Where's Your Head At?

Please excuse the preposition at the end of the title. I'm from the midwest--we do that around here.

And yes, it's also a song. I've linked to the video at the bottom of this post. Turn it up and start chair dancing!

My head isn't in the game this week. I'm incredibly distracted by things going on in the real world and they are preventing me from focusing on my story worlds. I have a friendship in trouble, a budding relationship that feels like it's about to fade out, an ex who wants to be back in the picture, a diet that is just not working, and oh yeah...

A MAJOR INTERVIEW ON FRIDAY.

Sound the alarm... (side note: Say what you will about Nikki Minaj. I'm a BIG fan of her new single...)

I have too many "real" things to sort out that I can't seem to muster the energy to look at my story stuff. In an effort to not totally fall off the writerly wagon, I've been writing out my interview notes by hand and I'm reading a new book that is somewhat in the same vein as my proposed NaNo story. So my creative side is still churning, just a bit slower these days.

I know some people who can literally "turn off" their brain and just write. They can push aside any stressors and focus on their creative pursuits. I'm not one of them. I try to run or do a strenuous workout when my mental hamster is really running in her wheel (ahem, like yesterday), but I can't bang out 3 miles every day.

How about you? Do you need to have everything 'just so' in your world before you can sit down and start creating?

As promised, your video, compliments of YouTube:

RETREAT!

Have you ever noticed how much work you can get done on your book simply by thinking about it? I can go through the motions here at Ye Ole Day Job, but approximately 95% of the time, I'm living in my book. Trying to unravel new plot threads. Spicing up characters with quirks. Finding ways to make my setting more "real." I'm always thinking about my story.

And I love it.

Anyway. What's going on this weekend? Any big plans? (You realize I ask because it's a polite way for me to tell you about my upcoming weekend, right?)

My writing group is getting together Sunday morning and heading north to a quiet retreat center for the day/night. We each have high hopes of putting a lot of necessary work into our books. I have new scenes to write and old ones to move around. I have more to do than is possible to accomplish in 24 hours.

I'm excited--SUPER excited--about this quick retreat. But part of me is nervous. Two people in our group are social. They're lovely people, but if one starts to talk, then the other one does, and the next thing you know, an hour is gone and I haven't been able to write a thing.

So this means I'm going to have to protect my time. The retreat center is HUGE. I will have my own room. And headphones. If I'm not getting stuff done because of the chatter, I will simply walk away. No harm, no foul. I won't ask them to stop, I will simply relocate. I'm paying for this time with my own money and my own vacation day on Monday. I do not want to get home and feel like it wasn't worth either one.

No, really: What's going on this weekend? Anyone writing? Anyone want to pull my weeds? Wait, no, that's not right. Big plans?

What can you do in 3 weeks?

Three weeks. 21 days.

What could you get done in 3 weeks if you set your mind to it?

Just about anything, right? I hope so, because that's exactly what I'm up against.

In order to use my 2011 NaNo CreateSpace code for 5 free proof copies, I have exactly three weeks to polish my book and send it in. Truth be told? 21 days is generous. My self-imposed deadline is Tuesday, June 26th, so three weeks minus one day.

But what if I can't do it? Do I draw the line in the sand and say, "Self, if you're not at Point X by Date Y, hang it up"?

In order to give myself the best possible chance of success, I am allowing myself some luxuries this month. In the month of June, it is okay to:

• Run the dishwasher more than once a week. If lil' ol me fills it up, this means I've been bringing my lunches and making my dinners = more money left over. Win-win.
• Skip trips to the gym. Something has to give.
• A 2-mile walk with the dog is enough exercise. There's a book to polish!
• Go 10-12 days between mowing the lawn. Yes, the neighbors do theirs every 7-8, but that's fine. I'm writing.
• Laundry. Meh. Not sure why I do it so often anyway.
• Say no to friends. Thankfully, they all know this deadline is upon me, so they're cool.

Okay, so I have it all laid out and you're likely thinking, "There's no WAY you'll fail!" Alas, I haven't told you the bad parts. 

I rewrote my story outline last night. It's tighter and cleaner and has less "fluff" than before, but it means I have a lot to do. And I'm determined to figure out how to use Photoshop or InDesign to make my cover (I'm proficient enough to screw things up--should be NO problem!) instead of using the CreateSpace cover generator. Finally, in a fit of insanity, I decided to fly out to see a friend in two weeks. He's helped with one of my settings and has offered to play tour guide so I can see it first hand. While I feel this is amazing timing and really quite fortunate, I just HAD to go schedule a 4-day trip in the middle of these sacred three weeks, didn't I...

What was I thinking?! 

Dear Insecure Writers Support Group: I'm worried that I'm going to put all this time and effort, and now money and vacation time, into a project that A) won't come together by the deadline, or B) will sit on my shelf for the rest of eternity because the book isn't "sellable." As a result, I won't be a writer, but instead, a pretender. In debt.

Commence insecurity-induced freak out. 

Too hot to handle...

"Too cold to hold..." C'mon, guys: Finish that lyric!

This is very long post that has NOTHING to do with writing. Feel free to move along if you don't have time/care to read about running. I promise it won't hurt my feelings.

Instead, here's the race recap from the Green Bay Cellcom Half Marathon, which I ran on Sunday, May 20th. The race was called mid-run due to excessive heat. I, and the 50-75 runners around me, never got the message. 

Starting line area

Starting around Wednesday prior to the race, I received a number of emails from the race director talking about the projected warm temps, the need to hydrate, and how no one should use this race for a PR (personal record). Me, in my infinite arrogance, laughed. How hot can it be? It's Green Bay, Wisconsin. Home of the Frozen Tundra and all that jazz. I figured I'd be just fine, but brought 3 extra 48 oz water bottles for the road trip on Saturday to hydrate anyway. I'm glad I did.

I woke up around 5:30 on Sunday morning. I planned to meet my friends at 6am and hop on the school bus shuttle from the hotel to Lambeau Field at 6:15. I toasted my bagel thin, forced down my breakfast, and tried to drink my water. My nervous stomach didn't want food, but I knew I had to eat. I ran the same half marathon the year before (my first ever half marathon) and had a sneaky itch to try and PR this race. I knew I was in better shape than last year and really--I just wanted to beat myself.

We hopped on the bus and were naturally surrounded by the "good" runners. You know, the ones who were talking about the weather and how they were going to "force themselves" to slow down and run at a 9:30-10 min/mile pace. HA! I figured if I could average 11:30, I'd be in good shape.

Lots of standing around, stretching, bathroom lines, nervous sips of water, double checking gear, retying laces, and overall just trying to get my head in the game. It was hot and sticky at 6:55am. I didn't want to even THINK what it would be like two and a half hours later.

My two friends lined up with me. One had decided the night before that she was going to try this race (she was signed up, but hadn't trained since Jan due to knee injury) and the other one had serious medical issues and also decided the night before that she was going to give this race a shot. I was worried about both of them, but we all had phones.

HM course. Green arrow is the start, blue dots are water stops, red dots
are medical stops. It went counter clockwise.

The gun went off and we shuffled our way to the start. I hit "Start" on my iPhone's GPS program and started running. I crossed mile marker 1 (MM 1) and the woman's voice came on to tell me I was averaging a 9:45/mi pace. Whoa, adrenaline! I had to slow down! Unfortunately, I had roughly the same pace for MM 2, so I simply forced myself to stop and walk for a minute.

MM2-MM4 were really hard for me. I was incredibly hot and sweating like mad. I was also quickly figuring out that my GPS was ahead of the miles, so when it told me I was at MM4, I still couldn't see the banner on the course. I ended up turning it off later in the race.

Just before MM5, my friend April texted me (the one with medical issues). She was going to drop out. I knew there was a church party right after MM6 and I texted back that I was going to make a decision at that point. I wasn't feeling good about the race and knew I was spending a lot of time walking. I had also watched the first ambulance come up from behind and stop a few blocks ahead on the course. By time I reached the vehicle, they were lifting a female up on a stretcher. She looked to be in excellent shape and was about my age and she was out cold, complete with mask on and everything. It was pretty scary. I said a little prayer and kept going.

The church party was actually a few blocks past the official MM6 banner. At that point, I started grabbing two cups of water. I'd drink one and dump the other on my head. I love the church party. They have a full gospel-type choir complete with a band and microphones. I turned off my music, high-fived the kids along the street, grabbed the waters, and enjoyed the moment. I was essentially half way there.

MM6-MM9 I was having an absolute BLAST even though I saw an alarming number of runners down due to the heat. I don't know how, but I was running with a smile on my face and thanking the homeowners who put their sprinklers on the course for runners to go through. My runner's high was happening mid-race. I loved it. LOVED it. Here's a great pic of a sign I saw. HA!

If you can't read it, it says
"You trained longer than
Kim Kardashian's marriage!"

I was Tweeting with Sarah Ahiers (because, who doesn't update Facebook and Twitter while running a half?) just before MM9 when I suddenly snapped out of my runner's high and looked around. At that exact moment, I saw three runners lying down in the shaded lawns of the course. Something clicked in my head and I realized that I needed to pay better attention. For lack of a worse cliche, "It was gettin' real out here." As in, real dangerous.

I passed MM10 at 1:51, or almost 6 minutes better than my time last year. I was still feeling FABULOUS. I knew if I kept my easy pace for the next 3.1 miles that I would easily PR this race. I found some runners ahead of me to pace and tried to get into a groove. At the same time, I was nervous that I felt so good. What was I doing that other runners weren't? Or was this the early signs of dehydration and I was about to pass out any minute? It seemed like every time I looked up, I saw more runners down on the ground.

Shortly after MM10, a state trooper who was directing traffic was yelling something to the runners. We pulled out ear buds to hear the news. Up ahead at MM12, where the HM runners turn left to finish and the full marathoners turn right to go another 14 miles, the race director had closed the split. The full marathon had been cancelled due to heat. It was a half marathon only. At my next walk break I texted my friends to let them know what was going on. They were approx 2 miles behind me and from what I understood, they were seeing more and more runners down as well.

After MM11, the remaining 2 miles were in a zero-shade industrial park area. I knew it was going to take everything I had to PR. I could feel chafe burns on my back from my sports bra and on my hips from my capris from the sweat and waters over my head. I got to MM12 and saw that yes, the turn off to the right was in fact closed. A race official with a megaphone kept repeating, "All runners must turn left. The full marathon has been closed due to excessive heat. Left turn ONLY!"

Thankfully, the organizers mobilized a water station at MM12.5 and I passed a number of bike medics on this part of the course. I remember feeling incredibly grateful to the guy who worked at the sheet metal business. He pulled out his office's 10-gal Culligan water dispenser and was apologizing to runners for running out of cups! No one cared. We took scooped handfuls, splashed our faces, gave grateful smiles, and kept running. Major high-fives to that guy. He was just being nice. Man, I love nice people.

I remember the volunteers at MM12.5 yelling encouragement. "Keep going, half a mile and you're done! There's plenty of water at the finish line. You've got this!"

Suddenly, my phone rang. Who the hell is calling me? And more important--why am I answering the phone while on the literal home stretch of my HM? It was April. She was almost to MM11 when the race director decided to shut down the entire race. All runners were being diverted back to Lambeau field. She found our other friend and together, the two of them walked the 3 blocks back. I told her I was a few minutes out and would meet her at the finish.

I put my head phones away and put my phone back on my arm. From here on out, I needed to pay attention. I was with a group of exhausted, sweaty, and jubilant runners. We were looking around at each other like, "I can't believe we just did that!"

We crossed Oneida St and turned to enter the Lambeau Field parking lot, no more than 100 yards from the finish line. Unfortunately, race officials had pulled a gate across the course, preventing anyone from finishing. When the race director decided to call the race, that went for anyone still on the course. I thought it meant for any runner on the course before a specific cut off mark, like MM11 or MM12 where my friends were--not for runners who were on the home stretch!

That's right, I'm throwing deuces at the camera lady
because I'm THAT happy. And yes, I'm buying one.

Man, we were FURIOUS! We busted our butts to finish in horrible conditions, just to find 100 yds from the end that we weren't allowed to finish? Group mentality kicked in. We all stormed forward, ran around the guy, climbed over the fence, and ran like hell. Somehow, somewhere, I found the remaining energy to put every last bit into that stretch and cross the finish line with a smile on my face.

I grabbed my medal, took 2 free waters, posed for a pic, then stumbled around in a post-race fog. It was TOTAL chaos. A woman in the medical tent was screaming "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" and I saw a number of runners simply collapse in exhaustion. It didn't help that the post-race area was too small, fenced in, and in direct sunlight. We had to get out of there and find shade. ASAP.

That was about it. The busses to the hotels were busy out on the course picking up runners, so we had to wait another hour and a half before we could even get back to our hotel. The shower should've felt wonderful, but I had too many random rub sores all along my waist and back that the water stung.

That night my friends all left for their own homes. I ordered a pizza from Old Chicago and ate every last bite of the mushroom pineapple deliciousness. And I didn't even feel guilty. I earned that grease. :)

Like I said, this is super long. My apologies. However, I know there are a few writer-runners out there. If you have any questions about being a non-runner in a runner's world, please don't be shy--ask away! I'm more than happy to help anyone realize that you can run a half marathon. True story. Even this drinker-sometimes-smoker. If you can write a book, you can run a HM. Actually, I'd argue running is easier and has quicker payoffs, but we can discuss that another day.

In Remembrance

24 years ago yesterday, a terrible spring storm rolled through Wisconsin, complete with ominous claps of thunder, bolts of lightning, and strong winds.

That morning, my mom, my grandma who was visiting from Virginia, brother, and I went to church. It was Mother's Day, 1988. We had bought mom flowers and drew homemade cards with smiling suns and big hearts in pink crayon. Anything to make her smile.

Later that afternoon, the clouds darkened and the winds grew intense. I was sitting downstairs in the ever-darkening play room when my grandma yelled, "Trish, your mom wants you to go outside and grab the hanging basket off the mailbox!"

I begrudgingly put on my shoes and did as I was told. I dawdled down the driveway as only a 10 year old could do, dodging worms and hopping over cracks, not really paying attention to the world around me. I was wrapped up in one singular, powerful emotion. Fear.

I knew it then. I just didn't know how I knew it.

The day went on. I brought the basket in. My mom got home late--I imagine my brother and I were already in bed. One more day over, just like all the others.

12:30am: Monday May 9, 1988.
The phone rang, pulling me out of my sleep. I figured it was a wrong number, but then my mom screamed. Not a scream of fear, but more like a loud, guttural moaning that drove the fear right back into my heart.

Over and over. I knew. Again, I knew.

I somehow went to bed and woke up on time for school the next day. Mom and grandma said I didn't have to go, but I didn't know what else to do. On my way to the bus stop, I re-hung basket on the mailbox. I looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow fighting against the clouds, gathering strength from the sun's rays. The rainbow gave me hope. I figured God put it there for my dad.

I tried to keep it together on the bus ride. My brother didn't go to school--in hindsight, I can't figure out why I felt like I would be the tough one. I walked into 5th grade terrified someone would know my secret. That my classmates would see me as "different."

The school counselor soon came for me and asked where I wanted to go.

"The library," I said. It was the safest place I could think of, surrounded by characters who would never know my truth but who could understand my fear. How does a 10-year old girl wrap her head around cancer? Around death? Around the truth that she would never see her father again?

The doctors told my mom they believed my dad fought throughout the evening so he wouldn't pass on Mother's Day. I agree. Unfortunately, every Mother's Day since then has been different. It's like Mother's Day* in my house, where the * is the awful reminder of what happened in 1988. It's getting better though. My mom rebounds faster from her blues and I can do things like type this story out without crumbling into a sobbing mess.

So Dad, this one's for you. I have faith that I'm not walking alone.

I remember you.
I could never forget you.
I just wish you were still here.

Music of S: Samuel Barber, Israel, and Section 9

With only 8 music blogs left, I present the letter S!

If you can make it past the first song, I promise you, the last one is a feel-good song. Scout's honor.

1. Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings"
I'm not sure if I should blame or thank my blogging buddy Caitlin over at Logically for turning me on to this song. Last November during NaNo, we were talking on Twitter about good writing music. I think I asked for sad music, or maybe she just offered it. Either way, I remember Cait telling me it was one of the saddest pieces of music she had ever heard. Ever the skeptic (and one who had listened to some incredibly sad tunes in her day), I took the challenge. She's not too far off, gang. This piece of classical music is painfully beautiful. Set against the poem in the video below makes it all the more powerful.

2. Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World"
I'm almost done with funeral songs, I promise. Unfortunately, I've lost too many incredibly important family members in my short life and I have songs tied in my heart to that person's memory. I selected this song for the service of the man who was like a father to me growing up. Seeing as my father died when I was 10, I don't use that phrase lightly. Thinking of you, TWC.

3. "Section 9" by The Polyphonic Spree
Okay, let's lighten it up, shall we? It is Saturday, after all. Thank you, Scrubs, for introducing me to this totally bizarre musical troupe. This is one of those situations where there really are no words. Just turn it up and feel inspired. This song shows up on my half marathon play list somewhere around mile 10 or 11. Not quite the finish line, but close enough to the end to remind me to keep going. "Just follow the day and reach for the sun..."

(ETA: I'm not sure how to feel about this song being used for The Lorax movie. Really? The Lorax? Sigh. Fine. Whatever. I still think of Scrubs.)

Okay, S is also for Saturday so you tell me--what tunes do you like to listen to on a Saturday to get you up and dancing? And watch out for Monday's "T" post. It looks like there will be more videos than usual!

Music of I: Muse, U2, and Eddie Vedder (yes, all again)

Mea culpa, gang. Here's the part where I am totes honest with you:
The letter "H" was the end of the queued blogs. I need to hurry up and get my bum in gear if I hope to finish this challenge. So, here's I. Short and sweet. And yes, I've mentioned all 3 of these artists already. I hope you weren't expecting me to come up with new artists for each letter! :)

1. "Invincible" by Muse
Love Muse.
Love this song (esp right around the 4:35 mark with the AMAZING guitar solo)
Love the lyrics. Check them out here. Read them and be inspired.

2. "If God Will Send His Angels" by U2
This song is the first track on the City of Angels soundtrack. This was the first movie I went to by myself, many moons ago when I was still in college. I really wanted to see it and my roommates weren't interested, so I packed a little lunch and took myself to the movies. This song just really moves me. I'd use a stronger verb, but I'm not sure which one to use.

3. Into the Wild soundtrack, Eddie Vedder
I'm a big fan of soundtracks because they usually provide a wide variety of songs from a selection of artists and bands. This usually introduces me to new singers and music, thus expanding my musical horizons. But then I come across a soundtrack like Into the Wild, and I love it for the exact opposite reasons. See, I knew of Pearl Jam. I knew who Eddie Vedder was, but I wasn't really a big fan of the music. But this album sounded different. It's calming, it's good, and it's also on my writing playlist. No one song really stands out as "the best," rather, they all have the same feel. I haven't seen the movie and really, I don't know if I want to. I like not knowing the context to some of these songs.

Thanks for all the suggestions of songs and/or artists you enjoy for each of these letters. I hope to spend some time in May making a list and checking out your suggestions. Keep them coming!

Being true to deceased parents

I've been sitting on this blog post for a few months now, unsure how to best broach the subject. I read Phoebe North's "On Beginnings" blog (you can read it here) back in December, 2011 and since then the idea of dead parents in books has been floating around in my head. Specifically, handling your MC when his/her parents die.

My father died when I was 10. His death impacted my mom, my brother, and myself in ways we never could have imagined. But the reality of our new status quo, combined with the love, the fear, and the anguish over such a HUGE loss helped bring us back together again, though it took many years.

Losing one's parent can be devastating, especially for young children or teens. I've spent more time than I'd like to admit wondering two things:

• Which would be easier? Losing my father when I was younger, and therefore had less memories to replay in my head, or losing him later, thus giving us more years to know each other?
• Which is worse? Losing him quickly, like in an accident, or having some idea that the end will eventually come, such as with sickness?

Here's the truth: it doesn't matter because when you're done emotionally killing yourself over the issue, you're left with no resolution. None. Zero. No answer will ever be the right one and no answer will bring them back.

But that's my point. As someone who lost a parent, I asked myself those questions. I still do. I denied that he was even dead. I told myself for YEARS he was still alive, held against his will in a foreign country. It was easier to believe someone took him instead of accepting that mutated cells could flatten the mountain of a man who was my father. At 6 feet, 6 inches tall with salt and pepper hair, blue eyes, and a thick New York City accent with the moxie to match--my dad could be the most intimidating person one minute and have you laughing the next. There are so many things I wish people could know about him, but I'm trekking down this emotional road for a different purpose.

As a MG writer, I understand how much easier a story can be without parents around to "get in the way." Setting your character alone against the world is a tried and true method for most "coming of age" stories. I get it and I use this concept myself.

However, I recently read a story where the author killed the main character's entire family. Mom, dad, and sister, all gone. At this point, I stopped reading for a day because I needed to distance myself from the story. It felt like these deaths were used as a plot point to motivate the MC to make the next decision and weren't treated with the gravity the situation required. The author wrote in emotions every few pages, showing us the MC was still grappling with the loss, but it wasn't enough. Not for me.

If using the death of a parent in your story, take a deep breath and write true to the emotions. If you've never lost a parent, then cue up your Disney-happy-place-music, put yourself in that horrible mind set, and think about how you would feel. Write that. Or ask someone who has dealt with this. But writing that your main character buried their emotions to "deal with later" can feel false.

Instead, show us your characters acting out. Bring your readers along as your characters make deals with higher powers to reverse reality. Have us walk by their side as they make irrational decisions, push away those they love, and act out of character. Show us the tears, confusion, anger, heartbreaking sobs, denial, and most importantly, show us how your main character's life is irrevocably changed. It's okay, as the author, you can always bring your character back around, but it will make them more relatable to teens who might be facing that situation.

How about you? Do you feel one way or another about books that use a parent's death as a motivational tool?