Making Headway

Making headway

Getting unwound

Seeds planted, Flowers found.

My last blog reported my writing process of “pondering” for thirty minutes a day. When that ended, I put my focus on sorting out notes and chapters. And of course, I found plenty of gaps that need to be filled. That realization led to my next course of action: Spiralling.

What I call spiralling (I’m not sure what other writers call it) is a technique I’ve used over the years. I circle an issue, or plot point, or a day, and see what ideas spiral out from there. 

Also—being character-driven—I’ve added spirals around my main characters. What do they want or need? What are they going to do? This actually takes me longer because I have to worm my way under the skin of each, one at a time,.

But it is headway! 

Getting unwound

My life, these last couple years, was a very slow constriction of time and energy. My subsequent unwinding is proving to be a poky process as well. But it is happening. Progress in writing builds an enthusiasm that spills over into the rest of my life. 

With friend Rachel’s help, I worked out a list of jobs to tackle over the next months. (“I’ve got a little list,” sang Ko-Ko in The Micado.) 

Rachel pointed out a couple phone calls I could make. I hate making phone calls. Years ago, when beginning my first librarian position, I learned that making calls would be part of my work. I told myself “You can always quit instead.” I didn’t quit.

So I groaned a bit, but picked up my cell phone and arranged for upholstery to be steam-cleaned, and for some of our rugs be picked up for washing. The steam cleaning happened the next day! And we’re awaiting return of the rugs. Sophie’s not used to a bare living room floor.

Seeds planted, Flowers found.

Last spring I scattered two packets of seeds in a triangular bed near the front door. Nothing came up. But just lately I’ve noticed a few shy cosmos blossoms appearing at the lower edge of the bed. Very shy. When I went out hoping to snap a picture, there were none to be found, but the plants are there!

This minor success has spurred me on to a related project. On my walks, I look for and collect seeds of flowers thriving along sidewalks: desert marigold, chocolate flowers, and other hopefuls. These I scatter in my side yard. It would be nice to have a patch of wildflowers mixed with the grass next year. I’m playing a long game—inviting lots of guests, and waiting to see who or what accepts my invitation.

Here’s wishing flowers in everyone’s lives.

When halted midstream—

or Out of the doldrums and into the current of life.

I haven’t arrived yet. I’m still chasing after that completed first draft of Quantum Quest. But I did find a way to make some headway in my upstream struggle. 

Over the years, I’ve tried many methods when stalled on writing a book. They all worked — for a while. 

One time I was stuck in the dreaded middle of a fairy tale retelling. That time, the action I took was to fill a small notebook with calligraphy. The fancy writing didn’t directly address the tale so much as worked out the background mythology. I eventually got my boat back into the current.

Sometimes I put too much pressure on myself, and can’t write at all. I have this fear of marring an unused notebook with sloppy writing. The remedy is to write on scrap paper. I collect one-sided newspaper inserts. On the blank sides, I can freely scribble or create spiraling diagrams or whatever is needed. No pressure.

My latest attempt to get moving again lasted for three and a half weeks—until the Fourth of July. My daily to-do sheet listed it as QQ Ponder. And I swore to do it every day.

The rules went like this: Find pen and notebook. Set my phone timer for 30 minutes. Sit and think about the story. For 30 minutes. I never failed to also get some words on paper, but that was secondary to giving myself permission to meditate on characters and story.

For those readers who are following this trilogy, I am currently cleaning up the middle chapters while sorting out notes of future events. And thanks to the weeks of pondering, I have a renewed enthusiasm for the story. Just watch how grumpy I get when prevented from working due to appointments and commitments!

One discovery I made—and thanks to one of Susan Dennard’s posts I learned I’m not the only one—is that my plot is totally character driven. I had failed to take into account all of my characters, including the AIs (the artificial intelligences). Pondering reminded me of their importance. Until I know what my people and AIs are up to, I can’t know how we’ll arrive where we need to be

Sophie minds her responsibilities well. She keeps a close eye on me. When I change rooms, so does she. And when I settle in the living room, she sits and stares until I lift her onto the couch where she can nap, secure in the knowledge that I’m there beside her.

I’m back to paddling along and enjoying the novel scenery, with Sophie at my side. Whatever your craft, happy sailing everyone!

Mindfulness vs Mind–Fullness.

It’s been a month since I wrote a blog. Often these days, my mind acts as a sieve, thoughts of what I should be doing flow out almost before they register. Meanwhile, my should-do list keeps growing longer. I’m told it’s the brain fog of grief.

A few months back, I blogged about my trickster garage door, which would reopen once my back was turned. That improved after I swept the debris from the bottom of the door to prevent triggering the sensors. But not always. My final recourse was to practice Mindfulness. I would back out and wait for the door to fully close before driving off. But again, I would forget to wait. Pangs of conscience would descend, sometimes soon enough to double–check, other times not. My mind was too full, overwhelmed with caregiving concerns. I’m calling that Mind-Fullness.

Nowadays, the garage door gives me no trouble. That’s because it’s easy to pause, to mindfully assure myself the garage is sealed before driving off.

Grief is a strange country. A strange country, indeed. I feel off-balance most of the time, overwhelmed by an entirely different kind of Mind-Fullness.

Assured of my presence, she makes her bed and sleeps.

Right now, Sophie and I are both suffering from too much alone time. Sophie’s humans have shrunk from two to one, and she stays very close whenever I’m home. In fact, sometimes so close that I’m in danger of tripping over her. 

Yet, when I consider seeking out other people, I look at my untouched work and think, How can I desert all this? all the while knowing I won’t accomplish anything by staying home. But— Who wants the company of a stuck-in-the-mud creature like me?

Yesterday I gave up pushing my balky self to do what I didn’t want to do. What was the use? Instead, I paid attention to what was going on inside. 

Once I stopped fighting my resistance to doing, something happened. My mindfulness translated into actually accomplishing four items. In the space of little over an hour, I visited the post office, had a dental check-up, picked up mail at my son’s house while he’s out of town, and—drumroll please!—renewed a project dropped months ago to have an outside door rehung.

MIndfulness works. It opens doors as well as assuring me of their closures.

Last evening, I left for a quick walk before dark and found my neighbor outside, in tears. Her grief is even newer than my own. Her presence was a gift, a reminder that I am not alone. What was I doing shutting myself away behind doors, not only house doors, but brain fog doors as well?

The two of us walked. We agreed that her once-a-month grief therapy and my once-a-month book group were nowhere near enough. We will begin weekly walks together, to the benefit of us both. 

One more step back into the world.

Stuffing Grief

During our weekly phone conversation, my younger sister mentioned the benefits of “verbalizing.” She had complained about something to her daughter, and then the solution presented itself. All because she’d heard herself describe the problem. That resonated with me. I don’t talk about problems nearly often enough. Instead, I procrastinate looking for solutions.

Yesterday, I talked with a neighbor, both of us having recently experienced a major loss. We discussed grief, and I expressed my disinclination to join a grief group. But I also realized my own lack of clarity regarding feelings about anything at all. 

I mulled over that conversation and during a restless night my problem became clear. At three a.m., I turned on the light to make a notation about stuffing my grief in my journal. I have been doing everything possible to not feel anything at all. And not merely one kind of stuffing, though food came first to mind, probably because it’s my most recent method of keeping feelings at bay. 

Stuffing Grief for me includes—

filling my stomach with food, eating ice cream straight from the container, eating, eating, eating.

filling my mind with anything at all: DVDs, books, puzzles, anything to avoid stillness.

filling my body (but not mind) with stillness. No movement means no change.

filling my loss of caretaking duties with concern for Sophie dog, placing her needs over my own.

Okay! It’s definitely time to try something new. Even my morning horoscope agreed. “An obstacle will be cleared.” 

The first thing I did was to make a to-do list placing my walk before Sophie’s. The days are warming so fast, that I’m disinclined to walk later. I pushed my feet to move faster on a somewhat longer route around the neighborhood. After all, Sophie was awaiting her turn.

But what a walk! My brain clanked into gear, giving me a glimpse of a new angle leading to my unfinished novel’s climax. And following that, words began shaping this week’s blog.

Get moving. As simple as that. To be repeated every day.

Learning People Words

 It’s time Sophie had the spotlight in this blog. After all, it belongs to her—my file name for blog drafts is “SophieBlog.”

Sophie is familiar with the usual people words, though chooses whether to obey sit and stay. Of course she knows breakfast, supper, walk, ride, out. She likes all of those words. 

She also knows the word: DRINK

Since her torn ACLs the year before last, she has learned the word UP. Her recovery took two months of being walked with her backend supported by a sling to take the weight off while her hind legs moved. Some fellow dog walkers consider her the “miracle dog” because she recovered so well.

During the time of the sling and ever since, she has been lifted up onto bed and sofa, and most of the time also lifted down. She does take matters into her own paws if people aren’t fast enough to lift her down (though she knows better than to jump off the bed, which is higher).

The Eyes have it

Her latest word is EYES. By that she understands she has to undergo eye ointment. Back in January, we took her to the vet because her eyes were so gummed up she couldn’t see. We were informed that it was “dry eyes,” a condition that would have to be treated for the rest of her life.

We began with ointment twice-a-day and occasional eye drops as well. My normal process is to lift her onto the loveseat, position her so I’m facing her back and can reach her head to pry open her eyes and deposit the bit of ointment on her lower lid, followed by praise for being a “good dog.”

On her next to last checkup, her eyes were producing tears so well that the vet wanted to try reducing her to ointment once a day, with a follow-up to see if that dose would be enough. So for 4 weeks, I applied once-a-day applications, though a few times I forgot and had to do it later in the day.

Alas, she wasn’t producing quite enough tears. We are now back to twice a day, but no need for added eye drops. Talking with the vet, I realized the easiest way for me to remember her meds would be to combine the ointment with her two daily meals. 

The vet applauded the idea and said to put the ointment on first, then reward her. 

Monday night we did just that.

Tuesday morning Sophie amazed me! I told her we were going to do her eyes and then she would get breakfast. Sophie literally bounced to the loveseat and positioned herself to be lifted up.

She’s one smart dog.

If you plant seeds—

—be sure to water them.

I declared my intention to grow flowers in memory of my husband. He was a much better gardener than I. Of course, I had to weed first. Winter brought us a lot of rain, which resulted in an extra large crop of weeds (still undefeated). Many I can’t name, but my focus has been on wild mustard and fox tails. 

So I cleared a small area in front of our porch which unfortunately is protected by the eaves from rain. I then planted a mix of penstemon and bachelor buttons, hoping they’d not be in conflict. I did water initially, before getting distracted. A few seedlings are coming up.

The second and third beds, unfortunately, suffered from my distractions. I can’t identify anything as a purposeful seedling. However, the xeric plants are benefiting from my more frequent—if rather late to the party—waterings. There’s some comfort in that. Plus volunteer violas are popping up in all the beds. Those seeds must be opportunists, waiting for the water. Welcome, violas! 

In the backyard, I planted six tomato plants in two raised beds, and surrounded each batch of three with bachelor button seeds. Happily, those seeds have responded to daily watering. Someday they will shine!

Other plantings—

In writing, you have to plant words. Yes, you might face the task of weeding out misplaced or intrusive ones, but sowing all possible seeds is the only way of arriving—eventually—with a book.

Words that pop into my head, but don’t get written down are lost, usually forever. Ideas as well. 

This morning in the pre-dawn, the idea popped into my head that I needed to look into other points of view as I resume the struggle to achieve the climax to Quantum Quest, which will complete my sci-fi trilogy. I jotted down a new point of view, and felt like I might actually—someday— reach my goal. But it will require daily waterings and probably a dose of fertilizer as well.

What have you planted lately?

In-Between Season

With apologies to my readers, lately I’ve been in stasis. Essentially, my world has stood still.

When I began this blog, we were between cold and warm, with more of each to follow. My apricot tree had already opened its first blossoms, which bodes poorly for the survival of any apricots. Bumper crops happen rarely. Fortunately, it is a wise-enough tree that it doesn’t display all its blossoms at one time.

When I began this blog, the elms at the park were bare, waiting. Now they’ve sprouted a fine green mist on those previously brown branches.

When I began this blog, only two spring crocuses had bloomed. Now the narcissus is out, daffodils show bright touches of yellow, and tulips are pushing up.

But my own life is split, between endings and a vague future. Sophie and I face an emptier home than the one we had through most of February. It’s a loss I’ve mourned for a long time, like watching a drama play out that you know must end sadly, though its scenes are full of love. But now the final curtain has descended. And Sophie and I both mourn the hole in our lives.

I have already planted one little plot with flower seeds, with plans for several more. My personal memorial to my love will be to grow as many flowers this year as I can encourage out of the earth.

Until those flowers sprout, I’ll continue feeling between seasons. And who knows how long after that? But there is a future to be lived as well. 

Stay mindful everyone. Enjoy every moment that’s given you.

Rules

Love rules. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.

Characters rule. I’m still struggling with the climax to Quantum Quest (the first draft of which was scheduled to be completed in 2023). But, as I’ve been saying for months, it is inching forward.

My latest discovery is 1) I’ve got lots of characters to settle; 2) I’ve failed to address all of them; 3) the actions of some are going to spur reactions in others, which of course, 4) will drive them all to the climax. I hope.

My little book rules. A few weeks ago, I titled a little notebook: 2024 Journal of Writing Progress, and began making notes. Every day since January 2nd contains at least one and usually multiple entries. Admittedly on lazy Sundays, I do very little work, but by the end of the day I’m considering what needs doing next. 

This past Sunday’s entry includes  “QQ night pondering.” I set an intention for my mind to work on the next step, and any time I woke, I directed my thoughts there. In the morning, I wrote out a page of character talk and action which I hope will edge me ever nearer the end.

As noted above, Characters rule. They know much more about the story than I do.

People rule. On Monday, I attended a retirement party for a librarian I once worked with, and there made contact with children’s librarians I hadn’t seen in years. 

Driving home from the library, I was reminded of my first encounter with classmates when embarked on my MLS degree. That was when I discovered: Librarians are my people.

I feel the same about writers, though as a whole they tend to be an eclectic bunch. Children’s writers are my people. 

Trickster Door addendum.

After posting last week’s blog, I had an aha moment. The garage door reversed itself and opened again. I went for a broom and swept the underside of the door. Surely that would cure the problem.

It didn’t. For whatever reason, it happened again. But I’m pretty sure (now that it has trained me to be extra mindful) that it will act much more dependably.

Trickster Tales

First of all, what are tricksters? Their purpose is to remind us to be real. When we put up barriers to hide (often from ourselves), they delight in tearing down those walls. Only when we are real do they lose their power.

I’ll keep my eyes open, except for those drops.

This past week, I became nursemaid to Sophie. A trip to the vet established a problem in her left eye that needed antibiotics, and an overall problem of dry eyes that will need treatment for the rest of her life. And my husband got sick for the second time this year. Another cough and cold.

A couple weeks back, I blogged about our trickster garage door. It doesn’t always close when directed. The same thing has happened when I enter the house. (Just FYI, my theory is that sometimes a leaf blows in, breaking the light beam between sensors, redirecting the door up again.)

I wrote about my epiphany that when leaving home I needed to be where I was, i.e. in the driveway watching the door come down, rather than letting my mind move ahead to my destination.

Tale Number One

Having an epiphany doesn’t always make it so

A week ago I headed out for an appointment, intending to mail a couple letters on the way. As I pulled out of the garage, instead of being in the driveway, my mind flew to choosing between the nearest post office or the one halfway to my destination. I chose the halfway-there P.O. 

Leaving that post office lot, I realized I hadn’t consciously watched the garage door close. Aargh! And I didn’t have time to go back. Arriving home, I found the door had closed, but the reminder was a wake-up call for —

Tale Number Two

One of the highlights of my week is our Saturday morning breakfast with friends before grocery shopping. This past Saturday though, I worried that  my husband with his cold wasn’t well enough to go. He thought he was up to it., so we got into the car.

But then I had to get out again to attend to something. And when I got back into the car, I couldn’t find my keys. Were they in my hand or pocket when I first got into the car? I couldn’t remember.

Back into the house I went. Then back out to the car, looking, looking, looking. Time was slipping away. It was a sign we weren’t meant to go. I texted our friends that my husband was sick.

Then he pointed out that the garage door was still open.

Be where you are. Okay, but where was I? 

Where I was, was chock full of bottled up feelings. I didn’t want to yell at a sick husband. But there I was, the nurse in charge of a gummy-eyed dog and a sick man. And I couldn’t go to breakfast. The best part of my week!

I had a right to be disappointed. I proceeded to indulge in a tantrum. (At least that’s what I called it.) I acknowledged my feelings with some rare tears.

After that indulgence, I calmly located the fallen keys, prepared breakfast at home (though not our traditional Breakfast Burrito with green chile, split between us) and went off to do the shopping on my own. 

Telling my sister about it later, we both laughed. She commented that as seniors, we rarely allow ourselves such luxuries. I’m lucky to have a trickster garage door reminding me to be mindful. 

Be where you are. Feel what you feel.

What kind of tricksters do you find in your life?

Muse, where are you?

The things I’ll do to avoid finishing my trilogy:

Write a blog.

Knit a cap and immediately begin another, hoping to avoid the mistakes made in the previous one.

Introduce Sophie to a new mode of transport for family walks (because she’s so pokey the rest of us don’t really even get our legs stretched). Unfortunately, she was terrified on her first ride. Maybe treats would help?

Work on income taxes.

Resume research for a partially written fairytale retelling.

Work on a Christmas jigsaw puzzle.

Yes, I do keep inching closer to the end of Quantum Quest. The problem is, I know what happens but can’t quite see how it happens. And the showing is what convinces the reader, not the telling.

We’re already one-twelfth of the way through this new year. I think it’s time I had a long talk with my muse . . .