Lacey Louwagie's Blog, page 36

On miracles

I posted at the Young Adult Catholics blog today about the issue that has been dominating my personal life throughout the month of September; while I was at the book release party I mentioned in my previous post, my grandmother was busy accomplishing miracles. I wrote about it in One Miracle, One Thousand Lessons.

Book Release Party: Eye of the Wolf

Last week, I had the privilege of traveling to Duluth for Marie Zhuikov's book release party. As she gave a presentation about the plight of the wolves on Isle Royale and how her book figured into that, I found myself flashing back to moments spent reading the manuscript on my parents' couch in the middle of the night, making comments by the light of a small lamp; or curled up on the couch of my best friends in the twin cities, cozy indoors with wolves while a Minnesota winter loomed just outside the windows. I'm not sure of all the places life will take me as I read the published version of Eye of the Wolf, but I can't wait to find out!

Marie is the first writer in my five-member speculative fiction writers group to publish a full-length book, and her success feels like a success for all of us — not just because we worked on the manuscript (and got a nifty mention in the acknowledgments!), but also because we know that Marie is "just like us" — a professional, dedicated, creative writer, yes, but also a woman who holds a full-time job (with freelance work on the side), is raising kids, walks her dog, and loves sweet potato fries. She's a real person and not an elusive "author," just as we all strive to be. With Marie's success, it feels ever more attainable.

Marie's book might be classified as a "paranormal romance," but any genre label feels too small for it. Taking place in 1985 and based on Marie's own experiences as a waitress on Isle Royale and her extensive research into wolf behavior (and the wolves on Isle Royale in particular), the book examines what might happen if the wolves on the island took the matter of their dwindling numbers into their own hands. They need to mate with new wolves to improve their gene pool, but the island setting doesn't allow them to encounter new wolves. So the alpha male and female decide that they must "join" with two humans who will then help the wolves reach the mainland, their one hope for survival. What follows is a non-traditional werewolf story with such beautiful descriptions of setting that you might be booking a trip to Isle Royale for your next vacation. And when you do, you know the perfect reading material to bring with you.

[The book is still too new to be available online, but you can purchase a copy directly by contacting the publisher, North Star Press: E-Mail: info@northstarpress.com, Phone: (320)558-9062. I'll update this post with links for purchasing the book online when they become available.]

Oh, Internet, How I (Haven't Really) Missed You

In the wee hours of Monday, September 20, my wireless router died quietly in its sleep. Monday morning, I was in denial. It will come back, I told myself. All morning, I did laundry and washed dishes. By noon, my Internet still wasn't up. I gathered my courage, packed up my computer, and brought it to my parents' place. On days that I'm not at the library, if I can't get online, I can't work. I accept and return all my assignments online, not to mention the regular email accounts that must be checked to make sure I don't drop the ball on an all-important issue.

Yesterday, my Internet was still down. I went into the library half an hour early, where I accepted two orders from Scribendi using the library connection. Later that night, I went to my parents' place again to download both orders to my flash drive, so that I could work on them offline until the Internet tech guy came out to my place at 4 today. That means that before 4 pm, there was no one around except me, Microsoft Word, and two long-ish manuscripts in need of editing. Both were due by the end of the day.

Last night, I estimated that the manuscripts would take me about 14 hours to edit; I wasn't looking forward to the long day, but I need the money and both were at least interesting projects. I felt incredibly impressed with myself as I worked through the first manuscript before lunch; by the time the Internet guy came, I'd done my first pass on the second one, too. In all, both manuscripts took me about eight hours to complete, six hours fewer than I'd predicted. Now, this isn't totally due to my lack of connectivity; both pieces were in better shape than the pieces I'm used to editing, and I based my estimation on word count alone without taking a peek at the skill of the writers. Still, there was something so incredibly satisfying about having no choice but to dig into those pages, at least while I was seated at my computer. Usually when I'm editing or writing something, a thousand distractions run through my mind: has that client's payment been deposited into my checking account yet? Do I have new email at Yahoo? What about gmail? What were the guidelines of that publisher I thought might be a good fit for my work? Have any of my friends updated their Livejournals? What's the current prize on Coppergoose? The gossip on Facebook? Should I update my progress on my "currently reading" shelf at Goodreads? What's the meaning of sigil, anyway?

I'm sorry to say that my mind grabs onto these distractions when I start to feel bored or stuck with my current project, and I follow them wherever they may take me, taking just "one more click" like an addict needing one more puff on one more cigarette. I justify each one by saying it will only take a few minutes, which is usually true. But snippets of five or ten or fifteen minutes away from my work or my writing add up. The havoc it wreaks on my brain is even worse.

I still had many of these urges today. Knowing I didn't have immediate gratification, they eventually subsided, and my focus improved. When I really needed a mental break, I had lunch, drank a cup of tea, took a power nap, and even watched an episode of Sex and the City. The difference between this and my usual working habits were that each of those activities had a clear end point. The food and tea run out. Sex and the City episodes are less than 30 minutes long. I had to wake up to let the Internet guy in. This means I was more productive than usual today, but I didn't feel totally burnt out at the end of it. That's because I didn't throw all those tiny increments of time away on the rabbit hole that is the Internet, a place in which there is no end in sight, and willpower alone is your only salvation.

I found myself feeling a little let down when the Internet was back up again. Now that barrage of distractions would once again be part of my life. Not having the Internet in my home isn't an option; for me, no Internet means no income. Still, it occurred to me for the first time that I have power over whether my computer is connected to the Internet or not. So when I settled in to finish my edits, post-Internet, I pulled the plug on it until I was ready to upload my completed assignments.

What a relief to realize that I have a choice! Sure, the Internet is still only a click away, but that extra step of having to reconnect it makes me think twice before I chase whatever random whim sounds more fun than my work. I'm making a commitment right now to disconnect the Internet when I need to be intensely engaged with writing or editing. I've known for a while that multi-tasking is bad for my brain, but now I'm finally going to do something about it. I challenge you to do the same.

 

Writing and Living Love Stories

Last week, my friend Jenny blogged about how we often use the wrong love stories to create our own romantic goals. We discussed a bit about whether so many people are drawn into unhealthy relationships because our culture romanticizes them, or whether we romanticize them as a form of denial, a way to cope with the uncomfortable fact that many of us are in unhealthy relationships. Isn't it nicer to believe that he's possessive of you because he loves you so much, and not because he doesn't respect you enough to let you make your own decisions?

From the time that I was twelve to the time that I was twenty-five, my sister, a friend, and I created an ongoing story with one another. My ideas about relationships changed a lot during those thirteen years, and the development of the storylines reflected that. Over those thirteen years, our cast of characters fell in love countless times, in countless ways, sometimes ending up in unhealthy relationships, sometimes ending up in healthy ones (I'll bet you can guess which ones were more interesting). When I started dating my fiance two years ago, I couldn't help but think of all the love stories I'd already lived through in my mind. I told my friend that those stories had made me jaded, that even in the best moments, I could imagine my relationship breaking my heart–because that's what happened to so many of our characters, characters who'd begun their relationships starry-eyed and hopeful and totally believing in the power of romance.

But as my real-life relationship developed, I found the opposite to be true. It didn't deteriorate after the initial "glow" wore off, but rather continued to deepen in a way that is both comforting and challenging to me. I look forward to the adventures that will await us as our life plot thickens–but I'll be perfectly content with a relationship that is warm and steady rather than tumultuous and endlessly "interesting."

And that's when I realized my flaw in comparing my real-life relationship to all the imaginary relationships I'd created over the years: the goals were not the same. When I'd created a story centered around the same characters for over a decade, the goal was to keep the story alive, to keep it interesting–not to keep my characters happy (in fact, the story was often most compelling when they weren't). So to keep things interesting, we were always ready to shake things up, to turn our characters' lives upside down. In fact, those whose lives were too stable and thus "boring" were often banished from the cast entirely.

The goals of a real-life relationship are (or at least should be) very, very different. Keeping the plot thick, tangled, and juicy isn't the point. The point is having someone to walk beside you in your life, permanently or for the time being. And if that person doesn't improve your life's walk, you might be better off walking alone.

So when Jenny raises the question of why we as a culture are so drawn to love stories showcasing dysfunctional romances, I had to wonder why we as writers are so devoted to creating them. Yes, storytelling is about conflict, and unhealthy relationships certainly provide plenty of that. And storytelling is also an escape, and I'm not above occasional guilty pleasures, indulging in reading about or watching behaviors or situations that I'd never partake of in real life. But to write off these stories as "mere fantasy" dismisses the power we have as writers to, in fact, shape the reality of someone's inner world,  temporarily or permanently (I for one know a few people who are still clutching the hope that will materialize in real life and sweep them off their feet.)

So I urge writers to take this responsibility of building worlds and shaping reality seriously. If we depict abuse as romance, there are going to be people out there who start seeing abuse as romantic. And we don't need to glamorize or romanticize unhealthy behaviors or relationships to provide conflict for our characters. Or if an unhealthy relationship is at the crux of a story's conflict, perhaps the victory can come not in the characters realizing that all that dysfunctional behavior is "really love," but in realizing that it is soul-sucking and something they need to move beyond. Now that's a happy ending I can get behind.

Finish What You Start

On the Belbin Team Inventory, I score as the Finisher. This may be why I haven't often fallen into the trap that snags many writers, of starting multiple projects but finishing none of them. That is, I haven't fallen into that trap until … lately, when I'm in the middle of editing an anthology, writing a short story, submitting a novel, and still hoping to enter at least two contests, apply for a grant, and maybe write an essay or two.

So when I read these Six Tips for Finishing What You Start on Susan K. Perry's blog (Susan is an author I "follow" on Goodreads), they resonated with me in a way they wouldn't have in the past–especially tip number one, about keeping a schedule. I can definitely attest to the importance of keeping a schedule in finishing writing projects, and not sticking to this schedule has been my downfall in the past couple months. As a part-time freelancer, sometimes my schedule is too flexible for my own good. My writing time gets shifted around from day-to-day … and sometimes, it gets shifted right off the agenda. So here I am, once more making a renewed commitment to write first-thing in the morning, every morning. On days that I'm working from home, my day starts when I say it starts; and on days when I work at the library, I rarely have to be in before noon. So in theory, writing consistently first thing in the morning shouldn't be hard. Except, it is hard.

It's hard because writing at any time of day is hard. It's hard because no one wants to start off their day doing something as grueling as writing can sometimes be. But for me, there's something that's even harder: writing at ANY other time of day.

When I don't write first-thing in the morning, I have lots of excuses as to why: I needed to see if I had any assignments that were "on fire" and in need of immediate attention. I'm at a loss for inspiration and hoping that it will come to me throughout the day. But although waiting sometimes brings results, I honestly can't feel good about my day until after I've worked on a writing project. So if I work on my writing first thing in the morning, I go into the rest of my day knowing that the hardest part is behind me–and feeling a weight lifted from my shoulders. And if that elusive inspiration really does strike as the day goes on, well, there's no rule against writing twice in the same day, is there?

So now, I'm off to bed–I have to wake up early for writing tomorrow.

I'm Officially a Goodreads Author!

My bit of writing excitement last week — which I've already blasted around all the social media to which I belong — was being accepted into Goodreads Author program. I've been a member of Goodreads for over three years now, and recently I was looking at the collection of science fiction short stories, Queer Dimensions, in which I published a piece. I noticed that several of the short story contributors in the anthology had a "Goodreads Author" credit next to their names, but that acknowledgment was woefully missing from my name. So I did a quick Google search, applied to be part of the program, and voila! Three days later, I, too, have become a Goodreads Author.

The best part of this transition is probably that it pulled up a few reviews of the anthology that I hadn't read before, including one that referenced my contribution, "The Man in the Mirror" as "the most sincere of the stories." I also appreciated this review from Lily:

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR by Lacey Louwagie

This well written story is about what could happen when everything you've always wanted starts to come true. In this sweet yet oftentimes sad story the heroine learns that being yourself, and not trying to be what someone else needs, is the only way to truly be happy. Very nice story with an excellent ending.

As endings are the most challenging part for me to write, I was particularly pleased that she commented on the ending.

There are some scary things about crossing the threshold to "Goodreads Author," too. One is that now I'll have to be ready to buck up and accept negative, even scathing reviews, of what I've written (Lord knows I probably deserve it, after some of the reviews I've written!) I admit that when I review a book on Goodreads that designates the author as a "Goodreads Author," I feel more hesitant to write something negative. A good friend of mine admitted to feeling the same thing, but then made peace with it by deciding that authors just need to accept that not everyone is going to like their work. It's part of the territory. I agree with her. Now let's see if I can take as good as I can give (one thing I will NOT do is leave comments on bad reviews "defending" my work. Readers have every right not to like what you've written, no questions asked.)

And then there is the issue about being brave, too. I tell the world I write speculative fiction, but it's not as widely known that some of it (much of it, if I'm totally honest), addresses queer themes in subtle or overt ways. I know that this means some people will judge me immediately as a person, and skip right over the writer part, skip right over what I actually have to say ("oh, she's part of that agenda"). And that saddens me. But it's part of the world we live in, and it's not going to get better if we continue to hide.

Mostly, though, I feel challenged. Because as good as I thought it would feel to reach this milestone, I find the one book to my credit looking pretty piddly on my author account page. I want more books there. MORE!! Around this time next year, I'll be able to add the book I'm working on for ACTA publications to the roster. Hopefully by the time that one is there, I'll have another in the works that I can look forward to putting in spot number three.

Why I Write: Because I'm Not Always Brave

Last night, I posted Ask Any Scientist! to Young Adult Catholics. The post argues against using "science" as a justification of homophobia. I knew as I was conceiving of, writing, and publishing the post that I was more likely to get flamed for it than to get support, as the commenters most active on that blog are those who like to pick it apart. My tone was a little more snarky than usual (homilies against same-sex marriage tend to bring out the snark in me), and even when I take the least offensive tone possible, my posts about women's ordination and just treatment of GLBTQ individuals always get flamed.

For a moment, this made me wonder if making the post was worth it at all. Because I get weary of having people rail at me as if I'm a terrible person because I disagree with what my institution dictates that I believe. It always feels like a personal attack, as my Catholicism (and my feminism, and my bisexuality) are all core facets of my identity, so that attacking any one of these things feels like you're attacking me and not an idea. I am Catholic. I am a feminist. I am bisexual. These are not ideas. These are the realities of living in my skin. I'm sorry if my reality is offensive to you (actually, I'm not. But I am sorry that I can't live out my reality and speak my truth in peace, when doing so isn't hurting anyone.)

Sure enough, the first comment I got on my post was one comparing my argument to the reasoning that eugenicists use. Often, I don't even respond to these comments because it's draining, and these people are never interested in dialogue. This time, I did respond. Whether I have the energy to continue the conversation remains to be seen.

Last night as I was deciding whether to go through with the post or not, two things pushed me forward. One was my deadline. I didn't want to miss it, nor did I want to switch gears at the last minute when I'd struggled most of the day deciding on a topic to begin with. But the second reason was by far the more important one: I wondered, if we are not able to write about what we truly believe, if we are not able to write from our core, even when what's at our core is pain or embarrassment or snarkiness or fear, then what good is writing at all? If I allow fear to start dominating my writing, then I lose a certain amount of integrity as a writer. And sometimes, my writing self is the one place where I feel my integrity remains intact.

Because here's the truth: I let fear dominate my actions in real-life far too often. Although I write about being bisexual, there are still people I'm not "out" to in my real life. As my marriage to a man approaches, there are hundreds of people who I know now and will know in the future who will never see me as anything but straight, and I don't go out of my way to correct them. Last week, I bit my tongue in response to two homophobic remarks. Both times, I rationalized my silence based on "professionalism" (since both happened within a work context.) Both times, I knew why I really remained silent: fear. Fear of being uncomfortable. Fear of having my professionalism compromised. Fear of "forcing" my ideas on others. Fear of many things, but ultimately, just plain old fear nonetheless.

Obviously, I don't try to hide that hard. The Internet is not exactly a private place, and publishing is not exactly a private act. I know that a quick Google search could lay bare the many things I don't always talk about in my day-to-day life. So I do consider this writing, knowing there could be offline repercussions, as an act of bravery. But sometimes, my writing feels like the only place in my life where I live up to the type of bravery and honesty I value. And that's why it's so important to keep doing it.

Freelance Editors Wanted

I got word last week that one of my main freelance clients, Scribendi, is hiring more remote editors. Scribendi is an online editorial services company. I've been working for Scribendi for two years, and I think it's a great gig. Here's why:

The work is steady. This is a biggie, as we all know how tenuous a lifestyle freelancing can be (and if you haven't found this to be the case, I want to know your secret!) This is because the good folks at Scribendi do all the promotion and outreach to clients, which frees up their editors to focus on what they do best: edit.
The work is diverse. I never know for certain what I'll get to edit for Scribendi, and this keeps things interesting. I've edited love letters and letters to the president, novel manuscripts, scientific reports, admissions essays, company policies, and more. The majority of Scribendi's clients are academics, particularly academics who are writing in English as their second language, so comfort working with ESL writing will benefit you.
The work is flexible. You can work on weekends and evenings if that suits you best, try to keep to a 9-to-5 (although I recommend working outside of these hours for the most diverse projects), or earn some money in the middle of the night when you can't sleep (I've done this several times, and it sure beats staring at the ceiling.) Right now, Scribendi is prioritizing editors who can commit to editing at least 10,000 words a month. I edit for them part-time, and I'm at 26,000 words for the month of July, so 10,000 words/month is reasonable if you can devote 10 or more hours to editing per week.

Of course, that leaves the big question: money. Pricing on Scribendi is done according to project, and depends on the type of job (editing, proofreading, academic, ESL, writing, etc.), the length of the piece, and the deadline. At my editing speed, I make between $12-$35 an hour, depending on the project. Scribendi also offers incentives for picking up projects on weekends or when they're running late, for receiving positive feedback from clients, or for getting a repeat order from a client (clients can request you when they place their orders if they've been happy with your work in the past).

You can learn more about Scribendi's application process here. Please mention me if you're asked who referred you. And feel free to ask any additional questions in the comments!

Writers: Top-Notch Daydreamers

In the February 2011 issue of Writers Digest (yes, I'm months and even years behind on my writing periodicals), David Morrell writes about paying attention to your daydreams for writing inspiration. He says:

Daydreams are our primal storytellers at work, sending us scenes and topics that our imagination or subconscious wants us to investigate.

I love this idea of daydreams being something of a "wiser force" that knows what topics we need to delve more deeply into. Like most writers, daydreams are as crucial to the life of my writing as water is to the life of my body. In fact, I was a top-notch daydreamer long before I became a dedicated writer. And it was a desire not to lose these daydreams that led me to scribbling random scenes in my journal; a desire to spend more time in these daydreams that made bedtime my favorite time of day, when I could go deeply, and uninterrupted, into those daydreams.

In my past, daydreams were far more than a "pre-writing" tool, though. They were a coping mechanism. I escaped into them when I was teased at school, when I was an insomniac teenager frustrated by too many hours in the dark, staring at the ceiling, when I was walking beans under the summer sun, when I was mowing lawns, and, later, driving the hundreds of miles between the cities where I lived and the country where my family lived. In many ways, my writing was a mere byproduct of these daydreams, perhaps even a justification for them. I don't always love writing, but I've always welcomed daydreams with open arms.

Perhaps too open, at times. Because until about five years ago, I preferred all those daydreams to my waking life, and my waking life was quickly drifting away from me. When a personal cataclysm broke my daydreams wide open, I had to find ways to integrate myself back into the real world. This was terrifying for me, as I feared that fully embracing my real life would mean sacrificing my daydreams, and perhaps, in turn, my creativity and my writing. And without those traits, I wasn't quite sure who I was. What in the world would my mind do, without all those daydreams?

I started listening to audiobooks to fill the void, and I started thinking about my own life. Daydreaming about my past, and my potential futures. When my daydreams centered around me and not imaginary people and events, I started to feel self-centered — but I let it happen, anyway. The daydreams about my life began to interweave with new ways of examining my experiences. The line between fiction and fact became blurred again, with one distinct difference: I was using imagination to integrate and make sense of my life, not to hide from it.

Back when I spent a significant amount of time and consciousness hiding from my own life, I was afraid that truly embracing said life would make all those beautiful, tantalizing daydreams disappear. Would the falling in love of my dreams ever shine as brightly after I'd fallen in love with a real person, and dealt with all the real-world complications that went with it? Could I really confine myself to living just one life?

I could, and I did, and I'm ever-grateful for it. Sometimes, I still drift off to imaginary places and spend hours in the company of imaginary people. But these daydreams no longer tempt me to shut out reality. Now, the daydreams feel like welcome, inspiring little vacations or retreats–after which it's always comforting to come home, no matter how lovely it was to be away.

And as for my writing? I think it's only better for having tethered it a little more tightly to reality. I love daydreams, and I love living my life, but what I love most of all is knowing I really can have both.

Back on the YAC bandwagon

What do science fiction novels, OCD, and Catholicism have in common? My brain, apparently, which is what I explored in today's post for Young Adult Catholics.