Robin Puelma's Blog
August 9, 2018
Grief. A memory.
In my dad’s last year, we traveled twice to Vegas. Once for the Super Bowl, a tradition dating back four years. And once in May, to celebrate Dad feeling well.
His health was surprisingly steady. He recovered from Whipple surgery. His cancer threats remained low. And the doctor cleared him another month from chemo. We were ecstatic. We zipped back to Vegas to celebrate.
I anticipated the same fun, the same tone, the same routine as our Super Bowl trip. After all, we were together. We were happy.
However, this trip was different. Whether I was naive or desperate to deny it, this trip was always going to be different. It came cloaked in a shadow impenetrable by desert sun.
We might never do this again.
Regardless, I cast that shadow aside and focused on the present. We strolled. We shopped. We gambled. We ate.
But on our last day, the shadow returned. We stopped at a Starbucks in our hotel for breakfast. Mom, Alejandro, and I sat at the far end of the lobby, and for some reason, Dad took to a couch a few feet away. There, his body sat limp. His arms bereft of muscle. His mouth solemn. His face carved in shadow. All warmth in his eyes, gone.
I saw all this. And I didn’t go to him.
I ask myself why I stayed. I even later apologized for it. Dad was a private person. When he was glum, he retreated behind a newspaper. I assumed this was one of those times. Let him be. He’ll be fine. But it wasn’t. It was different and none of us wanted to admit why.
He rallied that day. He smiled; we laughed. And the rest of the trip was spent roaming through hotel lobbies and placing chips on green tables.
I will never forget the way his body sat sunken on that couch. How his face revealed frown lines too deep to reverse. Today, I realize how embattled he was. How crippling that moment was. To us, it was the end of a trip. To him, it was the end.
When I asked him later if he wanted comforting, and he said yes, heat and nausea collided in my stomach. He had a need and I didn’t respond.
Today, my dad is whole and happy in heaven. I am confident he knew how much I loved him. The bond we shared throughout our lives overshadows that fleeting moment in Vegas. However, it taught me something. People are hurting and craving the comfort of others.
It’s hard to meet someone in their pain, isn’t it? We’re afraid to say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing. But the worst we can do? Is stay where we are. To comfort someone is dirty and confusing and scary. But it’s nectar to a hurting soul. It's as simple as a text. A call. A card. A meal. A hug. No matter your experiences, no matter your weaknesses, you have something to offer.
Whatever you do, don't stay seated.
His health was surprisingly steady. He recovered from Whipple surgery. His cancer threats remained low. And the doctor cleared him another month from chemo. We were ecstatic. We zipped back to Vegas to celebrate.
I anticipated the same fun, the same tone, the same routine as our Super Bowl trip. After all, we were together. We were happy.
However, this trip was different. Whether I was naive or desperate to deny it, this trip was always going to be different. It came cloaked in a shadow impenetrable by desert sun.
We might never do this again.
Regardless, I cast that shadow aside and focused on the present. We strolled. We shopped. We gambled. We ate.
But on our last day, the shadow returned. We stopped at a Starbucks in our hotel for breakfast. Mom, Alejandro, and I sat at the far end of the lobby, and for some reason, Dad took to a couch a few feet away. There, his body sat limp. His arms bereft of muscle. His mouth solemn. His face carved in shadow. All warmth in his eyes, gone.
I saw all this. And I didn’t go to him.
I ask myself why I stayed. I even later apologized for it. Dad was a private person. When he was glum, he retreated behind a newspaper. I assumed this was one of those times. Let him be. He’ll be fine. But it wasn’t. It was different and none of us wanted to admit why.
He rallied that day. He smiled; we laughed. And the rest of the trip was spent roaming through hotel lobbies and placing chips on green tables.
I will never forget the way his body sat sunken on that couch. How his face revealed frown lines too deep to reverse. Today, I realize how embattled he was. How crippling that moment was. To us, it was the end of a trip. To him, it was the end.
When I asked him later if he wanted comforting, and he said yes, heat and nausea collided in my stomach. He had a need and I didn’t respond.
Today, my dad is whole and happy in heaven. I am confident he knew how much I loved him. The bond we shared throughout our lives overshadows that fleeting moment in Vegas. However, it taught me something. People are hurting and craving the comfort of others.
It’s hard to meet someone in their pain, isn’t it? We’re afraid to say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing. But the worst we can do? Is stay where we are. To comfort someone is dirty and confusing and scary. But it’s nectar to a hurting soul. It's as simple as a text. A call. A card. A meal. A hug. No matter your experiences, no matter your weaknesses, you have something to offer.
Whatever you do, don't stay seated.
July 20, 2018
My happy place.
I was inspired to write this post after reading about James Aries' happy place on his blog. It's so sweet, how he describes his grandparents' cabin and the special meaning it holds. And it got me thinking. What's my happy place?
My happy place has changed over the course of the years. It's been various coffee houses in various cities. Bean Town (a small coffee house in the foothills of Sierra Madre) was one of the first that I can remember--it's where I spent most of my days and nights crafting The Missing Crimoire. Rickety tables; mismatched chairs; artsy wall hangings; and a list of teas I could never tire of made this cozy spot a favorite.
When we moved to Pasadena, I found myself gravitating towards Old Pasadena--our downtown area with all the shops and cafes. At the time, my husband was a store manager for that area's Starbucks. I spent numerous hours there writing The Naming of Colton Black. The store underwent a beautiful remodel, making the space feel metropolitan and inspiring. It was sleek; it dripped of city vibes; and it housed my husband when he wasn't home. Obvious win.
Lately, however, my happy place has shifted. While I will always adore writing in a coffee house--nothing beats the hustle and bustle of a city shop to me; the energy; the business; the yummy sweets and beverages--I've found myself gravitating towards a different type of location.
Home.
My happy place is my home. What I love so much about this space is the ambiance. Our personal style has grown over the years. And this one? Is my favorite. Bright light shines through our home; its open floor plan allows for various spots to sit and write. White kitchen; grey walls; herringbone floors. It speaks to my soul because it's a part of my soul. And isn't that what every happy place is?
I've never been one to write at home. It's either been too distracting or not inspiring enough. Now, because of God's goodness, we've created a space that inspires me to create. Whether that's sitting at our counter with a cup of coffee, in our office with my toes in our squishy rug, or on the couch beside the dog, I love writing at home.
Home, thank you for being my happy place.
Where's yours?
My happy place has changed over the course of the years. It's been various coffee houses in various cities. Bean Town (a small coffee house in the foothills of Sierra Madre) was one of the first that I can remember--it's where I spent most of my days and nights crafting The Missing Crimoire. Rickety tables; mismatched chairs; artsy wall hangings; and a list of teas I could never tire of made this cozy spot a favorite.
When we moved to Pasadena, I found myself gravitating towards Old Pasadena--our downtown area with all the shops and cafes. At the time, my husband was a store manager for that area's Starbucks. I spent numerous hours there writing The Naming of Colton Black. The store underwent a beautiful remodel, making the space feel metropolitan and inspiring. It was sleek; it dripped of city vibes; and it housed my husband when he wasn't home. Obvious win.
Lately, however, my happy place has shifted. While I will always adore writing in a coffee house--nothing beats the hustle and bustle of a city shop to me; the energy; the business; the yummy sweets and beverages--I've found myself gravitating towards a different type of location.
Home.
My happy place is my home. What I love so much about this space is the ambiance. Our personal style has grown over the years. And this one? Is my favorite. Bright light shines through our home; its open floor plan allows for various spots to sit and write. White kitchen; grey walls; herringbone floors. It speaks to my soul because it's a part of my soul. And isn't that what every happy place is?
I've never been one to write at home. It's either been too distracting or not inspiring enough. Now, because of God's goodness, we've created a space that inspires me to create. Whether that's sitting at our counter with a cup of coffee, in our office with my toes in our squishy rug, or on the couch beside the dog, I love writing at home.
Home, thank you for being my happy place.
Where's yours?
June 25, 2018
Fact or fiction: Ever wonder if some of my characters are based on real life people? Get ready to find out!
This might be a bit controversial--talking about who inspires my fictional characters. After all, you really only have one hero. But, it's a question worth exploring. Personally, I'd love to know who inspired Rowling's Harry, Tolkien's Sam, Orson's Ender, and Collins' Haymitch. Yes, often times characters evolve completely from the unknown. There's little to no attachment to anyone in real life. However, it's impossible not to draw from what we know. After all, writers are constantly told to "write what we know." And who better do we know than the people in our lives?
For me, it's natural for the heroes in my stories to resemble some part of me. Let me reiterate something--heroes are flawed. There are no perfect heroes. Which means, drawing from my own flawed existence is extremely helpful when creating these very complex characters. Take for instance, Breslin. She's an anxiety riddled, people-pleasing, introvert. When I wrote this character, I was going through some of the toughest mental health issues I've ever faced. To say Breslin is a part of me is an understatement.
But what about the others? The hero's best friends? Parents? Enemies? Antagonists? Well, here's a little reveal on who inspired who. Some may just surprise you!
FROM THE MISSING CRIMOIRE
Aberdeen Hall | TMC's aloof and loathsome villain. This was one of the most enjoyable characters to write. And you bet I based her off a real person. When I wrote TMC, I was discovering my love of writing. It was new to me, this skill. Yes, I had real cheerleaders in my life (professors, friends, classmates), encouraging me to write. But also real--downers. Enter Sophomore year. High school English. Mrs. Hall. A woman who somehow seemed to loath me. (Well. Loath is a harsh word. Dislike, maybe.) A woman who never shied away from reminding me my writing was mediocre. True, I wasn't the best writer in high school. But her discouraging comments didn't wax my love for the craft. (That was thanks to my junior English teacher. Who I LOVED.) So, when I needed to create a character full of loathing towards my hero Luke, I didn't hold back.
Austin Rivens | another antagonist in TMC. And this one? Is purely fictional. He's a renegade, rugged type. The kind of person who's seen things and done things you'd likely scorn him for. At 24, I'd never known someone like Austin. However, I'd seen enough movies, read enough books, to have a feel for a character that I'd like to create.
Alden Cashal | the adoring and wise professor in TMC. This one is part fiction part fact. One of my most favorite professors at Pepperdine was Dr. Collings. His passion for creative writing and the craft of prose inspires me to this day. When I wrote Cashal's character, I'm now 100% certain I was subconsciously weaving Collings' kind and whimsical approach to life through him.
Gravis Dromore | Luke's nemesis. Yes. You better believe I based this kid off of a high school crush gone awry. Down to his birthday, black hair, and chiseled face. Ah, to be young and heart broken. Teen angst is always a source for villains in future stories, no?
FROM THE NAMING OF COLTON BLACK
King Black | Breslin's father and ultimate antagonist in TNCB. In no way is King Black my own Father. He is 75% fiction and 25% a combination of people I know. When I wrote this story--and based Breslin so much on me--I worried people would assume her Father was my Father. It couldn't be any less true. My Father was tender-hearted and the biggest encourager of ME. King Black is the opposite. But, I will say, the realness of a daughter's desperate desire to be adored and loved by her Father is as true is at it comes. I was blessed to receive this when my Dad was alive.
FROM MARKED
(This is a manuscript I've completed yet not finalized. I love the story but feel stuck each time I go to edit it. Maybe one day, I'll get it out to you all to read!)
Oliver | the hero from MARKED. This sweet boy is merely 10-years-old but harbors a deep secret. (Don't all fantasy middle-grade novels start this way?) He's curious; intelligent; observant; and quick-witted. And based largely on my husband, Alejandro. True, when I first discovered Oliver, I didn't know my husband. The story came to me in a flash one day and for some reason, I wasn't in the right mindset to chase it. When it was time, there was Alejandro. His personality largely affected the development of Oliver.
Hope you enjoyed this reveal! Curious about any other characters in my books? Ask below and I'll let you know, fact or fiction!
For me, it's natural for the heroes in my stories to resemble some part of me. Let me reiterate something--heroes are flawed. There are no perfect heroes. Which means, drawing from my own flawed existence is extremely helpful when creating these very complex characters. Take for instance, Breslin. She's an anxiety riddled, people-pleasing, introvert. When I wrote this character, I was going through some of the toughest mental health issues I've ever faced. To say Breslin is a part of me is an understatement.
But what about the others? The hero's best friends? Parents? Enemies? Antagonists? Well, here's a little reveal on who inspired who. Some may just surprise you!
FROM THE MISSING CRIMOIRE
Aberdeen Hall | TMC's aloof and loathsome villain. This was one of the most enjoyable characters to write. And you bet I based her off a real person. When I wrote TMC, I was discovering my love of writing. It was new to me, this skill. Yes, I had real cheerleaders in my life (professors, friends, classmates), encouraging me to write. But also real--downers. Enter Sophomore year. High school English. Mrs. Hall. A woman who somehow seemed to loath me. (Well. Loath is a harsh word. Dislike, maybe.) A woman who never shied away from reminding me my writing was mediocre. True, I wasn't the best writer in high school. But her discouraging comments didn't wax my love for the craft. (That was thanks to my junior English teacher. Who I LOVED.) So, when I needed to create a character full of loathing towards my hero Luke, I didn't hold back.
Austin Rivens | another antagonist in TMC. And this one? Is purely fictional. He's a renegade, rugged type. The kind of person who's seen things and done things you'd likely scorn him for. At 24, I'd never known someone like Austin. However, I'd seen enough movies, read enough books, to have a feel for a character that I'd like to create.
Alden Cashal | the adoring and wise professor in TMC. This one is part fiction part fact. One of my most favorite professors at Pepperdine was Dr. Collings. His passion for creative writing and the craft of prose inspires me to this day. When I wrote Cashal's character, I'm now 100% certain I was subconsciously weaving Collings' kind and whimsical approach to life through him.
Gravis Dromore | Luke's nemesis. Yes. You better believe I based this kid off of a high school crush gone awry. Down to his birthday, black hair, and chiseled face. Ah, to be young and heart broken. Teen angst is always a source for villains in future stories, no?
FROM THE NAMING OF COLTON BLACK
King Black | Breslin's father and ultimate antagonist in TNCB. In no way is King Black my own Father. He is 75% fiction and 25% a combination of people I know. When I wrote this story--and based Breslin so much on me--I worried people would assume her Father was my Father. It couldn't be any less true. My Father was tender-hearted and the biggest encourager of ME. King Black is the opposite. But, I will say, the realness of a daughter's desperate desire to be adored and loved by her Father is as true is at it comes. I was blessed to receive this when my Dad was alive.
FROM MARKED
(This is a manuscript I've completed yet not finalized. I love the story but feel stuck each time I go to edit it. Maybe one day, I'll get it out to you all to read!)
Oliver | the hero from MARKED. This sweet boy is merely 10-years-old but harbors a deep secret. (Don't all fantasy middle-grade novels start this way?) He's curious; intelligent; observant; and quick-witted. And based largely on my husband, Alejandro. True, when I first discovered Oliver, I didn't know my husband. The story came to me in a flash one day and for some reason, I wasn't in the right mindset to chase it. When it was time, there was Alejandro. His personality largely affected the development of Oliver.
Hope you enjoyed this reveal! Curious about any other characters in my books? Ask below and I'll let you know, fact or fiction!
January 24, 2018
An interview. With myself. (I promise, it's cool)
Ever interested in the writing process of authors? Or in the rejection letters they receive? How they develop their characters? Who inspires them? Well, I'm here to explain it all. I was looking through my file folders (man, that sounds like an ancient phrase) and found questions I had answered for an interview that never got published.
Reading about other's successes is always inspiring--but reading about other's failures? Often times can inspire me the most. It helps me persevere; helps me know I'm not alone; helps me realize failure is apart of success. So, if this can inspire anyone, anyone at all, I'm happy to share. Hope you enjoy!
Were you ever turned down by publishers? If so, how did that affect you?
YES — For a year, I queried The Missing Crimoire to agents and publishing houses and received several rejections. All very nice—but all said no. I then queried The Naming of Colton Black to over 40 literary agents. Once again, I received rejection after rejection — this time, however, agents were more encouraging in their responses—“This is such a subjective field”; “Keep querying”; etc. One agent asked to see my entire manuscript, she liked it so much. But in the end, decided to pass.
Each no is ALWAYS hard to hear. Your work is such a personal representation of you, so any kind of rejection of your work feels like a rejection of you. But, I knew this was part of the journey. I knew that every writer has heard a no. And that all it takes is one yes. I think rejections also help you develop tough skin, which is most definitely needed in this industry.
While I decided to go the self-publishing route, I am still interested in and curious about traditional publishing.
Which authors inspired, and influenced, you the most?
Like many, J.K.Rowling has been a huge influence on my writing — how she created such a fantastical story with such depth and detail blows my mind. Not to mention her adoring characters. When I create new worlds, I’m always thinking about Rowling’s depth.
Orson Scott Card, hands down, has forever changed how I view and write internal character monologues / emotions etc. One of my favorite characters in literature is Ender; I never thought I’d feel such emotion for a young genius boy who fights battles in space. But. The way Scott reveals Ender’s character, desires, wants, I can’t help but fall in love with him.
And lastly, F. Scott Fitzgerald. I admire his poetic prose so much and aim to write not only interesting stories but to write them in a beautiful, melodic way. I am always trying to find the right cadence to my sentences; the right flow; the right sound—even if it’s a kid’s book.
How would your writing be different, if you hadn’t read their works?
Interesting question! I want to say my writing wouldn’t differ too much, but that’s probably a lie. These three authors helped me find my style; my voice. It was reading their works that lead me to know how exactly I wanted to write stories. Without them? I think that process would have taken much longer. I might not have discovered my style as quickly—or at all, for that matter.
How old were you when you started writing?
I was *old* in the “I want to be a writer” world—I was 18. I always loved drawing and spent my childhood creating characters through art. Not until I was a senior in high school did I start to enjoy writing. Then, when I began college (as an undeclared freshman), I received such praise for my writing from peers and professors. The amazing support gave me the confidence I needed to start my journey as a writer.
Do you have a favorite time of day to write?
I used to think night time, since I’m a night owl. But honestly? Any time of day works. Afternoons are a little tricky, since I’m usually most sluggish then. For me, it’s more about the ambiance. The space. Set me up in a coffee house in a big city with a mug of coffee, and I could write for days.
When you have an idea for a story, what is your first step in writing it?
When an idea hits me, I grab the nearest writing instrument and write everything down that’s flowing through my mind. I want to get as much of the original thoughts on paper/screen as possible. No time for editing. No time for anything but putting words down.
Was there ever a time when you felt like quitting writing at all? If so, what motivated you to keep going?
Yes! But I think knowing that who I am is a writer and if I quit, what then? I look at those times now — those “I can’t do this” times — and seem them as I need a break from whatever project I’m working on. Then, once that passes (and it always does), I feel recharged and motivated again. I don’t think I could ever stop writing. It’s as necessary as breathing.
What do you do to combat writers block?
Write through it! Often times I set either a page limit, a word limit, or a time limit on my writing days. And no matter what, no matter how I’m feeling; no matter if I’m inspired or not; not matter if the words come or they don’t, I force myself to reach that goal for the day. True, this doesn’t always happen. But there have been plenty of times I sat down to a 4-hour writing session and the writing didn’t happen until hour three. But had I let “writer’s block” determine my day, I would have missed out on some amazing prose!
Is there a certain person you turn to when you lack inspiration, or just want to brainstorm?
My husband. He has been the most fun and helpful person to brainstorm with! He’s not a writer, but he is a jazz musician so a lot of our processes and vocabularies cross over. He has such a great imagination and can see a story from a new perspective. His ideas are fresh; his words encouraging; and he’s easy on the eyes, which doesn’t hurt!
Can you remember any specific milestones in your life as a writer?
Every time I finish a first draft, I cry. There’s something so exhausting, so rewarding, so overwhelming when that moment comes. Along with those moments, I’d have to say the first time I saw my published book in my favorite bookstore. This blew my mind. I worked at that bookstore; met my husband there; and now have my books on its shelves. What??
To wrap it up, can you tell us your advice for your fellow writers, new or otherwise?
One of the greatest pieces of advice I received from an amazing professor of mine (who oversaw the Creative Writing department at Pepperdine University) was if you want to be a writer, write. I had contemplated on getting my MFA; he asked me what I wanted to do with my writing. “Write books,” was my answer. His reply? Then, just write.
I knew that it would take practice; that I wouldn’t get it right away; that I wouldn’t even know what I was doing. But if I kept at it, kept writing, I would get there. I would write books.
My other piece of advice is to always show up. No matter how little time you have, show up. If you schedule writing time, make sure you’re there. And stay there until your time is over. Like I said before, often times my best writing comes just minutes before my writing hour is up. Had I left? I never would have discovered some of the best plots/characters/dialogue that I’ve written.
Reading about other's successes is always inspiring--but reading about other's failures? Often times can inspire me the most. It helps me persevere; helps me know I'm not alone; helps me realize failure is apart of success. So, if this can inspire anyone, anyone at all, I'm happy to share. Hope you enjoy!
Were you ever turned down by publishers? If so, how did that affect you?
YES — For a year, I queried The Missing Crimoire to agents and publishing houses and received several rejections. All very nice—but all said no. I then queried The Naming of Colton Black to over 40 literary agents. Once again, I received rejection after rejection — this time, however, agents were more encouraging in their responses—“This is such a subjective field”; “Keep querying”; etc. One agent asked to see my entire manuscript, she liked it so much. But in the end, decided to pass.
Each no is ALWAYS hard to hear. Your work is such a personal representation of you, so any kind of rejection of your work feels like a rejection of you. But, I knew this was part of the journey. I knew that every writer has heard a no. And that all it takes is one yes. I think rejections also help you develop tough skin, which is most definitely needed in this industry.
While I decided to go the self-publishing route, I am still interested in and curious about traditional publishing.
Which authors inspired, and influenced, you the most?
Like many, J.K.Rowling has been a huge influence on my writing — how she created such a fantastical story with such depth and detail blows my mind. Not to mention her adoring characters. When I create new worlds, I’m always thinking about Rowling’s depth.
Orson Scott Card, hands down, has forever changed how I view and write internal character monologues / emotions etc. One of my favorite characters in literature is Ender; I never thought I’d feel such emotion for a young genius boy who fights battles in space. But. The way Scott reveals Ender’s character, desires, wants, I can’t help but fall in love with him.
And lastly, F. Scott Fitzgerald. I admire his poetic prose so much and aim to write not only interesting stories but to write them in a beautiful, melodic way. I am always trying to find the right cadence to my sentences; the right flow; the right sound—even if it’s a kid’s book.
How would your writing be different, if you hadn’t read their works?
Interesting question! I want to say my writing wouldn’t differ too much, but that’s probably a lie. These three authors helped me find my style; my voice. It was reading their works that lead me to know how exactly I wanted to write stories. Without them? I think that process would have taken much longer. I might not have discovered my style as quickly—or at all, for that matter.
How old were you when you started writing?
I was *old* in the “I want to be a writer” world—I was 18. I always loved drawing and spent my childhood creating characters through art. Not until I was a senior in high school did I start to enjoy writing. Then, when I began college (as an undeclared freshman), I received such praise for my writing from peers and professors. The amazing support gave me the confidence I needed to start my journey as a writer.
Do you have a favorite time of day to write?
I used to think night time, since I’m a night owl. But honestly? Any time of day works. Afternoons are a little tricky, since I’m usually most sluggish then. For me, it’s more about the ambiance. The space. Set me up in a coffee house in a big city with a mug of coffee, and I could write for days.
When you have an idea for a story, what is your first step in writing it?
When an idea hits me, I grab the nearest writing instrument and write everything down that’s flowing through my mind. I want to get as much of the original thoughts on paper/screen as possible. No time for editing. No time for anything but putting words down.
Was there ever a time when you felt like quitting writing at all? If so, what motivated you to keep going?
Yes! But I think knowing that who I am is a writer and if I quit, what then? I look at those times now — those “I can’t do this” times — and seem them as I need a break from whatever project I’m working on. Then, once that passes (and it always does), I feel recharged and motivated again. I don’t think I could ever stop writing. It’s as necessary as breathing.
What do you do to combat writers block?
Write through it! Often times I set either a page limit, a word limit, or a time limit on my writing days. And no matter what, no matter how I’m feeling; no matter if I’m inspired or not; not matter if the words come or they don’t, I force myself to reach that goal for the day. True, this doesn’t always happen. But there have been plenty of times I sat down to a 4-hour writing session and the writing didn’t happen until hour three. But had I let “writer’s block” determine my day, I would have missed out on some amazing prose!
Is there a certain person you turn to when you lack inspiration, or just want to brainstorm?
My husband. He has been the most fun and helpful person to brainstorm with! He’s not a writer, but he is a jazz musician so a lot of our processes and vocabularies cross over. He has such a great imagination and can see a story from a new perspective. His ideas are fresh; his words encouraging; and he’s easy on the eyes, which doesn’t hurt!
Can you remember any specific milestones in your life as a writer?
Every time I finish a first draft, I cry. There’s something so exhausting, so rewarding, so overwhelming when that moment comes. Along with those moments, I’d have to say the first time I saw my published book in my favorite bookstore. This blew my mind. I worked at that bookstore; met my husband there; and now have my books on its shelves. What??
To wrap it up, can you tell us your advice for your fellow writers, new or otherwise?
One of the greatest pieces of advice I received from an amazing professor of mine (who oversaw the Creative Writing department at Pepperdine University) was if you want to be a writer, write. I had contemplated on getting my MFA; he asked me what I wanted to do with my writing. “Write books,” was my answer. His reply? Then, just write.
I knew that it would take practice; that I wouldn’t get it right away; that I wouldn’t even know what I was doing. But if I kept at it, kept writing, I would get there. I would write books.
My other piece of advice is to always show up. No matter how little time you have, show up. If you schedule writing time, make sure you’re there. And stay there until your time is over. Like I said before, often times my best writing comes just minutes before my writing hour is up. Had I left? I never would have discovered some of the best plots/characters/dialogue that I’ve written.
May 3, 2017
A day in the life.
Anyone care what the day in a life of a writer looks like?
Yes? Maybe?
Most of the time, it's rather boring. I think people have this idea that writers wake up, filled with creative ideas and spend the next several hours typing furiously away on a laptop, in a cafe, marveling at how brilliant we are. A draft is produced, perfectly, of course. And then we spend the rest of the afternoon lallygagging through a park.
I won't lie. Sometimes. SOMETIMES, it's like that. On the rarest occasion, this is what my day looks like. And it's amazing.
BUT.
Here's what a typical day looks like.
I wake up, a mess. I'm NOT a morning person (and those who have lived with me can verify this) so no matter how much sleep I've gotten the night before, tearing myself out of bed is an ordeal. I will say, having a dog has helped me get up at a normal hour--after all, no one wants the dog's bladder to explode.
Once I'm up and have taken the dog out, I'll make the breakfast (it's been smoothies lately) and the coffee (always Starbucks) and spend a bit of time with the Lord. If I'm to create, and he created me, I need his guidance, his help.
Next, I'll hop on my laptop; check email; check self-pub book stats; and do some social media "shtuff"; this includes everything from posting on Instagram to writing a new blog post to connecting with followers to responding to emails (I don't get many). I can quickly fall into the black hole of the Internet if I don't stop myself.
So I try. And fail. And try again to ready myself for the writing. I typically pour my second (or third) cup of coffee and start. Since I'm going through the 90 Day Novel again (PRAISE THIS BOOK IN ALL ITS WRITING GOODNESS), I set aside two solid hours of working on my new story.
Now, don't get fooled. This is an ugly process. It looks rather boring. And lonely. And lame at times. I sit, pen in hand, journal beneath it, and write stream-of-conscious exercises for the next two hours. All the while sipping coffee, peeking at emails, slipping onto social media. Basically wasting time when I should be writing. Getting distracted is my (and probably every writer's) biggest enemy.
Somedays I get in a solid two hours. Sometimes I get distracted. I'm not proud of it. But that's the truth. Because, like I said, the distractions begin. The dog. (Play with me.) The laundry. (Fold me.) The dishes. (Clean me.) The beds. (Make me.) The groceries. (Buy me.) Being a homemaker is part of my "job" (I love it), so I can often put those responsibilities above writing.
When I do manage to power through, shutting the door on those distractions, I feel pretty pleased. I'm in the beginning stages of creating my story--which means, the excitement is high. The love of the unknown is thrilling. There's a bit of extra magic in this stage of novel creating. Less self-doubt. More imagining.
I know this part won't last. That the magic will fade. And the work aspect will kick in hard. Which is what isn't talked about much. There is boring work in writing. There is fog and muck in there too.
But if I can remind myself of how good it feels to finish a first draft, to hold that story in my hands, I push past the junk and write.
The rest of the day? Freelance, when I have it. Work-out, when I do it. And Meal prep, when I'm completely on top of my game. Then, when the husband comes home, the laptop turns off. And relaxing begins.
Yes? Maybe?
Most of the time, it's rather boring. I think people have this idea that writers wake up, filled with creative ideas and spend the next several hours typing furiously away on a laptop, in a cafe, marveling at how brilliant we are. A draft is produced, perfectly, of course. And then we spend the rest of the afternoon lallygagging through a park.
I won't lie. Sometimes. SOMETIMES, it's like that. On the rarest occasion, this is what my day looks like. And it's amazing.
BUT.
Here's what a typical day looks like.
I wake up, a mess. I'm NOT a morning person (and those who have lived with me can verify this) so no matter how much sleep I've gotten the night before, tearing myself out of bed is an ordeal. I will say, having a dog has helped me get up at a normal hour--after all, no one wants the dog's bladder to explode.
Once I'm up and have taken the dog out, I'll make the breakfast (it's been smoothies lately) and the coffee (always Starbucks) and spend a bit of time with the Lord. If I'm to create, and he created me, I need his guidance, his help.
Next, I'll hop on my laptop; check email; check self-pub book stats; and do some social media "shtuff"; this includes everything from posting on Instagram to writing a new blog post to connecting with followers to responding to emails (I don't get many). I can quickly fall into the black hole of the Internet if I don't stop myself.
So I try. And fail. And try again to ready myself for the writing. I typically pour my second (or third) cup of coffee and start. Since I'm going through the 90 Day Novel again (PRAISE THIS BOOK IN ALL ITS WRITING GOODNESS), I set aside two solid hours of working on my new story.
Now, don't get fooled. This is an ugly process. It looks rather boring. And lonely. And lame at times. I sit, pen in hand, journal beneath it, and write stream-of-conscious exercises for the next two hours. All the while sipping coffee, peeking at emails, slipping onto social media. Basically wasting time when I should be writing. Getting distracted is my (and probably every writer's) biggest enemy.
Somedays I get in a solid two hours. Sometimes I get distracted. I'm not proud of it. But that's the truth. Because, like I said, the distractions begin. The dog. (Play with me.) The laundry. (Fold me.) The dishes. (Clean me.) The beds. (Make me.) The groceries. (Buy me.) Being a homemaker is part of my "job" (I love it), so I can often put those responsibilities above writing.
When I do manage to power through, shutting the door on those distractions, I feel pretty pleased. I'm in the beginning stages of creating my story--which means, the excitement is high. The love of the unknown is thrilling. There's a bit of extra magic in this stage of novel creating. Less self-doubt. More imagining.
I know this part won't last. That the magic will fade. And the work aspect will kick in hard. Which is what isn't talked about much. There is boring work in writing. There is fog and muck in there too.
But if I can remind myself of how good it feels to finish a first draft, to hold that story in my hands, I push past the junk and write.
The rest of the day? Freelance, when I have it. Work-out, when I do it. And Meal prep, when I'm completely on top of my game. Then, when the husband comes home, the laptop turns off. And relaxing begins.
April 25, 2017
Discouragement versus everything else.
I've been discouraged lately. With writing, creating, blogging. That jealousy monster is creeping in again and I don't like it. Not only does it rob me of my own happiness, but it also kicks me down and keeps me from creating.
Anyone else deal with this?
I'm trying to come up with ways to combat this. Besides stuffing my face with cake, that is. (Though, that is an excellent temporary fix.) I've got a few in my back pocket that I always go to, that I'll share in a minute. But what honestly is the hardest for me is actually doing them. I can let discouragement rule. Start to mope. Drown myself in self pity. But when I actually apply my list of "Discouragement Fighters," I come out a different person. Stronger. Ready. Excited.
So, here's my list. I'd love to know what yours are!
1. MUSIC -- my first go-to to shed discouragement is always music. Putting on a playlist or album that takes my mind away from the noise helps me refocus. Currently, I'm loving Sarah Bareilles' "Waitress" album. Odd? Maybe. But Bareilles wrote all the music and lyrics to this musical about a woman rediscovering herself. As I listen to the songs, I almost feel as if I am this woman she sings of. Soon, I'm more excited about creative possibilities than swimming in my own discouragement.
2. DRINK -- stepping away from my laptop to make a cup of coffee or tea is one of my favorite things to do. There is something entirely comforting about filling the kettle / coffee maker; waiting for the waiter to boil / the coffee to drip; taking that first, delicious sip. I find if I can step away and take part in a small tea/coffee ritual, I become lost in the comfort of creating and shed the discouragement I was feeling minutes before.
3. READ -- I think when discouragement hits, it's mostly due to others' success. At least, for me it is. (Which sounds so selfish. But, I am human.) And it instantly makes me doubt my skills. If I take a step back and reread some of my pieces, I find myself reminded that I am talented. That I am a writer. That I am worthy of this craft. I get lost in my characters, in my prose and am excited to return to whatever project I was working on instead of dwelling in discouragement.
Share some of your discouragement fighters below!
Anyone else deal with this?
I'm trying to come up with ways to combat this. Besides stuffing my face with cake, that is. (Though, that is an excellent temporary fix.) I've got a few in my back pocket that I always go to, that I'll share in a minute. But what honestly is the hardest for me is actually doing them. I can let discouragement rule. Start to mope. Drown myself in self pity. But when I actually apply my list of "Discouragement Fighters," I come out a different person. Stronger. Ready. Excited.
So, here's my list. I'd love to know what yours are!
1. MUSIC -- my first go-to to shed discouragement is always music. Putting on a playlist or album that takes my mind away from the noise helps me refocus. Currently, I'm loving Sarah Bareilles' "Waitress" album. Odd? Maybe. But Bareilles wrote all the music and lyrics to this musical about a woman rediscovering herself. As I listen to the songs, I almost feel as if I am this woman she sings of. Soon, I'm more excited about creative possibilities than swimming in my own discouragement.
2. DRINK -- stepping away from my laptop to make a cup of coffee or tea is one of my favorite things to do. There is something entirely comforting about filling the kettle / coffee maker; waiting for the waiter to boil / the coffee to drip; taking that first, delicious sip. I find if I can step away and take part in a small tea/coffee ritual, I become lost in the comfort of creating and shed the discouragement I was feeling minutes before.
3. READ -- I think when discouragement hits, it's mostly due to others' success. At least, for me it is. (Which sounds so selfish. But, I am human.) And it instantly makes me doubt my skills. If I take a step back and reread some of my pieces, I find myself reminded that I am talented. That I am a writer. That I am worthy of this craft. I get lost in my characters, in my prose and am excited to return to whatever project I was working on instead of dwelling in discouragement.
Share some of your discouragement fighters below!
April 14, 2017
What do you do during a slump?
This is the longest I've ever gone without writing. Six months. Six entire months without putting pen to page, creating a new story, or editing an old one. I didn't journal. I didn't doodle. All I did was let my mind wander.
Sometimes, that's necessary. Sometimes, when I'm deep in a project, I can be so focused on an edit or a sentence or a period that I forget the creativity part of it all. That what drew me in to writing the story in the first place was imagining. Dreaming. Wandering. Observing.
I think one of my favorite things to do as a writer is observe. I am a nosey, eavesdropping observer in cafes, on street corners, in grocery stores, etc.. Wherever I am, I let my ears and eyes observe. (Don't judge. I bet you do this too.) It might be two people arguing in a tiny chic restaurant. It might be a family resembling a circus at a cafe. It might be nothing but the growing line of a Starbucks.
And while most of it is mundane, it feeds my soul. It reminds me that I create. That I create out of nothing. That I can take the mundane, the mediocre, the modest, and give it life.
Because that's really what storytelling is, isn't it? Taking the everyday and breathing new life into it? Most of the time, to me, that means a bit of magic. I can't help but want something fantastical to happen in every one of my mundane scenes of life.
So durning this break of mine, this six month break, I observed. I let my mind wander.
And now? I *think* I know who I want to write about. She's come to me a few times during this break. A sense of a girl. A strong girl who's not ready to let her insecurities break her. I've had no clue to anything else of her story. But, that's where now comes in.
Now is the time to create. To say goodbye to the slump and hello to the magic. Now is the time to meet my character and discover her story.
Sometimes, that's necessary. Sometimes, when I'm deep in a project, I can be so focused on an edit or a sentence or a period that I forget the creativity part of it all. That what drew me in to writing the story in the first place was imagining. Dreaming. Wandering. Observing.
I think one of my favorite things to do as a writer is observe. I am a nosey, eavesdropping observer in cafes, on street corners, in grocery stores, etc.. Wherever I am, I let my ears and eyes observe. (Don't judge. I bet you do this too.) It might be two people arguing in a tiny chic restaurant. It might be a family resembling a circus at a cafe. It might be nothing but the growing line of a Starbucks.
And while most of it is mundane, it feeds my soul. It reminds me that I create. That I create out of nothing. That I can take the mundane, the mediocre, the modest, and give it life.
Because that's really what storytelling is, isn't it? Taking the everyday and breathing new life into it? Most of the time, to me, that means a bit of magic. I can't help but want something fantastical to happen in every one of my mundane scenes of life.
So durning this break of mine, this six month break, I observed. I let my mind wander.
And now? I *think* I know who I want to write about. She's come to me a few times during this break. A sense of a girl. A strong girl who's not ready to let her insecurities break her. I've had no clue to anything else of her story. But, that's where now comes in.
Now is the time to create. To say goodbye to the slump and hello to the magic. Now is the time to meet my character and discover her story.
What do you do during a slump?
This is the longest I've ever gone without writing. Six months. Six entire months without putting pen to page, creating a new story, or editing an old one. I didn't journal. I didn't doodle. All I did was let my mind wander.
Sometimes, that's necessary. Sometimes, when I'm deep in a project, I can be so focused on an edit or a sentence or a period that I forget the creativity part of it all. That what drew me in to writing the story in the first place was imagining. Dreaming. Wandering. Observing.
I think one of my favorite things to do as a writer is observe. I am a nosey, eavesdropping observer in cafes, on street corners, in grocery stores, etc.. Wherever I am, I let my ears and eyes observe. (Don't judge. I bet you do this too.) It might be two people arguing in a tiny chic restaurant. It might be a family resembling a circus at a cafe. It might be nothing but the growing line of a Starbucks.
And while most of it is mundane, it feeds my soul. It reminds me that I create. That I create out of nothing. That I can take the mundane, the mediocre, the modest, and give it life.
Because that's really what storytelling is, isn't it? Taking the everyday and breathing new life into it? Most of the time, to me, that means a bit of magic. I can't help but want something fantastical to happen in every one of my mundane scenes of life.
So durning this break of mine, this six month break, I observed. I let my mind wander.
And now? I *think* I know who I want to write about. She's come to me a few times during this break. A sense of a girl. A strong girl who's not ready to let her insecurities break her. I've had no clue to anything else of her story. But, that's where now comes in.
Now is the time to create. To say goodbye to the slump and hello to the magic. Now is the time to meet my character and discover her story.
Sometimes, that's necessary. Sometimes, when I'm deep in a project, I can be so focused on an edit or a sentence or a period that I forget the creativity part of it all. That what drew me in to writing the story in the first place was imagining. Dreaming. Wandering. Observing.
I think one of my favorite things to do as a writer is observe. I am a nosey, eavesdropping observer in cafes, on street corners, in grocery stores, etc.. Wherever I am, I let my ears and eyes observe. (Don't judge. I bet you do this too.) It might be two people arguing in a tiny chic restaurant. It might be a family resembling a circus at a cafe. It might be nothing but the growing line of a Starbucks.
And while most of it is mundane, it feeds my soul. It reminds me that I create. That I create out of nothing. That I can take the mundane, the mediocre, the modest, and give it life.
Because that's really what storytelling is, isn't it? Taking the everyday and breathing new life into it? Most of the time, to me, that means a bit of magic. I can't help but want something fantastical to happen in every one of my mundane scenes of life.
So durning this break of mine, this six month break, I observed. I let my mind wander.
And now? I *think* I know who I want to write about. She's come to me a few times during this break. A sense of a girl. A strong girl who's not ready to let her insecurities break her. I've had no clue to anything else of her story. But, that's where now comes in.
Now is the time to create. To say goodbye to the slump and hello to the magic. Now is the time to meet my character and discover her story.
April 10, 2017
Time to begin again.
Ahhhhh. The feel of my fingers on the keys is as life giving to me as Spring is to nature. It's been too long. And yet, it's been just the right amount of time away. I've been able to unplug, enjoy precious time with family, and see how God truly wanted me to spend that writing break.
Verdict? With people.
I spent it with my parents and family first and foremost. And while health continues to be an issue with my Dad, God has showed up in amazing ways over these last few months. As he does. Always. We went on a trip to Vegas; Dad and I started our own book club; dinners and sleep overs and sweet times were had on numerous occasions.
I spent it with my friends. Having a clear calendar allowed me to say yes more. Yes to coffee dates. Yes to house visits. Yes to impromptu gatherings. Honestly, this has been such a blessing. God has given me some amazing friends, both close and far. And having the freedom to say yes has allowed for me to be truly encouraged by the women in my life. Weekly phone calls with my best friend; coffee dates in Pasadena with sweet ones and their babies; long texts late at night that encourage my soul; sleep overs; game nights.
Now? I'm not sure. I don't have a story idea. I didn't have a break through. I still feel a bit lost and creatively empty. But. It felt time to come back. It felt good. It felt right. It felt exciting. And honestly, I hadn't felt that until today.
So, here's to a new season of writing. Let's see what comes.
Love you, readers.
Verdict? With people.
I spent it with my parents and family first and foremost. And while health continues to be an issue with my Dad, God has showed up in amazing ways over these last few months. As he does. Always. We went on a trip to Vegas; Dad and I started our own book club; dinners and sleep overs and sweet times were had on numerous occasions.
I spent it with my friends. Having a clear calendar allowed me to say yes more. Yes to coffee dates. Yes to house visits. Yes to impromptu gatherings. Honestly, this has been such a blessing. God has given me some amazing friends, both close and far. And having the freedom to say yes has allowed for me to be truly encouraged by the women in my life. Weekly phone calls with my best friend; coffee dates in Pasadena with sweet ones and their babies; long texts late at night that encourage my soul; sleep overs; game nights.
Now? I'm not sure. I don't have a story idea. I didn't have a break through. I still feel a bit lost and creatively empty. But. It felt time to come back. It felt good. It felt right. It felt exciting. And honestly, I hadn't felt that until today.
So, here's to a new season of writing. Let's see what comes.
Love you, readers.
September 29, 2016
A break. Let me explain.
My heart is heavy even as I write this. But after a few days of prayer and thought, I've decided to take a creativity break.
Let me explain.
As I've shared a bit previously, my Dad is undergoing some tough health issues. My Dad. My precious, brave, encouraging Dad. And it has taken a toll on me. I don't say this for pity. I only say this to be honest. Part of me has dreaded writing this post. Because I feel like it means I'm giving up. After all, when the tough days hit, shouldn't the writing flow? Shouldn't I be able to write through it? Create out of pain? Trust me. I've tried. But all that happens is my heart stays heavy; my fingers stay limp; and the writing stays terrible.
So, after the sweetest conversation with my husband, some thoughtful prayer, and encouragement from my family, I've decided to shelve my sequel for now. I've decided to limit my posts, my self-publishing push. And take care of my mental health. Take care of my family. I love this life--this writing life of mine. I will return to it too. But for now, I need to let my mind explore without timelines.
What will I do? Spend days with my family while my Dad recovers. Read. Freelance (bills must be paid, after all). Organize forgotten closets. Take care of household things. Write other stories. Or not. And most importantly, trust God through this tough moment in time. He'll lead me back to creating when he wants me to.
I hope to update this blog, here and there. To keep you updated on life. Until then, I adore you, readers. For your support. For your hugs. Looking forward to creating along with you someday again.
xoxo
Let me explain.
As I've shared a bit previously, my Dad is undergoing some tough health issues. My Dad. My precious, brave, encouraging Dad. And it has taken a toll on me. I don't say this for pity. I only say this to be honest. Part of me has dreaded writing this post. Because I feel like it means I'm giving up. After all, when the tough days hit, shouldn't the writing flow? Shouldn't I be able to write through it? Create out of pain? Trust me. I've tried. But all that happens is my heart stays heavy; my fingers stay limp; and the writing stays terrible.
So, after the sweetest conversation with my husband, some thoughtful prayer, and encouragement from my family, I've decided to shelve my sequel for now. I've decided to limit my posts, my self-publishing push. And take care of my mental health. Take care of my family. I love this life--this writing life of mine. I will return to it too. But for now, I need to let my mind explore without timelines.
What will I do? Spend days with my family while my Dad recovers. Read. Freelance (bills must be paid, after all). Organize forgotten closets. Take care of household things. Write other stories. Or not. And most importantly, trust God through this tough moment in time. He'll lead me back to creating when he wants me to.
I hope to update this blog, here and there. To keep you updated on life. Until then, I adore you, readers. For your support. For your hugs. Looking forward to creating along with you someday again.
xoxo
