Maureen Joyce Connolly's Blog, page 2

This Is How To Keep Inspiration Crackling

In my first blog post, I promised to share what it is like to be a debut author and how I was to remain determined to honor the creative process and to no longer live by default. Now here I am, just over two months from the release of my novel, LITTLE LOVELY THINGS, (April 2nd!), and I’m up to my ears in all the preparations for launch.

I had no idea how much work and more importantly how time-consuming this would be. I am not complaining, I love every minute but it has certainly challenged my commitment to writing on a daily basis, and I feel my creative spirit slipping a little bit. It doesn’t help that we are now in the middle of post-holiday winter, short on daylight, when the crackle of inspiration can easily dull into a soft thud.

If you’re like me, I need to fight against over-indulging in comfort food and auto-piloting back into old entrenched habits. It’s time for a jiggle or two in my daily routine to feel stimulated again.

Have you ever seen a cat’s face when it is being brushed tail to head? Pissed. But, after, I bet that beast enjoyed the new sensation all over its body. I think it’s important to become a cat that has been stroked the wrong way. No, this doesn’t require drastic measure. Something as simple as reading a different genre of book or watching a new type of programming on TV can jostle your stupor enough to make you take notice.

Inspiration Tips 

Here’s one I find particularly fun:

Change the fonts in your documents or emails. This sounds silly but has an amazing effect on how you view your writing – you will ‘hear’ yourself differently if you see it anew. I use Comic Sans MS – which incites a giggle or two when I’m typing because words the on my screen look to me as if they are in their jammies.

Fish, (remember, you are a cat!) through your closet. Place a pair of jeans you never wear and set them next to your favorite sweater. Or do the reverse. Then find something from your summer or spring wardrobe like a scarf or belt and wear them together for a seasonal toss-up.

Let your imagination be stimulated through your senses. Try listening to classical or even spa music on the radio instead of rock or techno. Close your eyes (only if you’re not driving!) What sense of place does this new music evoke? If it is the interior of a house or a landscape, add some detail – decorate the rooms, put that landscape in a season.

The next time you are in your kitchen, muddle through the spice cupboard and choose a can or jar at random. Without looking at the label, unscrew the top and take a whiff. Can you identify it immediately? What does it call to mind? Allow yourself to be momentarily stolen away – maybe to someplace exotic like a curry stall – or to your childhood breakfast table enfolded in the comforting aroma of cinnamon toast.

Look For Inspiration in Patterns 

Are you familiar with the Fibonacci sequence? You should be! It’s a cool pattern of numbers where each one is the sum of the two preceding it, like this:  0 and 1: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 . . . Why care? Because it has an amazing connection to the natural world, the examples of which are beautiful and require our attention (plus Fibonacci is a great word to impress your friends with).

That familiar flat face of a sunflower is really made up of a gazillion little florets that spiral from the center outward. Same with shells, galaxies, and even hurricanes – they’re all following this amazing design.

One of my favorite ways to stir creativity is the Giant Sticky Challenge.

My Inspiration Challenge For YOU

Go to your local office supply chain store. They sell those neon sticky notes we are all familiar with, but in an enormous size.  We‘re talking 6×6 inch sheets. Toss a pack of those into your cart and then grab a box of fun markers.

While you are in line waiting to pay, toss in a pack of bubble gum. Stick at least two or three pieces into your mouth (c’mon, you know you can), just like you did when you were a kid, and chomp like crazy. Does it bring back that juicy bulbous feeling and the perfect rubber-eraser-y taste that you enjoyed so much when you were young?

Once you get home, place a sticky on the door of your bedroom, or your hall closet or even better on a kitchen cupboard – anywhere visually obvious. It’s only for a week. Like their smaller relatives, the giant sticky’s are harmless and come down without a mark.

Now seize those markers and sprinkle them haphazardly in your normal path of activity and near places you sit. You will be tempted to arrange them neatly. Don’t do it. Tolerating that messiness is like having a mosquito bite-type itch smack in the middle of your comfort zone. Which is you are going for, remember? Do not pick them up until you resolve to write something, draw something, or mark your giant sticky up like a cat on catnip.

As you maneuver through your week, capture little things in your daily life that inspire you; a snippet of a poem, an over-the-top recipe, a glossy magazine picture of your dream vacation spot. Tape these things onto your giant sticky…how about the secret name you wish you had been called instead of your own? Or if you love your name – scribble it boldly in the brightest color.

Once your sticky is full, snap a picture before pulling it down. Later, when you have a minute, spend some time examining that image. Do you see any patterns? What emotions if any, are conjured in reaction to your choices? You might be surprised by what this reveals about you.

I would love to hear about your experience with one of these activities. Have any of them jiggled you from being on autopilot or spurred your creativity in any way?

Even better, do you have any thoughts/ideas that you can adapt to keep your inspiration crackling? Please share below!

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here . Join her ARC Reader Team here! Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.
Pre-order your copy now!

 

 

 

The post This Is How To Keep Inspiration Crackling appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

This Is Why Writing Advice Conflicts Me

I have developed a conflicted relationship with advice. My general experience has been that the person meting it out is often the blowhard in the group, the one with the least amount of wisdom. And conversely, the quietly successful person, the one I really care to hear from, rarely offers advice unless pressed to do so.

It doesn’t help that as the youngest of five, I never was the go-to for anything resembling counsel. After all, how could I know ANYTHING in my lowly position as the family’s ‘caboose’. So, it’s certainly a new experience for me that, as an author, one of the most consistent questions posed to me is what advice can I offer to emerging writers.

I have to be honest. I have ping-ponged with my answer. My knee jerk response is that I don’t give advice, that it can be problematic, especially for someone who is struggling in the early stages of writing. Prevailing wisdom can lead to doubt when you are developing your own style and voice.

This has happened to me. In response to a workshop led by a writing big shot, I began to assume someone else’s narrative voice. It was subtle and most likely vegetated somewhere in my subconscious mind after hearing the wonderful workshop advice. By the time it dawned on me, I’d lost a significant amount of time.

Consider the opposite extreme. Flood yourself with information! Read everything and all that other writers say, try different things, explore and fumble forward to discover your own process. I’ve done this too. It has its merits, but can be exhausting and confusing and lead to that horrible quagmire – writer paralysis.

After allowing these opposing thoughts to marinate in my brain, I came to realize that truly good advice cannot be compartmentalized to one area, but is relevant to life in general.

The ubiquitous and pithy phrase I recently posted on social media ‘Write without fear. Edit without Mercy’ is applicable beyond writing and encompasses much associated with life experience.

To attempt to live without fear is a challenge we all face. But just as with writing – how do we make this possible? The key is learning to develop internal trust. This takes time. And is no doubt frustrating. But it is important to remember that instincts are there for a reason.

One of the characters in my novel, LITTLE LOVELY THINGS, Jay White, is a Native American and is marginalized, as so many minorities are, to the effect of dampening his highly defined instincts. Sadly, he tries to suppress that voice inside because he has been conditioned not to trust himself. It takes a tragic turn of events for him to snap back into place – to honor the deep sense of knowledge that he has cultivated throughout his life.

We all have this internal watchdog to a certain degree. Unfortunately, we often attempt to quash it, because it is not something tangible, except in our hearts.

To edit without mercy is really a call for us to revise our decisions when we fall short. We’re human after all. But so many of us are ashamed of the very notion of making a mistake – that we often fail to learn from them. Whether its cultural conditioning, self-esteem issues, many people get paralyzed once the big ‘uh-oh’ dawns on them. And that leads to rationalizing which is just another form of hiding from ourselves.

When faced with a decision, whether it is a plot twist, or a life decision, do your research for sure. Think it through.  But not just with your head. Use all your powers of assessment, including your instinct.

If it doesn’t turn out, which it never always does, take a breath, step back and honor the outcome.

Remind yourself that you weren’t wrong if you tried your best. And then start over. Edit the hell out of your first draft or whatever decision you made and construct something new based on your new knowledge. You might just surprise yourself.

My final word on advice?  Live and write without fear. Then edit or revise with self-kindness and added wisdom. Most of all, trust yourself and then move forward – fearlessly.

 

How about you? Any writing advice (good or bad) you want to share? Please do so below.

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here . Join her ARC Reader Team here! Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.
Pre-order your copy now!

 

 

 

The post This Is Why Writing Advice Conflicts Me appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

How Do You Know When You’re Moving in the Right Direction?

You know how sometimes the universe puts a tailwind on your behind and you have to just go with it? I am so feeling that right now regarding my decision – almost a year ago to the date – to quit my long-term career and become a full-time writer. My path now couldn’t be clearer.

The Right Direction 

There have been so many signs. Almost immediately members of the publishing community, including established writers, have gone out of their way to be welcoming – offering advice and encouragement. A great author and personal hero, Jacquelyn Mitchard, called LITTLE LOVELY THINGS, ‘A Shattering Adventure,’ after offering to read it.

One of the most amazing bookstores on the planet – The Strand in Manhattan – has agreed to host a launch party the week my book is released in April. And just recently I learned I was a finalist in a prestigious poetry contest. Here’s the thing, I haven’t written any poetry in at least the ten years since I started my novel.

The last time I experienced such synergy was when my mother passed away. As an adult, I have always lived a plane ride distance from her, which grew more heartbreaking each year that passed as she approached the fragility of extreme old age. As her youngest, we’d always enjoyed a special bond.

In August 2012, my husband and I scheduled a family vacation to Michigan. The plan was to combine a visit with my mother followed by introducing our kids to the peculiar charms of things he and I treasured as kids growing up in the Great Lake State.

(Close-up of Petoskey stone – fossilized Hexagonaria percarinata)

Upon our arrival, my instincts told me my mom and I needed time alone together. We spent a long afternoon drinking tea and reminiscing. As the day wound down, my normally effervescent mother confided how lonely and unhappy her once busy life had become. She was ninety-three. Not an hour later she suffered a stroke with me by her side.

The days that followed were so very difficult in that I knew I had to return to our home for back-to-school and other responsibilities. I spent the final evening before our departure by my mother’s side. In the morning just before the sun rose, she passed away peacefully. It was as if she was signaling that it was time for both of us to go.

Leaving Michigan after the funeral, I never felt so close to her in my life.

Synergy 

Synergy, learning to trust your instincts, these are major themes in my book. There is irony here since a career in science trained me to be cynical about such things. Extreme rational thinking is not bad. It’s what keeps us from jumping to unsubstantiated conclusions and remain clear-headed in the face of difficult decisions, but it can also cause us to lose sight of how important it is to cultivate creativity – to keep our antennae tuned to the larger things in life.

My workday now includes time for daydreaming, allowing my thoughts to marinate on treasures large and small that occupy my brain for no other reason than curiosity and fascination. In my novel, I make reference to a peculiar stone that is only found on the western shores of Lake Michigan along the little finger of the state outline.

Technically, Petoskey stones are far from ‘precious’ – you can basically just find them without much effort in the shallows along the beach. But here’s the magic, once polished, they reveal the beautiful honeycomb silhouette of ancient fossilized coral.

(Zoanthis – Dragon Eye Coral – similar to ancient Hexagonaria)

Pretty much every child from Michigan can tell you that Petoskey stones date back to the Devonian period and are the result of subsequent glaciation. If the idea that the icy waters of the Great Lakes were once sub-tropic seas teeming with feathery coral doesn’t capture a kid’s imagination, then I don’t know what can.

Connection

I keep a teardrop-shaped Petoskey stone the size of my palm on my desk – a short reach from my mouse. I procured it at a small shop in Michigan the week my mother passed away. It serves as a reminder. Of so many things.

While I wish my mother could’ve lived to see my novel published, I know it was time for us to create a different type of connection – one that has only become more beautiful with the passing of time.

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here . Join her ARC Reader Team here! Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.
Pre-order your copy now!

The post How Do You Know When You’re Moving in the Right Direction? appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

This is How I Successfully Procrastinate

The Fear of ‘Second Pages’ aka How I Successfully Procrastinate 

I am so happy to report that I have gotten through one of the great quagmires I created in my little author brain – the absolute final revision of my novel, LITTLE LOVELY THINGS.

How My Procrastination Starts 

‘Second pages’, as they are referred to by editors, are a terrible thing, in that they are the ultimate, the definitive, the no-turning-back, version of a book…and scary as hell. I have spent literally years writing and editing my work with the end goal being a finished, perfect manuscript.

Note the word perfect and then go ahead and tie it back to fear. I think you get the picture.

Once I received the dreaded email with my manuscript attached and the request that I review, revise and return in ten days, I went into my by now, dead-line specific panic cycle. Otherwise known as the ‘authorial ooze’, I swear, it is the worst form of suffering on the planet (no drama here!).

Authorial Ooze aka Fear 

Usually, the first thing I do is call my friend Doreen and whine. She listens for maybe two minutes and then reminds me there are real problems in the world and then, to add insult, actually begins to list them! Diseases, bad weather, the pestilence of humanity in general.

My unresponsiveness draws out the big guns. This is when Doreen mentions that if I just sat my butt down and got to work, it might break the spell of paralysis I’ve cast upon myself. I pretend to listen to her and snap out of my misery, but once I hang up, I find better ways than a phone call with my friend to procrastinate; like watching ‘70’s re-runs, or devouring gallons of ice cream.

About two days in, I begin to play games with my brain and decide I should start on a new project to stimulate work on the project at hand. You heard that correctly – a clear thinking approach for certain. So I begin a short story or personal essay and then guess what? A big hairy brain clog visits and now I have two projects to worry about.

More ice cream to the rescue.

Other friends sense my dilemma. They offer walks in the park, fresh air. ‘Nope, too busy,’ I say. ‘Okay,’ I hear after the guffaw on the other end. I stop picking up my phone and only text.

This is around day three or four, which means only six days left until deadline. Uh-oh.

 

Moving On to Extreme Self-Doubt 

This is also when the great swamp becomes quicksand. Extreme self-doubt.

How can I possibly do this? If I actually try, it won’t end up perfect, and then I am a perfect failure, etc., etc.

Did I remember to refer to the authorial ooze as primordial? Why do you think that it took millions of years for the first lobe-finned fish, or half-amphibian creature (not exactly sure which) had the brilliant (and, by the way, very creative) idea to test its land crawling skills?

Don’t you think it probably had something to do with extreme doubt? Things like won’t my fins look awkward on land, or the ubiquitous, what will the relatives think when I’m gallivanting on the rocks?

You get the picture. We all suffer some form of it.

And Then…The Tide Turns

Here’s where the tide turns, not geologically, but in my life. When I have wasted fully half my allotted time, and I discover the lock my husband has placed on the ice cream freezer door (I call it an ice cream freezer because that’s all we stock in it), when all of my friends ignore my texts, I go for symptom relief.

Note I didn’t say remedy. There is no such thing. Because I will do this all again next deadline.

I sit my patootie down and pinch myself. Hard. Like a hungry crustacean gone wild. And I don’t allow myself to make a sound. It reminds me that I hate whiners. And self-loathers. I face my manuscript. It’s slow at first, even a little awkward, like an old cat getting acquainted with a puppy.

Little by little, I slip back into myself. And it feels right. I address the grammatical errors highlighted by the copyeditors and then circle back to the small plot misses and thematic oversights.

Fully wrenched from the ooze, I remember how grateful I am to have gotten this far, to have the people in my life that act as my support system. That this manuscript is my work, my creation. It has taken a lifetime to get here, and by golly, I will see it through, tiny warts and all.

And I will be okay if at some time in the future a reader points out an error here and there. I may even smile. Because I don’t want to be a perfect failure, instead I want to feel the joy of trying my hardest and being okay with the imperfection of a completed novel.

 

Epilogue 

After finishing my edits, I am celebrating momentarily until the next deadline looms!

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Join her ARC Reader Team here!
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

 

 

The post This is How I Successfully Procrastinate appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

Creative Ways To Manage Creative Thoughts

Inspiration. Where does it come from?

In my case almost everywhere. One sideways glance at the perfect shield-shaped carapace of a stink bug can send me reeling. Or a chance encounter with a few notes from a Louis Armstrong ballad. A brief exchange with a decidedly eccentric person (this is my favorite – you’ll see why later).

You get the picture. My head is always jam-packed with snippets of ideas, thoughts on paintings I need to get working on, prime moments to capture photos, and of course, all manner of writing. Too many things, in fact, until I came up with a system of keeping it all straight.

Creative Octopus Folder 

I have a folder on my hard drive titled Creative Octopus.

It started out with eight subfolders, designed to accommodate my random mind wanderings, but soon exceeded that number – which I suppose technically makes it a squid. The thing is this; while I have developed the discipline to work on a project consistently enough to finish a novel, I have a need to honor my whims, my nudges of inspiration. I fear that if I don’t, my creative energy might dry up.

The octopus folder provides a sense of expansiveness, a place to capture what I feel a gravitational pull toward at any given time. In addition to titles like Poetry and Fiction, I have files labeled Entomology, Pics of Succulents and of course Doodles (see blog number four).

Memoir Folder 

Some days I play ‘choose a tentacle’ and dive into a folder sheltering a nascent idea that I sense needs my attention. I have to be careful, though, because a monster lurks among the others.

My Memoir folder.

To say I had an unusual childhood is an understatement. It took well into adulthood for me to realize that the things my family viewed as normal were, in fact, otherwise. But coming to terms and embracing our inherent ‘oddness’ has fueled and continues to fuel my imagination. It’s what has made me a writer.

Childhood Inspirations 

In recognition of this, I can easily say that my mother remains my absolute inspiration.

Here’s an example of a ‘captured’ thought that may one day, work itself into a full blown story. It was the late 1960’s and we were on our way ‘Up North’ to our cabin on a lake when we stopped for lunch at Howard Johnson’s – the iconic orange and turquoise building that looks like a dock and dine for a spaceship. We traveled to and from ‘Up North’ a lot (this was what Michiganians call anything north of Wayne County).

Anyway, there was my mother – driver of our red station wagon with red vinyl seats and no air conditioning – my sister, myself and three of our neighborhood girlfriends. That’s five kids and one adult if you are counting.

We stopped, unloaded the car, and single-filed it into the restaurant with our mother bringing up the rear. The only thing was, we included our black and white tuxedo cat Kitty Kartz – Kartz for short (yup with a z – don’t ask).

All six of us sat at the lunch counter, with me keeping the cat on my lap, half under the counter. Kartz was in no way restrained or leashed – a particularly bad idea since his disposition ranged from baseline nasty to outright hellish when disturbed.

I have no idea to this day why he didn’t shred me into pieces and bolt. Probably the promising odor of a fish-a-ma-jig sandwich or whatever ‘special’ they were frying in the back that day kept him semi-placid in my lap.

The server, a pock-faced teenager, probably no more than sixteen at the time, lifted the edge of his paper hat from his forehead, eyed us, and then spoke in that flat tone of adolescence.

“I can’t serve you. You have a cat.”

All five girls turned in unison toward my mother and searched her face with our ten questioning eyes.

Indignant, she demanded to see the manager.

 

Not Kartz – Current kitty, Pumpkin

Kartz by now was growing restless (I could just hear the drums in the distance like in the old Tarzan movies) and incisor-sharp claws began to pierce into my thighs (it was August, so shorts only), but no way was I letting go. Luckily, he discovered a patch of dried ice cream next to a wad of hardened Bazooka Joe on the underside of the counter, which he began to slowly devastate with his rough tongue. That was good for a minute or two at least.

The manager came over. He was a big guy with a large red face, his paper hat tilted to one side like a fedora.

“You can’t have a cat in here, lady.” His tone was incredulous.

Did I mention she was born in England? She came over when she was seven and was in every way an American with the exception of her view that all English-born humans were somehow royalty. Getting her British up – she sat tall, assumed her ‘queen’ posture, and took a long moment before responding.

“In that case, we shall all leave.”

We took her lead and filed out in a single row, my mother in front this time, and me in the rear with a struggling and mewing cat now crushed to my chest. Once we piled back into our red station wagon, she gunned it over to the Dog N Suds where you ordered from your car and they served you curbside.

It was, quite frankly, glorious.

 

What inspires you and how do you act on it? Do you write it down to return to later or let it mull in your brain?  Do you have anything like a Creative Octopus folder?

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Join my ARC Reader Team here!
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

The post Creative Ways To Manage Creative Thoughts appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

Super Easy Ways to Organize Your Writing Inspirations

Inspiration. Where does it come from?

In my case almost everywhere. One sideways glance at the perfect shield-shaped carapace of a stink bug can send me reeling. Or a chance encounter with a few notes from a Louis Armstrong ballad. A brief exchange with a decidedly eccentric person (this is my favorite – you’ll see why later).

You get the picture. My head is always jam-packed with snippets of ideas, thoughts on paintings I need to get working on, prime moments to capture photos, and of course, all manner of writing. Too many things, in fact, until I came up with a system of keeping it all straight.

Creative Octopus Folder 

I have a folder on my hard drive titled Creative Octopus.

It started out with eight subfolders, designed to accommodate my random mind wanderings, but soon exceeded that number – which I suppose technically makes it a squid. The thing is this; while I have developed the discipline to work on a project consistently enough to finish a novel, I have a need to honor my whims, my nudges of inspiration. I fear that if I don’t, my creative energy might dry up.

The octopus folder provides a sense of expansiveness, a place to capture what I feel a gravitational pull toward at any given time. In addition to titles like Poetry and Fiction, I have files labeled Entomology, Pics of Succulents and of course Doodles (see blog number four).

Memoir Folder 

Some days I play ‘choose a tentacle’ and dive into a folder sheltering a nascent idea that I sense needs my attention. I have to be careful, though, because a monster lurks among the others.

My Memoir folder.

To say I had an unusual childhood is an understatement. It took well into adulthood for me to realize that the things my family viewed as normal were, in fact, otherwise. But coming to terms and embracing our inherent ‘oddness’ has fueled and continues to fuel my imagination. It’s what has made me a writer.

Childhood Inspirations 

In recognition of this, I can easily say that my mother remains my absolute inspiration.

Here’s an example of a ‘captured’ thought that may one day, work itself into a full blown story. It was the late 1960’s and we were on our way ‘Up North’ to our cabin on a lake when we stopped for lunch at Howard Johnson’s – the iconic orange and turquoise building that looks like a dock and dine for a spaceship. We traveled to and from ‘Up North’ a lot (this was what Michiganians call anything north of Wayne County).

Anyway, there was my mother – driver of our red station wagon with red vinyl seats and no air conditioning – my sister, myself and three of our neighborhood girlfriends. That’s five kids and one adult if you are counting.

We stopped, unloaded the car, and single-filed it into the restaurant with our mother bringing up the rear. The only thing was, we included our black and white tuxedo cat Kitty Kartz – Kartz for short (yup with a z – don’t ask).

All six of us sat at the lunch counter, with me keeping the cat on my lap, half under the counter. Kartz was in no way restrained or leashed – a particularly bad idea since his disposition ranged from baseline nasty to outright hellish when disturbed.

I have no idea to this day why he didn’t shred me into pieces and bolt. Probably the promising odor of a fish-a-ma-jig sandwich or whatever ‘special’ they were frying in the back that day kept him semi-placid in my lap.

The server, a pock-faced teenager, probably no more than sixteen at the time, lifted the edge of his paper hat from his forehead, eyed us, and then spoke in that flat tone of adolescence.

“I can’t serve you. You have a cat.”

All five girls turned in unison toward my mother and searched her face with our ten questioning eyes.

Indignant, she demanded to see the manager.

 

Not Kartz – Current kitty, Pumpkin

Kartz by now was growing restless (I could just hear the drums in the distance like in the old Tarzan movies) and incisor-sharp claws began to pierce into my thighs (it was August, so shorts only), but no way was I letting go. Luckily, he discovered a patch of dried ice cream next to a wad of hardened Bazooka Joe on the underside of the counter, which he began to slowly devastate with his rough tongue. That was good for a minute or two at least.

The manager came over. He was a big guy with a large red face, his paper hat tilted to one side like a fedora.

“You can’t have a cat in here, lady.” His tone was incredulous.

Did I mention she was born in England? She came over when she was seven and was in every way an American with the exception of her view that all English-born humans were somehow royalty. Getting her British up – she sat tall, assumed her ‘queen’ posture, and took a long moment before responding.

“In that case, we shall all leave.”

We took her lead and filed out in a single row, my mother in front this time, and me in the rear with a struggling and mewing cat now crushed to my chest. Once we piled back into our red station wagon, she gunned it over to the Dog N Suds where you ordered from your car and they served you curbside.

It was, quite frankly, glorious.

 

What inspires you and how do you act on it? Do you write it down to return to later or let it mull in your brain?  Do you have anything like a Creative Octopus folder?

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Join my ARC Reader Team here!
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

The post Super Easy Ways to Organize Your Writing Inspirations appeared first on Maureen Joyce Connolly.

This Is Why We Love Great Characters

Since earlier this year, I have been fortunate enough to be invited to very generous book clubs to which I have offered excerpts of LITTLE LOVELY THINGS. What a thrill to be included in discussions with people who have opened their hearts to me, a new author!

Great Characters Are a Mystery 

Q&A is always the most interesting experience as such a broad range of topics emerge, mirroring the different reading experiences among the group. One subject that pops up regularly is about my characters – specifically, where do they come from? This is, of course, such an expected and obvious question – you’d think I would have a quick snap, maybe even rote, answer. But, I do not.

Because I don’t really know.

Great Characters Pull Us In 

That sounds bad, doesn’t it? To my frustration, I tend to provide a half-formed response that often includes painful hesitation and faltering words. Because you see, I love my characters. Some more than others. But truly and with all my heart. And so for me to explain where they came from or how I developed them in a certain way is like discussing the same about intimate relationships.

Yes, I can easily describe how I met my husband. I mean the setting (college) and such. But can I really approach the depth of experience which caused us to forge a path through life together? Can you describe a friendship that didn’t seem to quite work out at first, and then through years and miles of experience, the qualities once suspect somehow morph into something you cherish?

Same story with my characters. They emerge from some peculiar fusion of my heart and my brain. Maybe it’s magic. I don’t completely know.

All I can tell you is the following: some of them entered my life fully formed, some I had to coax patiently into view like a slow developing photo negative, and still others, mercifully few, choose to remain a bit elusive like a grainy old Polaroid snapshot.

Irritatingly, like ‘real’ people, they don’t always do as I ask, don’t always share love the way I wish they would, and sometimes surprise the sox off of me (when you read the book, you will know who I am talking about.)

Great Characters Make Great Writers 

I’m not certain how other authors create characters, nor, quite frankly, other than curiosity, do I care. I’ve come to accept that crafting a human being cannot be fully realized from ‘how to’ books on fiction.

One thing I do understand with certainty is that my characters have made me a writer. I would never be so entitled to trust myself to construct a story without their help. I welcomed them into my life, and they, in turn, allowed me to mess with theirs.

What a deal.

Isn’t this what the reading experience is all about? Aren’t great characters what makes fiction stick to our bones? Think of your favorite books – why is it that long after details of the plot or themes grow elusive, you can easily conjure a protagonist down to minor detail if pressed? So many memorable personalities have become part of our collective ‘mental’ lexicon.

Can’t you just hear the gentle drawl of Atticus Finch when he’s sitting with Scout in her ubiquitous overalls on their sprawling southern porch? Doesn’t your heart still catch when you consider the fiery spirit of young Katniss Everdeen stepping forward to take her little sister’s place in what was essentially a death lottery in The Hunger Games?

My characters are my favorite people to talk about (okay, aside from my dog and cat), and are as dear to me as relatives, and sometimes I embarrass myself and get emotional when I speak about them. As such, I prefer to talk about the qualities they embody rather than where they came from.

They stand as individuals, not cultural or gender-based stereotypes, but humans caught in circumstance, and most of them are trying to react, like all of us, to the clarion call of something larger than themselves in the grand scheme of life.

They have been generous enough to share their lives with me and remain patient when I ask their permission to do things they don’t love.

They have taught me much about life.

And I am grateful.

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

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ARCs: This is My Story of Gratitude

Remember when I invited you on a journey leading up to the publication of my novel?

Well, here’s some GREAT big news – my ARCs have arrived! If you’re not familiar with that term, it’s an acronym for Advanced Reader Copy and it is one final revision away from the completed manuscript. Created by publishers, in my case, Sourcebooks Landmark, it is designed to send out to reviewers ahead of the release date, which for LITTLE LOVELY THINGS  is now set for April 2, 2019 (yay!).

Overwhelming Gratitude 

When the box arrived, I wasn’t prepared for my reaction. Keep in mind this is my debut novel so everything is new to me about this process. While I ’d heard it looks like the ‘real thing,’ I somehow wasn’t prepared to see a real live book with my name on it  – in fact, five copies of real live books with my name on them.

It was truly a heart-stopping moment.

Quite frankly, up until being able to touch a copy of the ARC, my new life as an author (my learning to walk sideways life), has been an exercise in not so creative stuff like manuscript revisions, copyedit reviews, meetings and engaging with experts in the field of publishing (truly wonderful people by the way – I call them my ‘Book Tribe’ – see shout out below).

Through all of the busy-ness, the idea of my dream in physical form seemed murky, nebulous. Like when you are pregnant and you know that baby is there but you have yet to see and touch him/her.

So when I held my book that isn’t quite yet a book – how funny is that – it was in some ways like cradling your baby before it actually is born. It had taken so long to get here! I was reminded of Claire, my protagonist in LITTLE LOVELY THINGS, how she learned to find happiness after the abduction of her two children, through perseverance and gratitude.

I am not embarrassed to share that I sat on the floor next to the box and cried. After spending a few moments in tearful awe I then allowed myself to feel, really feel what this was all about, this experience of creative inspiration brought into the actual physical realm.

What came to me was, like Claire, gratitude. I am so very thankful that I have been supported by my friends and family to take on this remarkable journey, to have found the courage within myself to keep going, to understand the impact that creativity has to transform lives.

The Reality of Sacred Moments 

But the reality, of course, has a way of shattering our sacred moments. My dog Huckleberry took my emotionality as an opportunity to body slam my thirteen-year-old napping cat, Pumpkin, whom then proceeded to dash out the open front door (left ajar after the UPS guy handed me the box) with Huck in hot pursuit and me not too far behind.

The rest of the story is one of those Disney-esque chase scenes that end with the protagonist – me – covered in mud.

Once I cleaned up, the very next thing I did was join a scheduled meeting with several members of my ‘Book Tribe.’ Being able to share with them the remarkable moment of seeing my ARC for the first time was such a joy because they understand – it was a moment of emotional closure I will always treasure.

Gratitude for My Book Tribe! 

I am taking this opportunity to thank my absolutely wonderful ‘Book Tribe’ who continue to provide support in ways that astonish me:

Anna Michels (Sourcebooks Landmark),

Heather Karpas (ICM Partners),

Kaitlyn Kennedy (Sourcebooks Landmark),

Rachel Thompson (BadRedHead Media),

Sarah Miniaci (Smith Publicity),

Sharon Green, Katherine Anne Connolly, Doreen Erasmus, Andrea Robinson, Jane Ratcliffe.

How about you? Do you have your own ‘tribe’ that provides you support ‘in astonishing ways’? When was the last time you have taken a brief moment to share your gratitude for someone you appreciate?

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

 

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How Important is Silliness In Our Amazing Lives?

How Important Is Silliness? 

Remember that list we talked about? Keeping track of things that inspire you? Well, the last time I decided to tweak mine, I printed it out and then got onto a very important and very long phone call. After the conversation ended, I found all kinds of goodies in the margins of my list. Not words, but doodles. Of all kinds.

Things like flower pots with alien ships for blossoms:

 

and squadrons of crazy dragonflies:

While these are plain silly, the doodles made me realize how inspiring the combination of silly and amazing together can be.

Silliness Can Be Inspiring 

Like my dog. He is insane in the particular way of all Jack Russells. He’s like the clown-fish in an aquarium, with his goofy piebald patterning, his thick body, and springs for legs. And while he is hyperactive and exploding with antics, as a descendant of the mighty wolf, he can also sniff out the best-hidden rodent, bark like mad at an intruder, and go ‘hackles-up’ when he thinks we need protecting.

Gretchen Roehrs is one of my favorite artists. Her work is deceptively simple and yet so playful and innovative, it practically takes my breath away. She sketches vegetables and fruit into dresses and fashion-forward clothing. In her drawings, she imbues personality into wispy runway models clothed in broccoli or romaine lettuce. It always makes me smile and wish I had a talent for drawing!

One of the best gifts I received from a colleague when I landed a big client years ago, was a set of crayons that she insisted I keep open on my desk. It was one of those thick, choir boy boxes – with something like forty-eight (forty-eight!) different colors. But I don’t color. I thanked her with polite skepticism. Her response? Just wait.

It still surprises me how much I ‘used’ them. While I never put them to paper (a definite corporate no-no), over time I found that they often served as a stress reliever through the pressure points of my days. The simple presence of a childhood treasure in the gray seriousness of my office was itself spirit lifting, the small dollops of color added joviality to some of the gloomiest days.

Probably most importantly, they also served as reminders that fun can and should be woven into the most onerous of tasks.

And guess what? It wasn’t just me. Coworkers who normally dropped by and spoke in droning voices about data-driven outcomes or other such ‘important things,’ began to chat in conversational tones when they spotted the crayons on my desk. More often or not, they’d grab the box, search for their favorite colors and then proceed to doodle in the margins of reports or other ‘important’ documents, as we spoke.

It became a thing. Are you bringing the crayons to the meeting? I have a box in my office now, too – you should stop by.

Silly is good. It can even be amazing. And contagious.

And you know what? Now I color!!

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

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The Heavenly Joy Of The August Tomato Sandwich

Mater Sandwich

 

In my last blog, I talked about making lists of things that I find inspiring. Lately, food keeps popping up at the top. Specifically, the once-a-year August Tomato – or also referred to by the  Midwesterner in me – ‘Mater’ Sandwich.

The True Tomato Sandwich

I will admit I am a tomato snob. Eaten fresh off the vine like an apple is certainly first pass for wonderful. But the haute cuisine of ‘tomato’-ness is sliced and served on white bread – not whole wheat, not rye not some fancy artisanal loaf – but plain ole white, with semi-firm texture. Take two slices, set them on your counter and then schmear the heck out of them with a paddle-full of mayo.

Once you’ve prepped your bread, the tomato should be gently, maybe even worshipfully sliced (this is a skill requiring a lifetime of technique) before layering onto the bottom piece of bread. Make sure every portion is covered. Now go ahead and sprinkle with a generous helping of kosher salt. And then do it again because the tomato, which has been lovingly ripening in your or your neighbors garden (you can’t do this with a hothouse mater – no, no, no!)  is shocked by the initial encounter with the salt and resists, so you must repeat to maximize flavor.

Do not use fine grain salt. Do not use Himalayan pink or Java black or French Fleur de Sol. I’m certain they have their virtues. Not here, not now. This is all about the crisp, molar rolling, mouth-filling goodness of tomato and kosher. Absolutely no pepper. I mean it.

Before capping it with the top slice of bread, step back. Assess. How is the ‘mater’ to mayo ratio? You still have the opportunity to add more to said slice or even (heaven forbid) scrape some off – if you didn’t get your schmear right first. Is the tomato slightly weepy from the salt? If not, hit it again.

And then double check. Is there any bread showing where tomato should be? You wouldn’t leave your duvet half-covering your mattress would you? If need be, go back to your tomato and carve little crescent-shaped slices from around the stem and use them to hide any ‘mattress’ showing. Now you’re good.

Set the bread on top, get your knife and hold above the sandwich like a master violinist positioning her bow. Use a sawing motion to slice with purpose. Do not push directly down or you will crush it into soggy mush. Never eat a tomato sandwich without cutting it in half. You need a full side view of the middle; the oozing pink tomato-y goodness mixed with the milky white mayo.

The first bite must happen in the middle of the cut side. Remember to close your eyes as you chew. You don’t want anything ruining this complete taste experience. I won’t bother to describe it since mere words can only approximate the meaty tomato goodness.

But I will say this. If you are like me, you will gobble the rest of the sandwich over a paper towel and let the juices run off your chin. You will do this in heaping mouthfuls and embarrassingly quickly because you can’t help yourself.

Go ahead and channel your internal Midwesterner and reassure yourself that this is only the starter sandwich.

Because one is never enough.

 

Connect with Maureen on Twitter, Facebook, G+, LinkedIn, Instagram, or sign up for her newsletter  here .
Learn more about her upcoming novel Little Lovely Things here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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