Rena Olsen

It’s been a rough couple of weeks, folks. Between personal stuff, work stuff, and world stuff, November has not been kind. It’s at times like these that’s it’s the most difficult to choose joy. To see the light in all the darkness, especially when the darkness seems to invade your every pore.

Last week my grandma was in the hospital for a couple of days. While she was there, my grandpa moved into the guest room because he refused to sleep in their bed without her. They’ve been married 63 years. I can’t even imagine the depth of that love. The cynic in me wonders if that sort of love even exists anymore, if we’re capable of loving another person like that in a world where we swipe right to show our interest in someone. I’ve had a couple of conversations to that effect throughout the week, and the consensus is that yes, we have the ability, but few people tap into it anymore. In a society where we are so “me-focused” and used to instant gratification, love seems to turn into more of something to check off the list than something to really dedicate time and energy to. Of course, there are exceptions. I’m not trying to belittle anyone’s love story. On the contrary, I’m really interested in what makes those exceptions, what people do to keep that sort of love alive.

It occurred to me that to really see what made those special connections work, it’s necessary to look outside of romantic relationships. Our world is connected by relationships. It’s all we are, really, a great big bundle of relationships. We are our own person, yes, but we are also defined by our relationships. Our relationships with friends, family, strangers, the world at large. How we react to people sets the tone for how we live our lives, and our actions and reactions can have massive impact on the lives of others. That’s what happens when you live in community.

After what’s happened in the world over the past couple of weeks, in Paris, in Beirut, in Baghdad, in places all over the world that most people know nothing about, there should be no doubt as to the ripple effect actions and reactions have on the world community. Hop on any comment thread and you’ll find prayers for peace, yes, but mostly you find hate, blame, calls for violence and retaliation. And to what end?

Some words I’ve been meditating on over the past few days as I contemplate my own responses:

“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst…If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.” – Matthew 5:43-47

“Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love…Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

I don’t know what my point is in all of this. I just know that I’m weary of the hatred and mudslinging. Life is hard enough without adding to it. What if we tried to take the burdens of our brothers and sisters, instead of playing the blame game? What if we tried to be the light and love on people, even when they’re not our favorites? I don’t know what the answers to all the world’s problems are. I don’t even know what the answers are to all the problems in my own life, though those seem very small in comparison. All I do know is that I’m choosing to find the light, to see the good, even in its most minuscule amounts.

One of my favorite movies, especially around this time of year, is Love, Actually. The opening scene is gold, and really sums up this entire post.

“…but the greatest of these is LOVE.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13

Blessings and love to you all, my friends.

I’m doing it. I’m jumping on the bandwagon for NaNoWriMo posts. Because November.

If you’re not familiar, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. During November each year, writers from all over the world attempt to write 50,000 words in just 30 days. Now, if you’re not familiar with word counts, 50,000 words is not going to be a completed novel, unless you’re writing middle grade, or shorter YA. (My adult debut clocks in just north of 100K.) But the point of Nano is more to get people writing, get them in that groove, see if they can remain sane through an entire month of intense word sprints and plotting and no sleep or housework.

I’ve participated in Nano off and on since 2009, and have made it to 50K words each year I’ve attempted. Some of those novels I finished, others have gone the way of The Drawer. My proudest year I wrote 80K in just over 2 weeks. That was a fun one to write.

I’m a fast-drafter. What that means is that I can sit down and release words at a rate of >2000 words an hour if I’m super focused. (Of course, if you know me, that’s my downfall. Focus.) I’m also an edit-as-you-go person, which is apparently a big NONO during Nano. (NANO NONO THAT IS SUPER FUN TO SAY.) (There’s that focus thing again…what was I saying?)

What I find interesting is that, as much as I loooove Nano and the books that I’ve birthed over the past several Novembers, in some ways there is just SO MUCH PRESSURE to follow specific rules, such as the DON’T EDIT rule or DON’T DELETE rule. That really stresses a lot of people out, because it’s not how they’re used to doing things. It’s out of their comfort zone, which isn’t always a bad thing, but I’ve seen enough posts about how people take it to the extreme to want to say SCREW THE RULES.

Isn’t that what we say anyway about writing? Sure, there are lots of people who like to list the rules for writing, but, in reality, the only rule is that there are no rules. There’s not a right or wrong way to write. Want to write in a coffee shop? Do it. Write at home better? Excellent. Write for hours at a time? Kudos, man. Carve out 15 minute slots throughout the day? Also totally awesome. Write every day? I salute you. Have one writing day a week? Cheers! You gotta do what works for you, what feels right, or writing will start to feel like a chore.

A friend and her fiancé visited my church yesterday. Later, as we chatted about her visit, it was super interesting to hear her take on things. She had never been to a church service (except weddings) that wasn’t Catholic. She enjoyed it, but thought it was long (although yesterday was a shorter service than normal!). She said the music was much better (I was singing, so of course 😉 {I kid!}), but she had a really difficult time with how casual it was. Both she and her fiancé really enjoy the structure of a Catholic church service, and while they enjoyed visiting, they both agreed that that sort of service would not be something they would crave on a regular basis. HOWEVER, she’s like, man, Rena. That church is just SO YOU. It fits you SO WELL. I’m not surprised you love it so much.

Isn’t it cool how we all flourish in different places, and in doing different things? That’s why we have pantsers and plotters/outliners (or that strange hybrid panster who tries to outline, the “pantyliner”), fast-drafters and edit-as-you-goers, chronological writers or who-the-heck-cares-I’m-writing-the-exciting-part-nowers.

I absolutely think Nano is a great opportunity to challenge yourself. To stretch yourself beyond what you’re used to doing. I also absolutely think that it’s not for everyone. If it’s going to cause more stress than excitement, don’t do it! Find a different way to challenge yourself.

Every November, my friend Ami does WIPMo over on her blog. I usually do that too, to set editing goals for myself in addition to my writing goals. What’s great about it is that you set your own goals, move at your own pace. You’re not “competing” against anyone else (though Nano is not about competition, to be clear), just being vocal about the goals you have so that you can be held accountable. I NEED that accountability.

Or maybe you just want to do a challenge within your own writing group, or with your CPs, or maybe you want to ignore all this crazy November writing stuff and live your life. That’s cool too.

I have set goals for myself, but I’m also going to do my best not to sweat it if I don’t hit 50K this time around. (Don’t tell the ML of the CIA {Central Iowa Authors} that I said that!) I will attend write-ins and do my best, but I’m also going to leave time for friends and other important things that keep me going. If I don’t refuel, my writing isn’t worth much anyway.

Challenge yourself, but do you. Keep a close eye on your psychological health this month, and make sure you don’t push yourself to the breaking point. I’d hate to see anyone push through November only to completely abandon writing for 6 months (or more!) because they burned out.

Good luck to everyone participating! If you want to find me on the Nano site, I’m here. (Don’t judge the fact that I have no words so far…I have edits due Wednesday!)

(PS! Just because it’s National Novel Writing Month doesn’t mean only novels count! Poetry, journaling, nonfiction…anything you want to write can join in the fun!)

Each of us possesses something unique and powerful from the day we’re born. It is bestowed upon us, sometimes with more meaning than others, but after that initial gifting, it is ours to use as we will.

If you read the title of this entry, you know I’m talking about your name.

Have you ever stopped to think about the power in a name? Some parents take a lot of care to choose a name for their child that holds a lot of meaning or sentimentality. Others choose one that is fun to say or that sounds pretty. Or they use their child to pay homage to their favorite fruit.

No matter how our names come to us, we are the ones stuck with them forever. (Yes, I realize you can change your name, but that’s a whole different blog entry.) Our names are our first step to finding our identity, and I truly believe they have an impact on how our personalities develop. I used to wish that I had a name like Jessica or Melissa, because Rena (or Renata) was too hard for people to pronounce, too hard to spell (it is spelled like it sounds but boy do people struggle), too unique. I stood out when I wanted to blend in.

However, now I am so grateful for such a unique, special name. (I was named for my grandmother, who died when I was 8.) I believe having a unique name helped to shape me into the special snowflake I am today.

When other people use your name, there is power in that as well. I remember being younger, and one particular instance where a guy I found attractive said, “Hi, Rena!” as we passed on the sidewalk. Just that use of my NAME meant so much more than the “Sup?” of other guys. When someone uses your name, it tells you that YOU MATTER.

It’s not always a good thing when people use your name. When you were in trouble as a kid, you knew how serious it was by how much of your name your parents used. People use names to be condescending or sarcastic. It’s interesting to interpret how your name tastes on other people’s lips.

So what does this have to do with writing?

EVERYTHING.

Names MATTER. When you give a character a name, you give them a life, a purpose. You’re basically saying PAY ATTENTION HERE.

My characters were the ones who taught me this very important lesson. It was three years or so ago, and I was writing my YA sci-fi novel, ABOVE EDEN (currently available on my hard drive only). I needed someone to come in and fulfill a very specific purpose, so I created a character. He was supposed to pop in, do his duty, and fade into the background once again.

HA.

As soon as I gave him a name, he took on a life of his own. Pretty soon, he was part of all sorts of shenanigans. He had his own agenda and motivations, and I was just as shocked as anyone. (He was super sneaky. Lil scamp.)

I think this is why it’s so hard for us to consider changing character names after we’ve gotten to know our characters by the moniker we give them originally. Or why sometimes a name just isn’t working for us even after we’ve used it for most of the MS.

Words matter. Names matter. Choose carefully 🙂

Many of you probably already know that October is my very favorite month of the year. There’s nothing I don’t love about fall. The cooler weather, the changing colors, the crunchy leaves, the cozy sweaters and hot drinks…I could go on. I’ve always said if I ever get married, it will be in October. Or, I will just marry October.

Last year, I was blessed with yet another reason to love October. On October 22, 2014, I officially signed with my incomparable agent, Sharon Pelletier.

That’s a very specially made “feather pen.”

I don’t know if I ever actually posted this picture. I was at school conferences that day, and had to wear a very unflattering khaki/polo combo, which my niece thought made it look like I went pantsless (which wouldn’t be entirely out of character for me). Nevertheless, it was an extraordinary day, as I got to celebrate with the school staff, my plastic snake, and later that night, my writing group. You can read my full agent story here. (Note: The blog post is from October 23, because I couldn’t actually announce until the next day.)

The past year has been incredible. A whirlwind. The couple months after signing with Sharon were filled with rounds of revisions and rethinking my story, molding it and going deeper, shining it up into the best possible book it could be before sending it out into the world.

Plotting wall

A little over three months after signing, I had a book deal. You can read about that here.

Another never-before-seen photo, signing my contract (with another special “feather” pen)!

Since then, it’s been a blur of more revisions, lots of decisions, brainstorming new ideas, sharing exciting news…and Sharon has been by my side the entire time, helping me understand this crazy world we call publishing. I can’t imagine a better partner or cheerleader for this adventure. I know I say it a lot, but I don’t think I can ever overstate how absolutely sensational she is.

So Happy Agentversary, Sharon! Words will never be enough to fully thank you for all you’ve done 🙂 Here’s to many more!

In the late 90s, a pastor at a church in Watford, England, realized there was something missing from the church. The members seemed to be going through the motions. Something was just missing. So the pastor made a bold move. He got rid of the sound system and the band for a time. In doing this, the congregation was moved into the role of active participants of worship, rather than consumers. Songs were sung by the congregation a capella, creating a sort of connection that comes from worshiping completely from the heart. Eventually they brought the band back, but the experience was life-changing for the congregation. The worship leader, Matt Redman, wrote a song about the experience, one of my favorite worship songs, The Heart of Worship.

A few weeks (months? What is time?) ago, I took a couple days off from social media. That time it was more about getting caught in the muck that social media can become at times. I utilized my mute button and things were more cheerful. For a while.

A couple weeks ago I realized I was feeling off. Stuck. Pulled in different directions. Stressed for no particular reason. Sure, there were some icky things going on at work, but this was beyond what was an appropriate reaction. I couldn’t focus on anything. My mind was going in a million different directions. I wanted out.

In my last blog, I told you that I found that escape when my friend texted and invited me to make a spontaneous trip to Minneapolis to attend NerdCon. That got me the physical distance I needed.  But I also needed a mental break. So I got off social media again. This time for more than a couple days.

I’ve always prided myself on being able to jump on Twitter for just a couple minutes, and then off again. Tweet something, respond to a few things, and off. But just because I wasn’t actually on Twitter didn’t mean that I wasn’t thinking about it. What response would that last tweet get? Would that person think it was funny? How does that person think of me now? How does my life look to my audience? Am I clever enough? Entertaining enough? Delightful enough?

I was constantly looking at myself through the lens of how other people perceived me. We all do. But for me, it was becoming consuming. To the point that it was very troubling.

I was at a conference the other day, and one of the speakers said something along the lines of, “A big part of our identity is who we are in relation to others.” What I discovered was that one of my problems was focusing so much on my relationships through social media, and not putting as much emphasis on my real life relationships.

This was reinforced at NerdCon, during a social media panel. Maggie Stiefvater made a comment about how only 10% of her life is online, and 90% is offline. Later, she tweeted this:

My offline life was being way more affected by my online life than it should have been. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that I let it get out of control.

This is where I point out again how much I love social media, and all it’s done for me in my writing career. Even more importantly, how many of those friendships that started on social media have become significant real-life friendships. This had nothing to do with people online, or social media in general. It was all about me. Completely personal.

So I didn’t post for several days. I posted a couple times when my friend was on TV, but I didn’t actually scroll through my feed for a week. At first it was hard. Really hard. I reached for my phone, reflexively opening Twitter. It was such a habit for me to tell the world everything I was doing. The problem with that wasn’t what I was doing, but how I reacted to it. I put too much stock in whether people responded, and how they responded. And no one really cares about the consistency of the pancakes I ate for breakfast.

And that’s what it came down to. When everything was stripped away, when I got rid of the extra noise, what really mattered? What did I really want to share with people? Was I going for quantity (I am reaaalllly good at that one) or quality? Where was I going to invest my time and energy?

I enjoy observing mundane things and finding a way to make them entertaining. I enjoy interacting and trading witty tweets with people. I enjoy sharing my writing journey, giving and receiving support. I’m not willing to give that up. But I also know that I need to figure out a better way for it to fit into my life, and not take up so much room, not take away from the important parts of my offline life.

I’m still trying to find the right balance. My goal was to post minimally for a while, but then I was at a conference and there was just SO MUCH to tweet. I haven’t set rules for myself, other than to continue to monitor my state of mind when it comes to using social media.

Right now I’m trying to find the right place to focus. Social media is not the only thing weighing on me, but in the spirit of keeping that 90% offline, I won’t go into the other areas that I’ve been overthinking. What I do know is that my focus belongs on the things I can control. My writing, most especially, my job, and my relationships.

This week at church, during a prayer, the pastor said that when you find your focus, God has a way of reframing everything else in your life. Whether you believe that’s God or something else, there’s a lot of truth to it. When I’m trying to think about ten million things at once, solve all the problems of the world, be everything to everyone, I’m basically useless in all areas. But, without fail, when I’m able to focus in on the important things, I have found clarity in all areas of my life.

What is it that you need to do to find your focus? Whether your focus is writing, family, work, or really getting into the stamp-collecting hobby, how do you keep the clutter from drowning out your purpose? How do you keep from just going through the motions in all areas? How do you maintain your passions?

(One more song, my anthem this week, The Motions by Matthew West. Listen.)

Last week, I was feeling particularly burned out. Reality felt like an iron blanket, holding me down, suffocating me. Things at work were stressful, I wasn’t enjoying writing as much as I felt I should be, and my own brain had turned into my enemy, fixating on things that I just needed to vacate my mind. In the midst of all of this, my friend Jamie texted me, asking if I would PLEASE go to NerdCon: Stories with her.

I had all sorts of excuses not to go. Writing, plans with friends, the four hour drive to her house…but in the end, it didn’t take much convincing. I needed distance from many things, both mental AND physical. So I bought a ticket, took off work, threw a mousetrap in my laundry closet for my house guest, and headed north.

More explanation on my current semi-hiatus from social media later, but for now, enjoy these pictures of some of the things I’ve been up to 🙂

Cotton candy sky on the way into the city.

Ready to nerd out

NERDCON: STORIES

The excitement was palpable.

Oh hey, Hank Green.

Who said it: Trump or Kanye?

Celebrity Artemis led by Pat Rothfuss

John Scalzi, Maureen Johnson, John Green on adapting novels into alternate media.

Holly Black

The ceiling of the rotating conference rooms.

Holly Black, Stephanie Perkins, Lev Grossman, Nalo Hopkinson, and Paolo Bacigalupi on Honing Your Craft

I met Maggie Stiefvater!

Pretty cool view from the hotel…when we finally got to the right one. That’s a story for another time.

Ready to take on Day 2!

John Green!

Rainbow Rowell!

Giant Squid!

This is what my backpack looked like all weekend. Books books books.

Scalzi makes an entrance

After the cartwheel

Social media panel. Maureen Johnson, Hank Green, Maggie Stiefvater, John Scalzi, John Moe.

Just a portion of the passionate lines for Hank Green and Rainbow Rowell.

Panel on serials. (No talk of cereal, unfortunately.)

Maureen Johnson’s signing

There was a dragon there.

I MET MAUREEN JOHNSON!!!

Have always wanted one of these stickers. Maureen Johnson IS my friend from the internet!

The sun sets on a beautiful couple of days.

Goodnight NerdCon.

We are made of stories. What’s your story?

What if. Two words, so many possibilities.

For much of my life, I think I’ve used these two words as a cautionary reminder, to prevent me from taking too many chances.

What if…I make a fool of myself?
What if…I fail?
What if…they don’t like me?
What if…I get hurt?
What if…I hurt someone else?
What if…what if…what if…

Last year sometime, I decided I was tired of letting the what ifs in life hold me back. Here are just a few that I flipped on their ends.

What if I send my book out and no one likes it?
This is a very real fear for all writers, especially starting out. And here’s the thing. There is A LOT of rejection in the world of publishing. I was rejected. Again and again. It took four novels written and three queried before I got my yes. But if I’d let the what ifs get to me, prevent me from even trying, I wouldn’t be where I am. I wouldn’t know half of the awesome people I know. “I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.” – Sylvia Plath

What if I get involved in a new church and it turns out just like my past?
This was a tough one. I have written about some of the struggles I’ve had in past churches. Each time I opened up, started to trust, it seemed like the rug was pulled out from under me. Despite that, I took a leap and not only started attending worship regularly again, but got involved in the church. So far, so good. I’ve met some amazing people, and my faith is a bigger part of my life than it’s been in a long time.

What if I buy a house and meet someone?
This seems like kind of a silly one, but it’s something that held me back for a while. I didn’t want to make a commitment to be a homeowner when my future seemed uncertain. How did I know I would stay here? What if I met the man of my dreams and we wanted to buy a house together? Buying this house has been one of the best decisions I’ve made. If I have to relocate or Prince Charming finally shows up with my glass slipper, I can deal with it when it happens. Until then, I am so delighted I took the plunge.

What if I’m never ready?
Ready for what? Anything. Ever get that feeling like you’re just playing at being an adult? Like…all the time? This one has kept me from many things in the past. I almost didn’t apply to be a supervisor, which is a job I love now. I have stepped outside of myself and my insecurities, taking charge of things I never would have in the past, standing up for myself in ways I never though possible.

What if I’m alone forever?
This one I’m still working on. I love the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. At the beginning of the movie, when she first moves to Italy, she talks about how she wants a wedding at her house, and children. Near the end, her friend points out to her that she got those things, just not in the way she expected. She hosted a wedding for a young couple she helped be together, and her best friend came and lived with her and had a baby. Why does this matter? Because in order to conquer this what if, I need to change the way I expect things to look in my life. Find the ways that God has answered my prayers in unique ways. And I am always able to find those examples, if only I take the time to look.

Eventually the what ifs can turn to statements of hope.

What if…the meeting goes really well?
What if…the chance I took pays off?
What if…they don’t reject me?
What if…Prince Charming is real?
What if…my dreams can come true?
What if…what if…what if…

What what ifs are holding you back? How can you flip them into something magical?

I have started drafting this blog many times over the past couple of weeks. I even wrote a bit last week on my phone during one of the services at church (hush, I sang so I attended both) because the message of the sermon was relevant to the topic as well. Then Summer Heacock (a truly exceptional individual) shared a post similar to what I want to talk about, and possibly did it better than I can, so check that out for sure.

Lately I have seen a lot of good news being shared around the social media universe. Engagements, weddings, babies, agent signings, book deals… So so many good things.

At the same time, I am having an increasing number of conversations revolving around jealousy and bitterness. The constant comparisons will drive anyone crazy. People are bitter about their lives. Their jobs. Their relationship status. Their love lives (or lack thereof). Nothing is right and everything is tragic. We want what we don’t have.

I’m as guilty of this as anyone. Maybe moreso. I remember once, years ago, when one of my good friends called to tell me she was engaged. She’d never been too into guys or dating, but she met the one and that was it. I was so happy for her, but there was this other feeling gnawing at me. The feeling of envy, of bitterness that I didn’t have what she had. It didn’t detract from my happiness for her at all, but it was definitely there. Twitter and Facebook are incredible amplifiers for bitterness, as we get to peek at the best moments in the lives of our friends and families and even strangers. And it’s easy to start scrolling through and thinking, that’s great, but WHY NOT ME?

And that’s the issue, isn’t it? That comparison. Looking at other people’s lives and deciding that because we don’t have what they have, we are lacking. Not enough in some way. And we try to change ourselves to fit into someone else’s success. IF ONLY I lost weight, I would be happy. IF ONLY I were dating someone, I would be complete. IF ONLY I wrote a book like that one, I would get an agent. IF ONLY I wrote about that topic, I would get a book deal.

What a great way to lose yourself.

What if, instead of trying to find our worth based on what everyone else was doing, we changed our perspective? What if we worked on finding the good in ourselves and our circumstances, focusing inward instead of looking at the world to see if we measure up?

The other night I had the privilege of having my nieces spend the night with me. I love having them over. They are some of the most beautiful, confident girls I know. That in itself is a lesson for those of us caught up in the comparison game. To be like children, so proud of our accomplishments instead of belittling them because they aren’t like someone else’s. We watched the newest adaptation of Cinderella, which I adore. One of my favorite scenes is when Ella is sent to live in the attic, and at first she is horrified, but then she starts talking about the good things about living up there, for example, not being disturbed by the rest of the household. She remains positive despite horrid circumstances. She has so little, but what she does have, she cherishes.

In writing world, this can be especially difficult. When you’ve been querying for years, and someone new arrives on the scene and snags an agent in a couple months, it’s tough to stay positive. When you’ve been on submission for a year and someone else announces a deal what feels like two seconds after signing with an agent, that bitterness can grow. When foreign rights deals, multiple book deals, large advance news, movie rights, and on and on start rolling in for what seems like everyone but you, gosh it’s easy to water that bitterness and let it take root. It’s easy to give up, to say it’s not worth it.

I have mentioned before that right before signing with my agent, I was contemplating a break from querying. Not from writing, but from sending my precious words into the world. It had gotten to be too much. Each rejection stung worse than the one before. My thoughts were not kind. I was bitter. I was convinced I would never be good enough. I needed to be perfect, and I wasn’t.

I came through the bitterness. I pushed forward and worked at finding the light. Just a little bit at first, and then a little bit more, and as my perspective changed, my approach changed. My outlook on life became sunnier, at least. I found the good things that came with this writing adventure, even while still in the query trenches. The friends I’d made, the massive leaps and bounds my writing had taken because of these new friends and connections. When I started looking at the positive things, the things I had gained, rather than looking at everyone else and wishing I had what they had, I was able to relax and move forward at MY pace. Because everyone has a different journey.

I don’t want my journey to look like anyone else’s. I once tweeted that I didn’t want to be “The Next ______.” I want to be the first ME. And in order for that to happen, I need to stop comparing, stop trying to change how I do things to match what other people do.

I’m just gonna be me. And you be you. I promise you won’t regret it 🙂

Last weekend I was supposed to go home and help my parents extract honey from my Dad’s many beehives. Unfortunately, the rainy weather prevented that from being a possibility, and then my Dad got sick, so I ended up sticking around the ol’ homestead. So of course I used all this extra time to do productive things like unpack and work on Book 2.

Ha!

Just kidding, I read three books. And it was glorious. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to sit down and just READ. And that’s such an integral part of being a writer. You can’t be a writer without also being a reader. It just doesn’t work.

But that’s not what this blog post is about. Psych!

One thing I noticed in some of my reading was what I call the “Cinderella complex.” You know the story. Blah blah girl puts on a gorgeous dress, gets her hairs did, paints her face all purty, and SUDDENLY TO AMAZEMENT OF EVERYONE she is able to completely captivate the prince.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have always loved Cinderella stories. The falling in love with a handsome prince (or prince-like character), the happily ever after. I’m a total sucker.

But the more I think about it, especially the original Disney Cinderella, the more it bothers me. I don’t like how so many books and movies depict the moment the guy falls in “love” to be when the girl has dressed herself up to be something almost unattainable, someone who isn’t the real life, everyday, nitty gritty REAL GIRL.

Here’s my other disclaimer. I love getting dressed up, doing my nails, curling my hair, playing with makeup. It’s fun, and I don’t begrudge anyone that enjoyment.

My problem comes when it stops being enjoyment and starts being necessity. When we teach young girls that the only way to get a guy to fall in love with them is to reach this unattainable standard of beauty, when we tell them that just being who they are isn’t enough, at least not to garner the initial attention they seek. They grow up thinking they have to keep that perfect facade no matter what. A friend once told me that for the first year of her marriage she got up every morning before her husband woke to brush her teeth and put on makeup, so he wouldn’t see her without. That is a problem.

I struggle with this daily. With that feeling of being not enough. Society tells me that I’m not worth anything because I’m not thin enough, not beautiful enough, not ENOUGH. I’m told I won’t get a happily ever after, because I don’t deserve it. Because my accomplishments aren’t enough as long as my body doesn’t fit the current definition of beauty. And even if it did, I have no doubt I would continue to struggle. I don’t know a single woman, fat or thin, gorgeous or plain, married or single, who doesn’t struggle with body and attractiveness issues.

Here’s the thing though. If a guy ever falls in love with me, I want it to be for ME. Not for what I look like. For who I am, for what I stand for, for how I treat others, for how I choose to live my life. Those are the things I’m proud of. I want someone to see my sense of humor, my love for God and for people, my willingness to help those in need, my connection with my friends and family. But I fear that most are too distracted by what’s on the outside to even look past and see those things. (I wish body type didn’t even have to come into play, but I know there has to be a level of physical attraction, blah blah blah…I won’t get into that today other than to say that when the inside is reflected on the outside, it super changes how I view people, and I think it does for others too.)

I do see a push to help girls and women love themselves first. But I still see the message drowned out again and again. As writers, we have the opportunity to be a part of the love yourself movement. We can write strong heroines who aren’t also the most beautiful girl in the fictional universe. We can represent different body types, different abilities, all the different facets of what makes someone beautiful well beyond the physical appearance. We can depict love interests falling in love with the PERSON, not the fake painted on version we all tend to present to the world.

As I tend to do when I’m thinking deeply about a subject, I turned it into a writing exercise. I wrote the following excerpt about that moment when a guy’s feelings change mostly in my head over the last week, but just put it all down pretty quickly, so bear with me.

                My head bounced against the window as the van hit a particularly punishing pothold on the bumpy road we were traveling. I winced, giving up on my hopes of taking a nap and sitting up.

                I wasn’t the only bleary-eyed person in the vehicle. The entire group looked like zombies. Not particularly active zombies either. Even Maggie, my always-sparkly best friend, stared at the back of the seat in front of her as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.

                Only Jonathan, our peppy leader, had any energy at all. I suspected he was hoarding all the energy as I watched him behind the wheel, bouncing around to a Taylor Swift song, trying (and failing) to get the poor girl in the passenger seat to join him.

                This is what happened when you dragged sixteen high schoolers out of bed at 5am on a Saturday and threw them into two vans. We’d all wake up eventually. Hopefully before we had to do any work.

                Not that I regretted signing up to help build a school garden. My name had been first on the list. I couldn’t wait to share my gardening skills with kids and parents and create an amazing tool for a school in need.

                I just had a really hard time remembering how excited I was when the sun was barely awake.

                “We’re here!” Jonathan sang from the front seat as he parked our van next to the other one, and everyone shook themselves off, stretching and yawning before exiting the vehicle. The kids and families wouldn’t be here until a little later. We arrived early to get everything set up and ready while the temperature was still fairly cool.

                The raised beds were already built, and Maggie and I immediately grabbed soil out of the back of the van to start filling them.

                “Mind if I help with this one?” My stomach jumped at the sound of Kade’s voice. I turned to see him standing behind us, cradling another bag of soil, a hopeful smile on his face. He’d ridden in the other van, much to my disappointment. I didn’t think I’d see much of him today.

                “Sure,” I said, forcing my voice to sound normal. “The more the merrier.” I waited to make a face until I turned back to the bed and resumed pouring in the soil. The more the merrier? Who even says that?

                As Kade walked to the other side of the bed and opened his own bag of soil, I started to regret my choice of wardrobe and lack of makeup. Of course, I knew he was coming, but I also wanted to be comfortable, so my loose workout pants and an old ratty t-shirt won out over more flattering, but probably super restricting choices.

                Soon all thoughts of my attire fled as we got to work. In fact, it was easier than I expected to be around Kade, especially with Maggie by my side. We shared a few classes, and had a lot more in common than I would have thought, since we traveled in different circles. Of course, I’d noticed Kade. Oh boy had I noticed him. But our few interactions had never seemed to add up to much, so I did my best to keep those feelings at bay.

                The sun rose higher in the sky and I paused to throw my long hair into what was probably an extremely attractive bun right at the top of my head. Kade eyed it, a small smirk on his lips, but said nothing. The families started arriving, and Jonathan ran all over the place, trying to keep the kids in check and stay as organized as possible.

                I helped a few of the kids plant some seeds, and then put them in charge of watering our newly planted bed. The water turned out to be too much of a temptation, however, and soon I was soaked through. Not that I minded. It at least kept me cool.

                We were almost ready to wrap up the day when one of my new little friends, a second grader named Frankie, came running toward me.

                “Mira! Mira! Look what I found!” His arms outstretched, he opened his hands to reveal a tiny frog.

                Which promptly jumped right at my face.

                Shrieking, I took a step back and tripped over the edge of the garden bed and then I was weightless as I fell backwards. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and the picture of the frog leaping toward me played over and over as my body headed toward the freshly planted soil.

                SQUISH

                I wasn’t the only thing that was a little over-watered. The spot I landed on was moist and muddy, and little bits of wet dirt flew around me, decorating my clothes and face. At least it was a soft landing. And that little frog landed squarely on my chest, staring at me.

                Everyone who witnessed my dirt dive was silent, waiting. I stared back at the frog, considering, before reaching up and scooping him up.

                “I think we should name him Boo,” I said. “Since he’s so good at startling people.”

                A collective sigh of relief went around the garden as everyone returned to their work. Frankie giggled. “I like that name. Can I take him home?”

                “Hm,” I said, feeling the mud seeping into places mud had no business being. “I think Boo would be much happier living here in the brand new garden. Maybe he has a family he wants to stay by too.”

                “Aw. I suppose,” Frankie stepped over and rescued Boo from me. “I think he’ll like that one over there better though,” he said, and took off running once again.

                Someone snorted behind me, and I looked back to glare in mock outrage at Maggie. “Shut up.”

                “I’m just really excited to see you try to get out of there.”

                “Thanks, buddy. You’re so helpful,” I said. Maggie just crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, ready for a show.

                 Wiggling around, I tried to figure out how to stand up and do the least damage to the rest of the bed. Strong hands reached out to grip mine and pulled me up. Kade didn’t release me as I looked back at the large butt print in the soil that would now need to be replanted. I laughed. “Well, I did say I wanted to get my hands dirty. This is just the extreme version, I guess!” I looked back at Kade and sobered instantly.

                I’d never seen him look at me with that intensity before. No one had ever looked at me like that. His eyes sparked as they roved over my face, as if he was seeing me for the first time, mud splattered and all. My heart sped up in response.

                Kade cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess we’ve got a little more work to do,” he said, his voice just slightly raspy.

                “Yeah.” I laughed. “Although I think we should still name this bed “Boo’s Crib.”

                A giant grin broke out across Kade’s face, and his eyes shone as he continued gazing at me. “I like it.” He looked at the bed again, shaking his head in amusement. “I’ll get some more soil.” He squeezed my hands before releasing them and heading back to the supplies.

                I glanced back at Maggie, who had watched the entire exchange. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m going to go help that group over there,” she said, pointing across the garden. I nodded before turning back, automatically searching for Kade. When I spotted him, it was to find that he was already watching me.

               Even as Kade dropped his gaze grin still playing on his lips, I had the sense that, somehow, everything between us had just shifted. And I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

“Try”

Last week, Kathy Palm wrote a blog titled Thirteen Wishes, in which she talked about being thirteen years old and how what she wished for then matched (or didn’t match) her life now. I thought it was a fun little exercise, so for this lazy Labor Day blog, I decided to copy her. (Coming up with original ideas is not what Labor Day is for.)

So. Thirteen-year-old Rena. I turned 13 in early 1997. It was the year Princess Diana died, and the Heaven’s Gate mass suicide rocked the country. Mike Tyson tried to eat Evander Holyfield ear-first, and Tiger Woods became the youngest golfer to win the Masters. Dolly the sheep was cloned, and the Hale-Bopp comet had its closest approach to Earth.

Not to be confused with Mm-Bop, also popular around this time.

All this went on around newly teenaged Rena, and while I remember coverage from all, clearly none of those events were at the center of my sphere. I was busy watching Titanic repeatedly in the theater (I’ll never let go!) and trying my best to reach Mariah’s highest notes while listening to my very first Discman. The first Harry Potter was also released, though I wouldn’t fall into the magic until book 2, but the summer of 1997 was spent hauling books between the library and home, almost daily, devouring the Sweet Valley series and more.

I was finishing up 7th grade and starting 8th grade at what was then Rockwell City/Lytton middle school. *shudder* Those…were not great times. Seventh grade especially. But I found small bits of happiness. Many of them in daydreams. Wishes. Imagining what my future might look like. Here are just a few of my 13 year old wishes.

1. Become a famous pop star. a la Mariah Carey.
2. Travel the world, seeking adventure.
3. Be a baby doctor.
4. Marry someone who loves me for me, and start a family.

Ha.

Well, I’m no pop star. My cousin Dana and I used to make big plans about what our lives would be like when she was a famous actress and I was a famous pop star. We would fly in our private jets to see each other and introduce each other to all our FABULOUS friends. I couldn’t imagine why anyone WOULDN’T want to be famous. Heh. At 31 (hey, that’s like opposite 13 I just noticed!), my vocals stick to church and the shower mostly. And I’m 100% find with that.

When I was in elementary school and had lived in Minnesota and New York and traveled to Colorado and Pennsylvania, I was “worldly.” Unfortunately, I haven’t gone much beyond that. I did go on a cruise a few years back. Let’s just say the world travel wish is still in progress 😉

I always thought if being a pop star didn’t work out, I wanted to be a doctor who got to work with babies. When I realized that the nurses were really the ones who got to take care of the babies, I learned about “obstetrical nursing” and that was my new goal. I’m not sure at what point things really shifted, but instead of nursing I went into psychology and ended up with a Master’s degree in Marriage and Family Therapy. I thought marital therapy was fascinating, so of course now I work with kids. You might say my interests are in constant flux. I don’t regret my decision though. I don’t think 13-year-old Rena would blame me either.

The one thing I think 13-year-old Rena would be upset about if she could have seen 31 year old Rena is the fact that I am still single. Little Rena always believed in fairy tales and wanted to be Cinderella. Adult Rena has those same feelings, but as far as getting married young…it wouldn’t have been good for me. I can look back now and say that with absolute conviction. If a guy had proposed when I was in my early 20s, I would have said yes, and I would have changed everything about myself in order to please him. The good news is that I DID find someone who loves me for me. ME. And I DO have a ginormous family. A work family, a church family, so many close friends who fill whatever gaps there may be. And I’ve done more on my own than I would have had I given myself up before I knew who I truly was.

OKAY that got deeper than planned. Suffice to say, even if things didn’t turn out (at all) as 13-year-old Rena wished they would have, they did turn out as they were meant to. I was 13 eighteen years ago. I can’t wait to see where I am eighteen years from now. My guess? Someplace I never expected 🙂