Saturday, November 1, 2014

Yep. NaNoWriMo. It's that time again.

So, it's November. A month known for bringing the fresh, cool winter chill, colorful leaves so vivid they'll take your breath away, unforgettable sunsets, and... NaNoWriMo.

Yes, National Novel Writing Month begins. I've mentioned this before, but it always astonishes me how divided writers are when it comes to the value of this event. Some think it promotes shotty writing and messy plots, that it encourages hacks to fancy themselves writers, that it is yet another tool in the overflowing toolbox of poor writing practice. Others, though, (and I count myself among this lot) find that it encourages writers to get past their own self-defeating writer's block, to develop regular writing habits, to complete a very rough first draft, to - in fact - become better writers by the act of actually - gasp -  writing.

And so, with those goals in mind, I gleefully participate each year. Because besides the reasons I listed above, the event is ridiculously fun. Stressful and challenging, yes, but also fun. The deadline, the forced creativity, the knowledge that so many other writers out there are also world building and word crafting - it's great to be part of something like that. And in general, most writers I know don't really think the pieces we create during NaNoWriMo are finished works, but works in progress, nearer to completion than before the month begun.

For me, some pieces I've created during this event will never see the light of day, and others have undergone so much editing they are barely recognizable. But that doesn't mean NaNoWriMo was a waste of time - it means it was an opportunity for a beautiful start, as well as a great way to experiment with my craft. And beyond that, I love writing, so any event that forces me to do something I love for an extended period of time is A-Okay in my books.

This year, I'm starting the event with a completely mapped-out story. I've planned my characters, my plot, my conclusion. When it comes to my normal writing, I do like to plan all details, but I'm usually a semi-planner when it comes to NaNoWriMo; I go in with a general idea of what will happen, but the how is always a bit murky. This time, I've gone into full-out planner mode for this event. We'll see if that helps. I'm also writing in different genre. Normally I'm a spec-fic girl, but I'm making the leap to contemporary sweet-romance. We shall see how it goes. Hopefully nobody turns out to be an alien, but sometimes, despite the planning, my characters surprise me.

Anyway, wish me luck! If you're participating (and writers, I recommend it) - luck to you too.

May the force be with you. (Annnnd that was my last spec-fic reference of the month.)

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Thankful

Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in Canada. For my family, this always means an afternoon at the folks', with turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes, peas, sweet potato soufflĂ©, apple salad, and pumpkin pie with whipped cream. It's an afternoon spent enjoying the company of people I love. It's also an amazing opportunity to be reminded of everything we have to be thankful for. Here we are, in this beautiful country, enjoying an abundance of human rights, access to free health care, and luxuries like reliable shelter, indoor plumbing, clean water, and an excess of food. But we're so accustomed to life here that it becomes easy to take it for granted. 

I was reminded, sitting around that table with my family, that I am, indeed, thankful.

I am thankful for this country.
I am thankful for my government and the freedom I enjoy.
I am thankful for my wealth - for indeed, most of us are wealthier than we realize, when we look beyond our immediate surroundings to the global community.
I am thankful for my family and my friends.
I am thankful for my faith, for a God who loves me and shows me more grace than I deserve.
I am thankful for my health.
I am thankful for my job, for my mind, for my talents.
I am thankful for the technology that connects us.
I am thankful for the beauty of the world that surrounds me.
I am thankful for every breath, knowing that life is fleeting and each day is an unexpected gift.
I am so thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

On Failure...


Failure isn't fun. Although the statement is rather self-explanatory, I always find myself reminded of that fact each time I meet with failure. Nobody likes to fail. At least, nobody I've met. Oh, there are many who tout their love of failure, and its power to spur one on to greater success. Failure's a teacher, they say. Well, that may be so. But she's a pretty unkind one. Very unforgiving. And not overly reassuring, either.

One of the greatest problems with failure, I think, is that the more you risk, the greater the chance that you will, indeed, fail. And more importantly - the more you risk, the greater the chance that, should you fail,  you will feel bad about failing. Because risking means putting yourself out there. It means trusting and believing. When you fail, it can feel like a terrible confirmation of your greatest fears. 
Failure is, therefore, painful. And although it helps to see that most people experience it in some form or another throughout their lives, that fact is cold comfort when your own failure is staring you, unblinkingly, in the face. 

We call failure by other names, to make it easier to bare. Some people say the only way to fail is to stop trying. So instead, they call failure setbacks. Learning opportunities. Opportunities to try again. While I applaud the positivity in those misnomers, let me give you some definitions of failure:

  • "A lack of success in doing something"(Macmillan Dictionary)
  • "A falling short" (Merriam Webster Dictionary)
  • "An act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful" (Dictionary.com) 
Not all failure is equally painful, or equally shaping, for that matter. And some failures are daily occurrences. For instance, sometimes I fail to connect with a student. Sometimes I fail to use my time wisely. Sometimes I fail to get up early enough to get to work on time. These failures - and let's just call them that - are relatively minor. Recoverable. Correctable. And, I must admit, learning opportunities. If I fail to connect with a student, I can reflect on the failure and find new ways to improve my teaching style. If I fail to use my time wisely, I find myself stressed and overworked, and I can learn to make better choices the next time. Fail to get up on time? This should result in an earlier alarm clock setting and a greater effort to be prompt. Small, daily failures can foster genuine improvements. 

Then there are the failures that are out of our control. When my husband and I decided we were ready to have a family, I failed to conceive. Or maybe I should say, my body failed to conceive. This was not in my control. But my fault or not, it was still a failure. My body failed me, when it came down to it. This type of failure seemed impossible to learn from, since it didn't result from a personal choice or shortcoming -  simply a physical problem. This doesn't mean I didn't end up taking away lessons from this: thankfulness for my health, a greater appreciation for the miracle of life, an increased sensitivity to couples who don't have children. But I didn't learn to "succeed" from the "failure."  (The conclusion to this story, in case you're wondering, is that the doctors did not fail me, and they correctly diagnosed me (with PCOS) and prescribed a low glycemic diet paired with Metformin - which resulted in "success". I have two beautiful, amazing children.)

Then there are the larger failures that are caused by our own shortcomings, failures that result in the crippling of a dream or the loss of the self-concept you tried so hard to build. Failures like these, I think, are some of the most difficult to recover from - and can be the hardest to learn from.  I think of the Olympic athletes, who sacrificed so much - who gave everything -  to be where they are, only to miss a landing, or break a ski, or get a cramp, or  - maybe worst of all - simply fail to be as "good" as the ones they are competing against. I think of those who apply for a job, get an interview, and then see the job go to someone else. Someone more qualified, or better at interviews or just… more right for the job. I think of the student who really tries on an assignment or a test - who follows the instructions and puts in the effort - and who still somehow falls short. Crushing.

And I think of the writer.  The writer who pours into a piece and its characters. Shapes them. Loves them. I think of the critiques and the edits and the re-edits and the fine-tuning. The search for the perfect publisher, the perfect home for their baby. To that writer - and many of us have been there - a rejection letter means failure. It can be soul-crushing. And whether its one rejection or many, whether it's a personalized response or a form letter, whether its based on a query, that first sample, or the entire piece - it stings.

Regardless of the source of the failure, in my life's journey, I've discovered failure and I are not friends. But neither, I guess, are we enemies. Because when it comes down to it, failure will result in change. Sometimes, the change hurts - but usually, it also allows for growth that wouldn't have happened without the failure. 

For me, my immediate response to failure is tears - many, many tears - followed by a sad sense of resignation. When that passes (and it always, eventually, does) - it is replaced by a new, undeniable hope. Sometimes, that hope causes me to try again - to see the failure as temporary, to grow, to learn, and to try again for success. Sometimes, when the failure is more permanent, the hope causes the creation of a new dream - a new place to succeed.

Because after the sting of failure passes, after the pain of loss fades, after my eyes have dried and my heart has healed a little, I am left with the sweet joy of knowing that while there is life - while there is breath - there is hope. 

There is always hope.  

Sunday, August 3, 2014

It Keeps Me Up, Some Nights...

I pretty much always wanted to be a writer. I can remember one moment, in particular, which solidified this idea: it was in my grade two or three class (I get the two confused, since they were both in the same classroom), when my teacher handed back a story I'd written, with the comment, "Very creative! You should be a writer!" And I thought, at the time, yes… yes I should.

So, I began to write, voraciously. I completed a novel (which shall never see the light of day) at fifteen and outlined and started one with my sister at seventeen. I poured my feelings out in poetry and brought imaginary worlds to life through short stories. I bought books on writing and the writing market, and even collected some rejections. I thought - man, I want to be a writer.

Since then, of course, I've grown up. I'm now 34. I've been living a full and rewarding life as a teacher of English Language Arts for the past 11 years, a Mom for seven of those. These two things are more satisfying than any other thing I can imagine myself doing. I am absolutely happy.

Last year, I published my first novel, Amber Rain, with my sister. So now I can add "writer" to the list. And I am still absolutely happy. 

Something all three have in common, though, is the great moral responsibility. To be honest, whenever I think about it, I feel some kind of horrible mixture of nausea, dread, and terror. This is because I believe I will be accountable for the things I teach and profess. And what if I'm doing it wrong?

I mean, you have no idea how sick I feel every time I go to do Romeo and Juliet with a class of impressionable, young, fourteen and fifteen year olds. Now, I emphasize the things this classic play teaches (beyond the beauty of the language) - that communication is essential, the parents may actually be on your side if you trust them, that rash decisions don't pay off, that while there is life there is hope - but I worry that all they see is two tragic lovers who had no choice but to take their own lives. What if THAT is what they walk away with? That when life gets too hard, the logical choice is…? Every September - dread.

And parenting - obviously, if you're a parent (at least one who lives in the real world) - you've gotta believe that you may, at times, teach the wrong things. For example, my husband and I are big time coffee drinkers. My four year old son will call out before we go anywhere, in horror - "Mommy! You forgot your coffee!" The kids hear us talking about how we "need" our coffee, how we "love" our coffee. I see the future - two coffee addicts in the making. 


Then there's writing. Writing. I love writing. I love speculative fiction writing, in particular. The first book I published, with my sister - not much in there to cause me concern. I mean, mild violence, but nothing, I think, disturbing, and certainly nothing heretical. But my current favourite piece, the novel I am hoping to have published by a small press publisher one day - it's a speculative fiction with allegorical undertones. I wrote it as a reflection of our spiritual battle, with redemption and forgiveness as themes  - but I lie awake, worrying that the story itself portrays the wrong thing, that somehow I missed the mark with what I was trying to do, to point in a direction I wasn't intending to point. I've already promised myself I will never independently publish that one, so if it's meant to be, it will be.

Of course, personal decisions fill me with doubt, too. Was that movie really one that I should have spent my time seeing? Do I value material possessions too much? Was that story I told funny or was I gossiping? But these things, at least, will only have an effect on me. In teaching, in parenting - and in writing - there's a wider scope of impact. And a greater responsibility, I think, to make thoughtful choices. 

So I try my best to make the right choices. To teach, parent, and write, as often as I can, in a way that is good, edifying, truthful. And all the while, I am thankful, oh so thankful, for grace. 

Now, off to bed, to stare at the ceiling and worry about this blog post. 

Saturday, July 19, 2014

I Don't Like Books by Jane Austen

There. I said it. I don't like books by Jane Austen. I really, truly don't. I don't necessarily dislike them, entirely. But, as I said, neither do I particularly like them. I want to, if that helps. Listen, I know. You don't have to shout - I can hear you across the miles of cyberspace between us. Every literary-minded woman with an ounce of breeding and an iota of romantic spirit likes Jane Austen! I know! I SAID I KNOW!

I've pretended, for years, to like her writing. I read "Pride and Prejudice" with gusto, and dutifully saw the Colin Firth version. When Hollywood released a more accessible one in 2005, I even dragged my poor husband there - and scolded him for falling asleep during the moment when dashing Mr. Darcy confesses his love to Elizabeth in the rain (despite my true feelings about Jane Austin's stories, I really did feel his slumber was inexcusable! It was, after all, a very moving scene). And it's not that I disliked the movies. They were… fine. I'd go so far as to say I loved some of the scenes (like the aforementioned one. And the one pictured above). But that was the problem. I only loved some of the scenes. The scenes in between those few I'd describe as "okay" or even "forgettable."

I also read, and watched, Sense and Sensibility. And Emma? Yes. Emma too. Oh, and I endured Persuasion for a book club study, and practiced my acting ability as I - I think quite convincingly - portrayed a reader who was enthralled with the love story and beautiful sense of setting Ms. Austen created for her readers. 

Truly, I can't fault her writing. It's finely crafted, with breathtaking moments of sheer emotional brilliance. But there is something about the majority of her characters that repel me, and something about the style that is off-putting. Maybe it's the nuances of class relations that get to me. Maybe it's her propensity to include the texts of the letters characters write to one another.  Maybe it is simply the number of uninteresting words between the exceptional ones.  Whatever it is, it defeats me at every turn.

It's not that I don't enjoy literature from different time periods, nor that I somehow dislike romance. Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre is, I think, my favourite book of all times. I've read and re-read and re-read it, and have tearfully watched every film version I can find. Shakespeare's The Twelfth Night and his Much Ado About Nothing are glorious in play, film, and written formats. And I absolutely love Charles Dickens' Great Expectations (although to be perfectly honest, I much prefer his second more "hopeful" resolution to his dreary original one and I believe it to be far superior - judge me as you will!)

Even as I write this post, I feel a sense of trepidation. Can I still call myself a lover of true literature - and a romantic - without a love of Jane Austen? Is there something about her writing that I'm missing? And is there one book out there that she's written that will make her writing click for me? If you have the answers, dear readers, do tell. Please, do. 

After all, as Jane Austen herself writes, "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid." Ouch indeed.  

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

My Relationship with the Anti-Hero

I'm a big fan of heroes. I looove them, in fact. Superman. Thor. Captain America.  And I don't mind the "dark hero" either. Batman, maybe, fits this definition. Wolverine. T.V.'s Buffy? Characters whose past and troubled "edge" have be-smudged their heroic qualities, but haven't managed to negate them. Both the hero and the dark hero are clearly noble, courageous, self-sacrificing. They portray characteristics we can count on and admire.  

But to be honest, while I adore heroes, there is a special place in my affections for the anti-hero. 

What's an anti-hero, you ask? Well, the Merriam-Webster online dictionary says an Antihero is "a main character…who does not have the usual good qualities that are expected in a hero; a protagonist or notable figure who is conspicuously lacking in heroic qualities." 


Now, don't get me wrong. I don't like all types of anti-hero. Often, the anti-hero is clearly a villain - a villain who we are told to align ourselves with and root for. I think of shows like Breaking Bad or movies like Natural Born Killers, where the audience is meant to be on-side with characters who are utterly morally corrupt. I avoid stories where I'm manipulated into rooting for a straight-up bad guy.


No, the type of anti-hero I find myself drawn to is the fallen character, who, despite his (or her) moral corruption, may not be utterly unredeemable.  A character who evokes my sympathy by being his own worst enemy - who does right in spite of, and at times against, his own nature. 


I'll throw some definitions at you, if you're still with me:
"An anti-hero is a flawed hero, and therefore, much more interesting than the more traditional heroes. They can be working on the side of good, but with a tragic flaw, or a horrible past, or for reasons that are selfish and not entirely "pure." They can also be working for the side of evil, but with hidden intentions or other underlying complexities." (Urban Dictionary)
"The anti-hero is often a reluctant hero who does not consider himself capable of accomplishing the goal. He might be selfish, addicted, corrupt, sullen, or disaffected… in many cases, the anti-hero dies at the end of the story, even while overcoming his faults." (WiseGeek).
"The anti-hero is a kind of protagonist, who has aspects of the morality we've traditionally come to associate with the antagonist. An antihero is a protagonist who is as flawed or more flawed than most characters: he is someone who disturbs the reader with his weaknesses yet is sympathetically portrayed, who magnifies the frailties of humanity." (Writer's Digest)
Even Wikipedia gives a nod to this definition, acknowledging "the term is sometimes used more broadly to cover the flawed or part-villanous hero, in the literary tradition of the Byronic hero."

Ah, the Byronic Hero. Here it is, in the words of Lord Byron (from The Corsair)

"He knew himself a villain—but he deem'd
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd;
And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too.
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt. "
I read somewhere that if there's a chance he can be redeemed, he's an anti-hero. If not - villain. I like this.

With this type of anti-hero, we get a picture of someone imperfect - who is capable of great evil - but who is "human", just the same. We feel for him, because the human experience can be painful or difficult, and we relate. And we root for him to change because ultimately, that is humanity at its finest - acknowledging our own darkness or fallen nature and then, somehow, finding undeserved redemption and becoming something new. 

I think of Monroe, in Revolution - and Miles, too, for that matter. Loki, in Thor II. Riddick, in Pitch Black. Or a number of Joss Whedon characters: Spike, in the old Buffy series, Mal and Jayne in Firefly, and of course, Dr. Horrible in the classic Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.

 These are characters who are completely Selfish. Angry. Hard. Callous. Somewhat…unbalanced. At least, at the start they are. But during the course of their journeys, although they are still, in many ways, selfish and hard, they also somehow defy their nature and do the impossible - display self-sacrificing courage and humanity.  


For example, in battle, Loki - whose motivations of course, are not selfless, nevertheless risks his life to save not only his brother, but also the woman his brother loves. In Pitch Black, Riddick is persuaded to re-enter the dark, killer-creature inhabited valley to rescue some shipmates, at his own peril. And, of course, Spike sacrifices himself for the world. 

I find these characters resonate with me, perhaps, because I find the character who does good in spite of his fallen nature a more moving picture, maybe, than the one who does good because he simply is good.

On the other hand, if you'd ask me who I'd rather have come to my rescue, I'd go with Superman, please. While the anti-hero is fascinating and relatable, I'd prefer my rescuers to be reliable. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

On Books and Movies

I love books. Love them. I love losing myself in the written word, as my imagination brings to life the world and characters the author has created. I love the richness of texture and detail that only written language can create in the mind. 

I also love movies. Love them. I love losing myself in the beauty of the mise-en-scene, in the world and characters created by the writers, directors, actors, and all others that work together to create the art of each film. 

What I really love, I guess, is story. Give me a good story, and I'm happy. The medium matters in that each form brings with it a unique and beautiful method of storytelling, but story is what I love. 

Perhaps that is why book-to-movie adaptations never quite work for me. There are a few exceptions, of course. Certainly, I can think of a few of these movies that are beautiful in their own right, even if they aren't entirely true to the book. Some, I must admit, I have even preferred to the book - where a change in character or storyline seemed more satisfying than the original work. But more often than not, when a film is made from a novel, it seems to me a string of scenes woven together to create but a poor reflection of the original story.

It's only natural, I suppose, that these adaptations would be left wanting. After all, the author has had, in most cases, hundreds of pages to build their worlds, to create depth of character, and to enhance the  intensity of the story. As one experiences the book, the author's vision interacts with the reader's own imagination, building - together - the complex and vivid textual universe. On the other hand, directors can show you the scene, and a good director can add depth and beauty unrivalled, at times, in the best imagination, but in terms of character, scene, and story, they really only have a couple of hours to create what would have taken a reader much longer to experience. Nevertheless, I'm always excited to see the film version of a book I love - and I admit, a great movie adaptation will often drive me to read the book.

Because I love story. In all its glorious forms.

Monday, January 27, 2014

News about Amber Rain!

We're nearing the end of January, as you may have noticed. February is around the corner, and for me, this means a number of things: a new semester at school, increasingly chilly weather (if that's possible!), and, of course, the release of my first novel, Amber Rain.

If you're not in the know, my sister Celesta and I wrote Amber Rain a few summers ago. It was her idea to embark on this writing project together, and to be honest, I was a little nervous about it. I'd only just started writing again, having recently completed a draft of my novella "Dragonfly". Even more worrisome was that my sister and I are both passionate people, by nature, and I was worried about damaging our relationship - I'd seen, first-hand, close relationships permanently damaged by business.

It didn't take much to be convinced to go ahead with it anyway. We'd come up with the title and general idea when we were teens, and the story had waited long enough to be told.

Writing this novel with my older sister was absolutely exhilarating. I'd even go so far as to call it "A thrilling literary adventure," as we shaped our characters individually and then together, bringing them and their world to life.  Not that we never disagreed, mind you.  To my surprise, in writing conflict, it turns out my sister is the level headed one!  Eventually the story was finished, and then it was on to editing, and more editing, and more editing. Now, our baby is almost ready. The cover is designed, the manuscript is edited, our release date is set - now, just we just need to release it! 

It'll come out on e-book in February and paperback this spring. 

Stay tuned, readers! Hey, and thanks for joining me on this journey!


Sunday, January 5, 2014

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Back to Work We Go...

It's been a beautiful two weeks, celebrating the holiday season and enjoying our time together in our crisp, cold, Canadian winter. Now, Sunday night has arrived, and as I sit here, listening to the overdue laundry drumming in the dryer and resting my laptop on the stack of tests I intend to mark before bed, I am incredibly thankful for the time of rest and rejuvenation offered by this Christmas season.  

Tomorrow, work begins again. I'm looking forward to seeing my students and teaching my classes, but I will miss the peaceful freedom of having nowhere to be and nothing that takes me away from my children and my husband and the sweet joy of being with my family.  

But I think it's true, that "in this world of change, nothing which comes stays, and nothing which goes is lost."(Anne Sophie Swetchine). 


Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Motivation and My Writing Journey

I once heard someone say that if you can find the right punishment or reward, you can make a person do anything. The speaker was one of my Faculty of Education professors, and he was making reference to classroom management and encouraging student success.

He was talking, of course, about motivation. Not everyone is motivated by the threat of detention or low marks, he said, just as not everyone is motivated by stickers and good grades. But, he was sure, everyone was motivated by something, and the key to success was finding the right motivation for each student. I think he was definitely onto something, although I must admit, I still have not been able to find that one motivating factor for each individual student. I work on it daily.

The same idea can apply to most areas of life. It's January 2nd now, and of course, Facebook is full of New Year resolutions, bravely announced to the masses. And to be honest, I've made some of my own, too - not that I'll be posting them publicly. I've tried to be specific this time around, wording them as "goals" rather than vague promises. I'm not so sure I'll have any more success than in the past, but time will tell.  I wonder, though, if I have the motivation I need to achieve my goals, and if it will be enough.

Some of my goals, of course, are health related, habit related, hobby related. Some relate to my physical self, some my mental self, some my spiritual self.  And I'll admit right here, some have to do with my writing. I want my writing to continue to move forward. I don't want to lose my momentum or my motivation.

I used to have this great passion for writing, back when I was much younger. The first time I thought I wanted to be a writer was in third grade. I wrote all the time back then. In high school, I wrote my first novella, a drama about a good girl who "saves" a bad boy. I still grin when I think about it: my teenage angst, crushes, worries, and creative spark working to create a rough, heartfelt tale written by a fourteen year old. I also started a novel with my sister, which we didn't, of course, finish.

Soon, life and time happened.  I got married young, and married life proved, at various periods throughout the last fifteen years, to be moments of great freedom and no curfews, times of serious challenge, and a series of grand adventures with my best friend.  My years at university and my hilarious job as a video store clerk didn't allow a lot of time for creative writing, although I dabbled in poetry and short stories and dreamed of writing my great novel.

When I became a teacher, and then a mother, time for writing grew more scarce and, moreover, my creativity was better served dreaming up new units for my high school English students and creative play with my kids. I was completely fulfilled with my amazing jobs as a mother and as a high school teacher. On maternity leave, I did some professional business writing, with three longer, non-fiction articles published in magazines and far too many uncredited on-line articles. I still dreamed of writing a novel - in fact, a friend of mine and I came up with a plot outline and first chapter of a book I may still write one day - but that was as far as it went.

And then, my sister began to flourish in her own writing career. She began writing in earnest and independently publishing her work. She began selling her books and calling herself a writer - because that is what she had become. I looked at her with wonder: she was doing it. She was fulfilling her calling and courageously following what she felt God was leading her to do. I can honestly say I wasn't - and still am not - jealous. Not at all. In awe, is more like it. In awe, and inspired.

And so, with her encouragement and example, I tentatively allowed my previous passion to creep back in and I wrote about a character who had been living in my head since I was twenty.  When it was finished, I had my first short novel -  maybe you'd call it a novella - entitled "Dragonfly." It's 54000 words of  urban fantasy. My character has life.

The second piece I wrote, I wrote with my sister. She reminded me of the story that we'd started back in high school, the piece that was unfinished and, to be honest, written like we were back in high school. We started again from scratch, using only the title and the general idea. We worked through it one summer, and at the end, we had this beautiful short novel that I really love. Not only did I get to experience the creative process with my wonderful sister, but again, we gave life to characters we only imagined. In case you're curious, it's called "Amber Rain", and we'll be independently publishing it. So, stay tuned.

Since then, I've written two more pieces, one completely finished and edited and the other in its draft stage. And let me tell you, writing is pleasure: dreaming up stories and crafting worlds and using our beautiful language. It makes life even busier, though, since I'm still teaching (and loving it) and have two beautiful, active, amazing children who absolutely come first in my life. And, of course, I am still blessed with a husband who makes married life a happy adventure.

I mostly write by night, now, and sometimes during that 1:00 nap time that still happens on Saturdays. Which brings me back to motivation. I think back to when I first wanted to write, and how that desire eventually slipped through my fingers. Now that I've rediscovered the joy of creating fiction, I don't want to lose it again, and I wonder - how does a writer stay motivated?  When there are so many things that are important to me - relationships, recreation, and of course, my job - how do I make sure I continue to find time for writing?

This new year, I want to continue building on what I've started. Time will tell.