The Waving Wheat: What I Love About Oklahoma

I’m a proud Texan, but what you might not know is that Oklahoma has always had a piece of my heart. My paternal grandparents were raised in the Bartlesville area, and my maternal grandparents were raised in the Frederick area. My dad was born and raised in Bartlesville, and he and my mom lived in Stillwater while he finished his degree at Oklahoma State. My brother also lived in Stillwater while he attended OSU, and my sister-in-law lived in Weatherford while she went to college.

I have lots of family and friends who live across the state now. So yesterday, when I watched the tornado footage in sadness and disbelief, and when I was relieved to hear my family and friends were safe (even if their homes weren’t), I could not stop thinking about Oklahoma:

Summers in Frederick: As a little girl, I would sit on the ice cream maker, while my great uncles took turns adding rock salt and cranking the handle. After I got older, I learned how to bid the game from the masters at 42: my great aunts and my grandma.

Fall football in Stillwater: I’ve got orange and black in my closet, and all the Eskimo Joe’s cups to prove it: when it comes to college football, I root for the Cowboys (as long as they aren’t playing my alma mater, ahem.)

Holidays in Bartlesville: My Grandma would decorate every square inch possible and cook all my family’s traditional dishes, with peach cobbler being my favorite. My Grandpa would set up as many tables and chairs as would fit in the garage, and no matter how many family members could be there, there was always room for all of us at the table. No trip was complete without gathering the cousins and going to Murphy’s. Sure, they’ve got a full menu, but all you order is the Junior Hot Hamburger, gravy over all.

Spring running in Oklahoma City: The Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon race is where I ran my first 5K, my first 10K, my first half marathon in the rain, and my only marathon. I crossed the finish line every year in part because of the other participants who encouraged me along the way and because there are no other races with the water stops and the spectator support like OKC. No others.

And that’s what I love most about Oklahoma: From the pioneers who ran the land run, to my grandparents who survived the depression and the dust bowl, to the OKC community who got back up after the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah building and the good people of Moore who have seen tornado tragedy before: the people of Oklahoma are some of the strongest, most caring people you will ever meet. So let’s show them how we feel.

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You’ve gotta get up and try try try

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Pink sings it best: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWbRO1rWB9M

This week I’m experimenting with when it’s best for me to write. And the winner so far is the morning. Now I’m not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, but what I’m coming to understand is that my writing needs a lot of mental space…and the only time my mind isn’t cluttered is, well, first thing in the morning. So I don’t think it’s coincidence I found this essay today: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/01/on-writing-in-the-morning.html. Ms. Robinson, she’s on to something.

Now I know: I just gotta get up and try try try.

Rolling Grisham Style

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While he’s famous now for his many novels, what I find most interesting about John Grisham is how he wrote his first novel, A Time to Kill. According to multiple accounts I’ve read, including his personal website, he spent several years writing the novel, mostly before work. And by before work, I mean he got up at 5:00 a.m. to write. So, while I don’t get up as early as 5:00 a.m., any time I write in the morning before my day job, I like to call it, “rolling Grisham style.”

Get up and write!

Get up and write!

(Photo courtesy of Alan Cleaver, CC by 2.0)

Yesterday I had grand plans to come home from work and spend some time writing. But then I remembered it was Monday night, otherwise known as haul-my-trash-to-the-curb night. Which then became, oh, look, I think I’ll just tidy-up-the-garage night. Ultimately, I didn’t write. Instead of beating myself up about it, I decided to see it as a sign: maybe right after work on a weeknight is not the best time for me to plan my writing. But this morning? In the deep quiet before the sun came up? Actually, rolling Grisham style worked pretty well.

My Writing Process: When and Where?

I get paid to write technical documentation. And besides the happiness that appears twice a month in my bank account from this solid writing gig, I love what I do because I can geek out to my heart’s content. But it’s not enough. Part of my life story also includes a chapter or two about the fiction and nonfiction I write outside the technical realm. In the past, I’ve been really sporadic about this category of my writing life.  But no one likes a sporadic writer in residence.

I’ve long suspected I couldn’t quite make my writing an integral part of my life because I didn’t know how. It’s time to find out. This month, I’m focusing on getting to know my muse (or creativity, or habits, or writing process, or whatever you’d like to call it).

Specifically, this week, I’m going to pay close attention to the when and where of my writing. Part of the joy of writing is that you can do it pretty much any time and pretty much anywhere. But sometimes with so much freedom, I can’t figure out what works best for me. So this week, I’m going to experiment writing in different places and at different times. Bottom line, I just want to get words on the page. And I refuse to let a less-than-ideal place and time keep me from writing. But, now’s my chance to know: does the when and where matter?

Where and when do you find it easiest to write?

What Does a Writer in Residence Do?

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Now that I’ve got this gig, what exactly will I do?

Write: There is no better way to improve than to practice. I have ideas for both nonfiction and fiction. No matter which direction I take, I’ll be blogging my progress and blogging about what I’m learning along the way.

onceuponatimePhoto courtesy of Flickr user LMRitchie.

Learn: I love to learn, so I suspect this will be the easiest part of my residency. I’ll study authors on my Artist Tree, plus other works on the craft of writing.

Give: I consider myself blessed beyond measure: 2013 is a new year, a new opportunity to explore writing more deeply. Because I have received such a gift, I want to give back to my community. Whether its teaching what I know about writing (i.e., how to write a resume), or teaching what I learn from my journey and my studies this year, I want to pay my blessings forward.

Network: Writing is a solitary endeavor, and while I’m sometimes a loner, I think it’s fun (and necessary) to meet like-minded folks who also enjoy writing or creating something from nothing. I’ll be blogging about what networking looks like; will it be at my house? With friends? With a writing group?

I have some ideas to guide my journey, but, really, I’m not sure how this is going to go. Which makes it entirely worth trying.

What is my list missing? If you are writing or creating, what are you up to?

 

Writer In Residence

I never paid much attention to the idea of “writer in residence” until I read an article once about an intriguing one. I didn’t remember his name, but I did remember: he was awarded the writer in residence at London’s Heathrow Airport. I’ve been to Heathrow, once or twice, and much like other big airports, I suspect the people watching is prime. So I remembered this random tidbit, because I thought to myself: Now there’s a lucky writer. It was such a bizarre, interesting idea that I wondered if I could call up my local airport and ask them if I could do the same. Don’t worry, I haven’t called yet. Instead, I decided to do a little digging. Turns out the Heathrow writer I remembered is Tony Parsons.

So while I’m still deciding on whether or not I want to try calling my airport, I dig a little deeper into the idea of writer in residence. The dictionary defines it as “an accomplished writer with a temporary residential post at an academic institution for the purposes of sharing insights.” A quick Google search shows writer in residence programs for different genres, ranging from children’s authors to poets, and in just about every corner of the world: from college campuses, to ranch house, and yes, even the airport. Many of them are competitive, and in return for a place to live and (or maybe a handsome stipend), a writer is given the opportunity to spend a period of time writing a particular work. Also, writers in residence often participate in community events, such as reading their work or participating in other events that highlight the literary arts.

Don’t get me wrong, the idea of an award of this magnitude sounds pretty awesome. I love to travel and even lived abroad once. But just like Gretchen Rubin writes in her Happiness Project, “…I didn’t want to reject my life. I wanted to change my life without changing my life, by finding more happiness in my own kitchen.” (1) I, too, want to change my life without changing my life, by writing more in my own place. I decided, then, to take the less worn path: I have a residence. I am a writer. So I do hereby officially declare myself the writer in my residence.

Want to write more in 2013? Or sing? Or sew? Or code? Or cook? Join me!

Works Cited
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(1) Rubin, Gretchen (2009-12-16). The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun (Kindle Locations 246-247). Harper Perennial. Kindle Edition.

If you could change one thing in 2013, what would it be?

You’re Invited: A Toast for Change
I was sitting on my couch, surfing the Amazon Prime free video section, when I stumbled upon The Freedom Writers. I’d seen it once at the theater, but I couldn’t remember much about it, so I went ahead and re-watched it. In case you missed it, the movie, staring Hilary Swank, is based on the true story of a woman, Erin Gruwell, who becomes an English teacher in inner-city L.A. Gruwell teaches a Freshman English class divided by race to respect each other. In one classroom scene, after a semester of learning to respect and trust their classmates, she hosts a Toast for Change. She brings in sparkling cider and each student makes a toast for something he or she plans to change in the upcoming semester. Students raise a glass to graduating (the first in their family), or to not giving up on life, or to making amends with estranged family members. While my life does not mirror that of an inner-city youth, I, too, have some changes I want to make in 2013.

As I look back at 2012, I’m proud of where I’ve been. But I’m even more excited about the journey ahead. Through it all, I’ve been surrounded by strong friends and family who, along with me, have experienced many of life’s joys and sorrows in 2012: there were babies born, moves made, and marathons finished. Mixed in with all the sweetness, there was also profound loss, broken hearts, and missed opportunities. But there was beauty in all of it. Unmistakable, sheer beauty. And so I raise a glass to the sun rising over the road ahead: 12 months of a glorious 2013. Won’t you raise a glass with me?

Spare Change
When I was bemoaning some of my upcoming goals to my wise friend, Patricia, she remarked, “Well, you can always try it, and if you don’t like it, you can go back.”
“But I don’t want to go back,” I whined.
She just paused, while the words sank in between us.

Change is like that. It looks good on paper, maybe we even want it so bad, we can hear the victory bells ringing out behind us. But change never promised it would be easy to lose ten pounds or talk to that handsome guy or write that story deep within your heart. But for all the struggle, all the two steps forward, one step back I’ve taken when I’ve worked on my past goals, I can never say it wasn’t worth it. It was always worth it. I’ve never wanted to go back, to erase the victory. Not one single time. A few years ago, I might have told you I only wanted a little change in my life. It’s big and scary, right? But now? Now I want to lean in close and whisper to the universe, “Have some spare change I can borrow?”

So no matter your goals, or whether you want a little or a lot of change in 2013, I think we might as well go for it. Here’s what I’m doing to step out onto my journey:

The big picture: Fill a Dream Jar
I took a beveled mason jar (one of my favorites), wrote down all my dreams, rolled them up, tied them with purple ribbon (everything goes with purple), and filled my dream jar. This takes about thirty minutes and costs about a dollar.

P.S. I love curling ribbon.

P.S. I love curling ribbon.

The check-in-with-myself moment: Write a 6 Month Letter
I found some pretty stationery and wrote my future self a letter. I’ve marked my calendar, and on June 30, I’m going to read it again. Total time: Twenty minutes, and I didn’t spend any extra money. I put the letter on a shelf in my closet, where I won’t be tempted to read it before June 30.

The compass: Create My Desire Map
I’m reading Danielle LaPorte’s The Desire Map book. And, unlike other planning tools in the past, I’m actually answering all the questions and filling in all the workbook blanks. Yes, things are getting serious. LaPorte’s book and supporting materials cost $170.00, and you can pay with three installments. The whole program has taken me at least five hours, and I’m not done yet.

You don’t have to fill a mason jar or go through a workbook to have a new year. The calendar already took care of that for us. Now, who’s with me?

What I Learned: Jennifer Weiner

This post is part of a series titled, Artist Tree. In these posts, I’ll discuss an artist that has influenced me. I’ll share what their work has taught me, how I put into practice what I’ve learned from them, and what I’d do if I ever got the chance to meet them. The story behind the Artist Tree is here. Leave me a comment if you’re building one, too. Note that I do not receive compensation for any of the reviews or links I provide.

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I’ve read the following works by Jennifer Weiner:

I discovered Jennifer Weiner one summer day as I was browsing the book store for my upcoming vacation. After attending our ten-year high school reunion, my best friend Rebekah and I were treating ourselves to an all-inclusive resort stay on a serene beach in Mexico. Which is why I needed a beach read. I perused the aisles for a bit and finally saw a light teal spine. I pulled it from the shelf and read the title, The Guy Not Taken. Scanning the back cover, I was hooked. 10 books later, I’m still going strong with my interest in Jennifer Weiner. Here is what reading her as taught me:

Use your senses.
The writing I do to pay the bills requires concision and a focus on tasks. In other words, you leave the description to a minimum. And then there’s that time I went to a writer’s talk and an author recommended going sparse on the description. So imagine my surprise when I open a Jennifer Weiner book and she’s describing, well, everything. For a long time I couldn’t figure out how she was doing it. She didn’t lose me on her description, but it was very detailed. Finally, Oz pulled back the curtain: Jennifer Weiner is using all five senses in her description. This technique makes her settings and characters vibrant. Consider this description from Good in Bed:

“I was stationed in the corner of the living room, where I had a good view of the room, plus easy access to the hot artichoke dip. I was doing my imitation of my mother’s life partner Tanya trying to eat an Alaskan king crab leg with her arm in a sling. So the first time I saw Bruce, I had one of my arms jammed against my chest, sling-style, and my mouth wide open and my neck twisted at a particularly grotesque angle as I tried to suck the imaginary meat out of the imaginary claw. I was just getting to the part where I accidentally jammed the crab leg into my right nostril, and I think there might have been hot artichoke dip on my cheek. My friends were pretty much speechless with laughter, when Bruce walked up. He was tall, and tanned, with a goatee and a dirty-blond ponytail, and soft brown eyes.” (Weiner, Good in Bed)

I’ve never had king crab, and I’ve never met a guy named Bruce at a party. But instantly, Weiner transports me to this character, who is reliving a party that seems absolutely real.

Modern fiction is possible.
Speaking of realistic, I’ve always been drawn to fiction set in the real world. I know, I know. There are some amazing science fiction and fantasy works in the world. And I enjoy some of them. But I drift towards fiction set in the world we live in, both now and in the past. So in an era of vampire popularity contests, it’s nice to see Jennifer Weiner hasn’t shape-shifted her heroines into vampire slayers. Albeit a cool read, Weiner has proven that you can take real headlines (egg donor), real settings (Philadelphia) and create rich stories with fictional characters in those spaces. This relieves me because typically the characters who show up on my doorstep are also of the same type.

Stand up for what you believe in.
Even though we’ve never met, I follow Jennifer’s website, blog, and twitter. She often stands up for fellow women writers, especially when she notices a difference in how they are treated versus male writers, or if a fellow woman writer bashes them in any way. Whether I agree or disagree with Weiner on a particular point is inconsequential; however, I have always felt that she takes an honest stand for what she believes in, and she is not afraid to speak up. Being a writer requires a thick skin for many reasons, but she’s also taught me if something is really important to you, let others know!

Write to please yourself.
On her For Writers page, she states, “Tell the story that’s been growing in your heart, the characters you can’t keep out of your head, the tale that speaks to you, that pops into your head during your daily commute, that wakes you up in the morning. Don’t write something just because you think it will sell, or fit into the pigeonhole du jour. Tell the story you want to tell, and worry about how to sell it later…”
This is advice is so liberating. Write the novel I want to read? Yes, please!

Characters can reappear.
I grew up watching One Life to Live with my grandma. As with all soap operas that hit their prime in the ’70s and ’80s, the residents of Llanview had their fair share of characters who went to prison, had multiple personalities,  died of terminal illnesses, and suffered a host of other ill-fated woes. Of course, these events always happened on the Friday cliffhanger, and certain key characters died and were revived through the years. A prison sentence would end, a character would become a different personality, a terminal illness would have been a cover for a kidnapping and the victim would suddenly reappear in an episode, full of health and new Botox. The older I got, the cheesier and funnier this became to me. And I decided then and there, if you weren’t writing a fictional series, you needed to retire your characters after one novel. Reappearance was better left to the soaps.

Then I read Weiner. I feel in love with her main character in Good in Bed, Cannie. And lo and behold, several books later, I got to read about Cannie again in Certain Girls. Weiner did the same thing with Ruth, a character she introduced us to in The Guy Not Taken. This year, Weiner expanded on Ruth’s story and the result is her novel, The Next Best Thing. The lesson? If you keep it real, and classy, and you establish a connection between your readers and your characters, you can absolutely write a successful sequel or expand on their storyline.

The Plot Thickens: Girl Gets Mail

It’s a chilly afternoon. With overcast skies and a brisk wind, it’s the kind of day in Austin where you finally realize you must say farewell to the pool float and hello to pumpkin spice lattes.

I pull my car near the row of neighborhood mailboxes, tighten my fleece jacket, and brace for the cold. Any weatherman will tell you–it’s not actually that cold, but after an Austin summer, the first real meet and greet with fall always feels like a blast of ice. I get the mail quickly, absentmindedly running through my chore list in my head, and drive back to my house. I pull into the garage and grab the stack of papers, all while thinking to myself: Do I want to make the chicken dish with okra or zucchini this week?

Somewhere between the glossy fast food coupons and my electric bill, a small page flutters to the garage floor. I glance down, wondering what free offer I’ll soon be shredding when I see it for the first time. Handwriting I don’t recognize.

I pick up the postcard and read it. Then I reread it. Then I don’t know what I did with the other stack of mail, or my keys, or my garage door or anything, really. All I can tell you is that I suddenly found myself in my house, running around my living room, squealing. And then I call Amanda.

“Hey,” she says.

“Are you busy?”

“Not too much, the kids are–”

I cut her off. “I need to come down and show you some mail.”

“OK,” she says, concern in her voice. “Is it bad?” she asks.

“No, it’s GREAT NEWS,” I reply, hanging up on her.

I run down the street. (Sidenote: you really should look into living down the street from your best friend.)

I ring the bell, and she opens the door, flanked by her two precious kids. I’m squealing on her front porch and jumping up and down. I hand her the mail and pick up her daughter. Both kids look at me with big eyes.

Out of breath and grinning from ear-to-ear I tell them: “Aunt Whitney wrote one of her favorite authors. AND SHE WROTE AUNT WHITNEY BACK.”

Amanda reads the postcard, delivered to my house from New York. Written by Elizabeth Gilbert. She got my letter. She read it. She responded. I am humbled and grateful and awed and inspired. The fact that I receive it exactly one month from when I blogged about writing to her is not lost on me.

Sometimes we need a sign that we’re going the right way. Or that things will work out. Or that it’s worth it. And sometimes we just need a bit of magic. My favorite kind is the one delivered on a thick linen postcard, a handwritten blessing from someone who has never met me. A 32-cent surprise and a Sunday at the mailbox I won’t forget.Image

 

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