Why Writing is Like Marriage

Yesterday my husband, Bryan, and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Yes, you read that right. Our marriage is now a legal adult and can vote.

Naturally as this day approached I started reflecting on the last couple of decades of my life and relating the things I've learned in my marriage to other aspects of my life. Like my writing, which is what this blog is all about and why I'm boring you with my personal love story and showing you this picture of two adorable, clueless people.

So why is writing like a marriage? Or, how has my marriage been like my writing career?

First of all, a person doesn't--or shouldn't--approach marriage with the idea that if it doesn't work out then they can just stop. Leave. Get out. At least I didn't. When I accepted writing as my life's calling (or one of them, really) I did the same thing. I don't have an exit strategy for when it gets hard. Period. I. Don't. Have. One. My reasoning is simple. On the marriage hand, I'd be sacrificing so much good and doing so much damage by not trying to work through the rough spots. On the writing hand, not writing is like not breathing. I can't really just stop.

Secondly, a person (in this case me) doesn't step into a marriage expecting it will all be fun and lollipops and chocolate bonbons. (I married a divorced man with a child so obviously there were going to be issues. Still I had no clue how hard that would become, but that's neither here nor there). Writing is the same. There are days when it's just flowing along seamlessly and weeks, months, or even years when it's not. When I'm bogged down by my own insecurities or my own time management issues. But it's important so I work at it.

You've noticed that word twice now, haven't you. Work.  Probably the single biggest parallel I've noticed between my marriage and my writing career is that they both require work. Effort on my part. Actual thought, planning, and patience. No one can have a successful marriage without putting real effort into it. It's not always easy to live with the same person for years on end. Sometimes they get on your nerves. Sometimes they're gone for long stretches for work and you have to adapt without them and then when they come back you're used to doing everything without them and have to adapt again to let them back in.

Writing--or any career, really--requires work. Effort. There are countless hours I put into plotting, thinking, reasoning, and yet that's not even half the work involved. Then I have to actually sit down and physically type. Then collate all my notes and type some more. Then read. Over and over until my eyes practically bleed. Then send it to others to read and offer feedback that I then have to decide what to do about. And for every writer it's different. Some of us can do this process in a matter of weeks. Others months. Others are lucky if they can get one book out a year.

All that work takes time, which is what all this boils down to. My marriage is a priority to me so I invest my time in it. A lot of time. I'd say only my kids get the kind of time I devote to my marriage. Not even my writing gets that much.

But my writing is third on that list. After husband and kids comes words. Because if I want to have a successful writing career (and I'm not defining success for you because that's personal and individual) then I have to give it my time. And that would be the same if I wanted to be a professional dog walker, or an artist, or a manicurist.

But I don't. I want to be a writer.

The Poodle Skirt: What it should teach me about writing, Pt 2

You all should remember this poodle skirt from yesterday's post. Here it is if you want to read it again: Poodle Skirt

All caught up now? Great.

Most of you can already see where this is going, but I have to get it out anyway. I've shared with you the utter dread and torture and agony that was the making of said skirt, and I told you why I did it. Not for the joy of it. Not for accolations.

But because I love my daughter.

When you love someone it sometimes means you sacrifice. Not your soul, not your self-worth, not your ideals or your morals, but you do sacrifice. The time and energy I sacrificed weren't for this stupid skirt--it was for my daughter. My 12-yr-old, smarter-than-me, slightly snarky, occasionally disobedient, stubborn, talented daughter.

Friday, in my post-skirt recovery, I realized that if I was willing to sacrifice so much to do a project I hated, why was I so hesitant in my writing--which is something I love? I used to think I was good with deadlines, that they made me work harder so I could meet them. But somewhere along the way, after seeing self-imposed deadline after deadline slide by, I realized that's not the case. So it wasn't that I had basically only one day to make the skirt.

Is it because I like to sew? Not particularly, and I'm not particularly skilled at it. But I do love to create things, and sewing just enables an aspect of that. But I got no pleasure from creating this skirt, so that's not it either.

Basically it came down to my girl. I did it for her. Only for her. Not for me. Not for the satisfaction of doing it but because I didn't want to see her disappointed if it was something I could actually do for her.

So if it's the person who matters most to me, what about the people who are waiting for my next book?

I'm not talking about nameless, faceless fans who I adore but in a distant non-stalkerish way. I'm talking about the kids who have reached out to me to say how much they love my series and can't wait to see what I do next. I'm talking about the little girls who've received my books as gifts and read them over and over. The ones I know by name. The ones I love.

And what about my writing career in general? My publishing goals? My plans for the future? Surprisingly, little of that really has to do with me. I don't want fame and fortune (though a little fortune would be nice, let's be honest) or to be on numerous bestseller lists. I've told you before I like being invisible. (you may now ask if I like it so much why use my real name to publish--and that plays into the part that's really about me, the part where I have to stand for what I say and my goals to improve with each project)

And then there's the fact that I write for my kids. There's so much I want them to learn and so much I want them to know, but one of the biggest things is that each of us needs to be able to follow our dreams. If what you're doing isn't what you love, then why are you doing it? I want them to pursue their dreams, to make success out of them. And how can I properly teach that if I don't live the example of it? Because the failure comparison of do it because I didn't just doesn't cut it.

Lastly, there's the most spiritual and personal reason why I write and publish. Because I know with absolute certainty that it's my calling in life. It's my part in God's plan. I have two callings--mother and writer--in that order. And I love God, so the progression goes that I should be willing to sacrifice to fulfill my part in His plan.

But, yeah, that's a lot of self-imposed guilt there and I'm only human. I'm going to backslide sometimes, make mistakes, and have to own them. Like right now. I don't care if the world never knows my name. But someday I'm going to have to answer for the things I did and did not do, and I feel there should definitely be more effort on my part in that regard.

I want to be able to say that I tried my best. Right now, this is not my best. Not my very best.

I know I get hung up on my first drafts, wanting them to be perfect and needing as little revision as possible. My new goal is to just finish the dang things. Become a fantastic RE-writer. Stop letting my doubts dictate my actions. Write for 5 hrs a day. The kids are in school, what's stopping me but me? So what if I chuck 95% of it later. That's 5% more than I'm doing now. It's still progress.

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take."

It's high time I start applying what I know, push through my personal issues, and just write. Because of the love.

The Poodle Skirt: What it should teach me about writing, Pt 1

This is a poodle skirt. And you say, "Yes, I know it's a poodle skirt, but what's your point?"

My point? I hate this skirt. Loathe it. Detest it. It's seriously the only thing I hate more than...I don't even know--anything.

 "Wow," you say, "that's a lot of emotion about a stupid skirt."

And I agree. Completely.

If you're a long-time follower then you know that I have made some interesting comparisons to aspects of my life and how they relate to my writing. Bear with me because I'm about to do it again.

You see, last Friday was our school's Homecoming. And my daughter, who is part of the band/marching band, told me Tuesday that they had decided everyone needed a poodle skirt for the parade Friday.

Tuesday. She told me Tuesday. Afternoon. On our way out of town for a dentist appointment.

So I grumbled. And I griped. Why couldn't they have come to this conclusion a week ago? A month ago? It's not like nobody knew when Homecoming was, or that they would be in the parade. And I admit it--I'd hoped her ineligibility status might prevent her from marching in the parade. That way I wouldn't have to drop everything and make a skirt she'll probably only wear once. But no such luck.

I scoured the fabric selections at Walmart Tuesday afternoon because it's the only place with fabric and picked out a sweet floral print because they didn't have decent prices on any solid colored fabric. And because I know my daughter I knew I'd have to make an underskirt to shield her legs from the netting because she'd gripe about it being scratchy. Yeah, I know.

Wednesday I had a full schedule and couldn't do anything about it, but I did manage to make the poodle applique. But I started on the skirt first thing Thursday. I measured. I cut. I dug out more fabric. I measured and cut some more.

I found that the pretty floral print I'd bought at the store wouldn't work for the skirt. I hadn't bought enough fabric, which is a mistake I hardly ever make. Usually I have tons leftover. So I dug into my reserves and found the solid red pictured above. I probably still have enough of that leftover to make a tablecloth for my 8-seater dining room table. The underskirt? Easy--an old sheet. The netting? Less easy--I hate working with netting or tulle but I managed it.

Then I started to piece it all together and sew. I put in movies to listen to in order to break up the monotony. Occasionally I got up and ate or got more water or went to the bathroom or changed out the movies. But mostly I sewed. And sewed. And sewed.

The skirt was almost complete by the time my daughter got home from school. Mind you, I've made skirts before. Usually I do a simple elastic waist and hem it up. Really, really basic. The last one I made my youngest took me about 15 min start to finish. This skirt?

Oh. My. Goodness. It had a waistband. It has a zipper. I don't have a zipper the right length. I measured and cut for the size up from my daughter's size and the waist was tiny. TINY. My daughter is 12 and does not have a tiny waist. When she tried it on it was easily 3 inches too small. After all that work?

I grumbled a bit louder. I fantasized about going down to the school and yelling at the adults in charge of the band and the parade stuff. Details like this need to be worked out well in advance, not 3 days before.

My waistband solution? I ran a seam deeper into the top of the skirt, measured her, cut off the top of the skirt so there was a bigger opening, and measured again.

And still botched it. Now it was too big. Slid right off her not-quite-yet-hips and puddled on the floor. By this time I was fed up with the whole project, but no way was I going to put this much time and effort into the dang skirt and give up there. Safety pins. Yes, the skirt is still too big for her and if it ever fits it will likely be too short. I ran up to town and while the girls were in their drama class I bought a zipper. That night I came home and sewed it in. I'm not fast with zippers so it took until after they'd gone to bed.

But, finally, late Thursday night, the poodle skirt was done. And I LOATHED IT. In fact, I'm still considering burning it.

Because I hate that stupid, awkward poodle skirt.

But I love my daughter.

*Part 2, how this relates to writing, will be up tomorrow.

So...

Recently a friend of mine POSTED about a growing trend in books today that isn't great. Some trends are, and we look forward to them, but others need to be nipped in the bud as quickly as possible.

Interestingly, it's not just writers of clean fiction who see the trend upsetting. Check THIS post from a literary agent.

Now I'm going to talk about why this is personal for me.

I write clean fiction. I strongly believe a good story does not have to have graphic content in order to be gripping, believable, and a thrilling read. My grandma reads my books, and I would hate to ever have to explain anything like that to her (or, more likely, why I included it).

As challenging as writing is for me, I have CHOSEN to take the high ground--which, to me, means not resorting to graphic content to tell a story or sell a novel. A friend my husband used to work with once said swearing and foul language demonstrated a lack of knowledge. Their theory was that a person who lacked the vocabulary to appropriately express their feelings resorted to swear words. I remember that when I write.

This doesn't mean my novels are all light and fluffy. In my most recent work, a character is brutally tortured and raped. There's no way to make light of that. And characters die. There are ways to have darkness and evil in your novels without compromising who you are and what you stand for. I know dozens of authors who successfully do this with every book. They write compelling, gripping works without describing someone naked or having foul mouthed characters.

This is important to me. Many, many YA novels out in the world are full of profanity, sex, drug use, and violence. My goal is to provide an alternative to readers who may want something different than that. And, I have to answer for my works someday--I don't want to be embarrassed by my own writing.

All of this leads me to one more thing, and that's the GOOD news of the day. The Tyrant King will be released THIS MONTH!

Keep an eye out for the links to purchase books. :)