One Cobble at a Time

All of September and October passed without a single blog post from me. That’s unprecedented in all the twenty years I’ve been writing this blog. Usually I get at least one or two posts per month. The big difference is that all of my available writing cycles are being spent on revisions to Structuring Life to Support Creativity. I have looming deadlines for sending the book to print and I have to work efficiently to make that happen. When I’m not revising SLSC, my time is pretty evenly split between the tasks of daily life, emotional support for my people, fretting over the looming US election, fretting over finances, and finally remodeling portions of my kitchen.

So far we’ve replaced one cabinet. I forgot to take a picture before we removed the existing cabinet, but here you can see the bare wall freshly painted.

Then we put up the new cabinets.

The doors are off because the way we have to lean over the counter to reach things means that the doors where hitting people in the face as we reached. We’ll need to buy hinges that open wider. Also the plan is to cut off that peninsula and turn it into an island. We’re months away from being able to do that. The next piece is removing and replacing the corner cabinet and moving the pot rack so that it hangs over the sink instead of dangling from the ceiling.

Remodel progress is slow and keeps being paused for other things. Blogging progress is slow because I’m writing a book as fast as I can. Yet slowing all the projects are moving forward.

This was published to my newsletter, but I wanted to put it here as well.

Dear Readers,

I am writing this to you halfway through my road trip to return from Gen Con. Any large event like this is one that is full of stress and anxiety, but I am emerging immensely glad that I went. I am tired, but happy.

This time last week, as I was headed into the show, one of my largest fears was illness. I worried that we would get sick. Since it is a long show (2 days of set up, 4 days of show) I am keenly aware that catching something early on might force one or more of us into quarantine thus requiring us to miss part of the show. I really wanted to get to teach all my classes, have all the conversations, connect with all the people, and illness could snatch all of that away from me. This was made even more real when our booth partner arrived in town only to test positive for Covid and turn around to return home rather than infect anyone else. Our other booth partner had a non-infectious heath issue that meant he had to beg off from the time he meant to spend in our booth. So we ran with a skeleton crew the whole show. The anxiety of “what if someone else gets sick” was loud. Very loud.

Anxiety is a thief. I realized that if I let it run rampant the anxiety would color every experience, every conversation, every moment, every memory. So I deployed one of my anxiety coping strategies. I moved through the event collecting moments as treasures, much like a person on a shore collecting pretty pebbles. Every moment I got to have, I held tight because sickness could not take it away from me even if it managed to steal everything else. So I became a hoarder of moments. Putting memories in my pockets. I would like to share a few of those pebbles with you.

Pebble: I sat with dear friends and hold space with them for other dear friends who are gone. We reminisced, cried, laughed, and hugged. Mourning with those who mourn has a surprising amount of laughter in it, at least with the friends that I have. That space we created was made sacred by what we brought into it, what we shared, and by the absent ones who were less gone while we sat together.  When we went our separate ways, we each took a piece of that shared space with us.

Pebble: One of my anxieties was that I had over-booked myself. That I was carrying too many roles. I forgot small things that I usually would not forget. I wondered why I had committed to teaching classes on top of running the booth. But then I stood in front of fellow writers and I spoke from my head and heart. I love that moment when I see someone’s face change in response to information I’ve shared. To witness and participate in transformation is always an honor. And I always hope that the other person is able to catch their pebble and keep it.

Pebble: There was a panel on poetry that I hesitated to volunteer for, but I’ve been reaching out to poetry and wanted to participate in a conversation about it with people who are more experienced with it than I am. So I claimed a space. Then during the panel a question was asked and I realized my best answer was to read aloud a short poem fragment that I’d written back in April. This one:

Once you start loving poetry
it accumulates
gathered in eddies
volumes of verse waiting to be read
a line scribbled on a napkin
that may someday find a home

I worried about reading a poem in front of people, particularly poets. But, in the moment I finished, they gave me such a gift. They snapped approval and said “lovely” in a voice I believed. I need to seek out more poets, the shared joy in words was glorious and I’d like to feel that again.

Pebble: My last event was a presentation called the Caregivers Guide to Creative Spark. I’d gone through the whole thing and was at the moment when I need to find something to say that the listeners could carry with them out the door. That concluding moment is always shaped by what has transpired during the session, what questions were asked, what tangent stories I told. I looked at all of their faces and I was so impressed that there were so many people who are willing to sacrifice the creative work they’re passionate about in order to do the creative work of caregiving. Caregivers are true heroes, so I spoke my thanks to them for all that they do. Again, honored that I got to be with them in that room where we’d shared knowledge of how difficult caregiving can be.

Pebble: Howard’s health and energy levels was another concern going into the show. A valid concern. Pain management was something we had to do on a daily basis. But, on the final day I watched him standing and talking with animation. That was not something he could accomplish last year. The comparison was very evident to me. He is beginning to bubble over with ideas again instead of them being drown in the struggles of existing under daily fatigue. I begin to have a sliver of hope that he might get to have better health than he’s had these past few years. That we might get to tackle exciting new projects both together and separately. I’m wary of hope, but I’m collecting it into my pockets anyway.

I have so many more pebbles than these. So many beautiful moments I get to keep. I haven’t even touched on the new friendships, the friendships deepened, the art I bought, exhaustion of tear down, the phone we thought was lost but wasn’t… I could go on (and on, and on). With each pebble collected, anxiety backed off until Saturday and Sunday were full of happiness and not anxiety.

Tomorrow we drive again. In fact I’m up later than I should be the night between a thirteen hour drive and a ten hour drive. Then we are home and I will immediately pivot to all of the tasks that I set down in order to be able to attend this show. There are packages to ship, a shipment of books that is finally arriving, I’ve got SLSC to edit, and Mandatory Failure to finish.

I’m excited for all of this work. So many good things are ahead of me. And yes, possibly some hard stuff too, but I’m not going to let fear of the hard stuff steal the moment I’m in. I’m collecting pebbles.

What ever is going on in your life, I hope that you too are able to collect pebbles. In fact if you want a (completely optional) assignment, collect one moment today. You can collect it however you wish: in writing, with a photograph, by telling it, picking up (or making) a physical object. Just notice it in a way that lets you be glad you had it.
All the best,
Sandra
 

I was writing a letter to a dear friend yesterday and I described to her the urge I have to make sure that I cover all of my news and updates efficiently so as to not waste her time. Such an odd impulse when the very point of the correspondence is to share stories about our lives and remain connected. Surely a long-form letter is not the place to try to be efficient. Particularly when the letter is sent electronically and so I have an infinite canvas on which to write. I managed to expand my story telling way from efficiency and more into a ramble. Of course even the rambled version can’t possible cover all the aspects of my life in any sort of comprehensive fashion. It is like a winding path through the forest which gives one a sense of the forest while still leaving vast swaths of forest unseen. I would like to take a similar approach here where I have been largely absent because crowdfunding and event preparation consumed all of my energy and attention. Rather than working chronologically to explain my arrival at today, I’m going to start where I am and work outward.

Today I wrote an update for Structuring Life to Support Creativity setting out the plan for the next several months so that I can deliver a book into the hands of the people who have already paid for it. The plan was very business-y with lists and dates all divided into easily consumable chunks. The post which catches the emotion that I feel about the project was this one thanking my backers. I still feel all those grateful things, but it is now time to roll up sleeves and get to work. I’ve got chapters to write and I’m excited to do it.

Speaking of excited to work, I’m going to be political for a moment here. I was resigned to Biden as the candidate I would vote for. I was expecting all of my political conversations to be telling people to look past the candidates and to the administration they bring with them. Biden stepped down yesterday and endorsed VP Kamala Harris as his replacement. When I saw that, it was as if air fully filled my lungs for the first time in months. Now I can have conversations about a candidate I’m excited to support. There is so much terrain between now and November. So much to discuss and examine. So many ways this can go wrong. November might be crushingly disappointing. But today I feel hope. I am so glad for this hope today no matter what comes next. And yes I plan to put in actual work and money to try to help Harris become president. Not sure yet about the shape of that, but I’ll do it.

Political work can’t ramp up yet, because this week is the pivot to full focus on Gen Con preparations. We won’t have a new Schlock book for the event. This is the first time that has ever happened. Howard feels terrible about it. My teaching at Gen Con is not going to cover the income gap because ticket purchasing has been low. So I have gotten a few sample notebooks from a new vendor to check the quality on them. I’m also printing up another run of Strohl Munitions Coloring Books that we’ll have at the show. Howard also has plans for sketch cards. We may even run some sort of online sale to try to make up the income. The actual trip I expect to be a joy. I’m going to get to see friends! I get to teach! I’ll travel cross country with Howard and one of my kids! We’ll see how many gyms we can leave Pokemon on as we travel!

Travel has definitely been a theme for this summer. In June I had two trips. July had one. August has Gen Con. The trips each bring their gifts and their strains. Here at home I can see the things that are languishing a bit while I’ve been distracted. The other day my neighbor came and knocked on my door to ask if I knew I had a pond in my side yard. I didn’t. A sprinkler pipe had burst around the corner of the house where I never go. The resulting pond was a-swim with mosquito larvae and algae. Fortunately the sprinkler company was able to come and fix it, so a normal amount of water is restored. Someday I would like to have a water feature. Something that would attract birds and frogs without breeding mosquitoes. That project is behind a very long line of other house projects.

Which brings me back to today and all of the projects I have on my list. There is so much to pack for this trip both physical and emotional, which is made a bit more complicated by all the stuff that isn’t fully unpacked from the trips and projects that came before. Someday I hope for my house and schedule to have tidy project spaces that are contained instead of spilling all over everything else. Right now I just have to work my way through the mess. Thus ends today’s ramble. Hopefully it won’t be another month before I ramble here again.

My book project went live yesterday morning and funded in less than a day. (You can see the project here!) That first day of crowdfunding is always a flurry of hope and fear. I felt anxious all day yesterday as I watched the numbers increment. I worried that I would lose heart if I had to spend a month trying to convince people to buy it. Instead I am sitting here with the tremendous gift of knowing that people trust enough in what I have to say that they’ll buy my book based only on my name, a summary, and a pretty cover. I am humbled and grateful even further by how many people spoke up and vouched for me that I’m worth listening to. I feel the weight of that trust, like a deeply comforting weighted blanket that calms my anxiety and lets me feel at peace for the first time in months. I get to make my book and people want to read it. I am so fortunate to get to have this experience, one that not every writer gets to have.

Of course, anxiety will absolutely return, especially as I work through my final revision and copy editing passes. There will be ample opportunities for imposter syndrome to make me doubt the power of my own words. When that happens, I hope I can remember the feeling of today. In the meantime, I still have lots of work to do, both to help this project reach stretch goals and to make sure I can deliver on the trust I’ve been given.

The birds outside my window are not the ones I am accustomed to hearing. The regular drizzle of all-day rain is unlike the storm bursts that come and go in my high desert home. The ticks are certainly not at all a familiar hazard. I’ve come to Minnesota to be with other writers, to talk, to think, to create words. Yet when I’m alone with my thoughts I am distracted by difference that my brain wants to notice, evaluate, understand. I don’t mind. I’ve learned that for me writing retreats are rarely my most productive moments if you’re measuring in word count. I’m too drawn to the newness of being outside my regular patterns, to the oddity of only consulting my own schedule rather than considering the entwining net of habit and obligation that holds me fast at home. I always accomplish things, but they’re rarely what I expected to accomplish when I packed for the trip. I’ve learned not to judge myself for that. And I’ve gone on retreats often enough that this is a familiar flavor of unfamiliarity. I know how to approach it and when to retreat into the comforts I brought with me.

This retreat is in Minnesota at a location with miles of walking trails and a small marshland lake. I’m on staff in a supporting role that hasn’t been particularly heavy because everyone is taking care of each other. This means I can sit off to the side and observe as our little pop-up community connects and coalesces. I love when they self-organize around activities, some of them playing games that they packed along, others gathering in groups to read aloud to each other. I am not the only one pulled out of her usual context. We all have the opportunity to experience something different, to collect new thoughts, new connections, and new ways to interact with the world around us.

Yesterday I spent sunset hour at the marsh sitting on a bench. I’d doused myself in mosquito spray, but my seat on a floating dock was in full sunshine and the mosquitoes weren’t a bother there. It is not often in my life that I take an entire hour to just watch birds and the changing light on water. I listened to frogs drumming and even was surprised by a raccoon who got within five feet of me before either of us noticed the other. Once we did, the racoon immediately decided to have business elsewhere. I was impressed with how healthy and fuzzy the critter looked without the harried and desperate look that I see in city wildlife.

This evening I plan to go in search of fireflies. I’ve seen a few, but I went out too late in the evening to see their full show. Today I’ve set an alarm and I know where to go. I’ll spray against mosquitoes, defending against one bug while deliberately seeking another one. I have two and a half days left to experience new, then I return to familiar.

Writing a book requires force of will. I’m feeling that as I push forward on the work necessary to bring Structuring Life to Support Creativity into being. I have to believe enough or care enough to push past all the speed bumps and road blocks. I’ve had many on this project. The most recent being when a freelance editor turned the project down and within 24 hours I had researched and sent out a contact to a different one. One of the questions that lives in my brain is “why now?” Why am I so confident and persistent for this project when my writing career was back burner for so long?

 Some of it is clearly necessity. This is the project I believe has an audience that will show up for it, an audience I have within my reach. An audience that will buy the book so that it can be self funding and potentially also fund some of my life expenses as well. This is the project that builds a platform which can boost other opportunities in my creative life. I definitely have financial and career urgency that is helping me keep going in the face of obstacles.

But there is something beyond that. Because writing a book is definitely not the simplest or lowest stress path to financial stability. A job with a paycheck would be much more guaranteed to provide that.

There are people who need this book. I know that because every time I give a presentation around one of the concepts in the book, I have audience members come and thank me. More impressively there are the people who come to talk to me years later and tell me how something I taught was transformative for them. Those moments aren’t about me.  I was merely the conduit for a piece of information that sparked change inside that person. They then put in the work and organization to turn that spark into transformation. In that moment I bear witness to the change, the work, the transformation and I’m always honored that people choose to let me see. To participate in helping others grow is a wonderful work that I want to do more of, and a book can reach much farther than an in person presentation. It persists in the way that a class doesn’t unless it is recorded.

In addition to participating in the growth of others, I’ve grown myself. In the past five years I’ve learned how to step forward and claim space rather than simply occupying whatever space was left available. I’ve learned to own my accumulated expertise even though most of it doesn’t come with official certifications or degrees. I’ve learned to value myself and my work, which has allowed me to put that work into the center of my daily schedules instead of allowing it to be pushed aside by other things. Centering my work in my life is how I have a completed book draft that is ready for funding and editing. The existence of the completed book is evidence of those daily centering decisions.

Joy is the last reason for “why now.” I’m going to get to have a book. I’ve got a cover that I love. I’m going to get to work with an editor to make the book better. Depending on funding, I might get to work with an illustrator for interior. Then I’ll get to have my book on the table when I run a booth at conventions. All of these are joyful experiences that I get to have as part of making this project happen. In the flurry and stress of the project it is easy to lose track of the joy. I’m so happy that that I get to make this book.

This week I finished my draft of Structuring Life to Support Creativity and put it into the hands of an editor. I also met with a cover designer and will have draft covers to look at next week. I spent a whole day feeling much lighter and excited that I can turn my writing attention toward new projects. Then I remembered that if I want to launch the crowdfunding for SLSC in June, I need to start making marketing noise now. At the moment the noise is lightweight, just making sure I mention the project and drop links (You can sign up right here to be notified when the project launches.) But I need to be doing advance legwork on interviews, blog posts, and other tasks I can do to support the project during the funding period. I also need to develop strategies for which information goes into what location. I have so many social media accounts, a Patreon, this blog, a newsletter, and probably other locations that I’ve forgotten.

In some ways Crowdfunding is incredibly familiar to me. I’ve run so many Schlock Mercenary projects, but the audience for this project is different. That changes the strategies. It means that my giant marketing list may not net me the click through that I see when pitching something Schlock related. I don’t want to really start pushing marketing for the project until I have a good cover. My current mockup is … not good.

I’m rambling. Dumping thoughts here about this project in sort of an anxious haze when I should probably be crafting focused messages instead. I will be focused, but I also think that acknowledging the inherent creative messy-ness is worth doing. Especially when you’re preparing to take a leap you haven’t taken before. In order to promote this book I can’t hide behind the brilliance of others. I can’t talk up other people’s art and writing as reasons to buy. This book is my words, my ideas, my brilliance or lack thereof. I have to find ways to speak confidently about my own work and say “this is worth buying.” Even when I did picture books in the past I could hide behind the brilliant illustrations and talk about those. This one is all words I wrote that I hope will be useful to others.

So I’m breathing deep and laying track in the hope that I can get this project to fly.

In the summer of 2022 I was very busy. This is not unusual. I am frequently busy. In this case it meant that I did not notice that my sprinklers were failing to hit a large section of lawn. Or rather, I did notice early in the summer that maybe I should figure out what was going on. Then suddenly it was August and the middle of my lawn looked like this:

The next spring I got the sprinklers fixed and decided to use this as an opportunity to change up that section of lawn from grass to clover. A clover lawn uses less water and is lower maintenance while also being better for local pollinators. I scattered seeds everywhere. Some of them sprouted, but mostly that section was a big patch of dirt for a year.

This is the view today, two years after my failures:

It is a little hard to see in the distance image, but the vast majority of the filled-in space is thriving clover. The remaining dirt patches have tiny green sprouts from the seed I tossed down a month ago. Re-seeding has worked beautifully. Now I just need to keep throwing clover seed over the rest of the lawn so that the clover can gradually win. There are so many other things I also need to be doing for my garden space, but I’ve got so much on my plate that I suspect this is going to be a benign neglect sort of year for gardening.

For today I’m going to enjoy the sunshine and the fact that sometimes mistakes are the catalyst for new ways of doing things and surprising new growth.

It is a strange sort of drowning to be buried in tasks, more like digging sand than being underwater. Each scoop of progress sends more sliding down into the area I’m trying to clear. But today I have cleared a little bit of space. I can tell because I am typing a blog post instead of scrambling to get things done. Tomorrow will contain more scramble, but today, for a moment, I can sit still and remember that sometimes I get to be a writer. My goal for all the scrambling is to earn enough money so that I can have more writer time. More gardener time. More nothing-in-particular time. Since those are the point of it all, I have to make sure that the endless sandslide (or mudslide, or flood) don’t hopelessly bury the very thing I’m hoping to save.