Archive | writing

Touching the Divine

I am scratching my head in front of the computer. Taking a sip of water. Writing three words and then deleting them. Writing them again. Ugh, no. All wrong. More scratching. More writing and deleting. Finally, a thump. I’ve closed my laptop. My morning’s writing session is done.

In order to write, I need my groove, my muse, my connection to the divine. Call it, if you like, the elusive god of Creativity. As Mrs. Windermere, the playwright from Gary D. Schmidt’s fabulous Okay For Now, says: “Creativity is a god who comes only when he pleases, and it isn’t very often. But when he does come, he sits beside my desk and folds his wings and I offer him whatever he wants, and in exchange he lets me type all sorts of things….” But how do I get the god to come?

At 5 in the morning, the sky is dark and the air outside is bone-shivering cold, even in Sunny California. Every morning, I pull out my blue yoga mat, set it facing east, and practice qigong and meditate. With my mind seeking peace and rest, oftentimes my best ideas arise. Behold, the god of Creativity hovers before my eyes, his wings tipped invitingly toward the computer. And the question arises, do I stay and finish my practice, or do I charge at the computer and write? Will he get bored watching me if I continue to sit motionless on a pillow? Will he stay awhile or fly away?

Tom Leichardt of Inner Alchemy Center once said to me (and I am paraphrasing his wisdom): We practice qigong and meditate in order to open our connection to the divine, but if you’re already connected, instead of sticking to a rigid practice, be flexible and follow your heart. Flexibility in a spiritual practice! Can you imagine? I love my morning qigong practice, my Reiki self care, sitting on my meditation pillow. I want to be consistent in my practice and do it, all parts of it, every day. And yet, despite my need to cling to the morning qigong, Reiki, meditation routine, I see the wisdom of what Tom says. I see the wisdom in accepting the invitation of the god when he shows up on my desk. I see the wisdom in gratefully accepting right away the touch of the divine.

I believe it was the Dalai Lama who once responded to a man’s complaint that he had no time to meditate by asking: Do you have time to breathe? In Hebrew, the saying, “I have no time to breathe,” is often used to express how busy we are. An exaggeration, one can only hope. If we have time to breathe, we do, in fact, have time to meditate, to do what Tara Brach calls the Sacred Pause. Writing this blog, I find myself often pausing and reconnecting to the divine. Closing my eyes, I ask myself: what is happening in my body now? I can feel the weight near my heart that comes of writing to you my personal story, born of the fears I still have of acceptance, of rejection. I can feel the sizzle at the end of my fingertips, the eagerness to write. The tension in my jaw: “Why are you pausing?” My inner critic asks, “Just write!”

Acknowledging everything that is happening in my body gives me a greater connection to the god with his folded wings as he sits right here at the edge of my desk. The god doesn’t mind the mess on on my desk. He doesn’t mind the critic or the fears. He is a pure and objective flow of words and ideas. When he is here, he is generosity incarnate.

Here are some of my ways of touching the divine:

Meditation. I’ve written about meditation in a previous blog post. Any place, any time is good. Pausing in the midst of the day to check how I’m feeling, what is happening inside me, is great. Allowing the body to rest in stillness for a little while, even if the mind is restless, is as worthy of the exercise as if I’ve reached nirvana every time. Allowing the connection to the divine to form effortlessly, not really seeking, just resting in the body, letting go of the chaos of the mind.

Walking in the woods. As John Muir said: “I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.” I often get my best ideas when hugging a tree or looking at a gorgeous landscape. My words flow effortlessly in heavens like the Hawaiian Islands, little points of joy like the bay at Los Osos, or majestic parks such as Yosemite or the Smokies. Bring a little notebook along so you can jot down ideas and remember them. I can’t tell you how often I wished for one when I left it at home! Simply spending time outside (or getting up from the computer and moving to a more splendid scenery like my backyard) can also reconnect me to the divine. Even something as small as watering the potted plants!

 

Thank you to Zest Bakery, for allowing me to use their photo!

Thank you to Zest Bakery, for allowing me to use their photo!

A chocolate donut. Ok, so I admit that I’ve been craving one of Zest’s gluten free and dairy free chocolate donuts for a few weeks now. I do, however, really believe that food is one way of connecting to the divine. Eat something you love and enjoy it whole-heartedly before, during AND after. Food tastes so much better with love! Appreciating the food we eat, the creativity and love put into cooking it, and the people who made it (whether I cooked or someone else) is a way to reconnect to the god with his folded wings. While eating the donut, taste that molten chocolate and imagine the cocoa tree growing in Hawaii, the cocoa pods hanging close to the trunk. Imagine the vanilla orchid climbing elegantly, twisting around the cocoa plant, or the wheat (or rice, if you’re gluten free), waving its gold-tipped crown in the breeze. For Mrs. Windermere, the food of creativity is probably ice cream: lemon, peppermint, mint chocolate chip, raspberry sherbet. For me ice cream is a little cold, but with a huge splash of chocolate fudge on top, I’ll accept any non-dairy kind.

Talking. Talking over my ideas I find to be a tough one. Sometimes I develop my ideas more fully by speaking about them to others, and they get more grounded in my mind, more memorable. But sometimes by talking about my ideas, they lose their urgency, and I end up never using them in my blog or book, almost as though I’ve used them up, a one-chance shot. Pay attention to what happens when you talk over your ideas with a friend — is it useful or not? — this is another time you can use that ever-useful tool, the Sacred Pause.

Do you have ways of touching the divine? Please share them with me in the comments below! I love your comments!

Self Expression and the Fear of Death

Some time ago I had a conversation with my cousin about open-hearted writing. I had that morning finally published a blog post about the five Reiki Ideals, and I confessed to my cousin how difficult writing that particular post had been for me. I had agonized over several different versions before finally feeling safe enough to publish it and before my inner censor could at all agree that writing about Reiki was allowed.

My cousin wanted to know what worried me about publishing a post about that particular subject. As our conversation developed from “what will my parents say,” to “I don’t want people to think I’m promoting myself,” I realized that my inhibitions about writing from the heart, and especially about my spirituality, originate not only from my fear of what other people will say, but also from a fear of making mistakes, appearing ridiculous, and — most strangely of all — risking my life.girl_flying_painting_final_glossy

Writers, poets, song writers, and others, however, do choose to risk their lives by expressing their truths despite the danger. Salman Rushdie provoked a lot of controversy in Muslim circles and his book, The Satanic Verses, sparked violence around the world. He lives with an Iranian execution decree over his head. John Lennon was murdered by a man who was angered by the lyrics of his songs. It seems, however, that you don’t have to write political or religious content to annoy people. Dan Slott, for example, the writer of “The Amazing Spiderman,” received death threats last year from fans over the final storyline of his comic.

Mark Twain once said, “It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.” A Hebrew saying agrees with him, advising us that “Silence is appropriate for the wise, and even more so for the fool.” I can see how silence is an admirable virtue and important to cultivate — knowing when to speak and when to keep quiet can be critical. It can be the difference between life and death, for who knows what yelling, “Go Dolphins!” might do in the middle of a Raiders’ game?

“I am not there yet,” I told my cousin, referring to willingness to put my life (or my dignity) on the line for my writing. But even as I was affirming my fears, I realized that my words and actions do not match my beliefs and my innermost wish to live life freely. “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all,” said Helen Keller. I choose to live the daring adventure. Perhaps I am not quite there yet. Perhaps I am only taking baby steps instead of leaping. But one day I’ll be there, and you can watch for me flying — not overhead — but down here, with you, and I hope you’ll be flying as well.

The Jewish Year in Satisfied Review

שנה טובהWe Jews are so lucky — we get to reflect on our soul accounting, “Heshbon Nefesh,” as we say in Hebrew, twice a year. On Rosh HaShana we welcome the Jewish new year with honey and apples and by asking forgiveness for the sins we committed knowingly and unknowingly all year, and on New Year’s we welcome the Gregorian new year by making resolutions and celebrating till after midnight.

As the year 5773 winds down, I too reflected on what I did (and did not do) this year and was surprise to find the balance a good one.

This year, 5773, I visited Israel twice for a total time of three weeks. I traveled to Florida twice, the Bahamas, Maui, the Redwoods, San Diego, and Arizona twice. Dar and I also went freeze-camping with the kids and the dogs in Point Reyes in February for Valentine’s Day. On the downside, it is the first year in a long time that I had not been to Yosemite. This will have to be remedied in 5774 at least twice.

I wrote a total of 67 blogs, about a third of them for my new blog. I love the new website that the new blog is on! I worked a lot on my novel this year, but finally decided that I need some distance from it. Like many other wonderful creations, I am still “cooking” it in my head, and I hope to get back to it fresh and energetic this year.

Another thrilling thing I did this year is start my own Reiki business. I taught my first Reiki I workshop and have one scheduled for the end of September and another for November. Two weeks ago I finally found a gorgeous space for my practice, and I can now give Reiki sessions on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings as well as at your home! I’m excited about the new prospects opening up for me this year.

Learning is high on my list of favorites, and this year I learned a lot! I took a Maya Abdominal Massage class which led me to begin training as a certified massage therapist. I’ve taken courses in Tuina massage and acupressure, and this year I hope to begin a medical qigong certificate as well. Another amazing class I took is Karuna Reiki® (this was why I went to Maui). I loved this class and working with the Karuna energy! It is a beautiful, beautiful energy of love and compassion, and I’ve been enjoying treating with it.

I read some fabulous books this year. Perhaps the most notable of all is The Wednesday Wars by Gary Schmidt. I just finished reading it for the second time, and it is as fabulous as it was the first time I read it. That book is an entire world in and of itself, and I was again amazed how Gary Schmidt succeeded in creating so many rounded characters, all of whom grow and change in the book. I also finally read War and Peace this year — I’m very proud of that!

Seems to me, looking back, that this was a wonderful year. My boyfriend asked me to marry him and bought me two sparkly rings. The kids grew tall and happy. I finally bought curtains for our bedrooms. We had fun birthday parties for all of us and ate lots of good food. I hope for more wonderfulness for this coming year. May we all continue to grow, may we be happy and healthy, may we be free, and may we all be together!
Shana Tova everyone!
Love,
Sigal

If a Tree Falls in the Forest, Am I a Writer?

“If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” I first heard this question as a child and thought it was funny, asked to make children think about circular arguments. As an adult, I always thought it pretentious: are we really so self-important that we think a falling tree does not make a sound unless we hear it? When sitting down to write this blog, however, I discovered an actual discussion around this question. From a purely scientific point of view, it turns out, a tree that falls with no one around to hear it does not, in fact, make a sound, because sound is defined as the vibration in the ear caused by movement in the air. With no listener, there can be no sound.

If I write a book, but no one reads my writing, am I a writer? Is writing meaningfully enough defined by the act of putting words to paper, or does it require a reader perusing those words? Does the tree of writing, falling in the forest need a reader present in order to be heard?

Throughout my years of writing, I have been grappling with the question of who am I writing for? Am I writing because I must, because the writing is in my blood? I think that is at least part of the answer. I love the writing, I want to write, and writing is, without doubt, deep in my blood and bones. But am I satisfied enough with writing just for myself? The answer to this question is far more complicated. I wish to be satisfied with that. I feel like I should be satisfied with that. And yet I am not.

Yesterday, when I wrote how other people’s opinions confuse me as to how I feel about my parenting, I had writing in mind too. Once I let other people read my writing, opinions are bound to surface. Every reader is a critic to a certain degree, whether they love what I write, hate it, decide not to finish it, or never pick it up. And, being me, every opinion has the potential to bring me soaring to the sky or crawling deep under the bed. Is it possible to write, and wish for others to read, yet still keep my opinion of my writing and of myself as a writer pure and unaffected by theirs?

Downed tree in our yard. We never heard it fall….

For now, as I am working through the first draft of my new novel, I would like to write for me, with no critics in the room. To trust, perhaps, that since we are all unique and yet all have common experiences and thoughts, one day someone will want to read my book and feel as though I wrote it for her, and it will not matter that there was only one reader in my mind as I wrote the book. For that one reader, the book will be hers.

As I was about to publish this blog, I saw this blog post by literary agent Rachelle Gardner about “How do you know if your word is any good.”

Description’s Noiseless, Unseen Tread

I was a voracious reader growing up. I often say that my best memories are of my mother, my sister and I going to the library, scanning the shelves, searching for new books, and later carrying a huge, tottering pile full of promise to the car. As a young girl I devoured The Count of Monte Cristo, Three Men in a Boat, The Hobbit, My Family and Other Relatives, All Creatures Great and Small, and The Red and The Black. My mother used to tell me to read the first 100 pages before deciding if I’m interested in a book, and not surprisingly, I finished reading almost every novel I began.

Recently, I decided I wanted to read Three Men in a Boat again. The novel is filled with poetic, rambling nature descriptions such as this one: “From the dim woods on either bank, Night’s ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to chase away the lingering rearguard of the light, and pass, with noiseless, unseen feet, above the waving river-grass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her sombre throne, folds her black wings above the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in silence.” (Chapter 2).

Shockingly, I find that now, at age 40, I have less patience for nature descriptions than I did at age 14. All I want is action. I pick through exposition to find Harris attacked by the swan or losing his way in the maze, Jerome burying the cheeses on the beach or taking a young lady on a boat ride, or even George trying out the banjo. Anything seems to me more interesting than wallowing in a description of night. And yet I love Jerome K. Jerome’s descriptions. I love his lyrical prose, his light, ironic touch, how he seems to make fun of himself and his comrades while giving an articulate description of the English countryside.

In Gary Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars, Holling’s teacher Mrs. Baker assigns him Hamlet. Holling says the tragedy is pretty good, if you skip all the long speeches. His friend Meryl Lee objects:

“You can’t just skip the boring parts.”

“Of course I can skip the boring parts.”
“How do you know they’re boring if you don’t read them?”
“I can tell.”
“Then you can’t say you’ve read the whole play.”
“I think I can live a happy life, Meryl Lee, even if I don’t read the boring parts of The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.”
“Who knows?” she said. “Maybe you can’t.”

These days, novels brim with action. Descriptions take second place — a distant, less conspicuous second place. Writers are told again and again: “Show, don’t tell!” And yet the description above adds a lot of meaning to Jerome’s romantic, indolent character. I can tell how happy he is just to lie around and look around him, and when I stop rushing ahead to the next action scene I have to admit: I am perfectly content to sit there with him, watching Night as she folds her black wings. Living the happy, description-full life.

Minimizing My Goals

So here I am, sitting in front of my computer, not two days after writing my blog about letting go of ambition, and what do you think my brain does if not invent new ambitions and goals. The newest goal: write a first draft of my romance novel, letting it flow out. Seems simple, no? But in my brain, a conversation goes on between my different parts, putting a stop to any writing attempt.

The enthusiastic part: “Let’s go! Come on! Let’s write! You’re at over 19,000 words! You can do this! We can finish a first draft!

The “I don’t want you to be disappointed” part: “Wait a second. Let’s not get all over-excited here. Don’t you remember what happened last time? We wrote a first draft, and then we felt overwhelmed. We felt out of control, like we have no idea what was going on in the novel and like we have no idea how to even start to revise.”

The critic: In order to avoid that, you need to write really well the first time. Make it perfect right off the bat. Just really delve into the scenes, think what the characters are thinking, see what they see, make every word count.”

The enthusiastic part: “No, stop stopping me! Just write! Let it flow! We can do it! It’s going to be great! It’ll be fabulous to have a first draft! We’ll revise later. Let’s go, write now!”

The “I don’t want you to be disappointed” part: “You’re rushing and you’ll regret it. Don’t just write. You’ll hate it later and become discouraged. Take it slowly, or even better, let it be. You don’t need to write today. Write tomorrow or the day after, when you’re in a better mood. Write when you’re in your groove. Not now with all this chaos.”

The critic: “That’s the lazy way out. You never get in your groove. You have to write now but write your best work only.”

And so on and so on. They argue with each other louder and louder in my head until I want to scream: “What do you want from me? Let me be. I’m not going to write today!”

But perhaps there is another way. Perhaps a new goal, a smaller, unambitious, calmer goal: I’d like to write today and enjoy it. I’d like to feel like I got sucked into the story for just a little while, even five minutes. I’d like to write and feel the magic of writing without time limits or word counts, and without thinking of the end result, free of expectations and rules.

Can we do it, my parts? Can you step back for just a little while this morning and allow me to have fun? Tomorrow, if you like, we can have the same conversation again, or maybe, if you see that my new goal was a success, we can forgo our usual process of judgement, over-excitement and fear and cooperate: the enthusiastic part can make my ideas flow, the cautious part can make me think, and the critic can keep me organized.

Ambition is a Bad Word

A few years ago a teacher told me: “You have large hands, and that means you are ambitious.” I objected: “But my hands are so small.” He shook his head: “Not compared to your body size.” I doubted that my hands were large, even compared to my small body, but I never doubted my ambition. I’ll be going places. I knew that.

From childhood, I was convinced that I was special. School came easy for me, and despite never doing much work at home and no more than doodling in class, I still found myself invited to the principal’s office year after year to be acknowledged for my excellence. With an A+ in Math, Physics, Biology, Chemistry and more, it seemed silly to care about a B or a C in the corner of my report card. And anyways, I knew that if I had tried at all, I would have gotten an A+ in that subject too.

Ambition is defined by the Free Dictionary as “An eager or strong desire to achieve something, such as fame and power.” I had a desire to succeed, to have an A+ across my report card, but I was not willing to put in the work. I knew it was the effort that was missing, not the ability or the brains. My ambition for a perfect record gave way before other activities, mainly reading, and out of the failure to achieve success grew a belief in my own innate laziness and inability to work hard.

Two of the new leghorns

As an adult, I designed my goals around my ambitiousness. Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius said: “A man’s worth is no greater than the worth of his ambitions.” If I was ambitious, I needed to make my ambitions count. I wanted to be a writer, I knew that. But surely that was not enough. Surely, for writing to be an ambition, my book must be a bestseller, a Newbery Winner, life-changer, one of a kind. Measured against such terms of success, my novel never seemed enough.

My hands, however, are little hands, small palms with short fingers. They enjoy doing little, ordinary things: cooking for the kids, cleaning the chicken coop, planting in the garden, swinging back and forth as I hike. I find that I prefer doodling to painting masterpieces, and I’d really like to go back to singing without feeling that I ever need to perform in front of a crowd. I want to write a book without the burden of needing to change the world, becoming famous, or winning prizes. I’d like to write for my own pleasure, my magic of creation, the sound of my laughter.

My plumeria

“Where ambition ends, happiness begins,” said monk, poet and spiritualist Thomas Merton. I think I prefer his quote to the Emperor’s. I would like to find happiness in my ordinary life nearby, to give myself permission not to be ambitious or strive for fame. To be me, no matter how small, as long as that is what my heart tells me to be.

Life with a Light Laugh

I take myself too seriously. I take my writing seriously, my parenting seriously, my exercise routine seriously. I analyze my mistakes in all areas of life seriously. What have I done wrong? Why have I gone wrong? And most important of all: how can I fix it? Heaven forbid that I should make the same mistake twice! And if the fix for a problem has not worked — I tremble to think of the consequences to my state of mind.

It’s like having a judge next door who works around the clock to give his opinion: what I’ve done well, what I’ve done wrong, and how my solutions are working. This judge is ingrained in me, ever willing to step up and pick up responsibility for evaluating my performance. He never sleeps, never pauses, is ever alert and ready for business.

I like to think that I get along well with my judge. He (yes, he is male) pronounces his opinion as to my laziness, my failures, my inactivity, and I return the favor by becoming depressed and not doing anything whatsoever. If he’s going to be so difficult about every little thing I do or say, why, in all the fairies’ names, should I even bother?

In the past few weeks, however, I started a conversation with the judge. Perhaps if he stopped pushing so hard, there will be room for me to write, grow, laugh. Turns out that the judge is quite willing. I never knew how much he longed for me to have the freedom to do. “I feel so frustrated,” he says. “I just want you to fly, to reach the sky, for your writing to flow.” He looks at me, confused rather than critical, almost ashamed of himself. “I don’t know where it all went wrong,” he says.

Fortunately, at this juncture, my friend Rebecca came for a visit. We decided that since we were having a girlfriend to girlfriend, heart to heart talk, there is no better place for us to sit than the treehouse. The sky slowly darkened as we laughed and shared stories. Moths fluttered about our heads. The grasses crinkled, and I thought deer might be near. I felt happier than I have felt in a long time.

Life is not a one-key door, nor a treasure chest with seven different locks. The keys to life come at random, when we are ready, fitting the keyhole with an unexpected precision and serendipity. And last night, sitting and chatting in the tree house, Rebecca gave me a key that was just right for what I am dealing with now.

“My teacher, Chophel,” Rebecca said, “always says: ‘We are all wrong. We might as well take ourselves lightly.’”

To laugh at myself is perhaps the greatest lesson I wish to learn, to take myself lightly. Next time I get all serious, critical, and dramatic about my life, please remind me that I’m all wrong. That it’s just so much better to take a breath, and let it out in a laugh, lightly.

Take a breath and admit that you’re all wrong. Laugh about it.  Take yourself lightly.

Happily Ever After, The End

When I was a teenager, my aunt recommended I read Gone With the Wind. I remember the dreamy look on her face, the sigh as she told me how romantic the book was. She said: “Every time I read the book, I pray that it will end differently, that he will not leave, that something will make him stay.”

As a reader, I love happy endings. I am not usually fond of books that end like wisps of thread in the wind, without a satisfying conclusion. I rarely read sad books. In books, as in life, I love the romantic, happy ending, the hero and the heroine rambling barefoot on the beach under the smiling full moon, their hands swinging together in tune to the beat of a faraway melody.

As a writer, other forces are at work in me. The happily-ever-after romantic ending grates on my nerves. I watch my strong-minded, smart, independent protagonist and think: She has to end up with a guy? No way. She has grown so much in the book. She has found confidence in herself. I don’t want her to give that wonderful freedom away. My readers disagreed. “She has to find a prince,” they argued. “Any prince. Some kind of prince. But the story must end with a prince.”

What is it about the romantic happily-ever-after that appeals to readers? Even picture books have their share of romance. I think, really, only middle grade novels are free of it. My nine-year-old daughter certainly expresses the “ew” factor if anyone tries a smooch in a book. I can think of some beloved books that do not end hand in hand, but my favorites, the ones that I read again and again, all have bells ringing for the beau and his belle. Elizabeth marries Darcy. Ivanhoe marries Rowena. Lord of the Rings? Yes, romance. War and Peace? Of course.

Truth be told, I don’t think the ending of Gone with the Wind is sad. Faced with Rhett leaving, Scarlet realizes that she loves him. As the spectator to her heart’s misadventures, however, I am not sure that I trust her love. I want her to grow, to expand her horizons, to learn who she is inside. She has been silly the whole book through. The ending is Scarlet’s opportunity to grow up.

I’ve been lucky to have the latest chapter in my life wrapped up in romance. My daughter’s “ew” resounds in our house a lot, as does: “No kissies and no huggies!” But one chapter of life leads into another, all merging together into one story whose end is never in sight.  I like the idea of the independent heroine walking with confidence into the sunset, ready for whatever experience comes her way. But I admit, I like it too when she walks off into the sunset, confident and assured, and there’s a man’s arm linked in her own.

How do your favorite books end? Do you too have s soft spot in your heart for the happily ever after?

Interview with Author Karen Sandler

Today I’m excited to interview Karen Sandler, the author of Tankborn. After emailing with Karen and reading her blog and website, she still managed to surprise me with her answers. She leads such an exciting life!

Hi Karen! You write romance and YA sci-fi, but which is your favorite?

Science fiction is my all-time favorite genre. Although I’ve always read pretty widely and eclectically, SF is number one. It’s the first genre I tried to write too. I wrote plenty of SF short stories before I ever wrote my first romance. The second romance novel I wrote (the first one was too abysmal to count) was a science fiction romance.

You worked on the space shuttle program. That’s so exciting. Do you think that this contributed to your fascination with other worlds?

I think my fascination with other worlds led me to want to work on the space shuttle program, and in turn the job fed my fascination with other worlds. I should also mention that I applied to be an astronaut with the space shuttle program. I didn’t make it very far (never heard back from NASA), but I followed the launches and space walks, grieved terribly with the Challenger and Columbia disasters.

It amazes me that there are people out there who don’t like science fiction. It’s a little like not liking chocolate. I see the science fiction genre as a guide to our future—good and bad. In fact, maybe reading about the bad (such as dystopic stories like The Hunger Games and Tankborn) can help us make better decisions for our future.

I’ve heard you mention the idea that if we are not expected to do great things then we are more likely to excel. Do you find this is often true? 

What I was trying to say is that sometimes high expectations can be paralyzing and demoralizing. I remember my first year in graduate school I felt overwhelmed by class work. Prior to that, school had been my area of success. But in grad school, I was trapped both by my own expectations of myself, and the role I played in my family—I was the smart one, the one who did well in school. My very identity was threatened by what I thought was imminent failure. I was having some pretty dire thoughts, experienced some very dark moments. I did push through and made a respectable showing, but it was a difficult time.

I don’t think the opposite is a good thing—having it ingrained in you that you’ll never amount to anything. But there’s a certain freedom in not having external expectations at all. To excel because you find joy in excelling, to succeed when you’re self-motivated. There’s a freedom in working hard because you want to, not because you’re expected to.

Do you have a favorite email from a reader?

This isn’t from an e-mail, but from a snail mail letter. Here’s the best part:

“Tankborn is now my all-time favorite book. I’ve read it five times already.”


It put a huge smile on my face when I pulled that letter out of my P.O. Box and read it the first time. I’m sure I’ve read it more than five times since.


You wrote in your blog that you are a fast walker and do not like to meander. Does that translate into your writing career?

 
Well, being a fast walker doesn’t translate into my writing career, but maybe into my writing process. When I was writing the shorter romances I did for Harlequin, I used to write them pretty quickly (a 60K word book would take about 4 months). I’ve tried to keep up that same pace with the SF books, but they are far more complex plots. The details really take some thinking about. So while I do keep up a pretty decent pace (and I’m generally screaming fast when I get close to the end), I don’t write nearly as quickly as I used to. But I still walk fast.

What is your revision process like? 

My goal is always to get the book written, the manuscript finished, before I revise. In practice, I do end up doing some light editing as I go, usually going back to touch up a page or two from a previous writing session before going on with new material. Also, when I figure out something needs to be changed earlier in the book that’s going to foreshadow something later, I’m not very good at leaving that for the revision process. I feel much better going back and working in the foreshadowing or clues that occur to me, then once that’s in place, move on.

I do sometimes just make a few notes to myself about stuff that I’m going to have to handle in the re-write. But even in those cases, they’re often notes made at the end of the day and are the first thing I handle the next time I sit down to write.

But I do generally write the entire manuscript, then do a read-through during which I make the changes I see are necessary. I always know, though, that my editor will have changes of her own, which might be fairly extensive. It’s kind of cool finding the solutions to the problems my editor points out.

Casper in bed
Tenka asking for a bellyrub
Zak posing for the camera

You have cats and horses and you dance too. Do these hobbies find their way into your books?

Heh. Cats aren’t a hobby. They’re a way of life. At least the cats think so. I have three—a young former feral named Zak, a rather chubby female Siamese/calico mix named Tenka, and a cranky old guy, Casper, who’s diabetic and requires insulin shots twice a day. They all live indoors only (Casper used to go out during the day until he got beaten up by a stray dog).

My mare is an Andalusian/Morgan cross and I mainly do dressage with her. Dressage is that really boring equestrian event that no one watches at the Olympics.

The dancing I do is international folk dance. It’s a fun mix of partner dancing and line dancing from countries all over the world—Israeli, Romanian, German, Indian, Japanese, Norwegian, American, British, Italian, etc. My husband and I belong to a group that meets weekly, then we’ll do the occasional performance or special event. Here’s a video that includes my husband and me dancing. I’m the one in the black turtleneck and striped skirt.

I have rarely been able to work either cats or horses into my books. Of the nearly 20 books that I’ve published, I think there were two books that included cats (the romances Chocolate Magic and His Miracle Baby) and two that included horses (romances The In-Between and Counting On a Cowboy). The animals were very minor influences on the plot.

I do have a dance scene of sorts in the upcoming Awakening, the second book in the Tankborn trilogy.

Where can we watch your short films?

I’ve only put Sweet Tooth up on YouTube,. Here’s the link:
Karen Sandler’s Sweet Tooth

Thank you Karen for interviewing with me! Please feel free to send Karen your questions and thoughts in the comment box below.

Karen Sandler on the web:
Karen Sandler’s website
Karen Sandler’s blog
Follow Karen on Twitter: @karensandlerYA

Sigal Tzoore (650) 815-5109