My goal for the month of October was to prepare myself for National Novel Writing Month 2013, which begins in just a couple of days. This will be my.... let me count here.... SIXTH experience with this self-destructive marathon of insanity. Early mornings, late nights, time micro-management, sore shoulders, bleary eyes, living through a constant state of distraction. Is it any wonder why I keep coming back?
To recap, the point of NaNoWriMo -- as it is so unnecessarily and awkwardly abbreviated -- is to challenge people to try and write the first draft of a complete novel within the confines of a calendar month. November to be specific, and yeah, they went and picked one of the shorter months, which makes perfect sense when you’re trying to do something that takes a long time. The benchmark used here to define a novel is writing 50,000 words, which winds up averaging out to 1,667 words daily. The word count is not impossible, but trying to string those 50,000 words together into a coherent and interesting story within 30 days is what makes it interesting.
My track record so far isn’t bad at all, since I’ve “won” or reached the 50,000 mark during each of the five years I’ve participated. Granted, one of those years -- last year, in fact -- didn’t result in a finished novel, but it doesn’t need to be finished to win. What I have done so far on that one is well over 50,000 words, which gives me a nice head start for when I go back to finish it someday. But this year I’m starting with a completely fresh idea... so fresh, in fact, that the idea didn’t even exist until seventeen days ago.
This year, for literally the first time I can ever remember, I’m going to try writing a comedy. I’ve written a lot of scary and atmospherically creepy stuff in my day, and I think it’s safe to say I’ve got the tearjerker down, but I’ve never tried to write a funny story. I’m curious and more than a little anxious to see if I’ll even be able to pull it off. I don’t want to give everything away about it, but I’ll offer a teaser: If you follow my posts on Facebook, you’ve likely come across some Moments of 5th Grade Zen, describing some of the goofy things that happen on a typical day in elementary school. My story this year will explore the idea that several of these silly and ridiculous things might not be accidental, and could actually be carefully planned and coordinated by a group of highly self-aware students with reasons to distract the staff at their school. At least until someone with unexpected ties to the history of their school catches on to the plan....
It should be obvious that my November goal will be to finish the first draft of this manuscript, which is titled (at least for the time being) “5th Grade Zen.” November 1st is coming soon, which means the word count begins building Friday at midnight.
Wish me luck, and stay tuned....
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Teach Away the Love
Yesterday a teacher I know shared a link with me, in which Avi, the children's author, told a story from his past of a young girl he'd met. She had great writing ability, but over a period of many years her ability seemed to deteriorate. Here's a link to the story if you're curious. It brought up the question in me: If a child has a love for something, can that enthusiasm and interest be driven out of the child by teachers who are directed to follow a mandated curriculum? Can teachers, who are simply doing their jobs as intended, teach away that love by taking the joy out of it and making it something routine?
I spent the better part of the day processing this idea in the back of my head. It reminded me of a TED talk about education I listened to not long ago. The presenter told the story of a day he encountered a kindergarten girl drawing a picture in class. He asked her what she was drawing, and she responded, "God." He told her that nobody really knows what God looks like. The little girl kept on drawing and replied, "They will in a minute."
I thought of that story because I see so many times during the course of a school year how young kids can think they are great at something simply because they enjoy it. Take drawing for example: I don't think it's a stretch to say that most kids younger than 7 would say they're good at drawing because they like to do it. But as they get older, they begin bowing to cultural norms and comparative standards, and several of them will decide they don't measure up to "good" anymore. At which point drawing becomes a chore. I was always the writer kid growing up, and even though I'm primarily a visual learner, I have to force myself to integrate visual cues into my teaching. Just in the past week I created a poster to hang in my classroom reminding my students of steps involved in problem solving, and the amount of time and energy and thought I put into getting this poster just right was probably ridiculous. I likely could have made a poster in five minutes that would have gotten the job done just as well, but because I don't have a lot of confidence with drawing and I knew how public this would be, I went over the top in my planning because I didn't want it to look stupid and figured that's probably the direction it was headed if I wasn't careful. I had any love of drawing driven out of me while in school.
But what drove it out of me? Or was it something that just naturally faded because I didn't have the desire to develop it? It never really was a love, as in something that had potential to evolve into a defining characteristic of who I would become. Writing was always there in some form, away from school, on its own. I had a handful of teachers over the years that greatly encouraged me as I tried to develop that ability, but I can't think of a teacher that would have brought something to me that was so counterproductive it would have turned me off for good, or even started me down that path.
Therefore, I have concluded (after only sort-of thinking about it for a few hours) that a teacher really can't drive out a love. Even that girl Avi wrote about. She may have had ability, but I don't think she really, truly had a love for it. Or if she did, it was more likely the pressures and dynamics of public school had more of an influence on her deteriorating written voice than anything else, particularly if she began adopting age-appropriate bad habits. Maybe she outgrew the beginnings of a love that never had the chance to take hold of her. And who knows -- maybe if she had the right teacher come along at the right time, that could have made the difference for her and brought her to a whole new level of artistic expression. But it seems that wasn't the case.
But I believe that for the teachers who keep trying, the ones who want to bring out the best in their students, the ones who fight through the frustrations and anxieties of working inside an ever-increasingly complex education system -- they're the ones who could someday make the difference. And I can only hope I'm able to put my own name on that list more days than not.
I spent the better part of the day processing this idea in the back of my head. It reminded me of a TED talk about education I listened to not long ago. The presenter told the story of a day he encountered a kindergarten girl drawing a picture in class. He asked her what she was drawing, and she responded, "God." He told her that nobody really knows what God looks like. The little girl kept on drawing and replied, "They will in a minute."
I thought of that story because I see so many times during the course of a school year how young kids can think they are great at something simply because they enjoy it. Take drawing for example: I don't think it's a stretch to say that most kids younger than 7 would say they're good at drawing because they like to do it. But as they get older, they begin bowing to cultural norms and comparative standards, and several of them will decide they don't measure up to "good" anymore. At which point drawing becomes a chore. I was always the writer kid growing up, and even though I'm primarily a visual learner, I have to force myself to integrate visual cues into my teaching. Just in the past week I created a poster to hang in my classroom reminding my students of steps involved in problem solving, and the amount of time and energy and thought I put into getting this poster just right was probably ridiculous. I likely could have made a poster in five minutes that would have gotten the job done just as well, but because I don't have a lot of confidence with drawing and I knew how public this would be, I went over the top in my planning because I didn't want it to look stupid and figured that's probably the direction it was headed if I wasn't careful. I had any love of drawing driven out of me while in school.
But what drove it out of me? Or was it something that just naturally faded because I didn't have the desire to develop it? It never really was a love, as in something that had potential to evolve into a defining characteristic of who I would become. Writing was always there in some form, away from school, on its own. I had a handful of teachers over the years that greatly encouraged me as I tried to develop that ability, but I can't think of a teacher that would have brought something to me that was so counterproductive it would have turned me off for good, or even started me down that path.
Therefore, I have concluded (after only sort-of thinking about it for a few hours) that a teacher really can't drive out a love. Even that girl Avi wrote about. She may have had ability, but I don't think she really, truly had a love for it. Or if she did, it was more likely the pressures and dynamics of public school had more of an influence on her deteriorating written voice than anything else, particularly if she began adopting age-appropriate bad habits. Maybe she outgrew the beginnings of a love that never had the chance to take hold of her. And who knows -- maybe if she had the right teacher come along at the right time, that could have made the difference for her and brought her to a whole new level of artistic expression. But it seems that wasn't the case.
But I believe that for the teachers who keep trying, the ones who want to bring out the best in their students, the ones who fight through the frustrations and anxieties of working inside an ever-increasingly complex education system -- they're the ones who could someday make the difference. And I can only hope I'm able to put my own name on that list more days than not.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
October 5: Nine Observations, Nine Years Out
Here we are at another Oct. 5. For anyone who doesn’t click on the occasional Summer Vacation links and visit here regularly, Oct. 5 is the date my younger sister Erin died, nine years ago today (within the hour as I write this). To commemorate that this year I’m latching onto the number nine for whatever significance it might have, and instead of writing about one big theme related to her I’m breaking up the post into smaller ideas that have been on my mind over the past several days.
1 -- I haven’t been posting much lately and maybe wouldn’t have bothered to even write this one if I didn’t feel compelled to do so. It made me think -- why a special post to mark the date? Why write about it at all? Why share? To what purpose? Am I doing this just for the attention, or to purge any grief that echoes back this time of year, or to find a way to hold onto the grief more tightly and really own it? I know I’m not the only person who’s ever had someone die. I know very well nine years is a long time. But I also realized tonight there are only about sixteen or seventeen people out of the eighty people currently on staff at my school who were around back when Erin was sick and dying. It seems odd to me to be surrounded by so many people on a daily basis who have no real context to appreciate how defining of an event her death was to what my life evolved into. Sometimes I have to remind myself about that, then remember it’s possible people reading this only know anything about her through what I’ve written. But I guess that’s the point of doing it. Her biggest fear was being forgotten after she died. All I’m doing is making sure that doesn’t happen.
2 -- I’ve noticed over the past week that much in the same way I’ll give most of my music library a rest during December and listen to holiday music, I have a short list of albums that get a lot of rotation in late September and early October because of the associations I’ve built between them and her death. If I play Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising” I’ll remember how my family struggled to maintain any optimism we could find right after she received her first frightening diagnosis. I’ll listen to Peter Gabriel’s “Up” if I have some morbid need to remember what it felt like to let that optimism disappear. I’ll listen to Green Day’s “American Idiot” and recall how it fueled my anger and pain in the weeks right before she died, and how My Chemical Romance’s “The Black Parade” would have been a perfect companion album to it had it been released a year or two earlier. I’ll play through Neal Morse’s “Testimony” or Spock’s Beard’s “Snow” to take in their concurrent overarching themes of darkness and redemption, both of which were very real presences in our lives during those two years.
3 -- To answer definitively the question some people have asked and others have likely wondered: Yes, the manuscript I rewrote this summer, Following Infinity, was heavily inspired by my experiences of losing a sibling. It was really intended to be something of a response to what I heard so many people say as our family was going through the process of watching Erin die and then facing it all after she was gone: “I just can’t imagine what you’re going through.” I always thought after I wrote it, “Yeah? Well, maybe this will give you an idea.” And I think it does. The comment I heard about it from a reader that resonated with me the most came from a friend who read the original draft a few years ago. She had recently experienced a painful loss of her own and after she finished reading it she told me, “I had no idea that everything I was feeling was normal.” It was humbling to hear, but also a relief. Because I didn’t really know all of those feelings were normal at first, either.
4 -- It’s too easy for me to conjure up a false memory of Erin playing with my parents’ dogs, Shamus and Butch, particularly while they are staying at my house. I see them play and I think back to how she played with so many dogs she loved in her lifetime, and it’s all so easy to put those elements together into the same scene. The same could be said for the other dogs in the family -- Willow, Mac, and especially Toby. It doesn’t fit to think we could have these five dogs who are such a big part of our family and she never knew any of them.
5 -- This summer when my family did the Relay for Life it felt like an afterthought. Everything was so routine: I set up the online donation page, we all pasted a few links on our time lines, friends and family made their donations, step by step by step, going through the motions on remote control after doing it all so many times. While there, my older sister and I decided that next year -- which will mark the 10th year after Erin’s death -- should be a year where we really make our Relay participation into something significant. It’s usually held either the first Friday in August or the last one in July, so save the date, people. Everyone is invited. Anyone who has ever been affected by cancer in any way and would like to take a swing at it in retaliation, or just wants to come and hang out on what is usually a pleasant summer evening should make plans now. We’re getting shirts made, we’re going to raise a busload of money, and we’re going to take over the event. I’m ready to say right now that I will put myself through just about any favor people could need help with to raise donations, as long as it isn’t illegal or ethically questionable. You think I’m kidding? Test my limits. I figure for ten years, $10,000 is a nice round goal to aim for.
6-- Erin has been gone long enough that our family has actual traditions about how we commemorate her death each year. But this year, for the first time, our parents are traveling on Oct. 5 and won’t be here to be a part of it. That feels kind of weird. So instead of following through with tradition and organizing a larger event, Jenny and I decided we’d keep it simple and just take an evening to get together and acknowledge the significance of the day. We figured that as important as Erin was (and still is) to so many people, in the end we’re the only ones who could claim her as our sister.
7 -- At one point in the past few days it occurred to me it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do a kind of personal inventory and take a few moments during what is always one of the lowest points of my year to consider what I have in my life that is good. This isn’t always easy to do since I tend toward the self-critical, but I did manage to think of a short list of some very important things: 1) I’ve been able to build myself a reasonably secure and comfortable life, with the support of many people. 2) I have an extraordinary family that consists of several dozen unusually close and loving people; I couldn’t adequately describe what it’s like to live inside of that without sounding like I’m falling back on the kind of superlative language that seems too strongly stated to be real. 3) Even though I am by nature extremely introverted and guarded, and I’m very aware of how that combination of traits makes it difficult for people to feel they know me, I’m still lucky enough to have a tight circle of close friends made up of people I know would do nearly anything for me and vice versa, whether I get to see them every day or a few times a month or maybe only every year or two. They accept and even possibly value my collection of idiosyncrasies. I can find myself genuinely surprised to discover how much they care for me, and I hope they know how appreciative I am that at some point they bothered to push their way into my life as deeply as they have.
8 -- Part of this memorial post business usually involves an excerpt from the memoir I wrote (mostly for myself) following Erin’s death. This could be filed under the category of “Here’s what it was really like if you can’t relate.” This describes what it was like about 48 hours before:
Evening was tough. Erin woke a couple of times just as I was thinking about going home. She snapped wide awake once so Jenny gave her more medication and she was able to drink some water. She even asked for a Popsicle, the closest thing to actual food she'd had in days. She saw I was in the room and asked me to sit behind her on the bed so she could lean against me, letting her sit up and breathe easier as she went back to sleep. I had a painful cramp in my chest after I sat there for a few minutes and my entire right leg fell asleep, but she didn’t weigh much anymore so I got through it. It was hard to sit behind her and see everyone in the room crying as she shuddered her way back to sleep. I started timing my breathing so our rhythms would match and I wouldn’t disturb her. Mom knelt beside the bed holding Erin's hand in both of hers, silently praying. Jenny quietly told her it was okay to let go. My mouth was already behind her ear so I just talked to her, saying much of the same: It's okay to go, you're done fighting now, we'll get through it, you don't need to worry, you don't have to fight anymore, Arthur and Dave and Grandma Grace are waiting for you, you'll be able to run again, you'll laugh without coughing, you'll stand under your own power, you’ll breathe deeply and completely without any pain, you’ll see the ocean whenever you want, you’ll see every moment of your nephews' lives as they grow up, you'll watch sunsets that never have to end. When she was finally calm again I was able to slip out and get some blood back to my leg. It was the last time I would ever see her conscious, and the last time I ever heard her voice.
9 -- There’s a reason I picked that particular passage this year. Not long ago I listened to a podcast episode called “How Dying Works.” It was a fascinating discussion about everything involved in the process. Many of the things mentioned were things I recognized. One point made was that the five senses stop operating at different times, with the sense of touch and the sense of hearing being the last two to go. I heard that and thought back to that final Saturday night as Erin fell back asleep leaning against me while I quietly spoke to her, letting her know it was okay to stop the fight.
Even nine years later, learning that brought me a small moment of closure to know that during that last moment of real connection I had with her she still knew I was there.
1 -- I haven’t been posting much lately and maybe wouldn’t have bothered to even write this one if I didn’t feel compelled to do so. It made me think -- why a special post to mark the date? Why write about it at all? Why share? To what purpose? Am I doing this just for the attention, or to purge any grief that echoes back this time of year, or to find a way to hold onto the grief more tightly and really own it? I know I’m not the only person who’s ever had someone die. I know very well nine years is a long time. But I also realized tonight there are only about sixteen or seventeen people out of the eighty people currently on staff at my school who were around back when Erin was sick and dying. It seems odd to me to be surrounded by so many people on a daily basis who have no real context to appreciate how defining of an event her death was to what my life evolved into. Sometimes I have to remind myself about that, then remember it’s possible people reading this only know anything about her through what I’ve written. But I guess that’s the point of doing it. Her biggest fear was being forgotten after she died. All I’m doing is making sure that doesn’t happen.
2 -- I’ve noticed over the past week that much in the same way I’ll give most of my music library a rest during December and listen to holiday music, I have a short list of albums that get a lot of rotation in late September and early October because of the associations I’ve built between them and her death. If I play Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising” I’ll remember how my family struggled to maintain any optimism we could find right after she received her first frightening diagnosis. I’ll listen to Peter Gabriel’s “Up” if I have some morbid need to remember what it felt like to let that optimism disappear. I’ll listen to Green Day’s “American Idiot” and recall how it fueled my anger and pain in the weeks right before she died, and how My Chemical Romance’s “The Black Parade” would have been a perfect companion album to it had it been released a year or two earlier. I’ll play through Neal Morse’s “Testimony” or Spock’s Beard’s “Snow” to take in their concurrent overarching themes of darkness and redemption, both of which were very real presences in our lives during those two years.
3 -- To answer definitively the question some people have asked and others have likely wondered: Yes, the manuscript I rewrote this summer, Following Infinity, was heavily inspired by my experiences of losing a sibling. It was really intended to be something of a response to what I heard so many people say as our family was going through the process of watching Erin die and then facing it all after she was gone: “I just can’t imagine what you’re going through.” I always thought after I wrote it, “Yeah? Well, maybe this will give you an idea.” And I think it does. The comment I heard about it from a reader that resonated with me the most came from a friend who read the original draft a few years ago. She had recently experienced a painful loss of her own and after she finished reading it she told me, “I had no idea that everything I was feeling was normal.” It was humbling to hear, but also a relief. Because I didn’t really know all of those feelings were normal at first, either.
4 -- It’s too easy for me to conjure up a false memory of Erin playing with my parents’ dogs, Shamus and Butch, particularly while they are staying at my house. I see them play and I think back to how she played with so many dogs she loved in her lifetime, and it’s all so easy to put those elements together into the same scene. The same could be said for the other dogs in the family -- Willow, Mac, and especially Toby. It doesn’t fit to think we could have these five dogs who are such a big part of our family and she never knew any of them.
5 -- This summer when my family did the Relay for Life it felt like an afterthought. Everything was so routine: I set up the online donation page, we all pasted a few links on our time lines, friends and family made their donations, step by step by step, going through the motions on remote control after doing it all so many times. While there, my older sister and I decided that next year -- which will mark the 10th year after Erin’s death -- should be a year where we really make our Relay participation into something significant. It’s usually held either the first Friday in August or the last one in July, so save the date, people. Everyone is invited. Anyone who has ever been affected by cancer in any way and would like to take a swing at it in retaliation, or just wants to come and hang out on what is usually a pleasant summer evening should make plans now. We’re getting shirts made, we’re going to raise a busload of money, and we’re going to take over the event. I’m ready to say right now that I will put myself through just about any favor people could need help with to raise donations, as long as it isn’t illegal or ethically questionable. You think I’m kidding? Test my limits. I figure for ten years, $10,000 is a nice round goal to aim for.
6-- Erin has been gone long enough that our family has actual traditions about how we commemorate her death each year. But this year, for the first time, our parents are traveling on Oct. 5 and won’t be here to be a part of it. That feels kind of weird. So instead of following through with tradition and organizing a larger event, Jenny and I decided we’d keep it simple and just take an evening to get together and acknowledge the significance of the day. We figured that as important as Erin was (and still is) to so many people, in the end we’re the only ones who could claim her as our sister.
7 -- At one point in the past few days it occurred to me it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do a kind of personal inventory and take a few moments during what is always one of the lowest points of my year to consider what I have in my life that is good. This isn’t always easy to do since I tend toward the self-critical, but I did manage to think of a short list of some very important things: 1) I’ve been able to build myself a reasonably secure and comfortable life, with the support of many people. 2) I have an extraordinary family that consists of several dozen unusually close and loving people; I couldn’t adequately describe what it’s like to live inside of that without sounding like I’m falling back on the kind of superlative language that seems too strongly stated to be real. 3) Even though I am by nature extremely introverted and guarded, and I’m very aware of how that combination of traits makes it difficult for people to feel they know me, I’m still lucky enough to have a tight circle of close friends made up of people I know would do nearly anything for me and vice versa, whether I get to see them every day or a few times a month or maybe only every year or two. They accept and even possibly value my collection of idiosyncrasies. I can find myself genuinely surprised to discover how much they care for me, and I hope they know how appreciative I am that at some point they bothered to push their way into my life as deeply as they have.
8 -- Part of this memorial post business usually involves an excerpt from the memoir I wrote (mostly for myself) following Erin’s death. This could be filed under the category of “Here’s what it was really like if you can’t relate.” This describes what it was like about 48 hours before:
Evening was tough. Erin woke a couple of times just as I was thinking about going home. She snapped wide awake once so Jenny gave her more medication and she was able to drink some water. She even asked for a Popsicle, the closest thing to actual food she'd had in days. She saw I was in the room and asked me to sit behind her on the bed so she could lean against me, letting her sit up and breathe easier as she went back to sleep. I had a painful cramp in my chest after I sat there for a few minutes and my entire right leg fell asleep, but she didn’t weigh much anymore so I got through it. It was hard to sit behind her and see everyone in the room crying as she shuddered her way back to sleep. I started timing my breathing so our rhythms would match and I wouldn’t disturb her. Mom knelt beside the bed holding Erin's hand in both of hers, silently praying. Jenny quietly told her it was okay to let go. My mouth was already behind her ear so I just talked to her, saying much of the same: It's okay to go, you're done fighting now, we'll get through it, you don't need to worry, you don't have to fight anymore, Arthur and Dave and Grandma Grace are waiting for you, you'll be able to run again, you'll laugh without coughing, you'll stand under your own power, you’ll breathe deeply and completely without any pain, you’ll see the ocean whenever you want, you’ll see every moment of your nephews' lives as they grow up, you'll watch sunsets that never have to end. When she was finally calm again I was able to slip out and get some blood back to my leg. It was the last time I would ever see her conscious, and the last time I ever heard her voice.
9 -- There’s a reason I picked that particular passage this year. Not long ago I listened to a podcast episode called “How Dying Works.” It was a fascinating discussion about everything involved in the process. Many of the things mentioned were things I recognized. One point made was that the five senses stop operating at different times, with the sense of touch and the sense of hearing being the last two to go. I heard that and thought back to that final Saturday night as Erin fell back asleep leaning against me while I quietly spoke to her, letting her know it was okay to stop the fight.
Even nine years later, learning that brought me a small moment of closure to know that during that last moment of real connection I had with her she still knew I was there.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
5th Grade Zen
If you and I share that meaningful bond of being Facebook Friends, you may have noticed over the past month that I've been posting brief stories on my timeline under the heading of "Today's Moment of 5th Grade Zen."
This is something of a reference to Jon Stewart's Moment of Zen at the end of each episode of "The Daily Show," when they show a short video clip of something that ranges from the comical to the comically absurd to the head-shakingly ridiculous. As anyone who has spent any real amount of time in an elementary school can tell you, we experience several comical little moments throughout a typical day, and some of them are just so entertaining they demand to be shared. My 5th Grade Zen posts are only brief celebrations of the some of the moments that can make teaching so rewarding and enjoyable.
There are a lot of things about working in education that can be frustrating and overwhelming. But I would imagine there aren't many professions out there that can provide as many touching and hilarious moments as teaching does. For all the pros and cons that come with my job, I know how lucky I am to live inside of that world. Here's hoping these occasional posts will help people on the outside understand why, and remind people on the inside of why we do it.
This is something of a reference to Jon Stewart's Moment of Zen at the end of each episode of "The Daily Show," when they show a short video clip of something that ranges from the comical to the comically absurd to the head-shakingly ridiculous. As anyone who has spent any real amount of time in an elementary school can tell you, we experience several comical little moments throughout a typical day, and some of them are just so entertaining they demand to be shared. My 5th Grade Zen posts are only brief celebrations of the some of the moments that can make teaching so rewarding and enjoyable.
There are a lot of things about working in education that can be frustrating and overwhelming. But I would imagine there aren't many professions out there that can provide as many touching and hilarious moments as teaching does. For all the pros and cons that come with my job, I know how lucky I am to live inside of that world. Here's hoping these occasional posts will help people on the outside understand why, and remind people on the inside of why we do it.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Nine Down / Navigating the Hoops
Okay, I realize I'm a day late with the Momentum update, and I also realize I'm mostly just pretending that anyone noticed. But I had a good reason, and we'll get to that soon enough.
First though, let's take care of business. I said back at the beginning of September that my goal this month was to stay on top of life. This meant making an effort to keep myself from being weighed down by the mundanity that accompanies the transition from the lovely freedom of summertime to the numbing routines of returning to the school year. Which isn't to say that I don't still love my job. I do. But my job has a lot of little hoops that need to be jumped through over the course of any given week, and I've learned from experience that procrastinating my way around these hoops instead of just dealing with them can bring on some unnecessary stress. As far as reaching that goal goes, I'll call it a qualified success. I've stayed on top of things fairly well so far. I'm not feeling burdened by too many small tasks growing into big ones as I pretend they aren't there until they're unavoidable and I discover I have to do all of them at the same time. My "Epic Win" phone app was a big help, though too quickly I figured out ways to work around the accountability it tried to provide me. The work-arounds were temporary though, and (at least for me) having that little red circle with the number show up on the corner of the app icon is a decent way to eventually guilt yourself into taking care of business. I think I'm going to keep Epic Win going for awhile, and let my character level his way up through at least a few more months of accomplishment.
As for this month, since we're in October now, I'm actually thinking about two different and completely separate goals. Not because I have so much free time and ambition that I need another layer of challenge, but because I have one goal that I'd really like to work on to get ready for my November goal and another one that will help me get ready for my December goal. My year of monthly resolutions is drawing to an end after all, and I'm close enough to the finish line to know what I still have left I want to do. So for October, even this is kind of vague: My goal is to work on the first steps of what will be a larger goal to end the year. Times two. Just trust me on this.
Now, to get into the reason why I'm a day late. If you've been following things throughout the summer here, you're aware I spent a good chunk of life rewriting an older manuscript that I felt deserved a better shot than it had before. I was very happy with how the revision turned out, and just before the school year started I began sending out query letters to literary agents in the hope that one would eventually offer to take me on as a client. This would mean they felt so strongly about my manuscript that they'd be ready to advocate for it with publishers and editors and try to get me a book deal. Since agents are far more networked than authors are, having an agent is pretty much a necessity if you want a serious book deal. And since everyone out there with the dream of becoming a published author knows this, getting an agent is NOT an easy thing to do.
The first big step in this process is to get agents interested enough in your project that they'll ask to read it so they can consider if they want to represent you. This is what the query letter is for. Most writers will send out many of these things without ever receiving any response more positive than a form rejection letter. I myself have dozens. But at the beginning of September I chose four agents I thought might be good matches for the manuscript, wrote the query, proofread it several times, crossed my fingers, and sent it out. Within a week I received my first form rejection, which didn't really sting because I more or less expected it. But then about a week later (yesterday) another response arrived, this time from someone who wanted to see the full manuscript. Which was a nice surprise, particularly since it was only the second response I'd gotten.
Now, as happy as I was to get a request, I'm not really getting my hopes up too high about this going any further. Of course I'd love it to happen, but the odds are stacked high against that happening. Like I've explained before, getting a manuscript is like successfully jumping through a hoop only to discover there's an even smaller hoop (getting an offer of representation) waiting on the other side. And even if I got that far, there's still no guarantee things would go as far as publication. As much as I believe in the manuscript I wrote, I'm realistic about how difficult of a business publishing is. But I guess that's why I see it more as a dream than a goal. Making my way through the process to see this project come to life as a published novel would probably feel for me much the same way it would for many other people to find out their lottery ticket was a big winner -- something great that you have to know better to expect will happen.
But you know? For the moment it's nice to know I get to spend the next few months waiting to hear back from my maybe future agent and letting the dream breathe a little in the meantime.
First though, let's take care of business. I said back at the beginning of September that my goal this month was to stay on top of life. This meant making an effort to keep myself from being weighed down by the mundanity that accompanies the transition from the lovely freedom of summertime to the numbing routines of returning to the school year. Which isn't to say that I don't still love my job. I do. But my job has a lot of little hoops that need to be jumped through over the course of any given week, and I've learned from experience that procrastinating my way around these hoops instead of just dealing with them can bring on some unnecessary stress. As far as reaching that goal goes, I'll call it a qualified success. I've stayed on top of things fairly well so far. I'm not feeling burdened by too many small tasks growing into big ones as I pretend they aren't there until they're unavoidable and I discover I have to do all of them at the same time. My "Epic Win" phone app was a big help, though too quickly I figured out ways to work around the accountability it tried to provide me. The work-arounds were temporary though, and (at least for me) having that little red circle with the number show up on the corner of the app icon is a decent way to eventually guilt yourself into taking care of business. I think I'm going to keep Epic Win going for awhile, and let my character level his way up through at least a few more months of accomplishment.
As for this month, since we're in October now, I'm actually thinking about two different and completely separate goals. Not because I have so much free time and ambition that I need another layer of challenge, but because I have one goal that I'd really like to work on to get ready for my November goal and another one that will help me get ready for my December goal. My year of monthly resolutions is drawing to an end after all, and I'm close enough to the finish line to know what I still have left I want to do. So for October, even this is kind of vague: My goal is to work on the first steps of what will be a larger goal to end the year. Times two. Just trust me on this.
Now, to get into the reason why I'm a day late. If you've been following things throughout the summer here, you're aware I spent a good chunk of life rewriting an older manuscript that I felt deserved a better shot than it had before. I was very happy with how the revision turned out, and just before the school year started I began sending out query letters to literary agents in the hope that one would eventually offer to take me on as a client. This would mean they felt so strongly about my manuscript that they'd be ready to advocate for it with publishers and editors and try to get me a book deal. Since agents are far more networked than authors are, having an agent is pretty much a necessity if you want a serious book deal. And since everyone out there with the dream of becoming a published author knows this, getting an agent is NOT an easy thing to do.
The first big step in this process is to get agents interested enough in your project that they'll ask to read it so they can consider if they want to represent you. This is what the query letter is for. Most writers will send out many of these things without ever receiving any response more positive than a form rejection letter. I myself have dozens. But at the beginning of September I chose four agents I thought might be good matches for the manuscript, wrote the query, proofread it several times, crossed my fingers, and sent it out. Within a week I received my first form rejection, which didn't really sting because I more or less expected it. But then about a week later (yesterday) another response arrived, this time from someone who wanted to see the full manuscript. Which was a nice surprise, particularly since it was only the second response I'd gotten.
Now, as happy as I was to get a request, I'm not really getting my hopes up too high about this going any further. Of course I'd love it to happen, but the odds are stacked high against that happening. Like I've explained before, getting a manuscript is like successfully jumping through a hoop only to discover there's an even smaller hoop (getting an offer of representation) waiting on the other side. And even if I got that far, there's still no guarantee things would go as far as publication. As much as I believe in the manuscript I wrote, I'm realistic about how difficult of a business publishing is. But I guess that's why I see it more as a dream than a goal. Making my way through the process to see this project come to life as a published novel would probably feel for me much the same way it would for many other people to find out their lottery ticket was a big winner -- something great that you have to know better to expect will happen.
But you know? For the moment it's nice to know I get to spend the next few months waiting to hear back from my maybe future agent and letting the dream breathe a little in the meantime.
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