One crazy thing about this online writing thing is that value is associated with popularity, as if there was some way to rank humanity, the ones with golden threads against the plain spun ones. But the truth is there is no shortage of stardust. Passing the spark from hand to hand isn't only about who rocks it. It's about who needs it. Here are ten places where I am finding what I need right now.
Mama friends, are you spinning in this season? Spinning tired? Or spinning rushed? Do you feel sometimes like you're missing your own point? I know I do. ~ The bridge from school year to summer splits me up like a jigsaw puzzle. I don't like change. (I'm sure I'm the only one who doesn't like change.) But this isn't only about the craziness of end-of-school-year. It isn't only about sunscreen and swim diapers or trying to get all the people to the right places with the right snacks. And it isn't even about the major life changes that seem to become more [...]
Well, first of all, because it's May. Everybody thinks about quitting school forever when it's May. And that includes the teachers. I know this for sure, because I was just writing this post in my car when a local teacher friend of mine rapped on my window to say hello. He's doing a little work on his off grid property near us. Which is, you know, awesome. Except it's a school day.
I have already written at least one long squishy post about my writing journey into having my first book deal. How amazing it all is, and how long it took to find an agent, and how miraculous it feels that things have finally fallen into place…etc, etc, etc. Isn't it just like me to not tell you what it's actually about? [Ahem.]
I am a contemplative Christian. But I am not the kind with a cloister. I'm not even the kind with a door that locks. I'm the kind with a toddler who gets into the trash. I am a homeschooling mom with three children under the age of seven. And I'm a contemplative. Don't tell me, this sounds like the set up for a joke.
The first time I dreamed of being a writer I was fifteen years old. I wrote about it secretly, in my journal with a striped, padded cover. I wrote about it in full-throated despair. The dead-last child in a family of brilliant minds -- mother writer, father poet, siblings singer/songwriter, and would-be novelist -- I had already swallowed this whisper, "There is not enough room. There is not enough room. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH ROOM." Twenty years later, I have a book deal. Take that, you nasty little whisper.
I am not, under any circumstances, never, ever, not even in my sweetest fantasies, going to take any Major Awards for parenting. I mention that because this story is going to be about parenting, and I don’t want anybody to think that I don’t notice that it’s coming from a rather questionable source.
My mother was a published author before I was born. Sometimes I wonder, if that's what shaped me, in her womb. I wonder if that's what gave me such an expectation that I should be set apart, such irrational belief that I should be in the limelight. But then I trot around the Internet on a weekday morning and I'm like…naahhh…we're all like that. By the time I was seven I was fully convinced I was going to be a child MD. When I decided to drop science in favor of Arts and Entertainment, it was only for another direction [...]
In January of this year I selected one word to ruminate and write on. This was in the tradition of one word New Year’s resolutions, #oneword365. This time, though, it wasn't so much that I selected my word, as that it came for me. I said it one day, by accident, and it made my adrenaline surge. It made my heart get squishy. It was a word that had come for me before, both in my own life and my mother’s life. An unkind word, and yet a word that makes me who I am. It was the word that drove [...]
It has been five years, almost to the day, since I first decided to go for a year without the Internet. Five years ago, in the fall, except that was a fall in Boston, and the leaves were even more spectacular, framed as they were by massive spans of concrete and asphalt. It doesn't matter. In any location, there is something about the fall that calls me down and in...into solitude and contemplation. Okay, so right away, no, I am not telling you today that I am going to go for another year without the Internet. I was joking, when I [...]