The End...

The ending of Secrets Between Sisters has been quite challenging for me, and that's no secret. The book's been done for months. It has six endings. Each time I write the ending, I've come back to the story, reading it, re-reading it, unsatisfied...

One thing I knew for sure about the ending was that Carmella and Howie had to stay together (thank God). Face it, I'm a hopeless romantic. Carmella and Howie had to "live happily ever-after". But what troubled me was the decision Carmella had to make about the secret. Should she reveal it? Should she not? It's such a moral issue and it became very personal to me, as though I was giving one of my children moral advice. So every day, I sat down and wrote it. Then the next day, I'd sit down and re-write it.

Finally, last night I was trying to fall asleep, going over and over in my head what Carmella should do and why the heck I couldn't find it in me to write the ending that I felt happy with. Then, it dawned on me what my problem was. It wasn't the ending that was bothering me it was....the end... that was troubling me.

By ending this book, I have to say good-bye to these characters. As nuts as it sounds, these people feel real to me. They're my....well...co-workers. They've been a part of my life for years. So, I sat up and decided that I don't have to necessarily say good-bye. I just have to finish telling this one story. This one aspect of their life. Just as it is in real life, sometimes it's easier to hide from the truth and believe that this is not good-bye forever. It's just "so long, see you next time" type of thing.

So today, I wrote the last words. It was satisfying. It made me feel good. And it made me a little sad. And isn't it ironic, that I write a book about hiding from the truth, when in fact I have to hide from the truth to truly end it? Whoa.

To Critique or Not Critique, That Is the Question....

I recently attended a workshop that revolved around writing and finishing a novel. We had the option of signing up for a critique group during this weekend.  Much to my surprise it was a great experience.  Invaluable, in fact.  But even still, the topic of critiquing leaves me feeling like I want to rant.

Luckily, the people that I was in the critique group were all fantastic.  They gave criticism, but constructive to the point that I find some of their opinions have really helped my work.  In fact, they were nice enough NOT to say right out loud, to my face, "That's a stupid secret!"  When I unveiled the secret surrounding my story.  Instead, they gently offered their opinion that maybe I find something more....well...secretive...exciting...um...even interesting??  This feedback lead me to go back to the hotel, have a stiff drink and realize they were dead on right. My secret sucked.  Big time!  

In the car the next morning, while hubby was driving me to my workshop, I told him about the secret, about how the group politely said it sucked.  His response: When did you write that???? That's REALLY stupid!! You can think of something better than that!  (Did I mention that he's always brutally honest with me?)

Luckily, the secret is something that even I haven't known the truth of up until this point, so changing it only requires the rewrite of the last few chapters (drop in the bucket at this point).

So I went home and got to thinking up a brand new one. I went up to my bedroom and decided I was going to lie there, like a person on a psychiatrist couch and think of something really good! 

It took me all day Sunday, but I did it. 

(By the way, I ran it by hubby....he loved it.)

Now, don't get me wrong, this critique experience was not a walk in the park (I'm using a cliche..If I ran this blog posting by a critique group, they'd hang me by my toenails).  There were some suggestions that I flat out refuse to even entertain.  Nope.  I know it in my heart.  I change that, I change my character, I change the story, and I'm not doing it.  Let's be honest, comments like that as easy as they are to throw out of your mind, can irritate the living crap out of you.  

What's not easy to throw out of your mind (and still irritate) are the comments/suggestions that you're not really sure about.  Those were and will be tough to deal with.  These are the decisions that require a writer to dig deep and totally make a decision based on gut, inner voice.  

So of course with all this, I got to thinking philosophically about it.  What does it say about a person who is able to pour their deepest, innermost intimate thoughts and feelings out on paper and then be....criticized?    

I guess that's the nature of artists...

Or is it the nature of human beings?  

Maybe being critiqued is the only way we know how to learn?  School is like one big critique session, isn't it?   And then we graduate and get a job.  And what happens in our jobs:  We work hard, put forth a great amount of effort just to have a "boss"  give us a review, telling us what we do well and what we need to improve.  Sounds like a critique to me...

So maybe my rant isn't worth raving about.  Maybe I've just been feeling too sensitive, too impatient, too possessive of my work.  

Okay, I can live with that... 

All On A Plane Ride

There's no question that I'm not alone in having to face the fear of flying.  I've recently returned from a trip out to northern California to visit my brother and pay a brief visit to my cousin who just moved there.

I was fortunate to have an extremely smooth flight (not always my case, but that's another story altogether) coming back to Chicago and it was during that time I began to dig deep into the final chapters of my novel.  The final chapters that will rock poor Carmella to the core and force her to finally facer her life head-on and make some life-changing decisions.  While pondering all this I came to a conclusion:

You have to let go of who you are in order to discover who you can become.  

Not a small task.....

Especially not small for Carmalla, who is suddenly faced with an identity crisis.  What if everything you thought you were turned out to be false?  Everyone who was close to you wasn't really who you thought they were, and in the end, they emotionally deserted you, leaving you completely and utterly alone. What would you do?  Carmella will discover a family secret that will change how she sees everyone in her family and most importantly, how she sees herself. 

If she chooses to allow herself to change into who she wants to be, it will mean starting over with no one in her corner, and she'll have to find the strength and the guts to forge ahead - alone. This won't be easy for Carmella, as one of her big fears in life is loneliness and isolation.

And aren't we all a victim of our own fears in some way?  How many times do we make a decision based on fear of rejection or isolation?  And what about other fears, such as flying?  Do we face it and get our sorry self on that airplane?  Or run away from it, denying ourselves whatever lies ahead for us on the other end of that runway?  How many times does a fear of something or someone render us paralyzed? 

I'm glad I faced my fear of flying and in doing so felt as vulnerable as Carmella.  Facing the fear wasn't so great, but during the quiet moments where fear bubbled beneath me, I dug deep, hoping to find some questions, some answers and some insights into ever-perplexing notion of the human condition.

Cross Training

So my hubby is about five weeks away from running the Chicago Marathon.  Big, huge challenge to say the least.  As he's been training for his huge challenge, I continue on with my own challenge of writing the greatest YA novel of all times (NO PRESSURE IN OUR HOUSE).

He spoke a few times about his "cross training" that he does, and it occurred to me a few days ago how important that concept might be in terms of being a good (okay fabulously great) writer.  Athletes cross-train all the time, and although I practice writing in various genres, I didn't really think about how vital it may be to get out there and do some other forms of art like painting or drawing, or dancing or music...you catch my drift.

I turned to one of my favorite experts on creativity, Julie Cameron who touches on this in one of the first chapters of her book, Artist's Way by suggesting that creatives have an "artist date", wherein you would block out some time once a week and do something to nurture your "inner artist" or "creative child".  In other words, go out and have some fun.  Then she goes on to explain how the artist brain "is the sensory brain:  sight and sound, smell, taste and touch."  I must admit, after baking a few pies from scratch and decorating sixteen batches of Christmas cookies, I tend to feel creatively rejuvenated.

This past week, although I didn't paint, draw, dance or sculpt anything, I did block off time on my calendar to walk the dog.  Depriving myself of this daily ritual over the summer (due to the kid factor) I've missed that routine, and realize how beneficial it is to my writing.  Walking the dog helps me reflect on the day's writing and see changes or what needs to come next in the story.   I've also added a tip this week from novelist, Les Edgerton to listen to music that fits into my novel's story and characters while I walk.  

This weekend, I've decided to block out some time and paint some antique milk jugs that I've been meaning to get at for about oh, nine or ten years.  If I don't get to that, for sure I'm going to the local Irish fest to soak up some good Irish music, dancing and fun. What are some things you do to creatively cross-train?  

    

An Unoccupied Life

As summer winds down and my kids get ready to embark on a new year in school, new classes, new adventures and new growing and learning experiences, it brings me to examining my own life and what I'd like to do to renew and rejuvenate it.  And with that, I came upon the topic of purpose. 

I think life can be really tough when we've either lost - or are looking for - or even given up on finding some meaningful purpose in our lives.  I'm grateful that my (our) generation of parents understand how important it is for kids to have something outside of school to do that they're passionate about so in essence, they feel like they have a purpose in life.  (My 16 year-old character Carmella deals with finding a purpose in her life).

So what if we don't have a life of purpose and meaning?  What happens then?  Is our life considered unoccupied?  And how many people go through life without realizing they didn't have a purpose at all?  Or what if someone thinks they've found their purpose and then realizes when it's too late that the purpose they found isn't really a true purpose at all?   

And then there's the question of happiness?  Does having a purpose guarantee happiness?  Is happiness solely dependent on feeling like you have a purpose in life?  Or does true happiness lie in a love of self?  (Going back to the love topic which I have yet to figure out)  And does love of self help give someone a positive attitude?  Maybe everything boils down to one thing: attitude.

There are several books out there on all of this, and I think back to my early twenties when I discovered Norman Vincent Peale.  I wasn't all looking to find God or anything,but I liked his theory about constantly talking positively to yourself.  From what I understand, his whole theory on positive thinking stemmed from a desire to change is own attitude about himself and his life.  If you're familiar with him you'll remember his P.M.A. (Positive Mental Attitude) theory.    Here's a quote from him:  

"Any fact facing us is not as important as our attitude toward it, for that determines our success or failure."

And on the topic of attitude, we can't forget to look towards President Lincoln:

"Every man over 40 is responsible for his face.  Who you are and how you think can be read in your face."

Love

The other day I was in the midst of digging deep into the minds of my characters, and with that, dug deeper into my own mind, my own soul.  Love was the topic at hand one mid morning, mid-way into one of my scenes.  I stopped for a second to reflect on such a common, simple subject and in doing so, realized how uncommon and complex it could be.  

In creating the love connection between Carmella and Jeremy, I want to  portray a really strong connection, a truly passionate real-life love story.  But, in knowing my characters and where they've evolved from, I wondered about the nature and nurture thing.  Can I have a character that hasn't really experienced love in her life be able to turn around and express it to another human being?   And what about Jeremy?  Well, he's experienced a higher quality of life so far and his father is supposed to be a psychiatrist, so I'm comfortable giving him the ability to love. But Carmella?  She's had some bad luck in her short sixteen years on earth.

Anyhow,  I got to thinking....what if  we're born with an small innate ability to love and the rest is learned?  Or is it all learned?  What if one is raised with a sense of love that may seem real to the parties involved but in effect, it's all just a bunch of hot air?  Does that person go through life unable to truly love or be loved?  And of course the question arises, what if a person doesn't love themselves?  Some theories suggest (The late, great Leo Buscaglia devotes a whole chapter on this) without a love of self, you cannot possible love another.

We've all heard the Corinthians' take on love:  "Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous, or conceited, or proud.....love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable...."  That haunts me when I'm having a bad day and I certainly have been ill-mannered and selfish and irritable.  Does that mean that for those moments, love has left the building??  

Or how about the movie Love Story where Ryan O'Neil says, "Love means never having to say your sorry."  Really?  Is that true?

Anyhow, at the very least, Mr. Buscaglia set my mind at ease by confirming my suspicions that love is not a simple  subject AT ALL.  Quite the contrary.  Apparently, it's even so out there in terms of trying to explain, that most psychologist and sociologists avoid the subject completely. Trying to explain it in relation to human behavior they say is impossible.   Good.  I'm off the hook.

True love.  When do we know we have it?  Is there true love and false love and something in between?  Is true love about being lucky enough to find it?  Does luck have anything to do with love?  Is there true love and then settling?  Is it possible to pass up a chance of experiencing true love?  How are we supposed to be logical about our emotions? Could we find the answer to these questions by polling couples married for a hundred years?  Is the answer buried in their lives, their experience?  

Where is the answer?

Stay tuned, Batman...

(FYI - I'm skipping over the love scene until I get this one straight in my head). 

   

Sometimes We've Got to Face It

There's a fine line between what we want to do and what we have to do.  As a writer, I've unconsciously been trying to avoid writing about a death in our family, and in turn, unable to come to the keyboard to work on my book or to post in this blog.  I made a promise to myself and my readers that this blog was to be a place where raw honesty and personal/professional growth was to take place.   So, last night as I dozed off, I realized that if my blog was to continue, if I was to continue as a writer, I had no choice.  I have to write about what's on my mind.  This is not what I want to do, but what I have to do.  

It was not a shocking unexpected loss, but tragic.  Cancer was the cause.  Suffering was the effect.  And it was the suffering that everyone who loved this person can't seem to comes to terms with because the magnitude of it was so great.  The experience rattled us all to the core, questioning our beliefs in a higher power, our beliefs in modern medicine, and our beliefs in ourselves and our very purpose on this earth. 

It's within our human condition that we expect severe torturous suffering only reserved for  the evil on this earth.  And when this is not the case, we can't help but constantly try to rationalize it. Why?  All day long, it rings in the ear.

As we witnessed the suffering, we also witnessed an example of undeniable strength of character.  In the face of death, in the face of suffering, in facing the worst possible last days that anyone could imagine, my uncle did it with grace and courage.  So much, that in between bouts of excruciating pain, he insisted that my husband take his business suits that he certainly won't be needing anymore.

One of the last conversations I had with my uncle was on Easter Sunday when he told be the truth about the dogs on the highway.  He kidded me about being "too damn sensitive".  He's right.  I am too sensitive.  

My heightened sense of sensitivity has fueled my emotional fires and in the past few weeks I've been completely consumed with feelings of loss, regret, grief, remembering other family members that have gone and that I miss on a daily basis.  

My routine, my sense of self, my life has been shattered to the point that my daughter commented on the fact that I was shopping.  (I hate shopping).  "What's up with that?"  She asked me.  "I don't know.  I can't write.  So I'm shopping."  was my reply with a shrug of my shoulders.

Sick of shopping, of avoiding myself and my thoughts, I've come back to the keyboard and as I feel a sense of normality returning, I know that what was normal a few months ago is gone.  A new normal is emerging, and it's time to face it.  

It's not what I want to do but what I have to do.