Take a Load off, Fanny

Yesterday was an unceremoniously sad day. I mourned that my family had really left me in New Orleans to unpack the rest of my boxes and figure out how much of our budget could go towards more storage drawers for my inordinate amount of "important and can't-part-with" belongings, and cried over entering my third trimester without even noticing. Pregnancy hormones, the stuff champions are made of!

End of my second trimester, showing off the belly button bump

I woke up to a new day determined to tackle part of my long list and officially start my Story101 writer's workshop. The prompt for this week asks what may inhibit our writing goals in the next 10 weeks and how can we manage them ahead of time.

The intro week is focused on finding your voice. I signed up for this e-course so as to find my narrative voice. That voice where I can tell a story and not trail off in the middle because I realize I am sharing too many details before I've even hit the punch line. The voice where saying what happened is true, only it hits a funny note or a poignant note or a thought-provoking note. The kind of note you want to re-read, not only because a good friend sent it, but because they had something to say.

Writing itself has become an obstacle, mostly because I don't know why I'm writing anymore. Am I writing because I enjoy it, or because it is the only way I know how to talk to people? My husband likes to tease me about my tendency to start talking to him about something, and then I'll trail off mid-thought. It's because I'm thinking, and when I speak out loud, my words get jumbled because my thoughts get clearer. It would be nice, sometimes, if English was more like Latin: it doesn't matter the order of the words as long as the endings are right. It's the endings that connect the words together, and help translate the author's meaning.

My first obstacle is purpose. Why am I writing? To what end?

My second obstacle is meaning. Why do I write about this story? What do I want people to take away?

My third obstacle is discipline. Write, damnit! Then edit. Stop editing your story before the words have even breathed. Stop unpacking that box. Stop meal planning. Stop nesting. Write. Write more. Write it again!

The only way to manage my obstacles is to answer their question, even if it is a smaller goal than I usually have for my writing. The purpose of my writing is this course; the meaning of my writing is to narrate the prompts given to me; the discipline must be every day. I'll probably set a timer on my phone and then GO! type-type-type, because the only kind of panic I know is the deadline kind. The kind where editors e-mail you and you try to be a microwave writer even though you were made like a crock pot.

So here goes! After having a Last Waltz kind of day, I see myself hopping in a lonely canoe, paddling up Cripple Creek: If I spring a leak, she'll mend me.



Only, I've got 30 other canoes next to me. How wonderful is that? Not so lonely as many writers imagine life to be, at least when faced by all that white space horizon.

#7QT: Oh the Shame, the Shame, the Shame

Is it Friday? Bless my buttons! Read below and then more over at Jen's!

ONE

There is a skit by Irish comedian Dylan Moran on shame which uses a brilliant [take-it-with-a-grain-of-comedic-sea-salt] analogy comparing the eating of biscuits between Protestants and Catholics. It is a great Robison family favorite:



"Oh, I can't tell which is nicer, the biscuits or the shame!" 

I've been feeling a lot of shame lately between all my commitments and projects and moving and pregnancy and just being there as a member of my family. It's been a really hard balance, and I'm thankful you readers are still here as I write other things more than blog posts, like thank you cards and freelance.

Although, the book Jen found on writing more/ better has me really excited. As does the ability to download Kindle onto my PC!

I'm starting a women's writer workshop come July and am estatic -- and, hopefully, I'll publish more here too!

TWO

I had my gestational diabetes test done today. My doctor allowed me to eat yogurt beforehand since I still get so nauseous in the morning, but the sugary drink I had 5 minutes to down didn't help with that. I brought work to do, and ended up curled up on my side in the room instead. This pregnancy has certainly given me more to be thankful for, especially my health. I may feel sick and need to sleep way more than usual, but I am still doing well and am a low-risk pregnancy!

I am really going to miss my OB doctor and the staff. My doctor is kind, professional, and I feel extremely comfortable with her. I would have loved to have her deliver Bebe! The staff loves to chat with me and ask about updates - mostly because my FIL is another OB in the officer, I'm sure, but also because they are just as genial and caring.

My #1 task upon moving South: new OB! Well, and unpacking. And maybe going on a cemetery tour and exploring the French Quarter!

THREE

Today is our six months of marriage mark!!!! How exciting. Just to re-cap:

FOUR

Have you ever heard of Temple Grandin?


Inventor, animal activist, and autistic!

FIVE

I am getting to the end of Robert Penn Warren's 'All the King's Men' and it is just thrilling.

“For the truth is a terrible thing. You dabble your foot in it and it is nothing. But you walk a little farther and you feel it pull you like an undertow or a whirlpool. First there is the slow pull so steady and gradual you scarcely notice it, then the acceleration, then the dizzy whirl and plunge into darkness. For there is a blackness of truth, too. They say it is a terrible thing to fall into the Grace of God. I am prepared to believe that.” 

The book is long, extremely well-written, an investment of time and intellect, and worth savoring every word and story. The character of Jack Burton is flawed, smart, introspective, cunning, and just.

SIX

Rest in Peace, Michael Hastings (died in a car accident on June 18):

Okay, here’s my advice to you (and young journalists in general):
1. You basically have to be willing to devote your life to journalism if you want to break in. Treat it like it’s medical school or law school.
2. When interviewing for a job, tell the editor how you love to report. How your passion is gathering information. Do not mention how you want to be a writer, use the word “prose,” or that deep down you have a sinking suspicion you are the next Norman Mailer.
3. Be prepared to do a lot of things for free. This sucks, and it’s unfair, and it gives rich kids an edge. But it’s also the reality.
4. When writing for a mass audience, put a fact in every sentence.
5. Also, keep the stories simple and to the point, at least at first.
6. You should have a blog and be following journalists you like on Twitter.
7. If there’s a publication you want to work for or write for, cold call the editors and/or email them. This can work.
8. By the second sentence of a pitch, the entirety of the story should be explained. (In other words, if you can’t come up with a rough headline for your story idea, it’s going to be a challenge to get it published.)
9. Mainly you really have to love writing and reporting. Like it’s more important to you than anything else in your life—family, friends, social life, whatever.
10. Learn to embrace rejection as part of the gig. Keep writing/pitching/reading.

H/T Explore

SEVEN

Last weekend in Ohio for a while... I'll miss home! I'll miss my big family, taking the dogs to the dog park and hanging with our cats, walking to and from work, my family eating dinner together, walking around the neighborhood, coffee and play dates with the kids, the best job I've ever had, and the familiar.

Until then, I'm going to keep on keepin' on. Happy Friday!

Job Title: Support Role, Leading Lady

In 21 days, my husband and I will move most of our worldly possessions down South for a year. I am attempting to remain calm and create a game plan as I'll continue to work till the end of the month, and still have belongings scattered between two homes.

I've started to be asked the question of what I am going to "do down there"; I usually look at my belly and reply, "Have a baby!" That does not generate as many laughs as I'd originally hoped. What people mean is what job I am going to do. Never mind that I already edit and write when I'm not nannying, and I'll continue to do more freelance, God-willing. But a "real" job? No thanks. 

I love nannying. I love taking care of kids. This is one reason Will and I decided to be open to pregnancy early in our marriage. We knew that Will would be busy with medicine. And me? I wanted to be busy with kids and supporting Will. 

When I took on a third part-time job earlier this year, the work load started to suffocate me. Pregnant, working overtime, and supporting Will from near and far was hard. I cried a lot. My Dad, the man who instilled my need to be busy and productive with a go-getter work ethic, suggested I quit my third job. 

But I like it, I explained. 

But you're miserable, he reasoned. 

Just tired, said I; I need more sleep. I need more time. 

What you need to do is support your husband, he said. You're married now. Will is your priority, and your baby. 

So I did, and my happiness levels leaped. I missed the action of that job, but I relished in getting to bed earlier and more family time. I even finished a few book reviews. I supported Will as we decided where we wanted to go for the next year. We decided a surgery rotation was not the best thing for our family or Will. We decided to forgo residency one year, take a risk, and enter into a one year clinical research masters program for MDs at Tulane University. 

Do I get paid for advising my husband? Of course not. But it's what I live for: to be there for Will, to support him, to love him. My career ambitions will always be second to our family, and that is my decision. That's a monetary risk** we take on, a sacrifice we accept. 

Feminism's battle call isn't about competing with our fellow man, earning money to prove our worth. It's about the ability to pursue our passions without obstacles that confuse gender with capabilities. Women can do anything. Individuals must decide how to best use their own talents. 

I'm not interested in working in a hospital or running a company. I like editing and being on my own schedule (mostly) and taking care of little kids. I like short projects and long term planning. I like books and coloring and making people happy. I like supporting people, especially Will. He'll work long hours with demanding people. I'll have long hours with smaller demanding people. We'll do it for each other, and with each other. 

At his medical school graduation shindig, after chanting "Speech!" at him for a few moments, my husband thanked everyone for being there and for supporting him through the last four years. And then he talked about medicine, the profession he's wanted to do and be in since he was a tot, and how it's just one path in life, and just one way to support our little family and build a life with me. Cue the "Ahhhhhhhhs!" and applause, and a kiss from me. 

No one says anything negative about Will wanting to support me; that's his role as husband, they say. That's his manly vocation, his duty. Then why can't women answer a similar call without fear of retribution? Fear of accusations that their talents are being wasted? 

To play a supporting role does not mean passivity. It means to serve, to invest your love, to discern your ambitions and rise to the occasion. It means to use those talents to benefit the ones you love best, to give them the similar opportunity to grow, discover and pursue in life. 

Pope Francis tweeted this past Sunday, "The world tells us to seek success, power and money; God tells us to seek humility, service and love." The pay-offs are certainly different, but the reward? Substantial. 

**I'm going to keep writing, because I'm good at it, love it, and people keep asking me to do it (and even pay me occasionally). 

The Besties in Life

There's a lot to be said about friendship. Last night, I spent 2.5 hours with my elusive best friend/ college roommate/ partner in cheese eating via the internet, catching up and guffawing over our favorite t.v. show. The night before, I spent almost 3+ hours outside a local ice cream shop catching up with a very dear friend, who lives in a cold state far from me.

I do not see either of these ladies regularly, nor do we talk as often as I wish we could, as we did when roomie lived with me and dear friend lived across the hall. I have similar tales to share about other friends. I re-read an e-mail last night of another dear friend, who is moving across the country (although much closer to his hometown!) for residency, and I was embarrassed that I didn't even reply to his e-mail yet. And he moves tomorrow!

But perhaps there is beauty in these meetings and catch-ups; meaning too. When I read A's e-mail, I didn't feel like we were falling apart. I could hear him talking to me about Rambo Jesus and I craved to hear details about his overseas trip with his now-fiancee, especially since "busy" season will befall him soon enough.

In one month, I move 12-13 hours south of my hometown with my dearest friend and husband. We'll start to truly be in a more cocooned environment of him and work, and a baby, and me and writing. We'll keep in touch, but it's going to be different. And that's how it should be.

I don't expect to be gchatting with my friends at all hours of the day any more; we're not able to, since we're working or sleeping or eating during the times we'd be on our computer at college.

I don't write as many letters any more, although I hope to amend that.

I think of good times and happy times and trying times, and the people who stick through the stink. I think of my M&M friends, roommates who lived across the hall from me freshman year, and who are now sharing in the same life experiences I am. We feel so blessed to share our experiences with each other. When we're a bit more settled, we can start to plan annual trips. Until then, we group message to catch-up. 

I think of friends in the big city and career-advancing, and friends in other areas, enjoying their work and life. I think of my best friend from high school living up the street from my parents' house, and how we're still taking walks and talking about everything. I think of my oldest friend living on the West Coast, soaking up sun and texting me funny pictures of her family's pug. 

Friends are not the quantity, but the quality. The ones you can disagree with and know the love is still there. The ones you can vent to and not leave the conversation hoping they think you're still sane. The ones you want to share your life with, and share in theirs too. 

I missed two weddings this past weekend -- both my Bright Maiden amigas are now Mrs. and Mrs., and I have yet to troll their wedding pictures until I can be less sad about missing the blessed events. And yet, how blessed I was to be with my whole new family this past weekend in Missouri, celebrating my new cousin's high school graduation!

And the best friends of my past and present, my siblings, are ever amusing me in their own unique ways - dogs included!

You see, we get to move forward together. We get to add new kids to the mix and life experiences and stay firm in our friendship while growing personally and professionally. We'll sharpen each other and poke each other, laugh a lot, confide in and maybe cry occasionally. 

Life is too short to be anything but gracious and kind to others. It's not necessary to be friends with everyone, or even like them, but love - caritas - is beyond that goodly feeling one gets around like-minded souls. And it is in that kindness that a desire for friendship can be kindled. It is an openness to accept others, as well as to live a life worthy of yourself and your dignity. If you're lucky, you'll be allowed into someone else's sphere. Cherish it - it could change your life. 

I cannot regret the horrible friendships any more than the ones who make me the best version of myself. As Elphaba and Glinda sing in Wicked, "Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."

Barefoot and Preggo

Last weekend, the green space on Notre Dame's campus between the library and the football stadium was covered with graduates, friends and family giving hugs, taking pictures and eating their boxed lunch. It was a beautiful, sunny day and I stood beneath a tree, barefoot and pregnant. 

My father-in-law even took a picture of his favorite cliche. 

A dear friend and I discussed last week where we had seen ourselves in the years following our own college graduation: she had seen herself married and pregnant; I had seen myself rising from cub reporter to well-published journalist. Currently, she is working at the prestigious culinary school she graduated from last winter, and I am married, still writing, am sometimes barefoot and always pregnant. 

We concluded, God provides. God ALWAYS provides. Trust in him. Let him have your heart, and sanctify your soul in preparation for the journey. Keep your lamps lit for the Bridegroom and open yourself up to the very possibility that he has something wonderful to offer you. 

It's not always pretty or wrapped up nicely or even properly addressed to you, but the wonder of life comes from recognizing the gift as much as receiving it with pleasure and humility. 

Next month, my husband and I will move to the Deep South for a spell. Midwesties born, bred and educated, I know this next year is going to be a great gift to us if we allow God's grace to penetrate our desires and preconceived notion of "plans". I'm slightly terrified, overjoyed at the opportunity for him, and wondering what kind of story I'm writing in this new life of mine.