Tag life

Waiting for the heavens to descend*

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Moments of pure joy. We all have them. For me — my wedding day, the first time I met my kiddos, when I got to play tambourine onstage with the Nerds Gone Wild on my 40th birthday.

Last night.

Flashback to 1994… I break the cardinal rule of college dorm life and start dating the guy across the hall. He’s funny and sweet; we totally don’t work as a couple, but that’s okay because he has great taste in music. He plays CD’s from a band I’ve never heard of: James. It’s mellow yet energizing, incredibly lyrical, and lead singer Tim Booth’s voice burrows deep into my soul.

The music changes my life. I’m completely hooked, and when Tim Booth collaborates with composer Angelo Badalamenti a few years later, their CD plays on repeat and helps me through a dark, dark period. James maintains popularity in the United States in the early nineties, but I never get an opportunity to see them perform live, something I deeply regret.

Fast forward to 2019… my friend and fellow writer, Alyssa Palombo, interviews me on her blog  and one of the questions is what band is on my bucket list to see live. I of course mention James and whine about how they don’t tour in the US and even if they did my husband would never agree to go. And then a miracle happens. I’m wandering around Twitter one day and read a tweet that makes me fall out of my chair. James and The Psychedelic Furs are touring the US!! AND THEY ARE COMING TO BUFFALO!!

I tell hubby and HE AGREES TO GO WITH ME!!

Seriously. Sometimes you’ve just gotta put your dreams out to the universe, ya know?

Last night’s show was incredible. I watched from about five rows back, closer to Tim Booth than I ever thought possible. He is a remarkable entertainer with a genuine energy you could feel spilling out into the audience. The band has morphed and transitioned over the years, and they played with the intensity of true performers. The night was sticky and hot, and even though I was surrounded by sweaty fans who stepped on my toes and tried to block my view of the stage, I LOVED EVERY SECOND.

There are no photos for me to share on the blog because I decided to be in the moment. To soak it up the way I’ve soaked up other moments of pure joy. While others snapped and clicked, spinning their phones around to take in the crowd, I focused on the band. Watched their facial expressions and listened to the music they created. So, sorry about the lack of evidence — you’ll just have to take my word for it.

But wait. There’s more. I tweeted my appreciation last night on the car ride home (while hubby and I rocked out to some of the songs that weren’t played) and woke up to this:

tim

Tied for “most exciting tweet ever” with that time Ellen Hopkins congratulated me on my ARCs

Tim. Booth. Tweeted. Me. A. Wink-Kiss.

Yup, life made FOR SURE.

*partial lyrics from “Heavens”, my favorite James song

Summer camp is not punishment

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I want my kiddos to try new things, to eagerly embrace the unexpected, the unknown, the new. I want them to venture forth without fear because I spend so much of my life buried under it. Fear keeps me from all sort of things — new opportunities, relationships, adventures, and frankly it sucks. I will openly admit to having social anxiety and laugh off my misfires in public, but the reality is I miss out on things all the time because I’m afraid to leave my comfort zone. And I don’t want the same thing to be true for my boys.

Youngest fears nothing. He waltzes into new situations full of confidence and spunk. People think he’s charming and funny and he makes friends everywhere we go. With him, I’m more worried he’s going to be lured into a dangerous situation and have to constantly remind him that no, he should not help a stranger find his lost dog, and no, it’s not okay to take treats from someone you don’t know (or pick up candy off the ground and eat it. True story.) Oldest is a mixed bag. He’s friendly and outgoing some of the time, and other times he builds an invisible wall around himself and refuses to let anyone in.

This morning I dropped them off at a camp they’d never attended before. Held at a local college, I thought it would be a fun opportunity for them try something new. Youngest was apprehensive at first and asked a million questions (as per his MO), but quickly joined a group of kids his age and began passing around a beach ball. Oldest stood, hunch-shouldered, earbuds in place, and alternated his gaze from his watch to a scowl directed at yours truly.

Actual conversations from this morning:

Him: This is stupid.
Me: Keep an open mind. Isn’t that [boy from school]?
Him: (eye roll). Great. And [two other boys from school he apparently hates]. Just great.

Him: I’m bored. Why did you make me wake up at 8 am and come here?
Me: I want you to try new things. Because I love you.
Him: (scoffs) That’s doubtful.

I drove away, and as I passed the group of campers waiting to get started, there was my boy, standing alone on the edge of the sidewalk like he hoped it would swallow him whole. And I started to worry that I’d forced him into something in order to satisfy my own fears — the fear of my children not fitting in, or being liked, or finding success in life. I used to think he was an extrovert. He loved being around other kids when he was little and enjoyed the attention from my large, loud family. Naturally I assumed he’d be fine in new situations, but it often backfired. He’d clung to me during library story hour and screamed the first time I took him to soccer practice.

And now? He loves going to the library and soccer fills up a huge part of his daily life. So how far do we push our kids, or ourselves, into the unknown? If we don’t take that first step we may never stumble upon something we come to love. If we don’t say, yes, I am anxious about this new situation but I am going to try it anyway, we may never meet the person who becomes a lifelong friend. We may never discover who we truly are.

I don’t expect this camp to be a life changing event for my boys, but I hope they at least come home today not completely mad at me for making them go.

Fingers crossed.

Happy birthday, Caravan of Composition!

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Today has been a full day. Youngest graduated from elementary school, and both boys enjoyed the bell-ringing satisfaction indicating the start of summer break. Following the graduation ceremony/last exam, we celebrated at their favorite restaurant, then came home and brainstormed a summer chore chart and screen time limits. I shifted my focus toward Camp NaNoWriMo, which starts on Monday, and checked off a handful of items on my to-do list. I nearly let the milestone pass me by.

Caravan of Composition is officially two years old today. My blogging habits seem to go in waves, but I am pleased to say I’ve kept up with this blog and my previous one for over eleven years. That’s like a million in procrastinator years. It’s challenging sometimes to come up with things to write about as life isn’t always “blog-worthy”, and I struggle with insecurities regarding the merit of what I have to say. A good friend sent me a recent copy of Josh Radnor’s Museletter in which he mentions nearly the exact feeling. We might not always feel that what we have to say is worth saying. Are my words of value to my readers? Does what I say matter?

Let’s get one thing straight: I like to listen to myself talk. My family can attest to this. I love to tell stories, often the same ones over and over (more vigorous nods from the van clan), and the level of exaggeration often increases with each retelling. For dramatic effect, of course. A small stretching of the truth makes things more interesting. There is always a fair amount of accompanying hand gestures, because my heritage demands it and they, too, add to the drama of a good story.

Blogging is different. First of all, I can’t use my hands or facial expressions to drive a point home. Second, the delete button allows me to rethink things that may sound stupid or cause a foot in mouth moment. (I have a lot of those in real life.) But it also sometimes restricts the flow of words. I have several unpublished blog posts that sit in the drafts folder because either I got distracted by life or decided what I had to say wasn’t of any value.

We are our own worst critics, aren’t we? Some of us don’t care and live an unfiltered life – taking the good and the bad as they come. Some of us let our inner critic keep us from pursuing our dreams. Some, like me, fall in the middle. Moments of feeling brilliant coupled with moments of crippling self-doubt. And I can’t write this post telling you how to quiet your inner critic, because if I did, mine would be muzzled in the corner. But I can say this: we rarely give ourselves the credit we deserve. Celebrate your successes, no matter how small they seem.

Today, I celebrate my eleventh year of shouting into the void, and the second birthday of my current blog. I celebrate getting my kiddos through another school year. I celebrate the sun, and summer, and the start of another month of Camp NaNo.

And I celebrate you, dear reader, for allowing me to keep doing what I love.

 

Hold on to the feeling

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Pardon me while I dust off the blog cobwebs. April was a busy month. I successfully completed Camp NaNoWriMo with over 20k words added to my manuscript! YAY! But don’t pop the champagne cork just yet, I may end up scrapping most of it and submitting an earlier version of the book. BUT, it felt good to stay focused on a goal and see it through to the (almost) end. One motivational note remains unopened on my cork board — the one I can open when I complete the draft. Which I haven’t done. Yet.

May has also been busy. I recently got back from the PennWriters conference (more on that in a bit), I’m working on a new freelance project, and I had my first author visit. Life has been, well, life. Let’s just say there’s never a dull moment when your spouse works two jobs (both of which require travel), your children are in multiple activities, and your cats don’t like it if you try to sleep past 5 am.

As much as I wish I could veg out in the sun (SUN! WE HAVE SUN!) with a good book, I’m happy to have a bit of chaos in my life keeping me on my toes. I know the day will come when the birdies leave the nest and I’ll have to find strange children to drive around town in my van.

Wait. That did not sound right at all.

So, yeah, PennWriters. It was incredibly fun, as always, and I loved being able to spend time with my writing tribe. I traveled down with a group of friends; we met up with other friends and had a blast.

Writers make the best storytellers (duh), and I laughed so hard my belly hurt. I pitched my manuscript (and got requests!), attended my first ever group book signing, met new people, and learned more about writing.

signing

Also, after acting as a reader for Read & Critique, where writers can submit their work anonymously and have it critiqued by industry professionals, an agent said she’d “listen to me read the phone book”. Stay tuned for my YouTube channel featuring: The White Pages, a Dramatic Reading.

Every year I’ve attended the conference has been a different level of awesome and always leaves me feeling inspired. Unfortunately, this year when I returned to “real life” several problems hit me in the face before I even had a chance to unpack. I wanted desperately to get back to the feeling I had jumping on the bed with my friends, the feeling that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. Conferences give you a sense that you are a part of something, you belong, you are capable of reaching your dreams.

Despite the exhaustion and tears, I decided to face the next day with a returned sense of hope and positive energy. On Monday morning I went to a nearby high school for my first author visit. The teacher and librarian were incredibly kind (I am so thankful to John who connected us!) and they raved about my book. Said the students loved it and were eager to finish it and share it with their families. My heart burst with joy when I heard that. For me, writing is not about the money (HA!) or the fame, it’s about reaching an audience, about getting my words into the world in hopes they will affect someone in a positive way.

After I left the school I thought about the writing world and how it can be full of rejection and heartache. One of the students asked if writing was hard. I told her, yes (HELL YES), it can be difficult and lonely and you will want to give up a thousand times. But you search for people to stack in your corner, and you keep pushing ahead, and you find ways to fill your creative bucket.

There are things in my life right now trying to pull me under. But I choose to focus on what keeps me afloat: friendships, laughter, kind words, a sense of accomplishment, determination. Opportunities for growth.

And when I need an excuse to smile I watch this:

take two