This is a crazy time of year! We’ve been outside for softball and baseball games in all sorts of bizarre weather. Add to those games and practices: Boy Scouts, ballet, talent show practice, altar serving, library story times, and a bevy of forms that came at me for class pictures, yearbooks, and other stuff I’ve since forgotten, and it’s a wild ride. Luckily, the beautiful sunshine has energized me.
The summer before my sixth birthday, my mother asked whether I’d be interested in taking a ballet class. And so began a decade marked by black leotards and pink tights, tutus, moleskin, lambs wool, and pointe shoes.
And the custom-welded ballet barre that resided in my family’s living room.
I was struck dumb the first time I took my daughter to a dance shop, and that familiar smell uniquely associated with those years swirled round me. Is it the leather of the shoes? I’m not sure, but it is distinct, familiar, and nostalgic.
This time of year, as dance schools prepare for spring recitals and performances, I’m reminded of my love for classical ballet that began in a large Victorian home converted into a YWCA.
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I interviewed the lovely and talented Katharine Grubb, foundress of 10 Minute Novelists. She’s what’s known as a hybrid author (both self- and traditionally-published) and a busy homeschooling mother of five. Katharine’s garnered the respect and affection of more than a thousand diverse, fellow time-crunched writers.
Tell me about the early days when the kids were little and you began writing a novel. Was it as haphazard and chaotic as I imagine? (Because it’s a zoo here, and I have one less child, the older ones are spaced farther apart, and I don’t homeschool.)
It was chaotic. I knew going in none of it would be neat and tidy. I’ll be honest, some days all my expectations did was expose my delusion. Some days I handled interruptions well. Some days I didn’t. But motherhood is a game of inches. You don’t teach order once, you teach it daily. You don’t teach hygiene once, you teach it daily. You don’t teach manners once, you teach it daily. It’s the same with my personal goals. What mattered to my writing is that I did something daily. Once I organized my time and household, made a plan and stuck to it, I got those ten minutes in. I also learned to be content with low expectations. If you can get through the day and say, everyone ate something, the house didn’t burn down and we didn’t go to the ER, so it was a good day. But now my kids are older and the lessons I taught them about order and hygiene and manners are paying off because they can basically run the house without me. My increments for writing are much, much longer.
Why small success? Because that’s the only kind I know! Even the big ones come in small steps. Here’s my paltry offering for the week.
On Sunday, my husband and I will celebrate our eighteenth wedding anniversary. I write that with disbelief, not because I expected our marriage to fail, but because the years have a way of slipping by with increasing velocity.
A couple of months ago, we had a rough day. Neither of us go for superstition, but that Friday the thirteenth lived up to its reputation. It began with an argument and tears and culminated in a rescue mission when my husband had locked himself out of his car on the opposite side of the city. (A mistake I’m more prone to make than him.)
16 CommentsMy husband and I will celebrate eighteen years of marriage this month. As a result, I’ve been reflecting on the ways our relationship has grown and the challenges we’ve faced.
Like every couple, my husband and I have had our ups and downs. We’re still working on becoming better spouses, better lovers, better friends. Here are some of the lessons we’ve learned about fairly universal traps that can trip up even the most committed and loving couples.
In each of the six months leading up to the release of Stay With Me on October 1, I’ll be blogging about an aspect of the book. Today’s post is dedicated to settings. The bulk of the novel takes place in and around the Gettysburg and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania areas with several forays to Shenandoah National Park in Virginia.
When Chris invites Rebecca to visit the park with him, he tells her, “It’s my favorite place in the world, and I want to take you there.”
When they arrive at the park, Rebecca takes in the natural beauty. “Two white-tailed deer, a doe and a fawn, ambled from the campsite on her right toward the road. A pair of robins chased each other across the grass, calling to one another. Peaceful. She loved the park immediately.”
My husband and I have had plenty of adventures at Shenandoah National Park, and it’s one of my favorite places to visit. We camp in a tent and typically choose walk-in sites that require a short trek from the parking area but are nestled in the woods rather than alongside the road.
