Why you should write your passion

Why you should write your passion

Writing anything takes a long time.

When I visit schools and talk about my writing process, eyes glaze over if I mention revising. I suspect a lot of us feel our eyes glaze over when we consider how much revision a piece of writing requires.

It would be nice to be done on the first try, wouldn’t it? We have to read that whole thing again? No thanks. But the answer is yes. We have to read it again and again and again. We don’t produce our best work on the first try.

Nothing I write comes out perfect on the first try. My novels take anywhere from four (if I’m lucky) to twenty (if I’m unlucky) drafts. Think about that. 

Rewriting and rewriting and rewriting (sometimes endlessly) is hard and time-consuming. Many of us give up before we get to the end. Or maybe we don’t even get started in the first place, because…yeah. That’s a lot of writing and rewriting.

Getting started—and finishing—is easier when we’re writing our passion. What we care deeply about.

The projects I tend to procrastinate on (and I’m not generally a procrastinator) are the ones I’m not quite as excited about for one reason or another. When I’m working on a project or a subject I care about, things go much more smoothly—and quickly.

This is one reason why writing to trends doesn’t usually work out, unless the trend so happens to be your passion. We may be excited about writing that first book to the trend, but what about the next? Is the “passion” sustainable?

The fact is, we’re more likely to finish a novel or piece of writing we care deeply about.  And only a finished product stands a chance of getting published.

The important questions we need to ask ourselves are:

What do I care about?

How can I use that in my writing?

Maybe it’s building a theme in a story or designing a character who cares about the same thing(s) we do. Or writing a poem or an essay about the subject.

Passion and excitement come through in our writing—so does boredom and dread.

How do we find our passion?

1. Make a list of things that are important to you.

Think about your values and what you like to do. Think about what you don’t love. Think about who you are at the deepest level (an environmentalist? A feminist? A defender of human rights?). Consider what you talk about most or what you’re excited to tell others.

Collect them all in the same place, and use them as springboards for compositions.

2. Look back at your earlier writing.

Early writing can tell us something valuable about our passion and the things we care deeply about. Writing from when we were kids, or writing from when we were first getting started. Any of it can point us toward what we care about.

If you journal, you can likely find some of what you love and feel passionately about in the pages of past journals. Note patterns or things that crossed your mind frequently, wonderings you had. Hopes and dreams.

3. Broaden your list.

Engage your curiosity. Curiosity can lead us to new things that interest and intrigue us, that open up a whole new realm of writing possibilities. Stay open-minded. Try new things. Listen to new voices. You might find another passion you haven’t considered before. You never know until you give it a chance!

Have a fantastic month of writing—and finishing—stories and pieces that contain you, your passion, and everything that intrigues you.

The wonder of life

The wonder of life

Here are 5 (or 6) things worth sharing this month:

1. Reading (MG): “I wondered if ideas were born the same way stars are, starting off small and collecting space clouds and dust until they have enough to burst open.” If you’re looking for a sweet, unusual, compulsively readable middle grade book, be sure to pick up What Stars Are Made Of, by Sarah Allen. It’s about a girl born with Turner Syndrome, and I don’t think you’ll ever read another book like it. Allen is also the author of Breathing Underwater, which is on my 2024 TBR list.

2. Reading (YA): Elana K. Arnold’s newest book, The Blood Years, is a mesmerizing YA historical novel about a girl in Romania and her family’s struggle to survive the Holocaust. This book will captivate you all the way through. There’s so much historical detail—but not so much that it becomes tedious; it only adds to the intrigue of the story. Arnold is also the author of several YA books I’ve loved, including DamselWhat Girls Are Made Of, and Red Hood

3. Reading (adult, F): “Humans. For the most part, you are dull and blundering. But occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures.” I LOVED Remarkably Bright Creatures, by Shelby Van Pelt, so much! It’s the first of Van Pelt’s books I’ve read (and so happens to be her first), but I hope it will not be my last. This book is full of quirky and lovable characters, a beautiful storyline, and an octopus you’ll root for until the end.

4. Reading (adult, NF): I started listening to Mary Louise Kelly’s It.Goes.So.Fast.: the Year of No Do-Overs, while working out on the elliptical because of significant rain during the last few weeks. I couldn’t do it, though. It was way too emotional, so I had to listen at other times, when I wasn’t already breathing hard. This book is a beautiful memoir about children growing up. And maybe it hit me in all the feels because I’m the parent of a high school junior—which means next year will be my last year with my firstborn. Oh my. Kelly saw right through to my heart. I highly recommend it for parents. (By the way Kelly, who is an NPR correspondent, read the audiobook.)

5. Reading (adult, NF): “Under a lifetime of vigilance and fear of bodily harm often lies a bedrock of rage.” Another great nonfiction read is Melissa Febos’s Girlhood, a collection of essays that examine the narratives women are taught about what it means to be female. I think I’ll have to read it twice. It was so very good. Febos is also the author of the memoirs Whip Smart and Abandon Me, both of which are on my 2024 TBR, as well as Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative, which I got for the holidays and can’t wait to dive in to.

6. Reading (adult, F): “The wonder is that you could start life with nothing, end with nothing, and lose so much in between.” Demon Copperhead, by Barbara Kingsolver, was one of the best adult reads I read this year (and I’m not the only one who thought so—it won this year’s Pulitzer Prize). It examines small-town life and the opioid epidemic in a way that felt real and true and not given to stereotypes (and I’ve seen a lot of stereotypes when writers write about small-town, rural, American south, maybe because they’ve never lived there). It’s worth a read, even though it’s long. I read the audiobook, which made for a fantastic experience.

The power of reflection for focusing our goals

The power of reflection for focusing our goals

Every new year comes with a bit of reflection.

We may do it consciously or unconsciously, but there’s something about a new year that encourages reflection. All those things that have passed and happened in the year before. Or all the years before. Everything we hope for this next year.

It’s kind of arbitrary timing, turning over from December to January (although it was wonderfully symmetrical this year, beginning a new year on a Monday, wasn’t it?). Reflection, after all, can happen at any time—and probably should, if we want to make real progress toward our goals and personal growth.

January is also the month of my birthday, when I start thinking, What exactly have I done in the last year? Other questions follow. Have I been intentional? Did I meet my goals? How many? (Definitely not all of them. But that’s okay, I tell myself. They’re goals, something you work toward.) 

And perhaps the biggest question: What can I do differently in the next year, using what I learned last year?

And there it is—reflection.

During this reflection time, I have to remind myself, often, that I’m a work in progress. We all are. A work in progress isn’t perfect. So we can’t expect perfection of ourselves (or others, as it happens). 

There are things I want to get better at—things I’ve wanted to get better at for years (and no, it’s not knowing where to place prepositions to speak and write properly. I already know that. I just break the rules). Maybe I’m making progress toward these self-improvement goals…but how do we really know unless we look at things honestly and evaluate?

What have I done? Well, maybe I didn’t write as much; I finished fewer drafts last year than I have in previous years. But I visited several schools and had some great conversations with students and made some new friends. And I published some books. And I did finish drafts—several. I hung out with my family and my kids and their friends. I wrote some notes, encouraged people, helped out where I could.

I’m beginning to learn that what matters more than what we’ve done is the mark we’ve made. What have we left behind us?

I’d like to change my question “What exactly have I done” to “How has what I did this year made the world better?” It’s a perspective of purpose.

I want to make the world better. I want to make people think and believe in the magnificence of their whole selves. It may not shift the world in a dramatic, easily quantifiable way, but someone somewhere might be changed by one of my books or words I share or an encounter with me. And a little bit goes a long way, doesn’t it?

We don’t always see the full impact of our work and our existence. So much of what we do and the marks we make happen underground. We plant seeds or we water seeds or we clear the ground for a seed to be planted later. Our marks aren’t always obvious.

As I make my goals for the new year, I try to remember they can shift, much like I hope to do throughout the year. What’s important now may not be important in six months. I’m not the most flexible person, and I want to work on that. Sometimes that’s the way to make the world better, too: realize we’re not done growing and learning and changing, too.

I hope I’ve done work that has made the world better. I also hope it’s made humanity better. And me better. I may not be able to measure whether my work has made its mark or how spectacular a mark it’s made.

But maybe it’s enough to know, for all of us to know, that we’ve done our part—ushered good books into the world, impacted children—our own or others—and influenced the circle of people in our care. 

Let’s keep doing our little bit.

Have a magical month of making your mark.

Some things to remember when reflecting on your year: 

1. We’ve come a long way.

It’s easy to discount how far we’ve come when we feel we should have done more in a year…or five years…or ten…

But don’t forget to look at what you have done and how you’ve grown. I may not have written as many drafts in 2023 as I did in 2022—but I wrote several. And that’s something to celebrate.

Even one step forward is progress. Keep moving.

2. We have a long way to go.

A year is a long time (well, theoretically…my years seem to fly by now). We have another wide-open opportunity to grow and change.

I don’t want to be stagnant. I want to understand that I don’t know everything—not even half of it. I want to learn all I can and listen all I can.

All of life is an opportunity to become ourselves. Remember: We’re works in progress and always will be. Never stop growing.

3. A blank slate is available any time we need it. 

It’s easy to use a new year as that time for change and reflection—but the truth is, we can do that at any point of the year. The beginning of a quarter or the beginning of a month, the beginning of a week, the beginning of a day. Reflection is a state of mind.

We can create our own blank slate any time we need it.

Why paying it forward is a writer’s gift

Why paying it forward is a writer’s gift

One of the most surprising and beautiful things I have learned about the kid-lit community is it is filled with kind and generous writers. There is an unspoken belief among my fellow writers: We need each other.

Sometimes, when we’re immersed in the writing world, it can seem like there are only so many spaces for people—and in some ways that’s true. Only a certain number of books get picked up by traditional publishers. Not every book can win an award. Only a few make a bestseller list.

It can be extremely hard to remember this is not a competition. We all have our own race to run.

I like to think that when you give generously—when you help out another writer or you introduce them to your network or you gush about their book—it comes back to you. Pay it forward, and maybe it will come back. Maybe it won’t, too. But that doesn’t matter, because in the act of paying it forward, you realize something important: Generosity is good for you.

If I have influence, I want to help other people. There are so many good stories out there, and so many that still need to be told.

Before my first book, a novel in verse, published, I attended a conference where I knew pretty much nobody. But I saw that an author I admired—Laura Shovan, who wrote one of my favorite novels in verse (The Last Fifth Grade of Emerson Elementary)—was also there, so I went out on a limb and contacted her.

She generously took me under her wing, introduced me to some outstanding poets, and brought me into the fold. She showed me that I belonged there in the writing community, and I have never ever ever forgotten it. I’m in her poetry community now, and every February a large group of us create and share with each other themed poetry for the month. 

The friends I meet—I’m cheering them on. I genuinely want to see them succeed. A rising tide lifts all boats.

I want to have a generous spirit, as a writer. I have definitely met some who didn’t and don’t. Nobody’s happy in a writing culture of competition. But in a writing community of generosity? We all win.

Here are some of my favorite ways to pay it forward as a writer.

1. Share resources and things you’ve learned.

This is probably one of the easiest ways to pay it forward. We don’t start out being awesome writers. So how did we get here? Sharing craft books and teaching resources that moved us along our journey can be incredibly helpful to those a little farther behind us on the journey.

When writers have questions, answer them. (Now, I’m not proposing you answer every single question that comes your way individually. When would we have time to write if we did? My friends and I have a standard email we send out to people who contact us for questions, pointing them to answers and resources that can help.)

As you progress, bring someone else along with you. As you learn, share.

2. Share your network.

One of the most valuable things we can do in the writing world is build our network. But when we’re new, we don’t know many people. And we’re probably also suffering from a gigantic case of imposter syndrome. (Actually, that plagues us every step of the way—but it is worse in the beginning.)

Introduce new writers to people you know. People they can learn from. The writing community can be an incredibly supportive place. We understand and recognize each other.

At any point in our writing journey, there will always be someone farther ahead and someone farther behind. Help the laggers, and you’ll probably find yourself helped, too.

3. Read other writers’ work and share about it.

Word of mouth is one of the most effective ways books get into readers’ hands. So talk about your favorite books and authors.

And also—tell authors what you loved about their book. We hear a lot of reasons people don’t like our books; it does us good to hear the positives. Be generous with your praise.

It’s important to remember in the writing world that there’s room for us all. Readers will keep reading books. And there are plenty of readers to go around. 

We’re stronger together.

Have a marvelous month of paying it forward. 

The mysteries of life and the Internet

The mysteries of life and the Internet

1. Reading (MG): I just finished Joanne Rossmassler Fritz’s novel in verse, Everywhere Blue, about a musical girl looking for answers to her older brother’s disappearance. It was a gripping story of love, climate change, and family bonds. Fritz is also the author of Rupturedwhich just released last month. I have not yet read it but am eagerly looking forward to it.

2. Reading (YA): “No wonder early man going back and back looked at that power and force and said, that shit better be squashed, or we won’t be in charge. We better get on top of that power, and fast. We better use all we got, physical strength and control and shame, because man oh man, she is lighting and thunder, the bearer of all things, right there. She’s massive, so we better make her feel small ASAP.” Plan A, by Deb Caletti was just what I’ve come to expect from Deb Caletti novels: profound, courageous, illuminating. I’m a super fan of Deb’s, and I can’t recommend this book enough. (Other favorites of hers: A Heart in a Body in the WorldHoney, Baby, Sweetheart; and Girl, Unframed.)

3. Watching: My husband and I just started watching Schmigadoon on Apple TV—and my gosh is it fun! It’s a series that’s a musical, and so cleverly written we find ourselves, after every episode, feeling impressed by the music, the caliber of the performers, and the plot itself. There are currently two seasons, and both follow couple Melissa and Josh as they get trapped in a musical world with a mission to complete. The first season shows us Schmigadoon, and the second season (my favorite so far) takes place in Schmicago. It’s riotous fun.

4. Reading (adult): On a recent early-morning run, I finished Mother-Daughter Murder Night, by Nina Simon, a story about three generations of women who come together to solve a murder in their town. If you like mysteries mixed with family dramas, this will be a good one to pick up. It’s not my favorite thing to read (honestly), but this one kept my attention, and the characters were compelling enough to feel invested in them.

5. Reading (MG): “All of life is a mystery, in a way. And that makes every single one of us a detective.” What a sweet, tender-hearted story—The Lost Library, by Rebecca Stead and Wendy Maass is the kind of book that you’ll speed through and wish would never really end. It’s the story of a little free library, a cat who guards it, and a boy who discovers it and seeks to uncover its mysteries, starting with the books in it. It’s clever, striking, and inspiring. 

6. Watching: The Netflix docuseries The Most Hated Man on the Internet, about Hunter Moore and his revenge web site Is Anyone Up? will make you cringe, shout, and wonder what on earth is wrong with people. Is Anyone Up was a pornographic site that used stolen and hacked photos of men and women, posted by exes or people who wanted revenge on them. It ruined many people’s lives before the IRS got involved. Ugh. I hate that things like this exist, but it was a worthwhile series to watch. Information is better than ignorance.

Cultivating generosity can make us live longer

Cultivating generosity can make us live longer

I write all kinds of books, but my favorites include books for children and teens. I spend the bulk of my time writing those. And some people like to know why.

There are several reasons. But one of the biggest is to “lift as I climb,” as poet Angela Davis says. (The actual quote is, “We must learn to lift as we climb.”)

I put a lot of myself into my books for children and teens. I try to bravely (and sometimes not-so-bravely) explore childhood experiences and traumas, which, in my eyes, has a dual purpose: It helps the child in me process through them and it also, I hope, lifts other children out of the dark places I’ve been. Helps them feel less alone. Shows them a way out. Reminds them that what’s going on in their lives is not their fault. 

I hope they realize all of those things sooner than I did. 

Although I believe therapy is beneficial to everyone, if only to give us a sense of being deeply listened to—which can’t be underestimated—I often tell people if I can save children and teens from the years of intense therapy I’ve had to undergo to (sometimes) believe I’m magnificent, I’ll pour all my secrets out.

Well, I’m not sure about all my secrets—but at least the ones I’m moved to share because of the lives and wellbeing of my readers.

I always like to think of this as a kind of generosity. One of my family’s values is to be generous—with our time, with our resources (whenever possible), with ourselves, with our hearts, with words, with kindness, with love. My husband and I have tried to teach our sons that.

Generosity is good for others, of course, but it’s also good for us. Studies show it reduces stress and boosts our physical health. It fosters joy and helps us hold tight to our sense of purpose. It combats depression. And guess what else? It increases our lifespan. Generous people live longer.

Studies also show it deepens our social connection and improves our relationships. And it makes us feel better about ourselves. When someone benefits from our generosity, it’s practically impossible to see ourselves as worthless. 

When I think about generosity, I naturally think about money. But that’s not the only way to be generous and give to others. Generosity can also look like inviting the couple down the road to a dinner at our house, because they don’t seem to have much family around and this time of year is hard when we don’t have family around. It can look like spending a few extra minutes mowing the neighbor’s yard because they’re getting older and don’t have much time and energy to do it. It can look like spending a few extra minutes chatting with a parent in the pickup line and getting beyond the surface-level conversation, down to something deeper and more meaningful. 

Talk to the homeless on the streets of your city. Bake some holiday treats to share. Donate things you don’t need anymore. Be generous in your attitudes and assumptions about others.

You can be as creative with your generosity as you want to be.

And here’s the thing, too: We should accept the generosity of others. This is often hard for us (or at least for me). But if we don’t accept another’s generosity or we say, “You don’t have to do that” or we minimize it, we rob them of the joy of giving. Accepting someone’s generosity can be a form of generosity, too.

Every year, starting the Friday after Thanksgiving, my family reads together A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens—one of the best books about the power of generosity, as Scrooge moves from miserly to generous. We uphold this tradition, because I want my sons to know what it means to be generous. I want to build in them, in me, in all of us, a practice of generosity—not so it’s a one-time, once-a-year thing but so we do it all the time. I want my sons to understand that “generous” is a way of being and existing in the world. 

And I hope I lead them by example. I hope we all do.

May you have a beautiful month of choosing generosity.

What are some ways you can be generous in your daily life?

Here are some of my favorite generous practices (that don’t require money—or much, anyway):

1. Be there for someone.

My sons get chatty every so often, usually in the car. My brain is such that I often have a million things going on at once—to-do lists scrolling like a Star Wars intro, worries humming along in the background, stories begging for attention. My sons don’t always talk about important things—at least, not important things to me. 

But offering them undivided attention is generous. Offering anyone our undivided attention in a world that tries to steal our attention everywhere, at every turn, is generous. During gatherings with friends and family, put phones away and focus on the conversation. Everyone feels loved when they’re listened to, and all it takes is a little time. 

Related to that, be generous with your words. Compliment, encourage, leave positive reviews, be kind online. Talking to people without judging is generous. Showing them mercy and forgiveness and love is generous. We could use a lot more of that in our world.

2. Volunteer your time or expertise.

Choose an organization you care about and donate your time to them. Offer your services for free. Give something away. Teach a valuable skill to someone, or give away some of your knowledge. Spend time with people in need.

When I go downtown in my city, I try to engage with at least one homeless person. They don’t get many people who look them in the eyes, you know? I want them to know they still have dignity and worth. I want them to know they’re still worth being loved and listened to. And their stories are heartbreaking and illuminating.

Listening and empathizing feels generous to me. 

3. “Random” (but intentional) acts of kindness.

Deliver cookies to a neighbor. Write a letter to a grandparent. Cook a meal for someone. Offer to babysit for a couple with young children. Let someone merge, send a care package, pick up trash in your neighborhood during your walk.

And be generous with your attitude, extending thank yous and appreciation for people. Send someone a text to let them know how much you’re grateful for their presence in your life.

There are lots of ways to be generous. We’re all in this together, and we all deserve the best in life. Let’s remember that we all belong to each other, and generosity will come easy for us. 

There is no right or wrong way to write

There is no right or wrong way to write

Most writers are naturally curious people. We ask a lot of questions about the world. We wonder and challenge and try to make sense of the senseless. 

And we love to know how other writers do things—how they write a book, how they manage their time, how they market themselves, how they live, how they breathe. 

When I was first starting out as a writer, I was vulnerable to the temptation to do something—everything, maybe—the way someone else did it. I had to write for five hours a day, spend 20 percent of my time marketing, use this story structure, start my stories with a logline before I ever wrote a word, explore these concepts, never start with a theme, blah blah blah blah blah.

I tried. I really did. And I found myself getting burned out, frustrated, and completely overwhelmed. 

There are lots of voices out there saying, This is the way to do it, and it’s the only way to do it if you want to be successful. I wasn’t experienced enough to see this for what it was: one person’s advice.

I disagree vehemently with the kind of advice that says, This is the only way to do it. Part of it is my contradictory nature; I don’t like someone telling me I have to do things this one way and that’s the only way, don’t even try to do something different. The other part is something it took me a while to realize: We are all different. We all work differently. We live differently and breathe differently and manage our time differently.

We also write differently. 

I’m all for researching the different time management, writing, revision, marketing methods people use. And I’m happy to share my own.

But because every writer is different, we have our own way in which we work best. And we have to find our way. 

My way into a story or a piece of writing includes spending a few weeks getting to know my characters or thinking about what I want to say before I even begin on the piece. I research and brainstorm for a few weeks. Then I write a first draft from start to finish, without editing or revision. My revising takes the longest and requires anything from three to eight or so more drafts, give or take a few depending on the story. 

That process won’t work for everyone. Because there’s more than one way to write. 

Some like the white noise of coffeeshops, some prefer listening to music, some can’t write unless there’s absolute silence. And guess what? For me it’s different for every story. So there’s that variable, too: Stories require different methods sometimes.

We all want some easy formula, some definitive way to write a story (or do things or live life). And those of us who have done it before are seen as experts. Because we’ve done it. But all we can really offer are suggestions.

We all have to find our own way. What works best for us, not everyone else.

Here’s how:

1. Be open to experimentation.

Take a scientific approach. Design your experiments intentionally to draw out a variety of writing methods. Go ahead and collect other people’s suggestions. Gather as much information as you can.

And then design some experiments to intentionally try out a variety of writing methods. And pivot continuously. Every experiment (failed or otherwise) gets you closer to your process and your way. 

2. Take notes on what works and what doesn’t.

Every successful experiment requires notes. Ask yourself, What do I like about this way? What do I hate about it? What slows me down? What feels natural to my writing process?

Self-awareness and critical thinking are important factors in improvement—for writing, but also for anything in our lives. 

Make a list. Start a spreadsheet. Identify what’s necessary and what’s not. I’ve learned over the years that I don’t need to fill out a long, complex character sheet on my characters, because I get to know them during my lengthy brainstorms. There may be additional things you need, and that’s okay. We all write differently. (Have I said it enough?)

3. Be patient with yourself.

It’s not unusual for me to read or hear about another author’s writing process and think, I really need to try that. Still! After writing more than 50 books!

We’ll fall under the spell of “Here’s how to do it.” But also keep in mind that we never stop growing and evolving and adjusting. Even when you think you have a process in place, you may discover a new method that really works. Stay open to that, too.

It’s all a grand experiment. Keep experimenting.

Take as long as you want and need to find your own process. And repeat to yourself: There is no right or wrong way to write.

Have a fantastic month of experimentation.

Emotional examinations of mental health and grief

Emotional examinations of mental health and grief

1. Reading (MG): “How it’s not my brain being messed up, but more my heart being hurt, and how sometimes we think we’re okay, we think we’ve moved on, but then our hearts crack open months or even years later and it’s important to stop, be kind to ourselves, and ask for help— ask for love.”  Iveliz Explains it All by Andrea Beatriz Arango is a lovely novel in verse about a girl who’s having trouble with her anger. And with school. And with her mom. It’s a book about mental health and speaking up and leaning on the kind of love that sticks by you no matter what. Beatriz Arango earned a Newbery Honor award for the book, and it’s easy to see why. Highly recommended.

2. Reading (YA): “You don’t try to be anyone else and that is a very hard thing in this world. It may seem unimportant right now when fitting in would be so much easier. But later you’ll see. Being who you are is everything.” Fat Angie, by e.E. Charlton-Trujillo was a delight to read. Angie’s distinct voice, her way of seeing the world, the friendship and rivalries—all of it made for a spectacular read. Charlton-Trujillo won a Stonewall Book Award for this one, and Angie has more books—Fat Angie: Rebel Girl Revolution and Fat Angie: Homecoming. See if you don’t love Angie, too.

3. Watching: “The only way to free yourself and break out is to tell the truth.”—Prince Harry. Oh my goodness. I made the mistake of watching Apple TV’s The Me You Can’t See while huffing and puffing on the elliptical machine on Sunday mornings. It’san emotional docuseries (hence, the mistake—have you ever seen someone crying while on an elliptical?) that shares stories of mental illness and mental health issues from around the world—and what leaders are doing about it. The series was produced by Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry. It was amazing. The episodes follow people who struggle with mental illnesses like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and OCD and includes stories of trauma and healing from around the world. The last episode is a look at what mental health experts see as a way forward into healing for all those struggling. 

4. Reading (poetry): Trickster time arrived/while I slept./It takes some getting used to.” I’ve long been a fan of Sandra Cisneros, since I read her book The House on Mango Street in high school. She just released a book of poetry, Woman Without Shame—her first in 28 years! It is signature Sandra Cisneros—bluntly honest, humorous, and profound. Don’t miss it if you love poetry. Or if you just love to read anything and everything.

5. Reading (MG): “We are here to help you carry the sky when you have to, and we are here to help you put it down when you need to. Why else would anyone ever become a teacher?” OH! My heart! If you haven’t yet read Gary D. Schmidt’s The Labors of Hercules Beal, you must pick it up. Full of mythology, emotion, and sweet friendship, it is tender and witty and heart-warming. Schmidt is probably best known for his books The Wednesday Wars, which won a Newbery Honor, and Okay for Now, which was a National Book Award finalist. I have, sadly, not read either of those, but they are both on my list now!

6. Watching: I just finished the Netflix series Never Have I Ever, a comedy about an Indian-American teen who’s trying to find her way through high school. I loved this series. It felt more authentic to a teen’s life than many of the teen dramas and comedies out there. It was created by Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher, and it stars Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Poorna Jagannathan, and Niecy Nash. One of my favorite quotes from the series came from Devi’s mom (Devi’s the main character): “You’re never too much, and you’re always enough.” I wrote it in my quote journal and labeled it “From Devi Vishwakumar’s mom.). I highly recommend working your way through the four seasons of it. If you’re scared off by the narration in the first couple of episodes (I was, and then I gave it another chance), keep going. You’ll fall in love with it. 

Practicing gratitude can transform our attitudes and lives

Practicing gratitude can transform our attitudes and lives

Nearly every weekday morning, I log onto zoom, where I meet with a group of authors to first write and then discuss our writing time or whatever’s going on in our lives. 

Recently, we’ve begun adding a time of naming our gratitude, before diving into talks about the writing we did in that 1.5-hour slot. 

My sons and I call the little “I’m-gratefuls” thankfuls. Every Thanksgiving season, when they were younger, we’d search the wilderness behind our house for the perfect discarded branch, which we’d place in a terra cotta pot and surround with marbles to hold it in place. We’d pin our own paper leaves onto it—each leaf scrawled with one of our thankfuls. We’d bring a dying branch back to life and fill it with color, gratitude, and hope. 

Gratitude can turn whole gloomy days around. It can change our attitude. It can help us see more clearly.

Sōkō Morinaga, a Japanese Buddhist spiritual teacher, says, “If you all just let the scales drop from your eyes, you realize that everything everywhere is filled with truth…everything everywhere is to be appreciated.”

Sometimes we have scales covering our eyes. We’ve been through a hard time, we’ve seen some disappointments. Our vision gets a little clouded when all we seem to experience is frustration, sadness, fear, anger, trial and tribulation. The dark gets darker, and the light gets dimmer.

And add to that mental illnesses like Major Depressive Disorder and anxiety disorders and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the host of others that can make light so very hard to see. 

I’m not one to say that gratitude solves everything. If you’ve been around me long enough, you’ve probably picked up on how much I believe in therapy, how much I want to see everyone, no matter their economic situation, have access to proper mental health care. When I’m in the midst of my depression, gratitude becomes rote. Something I do. Maybe it makes the dark days a little less dark, but it certainly doesn’t take them away.

It is a tool we can use, though.

Lately I’ve found myself using gratitude on my children more and more—like I used to do when they were little.

Three of the six are teenagers. Life is tough for teenagers. Puberty, school demands, trying to figure out who they are and what they can contribute to the world. It’s a lot to balance emotionally. A couple of my sons focus more on what’s fair (and especially what’s not) than what’s good. 

I know what it’s like to focus on what’s not fair. I get caught there occasionally in my life, still. If only I hadn’t experienced this trauma as a 12-year-old. If only I’d grown up with a family that had money. If only I’d gotten these educational opportunities…

The list can go on and on and on if I let it. 

Gratitude helps peel from our eyes the scales that sink into place when we’re too caught up in the if-onlys.

I know as well as anyone how difficult it is to see past the scales. This time of year is especially hard for me. I’m making pies and treats for my family, but my relationship with food has always been shaky—really, it’s a relationship with my body.

If only I hadn’t grown up with a person in my life who criticized the way I looked…

(It’s much more complicated than that, of course.)

Times like these I fall into self-deprecation. I don’t like my body. I wish I could be different. I wish I didn’t get so overwhelmed all the time. I wish I could be a better mother. I wish…

But if everything everywhere is to be appreciated and everything everywhere is filled with truth, what does that mean? I got out for a run—the air, the trees, time is filled with truth. I sit down to dinner with my family—the room is filled with truth. I meditate in my room while my husband noodles on the piano downstairs—the entire house, music, love is filled with truth.

The solar eclipse is filled with truth…my kids’ shoes all over the floor—filled with truth…the music of our lives, filled with truth.

Here’s the truth I glean from my life when I see with the right kind of eyes:

1. I am loved.
2. I am magnificent just the way I am.
3. Everyone has bad days or needs some extra help sometimes—I’m not alone.

Everything everywhere is to be appreciated—the good days and the bad days. The dark and the light. The disappointing and the victorious. 

Every time one of my sons celebrates a birthday we end the day gathered around our table (and a homemade cake), telling the birthday boy why we’re grateful for him. And he has to list however many thankfuls correspond to his age—so it gets more and more challenging as the years march on.

But I hope, by doing this simple ritual, they’re learning to see the good everywhere. I hope they’re learning to focus on what they have instead of what they don’t have. I hope they’re learning to peel the scales from their eyes and see the world clearly.

There are days I definitely don’t feel like being grateful. It wasn’t a productive writing day, a project is giving me trouble, I’m just down in the dumps, no explanation necessary. Gratitude helps turn my attitude around. It reminds me that this is a blip, nothing lasts forever, and sometimes that can be a good thing. Maybe it sounds Pollyanna-ish, finding the silver lining in all the bad. But if it makes us happier? If it helps us recognize the good in our lives? If it changes the way we see? Why not try?

It won’t solve everything, but practicing gratitude will remind you what you have: People who love you; a mind and body that work wonders for you, no matter what it looks like; a future filled with hope and magnificence.

I hope you have a marvelous month of appreciation. 

Here are some of my favorite ways to incorporate gratitude in life:

1. Meditate on gratitude.

I know I’ve mentioned it before, but Apple Fitness+ has some fantastic gratitude meditations, from five minutes to 20. I highly recommend practicing them.

When we focus our minds on gratitude and clear away other distractions for even five minutes, we flex the muscle of gratitude. We stretch it longer and make it stronger. And the more we do that, the better at it we get. 

2. Keep a gratitude journal.

At the end of every day I record in my schedule three things I’m grateful for. They can be as small as finding a pen that still had ink in it when I got an idea I didn’t want to lose to as big as “I had a great conversation with the 14-year-old about friendship and love.”

This is yet another way of building the muscle of gratitude. Oftentimes we’re so busy in the midst of a day that we don’t even think about these things we’re grateful for; it’s only in looking back that we clearly see how much we have.

3. Share your appreciation with others in your life.

Write notes of appreciation or send a text or call to tell someone in your life how much you value and appreciate them. Gratitude can be shared…in fact, sometimes sharing it has a multiplication effect. Think how you feel when someone shares their appreciation for you. You want to pass that feeling along. Imagine if we all did that, spread rings of positivity into the world. It would be a world of light. And that would be a beautiful thing.

No one likes losing…but we just might learn the most from it

No one likes losing…but we just might learn the most from it

It’s not unusual in my house to hear someone slam through the front door, along with the words, “I’m not playing with them anymore.”

This could be for any number of reasons—someone’s cheating (according to the one upset), someone made them mad, or, the most frequent offense, someone doesn’t like losing. (That would typically be the one who walked his declaration inside.)

My sons love playing street hockey in our cul-de-sac. At least until they lose.

I can’t really blame them. Everybody wants to win. Who likes losing?

This gets the best of me sometimes. Right around this time of year, actually. There are awards lists. And best-of lists. And lists to predict the awards and best-of lists. Not making it on one of these lists is kind of a confidence- and soul-crushing thing. For me. 

Writers are sensitive people, you know.

I usually have to take a social media break because of the lists. Winning and losing has always mattered to me. Being the best—that especially mattered. 

When I ran track, competitions came standard—and how you performed was important. There were clear winners and losers, and I wanted to be a winner. The same was true when I played the clarinet and auditioned for the all-state band. I made second-chair state my junior year of high school, and that felt like a win. But when I made second-chair state my senior year, it felt like a loss, because I wanted to be first chair.

Your goals change the higher you rise. 

It’s long been a dream of mine to win a major award for one of the books I write. That feels like winning to me—winning an award and achieving a dream at the same time. But is it losing if I never win a major award? Sometimes it feels like it.

It can be really tempting to feel competitive with other writers, especially when award season comes around. Especially when we think about winning and losing this way.

Carlos Gershenson, a computer scientist and researcher, says, “Winning or losing doesn’t matter so much as what you learn from it.” I like that. It reminds me that we get to make our own definition of winning and losing.

We learn from winning, and we also learn from losing. Actually, we might learn more from losing. Losing—facing disappointments and setbacks—often makes us want to work harder toward our goals. That’s an important part of the journey, too. 

What if, instead of focusing on the black-and-white reality of winning and losing, we lean more toward the gray: what we learn? From the journey. From the training. From the day in, day out act of writing. Being. Becoming ourselves.

And maybe we win, in the process—because the measure changes. Winning is learning something. Losing is learning nothing.

Here are some things we can learn from the journey:

1. We are stronger than we know.

Sometimes the disappointment of what we consider losing can completely overwhelm us. Maybe we’re knocked out of the game for a while. That’s okay. Somewhere along the way we’ll pick ourselves back up and start the work again—stronger and fiercer and steadier than before. We learn we’re made of stronger stuff than the flimsy paper that disintegrates in the rain. We learn that no one has control over whether or not we write every day except ourselves. And we learn that falls only hurt for so long before all the bruises go away. 

2. We will persist. 

We face a lot of rejection and disappointment in the writing industry. But that’s not losing, it’s winning—we’re putting ourselves out there, inviting people into our stories. It’s a vulnerable place to be. 

The stories and poems and novels I’ve written have been rejected many times in the years I’ve been submitting them. Rejection always hurts. It never gets easier (at least not for me). But I’ve learned, in the years spent navigating this rejection, that it’s only the end of my writing career if I let it be. Sure, it stings, and sure, it can feel like a kind of death, but rejection doesn’t matter nearly as much as persistence. In the writing world, those who persist in spite of seemingly endless setbacks and disappointments ultimately win.

3. “Losing” is not the end of the world—or the end of us. 

We know, intuitively, that “this” (whatever “this” is) is not the end of the world. It can certainly feel like it in the beginning, when the pain of “losing” is fresh. Our hope flatlines sometimes—for a while, maybe. But “losing” is only a hurdle, an opportunity to strengthen our resolve, our skills, and our belief in ourselves. How badly do we want our goals? We can’t let any rejection or disappointment or “losing” get in the way of them.

Have a spectacular month of persisting.