Writing Takes Research

Writing takes research. Even fiction writing. For some writers, that's the fun part. I know some historical fiction authors who love diving into research, learning all they can about a certain time, person, or event in the past. Mystery and fictional crime authors have to know the forensic and legal procedures. But what could there possibly be to research for romance and women's fiction? 

Well, lots apparently. So maybe the romance part can be completely construed, but it still helps to have some knowledge on relationship dynamics whether through real-life experiences or reading-for-research/pleasure. But to write a complex novel with round characters, they need to have developed careers, hobbies, interests, and more. 

While I'm not the most enthusiastic researcher, I will do it for the story. For Another Dance, I spent most of my time researching the dance moves and jargon associated with ballroom dance. As Annie learns the dance steps, I needed it to be realistic that the instructor would use the proper terms, and I also needed to be able to describe the moves visually. I spent a lot of time watching instructional dance videos on YouTube, pausing to study and capture the body movement. I also researched military basics, nurse procedures and training, group therapy, and the effects of pharmaceutical drugs. It was all interesting to learn about, and I'm happy with how I was able to weave my newfound knowledge into my story, but I discovered a much more enjoyable type of research for my upcoming novel Road Maps. 

For Road Maps, I had the real life experience of dealing with the sudden death of my estranged father, so no need for research there. But I did have to use my best Googling skills to learn about filmmaking, screenplay writing, and movie production. (I'm sure my rendition might break some rules, but it's also fiction, so a few broken rules won't hurt anyone). However, the best part of research was actually visiting roadside attractions in Iowa in order to properly describe the feeling of being there. My family joined me on this adventure, and we had an amazing time exploring our home state. Places we visited include the following:

• Squirrel Cage Jail in Council Bluffs
• 
  Blue Bunny ice cream parlor in Le Mars
  
• carousel in Story City
• 
  Buddy Holly memorial in Clear Lake
• 
   Field of Dreams movie set in Dyersville
  
• Fenelon Elevator in Dubuque
• 
  Shrine of the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend
  
• American Gothic House in Eldon
• 
  and more!

In the next few weeks, I'll share more pictures and stories from our excursions as I dive into the editing and revision process of Road Maps. As I share our researched experiences, I hope to be transported back to those visits and further influence my story building and refining.

Writing takes research, but research can also take you on adventures and I look forward to sharing mine with you! 

Failure and Rationalizing

 I've been feeling bad about myself lately. When I am seemingly "failing" at one of my goals, I internalize all that failure and guilt and react in one of two ways: mope around and whine about not being productive, or overcorrect and stress myself out by trying to accomplish ALL the things. 

And, no matter what direction I take, I ALWAYS complain to my husband about my inadequacies. Because he's used to these rants, he usually stays quiet, so I carry on the other side of the conversation, as well, rationalizing why I haven't been productive. 

*I'm in the middle of my busy time at work, with speech competitions every week

*The kids have a lot going on

*I have so many chores to catch up on

*Laundry, laundry, laundry!

*I'm just not in the headspace to write

*I'm just not in the headspace to market

*I'm just not in the headspace to grade, or lesson plan, or send emails...

Okay, okay, some of the excuses are pretty lame, but there is something to be said about having to balance work, home life, and passionate pursuits. It's tough! I already feel like I never have enough time, and I've now chosen to fill up my time even more with writing, book events, marketing. Am I just insane?

Yes. Yes, I am. 

But that's beside the point, and not the focus of this post. The focus of this post is my penchant for making excuses. 

But do I need to even bother making excuses? So what if I have an off-week? Does that make me a complete failure? Reading a book instead of writing could be seen as research. And choosing to play board games with my children makes me a good mom. Like, a really good mom. And watching television can be good for my mental health...unless it's reality TV. 

Okay, I'm rationalizing again. Instead, I just need to be unapologetic about my choices, realize I can always work towards my goals tomorrow, and trust myself to listen to what my mind, body, and family need. 

AND by writing this blog, I'm chiseling away at my goals. See, I can work through my mental demons and be productive at the same time! (Okay, I'm rationalizing...again.) 

Well, hopefully this self-berating/pep talk sticks for at least a week and I can forgive myself enough to accomplish...or not accomplish something this week. Crap. I'm back to it. Guess I'm a work-in-progress. But for right now, there's a load of laundry that needs my attention. 

Weaknesses, Writing, and Learning to Try

One of my weaknesses is that I don't like doing something if I'm not immediately good at it. I realize the limitations of this personality trait, believe me, I do. A huge regret in my life is that I never learned how to play guitar. I tried. My dad paid for lessons and bought me a beautiful instrument, but the company I attended for lessons kept switching up my instructors, and my fingers were too short to push all the strings down on those power chords. Anyway, inconsistent teachings and anatomical shortcomings led me to finally quit...as well as the fact that I just wasn't catching on...so I lost interest. 

Other hobbies and skills I gave up after quickly realizing my natural inadequacies: 

• driving stick shift
• skiing
• lifeguarding 
• living alone
• majoring in journalism
• functioning with manicured nails
• riddle-solving

It's a good thing I was pretty successful with writing right away. Okay, maybe not successful, but at least able to complete the task in a semi-decent way. And, boy, did I jump into the deep end! It started out with my desire to write, and the only way I saw the story in my head was as a mental movie that would be suited as a two-hour film or full novel. So I started writing and I completed my first novel Painting Walls. However, I was not immediately successful at obtaining a literary agent, so I went the self-publishing route (very different in 2013 than now). Then I started writing a sci-fi trilogy. Go big or go home! Well, I finished the first book, placed as a finalist in a contest, started writing the second installment, then stopped when I changed jobs and started having children. Guess I wasn't good at the trilogy-thing. 

However, I wasn't completed deterred, writing an ensemble for speech contest in 2017: a less-than-fifteen-minute play titled "Contentless Love", a love story reusing a content-less A/B acting scene for different stages of a relationship. It was nominated for All-State and my students performed it to perfection! I guess I was lucky with that first one, and a few years after having my second child, I went for it again. I've now written an All-State nominated One Act and two more ensembles (All-State nominations still to be seen). Oh, and I published Another Dance with Bookpress Publishing and am working on my second release Road Maps. 

So what is the point of all this? To brag about my writing and directing skills? Maybe. To thank my lucky stars that I stuck with something that takes vulnerability, failure, and self-doubt. For sure. But moreso, to reflect on my own strengths and weaknesses and re-evaluate how I go about life. If I can make a go of this writing-gig, a notoriously tough path filled with emotional and mental upheaval, and still keep a semblance of confidence, maybe I should revisit some of those past deserted hobbies. I really should try my hand at guitar again. It's not too late! Who knows, maybe my fingers grew longer. And maybe I should try to drive stick shift. My husband knows how; maybe he'll teach me (and hopefully our love will be able to endure). And I could go get a manicure! Sure, I won't wear pants with a fly since that was my original struggle, but sweatpants are so in-season right now. So I guess it only took forty years for me to build up enough tenacity to tackle new things that I may never conquer. I call that a win. 

But I will never ever try skiing again.  And why is that? you may ask. Well, that's a whole other story...and maybe a future blog post.

Life as Inspiration: Road Maps to be released in November

It's tough to write when forced, at least in my experience. I need to have a big idea of what I'm going to create when I start writing. That's why Another Dance simmered in my brain for a couple of years before I actually started typing. I knew I was going to write about a mother who loses her husband, and I wanted her to re-establish her identity and purpose while grappling with the stages of grief. But it wasn't until two real-life events occurred that the big picture came to life for me: 1) my husband struggled with some mental health issues that left me needing to process my own emotions while writing for catharsis and 2) my sister's co-worker died at their place of work under dubious circumstances, leaving a pregnant wife and toddler. Once these occurred, it's like the loose leaf pile of ideas was finally bundled together, ready to be delivered. 

Of course, I only used these experiences as inspiration, embellishing them with different details and original characters. But being able to connect emotionally with the subject definitely increased my writing experience and, hopefully, the final product. 

After my father's passing after nearly a decade of being on non-speaking terms, I once again felt the need to process my emotions through my writing. Not only would I be able to work through the grief and regret of my own loss, maybe I could help others who have gone through similar experiences and feelings. Once I knew the impetus for the eventual protagonist of my second book, more details came together: a woman's estranged relationship with her father, their journey across their home state of Iowa, her attempt at a writing career, and a possible romance to help her see her own worth and value. 

I'm so excited to share this story with readers, whether they be connected to the story by their Iowa roots, their experience with troubled relationships, their desire to be truly seen, or their simple appreciation for another human's journey through the messiness of life.  

Leading up to the November 2025 release of Road Maps, I look forward to sharing more of my writing journey with readers, as well as the real-life journey I took across Iowa with my own family, visiting roadside attractions as research and enjoying the connection and beauty of the ride. 

Logan Sterling lives a life of collateral damage. The child of divorced parents, she seems doomed to repeat their mistakes of marrying young, falling short of expectations, and burning out before middle age. But when she publishes a book about her and her estranged father’s reunion trip across their home state of Iowa, Logan’s life suddenly takes a turn, enhanced with a brazen agent, a literary following, and a new future.

Five years after the events in the book, Logan finds herself living in Des Moines, entertaining offers from film producers. Enter Thomas Price, the Iowa native-turned-Hollywood-heartthrob who wants to make a movie—and his directing debut—out of her book, but only if she writes the screenplay and joins the project. Captured by Tom’s movie star charisma, Logan spends the summer in a whirlwind of filmmaking that pulls her back out on the road, back to her hometown, and ever closer to Tom.

Will giving in to her desire pave the way toward what Logan wants from life and in love, or will the minefield of professional conduct and more than a few buried secrets stifle her budding romance and dash her chances at real success?

Told through alternating excerpts from Logan’s book and the filming journey, Road Maps is the story of one woman’s rediscovery of her own value through reflection and acceptance.

The Sickness is Real

 In Chapter 10 of my novel Another Dance, the main character's daughter gets sick, setting off a chain reaction of family illness. Annie introduces the sickness with the following excerpt: 

"The day after my second dance class I feel like I would rather be stuck with forlorn dreams and nightmares when all hell breaks loose in my home—and by all hell, I mean the flu. It starts with Penny, or as I like to call her, Patient Zero. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the household will get sick. And it’s never conveniently at the same time; no, the illness prefers to cascade through the family like a waterfall, bouncing from rock to rock, trickling on a flat stone for a break, a moment of ignorant bliss before crashing down even stronger, drowning anything in its wake before finally plunging into the deep end and coming out in calmer waters after it’s been carried away with the current."

My own experience as a mom definitely inspired this descriptive tidbit, and I've only gained more wisdom in that department this past month. It started with my daughter Aubry having a 103 fever the night we showed up at my in-laws' for our family Christmas, four hours away from home. A weekend of high fevers and hanging out in a corner recliner still saw Aubry with a sore throat and fever, so we go to the doctor on Monday, and she has strep throat, with my own case in hot pursuit. For Christmas, we both received a hefty dose of antibiotics...along with our other gifts. Thinking we are in the clear while still taking antibiotics, I come down with a horrible head cold one week later, ringing in the New Year with the worst headache of my life and no spirted libations to blame. Flash forward to today, three weeks later during a four-day weekend between semesters, and my daughter has had high fevers the entire break, reaching up to a frightening 105 degrees at times. She has a historical tendency to get these high fever spikes, but it still doesn't make it easier to see her suffering or to calm my worrying. I know to give her medicine, overlapping Tylenol and Ibuprofen if needed, and lukewarm baths and cool cloths are go-to's, but my mama-heart still aches watching her hurt. And even though we are stuck at home, I find I can't be productive. Homebound means being able to catch up on a good book, watch a movie, or get some grading or cleaning or writing done, right? 

Actually, no, because I can't focus enough to accomplish anything but attend to my sick child. And I guess that is how it should be, but my own need to be productive nags at me, making me fall into a pit of self-loathing. Just another chapter in the Book of Mom Guilt. 

Family sickness is never fun, but as Annie shares in Another Dance, there is a light at the end of the tunnel:

 "As usually happens when the epitome of sickness or suffering is reached, it eventually gets better. Both kids finally sleep through the night, at least until 4 AM Sunday morning, at which time they both manage to crawl into my bed, each snuggling into my side, my body bookended by their moppy heads and sprawling limbs. Even my symptoms lessen by Sunday afternoon, and all three of us are ready to reenter the world of school and work come Monday."

I'm ready for the post-sickness snuggles and hoping the waterfall misses the rest of us. Stay healthy, everyone, and if you do get sick, don't feel guilty. Just relax, be in the moment, and feel better soon.

Butterfly Wings and Worry-Rants

Why am I such a Nervous Nelly? 

Really, if I were someone that didn't seek attention, it would make sense that I would get nervous before interviews, book events, performances, karaoke songs, first days of new terms... But I DO seek attention. I LIKE the spotlight. I WANT to be known. (Blame my daddy issues and my people-pleasing tendencies...perhaps to be explained in later posts). 

It seems silly that I would be drawn to the light, but squint at its brightness. That I am like a moth to a flame, full well knowing the possible outcomes. I'm fully aware of what can happen if attention is gained for the wrong reasons (again, perhaps a future post), but I still want to put myself out there and I still experience the same cavernous pit in my stomach each time I do. 

What brings about this rant of self-doubt? Well, besides my routine existence, I have a virtual book club meeting today. An online subscription book club where readers choose genres from new authors asked if I would talk for roughly thirty minutes. I LOVE talking about myself and my book, but I am so so nervous. What if no one shows up? What if lots of readers show up? What if they hated my book? What if they loved it and I'm a letdown? So many worries. (Besides being a people-pleasure and attention-hog, I am also a top-tier worry-wart.)

I'm not going to change...at least not anytime soon. I've been this way for forty years. I've been singing in front of audiences since I was five, I've been speaking competitively and professionally since high school, and I've been teaching for seventeen years. The butterflies are destined to flutter in my tummy before any event I deem important. Maybe therein lies the problem. I deem too many tasks important. Whether it reflects on me or others, I value relationships and connection so much that I don't want to let anyone down, including myself. 

There's no absolution to this worry-wart's current worry-rant. But maybe there will be compassion and connection. If you, too, find yourself in this predicament, take solace in the fact that you aren't alone. And know that I've been experiencing this for over three decades, and, guess what? Every time, I do it. I get over it. I succeed...or at least survive. And you can, too. 

That's what I'm telling myself as the virtual interview slips ever closer. And while I am annoyed with myself that I am anxious, I don't regret that I care about it enough to be anxious. Because as long as I care enough about putting myself out there, I will do it no matter how ferocious the butterfly wings flap.

It's About Time

 Time. It's what's on my mind right now. As 2024 ends and 2025 begins, it's difficult not to ponder the concept of time: about how fast it is going, about what I didn't have time for, about what I am going to spend my time on in the near future. In fact, I probably spend more time thinking about the use of my time than actually enjoying the moments of time. Ironic, huh? (Cue Alanis Morissette circa 1995). One of my biggest struggles in life has always been the acceptance of the reality of time. I stress about how much time I have to complete a task, whether or not I will get the task completed (spoiler alert: I always do), if I've used my time productively, if I've spent enough time with something or someone...it goes on and on. Apparently, I have a bit of an obsessive spiral-thing going. 

So what better use of my time while at the end of my winter break and at the beginning of a new year than to set feasible goals for how I want to use my time this upcoming year? If anything, maybe the writing of these goals will help settle the spiral of random thoughts, complaints, worries, and dreams. (And if not, at least I made my goal of a weekly blog post). 

How I would like to spend my time in 2025:

*I want to spend time with those that value me and my time and that authentically want to spend time with me. 

*I want to spend quality time with my friends and family and try my best not to waste that time thinking about what I should be doing or could be doing. 

*I want to eradicate the phrase "wasting my time" from my vocabulary. If I'm using time on something, it's probably what I need to be doing in that moment, for whatever reason, and I should trust that. 

*I want to trust myself more in my own use of time and decision-making. I've been surviving and mostly thriving for nearly forty years. I think I've proven my own dependability enough by now. Now to convince myself of this fact and relax rather than succumb to my spiral of anxiety and self-doubt. 

*I want to treat myself to the time I deserve. Self-care is not always high on a mother's/teacher's/wife's list of priorities, but it is imperative. I'm starting to see that now, and I think it's time I start taking it seriously. A one-hour massage might be an hour away from family, but it also might mean many other hours of sanity. (This is what I will probably be telling myself during my one-hour massage rather than just enjoying the one-hour respite. Huh...I need to work on that, as well). 

*I want to enjoy the time I devote to my creative passions and pursuits. That means being deliberate in my time devoted to these pursuits and giving my full self when working on them. 

*I want others to know I value them and their time. I can ensure this by taking the time to tell them and show them. 

*I want time to slow down. Okay, not really. There's lots I'm looking forward to, and sometimes I get so focused on looking ahead that I don't give enough attention to what's going on in the present. I want to try and be in the present as much as possible so I can soak in everything. Especially with little children, I'm going to look back some day and wonder where the time went. I want to make sure I know where the time went and what I was doing, being purposeful and present. 

(How I was keeping track of time this New Year's Eve.)

I'm sure there's more I could add, but it's about time to fix dinner (I hear the children getting unruly, and that usually means they're getting hungry). While I want to use my time to the best of my abilities, there are still practical tasks that need to be completed. But I'm going to go with this in mind: no matter how I am spending my time, it's worth it. I'm going to stop beating myself up so much concerning my use of time and try to enjoy it more. This new year, I'm going to be kinder to myself, more understanding, and more forgiving. 

I think it's about time.