writing life

The Accountability Project

In the last days of 2018, at a small gathering of writer friends, I mentioned I was thinking about starting an accountability project for 2019. Would they be interested in joining me?

All four of us are working writers, but it’s not all we do: Two have full-time jobs unrelated to writing; one is an artist in residence for the state going here and there, teaching in a variety of capacities; one has numerous health issues, but is also active in the community working diligently for good causes. How to make sure that writing still gets done, that we move forward on our projects, that we don’t get overly discouraged alone at our desks after a long day of doing all the other parts of our lives? I knew I needed a boost, and I thought maybe they did too.

Here’s the structure I set up for our little group:
1. At the beginning of each month, I send out an email to the group saying what do you want to accomplish this month? Each person responds when convenient with a goal or two or three, putting it out there safely among friends who are invested in our writing.

2. On Sunday of each week, I send a quick email check-in asking how did it go this week? Each person checks in to encourage others and share their own progress.

3. During the month, we each send along links to articles, blogs, pictures, whatever comes our way that seems relevant to our journeys. It’s a simple way to say, I’m here, I thought of you, I thought you might enjoy this.

4. We meet in person when possible, trying for once a month, to catch up, share publications, responses from editors, contest successes, those pesky problems and “no thank yous,” and the ultimate glory of tea, coffee, critique, and hugs that only being together in person can provide.

At this point, on the last day of January, we are a month in. I’ve met some of my goals, but not all. One of our group finished a draft of a novel a week early! Another has a bad case of the why bothers? The other member has been braving ice and snow to develop workshops for the spring season, and dabbling with the beginnings of new poems. We have all reached out to one another to share encouragement and empathy. Mary Oliver‘s death prompted many emails of articles, poems, remembrances, and inspiration. All of us dabbled with the Writers Happiness Movement (Thank you Lori Snyder!).

On Friday, February 1, I will send out that new email, saying what do you want to accomplish this month?

It’s like a reset button. After today, those January goals are gone. Sure we can carry things over, but we don’t have to. No matter what we did or didn’t accomplish in January, February is a clean slate, a fresh start. Like when a new coating of snow settles overnight, we get to make our own tracks. Yesterday’s muddy footprints are gone.

So as the polar vortex goes back where it came from, and the groundhogs debate spring, take a moment to consider:

  • What do I want to accomplish this next month?
  • Who do I want to help me be accountable?
  • How can I support others on their creative journey this year?
  • When and where can I meet with creative friends to share the ups and downs of this wonderful/horrible thing I am called to do?

I’d love to hear what you come up with or what you already do.

Stay warm. Stay safe. Keep going.

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Where in the World Have You Been?

Good question!

I definitely have been absent from my blog, but lots has been happening.

I survived the end of the school year, and drove off to Maine the following day for a writing retreat and workshop with dear friends. This gathering is an annual ritual that marks the transition from my day job to my heart job, writing! Each year our little band of writers invites a mentor to join us and guide us in seeing our manuscripts in new ways. We have worked with some fabulous folks over the years including Laura Ruby, Louise Hawes, Clare Vanderpool, and this year, Sarah Aronson. It is always such a treat to gather around the old farm table in the kitchen, or on the breezy porch by the bay, or to scoot the chairs and couches of the great room into a welcoming oval, and delve into the days’ manuscripts. We laugh, we cry, we inspire each other. We have built the kind of rapport and trust many writers only dream of in a critique group. I think each mentor who joins us soon feels like part of the tribe. We are blessed.

Sarah Aronson and Tessa Elwood talk writing Photo credit: Cathy Lentes

 

 

After a fabulous and inspiring week, I extended my stay just a bit, staying with a good friend from the group who lives nearby. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who had trouble saying goodbye to Maine, as we caught up with a few of them in Bar Harbor where Michelle Houts, one of our crew, was signing books.

Michelle Houts, Ann Mack, Sally Stanton, and Cathy Lentes together again in Bar Harbor Photo credit: Maggie Houts

 

 

It’s pretty easy to feel supported and motivated when I have this great group of writers in my life, especially when we are all together, and the help I need, the listening ear, the new perspective may be as close as the chair, or room, next to me. But now I’m home, and I’m happy to be, but it will be harder to keep things moving forward. Today, for example, I spent the morning taking down my old mailbox, and trying to put up a new one. Just like with writing, there were setbacks (and a nasty blister. I’ll spare you the picture of that one!) and it would have been lovely to ask a friend for help with the task. Writing can be a lonely job (as can home repair), and I need to remember that I don’t have to do it all myself. Though my Mainely Writing friends are scattered across the country, they are only a text, or email, or Facebook post away when I need them for writing support.

The 2017 Mainely Writers Photo credit: Helpful waitress at Seng Thai Restaurant (Belfast, Maine)

 

 

Do you have a creative tribe you can call on when needed? If not, it’s time to start gathering. Find your people!

And let me know if you find someone who is good at installing mailboxes…

 

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Us, Them, They, and Other when We are All an I

I wanted to write this post yesterday, but events and emotions kept me from the page. I woke to this image outside my bedroom window. Inspired and uplifted, I felt ready to write. 

But then the day happened. And as torrential storms threatened from the west, an internal storm overwhelmed from within. Part of it was that one of US was missing. And part of it was that one of THEM had done something that upset me very much.

There’s been a lot of that going around lately. Us, them, they, the other garnering blame for whatever happens to be going wrong. I guess it’s part of human nature as it seems to have gone on since the beginning of time based on what we know from anthropology, history, and sacred stories. It doesn’t make it right, though it may be easy.

I attended a conference recently full of inspired and inspiring writers from across the country and globe. There was much talk of politics, and diversity, and freedom of speech. All of the sessions except one left me full of hope. But one left me feeling a little sick because of what I heard two writers say.

“I don’t want THOSE people to read my books. I’m not writing for THEM.”

“White women abandoned us.”

Back home, at the grocery store, the lines were long and open registers few. I was disgruntled, but resigned to waiting. As I looked around, other women were standing with loaded carts, some trying to corral antsy children. If our eyes met, we exchanged brief, knowing smiles. WE did not fuss. But a man, a white man, in front of me, standing with his wife, began to throw a fit, increasingly loud and embarrassing. Of course, it did not open lines. It only made those of us standing in them feel uncomfortable.

My immediate reaction, other than feeling immensely sorry for his wife, was to think MEN! They have never had to wait for anything. Entitled. Complaining toddlers in long pants.

And then I remembered  what I had heard at the conference and how upsetting it had been.

THIS man had trouble waiting. Not all men. Not all white men. This man.

Just as not all white women abandoned women of color in the last election.

Just as the THEM included in the people who the author said she didn’t want to read her books most likely look very much like the people where I live.

If you happen to follow conversations in the world of Children’s Literature, you, no doubt, have heard the idea of books serving as mirrors and as windows. Mirrors to learn more about people like you, and windows through which to look out and learn about people who may seem quite different from you. The idea being that all readers need to learn more about their identity, but also to broaden perspectives by learning about those outside of personal experience. In our current political climate, this seems increasingly important.

I’m trying very hard, as an individual, to catch myself when I automatically lump people into a category, because I don’t want others to put me in a particular basket just because of where I live, the color of my skin, or my beliefs. Each of us is an I. We may have things in common. We most certainly have differences. We each have preferred tribes. But judge me as an individual. I will do the same for you.

In her essay collection, Words Are My Matter, Ursula K. Le Guin says, ” No matter how humble the spirit it’s offered in, a sermon is an act of aggression.”

I’m increasingly tired of aggression. And I don’t mean to preach. But, we have to learn to listen to each other, to truly see each other, to follow the Golden Rule, and to live a religion of kindness. It’s not about THEM. It’s not about US.

Who do you see when you look in the mirror?

How clean are the windows though which you see the world?

It may just be that all of us could afford to scrub a little harder to make things shine.

 

 

 

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A House of Makers and Readers

Today was my third amazing day, and final day, at the Mazza Museum Summer Conference for 2016. The conference continues through Friday, but my time there is done due to family commitments. As always, I leave buoyed by the spirit of the authors/illustrators, as well as the contagious enthusiasm of the librarians and teachers who attend, and the deep love and commitment of the Mazza staff and volunteers. As I said in an earlier post, this is the place to be if you love picture books.

Today, attendees heard from three keynote speakers–Steve Light, Lita Judge, and Elly MacKay. Only one had I met before. I was familiar with the work of two. All three made me feel so privileged to hear their personal stories and catch a glimpse of their creative processes. But the one thing that I took away from all of them was the knowledge that each of them were “overcomers.”

Two admitted to struggling with dyslexia. One was that odd ball kid who becomes the target of bullies.

But despite these challenges, none of the three gave up. All had people in their lives who believed in them and one even had the option to hide out in the library if the need arose. (Honestly, I still have days where I need to hide out among the stacks. How about you?)

They each spoke passionately about playing with words and their art materials, about trying new things, about keeping collections of what they love. Though their backgrounds were wildly different, each of them knew the value of time alone, time in nature, and of being close observers of their worlds.

And the thing I guess I love about all of them is that they are still kids at heart and they carry the children they were within.

Here’s some of the wisdom nuggets they shared:

“I live in my sketchbook.”–Steve Light

“You need to be an observer to be an artist or a writer.”–Lita Judge

“If I show up for it, it will show up for me.”–Lita Judge

“There are advantages to living where no one else wants to live.”–Elly MacKay

“I grew up in a house of makers and readers.”–Elly MacKay        

Here’s to all the makers and readers, the painters and dreamers, the kids hiding sketch books and pencils in their baseball mitts, and those of us who know the safety and delicious solitude of rooms full of books.

And… here’s looking forward to the Mazza Fall Conference, November 2016!

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On the Road to Mazza Museum

Wow! What a busy summer.

So far a wonderful writing retreat in Maine with good friends, a visit to Candlewick Press

with fab friend and author, Michelle Houts, and now I’m on my way to the Mazza Museum in Findlay, Ohio for the Mazza Summer Conference. If you love children’s picture books this is the place to be. Stay tuned for updates from the field.

Hint of the Day: Though your writing desk may get lonely, you don’t have to. Take advantage of the many conferences and book festivals available. Find your people!  (Especially if they make you laugh…)

 

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