All Things Being Connected

I'm not one for making New Year's resolutions, and it is getting well past New Year's anyway. I do like to use these moments in the year to look back over the past year and look to the time in front of me. I like to observe the symbolism of things and how they all come back around.

Last year was a weird one, marked in a very personal way for me by the death of my dad, and in a very public way by the election of a person whose name I refuse to type.

But as my kids have noted, there were some really lovely things about the year. For me, finishing the first draft of my current book was a big one. This is a work of the heart and one I am increasingly proud of. As I started out the year, my plan was to create my own publishing cooperative with other interested authors. But as I explored that it became clear to me the enormity of the time involved to publish books. I chose instead to put all of that time and energy into my work and craft. I opened myself up to learning more--and I did. A lot, actually. I think that focus has made my writing so much stronger and deeper. So I am continuing on this path of making the writing the focus. I have let go of the urgency to be published and find the urgency in the writing. That is an awesome feeling.

The death of my dad was huge for our family. And as these things tend to, it brought us closer together, and for me personally forged my life plan for the foreseeable future. When he died, I was at a writing retreat, and that night we did a guided meditation in which we built a cairn in our minds. This was a powerful meditation for me, and in fact, when we had dad's memorial service, I used that meditation as my memorial talk for him. (I don't remember if I posted it on this blog, but I know I posted it on my facebook page, so if you're curious, feel free to go back and read it.)

The cairn has become a strong symbol for me in so many ways. Cairns have been used since ancient times to mark a path or stand as a memorial. As I wrote the poem after the guided meditation that I later used at dad's service, some things began to click in my consciousness. Utmost of the notions that resounded there for me was the concept of HOME. The cairn marks a path toward home. My dad was the strong presence of home in our family. My dad gave us a home in the national parks, a very special and meaningful foundation for all that I am. So, the cairn, essentially, shows us the way toward home.

When I came home to Boise after the service, I built several cairns in my yard as memorials to dad. As reminders that I have that strong foundation of home. A childhood home. And an adult home. A home--whether it's a place, a family, a person, a thought, a belief system--is foundational to life.

I have always felt a deep connection and desire to help those who are homeless, a passion that grows deeper with time. Last year, I expanded my commitment to work harder to end homelessness in my community. Not just to serve meals or provide temporary shelter--although these are continuing and pressing needs, worthy of our time and valuable to those who have no homes. I spent the year exploring, acting, and learning as much as I could about ways I can help create homes and housing affordability here where I live. And this work will be something I keep on with for the rest of my life. Home, a way there, a foundation for a life.

It is no coincidence that most of my novels have strong themes involving home--what it means, who is there, and how to find it. My latest novel's working title is Show Me the Way to Go Home. The cairn's purpose. It's set at Tule Lake internment camp during WWII, with eerily similar echoes to the racism and nationalism we've seen more and more of since the election of 2016.

I, like millions of others, have dedicated myself to greater engagement in whatever is necessary to prevent this coming presidency from destroying our freedoms, our earth, and our fellow humans. I have become a monthly donor to the Sierra Club, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and to ACLU Idaho and joined in to volunteer specifically with the ACLU and Planned Parenthood, as well as increased dedication to the work I've already been doing toward ending homelessness, working with the Idaho Humane Society, and trying to get four important words ("sexual orientation" and "gender identity") added to Idaho's anti-discrimination laws.

It can be discouraging, the amount of work there is to do politically, environmentally, locally and globally. I choose to focus on the actual things I can DO right where I am. Here at home.

I don't mention this activity to point out how great I am or get kudos. I mention it because for me, it all comes back around to the cairn, to home, to my dad. It's a multi-dimensional spiral that I can't fully comprehend or explain. How everything is so connected and important. How what has meaning in one realm of my life bleeds over into all the other areas of my life. How my life really isn't divided into compartments, but rather is one continuum of expression. How powerfully one simple meditation at a writer's retreat can become a symbol for my whole existence.

I will write more on the power of the cairn, because it warrants more in-depth exploration. For now, as my new year's present to myself, I wear a necklace of a cairn as a symbol of this coming year for me.

Learning Curve, Part I

I just returned from the Independent Book Publishers Association conference entitled Publishing University. I learned a lot, mostly about all the stuff I have yet to learn. Isn't that often how learning is?

It might surprise people who know me to hear that I went to this conference. My biases are usually pretty clear, and for most of my life, my bias has been in favor of the traditional NYC publishing houses. If an author can't make it there, they can't make it anywhere. In the course of my work as a freelance editor, SCBWI volunteer, and book store maniac, I have seen my fair share of not-so-great (and some really bad) self-published books, and that informed my bias. However, as I have experienced many times in my life, biases are there to be exploded so that a person can grow and prosper.

Here's how it has evolved so far for me. I've been writing young adult (YA) novels for going on two decades. The first ten years of that was learning just how to write a novel and how my art form worked. Since then, I have attended conferences, workshops, retreats, webinars, and had individual critiques with agents and editors. I've worked in mentorships with some of the best authors and editors in the kid lit world. And I have been submitting those novels that seemed ready to agents for a number of years.

Throughout this time, I have continued to hone my art, revised countless times, and tried to keep the rejection from discouraging me. After all, anyone who spends some time in the publishing crowd knows that rejection is just part of the job. Many rejections came with glowing words about the quality of my writing, the love of the characters, and even sometimes referrals to others who might want to represent me, but no offers of representation. Because of my bias toward traditional publishing, I vehemently avoided any suggestion or contact with self-publishing as a viable alternative.

But sometime last year, my year of expansion, I started to wonder if I was closing myself off to a valid avenue of publishing my books. I'm not getting any younger, and the traditional publishers aren't inclined to be more open to submissions--quite the opposite it seems most of the time.

Still, my bias against self-publishing was strong. On top of that, the idea of doing all the work on my own does not appeal to me. I want to be able to spend most of my effort focused on writing good stuff. An idea took root and blossomed: what about starting a publishing company made of up entirely of its own authors, and those authors work for and with each other? A blend of self-publishing with many of the collaborative benefits of traditional publishing. Authors would have creative authority while also getting editorial, design, distribution, and publicity from a team.

That's what drew me to attend this conference, and my bias has been dashed into the dust. I used to think that anyone who couldn't make it in the Big 5 just wasn't worthy or professional. I had an image that authors who took a non-traditional path were amateurs, intent on putting their book out despite bad writing and no editing. That may be the case for some, but the folks at this conference were amazing. They are committed to great books, from good writing to good design and good production. Contrary to what I had assumed, most of those present were not authors publishing their own material. Most companies started out of frustration at the myopic approach of traditional publishing who wanted to be more creative.

Some of these publishers (like Little Pickle Press) are breaking ground in producing books using green/environmentally friendly materials such as recycled papers and soy inks. Some are offering publication based on how many readers you can get to vote on your project based on samples you provide (like Inkshares). Some are truly niche markets. Some want to promote high literary quality that sometimes doesn't get noticed in trade publishing. Some are corporate publishers, using their expertise to produce books that promote what they are doing corporately (like Patagonia Books). It was astounding, really, to see all the variety of niches and approaches. And diversity of ages, ethnicity, gender, and subject matter.

Kwame Alexander gave a keynote about his years before winning the Newberry in which he self-published his own poetry as well as books by other authors. I attended sessions where I learned about dozens of apps a publisher can use, personal branding, hiring support services, and, possibly my favorite session, hybrid publishing.

I spent two days pondering how I want to structure my cooperative publishing venture and whether it might be better to try going with one of these many small presses that are already in business. I keep coming back to my original idea: a group of authors who contract to work together to help one another publish our books with the highest standards of writing, design, and book production that we can. Not to avoid the hard and difficult process of editing, marketing, etc, but to avoid the many years of submitting to indifferent others and instead using those years to do the work. Because I know already that my writing is good and my stories are good. I don't need affirmation. I, of course, want my book edited and revised over and over until it is great. And I also want the same for other authors like me who are doing great writing but not getting anywhere in the maze that is traditional publishing. I'd rather seek out a life beyond the maze, one that it more of a mountain range with summits to explore and heights to reach instead of prescribed turns and dead ends. Instead of trying so hard to do it "right" by someone else's definition and worrying that I'm not doing it right, I am drawn to this idea that there are many ways to create wonderful books, and no editor or agent has any more knowledge about it than I and my fellow authors do. (I have worked and played in the publishing world in various ways for 30 years; I might even know things these 25 year old editors just out of school don't know.)

Part II of this blog will describe my idea for anyone who might be interested. And here's to all your biases exploding in your face.

On Whether Writer's Block is Real

Yesterday I had a job interview for a writing position. During the interview, one of the people asked me what I do when I have writer's block. I said, "I don't get writer's block." He gave me the most incredulous look and implied that everybody gets writer's block. I reiterated that I don't. I said that if something is just not coming out the way I want, I just write "gobble-di-gook" until something good happens. He nodded knowingly, like he was thinking "see, you DO get writer's block."

Truly, I don't believe in writer's block. Maybe this is just me. My brain has so many thoughts and ideas zinging around at warp speed that, if anything, I have writing overload. I can't possibly write fast enough to get it all down.

Now, I will confess that I suffer from my own self-imposed writer's procrastination syndrome, in which I sometimes avoid the butt-in-chair action of sitting down and physically writing. I also have this life that doesn't always mean I have the time on any given day to make it to the butt-in-chair mode.

However, I feel that I am always writing, in my head if nothing else. I'm always going over scenes in my head, thinking up little phrases that I might use somewhere in ten years, pondering why a character seems flat.

Even when I have to write to a specific assignment and on a deadline, I don't usually have a problem with coming up with stuff to write. I almost always end up writing about twice as much as I need, and then have to cut most of it out.

So I was kind of appalled that this guy implied that I was lying about not having writer's block. Maybe I just don't call it that. Or maybe we define it differently. But even when I'm pondering, pondering, thinking, thinking, staring out the window, figuring out what words need to go on paper, I consider that writing. That is a very important part of my writing process. I have to think a long time about something before it gets put down. I don't think of that as writer's block. I think of that as the process.

I'd be curious to hear what other people experience. Because I'm willing to concede I might be wrong. (Although I'm sure I'm not. I mean, I should know what my own experience has been, right? But that might just be only me.)

Random Thoughts

My daughters don't seem in the posting mood lately, but I will keep going. Here are some random things based on my current state of mind. It is currently 11:40 p.m., so please keep that in mind.

For starters, my son Peter decided this week NOT to play baseball this spring. He has been playing baseball since he was 6 years old, so this is weird. He's always loved baseball. To the point where he did not play sports at school because baseball was 'his sport.' So I have mixed feelings on this. I'm glad for him that he understands what he wants to do. He wants more time to focus on Boy Scouts and chess and jazz band. On the other hand, I actually really like to watch baseball. On the other hand, I don't like sitting out in freezing April rain huddled up in blankets and sleeping bags for three hours to watch his games. But I will miss watching him play ball. He is thinking about being an umpire, so he'll still get to be involved. I think there comes a time in each kid's life where they realize what things they're good at and not so good at, and they tend to go with what they're good at. Sigh. But I think there's a plot idea there.

Wouldn't it be refreshing if politicians could see themselves as they really are? I mean, from where I sit, most of Washington D.C. is focused on self-preservation and winning the next election. It's crazy. They get virtually nothing done, they talk and talk and talk, but they don't actually seem to be working for the common good. They don't seem to care that there are real people out here suffering, trying to make ends meet, choking on life. Stupid politicians. Can we have a new revolution?

And the Idaho legislature is no better. The governor is cutting everything left and right in order to avoid raising taxes, because God forbid we actually ask the people to pay for programs. Geez. So let's cut education budgets, eliminate agencies for the most vulnerable folks, and hope the people are willing to pay out of pocket for the stuff the state won't. Oh, and the legislators think they will be here until May, and even then might not get everything done. Yikes. We have to pay for that. I have an idea. Let's make them pay out of pocket for their own presence in Boise, and then we can use the money the state saves to bolster up the budget. Take that stupid fools.

I think one reason our family stays mostly pretty healthy throughout the year is the vast quantities of garlic we use. Even just breathing the fumes probably helps. Almost every day the smell of garlic in oil starts out the dinner preparations. I can't prove it, and probably as soon as I post this, we'll all come down with something horrible. But I think the garlic does help.

I wrote a new opening to my latest WIP tonight, and the thrill of being in the revision phase is so nice. Maybe now we can really get somewhere with that.

Spend Valentine's Day with your loved one(s) helping the earthquake victims in Haiti by attending a concert at Cathedral of the Rockies at 2:00 p.m. Every dollar collected at the concert will go directly to Haiti relief. I'll be performing on flute. So come and enjoy.

Okay, I've just emptied my brain. So there you go. The random thoughts of an average American mom and author. Late at night. Listening to Broadway show tunes on Sirius radio.

15 Minutes of Fame

Today was an incredible day for me as a writer. So often, writers work in isolation, and mostly I prefer it that way. Although I like people--well, at least my friends--well enough, I really do enjoy as much alone time as I can get. I think that's part of why I write. Even when people do read my writing, I am not usually present. They are reading somewhere else, often months or years after I wrote the words they read. Very, very rarely (whoa, I just used three adverbs in a row!) someone will contact me and tell me they liked a piece I wrote. That is so gratifying. Of course, it's not why I write, but it is nice to hear from a reader that they liked it. At least I know someone read it.

Today, my words were sung by hundreds of choir members in front of thousands of people, and even broadcast on TV. And I was present. And I had to go up and take a bow.

The story behind this event starts several months ago. Our state capitol has been undergoing renovation, remodeling, and restoration for the past few years, under the direction of a special commission. Part of that commission had to put together a rededication ceremony, and they asked my friend Paul to compose a special musical work for it. Paul is an incredible composer, and will be conducting one of his new works at Carnegie Hall this May. He and I collaborated on a piece at summer camp this past summer. In 2008, organist Sam Porter commissioned a piece from Paul for Sam and me to play for Boise Music Week. (For those of you who don't know, I play flute.)I could go on and on about Paul and his talents, but maybe another time. Suffice it to say, when he called me to ask if I would like to write the lyrics for this work, I was honored and humbled. (Okay, the fact that I was going to get paid for it didn't hurt. Don't tell anyone, but I would have done it for free, just because it's Paul.)

I started writing a poem focusing on what I love about Idaho: sawtooth craggled peaks, canyons, lakes, rivers, wildlife, star garnets, and the strong, friendly people here. Paul and I sat down and worked that poem into some usable lyrics with a chorus. Then he composed the most amazing music around that.

Today was the rededication ceremony, and my words were coming out of the mouths of hundreds of singers as I looked on. Hearing it all with the incredible music and accompaniment of the 25th Army band was something I cannot really describe. I was in awe. Hardly able to believe that my words, the ones I wrote from my heart, about a place I love so much, were up there, in public. They were so beautiful coming out musically.

That was my 15 minutes of fame--which was really more like 5 minutes. But it was so cool. People told me several times today how much they liked the words. It made me feel great. But it really was a combination of those words with that music that made it so wonderful. I just have no words (ironically) to describe how it felt. So thank you to all who heard it. And thank you so much to Paul for asking me to be a part of this and for writing incredible music.

Peace,
Neysa

in emily's world of writing

so, today i broke the 200 page mark on the story i'm working on. Now to explain what this means. When i count a page i count one as a sheet of paper. this is so it will more likely match up with the pages when i type it. So 200 pages is 200 front and back. I'm very proud of this. i've written 20 pages more than i thought i would when i first started, and i'm no where near done. This is extremely exciting because usually the books i write tend to be shorter then i expected, not longer. take what you want from that.

in other news, walter moers is a god. if you don't know who that is, Shame on you! go find out right now. Him and shannon hale are my favorite authors ever. EVER. I just finished his book called The Alchemaster's Apprentice last night. Let me give you brief introduction into this story. The main character is named Echo. Echo is a crat. a crat is a talking cat with two livers. But that's not all. Echo's best friend is a cyclopian owl named theodore T. theodore. Theodore has speech dyslexia. ex. instead of saying "i hope so" theodore will say "i sope ho."

Now take into consideration that this is a pretty mild (if not terrifying) book for walter moers. the first book by him i read was called the 13 1/2 lives of Captain BLuebear. In as few words as possible this is what it's about: bluebear, minipirates, talking waves, hobgoblins, islands that eat you, blind pterodactyls, a guy with seven brains, and emo unicorn, a jelly prince from the 364th dimension, giant spiders, deserts made of suger, muggs who eat nothing but muggrooms, a tornado filled with old men, a quite literal ghost town, a giant head, atlantis, aliens, extreme storytelling contests, and thinking elements. and probably a few things i haven't mentioned.

i would love to spend a day with walter moers's mind.

now then, i'm supposed to say 7 things people don't know about me?
well...
1) my hair has been every color of the rainbow except green.
2) i'm in love with ron weasley
3) i have a collection of over a thousand marbles
4)secretly i wish more stories had sad endings (in the world walter moers created, Zamonia, all stories are tragedies)
5)my worst injury was a small cut on my forehead that needed three stitches
6)for some reason i keep skipping things. i skipped 8th grade, i skipped french 2...
7)i once went to turkey for 5 hours and bought a turkish rug

that's it for now!