Elora Nicole Ramirez's Blog, page 21

clarity.

It was during Macklemore's Can't Hold Us that I heard him. 

Maybe it was more like I saw him. In the locker room with his buddies, messing around like high school boys do before a football game. I could see the shine in his eyes, the way he gripped the towel he was about to flick toward his best friend, the way the other guys were crowding around him and bouncing to the beat of the song in the background.

I was driving to my sister's bachelorette party when this happened. Cinema-like-clarity, almost needing to pull over to capture the words because they were tumbling out-out-out so fast I could barely whisper them into the voice recorder quick enough. 

Finally. After months of editing, rewriting, hating, rewriting, editing, rewriting and finally loving Every Shattered Thing, I knew the next step for Kevin's novella.

That was almost a month ago. 

Days pass so quickly now.  

It's like I blink and another day is gone and I stare at my computer and think to myself tomorrow I'll write.  Tomorrow I'll get down that scene.  

But it never happens. 

Here's a confession: somewhere in the corners of my mind I wonder if I'll ever be able to write another book.  

I mean, I know I will—I have too many ideas. But in this moment? Right now? Staring at the expanse of the empty page and the ugly beginnings? It's kind of ridiculous how paranoid and intimidated I feel. 

So I sit my ass in the chair and write. One word. Then another. Then another. I remember the advice I gave Story Sessions just last week about how it takes those ugly-small-beginnings to ever make something one might read on a kindle or hold in their hands and so I remember. I breathe deep. I place my hands on the keyboard and close my eyes and wait for that beginning.

I start small. 

Just one word. 

And then another.

And then those words become a sentence.  

That sentence turns into a chapter. 

And before I know it,  I'm right in the middle of a story I thought I'd never see again.

 

This is part of Lisa-Jo's Five Minute Friday. Join us? The topic this week is WRITE. 

willing.

This time last year, I was picking up the pieces. 

I had no idea the ways in which the next few months would shatter me completely. There's never a way to know.

So I went day-by-day, tripping along and acting like everything was fine when really I was a blubbering mess on the inside. Fall has this way of waning into winter—a slow death of warmth, life, light. Last year I felt lumped in with the batch. I was falling head first into my own winter and I couldn't help thinking of the poem —

...and they, since they 
were not the dead, turned to their affairs. 

I kept living because every thing was moving on without me. 

And we've all heard the metaphor before—how out of death springs life—but we never really talk about the pain involved.  

Because here's the truth: I found my yes through months of hell no.  

By the time the end of the year was near, I was ready to jump. Ready to fling off all those dead scaly pieces and risk.

I haven't stopped since. 

It's been almost a year of living within intuition and feeling. It's been months of wading through hurt and laughing at the timing of it all. 

Life really does move on, you know.  

.::. 

I have this habit of sitting on a thought for a long while. I think part of it is my disdain for decision making, but another huge part is fear.  And back in March, I knew the next step for Story Sessions. I knew it in my bones when every session grew larger and larger and our Facebook page grew heavier and heavier with words.

But I waited. 

A few weeks ago, I sat with my mentor, my fairy-art-mother who is able to look at me with a smile on her face and tell me the truth. 

You gotta start declaring yourself, she said. And I laughed, because all my life I've been trying to state my case in whispers. 

.::. 

Following your gut takes courage. Much like this post, it wanders and meanders its way to a fixed point.  

And when I pulled out a word for the day this morning, willing stared back at me from the sheet of paper.

Am I willing?
Am I willing to feel all of it in order to feel the good?
Am I willing to celebrate?
Am I wiling to take that step I know I need? 
Am I willing to let those sharp pieces grow soft? 

.::. 

It's day 6 of my 100 days of brave. 

I stare at the calendar in front of me, the hopes and dreams I've penciled in for these next 31 spaces, and I'm amazed at how much has changed within the past year—the past few months, even.

I wonder if maybe you struggle with finding your place—if maybe willing would be a word that makes you shake a bit because of how others have controlled you.

Maybe it's time to shake off the dead pieces and jump?

There will be a net to catch you. I promise.

because i'm into you, september

September 1—I took this picture because it felt like a jungle outside. Dumb humidity. But yay pretty trees.

September blew in like a workhorse—the air so stalwart you could slice a knife through the humidity. Three days past my release date for Every Shattered Thing, I felt all sorts of possibility before me. And it was so fun those few days watching my books climb the charts and land almost in the three-digits. I nearly reached my goal of selling 500 books [although not in the first week like I tossed out to the sky] and signed with an incredible agent who believes in this story and my writing. 

Then my sister got married, walking down the aisle in our mama's dress, a flower in her hair and butterflies skittering about the lawn. She was beautiful and the whole ceremony I was singing Lumineers in my head [when I wasn't snotting because hi, emotions—welcome. It's been awhile. Like a few minutes]. 

After the wedding, it was a few days in bed thanks to the cold-from-Hades and then packing my bags again for a retreat that healed me in all sorts of unexpected ways. From there, we met with friends who are more like family and spent the weekend talking over Human Care. 

It was a whirlwind, but beautiful. I didn't get much done, but I think my heart needed that—a break of doing and just time and space to listen.

books read ::  

Origin - not my favorite in the series. Entertaining, sure. But not my favorite. ::shrugs:: 

Keeping Her -- a fun read but a lot shorter than I anticipated, even for a novella. 

In This Moment -  a total surprise that is now on my favorites for the year. Indie, well written, authentic—everything I love in a good story.

Vain -  My publicist told me early in the month you need to read Vain. And so I one-clicked it and read it in 24 hours. Fisher Amelie did a fantastic job with this one and I'm so intrigued about her Seven Deadly Sins series. [I'll have a post about book two, Greed, later in October]. 

Thrashing About With God - An incredible memoir. Mandy Steward takes the chaos and messiness of "thrashing" and weaves it perfectly with the coming into one's own. It's not sequential or even necessarily organized, but really there's no other way for her to have spilled her words. Full of a poetry of hope and longing and wonder, the reader is left with a longing to abandon normalcy and spend some time in the wilderness. 

books still reading ::  

Remember how this month kind of blew up all over the place? Well I'm still reading a lot of books because of it. #sorrynotsorry

remembered rapture, bell hooks

Penguins and Golden Calves, Madeleine L'Engle

The True Secret of Writing, Natalie Goldberg

Jesus Feminist, Sarah Bessey

Book Thief, Marcus Zusack

Women Who Run With the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. 

for the love of poetry ::  

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. 
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.

Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days;
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Whoever has no house will not
build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so
for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are
blowing.

- Rilke

television ::  

I may have watched the entire second season of Girls within two days. It's fine.  Also? THE VOICE. It's back. 

music :: 

I've started brainstorming with Every Shattered Thing 's companion novella and so with that, I created a playlist I've been listening to a lot. It seems to have worked, because driving down to my sister's bachelorette party the character starting yelling in my head. 

Other than that, I've been listening to tons of my 2013 playlist.  

  on beauty ::

Mirenesse Glossy Kiss - so, my love affair with really good lipstick only started about six months ago. But y'all. This stuff is amazing. It doesn't dry out my lips, it's so easy to apply, and I don't have to worry about those bothersome smudges I get with the super glossy lipstick. One of my favorites for sure.  

Davines Love Smoothing Shampoo - basically, I've never felt my hair softer. I promise you. The first time I used this with the Davines Love Smoothing Conditioner I kept petting myself. Not awkward at all, you know? This is some of the best stuff out there, though. And I've tried a lot of shampoos. I'm kind of obsessed with hair products. It's fine.

Ro's Argan Body Conditioner - if you know me, you know my affinity for LUSH products. Like I pretty much want to buy out the entire store when we go for just one thing. It's a problem. [But I mean...a good one.] Ro's Argan is divine. Every time I use it I fall in love with the scent all over again. And it makes my skin feel almost as smooth as my hair with Davines Shampoo  . Win! 

everything else :: 

Seeing my book climb and ALMOST reach the three digitsFacebook messages that make me whisper what is my life?  Running around Randall's with Russ and Preston and watching them throw together something magnificent. Walking through the woods at night and seeing the moon against the blue-dark sky, the clouds cotton-bellied and grey. Lisa Loeb sing-a-longsHolding my nephewFinding out I'll be an aunt againThe surprise gift of new-friends grabbing my knees and hands to pray over [and with] meLooking into the eyes and hugging the necks of behind-the-screen-friends#breadandwineBlackberry gin&tonic with friendsWatching the sunrise in the middle of Texas hill country

What about you? What's made your September magnificent?  

:: Linking up with the amazing Leigh Kramer for her What I'm Into posts ::  

let's be writers.

It was a few weeks ago on a Friday night. I had just gotten off the phone with my now agent, and my head was swimming with the possibility of what-could-be—I'd gone into this whole self-publishing thing hopeful. I'd seen what could happen when a story found its niche and audience. I wanted it for me, wanted it for my writing, wanted it for my characters. 

That evening, I felt alive [the gin helped].  

"How are you feeling with everything?" My phone buzzed with the text from a friend.

I giggled. How was I feeling? High. Euphoric. Scared shitless. Hopeful. Insane.  

"Good!" I responded. "I just got off the phone with an agent interested in my work and I'm really excited about it...."  

We talked back and forth for a little while, each talking about our hopes and fears with publishing [her book comes out next week]. I told her that the deeper I sink into the possibility of writing books for a living, the more my heart feels at home.

The reply came quick.  

"Oh Elora. Let's be writers. Let's really be!" 

I smiled, because this is her. Declarative.

The next week, I received a letter in the mail. It was from her, and it was a card with her font scrawled across with black ink -- 

 let's be writers 

 .::.

I have this card now perched on the wall in my office. It's within my line of vision as I type, and so every time I glance up I see her words and remember.

This is what I want. It's what I've wanted. Forever.  

.::. 

I taught myself how to write. Driving with my grandma to her aerobics class, I would remember letters off of signs and copy them on paper as I leaned against the wall—my own babysitter free within those empty pages waiting for my own scrawl. Every night, I'd show them to her. 

"What does this say, grandma?"  

"Well darling, that says STOP."  

And then I'd categorize it.  

I did the same thing with our books, the many thrown about our house. After the first few hundred times my dad read me One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish I knew it by memory. If I knew by memory, I could study the way the words curved into each other. How they bounced together and created a rhythm all their own. 

From there, I wrote on everything. Paper. Fisher Price kitchen set. Highlights Magazine. I wasn't satisfied with just any story. It needed to make my breath quicken and my arms heavy with longing. It needed to make me break into a grin or a shout because I couldn't get to my journal quick enough. 

In elementary school I'd write plays with my friends.
In middle school I dabbled in short stories.
High school brought the angst of poetry. 

For me, words—in whatever form—became my safety.. 

 .::.

A month ago today, Every Shattered Thing released. It's been a month of crazy highs and crazy lows. 

But really, it's solidified one thing: there's nothing I want more than to write.  

I think for writers, putting our work out there brings a level of vulnerability we aren't prepared for—no one ever tells you or sends out warnings about the review process. HINT: don't read them. But, as much vulnerability is required, there's nothing like seeing your work alive and breathing and in the hands of others. It's your work. Something you created out of nothing.  

That's nothing short of magic. 

And regardless of whether you believe those words came to you via Spirit or Muse or Creativity, there's one commonality: nothing scares the shit out of you more than thinking of writing another book, and nothing makes you feel more alive than realizing you get to do this for the rest of your life.

Let's be writers?  

Yes. Let's really be. 

100 days of brave.

She asked me a few weeks ago, before my month blew up a little in my face.  

"I'm doing this thing on my blog for 100 days. You're more than welcome to join me. " 

I smiled and nodded and went and read a post, and then shut the browser to pack for my sister's bachelorette party. 

.::. 

I went without stopping for three weeks. Sister's bachelorette party. Sister's wedding. Retreat. Idea Camp. Best friend's bridal shower. One-by-one these events passed and the only thing I could really do is jot a few sentences down in my journal. I think there's maybe three posts for the month of September here on the blog, and in my art journal, usually my first-stop for word spilling, I only have four spreads for over three weeks of living. 

.::. 

And then I read this post on Tuesday and I remembered what it was like to craft words just because I love it. I remembered the quick-breath-intake of hitting publish and knowing the post will land where it will land. I am a fan of timing—of the study of time and knowing when something is good vs. great vs. perfect. Reading the post, noticing the challenge, feeling the yes rise up in my bones, I knew I would be taking part in the challenge. Even though others have been counting down for some time, today is my day one.

.::. 

My word for the year is RISK.  I'll be filing my posts under that category since thinking of doing-the-brave-thing for 100 days is a bit of a risk and makes me shake a little internally. In a way, these posts will be like my morning pages, reminding me what it means to sit my ass in the chair and write. I may write bravely or I may write about something brave I did or who knows, really. If I've learned anything this year it's that plans have a way of making a fool out of all of us.

But I can dream. And in 100 days, my dream is to be a little softer around the edges. 

 

Using it well.

A guest post by Jamie Ivey >>  

I recently had one of those days where you run ragged all day, but yet it's all with things that fill up your heart and soul, so you love it. I met a new friend for coffee and talked about the book fair at my kids school. I had coffee (yes second coffee meeting in one day!) with friends that are starting something big, and have asked me to come along for bits of it. I then met a new friend from the kids school for lunch, and got to know her better. Then I headed home and my brain was grooving.

My day was such a fill for me that when I got home I was in overdrive and I was formulating ideas, and starting research on an article that's due soon. I was in a zone.

You know what zone I'm talking about. The one that doesn't come often. The one where you feel alive and love that you get the time to create and be in that moment. The place where you wish time would actually stop and you could just release everything in your brain and it would mean something.

For me, as a busy mom to four kids these zones feel distant sometimes. In fact most days I feel as though my writing is done at night after they are in bed, or tightly squeezed in between another duty that must get fulfilled. Sometimes I dream of a day where there is no cut off time. No time you have to stop.

On this day just like every other day my alarm on my phone went off to remind me it was time to go get the kids. (Yes I have an alarm set to go get my kids. Welcome to my life!) I put it off as long as I could and finally stopped where I was and raced to the school to get them. We chit chatted on the way home and then when we walked in I immediately sent them outside to play so I could get back to what I had been working on.

They would come in and ask for a snack, and I would wave them away as if they were a pesky fly. Then my daughter asked if she could read to me and I told her that I didn't have time for that now, that I was busy. (Mom of the year award for that one!) Then my sons asked when dinner would be ready because they had been outside for so long.

All of a sudden it hit me. My kids had been at school all day, and when I finally picked them up and had time to spend with them, I asked them to leave me alone so I could work on something.

In those few hours I had communicated to my kids that whatever was on my computer was way more important to me than them. They don't know that mommy is working on an article for other mommy's to read about parenting. They don't know that mommy is researching a new journey that could be ahead for her. They don't know anything except that they haven't seen their mommy all day and now she doesn't even want to be around them.

I felt that nudge in my soul, my heart dropped and I shut my computer and headed outside to be with my kids. Having an outlet for me is huge, and I love blogging because of that, but it can't come at the expense of my children. If 500 people read what I wrote about adoption, but my kids didn't get their mommy's attention, then it's not worth it.

I'm having to constantly check myself and my time. I want to use it all well, and that means sometimes leaving the zone that I love so much to pursue my family. Sometimes I do this well, and other times I fail miserably, like I just told you. But all the time I am moved by God's grace to try again the next day. To try again and balance the things in life that are important to me.

a retreat for all of us.

A few weeks ago, I hosted a virtual retreat for the Story Sessions community.  It was incredible. Between twenty individual coaching sessions, a local meet-up and four conference style sessions, it was a weekend where I was pulled and stretched and moved by this community of women who love and spill words like it's their second breath.

There's a lot coming out of the vault over these next few weeks, but the first thing is a virtual retreat offering. Running from November 7-10, we'll cover all sorts of topics and even have a few write-ins where we throw some words on the page and share with each other to get some feedback. 

I seriously can't wait.  

Even more exciting? I'm offering a standard package as well as the gold package >> complete with a session of story coaching. I can't wait to sit and chat with some of you over Skype. 

What :: A  virtual retreat specifically designed for women writers
 When :: November 7-10
 Price :: Fifty dollars for admission into sessions || 100 for admission + story coaching
 Registration Deadline :: Registration will close October 11 at midnight
 Text for the Weekend :: JUICY PENS, THIRSTY PAPER, by SARK

To purchase a ticket for admission only :: CLICK HERE
 To purchase a ticket for admission + story coaching :: CLICK HERE {due to demand and time constraints, there will be a limited availability of these tickets} 

Schedule - 

November 7 ::  

4 to 6pm - session #1 :: Turning off the Inner Critic
7 to 10pm - session #2 :: Write In

November 8 :: 

Friday will be spent meeting locally and/or setting up personalized google hangouts 

November 9 ::  

2 to 4pm - session #3 ::  Story-Weaving

5 to 7pm - session #4 :: Ask the Professional [special guest TBA]

This evening will be spent meeting locally and/or setting up personalized google hangouts 

November 10 :: 

10 to noon - session #5 :: Write In

6 to 8pm - session #6 :: Check-in/Debrief on local meet-ups, google hangouts, word revelations and coaching epiphanies

 Interested? Come join us! Choose your package below and fill out the form and you'll be contacted within 24 hours. 

To purchase a ticket for admission only :: CLICK HERE

 To purchase a ticket for admission + story coaching :: CLICK HERE  {due to demand and time constraints, there will be a limited availability of these tickets}

elora reads :: in this moment

Remember way back in December when I announced Elora Reads? Well. Apparently the spring was a little more than overwhelming (and a lot of the books were underwhelming) and I just kind of forgot to write.

But. We're back with In This Moment and I CANNOT wait to tell you about this story by Autumn Doughton. 

“All we get are moments, Cole. One at a time, like heartbeats. Once all of them is gone, that’s it. No do-overs. No repeats. Every moment possesses its down kind of magic and what we do with it counts. It counts.” - 

So, I do this thing pretty regularly where I peruse the Top 100 of Amazon Kindle books. Most often all I find are almost-kissing covers or bare stomachs with splayed hands gripping the skin. Not my kind of book, you know? But this one? This one grabbed me. The reviews were stellar (and by people who were actually talking about the writing and not something else...) and the cover incredible. I purchased it on Sunday evening, thinking it was worth a shot.

I finished in twelve hours and immediately downloaded Doughton's other books.

What I Liked -  

Being a coming-of-age novel, there were ample opportunities for Doughton to throw in gratuitous sex scenes. She didn't. There are scenes, but they aren't overwhelming and serve as something that move the plot forward. I can appreciate {and even celebrate} this. I felt Cole and Aimee's relationship rang true and I loved the slow burn of their chemistry.

What I Loved -  

Y'all. Have I mentioned Autumn Doughton is an indie author? She doesn't have a massive publishing team behind her {mark my words: she will} and her writing is still breathtaking. The nuance, the repetition, the poetry—it made me want to pick up my pen and write some more. Which is huge in this post-release state I've been in lately. 

Also, I loved the themes of friendship and letting go and how she wove the {much needed} tension between Aimee and Cole and how they deal with their pasts individually and together.

What You Should Know -  

Because Doughton is indie, it's incredibly impressive that her book shot up to Amazon's Top 100 and is proof of the caliber of this book. The market is pretty saturated right now, and so she's done an incredible job letting the story speak for itself. 

When I find an author I like, I gush. It just happens. This book immediately shot up to one of my favorite reads of 2013. She's definitely a new favorite, y'all. Check her out.

because i'm into you, august

Courtesy of the ever-witty Emily Maynard

What can I say of August.  

At the beginning, there were a lot of just be better than July? Please? And within a week [and after a horrible stomach bug] I just kind of sunk in and rode the wave. 

But it got better. So much better. I read. I started brainstorming again on writing projects. I even set aside time to art journal. And then I launched Every Shattered Thing.

books read ::  

City of Bones -- This book was on my list forever. I finally read it in anticipation of the movie and really liked it. Maybe it's because I have friends who've read the series, but I wasn't convinced with some of the twists presented. Oh and the movie is fantastic. Go see it.

The Artist's Way  -- Basically a kick in the pants for any writer. So needed. 

Asylum -- Book Two of the Causal Enchantment series and I'm really digging the story line. Well done, Tucker. Well done.

The Survivors series -- A trilogy set against [but not completely] the Salem witch trials. Love the concept. Enjoyed the books. 

This Love -- Quick and entertaining read. Definitely not for those who cringe over sexy-time scenes.

books I couldn't finish ::  

Lean in, Sheryl Sandberg - I know. I know. It's a really good book, right? I believe you. I just couldn't get into it, and I was trying to juggle too many things, and this is what I decided to drop.

Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris - {see above]

books still reading ::  

remembered rapture, bell hooks
Penguins and Golden Calves, Madeleine L'Engle
To Bless the Space Between Us, John O'Donohue
East of Eden, John Steinbeck
The True Secret of Writing, Natalie Goldberg
Jesus Feminist, Sarah Bessey
Thrashing About With God, Mandy Steward
Origin, Jennifer L Armentrout

I think I may be in the need for fiction because my nonfiction reads seem to be s-l-o-w-i-n-g down. Anyone else have this problem? No? Just me? 

for the love of poetry ::  

But when I lean over the chasm of myself—
it seems
my God is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking 

This is the ferment I grow out of.  

More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.  

- Rilke, I.3

television ::  

Orange is the New Black. AMIRIGHT?! I need season two stat. That last scene of the season finale was just...whoa. 

I needed a binge-worthy show, and outside of Dawson's Creek [because duh] I started watching Drop Dead Diva again. Such a good, light-hearted, funny show. I love it. 

 I also started watching Girls, and #allofthefeelings. F'real. I don't know how to handle my recent affection toward Adam. And the last episode of Season One! With Jessa's party! I can't even...

music ::  

Still listening to a lot of this soundtrack for Every Shattered Thing. Hopefully soon I'll move more to the playlist I've set up for the best of the year.

the internets ::  

On the very first day of the month, my dear friend Mandy wrote Thrashing Thursday—Two Star Review and took my breath away with these words. I know them well. 

But the truth is that book was a snakeskin. It was something I had to write so I could shed a skin. And my cave, it felt like more womb than tomb because while I did have to face a lot of things dying in my faith, I also got to experience a rebirth through all of this mess. So when I read this review, I feel a little like that angel at the tomb of Jesus, saying, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” 

Um. And that's about it. I haven't really been reading the internet lately.... 

on the blog :: 

It's how I feed the River. Mystic and hopeful, creative with a dash of monastic. How will you?

- How Will You Feed The River?  

everything else ::  

Seeing my name & title in Hot New Releases was probably the most surreal of the month. And then it kept moving higher. 

Strangers-made-friends through unexpected generosityHaving a safe place to land amongst friendsGiggly calls with my kick-ass publicistReleasing Every Shattered Thing  Impromptu dance partiesUnexpected shrieking and laughter in a Target aisleA reminder that even now—He seesRaising a glass via voxerSecrets. Good ones.  

every shattered thing.

My book officially launches tomorrow, and all I can do between obsessively refreshing the page and throwing my computer across the room so I don't go crazy is remind myself to breathe. 

Because apparently, the second time around isn't any easier.  

I've told a few people that the rewrite gutted me in ways I never anticipated because this book—the one I so desperately want you to read—is the one that was just waiting for excavation. I'm sure of this.

There's a process in writing where pieces of you filter into the work. It's a shedding of sorts. Your psyche gets lifted and examined, the subconscious gets twirled around a bit and all of these emotions are spilled on to the page. When I drafted Come Alive I barely knew myself. When I worked with the editor at Rhizome I was just starting to recognize the girl the mirror. 

And now, with Every Shattered Thing, I know who I am and where I stand. 

This book doesn't tie itself with a pretty bow. It won't pull you in and wrap you in a woolly blanket. It brushes up against something raw and real and broken, cutting you on a story you may want forget. But for the past five years, I haven't been able to get it out of my bones, which is why I'm here now talking about a rewrite I much rather would have let sit after experiencing failure.

But Stephanie wouldn't let me. She screamed and pushed and rattled around until I paid notice. And now it's your turn.   

Will you listen?