Growing Pains

Summer has arrived in Oklahoma, which means my two girls left a week and a half ago to attend school in Germany for the month of June. Last year was the first time they went, and there was lots of nervous uncertainty attached with the going. This year, there were less tears...on their side. I have a deep dark confession to make. I don't like being an empty-nester with an 11 year old and an 8 year old.

That is the selfish part of me coming out. I know this is so great for them. They're German gets sooooooooo much better during the month. They have new friends their age in a German school. The family that they stay with is phenomenal. My husband and I have been friends with the parents since graduate school (which is starting to make me feel old!). So they are in good hands, having great experiences, and doing things I, as a kid, would have given just about anything to do. But I miss my babies.

I know you can get used to just about anything. I'm not sure I'll totally get used to this, so I've decided to cope by burying myself in my WIP and rewriting until the cows come home. Literally. Since I don't have to take off to run carpool, gymnastics, swimming, and a million other errands, there is nothing stopping me from obsessing until those tinkling bells start a'ringin' (which actually sounds a lot more like a garage door opening when my husband comes home).

There is something to be said for obsessing now and again. I've learned a lot about my writing just from simply not having to stop mid-thought and fly out of the door. How this will translate into regular life once the girls come back, I have no idea. But, it is a journey, right? I'm on the road to somewhere...it'll be interesting to find out where that is.

You Might Be a Writer If...

Has your son or daughter ever followed you around the house repeating every single word, gesture, expression of yours? Or have you seen your children do it to each other with the secret desire of driving each other nuts, and, of course, succeeding?

Imitation is the best form of flattery, they say. But what about when it's involuntary?

You might be a writer if...you're a better parrot than your kids.

Most writers will admit pretty quickly that inspiration for their characters sometimes comes from quirky aspects of their own personalities, emotions they've been through, even kids they knew when they were growing up, or know now. We writers do pilfer on occasion, which I disclaimed on a while back. But what about when it boomerangs back on us and we start imitating our own characters?

When I'm revising heavy sections of a work (this happened with Dragon Wishes), I sometimes go through a low myself, carrying the emotional weight of my characters around with me after I turn off the computer. It's not so fun, perhaps necessary to make good writing into unforgettable writing (or at least decent writing), but not one of my more favorite forms of imitation.

It's not the only form, though. Oh, no. Not even close.

I'm working on a YA set in late 19th century New Zealand, and have been for the last 13 months. I've eaten, slept, drank, read, written and pretty much been in 19th century New Zealand for over a year. I even went to the modern day version for real in November 2008. I really did my research. Really went to live in the moment. It was well beyond 'imitation.' It bordered on total immersion. The imitation came later.

I started saying, "eh" at the end of my sentences. I have to say, it is a Canadian thing. Only, I'm not from Canadian, so I wasn't exactly sure why I was suddenly doing it. And I couldn't stop. My husband teased me about it. My daughers laughed. But it was my seven year old who got to the heart of the matter in perfect, no-nonsense kid fashion.

"I like how you talk like Charlie now," she said one afternoon after my umpteenth "eh" that day.

Charlie?

Who? What was she talking about?

Then it hit me. Charlie Mueller, the salty lighthouse keeper in my novel (Like any slightly obsessed writer, I've read my novel to my kids). Charlie's got this great "ye aren't the fastest ship in the harbor, are ye, laddie" kind of brogue accent. I really love writing his dialogue. I guess I love it so much, I started imitating it.

So what does all of this mean? Imitation is an occupational hazard?

I bet my kids would love to use that on me. "I have to imitate you, Mama. That's what kids do. It's an occupational hazard of being a kid."

How many moms would by that one? I know I wouldn't. Parroting really gets old after a while.

Uh-oh.

Does this mean my kids can threaten to send me to my room if I don't stop parroting Charlie right now?

I'm in trouble.

You Might be an Writer If...

I can't believe another week has gone rushing by. Blimey. (Can you tell I'm still in 19th century New Zealand?)

After last Friday's post, I came up with all kinds of...well, let's say "quirky" things we writers do. Here is another of my favorites:

You might be a writer if...you try out scene or plot scenarios on innocent, unsuspecting children.

I hang my head in admission. I do this to my children all the time. They are seven and nine and haven't caught on yet. God help me when they do. But until then, they are my real live guinea pigs.

I am ashamed to admit that I don't just stop there. If there is a kid in my car during carpool time, and I'm mulling over a plot issue, story idea, you name it, they may be asked for their opinion. Of course, the results are never what I'd expect. Never.

For instance, I was working on a pretty spunky character a while back, and I was trying to come up with a spunky reply to the classic parent question we all harass our kids with: "What they want to be when they grow up?" So, come carpool one morning, an SUV full of unsuspecting kids ranging from 2 to 7, I popped the question.

Most of the kids gave answers parents would more or less expect: photojournalist (7 year old boy), artist (my 6 year old daughter), I don't know (5 year old girl - today at 9, she still doesn't know. Probably grow up to be an insanely rich computer mogul), and then from my 3 year old daughter....silence. Nothing. Nada. Not even a peep.

Me: Honey, come on, what do you want to be?

Daughter: I don't know.

Me: Oh, you can come up with something.

Daughter: HUGE sigh. I wanna be a hot dog.

Hot dog????

Peels of laughter from all other kids in car.

Stunned silence on my part. I'd now completely forgotten the whole experiment thing I was doing because my kid wants to be a hot dog. A hot dog! She doesn't want to be the kid who sings the Oscar Mayer song. She doesn't even want to drive the funky hot dog car that tours the U.S. No, no. She wants to be the hot dog itself.

Me: Honey, you can't be a hot dog. (Yes, yes, I know, evil mother dashing her child's dreams and imagination at an early age, but, come on, she said she wanted to be a hot dog. I wasn't going for nuclear physicist at this point but at least something animate.) You have to be something alive.

Daughter: (HUGE sigh, not the I-don't-know-what-I-want-to-be sigh but the why-doesn't-my-mother-leave-me-alone sigh you'd expect from a teenage daughter, which made me wonder at that moment very much about what those upcoming years will be like for us.)
Oh, all right. I'll be an owl.

Me: (Stifled sigh. An owl? Well, at least it's a living thing.) Nothing else?

Daughter: (Adamantly). I want to be an owl!

I should disclose at this point that we were speaking in German, my husband's native language, and my youngest was having a hard time at that point understanding all of the German. What do you want to be? and What do you want to eat? are pretty similar, and maybe she mixed them up (which makes me worry for the owl).

Since then, I have learned from my all-too-honest carpool crew that I had the name completely wrong for my first picture book (it was changed before going to press), that if you are doing battle in the middle of the woods, your wand should shoot out a few squid for good effect. And that, when pressed to choose, my kids would rather a parent be killed off in a story than a dog. They expressed regret at this decision, but stayed firm. Not even bribes of chocolate could change their minds.

You'd think I'd have learned after that last doozy of a response. I haven't. I still ask them all sorts of things, but I do make sure the dog and I are no where close when it comes to issues of life or death. I'm only a parent after all.

It's the Little Things

"Something good happens each day. You just have to find it." - my wise mom


When I was working on my PhD (and rarely saw the light of day), these words became my mantra. Now, long past that grueling period, I still use the idea when life gets little overwhelming. It's the glass is half full approach. It brightens me up. And in the end, it really is the little things, isn't it?

A phone call from an old friend.

Three green lights in a row.

Getting the kids off to school on time. (That alone makes me giddy for hours!)

This week, it's been something I never would have thought possible. Elven magic.

Okay, my seven year old's version of elven magic.

Here's an example. We had our carpets cleaned after the holidays. Everything had to come off the floors and onto the beds, which for my kids' room means everything they own ends up on their beds. Nothing had been put back by the time the time they got home. I told them about the chaos and that I'd help them rearrange when they got ready for bed. They nodded, groaned a little, and then we all went about our afternoon activities. At some point, my youngest disappeared off my mom radar. It was quiet. Very very quiet. I knew she was in the house, and being a mom, I just hoped she wasn't getting into trouble.

Soon enough, she came and got me. Made me close my eyes. All thoughts of pandemonium flitted through my brain. What had she been up to? Wreaking more chaos in her sister's room? In her room?

When I saw what she'd done, my jaw dropped. It's one of those things a mother is never truly prepared for.

She'd cleaned her room. And here's the part that made me stagger. She cleaned up her sister's room too. Took everything from the beds - all the toys, Webkinz, instruments, and books, CDs, chairs! and carefully put them back where they belonged.

Still, it was the smile on her face that melted me heart. She was glowing.

I did the only thing a mom could do. I scooped her up and covered her in kisses.

This morning, she was at her elven magic again. She got the backpacks and shoes ready for school. She brought down hers and her sister's laundry. And then she "surprised" me.

I know those backpacks and shoes don't look like much, but for me, they're the image I'll tuck away in my heart and treasure for a lifetime.