Don't you hate it when...

you dream about something important and then forget all the details when you wake up?

That happened to me the other night. All day long, I had been thinking about an idea I have for a middle grade novel, but I just couldn't iron out the details, especially the critical one that gives me the reason my main character will be able to do what I need him to do. I was still thinking about my story as I fell asleep that night, and sure enough, I dreamed about it. In my dream, the answer was simple, but when I woke up, poof, it was gone. (Strangely enough, the only word I can remember is magic. It's a good clue, but I wish it helped me more.)

Gah! Back to the drawing board...

Has this ever happened to you? It's frustrating, isn't it?

On a lighter note, this cute dog seems to be having a good dream:



Wishing you all a frustration-free Wednesday. ☺

What will their dreams be?

Today's 100 words:

It was my mom who told me that I should be a writer. I guess she saw something in me way back when I was young and spending much of my free time scribbling away in notebooks. It's been my own dream for just as long. Now I look at my kids and wonder what their dreams will be. Will my daughter's love of animals turn into a career as a veterinarian? Will my son's love of trains and cars and singing factor into his future plans?

Both of my children love books. Will they be writers, too?

Doing this for me

I spent a lot of time this afternoon thinking about writing and about how it hasn't been fun for me recently. I've been too wrapped up in worrying about what other people will think of my work, and as a result, I've become paralyzed, unable to write a single word without analyzing it and second-guessing it. I delete more words than I write, and my inner critic tells me that none of my ideas are interesting, that my prose is flat, that no one will ever want to read--much less publish--anything I write. This thinking has gone on for at least a couple of months now, bringing so much insecurity and fear with it.

Today I decided that I was no longer going to let these negative thoughts keep me from doing what I enjoy. I made the following declaration this afternoon, via Twitter:

Decided the only reason to write is because I love it. Worrying about who else will like it stifles me. I need to do this for me. #amwriting

Do this for me. For me.

I can't let worrying about not being good enough keep me from putting words on the page. I can't keep listening to my inner critic as she tells me that I'm no good and should just quit. If I love writing--and I do--then I have to do it for that reason: for the love of it. If other people like it, that will be a bonus. If I can get some of my fiction published someday, that will be wonderful, a very proud moment, I'm sure. But I learned today that writing with my eyes solely on publication--concerned only with what other people think--doesn't work for me. I'm happiest when I'm doing my 100-word exercises, which I once did as mere writing warm-ups but have recently been taking more time with and really contemplating what I want to say. I don't know what that means or where those little snippets can take me. I only know that I enjoy writing them, and I have to let that kind of enjoyment spill over into the projects I'm working on: the collection of short stories I'm planning; my young adult novel about Jed; my NaNoWriMo project, if I choose to do one this year... The bottom line is, I need to write because I want to. I have to do it for me and no one else.

I'm not giving up my dream of publication. That's still something I want very much. I just realize now that I can't place all my focus on that dream. I can't make it the only reason I write. First, I have to write for me, and as I realized today, that's really all that matters.

My dream-thoughts snatched away...

I wrote this piece this morning after being awakened by the rain.

 

Rain battered the roof, waking me from sleep, the steady ping-ping-ping piercing through my dreams, and I sat up, confused, as I tried to piece together the source of the sound, the origin of that unwanted alarm clock that had torn me from sleep, snatching away my dream-thoughts of you and the life we had shared once long ago, before we imploded, our togetherness shattered, and found ourselves suddenly living separate lives and separate dreams, no longer breathing in sync as the rain pattered against the roof or the hot sun shone brightly through the window.

Even better than living my dream

As a child, I dreamed of the day I'd become a mother, but on the day I discovered I was pregnant with my son, all I felt was apprehension.

I think a small part of that apprehension probably stemmed from the fact that I was a slightly older first-time mom: I was thirty-four when my son was born and thirty-six when my daughter arrived. I realize that many women are waiting until their thirties and even later to have children, but most of my friends had had their kids in their twenties, so compared to them, I felt ancient.

The larger reason for my trepidation was fear. In all of my daydreams about motherhood, I had never envisioned myself being single and pregnant. I had pictured the white house with the picket fence, the successful career, the husband--and then the children. But that vision didn't turn out to be my reality. My life ending up taking a different path that meandered through marriage and divorce, then a move across the country to be with a man I had met in a chat room online. I moved in with him in November of 2004, and our surprise son made himself known in June of 2006. So even though I wasn't truly single--I was with a man that I loved and would marry in just a few months time--on the day I found out I was pregnant I felt single, and that was scary. I don't know if that will make much sense to anyone on the outside looking in, but for my life to have veered so far from the course I had set out on was terrifying for me. I welcomed the pregnancy, but the questions still nagged at me: What happened to my plan? Where did my life get off track? How did I end up here?

As my pregnancy progressed, however, much of my fear disappeared. I loved being pregnant; it had been my dream for so long. And when my son was born by emergency C-section on February 21, 2007, I couldn't have been happier or felt more blessed. I don't even know how to describe the peace and overwhelming love that came over me when I was finally able to hold him, the sense of comfort, the certainty that everything was going to be all right.

Even though my life didn't take the path I had dreamed it would--and perhaps no one's life does--I'm grateful to have gone through all the things that brought me where I am today. I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful kids. Things happened differently than I thought they would, but I'm now living a life that's better than anything I ever dreamed.

Keep reaching

I watched American Idol tonight, and I have so much admiration for those young people who are striving to realize their dreams. Seeing their drive and determination inspires me and makes me realize that if I want to achieve my goals, I need to find a way to make them happen. Having children is a full-time job, and my life is busier now than ever before. But nothing should--can--stand in the way of something I really want. I think of all the people, especially the mothers, who are far busier than I am, who have full-time jobs outside the home, then return each night to their full-time job as mom, and so many of them are pursuing their dreams and finding success. If they can do it, surely I can too. If writing is important to me--and it is--then I need to work harder to make it a priority--not someday but now.

After a long day...

Tonight is wine and Sex and the City and chocolate, then reading and sleep and dreams.

Good night.

Dreams

I've been having strange dreams for the past two nights, dreams about things like missing hams (I know!) and people I haven't thought about in years and friends who might not know how to use a hammer in real life suddenly flipping houses. For a long time, I either didn't dream or couldn't recall the ones I was having, so even though these dreams are strange, it's nice to know I'm dreaming again. And all writers know that sometimes story ideas lurk in dreams...

I should have joined the circus

Like all moms, I can do more than one thing at a time. In my experience, dads can't do this; they can only concentrate on one thing--their heads explode if they try to do anything else. Recently, my husband was putting batteries in one of the kids' toys. He was removing the old batteries when I came into the room and asked him if he wanted spaghetti or lasagna for dinner. He didn't answer, so I asked him again, and that's when I was treated to the eye roll, the one thing he does that drives me absolutely insane. "Can't you see I'm doing something here? Wait a second," he said, and I waited while he changed the batteries, screwed on the cover, and passed the toy to our son. Only then did I get an answer: "Spaghetti." See? One thing at a time.

Now I don't know if all husbands are exactly like mine, but enough of my friends have told me similar stories that I tend to believe my husband is the rule rather than the exception. We moms, on the other hand, have to do fifteen things at once in order to get everything done. We just don't have time to complete one task before starting the next. The other day, I was feeding the kids their lunch while calling for a doctor's appointment, putting laundry in the washer, sweeping the kitchen, eating my own lunch, planning the next week's meals, and writing the store list. We multitask. It's how we survive.

A few days ago, my kids and I had just gotten home from running some errands, and I sent my oldest, who's three, to the bathroom while I took the baby's coat off. (I still call her the baby, even though she'll be one and a half tomorrow.) Afterward, I went upstairs to change my clothes, then went back to the kitchen to wash my hands so that I could make lunch. As soon as I began running the water, my three-year-old was yelling that he pooped and the baby was standing next to me asking for "boom-boom." (This is how she tells me that she wants to nurse. Cute, huh?) Anyway, I thought my head would explode because of all the directions I was being pulled, everyone wanting something from me at once and me with a splitting headache, a rumbling stomach, and a desperate need to eat. Of course I rallied like we moms always do and got everyone taken care of and lunch made. I wonder, though, how my husband would have handled the situation. Kind of makes me laugh to think about it...

So I juggle things--my time, my energy, pieces of my mind. We all do, which makes me think that all moms would make great circus performers! Besides our families, we have other balls in the air too, like attempting to achieve our personal dreams--as I said in my first post, mine is writing--and we have to work hard to balance our "Mom" role with the other things we want to accomplish in life. But we can do it. We're Moms.