Meg Matenaer's Blog, page 2

Monthly Scoop: Killer Content

I just read a fantastic book that bends some rules of its genre in a fun way. I found it by accident.

I was wandering aimlessly in the library last month when I spotted Olivia Blacke’s Killer Content on the new arrivals display. Its fun cover promised an interesting mystery in Brooklyn, complete with craft beer, a bookstore, and plenty of social media.

The heroine is twenty-three-year-old Odessa. Originally from Louisiana, she finds herself in trendy Brooklyn for the summer, cat-sitting for her aunt and waiting tables to make ends meet. When a fellow waitress mysteriously dies one day, Odessa takes it upon herself to uncover the truth behind what happened, using clues both on and off the internet.

This book was such a fun surprise to me because it bent a few rules of its genre, the cozy mystery. Cozy mysteries are considered “cozy” because the crime, usually a murder, occurs off the page. Absent, also, are gore, violence, and steamy scenes. Cozy mysteries–or cozies–however, usually star an older heroine. One interesting twist in this book is that the main character is in her twenties.

Another rule of cozies is that they usually occur in small towns. Killer Content is instead set in a Brooklyn neighborhood, creating a small community out of a large one. I found the urban setting in this cozy really fun. I loved tagging along with Odessa down the Brooklyn sidewalks, past great restaurants, huge buildings, and tiny dog parks.

I also really appreciated the social media theme, as I also do digital content writing. The characters post at the beginning of each chapter, which adds another layer to their personalities.

I’m really happy I found this book! Not only was it a great summer read, but the way in which it bent some conventional cozy mystery rules inspired me to try some new things with my own fiction writing.

This month I’ve been working on the beginnings of my own cozy. I’ve been learning the rules and conventions of the genre, but maybe I’ll end up bending a few of those as well! In any case, it should feature plenty of ice cream.

Speaking of, you need to try this recipe for homemade key lime pie ice cream. The best!

The Optimistic Bird Feeder

My husband looked out onto our deck with a set jaw. “I want to see cardinals out there.”

We live three minutes down the hill from the police and fire department. Fire engines and sirens daily roar past us. Which you think would be a nuisance, but as a mom of six I deeply appreciate that a battalion of emergency professionals are just minutes away. I’m actually a little surprised when they pass our house and keep going. If they stopped, they’d certainly find an immediate way to put their services to use here.

Sirens. Children yelling. Neighbors talking. It didn’t seem very promising that we’d become a favorite bird hangout, but I held my tongue because I love my husband and because I knew I was right. There was no need to rub it in.

He left for the store and returned forty-five minutes later with an enormous sack of bird seed with a robust cardinal on the side, presumably Miracle-Gro for birds, and a lovely wall-less hanging bird house. You simply filled the bottom with the seeds. Cardinals, I learned, are ground feeders—like me when there’s candy on the floor.

My husband hung up the bird house. We looked at it swaying in the breeze, unoccupied. It was pretty even without birds in it. I wondered if it would become a squirrel feeder.

The next morning, my husband rushed down the stairs in a hurry to leave for work. “If you see any cardinals, take a picture and text it to me.”

I assured him I would and wondered how we’d aged twenty-five years overnight.

I sat at the table looking at the empty bird feeder. How much had the seeds cost? If the cardinals didn’t come, what else could we use the bird seed for? I smiled remembering my teenager’s joke—she’d wanted to buy bird seed at a pet shop and ask an employee how long it would take to grow a bird.

The bird house swung in the breeze. I marveled at the ever-present determination of my husband. He wanted cardinals and he was taking steps to make it happen. It wasn’t going to happen, but I admired his positivity and go-get-em attitude.

And then there they were. Three small birds with red bellies. I was shocked. And delighted! There they were! I snapped a few pictures and texted them to my husband. He responded with glee. The kids ran to the patio door and also squealed with excitement. Seven pairs of eyes looked out on the birds who ignored us.

For a while, we only saw the ladies. And then he came. The unmistakeable Mr. Cardinal in his blazing ruby glory. I took more photos and sent them to my husband. He declared victory.

Two small red-bellied lady birds and the larger gentleman cardinal shared the seeds. I couldn’t believe my eyes and quickly learned what messy eaters they all were. Seed shells littered the snow below.

And then another bird showed up. It was the same shape and size as the male cardinal, but it was almost a yellow color with red highlights on the wings and crest. What was that? A cousin?

This orinthologist finally realized that was actually Mrs. Cardinal. She was a far more suitable partner than those smaller birds I’d seen, which turned out to be red-bellied house finches.

When my husband came home, he was met by a gaggle of children clamoring to tell him all about the many birds we’d seen that day. He looked mighty proud, and he should have been.

My New Year’s resolution is to be a little more like my beloved bird feeder who feels that simply because a thing hasn’t happened before doesn’t mean that it’s not possible.

Here’s hoping that your cardinals come in this New Year and that you recognize them when they do.

Holiday Gift Guide 2020

I don’t know about you, but I am so excited for the holidays. This year has been a doozy. I can’t wait to start shopping, wrapping, decorating, and baking in anticipation of jollier times to come.

In that vein, I wanted to share with you a few gifts ideas that came to mind, some of which are uniquely 2020-themed.

Zoom Pro Version – I actually just ordered this as an early birthday present to myself so that I can watch entire Hallmark Christmas movies with my friends over Zoom without getting cut off at the forty minute mark. Last night was our first go at it. Even just setting up the technology and deciding on the movie was fun. I felt so futuristic with my friends on the screen as I spoke into my remote to pull up the right movie, which itself was tricky because there were two movies with the same title on the streaming app, one with “The” in the title and one without “The.” Once we all had the same movie teed up, we had to push play at the same time. I was mysteriously behind the others. Not wanting them to pause their screens, I had to catch up without letting on that I’d messed up the synching. After winding up in the subtitles drop down screen numerous times, I finally managed to move the movie forward. My choices were being ten seconds ahead of the others or half a second delayed. I chose the latter. I got to hear the movie twice, which is good for me because I’m usually slow to understand plots. The whole evening was full of laughs. I was grateful to the technology that brought together some moms of little kids that ordinarily would have a tough time meeting after bedtime.New Masks – My family’s mask collection needs some replenishing. I think I’m going to hit up Old Navy for new masks to put in their stockings, or maybe even for St. Nick’s Day because the situation is getting dire. (Where are our masks disappearing to?) I love Old Navy’s animal masks and Christmas dinos for my little ones and the food and pink tie dye masks for my middle ones. And for the brother in your life, the bird mask.Treadmill Desk – Like everyone, I’ve been needing to multitask at home more. My dream gift is something that transforms my treadmill command center into a desk that I can type at while I walk. I am willing to risk serious bodily and computer harm to fit in more writing time for my second book that is taking approximately forever to get going on. I’m thinking something like this, except one that can correct the slight downward tilt on my handlebars. I don’t have a good solution yet. If you can help your loved one work while working out, you’ll win best gift giver of the year. The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be by Joanna Gaines – This book caught my eye because it’s a theme I wove into my own–that it takes all of us to make the world go round. In Joanna’s book, children create their own hot air balloons that reflect their unique selves. At the end of the day, they go for a ride and the sky is filled with all different colors and patterns. Since comparing ourselves to others starts woefully early, I love that this book reminds kids that the world needs the gifts only they have to offer

Time to NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo–National Novel Writing Month–is a marathon sprint of writing, with the goal of penning fifty thousand glorious words in a month.

In 2017 I attempted the challenge by myself and failed, having only gotten halfway through.

This time around, I am so fortunate to have a group of four other writer friends who are doing it with me. We are checking in weekly over Zoom to share our progress. I am already inspired by their enthusiasm. I’m also hoping that the embarrassment of admitting that I didn’t meet the weekly word count will be enough to keep my fingers at the keyboard.

Write in Time is about the importance of community, how we undeniably need each other. Ironically, I wrote a lot of it feeling totally alone. I plan to write its sequel surrounded by friends who I can bounce ideas off or simply have as encouragement to keep going.

I am hugely far behind where I’d like to be going into this challenge. I’ve known since August that I was going to do this. I was going to be prepared, with a full, fleshed-out outline of each scene ready to go, perfect character arcs, a timely theme, and satisfying ending.

What I actually have is a swiss cheese outline, rough idea of where I want to go, and a whole lot of blank paper. I’m going to have to come up with some of this on the fly. In the writing world they call this pantsing, as in, writing by the seat of your pants.   

Like so many other areas in my life as a mom, I have come to accept that this month is going to be one fast-paced and sloppy adventure. But if I’ve learned anything from being a mom, it’s that any situation can be survived with plenty of snacks, a little humility, and friends to laugh–or cry!–about it with.

Here goes!

-Meg

Late to the Party

I estimate that I’m at least five years behind in pop culture. I expect that gap to grow each year.

I just watched Hamilton a few days ago. Although, I haven’t finished it yet–don’t tell me what happens! 

When the show began, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew vaguely that it was about the founding father. I did not know that most of the show would be rap or spoken word!

Despite the initial shock, I was immediately captivated by the writing. Every word in each song meant something. The amount of information communicated in a short space was astonishing. 

Right off the bat, it was obvious that the writer had a deep understanding of the human person. One line after the other dripped with the drama of the human experience through the telling of Hamilton’s story. 

To me, it was the audible version of the experience of seeing Bernini’s sculptures in Rome. These massive marble slabs that had been skillfully chiseled into absolute movement–of flowing robes, outstretched or commanding arms, and stern or mournful or triumphant faces– were monuments to the nobility of man and left me in awe of the saga of human history. 

This feeling was not unlike when I hear Andrea Bocelli sing. I clutch my heart and say something about his voice being the point at which the human and divine touch. My family teases me.

My attention turned to the man cast as Hamilton. I thought it was an interesting choice. He didn’t have a classically strong singing voice. He didn’t appear to be a dancer. As I watched him move about the stage, I wondered what it was about him that landed the role. I wondered if those in charge of casting saw something inside him that really embodied the spirit of Hamilton. Through his delivery of his lines, he certainly seemed to have a handle on the words.

I shared my thoughts with my husband.

He blinked at me. “Meg, that’s Lin-Manuel Miranda. He wrote this.”

What??

My jaw actually fell off my face. The writer? What a boss move! No wonder he seemed so connected to the story. He wrote it! I studied his face as he sang. It was a pleasure getting to see him. You don’t usually get to see the writer responsible for the show. 

A few days later, I was raving about the experience to my brother-in-law. “Did you know,” I asked him, my eyes weirdly wide, “that the guy who plays Hamilton is the writer?”

Being the super kind man he is, he didn’t laugh at me. He maybe smiled. Ah, he did know. 

A quick Google search told me that everyone on the internet also knows. 

Even my twelve-year-old daughter knows. “Mom,” she said, “that guy wrote the songs for Moana.”

Apparently the whole world is aware of the many talents of Lin-Manuel. I am, once again, late to the party. Just like when I fell in love with John Legend’s voice in the LaLa Land soundtrack. “Who is this guy?” I’d asked my husband. “John Legend? Never heard of him, but I just know he’s going to make it big soon.” I also get teased when any John Legend song comes on the radio. My daughter giggles and says, “Does anyone know who this is? He’s going to break out one of these days.”

Also, I just recently discovered Bookstagram. Did you know that there is a whole group of people on Instagram–readers, authors, reviewers–who take beautiful photos of stacks of books they are reading and talk about their favorite ones? They make reading recommendations and it’s an amazing place to go to discover new authors. It’s incredible! 

It’s going to get big soon. I just know it.

Our Body’s Need for Community

I’m writing this blog post in an airy cafe on a beautiful sunny morning. Sipping my cappuccino, I can gaze out the window in that dramatic way writers do when they’re searching for just the right word. All of this has been brought to me by my teenager who can babysit.

It wasn’t too long ago that when my husband left for the day, I’d be home alone with little ones allll day long. And if they didn’t have nap schedules that allowed for an excursion or if I was too tired to get all of us out the door or if we were sick or if friends were sick or pretty much if the stars weren’t perfectly aligned, we stayed at home.

I began working on Write in Time when I was at the tail end of this period of being at home with only little children. To help me craft the story, I enrolled in an online class at my alma mater. My instructor mentioned in one of her feedback emails that she felt the loneliness of each of my characters. It was hard to hear. I was lonely at home and it was seeping into my writing.

I had intentionally tried to capture some of that grueling isolation in one of my main characters, Marie, the young mom of a toddler and one on the way. I hoped in some small way it would encourage other moms who were still deep in the trenches, alone, with few to cheer them on during the day. However, I didn’t realize I’d also made my other main characters lonely too. 

Write in Time ultimately became a book about our need for community, a lesson I was learning little by little as I walked through motherhood. The trials of caring for relentlessly adorable children was wearing down a long-held notion I’ve had that I can–and should–do everything myself. I knew I needed to make time to connect with friends and maintain relationships outside of those in my immediate family if I was going to survive!     

When I would go for days without seeing anyone but my kids and my husband for just a little while before and after work, I’d feel so crummy. Like, really terrible. Later, I learned why.

I discovered that loneliness can actually harm our physical health. In researching the importance of maintaining relationships for a talk to young adults that I gave in the fall, I found out that intense loneliness actually causes our body’s cortisol level to spike, triggering an inflammatory response. This inflammation, especially if prolonged, can result in various diseases, heart failure, and even early death!

These poor students–if they were lonely before my talk, now I’d made them anxious about it! I hadn’t meant to exasperate their problem. Instead, I wanted to help them identify that subtle heaviness that builds when we focus on our to-do lists and forget about taking time to see family and friends. It’s our body’s inflammatory response telling us that something is wrong. 

I suspected that these young adults, now removed from the social atmosphere of undergrad, might have been experiencing similar feelings of isolation that I’d felt while at home. I wasn’t wrong.

There was a lot of heartache in that room when they readily admitted they often didn’t see friends or really anyone for most of the day. They were isolated in their graduate studies or working away from their peers in the real world. One young man said that his company went out of its way to give its employees their own offices. And while that sounded great, in reality he now works alone in a small room from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day. 

Another young man, visibly shaken, told me that he had moved recently for his job. There was no community culture within the company and he didn’t know anyone in the area. He asked what kind of programs our society could have in place to remedy this issue. I had to tell him that I didn’t know what the answer was, except to affirm that it’s a struggle to start and maintain relationships with others. We all have to find our own way to do so. 

With family and friends spread throughout the country and world, connecting with our loved ones requires much more effort and intentionality than ever before, a little like going to the gym would have been totally unnecessary in a different age. And now, quarantine and social distancing are only intensifying that challenge.

For me, learning that long periods of isolation aren’t just boring or uncomfortable but actually take a toll on my long-term health motivated me to work on my bad habit of neglecting time with friends. If I feel a strange weight on my chest and can’t quite put my finger on it, I’m a little quicker to ask myself when I last hung out with friends or called my mom. 

Our incredible technology makes us far more self-sufficient that ever before and gives the illusion that we can get by without real relationships. Our physiology, however, tells us differently.

The buzz of the cappuccino makes me feel alive inside as I look around the cafe. I could spend all day here. Just the little friendly exchange with the kind woman behind the counter and the other patrons similarly enjoying their coffee have been lovely, uplifting interactions with other adults.

And then my phone rings. It’s the teenager. The three-year-old has had an explosive episode in the bathroom and I’m needed at home immediately. 

I smile and close my laptop. I honestly don’t even mind my outing getting cut short. I’m grateful for the time out in the community that I wouldn’t have had not too long ago. I know I needed it.

Doing Her Best Work: A Life Saved

I’m always looking for ways to get out of work. 

In an instant, I can think of a hundred reasons why cleaning out this drawer no one uses is not worth my time. Why not budging until the kitchen counter is spotless is irrational because there are so many more important tasks to get to. How, if I do a forty percent job vacuuming, I will have a hundred percent of my relaxing time available after the kids go to bed. 

I know I cut corners, especially in work that I don’t enjoy, and I don’t like that about myself. I think that’s why I’m drawn to writing stories about characters who don’t–or learn not to after a bad experience! 

Because I know deep down that work is only small and not meaningful if I treat it like that. I love stories that demonstrate how showing up faithfully to our daily tasks, especially when it seems like no one notices or appreciates what we’re doing, can transform us and even the people around us in big ways. 

I came across a news story this week that touched on this theme. It was about a member of a hospital cleaning staff, by simply attending to her daily work in a caring way, was credited with saving the life of a patient battling Covid-19.

The woman made little attempts each day to talk with the man struggling for his life alone in his room. Instead of hurrying through her work as quickly as possible, she engaged the man in conversation even though English wasn’t her first language. 

Over the course of a few mornings, their conversation became deeper. She encouraged him to have faith that he would recover. The man looked forward to her visits–one of the few people who ever entered his room–and it gave him the strength to keep fighting for his life. He survived.

I was profoundly moved by this woman. She transformed the seemingly small tasks of housekeeping into life-saving work by showing up with her whole self, with diligence and kindness and compassion. A father returned home to his family because she did not believe in cutting corners.

You can find the news story here: https://www.cnn.com/2020/06/11/health/orlando-hospital-coronavirus-patient-housekeeper-wellness/index.html

 

From Polio to the Olympics: Wilma Rudolph

I wanted to share the story of someone who’s been inspiring my work lately. Her name’s Wilma Rudolph. I first heard of her just a couple of weeks ago when I was helping my first grader with his homework.

One of his distancing learning assignments was to watch a narration of the children’s book Wilma Unlimited: How Wilma Rudolph Became the World’s Fastest Woman by Kathleen Krull. I was immediately captivated.

I learned that Wilma was the twentieth child of twenty-two. Her family was from Clarksville, Tennessee. Her dad worked as a train car porter. Her mom cleaned homes.

From the outset, Wilma’s life was beset with problems. She was born prematurely and only weighed four-and-half pounds. She then developed double pneumonia and scarlet fever.

At the age of four, she contracted polio and lost the use of her leg. However, her mom encouraged her to keep moving. Wilma found ways to get around the house and even to church.

Twice a week, she and her mom traveled fifty miles by bus to Nashville to visit doctors who would see black patients. The specialists recommended a massage therapy to help strengthen Wilma’s leg. Wilma’s mom learned it and then taught it to Wilma’s older siblings. The family gave these messages to Wilma four times a day.

Despondent that she couldn’t go to school because she couldn’t walk, Wilma kept working at her exercises until the doctors felt she was ready for a leg brace. This allowed her to go school, but she was still upset that she couldn’t run and play with her friends. So she pushed herself even harder at her physical therapy exercises until she was strong enough to walk without a brace. By the age of twelve, Wilma was running and playing and keeping up—and out-running—her friends.

In high school, she joined the basketball team. And while she was a great basketball player, she caught the eye of the women’s track coach at Tennessee State University. He mentored her and arranged for her to train with the university team during the summers.

And thus her track career was born. She was selected to compete in the Summer Olympics in Melbourne when she was sixteen. She won a bronze medal. At the 1960 Olympics in Rome, she went on to win the gold in the hundred and two-hundred meter dash and four-hundred-meter relay. She tied the world record in the hundred meter dash and broke the record for the two-hundred meter dash.

Her story’s been on my mind for weeks. I’ve been marveling at Wilma’s mom’s belief in her ability to recover from this disease when so few did. Her dedication to her daughter’s treatment was similarly remarkable. She and Wilma traveled those hundred miles by bus twice a week for two years. And I thought it was so beautiful that the entire family worked to help give Wilma her strengthening massages.

And Wilma herself–I can’t wrap my head around the grit and determination and hope she displayed throughout her life, but especially as a little girl when she had no tangible reason to believe that her situation would ever change. She once said, “My doctor told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would. I believed my mother.”

The narration of Wilma Unlimited can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSIPYPCi254

Here’s footage of Wilma at the Rome Olympics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLmn7MsDhHU

Breaking Up with My Stomach After Quarantine

It’s over. 

I’m breaking up with my stomach now that quarantine is winding down and summer is starting.

It’s time that my stomach and I start seeing other people. I’d like to reconnect with my shorts. And, well, it’d be good for my stomach to see a vegetable or two.

I’ll always remember the good times we had: the Ding Dongs for breakfast and Bailey’s for the nebulous cocktail hour. We had a lot of laughs. My stomach was there for me during some tough moments. But now I don’t like myself when I’m around it. 

It claims that no one else will make me as happy as it does. That’s entirely possible.

But I’m tired of peeling off my too-tight jeans at midday, throwing in the towel as I slip on my athleisure pants that I only leisure in.

I sat my stomach down one night and explained the whole situation. For a minute, I thought it was listening. When I was done, it suggested we share a family size bag of Cheetohs and agree to disagree. I pushed back, claiming this relationship was bringing out the worst in both of us. It countered by proposing we get to the bottom of this–the bag–and revisit the issue of dieting tomorrow–its favorite day of the week. I threw up my hands in exasperation but had more Cheetohs to be polite.

I’ve threatened stevia and protein powder and, for the briefest of moments, just plain water without sugar, alcohol, or caffeine in it. It called my bluff and suggested we calm down by finishing off the leftover Easter candy and supporting the local coffee kiosk with the purchase of an enormous iced mocha. It had me over a barrel. What could I do?

Walking away from this disastrous relationship is going to be harder than I anticipated. I might need to find a more compelling reason to break it off than an unflattering pair of mom shorts. Maybe I need to join a mountain rescue team or try out for the local CrossFit games. 

I also need to prepare myself for the possibility of a second wave of quarantine in the fall. If my stomach and I break up now, how awkward would that be when we’re alone together all over again? 

I suppose I shouldn’t be so dramatic. Things between us aren’t that bad. A milkshake and a candy bar is a totally acceptable lunch. Eating Raisinettes after dinner cancels out the calories of a three-pound burrito. And wine is simply fruit you don’t have to peel. How many servings are we supposed to have each day?

On second thought, we are breaking up–tomorrow.

While gaining weight in quarantine, Meg Matenaer has been writing fiction about the relationships that bring out our best…most of the time. Her novel Write in Time is available at Amazon.

Social Distancing Inside Our Home

I don’t recall exactly when social distancing began inside our home.

It may have started after the argument with my husband about how to properly pop a bag of popcorn. I was accused of not flattening out the bag before putting it into the microwave. While the accusation was undoubtedly true, I had to point out that I’ve been popping our popcorn for fourteen years and he had never noticed before. I took the bag back out. There may have been a heated stare as I slowly bent back the flaps. 

Or it might have been after my husband decided to take a break from work. He went downstairs and turned on a show to watch with the kids. He did this without consulting me first, thereby throwing off the vague schedule that I had created for the children and me. I had neither publicized my schedule nor was I following it. But I could have been following a schedule, and if I were, he would have been disrupting it.

It could have been the eighth time I’d left his favorite pen in my purse instead of keeping it by the phone or when he left sour cream on the counter overnight instead of putting it back in the fridge or when I said I’d put his razors on my shopping list and immediately forgot or his relentless stirring of the hash browns that didn’t need stirring. 

It’s hard to say when it happened.

But it’s undeniable that a healthy space of six feet or maybe six rooms formed between my husband and me. A special quarantine dance of retreating into video games and makeup tutorials commenced. Alone time in rooms, unsynchronized bedtimes and wake times, and simply disappearing for hours on end became our way of avoiding…the virus.  

When Wisconsin showed signs of slowly reopening, a flicker of life sparked in my husband’s eye that I hadn’t seen for a while. Without a word, his temporary home office he’d set up in our bedroom was dismantled in a matter of days. I wasn’t offended. Quarantine had forced our spheres of governance into an unstable Venn diagram, the center portion a whirling storm of shared daytime resources, vastly disparate levels of organization, and two short fuses. 

Quarantine has been referred to as a marriage accelerator. My husband has accelerated right out the door and back to work. 

He took his pen with him.

Despite quarantine, Meg Matenaer is still happily married. She and her family live in Wisconsin, where she writes fiction about the relationships that bring out our best…most of the time. Write in Time is available at Amazon.