On being a writer....

            A few months ago I started reading more about writing.  It started with the Catholic Writer’s Guild blog.  I found an amazing treasure when I discovered the CWG where Catholic writers come together and support each other and teach each other and encourage each other and inspire each other.  The blog is filled with advice and tips and helpful stories and anecdotes from accomplished Catholic writers.  It is a great place for writers like myself, who are just starting to get serious about their craft.  And the people I have “met” through there, really do care about helping other writers.  It's really pretty awesome.

            After the CWG, I added a few more writing blogs to my reading list.  I seem to be adding more each day.  And, as the list of writing blogs I follow grows longer daily-- my excitement grows each day to share my own writing adventures too.  Like my desire to connect with other Catholic moms, I now want so much to connect with other Catholic writers and artists too-- to share my passion with them and to be inspired by their passion as creative people too.

So, like my blog reading-- I feel like my blog writing has sort of evolved in the last few months.  My blog is not just about my family and our life any more.  Now it’s about my family and our life and my writing. 

My blog reflects my life and as writing takes on a greater part of my time and energy, so does it take on more a part of my blog.  I find that the more I explore my zeal for writing, the more I realize it is as much a part of who I am as anything else.  I used to think writing was something I enjoyed doing but now I realize- a writer is someone I enjoy being- just as I enjoy being a Catholic, a mother, and a home schooler.  

And though, if something on that list HAD to go, it would be, without a doubt, the writing, I don’t think I could ever really cease to BE a writer.  Even if I had no time to write, even if writing didn’t fit into my life, even if for some reason the gift of writing was taken from me- I would still have the heart and mind of a writer, always with a story stirring within me.

So in that vein—I have some things to share!

First-  my novel, The Life I Dreamed, recent developments include--

•  Being featured in the February/March issue of Catholic Digest.   Daria Sockey (speaking of talented Catholic writers) included my story in her list of recommended new Catholic fiction and vouched for its quality (and that of many other amazing Catholic authors), reassuring anyone with doubts about self-published books.  I cannot tell you how honored I am! 
• Recently being awarded the Seal of Approval from the CWG.  The book has been carefully reviewed and found to be authentically Catholic.  Another great honor! 

Second—some of my other writing projects --

• I recently finished a short story which I am planning to enter into the Tuscany Press contest for Catholic fiction.  It is a very different story from my novel but will hopefully be as well received. 

Finally-  a new blogging opportunity—

• I was asked to write for a brand new blog that is a part of the Catholic-artwork website.  The blog will include posts on liturgical themes, saint biographies, and all things Catholic.  Catholic-artwork.com is a beautiful website and I am very eager to be a part of it.

So how's the weather today?

Is there anything more cliché than talking about the weather?   And yet, here is a blog post about just that......

In Florida, we are used to enviably beautiful weather.  Sunshine and warm temperatures, sea breezes and clear skies.   

Today, I woke to a dismal gray day though.  Thick cloud cover, thunder rumbling, and rain pattering on the roof above.  Today is all about fluffy socks and comfy clothes and an afternoon of movies at my house.   

I love the subtropical climate of my Florida home.  I love the sunshine and the warm weather and especially the mild winter that spoils us with perfect atmospheric conditions for months at a time.  But, there is something so cozy about stormy rainy days like today.  I honestly don’t know which I prefer.  

When storms threaten and the sky darkens and thunder rocks the sky, I am filled with a feeling of snugness and safety within the walls of my humble little home.  And I am oddly filled with a sense of anticipation too-- as I watch the clouds drift ever closer and hear the thunderclaps grow louder and more ominous.  By the way--did you know that Central Florida is the lightning capital of North America?  We get more lightning strikes here than anywhere else on the entire continent.  Our storms are God's light shows and they're far more awe-inspiring than any fancy Fourth of July fireworks display.  

My parents lived in the Pacific Northwest for a few years.  The weather there was always rainy and cloudy.  They could go for weeks without seeing the sun because of the misty, foggy, overcast weather that was the norm for that area.  

I couldn’t handle that but a rare stormy day every once in a while, to remind me of the benefit of hunkering down at home just relaxing, a day like today when I can put my feet up and enjoy the sound and sights of the rain drumming steadily against the window panes and then running in little rivers all the way down the side--  that I’ll gladly take. 

 photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chavals/4194668845/">Chaval Brasil</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>

Tangly yarn and lots of love

  

          My middle child has a blanket- well it used to be a blanket anyway.  When she was just a few months old she became very attached to a beautiful handmade blanket crocheted lovingly my grandmother just for her.  It was a regular sized blanket and my little one wanted to carry it with her everywhere we went.  

Between the diaper bag full of: toys, extra clothes, snacks, wipes, and diapers for both her and her brother –and- the car seats all three of my children had to be buckled into whenever we went anywhere, I could not handle having to cart around a big blanket too.  So, I had my grandma and my mom both crochet a few “blanket squares.”  They were portable versions of the big security blanket and thankfully, my daughter soon took to them.  It wasn’t long before she grew to love the blanket squares even more than the original full sized blanket.  Soon we had blanket squares in various colors all over the house.   

Her favorite blanket squares were made by my mom.  There were two of them.  They were a dusty pink color and eventually all others were either lost or cast aside in favor of the most special ones which came to be affectionately known as the “Mama Bankies” (after the name the kids call my mom).   Some years ago one of the “Mama Bankies” disappeared, leaving only one special blanket square left.  

Crocheted blankets are not the most durable things.  They are not designed to be carried around everywhere.  They are definitely not designed to have little fingers woven through them night after night after night….. even if there is something incredibly sweet and comforting and familiar in the feel and smell of the soft worn yarn.  

My daughter has fallen sleep with that marvelous “blanket” for nearly ten years now.  For the first eight years or so, she had the habit of sticking her fingers through the holes created by the crocheting and then sticking them into her mouth, sucking her fingers with the blanket hanging between her hand and her mouth.  Even after she quit sucking her fingers, the beloved “bankie” was wrapped around her fingers and held very close as she drifted off to sleep.  It still is.  Every night.

The bankie has been repaired countless times.   It has been re-crocheted, sewed, and then sort of patched around the outside in the hopes of keeping it together.  It is a sad sorry looking sight as all beloved blankets are eventually.  It is dirty even though we wash it often (very carefully), it is dingy, it is unraveling.  It is really just a tangled mass of faded pink yarn at this point.  Someday I fear that beloved piece of tangly yarn will finally disintegrate into nothingness right in my daughter’s hand as she grasps it in sleep.  

     

But for now it is loved.  So very loved.  And it is needed.  So VERY, VERY needed.   So I pray it is stronger and sturdier than looks......

My daughter, my friend

            When Tim and I were dating his mother gave him a warning.  “If the two of you get married, your kids will be tall and have curly hair- they’ll hate you,” she cautioned.  I think she was kidding. 

She was right about two things though.  Our kids are tall and they do have curly hair.  My oldest daughter, at 14 and a half, is exactly ¾ inch taller than me.   Tim measured us just the other day.  And my daughter’s hair?  It coils in perfect springy ringlets all over her head whether she wants it to or not.  

I recently told her what her grandmother said all those years ago and then asked her if she hates us for her height and her curls.  She smiled at the comment but assured us she didn’t hate us at all.

This year has not been an easy year for my first born.  Not because she is tall and has curly hair, like my mother-in-law prophesied- but because she is 14 and in eighth grade.  I thought home schooling would solve all the horrible middle school issues that I remember from my growing up years- the insecurities, the social stress, the awkwardness and diffidence.  Home schooling is no magical solution to all life’s challenges though and the middle school years are the middle school years.  There is just no way to avoid all that necessary growing up and the self-consciousness and awkwardness that come with it.  

Anyway, this year has given my daughter and me the chance to grow closer- though we have always been fairly close.  As social situations outside our home have caused their share of grief, my not-so-little girl has handled it all with much more grace than her mother ever had and lately is showing signs of greater self-confidence every day.  Inside our home she is passionate about her interests, she is amazingly creative, she is funny, sometimes sarcastic like her father, and she is incredibly reliable and dedicated when it comes to her schoolwork. 

My daughter wants to be a chocolatier when she grows up.  It is a career possibility I am as excited about as she is (maybe more).  Last night, I was assisting her as she experimented with her latest truffle recipe.  The two of us were up to our elbows in chocolate ganache and the counter and floor were covered in a thick dusting of cocoa powder and powdered sugar.  And there were the two of us in the midst of the mess, laughing together and discussing desserts and sharing the moment. 

I realized, as we "worked" together, my daughter is really my friend now.  I love that.  I know it is more important for her that I be her mother- and I am that first and foremost, but how cool is it that I really can consider her a treasured friend as well as my child?