a book crush, the dream discussion, and #10. (at last.)

So here's a new book for your summer list, especially if you're an artist, a dreamer, or a candlestick maker...

I admit, it's not my usual kind of recommendation. A book about business, Christian media, VeggieTales, success, failure... not my typical cup of tea. And I thought it was an okay book, until I hit Chapter 21: "Dreams, Part II."

Which is currently changing my life.

Phil Vischer, obviously enough, created VeggieTales. Watched it get really really big. Watched it die. And in the end, he learned a lot about business management, creative enterprise... and dreams.

It's the dreaming thing that got to me.

I've dreamed of writing for as long as I can remember. I was a good student all through school, a super good student. Give me a tough assignment, I double-dog-dare you. I worked hard; I did well. And when I graduated, I came home to write, determined to change the world.

Or at the very least, the young adult section of every bookstore in the U.S.

(What can I say, I'm modest. Ha ha ha.)

Over the last five years, I've worked hard. I've got drafts of three novels, in various states of disrepair. I've learned a ton about characters, pacing, plot, setting, dialogue...

I also decided that my identity was that of Girl Writer Taking Over The World. My sense of worth depended on how well work was going. I loved the books I was writing. I also hated how crazy I felt, how exhausted I was, and how it felt like these books would never be good enough. Ever.

I knew I was working against myself somehow, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. (Hence #10 on The List: my attempt at quelling the noise in my head.) And I was pretty sure that if I just worked harder, it would all be good.

Enter Phil Vischer, Me, Myself, & Bob, and Chapter 21. Where Vischer talks about a lot of crazy things, super-crazy. He talks about Christians and their dreams of changing the world for God. And a lot of what he says sounds just like me. Exhausted, driven, determined, Girl Writer me.

Crazy things. Like:

When people of great faith in the Bible don't know what God wants them to do, they don't just run off and make stuff up. They wait on him.

I've actually read that before. I've read this chapter before, nodding my way through. I know what God wants me to do: how many times have I said I was called home to write? I sincerely believed that, and I still do.

But what to write?

That's where I made stuff up.

Then he said this:

The Christian life wasn't about running like a maniac; it was about walking with God. It wasn't about impact; it was about obedience. It wasn't about making stuff up; it was about listening.

Maniac. That rings a bell. So does "impact." And "making stuff up."

He asks if we serve our dreams, or if we serve our God. And he also says of himself:

My ambition, my dreams, my misplaced sense of identity and value were dragged kicking and screaming up onto the altar. And now they were dead.

Like I said, I've read this chapter before. I always flinched away from those sentences, but this week, this week it feels like something's unraveling inside me.

Something that, surprisingly, I don't mind losing as much as I thought I would.

Misplaced sense of identity and value? Hmm. Hmmmm.

God is enough for you, Vischer writes. But you can't discover the truth of that statement while you're clutching at your dreams. You need to let them go. ... The impact God has planned for us doesn't occur when we're pursuing impact. It occurs when we're pursuing God.

Over and over, Vischer talks about walking with God. And waiting on God. Waiting. That's what got me. Wait? I don't want to wait for anything. I wanted to write a brilliant novel in one year flat.

But this week, that goal has fallen away. All that running uphill, all the urgency and frustration... those crazy ambitions are unstitching in my heart.

And here's what I'm left with: if I write at all, I only want to write the book God tells me to write.

I don't mean that in a silly way--like there would be a cherub sitting on my shoulder, dictating every paragraph. That's not what I mean. But I want to be still in the midst of my writing life. To be still, and to listen, and to wait.

I don't want to keep chasing every novel idea that comes along. I want to write the book I'm supposed to write. It's actually that simple, that strange, and takes effect immediately.

My June plans are still in full swing: I'm still journaling, reading, doing those writing exercises. I'm also praying a lot more, and feeling the burden of my writing life slip from my shoulders. And can I just say: that's a huge relief.

So that's summer. Tending the soil of my writing life. Being faithful to still put my time in, practicing, and listening. I don't know what's coming next, what seeds there might be in this soil. But I'll keep watering it and waiting, and we'll see.

I feel free. Excited. And free.

Recommendation: Frankly, you don't even have to read this whole book if you aren't interested in VeggieTales. Just skim it, get the gist of it, and then slow way down at Chapter 21.

Read every word, my dreaming friends, and I promise it will change you.

right this moment.

I am wearing socks, which is confusing for my feet. They thought they were in flip-flops from here 'til October, but no.

It's cool outside and in, and it puts me in the mood for cozy things. Coffee. Lap blankets. Quiet music on the radio. It's a day to have a dog curl up on your lap, but no dog. So I'm wearing the socks.

I'm awake rather earlier than usual, and the day decided to celebrate with a thunderstorm. I love how the sound of rain feels so companionable. A nice old-fashioned chat with the sky, that's what I'm having.

It's pouring. Plenty of thunder, a fabulous morning for Noah. In fact I can see myself with him, at the edge of the ark, squinting into the rain and waiting for that feeling of lift-off. I'm saluting him right now with my coffee.

Noah definitely had a dog, I'm sure of it.

I'm catching up with some of my favorite blogs, like Joy the Baker. Please tell me you read Joy the Baker. She makes me laugh so darn hard, I want her to be my best friend. And all her recipes are swoon-worthy, truly.

And then there's the lovely habit. I haven't been by in so long, so I'm catching up, piling all those gorgeous images and words in my head. ... It's hard, actually, to describe just what kind of mood habit always puts me in. Something exhilarating, yet quiet at the same time.

... Makes me want to have twelve kids, an uproarious garden, fantastically casual dinners (on a huge pine table), grass-stained knees (again), a ramshackle house, and a pretty sweet camera. Makes me want to not worry so much. To laugh with my mouth wide open. ... Not to mention, find even more time to read and time to write. Um, and more rainy days. And more sunny ones.

Something like that. (How many hours in a day would that be? 48? Or 60-ish?)

Dangerous.

Well then. The storm is finished, and light is soaking through the window. My socks and I are off to my writing chair, eager for a good day of work. A lot of questions on my plate today, and heck, maybe there will be a few answers. 

Who knows what will happen? Because it's a Tuesday.

And Tuesdays--even with socks--are full of promise.

it's ReLove-ly.

In all the commotion of late May and early June, the wonderful Squirrel & Serif hasn't gotten much of my attention.

Which is to say, I haven't done anything with it. At all.

(Probably this is something that savvy businesswomen do not admit on their blogs. Probably I am not a savvy businesswoman. Fair enough.)

I've been trying to comfort myself by saying it is truly meant to be a hobby store, created for the love of knitting, the joy of making things for other people, and--why not--a fun way to earn a little money.

And I tell myself that it's perfectly understandable that the store has taken the back seat, with everything going on. (And not just the back seat, really. It's been put right out of the car and is sitting on the roadside.)

Two road trips to Louisiana, graduation ceremonies, and then even more ceremonies, loading that moving truck on the hottest day of my life (maybe), all kinds of goodbyes (ack!), and then, finally finally trying to resurrect a writing practice. Which is, after all, what I'm supposed to be doing all this time.

Nevertheless, I've felt a little panicky. So much neglect of the poor store!! What's going to happen to Serif the Wonder Child, my knitting alter ego? In fact, where is she, with her lists of brilliant ideas, her unending romance with yarn stores, her wizardry with the knitting needles?

If I can just find her, she would be undaunted by the idea of knitting in hundred degree heat. She'd be undaunted by knitting at all.

Because I really don't want to let the store go. I still love Etsy and will sing its praises to anyone who asks. Just browsing the site makes me happy--I feel like I could be a better person if I look at enough items. I'd certainly have better style. I get lost in all the treasuries, and I think I've taken their taste test twenty times.

(This same feeling slaps me in Anthropologie, until I'm downright giddy. And--while I'm confessing--I almost didn't leave a perfectly tiny model apartment at Ikea. Seriously. I wanted to move in.)

So a few weeks ago, I launched what I'm calling The Etsy ReLove Project. It's like I'm revisiting all the reasons why I love knitting. Snuffling through my knitting books. Cruising through the creative happy blogs I love. Brainstorming.

Trying to avoid the inspiration myth. (You know the one. It says you have to be inspired before you write, or cook, or clean, or knit, or ... I don't know, floss. It's a complete lie.) But at the same time, I'm trying to reinvigorate that part of my brain, find that knitting time again, recover the creative energy that's a part of me, somewhere.

We'll see where the ReLove Project takes me. I have high hopes and long lists, so how could it go wrong? I'll get there. Somehow.

So I guess this is just a long note to say: Please don't give up on our little store. Because I haven't.

writer in progress: homesick.

It is the gift of all poets to find the commonplace astonishing. -- Margery Sharp

So it's been busy. A busy week, a busy month, a busy year so far. Busyness. Bleck. It's like the opposite of writing. Dashing about at a million miles an hour, versus letting words drip onto a page.

No surprise, then, that writing has pretty well tanked these last two months. They have been wonderful months in their way, full of family and celebrations and joy and change. But then when I sit down to work, all my brain has is a slideshow of past events, or far worse, a gently hissing static.

Which is when I start asking myself bad questions, like, Why am I writing anyway?

But last weekend I had a brilliant conversation with a good friend, and we were talking about rest. Rest. Just thinking about that word makes me want to breathe differently.

Anyway, as we talked about what recharges us, I felt my vision for June shifting. And I started asking myself, with a very different tone, So, why am I writing anyway? Why do I write? Why is this part of me, what do I love about it, what's so great about words?

So instead of whipping myself, my writing life, and my novel back into shape (my usual tactic), I decided to try a different kind of strategy. I'm putting the novel aside temporarily, and I'm going back to basics this month. As in: really basic.

Like--writing exercises. I haven't done writing exercises in an eon! I usually despise them, but all of a sudden I'm thirsty for miniature writing challenges... working my way through this lovely book and its sequel. I love Monica Wood's perspective on the whole writing life: she is so cheerful and sound.

Also, I'm getting reacquainted with journaling. How did I let journaling go, for pete's sake? No idea, but somehow it turned into a burden, when I felt obligated to do it.

Not anymore. I've been sitting by the window, letting myself ramble across the pages, talking about anything, anything, anything. Just writing for the bliss of solitude. Putting one word after the next for the sheer joy of it. Such a luxury, really. And if I'm writing about the view out my window as the sun sets, and if I'm sipping a glass of wine, well, so much the better.

And then reading. Oof. I've so let my reading life slide, and it's horrible! How can you write novels when you forget the intoxicating feeling of being swept away in someone else's world? Encountering their characters, and being encountered in return?

I'm firmly convinced of reading's importance in a writing life, and yet it's so hard to make time for it. It feels too much like relaxing, like something I should just wedge into my day at the very end... not anymore. I'm giving myself acres of time to just sit and devour novels.

So that's June. And I'm giddy about it. ... Can ya blame me?

Because I do love writing. So very much. I've missed these basics, and it's good to come back to them, good to come home.

i couldn't agree more.

Here's a little Bach for your morning:

Without my morning coffee I'm just like a dried-up piece of roast goat. -- Johann Sebastian Bach

Ha ha!! Who knew he was so funny?

Cheers to all my fellow roast goats.

listapalooza 5: let's go back.

When you're a kid, everyone talks about growing up like it's the prize destination. And, well, yay for growing up.

But I've been watching my niece and thinking about how awesome childhood can be, and I can't help thinking: there are some things I gave up that I didn't want to give up.

You know what I mean?

So here's some of the stuff, the ideas, and the habits from childhood that I want back.

1. my imaginary friends. (Oh wait. I write fiction. It's kind of the same.)

2. my popsicle stick collection: it was truly huge. And felt so useful, except ... it wasn't.

3. stickers. We don't have to outgrow stickers, do we? I don't think we do.

4. naming the trees in the backyard

5. keeping spiral notebooks filled with one-page stories... I really should bring back the whole one-page story idea.

6. my repertoire of handclap rhymes. Where did they go? Probably pushed out of my brain by utterly useless things, like chemistry equations and memorized lists of history facts. Pfft. Who needs it. And now that it's time to teach my niece handclap rhymes... I got nothin'.

7. expecting to walk on the moon. I was so sure I'd get there one day. Now? Now I think I'll just stick to waving at it.

8. I used to plot my escape from any room that I was in. Just in case I became a spy and that habit would be useful. So... where's the air duct I could crawl through, or how would I break a window, or what could I do to cover my footprints... yeah. Haven't thought about that in so long...

9. my habit of hiding random notes where I thought strangers might find them

10. dreaming about what amazing, life-changing secrets could be hidden in our attic

11. those awesome gel sandals... kids' clothes are so fun!

12. keeping massive lists of names I would give animals, if I ever happened to find, say, a hedgehog or wildebeest I could call my own.

Because you just never know.

And that's what's so awesome about being a kid.

listapalooza 4: surprise, surprise, i love you.

It's only fair, after the last post, to have a kind of corollary, right? So here's a list of the things I love in spite of myself. At some point, I was skeptical about each entry on this list, but now... well, now I'm a really big fan.

1. coffee ice cream. Once upon a time, that sounded horrible. Now? Well, now it's a bit of heaven in a bowl.

2. kalamata olives--briny bliss.

3. that old-book smell in libraries and used bookstores... it used to make my nose itch, now it smells like perfume

4. the wonderful Kristen introduced me to Karmin: completely amazing!! Totally worth a listen, and just so much fun...

5. sweet potatoes

6. The Killers ... love them so much now.

7. wearing red lipstick. Usually I'm all for subtle makeup ... usually.

8. crappy 1980s adaptations of Charles Dickens novels. ... Really. I mean, I shouldn't even admit that in public, but they're weirdly addictive... (This one's more recent and is genius, so go watch it. Make some tea.)

9. the redesigned Bon Appétit. Yay. The May Italy issue was brilliant, and I'm so excited about where that magazine's going. Better photography, better writing, better layouts... it's fantastic. I do a little dance when I see it sitting there on the coffee table.

10. sushi. Yum.

11. granny squares... I was a hard sell, because I loved knitting so much, but I'm still awfully smitten with these bright pieces of color.

12. Mumford & Sons. I really didn't think I'd enjoy them, but they're awesome, so go listen.



13. Iron Man. I was so burnt out on comic book adaptations, but, uh, can anyone not love Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark?

14. M. Night Shyamalan is a genius.

15. oof, and then nerd glasses. I admit, it took me a long time to be reconciled but... they're complete fun.

So there it is.

What can I say, sometimes it's good--so good!--to be wrong.

listapalooza 3: sorry, but i just don't love it.

I feel like I should love these. But I don't. I just ... don't. So I feel kind of apologetic for some of these, but confession (they say) is good for the soul.

So for what it's worth, I'm not wild about

* bubble tea!

* Jack Johnson

* jeggings (yiiiiikes.)

* Glee

* or, for that matter, Modern Family

* nail polish on my own fingernails (looks so weird! and I can hear my old piano teacher snarking at me again...)

* Ernest Hemingway

* milk chocolate

* iPods (yikes)

* okay, and since I admitted to that, I also can't like cell phones. Really.

* carrots (never ever ever could manage to like carrots)

* cast iron pans

* cake pops (ack!)

* food coloring

* spearmint

* ooof, or black licorice

* taxis

* Toms shoes (I love what they do, I just don't love the shoes, okay?)

* soft cooked eggs (shudder)

* annnnd, while I'm in a confessing mood: Harry Potter. Yes really. Just couldn't get interested, though I promise I tried.

Wow. Confession really is great. I feel so ... relieved, some how. And like I've just designed some weird utopia, strangely free of all the above...

hee hee.

listapalooza 2: book sirens

There's something wonderfully safe about owning books that you haven't read yet. I mean a certain kind of book--it sits there on the shelf looking like money in the bank. It's waiting for just the right time, the right mood, the rainy afternoon or the late late night... and it might be your new favorite.

I love the books I haven't read yet.

Of course, when I get too many of them, with their beautiful spines and titles haunting me, I want to just lock all the doors and close the curtains and read myself sick. Just take a week and read and read and read and read.

Maybe that means I'm already sick, I don't know. But here are the unread books that are whispering at me from my shelves...

* The Great Typo Hunt (this looks so awesome... and like a proofreader's dream come true)

* Don Quixote

* The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

* The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop

* Poirot in the Orient

* A Thousand Days in Tuscany

* A Tale of Two Cities

* Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant -- this one seems to be brilliant on so many levels, I just can't wait...

* The Undertaking

* West with the Night

* The Count of Monte Cristo

* Sonnets from the Portuguese

* Gilead

* The Thirteenth Tale

So, apparently, I'm a miser, a hoarder, lining my little nest with brilliant unread books... Or maybe I'm just looking for a week of rainy afternoons.

Maybe June will be filled with words.

listapalooza 1: bakery wishes

What is it about flour, sugar, butter, and eggs that can turn the unbearable into something bearable? Add a bit of chocolate, and we might even come through smiling.

As a wise aunt of mine said recently: I think if I could bake my way through life, everything would be okay. She is so right.

So. If I had limitless energy (and a bottomless pantry), here's everything I'd learn to make right this minute:

* Homemade doughnuts. It just sounds like a good idea.

* Palmiers

* Biscotti

* This crepe cake and I still need to get together

* Tiramisu

* Eclairs... or profiteroles... heck, let's make 'em both.

* Brioche

* Those pistachio-cardamom macarons are still calling me...

* Croissants

* Annnnnd croissants with chocolate

* Clafouti: I've made a cherry one, and somehow feel like I've only just scratched the surface of something wonderful...

* Madeleines

* Truffles

Mmhmm. That's a good place to start.