Writing is HARD … but worth it. (I think.)

nobody saidNo, no, I don’t think it– I know it.  I’m just coming off of a long weekend chock full of revisions.  The hardest revisions of my life.

I mean, I’ll be honest, I got down on my face before God about these revisions.

Here’s the thing.  One of my #1 goals in writing is to make people think.  I’m not setting out to write a little beach read about which boy is the cutest one on the island.  (No offense to anyone writing a book with that premise.)  I want to write about ideas and history, about philosophy and religion and paradigms for understanding the world.  For teens.

The thing with that kind of book is that it’s hard to write.  Your brain churns like a waterwheel, and you have to process these ideas that you’re setting forth.  My goodness, I’m writing for young adults, so I feel this responsibility to present them with valid questions (and sometimes answers, although the questions are often more interesting).  When I write a pivotal scene and send it off to beta-readers, the response isn’t just, “I like it” or “Use more imagery” or “Better word choices please.”  Sometimes the feedback launches me into a re-evaluation of my worldview and the framework through which I see the world.

Makes revisions go a lot slower.

The thing is, I love productivity, so I want to revise quickly and efficiently, but sometimes that’s just not possible.

I am so grateful for amazing friends who are also fascinated by ideas and willing to process them with me.  Right now I’m thinking especially of Kristin Luehr and Cindy Hunt.  Thanks, ladies, for loving the questions and, each in your own way, embracing the incredible gray areas while believing that black and white also exist.

I and my book are indebted to you.

Hanson: Reliving My Youth

mmmbopHere’s what you have to first understand:

It was 1997, and I was in love.

I’d heard the song, and I’d seen the music video, but when YM posted pictures in their September issue, I looked into the (2-D, glossy-page) eyes of Zachary Walker Hanson and knew I belonged with him.

Sure, he was only 12.  But I was only 16.

I had recently learned the word inevitable, and it started showing up in my poetry about this hyper young drummer who had so stolen my heart.

My sister Kristin called dibs on Taylor, the middle brother, but my love and energies were directed at the youngest.  We plastered our walls in centerfolds, grew addicted to Tiger Beat and BOP, needing each new issue because ohmygoshdidyouSEEthepostersinside?!

I was more than 100% sure that I would marry him.  I just had to meet him.  I started to set aside money to travel to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and meet my future husband.  I checked the daily weather in Tulsa thanks to this new-fangled internet-thing, and I checked out books about Oklahoma from the library.  I wrote poems about Zac, about his drummer hands, about the Tulsa sky, which I was convinced was a blue you could not get anywhere else.

In a safe on my parents’ farm there is an envelope; inside, my sister and I wrote down what our lives would be like 15 years later.  I can’t remember all the details, but I know I was Mrs. Zac Hanson and our daughter played on the floor by our feet.  In the time capsule that is buried on the farm, there is a story about how we would meet when I finally raised the money and took a roadtrip to Tulsa.

(Believe it or not, I did make it to Tulsa.  We were in Branson, Missouri, on vacation, and Dad asked if I wanted to drive into Oklahoma.  Um, YES.  And then in this Father of the Century manuever, Dad let us go all the way to Tulsa, where we stayed overnight.  The money I had set aside to meet Zac was collected to pay for this rendezvous, and I considered it money well spent.  Tulsa was, after all, where the magic was.)

Anyway, fast forward 16 years to the summer of 2013.  Hanson is playing a free concert at the Minnesota State Fair.

“Kristin, should we go?”

“Um, duh.”

statefairIt was incredible.  They played every song I wanted them to play (including “Madeline,” my favorite!), and I stared in awe at these (married) men who had grown tremendously as musicians, who joked around on stage with each other, and who– yes– exuded sex appeal so effortlessly.  I kept looking at Zac and his magnificent mane of wild hair, thinking how well I had thought I’d known him through teenybopper magazines and music videos.  It made me laugh and smile all night.

Zac and his majestic mane of sexy hair

Zac and his majestic mane of sexy hair

My sister and I rocked out to “MMMBop” and “Penny and Me” and “Where’s the Love,” as well as newer songs that were just incredible.  They really put on a great concert, and I loved every single minute.

Afterward, a mass of girls crowded up by their bus, and though we walked over and took a look at the bus, Kristin and I didn’t stay and wait for the guys to come out.  I’m 31.  She’s 28.  We realized a long time ago that we weren’t going to marry rockstars.

statefair3But it was sure fun for a night to remember a time when we believed it would happen, believed the impossible was actually inevitable.

Will Treatment Change Me?

I recently had coffee with a lovely young college graduate, a writer who has been dealing with intense anxiety, anxiety that has latched onto her faith and forced her into a position of crisis.  We talked about medication and therapy, about how there is nothing to be ashamed of, about how even scripture can be twisted and used against us.

Then she said, “The way my mind goes so quickly?  That’s why I think I can write.  I’m scared that if I start taking medication, I’ll lose that.”

That’s a fear I could definitely relate to!

I told her, “I think just as quickly now as I did before treatment– only now, it’s productive.  Before, my brain was spinning its wheels.  I was thinking in circles, thinking all the time but never really getting anywhere.  Now I can think productively.  I can focus on things that are important.

“I still think deeply– in fact, more deeply in some areas, since I’m no longer terrified of thoughts.”

So, did treatment change me?

Yes, but for the better.

arms

Teenage Creativity

differentLast week, I shared about some of my creative childhood activities.  Today, I want to tell you about the (strange but) creative things I did while I was a teenager.  To truly understand some of these things, you have to remember that I grew up in a small town of about 700.  My class had about 70 people in it.

1. Question Book.
I carried around a regular old spiral-bound notebook, and inside it, on each page was a question.  Some were silly, some were interesting, some were huge (are people inherently good or evil?), and I passed it around in my classes, where people would add their responses and read those from others.  I loved looking through the pages and seeing all the opinions, especially when written conversations (or arguments) would take place right inside my notebook.

2. Memory List.
In sixth grade, I wrote down a half-page of things I wanted to remember about the Kimball High School class of 2000’s elementary years.  In seventh grade, I brought it to school, and word got out, and people started asking to read it.  When I got my list back, people had added their own memories to it, so I typed them up at home.  For the next five years, I’d bring a copy of the memory list to school for a couple days each year, circulate it around my grade, letting people add to it.  Upon our graduation, it was probably 12 pages long.  There is a copy of it in my dad’s safe-deposit box, and I hope my class will do something with it for a future reunion.

3. Thank You List.
I made a list of every person in my grade.  Across the top of the page, I wrote THANK  YOU, and next to each name I wrote one thing I was grateful to that person for.  I hung it up on my locker  during class one morning, and it was so fun to later find a big group of people huddled around it, looking for their names.  People said things to me that day like, “I didn’t know anyone even cared about that thing I do!” or “I had no idea that was important to you.”  Loved it.

4. Imaginary Organizations.
My poor, dear, delightful high school friends were subjected to my strange imagination.  I created a fake band for us (Tempest Pixy), including a theme song and stage names for each of us (my favorites were Chizel Smithbanger and Hexron Davis).  We also had a fake “Russian Spy Ring” where I assigned fake foreign names to each of my “spy” friends.  I should clarify, most of us were in the RSR, but we did also have Spanish, German, and Japanese arms to the group as well.  (Do you think I’m insane yet?)  In our senior yearbook, I even “bequeathed” presidency of the RSR to my friend’s younger brother, whom I had forced into the RSR.

5. Soap Opera.
Yup, I wrote one for a while.  It was about a group of friends from Sunnyside High who were dealing with little things such as AIDS, teenage pregnancy, love triangles, motorcycle accidents, and long-lost twins reuniting.  I’d write a couple scenes, pass it around among friends, and when the notebook returned to me, I’d write a few more.

During these years, I was also writing a lot of stories and poems (bad ones).  I had so many ideas, and I rarely saw stories all the way through to completion.  Can you tell what a strange kid I was?  And yet, I had amazing friends who loved me, loved my creativity (most of the time), and who thought I was smart and hilarious.  Again, it’s not hard to see how I became a writer, is it?

Bonus– my friends and I also did “gut checks.”  We live in a place that happens to have quite a few, um, murder sites and, um, “haunted” locations, so we would scare ourselves silly by visiting these places.  My dear friend Dustin would tell stories about children with glowing eyes coming out of the weeds, and then he’d turn off the car lights and slam on the brakes and we’d all scream, even though we’d just done the same, tame thing the weekend before.

How about you?

Random 5 Friday is a weekly meme over at A Rural Journal.

Dear Diary (Summer 2013)

summer2013I can’t believe it’s almost September.  Here’s the scoop on my life.

I signed with The Chudney Agency!  Steven Chudney, my agent, will represent me to children’s and YA publishers as the two of us attempt to find a home for my young adult novel.  This upcoming holiday weekend will be dedicated to revisions!

Desiree got married!  My beloved friend and roommate of six years married my co-worker.  She moved out but not too far: just two buildings away in the same apartment complex!  For those of you wondering, no, I didn’t feel like an ugly bridesmaid on her wedding day.  Hooray!

Chelsea moved in!  My new roommate just moved in last weekend, and she’s a master of organization!  It’s interesting to see how this place I’ve called home for the last five years is getting an overdue makeover.

I saw HANSON!  My sister and I just fulfilled a childhood dream by seeing Hanson live at the Minnesota State Fair earlier this week.  (Full post to come soon!)

I deferred another semester till grad school.  Although I am thrilled to be admitted to the incredible Vermont College of Fine Arts, it just didn’t feel like the right time of my life to start grad school this January.  I had been doubting myself and my decision for a while.  The money I planned to save this year did not materialize as I’d hoped, and I had this strange hesitation about starting school.  After prayer and seeking out the wisdom of friends, I decided that I shouldn’t jump into grad school half-heartedly.  I asked the program director yesterday if I could defer for another semester.  If nothing else, it gives me time to sort out my thoughts.  (Gosh, this could be another whole blog post too.)

I started working on a new novel.  A young adult story about a girl who, after losing both her parents in a drunk driving accident, returns to her boarding school for her senior year.  Though she shares the story of her parents’ death only with her best friend and the school superintendent, she is very clearly changed.  No one seems to understand her strange grief– except for the quiet boy who missed all of last year and has secrets of his own.

With grad school on pause, I am entertaining the idea of attending a conference or two.  (And everyone thinks in unison, What was that about saving money?)  I’d love to go to BEA and SCBWI and the national OCD conference.  And VidCon.  And LeakyCon.  Okay, probably going to have to make some decisions.

I began as a guest contributor to the International OCD Foundation’s blog.  I am so honored to be an official contributor to the IOCDF blog.  My first post can be read here; it tells the story of my excruciating but ultimately liberating experience with Exposure and Response Prevention therapy.

My favorite five-year-old is about to turn six and starts kindergarten in ONE WEEK.  I try not to say too much about my favorite little ladies on my blog to respect their and their parents’ privacy, but they are such an important part of my life, I feel I need to throw a shout-out to Miss Emeline, the smartest, sassiest, prettiest, most creative soon-to-be kindergartener in the world.

What else, what else?  Work is picking back up.  I will be traveling soon to recruitment events in Minnesota and South Dakota (oooh, exotic!) for a few weeks.  I am ridiculously eager to spend this holiday weekend alone with my manuscript (and I wouldn’t mind your prayers, if you’re the praying type).  I continue to meet with Monica, my mentor at the University of Northwestern.  The new students moved in nearly one week ago, and classes started on campus yesterday … and you’d better believe that in my office, we all took a deep breath and then starting recruiting the Class of 2014.

Oh, the life of a recruiter.

Amalgamation

writingI took a quiz, one that will supposedly analyze my writing and tell me what famous writer my style is most similar to.  I don’t put a lot of stock in it because I did it three times and got three different writers, including Chuck Palahniuk, Dan Brown, and Cory Doctorow.

So, which writers do I especially want to write like?  Great question.

I want to have the lyrical quality of Jandy Nelson and Peter Beagle and Leif Enger.

I want characters like those created by Melina Marchetta.

I want to raise thought-provoking questions just like John Green.

I want catch-your-breath imagery like C.S. Lewis and Markus Zusak.

And I want to command the senses the way Erin Morgenstern does.

Your turn!

Unashamed

I have OCD!  I have OCD, and I don’t care who knows it!  (Can you picture me spinning around like Buddy the Elf?)

dontcarewhoknowsit

No, but really, I’m not ashamed of my mental illness.  Why should I be?

Illness is not shameful.

I didn’t choose it.

It gives me a platform to help others.

unashamedcollage

My Bookish Bad Habit

All through my childhood years, even into high school, I frequented the library in my small town.  My sister Kristin and I would literally go to the library five or six days a week– check out books, return books, search for books at another branch, use the internet (our parents were a little slow to get online).  I loved that little library, which was really just two small rooms of books– but part of a bigger network so that we could order what we wanted.

I still love the library.  The library I use here in the Twin Cities is connected to the Hennepin County system, so I have access to even more books than I ever used to.  I reserve a lot of audiobooks to listen to on car rides, and I pre-order books I’m especially excited about, and I check out books all the time.

But I have a problem.  I get too impatient.

I reserve a book, and then when I see that I’m 9th … or 22nd … or worse (back when I was checking out Harry Potter), I get too riled up about it, and I just go purchase the book.

Sometimes I skip the library altogether.  I’ll read a review and decide, That simply must be mine.

Then I hop onto the Barnes & Noble website and order it up.

I really ought to read the book first, don’t you think?  Especially for authors who don’t have a proven track record with me.

I buy faster than I read: I have so many books around my apartment that I haven’t had a chance to read yet … and still I keep buying.  The loading dock guys at the university where I work know me because they are bringing 1-2 packages to my office each week from Barnes and Noble.  It’s quite addicting– I love-love-love purchasing new books.  If I get a coupon in my email, I will find a book to buy.

LIBRARY, JACKIE LEA.  LEARN TO USE IT.  REIN YOURSELF IN.

Take a look at the picture below, and let me know where I should start!

I still need to read these 19 ... and have 7 more pre-ordered or on their way.  I CAN'T STOP.

I still need to read these 19 … and have 7 more pre-ordered or on their way. I CAN’T STOP.

Childhood Creativity

(First of all, the new students move in at the University of Northwestern in the morning– hooray!  A year’s [sometimes two!] worth of work parades in front of us today, and it’s fun and exciting and campus will be buzzing with teenagers embarrassed of their parents and about to meet their new best friends!)

childartistToday, for Random 5 Friday, I wanted to share with you some of my creative endeavors of childhood.  Next Friday, I’ll tell you about my high school exploits!

1. Story Society.
My sister Kristin, our childhood neighbor Amber, and I formed loads of clubs, but the best idea we ever had for one was the Story Society, which sadly was quite short-lived.  We had a clubhouse (a room in one of the sheds on our farm), which I painted.  Kristin and I went in there just last month, and one wall still says, “Story Society”; another, “Expanding our Imagination”; the third, a freehand castle with just one window lit up.  We were each supposed to write one story a week, then read it aloud at our club meeting and critique it for each other.  I remember my first story was this melodramatic piece about a jealous best friend who ended up shooting her friend’s boyfriend with a bow and arrow– only the friend jumped in front of her boyfriend, and the arrow pierced both their hearts.  Awesome, right?

2. Glamour Shots.
Kristin, Amber, and I wanted to do our own version of the beautiful Glamour Shots that adults sometimes did, so we raided the dress-up trunk and took *glamourous* (read: hilarious and awkward) photos with a disposable camera.  I distinctly remember choosing outfits Claudia Kishi of the Babysitters Club would wear.

3. Library.
You’re starting to see the roots of my current writerly nerdiness, aren’t you?  Well, how about this: one of the “games” we played was called Library.  Amber would haul some of her books down to our farm, Kristin and I would add ours in, and we’d lay them out on the deck stairs before each choosing one and then … reading.  (Let’s be honest, all I ever really wanted to do when I was a kid was just read uninterrupted.)  Amber had naughtier books than we did (i.e., books where girls and boys kissed), so that was a total bonus.

4. So many plays.
I wrote them.  Kristin, Amber, my brother Kevin, our friends Brandi and Tina, and I would act them out.  Most of these illustrious scripts have now vanished, but we do have one play (on rollerskates!) recorded on video.  It’s about rollerskating Olympics, and I was the star.  Of course.

5.  Mysteries.
For my sister and her friends, I would create these elaborate mysteries that they would then be tasked to solve.  Again, it was writing.  I’d set the scene for them, and then there would be a series of clues– some that would seem to incriminate various characters and some that (sneakily) exonerated them.  If you were to process all the clues together, you could come up with the culprit.  After everyone guessed, I’d read the true answer.

So, was I a dork growing up?  Yes.  Do I care?  Not a bit.  Look at how early the seeds of creativity were sown in me!  I’m proud of creative little Jackie Lea.

Random 5 Friday is a weekly meme over at A Rural Journal.