The Magic Nutshell

Have Baby, Will Travel

2013-06-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

Or not. It's up to you. "Have baby, will travel" was my mother-in-law's motto when DaddyMan was a little boy. Some families have a great time traveling with little ones and showing them the world, and some do not. A lot of it has to do with the child's temperament, the parents' temperament, budget constraints, the physical health and abilities of the family members, and the behavior of fellow travelers. Those things are mainly outside of our control, but two powerful tools are within our control: planning ahead and saying no.

Here I am at a wedding venue with Nux Gallica, all gussied up and trying to hitchhike out of there.

There are lots of fun things about traveling with a baby or during pregnancy--you get to show off your bump or baby to far-off loved ones in person (so much better than on Facebook!), shake off cabin fever, and maintain connections to the larger world. I first felt my Nux Gallica move when I was about four months pregnant, while putting up my swollen ankles, lying on a chaise lounge in the waiting room of an Indian restaurant in Chicago. A bartender noticed my wilting, pregnant state and brought me a complimentary glass of mango lassi. Moments after the first incredibly sweet taste, Nux leapt for joy in my womb. My best girlfriends from college and my husband were all around me, and some of them got to feel Nux dance as I sipped some more. It's a lovely memory that couldn't have been made at home.

On the other hand, I really was wilting and exhausted on that trip. And it was only two months since I had vowed never to travel again, after a stressful business trip at two months pregnant. But looking back, I know that both trips would have been much more enjoyable if I had known better how to prepare myself and all of my traveling companions for the many needs of a pregnant woman. I wrote a list of tips that would have made my travels a lot easier in a post called "Traveling while Pregnant." (Many of these also apply to parents traveling with children.) And if you just don't feel like traveling at all? Pregnancy and early parenthood are marvelous times to learn the joy of saying no, which I also posted about. You have the ultimate excuse to make demands or to opt out of travel entirely, because you are doing the most important job in the world: creating the future.

From the comfort of home or wherever you may travel, stop by The Magic Nutshell on the first Friday of each month for more posts in the Middle Path Mother series.

Don't pants yourself!

2013-05-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

A successful young author once told me, "There are writers who call themselves pantsers. You can tell who they are because they don't have anything finished."

Now before you get your pantses in a bunch, let me just say that I know there are writers who identify as "pantsers" who actually DO finish novels and get them published. But the identification as a "pantser" versus a "plotter" (which sounds unflatteringly like "plodder," doesn't it?) is often a way of evading the real work of crafting, which every novelist ultimately has to do. It's avoiding the hard work by placing the focus on what kind of person you are (which isn't about results), not what kind of art you are producing (which is all about results). The truth is, every novelist is both a pantser and a plotter. The truth is, nobody freewrites a publishable first draft. No seven-part novel series was ever born complete in a single dream which only needs to be copied out, like a divinely inspired manuscript, like the goddess Athena springing fully formed out of Zeus' forehead. The truth is, no novelist is Zeus. Every good novel is inspired by talent, dreams, and bursts of inspiration, but without a serious author sitting down and doing the work of building a story structure, those flights of fancy have nowhere to land and ultimately don't become anything.

Neither talent nor discipline alone are enough to complete a successful novel; you must have both. What you don't need is an MFA--In fact, the people most educated in writing and literature tend to have the biggest egos to overcome and the hardest time actually writing a novel. It's very simple. To build a house, you need scaffolding and a foundation. You need to put certain things in place before you can do other things. You can't start with the roof and work down. A viable living creature can't develop skin first and have the bones added in last. A novel is like any other "work." There are many ways to do it and many ways it can look when it's finished, but there are even more ways that it can't be done. A "writer" with a huge ego will take statements like that last sentence as challenges and spend endless years trying to prove them wrong, without ever forming a positive plan.

In my writing group, The Pigasus Pen, we have no dearth of sparkly ideas or compelling characters. The hard part that we're helping each other sort out right now in all of our manuscripts is the structure. I'm working with a chapter outline and an actual calendar of events I've written to help me keep track of what happens when. One of us has tried various kinds of novel writing software to organize her text. Another has worked on drawing diagrams and maps of the physical spaces in her book. Another is researching plotting exercises.

What we've all come to understand is that "writer's block" is just another word for not being prepared for the next step. If you get stuck on Chapter Three, don't blame it on your lazy muse, your disobedient characters, or any other imaginary friends. (P.S. Those behaviors don't make you sound writerly, they make you sound like the kindergartener who eats paste and sits alone at lunch.)

Quit whining and take a look at the well-crafted blueprint for your story, and you'll never be lost. Even if you get stuck in a sticky scene, you can skip ahead and work on another scene. A burst of inspiration may drive you to change your blueprint, and that is totally fine--as long as you still have one.

That's the key difference between a successful writer and an eternally aspiring one. A work in progress is a work. It takes craft, planning, and hard work to progress. Writers' block, an unresponsive muse, or confused characters are all symptoms of a lack of structure. They are red flags indicating that it is time for you, the author, to get serious and pick up the slack. If you're serious about improving your craft and getting your novel finished, don't limit yourself with silly, romanticized labels about what kind of writer you are. Instead, focus on what kind of creation you intend to produce. Are you more interested in "being" a writer or in actually writing? If you truly love the art of writing, don't pants yourself! Zip up and get your butt in the chair. You will amaze yourself with what you are able to create!

Mama's Day Our Way

2013-05-03T12:11:00.001-07:00

Mama's Day Our Way is an initiative to expand the celebration of Mother's Day to embrace every kind of family in one all-inclusive mama bear hug! Whatever flavor of mama you are, and whoever mothers you, you may just find the perfect e-card on mamasday.org. (Free and spam-free.)

The organization that developed these, Strong Families, says, "We see the trend of families defining themselves beyond the picket fence—across generation, race, gender, immigration status, and sexuality—as a powerful and promising development for the US."

On May 12, I wish you all a celebration of the myriad ways we mother. Happy Mama's Day!

Stop by the Nutshell on the first Friday of every month for the wisdom of the Middle Path Mother.

Hard Lessons from A Rally of Writers

2013-04-24T15:48:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, the ladies of the Pigasus Pen attended the 26th annual Rally of Writers in Lansing. It was the first year that the Rally sold out completely ahead of time--writers found themselves excitingly, yet somewhat uncomfortably, packed together with the largest crowd of other writers they had ever seen. Rally founder Linda Peckham welcomed us at the beginning by describing ARoW as the "warmest" writing conference in the nation, and I think she was probably spot-on. (We Michiganders are desperate for warmth in April.) The speakers and workshop leaders were remarkably candid, earnest, and generally hilarious. We had opportunities to meet a fabulous editor and a local agent. I learned some important lessons--some kind of hard--and galvanized some of my preexisting notions about writing and publishing.

The workshops I attended were called "Beginning the Short Story," "Young Adult Fantasy," "Writing for Children," and "Striking the Match." Here I'm sharing with you the best things I learned from each session, in a nutshell!

Beginning the Short Story

Short story author George Dila told the novelists among us, "You can do anything in a novel." He shrugged as if to dismiss the idea that his workshop could translate to a work longer than a short story, but what I took away from it is that novelists have more freedom than short story writers. Novels come with a back cover or dust jacket that explains what the story is about. They are lengthy and complex works that defy a commonly held definition. So the novelist doesn't have quite as much pressure to do quite so much, so strictly in the first paragraph--but that said, I did find that the workshop gave me clear guidance about how to improve the first paragraph of my novel.

George began by explaining that writing technique trumps story in the short story. This, again, is different for novelists. Any written work of any length benefits from a combination of both elegant writing and meaty content, but the balance is shifted toward wordsmithing in a shorter work. The reason? "The story is the hamburger," he said (and was echoed by a later instructor, a novelist, who said, "The story is the kindling."). Every story has been done before; it's how the writer tells it (how the recipe is cooked, how the fire is lit) that makes it special. "Telling a story is like a magic trick," George said. "You make something appear or disappear." At the end, the captivated reader should ask in wonderment, "How'd s/he do that?"

The first two or three sentences of a short story should do three things:

Ground the reader in time, place, and the protagonist's point of view. (Answer the questions: What's going on? Who are we reading about?)
Engage the reader. (Answer the questions: What's at stake? So what? Why should we care?)
NEVER start with dialogue. (Of course, note that with any piece of advice, there are always exceptions to the rules. Starting with dialogue usually sounds stupid and clumsy, however.)

A workshop attendee asked a question about how stories get chosen for publication. George used this moment to highlight the difference between learning how to write well and learning how to get published. He pointed out that stories get published for a variety of reasons, good writing often being among them--and left it at that. This workshop focused on building writing skills, not the business end of publishing.

George did NOT say this, but I drew my own conclusion drawing on what I learned at this workshop and what I've learned all along my writing journey--though a good novel can start with a soft opening, I feel that I have a greater chance of attracting the interest of an agent, editor, and/or publisher--and maybe someday, a distracted book shopper--by applying George's advice for a clean, direct, engaging and informative first paragraph. It seems like a foolproof place to start, in any case. Thus begins the process of revising the first page of my manuscript for the 2,036th time.

YA Fantasy

This workshop was led by a young woman author of a YA paranormal series. I won't mention her name here because I want to spill some of the candid, heartfelt, priceless dirt she dished on the other side of publishing without getting her into more trouble than she's seen so far! This 20-something young talent came across as brilliant, sharp, gracious, humble, a little bit neurotic, refreshingly honest, authentic, and drop-dead hilarious in her delivery. "You guys," she confessed from the podium, "my job sucks!"

She deviated from the official topic of her workshop for a few minutes to follow up on a theme introduced by our keynote speaker, thriller author Karen Dionne, about the importance of--and the difficulty in--finding a supportive community of other writers.

The young YA author explained that although she loves writing, working with her editor, traveling "for research," and many other great aspects of her career, she has felt blindsided by the Mean Girls (and Boys) behavior of fellow writers and frenemies whose fangs have emerged, so to speak, with each of her accomplishments. Without naming names or getting into specifics, she admitted that she no longer makes many public appearances because she has developed so much anxiety over the nastiness she's encountered. She differentiated between receiving a negative review or critique (which can be helpful) and a personal attack based on jealousy or spite. She has learned the hard way how important and hard it is to edit and maintain a circle of true friends and supportive colleagues in a business that focuses on, well, being in touch with emotional darkness and the psyches of teenagers.

As if on cue, a participant walked out of the workshop in a huff.

I just smiled, because I've heard all of this before from other authors--especially Young Adult authors--outside of the public sphere where a writer can get into a lot of trouble for complaining about a publishing house or a colleague. I talked to this particular author after the workshop, and she assured me that going into the business with a realistic view of what to expect would be enormously helpful in protecting against disillusionment and hurt feelings.

She also gave me some encouragement, affirming that despite agents' and publishers' overflowing slushpiles in today's market, those of us who have been passionate writers and storytellers since early childhood "are the ones who make it."

Her personal story was inspiring; although she is clearly a very intelligent person, she struggled with severe dyslexia in school and dropped out of college. She highlighted that in this line of work, innate talent and the urge to write are what matter; a successful writing career doesn't need any degree or credential.

So given a talented and driven author, here's the magic recipe for a successful YA novel!

Solid world-building. YA novels, unlike high fantasy novels for adults, move quickly and focus on character development and relationships. "Less is more" in the world of a YA story; young people are smart but get bored by long passages of exposition. The setting should be based on one that is recognizable, and the details that make it special and magical should unfold organically as the plot moves along. Think smooth and simple, not dumbed-down.
The right tropes and trends. All successful genre books use tropes and sync with trends. The trick is to pick the right ones--the tropes that best tell your story and the trends that haven't hit yet. What? Yes, that's right. It's impossible to follow the trends; by the time books, films, and shows on a trendy theme have hit the media, agents and publishers are looking for the next big thing. Don't follow trends, try to predict or even start the next one. Instead of looking at what's hot now, ask yourself, "What hasn't been done yet?" And always, always follow your heart. Write the story you would like to read, and your fascination will shine through.
A relatable protagonist. The best protagonists start out very normal and flawed, like a typical teenager. The author must be in touch with the emotional lives of high schoolers right now (not in the '90s, not in the '00s, but right now--this stuff changes in subtle but important ways all the time). Character growth is key; the main character must go through a process of self-discovery and change by the end of the book. To get this right, it helps to be an adult who has been through all of that in the past and who is also in contact with teens on a regular basis, whether through family life, volunteer work, a day job, or a hobby--for example, the author teaching this workshop rides horses along with gaggles of gossipy teen girls. Most of the time, "relatable protagonist" in YA means a teenage girl with dark hair and average characteristics, plus a little something that makes her special. That sounds like a limited template, and it is. Currently (and in the foreseeable future), the YA genre is read almost entirely by teen girls and women. This readership, in general, likes to self-insert into a main character who is a lot like themselves--or the girls they used to be. The right protagonist, "hot guy" romantic interest (or set of them), and antagonist can make or break a story. The writing doesn't have to be that great as long as the reader wants to step into the main character's shoes. (Think Twilight.) If this sounds cynical, it is--a little bit. There's nothing wrong with relating to your reader on a deeply personal level. And there are YA novels that deviate from this model. Right now YA books featuring a male protagonist are in the minority (with notable exceptions such as the later Harry Potter books), and many authors and publishers are working on reaching out to a broader YA audience. The norm right now is for male readers to jump right from children's or middle grade books to adult fantasy and sci-fi because YA is dominated by romance-centered books appealing to girls and women. But this is one of those tides that could change with the next big trend.
A compelling antagonist. The best villains have complex personalities. Their actions are driven by strong convictions, and they will go to any ends to fulfill their desires. Many antagonists are male; some good ones are female, but this YA author cautioned about letting female characters, villains included, fall into the cliched virgin/whore dichotomy. It's okay for female characters, good or evil, to be attractive and in control of their sexuality. But it's tiresome to see so many female villains use sexed-up powers for evil deeds. It sends an uncomfortable message that female sexuality = evil. For those authors who are concerned about the value judgments young readers draw from stories, be aware of how female sexuality comes with a lot of baggage in our culture. The stock slut is likely to be upgraded with more interesting female characters in the near future, as young readers and writers develop a taste for the many flavors of empowered femininity.

The topic of presenting uncomfortable topics to young readers appropriately leads nicely into my summary of the next workshop.

Writing for Children

Groovy children's author/illustrator Matt Faulkner gave us a tour of his creative journey, which has led him to release a series of children's books on frightening, dark places in our nation's history. His stories deal with violence, misogyny, and racism in powerful but astutely age-appropriate ways, accompanied by lush and whimsical images in ink and watercolor.

He began his workshop by nervously admitting his adherence to an ancient Celtic belief that stories are offered to us in dreams by spirits. These are stories that need to be told, and if we do not accept them, they are taken away--forgotten--and given to someone else to tell.

Matt came across as a deeply intuitive, spirit-driven artist who tempers his convictions with careful study. His wife is a child development expert, so his intuitions about childhood are constantly measured against scientific research on the way children process information. (Spoiler alert: It's not all that different from the way adults do it. Schoolchildren can smell moralizing, condescension, and whitewashing from miles away.)

He starts with the assumption that his young audience is already aware of the horrors of the outside world to some extent, through the media and observation of adults. School-age children already have nightmares and fears. They already have a strong sense of right and wrong, pain and injustice. They have caught on that the world is not always fair, and the adults in their life can't fix everything.

The trick in telling a story to children about police brutality or concentration camps is to simplify. (As our Young Adult workshop leader explained, simplify without dumbing down.) You don't need to show or tell much to hint at the terror of a riot or the threat of a war. Matt discussed the difficulty of letting go of his own personal shock and rage about the historical events he researches before he completes a book for the eyes of children. There is no need to beat a child over the head, so to speak, with the author's own anger and disgust about an issue. Showing the child an artful sketch of the situation is enough, and it is quietly powerful.

Presenting a moment in history also reads as more authentic when everything doesn't get tidied up perfectly at the end--just like in real life. A work that raises profound questions without providing pat answers is a work that provokes its audience to think, discuss, and feel--in an open and safe construct of art and critical thinking.

In a nutshell ('cause that's what I do here), the lessons I extrapolated from this workshop that apply to writing fiction for all ages are:

Step right, left. First, engage your right brain and go buckwild. Reach out and take that story that the muse is dangling above you. Scribble, scrawl, and let it all out. Then isolate the muscle of your left brain to organize, revise, edit, and ultimately market. In the middle, keep those hemispheres in communication so you don't stunt your creativity or lose your message in chaos.
Develop an authentic voice. Tell that story the way only you, personally, can tell it. Show how and why this story resonates in your own frame of reference. Don't try to tell someone else's story or be who you think you should be. Authenticity rings clear for the reader of any age.
Question, don't preach. If you ask the right questions, the reader will be inspired to do the heavy lifting of analysis and imagination, creating a rich, dynamic experience. If you try to give away all the answers like the teacher's guide to some textbook, the reader will be bored--at best. If you frame the questions just right, the message you intend to get across will not be lost in ambiguity; it will come alive and spin off valuable conversations and flights of fancy.

I bought one of Matt's books for my daughter, Nux Gallica, and I hope it leads to meaningful conversations with her someday. Magical children's books (and grownups' books too) help facilitate conversations, not replace them with dry lessons to memorize.

However, it's great to start out with a pile of dry, historical facts. As my final workshop leader stated, "The story is the kindling."

Striking the Match

Author Karen Simpson writes fiction for adults about deeply disturbing racial conflicts in American history, so her workshop was a great counterpart to Matt Faulkner's. She started in an eerily similar way, by explaining a cultural pan-African belief that the spirits of the ancestors bring us stories from the past that need to be told for humanity to heal and grow.

For Karen, this was a story of racial violence, mercy, and compassion. Though she conceded that she does believe it is possible to come up with your own good story, sometimes it feels as though a story is pressed upon us from a source that is greater than our own psyche.

Karen further developed the idea Matt introduced, that inspiring fiction doesn't hand over neatly packaged answers. The stories that haunt us, the conflicts that we can't reconcile--those hold the most potential to inspire readers and change lives through storytelling. "The story is the kindling," Karen told us. And that gritty, chafing, harsh reality that we cannot justify or accept--that is the surface where we can strike the match.

Karen struck the match for her novel Act of Grace on the rough fact of racial injustice. Each writer has a different issue that is most personally disturbing, a different paradox that can't be solved, a different thorn in the side, a different grain of sand in the oyster. It is difficult but powerful to engage with our deepest fears and hopes. The editing process for such a work is as much about revising our very souls as revising our work. It is frustrating when the answers to our itchiest questions cannot be found in the past or in the harsh reality of the present, when the facts show us what should not be true but stubbornly is. But it's those barren facts piled together and those messy, empty spaces between them that produce the brightest, hottest flame when we find out where to strike the match.

Despair falls just as flat as a too-perfect happy ending. Despair and perfection are both a way of giving up on a story, a way to leave it behind and forget about it. The tricky business of creating inspiring fiction is to acknowledge the most terrible outrages that we cannot solve completely--while opening the way for hope and redemption.

Since attending this workshop, I've been practicing the dual meditations of looking outward--asking myself, "What story am I meant to tell? What new voice can I bring to the world?"--and reflecting inward--asking myself, "What are my deepest fear and hope that cannot be reconciled?"

As always, A Rally of Writers has left me buzzing with questions and insights that I can't wait to explore. I've added a little more magic to my nutshell, and I'm ready to write!

Pregnant Belly Fitness

2013-03-29T20:26:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy is an important time to stay fit and active, but of course there must be balance. And I don't mean just avoiding extremes here. I mean literally, balance. Your center of gravity is shoved a little further out each day, you might be dizzy, and your joints and tendons do wild stretchy things that you never imagined. In terms of awkwardness, pregnancy is a lot like a second puberty.

Be aware that your body will change constantly and feel weird, sometimes in a fun way and sometimes not. You will have unforeseen health complications and discomforts that arise suddenly and sometimes just as suddenly go away.

Moderate exercise is the best way to prevent swollen cankles, charlie horses, lethargy, depression, and a host of other babymaking side effects, but extra caution is also needed at this special time. Pregnancy hormones make your tendons and joints all loosey-goosey in preparation for childbirth. This can help you achieve deeper stretches than normal, but it's also easier to get joint injuries from falls and high-impact workouts. And that's a concern even if you don't have other health issues that arise during pregnancy that could require exercise restrictions.

You should always check in with your caregiver about major changes to your fitness routine during pregnancy, but as a rule of thumb, it's usually okay to continue any type of physical activity that your body is already accustomed to doing. Are you not really the exercise type? Start easy with moderately paced walking. Do you like yoga? Search your local area for a soothing prenatal yoga class, or just use a video at home. Do you run? Lace up your most supportive shoes, hit a smooth dirt trail, and remember you might have to take it slower than usual. Do you swim? Floating in water is a delight to the manatee-like pregnant body. Are you a cyclist? Avoid the streets, but go ahead and pop in a DVD of The Triplets of Belleville and spin for a few miles on a sturdy trainer. Are you a total aerobics buff? I very much enjoyed Complete Prenatal Fitness with Erin O'Brien. Are you a dancer? Try a beginner prenatal belly dance class. Belly dance was my mother-goddess fitness routine of choice before, during, and after pregnancy. It's the closest thing to getting an ideal workout for labor and childbirth while decorating your tummy like a giant Faberge egg (if you feel like it).

For inspiration, check out Sadie Marquardt giving her baby a ride. (Nux Gallica, who is now "two old," laughed at this video and said, "That lady is funny. Her mama milks are dancing!" So true, Nux, and so is her passenger.)

And then here is Sadie dancing a year or two after giving birth:

Which leads me to a secondary purpose of exercising during pregnancy--healing faster and better after the birth. Having a strong, fit body going into childbirth may facilitate the birth itself, but even if you have a c-section, fitness will serve you well afterward.

It's important to balance your fitness hopes and goals with open-minded expectations about the duration and finale of your pregnancy. Sometimes even the buffest bellies get put on bedrest. Sometimes professional athletes and hourglass-shaped contortionists end up needing c-sections or other interventions, for a variety of reasons--many of which cannot be known in advance. One of the major risks of preparing your body and mind for a healthy childbirth are the all-too-common feelings of failure, shame, and despair that follow a birth that did not go as planned (and they rarely do). Yes, there are women whose babies slide gracefully out of their bodies on waves of orgasmic songs of praise. It's absolutely true. I know some of these mythical mothers personally. They won the childbirth lottery. For most of us, it cannot be quite like what we see on those addictive YouTube videos. Most births are hard, long, ungraceful, and unpredictable. That's okay, too. There is no amount of preparation you can do that will guarantee a particular experience or outcome when those contractions start (and those contractions vary widely in strength, pattern, and intensity, depending on each woman's hormonal profile). But you can stack the odds in your favor and focus on the good you are doing to your presently pregnant body and to your future, post-birth body that is going to need Michelle Obama-Mama biceps to lift that carseat carrier/jogging stroller/case of diapers/11-pound sumo baby.

So get moving, have fun, and stay open-minded about your goals and expectations. Know that you may have to dial it down or take a break at any point. Pay attention to your body, communicate with your midwife and/or OB, and always check your balance.

Come by the Nutshell on the first Friday of every month for more Middle Path Mother posts.

Orienting the Beast

2013-03-19T16:16:00.004-07:00

So writers, where are you in your work in progress? It's a question to ask yourself often--and I don't just mean, how far along are you in your draft? Also, do you know exactly when and where each scene takes place, and have you told the reader?

Chapter Nine of Briars and Black Hellebore opens three miles and a hundred years from where I started the book, and every character that appears in Chapter Nine is completely new to the reader. When I brought Chapter Nine to my writing group, it opened with a scene of a monster guy sitting at a table crying as he counted spoons. A handful of people wandered about in strange attire making snarky comments at each other.

Of course, my reading group was a bit disoriented and confused about what was going on--and who, and when, and why. In a first draft, it's easy to forget to orient the reader in time, space, perspective, and mood. (Also, sometimes, in key plot points.) But it is essential to keeping the reader's attention and can be done briefly and simply.

I added the following paragraph to give just enough information to let the reader get her bearings:

Gustav peered through his hairy claws out of the slim, peaked window that framed the ruin of Old Vepres-Castle on its hilltop three miles away. The dragon that had lived there for nearly a hundred years stretched a translucent wing skyward, from its nest atop the West Tower. The scene was hazy to Gustav’s poor eyes; the ruin was an oily blot on the clean, snowy landscape.

Now the reader knows exactly where Gustav is (three miles away from where my story originated), that he has "hairy claws" (combined with other details in the chapter, indicating that he is the "Beast King" discussed previously in the story), and that nearby there is a dragon "that had lived there for nearly a hundred years" seen in a "snowy landscape" (so we know it is about one century later, in the winter).

My goal is to give just enough information in this paragraph to orient the reader and also start to build a little suspense. The reader can now deduce that the hundred-year curse upon Old Vepres-Castle is almost at its end.

J.K. Rowling is a great example of an author who does a great job of orienting her reader, particularly in the Harry Potter series. She's like a GPS system, always letting the reader know exactly when and where each new scene takes place. It's especially important to do this in books written for younger readers, but it makes writing for adults easier to read as well. And it makes editing and timeline adjusting a heck of a lot easier for the writer, too.

Check out the blog How to Write a Book Now for concise, practical advice on this and other book writing issues. The other fantasy writer in my group also talked with me about how, even though it feels super dorky, it can be enormously helpful to create a written out timeline (in addition to an outline) and a physical map of the story's time sequence and location. When you as the reader have a clear grasp on "where you are" in the story, it's much easier to lead the reader through the story at just the right pace.

Safe Products for the Uncrunchy Mama

2013-03-01T21:10:00.000-08:00

When I got pregnant, I became ultra-paranoid about toxins. (Haven't you heard? Pregnancy is the best time ever to become a paranoid schizophrenic!) At first I was drawn to everything "crunchy," from home organic gardening to no-poo hair care. I actually loved gardening and no-'poo, but they are not as simple or easy as you might be led to believe. Then I realized that all that crunches is not wholesome (there is just as much consumer-swindling, hazardous and unscientific BS in the "crunchy" sphere as in mainstream marketing toward women) and besides, I was too tired to make all my own soaps and cosmetics. And I didn't want to smell like patchouli and vinegar every day, much as I do love those two things. And I like my hair and skin and nails smooth, totally unlike my nut butter.

Fortunately, I found three great brands that offered everything I wanted: convenience, quality, reasonable price, and safety for me and my unborn child. Their products are luxurious, yummy smelling without the "fragrance" cancer cocktail (or at least un-stinky in the case of the nail polish), safe for pregos and babies, AND good for the environment!

In my nesting phase, I took the opportunity to clear out my beauty/hygiene products and start fresh with these brands.

1. Shea Moisture

Shea Moisture products are available in drugstores and supermarkets. The first thing I fell in love with was the Olive & Marula Head-to-Toe Baby Wash with avocado oil and shea butter. Forget that Johnson & Johnson crap. Mamas can bathe in it, too--It has a silky texture, a good lather for shampoo, leaves both skin and hair both squeaky clean and smooth, and smells like honeysuckle and angel breath. It's magic in a bottle, good for mamas AND babies. It's Nux Gallica's favorite bubble bath and gives her eye-rollingly aromatic Fairy Princess Brigitte Bardot Barbie hair--silky, bright, glossy, with smooth and bouncy ringlets. Miraculous. The only downside? The price is much higher than any of those popular Toxic Chemical Bath products you find on a nearby drugstore shelf, but a tiny bit of this stuff goes a long way. I've tried several other Shea Moisture products and loved them all. This line includes great stuff for black women's hair in particular, and the company has an inspiring 100-year history. It was started by a widowed, teenaged mother of four in Africa and is still run by her granddaughters. Ingredients are bought by African farmers at above-market prices, and some of the proceeds support girls' education in Africa. These are all-around feel-good treats!

2. Aveda

Aveda offers eco-friendly, divinely and naturally scented hair and skin care products as well as hair dyes and cosmetics that are clean and safe. This stuff is high-style and high-quality, and there is a huge range of products to suit many skin and hair types and personal tastes. The downside is the price; Aveda is usually only available at trendy salons and costs way more than drugstore stuff. But especially with the hair care products, a teeny bit goes a long way. The formulas are highly concentrated, so it's worth the price for a bottle that will last a very long time.

3. Zoya

Pregnancy was the only time in my life when I have had strong, long, nice-looking nails. I wanted to take advantage of this time (before baby care makes manicures pointless and impossible) to have fun with my nails, but I didn't want to expose myself to nasty compounds and fumes that could be harmful. Then my friend Esperanzita (hands pictured above) introduced me to Zoya. I ordered a bunch of wild colors at zoya.com and went crazy with them! The price of Zoya polishes is excellent for the great, smooth, long-lasting quality and vibrant colors.

And if you're still chemophobic or think you've found another great product, the Skin Deep Cosmetics Database is a great way to see how it checks out.

Crunchy mamas, I love you. You give the best hugs and make the best baby gifts. But less artisanal ladies, know that you don't have to look, feel, or smell "crunchy" to stay clean and healthy during pregnancy or to make ethical consumer choices. Go forth and beautify!

This post continues the Middle Path Mother series on the first Fridays of each month.

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 5, selection 4

2013-02-04T09:38:00.000-08:00

The painting above is by surrealist painter Leonor Fini.

"What's my motivation?" This is a question your characters should be asking you from time to time. Fairy tale retellings are a great example of how you can take a basic story structure--character does x, y, and z--and attribute those very same actions to completely different motivations. Consider the stories by Gregory Maguire (Wicked, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister), who preserves some of the plot points from known tales but changes the characters' motivations for doing what they do.

Writers are often guilty of complaining about their imaginary friends, characters that "don't cooperate" or take on lives of their own. This can be a good thing--when our intuition takes over to produce an organic, lifelike character that can't be forced into nonsensical plot twists--but we also need to remember that we are the creators of our stories, and we can go back and adjust our characters' feelings, thoughts, and reasons for acting. Just as we can change what our characters do, we can modify the reasons why they do things.

And to add complexity, we can also create multiple possible narratives about a character's actions. In my novel Briars and Black Hellebore, Prince Gunnar gives Princess Rosemary a ring that appears to be enchanted. It is important to my plot that Gunnar does this; however, my writing critique group pointed out that the potential reasons why he does this, as proposed in the narrative, are thin. Gunnar claims he gave the ring to Rosemary out of love (but that doesn't explain why he had it enchanted). Rosemary's servant Vera claims that Gunnar was trying to cast a spell on Rosemary to keep her in love with him even though he knows she will not approve of his lifestyle and personality. This reason felt thin to my critique group, so I dropped another ingredient into Gunnar's supposed motivations: He wants to enslave Rosemary's affections so that he can use her to help commit a crime against nature that she would never agree to do voluntarily.

Adding this motive solves two problems: It fills in Gunnar's reason for giving Rosemary an enchanted ring, and it also raises the stakes on Rosemary's acceptance of marriage to Gunnar. It is a far more serious accusation--from trying to trick a girl into liking him to trying to trick a girl into betraying her values to help commit an atrocity.

Below is Vera's accusation before revision:

“It is a love spell, Princess,” Vera said, “to enslave the wearer in dumb servitude until the end of her days.” She took a deep breath. “In spite of all you have done to me,” she said, “I would never wish to see you so enchanted. The old witch knows that Gunnar is in love with a common whore, and she thought the ring was meant for the harlot. So did I. I confess to you, I thought it was a great jest. I did not think he would dare to give you such a thing. It would not bode well for Vepres to have a queen kept in such a wicked state. You have done enough to bring curses upon this land—”

And here is the fleshed-out, rasied-stakes version:

“It is a love spell, Princess,” Vera said, “to enslave the wearer in dumb servitude until the end of her days. Prince Gunnar does not love you, but he wants to possess you and will not be satisfied with owning your flesh alone.”

Rosemary’s body stiffened and grew cold, like stone. “Why would he want to do that? I already love him.”

“Even if he consorts with whores, witches, and unicorn poachers?”

Rosemary touched the ring again. Its odd warmth made her skin crawl, but she would not take it off in front of Vera.

“Your Highness, in spite of all you have done to me, I would never wish to see you trapped in such black magic. Even the old witch who made it would not wish it. She knows that Gunnar is in love with a courtesan, and she thought the ring was meant for the harlot. So did I. I confess to you, I thought it was a great jest. I did not think he would dare to give you such a thing. But Ennelyn heard in the kitchen…”

Vera leaned close and lowered her voice, as Rosemary had seen her do often with the other serving girls. Sometimes Rosemary had jealously wanted to know what they whispered about, and her mother’s voice whipped through the turmoil of her mind—“You and your wishes…”

“Your Highness,” Vera whispered, “Ennelyn heard that the prince disrespects the faith of his father and your mother, the faith of the Good Shepherd who loves the sacred unicorns. They say the prince wants to poach the unicorns for their horns to make more of those lovely magic rings. They say he plans to keep you in a wickedly enchanted state so you can help him bait the unicorns. Now Princess, I see how pretty that ring is, but such things would not bode well for Vepres. You are already stupid enough to bring so many curses upon this land—”

This is just one solution to the common critique response of, "Okay, but why would s/he do that?" If a character's actions seem off, you can change the behavior--or you can modify or clarify the motivation. You have the power!

P.S. The older responses below are in reference to a blogfest where I had posted this original scene.

Don't Tell 'til You Show?

2013-02-01T22:26:00.000-08:00

Does the writing rule "Show, don't tell?" apply to pregnancy? I believe that as with creative writing, it depends.

The rule of thumb for a public announcement is to wait until 12 or 13 weeks, when you can be reasonably certain the pregnancy will be a success. The likelihood that you will miscarry early (or anytime) depends on many factors, such as your health history, your family history, and your age. If you have few miscarriages in your family (and the babydaddy's--iffy sperm can result in genetic errors) and you and the babydaddy are young and healthy (eating right, not smoking, drinking, or taking prescriptions), then you are probably in the clear. Of course, no pregnancy is ever a hundred percent certain, so you must take into account the possibility that you may not, actually, be having a baby on your due date.

However, there are many reasons you may want to tell early anyway. If you are comfortable sharing a potential miscarriage with others, there is probably no reason to hold back. If you are busting at the seams--emotionally or physically--it might be healthier for you to just spill!

I was an early teller. I knew I was pregnant days after our first conception attempt. (Hole in one! Gross, I know. Get used to gross if you want to have a baby.) My mom can always tell by looking at me if I am withholding something from her. (Keeping the elopement a secret: failed.) I started showing by four weeks--no lie, I must have been really bloated or something. By 14 weeks, my stomach stuck out as far as my bust:

By 15 weeks (top picture in this post), I was in maternity clothes. I was never destined to end up on that "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant Until the Baby Fell Out" show. Theoretically, I could have concealed my condition better with different clothing. But the styles I tend to wear are nipped in or snug at the waist, so it would have been suspicious.

And then there were the numerous weekday doctor appointments, the sudden inability for me to drink my morning coffee, and the frequent trips to the restroom that tipped off my superiors at work. By the time I told my boss only a few weeks into my pregnancy, she laughed and said, "I knew it!"

So I had difficulty keeping the secret for very long (though I didn't make an online announcement until 14 weeks), but I found that there were many benefits to setting the cat free early on. My boss was happy to be flexible with my schedule for prenatal visits. I didn't have to worry my family and friends with my queasiness and low energy in the first trimester. And, as I wrote about in a post while I was pregnant, I found that people were a lot nicer to me when they knew I was pregnant. Instead of being discreet, I started wearing clothes that emphasized my condition and bringing it up in conversation. Loved ones and complete strangers shared my joy, and everyone treated me with a little more loving kindness and understanding--things you can't get enough of in the first trimester of a pregnancy.

So follow your gut on this one--your intuition-gut and your, you know, belly gut. Some women don't show outward signs of pregnancy for a long time, so they have the freedom to choose a longer wait. And some women don't want to, either way. It's the Century of Oversharing, after all. Do what feels right--just make sure your mom and your boss aren't the last to know!

Stop by on first Fridays of the month for more Middle Path Mother posts on pregnancy and motherhood.

Till When?

2013-01-04T22:55:00.000-08:00

The "Mayan Apocalypse" has come and gone, and so has my 30th birthday, and still the world turns. I fervently hope it will continue after January 4, 2013, when Till Lindemann turns 50.

Dun dun dun...

Anybody remember that German Playboy interview where Till mentioned retiring at age 50? That was a long time ago, of course, and many of us know how it is to think a certain age is "old" from a distance, but when you approach, it doesn't look quite so crusty close up. Based on Rammstein's touring schedule stretching into summer 2013 (which is already selling out--eff yeah, grandpa rockstars!), Till must have changed his mind sometime in the past decade or so.

Which is great, because the way I see it, as long as Rammstein aren't too old to be rockstars, I'm not too old to be a giddy fangirl. Even if my favorite band has gone out to pasture, so to speak, in the meadows of Europe's rock festivals. Eeeeeee!

I have a recurring dream (or is it a nightmare?) that my husband and I go to our next Rammstein concert in some dismal, post-apocalyptic venue like a punk rock club in downtown Detroit or a church bingo hall. They're pretty funny dreams, at least to nerds like me who dream in fanfic.

I had quite a scare when the video for the new piano version of "Mein Herz Brennt" was released a few weeks ago. Only Till appears in the video, and all he does is walk around in a Robert Smith costume and a maternity wrap. I had flashbacks of "Mutter" and couldn't help wondering--Are Daddy and Daddy and Daddy and Daddy and Daddy and Daddy getting a divorce???

I was totally relieved when the explicit video for the same single was released, a Bihac masterpiece of the disturbing and wacky quality I expect from that director's work with Rammstein. I found it chilling how Rammstein continues to have its collective finger on the devil's pulse. This video was shot before the Sandy Hook school shooting and on a different continent, but it portrays a monster that feeds on children's tears attacking an institution full of children. A caregiver attempts, unsuccessfully, to defend the children with a gun. The evil force is too large and all-consuming to be subdued with a simple weapon, and the whole building burns. It's terrifying, grotesque, and hits all the right notes.

As an American, of course I'm seeing the work in light of events close to home.

As an American, I am also endlessly disappointed that I cannot find incessant paparazzi shots and updates on my favorite overseas celebrities when they're not on the public stage. I've often wondered what they might be doing since I went to see them for my wedding anniversary in May, and I have had a few glimpses into Till's off-game activities, courtesy of my Mexican bestie Esperanzita.

Oh, and the tabloid reports of un-photographed Till sightings with Sophia Tomalla and assertions from her and her mother that yes, for real, Sophia and Till are dating--Those don't count. I thought that fabrication got busted ages ago. Yawn.

In more interesting news, Till WAS photographed this summer partying with some of my favorite Mexican rockeros, the men of Molotov. HERE COMES THE MAYO!

Apparently Till has also been passing the time posing as a lovely Latina. Coincidentally, this is something my husband also enjoys!

And happily for me, Till still appears to enjoy burning up the stage and studio like it's 1995! Till when? Only time will tell!

Feliz cumpleanos, Mein Herz. Half a century is SO METAL.

Choosing Pregnancy and Childbirth Care

2013-01-04T15:47:00.000-08:00

This post continues the Middle Path Mother series on first Fridays of the month.

As I mentioned in last month's MPM post, I am more of a plotter than a pantser--in writing and life, too. But I'm also an opportunist who makes choices quickly.

Before I conceived, I was already talking with my primary care physician about pregnancy wellness. And as soon as I saw that little blue line on a home pregnancy test, I scheduled a doctor's visit to make it "official."

I trust my doctor very much, and she recommended the most well-regarded Ob-Gyn practice in town, so I simply took her advice and had her transfer my care right away. It worked out great for me, but many women want to know more about their options before placing their pregnancy and birth in the hands of a caregiver.

There are many different people--and different sorts of professionals--you may prefer to deliver or "catch" your baby. Think about your ideal birth scenario, and also consider a backup--birth rarely goes according to plan. I say this with the experience of a mother who has spoken to a large number of other moms. Across the board, every birth I've ever heard of involved some surprises (not necessarily huge ones or negative ones) and unexpected twists. One very common snag is going into labor only to find out that the favored birth practitioner is not available! That is why it's important to build a highly trusted support network of several people to guide, nurture, and support you through this very special journey.

First, it is very important to find an obstetrician or Ob-Gyn practice with whom you feel comfortable. Here is a comprehensive guide for choosing an obstetrician or other medical caregiver. All pregnant women should connect with an obstetrician, even if your ideal birth is attended by a midwife. While most women do not encounter life-threatening complications during most of their births, pregnancy and childbirth are much riskier times to our health than when we are not pregnant. Issues small and severe can pop up suddenly or arise without our knowledge if we are not monitored by a medical professional who knows how to find and treat those problems. It is most convenient if you can find a practice with several Ob-Gyns on staff that you trust, in case "your" doctor is unavailable when you go into labor.

Midwives are experts in "normal" pregnancy. If they happen to notice something out of the ordinary, the standard response is to transfer care to an obstetrician. I used an obstetric practice (with a midwifey flair and a crunchy texture) as my only professional care during pregnancy; other women may want to be cared for primarily by a midwife, with an Ob-Gyn on hand "just in case."

The midwifery model of care supports wellness in pregnancy and birth with minimal medical interventions. There is also a higher focus on the processes and positive experiences of pregnancy and childbirth and a higher focus on the well being of the mother. Midwives serve women in hospitals, at freestanding birth centers, and in private homes. Births attended by midwives have a slightly reduced risk of maternal complications compared to hospital birth; however, out-of-hospital birth poses increased risks to the baby.

I know several women who have had amazing, wondrous, life-changing experiences giving birth with midwives outside of a hospital, but it is vital to proceed with caution when choosing to give birth with a midwife or outside of a medical facility. I suppose most of you reading this post don't need this word of advice, but celebrities like Jenny McCarthy and Ricki Lake are not medical professionals, scientists, or journalists. I was one of those new moms who had well-meaning and kind friends shoving all kinds of articles, books, and "documentaries" at me that were hyped by very nice-seeming famous mamas, and I went through pregnancy and childbirth sorely misinformed about many things. Luckily, nothing bad happened to me or my child as a result--but I know other women, smart women, who bought into some misleading ideas about childbirth who were not so lucky.

The midwifery model of care is a lovely philosophy and can be marvelous in practice. But please note that it is much more complicated to make sure you are choosing a safe, ethical midwife than a safe, ethical doctor because midwives are not regulated, insured, or held legally accountable in the same ways doctors are. I am sad to say that there are women in my city who have been harmed or even lost their perfectly healthy babies after receiving negligent midwife care, not realizing until it was too late that their chosen caregivers were not properly trained professionals with good track records. This is a terrible thing, but the inspiring part of the story is that some of those families banded together to form a group called Safer Midwifery for Michigan to help other families choose a safe midwife. Their blog contains links to similar organizations and activists in other states. With the proper tools and cross-checks, a woman can find a trustworthy midwife just about anywhere--and, of course, with complementary Ob-Gyn care, obvious missteps during pregnancy and childbirth will be safely avoided.

Happily, we don't have to decide between health care and natural wellness. As I mentioned, I was able to find an obstetric practice that believed in the midwifery model of care and even had a nurse-midwife on staff. And the best of both worlds can be found in many leading hospitals with collaborative care that integrates midwifery and obstetrics. Hospitals with collaborative care might have a homelike birth center, set up for intervention-free childbirth, attached to the building. (This is something else that Safer Midwifery is helping to develop in my city!) Low-risk mothers can enjoy many of the comforts of a home setting, plus non-narcotic pain relief methods such as birthing pools. At the same time, in the (fairly common) event of a complication or desire for medical pain relief, no dramatic and dangerous ambulance ride is necessary. There is no additional paperwork to fill out, and there are no abrupt transfers into the hands of strangers; care is seamless, holistic, convenient, and as safe as possible. And there is additional peace of mind when the hospital also contains a NICU onsite in case of emergency. An all-in-one facility combines comfort and freedom with peace of mind.

Regardless of your main caregiver or ideal birth location, you may wish to hire a doula. A doula is a sort of birth coach, whose purpose is to guide you through pregnancy, childbirth, and the postpartum period with nurturing comfort. A doula can also advocate for you while you are in labor; there will probably be some time during labor and delivery when you will not be able to speak and make your wishes known. A doula is someone who can get to know you and build positive, affirming emotions throughout the childbearing process. I have only heard wonderful reviews from friends who have used doulas--especially for first births. Supportive partners and family members can be wonderful during childbirth, but it can be especially comforting to have someone with you who has seen countless labors and deliveries and is more familiar with what you are feeling and experiencing. DONA International offers resources on finding a good doula.

And if you're more of a pantser and you don't like making all these complex choices and writing up elaborate birth plans and building a whole staff of birth attendants? That is fine, too--Jezebel says so! It's just important to do the initial work of picking, at the very least, an obstetric practice that you can trust--not just with your safety but with your personal needs and wishes--so you can relax and enjoy your pregnancy and childbearing experience without obsessively Googling every sensation.

After choosing your care provider (or team) with confidence, you can move on to browsing prenatal yoga classes, stuffing your face with chocolate ice cream and pickles, shopping for sexy new bras in various sizes, and all the other fun things you get to do at this magical time in your life. So enjoy the ride!

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 5, selection 3

2013-01-02T15:39:00.000-08:00

In the editing phase, it is invaluable to find "native speakers" to look at your manuscript. Certainly if you have any part of the text written in another language, you will need someone who speaks that language to make sure you've put down the right words. There is so much nuance in language that you cannot learn from a 101 course, dictionary, or online translator. You can go cross-eyed trying to research every contextually appropriate usage of a phrase, but it's much easier to slap down your best guess and then go ask a friend who would know.

Similarly, it is much more efficient to find an expert on a hobby, culture, time period, or whatever foreign thing you are writing about than to try to become an expert yourself, from your computer chair. A great example from my fifth chapter is a scene that contains horseback riding. I am not a horse girl, so I simply drew upon my imagination to write the following:

He followed her gaze to the small, pale pink blossom and frowned at it, as if perplexed by its appearance so out of time, in the air that still pricked with frost. A gentle breeze passed by them, carrying Thorismud’s faint scent of sweat and leather to Rosemary. She closed her eyes and saw a mad vision of a mare she had once seen rolling in a patch of clover, kicking ecstatically at the sky. She opened her eyes and watched him reach up and pluck the little flower from the vine. He held it in his hand with reverence and lifted it up to the princess without looking at her.

She took it from his rough, blackened palm and held it close to her face to see the tiny petals with their sunburst of yellow stamens in the center. She fingered the long thorns on the stem and sensed Thorismud watching her breathlessly at the periphery of his vision, though he kept his face lowered, seeming to gaze at her feet. She pressed her fingertip against the barb and gasped at the drop of blood like a bright ruby that bubbled out of her soft, pale skin.

WRONG! Did you find the error? I never would have seen it if I hadn't given this scene to a friend who rides horses. Thorismud is standing beside the princess' horse, and he seems to look at her "feet"--both feet at once. In this whole scene, I had the princess riding sidesaddle--in a world based on high medieval Europe.

The princess was also riding "sidesaddle" bareback. My friend pointed out that riding "sidesaddle" without a saddle is nearly impossible. This led me to discover that sidesaddles were not to be invented for hundreds of years, and that medieval women rode astride horses just like men--even while wearing gowns. This fact delighted me, as it actually allows me to include more interesting details. In another scene, I had made up a special horseback riding gown that ladies wore in the next kingdom. Knowing that women rode horses like men encouraged me to come up with a more exotic riding costume.

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, and sometimes detail corrections lead to a richer scene or story. And to avoid wasting time researching every little thing to death, just run a scene or idea (such as a menu, outfit, or foreign greeting) past someone who knows more about the topic than you do. Any mistakes or oddities will jump right out at them.

Have you ever used the occasion to correct an error in your story as a path to a better scene, chapter, or even overall plot?

Preconceived

2012-12-07T16:00:00.000-08:00

This is how babies are made.

About half of pregnancies in the U.S. are oopsies, and half are totally on purpose. (Guttmacher) This post is intended for mamas-to-be who are either pleasantly surprised or hoping to conceive.

First, let's address the element of surprise. There is a big trend right now of women who are not-really-not-trying to get pregnant, sort of leaving it up to fate. There are also women who are actively trying not to get knocked up but decide to roll with it when it happens. One of the great things about deciding to have a baby, whether you meant to start it right now or not, is the opportunity pregnancy brings to overhaul your own health and life priorities. You have the best, sweetest, most legitimate excuse and motivation to start eating healthy, quit drinking and smoking, and get regular exercise, sleep, and medical checkups. It can be very difficult to motivate ourselves to make those changes on our own, just for our own sake, especially when we're young and our bodies can take the abuse. But making big health changes for pregnancy can have immense benefits for us, in addition to our babies, in the long run. This is true for both plotters and pantsers!

Pantsers, pregnancy is the ultimate plot twist, the ultimate opportunity to turn it all around. A huge part of my parenting (and life) philosophy is to take advantage of golden opportunities as they come. Golden Opportunity means GO! Also, pregnancy will force you to make some changes you're still not motivated to make, even for the good of your innocent unborn child. For me, that was giving up coffee. Some pregnant women keep on having their morning cup until birth without ill effects, but my body said no. I did cut down to one cup when I was trying to conceive, but as soon as that baby started growing, even one sip of coffee, regular or decaf, would give me the soupy poops all day. So, I learned that I have the strength to live without coffee. It helped to remind myself that it was only temporary. Now when I drink a steamy latte, I appreciate it so much more!

And what about those of us who are plotters, not pantsers? I myself am a plotter. Plotting is what I do. (Woo-hoo-ha-ha-ha! *Rubbing hands together.*) But not like an evil villain, I promise. I plan and overplan and overanalyze life decisions like a crazy person. Like a coffee-guzzling college student who reads Dostoevsky and agonizes over the ethics of every possible action. Because I was that college student. In high school. And sometimes, though far less now that I have been transformed by mommyhood, it still comes out in me.

And speaking of being transformed by mommyhood? Don't fear. Let it happen. Instead of clawing against the current trying to stay just like you are now (which is really for the immature and the cantankerous elderly), carpe diem. Open up and let the stream carry you along. It's not all giant-assed jeans and butch haircuts, I swear. Becoming a mother has made me more sensual, playful, resourceful, confident, wise, and compassionate. And I've made loads of new friends along the way. Don't buy into negative stereotypes or cliched warnings about what parenting will do to your identity--just stay in touch with your deepest desires and celebrate your personal growth along the way.

For plotters, the era of trying-to-conceive (TTC on all those mommy blogs you'll be reading) can be so much fun! It can also be so much anxiety. When I decided that I wanted to have a child at some near time, I told my doctor and went on prenatal vitamins, which I kept taking for a full year before I succeeded in convincing my husband to impregnate me with the promise that he would get to play with lots of toys. I scaled up my exercise routines with lots of yoga, belly dance, and pilates. I started growing some of my own vegetables and learning, with my husband, how to cook healthier meals and where to buy stuff like local, organic apples and nitrate-free meats. My husband got on board, too, by losing weight with healthy eating and exercise--because a man's health habits at the present moment affect the quality of the DNA in the sperm he is making at that moment! Does that make you insane or happy?--so together, we improved our own health while setting the stage to create a healthy baby. What a joyous task! I also cut back on caffeine, though I was reluctant to give it up entirely (see above). I don't smoke and I don't like drinking alcohol that much, so it was easy not to smoke or drink.

But here's where the crazy can override the health benefits of plotting pregnancy: Stressing about being perfect can actually be worse for you than just having that cocktail or eating the chili dog. The Aussies seem to think human embryos like it when you have a few drinks. So should you intentionally drink during your pregnancy? No, I wouldn't say so--but maybe uptight perfectionism is worse for you than having a drink here or there. I've known women who craved beer during their pregnancies and women who couldn't even look at one without puking. My "gut feeling" (ah ha ha) is to follow what YOUR gut tells you, especially after conception takes place. Your body will probably advise you about what it needs. (For me, in the first trimester, it was potato chips.) Unless you get a craving to eat dirt, laundry detergent, or lipstick. There's a clinical term for that and you need to see your doctor now.

Whether you are a pantser or a plotter, happy or hopeful, conception and "preconception" are filled with Golden Opportunities. GO forth and give thyself a pre-baby lifestyle makeover!

Watch for more Middle Path Mother posts on the first Fridays of each month!

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 5, selection 2

2012-12-03T11:06:00.000-08:00

I have a question, dear readers. My story takes place at a distant time, when people married (and died) very young, and when royal marriages were arranged for political reasons. Daughters, of course, were viewed as commodities or livestock, even by their own mothers. Most of us are familiar with stories of that nature, but arranged child marriages are still creepy. In the following scene, Queen Hildegard prepares her teenage daughter Rosemary to meet her betrothed, a teenage prince. My question is, given--or in spite of--the context, how does this exchange make you feel? Is it too icky and pimpish? Or is it just what you might expect? How have times changed, and how have they not? Do you think mothers loved their daughters just as much then as they do now? Thoughts on this are welcome.

Hildegard accompanied Rosemary to her bedchamber. “We do not know exactly when Prince Gunnar will arrive, so you will need to prepare now.” Hildegard opened a small box of rouging powder, streaked it across her high cheekbones, and rubbed the color in. Rosemary watched her, stunned, and blinked hard when Hildegard reached out and dabbed her face with the powder, too.

“Mother, I don’t understand.” Rosemary touched her face and looked at her reflection in the glass. “I thought that cosmetics and… and ostentatious clothes and immodesty were sinful.”

Hildegard sighed and scrubbed the powder into her daughter’s cheeks. “For all your learning and questioning and sharp hearing, I thought you might understand by now that you are to stay modest for your husband, not before your husband.”

Rosemary frowned. “He is not my husband yet.”

Her mother silenced her by pressing rouge into her lips. “Rosemary,” she said, “wipe that frown away before your face creases. Now is the time to reveal some of the beauty and sweetness that we have kept fresh and unstained all these years. Do you understand? When Prince Gunnar arrives, you must be very welcoming and… encouraging. I know you may feel you are too young for marriage, but trust me that I think it will be best for all of us if we can speed things along. Do you understand, Rosemary?”

P.S. The older comments below refer to a previous version of this post that extended into Rosemary's meeting with her betrothed.

Middle Path Mother

2012-11-26T13:39:00.000-08:00

Friends, meet Devi Maya, mother of the Buddha, who is depicted here giving birth joyfully through her ribcage whilst standing on one foot and holding onto a tree.

I like to let Devi Maya remind me that being centered, in-the-moment, and happy does not require us to find a perfect life "balance," obsess over whether we are "natural," or do anything "properly." Each of our children is as unique and precious as a little Buddha, and we mothers, too, are unique in our gifts and strengths. There is beauty in asymmetry and strangeness just as there is serenity in the simple flow of regular, repeating forms.

It seems that the culture I live in is all about exaggeration and opposition. There is a Right Way and a Wrong Way to do everything, a crunchy hike and a smoothly paved trail, attachment vs. detachment, success against nurture. There are Mommy War skirmishes fought behind the front lines of a War on Women.

But this mother, both toughened up and softened by two and a half years of pregnancy and mothering, believes that most of our culture's mothering dichotomies are nothing more than the false trickery of capitalist sales pitches, that most mothers are more compassionate than combative with each other, and that sometimes there is a Right Way and a Wrong Way to do things--but each family has its own unique best interests and its own best paths to them, usually somewhere in the quiet spaces between the extreme methods packaged and sold as news stories and parenting advice.

So I am launching a series of Middle Path Mother posts to share the wisdom and encouragement of a not-quite-new mom who has borne a child right in the center of America, the center of the income scale, and the center of today's socio-political storms. Each post will raise a topic relevant to the first Trying-To-Conceive moments through pregnancy and childhood, adding a few grains of salt and a spoonful of sugar to satisfy a mother's cravings for both reasonableness and celebration in this dance of life.

Stop by The Magic Nutshell on the first Friday of each month for a bite.

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 5, Selection 1

2012-11-18T10:59:00.000-08:00

The fifth chapter of my book is where the first "turning point" of my story occurs. It is the longest chapter in the "first act" of my novel. The dramatic question raised in the disastrous close of Chapter 5 concerns Princess Rosemary's most burning desire: Will it be fulfilled? The traditional-style first act of the book sets the stage and covers Rosemary's development from birth and the characterizations of the princess and her family. Chapter 5 is where the description and action focus in on the development of Rosemary's greatest desire. In this very character-driven story, one of my challenges is to simplify the plot as much as possible in balance with the complexity of the characters' inner dramas.

In this selection from near the beginning of the chapter, Rosemary is thirteen years old and more curious and willful than ever. My previous draft started with a convoluted and passive scene in which Rosemary spied on her godfather spying on a blacksmith. I have rewritten the scene, removing one layer of complexity and passivity by having Rosemary spy on her godfather interacting with the blacksmith. This revision leaves many of the mysteries and suspenses of the previous version intact while clarifying the action, shortening the scene, and increasing the emotional drama.

It was an unusually hot, bright spring day, but she did not stop to put on her hat and veil. She rushed out the door and hurried down the path from the hall to the chapel, fast but quiet in her soft leather boots and linen robe. The outside world clamored with noise and motion, so different from the furtive gestures and whispers inside the palace. Cattle lowed far down the hill, and the rhythmic strikes of hammers rang through the air. Birdsongs clashed in the rowan trees around the castle, and three squirrels chased each other through the open gate to the sacred garden.

How good it would be to spend another hour with Brother Basil, who was always kind and plainspoken, who never had anything to hide.

As Rosemary passed through the gate, she looked around for her godfather among the quiet flowerbeds smelling of sun-warmed herbs. She walked past the well and heard Basil’s voice, hushed and muffled, and another voice, deep and gravelly. She circled a large tuft of peonies and followed the sounds to the thick hedge wall, which had grown taller than a man. She looked up and saw the branches of the large, old trees of the churchyard reaching over the top of the hedge. After a long pause, she heard the voices speaking again and could discern the words.

“It is not something that you would understand, Brother.”

“But I do. Truly I do.”

“I suppose you were a man before you were a monk.”

Brother Basil giggled. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Do you really think that… that she remembers me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. When I first mentioned your name she said she had known a Thorismud, but that he was a fine-boned and fair youth.”

The deep voice chuckled and then said hoarsely, “It makes me feel—as though I am alive again. As if I had died long ago and my name on her lips has raised me up again.”

After another pause, the deep voice whispered, “Please let me thank her—no, no, not like that. I am not worthy of her presence. Just give her something when you go inside the castle—an apple blossom from my tree. Do not let her know that it is from me. It is enough that I know it.”

Rosemary grinned, shocked but delighted to discover Brother Basil’s part in a lovers’ intrigue. The faces of Vepres-Castle’s young maids spun through her mind, and she wondered which of them had carried on with this man who worked in the stable.

There was a shuffling and scraping, and the men’s voices faded in the direction of the stable. Rosemary ran to the garden gate and peered around the side to see if she could catch a glimpse of the man.

At first, she could see nothing but the horse pasture and stables. A mare trotted through the field to a patch of sweet clover and bent her head to sniff at it. She snorted and danced in a circle around the patch. Then she threw herself down and rolled back and forth with her hooves thrashing at the sky. Rosemary covered her mouth to stifle a giggle and then jumped at a clang of metal against metal. She leaned further out of the gate and saw the smith called Thorismud with his back to her, working at his anvil in the shade of an apple tree, only a few paces away.

In the heat of the afternoon, he had shed all clothing except his britches and boots. His long, dark hair was gathered in a leather thong at the back of his neck. With each swing of the hammer, sweat gleamed on his shoulders, and the dark snake of his hair shifted along the valley of his backbone. Even under the bright sun, Rosemary could see the sparks he struck into the air. She squinted until she could make out the veins and muscles of his arm, outlined with gray dirt and shining like the brushed coat of a horse.

Mama Dance! Mama Dance!

2012-11-09T09:11:00.000-08:00

After honoring myself with a postpartum degree in YouTube belly dance, I treated myself to two real-life belly dance lesson series earlier this year. I advanced from beginner to beginner/intermediate (woohoo!), and most importantly, I got to leave the house and get some exercise without a toddler clinging to my limbs or jamming her finger in my belly button.

This weekend, I will leave my 20s behind and become a mature woman of 30! I'm excited about it, but I'm not going to lie and say it has caused me no anxiety. My life is pretty ordinary--I haven't started my own business or published a book or had 15 minutes of fame on a reality show. And that's OK, but I like to remind myself of the accomplishments I have made so far--ordinary but important things. Like buying (and keeping) a house. And giving birth to a child. And raising up a healthy, happy toddler. And keeping my body fit and strong through childbirth and nearly two years of baby/toddler wrangling.

To get ready for my new grownup decade of life, I went and got a haircut and felt all pampered and pretty. And I asked my husband to take a video of me belly dancing--quick, before I forgot how to do it and got all old and crusty. The moment was perfect. Our daughter took a late nap just as I got home. My breasts were engorged from being away from her all day, making me look like I was smuggling a couple of ghost pumpkins. (Pre-baby, let's just say I failed the pencil test for needing a training bra.) With my fresh blowout, I felt like Hot Mama Barbie.

So I rushed to put on a floofy skirt and get the music queued up--and little Nux woke up hollering for "mamilk." So then I nursed her, which always makes me really hungry, and while she deflated my boobs, I stuffed my gut with a heavy and delicious gnocchi dinner prepared by my wonderful husband.

When I got up again, I was down a cup size and up a belt size, but Nux still wanted to see me dance. "Mama dance! Mama dance!" And looking at her adorable, spectacular, joyful little self, I still felt like dancing. So here is the video of the last dance of my youthful 20s. The choreography is an amended version of the one I learned in my classes with Leilah. I couldn't do belly rolls very well with a tummy full of whole wheat and potato pasta, but you know, Nux loved watching anyway and yelled some words of encouragement. Later, she spun around like a ballerina, pulled up her shirt, patted her chubby toddler tummy, and said, "Perfect. Nux perfect."

And she is! She is the perfect companion to dance with me into a wiser, more beautiful phase of life.

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 4

2012-11-07T14:44:00.000-08:00

Do tell!

We all know the rule of thumb that we should "Show, not tell." Telling one's story is also a dangerous act, often forbidden by magic, in German folk tales. But in many of those tales, the main character (such as the Goose Girl, the sister of the Six Swans, or Cinderella) is saved from a terrible fate when she takes just the right opportunity to open her mouth and tell.

I've done some reflecting on the powers of silence and speech as I write my story. As I explore the respective dangers of silencing and vocalization in the content of my novel, I am also experimenting with how much about my characters' inner thoughts, feelings, and memories to tell the reader in exposition.

In a strongly character-driven novel, it can be confusing to just show the reader action and spoken words without ever explaining why. It can also drag out a scene to try to show the reader everything important about a character's emotions through external acts alone. My writing group sometimes accuses my characters of being schizo, because they seem to come out of nowhere with bizarre declarations, actions, or expressions of emotion. I am writing about a culture in which people make a lot of effort to hide and even suppress their true feelings in many circumstances, so it makes for a chaotic read to keep everything on the level of outward movements and utterances.

For example, here is a scene from Chapter 4. Queen Hildegard shows her maid Marina a young boy she would like to match with Marina's daughter Vera. Marina seems reluctant to accept the match and suggests that Vera has a calling to become a nun. Hildegard runs off to spy on Vera in her chapel lesson, watches for a short time as a nun tells a gruesome story of martyrdom to a group of bored or disgusted girls, and prances away in high spirits.

It is possible that a more skilled writer could write this scene and have it make sense without peering into Hildegard's mind or drawing things out ridiculously, but I have found it easier to just toss the reader some of Hildegard's thoughts and feelings. I am finding that telling has its place, if used sparingly and only where it is needed.

Hildegard felt a touch of shame that she had not paid more attention to little Vera lately. Perhaps she had missed a burgeoning spirituality that would make it impossible to marry her into a powerful family of means. Sending Vera off to the convent would not do. Hildegard wondered, fleetingly, whether it would be wicked to pray for a girl to be spared of a vocation and to wish for worldly things, things that Hildegard could provide to assuage her own feelings of obligation. She touched her temple and prepared to make a difficult request of Prisca, Saint of Marriage, on Vera’s behalf.

As the queen’s eyes adjusted to the low light, she noticed her own daughter first. Princess Rosemary, more beautiful than ever at eight years of age, sat quietly with her head bowed as the nun intoned the Legend of Saint Ursel and the Eleven Virgins. “And when the cannibals were through with them,” Sister Dora said, rolling her eyes toward the half-dome above, “there was nothing but a stack of bones, as white and clean as doves. And the Lord of All raised up the bones, and clad them in raiments of gold and silver, and gave the girls whole and heavenly bodies in the court of heaven.”

Hildegard noted the rapt face of Ennelyn, daughter of the head baker. The girl leaned forward, her lips parted and her eyes round with a mix of horror and awe. Beside her, Vera stood with her hands behind her back, eyebrows raised and lower lip pressed upward as if trying not to laugh. Rosemary looked up from the floor and cast her soft stare toward Ennelyn. The baker’s daughter seemed fascinated by the story, and Rosemary seemed fascinated with Ennelyn’s fascination, but Vera was impressed with neither.

Sister Dora raised both arms in the air as she lifted her voice in description of the landscape of the heavens. She caught sight of Hildegard and winked humorlessly, as only Sister Dora could do.

Hildegard smiled and left the chapel as silently as she had come. Vera would no more likely enter the convent than Rosemary would take up hunting wild boar. Hopeful that her prayers would be answered before she even had to ask, Hildegard strode up toward the castle.

P.S. The 10 old comments on this post refer to a backstory scene that was originally part of Chapter 4. Flashbacks are another of those things, like telling, which are warned against but can come in handy in just the right place. I am never certain I have got it just right, but I am continuing to work at how far and when to bend the rules.

A Dollar for Santa Muerte

2012-10-25T21:22:00.001-07:00

It has been almost a year since you left.

I heard a song from Mexico the other day, and for a second I thought it was you, plucking out Spanish guitar songs in the living room. I heard the song while I stood in the kitchen, slicing bread, the bread you taught my husband to bake, from the cookbook you gave me for Christmas.

I stood in the kitchen, where so many evenings after I gave birth, I stood and cried with my baby, who could not be consoled when I set her down so I could make something to eat, not until you came home from work in your starchy white shirt smelling like fried fish and you picked her up and she stopped crying and smiled, so happy to see your beat-up face and your mohawk and those hoops in your ears.

My heart jumps every time I see my husband wearing that old head scarf you left, with the picture of Santa Muerte. I never understood Santa Muerte so well as I do now, I think.

The first time I saw her was in Mexico, way deep in the bowels of the market, in an aisle full of witchery--dried up rattlesnakes and powdered beetles and herbs that closed my throat so I couldn't breathe. She was terrible, a skeleton bristling with American one-dollar bills. They say she is the patron of children who are lost. She is an inverted tooth fairy, a hopeless shadow of Saint Christopher, a dry wishing well. She lurks behind the colorful memorials of departed family, peaceful souls resting in love and laughter and the smells of kitchens. She keeps watch of the souls in limbo, those wanderers who cannot be recovered nor grieved.

I knew we would lose you one way or another. I always knew it, and so I was angry at myself for taking it so hard. We would have been happy for you, you know. We knew you loved Sonora, the desert, the hot sun and the carne asada. We knew you would not be able to say goodbye.

The day you were sneaking out your things, I caught you. I knew something was wrong, I had seen it for weeks, how not even the baby could make you smile, but I didn't know what it was. You were like a cornered animal--I could feel the panic as I ran down the stairs. I had been trying to catch you for days, but you were so good at disappearing. And I was delicate and fragile, my breasts swollen and sore from nursing. I was aware of my breasts, running down to trap a wounded creature. Would you hurt me? How could I even think that you might hurt me? But the panic in the air--I didn't know what you might do.

You moved so fast, rushing out the door with an old, soft lie and a promise and a cardboard box. You rode off so fast into the pouring rain that I could not run to the window in time to see which way you had gone.

I went into your room, and it was empty, drawers empty, bed stripped, hangers naked except for one bike jersey my husband had given you, my husband, your best friend, your brother at one time? There were things left, though, in the house, and so I knew you had not gone for good, not just yet. You would be back before you were really gone.

I ran upstairs to my baby, and she was just fine, playing with her toys. She looked up at my face and cried.

When her daddy got home, I showed him the empty room. We erased the white board that showed how much you owed for utility bills, wiped it clean. I wrote a letter to say goodbye, to wish you well. I left it on your bed. I waited all day. I canceled appointments, waited and worried, called your phone and your friends' phones and nothing.

I went down and took back the goodbye letter, crumpled it up and threw it away. No, there would be no goodbye on paper.

I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, reaching out with my ears and my heart, feeling you still here, close. I would stay awake until you came back to get the rest of your things, and I would run out of the bedroom and tell you goodbye.

Many times I drifted off, only to wake up again at the tiniest sound. And then one time I heard the door open for sure. I jumped out of bed and tried to run but I was trapped in slow-motion--a dream. I woke, but I was frozen, paralyzed in my bed, and drifted off again. And then I could get up and move freely. I walked into the bright kitchen, blinking, and there were noises outside. I went out into the cold garage and saw you there, loading up a truck, your blue eyes looking back and resigned. I went to you and said, "Just say goodbye. We love you." I opened my arms, my fingers reaching for your bony ribs, my tender chest seeking your heartbeat, just once, but I could not close my arms around you. There was an invisible barrier and I could not touch you.

I woke in a fury, knowing now that you had been home and gone again, and I had missed you. I missed you.

The next day, we went through the remains of your room, your leave-taking. You took the gifts my mother had given you. You left behind a chest packed with letters, photos, gifts from every loved one you had lost. You left your favorite headscarf with the picture of Santa Muerte.

It was like the time, many years ago, when we tried to visit you in jail. We could not see you, speak to you, give you a message or a candy bar or a pack of cigarettes. Our names were not on your list.

What would I give, if it could reach you? A letter to Saint Christopher, a penny for your thoughts, a dollar for Santa Muerte. I hear this song and I think of you.

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 3

2012-09-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

Today's revision workshop is about perspective. The ladies of my writing group, The Pigasus Pen, are always catching each other mixing perspective--jumping heads, so to speak, inelegantly. I have to be especially careful about perspective in my manuscript because the perspective shifts, from each chapter or section, to a different character.

The beginning mostly oscillates between Princess Rosemary and her mother, Queen Hildegard. This is an opportunity for me to highlight perspective itself, because the queen and princess live in close proximity to each other but have widely differing experiences of their surroundings due to differences in age, personality, experience, and literal sensory perception.

The following is an excerpt from the latest version of my Chapter 3, shown through the eyes of a most unreliable narrator, an extremely sheltered and nearsighted child.

Rosemary pressed a hand to her lips and looked sideways at Vera. She snuffed the candle and laid the Book on its shelf beside her bed. The night was warm enough to leave the windows uncovered, and when the sky darkened, the stars shone brightly on the cedar boards of the floor and edged Rosemary’s velvet blankets with veins of silver. She felt wide awake and lonely, even as she heard Vera rustle on her pallet by the door and snore softly.

She slipped quietly out of bed, padded to the window, and laid her small, soft hands on the cool stone washed in moonlight. To Rosemary’s unfocused eyes, the stars were pools of light ringed by great halos. She stared into the pulsing spheres and prayed, Come to me. I will be not afraid. My eyes are poor, so I will not faint if you appear to me. I promise I will ask for nothing more if I can only know you are with me.

The stone beneath Rosemary’s hands began to hum as if it had come to life, and far below, from the shadowed forest came a great rumbling that grew louder and louder. Rosemary’s heart pounded in her breast, but she held her breath and waited. Then, from the northern road, out came a flash of gold and silver, shining like the stars above. It was the most magnificent carriage she had ever seen, much more opulent than any her mother owned, pulled by a team of white horses draped with bright, jeweled chains. Men on horseback dressed in deep blue robes spilled out from the forest and formed two rows so that the golden carriage approached the gates of Vepres-Castle in a slow procession, between the lines of men in blue.

Many yards from the castle gates, the carriage stopped. When all of the hoofbeats had ceased, a servant drew a golden staircase from the side of the chariot to the ground, and a man descended. Rosemary could not help herself; she squinted hard so that she could see him better. He was gloriously tall and broad, with a long, silver beard and a sparkling, golden crown. Rosemary gasped at the white, feathery mass cascading down his back from his great shoulders—the wings of an angel!

He strode with long, swinging steps toward the door, and Rosemary hoisted her small body onto the deep window ledge to keep him in view. He dipped his hand in the holy water strop at the door and bellowed—in a voice that resonated all the way up Rosemary’s tower, a voice like a multitude—“The Lord be in this house!”

Rosemary slid back into the room, ticklish with a profound surety that she knew this man’s voice. A blurred memory slipped, ghostlike, from the depths of her mind, of a huge, fluffed being who talked about taking her far away to a place more magnificent than anything in Vepres. Could he be her angel, come to take her away?

30th Birthday Style Muses

2012-09-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

As the weather is getting cooler, so am I! That's right, fall has arrived, the leaves are turning yellow, and I will soon be turning 30. A few years ago, I started to fear that great big 3 digit looming over the tens place of my age. But now that I'm almost there and many of my friends have passed the mark, only to have better lives than ever before (and still no wrinkles), my only anxiety is over whether I am cool enough to be 30.

I've decided to purge my closets, drawers, and bathroom cupboard (goodbye, five-year-old wedding makeup!), get a fresh haircut, and give myself a sophisticated style makeover for my 30th birthday.

I still have a few weeks to screw around through the end of my 20s, but I am collecting fashion and style muses from various decades to inspire my new look.

Paris, 1910

You may notice that the muses I am about to list all fall into the rather boring category of thin, fair women. This is not because I think that only skinny white girls are beautiful. The award for most explosive sex power in my mind goes to Nicki Minaj (I've never felt quite so lesbian about anyone). The celebrity I hear about most often in the lusty conversations by the dudes at my husband's shop is Adele. My idol for grace and tasteful fashion is Michelle Obama. And I think the overall most unfairly gorgeous person in the world is Sofia Vergara. But there is no amount of spray tan or cosmetic surgery that can make me look like any of those women, so I have chosen models that look more like myself. I think this is healthy and that if you, too, want to compile a list of muses, you should pick women who somewhat resemble your physical type. No matter who you are, you will find the hotness in your size, shape, and hue.

The "I Do What I Want" award goes to the marvelously spoiled Southern belle Juliette Gordon Low, founder of American Girl Scouts. "JGlow" suffered through a lifetime of physical maladies wearing torturous corsets and truckloads of heavy fabrics. Through the pain, she had fun with fashion. Juliette, nicknamed Daisy, once made a daisy-covered ball gown for herself with a matching daisy-covered hat. She used her gradually worsening deafness as an excuse not to hear anyone who told her "no" or criticized her, and after discovering that she was unable to bear children, she dedicated her life to the formation and support of Girl Scouting for all American girls, with or without the privileges she enjoyed growing up. I admire JGlow's sass and productive eccentricity.

Next up is Mata Hari. She may not have been the greatest dancer, but girl had style and ambition. And it never faded--she was still doing her diva thang right into her 40s, before she died by firing squad after being framed for espionage. Hardcore. The following images are from her last years of life.

The Marchesa di Casati is another of my all-time favorite turn-of-the-century divas. What she lacked in the natural beauty department she more than made up for in the Fabulous Crazy Lady boutique. Famous for shenanigans such as walking nude through the streets of Venice with her pet cheetah leashed on a jeweled collar, she threw lavish costume parties with women dressed as exotic queens and men dressed as jungle animals, and after she fell into poverty, she kept on throwing those parties with dumpster-dived feathers and spangles. The Marchesa proves that a woman not blessed with "prettiness" or cash flow can still be iconic, striking, and seductive.

I enjoy drama, but I look to Audrey Hepburn to keep it classy. She's so darn cute and ladylike, she can make flats and a pixie cut look like the height of femininity.

I also love Bridgitte Bardot's bombshell sex appeal, tempered by classic French style and girl-next-door playfulness.

Madonna brought a razor sharp edge to a similar kind of sweet sexiness in the '80s and '90s. In my opinion, those decades were the height of her musical, artistic, and fashion expression. This 1992 Vogue shoot rocks my world.

Speaking of '90s pop rock stars, I am continually amazed at whatever witch doctory keeps Gwen Stefani from aging past her 20s. I loved her washboard midriff and crunch-glam style in the '90s, and she only gets more sophisticated and polished with age. I hope I can pull off a high gloss, artsy punk look when I'm in my 40s.

Ladies who are about to cross the line into "real" adulthood or have done it already: Who are your style muses? What famous women inspire you to feel confident and beautiful?

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 2

2012-09-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

Does your novel manuscript look kind of like a basement in an episode of Hoarders? I know mine does. And that is why, chapter by chapter, I am clearing the clutter to make way for a cleaner, faster-paced story.

The second chapter of my novel was filled with lovely things--passages as cute as Hummels, scenes as fair as a Thomas Kinkade throw blanket--but they were boring and did not move the plot along. So I've completely gutted the chapter. Many of the ideas and character traits that I developed in writing it are still in my story, in other places, more in the background, like the scaffolding behind a sturdy opera set. My efforts were not wasted just because I am cutting the text. But my efforts in writing this book WILL be wasted if I never come out with a beautifully crafted story, so the odds and ends have to go.

This post, which I originally published long ago, contains a part of my original Chapter 2, which has been swept clean out of the manuscript and dumped out the window--not because it isn't any good (I received plenty of nice feedback about this bit), but because it isn't right for the chapter. In its place, I have made room for more exciting things, like monstrous invaders with dragons tattooed on their faces and teeth filed into points, wearing necklaces of human teeth and toenails, carrying notched sabers, horned helmets, and lanterns made from shriveled human heads.

Rest in peace, old Chapter 2 of Briars and Black Hellebore.

The child learned from Old Brother Basil to recite the Pater Noster, though she did not understand the Latin words. Sister Mary Frances guided Rosemarie in repeating the Credo and then released the child into the care of Auntie Varga, who was not the Queen’s sister at all but only a very close friend. Auntie Varga taught Rosemarie her first embroidery lessons, and the little girl liked nothing more than to emulate with thread the delicate design of her namesake briar roses which grew on the castle walls.

Though they seemed to last a very long time to such a little girl as Rosemarie, her lessons were brief, and she was soon free to spend the afternoon playing with dolls and reading her books. She played charmingly with other children, but she never sought them out and seemed content only to amuse herself in her tower chamber. At first, Hildegard was very pleased to have bred such a perfect child, so intelligent and graceful and pleasant, and so happy to occupy herself with quiet tasks.

But soon the girl developed a habit of asking very vexing questions. Her youthful naivety, combined with a precocious intellect and plenty of solitary time for daydreaming, resulted in some strange notions and curiosities that perplexed and upset her mother. Hildegard herself had been raised in a large family with many older brothers and sisters and two very genteel parents, so she had grown up knowing many things about the world and also knowing better than to inquire about some of those things in the presence of adults. But Rosemarie had no older siblings to teach her the ways of the world or the subtle rules of shame and decorum. And Hildegard sometimes confused the girl’s shameless innocence for its opposite, and feared that the girl’s mind had been perverted in some way.

One day, after her midday prayers, Rosemarie tugged at Hildegard’s trailing sleeve and said, “Brother Basil has said that the Lord God is a jealous God. What does that mean? Who could God be jealous of?”

Hildegard swept the child into her arms and explained, “It means only that God wishes us to worship only Him and no other gods.”

“Other gods!” Rosemarie exclaimed. “Are there other gods that some people worship?”

“There is One True God, Rosemarie,” Hildegard said firmly. The child stiffened in her arms, and she set her down. “All other gods are false idols, and it is wicked to worship them.”

Rosemarie frowned and kicked at the grasses strewn upon the floor. She took a deep breath and looked up at her mother with deep concern in her round, blue eyes. “Mama,” she said, “Is that why we only say ‘God’ when we pray and do not use a name? Because we don’t know which is the right one and we don’t want to name the wrong one by accident?”

Hildegard gasped and looked down at her daughter with horror. “Who told you such a thing?” she whispered.

“Nobody,” said Rosemarie. “Nobody tells me anything. But Mama, is that why our God doesn’t have a name?”

Hildegard took her daughter by the shoulders and asked again, “Who told you that?” The look on her face frightened little Rosemarie into silence. The girl did not realize that her mother lived in such fear of the witch’s curse that she constantly watched her daughter for signs of corruption. Poor little Rosemarie shrank under her mother’s touch, because it was difficult to tell the difference between Hildegard’s fear for her daughter and a deeper fear of her daughter, of a child touched by evil at such a tender age.

The Heresy of Optimism

2012-09-04T16:07:00.001-07:00

My two greatest joys in life are mothering and storytelling. Storytelling came first, and part of its allure is its way of taking me to an alternate reality, somewhere I can escape from the drudgery and worries of my real life. The danger is that writing fiction can become a diversion from facing real trouble. Why try to fix the brokenness of this world when I can create and explore another?

Becoming a mother has grounded me. Bearing a child is the greatest act of hope. It is a full commitment to engaging with the difficult present and the terrifying future. I care about my daughter's life with a ferocity that I have never felt for my own.

My livelihood at this point in my life is closely tied to politics and lawmaking. And even if I had a different career, there would be no way for me to shut out the offensive, disgusting, and threatening messages entering my awareness from every radio, television, news outlet, and social media feed.

Angry Jesus. Guns. Rape fatigue.

It keeps me awake now, the world outside my stories. By having a child, I have bet everything on the real world, the real future.

I need to remind myself that the world has never been better. Writing a book about medieval Europe while raising a modern child is a study in contrast--contrast between what women have survived, what women can do in the darkest of times, and what women have achieved for ourselves and our children. New worlds have been created, not just on paper but on the earth. Our cells turn over, we sleep and wake, and our children rise up to replace us, better equipped and nourished and loved than each generation before.

Storytelling lets me craft a frame of reference to compose the raw truths of the world into a meaningful drama. When everything seems threatened--the climate, freedom, health, budgets--I have the power to stand back and see how despite the cries from both the left and the right that the sky is falling, the sun rises and sets each day on a world that has never been better. It is a world that is more hospitable and kind to humans than any that has ever been, and yet it is a world with so much potential for better, so much opportunity for transformation and growth.

As an outlet for my mothering and storytelling urges, I have launched a second blog, focusing on hope and empowerment for mothers in America: themothervote.blogspot.com. Please come and join me there if you are looking for inspiration, political empowerment, and a fresh perspective on difficult issues for mothers. I am committed to keeping it a respectful, supportive, and uplifting forum.

And if you are not at all interested in those things, you may be happy to know that The MotherVote will act as a release valve for my political thoughts, freeing the Magic Nutshell from all things political. I love these win-win situations.

themothervote.blogspot.com

Pressing Emotions

2012-08-11T09:40:00.001-07:00

I am finding more and more that writing fiction is the best compress for an emotional wound.

Readers of fiction tend to be highly compassionate. Maybe it is because we are accustomed to and interested in delving into other people's perspectives. Writers of fiction are often introspective, sensitive, and analytical. It's no wonder that many reader/writers suffer from anxiety. I am no exception; I have an anxiety disorder that keeps me up some nights with tremors, an upset stomach, and insomnia. And my best treatment for those dark times is my writing.

My family and I have been through some very hard times during the past couple of years. We lost my father-in-law. My husband lost his job unexpectedly. And there have been other hurts that I can't share online except in the vaguest terms:

Someone close to me broke my heart by self-harming.

Someone hurt a person I love.

A stranger posted deeply offensive and threatening words online.

Often there is no appropriate external response I can make to the person who has caused my distress. Sometimes I am angry. I want to post wrongdoers’ misdeeds online to shame them. I want to hunt down the person who abandoned me. I want to strike out at the person who hurt my loved one. I want to fire at aggression with anger.

I know none of these things will help myself or anyone else. They are not acceptable or practical ways to respond. But I am filled with negative energy that pushes at my insides like a tumor, crushing the air out of my lungs.

And then I realize: That thing inside of me is not a cancer, it is not poison, it is not waste. I can transform this powerful energy into beauty in a way that fulfills me. I can put it in my book.

Emotions are always legitimate and always useful to an artist. As a writer, I can let even the most negative emotions bloom fully and then, instead of leaving them to rot, harvest them like botanical specimens and place them in the leaves of my book and press it closed.

Let me be clear. None of the particular events, words, or real people who have hurt me go into my book. Those are outside of myself. I do not own them, cannot control them, and have no right to them. But my feelings are my own, the feelings that have grown and swelled and stretched inside me. They are mine, and they are gifts, even the bitter ones, that I can use to infuse my own characters and the drama of my story with rich, true feeling.

For example, if someone has betrayed me, I can use that experience to deepen the emotional realism of a character in my book who has been betrayed. That character plays out my feelings even though it was a different "person" and a different occurrence that caused my character to feel the way I do in my true life.

My writing expands and unfurls, and my story pulses with life. It is emotional judo. I absorb the blows of life into myself and spin them around and around, into gold. There is nothing more gratifying than creating lasting beauty from temporary pain.

Writing friends, how does your craft help you work through your personal neuroses? How does your work benefit from your emotional life--and vice versa?

2012 Half Year Review

2012-07-17T14:42:00.003-07:00

The year is more than half over! As we draw closer to my 30th birthday and the misinterpreted Mayan apocalypse, I reflect upon my accomplishments so far.

1. Stay in shape with belly dance stretches and drills three times a week.
Status: In Progress!

Happily, I was able to move beyond the Sadie DVD when I found a real, live, excellent belly dance instructor in town--just before she decided to move to a cooler city! I honored myself with a completed degree in YouTube Belly Dance and moved on to a real beginner belly dance class in the spring. Now that I've learned my teacher is moving, I'm doubling up this summer and taking two courses at once: a second round of Level 1 tribal style and also a Level 2 props class. I've already danced through one session with a cane on my head and only dropped it once! What fun.

2. Build writing time into my weekly schedule and stick to it throughout the year.
Status: In Progress!

Thanks to Miss Moppet, I have a new writing group, The Pigasus Pen, which is helping me stay on track and improve the quality of my writing. Briars and Black Hellebore lives!

3. Learn enough German by May to fully appreciate all of the tracks on Rammstein's "Made in Germany" Best Of album before the Detroit show.
Status: Complete!

I totally cheated, because I didn't need to learn much German to love this concert so hard I exploded a little. Hidden within this silly goal was the milestone of leaving my sweet baby Nux Gallica overnight for the first time. She had oodles of fun with her grandparents while I suffered engorged breasts and probably curdled breastmilk from the heat of the flamethrowers. It was disgustingly hot all around.

4. Destruct my front lawn and plant wildflower gardens. Set off the yard makeover with repairs to the front of my house.
Status: As done as it's gonna get this summer!

The breath-of-hell heat wave which has stricken most of the US this summer aborted my wildflowers and nipped all of my apple blossoms. However, with the help of my heat-loving dad (who, like Calvin's dad, loves activities that "build character,"), I purchased and helped install (and by "helped" I mean directed from within the air conditioning) a beautiful gray stone wall to edge my front shrubberies, filled with deep red pine bark mulch. I also wheedled my husband into assassinating a shrub that I didn't like so I could plant sunflowers. The sunflowers got fried in the sun, but a lovely patch of milkweed popped up instead, which has brought many butterflies to the yard, which delight Nux.

In January, I wrote, "I expect the year to be filled with baby storytimes at the library, playtime at the park, explorations at the children's museum, and messy arts and crafts sessions." All of this has been true and wonderful. And I am ever so grateful to Nux for, in addition to being the cutest and funniest and smartest baby in the whole world, taking consistent naps for over a whole hour so I can do some other things, too!

***The Magic Nutshell***