I’m embarking into the world of home improvement and remodeling. “Oh no!’ my internal counselor says. “Don’t do it! Your home will be in a shambles for weeks if the contractor says days. Months if he says weeks. You’ve heard all the horror stories. It’s not worth it.” I should listen, but I hate my master bathroom. It’s the only room in the house I couldn’t stand when I purchased the home.
My intention all along has been to redo it. Until I could decide what I wanted done, I did what I could to make it look passable. I took down the dark green wallpaper with the gold elephants. A throw rug partially covers the yellow and white floor tiles reminiscent of the seventies. I even painted, yes painted, the Formica countertop of the vanity.
Those stopgaps are wearing thin and I can no longer live with how it looks – especially because I have an open door bathroom. What that means is that the area with the vanity and linen closet has no door and is visible at all times to the master bedroom. The section with the toilet and shower is behind a door, so at least I get some visual relief on that part. It’s time for a change and to take the plunge.
I started moving forward in January when my friend, Anne, showed me the work she had done on her bathroom. Energized by how good it looked in her home and having a reference for a designer, I set up an appointment. There have been twists and turns, delays and doubts, but things are finally coming together and it looks like the work will begin at the end of September or beginning of October.
“That soon!?” Okay, Sue. Take a deep breath. Think positive thoughts. This will go well. It will not be a disaster. They will not find ugly things behind the walls that will double the cost of the work. It will look beautiful when it’s done. Meditate. Ohmmmmmm.
Please send me your positive thoughts. I can use all the help I can get!
I was looking into crowdsourcing as a possible way to publish Broken String next year. Kickstarter.com is the one I was looking at, but there are others. Crowdsourcing is a way to find supporters to fund your “project.” That project can be just about anything from a space satellite to a movie, or a book. You start by pledging something in return for supporters’ dollars. One project offered to shout out your name in a ballpark for a pledge of one dollar, but most just offer tee-shirts, mugs or deep discounts on the product they are trying to get started. Kickstarter has had some success with publishing books, but mostly graphic novels and children’s books from what I see on their website. They’ve had a little success with fiction books, but most fiction titles I see are “non-starters;” projects that did not raise the amount of money needed in the time allowed. Non-starters don’t happen and no one is obligated to anything. The project turns into digital dust.
Gulp.
It’s like a poker game where you’re all in. If you win, you’re up, up and away. But if you lose, you’re left with just hot air and no balloon. I’d love to hear from someone who’s published a novel this way, to get an idea of their experience. I’m not afraid to take a chance, I just want to have a look over the cliff before I jump.
Reading through some of Kickstarter’s history and success stories, it seems the most fully funded projects are the ones where you, yourself, bring in a lot of supporters in the beginning. The best way seems to have a rollout where you create a lot “buzz.” Then launch the project on a specific day and get your “circle” to “support” the project on Day-1. That initial surge of interest gets the casual Kickstarter members checking out what all the fuss is about.
That’s great if you’re a big satellite company or a movie mogul where you’ve got thousands following you on social media, but it’s scary for a lonely fiction writer whose circle of friends could be corralled with his belt.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Check out Kickstarter.com if you haven’t already. It’s easy to get lost in some of the projects, many of which are fascinating new ways to tackle old problems, like the mechanic’s glove with a magnetic index finger to hold nuts and washers in place at odd angles. Brilliant!
Would a suspense novel be a success? Would folks want to read it enough to actually buy it? You know, with money? What do I have to lose? Well, confidence for one thing. It’s like amateur night and I’m at the mike. Hope people will laugh at my jokes, but what if they don’t? This isn’t my first trip to the mike, so to speak. Guess I won’t know if my audience is growing or shrinking unless I try.
Kickstarter gives “publish or perish” a whole new ring to it these days. Any hints, ideas or suggestions to help me sleep at night?
I had such a good time volunteering at the Chicago Botanic Garden my first summer that I decided to go back the next year. This time I volunteered in the Fruit & Vegetable Garden. It was an entirely different experience.
All the Fruit & Vegetable volunteers, usually about four of us, would arrive early in the morning, before the garden officially opened, and meet in the Fruit & Vegetable Garden Office. The staff would tell us all about the plant we would be giving away that day. They would also prep us so we could answer basic questions about its care, use and how to cook it.
Then we’d go into the garden to the carts. One cart was parked just at the entrance to the Fruit & Vegetable Garden. The other was somewhere in the middle. One volunteer would staff each cart and the other two volunteers would walk through the garden greeting people and answering their questions. We’d change jobs every hour.
The carts were made of wood and painted brown. There was plenty of room on the inside to keep all the plants we would be giving away that day. On the shelf at the top we would display a few plants to create interest. We’d also put our information sheets there. On one side, the sheet would tell all about the plant, its history and how to take care of it. On the other side, the sheet would have one or two recipes telling how to cook it.
I always tried to get the cart at the entrance. I met more people that way. I’d approach them as they entered the garden, saying, “Good morning! How are you?” Usually they’d respond back.
I’d continue, “Would you like a plant to take home today? They’re free and it’s a lot of fun growing them once they start producing peppers (tomatoes, basil, etc.). We also have a sheet that tells how to grow it and there are some recipes on the back.”
Most people said yes. Usually each person in the group wanted their own plant, especially the children. Sometimes people would stop and talk. They’d share how their gardens were coming along at home or how the last plant they’d gotten from us had done.
I always saw lots of smiles. Everyone likes to get something for free, especially when it’s something they can take home, grow for themselves and then actually eat.
The summer passed before I knew it and I had to go back to work. Next time I’ll tell you what I did my third summer at the Garden!
What is writing to you? Writing can mean many things to different people.
1–Writing is exhausting.
Remembering the rules of syntax and sentence structure is a struggle. Perfection halts our progress putting words to paper.
1–Writing is exhilarating.
Initially, don’t worry about spelling and sentence structure. There is a freedom to words. Getting your struggles and thoughts out of your mind and onto paper clears your head. Once they are released into your world, you can address them. Accomplishing that is a thrilling expression.
2–Writing is personal.
It is risky to write. You expose yourself to others’ judgement. Your self-image becomes vulnerable to criticism. Those are scary moments.
2–Writing is personal.
When you share your words, you share your experience. Others do relate to that. Hearing someone say “I learned from this,” “I was entertained,” and “this made me cry,” is a compliment and a success.
3–Writing is reclusive.
Writing is just between you and your thoughts; nothing else. You have no coworkers or teammates to rely on.
3–Writing is sociable.
Virtual communities of writers understand your struggles. Social media connects people around the globe. Local writing groups strengthen that support. A kind, inquisitive word from a stranger in a coffee shop is supportive and reminds you that you are not alone.
4– Writing is frustrating.
Ideas are fleeting. Motivation rises and falls. You slam into the Writers Block wall over and over and over again.
4–Writing is invigorating.
By declaring, “Writing is worth making the time for,” you choose to commit to yourself. You whisk a reader away into a world you control. You paint with words, drawing scenes in your readers’ minds. Extra incentive comes from the release into the world. It is rewarding to receive a positive review on a reading website or from someone who is not your immediate family network and friends.
5–Writing is limited.
Only a few rare people get a publishing contract. Large publishing houses have limited resources of time, printing, ink, and space. If you do not make a living by writing, then you do not have a “real” job. If you just dabble in your journal, you’re not doing any real writing. Without public validation, all efforts are snubbed as “just a hobby.”
5–Writing is limitless.
If expression is your only goal, then laptops, electronic tablets, journals or paper and pen are all friends. Writing anywhere is accessible. If publishing is a goal, the publishing options range from working with a Big 5 publishing house to a small startup publisher. Self-publishing has become mainstream, be it an eBook, paperback or picture book. You own your options and control your future.
6– Writing is work.
Standard books are long. Whatever your measurement–word count of page length–completing something that complex is a massive task. Revisions take time, a lot of time, and are often disappointing. Writing is intimidating.
6–Writing is work.
There is power in writing the words “The End” on your work.
During my college days, I became friends with a girl who was valedictorian of her high school class. She sometimes annoyed me with her intellect. After a test in our art history class, she and I milled about and fretted over how our individual results would rank on the class curve. She worried and said, “I think I failed.” Only later, we found out that she scored the highest in the class. This routine repeated on several occasions and I learned pretty quickly that her failing just wasn’t possible.
Besides being very smart, she was tall and beautiful. Guys noticed her and liked talking to her; however, I can’t remember her dating any of them. Devoted to her faith, she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol and I never saw her break that rule. She and I didn’t have deep discussions about our beliefs, but I knew that she wasn’t Catholic like I was, at the time.
At some point during our undergraduate years, she confided that she was going to be introduced to a man whom her parents had arranged for her to marry. That revelation seemed preposterous to me. We were ambitious young women with career objectives! We were close to breaking free from dependence upon our parents—close to being able to support ourselves. An arranged marriage seemed like a step backwards in time. I couldn’t imagine marrying someone I didn’t choose myself; someone I didn’t know and love.
She began regularly meeting with the man and eventually said she had grown to love him. They married and I hoped her love for him was true. I wanted her to be happy.
When I knew little about arranged marriages, I viewed them as oppressive, stifling, controlling. During my recent attendance at an Orthodox Jewish wedding ceremony, my opinion changed. I saw great beauty in symbolism and tradition and in genuine expressions of love. This particular arranged marriage showed me that helping sons and daughters select a spouse is one of the most precious gifts parents can bestow upon their children.
The parents of the bride and groom had prepared and shared family résumés with one another. Then, their children exchanged personal résumés and became interested in going on a first date. But it wasn’t a typical dinner and movie; instead, it was a sit-down, serious discussion about hopes and dreams, faith, family, goals for the future. The children got to know one another through subsequent meetings and eventually decided that they wanted to wed one another.
Those steps, starting with the exchanging of résumés, may seem too calculating and business-like for our modern, American society—secular or not, conservative or liberal. Culturally we’re accustomed to finding a mate through spontaneity, chance encounters, being in the right place at the right time. We trust in love at first sight—we like what we see, then we take time to evaluate whether or not our love interest has the other qualities we’re looking for in a spouse.
If those measures don’t work, we embrace well-intended efforts by friends who play match-makers and we turn to online dating services. Why not consider the opinions of the two people—mother and father—who love their child most?
My seventeen year-old son recently told me that he was going to go out on a date, that evening, with a girl who I had never heard him mention. I asked him to show me a picture of her because I wanted to see how she represented herself to others. There was something revealing in that picture: pursed lips and a flirtatious, seductive tilt of the head. My son had shared that image from the girl’s Twitter profile. So, I had to wonder what he really knew about her, beyond finding her physically attractive. He admitted that he didn’t really know anything more, except that she attended the same high school.
Aha. Time for a little parental guidance. I told him that, before dating any girl who expresses her interest in him, I’d like him to know what qualities he’s looking for in a future wife. I reminded him that a common faith is very important; at least it was for his dad and me. Customs, habits, traditions, morals are influenced, in our case, by our faith in Christ. My son will have to decide for himself what is important, but I made it clear that my hopes for him are that he’ll consciously look for specific, admirable attributes in the girls he chooses to spend his time with.
With similar aspirations for their children, the Orthodox Jewish parents sought out a family that complemented their own. I’m sure they considered faith, first and foremost, as well as community involvement, personal education, and reputation. I’m not sure if finances were specifically disclosed, but the families’ respective priorities could be determined by the way they spent their time and money. The parents were responsible for helping their children find their intended spouses. But the young couple wasn’t forced to marry. Their opinions mattered.
The groom knew he didn’t have to marry the first woman his parents approved. His older brother had gone on dates with twenty-five different ladies before finding his own bride. The repetitive and time-consuming search may have been slightly frustrating to the parents, who were increasingly unsure of whether or not they would ever marry the elder son off. But they valued his input and supported him throughout the sensitive process.
When my son announced that he had cancelled his date with Twitter Girl, I was relieved and proud. He had taken what I said and thought about it. Then he had the good sense to call one of his female friends from our church’s youth group for additional advice. He described her as having “the best judgement of anyone I know.” She told him Twitter Girl wasn’t the kind of girl he should be going out with. I happen to love this girl from church and used to have her in mind when I would confide in my friends, “If I could only choose who my children marry…”
Now, more than ever, I admire the practice of a closely-knit community of Orthodox Jews who arrange marriages for their children. I respect the groom’s father, who I know as a kind and generous man.
During the wedding reception, I was blessed to see deeper into his heart.
“Your new daughter-in-law is stunningly beautiful,” I commented.
He was well-acquainted with her, smiled at me, and simply replied, “Yes, she is. Inside and out.”
I’m embarking into the world of home improvement and remodeling. “Oh no!’ my internal counselor says. “Don’t do it! Your home will be in a shambles for weeks if the contractor says days. Months if he says weeks. You’ve heard all the horror stories. It’s not worth it.” I should listen, but I hate my master bathroom. It’s the only room in the house I couldn’t stand when I purchased the home.
My intention all along has been to redo it. Until I could decide what I wanted done, I did what I could to make it look passable. I took down the dark green wallpaper with the gold elephants. A throw rug partially covers the yellow and white floor tiles reminiscent of the seventies. I even painted, yes painted, the Formica countertop of the vanity.
