Halloween Strike

Okay, I'm going to own up to this, even if it might alienate a few people. I know it's alienated my kids when I've said it before:

I freaking hate Halloween.

Stupidest holiday EVER.

I don't like to be scared. I don't like spiders. I don't like having to stockpile candy that tempts me, hubby or my kids if I buy it too early or that stresses me out by buying it too late so I have to pay exhorbitant amounts of money when it's going to be half price the next day. I don't like fake cobwebby things on my bushes (I like to make my house look nice not run down!) I don't like carving pumpkins (messy, yucky inside stuff!). I don't like teenagers who are way too old to be asking for candy standing on my front porch with a stupid hat or old mask on as their limited attempt at costuming grunting out: Trick or treat. I find that threatening. Not cute. Most of all, I don't like feeling like a Halloween scrooge if I say I don't like Halloween.

What DO I like about it?

Well, I am a fan of zombie movies and there's tons of them to be seen at this time of year (zombies aren't scary - just gory). I do appreciate the art that goes into carving pumpkins. How do they DO those designs? Mine always look like a squirrel has gnawed on the outside shell and I've just forgotten that there's a half-chewed squash sitting on my front step. But I especially like that it's usually my husband who has taken the kids out over the years and I've stayed at home giving out the candy to cute little ones in costume while sipping a glass of wine in between door bell rings.

So this year whenThe Boy asked me: When are we putting up the halloween decorations? I thought: No. I'm on strike this year. It's one more thing I don't want to do and I don't even LIKE doing it. I grumbled and said, "Meh. We're still at the rental. I don't want to haul out the box. Can't we just have a pumpkin? I got that today! And I got the candy too!"

But not even the thrill of having several boxes of candy available made the disappointment of not having Halloween decorations more palatable. He looked at me with those big, brown eyes and said: "Can't we at least put the shaking skull outside? It scares EVERYBODY, Mom."

Sigh. "Okay. We can put up the shaking skull. But that's it!"

A little smile. "Isn't the shaking skull inside the box with all the other Halloween stuff?"

Sigh again. "Yes. Yes, it is."

A shrug. "So maybe we can put up the witch, and the skull with the flashing lights for eyes, and the scarecrow and the…"

I need a union.

And just to prove I'm not all that grumpy, here are a few pictures of amazing Halloween pumpkins my friend emailed me. These I DO like. What about you? What do you hate/love about Halloween?

Photographs and Memories

Something awful happened yesterday. Not awful in the sense of life threatening or earth-shattering but awful in my son's world. He accidentally deleted a few years worth of images and videos from our digital camera.

He was devastated.

No matter how much I assured him that we had other videos, other pictures I couldn't really reassure him that all the events captured within this one camera were captured by others. He felt like a part of his past had been deleted as well and he could never retrieve it again.

My son's generation has had almost every moment of their entire lives captured on camera You'd think with so much footage this deletion wouldn't have been a big deal. But for The Boy, having his personal history and memories there in a physical form - in some way - is reassuring. It made me wonder: has our reliance on pictures and videos become more important than the family history we share verbally?

I have some photos of my childhood. An average number I guess. Not so many when I was first born and those photos are certainly precious to me. But it is the stories told to me by my parents that are more important. Luckily those can't be erased so easily (let's hope my brain keeps them for as long as possible anyway!)But the incident yesterday made me think hard about the role pictures have in our lives. In fact, one of the themes in THE BREAK has to do with how photos can help release memory and connect people. But by themselves, without memory to help tell the story, the photographs eventually mean nothing. Here's an example.

My husband inherited a very old family photo album from his father who had it handed down from some cousin or another and none of those pictures or the people in them mean anything to us. Even if those photos had captions saying who they were it wouldn't mean much to me because there wasn't a story - a memory behind the photo - that had been told to or written down for us.

So, I understand The Boy's sadness at the loss of all those pictures and the stories behind them. But, as I told him last night, what's more important are the memories you keep inside you - not on some digital camera. Still, it never hurts to download a camera a little more often. :)

The Lost Art of Doing Nothing

I know adults tend to romanticize their childhoods somewhat. Especially our summers. Those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer where life was one long stretch of time with not enough stuff to do to fill it. Now I know that's not entirely true. Many kids had to work long hours on parents farms or family businesses. But, even though I do remember the work, I also remember that there wasn't this rush, rush kind of feeling that I think is happening too much with today's generation of kids. Get up early to get to this camp, come home and run to this practice, take this lesson, plan a play date, whatever but make sure every minute of every hour is scheduled with SOMETHING to do. Even when it's summer.

After a weekend getaway to the cottage I got to thinking about my kids and what they'll remember about their summers. My first daughter was put into a lot of summer camps up until she was thirteen or so. We don't have much family around here so all she got for down time in the summer was a one or two week stint on my parents farm or a one or two week vacation with us. Same thing with Daughter Two. By the time The Boy arrived the girls were sick of camps. The Boy went to a few but this year he rebelled. When we asked him what one or two week camps he wanted to attend (swimming? Golf? Tennis?) he said, "I just want to be bored this summer."

I totally get that. The Boy is so overscheduled during the school year I'm not surprised he's burnt out. Plus, he's more of an introvert and needs quiet down time to recharge his batteries. School takes a lot out of him and add to that the three times a week he's at Tae Kwon Do and the 4 or 5 times a week he's at hockey the kid gets wiped. So, when he wanted to do 'nothing' this summer I said okay. But nothing still includes three times a week Tae Kwon Do, a weekly hockey treadmill session to improve his stride, and one 3 on 3 hockey game Wednesday nights. Compared to his regular schedule that's cake. Still, during the day he's free (a minimal amount of chores notwithstanding).

Last night, I was supposed to take him to Tae Kwon Do but when I got home he wasn't there. His sister said he'd gone to a particular friend's house but when I called he wasn't there. Not unusual for The Boy to take off to one place on his bike and end up at another without calling us to let us know (a horrible habit we can't seem to break him of). So, with 15 minutes until the Tae Kwon Do class I'm driving through the neighbourhood searching for him, silently cursing his irresponsibility under my breath and trying not to let images of strangers kidnapping my son off the street enter my anxious brain. I find him at a local park. The sun is just about to lower behind the trees so the light is hazy and the park is speckled with shade from the surrounding trees. There are people playing tennis, a few mom's and their babies are in the playground area and there, sitting on the swings is The Boy dragging his flip flops through the sand, talking with a neighbourhood girl we haven't seen in a while. His friend is also beside him doing the same thing, staring into space. All their bikes are jumbled in a heap on the grass. It is one of those 'moments' that makes me flash back to a feeling of my childhood summers - that lazy, kind of bored, but comfortable sensation of not having to go anywhere, just hanging out, talking with a friend, probably asking each other "What do you guys want to do?" and no one having any idea. Just. Doing. Nothing.

I didn't make him go to Tae Kwon Do (for which I got heck from my husband. Oh, well.)

I did make him go home and cut the grass because he didn't tell me where he'd been since 2 p.m.

There is a time for doing nothing and I'm glad The Boy is experiencing that. There is also a time to do chores. After all, it's never too late to teach kids about trying to have balance in your life. :)

Diary Writing and What it Can Teach You

How many of you were diary writers as kids? I know a few people who kept diaries but I wonder out of the writers I've met what percentage kept a diary and for how long? The reason I'm asking these questions was because I recently did an interview on Deb Marshall's blog and one of the questions she asked me was what advice I would give to young (and young as in 8-13 years old) writers. The first thing that immediately popped into my head was writing in a diary.

I used to keep a diary from about 11 years old until I was maybe, thirteen or so. Then I kept a diary all through my late twenties until I began writing fiction. I still have those diaries. I remember when I was in Grade 7 I wrote - whether I wanted to or not - in that diary every night for months. I often wonder whether that was the inception of my later discipline for writing regularly? What I am sure of is that it was the development of not only a good habit but it was also the early stirrings of developing craft.

Diary or journal entries allow us to describe our inner feelings, our daily activities, our friends and families, the events in our lives. Basically, it helps you to write character, emotion and plot. Kind of essential skills for a writer. I know it's hard (for some kids) to create a story out of thin air but they can all describe what happened to them on a given day. They can all describe how they felt at a particular moment or how someone looked when they dropped ice cream all over their new shirt. Diary writing skills are not self indulgent, navel gazing that is a waste of time. Diaries can tell us a lot about ourselves and our world. And, for this writer anyway, writing a diary was the start of a long, long love affair with the written word...

I guess I'm still writing a diary all these years later. We just call them 'blogs' now! :) How about you? Did you or do you still keep a diary? And what has it taught you?

The Return of the Prodigal Daughter

Daughter One finished her last exam yesterday and I'll be picking her up from university tomorrow to bring her back home for the summer. I am both excited and apprehensive about this. Excited because I've missed her and our chats about movies, life, books, clothes and whatnot. Apprehensive because she's been away, living as an almost adult, for over 8 months now and is used to coming and going as she sees fit and not having a worried mom and dad looking over her shoulder every second of the day. Now, she'll be living with us again and we have to settle into a new family dynamic. I really don't know how this will turn out.

I've discovered in the time D1 has been away that a life of blissful ignorance for parents can be a really good thing. When she first left I'd be texting and calling frequently, mostly to see if all was going well and to be assured she was adjusting to life in the dorm and away from home. I needn't have worried. D1 was ready to leave home at 10. She has LOVED her first year at university and, I think, if she could she'd stay there year round and be perfectly happy to do so. It's not that she doesn't love us but she's had a fabulous year and is already excited and planning her involvement with the university for her second year coming up in September. The only thing she's really excited about in coming home for the summer is getting a job and making some money :)

So,in the past eight months I've become used to worrying about her from a distance which is a totally different kind of worry than when a child is home. The transition from child to adult is hard enough on the teen but, my God, as a parent I'm struggling with it now that she's coming home from such a long time away. How much do I get involved in her life now? What do I need to know about what she's doing while living under my roof? How do rules apply to her as opposed to her other two, younger siblings?

I've already promised her that I will try and be as laid back as my control-oriented personality will allow. All I told her was, "Please, just let me know if you'll be home late and text me if you are staying at a friend's house otherwise I'll get absolutely no sleep this summer." She assured me that since all her friends are of legal age now to go out to clubs and she's got to wait until later in the year not to worry she won't be out that late. Yeah, right. Like she'll be hanging out at the library when her friends are out partying. Uh-huh.

But, as any parent who is lucky enough to still have a decent relationship with their kids as they hit this young adulthood age, we have to remember that we are blessed to see them progressing not only in age but hopefully in wisdom. I only hope some of that wisdom rubs off on me too.

So as my prodigal daughter returns I ask the universe to grant me the following wishes:

Please let me have the wisdom to keep my mouth shut when I need to.
Please let me know when to prod and ask her to talk about things that may be bothering her.
Please let me understand that she won't want to talk to Mom about many things. And please let me be okay with that.
Please let me remember that I am also evolving as a mother and that our relationship is evolving (or should be) as well.
Please let me remember that she is still only 'almost' an adult and won't necessarily always speak or behave as one all the time.
Please let her do her own laundry.

Those are pretty reasonable wishes, right? Well, maybe I was pushing it on the laundry one ...

Birth Order and Your Characters

Ever since I read an article about how the birth order of children affects their personality I've been analyzing my family and friends to see if their character traits reflect or refute the birth order characteristics. Since every one of us lines up somewhere it's kind of a fun checklist to see whether this is fact or fiction. And speaking of fiction, here's my question: do you consciously attribute your hero/heroine's personality characteristics to their birth order?

I know in the case of my novels, I've had a younger sister (with an older brother), an older sister (with a younger brother), an only female child, an older brother (with a much younger brother). I have yet to write about a character with more than one sibling. As I read through the list below I can see that I have attributed many of the characteristics of the Oldest and Youngest to my characters. Maybe I did it because I was aware of this birth order theory but I didn't consciously set out to write them as a 'type'. Goodness, I hope my characters have a little more complexity than that. However, I have to admit many of the traits listed below can be attributed to my firstborn and youngest siblings that I've created. I haven't written a middle child character yet but, from the list below, it would be an interesting character study. Middles seem much more complex and harder to define than the other two (that's my Daughter Two for you!)

Below, I've excerpted the descriptions of the three main birth orders care of this article

OLDEST CHILD
First born children are natural leaders. They tend to be perfectionists, reliable and conscientious people. They don't react well to surprises and can be aggressive, but can often be people pleasers. Children who are first born have a strong need for approval by others.

Traits
Responsible
Conservative
Doesn’t make waves
Follows parents’ wishes
Emotionally intense
Authoritarian
Perfectionist
Driven
Surrogate parent
Leadership material
(Note: Only children are similar to first born children. However, they are even bigger perfectionists, are more responsible and tend to get along better with older people than individuals their own age)

MIDDLE CHILD
The middle child is often the most difficult to stereotype. Almost always guaranteed to be the opposite of their older sibling, middle children typically feel as though their older sibling stole the spotlight from them, while their younger siblings could get away with murder. They tend to be secretive, more withdrawn and not prone to talk about their emotions. Since middle children feel as though they were overlooked by their family they grow stronger connections with peers and are excellent people readers and peacemakers.

Traits
Peacemaker
Negotiator
Highly attuned to needs of others
Doesn’t like to follow authority
Creative
Independent
Peer-focused
“Chameleon”

YOUNGEST CHILD
Last born children tend to be outgoing, social butterflies. They are also the most financially unstable of all the other siblings since their primary interest is in having a good time. The youngest children of the family are often very charming, but can also be manipulative and spoiled

Traits
Comical/entertaining
Highly social
Laid back
Dependent
Creative
Unconventional
Few expectations of self

Please note that these traits may change based on the space of years between children and the female/male dynamic. For example, I'm the youngest of two but there were 7 years between me and my brother so I'm more like an only child.

What about your characters (or family members :) ? Do they follow these traits or at least some of them? Or do you think this is a bunch of hooey?

The Lost Weekend

It's been awhile since I've had one of those weekends. You know the ones - where you open your eyes Monday morning more tired and exhausted than when you fell into bed the night before? Where the past two days seem a blur and you can't quite figure out what you did, where you went or what, if anything, you accomplished? No, I did not have a bender. Please, who had time to even down a glass of wine? What I'm talking about is two days where your entire existence is for, about and in service to your children.

My kids are not infants or toddlers. They are, supposedly, getting more independent as the days and years go on. But honestly, with the demands put upon me these past two days with The Boy's hockey and a dreaded school project, we had more angst and drama than when one of my babies was up all night with colic. Please, I'd trade a colicky baby with having to motivate an eleven year old boy to get a school project done and getting studying accomplished for yet another math quiz on Monday any time. Throw into the mix that on the heels of having an awesome hockey game on Friday, the poor kid then has an unfortunate hit against another player on Sunday and gets his first ever game misconduct (thrown out of the game and suspended for one more) we had an extremely emotional end to an already conflict-filled weekend. This latter event caused some major upset for the poor kid. He always plays by the rules (both in hockey and in life) and when something like this happened he felt so horrible about it that both husband and I were thrown into instant counselling mode (as were several of his coaches from the team - we have a very supportive team and we know we're lucky).

So, by 11 pm Sunday night (a full two hours after The Boy is usually in bed) he's finally calmed down enough about what happened, he's finished his project and has done a bit of studying for his test. But not only is the poor kid wiped out today so are his parents. Needless to say, no writing has been done on my part (even missed one of my bi-weekly blog posts). Sometimes life just throws a few curve balls at you to remind you to put writing into perspective. Family first always - even if it wipes you out. You can recharge later. The words will always be there waiting for you even if you ignore them. Your kids may not be.

Vintage or Just Old Crap?

So my daughters have decided that buying vintage sweaters from the Goodwill is cool (well, not cool exactly - they'd never use that word). I am, shall we say, ambivalent about this sudden thriftiness. I grew up with hand me down clothes (even a bra once, Lord help me) from my cousins. Some of them were even girls :). I did get new clothes as well but I remember getting dresses and coats and other sundry items from various relatives and thinking they really were not my style. Perhaps they were my style but, darn it, they weren't new so they couldn't be as good, right? Anyway, I've had no trouble over the years donating tons of clothing to Goodwill. It is a fabulous organization. But I never really ever shopped there before. So when, the other night, Daughter 2 said she wanted to go we went. I was pleasantly surprised.

The Goodwill Store we went to was just recently built, bright lights, clothes organized in colour-coded blocks on racks and while, yes, there were some sketchy items, most of them were very well cared for, clean and in good shape. Daughter 2 bought 3 old man sweaters (don't ask. Apparently old man is a style these days) in almost perfect condition for under 20 dollars and was thrilled. Now I know she's not going to stop buying ridiculously expensive brand name items at American Eagle or Hollister (she'll try her hardest to make me buy them for her) but I love the idea of her recognizing that just because something has been used before it doesn't mean it's crap. The idea of not wearing something that a thousand other girls have in their closet is also a good thing as well. Wanting to be unique/individual is to be celebrated so if my girl wants to wear an oversized sweater that has a picture of an equestrian and his horse on the front then more power to her! Even better that it only cost $5.99.

Now if I can just convince my Dad to donate all his old shirts and sweaters to me I've got the next few Christmas's and birthdays covered. But then they'd probably think they're just hand me downs. I guess the fine line between Crap and Vintage is being hung on a rack with a thousand other old man sweaters and a price tag of $5.99.

A Love Poem for My Daughter

When we said good-bye to our first born yesterday at university I had many words I wanted to leave with her. I'm a writer - I should have had the right words. But when it came time to say them not one could come out. None were right. None of them captured the feelings I had.

I'm not a poet but for the first time I felt like a poem would be the only way to capture the feelings flowing through me as my baby girl leaves home. It's not perfect but it's as close as I can get to telling her how much I love her.

This is a love poem for my daughter.

Never Before

I am watching your face as you look up at me
Holding you in my arms
As I rock you

I have never before felt such a surge of love

I am lying beside you waiting for you to fall asleep
You lean in toward me and give me a big, fat, wet with warm milk, kiss
Without me asking for it

I have never before felt such a longing to hold you forever

I am yelling at you, upset and angry over some silly thing you've done
I can't even remember what it was anymore
I find you sitting on your bed, holding your teddy bear, close to your chest
And whispering in its ear
"Mommy's not in a good mood right now, Henri. We'll just wait until she's feeling better."

I have never felt my heart break before

I watch you walking - wobbling - in your first high heel shoes and hold back a smile
Thinking how beautiful and awkward and wonderful you look
And stop myself from saying anything that might make you feel even sillier than you probably already do.

I have never before felt so helpless at the passing years

I leave you at your door with one last hug and kiss before we drive away
Knowing you are anxious and sad and excited all at once
To see us go

I have never missed you or loved you more.

All my love, forever,
Mom.

Chaos is about to Descend

So the rest of the kids come back tomorrow night. Not gonna lie, it has been fairly restful while they've been at the grandparents. I haven't had to worry about getting the boy to various sports lessons or summer camps, the girls haven't been at each other's throats in two weeks so the house has been blessedly quiet. Hubby and I have had a (more or less) stress-free relationship (remember, the oldest one is still at home so it hasn't been a complete picnic). All in all, quite nice. So as of tomorrow night that will all change.

Laundry will start accumulating the minute the front door is opened. Dishes will pile sky high. Beds will remain unmade, bathrooms left as if a tornado has ripped through the room, milk will run out in a day and a half (if not sooner), whining will intensify and Advil will be popped in ever increasing dosages.

Sigh. Life will be back to normal. Maybe then I can actually start to write more than a page or so every few days. Chaos and my writing output seem to be symbiotically connected. Or maybe, that missing, messy, noisy tumult that is my family is my muse.

Welcome back kids. Mommy missed you!

Thankful Thursdays

I know I'm not the first blogger/writer to theme out one of their days to offer up some tidbits on what they have to be thankful for but I think it's about time I started. I've been trying to live life a bit more optimistically for me and after the last few days of worry about my mom's health I think it's a great time to offer up some thanks to the universe because karma has a way of following you and I need to highlight some things and people that just don't get enough credit.

I totally underappreciate my husband. He's a rock when I need him to be and he kept the homefires burning (without burning down the house) while I was gone this week.

The supportive torkidlit MG/YA writers group initiated by the fabulous Claudia Osmond. Even when I'm away I feel their support and, lo and behold, Claudia posted her interview with me this week and I barely had to lift a finger. I'm thrilled to be returning the favour and will be posting my interview with Claudia next Monday once I organize my life after being away for three days! Thank you Claudia and torkidlit!

I'm also thankful to be back in town for Cheryl Rainfield's book launch of SCARS tonight. She's doing a fabulous thing by having a charity affiliation with the all profits for Scars sold tonight going to the Toronto Rape Crisis Center/Multicultural Women Against Rape and Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network (RAINN). SCARS is about 15-year-old Kendra, a sexual abuse survivor who can't remember who abused her. When things get tough, she cuts herself to cope--but that only hurts her more. With the help of some people she loves, a good therapist, her art, and a friend who might just become her girlfriend, Kendra is able to face her past and to find healing.

Who can't help but be thankful when there's authors like that doing such good things in the world?

I'm also thankful and excited and a little sad to see my oldest daughter officially finish high school today and celebrate with her Prom. She is smart, beautiful and a joy in my life. I've been a lucky Mom to get to share this life with her and I know this is a significant ending and beginning point for the next part of her life. Congratulations, baby. Thank you for being such a fabulous first child.

And on that slightly weepy note, I will end my first Thankful Thursday. You know, they're right when they say to list out the things you're thankful for when you get overwhelmed, feel too tired to cope or are just in a bad mood. Life is good sometimes and we just need to remind ourselves of that once in a while. Hope you're having a thankful Thursday!

Decisions, Decisions...

There are just some weeks where your life has a theme to it - whether you want it to or not. Just like a novel, sometimes that theme is apparent only after some minor or innocuous scene or comment from a character that suddenly crystallizes everything that's been happening and gives it a cohesive underpinning. Like the 'why' of a characters actions, the theme is the 'why' of the book. Why are these things happening? To what purpose? So when my friend and fellow writer, Cynthia Reeves left a comment on my last blog post about how much she hates making decisions I knew that this had been my life's theme lately. Well, at least my family's theme.

Daughter One is going to university in the fall. Going, that is, if she ever decides which offer to accept. She's narrowed it to two excellent universities both with equally impressive pros and a minimal list of cons (she likes to make lists). She is paralyzed with indecision. The deadline to make a choice is May 28th. I've shortened that to this weekend so as to give us a cushion of a few days should there be any technological glitch with sending the acceptance and paying deposits on line.

Daughter Two is angsting over whether to continue to participate in a team sport that requires her to miss more classes than she's comfortable with (yes, she is that concerned with academics. She's the only teen who's parents encourage her to slack off).

The Boy can't decide on what to have for breakfast. God help us all when he has to make a major life decision.

The Husband loves to discuss, analyze, dissect, weigh, and plan out every major decision in our lives to the point where it might take months or years to come to a decision that's to his satisfaction. Yes, it drives me that nuts. Our home reno has to be done this year - let's hope decisions are made quickly and painlessly.

Me? I hate agonizing over a decision. Makes me physically ill -really. It does. So, if I can cut to the chase and say "That's what I want to do" and be willing to live with whatever consequences afterward then I know I'll be a happier person. Over-analyzing, not moving forward, indeciveness is not a healthy thing for me. Is it for anyone? Of course, there's the risk of making hasty, not well thought out decisions. A lot of people - Daughter One especially - doesn't like making decisions because she's worried about making the wrong one. Making a decision is such a relief but only if you are willing to live with and accept the consequences of it. Only if you can handle any potential regrets from that decision.

I told Daughter One that's the way I make decisions. When I was angsting over whether to have a third child, I asked myself the following question: "What would I regret more? Having a child or not having a child?" I knew I might regret not having another child but I would never - ever - regret having a child. No matter the hard work and sacrifice involved.

So, I said to her, "Which university would you regret NOT going to more?" A light went on in her eyes. I think I know which one she's going to pick. We'll see. I'll let you know.

Anyway, so that's the method I use to make a decision - thinking about which would be my greater regret. What helps you make those hard to make decisions?

Why I Love Writing About 17 Year Olds

Writing for and about teens is a neverending source of joy for me. I have two of them in my house and while living with them isn't the easiest thing in the world, I can honestly say I am never, EVER, bored by them. There's a long laundry list of why I love writing about teens - but most especially ones on the cusp of adulthood. Most of my books feature 17 or 18 year olds. I don't know why I picked that particular age group but that is the age I gravitate towards. I've thought about it and here are some of my reasons why.

They are on the cusp of adulthood - about to step away from a life ruled by parents or other authority figures and enter the treacherous waters of life navigating - for the most part - on their own. That makes for great character growth potential. So many ways to grow and learn!

They have all the joy and optimism of youth with only some of the cynicism that adulthood brings. I say 'some' because by 17 or 18 they know enough of life to be realistic about the dark side of living. Their optimisim, however, usually triumphs over the cynicism. They haven't been completely beaten down by life's curve balls. With all the difficulties a good story should throw at a main character they better have optimism to survive it!

They are resilient. One week something might happen and it's the end of the world. Next week they barely remember how miserable they were. Again, a character who never lets events beat him/her down is someone you can root for.

They feel deeply and passionately. Everything is still fairly new to them - love, death, failure, success. And because it is new it is more vibrant, more exciting than when an adult experiences something. Depth of emotion means a character is less likely to be flat and boring. In fact, as a writer, you have to make sure your teen characters don't become too over the top and risk alienating a reader by being turned off over how emotional they can be.

They don't have preconceived notions - for the most part. At this age, they haven't been totally jaded by seeing something a hundred times over.

They are mostly independent. They can drive, hold down jobs, care for younger siblings or older relatives. Independence allows for greater flexibility when creating a story where your main character has to solve their own problems. I've heard it's tougher to write younger characters and not have the parent or some other adult caregiver come in and help fix the problem.

They are living through a constantly changing landscape. By 17 or 18, the relationships they've had for most of their lives with their friends or their family are about to or in the midst of changing. They are finishing high school, they are either entering the world of work or college, or maybe not knowing where they're going at all. Life is not yet prescribed by jobs, mortgages, children, elderly parents etc. but they can see it will all change in a few years. So their time now is an endless horizon of possibilities. As writers we are always aware of starting a story when the moment of change occurs. A 17 year old life is an endless possibility of change - what a banquet for a writer!

They challenge everything. Parental authority, societal norms. They see they are close to freedom and it makes them yearn to break free of all expectations. Again, a character trait that can lead to great conflict - exactly what you need in a good story.

And, despite everything I just listed, sometimes, they are still little children. Scared, needing love, needing reassurance and completely unsure of what to do next. Emotional vulnerability is key to making a character sympathetic.

So, that's why I love writing about this age group. They are everything that is fascinating, frustrating, determined, vulnerable, unpredictable, passionate, uncertain and, like I said before, not at all boring. Everything I love in characters. As a writer, who could ask for anything more?

What are some of the things that you love when writing about teens or tweens or younger?

Diary of a Wimpy Blogger

Okay, I must admit that I'm still learning about how to be a good blogger. I know I don't really have a focus to the blog - beyond occasional posts about my journey to become a published author, or various blog entries about what little I've learned about writing or my mantra of living your life with passion, perseverance, patience and positivity (have to work harder to make more blog entries on that last topic!). Here and there I'll have blog entries on movies, tv, kids and the various ephemera of life. Once in a while I will blog on a book that has impacted me or my kids significantly enough to warrant what I hope will be a thoughtful, or at the very least heartfelt, blog post. I try to respond to the blog comments as I'm always surprised and grateful when someone bothers to stop by and read what I've written. But sometimes I miss those comments and the opportunity to respond. I was reminded of how much a comment from a blog reader can make your day when I was checking into some old posts last night.

Every once in a while I'll check and see how people end up here at Out of the Wordwork. Like fellow Blueboarder Mary Witzl's post recently about how many of her blog readers came to her via a post on eating slugs (!) I know that how a person stumbles on to a blog can be quite a random thing. For example, a lot of my visitors seem to stop by when searching out info on Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Not surprising since it is a hugely popular series and its author, Jeff Kinney, is a star amongst mothers who have young sons who don't want to read. Except for Mr. Kinney's books. Hence my October 15, 2009 blog post on Boys, Books and Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

Basically the Wimpy Kid post tried to figure out why these books were so popular with boys - especially my boy. I don't know if I quite figured it out (who can figure out a phenomenon?) but I had my theory. Anyway, I wrote it, checked back a couple of days later and didn't notice any commentary then promptly forgot about it until I read it over again last night - and noticed there was a comment on it. Huh. I clicked on it and this is what it said:

I loved your blog post, Nelsa! Thank you so much for your insight. I think I learned something here :)
October 20, 2009 1:46 PM

Nice, huh?

Even nicer when I found it was from - wait for it … JEFF KINNEY, the author of the Diary of a Wimpy Kids books!

Colour me shocked. Seriously, I almost fell off my chair. I DID fall off my chair when I realized he had made the comment in October and I hadn't noticed it until 3 MONTHS later!! My son (a tried and true Kinney fan as well) just shook his head in disgust at my oversight and said, "Geez, Mom. How could you miss that??" momfail

Now, Mr. Kinney did make the comment 5 days after I wrote the post and I had already moved on to another post by then, but really people, The Boy is right. How could I have missed this??? I mean, not that Mr. Kinney and I would have ever gotten into a blog comment back and forth or anything. The man kind of has a few other things on the go, right? But I'm a serious fan girl of his books and for him to take the time - Jeff Kinney!!! - to comment on my little blog entry when there are probably a gazillion other mentions of how awesome his books are and what an impact they make on boys and reading that missing his comment was truly a hit-your-head-against-a-wall kind of moment.

So, my take away lesson from this? Pretty obvious but sometimes I do need to be hit over the head:
Check on your comment section for at least a week after you've made the post, people. It's nice if a favourite author of yours stops by but appreciate that every comment posted is precious and you lose out on the possibilities of connecting with other people who have taken the time to read - and write about - what you've posted. Thank people for stopping by. I know I've probably missed some awesome comments from great people and for that I do apologize. I'm still learning how to navigate this blogger and twitter world thing and, like everything else, I strive to improve.

And just for the record?

Thank you so much, Mr. Kinney, for your comment. Please know that I didn't mean to ignore it but, like your creation Greg, I sometimes am a little clueless about stuff. Rest assured, my son got a huge kick out of my head-banging but, most especially, your comment. Once again, you have entertained him immeasureably. I will always, always be grateful for you and your books and the reading pleasure they gave my son. Thank you!

Failure Breeds Success: So says Michael Jordan

I've never been much of an athlete. Anything that requires an inordinate amount of physical sweat just turns me off. However, I am always impressed when I read about the mental will power that goes into shaping a star athlete. The ones that are the stars, the winners. How do they think? What is it about their attitude that makes a difference in their performance? Sure, you have to have some God-given talent and ability - but that can't be enough to push you into a superstar range.

My son is a hockey player. He's got a lot of inate skill and ability. He's a thing of beauty when he skates. But, as his parents, my husband and I need to tell him just because something comes easy to you doesn't mean you don't have to continue to work hard for it. Especially when you are not doing so well - that's when the true grit of a star athlete comes through - the never giving up bit. And, of course, anything we say as parents is immediately suspect to him. What do we know about being athletes? I don't even skate, for pity's sake!

So my husband did a little digging and found an amazing quote from one of the most superstar of all superstar athletes: Mr. Michael Jordan. Here's the quote and a segment from the article on him that sums it all up quite nicely :

"I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

But Michael admits he lost hundreds of games. He missed thousands of shots in his career. He failed multiple times.

And yet he says, this is exactly why he is a success.

Michael Jordan wasn't born a basketball star. He spent hours and hours practicing.

It took time.

It took great coaching.
And it took persistence.

And there you have it, writers. Persistence. Practice. Doing something again even when you failed at it before. Superstar athletes know this. They know they will fail. And they know that learning from failure is the key thing that will help you, eventually, succeed.

We're going to print this Michael Jordan lesson out for our son so he can tack it on his wall. But you know what? I think I'm going to print one out for myself too. We all need to remember the lesson: Failure breeds success. Don't be afraid of it. Learn from it.

An Ode to Writer's Block

I love it when I don't have to think too much about writing a blog post. When Daughter One came home with a pile of poems that she wrote (and with perfect marks to boot) I was very pleased - and amazed - to find one that resonates with writers so easily. The dreaded writer's block. She gave me permission to share, so without further ado here is

Untitled - Sonnet
(I love the irony of a poem on writer's block that is called untitled!)

A never ending struggle for each word.
Plucked from the depths of confusion to see
the blinding light of day. Never been heard
for a reason. Recoiling they soon flee.

Ideas do not breed a masterpiece.
They writhe in agony, fighting for life
which cannot exist. Every thought a feast
that vultures scoop up, with no care for strife.

Every attempt is scrapped and incomplete.
Self-entombed by a message too complex.
Before it’s begun, all thought obsolete,
whatever remains will only perplex.

Time races by staring up at the clock.
Stricken by this plague that is Writers’ Block.

Boys, Books and Diary of a Wimpy Kid

So I'm once again amazed at what the master of getting young boys to read, Mr. Jeff Kinney, has done with his latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid installment Dog Days. Especially my young boy. In fact, I'm going to be very upset when he finishes reading it because for the last couple of days it's the only thing we can use on The Boy for motivation that works. Okay,let's be honest here - when I say motivation I mean threats.

"If you don't get dressed and downstairs for breakfast in five minutes, you lose Diary of a Wimpy Kid for a week!"

"If you go upstairs for bed right NOW you can read Diary of a Wimpy Kid for an extra fifteen minutes."

"The bus ride isn't so bad. Remember, you have Diary of a Wimpy Kid to read!"

I swear, when I have the time I'm going to analyze every word and picture in those books and try to figure out what it is exactly about it that connects with boys (and I assume girls too since it is such a mega best seller it can't be just boys buying it). One of the things I've heard when others have been trying to figure the magic out is that the book doesn't preach to the reader. But neither do a lot of well written middle grade books. And the humour helps. Humour ALWAYS helps. But there are a lot of funny books out there. What's special about this one? Maybe it's the main character. I mean Greg is kind of a rude obnoxious kid. The way he treats his best friend Rawley borders on bullying sometimes. But the author shows all of his faults, doesn't apologize for them, he is what he is with no judgement about it. And maybe that's what every little boy (and girl) wants. To be accepted and loved for who they are even if they're not very nice sometimes or if they're doing something that a parent doesn't think is good for them. Does it really matter that my son gets obsessed with video games to the point where he could (if not ejected by his parents) spend the whole summer downstairs in the dark? The Boy cracked up at that in the opening pages of Dog Days. He IDENTIFIED. He's a kid. Kids get obsessed with things. Kids get lazy. Kids aren't nice to other kids sometimes. Kids are kids.

And that is what Mr. Kinney has created in the pages of his books. A real kid. Even if in cartoon form.

If there are any critics of these books still out there all I can say is: "Come over to my house. My son is reading. And loving it."

That is pure gold.

The Juggling Act

I have a special affinity and sympathy for the struggles of working moms who also want to write. It is my sisterhood, after all. I also have an understanding of the working writer mom dealing with a guilt complex - a very special sisterhood indeed. Many of my friends and some of my fellow writers who are just beginning this journey ask me, "How do you do it? When do you get the time to write? How do you manage?" You're not going to like my answer.

I don't think I manage very well at all.

I don't have the answer on how to find the time to be a mom, writer, wife, career person, friend, family member and every other hat you might be wearing. If I did I'd write a book about it and make a bazillion dollars. I don't even have a plan or a way to organize all those balls we're juggling. All I do is live with the guilt that I'm not keeping the balls in the air. Inevitably, something has to drop.

For example, this weekend was Canadian Thanksgiving. A whole 3 days at home. Surely, I could get to do all the things that have piled up over the last few weeks. Surely, I could finally finish the revision that I've given myself to the end of this month to complete. Surely, I could spend more quality time with hubby, the kids and my visiting family. Well, in some ways I did do all of that - but not everything was accomplished.

I could have spent more time with family, I could have written more, I could have done more laundry. But at least I did a little bit of each. And maybe that's my answer. It's not all or nothing, you see. It can't be. That way lies madness. I mean, I can't juggle at all so why do I think that if I put more than two or three things in the air I'll be a success at it? I won't. But I know I can juggle those two or three. So on any given day I pick those two or three and deal with them. The next day it might be two different things. By the end of the week I'll have juggled a grand total of fifteen to twenty things but on different days. Totally doable and quite impressive when you add them up.

So, bottom line, don't try and be a master juggler every single day of your life. All you'll end up with is a bunch of balls rolling around at your feet ready to make you trip and fall. So take it easy, one day at a time, one or two balls at a time and, most importantly, one guilt trip at a time.

Burnt Out and It's Not Even October Yet!

I knew September would be busy. I knew Mercury would be in retrograde making all travel screwed up and all work re-done. I knew that the few, blissful days of being bored in August would seem like a hazy, vaguely remembered dream told to me by someone else. So why am I so surprised that I'm feeling like a wet dishcloth that's slowly sliding down a kitchen wall? But I know if I'm feeling wrung out my poor son must feel like he's hanging on a clothesline trying to dry out.

In the last seven days he's played 6 hockey games and two Baseball games. He's had a couple of hockey and baseball practices thrown in there for good measure too. Not to mention the return of the dreaded homework monster to which his battle plan is a combination of avoid, ignore and forget it at school. I feel like I've barely been home myself so have been seriously neglecting Daughters One and Two. I think they know enough to avoid stressed out mom and I'm hoping that whatever they're up to is all legal and won't require my attendance at any hearings or anything.

Tonight is the first game of the Baseball playoffs. Is it awful if I'm not too upset if his team loses? Tomorrow night is another hockey practice. Thursday night is Open House/Meet the Teacher night at the school. Friday night is another Hockey game. Saturday morning hockey practice. Followed by a jam packed weekend with a birthday party for a friend, Word on the Street on Sunday (yay!), hair appointment (roots are now almost two inches long and even The Boy has asked me when I'm getting my hair done)and the Ontario University Fair which I wanted to attend with Daughter One is happening at the Metro Convention Centre this weekend. Not to mention the book signing by Megan Crewe I wanted to attend for her Book Giving Up the Ghost. Sigh. I may just have to get a signed copy another time.

And I know there was one more thing I'm forgetting. What was it? What was it? Oh! Of course. Working on the Revision. Right. <>

Maybe when I've finished sliding down the wall.

Return of Super Hockey Mom/Van Driver

My respite in the sun is over.

I have been called to service again. No longer can I hide from the cold, harsh world ruled by ice and infused with the pungent odor of damp, moldy socks and acrid zamboni fumes. I must prepare myself for battle. I must return to my duty.

My goal? Delivering my charge - the potential hero of the game. He must be prepared. He must be PACKED. He cannot forget his neck guard, shoulder pads, gloves, underarmour, jock strap, knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, jersey. Most of all, he cannot forget his SKATES. This is his armour. His stick his weapon. His mother is his pack mule.

Once again, I must forge through congested rush-hour streets to get to the arena on time. My steady steed - our Chrysler minivan. Only three years old and already nearing 100,000 kms. We have been to many arenas in our travels.

I must, once again, curb my desire to curse at those unsuspecting drivers that are in my way. My charge cannot be subjected to his pack mule's increasing frustration and stress. My charge must not arrive for his battle in a bad mood. His pack mule must remain calm.

If we are lucky, if we arrive on time, with all equipment ready, if my charge has had enough time to eat, if his pack mule has not flipped off more than one driver or run through too many yellow lights, if the minivan steed has not run out of gas, all will be well. My charge will be dressed and on time, waiting to face the enemy. Waiting to enter the cold, hard surface of the arena and conquer all foes.

But wait? What is this I hear? My now fully-armoured charge is whispering in my ear, his small, determined face barely visible through the helmet cage protecting him from the danger of flying pucks and attacking sticks.

Have we forgotten an important piece of equipment in his arsenal? Does he need advice or encouragement from his pack mule?

Nay. It is something much, much worse. He leans in closer to me.

"Mom. I need to go pee."

The pack mule collapses at his feet.