Working Title │ The Chicken or the Egg

I often wonder when I'm reading, or listening to music, whether or not the work was written before or after the title. It's a common thing for writers not to name their works until after the book or article or poem is finished. Because coming up with a title before everything is done, is kind of like putting the cart before the horse. And many times, once a work is finished, days or months can pass before the editor, writer, publisher or everyone, can agree on a title.

Sometimes, a title is easy. Rolls off the tongue the second the last word is finished and it totally make the book complete. But, I find that this usually isn't the case. How do you narrow down 100,000 words to just one or two? Do you go by the subject matter, or a personality of a character, or an emotional theme to the book?

What story can the image of these flowers create?

I don't love titles. Those are tough. But, I do love writing on prompts. What's that? When a picture or sentence or single word can evoke an entire story. I think that's remarkable. It shows what a marvel the imagination is and how capable we are of creating something out of practically nothing and making it a work of art. Like, a really good work of art.

For example, as I'm writing this, I'm listening to Wynton Marsalis. Amazing jazz player. The title of the song is called Skylark. Did the title come after writing the song? Or did the title come first, and his inspiration take over after that? A lot of jazz music is word-less. So coming up with what the musician thinks the music is telling him, or what he is telling the music, is to me a reflection of the musician himself. I don't particularly think of a skylark when this song is playing. But ... now that Marsalis mentions it --now that that is the working title --it does have a natural, melodic, bird-like syncopation to it. Skylark is a dang good title!

So ... was the title a prompt for him? Had he seen a skylark and decided to write music?

It's the same with painting or drawing. Can a single word evoke a masterpiece?  I think it can. I think a single word, picture --or even a person-- can create an entire world. Because that's the beauty of our imagination.

I'm reading a lot of Emily Dickinson right now. I love her. She is simple (yet so complex- try figuring out what she is trying to say --you can't-- and you've mastered her) and her stanzas are short and sweet. Just my type. But talk about forgetting to title your work! Most of her poems are titled based on the first line of each poem. It was far harder for her to come up with titles than the poems themselves.

Here's an example of a work from me-- a short sweet, love poem. Very Dickinson-esque. Not great. Just an example:

You startle me at random,
I see you and have to pause.
Although it wasn’t really you, (I know)
But a memory rising fast.

I force myself to return (to task,)

We were something, long ago,
Only try telling that to my memory,
Who won’t let me let you go.

Okay. My first inclination is to title it Startle. Because, that is how it starts and it's what evokes the rest of the two verses. But, after more thought, I could call it Memories. Because that really is what the poem is all about. But is it? The poem, to me, is about the heart; the heart breaking, hurting, wanting the past but not being able to have it. I'd prefer to call it, When a Heart Breaks, precisely because none of those words make an appearance in the poem at all.

So, a title is just a title. And yet, a title can make the work that much better if the work of art is titled correctly.

My two cents ...

Reading │ Writing

Well hey! Just wanted to say a quick hello. I'm still here.

No excuses for not blogging.

However, I'm going to give you excuses anyway.

Just went here for Winter Break with my boys.

Their first trip to Hawaii.

Spent a lot of time looking up at this while lounging on the beach or at the pool.

 Spent an equal amount of time trying to get them to let me take pics of them.

Took a ridiculous amount of fun selfies with my oldest. (Very cherish-able.)

Came home to celebrate this boy's birthday (again).

Proceeded to eat all of this by myself.

Took this girl for many runs, even though I was the one that needed to run.

Now, I'm doing (still) a lot of this.

But wishing I was doing this.

I'm getting back into the writing groove guys. I promise.

Hope to share some of it in the near future.

Aloha...

Winter Reading

This picture is pretty much what happens in the winter at my house. At least for me, anyway. As the weather gets cooler, outdoor activities i.e. sitting by the pool or swimming, disappear (Yes, even here in California) and a hibernation, if you will, takes over me.

I want blankets, slippers, fireplaces, and something warm to drink all next to my stack of books.

It is a stack. It's hard for me to focus on one book at a time for too long, since I have so much going on. So, a chapter here and there throughout the day works well. The real problem is me wanting to read so many different books at once.

This picture is a little take of said problem, on the side table of my bed.

And it doesn't even include the one or two or three books I'm reading on my tablet or phone PLUS the qeue of books that will be coming in to read, or that I'm going to be reading once I finished the affore mentioned.

This isn't a problem to complain about. Good books are so much fun. And if you're not a reader, well, this too can change, my friend. This too can change.

So happy reading my fine Fall/Winter hibernating friends. Happy reading ...

Four Trips + A pair of Shoes = Jazz Music on the Way Home

So, I have this cute child. He's six. Tall for his age. And very much like my firstborn with his perfectionist tendencies.

While extremely responsible, and this year has been exceptional -- him telling me what homework he has the day before it's due; that he wants to take his spelling pretests with ABSOLUTELY no help from me, etc -- he forgot something really important the second week of school.

He went to school without his shoes.

Okay, not the end of the world. I drove up to the "drop off" area, ready to expel my children to the world of learning, when I hear, "I don't have my shoes!"

He was so in shock, so scared I would be mad at him, that all I could do was say, "Okay. Wow." No way could I be angry. No way could I tell him that he seriously ruined my morning routine, that I'd be late meeting a friend for coffee, or that I didn't care. Because I did care. And my cute child is everything to me. On the good days. And the bad days.

What did I do? I walked him to his class in his stocking feet and went home to get his shoes.

Normally, this event really wouldn't have been so bad. But, as the "schedule gods" had worked out for me in advance, today was the day that I was already making three trips to and from home and school.

This little jaunt would make it a fourth.

I texted my friend that I would be a little bit late for coffee and began the drive home.

I so wanted to be angry. But, I literally couldn't. Like, I couldn't even muster up the frustration. There was nothing. I think I felt this way partly because I knew it would be fruitless. I mean, the kid is shoeless. And partly because ... did I have any control, to begin with? By ranting and raving, I would be admitting that I thought I had control of my little day.

Clearly, I had none. God had it. And He made this concept known to me with my cute child forgetting to slip on his shoes.

Where am I going with this? Only to say that I had to think of the good. I had to think of the benefit of making a fourth trip, though I was just beginning my second for the day. How could a bad thing be good? I would make a list on this little trip.

1. I would be able to say hello again to my sleepy dog. She loved extra hellos. Okay. Good. Dog is taken care of. Check.

2. I would be able to get my cell phone. Yes, I had left my lifeline at home, lying on the counter, charging. Bonus. I wasn't alone! I'd be able to check my mail a million more times than I thought I would, seeing that I wouldn't be without it after all. Check.

3. Well, I was having a hard time with number three. Until I thought ahead. My fourth trip of the day would be in the evening, going from home to school for Back to School Night and home again. While that was always a fun trip, meeting his teacher and all, the best part would be the jazz music on the classical music station that night. Check.

This is my cute child, Caleb.

I love Jazz. I don't know much really, but I do know that there are some real musicians in that genre. And because I don't have "satellite radio" in my car, I had to wait, as we once all had to do. I had to wait for Jazz until after 8:00 pm when the classical music station turned to Jazz.

(No, we don't have a jazz station in Sacramento.)

So, the end of my day would be steeped in jazz, driving home to see my cute kids.

The thought of that made my little trip home like an appetizer. And the dessert of jazz music in the evening would make everything okay.

And my cute child would have his shoes ... just like everyone else.

A Work in Progress

You know, I had originally titled my blog this, A Work in Progress.

And would you look at that .. my life has come full circle three years later, and I'm back to naming my blog A Work in Progress.

Why this name? Because, quite frankly, it fits me and what I'm doing.

I  am always working on something as far as writing goes, and it not only never feels complete, but I always feel like I can do it better.

Sort of carries into my personal life as well.

The house we just bought? Unless I like the dated wallpaper and old kitchen cabinets, which I don't, it's a work in progress.

My dog who loves the ball more than obeying? Well, she's a work in progress. Very cute, but very much a work in progress.

My job as a parent? Where do I begin? That's a forever work in progress.

Just when I've mastered diapering, it's onto saying "no" at the rights times (which feels like ALWAYS) and then it's onto juggling school and sports and home life and dentists and doctor visits, and of course the necessary vacations if there are any... and learning to be the parent and not just a friend-- one who your child needs to listen to when they're about to make a horrendous mistake (yes, I'm referring to Miley Cyrus) -- that your child will want to come back to once they're an adult. I could go on.

Definitely a work in progress.

My non-existent exercise program? A work in progress for sure.

I am a work in progress as are most people. And I suppose we are until our dying day. In all seriousness, with all the weird news of weird people doing such outrageous things, I'm beginning to think that if we don't see ourselves as continually needing to learn, we begin to assume too much. We begin to think more of ourselves than we are.

And that's when the self-destruction starts.

So, as a work in progress, I will be posting blogs erratically (though I had already said I wasn't GOING to blog anymore), rambling about various things that may not matter, and trying to continue writing my middle-grade fiction.

In the mean time, enjoy a picture of my sweet WIP (work in progress) Sierra as we contemplate the other highly-talked about WIP's like Miley Cyrus, like the people behind the idea of using Ben Affleck as Batman, and like the now-former mayor of San Diego. I do feel so sorry for two of the three people here. Really.

And if Ben is ousted as the Dark Knight, heck, I'd feel sorry for him too ... but maybe not though.

Reviews

Anyone who hasn't had a bad review of their work doesn't fully understand the stress that comes with being a writer. I recently had one of these reviews. And it seriously made me doubt that what I had put years into was even worth it.

It's bad enough that we pour out our blood and sweat and tons of tears into our work without a single affirming word from anyone saying, "What a swell job you're doing" or "Though you haven't made a penny of your writing in years, your work is truly great."

And we continue to pour away because we are called to write. We can't live without doing that.

This particular negative review of my work, The Puzzle Master, was like a slap in the face, with a punch to the gut, and then just when I thought it was over, a blind-sided karate chop to the back of the legs.

I questioned if her negative review of my work was valid.

I questioned my abilities as a writer.

I wondered if indeed the last eighteen years of college and writing had been a waste of time.

I finally got over me. And wanting to smash in the face of this reviewer.

And a few months later, I got two awesome, glowing reviews.

Here's what I learned from all of this.

1. Don't take reviews seriously. It's SUBJECTIVE. What some people love, others will hate. Just how it is. Reviews are what they are-- reviews. That doesn't mean I'm a great writer, or a lousy one either. Just take the review and move on.

2. I chose to be a writer, and chose to put my work out there, so I have to expect major dislike.

3. When bad things happen, drink coffee. Duh.

Was it Bill Cosby who said something to the effect, "I don't know the steps to success, but I do know the steps to failure is trying to please everyone?" Oh yes indeed!

So there it is. People will like your work, but some people will not like your work. Oh well. We aren't here to please everyone.

A good writer-friend (good writer and good friend) of mine, Lara, once said, "Writing prepares you for parenting: neither one receives any affirmation." So true. This is a genius line. (Lara, told you I'd steal it!)

Having said all of that, reviews can be full of life, uplifting, and also give you the affirmation you've been looking for. So, regardless of reviews, whether bad or good, or neither, keep writing!

**To celebrate the one-year anniversary of my book, The Puzzle Master, in digital form, will be free the 15th and 16th of February!**

Growing Where You are Planted

I've written about this topic before: Growing where you are planted; becoming the best you can with what you're doing despite your circumstances.

And the truth of it is, while I write about it and talk about it like it's easy to do, I hate it.

Hard work is just that ... hard work. And I still don't like it.

And who wants to write anyway, only to feel like they're going nowhere?

No one. No one likes to see zero progress. No one wants their work to be in vain.

But is our work truly in vain? If it's to the best of our abilities, whatever we are doing from writing to cleaning the house, it isn't in vain because someone ultimately benefits whether it's a clean house hours from now, or an actual well-written book WRITTEN years and years from now.

It has to benefit someone. Yourself, namely. And if you don't grow where you were planted -- if you don't sit down and write or work hard or sweat out the tough things when you don't want to -- what have you to say for yourself?

You got nowhere because you did nothing.

Work hard. Toil much. Benefit much. Pretty simple. And yet though we know the potential harvest, the workers are few.

Take these plants. These are herbs. They were once discarded seeds of parsley thrown into my compost pile. But hey, did they just sit there and die? Did they whine and moan that nothing was happening to them and woe is them?

No. They became proactive and took root in the dirt and grime -- in the ROCK that was their home -- and became flowering, healthy, beautiful herbs on the side of my house where nothing gets watered and where, quite frankly, the garbage collects.

That's incredible. If only we human beings could aspire to such greatness.

Some of us have. But, some of us won't because we refuse to work for ourselves, instead relying on others.

I refuse to be that person when I'm perfectly capable of working hard.  I tell my sons over and over again that anything worth doing is going to take time and a lot of work. I must take my own advice if I'm to succeed.

How does that proverb go? "A sluggard does not plow in season so at harvest time he looks but finds nothing," (Proverbs 20:4).

See, I can't not work just because I'm too tired, or selfish, or lazy, or want instant results. I must be like the parsley plant and grow where I'm planted -- yes, even if it's hard -- and thrive so that when the time does arrive when I can show myself succeeding amidst my circumstances (like my parsley in the rocks) I will have something to harvest!

We reap what we sow. And I choose to sow hard work to actually gain a harvest, any harvest, when the time comes.

Be the parsley!