Time May Change Me...

by Katy White

This month has presented an interesting lesson in balance for me.  At the beginning of the month, I set a goal of writing 70,000 words, I committed to teaching a week of seminary, and now another later in the month, and I've received a new calling in my ward's YW Presidency.  And, of course, I fully expected that all of my regular duties as a wife and mother and sister and friend wouldn't take a hit.  I planned to put on the Whole Armor daily, like I always try to do, and I was sure I'd still get my visiting teaching done.

So, yeah, about that...

Some things have gone really well.  I've written 54,000 words to this point, which means NaNo's in the bag!  Squee!  Happy dance!  The first week teaching seminary was wonderful, and I'm optimist that the next one will be, as well.  My scripture study has actually been stronger than usual; I'm actually studying rather than simply reading a page or a chapter each day.

Other things have not gone so well.  The state of my house, while not truly horrific, is causing me some stress.  Laundry gets done, then sits, clean and wrinkly, in the laundry basket.  Which is now about the height of my husband.  The floor around my daughter's high chair is getting wiped up daily, and I'm just pretending that the quick wipe of these two square feet counts as mopping.  My husband has been writing love notes to me in the dust on our surfaces.  Literally.  He thinks it's cute, I think it's an indictment on my housekeeping.  We agree to disagree.

I've realized that TV is a luxury I don't need but I'm not completely willing to give up (and I thank Brooklyn Nine Nine and The Mindy Project for that little epiphany).  I have cut out a couple of my weekly shows, though.  I've virtually turned off Facebook, I've Instagrammed maybe a tenth of what I normally do, and I've talked to my sisters about half as often as normal (considering we talk once to twice a day, this isn't the tragedy I'm making it out to be).  I drink a can of Diet Pepsi almost daily.

I'm still saying my prayers, though I've fallen asleep praying almost every night because I'm staying up too late.  I've also remembered more than once to say my morning prayers while on my morning walk rather than when I first wake up.  Frown.

According to Elder Dallin H. Oaks, "Our priorities are most visible in how we use our time. Someone has said, 'Three things never come back—the spent arrow, the spoken word, and the lost opportunity.' We cannot recycle or save the time allotted to us each day. With time, we have only one opportunity for choice, and then it is gone forever."

Our time is precious.  I haven't reached the balance I want, but I'm closer from this experience than I would be otherwise.  I've learned that writing daily is possible and necessary for my happiness, while Facebook daily isn't.  I can't "have it all."  Heck, I don't even want it all.  I just need to know what my priorities are and shoot for those.  If my house is a little dusty (okay, a lot dusty), my day will be just fine.  If I miss my prayers, not so much.  

While I work out my priorities, I'd love to know how you ladies do it.  What sacrifices have you found are worth it and what aren't?  Any balance successes or failures (like my dusty love notes) to share?

Short Quotes from Short Stories on Thinking Big About Writing

I've been studying the art form that is the short story, and writing a few here and there throughout the summer months.  One of the books called "The Art and Craft of the Short Story" by Rick DeMarinis had some really good points in a section he calls The Essential Habit - A Pep Talk.  I'm going to share some with you:

"In order to write, you must write.  That's the Big Secret.  You've got to sit down at a given time every day and make sentences.  Even if you don't feel like it.  Especially if you don't feel like it."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that you need more favorable circumstances, that you'll start writing when your life changes for the better, or when you retire."

"The problem is you're thinking of writing as a purely intelluectual process: exceptional ideas captured in deathless prose.  But in reality, the composition of fiction is more of a physical process.  You've got to put your hands on the keyboard, you've got to punch the keys with your determined fingers until words begin to collect."

The idea isn't new or original.  I've heard it said in similar ways from countless experienced authors.  However, it is nice to be given a reminder from time to time.  If you like what he has to say, go check out his book.

And then, use the nuggets of inspiriation you find to compose your own entry into the MMW Contest - there's only one week left.

That's your D.E.W assignment this week.  See you next Thrusday!

Punching the Clock

As most of you know, for months now I've struggled with some personal frustrations with my writing progress. Some I've shared here, while others I've posted on my author BLOG. I want to emphasize most of this has been self-inflicted. I've been feeling stagnant, unworthy, and untalented.

I am starting to wise up.

Part of that is due to the encouragement of some really amazing people in my life, but--as I'm sure you know--the only ones who can fix me are me and God. So I've been working on that aspect of my life, too. God's wonderful that way. Patient. Forgiving. Full of encouragement for the future.

Wednesday night we had a family meeting. I explained to the kids my new writing schedule and, more importantly, WHY I had a new writing schedule. And now I'm going to explain it to you.

I have spent a great deal of time calling my writing a career while treating it as a hobby. While I know writing is not a get-rich-quick scheme, I have been too obsessive and consequently frustrated by the lack of revenue. I'm not talking about hundreds of dollars. I'm talking about any dollars. At. All.

As usual, a change in direction required a change of thinking. On my part. I've worked enough jobs to know if you want to get anything out of it, you have to put something INTO it. If I want to make money--even just enough to supplement our family income a tiny bit or be able to afford to continue writing--I have to WORK for it.

I have this quote on my FB wall: Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. ~Thomas Edison

Well, I for one am tired of missing opportunities because I'm too dense to recognize them for what they are.

I also know I'm not the only one who's had an epiphany this week. Share yours. You may end up helping someone else. :)

P is for: Portraits and PHHHTTH!!!

"Inspiration is for amateurs."

Chuck Close

So yesterday as I spoke with my mom about my current WIP, she blurted out, "Inspiration is for amateurs." I was a bit taken aback by this, since my mother is never derogatory about me or my efforts. She immediately clarified her statement, saying she'd recently heard of this artist named Chuck Close and shared his story and why this statement of his is profound in more ways than one. Mr. Close, born in 1940, suffered through several difficulties as a child and youth, including losing his father and discovering he had Prosopagnosia. It's a neurological disease where his ability to recognize and remember faces is almost nil. Yet look at some of his art:

What looks like a large photograph, even in the extreme close up of the eye, is in fact acrylic on canvas. Mr. Close has, for his entire career, painted hyper realistic portraits. For him, this need to recreate faces in fact helps him recognize people. That minute focus, constant concentration on bits and pieces of a face eventually brings the whole face into view.

But in 1988, his life crashed around him. During an awards ceremony, he felt a pain in his chest. After the presentation, he crossed the road to the hospital, where he suffered a such a severe seizure he severed his spinal cord, leaving him paralyzed from the neck down. After years of therapy he has regain the partial use of one arm. An assistant tapes a paint brush to his wrist (NOT his hand, which is unusable), and Mr. Close continues to paint.

From far away this portrait is still amazingly accurate, though in a more pixelated way. But look at the close up of the eye. Each of these "pixels" is precise, its colors chosen with care, its intensity and placement deliberate. Is his art "less" or "more" now because up close you can see the forms used in it? In my mind, they are both masterpieces.

I wanted to bring these two pictures up to make a point. When I was a reader only, looking at books as some mythical creature springing forth in perfect form from the mind and hands of an author, books seems like the first picture. I could see no flaw, no spot where the skeleton was visible. And when I started writing, even as recent a few months ago, I would look at the books I would read, and even at the rough drafts of other writer's work, and wonder, "How did they do that?"

But like his post injury paintings, the underpinnings of writing are becoming clear to me. It is obvious now what I must do to get from A to Z. There is no waiting for the muse to come to me, baring a platter of sweet morsels to tempt my writing palate. No waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead you have to do the hard work. You have to create the portrait of your character pixel by pixel, brush stroke by brush stroke, until the whole picture becomes clear. And it doesn't matter how long it takes (these portraits took years to do). What matters is that you write everyday. Everyday. EVERYDAY. Even if, like me, you don't write on the weekends (that's my family time), I still write other things like journal entries. 

Then you can, like I am beginning to, give a great big PHHHTTH  to the lousy idea that you had to wait for your muse to show up whenever she wanted. It's the other way around. She was always there, she's just waiting for your butt to be in the chair. You practice listening to the whispers of the muse by using your writing muscles every day. Period. And that's when inspiration comes, when you are in the throes of wrestling with your WIP, when characters reveal aspects of themselves they would never have if you'd just come once a month like half hearted visiting teaching. Who are you going to bare your soul to: the people who say as they run out the door "Call me if you need anything", or the friend who sits with you, listens to you, cheers you on in the good times and holds your hand through the bad? It's the same with our characters, plot, and whole story.

So sit down. Write. 'Cause inspiration is for amateurs.