#SmallSuccess: Write 'Til You Drop

All my small successes this week are writing related. Even though I am on sabbatical at Catholic mom, I am a writing fool!

1. Finished my first draft of my book (Working title: A Pew-Sitter's Guide to Catholic Music). I am super excited and super nervous about this. It's like having my first child all over again.

Many thanks to Jen Fitz for the inspiration for the topic and the "mean friend" chops to help keep me motivated. You can read some of the preview work here. Many thanks, also, to the people who commented on those posts. It was really good to have the encouragement and some challenges to my ideas, too!

2. Finished my first paper for my Summer Philosophy class on Pythagorean music theory.

Yep, it's true. I am obsessed with music and how it mirrors the constitution of the world and the individual soul. All of God's creation is a marvel and everything points us back to Him.

3. Submitted a couple of stories for publication in places where I might get paid.

That'd be a nice thing, I think. Let's see if they agree. I have put this off for more than two years because I was so afraid of the rejection. I finally decided to grow a backbone and just do it.

You know how when you've been sitting too long and you get up and stretch and it feels crazy good? Yeah. That stretch felt really good.

Your turn! Share 'em if ya got 'em!

#7QT: Miracles of these 7 Days

I think this is my first time joining Quick Takes in more than a year. But this week, it fits. 

You can see why this is so fun if you head over to Conversion Diary and follow some of the links.

It's crazy - There are a hundred bloggers who take part in this!  

Add your voice to the crowd, if you'd like.

1. Surgery Day
I was nervous, but not overly nervous. I'd been through surgery before, but nothing prepared me for how bad I'd feel. My daughter took a picture, just a couple of hours after the surgery (I'm not sharing it because the incision is really gross and I am absolutely gray from tip to toe.)
My pastor came to anoint me and I began to start to feel better shortly afterward. In fact, it was remarkable how much better I felt from hour to hour. The body is an amazing creation and prayer is powerful!

2. Struggling to Pray
Overnight and into the next morning, I still felt pretty miserable. my oxygen level would drop and I would lose track of where I was. I thought that maybe I could pray for everyone who was praying for me, but no dice. I got a few words into the Our Father and started having a dream about being on my way to get ice cream. But I was still wide awake.

When I snapped out of it, I felt bad because I couldn't even use my time to pray. I had to just lay there and dream about ice cream that I couldn't eat. While I was busy feeling sorry for myself (here it comes:) I thought of "Footprints in the Sand" and the fact of the matter was, that God was carrying me. My friends had brought me to him and placed me in His lap. I had to surrender control and I wasn't prepared to do that. That's why MY Footprints dream looks like this:

3. Learning to Suffer
I remember getting my wisdom teeth pulled on Good Friday when I was 18. I was in so much pain by Easter Sunday that I had to leave the church and sit on the porch in the front. That's where Sr. Marie found me sitting. I was crying,and she sat with me for a few minutes. We talked about suffering and she told me that everyone has their Good Friday just not at the same time, but Easter Sunday was coming, even if I didn't feel it today. It wasn't until this past Sunday, that I understood what she meant.

When we suffer, God does not abandon us. He tries to help us. But like a willful toddler, I was wiggling out of His grasp to try to walk for myself - only I was too weak. It was only when I surrendered that God showed me how many people were praying for me and that they could handle the prayer part. All I had to do was give Him the suffering and He'd know what to do with it.

4. Resting in the Lord
By Monday, I had discovered that I was becoming anxious about the second biopsy. I hadn't heard anything, and wouldn't until Thursday. I couldn't do anything useful, really, but rest.

Late Monday night, after everyone else was in bed and I was up for pain meds, again, I realized that God could use my sufferings. I had wondered about this "redemptive suffering" thing for my entire life and in a flash, I felt like I had a better grasp of what it meant to "offer it up". I offered my suffering for someone else who needed a hand with theirs.

Almost instantly, it was like the floodgates opened, and I couldn't shut it off! The ideas just kept coming. And they were good!

5. Searching for God's Fingerprints
As I worked on my new ideas, I began to research the science behind our reactions to liturgical music. What makes music so powerful? I actually came up with answers. I began to write. After about 2,000 words, I realized I had a series.

"What Is It with Music? The Physical Reasons that Music is Good for Your Spiritual Life" was born. The response has been very positive and the next in the series will be about the effect of tempo and mode on our bodies.

I could see God's fingerprints all over our physical responses to music and how they serve us when we attend Mass and sing together. We are so wonderfully made. All the beautiful things that we create are a reflection of His Goodness.

I began to sift through websites of friends who are visual artists and make note of how these individual pieces of art are as unique as the flowers that God creates. We assist Him in manifesting His goodness and beauty when we use our talents to create.

6. Finding God in Creation, Expressing His Beauty through the Arts
I found the blog of a young artist who I had watched grow up in my parish. She had five lovely works of art that I shared as part of Moxie Wife's Five Favorites link party. The reaction was tremendous. People loved it!

I asked the ladies at Catholic Mom if we had anyone who did spotlight interviews of artists (like we do with Techies and Bloggers) and they said no, but we should! So in the space of a few hours we had a plan: The goal is to discuss how our Faith informs our work as artists, even if the artwork is not specifically religious in nature. That lens throws new light and life on an artist's work and I was suddenly excited to share that with people.

I was energized. I hadn't forgotten about my biopsy results, which were still looming, but I decided that whatever God wanted from me was what I would lay before Him.

7. A Miracle
Yesterday morning, I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 3 AM and began to write. I had sent out 11 requests for interviews and some of them were already coming back saying they would love to participate. This new idea was going to become a reality!
There was so much to do! What if I had cancer and would need treatment?

By 10 AM I was sitting in the Doctor's office waiting.

My thyroid had been a huge mess. There had been nodules all over it and it was huge - one side had been 6.5 cm and the other had been 7 cm. The doctor had been very surprised that the first biopsy was negative. The second one was mostly negative, too. There had been cancer, but it had been very small and self contained and they had gotten it all.

No chemo.
No radiation.
My incision looks good and my vocal cords look like they are mending, too.
I'm telling you, folks. It's a miracle.

I came home rejuvenated and refreshed and...

took a nap.

Thank you for your prayers.
I cannot even begin to tell you how grateful Michael and I are to all of you. Please know that you will be in our prayers always. May God bless your kindness to us in this time of uncertainty.

Creative Writing - Week 1

Well, I have no idea if I did the assignment well, but I kind of like the little story I created (partly fiction and partly non-fiction - as if they'd get up before 10 AM.  Ha!).
The question was: You have one free hour to yourself.  What do you do?
I was supposed to use lots of concrete details and sensory details to describe the situation and the minimum number of words was 250.  I exceeded that by at least 100%.  Let's hope my teacher is understanding of being a blabber-mouth.

One, Stress-Free Cup of Coffee

I have finally dropped my husband off for work and returned home to my sleeping teenagers.  There’s no school today, so I decide to forgo the usual breakfast mayhem and let the kids sleep in.  What do they have to do today, anyway?  We were just planning to clean and put away Christmas.   That can wait for an hour.  I could use an hour of quiet and relaxation.  Usually, by the time the kids leave for work and school, my ears are ringing from the music in the bathroom and the “Where’s my shirt?” questions.  I live for the moments of peace and quiet.

I look over at the sink, piled with dishes and sigh.  Nope.  I’m not going to do those, either.  That’s Mikey’s job.  “I wouldn’t want the poor bugger to be bored,” I think with a wry chuckle, “He’ll be so thrilled to have something to do.”

I walk over to the coffee maker to start the coffee.   I don’t usually drink coffee at home so it takes me a while to gather all the stuff together.  The coffee we have is whole bean and has to be ground.  I wonder where that grinder is.

I begin to dig through the cabinets to find the coffee grinder.  These cabinets are a mess.   They’ve got baking pans in with pots and pans, and what is the cat’s bowl doing here?  I start pulling things out of the cabinet while I stand on my head and feel all the blood rush to my brain.  Finally, I locate the grinder and put all the pots and pans and cake pans and pie plates back into the cabinet.  Of course, the grinder had gotten pushed to the very back of the cabinet.  Nothing is ever easy.

I plug in the grinder, dump the coffee beans into it and push the button.  The grinder does its job and I pull the lid off to put the grounds into the filter.  The sharp, pungent smell of the fresh ground coffee breaks through the musty smell of the dirty dishes in the sink.  It pierces the fog of my morning thought.  Mmmm…  This is going to be so good.

I draw the water, pour it into the reservoir and hit the "on" button.  The coffee pot begins to make its chugging and popping sound indicating that it’s working, thank God!  I use it so infrequently that it's always a gamble.
I sit down at the computer and bring up my email and read “The Writer’s Almanac” and check to see if any of my friends have written to me this morning.  Nope, it’s all spam: 

“Buy a new bra from Lane Bryant!”  

“Save 60% with Groupon!” and 

“Come see Mr. Jones at The Book Loft, where he’s signing his new book!” 

The bold letters scream at me from the little box on my iGoogle page.  I delete all of them and hear the coffee pot sputtering and spitting in its efforts to expel the rest of the water I put in, turning those last few drops into life-restoring, brown, caffeinated water, otherwise known as coffee.  I have a friend who once remarked that she believed that Juan Valdez (you know, the Columbian Coffee guy) should be canonized because he brings the dead to back to life every morning, right in her kitchen.  The coffee smells divine.  It smells like home.

I close my laptop and walk over to the counter to pour my coffee, only to realize that there are no cups clean.  Really?  Yes.  I turn on the hot water and wait for it to get warm for what seems like an eternity.  After I wash a nice big mug and pour a nice cup of hot coffee, I add a generous helping of fancy coffee creamer and sugar to it.  I take a sip and let it warm my tongue and sting the back of my throat.  Man, that’s good coffee.  I breathe in the smell of the Irish Crème laced perfection in my mug and sigh contentedly.

Turning to the living room, I look for a spot to sit among the piled up laundry and school books.  I have to set my mug down and move some laundry back to a basket so I can sit on the couch.  I get caught up in the task and before I know it, I have cleared the whole couch and separated Michael's laundry from Celia's and ours.  I have to remember to have the kids take this all upstairs and put it away.  

Finally, I have a spot to sit with a book to visit with some long-lost literary “friends” and relax for the last 15 minutes of my hour alone.  I sit back and grab another sip of my coffee, which is now the perfect drinking temperature and relax back into the couch with a smile.  Thank God for this hour long break.

Epiphany and epiphanies

Every year we go to a party at one of my friend's houses for The Feast of the Epiphany (the 12th and last day of Christmas). She is a musician, like I am, and her husband is an artist. Though I only see him a couple of times a year, this particular gentleman is a man that I respect, not only as an artist, but as a person. He's unbelievably intelligent and insightful. He is charitable and prayerful, but in a quiet way. When I speak to him I get the sense that he is drawing from the springs of the greatest silences in the world. A place where things that have been unspoken dwell waiting to be given words to express what they are. He seems to have the gift to see right into your soul and say to you exactly what needs to be said at exactly the right moment. You find that you must listen carefully and completely to get the full impact of what he has to say because it is as rich as a really good cheesecake: you want to savor every morsel of it and get every crumb of meaning out of what he says.

Several years ago, I had quit singing. There were many reasons for the decision, some valid, some not so valid; some my own reasons and some were reasons that were foisted on me. My soul was just withering up and I was becoming a very bitter, angry and sad person.

I was at this Epiphany party and our host made the point to seek me out and talk to me. He told me that the music was as much a part of who I am as my body was. He told me that my particular gift was the ability to sing from"inside the song". He told me, "It's a gift that not all singers possess. There is something that moves me every time you sing at church. It moves me like no other singer."

As he spoke to me, I began to cry. I couldn't stop myself. I just stood there holding my wine glass and my plate of desserts with silent tears streaming down my face. My husband came to try to "rescue me", but I didn't really want to be rescued. I wanted to be told the truth. Not singing was eating away at me. I was dying inside.

My friend never broke eye contact with me, "I know this might be painful for you, but I really feel like I need to say this to you. I couldn't let you leave without telling you: You need to sing. You have to find a way to sing."

I nodded. I don't think I could even speak. I knew he was right. I did take his advice and found a way to sing. It truly has made all the difference. I couldn't pray without my music. Sure, there are times when it's nice to just go to Mass and not be "on". But, week after week, the music is where I find my prayer. It's where I find encouragement, a kick in the rear and comfort. With out it, I am diminished.

This year, I was chatting with him about this blog and about how I haven't posted much on this blog in the past year. He kind of smiled and said, "You know, I find that I have to wait a few years for things to become a story. If I try to write about things that are going on right now, they become to big and overwhelming to me. They have no perspective. It's better to let them sit for a while until they can be encapsulated into an 'episode' and then they can be dealt with as a story."

And, you know, again, he's so right. This past year was overwhelming. Between the four people in our family we had 10 hospitalizations, a car accident, a death in the family and all the attendant drama of being a modern family with special needs children. How on earth could I hope to give some perspective to that mess while I am still going through it?

I don't think it is an accident that both of these revelations happened on The Feast of the Epiphany. God puts people in your life at the most unexpected times and places. He provides guidance from the most unlikely sources. I never expected to have the direction of my life changed by idle cocktail chatter. But, that's how it is sometimes. Sometimes, Epiphany is quite literal.

In the meantime, I am so grateful to have friends in my life to help me get through the rough times. For all of you who have said prayers for us, sent us cyber hugs or just thought fondly of us in this past year, I thank you. My thoughts and prayers are with you all this morning.

Hopefully, 2010 will provide some perspective so that I can start writing again. I know it's not great stuff. It's not the height of political prowess. It's not the grandeur of life-changing prose or poetry. It may not be anything important or moving or consequential that I am writing about. But, I appreciate you reading it all the same.

You may, (if you follow this blog at all), be wondering why I have been silent for so long. It isn't that I have nothing to say. (I always have something to say.) I have started three or four blog posts and have found myself unable to finish them. Either I run out of steam, or time, or I can't think of how I want to say things. It has been very frustrating.

So, this weekend, I promise to finish something (anything) and post it. And maybe it will even be worth reading.

I really hope so.

Winner! - 50,520 Words

Through weekends clogged with activities (weddings, birthdays, concerts, banquets, funerals and name days), a busy beginning to a tuning season, and the noisiest family in the world, I finally managed to finish my novel.

Well, OK not "finish", but I now have a really good rough draft. This next month, I'll edit everything, add details and check all my facts to verify that I guessed at some of these things correctly.

Thank you to everyone who cheered me on, left me alone, helped me with ideas for breaking through my writer's block (Thank you, Dear Husband!), and went to get lunch for me so I could write during my lunch break (Thanks, Nicholas!)!

This was something that a month ago, I would never have thought I could do.

I am far too proud of myself, I am sure, but gosh this feels good!

40,328 Words

I am writing a novel,(as I announced back in October).
The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel from November 1st to November 30th.
One month+50,000 words= total insanity

I had an idea for a novel a couple of years ago and decided that this was the time to write it. The story revolves around a girl who gets a quilt that belonged to her great-great aunt and she begins to have dreams that show her that the kinds of trials she has in growing up, aren't so very different from the things her aunt endured in the early 20th Century.

I am getting close to my goal of 50,000 words, but really, it's a much longer story than 50,000 words could ever encompass. I will be filling in back story and refining details until January or February on this thing.

I don't know what possessed me to try to write on a scale as big as this. I, who have never written anything longer than a blog entry, trying to write a novel...in one month. The idea was (and is!) completely ludicrous.

But, here I am, 4 days away from the finish line and within 10,000 words of being a "winner" and I can't believe I've gotten this far. The story has flowed out of me. I can't believe how easy it was to get lost in the story and the characters. If this was all I did all day, I would have been done weeks ago. But, alas, life intervenes.

Believe me, the draft that I finish on November 30th will never, ever, see the light of day. But someday, I will get it straightened out, shaped up, and edited and maybe, by the 4th or 5th re-write, someone will publish it.

Wouldn't that be a kick in the head?
Wish me luck!!