Dawn Metcalf's Blog, page 26

Top 3, Age 5

October is National Hispanic Heritage Month. October is also National Anti-Bullying Month. (It's also my 13th wedding anniversary, which makes me think about love and family and also one of my favorite dress-up excuses, Halloween.) Basically, I'm *all* about October! And I happen to have my name on two books that celebrate these things; things that I'm passionate about and proud to offer the universe.

It's been a strange trip from my first dreams of being a writer (age 5 or so) to the reality of being "here" and while being a published author was my #1 dream, I really had a Top 3: 1) to marry and have children, 2) to be a published author, and 3) to tell more people than I would ever meet personally in my lifetime that "it's okay"--I have been teased by loving friends and family that all I really want to do is give the world a big hug, which is sort of true. (Be warned should you ever meet me in person: I'm a hugger.) I have deeply personal reasons for all these things, but the truth is that all of them are anchored in a 5-year old's heart.

I love my family, deeply and truly, and I was raised with the kind of hippie-sensibilities that believed in such things as Peace, Love, Togetherness, and Trust and meant it, sans irony. In well-to-do suburbia in the 1980's, this was rather out-of-sync. I may have been ignorant or naive, but it astounded me that so many people around me were so miserable and upset, both kids on welfare and kids of privilege, from safe homes and dysfunctional homes, kids who had everything going for them were puking up their lives in bathrooms and kids who had to fight for every scrap along the way were drinking and driving into trees; and underneath it all, everyone was obsessed with the same basic question: "Am I Lovable?" (or iterations "Do You Love Me?", "Am I Worth It?" or "Will You Leave Me If You Knew [X]?" which all amount to the same thing, really.) Since I couldn't understand, it became the thing I most wanted to understand. I studied sex and gender, anthropology and art, literature and history and human psychology; I traveled abroad and volunteered, asked questions and conducted interviews, wrote dissertations and spoke out and marched. And, eventually, I returned to pen and paper (or keyboard and ink) and put the passion there...

...but I never thought it would lead to a book about a girl with great body image (despite not always having a body) and turning a tale about a real "dickie" into something that someone else could find comforting. And you know what? I'm proud of my 5-year old, hippie-hearted self.

LUMINOUS features a Latina-American superheroine who saves people from dying before their time and whose love for her family drives her to find a way home. DEAR BULLY is an anthology with 70 Young Adult authors telling their stories about bullies, bullying, and being bullied and I was humbled an honored to be included, telling my story of what it was like to be bullied for 13 years for being, well, tall. (My next novel, INDELIBLE, will be coming out in 2013 and has nothing to do with any of this, but I digress.)

As an artist--heck, as anyone--it's hard to self-promote. It's hard to say "I'm good" and not sound like bragging. It's hard to toot your horn and not make someone else wince. But there are many things I'm proud of doing, having, saying or having done. And these stories about a Latina-American superheroine and about being bullied are two things that I can point to and smile and say, "I did this." I'm proud of them. I'm proud of me. And I did exactly what I set out to do, age 5.

* * *

As for my #1 goal, I'll be celebrating 13 years of marriage with my loving husband on Tuesday. Happy Anniversary, Honey!

Start A Conversation

Yesterday, I had a lovely conversation about books and plots and Big Ideas and...conversations. The popcorn magic of talking to someone excited and interested about what you are talking about (and vice versa) comes out of conversation, the exchange of ideas and words, tonality and energy, something we strive to recreate from our days after school or late at night on college campuses with trusted friends that wouldn't laugh at the crazy things that swim through our minds. It's the sort of thing authors try to capture on the page or bloggers on the screen; the give and take of dialogue that paints a picture of our lives--the ones that matter going on inside of our heads that we share infrequently with the people in our closest confidences.

All writing is a conversation.

The best books are the ones that made me think (Feed), the ones that made me feel something new (Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?) or something I forgot (Where The Wild Things Are, The Night Circus), the ones that made me look at the world--and its people--differently (Callahan's Crosstime Saloon), gifting me with brand new ideas both wondrous (Tuck Everlasting) or uncomfortable (Unwind). They are the ones that made me feel like the author understood me (Spider Robinson) or something about the universe (Kurt Vonnegut, Shel Silverstein, Mark Twain), or where the characters understood and I forgot that they were never real (The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay). The stories welcomed me into a conversation with the author, the characters, but ultimately myself and I took the time to think about it, about my reactions, about what I loved and hated most and then I could turn to the people I felt closest with and say, "You *HAVE* to read this book!" or "Have you read this book? What did you think about...?" and start a conversation. A real world conversation. One that somehow transported itself from the words to my mind to the sounds out of my mouth or onto my own pages and the conversation kept going, transforming, reliving, and reaching out to embrace more and more people into new thoughts, new ideas, new connections, new friends. All out of a conversation. The ones that matter, anyway.

So, as writers, the question is: What do you want to say?

The Little Successes

This. This thing? This is my printout of INDELIBLE line edits and they are complete. **Hooray!** Now I can concentrate on other things like this:



and this



and this



Ostensibly, I should be working on my next project. With the yet-to-be-named sequel already marinating in a drawer and several possible ideas on the kettle, I figure I'd languish in the pool of thought for the moment and wait until the right and proper thing rises to the surface. The one that cries out the loudest and demands to be heard. That and give my neck muscles a rest...did you know your head weights 10 lbs?!? No wonder I'm tired!

But for the moment, I want to savor the little successes. I turned-around my line edits despite physical challenges and holiday timing and made no excuses and got it in three days prior to deadline. It's a small thing, really, but it's something, and every author and mother I know out there knows to treasure these little somethings as mental Gold Stars to make it through the next time we feel overwhelmed or unable to get it done.

So now I'm looking out my office window and notice that there are leaves on the ground. Autumn's snuck up on me. This is the time to sit back and enjoy the crunch of apples, the chill in the air while walking outside, the spicy smell of woodsmoke and cloves--it's a time to reconnect with the things that make life beautiful, that time outside of the Have Tos and To Do Lists and make a little room in our heads for feeling thankful and prosperous and successful. It's Harvest Time. Sit back and take just a moment to realize all the things you made happen, all the successes you've brought to fruition, before you start this week (or the rest of today) and congratulate yourself on a job well done. If no one else is going to do it, might as well be you!

Ah, who am I kidding? As my son would say, "CONGRATULATIONS! GREAT JOB!"

(A cheering section goes a long way. Go get 'em!)

Rosh Hashanah

Happy New Year!



May we all enjoy a sweet New Year full of blessings, happiness & delight!

Now go write. ;-)

The Universe is Knocking Again. This Time On My Head.

Remember when I said something about slowing down? Well, this time the universe didn't break something, but it came awfully close.

This past weekend was promising to be pretty busy--we had agreed to watch our friends' two kids while they were busy at the hospital having their third, had a dear friend finally coming to visit from out-of-town, and our library was having it's long-awaited annual book sale blow-out during the local arts & crafts fair, a family favorite that cannot be missed! We had plenty of plans on our plate and were looking forward to a fun and active weekend and then life stepped in to make sure that we weren't taking anything for granted.

Saturday is karate day. Fortunately, both our kids and those we were adopting for the weekend all take karate classes together and so it wasn't too much to gather the troops, dress everyone in gis and belts, and pack the SUV full of snacks and gym bags and haul the lot of us off to the dojo together. The kids were great, I got to man the play room between classes, and even had coverage so I could take adult class without worrying that something (or someone) would blow up and send Legos flying through the shoji screens without my parental supervision. All was copacetic until the often-fated last five minutes of class.

Our final bout of practice was to pair off for ground-fighting. Ground-fighting is one of my least favorite drills, but having been endowed at an early age with long, strong legs and a larger-than-average stubborn streak, I manage to do okay even when I'm outclassed. In fact, I always learn something when I'm outmatched and so I was actually looking forward to being paired with an ex-high-school-wrestling partner in order to see what moves I could anticipate on the mat.

What I could not have anticipated was the WWE.

Later, after the pretty winking lights had cleared, I learned the correct term for what had happened is that I had been "cradled" and "stacked" and then subsequently "dropped." I, being unfamiliar with World Wrestling Entertainment other than it no longer competed with pandas for the WWF title, hadn't been quite sure what had occurred beyond "Ow!" But here's how I understood it: in the scuffle, my partner--a muscular guy with wresting experience and seriously impressive upper body strength--slipped his arms under my neck and knees and hugged me into a loose ball ("cradle"), then he lifted my knees and hips up in order to separate me from the ground ("stack"), then dropped his body weight down and smashed me into the floor ("drop") which looked something like this:



While it reminded me of whales wanting to be friends with the planet, what it sounded like was "Snap!"

That sound was the back of my neck meeting floor with the combined weight of two adult karate ground-fighters atop it who were no longer ground-fighting. I quickly tapped-out and he quickly released me and I found myself on the floor going, "Ow!" Instructors came over to ask if I was okay and I asked for a minute while I took stock that everything was, in fact, still attached. It was a strange sensation; something between being simultaneously floaty and dipped in lead. I tried to sit up...and couldn't. I failed to lift my head that fraction of an inch in order to get proper leverage to lift myself the rest of the way. Don't know what I mean? Try sitting in a chair and have someone stand in front of you and touch a finger to your forehead--now try to stand up. You can't. The body needs to shift itself forward in order to make that transition happen and, flat on my back, I couldn't do it. My husband helpfully lent me a hand to pull me up but it was quickly obvious that this was NOT A GOOD IDEA. I shifted my legs and tried to roll to one side...no dice. My shoulders, back and upper arms had locked and I couldn't curl myself enough to get momentum that way, either. I started to laugh. Here I was stuck on the floor because of a mere inch in any direction. It was humbling, odd, and more than a little scary. My husband leaned close and said that I was beginning to worry him. "In one more minute either you can get up or I'm calling an ambulance."

You want motivation? That'll do it.

With the help of many hands, I got pushed onto my side and lifted sideways, one hand holding the back of my neck. The weirdest thing was that I had never realized how *heavy* my head was before; my neck and back muscles were having trouble supporting all that skull and brain matter! I tried to think less. This was helped by the fact that I was having trouble finding the words I wanted and often switching them, spoonerisms being one of my favorite side effects of concussions because the results are pretty funny! (The fact that I *have* a favorite side effect of concussions ought to tell you something about my life's many adventures, but I digress.)

So it was obvious I was off to the hospital. Well, we figured if we were going off to a hospital anyway, we might as well be the one that had the new baby in it so that all the families could be together! Great plan! But in the many hours that followed, I have to say that I never once got to meet the baby or say "Hi!" to my fellow Mommy-in-residence and was left in a neck brace, flat on my back (again) but this time on a gurney awaiting a CAT Scan just to make sure I hadn't broken my neck and I was left inspecting the hospital's very clean ceilings while my husband went home to entertain and feed four small kids. (Guess who was the lucky one in *that* scenario?) Lucky for me, I had my computer and my cell phone to keep me company and wisely chose not to interact online while still concussed until after I had a prognosis and before any serious drugs were administered.

Fortunately, my Fates were with me again as my life seems to be a steady stream of wild and wacky accidents that often hurt, singe, or ding but rarely maim or destroy, often just enough of a reminder that my life is rarely boring and that having a wry sense of humor is my saving grace. I went home that night with nothing fractured or broken, some mild painkillers, and a soft neck brace to use in case I needed it for extra support (although I most often find that I'm using it to hold up my head when my eyes start drifting down as gravity takes its toll). My recovery was punctuated by finishing my chapter-by-chapter outline due to my agent just as my long-shot interviewee for an upcoming YA pinged back to say "Yes!" and I received my line edits with a due date in two weeks.

...

I'll be taking a little hiatus. See you in a few weeks!


Stop blogging and do your edits or I will be a sad panda.

A Steampunk Summer Adventure Abroad!

This summer was filled with travel. Visiting other states and countries with friends and family is like a fresh dip in a cool pool on those hot, summer months when the weather outside tempts us to do *anything* besides work. So why not give in? Of course, my eye still wandered to all things bookish and steampunky, and here are a few nuggets of fun I found along the way:

Hidden in the depths of the Art Institute of Chicago, below the Serats and the Renoirs, the Picassos and the Lichtensteins, and around the corner of the amazing Chagall windows, are the Thorne Miniature Rooms where one woman's passion for miniatura became an astounding collection of art depicting tiny replicas that peeked into American, European and Asian homes from classic eras to the "modern age" (around 1940). I delved into my love to itty bitty detail and gobs of wish-fulfillment fantasies to have libraries like this one:


If I'm ever shrunk to fairy-size, you can find me reading here.

We happened to be in Quebec during a library's "Reading in the Park" event and stumbled upon these explorers who were touting the adventures they'd just had in books. We munched on our loaves of fresh bread and watched the performers as much as the audience filled of wide-eyed children and smiling adults who sat behind tables ready to check out some of the rolling carts of books they'd brought outside. Reading + Steampunk + Librarians + Acting Adventure? Sign me up! I only wish I'd kept up my French...


Adventures in Reading! How cool is that?

I am a complete sucker for hats. Ask anyone! I have a huge collection of Victorian hats as well as sun hats, formal hats, 80's retro hats, and costume hats so it was no wonder that I tried on a ton of these leather-bound chapeaux at the Head 'N Home booth at the Port Clinton Arts Festival! Corset hats? Cameo hats? Snake hats? Steampunk stove pipes? I'm in haberdasher heaven!


Dressing it up "Mad Hatter" style!

And, of course, I love books! (I know this is a great shock to anyone who's been following this blog...) Mix in steampunk and I think I'm ready for a well-earned read, but this time, I found something new to crave. Art! Ray Papka makes art out of altered books and I literally (literarily?) stopped in my tracks when I saw this gorgeous tome of a clock with brass fittings and splashed with red:


A "Watched Clock" never boils. (I covet this mightily!)

I am currently in a decorating craze, trying to fill the blank walls of my house with things that look like we live there instead of post-college kids squatting in a grown-up house. These little copper houses have windows into gold- and silver-plated wonders. These distressed silver/copper/gold wall art pieces by Robert Farrell are so gorgeous, I had to come back twice to look. Hitting that blend of teeny-tiny and sparkly-rusty that always gets me giddy, I dreamed of hanging one of these in my kitchen. (I'd do my whole house steampunk-style if I could!)


I'll just be inside with a cup of tea and a good book, thanks! I'll ring the bell if I need anything sent up.

Now all I have to do is get back on my next Steampunk Tea Party project; and I have a new copper fondue pot, metallic sprinkle set & theme idea to make it happen! Now where did I put my brass gears...?

More Insanity For Your Amusement (& For A Good Cause)

I am not normal. I know this, but sometimes it hits me like a gold-wrapped brick that my mind doesn't work the way other people's do. I think differently and, sometimes, different is good.

Back when I was in the doldrums of an unexpected year and a half between book and launch, I challenged myself to my 10K project: could I find 10,000 emails of people who were most likely to be interested in my book. (Trust me, this sort of insanity is preferable to the madness that comes from waiting around with nothing to do!) I met that goal and had a ridiculous Excel spreadsheet to offer my publisher and even inspired others to blog about my madness. So when I was recently inspired by Team Superman Sam to do something, I realized this was another example of "Dawn's Brains Gone Wild" and thought to share the process as another way to think about being resourceful with our books or any project that really fires you up.

During my stay in Chicago, I had been speaking to a woman during dinner about kids and hospitals and I learned about Superman Sam. He is a little boy with leukemia and is undergoing chemo right now and when I visited her blog, I discovered that she's asking folks to send photos of themselves dressed up as superheroes to cheer him on.

Well, thought I, I can do that!
...In fact, I know lots of people who would do that!

Thus began my newest brain activity. I contacted Sam's mom and asked her permission before I went hog-wild answering this request: she was aiming for 500 photos. I was aiming to ask that many people if they'd join-in. With her blessing, I posted a link on Twitter and FB, linking to her Facebook page and commenting there as well. I sent my own photo in ASAP and showed the result to the uncles/aunts/cousins/grandparents to get them talking. I then sent a separate email directly to those friends I thought would most likely a) own some Superhero gear & b) were most likely to be willing to dress up themselves or their kids and send a picture to Sam. (In fact, three of them asked if they could send it on to *their* groups of friends and keep it going. Green light all the way!) Then I started thinking outside the box.

Who did I know that had direct links to actual superheroes or superhero-figures in the world? I looked on my Twitter feed and other fannish sites and sent messages directly to people like Stan Lee, Kevin Smith, Joss Whedon, Felicia Day, Neil Patrick Harris, and Nathan Fillion asking them if they had a picture of a superhero to send to Superman Sam. (I have no idea if they replied, but it wasn't hard to put it out there.) I sent another note to people I knew in the business of video games, online gaming, three-d animation, and comic books to see if they had any leads. (Two of them did!) I wrote to writer friends. I linked to ThinkGeek who highlighted Superman Sam on their blog and then ended up donating $1000 to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in his name. I pinged fellow nerdfighters and also Harry Potter activists. Then I did the easiest/hardest thing: I spoke to people in person--anyone I knew well enough in karate class, at my kids' school, in the bookstores, at the neighborhood bus stop...people who were inspired by the idea and then asked for the link (which I had in my smartphone) to add to the madness. I was particularly tickled by one karate friend who didn't own any superhero stuff but then emailed that she sent in a picture of her backyard with the "Fantastic Four" logo on it and signed it from the Invisible Woman! People were inspired the way I was & that feels powerful.

While I have no idea if I actually got 500 people to respond, my goal was to contact 500 people and now I'm adding YOU to the pot and offer a sneak peek on how I think about marketing and that we really do know far more people that are interested in things that we're passionate about than we *think* we know & while I know many writers are introverts at heart, there's an energy that we will give to a child in need or a desperate mom or a friend who asks us personally that sometimes we wouldn't be willing to give ourselves.

Give *yourself* permission to be passionate about your book, or whatever project lights you up, and go out and spread the word to people who would get on board. And then go link here, take a picture, and send it in. (And, for other ways to help, go here.)

500 smiling faces can't be wrong!

Guilty As Charged

I will politely ignore the irony that drawing cartoons isn't writing, either.

P.S. Ow.

Sometimes, the Universe Whispers & Other Times, It Breaks Something

Earlier this summer, I broke the garage door. I did this with the simple application of my car backing into it before it fully rose. To be fair, it was opening and I was in hurry, so I only missed it by about 4 inches--but that 4 inches was enough to bend the lowest panel, knock the wheel off of its track, and keep me from clearing the lip where it jammed, effectively blocking my car inside the garage. I was stuck with no way out. Embarrassed and humbled, I ended up calling the electric garage door company about coming out for a repair in enough time for me to go pick up my kids from their various camps that afternoon. The woman on the phone kindly assured me that they'd be on it and she got these calls every week. "You wouldn't believe how many people do this," she said. "We're all in such a rush. It's a reminder to slow down."

It's been several weeks (and garage-door-accident-free!) and I keep thinking about it: "A reminder to slow down."

Huh.

I decided this summer to take a break from writing--something that is completely outside my experience and outside my comfort zone. I write. I always write. I have always written. It is my go-to place, the thing I look forward to each morning and the one place where I can pour all the happiness/sadness/excitement/angst/worry/anticipation/glory/awe/fear/wonder of my everyday life and daydreams and come out refreshed (or exhausted) and feel better. But I'll confess that somewhere around 2009 this stopped being the case. My mind, normally filled with inspiration and characters talking non-stop, was now filled with things like online promotion demands, BookScan numbers, blog posts and marketability. My road to publication was a bumpy one and I'd made a lot of mistakes* and the process of being a mid-list author with a strange little book debuting on the lip of a giant brick-and-mortar chain close-out is enough to squish anyone's Muse and my Maggie took a particular beating. It's been hard to stay positive. Heck, it's been hard to stay happy, but we authors are not supposed to share that part of ourselves online because it's a bummer and a downer and "I Published A Book!" so what right do I have to whine about anything? There are *thousands* of people who would gladly smash their car into their garage door if that meant that could publish a book! And that's true (sorta, but you get the idea). And I know that I'm very fortunate I got to have that lifelong dream come true. And I'm also telling you, from one human being to another, that the creative spirit can get a bit wispy when the results weren't all roses and song. It's hard to shoot for the moon and miss. It's doubly-hard to do it publicly, in front of everyone and your mother. And triply-hard to do it while smiling and keep going.

So I struggled. I wrote other books, cleaned up old trunk novels, wrote "proposal formats" of three chapters and outlines as I waited for news or another crack at the game. I felt like I had to keep it up, keep it going, push harder, or I was going to miss my chance to catch the wave and be left behind. I began spending far too much time at the computer and getting less done. I had trouble committing to a manuscript. I started and stopped and started again. I sweated at the keys and started avoiding them altogether. Basically, I was breaking-up with the idea of writing and that realization felt so frantic and foreign that I began to panic. Despairing that everything we write is terrible is nothing new to the writing process, but this went into unfamiliar territory, as desolate as the never-dreaded-before blank sheet of paper. I was writing a lot (as in blogs, tweets, outlines, blurbs) but it wasn't writing (as in my book) and I've been wrestling with angels** over what to do.

And then I thought about running into my garage door. And I thought about slowing down.

So I did.
And I stopped.

Days passed without writing and that was...okay. (Not great, mind you--it is like holding your breath for a very long time--but "okay.") I did other things. I concentrated on kids and baking and getting back into training and making plans with friends. I traveled a lot more. I made an effort to go to more art fairs and museums. I explored. I chatted with folks. I took a hiatus from regular tweetchats. I went from three regular blog entries week down to one or two. I took the time to slow down, to recoup, to let my Muse nurse its wounds and heal a little before having any grand expectations. I scribbled a little here and there. I talked with people who understood. I took the time to be disappointed, mourn a little, and get over it.

Now there are trickles coming in from the editor asking about flapcopy and bouncing ideas around. Something stirs in my mind about new possibilities for an old fairy tale and I'm kinda looking forward to the kids being off at school so I can get back to the regular practice of writing generatively instead of reactively. I said "Okay" to a book event in the fall. I submitted some workshop proposals for my favorite conference. I feel like I'm smiling when I come to the keys, and I didn't even have to pay a repairman to do it.

I may be slow, but I *do* learn.



* A lot of mistakes. One day I'll be brave enough to share all of them, but not until I know that's not another huge mistake!
** Not real angels. More like fairies, myths, contemporary comedies, and near-future LGBTQ dramas. Why be normal?

Art Imitating Life Imitating Art

Ever see a person or a piece of art and recognize it as something you wrote in a book? This just happened to me (again) upon seeing Jean-Joseph Carriès Le Grenouillard, The Frog Man:



I stared at it for a long, long time all the while thinking, "That belongs in Graus Claude's office. Possibly his mirror..."

Have you had that experience of art imitating life imitating art? Cool or freaky? Share & decide!