Yesterday’s post made me wish for a work table. Yes, I have a desk, but it’s not a surface covered with colors and scribbles of project’s past. There’s just some scratches from where my laptop sits and the mark from that time I thought I didn’t need a coaster. Hardly telling (at least about the writing. That mark says a lot about the writer).

But I do have rough drafts.

Oh, do I have rough drafts. Actually, in the example I’m about to show, it’s that my friend had this rough draft of the first page of the first chapter I wrote for Lu eight years ago. You know how some ideas are better in theory than manifestation? That’s the deal with this one. In theory, it’s cool to share your rough drafts, especially in the spirit of NaNoWriMo. They’re evidence that everything has to start somewhere and that this somewhere might be messy, or as is the case with this rough draft, bad. It’s bad. It’s just bad, and I was tempted to:

• A) not post it. No one would know.
• B) tweak it. No one would know.
• C) say my dog wrote it. No one would know.

But I let me ego make too many decisions as it is, so here you go! Lu, Take 1!

I wish my life story was a based-on-life story. In sepia. With curls to replace the frizz and a vintage something-or-other to replace my ’85 Cutlass that burps oil. It’s not funny. The car actually suffers from car leprosy, a fatal condition that causes its parts to rot off regularly. Alas, masochistic cannibalism is also an issue. Just this morning, when I stopped for gas around 2 a.m., my shutting of the driver’s side door initiated a chain reaction that culminated in the car swallowing the driver’s side window whole.

So yes, I am to need a different ride for the based-on.

Actually, what would be even better is if my life story was an inspired-by-life story. Then, we would scrap this scene altogether. Oh, it’s pretty enough with its pink sunrise climbing over pregnant cornfields. I can just see the aerial shot capturing all this pastoral rural before slowly focusing on my car hugging the winding two-lane. As an inspired-by, the story need not cover the smell of manure already permeating the air of this hot July morning, nor the ill effects that play on my physiology from too much crying.

Bloated eyes, a stuffy nose, and plugged ears can all be airbrushed away, yet the story behind the story of this scene cannot, which is why it needs to be scrapped. Who is really interested in the tale of a 28-year-old girl running away from her hourly job and cheating ass of a boyfriend to a life of indefinite employment (arguably worse than an hourly) and residence with her family (inarguably worse than the cheating heart of a man)?

Certainly not me, but I’m stuck. Behind a truck.

For some reason, I remember my sister’s comment about this page from back then. “It’s heavy,” she said. “You normally write with a light touch, but this is forced.” She was right. The writing is uncomfortable to read because I was uncomfortable in writing it down. I’d never written fiction before, and I had an idea that I wanted to open my story with a girl leaving a place, but I didn’t want it to read romantic. Then I thought about how “inspired-by” movies sand down the harsher realities of stories. I tried to run with this metaphor, but it didn’t work. I, as the writer, needed this metaphor to understand how I would go about writing the story, but the reader didn’t.

The humor is also off. I’m a sarcastic girl, and this tone inevitably finds it way into my writing, but I didn’t know how to filter it yet. The jokes land too sharp.

My descriptive writing was even worse eight years ago. What is a pregnant cornfield? I’d like to know (or maybe not).

Parentheses are fine in blogging, not so much in fiction.

My favorite part are the last two lines. They make laugh. I wish I would have kept them in the final draft.

There’s so much more to say, but I’ll end here today. I’m sharing Take 2 tomorrow, but until then, be encouraged! A start means you started! My gut was telling me this page wasn’t great eight years ago – honestly, I wrestled with page 1 of Lu until I hit publish – but another feeling superseded it, and that was … I’d done it! I’d finally taken the time, opened a file, and written some words of a story that had burned in my heart for years. It was a huge step. Go do likewise today.

 

* Thanks to everyone who participated in the giveaway. Corrine is the winner!*

A few weeks ago, my friend, Sam, posted this comment and pic on Insta:

This workbench covered in paint makes me so happy. I’ve thought about sanding it down and painting over it for a cleaner look, but in reality, I want to see the remnants of all the signs I’ve created. I love looking down and seeing where I’ve swiped my brush or practiced my lettering. It’s layers upon layers of hard work and creating beauty and I wouldn’t change it. Do you have a piece in your home that is imperfect but tells a beautiful story?? I wanna know!!

Her post got me thinking in the middle of NaNoWriMo about how words are only one way to tell stories. Paint tells stories, too. I suspected that though I write books and Sam paints wooden signs, there are a lot of parallels in what we do, and Sam took a break from painting to tell me more about the story behind her signs and shop, Place In Progress. Hearing how others go about their work helps me make sense of mine. Sam’s story reminds me of how our stories start in different places. Sam’s story reminds me that it takes time and trial and error to discover the story we want to tell. I hope you’re as encouraged by her honesty, courage, and creativity as I was. Read on – there’s a give-away of one of her pretty signs waiting for you at the end of rainbow.

How does your work table tell a story?

It shows me all the phases I’ve gone through. There are bright pink stripes from a color I used when I first started but would never use now. There’s green stripes from the pines I’m painting for my Christmas signs. You can see where I scribbled my paint pen to get it going or to practice names or lettering. There’s one corner that my kids always draw on and use my stamp on.

Now, it’s mostly black, white, gray, and navy. The table shows my evolution in finding who I am as an artist and what’s true to myself. I feel more confident about my work when it’s neutral.

When did you start your business?

It’s been 3 years this November.

Describe to me that first year.

It was a hodge-podge. I used to do paper and wooden signs. I used all different colors. Whatever came to my mind, I made it. I didn’t really have direction for it. I was just doing it for fun to see if I could pay for my supplies by selling my stuff on Etsy

When did that change?

In Fall 2016, I realized I could hardly keep up with the orders coming in, and I didn’t have a system in place to handle the orders. I started to notice the signs people were ordering over and over again. I got rid of some signs and designed new ones to fit in. I wanted everything to be cohesive.

How did you make those decisions?

The driving force behind editing my design selection was color. When people ordered signs in orange, I’d dread painting it. That color is just not me; I would not put it in my house. For a sign to be in my shop, it has to be something I would buy if I wasn’t making it myself.

How do you decide the wording of the signs?

If something strikes me, and I can’t get it out of my head. If I feel strongly about it. If I feel a connection with it. If it’s applicable to life. If it can speak to someone and make sense to them to put it on their wall, then I’ll make it.

What’s the hardest part about what you do?

I do everything – go to Ace, buy the wood, cut it, sand it, paint it or stain it, design the lettering – and it’s mostly in-between taking care of my kids and making dinner. The hardest part is juggling everything. It’s not a full-time income, I can’t put my kids in daycare, but I have to find time to work on it because people are trusting me to get their signs to them on time.

And then you’re putting your work out there. It’s from your heart, and you don’t know if people are going to like it. Sometimes people don’t like it, but you get over that, and you keep moving on. Overall, I love it or I would stop doing it.

Give-away time! I asked Sam to choose one of her favorite signs from her holiday shop, and she couldn’t. She pushed back on me to do it, and I couldn’t. So it’s up to you, my readers! Leave a comment on this post about which of the following four signs you’d like to have for keeps (or to give away yourself as a holiday gift). Drawing closes at noon this Friday, November 24.

 

I told a friend I would blog just once this weekend because I was going to spend the rest of my free time cleaning out my writing room. She pushed back to blog twice because everyone loves a make-over. I took some “before” pictures, intending to oblige.

Maybe the mess doesn’t seem like much to you, but it’s kept me outta there since October: the dog hair on the baseboard, the random electric guitar propped in the corner, the crowded desk, stuff shoved under the bookshelf, the boxes of stuff I take to book signings, things leaning against walls instead of hanging on them. I’m not OCD about many things except for writing in a clean space. I wrote most of Lu in small increments of time from home. The rooms I wrote in were messy because my house was messy. I was always tempted to clean it before getting to work. But if you have only 30 minutes, you have to make choices.

At the end of the day, do you want to say you wrote or you did dishes? Do you want to say you finished a chapter or picked up toys for the 57th time?

I finished Lu by consistently (not perfectly) choosing writing. The beauty of claiming a home space just for writing was it was mine. I’m the gatekeeper, and so I wouldn’t allow random toys, lonely socks, and dirty dishes to infiltrate. My writing room wouldn’t smell like boy. But spaces don’t always stay as they’re intended. Plans don’t always run as intended, including my plan this weekend to make this space shine. I did spend a hot hour in here, hammering a couple nails in walls, throwing some stuff away, and shoving crap in the closet. It was supposed to be my first hour of many, but then I got sick and spent the rest of the weekend coughing and taking stock of the joints that ache (which is every joint). I didn’t get around to doing anything worthy of an “after” picture, but I see the change. This little space is becoming a space I can write in again.

There aren’t any changes worthy of “after” pictures, but there’s hope – hope that one morning soon, I’ll be here writing that second book. One of my biggest regrets in claiming this space was I didn’t do it sooner. God validates at the point He calls, but I needed the external validation of my first draft of my first book before I cordoned off square footage, even some as humble as this corner of my basement. I’m happy to tackle it on the front-end this time, to clear in hope, and wishing you all the same on this third weekend of NaNoWriMo.

I’ve been talking writing voice this week of NaNoWriMo, and on Tuesday’s post, I mentioned how my writing buddy, Laura, would write about breakfast differently from me. This got me thinking, and I texted Laura and another writer friend, Joy.

The Challenge: To Write About Breakfast

Laura: Can I eat anything I want?

Joy: So this is totally open ended? Anything I want to write about breakfast?

Yes, yes, and yes. And I would do it, too – all to show how three writers approach a prompt differently and write it well differently. Of course Laura took us to Paris and Joy taught us something about cooking. I’m sure no one will be surprised mine that mine barely gets to breakfast at all. Combined, it’s Friday Fun for you! I hope you enjoy each entry as much I did.

Breakfast, by Laura Smith

As I juggle my plate and cup, men hustle by in suits, but they are less pressed than businessmen in the U.S. They proudly seem to sport their bedhead and open collars without ties. I weave through the crowded tables, marveling at three women strutting down the pavement in heels I may consider wearing to a cocktail party, chatting, as if these are the most comfortable shoes they own.

I spy an open table near the edge of the café, the place where the restaurant hits the world. I set down my wax paper bag and white porcelain cup. A couple of school age kids whiz by on scooters, so close, if I put out my hand I could give them fives. I bow my head to thank God for this—all of it, the breakfast my taste buds are already watering over, the fact that I am sitting in a café in Paris on a brisk sunny morning. I pray because it’s too wonderful to comprehend, but I rush my gratitude, because I’m suffering from jetlag, craving the three Cs–caffeine, carbs and chocolate.

The first sip of coffee is like magic elixir. For as much as I’m a Starbucks junky back home, the mermaid can’t hold a candle to the robust, perfect creaminess of a café au lait. I inhale it like good wine, take another sip, savor it. Leaning back in my chair, I watch a parade of black Vespas speed by as the bold, dark French roast does its magic.

I reach into the paper bag and pull off a corner of croissant. A thousand flakes scatter in the bag, on the table, down my shirt as I take the first bite of buttery layers. I immediately tug off a second bite, this one rich with the dark chunks of chocolate rolled into the center of my pain au chocolat. I alternate bites of pastry with sips of coffee, a perfect pairing. I let the flavors linger on my tongue. I take my time. There is no rush here. Only moments to savor. Moments like these.

Breakfast, by Joy Becker

Eight years ago I didn’t know oatmeal came in anything but little brown packages with flavors like Strawberry & Cream and Maple Brown Sugar. I had seen large Quaker Oats canisters in the grocery story, but I thought those were only for people who made oatmeal raisin cookies. The universe had brainwashed me into believing my morning was too hectic and my culinary skills too amateur to heat oats and water in a pot for 3-5 minutes. Oh, the wasted years. As it turns out, I can still get to work on time even if I spend 5 minutes making breakfast, and I am capable of pouring and stirring while using a hot stove.

Just this morning, I dumped ½ cup of oats, ½ cup of water, and ½ cup of milk into a small saucepan. I simmered it for a few minutes, stirred it, and then added a hefty dollop of Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Butter. It rocked my morning.

I am already thinking about tomorrow morning. There’s a browning banana sitting on top of our fridge begging to be cooked in coconut oil and mashed into creamy oats. This one involves more steps and additional ingredients; it might also set you back 7 minutes. But it just might be the one to elevate your breakfast to a new level.

Heat a spoonful of coconut oil in a small saucepan. Toss in a ripe banana and let it cook for a few minutes. Mash it with a fork. Add ½ cup of oats and 1 cup of milk. Simmer and stir for a couple minutes. Now blow your mind by adding a few drops of almond extract. Toppings, such as cinnamon, chopped nuts, shredded coconut, or fruit are a nice touch.

You’re welcome.

Breakfast, by Beth Troy

To be Beth Troy is to forget something everyday. Something important, like school’s out on election Tuesday. Except for college. School is in there.

“Hey, buddy,” I say to Jess. “You want to come to school with me?”

His face tells me a 9-year-old boy does not want to go to school on his day off from school.

“We’ll be playing Jeopardy, and you can keep score.”

He shakes his head. I guess his plans for the day also don’t include adding and subtracting.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” I counter in Mom falsetto. It’s not a nice sound. I’m not surprised Jesse turns away from it.

I lower my voice.

“I have one word for you.”

He stops.

“Chocolate chip pancakes.”

He turns. “That’s three words, Mom.”

“But it’s one good idea.”

He nods, I exhale, and we both get chocolate chip pancakes before going to school.

 

I couldn’t write Tip #8 (Keep your words simple) for NaNoWriMo yesterday without thinking about the first Lu book club I hosted to gather my early readers, ply them with BLTs on my homemade bread, and rapid-fire them with questions about this book I’d written.

My three friends put up with me for over three hours, discussing everything from characters to plot to the love story and the sermons. The food was gone, and we were wrapping up when one of them brought up this choice line from when Lu is first introduced to Ecclesiastes 3:

But these words, these dichotomies of time in their overlapping continuance, read like an invitation to reality …

Beautiful, I thought. One of my favorite lines, and I was glad she’d brought it up.

“Get rid of it,” my friend said.

“Yeah, you got away from yourself there,” said another.

“What does that even mean?” the last asked.

“But I love that line,” I protested.

“You’re the only one.”

“Because you’re the only one who will understand it.”

“Get rid of it.”

Away it went. Check the second-to-last paragraph in Chapter 13 if you don’t believe me. Because as Stephen King says in his third foreword for On Writing:

‘The editor is always right …’ Put another way, to write is human, to edit is divine.

Let’s take it to some basics on Day 15 of NaNoWriMo because I have learned a few legitimate tricks in my training.

1. Write what you need to say in as few words possible. Here’s another way to think about it: If each word cost you a dime, what words warrant the investment?
2. Filler words like just, very, so, quite, actual, even, really, that, only, and such usually need to go. I sweat these words when I write, which is why I keep a Post-It of this list in my writing desk drawer for slash-and-dash before I send my chapters to edit.
3. Use active voice. This means your sentences read subject-verb-object. For example, “Jesse threw the ball,” and not, “The ball was thrown by Jesse.” Do you see the difference in clarity about who is throwing what? Also, the first example propels the sentence forward while the second holds it back. The second also contains the unnecessary helper verb “was” and preposition “by.” That’s two extra words! That’s 20 cents! Slash-and-dash!
4. Fragments (incomplete sentences) are fine – if you use them sparingly. Use them too much and people will think you don’t know how to write. Same goes for beginning sentences with conjunctions (and, but, so, etc.)
5. Avoid superlatives. They go straight to your hips. I mean, does she really need to be the “most very magnificent of all super-duper supremest of beings” or could you just say “The shade of her blue sweater looks nice with her eyes?”
6. Cliches are a cop-out. By definition, every person in every time in every place has used them. They’re a dime a dozen (Cliche Joke #1). They rarely make rhyme or reason (Cliche Joke #2). Do you want to tell it like everyone else or like you? You can’t have your cake and eat it too (Cliche Joke #3) so take the bull by the horns (Cliche Joke #4) and get this party started (Cliche Joke #5) like it’s 1999 (Cliche Joke #6)!
7. Dialogue/quotes are like pictures. Use them to advance your stories in a snap.
8. Avoid the thesaurus and rely on your natural vocabulary. In a choice between the simpler and more complicated form of a word, go for simple. “Through” is better than “throughout.” “Use” is better than “utilize.” “Try” is better than “endeavor.”
9. Mix up your sentence structure. Follow a simple sentence (Jesse threw the ball) with a compound sentence (Tommy jumped for it, but Ezra caught it) and then a compound-complex sentence (Tommy, never one to move past a slight, tackled Ez to the ground, and Jesse jumped on both of them). Go back to a simple sentence (Mom reached for her beer). Risk a fragment (Her companion until Dad got home in an hour).
10. Don’t tell us twice. I love him. I mean, I really, really love him. Can’t you see that I love him? Yes. Please stop writing about it.
11. Repetition goes for phrases, too. It was an unexpected surprise when he reverted back to his frugal ways. I thought his budgeting was past history.
12. Never underestimate the impact of a semi-colon separating two independent clauses (read: simple sentences). Use sparingly, though.
13. Do you know what else to use sparingly? Adverbs, like sparingly. They’re a lazy way to tell how a verb went down.
14. Don’t trust a former English professor when she claims to have a “few” writing tricks to share. She could be on 100 and just be getting started.
15. Except if it’s Day 15 of NaNoWriMo, and she told herself she’d end there.

 

I remember my first edit for my first article for the high school newspaper. You could barely see the original text through the edit (as is the case with first edits), but I picked up on something.

“How come you moved everything to the first paragraph?” I asked my editor. I’d placed important details throughout the piece to keep readers going, but her edit put the who, what, where, when, why, and how at the top.

“Because most people won’t read past the first paragraph.”

Journalism refers to this as the “inverted pyramid.” It’s a hard lesson to learn – not because it’s hard to do, but because it’s hard to swallow. You will spend hours working on an article, and most people won’t read past the first paragraph, or as this graphic puts it: “They could stop reading at anytime” (duh, duh, duh) …

And if you wrote an article that “jumps” and requires the reader to turn the page or click to “Read More,” you can forget about it. It’s not personal, it’s business, and it’s a Journalism 101 lesson because those who can’t deal need to choose another discipline.

Do you know what’s worse? Technical editing. My first job after college was editing online help files for debt collection software. The technical communicators who wrote the files were guaranteed an audience of one – their editor – and beyond that, we were pretty much guaranteed an audience of none. Let’s take a tally: When was the last time you read a help file?

There’s the audience of none.

When I say I write how I’m trained, I’m talking about writing with this mindset vs. technical skill. For four years in college, I wrote against the knowledge people could stop reading at any time, and for five years after college, I wrote against the knowledge that no one was reading. I write with a fighter’s mentality – fighting to keep my audience’s attention with each paragraph, each page, each chapter. It keeps me sharp, and it keeps me surprised, as in I’m always surprised when people tell me they’ve read Lu all the way through. It’s not because I’m insecure about what I wrote but because they could have stopped reading at anytime. Or they could have never read it at all because my book was one in a million books published in 2017. That’s a lot of product to choose from.

How my training plays into my writing voice is like this: I will always write at a steady clip. You won’t get long chapters or consecutive paragraphs of description. I will break into dialogue as much as I can get away with, and I will alternate light with heavy like salty and sweet because it keeps you reading. I wanted to write a book you could read in a day because what if you don’t have more than a day? I rarely do. Shoot, I’ve been making like such an old girl this semester that I rarely have more than 5 minutes before a book sends me to sleep. Someone please write a book I can read in that timeframe.

There are limitations to this style. Enter my writing buddy, who is my opposite in personality and writing approach. If it weren’t for Laura, you would never have caught your breath in Lu. I feel too much pressure to keep the train moving, and I learned to trust Laura to tell me when to slow down because the reader needed to linger for a moment. A perfect example of this is on Chapter 8, page 70, when Lu is covering her third wedding:

I crisscrossed my way up the deck stairs and through the maze of tables and soft clinks of people eating and drinking to the bar set up beside the french doors leading into the house. I smiled at the other people in line but turned to look at the party instead of attempting small talk. The white tablecloths with white rose centerpieces and white candles and twinkle lights all around made for such a pretty scene that it felt more like a bridal magazine shoot than a wedding. And then I laughed, because of course it was both, and I was the journalist covering it. The summer evening carried a light breeze, and I closed my eyes to tune into the stringed music playing softly through speakers camouflaged in the landscaping. I had no idea what Ashley’s first wedding had been like, but her second was lovely.

I wouldn’t have written this if Laura hadn’t pushed back with, “I have no sense of what this wedding is like. What is Lu seeing? What is Lu hearing?” She was right, and I can tell you it took me longer to write that paragraph than the rest of the 13 pages in that chapter.

Your writing voice comes with strengths and limitations, and wielding it well is about playing to your strengths while shoring up your limitations. In writing Lu, I turned it into sort of a game. After I’d write a chapter, I’d revise it before sending it Laura, specifically to see if in that chapter I could make her see, hear, feel, smell … something, just one thing (I didn’t set the bar too high) because I know if she did, she’d comment, and if she commented, I’d give myself a mental gold star.

Write about something today on Day 14 of NanNoWriMo. Make it something simple and something you know, like breakfast. If Laura were to write about breakfast, you’d taste it. If I were to write about breakfast, you’d read an event. If you were to write about breakfast? We don’t know because you haven’t written it yet! Write it down. See if you can catch your defaults. It just might be that these form the tones of your writing voice.

 

A friend lent me Paul Auster’s The Invention of Solitude. This book falls in the high-brow category of reading, which I sometimes enjoy because catch this:

One day there is life. Everything is as it was, as it will always be. And then, suddenly, it happens there is death. The suddenness of it leaves no room for thought, gives the mind no chance to seek out a word that might comfort it.

It took Auster only four sentences to transport me to last spring. I’d finished teaching, and there was a voicemail from my mom. Grandmother had died. And what Auster wrote about death is what I felt: the suddenness that leaves no room for thought. His words gave voice to that time for me.

My writing voice is not Auster’s, however. This confused me when I first started writing because I assumed I’d write like I read. It’s not that I presumed I’d write so well, but that I’d write in keeping. I don’t. I don’t write anywhere close to capital “L” literature because I’m not that girl. I curled up with a bowl of Star Wars shaped Kraft Mac & Cheese for dinner last week because it’s still one of my favorite meals. I make a fool of myself to compete for roses at Renaissance Festivals, and I dressed up like a cupcake and flash-mobbed business school classes on Halloween. I love a good beach read, too, and I have some romance novels queued up for holiday break, but I don’t write stories like those, either. All together, it’s a combination of can’t and won’t and ultimately why even try because I’ll delete anything in revision that sounds like a put-on instead of like me.

Is that okay? Is it okay not to write like I read, admire, and aspire? Sure, but it took me awhile to find my way to my writing voice. It’s also okay that I sounded liked others to start. We learn by copying, but at one point we need to push beyond the boundaries others have set. Austin Kleon in Steal Like an Artist puts it best:

You don’t want to look like your heroes, you want to see like your heroes.

This takes time. This takes a lot of doing. It took me thousands of words (and less thousands of) years before I became aware of the key factors that shape my writing voice: my training, my beliefs, and my girldom. I’ll be talking more about these this week, but on Day 13 of NanNoWriMo think about what has influenced you as you are. I bet in the stories you keep returning to – the ones that mean something to you – there are some common themes. Grab hold of them, and we’ll start talking about what to do with them tomorrow.

Me: What should I write about today for NaNoWriMo?

Matt: NaNoWriMoMoMo?

Me: One “Mo.”

Matt: Is that still going? I thought it was just a week.

Me: What do you think the “Mo” stands for?

Matt: How am I supposed to know?

Me: Don’t you read my …?

Matt: I read your blog everyday (he inserts before I finish the question. Methinks Boy has prepared for questions such as this).

Me: Then you should know I’m aiming to write everyday this month. I know what I’m writing for Monday, but I’m stuck on today.

Matt: The good thing about writing is you can write about anything: making chili or the kids running around with laser pointers.

(Before you credit him with putting to practice my Days 2 & 3 of NaNoWriMo, let me note that Matt was merely summarizing the events surrounding our conversation – I was making chili and the boys were running around with laser pointers).

Me: You are unhelpful.

Matt: I am coming down from a caffeine high. It’s like there’s a light bulb in my mind that’s flickering off.

So literary, this boy, but it diagnoses my writer’s fog. I, like Matt, also drank a second cup of coffee today, and the high is wearing off just in time for Sunday movie and a nap. I’m not too worried because I do know what I’m writing about tomorrow.

But what if next Sunday rolls around, and I don’t know what to write about writing? How about you help me out? Use the comments to to throw me some topics. I’ve always wanted to play Dear Abby (the writer version), so you’d be helping me cross that item off the bucket list.

A couple months ago, my writing buddy met Cindy Bell, owner of Belong Christian Bookstore. Would we like to host an event there? This is an easy yes for Laura, who despite her introverted ways, has zero problems with public speaking. It’s a quick yes for me because if I think longer than a second about it, I’ll say no. I like to think I run my world with minimal anxiety, but that’s not true; I just store it up to unleash on stuff like this. What will I say? Will anyone show up? Will I accidentally show up naked? These questions and dozens more set my tummy churning days before the event. They wake me up in the middle of the night. It’s not fun.

Just try it.

This has been my motto since the beginning of Lu. It comes from my Grandma Barovian, who was forever pushing strange Polish food my way. You can’t say you don’t like it until you try it. She had a point, and most of the time (minus the liver and onions) I liked it, and if I didn’t, she let me be.

Just try it. These things I worry about anytime I take my stories public? I’m not in control of most them, but I don’t want them to control me.

Just try it. I say this to push myself out of my comfort zone.

Just try it. I say this to remind myself that failure is inherent in trying any new thing.

Just try it. I say this to give myself permission to not try it again if I don’t want to.

Just try it …

Behind any story we tell are dozens of courageous steps, little yes’s to steal time, get started, claim a name, claim a space, share our stuff. There are so many bad stories in the world right now. If we’re given the shot to tell ours and that story emboldens where others lay low and inspires collaboration where others stir judgment and division? We need to take it this Day 11 of NaNoWriMo.

Just try it.