Lili and Kate and the Horses

When I was working on Kate and the Horses, I turned in my draft to my developmental editor and began to think of what I would write after that. I imagined I would write a book about a girl who loves musicals. I myself have loved musicals ever since I was a child. They were incredibly important to me. When I was a child, I was afraid to go to sleep. It seemed to me that, once you closed your eyes, death was there waiting for you. So I had a bedtime ritual. One of my parents would stretch out on the carpet outside my doorway and read. How could a force of evil sneak past my parents and books? I would also listen to musicals on my record player. Somehow I believed that nothing horrible could happen as long as I could hear singing. I imagined that the dancers could successfully vanquish any death demon's agenda.

For this next project, I watched musicals and took notes. Then I heard back from my developmental editor. She advised me to consider taking a mulligan on this draft. I thought about what she said and concluded she was right. So I put aside these notes and contacted a friend who worked at a stable and asked if I could volunteer there that summer. I worked around kids and horses and, when it came time to rewrite the book, I wondered, “Maybe the horses shouldn't talk. Maybe the horses should just be horses.”

Then I remembered Lili, a movie I had watched during my study period. It was a film that I originally saw as a child, something I've always loved, but that isn't really a musical. There are two dance sequences in it, but there is only one song, a great one, in my opinion, “Hi-Lili, Hi-Lo.” It's a coming-of-age story, where a naive young woman comes to a village seeking work. Her father has recently died. She had been told that a friend of her father's, a local baker, would help her, but when she arrives in town, she learns that he has also passed away. She ends up at carnival, smitten with a magician, and working at a puppet show. In her act, she walks up to the booth and the puppets engage her in conversation. It is all spontaneous. Through this work, Lili is able to start making connections with people—the puppeteers, the audience, the carnival community. The puppets provide a way for Lili to grow up. At the close of the film, you see the puppets celebrating the happy ending. This last time I saw it, I had a critical voice come up, “Wait a minute! I know where the puppeteers are right now, and they're not behind this booth!” Then another thought shushed that one, “I do not care. I love these puppets. I'm happy to celebrate with them.” I thought of that film and went back to writing talking horses.

I told a friend about this decision and my process and she said, “Why is it so important to you that the horses talk?” I said, “Because as a child, I talked to animals. I listened to them. They comforted me. They taught me things.” And all of the above is still true. We live now with a trio of cats. We can bore you to tears with their photographs and tell you stories all about them and the cats that came before them. I often still prefer to hang out with animals than to engage with the rest of the world. I feel that they, along with musicals, have made me a better person and a better writer. And you never know where your research will take you!

Judy Blume

So, after a week of walking among the trees, I noticed one afternoon that I had an itch in that my throat that refused to go away. That scratchiness blossomed into a cough that possessed me every time that I wanted to laugh. And then I grew tired. I think the tree on the trail that looks like a witch is cackling about me. Or maybe she's crying. I would really like to see her. But it's not time yet.

I ventured out for breakfast this morning, and I experienced the phenomenon where, after I ate a bite of food, the rest of the food seemed to expand on my plate. I was defeated by a veggie omelette this morning. It's amazing how a cold can kidnap your appetite. Then we went to explore downtown and discovered that many shops are not open on Sundays. That turned out to be just right. I told Mike that I have about as much energy as a car with its gas light on. We did find a wonderful store though, Mountain Home Gifts, where I found a beautiful scarf with hummingbirds on it that I thought would be three times the price. It's soft and comforting and perhaps when I wear it, I can sing like a bird. But right now I'm conked out in bed because I'm inhabited by this grinch of a cold who chuckles malevolently when I look at the sunshine and think wistfully of walks.

During this convalescence, I've been watching Judy Blume's Master Class. As a child, I loved Judy Blume's books. Revisiting her YA novels and discovering her adult work is currently on my to-do list. I gave this class to myself as a Christmas gift, and I've been dipping into it slowly. I'm always a little skeptical about writing classes. Are they going to just teach generalities that will make me yawn? Are they going to insist that they have the answer, which will get my back up, and make it hard for me to listen to anything that they say?

In this case, I'm happy to report that Judy Blume is an inspirational teacher. I have gone through about half of her course now, and I'm so pleased with the experience. She comes across as a no-frills person, free of any pretense, someone who cares passionately about writing, someone who is generous with her time and information, someone who truly is interested in mentoring writers. What she says is deceptively simple, the way all great writing is. She tells us that she keeps a notebook. She shows us pages of scribbles that she writes in it. She says she asks questions about her characters here. This is how she gets to know them. To illustrate her points, she uses moments from her books as examples. In that way, you see her courage. She is willing to return to her memories and write about things that really concerned her as a girl growing up, no holds barred. You can see how much she cares about her characters. Her hands come alive when she begins to talk about them. You can hear the affection that she has for each character in the sound of her voice. Through the course, she demonstrates how important specifics are to a scene and to a character—the grandmother arriving unannounced with a shopping bag from the deli because they can't possibly have good food in New Jersey, the father upstairs, hearing about her arrival, while he goes about brushing his teeth. He thought it was just going to be a regular morning.

It's an old school experience, listening to her. I would be shocked if, in later lessons, she said, “And then I discovered Scrivener, and these are the tricks I learned” or “Now I use voice dictation, and my productivity has been boosted tenfold.” To me, what she is talking about is fundamental care and thoughtfulness and listening that can accompany your creativity. I am so appreciative of the opportunity to spend time with her through these videos.

The Importance of Trees

I've written two novels now, with a third at the copy editor at this moment, and I don't know if I could have done it without trees.

Where we last lived, we lived among redwoods. Here we have pines and cedars all around us. When I look out a window, I look out at trees. They calm me. They inspire me. I feel a connection to them. The first time we came to the house after having signed the lease, I looked around and hugged a few trees.

It's easy to forget about them, even though they're all around me. I can become caught in a whirl of activity, where I become focused on checking off items on my internal “to do” list. But when I'm staring at a computer screen and I feel at a loss, I try to remember to take a moment and gaze at a tree. They're majestic. They've lived a long time. They have stories. They seem to want to tell them. I'm trying to develop tree ears. I want to learn their language. It seems that a lot of it has to do with “doing nothing,” of sitting still, of paying attention and respect. I have learned that much from the trees so far.

I count the trees among my muses. I think they get frustrated with me because I don't pay them the proper respect. Every day, I try to walk among them. I'm trying to get to know them. But I'm also trying to get some exercise. I'm listening to a podcast on marketing as I walk because I want to make sure that I'm “getting things accomplished” in this block of time. I'm hoping that I can start looking up more. I'm hoping I can slowly shut off the noise and get to know them. I think they have a lot to tell me.

Perhaps you now officially think that I'm crazy, or maybe you knew that long ago. Maybe this sparks something in you that you've always known on some level. Are there things in Nature that take you to a deeper place? How do you spend time with them? How do you honor them?

My New Space

Apologies for missing a week here.

We moved, and one thing that I've discovered throughout this process is I've wanted to imagine that moving is no big deal and that I could proceed along with my normal routine, and that just simply did not happen. Will I have amnesia again before our next move? I think maybe that's the only way that we can do it.

When you move, you are given the opportunity to reimagine how you will live. In this new house, the owners left behind a bed. Mike's first instinct was to tell them to take it out, but I said that I wanted it in my office. I have always loved to write in bed. Now I can get out of our bedroom and write in my office from my own bed.

There are other things that I've put in my new office this week:

I have one of Mike's framed prints of the ocean. When I was young, I loved my time in the ocean. At our previous home, we were twenty minutes away from my old friend. It's important to me to always be near the ocean in some way

I have an amazing new bed reading pillow. It's really a wonderful support to have if you like to write in bed.

I have a piece of cat furniture that we call the Crow's Nest by the window so the cats can visit and look out  at the world.

I have a Tigger key chain on my desk to remind me of the part of me that is silly and joyous.

I have a Beanie baby of an orange cat to remind me of my sweet, loving Pumpkin.

I have a rock with a calico cat painted on it to remind me of my original muse.

The Chicago Manual of Style calls to me from the bookshelf.

I'm going to put a horseshoe over my threshold, ends up, in honor of my character, Kate, from Kate and the Horses.

I will need something about a piano in here somewhere for Joy Returns! It will not be a piano. It won't fit. And at some point in life, you have to make choices. I now make my music by typing on keyboards.

This is a work in progress. There's still so much to do. But I believe that our writing/work spaces are so important. Are there things that you have to have? Feel free to comment below.

My Writer Story

We're getting ready to move, and as I've navigated my way through my clutter of paper, I've realized something. Before embarking on this project, I had a story about my writing life that went something like this: I've always wanted to write ever since I was a kid. As a fan of Harriet the Spy, I wrote in notebooks and created stories all through my childhood and my teens. When I was in my twenties, a well-meaning person told me that I could never be a novelist, and I believed it. In my thirties, I decided to just give it a try anyway, went the academic route, received an MA in creative writing, and taught as a lecturer. Then I decided that fiction wasn't for me and sold creative nonfiction to newspapers and magazines. After a while, I felt that wasn't my niche, and it took me until my fifties to go back to novels and to start writing books.

But, here in current time, I had these boxes of paper to go through, and what I soon realized was that, although it had seemed like there was periods in my life when I stopped writing, it wasn't really true. When I felt that I couldn't approach fiction or creative nonfiction any more, I composed songs. I wrote blogs. I reviewed things. I posted about songs and books I read and podcasts episodes that made me think. I analyzed The Good Wife. I wrote about anything that interested me in the hope that eventually I would have the strength and maturity to write novels. I eventually got there, but it was a windy road of words for me.

I'm still bringing some boxes of my paper with me to our new home. It will need to be filed. My old dented file cabinet has already been taken away. I didn't even say goodbye. Once we move in, I will need to face my boxes again and put things in order. Will I throw things away? Will I cry? Will I laugh and shake my head? I will probably do all of these things. But I will now know that I have actually always been a writer. It's just been in different ways, shapes, and forms.

I have a feeling that other writers will understand this story. Hopefully, you won't have to go through a mountain of clutter to realize it. But I would encourage everyone to take your writing legacy seriously. It all counts. It all brought you to where you are now as a writer.