Trust

Wisdom is letting go of something every day ~ Zen saying

I haven't always trusted myself. From adolescence until young adulthood I questioned myself, my motivation, my competence, my determination. I use to devote myself to rigid schedules, fearful that if I didn't force myself to meet my goals, I'd wander aimlessly and achieve little. As if sloth sat waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness. And maybe there was some truth there, but it also meant that I spent too much of my time being self-critical and worrying about failure.

It's not like I woke up one morning with an abundance of faith in my ability to move through my life successfully. Instead, after several painful life experiences, I've come to understand that there is a time for everything. That I can learn to trust myself to work hard in pursuit of the greater good, suffer hardship for future reward, but also move away from things that no longer serve my purpose. I've learned that letting go of something right now doesn't mean letting go of it forever. That rest isn't the same as laziness, that productivity isn't the same as satisfaction.

This means that my writing has an ebb and flow to it that doesn't always suit my timelines. That there are periods of time when I feel like I have more and less space to live in the fictional worlds I have created. I use to feel guilty about this, used to question my commitment to being a writer. Now I see it as something more intrinsic to living a satisfying life. Deadlines aside, I'm learning to be more flexible about my approach to meeting goals and I'm learning to trust that the story will come, not only when I make space for it, but when I have space for it.

It means that I may not be the most prolific writer, at least not when I have so many other commitments in my my life. It means that the arbitrary goals I set for myself (20K this month!) may or may not be met. It means that my best laid plans will sometimes go astray. But I hope it also means that I'll enjoy a long career as a writer who has merged a passion for writing with manifesto of self-compassion. 

"When asked, 'How do you write?' I invariably answer, 'one word at a time.'” - Stephen King

Excerpt: Unbound (All Good Things #1)

Pulling oxygen into my lungs I felt a burst of adrenaline, my muscles humming with energy that felt powerful, however short lived. With a gasp of triumph, I leaped over the steps of the side walk that led to the front door of our building and jogged around the side, finally leaning against the large maple tree that I could see from my bedroom, chest heaving.

My blood rushed through my veins, and I walked in slow circles, feeling the sweat trickle down my neck and under my collar. Hanging on to the tree, I pulled my heel back to stretch and then stopped, trying to listen over the thrumming woosh of my heart. The lawn disappeared into the shadow of the other tall trees that bordered the building. Hearing a twig snap, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention like soldiers. I peered into the darkness, trying to distinguish what was shadow and what might be something else. Or someone else. The silence stretched until a cat yowled off in the distance and I could hear a car alarm a few blocks over. My lungs hurt and I realized I was holding my breath.

“Are you there?” I whispered. The night gave no reply. A gust of wind blew through my damp t-shirt and I felt a shiver run down my spine. My muscles already beginning to stiffen up, I took a step towards the darkness and stopped, feeling scared and foolish all at once.

Chilled, I moved backwards into the pool of light near the entrance and turned into the building, trying not to look back over my shoulder. Sprinting up the stairwell, thankful again we only lived on the fourth floor, I hurried down the hallway, and then stopped, one hand on the wall for support. The front door was slightly open and blackness stained the gap like spilled ink. Shit. Hadn’t I locked it when I left? Adrenaline rushed through my veins again, a familiar friend. Moving slowly towards the threshold, the door creaked slightly as it swung open into our dark two bedroom apartment.

“Mom?” I took a hesitant step inside, feeling my legs shake as I noticed her shoes were there.

“Mom?” Moving towards the kitchen I called again, my voice rising with each repetition. My throat felt tight. Images of my mother murdered in the bedroom flashed through my mind, her room ransacked, her body broken. As quietly as I could, I eased the kitchen drawer open, grabbed a steak knife and turned to move into the darkened hallway.

“Rachel? What the hell are you doing?” My mother stood in the doorway, staring at me.

“Mom!” My heart slammed into my ribcage as fear and relief mingled with anger. “Jesus! You didn’t shut the door behind you again.”

“Oh.” She screwed up her face. “Sorry.”

 My hands shaking, I went to put the knife away. “There have been two break-ins this week Mom, not that far from here. You have to be more careful.”

She frowned. “You’re being paranoid.”

I inhaled deeply and turned my back to her as I flipped on the light in the kitchen and opened the fridge. A ketchup and a mustard bottle sat forlornly on the middle shelf, huddling together for comfort in the empty fridge.

“What’s for dinner?”

She shrugged. “We could order in, I guess,” she said looking over her shoulder towards her now open bedroom door as if she were being pulled towards it. I could hear the television.

I leaned against the counter, trying to not let my irritation with her show. “What should we order? You need to eat something healthy, Mom.”  

She pulled her purse out from under the table, took her credit card out and handed it to me. “You go ahead and order something for yourself. I’m not hungry right now.”

Wrapping her hair up on top of her head with an elastic, she walked back towards her bedroom and shut the door.

I watched her go and with a sigh, grabbed a spoon and the peanut butter jar from the cupboard and stalked off to my bedroom. Shutting my own bedroom door, I slid down with back against it, wondering how one day could have gone so horribly wrong. And how I could feel so lonely, even with someone in the next room.

“Enough,” I said. “I give up.” I wasn’t sure who I was talking to. Putting the peanut butter aside, I grabbed my phone and dialled the number I now knew by heart.

I listened to the beep and the silence after it, forcing myself to speak like other people might force themselves to jump off the high dive. “Um, hi. My name is Rachel. I’d like to make an appointment.” I hung up quickly after leaving my number, afraid that I would somehow take it back.

Navel Gazing 4.0

To weep is to make less the depth of grief ― William Shakespeare 

Tears: Sometimes I think my life can be split into two parts, PK (pre-kiddo), and AK (after-kiddo). PK, I was made of stone. I rarely cried in my real life, never mind shedding tears over a plot line. It wasn't that I didn't feel sad, of course I did. I just didn't cry. AK, I weep. A lot. I weep when I think of sad things. I weep when I watch sad movies and television shows. And I definitely weep when I read sad books. So you can guess what kind of state I was in after reading The Fault in our Stars by John Green this week, right? There were tears during and there were tears after. I don't regret my ability to access my sadness in a more physical way now. In fact, I kind of like it. After a good long cry I feel somehow…sated. As if the act of crying has somehow helped to shape and contain the sadness it was connected to. I've always envied people who cry easily and while it's still difficult for me to cry at the drop of the hat, it's easier now than it used to be. And that's nothing to cry about. 


Patience: I'm about halfway through writing Unknown, the second book in my All Good Things trilogy. I'm enjoying the process of writing this book and so far, I've been pleased with what I've learned along the way. But there's a part of me that is itching to move on. Not to leave Rachel and Eaden behind for good (there will be a book three at some point, I promise you), but because there are other ideas starting to push to the front of the line. I'm trying to breathe deeply through these urges to start another project because frankly, I just don't think I'd be able to multitask (see Balance) well enough to stay sane. Instead, I'm trying to see this as my opportunity to practice patience. I think it requires the kind of faith I don't always have - faith that there is ENOUGH of everything. Time, opportunity, resources. I'll let you know how it turns out. 

And Ronan was everything that was left: molten eyes and a smile made for war. - Maggie Stiefvater

 3. The Dream Thieves: Maggie Stiefvater FOR THE WIN! You know I loved The Raven Boys, right? Did you hear my satisfied sigh as I closed The Dream Thieves? This is Ronan's book, through and through. It's not just the story, and it's not just the characters, and it's not just the writing. But somehow the fusion between these three results in one of the most riveting books I've come across in a long time. I"m getting dangerously close to fangirl status with these characters (and I know I'm not alone - looking at you SQV). 

 4. Book club: Is it okay to admit I'm a book club virgin? I've always wanted to be part of one - never had the right opportunity. So when one of my friends suggested we start our own, I was thrilled. I was lucky enough to choose our first read and I've selected something YA, naturally. The funny thing is I have no idea what book club really entails. In my book club fantasies, there is wine and food and warm lighting and laughter. And of course, talk about books. My experience with these wonderful women is that we could discuss grocery lists and still have a good time, but I'm also look forward to book talk. 

 5. Balancing Act: Earlier this week I came across this video that suggests that "busy is the new fine." It's not the first time I've been called to take stock of how I fill my time and it  likely won't be the last. The hardest part about making my life less busy is trying to figure out what I would give up. In some ways, it's an embarrassment of riches. I love my family, I love my friends, I love my job, I love to write, I love to read. But trying to fit them all in a way that makes sense is hard. I think I'm managing better than I ever have before, but I realize that as life long Type A, that might not mean very much. Instead, I've adopted the idea that there will always be something I neglect, no matter how hard I try. The trick might be to ensure that no one part of my life is neglected more than any other part. Deep down, I think I stubbornly resist the idea that I can't do it all. Why can't I? Or at least, why can't I try? 

Book Trailer: Unbound (All Good Things #1)

Unbound (All Good Things #1)

An Ink Stained Wretch

I started writing Unbound on the train. I didn't have my Macbook back then and it was easier to write in a notebook than on my big, clunky laptop with the crappy battery. I'd pull out my pen and paper and sometimes, if I was lucky, I wouldn't lift my head again until we pulled into the station an hour later. I loved those train rides. Even when I was cold and tired and just wanted to be home, I adored feeling melancholy and listening to music. And writing. Always writing. 

Now that commuting is a thing of the past, figuring out how and when to write is a work in progress. Caught between two generations, I'm equally comfortable on my laptop as I am with ink, but something about storytelling compels me to think with a pen in my hand. Perhaps we can never really escape the pathways laid down in our childhood, when we first make associations with words and stories. So I don't fight it, and I continue to write my stories in a collection of notebooks picked up here and there, my hands often covered in splotches of ink, blue smears across the bridge of my nose.  

Sometimes, as a treat, I take the day off and ride the train to the city, just so I can remember how great it feels to write in that public, protected space, shutting out the world and the rest of my life in a way that has felt much harder to do in private. 

Books are a uniquely portable magic ~ Stephen King 

Movie Romances: Oldies but Goodies

You know I love romance (if not, see here). And although I don’t need an excuse to wax poetic about my favourite fictional romances, I’m happy to have an excuse (however contrived) to share them. As a lead up to Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d start with a few of my favourite movie romances. Below are a selection of oldies, but really, really, goodies that you may not be familiar with. Feel free to share your own in the comments section. 

1. Valley Girl (1983): Probably the first time I fell in love with Nicolas Cage. Definitely not the last. Punk rocker meets Valley debutante. Typical boy meets girl, boy loses girl story ensues. Very sweet and very silly. One of the BEST last scene songs of all time (Melt With You - Modern English). 

2. Same Time Next Year (1978): Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn grow old, together and apart, in this sometimes bittersweet love story of marriage and infidelity. Alan Alda was my first crush. 

3. The Terminator (1984): Okay, so this one is not so obscure. But the love story between Sarah and Kyle made a big impression on me as a teenager. I recall declaring I would name my firstborn Kyle or Reese in tribute (I didn't). Also the first great sex scene I remember. I had a VCR - there was a lot of rewinding. 

4. Made in Heaven (1987): Best known for the strange cameo appearance by Debra Winger, Made in Heaven is a love story about reincarnation and love at first sight. It's a painful and sometimes very sad story, but the message is ultimately uplifting. The ending still gives me goosebumps.

5. The Age of Innocence (1993): This movie broke my heart. Aside from the luscious cinematography, it's a sad story of unrequited love, duty, and how our actions shape our destiny. Have never found Daniel Day Lewis more attractive.

6. About Last Night (1986): The first R rated movie I snuck into as a teenager. A gorgeous Rob Lowe and fresh faced Demi Moore struggle as a young couple trying to figure out how to have a grown up relationship.
7. Peggy Sue Got Married (1986): See? More Nicolas Cage. And Kathleen Turner. Another favourite of mine. This sometimes weird and funny story has become more poignant for me as I get older. What would you do differently if you had a chance to do it all again?

8. Say Anything (1989): Okay, okay, you know this one too, but if you've never actually seen the movie and just know about this scene, do yourself a favour and watch. Lloyd Dobler is the penultimate teenage boy in love; passionate, awkward, and full of grand gestures. Great performance by Lily Taylor as a young woman who does nothing but write sad songs about her ex-boyfriend Joe.

9. Sixteen Candles (1986): There are far more funny than romantic moments in this movie, but the ending has always been a favourite of mine. Again, a very sweet song for the final scene (If You Were Here - Thompson Twins).

10. Romancing the Stone (1984): The brilliantly funny story of a romance novelist who leads a fairly staid life until she has to rescue her sister from thugs in Columbia. There she meets the dashing rogue, Jack Colton, who may or may not be after the ransom. No insta-love here, this romance takes awhile to heat up, but when it does it's fiery.

Teenage Dirtbag

I love reading YA for many reasons. If you love YA too, then you probably share some of those reasons with me. But I'll let you in on a secret. One of the reasons I love YA so much is because I'd like a do-over. You know how people are always saying that they would "never go back"to high school? Yeah, well I would. In a heartbeat. Because I was a mess as a teenager. I know we all feel that way, but in my case, I think there's more fact than fiction. Even if my memories are coloured by my adult experience, when I look back, I shudder at the way I treated some people, my lack of loyalty, and my intense need to fit in that was in direct contrast to my "I don't care" attitude.

The grown-up part of me has compassion for the whirling vortex of emotions and insecurity that likely contributed to my poor choices. And I had some demons in the closet that I was fighting hard to keep hidden, but I'm not trying to make excuses. What's done is done and I'm proud of the way I changed and developed as an adult. But would I go back and do it all again? Hell yes. But only knowing what I know now. Which is the problem, right? Hindsight is 20/20 and the mistakes I made were the ones that led me to be the person I am today, regardless of how much I wish things were different.  Which is probably why I enjoy reading the stories of other teenagers who are struggling to get it right the first time because, well, misery loves company. There's a story idea I've been kicking around for awhile with this theme. I'm still working out the kinks, but I wanted to share my list of things I'd do differently if I could do it all again.

1. Friends: I'm pretty sure I was a mean girl. But not the most popular, prettiest girl in school version of the mean girl (i.e., Regina George). More like the girl who was just trying to stay close to the inner circle and who feared rejection so much that she climbed the ladder, occasionally stepping on the heads of those she left behind (i.e., Gretchen Wieners). If I had a second chance, I'd spend more time thinking about being a good friend and spending time with friends I trusted.

2. School: I was smart. I didn't try. I skipped a lot. In the end I figured out that school was something I really liked, but it took me a long time to get there. I wish I'd appreciated learning for learning's sake and cultivated some study habits. It took me years to stop cramming and procrastinating (actually, I still do that).

3. Self-Esteem: Recently, I heard a friend describe a young person as self-possessed. I was the opposite of that. My neuroses had neuroses. And I spent a lot of time trying to be someone other people would like instead of trying to figure out who I wanted to be. That came later. In my second time around, I'd experiment more with my identity, take more risks, try more things. I would care less about what was cool and care more about what interested me.

4. Sports: I was a very active kid and then a very inactive, unfit teenager. I rediscovered my love of exercise as an adult, but sometimes I yearn to know what my young, strong body might have been capable of if I hadn't stuffed it full of Wendy's burgers, cigarettes, and alcohol in my teenage years. I wonder what would have happened if I had kept dancing or stayed on the swim team. 

5. Boys: I'm sure I'm not alone here. I wish I had known more about what I wanted from boys. I wish I hadn't been so ashamed of my sexuality that I shamed others for theirs. I wish I had paid attention to the boys I liked, but thought were "too nice" to find out what that really meant. And I wish I hadn't spent the formative part of my adolescence in love with a boy who didn't deserve my affection or adoration.

Your turn. Would you go back? What would you do differently the second time around?