Beth Navarro's Blog

It’s not always because I might read them again. Sometimes, yes. But the more I think about it, really it’s usually something else. Books are a timeline. They are memories. It’s a lifetime on the wall, turning points, enduring points. They help me remember.
            One reminds me of my grandfather’s laugh. Another reminds me of the twinkle in my grandmother’s eyes. Numerous ARC’s (advance reading copies) bring me back to working at Vroman’s bookstore sixteen years ago. Others remind me of book clubs that have come and gone. Classes in school that opened my mind. Some are gifts from dear friends. One brings me back to my compartment in the Amtrak train running fast over the rails in Ohio.            On top of that, stories keep me company, as they always have. And I like being in the company of authors whose writing inspires me. They are tangible hold-in your-hand inspiration. They are entire worlds contained between a front and back cover. I love to be surrounded by adventures. And I write in my books. I flip through them every once and a while to see the sentences I’ve marked. Ones that sparked me. And I remember.
            I just bought a separate bookshelf just for my to-read books. Yes I may have a book buying problem. I have a conundrum when it comes to my shelves. I love the look of a full bookshelf, but I’m always buying new books. So where do I put them??  Buy more shelves. It’s never ending. I think my real solution is somehow I need to get the Beast’s library or go to the Game of Thrones’ Citadel. (I find it no coincidence that fantasy stories have wonderful libraries. These authors know what we really fantasize about.)
All this being said, I think it’s time I do a real clean out. Go through each book Marie Kondo style and make sure each book is a story that brings me inspiration or brings to mind a memory I don’t want to let go of.
When someone asks to borrow a book, I twitch, how long will my memory be gone? I realize some of you will read that and think I’m insane. That’s okay I realize not all people look at their books this way. To some books are just bound pieces of paper (Who are you people???) and I’m afraid they will look at mine the same way. Books are not just books to me.
After writing this I realize I’ve organized my shelves all wrong. I need to make a visual timeline. Oh man…. I have become the literary version of Rob in High Fidelity. I need to tackle the great reorganization, autobiographical style. Yes f’ing way. I can show you how I went from T.S. Eliot to I’ll Give you the Sun in just twenty five moves. Oh this is going to be fun.


Off to empty my shelves….

The organized writer. Oxy moran right? Not for me. I love organizing. AND I’m creative. I read that author Annie Dillard realized writing down her thoughts gave her physical access to the contents of her mind. That is why I organize. I thought I’d write a series of posts about how I do it. I use a combo of high tech and low tech organizational tools. I’m hoping you will share with me what you do too.

“If only I had the TIME! I would write a book too.” “I have no time to write.” Blah blah. Bull.  Don’t get me wrong. I know you have a life. Maybe you have a family, a day job, a significant other, fun things you want to do. Hmmmm…. Do you think people who write consistently don’t have these things?
Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in Big Magic, “People don’t do this kind of thing because they have all kinds of extra time and energy for it; they do this kind of this because their creativity matters to them enough that they are willing to make all kind of extra sacrifices for it. Unless you come from the landed gentry, that’s what everyone does.”
You aren’t missing time.* You can find time (in the most inconvenient places in your day, I know, but you can find it.) What you are missing might be the passion. If you want to write, if you really want to, you can find the time. It just might mean to need to get better at managing your time. (Apparently I’m in my tough love mood today. I love you! Roll with it.)
A day can easily get away from you. Hell, years go by in a flash these days. So you have to take the clock by the hands, take control. No one is going to make the time happen for you. People who say they don’t have time to write I’ve found fall into a couple categories: 1.    They are legitimately busy and let all other things take priority.
2.    They have time, but having that time is actually more of a problem. Too much time can sometimes hinder and not help.
Do you find yourself in either of those categories? There is good news.The solution is the same for both issues. You need to set aside time, block it out, whether that is every day, a few days a week, once a week, whatever works for you. You need to take charge of the time in your day and make a commitment to yourself and your writing.
Okay mental commitment made? Good. Let’s do this.
The high tech way:The calendar on your phone/computer- If you have a Mac computer and an iphone, the calendars sync up. Every Friday I look at my calendar for the next week, decide when I will be writing and I block out the time in my calendar. My goal this year is to write every day. And sometimes that might mean I have to get up early to get an hour of writing in or stay up later that night or work on my lunch hour because I have plans that night. You can even put an alarm if you want to really annoy yourself.


The low tech way:Moleskine planner-You can use whatever paper planner you like of course, but I love my Moleskine! I have a daily planner and every day I write in the time that I will be writing.


My printed out star chart! –Okay this may be a little grade school, but I need rewards. I give myself a star every day that I write. How does this help with time management? It motivates me and I want to see a star on every damn day so I’m going to find the time.


Kitchen timer- This is Elizabeth Gilbert’s idea! Get a kitchen time (or use your iphone). Set it for 30 minutes. Do your craft for that long. Stay focused. Guess what? You only have to do it for 30 minutes. You can do that. Sometimes we get so bogged down in all we do we can get overwhelmed when we think about trying to find the time to write a whole book, but can we find 30 minutes in a day? Hell yeah we can. This teaches us discipline. It teaches us that we don’t have to wait for when we have nothing to do one weekend or for our schedules to be clear of everything. That won’t happen. I believe so much in small spurts. It’s the only way I can really work.
_____________________
The basic idea with all of this is: schedule your time and trust working in small amounts of time.
Elizabeth Gilbert touched on something else in Big Magic that I firmly believe, something that drives me everyday. We have no control over two things that are key to traditional success: talent and luck. But we do have control over how hard we work.
I don’t figure out when I’m writing on the fly. I don’t play it by ear. I do not trust myself to do that. I need to know before hand. This way there is no “the day got away from me” excuse. And for me when something is written down, I’ve made the commitment and as silly as it sounds, I don’t want to let myself down. Books don’t write themselves. It’s about getting your butt in the chair and just doing it. Whenever you can.
This is what I do to find the time the write. What do you do?




***I know there are exceptions to this. I do recognize that there are instances where you really may not be able to make the time and even if you could it’s not advisable. ie: sickness, death in the family etc. This is not what I’m talking about here.

The organized writer. Oxy moran right? Not for me. I love organizing. AND I’m creative. I read that author Annie Dillard realized writing down her thoughts gave her physical access to the contents of her mind. That is why I organize. I thought I’d write a series of posts about how I do it. I use a combo of high tech and low tech organizational tools. I’m hoping you will share with me what you do too.

I tell myself constantly, “I wish I was only working on one project at a time. It will be so much easier! So much less stress!” Ha! Yeah right. I always have more then one writing project going on at time, although luckily the projects are in different stages. For instance right now I have:
A novel currently on submissionA novel I’m revisingA picture book that is slated for release this FallA fairy tale I wrote for a collection that will be released in a zine soon!A comic book also scheduled for release later this yearAnother picture book I’ve been commissioned to write that is currently in a holding patternA novel idea that I’m nurturing and collecting ideas onA Daily Writing Warm Up journal I’m creating

Yeah that’s a lot to keep track of. This is where organizing can come in handy so my head doesn’t explode. And sometimes yes it does mean putting some of these projects on hold while I concentrate on one. But keeping everything straight is so important to my sanity.
The high tech way: There are two apps on my iphone that I love for project organization: Todoist and Evernote.
Todoist- I recently discovered this app. This is my number one place to list what projects I have going on and what I need to do for each of them.


On Todoist, there is a project tab where you can list all the projects you are currently working on it. And under each project you can list all the tasks you need to complete. Once you complete a task you can check it off as done. (This is important for me. I need this sense of satisfaction.) Then the next task you need to do goes to the top of the list. I do wish I could reorder the tasks though. I haven’t found a way to do that yet.  This app is so easy to use. Very intuitive. And it’s free. There is a premium version but I find for my purposes I don’t need it.
Evernote:I’ve used this app for a long time. I use it for more random project ideas. I keep a note for each project and write down things I need to do here.

It’s more of something I use when I want to get something down quickly or it’s just an idea and I’m not sure if I’ll use it (either a story idea or a to do item for the project). It won’t stay here. It will either go in my project idea notebook, Spark files (Things I talked about in my How to Organize Ideas post) or my Todoist app. Notes here aren’t just writing related. I have my “want” shopping list, gift ideas lists, and random ideas I’ve had while I’m out walking or running and don’t have a notebook with me. In this app you can also check off check boxes. A big plus for me.
Low tech:
My Big Ole White Board-Admittedly I don’t use this as much anymore. But I do like having an “at a glance” look at where all my projects are currently. I keep it simple and easy to read. This board calms me when I get overwhelmed. I see where I am and know I can do these things one at a time.
Flat files!

I just got these babies at the Container Store. Oh I am in love. I usually have a file folder full of hard copy notes, lists and drafts when I’m working on a project. I was working the pile system on my desk for the longest time. Very decidedly not Beth-like. The piles were making me crazy. So I finally found these desktop flat files at the Container Store for each of my projects. Clear space on my desk, I love you so. ________________________________________
I often get asked: “How do you get so much done??” I’m no superwoman and it doesn’t always go great. I just write everything down. That’s the big secret. “But I can’t find the time!” People tell me. Finding the time… well you can do that too, but I think that’s a whole new blog post.
This is what I do to manage my writing projects. What do you do??

 The organized writer. Oxymoron right? Not for me. I love organizing AND I’m creative. I read that author Annie Dillard realized writing down her thoughts gave her physical access to the contents of her mind. That is why I organize. I thought I’d write a series of posts about how I do it. I use a combo of high tech and low tech organizational tools. I’m hoping you will share with me what you do too.

Ideas. Story ideas, blog post ideas, photography series ideas, crazy wacky ideas that are pure fantasy (or ARE they?).They come anywhere, anytime (usually when you’re driving down the freeway with no pen or paper in sight).  I’ve learned over the years that I can store a max of three ideas in my head at one time before I HAVE to get it down somewhere or the ideas will become unrecognizable mush in my brain. I had to come up with a system. Going through piles of napkins and post its and receipts with stories written on them was not working for me.
The high tech way: Google Docs otherwise known as my IDEA FILES. I wish I could take credit for this. I subscribe to Austin Kleons’ newsletter and he wrote about how he organized his ideas and how he was inspired by an article by Steve Johnson called The SparkFile. After reading their articles, I will always keep ideas/sparks this way from now on.
What my spark files look like on my laptop

In my Google Drive, I have a file titled SPARK FILES. In that file I have handful of documents: Blog Sparks, Story Sparks, Goal Sparks, Travel Sparks, Marketing sparks, School Visit Sparks and Other Sparks. This is where I keep all my ideas. Those ideas that pop into my head that I might use at that exact moment, but someday I will. What I love most about my spark files is that I have access to these files wherever I go.  I can access on my computer of course, but I also have the Google Doc app on my phone. No million pieces of paper. No more writing down and transferring into one master notebook.  I love this. Anywhere I am and I have an idea, I can put in my appropriate spark document.
What is this thing called Google Drive and how do I create my Google Docs??To have a Google Drive you must have a gmail account. To find your Google drive click the icon at the top right of your gmail account  with the nine little squares, then click the “drive” icon. Once in, click on the “new” button on the top left, then “folder.” And there you are, all ready to get your idea files started! Never forget a genius idea again.




The low tech way:Notebooks. Yeah I know. Duh. As I’ve mentioned I use a combo of high tech and low tech. I keep a few notebooks for ideas regularly. I have a master notebook I use to write more specific lists, outlining specific blog posts, bullet pointing my upcoming newsletters, random thoughts, essays that will never see the light of day, but I needed to get out. This goes everywhere with me. I also keep paperback moleskine notebooks (I buy them in three pack in Target.) for specific novels I’m working on. In these notebooks I write specific ideas for this novel: dialogue, character ideas, setting, plot points. Whatever enters my head. I use this a lot early in the process when I’m still brainstorming. Then use it a bit differently after I’ve drafted, still for random ideas, but more about structure and notes I want to address. These notebooks also go everywhere with me. I prefer using hardcopy notebooks for these kind of ideas. I can draw arrows and cross out things. It feels more organic.
I also keep post its by my bedside for those middle of the night genius ideas. Of course sometimes the notes looks like this:


Then I will take those rare post its and put them in one of my notebooks or Google Docs. Wherever appropriate.

Some last thoughts about ideas. I think you should write down every idea, no matter how crazy or doubtful you feel. You never know. I wrote down an idea I thought was super nuts and guess what? It's happening. And I really think the act of writing things down actually creates more ideas to generate. Also Spark files are great for days when you are feeling unfocused and uninspired. I go there when I feel like I have nothing to offer and walk away with my well filled with inspiration and confidence.
This is what I do. What do you do?

I wrote this essay a few years ago. Thought I'd revisit some of these old writings. This is a true story.



I would guess I was around age nine when I was accused of assault with a deadly weapon. I wasn’t formally charged or anything, but when you’re nine any adult might as well be wearing a cop uniform.
It was a Saturday. I was dragged to my brother’s tee ball game. I took refuge on the playground with my best friend Megan. I could not handle another five year old tapping the ball, letting it dribble off the tee and barely clear home base or just miss the ball completely. We were on the swings. The ground was covered in millions of pieces of gravel. I absent-mindedly kicked them with my dangling feet unaware of how if it was asphalt, maybe this would have gone differently. Then again it could have been worse that way. Asphalt tends to come off in chunks on the edges.

What did we talk about at nine years old? What was on the forefront on our minds?
“I got some new earrings at Claire’s last night,” Megan said pointing to her earlobes.
“Cool. Orange cats,” I commented.
I imagine it was something like that.

I heard the sound of a gravel hitting gravel in front of me. Megan and I looked up to see a boy, younger than us, hanging on the domelike jungle gym. He tossed bits of gravel at us. His face was blank. It didn’t seem too malicious. Just your garden variety rock tossing. Megan and I ignored him and resumed our cat and saturday morning cartoon banter. The boy started throwing the rocks into the air above his head. When they landed it sounded like hail. 

I remember thinking, “He’s going to hurt himself.”

Seconds later, he abruptly ran away. “Do you want to see Splash?” Megan asked me. “My mom and dad have the video at home.”

“Really? The mermaid movie? Okay.” My stomach fluttered. I was pretty sure that was rated R.

“Which one?!? Tell me which one!” I heard an angry woman’s voice yell. 

Megan and I looked to our left. Storming toward us was a beet red woman. The jungle gym boy trailed behind her. We froze. I tried to steady my swing with my foot, but my legs were too short and the gravel was slippery. 
The woman stopped in front of us breathing heavily. “Come here,” she said to the boy. The boy stood next to her.

“Tell me.” She said to him. 

He looked at both Megan and I, deciding. His eyes landed on me. “Her, mom,” he said pointing at me.
My heart was pounding. The boy’s mother pulled his lip down and showed me the blood.

“Where are your parents?” she growled.

I looked into this kid’s eyes, but he betrayed nothing.

I couldn’t speak. I had no idea what to do. I could only hear Megan’s breathing. She sounded like she was just getting over a cold. I subconsciously looked over to the field my brother was playing on and without warning, this woman, this stranger, grabbed my arm so hard I thought she might have pulled it out of it’s socket and dragged me off the playground in the general direction of the baseball field. Megan followed behind along with the boy. Why did he say that? I was terrified. She pulled me harder so I would keep up with her pace. No one had ever treated me this way before. I was so scared I would be in trouble. I felt completely powerless. This was new. I’d gotten in trouble plenty of times, but never something I hadn’t done. My parents wouldn’t believe me. I had no idea how to handle myself. The walk seemed to be miles. At the most it had to have only been a block or so. I began questioning my own memory. Maybe I did do it. Did I? I was going to be in so much trouble. I was never going to get to see Splash. Could she call the cops on me? She never let go of my arm. She held me so tightly I thought I’d have bruises. I don’t remember my feet moving. I couldn’t feel them. 

She said nothing to me as we walked. My parents came into view. They were cheering. Maybe my brother’s loser team was on the upswing. My dad glanced my way and the smile fell from his face. “Beth?” This was it. I was in trouble.

Then the woman started screaming, “Your kid threw rocks at my Bobby! Look at what she did!” Bobby, the stupid fucker, showed him his lip. “She could have killed him!” The woman started to speak again, but my dad interrupted her.

“Get your hands off my daughter,” he said in a tone I had never heard before.

It seemed for an instant that she had forgotten she was holding my arm. She let go suddenly. My dad pulled me over to him protectively. I couldn’t speak. I was shaking. 

“She didn’t do anything,” Megan said breaking the silence. “The kid is lying.”

My dad looked at me. I nodded. He then looked at the woman. He didn’t need to say anything. The truth hovered in the air, undeniable. She walked away with her lying son in a huff. I realized I was holding my breath. When I let it out, I cried.

My best friend had my back. That was no surprise. That was in the job description. But my dad had my back too. Maybe that shouldn’t have been a surprise. But it was. If adults say something it must be true. That was what I had always believed. But my dad knew the truth when he saw it. To see an adult really get it wrong, was astounding to me. But to see my dad get it really right, now as a soon to be cynical teenager, that was the miracle.

In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
So tired....
I soaked in the early morning rumble on the train on our last hours on the rails. I eased my way to the observation car looking for the sunrise in California, listening to Coheed and Cambria, “There to Mars.”
How to describe this journey…. It was more magical then I even imagined. More fun. More intense. More inspiring. More…. More…. More….
As my traveling partner said, “This has been a crazy, wonderful, intense, inspiring adventure.”
On the train, writing and storytelling was more concentrated and wonderful, your senses more alive. The book I read was even more nourishing.
We rolled into LA’s city limits. There was nothing pretty about this actually. Gritty and grimy. The decidedly not glamorous parts of LA. Such a contrast to the rest of the country, but it had it own dirty beauty. I felt happy. I was nearly home. I stepped off the train and sadly, I felt most of the magic stay behind on the metal steps of the train car. I felt exhaustion take over. But I didn’t want it to be over yet. We sat in the beautiful Union station and rested a moment. Took it all in.



In five days I went through two counties, twelve states, met twenty strangers, finished one novel revision, read one book and spent approximately five hours belly laughing and countless hours dreaming. The train gave me the space the write. What a gift. But it was so much more. It was the space to expand and take people in and value friendship and now I’m dissolving into tears. It’s a bubble that does burst. But the memory fuels me. And this will not be my last train ride. This is just the beginning.
My favorite picture from the trip. Elizabeth and I. Travel weary. So tired. But oh so happy.

To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.

 In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
My mind went to another level on the train. The train transports your mind. Every morning I woke up with a sense of awe and hard work. When you are on the train, you are simply a person on a train. Not mom. Not a person that lives in a house. Not a person getting groceries. You are simply a traveler with a story. The other mantles you bear, for a just a little a while, fall away. And the space fills with whatever you want it to. You expand into that wonderful nothingness and become.
On this trip I worked on finishing the revision of my young adult manuscript for my agent. This novel has been such a part of me for so long now and I couldn’t wait to get to work on this on this trip. I knew we were off to a good start when we walked into the Montreal train station all I could think of was Hugo Cabret.
The trip was full of kismet moments that deepened the journey. Here are a few:
1.     A rushed filled me when the first thing I saw in old Montreal was a beautiful square and stately cathedral. I looked on a map and it wasn’t a cathedral, it was a basilica. I went on a walk and see it up close. Yes. It’s real. This is the Basilica from my story. I walked up the gate and got as close as I could to the ornate arched doorways.  I recognized them. This place that lived in my imagination was real.2.     The subject of Elon University came up in an overheard conversation. The Elan is a group of people in my book. Spelled differently. Pronounced the same. Coincidence? I think not.3.     “Abel, Party of one,” I heard over the loudspeakers. There is an Abel on this train. Abel is the name of my protagonist.4.     We passed Madrid, New Mexico. Maddrid is the name of my villain.5.     I overhead a conversation about a walled city, a prominent location in my book.
  The basilica
The book was freaking everywhere. And the revision was coming along nicely. But Elizabeth and I thought that maybe for one hour we each should write something completely new. The train seemed like a place to be generating new words and worlds. And I needed a bit of a respite from the revision. That hour I worked in the compartment while Elizabeth was in the Observation car. At this point of the trip I needed to be refreshed. I was feeling pretty exhausted. And this was just what I needed. That hour was magic. It reinvigorated me and I definitely have shiny new novel idea, about different worlds and sepia tones. The compartment was perfect too. Ever since I was a little kid I longed for a space of my own. A little, cozy reading and writing nook. I laughed to myself. I had found it. Finally. Complete with a view of the world rushing by. Nothing could stop me now.
The hour of new words
This reminded me that I need to write outside the house more often. I will write in the out! (To channel J. Lo From The True meaning of Smekday.) It’s one of my goals this year to write outside the house once a month. It won’t just be coffee shops. It will be museums, parks and yes, trains! Destinations and travel bring luck to my writing. It’s where I got most of the names of persons and places in my Abel novel. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to come back to this.

I loved writing in the Observation car the most. The country surrounded me. Train magic flowed through my fingers and into the keyboard. I might need to take weekly trips around LA on the metro to get my fix. 
When I drive to work,  I follow the train tracks that run next to the freeway. I drive next to the train trying to recapture the feeling. Then it pulls ahead of me and out of sight and I’m left in reality, dreaming of the next train trip.
To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.

In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.



Have you ever seen a sunrise from the train? It’s astounding. I sat in bed, knees pulled up to my chest, holding onto the last sunrise I'd see on this trip for a bit longer. I thought I was an early riser, but Elizabeth beats me by an hour sometimes. It was our last morning on the train and I wanted to experience the rest of this sunrise with her while I could. So I threw on my clothes and meandered through the dining car expecting to find her in the Observation car. But to my surprise I found a smiling and very awake Elizabeth sitting in a dining car booth with a couple so cheery and magnetic that even that early in the morning I couldn’t resist it. I slid into the booth and introduced myself. At this point in the trip the plethora of breakfast items that had once existed had run out one by one, but my trusty frosted flakes were still available. I ordered that with my tea and had probably the most significant conversation with strangers I had had on this trip. As I’ve mentioned meeting strangers is part of being on a train trip. Having meals in the dining car means you are seated with people you don’t know. And this last breakfast we met an incredible couple, Steve and Carol Kaye.
Birdman I: Focus on the eyes
Steve, we learned, is a nature photographer. They were just returning from a Hummingbird photography conference in Sedona, AZ where he was the MC (And.... we are hooked. You can’t help but meet interesting people on trains!). Elizabeth and I noted how hard it must be to photograph hummingbirds. He smiled. He smiled in a way that reminded me of my grandfather who was an amateur photographer, teacher and writer.


Photo my grandfather took years ago.
Steve also smiled in that way that wise people do when they are about to tell you something that will send your mind to outer space.
"How do you take pictures of hummingbirds?" I asked.
“You have to focus on the eyes,” Steve said.
Don’t worry about anything else, he said. Just focus on the eyes.
Focus on the life. Focus on the windows to the soul. That’s how you capture the beauty. That’s what we do in writing isn’t it? Look for the heart. The person. The real person. Focus on that. Focus on the eyes. Works in life too doesn’t it?
Check out this blog entitled Too Close by Steve Kaye. I particularly liked this one.

Birds II: Find your Signature
"You need your signature."
This was next piece of advice Steve Kaye gave about taking pictures of hummingbirds. I took that to mean you need to find what makes the photo yours. You need your signature. When you see the picture through your own eyes, your own perspective will show on the print. Your portfolio will be cohesive and have a through line. 
I very much related to this as a writer. Writers hear so much about voice. “Voice is what we look for when we are reading manuscripts,” agents and editors say. This can be a frustrating piece of advice to new writers especially. Because voice isn’t something learned in a workshop necessary. Voice, to me, really is what Steve was talking about in that train car. When I read a book by an author I love I know their voice. It is a hard thing to describe. It seems so abstract. It’s not how you put words together exactly (although it affects that) as I imagine it’s not the technical way you compose a shot or develop the film. It’s nothing that can be taught really. It’s allowing the way you see the world to come though your words or pictures. Voice is what you are drawn to in art even if you didn’t know it I think. Every time I sit down to write, as cheesy as this sounds, I take a deep breath and think: Tell this story the only way I alone can tell it. And I tap right in.

Birds III: Listen for the laughter
Steve and Cathy very clearly have a loving, wonderful relationship. It was so nice to see. They have been married 47 years and still look at each other with those adorable in-love looks. Elizabeth mentioned she was getting married in 2016 and that I had just gotten married the year before. We asked for sage advice. They giggled sweetly and looked at each other.
Cathy said, “Listen for the laughter.”
Oh I love that advice. Where there is laughter there is love.
And she also said, “Support each other. Always.” Again. Exactly right I think.
Steve said, “Talk. Talk. Talk.”
Also perfect. When I feel things are off in my relationship this is always the answer. Talk. Communicate. Get in harmony. Accept who you love for who they are and listen.
“We met in college,” Steve said. “When I went into that dormitory full of people, there was only her.”
So sweet. What a perfect last morning breakfast conversation before we went home to our men.
I stepped off the train, feeling ready for life to begin again. Focus on the eyes. Find your signature. Listen for the laughter. Jump in. Let’s go.

To learn more about Steve Kay visit his website.
Another picture taken by my grandfather.




To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.

 In October 2015, my friend Elizabeth and I went on a cross-country writing train trip from Montreal to Los Angeles in five days. Here are some stories, insights and musings that came from that adventure.
This essay is not about trains or writing. It’s about my brother.
I miss my brother. I miss him more often then he knows. Ryan and I live 2000 miles away from each other. We have lives, families. We don’t talk weekly, but text when we can. Thrown in phones calls between dinner and kid’s baths. So stealing moments with my only sibling is precious to me. Again I think he has no idea. I play it super cool. I’m the older sister. “Hey what up bro?” When inside I’m sappy and protective. How are you? I miss you. Those texts. Yeah they aren’t enough. But I’m a grown up so I get sad for a second then I put my big girl pants on and it’s okay.
This is saptasitc. Sorry.


My bro is adorable.
One of those stolen moment opportunities arose in October. Elizabeth and I had a five hour lay over in Chicago during the train trip. There Ry and I would meet up. I would get to see the ever elusive Recon (one of Ryan’s many nicknames). I woke early, as you do on the train, rolling though Ohio. My thoughts wandered to when we were kids. Growing up he was that cute, dimpled, perfect, annoying little brother. He even looked cute in a bowl cut. But I have it on record (according to the baby books) that upon birth my head was catagoized as "perfect" and his was merely "normal." So there’s that. Ha! We didn’t fight as kids, not like some siblings. I had a silent annoyance, but that was as far as it got.  He’s always been so good. I will always be the Jeanie to his Ferris Bueller.
Somehow made it through the 80's unscathed. Jerk. (He even made a tail look cool.)We pulled into Union station behind schedule. I was tired and travel worn, but happy and excited. Elizabeth and I stowed our luggage and plowed through the thick crowd of Mennonites and tour bus travelers. I knew he and his wife (Sissy in law, I love you too!) had been waiting with two small kids and I know that’s not easy. We found them by a fountain. (My nephews dressed up like purple naughty minions, because why not?) We exited into the familiar city streets with food on the brain. I needed some good, greasy Chicago food. We went a quintessential Chicago diner, Lou Mitchell’s. The nephews were wonderful entertainment at the restaurant. Wonderful in the sense that kids you love that aren’t your own often are. I watched Ryan regulate Henry, my older nephew and godson, who was making sugar water potions. (Now Ryan you know how much you loved making potions when you were little.) And little Tommy was saying his full name, first, middle and last, over and over again. It was a great little dose of family on a trip barreling through the country. I mean it’s my little brother. To see him as a dad is pretty cool. We parted ways at the corner of Canal and Jackson, Ryan and gang disappearing down the escalator to the depths of the train station. He doesn’t annoy me anymore. I’m proud of him. He’s still annoyingly cute though, and wins any concert tickets contest he enters and goes to great rock shows.
The college years.So much happened between the He-man and She-Ra days to now and, Ryan, I’ve felt your support from across the miles. I have, dear brother. Sibliing-ship is a holy thing.
What did this have to do with a train trip? Not much. But this trip asked me to write this. It pushed me to it. And I’m glad for it. But whatever. I’m cool not sappy! You’re all right , Ry. I love you and stuff.
Ryan and his amazing family.

To see the "other" Elizabeth's posts about our trip visit her  website.

Jennifer Bosworth is wonderfully subversive, on top of being smart and sarcastic. That alone makes her worth reading. I’ve also heard she’s especially fun to creatively brainstorm with while sipping whiskey, but I digress. When I read her debut novel, Struck, I knew I had found a kindred spirit of sorts. The dark and disturbed can smell our own. We smell damn good. Knowing all this, I cannot wait to read her sophomore novel, The Killing Jar. The title makes promises I can’t wait to cash on.


I mean, come on, this cover is amazing!

Tell us about The Killing Jar.
It’s about a girl (aren’t they all) who has a dangerous secret (don’t they all) that lands her on a mystical hippie commune in Oregon (As they will). Basically, it’s a literary LSD trip for teens. I liken it to a mash up between The Beach and The Wicker Man.
 What’s the road to publishing been like for you? 
Well, it’s been really easy. I wasn’t even trying to get published, and it just happened. I mean . . . I guess I spent about seven years writing terrible books––that should never be spoken of again––before I got an agent, but after that it was a breeze. Except for all the part where I lost my soul while promoting my first book. And then I couldn’t sell another book for years. And then when I finally did sell one, it got sucked into the revision vortex for a couple more years before it was finally spit back out into our dimension. Those parts were hard, but everything else was really, very easy. Because writing is easy. Also, sitting is the new smoking, which bodes well for us writer folks.
 That is good news indeed.
What do you nerd out on?
Flash Gordon. Willow. Zardoz. Return to Oz. Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. Hannibal (RIP). Buffy the Vampire Slayer (of course).

 What are some of your favorite books?
The Drawing of the Three, the second book in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, will always be, for me, the Empire Strikes Back of his series. The Talisman, by Stephen King and Peter Straub, is stupidly amazing. I discovered Joe Hill with his first novel, Heart Shaped Box, fell madly in love with his prose, and then found out he was Stephen King’s son and that he’d kept his identity a secret and broke into publishing on his own, and it made me believe in humanity again. Then I discovered Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects, and I stopped believing in humanity, because she creates the most wonderfully horrible people.
So, yeah, those are my favorites.
 For you what is that thing the makes a book, a good book?
Heart. That’s it. I think you can tell when a book is well-crafted but empty, and when it’s written from a place of deep truth. Doesn’t matter what the genre is. Doesn’t matter if it’s literary or commercial. It just needs to have heart. And a love triangle.
You can get one piece of merchandise to go along with your book, The Killing Jar (whether it be appropriate or not appropriate). What is it?
I already have it! It’s a dead moth dipped in silver, made into a pendant. Etsy, man. They have everything you never knew you always wanted.
Oooooo death dipped in silver hanging around your neck? Love. Etsy does really have everything. 
You also make horror movies with your husband. Tell me more!
With our short horror films, we like to see how uncomfortable we can make it for the audience to sit through them. Thus far, our short films have featured women being stalked, snuff films, giant spiders, workaholic zombies, mass finger amputation, and me being stabbed to death by forks on my birthday. There is one very short horror film that we don’t show to people. We made it on Christmas, and suffice it to say, the main character is a bull piñata, and bad things happen to him.

I so can relate to the workaholic zombie.  I must see that one. What is it about the horror genre that you love? (I really want to know. I love dark stories, but scary is a whole different thing. I can get as far as zombies, but that is it.)
When you’re emotionally dead inside, you’ll do anything to feel. Next question.
Actually, I imprinted on horror movies when I was quite young, much like (spoiler alert!) Jacob the sexy werewolf imprints on Bella’s sexy baby right after it’s born. My dad owned a video rental store (what’s that?), so growing up I’d just grab a pile of movies and bring them home. I think I was drawn to horror because I lived a very safe life, and I wanted to feel the full gamut of human emotions. I like the adrenaline rush you get from a truly scary movie. It’s a delicious drug.
 Is writing just as delicious a drug to you? What do you love about writing?
Honestly, I hate it. Writing is the worst. Except for the part where you get a freaking BLANK PAGE where you get to create WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT WHILE YOU DRINK ALL THE COFFEE AND ARE SUPER BRILLAINT AND THEN YOU DRINK ALL THE WINE AND ARE EVEN MORE BRILLIANT AND THEN––GO WITH IT––THE WHISKEY!
That’s the writing part, though, when you’re free to create wildly. It’s when I start thinking about what editors are buying and what readers want to read that I can get a bit hobbled. So, to my own detriment, I try not to think about what other people want and I write selfish, selfish books instead.

What is the hardest part of writing for you?
Being told something I’ve written that I love isn’t good/working/awesome, and then, sometimes, having to cut that which I love. People talk about killing your “darlings,” which is a vague image, isn’t it? What is a darling? I don’t know what that is. They should call it killing your puppies, because that’s what it feels like.

Where do you get your ideas? JUST KIDDING. But seriously what was that first little piece of The Killing Jar that made you want to keep following and find the story?
I started writing The Killing Jar with no idea where it was going to go, or what the story would become. But the original story spark was about a girl who sneaks out to go to a party, gets extraordinarily drunk, kisses the boy she loves, basically has the best night ever, and then comes home, sneaks back into the house, and discovers that her entire family has been slaughtered, and the killer is still inside. She’s trapped, and she’s still hammered. A lot of these elements remain in the story, except the part about my main character being drunk. Too hot for YA, I guess. Another puppy: dead.   
And lastly, Labyrinth or The Dark Crystal?
The Dark Crystal. In fact, The Dark Crystal was one of my biggest inspirations for The Killing Jar. I won’t tell you how, other than, “Essence . . .”
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Jennifer Bosworth is a dark and hilarious center wrapped in a daydream dipped in pure delight. Read her books. You know you want to.


To find out more about Jennifer Bosworth go to her website. Her book, The Killing Jar, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, will be out on January 12, 2016.