The writing retreat

At the beginning of May, I attended a writing retreat up in the mountains of Southern California. Tahquitz Pines in Idyllwild, once a youth camp, has been refashioned into a wedding/resort destination. Its cabins, bunkhouses, and lodges still whisper echoes of Christian songs and children’s laughter.

The writing retreat is put on by the Southern California chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. A small group of authors who write middle grade and young adult fiction work in critique groups to improve their stories. Two literary agents and editors give their insights as part of the groups. In addition, attendees get one on one time with one of the industry professionals. Written critiques were purchased separately and given to the writers before the retreat. Time is set aside during the three day retreat for revision and writing time.

All of this sounds like a lot of work. But there were plenty of social activities. There were team building exercises, yoga, hikes, a pizza party by the fire pits, and a game night. Some writers went into the quaint town of Idyllwild to get stronger coffee or visit the bakery.

My favorite part was hanging out with other writers. Most of them don’t live near me, and the only time I see them in person is when we have our fall conference and this retreat. Being a writer means spending time in solitude and dealing with rejection. Sharing my stories with other writers encourages me to work harder. Spending time with other writers reminds me that we are all in this together. We can celebrate our writer friends’ victories and commiserate about the slow grinding machine of publishing.

When I come down from the mountains, my vision for my writing is clearer. Revising my stories seems less daunting. My words flow like Strawberry Creek, the rushing stream that runs through Idyllwild. I am encouraged and refreshed, ready to press on.

If you are a writer, I hope you take the opportunity to go to a writing retreat. In a world full of rejection, your writing family can be the hug you desperately need.

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Plans

My life was overflowing with tasks and errands. My husband and I were looking forward to getting away on a Harley overnighter weekend with old friends. We put a new windshield on Stoker, our Harley trike. He checked the tires. We both washed it. Our overnight luggage was packed. The weather looked like it was going to be perfect.

The morning of our trip, I got up early and made breakfast. I got dressed in part of my layers for the morning chill. When it was time for my husband to wake up, he told me about his horrible headache. We had to cancel. I texted our friends to let them know not to wait for us.

If you believe in God, you’d probably remind me God is in control. His plan was for us to miss our Harley trip. I trust God with my life, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed. In that moment, I was crushed. In the Bible, Proverbs 19:21 says, “Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”

My husband and I spent a quiet weekend together. It was perfect. We watched movies and talked. His headache got better. My creativity was recharged so I could work on my new book. It was the weekend we needed, not the weekend we had planned.

When I retired from teaching almost four years ago, I thought my book would find a publisher within the first year, and I’d be busy working with editors and planning my book launch. Within the first two years, I did sign with an agent, but still waiting on my book deal. That doesn’t stop me from reading craft books, going to writers conferences, and writing new books.

I have been given the gift of writing. Part of my purpose is to nurture that gift. I write children’s books to shine a light on truth so that future generations will find their way. I have no control over the publishing industry or any timing on my writing career. Unless I self-publish, I can’t plan when my book comes out. The only thing I can do is write.

There are many aspects of our lives we can plan. We can plan where to live, whether to marry, what type of career to pursue. But there are other events we would never plan like losing a job, losing a spouse, illness, and time of our death. I want to walk confidently through the events set before me, knowing behind it all is a greater plan than I could ever understand.

And I still make plans and fill my calendar, remembering that they are only written in pencil.

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The next thing

Ever since two of my books went on submission to publishers, I have felt like I was holding my breath. I knew nothing would probably happen right away. But I still checked my email five times a day. After the first full manuscript requests, I could barely think.

Weeks passed. Months passed. When I checked the Google sheet my agent set up, I could see some rejections with comments. More submissions went out. Those full manuscripts were still out there.

A year passed. Everyone who’s been through this tells you that you should be working on your next thing. Forget about submissions. You can’t control editors and acquisition meetings. Focus on your writing. I completed a new book and took it to my critique group.

In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself I needed to keep my writing time open. When my book was sold, there would be new rounds of revisions. I would be too busy to write anything new. With my mind reeling with possibilities for my debut book, it was hard to generate any new ideas.

More months passed. Maybe my books out on submission would end up dead. I needed to work on the next thing. Before I signed with an agent, I had more patience with the traditional publishing process. It took me six books to land my agent. Somehow, I had mistakenly thought that mean my publishing dream was nearing reality.

Another month passed. Finally, I released my illusion of control over my books. New ideas are flowing. When I lose myself in my newest project, I find myself again.

A creator must create. A writer must write. And no matter what happens, I move on to the next thing.

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Bedrest

I’ve always been the kind of person who rarely rests. My days are filled with checklists and preliminary tasks for bigger projects to come. My husband and I host a Bible study in our home each week. We ride our Harley with the HOGs on the weekends. We cheer at our grandkid’s sports games.

But when both of us came down with massive colds last week, our schedule came crashing down. Everything was cancelled. My schedule was deleted.

Except for bedrest. My only job was to get better. When I couldn’t stand remaining in bed any longer, I sat in my favorite chair in the living room, gazing out the window as the world continued without me. After the guilt for all the things I wasn’t doing had faded, I realized something.

I could take some time away from all the activities I was connected to and nothing would break. I took a deep breath. And another one. And started to enjoy my rest.

I started writing a new book. I read books. I sat and talked with my husband, never watching the clock. My mind relaxed. My heart snuggled up to the truth that it was okay for me to take a break from life.

A week passed, and my husband and I felt better. With renewed strength, I returned to my regular schedule. Sometimes an illness is just what you need to improve your health.

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Beach magic

A few weeks ago, I felt like I was getting sick. My throat was scratchy. My feet dragged. My responsibilities weighed me down. Since I had been busy nonstop since before Christmas, I prepared myself for being stuck in bed.

But we had a beach camping trip planned, so I took a deep breath (with a few coughs) and packed up the motorhome. Rain was looming on the forecast, but it’s as hard to get beach camping reservations as it is to win the lottery, so we decided to go anyway.

Fortunately we live only an hour from the beach so the journey there was brief. My husband set up our beach chairs and I hooked up the leads for our dogs. Platoons of pelicans soar over our heads. Waves shushed up on the shore. My body unclenched muscle by muscle.

After dinner, we went to bed and we both slept about twelve hours, only to be woken by the dogs needing to go outside. My throat felt a little better. I could breathe a little easier.

Three days passed quickly. We walked the beach with the dogs, drove to the harbor, sat by campfires. The last day, we woke to the pitter-patter of rain on our roof. It was time to go home.

When we got home, I felt whole again. No sore throat. No weariness. The magic of sea and sand and salt, had healed me.

You might not live near the coast. The healing power of nature might look like a lakeshore or a forest. When life weighs you down, remember to look up to the hills. Going into the woods might be the magic you need.

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How far would you go for football?

My friend, Heather Butchka, has a new contemporary YA book coming this summer. If you like football and small town dramas, this book will keep you up reading past your bedtime.

Presales are going on now. Support your local indie bookstore by clicking on one of the links below.

In the cutthroat world of Texas high school football, a scandal threatens to unravel East Pages High, a powerhouse program renowned for producing champions and drawing college scouts from across the nation. As rivalries intensify and buried secrets surface, one player, his cousin, and his girlfriend must decide how far they’ll go to protect the team, their futures, and the truth. In All For The Game, loyalty and betrayal collide under the Friday night lights.

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Little Shop of Stories in Decatur, GA: https://bit.ly/4hfLtfa

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The longest month of the year

Finally, we’ve reached the end of January, the longest month of the year.

This past month has been full of unplanned expenses from dental to house repairs. When I total it up, I spent more in January than I spent on Christmas gifts in December. February’s starting out strong though, with a major pool repair scheduled. As soon as I type this, I realize I should have no complaints. My house has not been destroyed by a wildfire or hurricane.

January smothered my creative productivity. My writing time was eaten up by phone calls, estimates, Home Depot runs, and bank transfers. It was difficult to find quiet moments to focus. Although we didn’t have snow storms, high winds whipped up my allergies and gave me brain fog. At night, I found little rest as my mind was burdened with my overflowing calendar entries.

I am extremely thankful to have the resources to deal with January’s problems. But I take a deep breath as I turn the calendar page. February is a month of love, remembered national heroes, and the Super Bowl. And for Southern California, refreshing rain.

Those who call ourselves writers often struggle to find time and energy for our craft. After all, there is no story without conflict. Some writers work full time jobs before coming home to take care of their families. Others are caretakers for their spouses or parents. Still others contend with their own health issues or past hurts.

But even when we have a January full of trials, we come back to our computers in February. While we still have breath, we write. Even when things fall apart around us.

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When rejection becomes inspiration

When I read the comments from an editor I respected and met during a writing retreat, I should have been discouraged. She agreed to read the full manuscript. I had high hopes. But when I opened the spreadsheet from my agent with all our submissions listed, the line with that editor was highlighted in red.

Rejected. But she gave lots of great feedback that threw light on misgivings I’d had about the story. And she was kind, acknowledging my zeal for the subject matter and my personal connection to the plot.

Suddenly, I was energized. I started back at the beginning of the story and cut out the first chapter. I smoothed out awkward dialogue and shortened description. I went deeper into my MC’s thoughts and emotions.

It’s going to take a while for me to get through the whole book, but I’m committed. Even though this is my fifth time editing it, the story is worth it. It was worth a rejection with an explanation, something I rarely get these days.

Creating a book is a collaborative effort. A rejection can sometimes be the catalyst I need.

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The magic of feeling “meh”

After the whirlwinds of the holiday season are swept away, I find fewer excuses to avoid writing. I call myself a writer, and there comes a time when I actually need to write. But the muse of January likes to doze and offers little help to rouse me from my warm bed.

There’s writing work to be done. Currently, I’m in the middle of revisions on a YA fantasy novel. And I’ve outlined a new MG book. But it’s dark and cold at 5:00 am. I can’t start anything without coffee. And I need to clean the house. And the dogs need a walk. My ambitions are lulled by solving the daily Wordle puzzle, cuddled up in my favorite chair. Hours pass. Maybe I’ll read instead.

It’s not physical. Unlike my friends, I’ve stayed healthy during the holidays. I’m not fighting a virus or recovering from the flu. However, I can’t escape the sluggish feeling I drag with me throughout the day. Not sick, but “meh.”

Part of the “meh” is waiting for decisions on my two books on submission. Full manuscripts were requested in November for both my YA and MG books. My agent assures me we could wait at least six months to hear anything. Or not get any response at all. After the excitement of signing with a literary agent and getting ready to send out my books, the process of being on submission is “meh.”

Followed by a lot of rush-rush if I’m lucky.

So here I am. Writing my blog instead of working on my book projects. Hopefully, my brain will kick into gear and I’ll have a productive writing day. But probably I won’t. Some words will find their way from my brain to my fingers to my laptop. Tomorrow I might read them and say, “Meh. I can do better.”

But somehow I press on, hoping something wonderful will get through. That’s my job after all. Writing down the words that must be written. Hoping to pull it all together into a book that will be published. Some future January, when I’m feeling “meh,” I can walk into a bookstore and sign copies of my book. The book I persisted to write even when I felt “meh.”

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If the house burns down tonight

“The smoke tries choking the pacific sun, we rocket down the road like we’re shot out of guns, and if the house burns down tonight, I got everything I need with you by my side. And let the rest burn.” from If House Burns Down Tonight by Switchfoot

Southern California is home to various creators, from writers, artists, performers, and film makers. We thrive on dramatic tones, discordant notes, despondent second acts. We love the rugged extremes of the Southern California landscape. But the privilege of mild winters and variety of terrain comes with a cost. Wildfires are one of them.

The chance of a wildfire reaching my home in the desert is slim, but never zero. Often the riverbed on the edge of my city catches fire and ash falls into my swimming pool. But my daughter’s family was evacuated from the mountains in August. My son was evacuated during the current fires. Neither lost their home. But they could have.

The answer to the question I know you are thinking is it’s worth it. It’s worth it to live in an awe-inspiring land where dreams can come true. It forces you to take stock of what is important in your life, and it’s never a building. If the house burns down tonight, I want my family and pets by my side. I want my friends to be there, too. Everything else can be replaced. Or maybe not. But at least I know what is truly valuable.

And let the rest burn.

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