Meredith R. Lyons's Blog, page 4

Can you see how far you've come?

Photo taken by said friend just after I sold my last copy of Ghost Tamer.

“Who are you comparing yourself to?”

I was standing in a hallway of the Embassy Suites in Franklin, Tennessee last weekend, gripping a panel schedule, trying to decide which panel to attend after my next book signing when a friend I was walking with posed that question. I had been considering a panel on Gaining Confidence as a Writer and she wondered why I thought I needed that. “I feel like I’m faking it,” I said. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She stopped in the middle of the hallway and pressed me a bit about why I felt that way. Then finally asked, “Are you comparing yourself to people who have been doing this for years and years or are you comparing yourself to people who are in the same spot you are? Because you’re killing it.”

I didn’t end up making it to any panels after my signing. I got caught up talking to a fascinating lady about appearing on her podcast later and didn’t want to walk into someone’s panel fifteen minutes late. Instead I refilled my water bottle and sat on a bench and thought about where I was.

I was at the Killer Nashville writers conference. Two years ago, I had been to the same conference for the first time. At the time, I was in the middle of writing the manuscript that would become Ghost Tamer. At the time, it didn’t have a title. Hell, I didn’t even know how it was going to end, but I was having a blast writing it. The following year, I had a contract. This year, I was on panels, I even had a solo presentation, and I had early copies of my book to sign. And I sold all twenty of them.

I really, truly enjoyed teaching Writing Fight Scenes. Some great questions from the attendees!

When you look at it like that, I’m doing alright.

It’s easy to look at all of the things I don’t have. I wasn’t accepted into this or that book festival, I don’t have another book coming out exactly a year after Ghost Tamer, the two books I’m on submission with aren’t getting picked up, Publishers Weekly declined to review, I could go on.

Last night I was scrolling back through my Instagram feed—I’m sure for some productive reason—and found a video I had taken almost exactly a year ago. In fact, a year ago today, Thursday, as I write this. In the video I was walking along my usual running trail, the backing audio said something about not being where you thought you should be and feeling like you should be somewhere else. I had written about wishing I was back to doing six mile easy runs but that I was trying to take it one day at a time.

I realized as I watched that video, that I was scheduled to do a six mile easy run exactly one year to the day from that posting.

It has taken me a lot of mental work to become patient with where my body is right now. I don’t want to take that away from myself. But I will admit to comparing times with my pre-injury self. I admit to looking at those times and wondering if I’ll manage to get back there or even beat them. I have frequently allowed myself to appreciate the fact that I’m running again, and that even though there are physical issues I’m still working on, I have had entire long runs completely pain free. But seeing that video hit different.

It’s difficult to see the work you’ve put in when you’re still putting in work.

And you should always continue to grow and improve! So there will always be work to be done. And when you’re working at something you love, it’s a gift and a joy, but the struggles can sometimes become even more personal and painful. You may feel that you’re never getting anywhere because you forget about the mountain you’ve just conquered as soon as you see the next one. And I am in no way saying not to continue to climb most of them.

But maybe turn around first and take in the view from the peak you’ve just reached.

Jump-starting your creativity.

If you practice any art long enough, you’ll eventually have to fight through a period of time where you feel creatively tapped out. You’ll wonder, “Is that it? Maybe I blew my wad and it’ll never come back. Never be fun again.” Don’t worry, it’s not, you didn’t, and it will.

There are different remedies for this. Time (and anxiety) permitting, you can take some time to absorb creative works and refill the tank. Read some books just for fun. Watch a few movies just because they look good. Talk about them with friends simply because you want to know what they thought. Eventually, you’ll feel that little nudge, “I want to create.”

But what if you don’t have time for that.

Maybe you’re on a deadline. Or maybe you just really really don’t want to stop creating, but you feel like your little creative car is stuck in the mud. You don’t want to—or can’t—sit there and read until the mud dries. So, flag down another driver or two. They’ll pull you out.

Sometimes just being around other people who are doing what you’re trying to do will be enough to ignite that first spark. One caveat here: if you’re already struggling, it’s important to steer away from harsh critique at this time. Seek out those who will lift you up. If you are in a writing group, you can even ask that they save the rough stuff for a later draft. There’s nothing wrong with that. Especially if you’re just trying to get moving right now. Don’t throw up additional road blocks. There will be time for that later.

Lauren and I grabbed a drink and a spot to slow down and write during the jam-packed ALA Conference. Creativity was zinging about!

In Nashville it’s conference weekend. Folks are arriving from all over for Killer Nashville, our hometown writing conference. I’m excited about it because I’ll be selling actual copies of Ghost Tamer for the first time at the signings! I’m also doing two panels and a solo presentation, but I do have one day where I get to just absorb the panels of my fellow writers.

Author Lauren Thoman isn’t going to the conference, but she intentionally booked a room in the Embassy Suites where the conference is taking place. She’s on a deadline for her second book. (Her first, I’ll Stop The World, debuted in April.) “I write in the lobby as writers flow around me, discussing their work and their craft, and it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to the hippocampus,” she says.

The physical energy crackling around one can certainly stimulate the creative mind, but what if you can’t get to a conference or just don’t have the time or money? Some creatives have found the body doubling practice effective, even when done on a video chat. If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of body doubling, it simply means doing a task in the presence of another person. They don’t even necessarily have to be working on the same task, many people simply find it more motivating than pushing themselves alone.

My husband and I will sometimes go to a coffee shop together and work on completely different things. I always make progress.

Novelist Melissa R. Collings is gearing up to participate in a group writing sprint with several other writers. “It’s all about accountability for me. I don’t ever want to ‘let myself down,’ but even more, I don’t want others to see me falling short.” She finished an entire novel during last year’s group body doubling sessions. Not only were they writing, but they had a shared spreadsheet where they could include group word count goals for each week. “Just knowing we were all working together toward a single word count goal gave me a sense of security and teamwork. I wasn’t doing it only for myself; I was doing it for the team, and I couldn’t let the team down!”

These are only two options, but you can find a way that suits you if you need a shot in the arm. Most writers are introverted and many prefer to work alone, or simply must find time to write in those spaces of time around their full-time jobs and home obligations. But sometimes you just need a little boost. “This can be meeting up with other creatives at a coffee shop to work,” Thoman says. “Or going to a book event where other authors are talking about their creative process, or attending a wring conference where I can be surrounded by other authors all radiating creative energy.”

Creativity will naturally ebb and flow. If you’re ebbing, it can feel natural to retreat and withdraw—and sometimes this is what you need—but if you’re looking for a shot in the arm, schedule some time with other creatives who may be flowing. They don’t necessarily have to be working on the same type of creative work, just find someone to be with! Things will flow from there.

POV: woman running by construction sites in the summer

If you live in Nashville, or have even recently visited, you’ll be well aware that the city is largely under construction. It’s expanding rapidly (some say too rapidly) and nearly every building going up is a condo/apartment complex or a couple of tall-skinnies on what used to be a single home lot. It’s impossible to avoid construction sites where ever one goes.

The lovely running trail that I frequent has several trailheads. The one that I prefer used to exit next to empty warehouses. When we first moved here, this was the darkest, scariest part of my run in the early mornings. About a year or two ago, the warehouses were knocked down and those areas cleaned out. I enjoyed this because there were large floodlights at the site during my morning runs. Then finally, construction began.

This project has been underway for over a year. Several large apartment complexes have been constructed and they’re now working on a parking garage or two. I tend to run in the early mornings when the workers are just parking their cars and heading to the jobsite. In the summer, I often only wear shorts and a sports bra.

Plot twist: I love my construction worker friends.

I smile and wave at runners, walkers, cyclists, dog walkers, etc. when I’m on my runs. It never occurred to me not to behave the same way when I ran past construction workers on their way to the site. Some of them ignore me, many of them smile back or say good morning. I’ve never, ever once been catcalled.

As I mentioned, this has been going on for over a year. I definitely recognize some of them by now and I’m positive that they recognize me also. Obviously, I’m on a mission and they’re working, I’ve never stopped to introduce myself or have a conversation, but I feel like if I needed help, they would help me. If something bad happened in the wee hours of the morning, I don’t believe they would stand idly by. It’s really nice. I think I might actually miss them when the build is complete.

They’re careful never to park their cars in the few spaces right next to the trail head so that people driving there to exercise can make use of those spaces. They’re also careful not to use the bike lane across from their site as a parking lane. They all pull their trucks up onto the grass.

Now, I don’t know if perhaps whoever is in charge gave them a talking to before they got on the job and made it clear that they weren’t to disrupt the people doing their workouts, but I like to think they’re just considerate people. They certainly act that way.

I didn’t realize this until a friend who moved from Chicago to Nashville and then back again pointed it out, but I have never been catcalled in Nashville. If someone honks their horn at me while I’m on a run, it’s either a neighbor or the bus driver of the school I run by waving hello. So perhaps the tone of the city is just different here. And maybe our culture in general is changing and the stereotypical alphahole construction dude is being phased out.

If so, I’m here for it.

Confession: I sometimes peek at the end of a book.

I used to be one of the (probably majority) of bibliophiles who believed that peeking at the end of the book was sacrilege. Go through it like the author intended! Feel all of those feels! Don’t spoil it for yourself! All things I used to vehemently believe. I’ve slightly changed my stance.

HEAR ME OUT.

Several weeks ago I wrote about how our reading habits—and media consumption habits in general—will change in response to stress. I believe this also extends into how we consume the art we enjoy. When I was younger, I wouldn’t dream of flipping even a page ahead. I relished all the tension and anticipation. The same with movies. (Although I have not and have no desire to ever watch horror.) I would curl in a ball and clutch a blanket or pillow if I needed to, but I was there, experiencing it with the characters the whole way through.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when this changed, but I know that it did, and I’m positive it’s in response to stress.

If I’m watching a movie and it gets to be too much, I will avert my eyes and pull myself out of it. If I’m at home, I may even pull a, “Gotta pee, don’t pause it, I can hear from the bathroom.” And, yes, I’ve peeked at the end of a couple of books.

I have not read the end, but I’ve found when I’m stressed, it comes down to either putting the book down when things get too hot and potentially never picking it up again, or flipping back a few pages and hunting for a name or two just to make sure everyone survives, then going back to where I was. I have a theory that being an empath might exacerbate this. But when the real world is already quite enough, thank you, I find it much more difficult to handle the potential death of characters that I love.

Back when I didn’t allow myself to peek, I have put books down and never picked them up again because I didn’t want to watch a character continue to make bad choices, or fail and fail and fail. Even though as a reader of countless books I am well aware that there’s a 90% chance there will be redemption at the end.

The thing is, I’ve also read a couple of books where there is no redemption at then end. There’s nothing but pain upon pain upon pain and then in the end I was met with only sadness and death. “What is this, Hamlet?” I thought. Except that it wasn’t Shakespeare and it wasn’t one play. I had been through an entire fantasy series of books that had been recommended to me. Fell in love with multiple generations of characters, and then at the end, after pain upon pain, there was only sadness and death. I finished an entire series and felt shitty afterward. Not what I went in for. I can feel shitty in my regular life with the people of this reality whenever I want!

After beating myself up a couple of times for peeking ahead, and mentally berating myself for being a wus when taking an emotional break during movies, I was knee deep in another book and found myself wanting to check to make sure everyone was going to be okay before I went further. I stopped and put the book down.

And thought long and hard about why I wanted to do this.

It had been a rough couple of months for me and I’ve always had a tough time giving myself slack. I considered what I might tell a friend in my position. Would I beat them up? Would I shame them for peeking ahead? No. Especially not the friends with anxiety. Why should they suffer and make themselves more anxious to experience a bit of fiction the way someone else thinks they should experience it?

Why should I shame myself for feeling the same way?

So if someone peeks ahead, leave them alone. Let them enjoy the work they way they want to enjoy it. Honestly, as an author, I just want people to read my book. If skipping around makes them enjoy the experience more, then they have my absolutely blessing to do so.

I don't have a blog in me today.

I’ve been posting a blog on Friday mornings since January of 2019.

The night we moved in to our first apartment in Nashville, there was a torrential downpour. Two days after we finished moving in, the apartment burned down. When we moved into our new hours, there was a tornado. Then a pandemic. It was a rough time. It’s over though. The next year was better.

Today I almost just let it go.

“No one will notice anyway,” I said to myself. “You can just pick up again next Friday and nothing will have changed.”

That’s all probably true, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I’ll just tell it like it is today, and then let myself off the hook.

I’m having a hard time.

It’s nothing life threatening—a lot of people, many people, are far worse off than I am—and I’ll be okay, but I’m tired. It’s a lot of little things not worth mentioning and a few big things that I’m either not ready to talk about, can’t talk about, or don’t really know how to stuff into a blog post.

I don’t really like complaining either, unless there’s some wisdom to impart by having gone through what I’ve gone through, and I’m not far enough on the other side to have gleaned any wisdom worth imparting.

When I was a kid, my mom had a little library in the corner of our den. Just two built-in shelves creating a little nook were filled with books. I used to sit over there and pull them down at random, usually grabbing the ones with pretty covers, searching for pictures I had seen before and liked. (I discovered Salvador Dali at age four and used to constantly hunt for the picture of The Temptation of Saint Anthony so I could stare at it.) This became even more interesting once I was able to read, of course, and I remember coming across a poem by Theodore Tilton called Even This Shall Pass Away. If you haven’t read it, look it up, it’s a good one. And it stayed with me just as surely as Dali did.

So, I’m not great right now, and that’s okay. We all go through rough patches. I don’t have much else to say about it. But even this shall pass away.

I love the season that everyone hates.

During a 110 degree summer in Idaho, my last visit to my grandma, sawing off tree limbs for her with joy.

I’m not a climate change denier. I’m aware that things are hotter than they’ve ever been and that things are only going to get worse. I fervently hope we’re able to do something about it and reverse this.

That disclaimer out there: I love the summer.

When I was a kid, this was a no-brainer. Everyone said summer was their favorite season. No school! Freedom! Water parks and family vacations! This attitude started to turn around for some people around high school or college. Even when I lived in Louisiana, my favorite season was the fall. Part of that was still connected to school, I believe. I liked fresh paper, new notebooks, new classes, kind of a turnover. 

Then I moved to Chicago. 

In a matter of seasons, fall had come to mean nothing more than the death of comfortable living and a herald to a frosty, bitter, extended winter. For winter in Chicago was always extended. Always bitter.

There were things I learned to enjoy about it—as one must in order to survive without going insane—bundling beneath blankets with a book, snowy Christmas decorations, sleeping beneath piles of blankets, but that’s it. The list of things I enjoyed about winter was as brutally short as the season was long. And the longer I lived in Chicago, the more my intolerance grew. It was as if I reverse-adapted.

The more I learned about myself, the more I came to realize that I like to be outside. Running, biking, gardening, walking, etc. I like bare feet. Tossing on some flip flops to go anywhere necessary. I don’t mind sweating. I love running early, early in the morning, sweating in shorts and a sports bra, watching the sun rise. 

I like reading a book on the couch and not having to worry about stopping because my fingers are above the blanket and they are too cold. I like the late sunsets. I know I’ll be done with work if I want to watch one. I have extra time in the garden after work before it gets dark. I love running at 5 a.m. when it’s not dark outside.

I feel better in my body during the summer. I take beaucoup d’vitamin D supplements in the winter, but there’s nothing like actual sun on the skin. My periods are easier, my breasts are smaller, I’m just chemically happier. I cannot explain it. 

I can be more daring in the summer. 

There’s something about the colder months that causes me to retreat. I can’t watch crime shows or enjoy anything really intense or thought provoking in the winter. I only want comfort for my mind. Possibly because my body is being besieged by chills and my hormones are gasping for Vitamin D. This doesn’t mean that I don’t create in the colder months, just that I may throw less spaghetti at the walls.

As I suspected, looking at my completely unscientific personal poll in addition to a couple of more scientific online polls (here and here), I am in the minority. Most people like fall or spring the best.

A few quotes from my own poll that uphold these findings:

“Fall, because the feel and smell of that first crisp breeze makes my whole year,” says Kyle Gordon. “It also doesn't hurt that it always starts to change to fall around my birthday.”

“I think autumn. The temperature is best to me (usually between 50-75 degrees), the turning leaves are pretty to me, and it’s that time of year that lives in anticipation of all the fun end-of-year things,” adds Dean Beever. “Technically, my birthday’s in autumn, too.”

Okay, we get it, guys. Your birthdays are a special time of year. (Snark in jest, every birthday should be celebrated.)

Lauren Thoman, however, represents the spring crowd. “Spring, because the weather is mild and all the plants are starting to come back,” she says. “I love watching them all wake up, and how they look different every day.” This will surprise no one who knows her, as she is a goddess among gardeners and will gift everyone in her vicinity with extra fruit-bearing plants that “just got too big” to fit in her already flourishing beds.

Things that cannot be enjoyed in the winter.

I find it incredibly interesting that the transitional seasons are so popular, even though autumn used to be my favorite. Now I have the most trouble sleeping and feel the most restless during these seasons. Even though I would still put winter at the bottom of my list, my habits are settled during this season. 

I found one other (adult) person who embraces my love of the sun. Of course, he lives in England, where it’s a bit cooler, but it still counts. “Summer,” says Tom Davies. “Long nights. Early mornings. Not cold, etc.” Brief, but hits all the salient points.

All that being said, would I appreciate the summer if it were neverending? Honestly, I think I would, if I were in an island location that was consistently eight-five degrees. I would find it exciting to visit colder places. I don’t know how I would feel about a world completely devoid of seasons. 

I do enjoy the brief bursts of snow we get here in Nashville. Unlike in Chicago, the world shuts down. Everyone stays in. It’s nice and quiet and still. I don’t have to struggle through the cold and slush. And it usually only lasts a week or two. I feel that I enjoy it’s visit more knowing that it will be brief. 

I like my long, hot southern summers. But I enjoy the little taste of winter on occasion.

How our reading habits change in response to stress.

I recently had a meeting with a friend of mine who co-runs a very cool candle company with his wife. They’re planning on making a special Ghost Tamer themed candle for my release and we were hammering out ideas. He apologized that he hadn’t read the book yet saying, “Something happened during the pandemic and I’m just not reading books as quickly as I used to.”

Knowing that they’ve had buckets of stress even post-pandemic, this didn’t surprise me at all.

The pandemic and subsequent years hit everyone differently, but one unique aspect of it was that most people were under stress for an extended period of time. When looking back at behaviors during that period of time, you can almost certainly point them toward stress, giving us a lens with which to observe our behavioral changes during stressful times.

When your life is uncertain and you feel like you have no control over what happens (most of us during the pando), you tend to seek out the familiar. You’ll go back and binge t.v. shows that you’ve already seen. You’ll re-read a book you’ve read a million times. Maybe you will have the courage to check out something new, but if you do, it’s going to be something formulaic; a crime drama, a stand up comedy routine, a new book by an author you’re incredibly familiar with. In short: you won’t go looking for surprises.

I told my friend to give himself a pass on being slower to get to new stuff. Generally, we go to read books or watch t.v. when we’re trying to relax and unwind from the stress of our ‘real’ lives. When we’re already stressed, sometimes we’ll instinctively recoil from anything unknown. A new thriller or mystery that may have been your jam normally, could inexplicably be unappealing when you’re stressed. Even unconsciously.

This can also be seasonal.

When I lived in Chicago, I was miserable during the (long as hell) winters. It added a lot of stress into my daily life. I taught fitness in several different locations around the city and used my bike to get to them all. Thus, I was obsessed with the weather and layering on all of my outerwear for the 45 minute ride into downtown added another half an hour to my morning routine. Not to mention the fear of freezing cold pain should I underestimate the windchill.

In the summer, Dean and I loved to watch Forensics Files, or find a new series on Netflix to go through together. In the winter, I didn’t have the interest. Suddenly all I wanted to do was watch Bob Ross paint happy little trees or rewatch episodes of Bones. One winter we watched every single episode of Friends. My soul was shying away from adding any additional stress into my life. Once I made this connection, it was easy to simply plan for it.

Years ago, in my early 20s, I had a breakup that hit me very hard for whatever reason. I remember rewatching The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood over and over. I asked a friend of mine what was wrong with me. I wondered if I should force myself to stop and watch something else. She said, “Well, you’re having a really hard time right now. And this movie speaks to you for some reason. I think there are a lot worse ways you could be coping than watching the same movie over and over.”

There is a reason that we dive for our old favorites when we’re stressed or depressed. I’m not sure why the impulse to fight it or feel guilty about it seems so ingrained, but I think we should let go. These ‘friends’ are there for a reason, and if we need them, I’m sure they’re happy to see us.