Tag inspiration

Mixtapes in the modern age

caravanofcomposition 2 Comments

Back in the 90’s I was the queen of mixtapes*. If you were someone I cared about, you had a personalized mixtape, complete with decorated cover. I had have a notebook where I kept track of the songs on each tape. Yes, I still have the notebook. And a box full of mixes I made for myself. Just in case, ya know, tapes make a comeback. Or I figure out how to time travel.

mixes

file under: stuff I should get rid of but can’t seem to bear the thought of never seeing again

Life is different now. You want to hear a particular song? No problem. Exercise while listening to a specific style of music? No problem. Make your own virtual playlist? No problem. Gone are the days of hours spent waiting to hit record when your favorite song plays on the radio and getting stuck with the DJ’s voice on the opening chords. Not that I don’t love my mixtape titled, ALTERNATIVE ’92, which contains authentic Toronto DJ intros from the era.

There are endless playlists out there and I can listen to any song I want whenever I want (except of course when I’m stuck at soccer practice with no signal and forced to play only what is downloaded onto my laptop or listen to whatever ear worm lodged itself in my brain during the car ride). BUT. There are also endless choices. And that makes me feel a bit like when you stand in the grocery store aisle and have to decide between eight different kinds of coconut oil.

Back in the day of my mixtape notebook, I had a limited collection of CDs. I knew all of the songs — knew their lyrics, knew roughly how long they were (as one was limited to 60, 90, or 100 minutes per tape). I knew artists names. My CD’s were alphabetized, and still are, because of course I also have two giant binders full of CD’s I never listen to. I’ll spare you the photo evidence.

Now? I google the lyric to a song that’s stuck in my head and think, that’s who sings it? Or I see band names on the library playlist site and have no idea who they are or what they sing, but then I click on them and oh yeah, I actually do recognize their songs. Normally, this is no big deal. Listen to what makes you happy, I say. Pick the playlist to fit your mood.

Except. The marketing team who will help promote my book asked the authors to create a playlist. Songs that inspired us while we wrote or that might fit the mood of the story/character. Cool, I think. I definitely use music to help me write. It keeps me focused. It drowns out the noise of hockey pucks slamming into the board mere feet from my head (no one said writing at a sports arena would be easy). It helps me write emotional scenes. When I wrote the climax of my first novel, I played “Say Something” on repeat. The Smith’s “Asleep” provided the perfect mood while delivering devastating news to one of my characters in book two. So what did I listen to when I wrote Second in Command? Would it be worthy of a publicized playlist?

Let’s search the downloads from my laptop, which looped continuously as I wrote during soccer practices last year. A few Calvin Harris songs and various other electronica faves. Some Lord Huron. A whole lot of Sia. (Her lyrics are highly motivating. I love “The Greatest”.) Random stuff. Music I knew I could play in the background that had enough beat and rhythm to keep my fingers moving. Did it fit the mood of my story? Not usually. Would it be the same thing my main character would listen to? Doubtful. I asked my 12-year-old son to help make the playlist, and his suggestions did not exactly align with my taste. Hubs said, No 80’s music. Sad face. I know, I know. Surprisingly, there isn’t much of that on my computer. That’s what time traveling mixtapes are for, people.

So I turn to the Internet of Endless Choices. And I’m overwhelmed. My list, started on a small scrap of paper, has scribbles and rewrites. I decide, then un-decide. I text my sister, the person responsible for first introducing me to music and the joy of collecting one’s favorite songs. I visit the library music page. Who are these artists? I feel old.

There are some blank pages at the end of my mixes notebook; perhaps I should try that. Maybe I can unlock the hidden playlist muse or something. Or I could stop procrastinating with this blog post, and as my husband said yesterday, “Just pick the songs and be done with it.”

Stay tuned. I’ll link the playlist on my website once it’s live.

*the blog keeps telling me I’ve spelled “mixtape” incorrectly, but I googled it, and its’ a legitimate word that originated in the 70’s.

Weekend retreat

caravanofcomposition 5 Comments

The idea of coming together with other writers — some friends, some strangers — for an entire weekend away from the stressful realities of life felt both exhilarating and terrifying. It is something I need: space to think, to read, to write, without distractions and in a place that promised inspiring scenery. At home, I try to carve out time to write but there is always something else that pulls at my attention. The house, the cat, the never ending list of things I should be doing. At a retreat, there will be peer pressure. I will be forced to sit and write.

I will also be anxious. Anxious about the unknown, the societal expectations of such things, the way my brain doesn’t always filter what exits my mouth. The pressure to produce something wonderful, something that will make the trip worthwhile.

I drove down with a local friend, and hurray, we only had to turn around once. There were five other women there, three I know from the Pennwriters conference and two I met upon arrival. Everyone was nice. Our porch had a view of a beautiful lake, and we sat and enjoyed complimentary cottage wine.

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Sunset wine. Photo inspired by my Lake O cottage neighbor, Phil

We shared a wonderful meal together. Eventually, I heard the nag in my head asking for a break. People don’t always believe I’m an introvert. They see me stand in front of crowds, comfortable in theatrical performance. That’s the thing: it’s theater. It’s me putting on another persona, someone confident and in control of her speech and surroundings. It’s not small talk with others, deciding what to reveal about who I am and what I believe. I’d rather tell stories, sing repeat after me songs off-key, explain the way something works. Otherwise I’ll just listen if that’s okay.

And it usually is. For a while. Then I need to be alone and in the quiet. And the great thing about other writers is that they get that, they understand. Most of us are introverted or at least need to go into that space of stillness and quiet in order to tune into the stories in our heads.

I slept, more or less. As much as one can in a strange place with unusual noises (like a toilet grinder that sounded like an angry monster) and light coming in from under the doorway. I missed the sound of my husband’s breath and the feel of a cat at my feet. It was lonely. But in the morning we woke to coffee and pumpkin bread and the stillness of the lake. The air was cold and full of fall. I wrote, I read, I took a walk in the woods with my friend. We climbed into a tree stand and talked to chipmunks. I felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.

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Findley Lake

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Took a lovely hike just beyond this outhouse

We gathered in the common area and wrote, a collective of creative energy. I worried about my story but tried to let the words flow without judgement. When we weren’t writing, we talked and laughed and ate amazing food. A group of us went on a mini adventure and embraced the idea of taking the time to do what makes you happy. I am thankful for that time, for the beautiful place, for a family that supports my passion and gives me space to pursue it.

I am thankful for other writers who are not afraid to share in their vulnerability. We are all on our own journeys, yet we are all committed to words, and I love how that bonds us. Love that I can spend the weekend with people other than my family and feel safe and comfortable.

Bonus: amazing food

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Pasta with pumpkin sauce, sauted mushrooms and onions, ratatouille with vegan mozzarella, and homemade herb focaccia. YUM.

Cub scout camping fun and a book cover hint

caravanofcomposition 2 Comments
kayaks-e1534354128166.jpg

vans at sea

Look at us! We’re in boats and not tipping over or rowing into the swimming area! If you have no idea what I’m talking about, stop, go read Row, row, row your boat…, and then come back here to finish reading this post.

I’ll wait.

This past weekend was our third trip to cub scout summer camp and the first time boat-incident free. Yay us! The boys had a blast (oldest tagged along as Den Chief), the weather turned out much better than the Wednesday afternoon predictions that had me packing all the rain gear, and I walked over 32 miles in four days. It felt great to be in nature, to hang out with friends, and to watch my boys do the things they love.

Some of you may know that starting next month, girls will be allowed to join cub scouts  and in February will be able to join boy scouts (which, going forward will be known as BSA) and start on the path toward Eagle. At camp’s closing ceremony, the director mentioned how there will be girls at camp next year, and no matter how we feel about it, we need to accept the changes and support them in their journey.

I was active in girl scouts from first grade through high school. I quit because A) it became uncool to be in scouts and our troop shrank to practically zero members and B) there was no ultimate goal to achieve. (I learned later that you could become a “Lifetime Member” but that did not hold the same weight as earning Eagle.)

As the buzz became a reality in current scouting, I did a bit of research. There are 169 National scout organizations around the world, and only 11 are exclusively for boys. We were number 12 up until this year. When you look at the boys only countries, many of them restrict the behavior of women as well. Why do we need to keep scouts gender segregated? Boys and girls alike can enjoy all elements of scouting. I loved being a girl scout. Would I have joined the BSA if I could have and worked my way to Eagle? Probably. Am I excited about the changes? Yes. Do I think our country should have one scouting organization open to everyone, including transgender youth? YES!

Scouting sometimes gets a bad rep — for being exclusionary, for pushing a particular agenda, for other terrible things I don’t want to discuss on my blog. (Believe me, as someone actively involved in the organization, we do a lot to make sure stuff like that doesn’t happen on our watch.) But at its core it instills solid values, nurtures a child’s strengths and interests, and provides a place to make lifelong friendships. Often for both kids and parents, as is the case in our family.

When I set out to write my YA verse novel (WHICH WILL BE IN THE WORLD IN LESS THAN SIX MONTHS!!), I wanted my main character to be active in scouts. I gave him a moral dilemma and had him use the points of the scout law to figure out how to navigate through it. I’ll be revealing the book’s cover soon, and I’m excited that scouts plays a huge role in the design.

I don’t have a funny/embarrassing story for you this year. But I have a lot of wonderful memories that will never fade and mosquito bites which thankfully will. My boys found the sunglassed lifeguard from last year and invited him to sit at our table for every meal. We played. We laughed. We sang ridiculous songs at the tops of our lungs. We studied toads in mud puddles and celebrated accomplishments. We barely slept. I captured moments like this:

boys

brothers and best friends

It was awesome.

Happy Camper

caravanofcomposition 6 Comments

I love camping. Fresh air, campfires, afternoon naps in the sun. The blissful escape from routine.

Back in the days before kids, hubs and I camped all over the state. We weren’t very adept when we started out—on our first trip we forgot pillows and other essentials and had to drive to a nearby mega store. (Incidentally that was not the only time I forgot pillows on a camping trip and had to drive to a store to buy them; somehow pillows are not high on my list of necessities for sleep).

I remember trying to cook in the pouring rain, hunched over the propane stove, umbrella in one hand, utensil in the other, and then eating our meal in the car. After that we purchased a simple canopy, which took off down the hill in a strong gust of wind and retrieved right before it landed in a nearby creek.

But the misadventures were part of what made camping great, the stories I tell when people ask why I love it. During a visit to Letchworth State Park, we arrived to discover the campsite was full. The ranger directed us to a nearby campground which turned out to be one of our favorite places to stay.

Enter children.

When our oldest was two, we took him to the above mentioned favorite campground. He had a blast despite the rainy conditions. However, I fretted for most of the weekend and did not enjoy the mountain of muddy laundry on Sunday night.

Next we tried to camp on the beach. Readers, you should NEVER CAMP ON THE BEACH. A strong wind collapsed our tent in half on itself (there is no way to fully stake it in the sand), the lack of distinguishable sites meant our neighbors were all on top of us, and when we got home after leaving early because of previously stated reasons, SAND WAS EVERYWHERE.

EVERYWHERE.

At first I laughed. “Hey, everything’s sandy, like me!” Two years later I used one of our sleeping bags as a prop in a play and my student commented on the sand still stuck in the bag. I had stopped laughing.

That ended camping for a while. When our youngest joined scouts, we started going as a family to overnight cabin trips, and took the boys to summer scout camp. The camping bug returned, and I remembered why I loved it. This despite the constant rain during summer camp, a car that smelled like wet feet, and a kid so covered in mosquito bites I needed to dump him into a bathtub full of calamine lotion.

Through scouts we found a great group of friends with similar aged kids who also loved to camp. Moms who don’t mind getting dirty and being without makeup or running water. We took them to our favorite spot and had an amazing weekend. But camping with two kids is a lot of work. The prep, the execution, the cleanup. I do most of it on my own. Also, to be perfectly honest, I’m not a huge fan of sleeping on the ground.

So when an opportunity came along to buy a small cottage on the lake, we jumped on it. Hubs calls it glamping because it has all of the things we love about camping—nature, fire pits, no technology, without the things we hate—sleeping on the ground, washing dishes in a plastic tub, dealing with drunk neighbors. I love waking up early and watching the sunrise. Sitting around the campfire and playing board games with my family. Curling up with a good book and taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. No TV, no video games, the responsibilities of life left at home, at least for the weekend.

Camp NaNoWriMo kicked off on Sunday. We were out at the cottage, and despite the sweltering heat I was able to get back into my WIP and make forward progress. Last week I took the first chapter to my critique group and they loved it. Told me I needed to keep writing. When camp started I set a modest goal and made a commitment to myself to sit down every day and write. So far so good. We’re back out at the lake and I am sure my muse has found me here. (She likes to go places with no wifi—who knew?) Our friends are coming up for the holiday and I hope they love it as much as we do.

camping

Ready to write on the first day of Camp NaNoWriMo

Sometimes I think the secret to life is as simple as this: find what makes you happy and do it. Adjust as necessary to accommodate children and bad  backs.