Mindfulness Monday: Witches and Water Slides

Witches

I think I was a witch in a past life. Or, maybe, my ancestors were Italian witches, practitioners of Stregheria, and it's been passed on through the generations to me. Or maybe the witchcraft comes from the English/Scotch-Irish side of me. I've always known I feel a connection to the earth and nature, but today I realized the depth of that connection.

While I was mowing the lawn, I got very emotional about moving. I don't feel particularly connected to my house, but every tree, rose bush, buckthorn, tiger lily and iris all have meaning to me. The flowers, bushes and trees (the ones that actually continue to grow) are my family's history. When we moved out here, there was nothing but prairie and cactus. Now, there's the rosebush (among others -- I love roses) that was my first ever Mother's Day present; the tree that we had the sandbox under when the boys were toddlers; the tiger lily I planted as a seed, and then kept trying to pull out because I thought it was a weed. It stubbornly refused to go away and now is a beautiful plant; the irises that came from my mom's house just up the hill. You get the idea.

Plus, the parts of Wyoming I'm going to miss are going to be the outdoor parts--the call of meadowlarks, the swaying grasses of the prairie, the smell of pine trees blowing in from the west, hiking in the Rocky Mountains. Eastern Nebraska is very different. I'm going to try to focus on making new mindful memories of the world around me, once I'm moved, and find the beauty in a new place. I need to remind myself to not be judgmental, but to allow myself to experience the differences with openness and curiosity.

And move as many plants with me as I can!

Water Slides

Saturday we had a going a way party for the boys at the newly renovated municipal pool. (I am happy to report that people actually attended, and fun was had by all.)

A little backstory is necessary before I continue the story. I am constantly telling my kids that they need to not let their fears get to them. They need to try new things, and try to overcome the things that scare them.

Typical parent stuff, right?

Keeping that in mind, I must admit that I am claustrophobic, and it seems to be getting worse as I get older. When I wrote those claustrophobia scenes in Finding Meara, they were from personal experience. It doesn't help that I have dreams I'm buried alive or stuck in little boxes (ie. coffins.) Earlier this year I needed an MRI and had a minor freak out in the tube when I sensed the closest part of the tube pass over my face on the way through so they could MRI my lower back.

Well, part of the renovations were two new water slides. Our side of the pool was supposed to utilize the blue slide. It sounded like fun, and I talked my youngest into going down the slide with me (for some reason I didn't feel I could just go by myself.) We got to the top, and I looked into the mouth of the slide, and saw a very dark, very small, very long tube and went, "Nope."

I tried to talk myself into it, but the fear overcame me and, since all the kids went before me and I had no one to try to impress, I told the lifeguard I had claustrophobia to save face and went back down the stairs.

Once I was back in the pool, I started to feel more and more awful. What kind of a parent was I, if I let the slide (aka my fear) win? I'd totally lost all credibility I'd had about teaching my kids how to deal with their fears. I told my husband what I'd done, and that I felt like I really needed to go try again. He agreed with me, and said he'd go with me. (Awww, isn't he a sweetie. He also teased me all the way there...)

At the top, I nervously talked non-stop to my husband, detailing to him my plan for how to actually go down the slide this time and not chicken out. As I approached the tube the second time, I utilized mindful awareness to turn off my amygdala (the emotional center of our brains) and noticed how blue the slide was and listened to the rushing sound the water made at the mouth of the slide. Then, before I could get afraid again, I jumped in the tube, closed my eyes and pushed off.

I can only imagine how silly I looked at the bottom of the slide. Because my eyes were closed, I wasn't sure I'd reached the end, and so sat there for a moment to see if I'd move any more. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the same lifeguard who had been at the top the time I'd ditched out was now at the bottom of the slide. I gave him a big smile, raised my hands triumphantly in the air and said, "I did it!"

He was nice enough to cheer for me.

What makes you emotional, lately?

Have you ever conquered a fear? Do you have any advice?

How Dark Is Too Dark?

Photo courtesy of Free Digital Photos

A fair warning advisement - this post will not have a resolution at the end. 

I have no clue what the answer might be to the question "How dark is too dark?"  I'm not even sure there is an answer, because human taste is so subjective.  

That subjectivity is both the good news and the bad news.  Good because it means there has got to be someone out there who will love what you write, and bad for the exact same reason in reverse.

I suppose the goal is to get more people loving what you write than not loving it.  There's no way in hell anyone can please everybody, and have everybody love what you write.

Personally, I can only take dark, sad literature in very small bites (read never).  When I got to the end of The Last Oracle by James Rollins and the ending made me cry, I felt betrayed.  I enjoyed about the first five Anita Blake novels before the dark angst got too be too much.  I avoid sad, dark anything with a passion.

Color me surprised when The Age of Stars is dark, sad, pain filled and super-emotional.  I have three broken main characters, and the novel starts out with their brokenness splayed out on the page.  There will be a happy ending for two of them, as they heal each other.  The third, not so much.  His is a tragically sad ending, and the more I get to know his brokenness, the sadder I feel for him.  I think I need him to kick a cat or something so I stop feeling sorry for him.  He is the bad guy, after all.

 People use each other, betray each other, have their hearts broken, and apparently are going to have a lot of sex.  At least, to start with.

Photo courtesy of Free Digital Photos

Quick note - the sex isn't gratuitous.  It does figure very prominently into their emotional state and achieving their goals.  Once I get into the second act, I think things will calm down.  I hope - writing sex scenes is hard.

Before I even started writing the novel, I knew it was going to be a huge challenge for me.  I knew it was going to be dark and uncomfortable, but since I knew there was going to be a happy ending and the main characters grow to a better emotional place, I was okay with it.

Then I read this excellent post by Anna Elliott on Writer Unboxed about achieving that balance between likable and unlikable characters.  My head swam as I extrapolated the post to my whole book.

Am I writing an unlikable novel?  Would people, first of which would be agents and publishers, be willing to give my characters the chance to grow to the better place, or would they toss the book into the trash because it's too sad and too dark?

I don't know.

The story compels me, though.  I want to write it as I plotted it out.  The characters are fully formed in my mind.  To change the story would be false to me.

I had a little emotional breakdown over the weekend, and I owe a huge thanks to those of you who took the time to talk me down.  I decided to just write the first draft as planned, and do it as quickly as I can.  I'll give it some time to percolate, and then I'll decide what to do with it.  When in doubt, procrastinate, right?

Where do you think that line is when a story is too dark?  Have you ever written a story you thought was too dark?