One Room: Function to be Determined

 My daughter recently celebrated two years at her first grown-up job. We’ve gone from putting the dates for our next visit on the calendar at the end of each visit to playing it a little more by ear. And her room at our house, still in the initial post-Leah state I wrote about in the blog below, has begun to  transition into a space that we take advantage of but that retains plenty of its Leah vibe. Clothes she wears when she visits and/or doesn’t currently need still fill some of the drawers and closets, but I’ve taken over the small closet and part of a drawer. Her desk, which she didn’t want, was taken apart and put out with the trash to make room for a rehabbed Barbie dollhouse made into a display space for her Lego projects. 

Some day, maybe she’ll move to a space with more room and clear out the rest of the things that matter to her. Until then, I’m fine with a space that is part her, part us.

It’s a process.

My daughter has embarked on her first real world journey. She accepted a job, she found an apartment, and she has moved all of her essentials into the apartment. She’s nesting, which is fun for both of us.

Her bedroom at home, just across the hall from ours, is still full of stuff.  In fact, I think there might be at least as much stuff in her bedroom as there is in her apartment.

I’m not entirely sad about this. In fact, yesterday, I went in and moved some things around to fill up some of the empty spaces created by the furniture she took with her. Last week, I put her college comforter on the bed. Small steps towards taking the room into its next incarnation, whatever that will be.

Oh, who am I kidding? It will always be her room. It may look different - in fact, I hope it does because right now, it’s a testimony to everything she has outgrown. It’s a weird Never Never Land sheltering possessions only she can decide the fate of.

I keep thinking back to my own childhood bedroom and wondering if it lived in this stage for a while. I don’t remember having this much stuff. But we moved several times during my childhood and adolescence, no doubt culling and downsizing each time.

But my daughter has had the same bedroom since we brought her home from the hospital. In fact, when she was in elementary school, she got an addition because her room is just above the mud room we added on downstairs. 

Twice as much room to accumulate stuff.

In her defense, she has downsized dramatically over time. In fact, that’s what concerns me. I’m afraid that much of what is still in her room isn’t going anywhere.

Right now, I’m OK with that. As long as there are traces of her in the room, the move my mind knows is permanent, my heart doesn’t have to accept.

I’m not in denial, nor am I unhappy. Just baby-stepping my way into the inevitable. The pandemic gave us two bonus years of having her home -- which I loved -- but it was never meant to be permanent. We didn’t raise her to stay here -- in this house with us -- her whole life. 

But my heart is slow to catch up with my head. And so this room in limbo gives my heart time. Time to adjust. Time to rearrange. Time to, together with her, decide what’s part of her childhood and what’s part of the person she is now.

So, I’ll keep puttering away. Vacuuming this and dusting that, encouraging her to sort through the things she left behind when she comes home to visit. My goal right now is to restore some sense of order while still reflecting its inhabitant, regardless of the purpose it serves when she’s not here.

What that purpose will be is still to be determined, though I can't yet imagine a time that it won't be Leah's room, no matter where she lives. 

Z is for Zealous

 I hate revising. If you're a regular reader of this blog, you already know this little tidbit about me. And so it is with no small amount of pride that I share that I am closing in on the halfway point of revisions on my latest novel.

Big deal, right? That's what authors do, right?

Um, yeah. That's what we're supposed to do -- when we don't get distracted by the next shiny project, that is. 

The last non-Marita, Angel, Charli novel I finished is still sitting in a drawer. It's way too long, even after one revision. I know I need to go through it again, and I really do love the characters and the story, but it's all so...daunting. And so, when new projects came to mind, that's where I put my energy and my focus. 

Last fall, I set a goal of finishing my latest book (the one I'm revising) by the end of the first week in January. I met that goal, and promptly set another: to revise that book and send it to 24 agents and/or editors in 2024. 

Weird goal? A bit. But it was a goal designed to get me out of my own way. Creating is not always easy, but it's fun. Revising is hard and submitting is hard and neither is particularly fun. In order to get to goal #2 (24 in 24), I had to complete goal #1 (revising the thing). And submitting to 24 industry pros means I can't let the first few (or many) rejections slow my roll.

So, I went public with my goals -- accountability and all that. When I finished revising the first third of the book, I sent it out to readers, using that step to keep my momentum going. 

The mind games we need to play with ourselves sometimes defy explanation. (Just me?)

Anyway, it's working. I am diligently, zealously powering through this revision. I've promised myself that the book doesn't have to be perfect because expecting perfection is enough to make the whole project collapse under its own weight. My critique group has already given me feedback that I've incorporated. My volunteer readers will give me more of the same. Together, we'll put together an end product that I can send out, hopefully this summer.

Some days, I'm excited to dig in. Other days, I'm not so zealous. But successful completion of a chapter at a time is a powerful motivator. And going public helps keep me on track. 

20 chapters done. 16 to go. Less than 35 pages to the halfway point.

C'mon, zeal. Don't fail me now.

Lessons Learned

 This post from 2019 seemed like a good fit for this week, as I work my way through revisions on my latest novel, and perhaps learn a few new lessons.

You might think that an author is in charge of her characters and, indeed, that's how it usually starts out. But eventually, they begin to take on lives of their own and can become bossy or withdrawn or...whatever they've been written to be.

And then some.

The nice thing about this phenomenon is that it becomes a sort of two-way street. I retain creative control, but sometimes they teach me a thing or two -- or remind me of things I already know -- in the process.

Here are five of those things.

• Change is always possible. So is redemption. The best characters grow over the course of a novel. Some grow into their potential, some mature and some show only a glimmer of hope (Jim). And, while they might not change a lot from the beginning of the book to the end, a reader needs to be able to hold out hope that change is possible even after the story ends.

• Everyone responds differently. In my novels, Jim seems to elicit a consistent negative reaction from readers, but each of the women in the book responds to him in a different way. Angel sees the good in him that Charli wants to see and Marita learns to tolerate him for her daughter's sake. As a result, Jim responds differently to each of these characters (and his mother and his sisters) as well. He is the character my readers love to hate.

• Relationships matter. I'm not much of a plotter. I tend to be more of a fan of putting my characters in a room and letting them drive the story, but those two things don't happen automatically. Writing dialogue that's a real reflection of the relationships and events is what makes this happen. Readers need to care about not just the people but how they connect (or don't) to one another and what's at stake because of it.

• People make the story matter. Often, the stuff that happens in novels is not that far-removed from everyday life. People fall in love, go to work, take their kids to school, make dinner and go to bed -- alone or together. If we don't care about the people who are doing these things, all we have is a mundane succession of events. The same is true of life. When our homes and work places are filled with people who keep things interesting, even the mundane can be fascinating. It's my job as a writer to elevate the day-to-day stuff into the stuff that makes you want to turn the page.

• Decisions are reversible. Maybe we can't go home again -- at least not in quite the same way -- but characters can revisit situations and decisions and places over and over again in an effort to get it right. Ask any soap opera fan -- happy marriages don't always stay happy and broken relationships don't always stay broken. Friends become enemies and vice versa and what seemed like an impossible idea is sometimes the solution to a problem when all the stars align. Because this is far less traumatic on the page than in real life, readers can watch it all play out from the safety and security of their most comfy chairs. 

These aren't things I didn't know (obviously), but playing with them in fiction helps remind me of all of the possibilities real life holds as well. Sure, it's a lot scarier to take a chance in real life than it is to watch a fictional character do so but if our characters can be brave, maybe we can be, too. 

The Gift of Time

geralt via Pixabay

 Every once in a while, I have a semester where I teach only two classes instead of three, and this semester is one of those semesters. In addition to having one less class, one of my classes is much smaller than usual, cutting the number of students I typically have in a semester almost in half. 

While teaching one less class is not a boon to my bank account, it provides me with the gift of time. For about the first third of the semester, I sternly reminded myself not to get used to this, as I'd return to a full course load in the fall. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself, but don't depend on it.

Then one morning, I realized how silly I was being. Holding my breath and tiptoeing through a lighter course load without enjoying its benefits was rather like telling myself I shouldn't enjoy a week at the beach because next week, I'll be home again and back to reality.

From then on, I began treating my days off more like the gifts they are. While I rarely take non-teaching days off completely, I do limit the amount of schoolwork I do on those days. My guideline for those days is personal and flexible: I do enough to keep myself from stressing over the work that needs to be done. The line between not enough and just enough is blurry (mostly because it's a moving target), but it's working for me.

After my realization, I began to really appreciate the benefits this gift of time has provided. My house feels less out of control because I have more time to keep after the day-to-day tasks that slide when my teaching schedule is more demanding. I have space for my writing, and space to do the creative part of course planning that so often gets pushed aside. I've created new assignments and lecture materials, revamped things that were stale (I hate it when I bore myself because it's a sure sign I'm boring my students as well), and had the luxury of adapting some of my materials to be a better fit for the students who are actually sitting in front of me. I've had time to read, connect with friends, and relax in the middle of a weekday -- all guilt-free.

The gift of time is something to treasure. We can be practical with it, tackling something that's long overdue, or we can splurge, reveling in the opportunity to do something we don't normally have time to do. Or maybe a little of both.

But the one thing we can't do is save it. The gift of time arrives when it arrives and departs on its own schedule as well. We can't bank it, and perhaps that should be reason enough to give ourselves license to be impractical with it when we're lucky enough to be its beneficiary.

What would you do with the gift of time?

Style Friday: What's in Your Closet?

  It all started with Kate Spade, as it so often does for me. I splurged on a really pretty book that I savored and, from then on, I found myself drawn to more of the same, launching my current reading obsession: pretty, perusable books.

I jokingly told my daughter that I'm reading the equivalent of adult picture books: books about style and fashion and home decorating. 

And I'm loving them. 

One of my current reads is Classic Style by Kate Shelter. It's making me think about what my classics are, and I thought it might be fun to focus on them here. Today's focus?

Fashion.

I always tried to vary my wardrobe and avoid repeating outfits -- at least within a short span of time. Lately, though, I've begun to worry less about variety across the board, and think more about building on basics. Maybe it's because my wardrobe consists largely of black, white, brights, and prints. 

Here are a few of my wardrobe "classics" -- the ones that will remain in my closet, no matter the current trend.

• black pants and black leggings
• unstructured cardigans
• soft blazers that bring a pop of color (new to the mix) 
• baggy sweatshirts imprinted with the names of colleges and things that reflect my interests (e.g. my "Friends" sweatshirt that's older than my daughter and my "Luke's Diner" sweatshirt, an homage to Gilmore Girls)
• flats, particularly those that bring a pop of color to an outfit - they'd all be Rothy's if my budget allowed for it
• hoop earrings.

How about you? What are your classics?

Still Here

 This July will mark 30 years since we've been in this house! Now that we're empty nesting, we're focusing on projects large and small, from the addition of our much-loved sunroom (and, this spring, a patio) down to repainting rooms that have been the same color for 30 years. 

Maybe that's why I'm on a style kick? 

It's hard to believe that this July will mark 21 years since we first walked into our house. I loved it immediately, despite the fact that there was a list, even back then, of projects we wanted to tackle. The dining room wallpaper that looked as though it had been selected when Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women. The pumpkin kitchen (orange and green) that was a throwback to the 1970s. The heating system that did not include central air conditioning. But these were little things compared to finding a house we could afford that met the three criteria most prized in real estate: location, location, location.

When we first moved into the house, I tackled a new project (or two) every summer. I had the whole summer off and was only working on freelance magazine pieces, so giving up a week to repaint a room or strip wallpaper (even when it turned out that the Louisa May Alcott wallpaper was only the top layer of three, each uglier than the one that had replaced it) didn't seem like a big sacrifice.

Then my daughter was born, and finding the time for household renovations that could be done during nap time or without endangering a curious toddler became more challenging. We'd already replaced the heating system and repainted much of the house by then anyway. Replacing the roof, enclosing the side porch and gutting the kitchen were projects beyond our skill set, so those came next. When she was a little older, we re-did the downstairs bedroom (my former office/clutter catching room became her playroom) and eventually added on to the house and re-did the downstairs bathroom.

clipartpanda.com

It's been a busy twenty years. And we are slowing down.

Along the way, we considered finding a bigger house -- one that came with all of those renovations already taken care of -- but after one disappointing foray into the housing market that resulted in my declaration that once we took that sign out of the front yard, we were never putting another one up again -- we settled in, and went back to chipping away at turning our little house into our dream home.

We still have house envy from time to time, especially since the days when I looked forward to summer home projects are behind me. These days, giving up summer writing and/or leisure time to paint and strip wallpaper seems less exciting, and, thanks to equal parts waning youth and waning enthusiasm, it takes much longer to complete the projects I used to knock out in a couple of days.

But lately, I've been feeling a resurgence of those old decorating pangs. It still requires more motivation than I can muster up to paint a room, but I'm having fun freshening things up in smaller ways. A closet makeover that makes switching out clothes from one season to another a bit easier. A re-envisioning of cluttered space that makes it less so. Re-lining drawers and reorganizing their contents.

It feels a lot like nesting.

Maybe it will lead to a renewed desire to put the finishing touches on those painting projects begun over previous summers. But maybe it won't.  For now, it's breathing a little bit of life back into the house that, over two decades, has become our home.

Messy and imperfect. But home.

freepik.com

Paving a Pretty (Reading) Pathway

SashaSan via Pixabay

 Some trips to the library send me back to my car loaded down with books. Other trips are less fruitful, leaving me struggling to find a novel that begs me to take it home. 

When I found myself in the latter position a few years ago, I determined to write the book I wanted to read, resulting in the novel I'm currently revising (more on that in future posts). Though it wouldn't be the first time I set out to write the story I wished for, it was the first time I intentionally crafted a protagonist who would get that story started.

Clearly, I can't write a book every time I can't find one that suits my current tastes so, when I'm struggling to find that fictional perfect match, I sometimes end up in the non-fiction section. Quite a few years back, such a foray introduced me to The Happiness Project, which ended up shaping one of the courses I teach and leading me to develop another as well. 

During my last no-novel trip, I plucked a Property Brothers book off the shelf. Later, I reserved Classic Style and Whiskey in a Teacup, then borrowed the e-book of The Curated Closet, extending my "grown-up picture book" phase (launched by It's So You), a phase I'm thoroughly enjoying.

While I know it's not unusual for readers to gravitate toward the same kinds of books and the same authors, all of this feels as though it's leading somewhere. I'm not entirely sure where yet but, if you stop back on Friday, you'll see one brick in the path it's paving.

For now, at least.