is finally up!

What a different experience it has been this year. Last year, I sat alone at my computer and hit enter, sending my story off into the world with little idea of what would happen. I didn't know anyone in the romance community, in real life, or online. It was one of the scariest things I'd ever done.

 I was so hesitant to enter last year, intimidated and a bit scared that I didn't measure up against such accomplished women (and men). Afraid that I wouldn't fit in. It all seemed an impossibly hard to achieve dream. I'm so grateful that I tried anyway.

Now a year later, I've learned so much. I've read and studied, written and practiced and read some more. And just as importantly, I've met other romance writers. People who have made me laugh with cheesy or sometimes smutty jokes. People who have inspired me with their dedication and perseverance. People who have touched me with their honesty and generosity. The friendship and support I've received from other writers is amazing. It's truly changed my writing and my life.

If you're sitting on the fence, watching the last few hours tick away until the deadline, don't miss out. Submit. You won't be sorry. Even if you're not entering, there are loads of great first chapters waiting for you. Join the party!

An Unforeseen Pleasure

Last night my husband and I ditched the kids and went out on a date night, something we haven't done in ages. We headed over to EPCOT's Food and Wine Festival, thinking we'd walk around World Showcase, have a glass of wine and maybe stay for fireworks.  Apparently everyone else thought that too. The line of cars waiting to be parked was past the entrance, something rarely seen, even in the morning. We gave up on that as soon as we could turn around. I was pretty annoyed that our plans had fallen through, but Mr. B was undaunted. We ended up parking at the Magic Kingdom and walking around the Seven Seas Lagoon.

It was cool and breezy and just a lovely night. Making our way back to the car, we stopped and grabbed a lounge chair and watched the Electric Light Parade. It was so nice just sitting there together with no long list of chores nagging at us,that we hung around until they did the fireworks show at the Magic Kingdom. Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the Magic Kingdom, so they did an extra huge show with perimeter fireworks. It's been a very long time since I've seen the Magic Kingdom fireworks from a distance like that. In some ways, it's almost more awe inspiring from far away.

Here's hoping you are as happily surprised by your weekend.

But Everyone Loved It

There is a fascinating discussion over at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books about the books everyone loves. The books that are praised and feted and recommended. No matter how beloved a book is, someone out there hates it. A lot.

With a fiery burning passion.

As I write this, the post has well over two hundred comments. That's a lot of passion. What struck me as I started to read the comments is the inconstancy of popular opinion. All of the most popular books and authors have their detractors. What some people love about a book is the exact same thing other commenters hate.

The heroine is weak. The heroine is heartless. The world building is complex. The world building is overwhelming. The pace is too slow. The plot moves so quickly there isn't time to get to know the characters.

It might sound like you can't make anyone happy. But that isn't true at all. You can't make everyone happy. Not everyone will love what I write. Even if it's good.

Instead of discouraging, I find it really quite liberating. I am freed from the shackles of trying to appease everyone. If I simply write a great book some readers will like it.

And some won't.

The End

I took my daughter, Prudence, to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two last night. We went to a midnight show at our favorite theater. It was a carnival like atmosphere with costumes and performances. The theater was packed there were moviegoers in capes and carrying wands. There were house colors and faux British accents.We saw a dozen people who we knew. I waited in line for thirty minutes to buy a five dollar soda.

Despite the air of frivolity, my daughter cried throughout much of the movie. This series isn't just  a story to my daughter. A friend's older brother was obsessed with these books way back in 1999. He counted down the days to the next books release and talked to me of plans for the movie. So one weekend  in the spring of 2000, I started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to her. I read the whole book in one weekend. We did nothing else that weekend and at the end of the book I has nearly lost my voice and she fell in love with Harry and his friends. She was six years old.

She taught herself to read just so she could read the Harry Potter books to herself. There have been several midnight release parties at the bookstore and movie theater alike. Since then she has reread the books and watched the movies many times. The characters of JK Rowling are like old friends. She has shared much with them through the years. She has celebrated and mourned with them each time she has reread those books. Each book was bought and promptly devoured. Often she stayed up very, very late reading.  Reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was one of those nights. Near the end of the book, she came out of her room. It was after midnight and I started to scold her until I saw her face. She sobbed inconsolably in my arms while I held on tight. She cried even harder through the last book.

Although there were no more Harry books, a whole new world of magic and imagination opened up to her. Not all of the other books she has loved have had a paranormal element to them, but they have all been a portal to another world.

She cried through much of the last movie last night. Yes, it was a story of much loss, but I think she was really saddened by something else. She is seventeen now, nearly eighteen. The release of the last movie is the end of her childhood. Like Harry, Ron and Hermione, she has to face the adult world and it's sometimes ambiguous questions. She has to face loss and betrayal. She has to find love and friendship and navigate their sometimes winding path. No more can a kiss from her mother soothe all ills. She is eager to go out into the world and I find it so hard to uncurl my fingers and let her go and follow her heart, which doesn't lead her where I might wish her to go.

In the end, in that theater packed full of people it was just she and I. This time when she cried she didn't even hold my hand.