Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 44

The Power of the Pen

This is going to be a writer-geek post, but a little different from what I usually post on the subject.
I have a lot of writer friends on social media and they are supportive and kind to one another. I think that’s what I love best about romance writers. We build each other up, rather than spend time criticizing each other. In an industry dominated mostly by women, that’s kind of unique (I don’t mean to be stereotypical here, but...).
Readers, on the other hand, are of a slightly different breed. As an author, I depend on them. Without them, I can’t sell books. And I appreciate each and every reader who takes the time to buy or borrow, and read, my book. Good reviews, bad reviews, whatever. They have plenty of things to do with their time, and spending even an iota of their time reading my books is something I am truly thankful for. I’ve never met a reader who has been anything but kind to me, whether in person or on social media.
However, an author friend of mine recently received a review of her book that can only be considered bullying. Forget that the review was bad. Each reader is entitled to his or her own opinion and that opinion is valid, whether or not anyone else agrees with it. What galls me is that the reviewer took the time to include GIFs in the review, belittling the author and her work.
I’m sorry, but that is offensive. That is uncalled for. That makes the reader look like an idiot. If you want to slam a book, go ahead. But use respect and be kind. A book is more than a bunch of words thrown together. It is a product of a person’s soul.
It’s easy to hide behind the anonymity of social media to leave nasty comments about any number of people and things. Voicing your opinion is your right and is an expression of power. Turning into a bully and using your voice to belittle others is not powerful; it’s a sign of weakness—your own.

So by all means, read my books and review them. Honestly. Just treat me, and every other writer, as you, yourself, would like to be treated.

I'm THAT Mom

It is never a good sign when I start off a blog post saying, “I am not a moron.” I’ll admit I’m not a rocket scientist—being related to one and being friends with another, I can say this with some certainty—but I’m pretty intelligent, have a good dose of common sense and am very intuitive.
However, I’m a mess when it comes to health forms.
No matter how many times I fill out the same ones, I never get them right. Inevitably, I forget someone’s allergies, fill out the wrong information or put one child’s information on the other child’s form. You have not seen fear until you’ve looked into the eyes of a sleep-away camp counselor suddenly faced with the prospect of having to explain menstruation to a cabin-full of nine-year-old girls. Sorry I gave you the wrong child’s form. Sorry. Sorry. So, so sorry.
And now we come to the swim team health forms.
For the third year in a row, the same paper and Internet form had to be completed. Every year, I fill them out. Every year, I get a call from the athletic department or the health office or sometimes both departments telling me I made a mistake or asking me about something I incorrectly filled out.
This year, I vowed to conquer the forms.
In October, when the forms were available, I printed them out, delivered them to the physician, filled out the parent part and went online to fill out the Internet part. I called the health office and had them walk me, step-by-step, through the entire form. I asked a million questions—yes, I’m THAT mom—and made sure every “i” was dotted and every “t” crossed. I submitted them a month ahead of the deadline. And I waited.
I did not receive a call from the health office. I did not receive a call from the athletic department. The only email I received was a mass reminder to turn in the forms by the deadline.
Been there, done that.
Today, the teen attended the swim meeting prior to the start of the first practice. In the middle of the meeting, she texted me, “So my physical wasn’t approved for swim.”
No, no, no, no, no!
So in the middle of the meeting, I called the health office. Ignoring the manners I’ve been taught (sorry Mom), I spoke over the person who answered the phone—this was made easier by the fact that she had laryngitis and couldn’t do much more than squeak—and asked why the child’s physical wasn’t approved.
I’m not sure if she didn’t know, couldn’t talk or was scared of me, but she handed me over to the head of the athletic department, who informed me that the forms were sitting in the health office and just hadn’t been delivered to him yet. But he had them now and she was approved.
I’m counting this as a success.

And now I’m off to fill out the camp forms.

NaNoWriMo--No, No, No!

So, I’m not doing NaNoWriMo this month. For anyone who doesn’t know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. Those who participate have to write 50,000 words in November. There is a signup process and rules and all kinds of official things, including a badge you can put on your website when you complete it successfully.
I love the idea of it and it’s great for discipline, especially for someone like me who has this ingrained fear of missing a deadline. If I know I have to write a certain number of words a day, come hell or high water, I will write those words. I’m working on three manuscripts right now (in various stages of completion), so I could probably even do it.
But the thing is, I can’t take on one more thing. Not one. I have a high school junior who is beyond stressed and is dealing with school, swim team, and college prep. I have a high school freshman who is beyond stressed and is dealing with band and adjusting to high school. I have various writing projects that I am in the middle of that need polishing and crafting and much more than the equivalent of verbal diarrhea, which is, in essence, the most successful strategy for making that 50,000-word-goal (I’m not knocking anyone who is doing it—50,000 words is 50,000 words). And I have volunteer work and appointments and meetings and carpools and a family who would like to have dinner more than once a week (the nerve).
Not to mention, it’s NOVEMBER! The month of “No School in NJ.” Admittedly, now that we’re all in high school and don’t have to deal with conferences, which cause two weeks of half days, they are in school a little more. But between Teacher’s Convention and Thanksgiving, they are still off a lot of days. There’s holiday shopping and cooking.
And I seriously can’t deal.
So I’m still writing every day. I’m working on my manuscript for my agent, editing and writing one that is 2/3 of the way done, and writing one that is 1/3 done. Will I hit the approximately 1,600 words a day needed? Possibly. But I don’t need the added stress that I’ll put on myself to hit 50,000.

However, to all of you who ARE participating in NaNoWriMo? Good luck!

The Clown Car

Driving five teenagers to a weekend youth group event reminded me a little of loading and unloading a clown car.
I drive a Toyota Highlander. It claims to seat seven (including the driver), but that’s only if everyone is small with short legs and if you don’t need trunk space. Five teenagers, including two boys, are not small. Even limiting everyone to one piece of luggage—don’t get me started on how difficult that was—there was barely enough room for everyone. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to drive with items on my lap, or my own kids strapped to the roof.
The teen I made sit in the way back of the car even asked how she was supposed to get out, and it was a legitimate question. But we made it.
Stuffing everyone in, and finally releasing them from the car made me think of other things, though. It kind of reminded me of what we do when we stress. Or at least, what I do.
I have a lot I have to get done. Some of it is my own work, some of it is volunteer work, and a lot of it is for my kids, husband or extended family. It’s very hard to say no, so I just keep cramming it in, not thinking about how it’s going to get done or what I’m going to sacrifice in order to accomplish it.
And then I stress over all of it.
Eventually, one of two things happens. Either I get my to-do list done or I completely freak out about everything that has to be accomplished. Usually, it’s a combination of both. Both methods “empty out the clown car,” but neither one is particularly effective. Or funny. Even when I do cross things off my to-do list, I don’t get the time to appreciate the freedom, but immediately start to add more to the list, to “refill the clown car.”
This tells me a few things:
I need fewer clowns.They need seatbelts—one per passenger.I do NOT need a bigger car.
If those “clowns” happen to be teenagers, listen carefully to the conversations. You never know what you’ll find out!

And We're Off!

We leave for our first college visits tomorrow. Well, technically, we visited a college last April during spring break. So I guess I should say that this is our second set of visits. But this time is different.
For starters, it’s just her and me. Thinking back, I don’t think the two of us have ever taken a trip together by ourselves, so I’m really looking forward to the bonding time. Of course, my luck, she’ll get in the car, put in her ear buds and text her friends the whole ride. But even taking typical teenaged behavior into account, there has to be some point during the four days we’re away that we can talk and spend time together.
We’re heading to one of the major college centers of the country. No, I won’t say where or list specific schools (see my post about that here). But let’s just say, you can’t look at colleges without checking out this part of the country. My daughter being my daughter, she doesn’t think she wants to go to school there, but I’ve told her she has to look at the area before she can say no.
Same goes for the schools we’re looking at. Two of them she’s convinced she won’t like—one it “too big,” the other is “too intellectual.” She may be right on both accounts, but again, I want her to see what a “big school” looks like and a “too intellectual” school looks like before she judges them. Decisions based on Disney movies don’t count. The other two she’s a little more amenable to, but isn’t sure they’re for her. That’s why we’re visiting.
So why are we wasting our time? By the time the weekend is over, she’ll have seen four very different types of schools—based on size, location and types of students. She’ll then have a clear picture in her mind what a city campus looks like versus a campus in a college town versus a small school versus a large school. She’ll be able to make future decisions based on what she has seen, rather than what others have told her, or what a file on a computer has said. She’ll have things to compare.

And in between, we’ll shop, check out some good restaurants, visit friends and family who live nearby, and try to turn a potentially stressful time into a mini-vacation. All while I keep track of my snarky observations for a future blog post! J

The In-Between

I called my husband on my way home one evening to let him know where I was. 

“When will you be home,” he asked.
“In about 15 minutes, unless I get lost.”
“You don’t know where you are?”
“Of course I know where I am. I also know where I have to go. It’s the in-between that I’m not sure of.” 

The in-between. It means, “situated somewhere between two extremes or recognized categories.”Recognized categories are easily definable: sick, well, happy, sad, etc. Of course, they don’t have to be emotions. They can be places: home, school or work. They can be events: birth, marriage or death. But whatever they are, they are clearly recognizable. Everyone knows them; there is no misunderstanding or insecurity.But life isn’t only about the extremes or categories. Life is the in-between and the in-between is messy, a morass of feelings, emotions, insecurities and conflicting personalities that somehow have to be sorted, identified, managed and acknowledged. It’s difficult to figure out and can be interpreted many ways.We recently celebrated our 20th anniversary. Our wedding day and our anniversary were easy to celebrate. But celebrating 20 years of the in-between—the “who’s going to wash the dishes” and the “how could you say that” and the “what should we do about this”—that’s the hard part and that’s what makes the marriage real.I remember the days my children were born and the incredible emotions I felt at the time. Happiness at finally seeing them, amazement that I was going to be a mom, wonder that they were actually mine. But what truly makes me a mom is all the in-betweens—worrying about a fever or if I’m making the right decision; talking to them about their problems or their friends or their schoolwork; enforcing the rules and rewarding their special achievements and punishing their bad deeds; waiting up for them to arrive home safely and aching over their perceived slights.Most of my time is spent in the in-between. It often colors my perspective and makes me wonder why I’m doing something, but it also is necessary for the extremes to exist. Just like you need sadness to appreciate happiness, you need the in-between in order to appreciate the highs and lows of the extremes and to add texture and dimension to life.

Boundaries

If you asked me what’s the most difficult part of writing, I wouldn’t say coming up with an idea, translating what’s in my brain onto the page or even getting words—any words—on the page. For me, at this moment, it’s boundaries.
I’m lucky enough to stay home and write full-time, or as full-time as I can manage with two kids. I love writing. It satisfies a deep need within me that nothing else can satisfy. When I don’t write, I actually get a physical reaction that can only be stopped by sitting in front of my computer and starting to write again. I sleep better when I write and I’m happier when I write. However, I can’t write all the time.
I have other things I have to do—I have a family, I have mundane chores, I have friends, I have other obligations—all of which prevent me from writing. The prevention isn’t a bad thing, and I’m not complaining. But it means I have to set up times to write and times to do other things, and that’s where my difficulty lies.
Back in July, I participated in a writing challenge, where I had to write 1,000 words a day. I did it for the discipline as well as for the progress it would allow me to make on a manuscript. When I know I have to get something done, I usually plan my day around doing that thing. It becomes a priority. But is writing really my priority when I need to get laundry done so we have clean clothes (nakedness is still frowned upon), or grocery shop so we can eat (seriously, every day people?)? Sometimes it is, but sometimes there are other priorities.
I typically try to get my writing done when my kids are at school, so that I can spend time with them when they’re home (they might not want it, but I do). But what happens to all the errands I also have to get done? Does that mean I leave those for when the kids are home? Or do I divide up my time during the day?
And what about weekends? This weekend, I decided I was taking a complete break from all writing and editing. I thought it would be good for me—it would clear my brain and allow me to focus on other things. It would also make me a better writer when I sat down again. I made it until 7:30 on Sunday evening and then I HAD to write again.
If you work in an office, the boundaries are preset. For the most part, not including the work you might bring home when necessary, you work THERE and you do everything else at HOME. Your brain focuses on work when you’re in the office, and on home when you’re home.
Mine can’t. Because the boundaries are fuzzy at best. Sometimes that’s a good thing—I can take advantage of extra time here or there to write when inspiration strikes or when everyone else is busy. But sometimes it means I’m not fully present when I need to be. It’s not my computer or phone that’s keeping me apart. It’s the need to write. Or the deadline that needs to be met. Or the 2,000 dependent clauses that need to be fixed (yes, that was a thing and OMG!).
I suspect that my self-imposed break this weekend was healthy and I should do it more often. I notice that my kids take my writing more seriously, and are hesitant to interrupt me when they see I’m writing (they no longer just assume I’m playing on my computer and interrupt at will). My husband always supports me when I’m writing (although I suspect the lack of food in the house is starting to get to him). So I probably need to practice boundary-making a little more seriously. Like any “muscle,” it needs to be exercised and used in order to work well.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All writing and no living makes this author write badly. And makes my family hungry. So, like everyone else, I just have to find the balance.

School Supply Lists Are Evil

School supply lists are the bane of my existence. I’m totally on board with having to purchase our own supplies. I don’t mind that part, actually. What I do mind is:
Receiving the school supply lists in dribs and drabs during the first three weeks of school. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t love making daily trips to Staples.
Receiving the school supply lists after all the school supplies on said lists are sold out. Still haven’t figured out how my child is supposed to show up the next day with all the requested supplies. And don’t even get me started on how Staples can run out of notebooks.
Receiving the school supply lists after the school supply stores have ended their school supply sales. This is obviously an evil plot.
Teachers who refuse to put the item in their head onto the list, forcing me to be a mind reader. I can barely figure out what’s in my head, please don’t make me peek into yours.
Schools that have trained my kids for the past eight years to get exactly and only the specific supply, brand, color and size of the item they want, and then turn around and suddenly decide to allow students to get whatever they want. My child spins in circles in the aisles and vibrates with anxiety. Which makes me vibrate too.
I am convinced that these lists are created by teachers who don’t have any children of their own for whom to purchase school supplies, because if they did, our lists wouldn’t look like they do.
So, I have a suggestion: Staples should sell wine.

What I Learned During My Summer Vacation

School starts next week (band camp has already started), which means summer is at an end. I’ve spent a lot of my summer thinking—a LOT—about all different things, and here are some I’ve learned:

     1)   Vacations with just my husband are the best, especially once you reach the point where you’re no     longer thinking, “The kids would love this.”     2)   Time away from my children makes me a better mom.     3)   Most of the things I worry about—bears, terrorists, injuries—never, ever happen.     4)   I’m still going to worry about them, but injecting humor makes it more bearable.     5)   Learning to write anytime, anywhere, is an essential skill. Now if only I could apply the same skill to sleeping.     6)   Although I’m not a morning person, if I can make it to the first hill on my walk, the brain chemicals kick in and the day is off to a much better start.     7)   Taking a break from things that stress me out makes me a nicer person.     8)   Staying holed up in my house focusing on writing makes me very productive, but remembering to see my friends helps me refill my well.     9)   There is nothing better than watching your two children reunite after 7 weeks apart.    10)  Taking the summer off from TV is not a bad thing.

What did you learn?

The First Chapter

I made our first set of college visiting appointments. This year, being her junior year, and having a mom like me, we are using every long weekend to visit colleges. So I took her list, looked at the schools in the geographic area we want to cover in October, did my best to make an itinerary that won’t kill us (can’t promise anything) and made appointments.
As I was doing all of this, I started thinking about the significance of what we are doing. She’d old enough to start considering colleges. She’s old enough to start considering her life after high school graduation. How did that happen?
There are many things I want for my daughter, but the number one thing is for her to be happy. And that means having the freedom and ability to choose her own path. I’ve never asked for perfection, and have ALWAYS clarified my expectations with her—you don’t need perfect grades, you need grades that reflect the best of your abilities. Sometimes she succeeds and other times she fails. That’s part of life. But as I’ve told her many, many times, I want her to have as many options open to her as possible, and in order to do that, she needs to try as hard as she can and always do her best. I think we’re succeeding, basically.
When things have gotten rough, either with her friends or her classes or just with life as a teenager, I have reminded her that her goal is the same—to do what she wants with her future. It’s a long-term goal and one that hopefully helps her rise above the daily stressors and focus on where she wants to be later in life. College is one of the things that will allow her to escape from the “here.”
In the next year and a half, her life is going to be one big ball of stress. And it’s going to be compounded by others—classmates who talk incessantly about grades and test scores, adults who talk incessantly about grades and test scores, people who ask what her plans are or whether she’s getting tutored for this test, that test or a completely different thing we hadn’t considered. As with every single stage of her life, there will be people who over-dramatize everything. And as with every stage of her life, I hope to step back and remind her and me that it’s a big step, but it’s the NEXT step. It’s the next step in a logical progression, based on her current abilities and dreams. We’re not going from Kindergarten to college. We’re not expecting something she has no hope of being able to achieve.
And on my part, I’m not going to play into everyone else’s hands. She’s old enough to begin this journey. It’s her journey, not mine. My hopes and dreams for her are nice, but they’re pretty irrelevant. So I won’t be talking about specifics. I won’t be telling people her test scores or her grades or even what specific colleges she’s looking at. Those announcements are up to her.

Because this is the opening chapter of her story. And it’s her story to tell.