Camp NaNoWriMo Update

It's not going well. I have writer's block. I've plotted and planned and plotted and planned, and I just can't get any actual book text onto the page. I've only written poetry for National Poetry Month about half the days, too. It doesn't matter how much I want to write, as soon as I put hands on keyboard (or hit the voice-to-text button), I freeze.

I've tried visualizing. I've tried ritualizing. I've tried freewriting and prompts and exercising. I've changed location. I've changed direction. I've brainstormed. I've doodled. I've watched others for inspiration.

On the upside, my house is getting very clean. My computer is more organized. I've been diligently doing all the lowest-priority tasks on my list.

Procrastination is a--

I haven't even had the sense about me to put out my weekly reading posts. I'm a wreck.

But it's going to be okay. Every artist has dry spells. I know what's most likely behind mine, and I'm working on it. The brain is a fabulous liar, for better or worse.

For now, I'm going to keep going, and whatever gets on the page gets on the page.

Raise your pen with me to toast the artist's struggle.

Making adjustments

Working for yourself can be a challenge and a blessing at the same time. While I can do my work at the best times for me and for my family, I also have no accountability. For someone like me, who has a hard time getting things done if I don't feel like it and/or don't have a hard deadline, it's easy to slip into complacency.

I have plenty of time. 

I can work on it later. 

I've already done most of it.

I always mean well, and I'm not lazy. I'm just a wherever-the-wind-takes-me sort of person. It's easy to lose perspective and momentum. Add the unpredictability of life to that, and things get, well, unpredictable.

I found an old drafted post about Camp NaNoWriMo April 2019, in which I had to adjust my expectations because of a hospital stay.

I disappeared in April, didn’t I? I was distracted by Camp NaNoWriMo, a fun, informal challenge by NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge in November, National Novel Writing Month (hence the name). I had a self-set goal to write 40,000 words, and I was on pace until my son was hospitalized because his finger tried to explode (not literally, but impressive nonetheless), and I lost my momentum. I ended up lowering my goal by half to accommodate the two weeks I was wrapped up in hospital stay and doctor visits (and scheduling, which can take as long as the appointment...). I met it! Only about half of that was one book. The rest was story starts, creative writing prompts and a couple of poems. It was both very easy and very hard. Some days I knocked out 3000 to 4000 words in a couple hours. Other days I struggle to even hit 1000. Some days were zero days. For never having a writing routine before, I feel really good about what I accomplished.

There’s another camp in July, and I definitely plan on participating. The inspiration, motivation, resources, and friendships I found during the April camp are irreplaceable. It also brought me closer to a friend I’ve had for years because we were able to bond over our mutual interest. I will definitely be recommending her book when she’s ready. It’s fantastic!

For a completely different reason, I had to change my expectations for NaNoWriMo 2022.

Day 11: Today I had to make one of those decisions that hurt. I had to scrap my novel. It just was not going to work the way it was going. I haven’t totally abandoned it, though. I may try to fix it later, or I may scrap it for parts. For now, it’s in the drawer. I decided to become a #nanorebel and not write a novel this month. Instead, I am going to work on short stories. If I only hit my par each day, I will have a new short story every 1 to 4 days. I’m kind of excited to see what I can do. The story I started today may or may not have a ghost goat in it.

Day 21: So…life happened. I couldn’t do what needed done, and I had to take a break. But it’s not over yet. There are more days and more words to write.

NaNoWriMo isn't the only time I've had to shift my expectations, of course. In February, I ran into technical issues, and then allergies took me out, and I had to abandon all of my blog plans for three weeks. I felt like a failure, showing "once again" that I just can't stick with it, and only six weeks into the year.

But then I rallied. I pulled up my blog schedule and began rearranging. (Thank goodness for digital calendars with a click-and-drag function instead of erasers and whiteout.) I changed my schedule for regular posts to better accommodate the unpredictability of life. As a bonus, they line up better with my physical planner. I had to rethink a few posts, and one I pushed off entirely until next year. I didn't want to set myself up for failure, so I pushed out some plans (by a lot) to give myself some grace.

As I looked at my beautiful new calendar, even better than it was, I started to feel bad about empty February again. But this time I wasn't going to let myself go to the dark place. I'd venture than most of my very-small audience did not notice the missing posts. I still had content each week, which is better than the last ten years!

Growth isn't linear. Oftentimes progress isn't either. Personal development is more like an outward spiral. Time and again you find yourself in the same place, but you have more knowledge and more experience. I like to use the saying "two steps forward, one step back" to remind myself that progress is still progress. I've also had the same mantra for more than two decades: Every little bit counts.

I've trained myself in a new habit. When I'm feeling down about my lack of consistency, I look at what I did accomplish and how it compares to last attempts. Almost every time I did far better. I've also taught myself to look at cutting my losses as making the right decision instead of giving up or failing.

This was all a long way of saying I gave myself grace this week. I changed my expectations again, and I actually ended up in a better situation this time.

Give yourself grace, too, when you need it.

I've been published!

It’s been a month since the anthology containing my short story was published. My very first success came just weeks after beginning my author journey in earnest. I was lucky to have success so quickly, but rather than get complacent, I have been nurturing the confidence my success gifted me. I'm sure this is just the first post like this I will have the joy to create.

My story started out as an idea I had to get out before I could sleep. I didn't know what I would do with it, but I had a solid intro for a story typed into my phone. When I saw the call for submissions from Cloaked Press, I immediately thought of the story start I'd tucked away some weeks before. I reread it, pleased it was actually decent (sometimes what we think is wonderful before bed is a horror in the morning). I got straight to work turning that idea into a short story, a writing style in which I don't normally feel comfortable because I have so much to say.

The due date was only a few short days away, but this story practically wrote itself. I had only my children as beta readers and sounding boards, and I must have read the story out loud to myself more than a hundred times. Finally, with the deadline right in front of me, I launched my story in an email and hoped for the best.

Honestly, I felt really good, both about my chances and about what I'd accomplished. I'd done my research and gotten a good feel for the publication. I wrote a short story in a couple of days, and I was proud of it. I put my intentions out into the universe, and I waited.

I only had to wait just over a month to get the email that made me laugh, cry, jump up and down, and cheer. I ran around the house telling my kids, and I told my closest friends, but I was afraid to tell anyone else until I felt I had something more concrete. (Imposter syndrome is real, people.)

Finally the publication preorder was posted on Amazon. Now I could scream from the rooftops. I was being published. In an actual book. That people could buy. This was amazing.

I was excited to have a story in the world that people objectively judged as good. I wasn't really afraid of my friends and loved ones reading it because if they didn't like it, it wasn't for them. Obviously someone thought it was good enough to pay to print. This was a huge grown-up moment for me that only took me 42 years to get to.

As it turns out, I've heard only positive feedback. I get a lot of "How on earth did you come up with that idea?" and similar questions, without any sarcasm. (And believe me, there are plenty of people who would let me know if they were unimpressed.) If anyone didn't like it, they're keeping it to themselves.

If they did decide to share, would I be upset? I legitimately think I wouldn't. I am really proud of my story and even prouder of my accomplishment. Now, if Amazon UK would just get it together and let me buy the paperback version like all the other Amazon sites, I'd be thrilled. I want to hold my story in print! Until then, I'm happy looking at the Kindle version and saying, "That's me!"

Winter Of Wonder: Fauna

Winter Of Wonder: Fauna, an anthology of short stories from Cloaked Press

Do you like short stories? Have you ever been published? Share your favorites and your successes!

To purchase the anthology from Amazon, click on the link for your Amazon site.*

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon Spain

Amazon Germany

Amazon Australia

*I don't receive any money from the purchase of the anthology, but all of the stories are worth a read!

The Fairy on the Painting

Melody was sitting on her favorite bench at the art museum and writing, as she always did. She liked to look at the paintings and then close her eyes and imagine them coming to life. Sometimes she watched the people, especially children, and how they responded to the paintings. One day, she saw a couple come in with a little girl, about four years old. The little girl was wearing fairy wings, and she was lagging behind her parents a little, seemingly overwhelmed by the grandeur of the room. Suddenly the little girl stopped in front of Melody and stared at a painting in the corner of the room, her eyes wide.

“Do you see her?” Melody asked. The girl nodded. “Would you like to meet her?” Melody offered. The little girl looked at her in questioning amazement and nodded carefully. Melody walked slowly with the little girl over to a painting of a brightly-lit path under an archway of trees. They stopped a few feet away and looked up at the top of the painting where a tiny fairy sat. Melody said, “Her name is Silva. She loves to come to the art museum and look at the art and watch the people, like I do. This is her favorite painting.”

“What’s your name?” Melody asked. “I’m not allowed to tell my name to strangers,” the little girl replied. “That’s usually a good idea,” Melody agreed. “That’s okay. Do you hear her?” Melody asked the little girl. The little girl nodded again. “It’s like she can speak directly into our minds.” Melody paused, listening. “Is she right? Do you like telling fairy stories?” The little girl lit up. “I LOVE to tell fairy stories!” Melody said, “You should record your stories or ask your parents to write them down. Then, when you’re bigger, you can write them down yourself!” The little girl asked, “Can I write a book?” “Of course you can!” Melody encouraged. “Silva believes in you, and so do I. Silva says your parents are looking for you. We’d better get back.” Melody smiled down at the little girl. “Bye, Silva!” The little girl waved to the fairy.

When the pair returned to the bench, the parents eyed Melody curiously until the little girl exclaimed, seemingly all in one breath, “We went to talk to a fairy! She’s sitting on that painting right now! It’s her favorite! Her name is Silva, and she thinks I can write a book about fairies!” The parents looked surprised but smiled.

While the little girl was telling the parents of her adventure, Melody had taken her book The Storyteller out of her bag and began to write a message in it. “Is it okay for you to tell me your name now?” The little girl looked up at her parents, who nodded back, and she said, “Emily.” Melody extended her hand and said, “Emily, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Emily proudly shook her hand. Melody then wrote in the book, “We believe in you, Emily! Love, Silva and Melody.” She gave the book to Emily and said to the parents, “She is going to be a wonderful writer someday.” The parents smiled and thanked Melody and escorted Emily to the next room in the museum.

Melody packed up her things and headed for the exit, but not before waving “see you next time” to her friend, the fairy on the painting.