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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Is this the new year?

“Is this the New Year or just another night? Is this the new fear or just another fright? Is this the new tear or just another desperation?” from Switchfoot “The Blues”

As I roar into 2025, with all its continuing responsibilities, joys, terrors, and moments of wonder, I pause to to consider. What will be “new” about this year? There are numerous possibilities. Some I hope for while some I dread.

Is this the year I publish my first children’s book? Two of my book babies are out on sub (sitting in editors’ email boxes, waiting judgment). I try not to think about this too much. Instead, I furiously pound the keys on my laptop, creating new stories. One of my babies will make it into the world someday.

This will be the year my mother’s condo will be sold, finishing that chapter in her life. Sorting through her possessions, saving treasures for grandkids, will take time and many boxes. For the past two years, she’s stayed with either my husband and me or my brother and his wife. Mom said good-bye to my dad a few years ago and now will say good-bye to their home. At 91 years old, she’s given up much of her old life but gained more time with her kids and great-grandtwins.

As I begin to plan camping trips and Harley overnighters for this year, I realize these events are all written in pencil. One lesson God has taught me well over the past few years is that grand plans can be easily cancelled by emergencies. Since the pandemic, I’ve learned to hold my plans loosely.

However, that doesn’t release me from the responsibility to plan. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that if you don’t plan anything, nothing happens. Instead of waiting for friends to call me, I call them and set up times to get together. As I march through the life I’ve been given, time with friends is fleeting. My husband and I have said good-bye to many friends, through death and moving away. We enjoy sharing Harley rides, lunches, dinners, and game nights with the people God’s put in our path. Hopefully, we can get them to laugh and encourage them a little.

Is this the new year? It can be. It will be. And I can’t wait to see what will happen next.

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Thanksgiving before Thanksgiving

As I transferred my frozen turkey from the freezer to the fridge, I checked it off on my mental To Do list. That list has occupied prime space in my mind usually reserved for writing.

There’s still some writing going on. I’m still in revisions on my latest project. But the creative flow has slowed down.

But taking a writing break is a good thing. I need to live more life to write about. More family lore to steal and change names. More vacation stories to use as settings for future projects.

So I’m thankful for Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years.

Hope your holidays are wells of inspiration for you, too.

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On submission

When your precious children, birthed after years of tears and struggle {otherwise known as your unpublished manuscripts), are out on submission, it feels like you’re in a nightmare. You know the one that cycles over and over again. Every time you reach for the exit door, it opens into darkness. Cruel laughter taunts you. Who do you think you are? You can’t even write a clever Instagram caption.

For years, I knocked on agents’ Querytracker doors, attended writers conferences, and scrolled through MSWL. If I had a literary agent, they would champion my books to editors and escort me through the publishing process. Within months, I would be able to walk into a bookstore and secretly sign copies of my book on their shelf. Kids would cheer me at my school assemblies when I talked about the joys of creating stories.

“I only need one yes.”

That was my whispered prayer when rejection after rejection hit my inbox. Then five books later, when I had almost given up, I got a phone call. And a Microsoft Teams video meeting.

Tia became my agent. After a few rounds of cleanup edits, we started the waiting game again.

“We only need one yes.”

First we sent out my MG novel. A couple of editors wanted to read it. More rejections. The MG market was soft. Then Tia and I revised my YA novel and sent it out. A few editors wanted to read it. More rejections.

“We only need one yes.” But the waiting is a nightmare. Even though I’m working on new projects, there is a certain space in the back of my mind where I hope for the yes. And worry about the no.

Maybe you’re like me, trying to launch your writing career. No matter where you are on your journey, keep pushing forward.

You only need one yes.

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Creepy Holiday Stories to Keep You Up at Night

As if worrying about the Christmas feast and visiting relatives wasn’t enough, you can cuddle up by that fireplace and read some creepy short stories from another great anthology edited by Knight Publishing. My story, “Homeless for the Holidays,” is included:

What would a homeless man do when he realizes he’s an exiled faery who needs to complete a heroic task to regain admittance to the Winter Court? Kill a little girl’s brother, of course.

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The quiet creative zone or what happens after you sign with an agent

For the last eight years, one of my writing goals has been to find a literary agent. Last October, in a surreal moment on my birthday, I got “the call.” Actually, in our post COVID world, it was a request for a Microsoft Teams virtual meeting.

It was really happening.

At the meeting, we talked about ourselves, our dreams, my book. Then Tia Mele made me an offer of representation. Because I still had my book out with other agents, I told her I’d get back to her after I notified them.

After I’d received prompt responses from the other agents, I made my decision. In October 2023, I became an agented author.

I went through two rounds of editing, and then Tia created a Google spreadsheet with the publishers she was sending my book to, similar to my querying spreadsheet. But my querying was done.

Now it was my agent’s turn.

After spending years researching agents, revising my query, synopsis, and pitch, it was someone else’s responsibility.

Now I was free to focus on my writing. At first, it felt weird. Like I should be doing something. In the back of my mind, I realize it’s the calm before the editing storm. But it feels good to take a breath and have more creative time.

If you’re still in the querying trenches, take heart. With a lot of hard work and a little courage, you will find the right person to champion your work.

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Happy Book Birthday to me and my friends

There is a chill in the air. Something is coming.

Change is coming.

It’s a time to celebrate. It’s a time to hide.

It’s a time to get ready for the things we don’t expect.

It’s time to open up the Autumn Breezeway.

Get your ebook or paperback now:

https://books2read.com/u/4EpjEe

Paperbacks at Amazon or Barnes and Noble:

https://www.amazon.com/Particular-Passages-Breezeway-Steve-Ruskin/dp/1628690631

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/particular-passages-steve-ruskin/1144161402

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Message in a bottle

Waiting for a query reply is like being stranded on a desert island after you’ve sent out messages in bottles. As the waves continue to crash onto the shore, you squint against the blazing sun to scan the horizon. Hoping to see the glint of a returning bottle.

Or you check your email box. Twenty times a day.

Experienced writers advise you to start a new project. Ignore the fact that somewhere, someone is looking at your synopsis and deciding whether you’ll fit into their client list. If they even read it. Waves of anxiety crash against your overconfidence. Maybe your book wasn’t ready. Maybe your critique group doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.

Maybe your voice doesn’t matter.

This world doesn’t seem friendly anymore. Social media isn’t fun when every comment you make could be used against you. All your writer friends are being published. Everyone in your family is being published, even if they’re not writers.

Even a message asking for revisions would be a victory.

All you can do is on the beach, watching the waves crash against your dreams. Then you notice a seagull creeping up on the sand. It stares at the sandwich in your hand, cocking its head back and forth. The bird hops a little closer, reminding you of that boy in sixth-grade, the one who always wolfed down the hated liverwurst sandwich Mom packed for you.

Ideas flood your mind. Jumping up, you brush off sand and head to your laptop. As you furiously type away, you can still barely hear the waves in the background. You’ll check your email box later, but for now, the magic still works.

Then a bottle washes up on the sand.

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The Squirrel on the Wire

I have sassy squirrels in my neighborhood. The past few days I’ve had to bring my border collie, Davey, inside the house in the morning because he can’t stop barking at the tiny creatures.

The homes in my block were built in the late 1940s, back in the days when trash trucks picked up your cans from a network of back alleys. These narrow roads provide the route for our electric, phone, and cable since they were put in before the days of buried lines.  

Squirrels love to use electric lines as their personal bridges between the trees in our backyards. Davey notices everything, including the furry animals passing over his head. They cause him to bark like a vicious wolf since he believes the alley and its airspace are part of our property.

This makes the squirrels bolder, as they sit directly above Davey’s head, staring at him and twitching their tails. How they manage to balance on the wire is beyond my understanding. It’s fun to watch Davey and the squirrels interact, except for the part where he’s waking up the whole neighborhood.

Davey always barks and jumps at the squirrels, even though he never can reach them. He never gets discouraged. He never gives up. Even if he never gets his teeth on one fluffy tail, he will always try.

Seeking to get my first book traditionally published is like that. Those book deals sit up on the electric wire, taunting me with their advances, book tours, and international rights. There I am, on the ground, barking to get an agent or editor’s attention. Every day I get up, check my email for requests for pages. After sending pages, I stare at my phone, waiting for the Call.

Every day is the same. The squirrels tease Davey. He barks like a wild dog. My email inbox fills with rejections. The Call never comes.

It would be easy to get discouraged. No one would blame me for giving up. But I’m inspired by my border collie’s dedication to his job. He knows what he’s born to do.  

Even if I never get my teeth on a book deal, I will always try.

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