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What Will I Be When I Grow Up?

By on July 1, 2012 in dreams, Letting Go, writing

Something strange has happened to me, not completely unexpected and yet unsettling at the same time. I think that I have all grown up.

Top Secret Group, Hasamba

Remember when we were little, and our aunt, after squeezing our cheeks, asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up? I had so many dreams! I wanted to be prime minister and bring peace to the middle east, to sing on the stage of the Metropolitan, to be a famous piano player, a best-selling writer, a painter of amazing proportions. I wanted to get married (and stay married) and have four children and a house with fig and pecan trees. I wanted to be a journalist, and Spiderman (also Yaron Zehavi, the fictional teenaged leader of Hasamba who battled, in the 1940s, for Israel’s independence).

Now I’m forty, and all grown up. We could argue, perhaps, about whether middle-aged is an appropriate description (I’m going to take the devil’s advocate side). I have some white hairs and lots of laughter wrinkles, you know the kind. There were other signs I’ve been ignoring, like the fact that I have a house (one fig tree, no pecans), a boyfriend, two children, three dogs, seven chickens and one cat, all of whom I love. Or that my parents have both turned seventy already, my sister a successful pediatrician, my brother a game programmer, and my youngest cousins, the ones who are fifteen years younger than me, in the university pursuing their own careers.

But the truth is, I put all these signs on a back burner in my mind, because I was not ready to admit to one important fact: it is time to let go of some of my dreams and concentrate on one.

In this life, I will not be Israel’s prime minister. Or get a PhD. Or turn into a pianist or a singer at the Met. I will not become Spiderman despite the fact that we all, apparently, swallow a lot of spiders by sleeping open-mouthed at night. I could plant pecan trees, but a walnut will probably be better in the climate here, and there’s always my one fig tree.

Cover of White Bim

What I want to be now –not when I grow up, but now — is a writer. An author with readers who read my book, come to hear me speak, and send me emails. That is the one dream I have held onto from the first novel I read by myself (White Bim, Black Ear by Gavril Troipolsky) and all the way till today. And in order to become a writer, an author, I am willing to let those other dreams go.

Life is so often about letting go, but I hope (and I think somewhere inside me I know) that by letting go of these dreams today I am opening up a wider door to the one dream I truly love. Writing.

What do you want to be now that you’ve grown up?

Accomplishing Sunshine

By on June 30, 2012 in writing

A month or so ago, a writing tip on a blog caught my eye: rather than concentrating on the writing I hadn’t done today, the writer suggested, what if I kept a record of what I had accomplished? Positive thinking at its best, I thought. A revolution in state of mind: Instead of torturing myself about not writing, I could celebrate every word I put down. At the bottom of the blog, the writer directed readers to a facebook group, “Write On Build On.” Members of the group report daily on their achievements and donate a dollar a day to the charity Build On if they did not write. I applied to the group and joined.

The writers in this group report daily on their writing, but also about their life. They are there to give support and comfort to each other and admire each other’s achievements. Belonging to the group gives me structure, a feeling of more accountability, and a sense of community that I did not have before. By following the group’s chatter, I get a better perspective of how other writers work. I guess everyone lives the sinus wave: sometimes writing thousands of words a day, and sometimes editing just eight words.

Yesterday, Crystal Collier, one of the group members, nominated me on her blog for the sunshine award. The idea behind the sunshine award is to pass the love forward to other bloggers who write and inspire me, and it has three rules: 1. Thank the blogger who nominated me. 2. Answer the questions below. 3. Pass the award on to other bloggers. I loved that Crystal thought about me! Writing my blog and putting it out there, in the blogosphere, made me realize how much I want people to read my blog and comment on it. I want people to feel inspired by it, to feel more connected and less alone. Thank you Crystal for nominating me!

The Questions:
Favorite color: Changes all the time. This morning it’s yellow for sunshine and happiness.

Dolphin in Eilat

Favorite animal: I love dolphins. I love how they play in the waves, how slick they are and elegant. I love that Douglas Adams says they’re more intelligent than us. But I also love deer (so graceful! I will never tire of seeing them) and jackrabbit (so unproportional and funny-looking).
Favorite number: 1.
Favorite non-alcoholic drink: Tea with milk. I think I was British in a previous life.
Facebook or Twitter: Facebook. I love connecting with people and reading about what they do. (And Crystal, I also love Goodreads. Such a great idea!)

Anemone from the Galilee

My passions: Writing, reading, the kids, my boyfriend, Hawaii, watching deer, trees, Henry Coe State Park, hiking, climbing.
Getting or giving presents: I love getting presents, but I always feel embarrassed that people went to the trouble (and cost) of getting them for me.
Favorite pattern: The oaks dotting the hillside outside my window
Favorite flower: Israeli anemones.

My nominees for the sunshine award:
Iris Wilnai
Terry Lynn Johnson
Michal Rinkevich
Lisa from ReadBreatheRelax
Beth Trissel

Thanks Crystal for nominating me! This was fun!

The Thief of Complex Plotting

By on June 26, 2012 in adventure, book review, writing

Just as I stopped complaining to myslf, a week or so ago, about not finding a really good book to read, a book that would carry me away to far lands, I picked up Megan Whalen Turner’s magnificent The Thief. Sucked into the landsape of Eddis, Sounis and Attolia without a last glance behind me, I fell in love with Eugenides, the narrator, and his adventures. Three books later, and I’m worried — Megan Whalen Turner had written four books so far, but I am not ready to say goodbye.

Turner is a master plotter. Her prose sings. Her landscape maerializes before my eyes like a movie, sometimes a grim black and white film, at other times a colorful, musical adventure. Reading her novel is like taking a deep breath and diving into the clearest water, expecting to find the bottom of the pool below, instead discovering the rich life of a sprawling reef.

Have I told you yet that I love this book?

Rich, a rich tapestry of life and intrigue, a longing for adventure, love and life, the complexitie of being — I don’t know how she did it. How do you create such a world, so alive? No wonder that in each novel’s end note Turner says that the events there described are fiction, for how can one author’s mind encompass so much unless it was the truth?

I have always admired composers, their ability to hear separate threads of music, themes, instruments and turn them into one cohesive, melodic piece. Mozart, for example, surely was a genius. Or Bach. Beethoven. How were they able to hold all this music together to create their perfect concertos? I had not thought about novels the same way — yet here, in Megan Whalen Turner’s work, is a symphony of voices, characters, action, threads upon threads that somehow coalesce again and again into the most amazing, unexpected conclusions, shining a new light upon every written word.

Have I told you already that I love this book?

Eugenides is flesh and blood in mythological proportions. The gods speak directly to him, giving him their answers in short, clear sentences: go to sleep, stop whining. He is elusive, strong, a master swordsman, yet fragile, with an undeniable fatal flaw. I don’t want to tell you the plot of either novel, because there is no way to do that without spoiling the story. I read the first novel without an idea as to what to expect. Caught by the story, I read Eugenides’ adventure as he wished to tell it, in his own order and words.

What I loved about the series: Eugenides’ voice, the shifting landscape of his journey, the sea of olives, the dirtiness of prison, the arrogance of weak men, the beautiful yet cruel queen and the second, pants-wearing queen whose nose is broken. I loved the gods and their easy intervention in human life, the hidden temple, the isolation of Eddis, the friendliness of Sophos, the myths told by Eugenides and the mage. I loved the delicate, gentle love affair which slowly unfolds before the reader’s eyes without ever being acknowledged. And above all, the figure of the Thief, sitting high above the city, shrouded in the darkness of the night.


Which books do you love whose story, characters, or landscape carry you far far and away like this?

Countering the Anxiety Wave

By on May 9, 2012 in parenting, writing

Last night as I got ready for bed, anxiety slunk into the room, a menacing shadow. I had had fun five days with the kids, enjoying Eden’s birthday, a beach outing, and a special day with Eden rock climbing at the gym. The kids were sleeping peacefully in their beds, and yet I felt overwhelmed by terror at their next-day impending departure to their father.

Every muscle in my body screamed to jump out of bed, go to the computer, read a book, watch a movie, anything so that my mind would not fester with paralyzing thoughts about my failure as a parent, irresponsibility about money matters, or my bogged-down writing. I tried to describe my feeling to Dar. “You should do something about it,” was his practical response. “You should try to spend less money.”

My first reaction: You’re judging me!?! Then I tried to understand my upset. In the last few years I’ve done much to become more financially responsible. Chris comes once a week for an hour, keeps records of my spending, and generates monthly reports. I realized that I actually feel good about how much my attitude to money has changed.

Parenthood is a more touchy topic. I try to cram 365 days’ worth of love into 182.5 days with activities, one-on-one time, moments of listening, and homework. I give emotional support and take care of the children’s physical needs. Is it any wonder that I hardly ever succeed in giving the children everything that I would like to give? I reminded myself of the Hand in Hand class I recently took, the parenting book I am reading, the special times the children and I shared, the fact that I’ve been more patient with them. I feel good about how much I’ve grown as a parent in the last few years.

My negative thoughts almost disappeared. But what about my writing? Am I not exactly where I was ten years ago when I began? I finished one novel and started several others. I received one full manuscript request (no answer yet). I attended several conferences and received encouraging critiques. I took writing classes and interacted with writers. I started my blog. Without doubt, I am in a different and better place than I was ten years ago.

The shadows, the terror, my anxiety, all melted away. I felt better able to breathe. I had just had a moment of enlightenment. Instead of judging myself, I had taken an appreciative look at what my achievements were and found pride in my work. I am not at the beginning of my way to become a writer, a parent, a financially responsible adult. I am well on my way and will continue throughout my life. I thanked Dar for listening to me and closed my eyes, feeling relief, gratitude, and contentment. I fell asleep, sleeping the sleep of the just.

What tricks do you have to relieve anxiety?

Criss Cross Apple Sauce

By on March 16, 2012 in meditation, writing

A few years ago, I worked for six months as a teacher’s aid in first grade. The desks in the classroom were arranged around a central area rug, and the teachers often collected the children there to read or teach. I thought this system was great, creating a much more interactive and active environment, though for me, sitting slumped forward and cross legged for half an hour or more caused some back ache.

While teaching on the rug, the kids were expected to sit still and listen. There was to be no touching each other, no playing with their hair, and no tying and untying of shoelaces. Tough rule, I thought, and nearly impossible to keep. When I was six and in first grade, we sat at our desks and studied during all school hours, but no one ever told me that I was not allowed to draw. I happen to concentrate best when I am doodling, and all through my school years, from elementary school to business school, I filled my notebooks with little flowers and shapes.

Keeping a child utterly still and at attention can be as hard as getting the earth to stop moving. What’s the chance that I could convince the world to criss cross apple sauce for a long period of time? One day, when my writing flows, everyone is home, happy, and healthy, I would just press the pause button and order this great big rock to stop. No more transition periods, no more need to adjust to changes, no reason to say good bye to anyone I love. Scary idea, isn’t it? Because then there would be no growth, no travel, no possibility of reshaping life.

And yet I yearn for stability. Transitions make me unbalanced, and I stop writing. Not writing upsets me, and makes writing even harder, rattling me more. And suddenly there is no end in sight.

Whenever I feel ungrounded like that, the solution that presents itself is practicing meditation. And I’m back to criss cross apple sauce and no moving! For a while, I managed to meditate for fifteen minutes twice a day. I have a hard time sitting still. Thoughts creep up constantly, harassing me. My skin itches and my legs fall asleep. But then, once I’m done, clarity suffuses me. I’m a new woman.

I read once about a man who complained that he has no time to meditate. The Dalai Lama responded by asking: do you have time to breathe? And I realize, as I am writing this, that there are many constants in my life. The beating of my heart. The rise and fall of my breath. The blink of my eyelashes as they keep my eyes moistened. And other, imperceptible happenings, like the never-ending growing of my hair or the flaking off of skin cells.

Amazing, isn’t it? Noticing my own breath, a kind of meditation, can give so much calm. It really does. Now I just need to remember that next time I feel overwhelmed by changes.

YES to Opportunity and Magic

By on March 3, 2012 in creativity, dreams, inspiration, romance novel, writing

A few days prior to the writers’ conference this year, I tried to decide what I want to get out of it. If I had a goal, I reasoned, I would be more likely to leave the conference a wiser woman. I could learn more about the craft of writing children’s books, meet other writers like me, perhaps get lucky and say hello to an editor or an agent, but what do I really want? For the last few months I’ve been writing a romance novel for adults — what am I seeking in a conference aimed at children’s books?

I do have one novel for teens that is being considered by an agent, and I have been playing around with a sequel to it (playing around equals to about one hundred and fifty pages written before I got the main characters stranded on a magical mountain). That makes me count as a children’s fiction writer still, even if I am concentrating on romance right now.

And craft is craft. Perhaps no one will teach me here to write better rolling around in bed scenes (notice the euphemism?), but I could learn about revision, creativity, and dreams. That settled it for me. I was coming to the conference to be inspired. What better goal than that? And, just to be on the safe side, I chose a secondary goal: to give twenty of my business cards away. The least I could do, since Dar printed about five hundred of them for me.

The conference began yesterday with Charlie Price, author of Desert Angel (and more). After listening to him, my first action once I returned to my room was to buy the novel on kindle. Price spoke about his creative process and how he watches the movie of the story unroll as he writes. I could see his movie myself on the page once I started reading. Price’s writing is visual, raw and real. I felt connected to Angel, the main character, from the first paragraph, and I’m sure this is a book that I will write about again. I was lucky to sit next to Charlie Price’s wife at dinner and talk books and work ethics with her. That was great.

After dinner I expected great inspiration. I had heard Dan Yaccarino speak before (and I wrote about his YES presentation). But this time he surprised me. After speaking for about an hour about his success, which he attributes to his saying YES to every opportunity that came his way, Yaccarino added: “For every project you see here there are ten that didn’t make it.” I was amazed and inspired by how Yaccarino keeps challenging himself, working hard, trying new things, never afraid of being ridiculed or making mistakes. Truly inspiring.

So inspiring, in fact, that I’m writing to you this morning before I even had breakfast, so I’m going to do it now. Wishing all of us a wonderfully inspiring and enriching Saturdday!

The Joy of Banishing My Disbelief

By on February 17, 2012 in adventure, writing

Miracles happen. Especially in books. A burning bush talks to Moses? Sure, I accept that. A bunch of bones become an army of ghosts? Umm, creepy, but ok, I can swallow that. Elves, hobbits, flying kids, witches, people who incarnate over and over again over thousands of years. I believe it. I do. My imagination can accept quite a lot of marvelous happenings.

This is called, in literary terms, suspension of disbelief. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, one of my favorite poets, is the one who came up with the term. It is poetic faith, the reader’s willingness to accept incredible, romantic and supernatural people or events as possible within the framework of a novel, poem or play.

Poetic faith allows me to enjoy fictional writing. Take, for example, this story about a normal girl who is chosen to act as an adventurer in fairy tale worlds. That’s an imaginative idea, right? I don’t know any girl who actually does that. But, as long as the girl’s story sticks to the rules which the novel sets starting out, I am willing to accept and enjoy flying frogs, sheep with no mouths, a wizard who is a clown (how terrifying!) and a main character who is an expert in cliches.

The story I’m describing is Anna Staniszewski’s middle grade novel My Very Unfairytale Life. Jenny, the main character, does not fear the danger inherent in adventuring. She easily pops in and out of worlds saving creatures and countries, but she misses her everyday life. Yes, she’s rich with jewels and treasures, but she has no friends.

I like novels where the main character needs to balance their innermost desires with the conditions of their life and the limitations of the world around them. Staniszewski’s  novel, though short, cute, and easy-to-read, still manages to enfold within its pages a discussion of friendship, the power of laughing without a care in the world, and following our heart.

I think the novel’s innate charm is what made me so willing to suspend my disbelief. A lot of Staniszewski’s seemingly impossible details add charm as well as a shadow of menacing darkness and complexity to a story teeming with humor: the wizard’s castle is a huge circus tent and his grounds a mini-golf garden. He tortures Prince Lamb by forcing him to swing on a trapeze. The committee members who send Jenny on her adventures are exact copies of each other, looking alike, speaking in the same voice and at the same time.

I allowed myself to be swept along in Jenny’s adventure, rarely bringing my head up for air, following the twists of the plot through possible, impossible, credible, incredible, just letting myself have fun. And by the end of it, a reaffirmation of family and friends, I was very glad that I allowed myself to rest in belief for at least this one time.

I won’t Go Back to the Dry Cleaning Business

By on February 16, 2012 in rejection, writing

Every week Chip MacGregor, of MacGregor Literary Agency, answers readers’ questions on his blog. Today he answered “How Do I Get an Agent?” I expected him to say something along the lines of: research authors you love and find out who their agent is. Read blogs and agency websites. Write a query and perfect your novel. Make sure to know each agent’s submission guidelines and the correct spelling of their name. Then send your materials out with your hopes and dreams and commence waiting.

But instead of explaining how to send out materials and to whom, Mr. MacGregor tackled the question when are you ready to get an agent. Some of his tips I heard before, of course, like — you need great ideas, great writing and a great platform. But one tip made me blink fast.

When not to get an agent? Mr. MacGregor responded: “When you’re not ready for rejection. This is a tough business. Do you have any idea how many times I hear the word “NO” in a week? If you can’t take some rejection, or if you can’t take criticism, or if you can’t take direction, go back to the dry-cleaning business. You obviously aren’t tough enough for the writing biz.”

Oh dear.

If there is one thing I know for a fact, it’s that I’m not tough. I have a hard time with rejection and criticism. Certain words can leave me devastated and depressed for weeks. Should I then go back to the dry cleaning business, like Mr. MacGregor recommends? Writing is my life. It’s who I am. I’m pretty sure if you took me apart all you’d find inside are ideas and words and fluttering pieces of paper that say “Chapter 3 — in which Anna Mara learns never to trust old women with moles on their noses.”

I remember one beta reader who told me that all my characters sound the same (NO!!!). Or one reader who told me that my language was too difficult for thirteen year olds (NO!!!). Or a reader who told me that my previous draft was better and the new one bored him very much (NO!!!). I also remember one reader who told me this was the best story she ever read (thank you!). I remember the agent who told me I was a fine storyteller and another who told me she doesn’t do fairy tales but to send her anything else I might have (thank you and thank you again!).

And though it often takes me some time to get over each piece of feedback, I bounce back in the end. I love my book and my writing. Maybe I’m not tough and maybe rejection makes me want to cry, but, to quote T.S. Elliott: “Only those who risk going too far know how far they can go.” And in the words of Helen Keller, “Life is a daring adventure or nothing.”

And I am definitely choosing the adventure of writing.

Menacing Middles

By on February 11, 2012 in romance novel, writing

My romance novel has been running on neutral lately. Whenever I start writing, doubts creep up if I’m headed in the right direction. It’s the dreaded middle which is stopping me, and I’ve decided I need an outline to show me the way.

Yesterday, coincidentally, two of my friends brought up the subject of middles. One friend told me, after I confessed being stuck, that she sees the subject of middles as an on-going issue in my life. She argued that I easily start new projects or say I’m done, but middles challenge me. Another sign of flakiness, right?

A little while later my other friend called. She is pursuing a new project and confessed she worries about her follow through. She had tried many careers, and what if she loses interest in this new one too? I realized that instead of praising herself for searching for her next goal, my friend believes that her shifting focus is wrong. Switching jobs perhaps means no commitment to the middle of any one job.

But what is a middle and who decides how long it will be?

With books it is easy to recognize beginning, middle and end. My daughter likes to tell this story: “Once upon a time, the middle, the end.” For an opera singer, the beginning, middle and end of an opera are often clear: there’s a first and a last performance and however many in between.

But sometimes in life it’s not so easy to determine what the middle is or how long it should be. I was married for eight years when I decided to end the marriage. Had I admitted failure when I ended it so soon? Or perhaps my failure was not recognizing earlier that the marriage was bad? Perhaps I would have done better to end it sooner?

I know people who have worked in the same place their whole life, and I know others who move routinely from place to place. I don’t think either is right or wrong. As always, it is the circumstances that mean the most, and I wouldn’t want to judge anyone before walking a mile in their shoes.

My life has been, so far, a continual search. A search for love and happiness. A search for self actualization, self faith and belief. Many endings led me to new beginnings, and there were always middles following, some good and some bad, some satisfactory and some that I tried to escape. I don’t have everything (or really anything) figured out. But I do see my life as a journey to explore all I can, with no road map or outline that I can consult. I make it up as I go and hope that at least some of it will turn out to be fun.

Perhaps this is why I love to write. There’s order in a novel. Only one way to follow. It’s easy, simple and clear. And an outline exists, a beacon of light to lead the way to the landing strip of the end.

Flakiness and Writing

By on February 8, 2012 in perfection, writing

A few years ago I took an interpersonal communication class at Stanford Continuing Education. Our class had a very simple format. We could talk about anything that had to do with the group itself — no politics or weather. The group I was with ended up asking a lot about people’s first impressions: what did you think about me?” I stayed in the sidelines, feeling vulnerable, but that did not save me from one piece of feedback that had been branded in my memory forever. One of the women in the class told me: “You appear flaky.”

Flaky? I didn’t even know what that meant. According to the Urban Dictionary a flaky person is “Unreliable. A procrastinator. A careless or lazy person. Dishonest and doesn’t keep to their word.” Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m not perfect, but unreliable? dishonest? lazy? I took that woman’s words really hard. Where she said “appear” I put “are,” and I found confirmation for my flakiness with every appointment I failed to arrive to on time and every promise I failed to keep. She was right. I was flaky! I felt horrified and appalled.

And proving myself otherwise is impossible, because no matter how often I finish tasks, am on time (or even early), or am careful making plans, there is always the one appointment I can’t keep, the book I don’t finish, the party I have to cancel, or the friend I am forced to disappoint. I struggle with flakiness. I told you before, I strive for perfection (being the first to admit I’m not perfect is just a foil). I’m tough on myself for not continuing or finishing projects. I want to be responsible, reliable, thorough.

I get anxious when I don’t write every day. The writing routine is my refuge, what gives me confidence that there’s hope for me yet. But since returning from Israel the writing has been slow, and my progression into panic fast. Fortunately, it seems I’m not the only one who has a hard time getting back to a writing routine. Yesterday I read Nathan Bransford’s blog on how to get back to writing after a long break. Bransford says: “Breaks = kryptonite achilles heel termite ridden ankle breaking weakening things.” He recommends not heading straight to the novel, starting small, picking up momentum until the writing again flows.

I hope he’s right. My achilles heel is lack of faith that my flow can return. But I think it’s time to let go of this particular belief and accept one more facet of my humanness. Sometimes the writing flows and sometimes it wanes. My creativity can become inspired during vacation or disappear in the chaos of being far from home. And as usual, I see my first lesson to learn from all this is to let go of perfection and judgment, of comparison and expectations. My new goal is to let the magic of writing lead the way. That’s my worthy, optimistic, wonderful goal for today.

Sigal Tzoore (650) 815-5109