How this pantser became a plotter

I’ve always been a seat-of-the-pants writer.

Someone who enjoys discovering the book as I write it. A pantser.

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But a few months ago, I wrote myself into a cul-de-sac. I was stuck, so I avoided sitting down to write. And this is a book I love and have invested a lot of time and research in.

Based on feedback from my writers’ groups, I tried something very different. I decided to pick up from right before where I’d gotten stuck and plot the rest of the book in detail.

Cool story:  After plotting the rest of the book, I finished my first draft within a month.

So I guess that makes me…a plantser.

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The plantser: the pantser-plotter hybrid

When I first started writing, I read all I could about the writing process. My favorite mystery and suspense writers had inspired me to write in the first place, so I read everything I could about their writing processes. One of my faves, Elizabeth George, is a committed plotter, so I tried to do the same. I wrote up detailed outlines of each scene and plotted character arcs.

Then once I started writing, I completely disregarded them.

My story started telling itself. My characters came to life and wanted to make their own choices. It was so much fun, I just went with it.

That was my first book. On my second book, things have developed differently. I started with a compelling concept: a saintly old man is killed in a deliberate hit and run, and gradually you find out he was not the model human being he seemed to be (hint: Nazis may or may not be involved).

The last act of the novel then dealt with the consequences of the truth being revealed. This is where I got lost. There were too many directions to go in, and the one I wanted didn’t seem to fit. So I sat down and plotted my path to the final scene and denouement.

I found that when I finished plotting, I could easily pick up where I left off writing the next day. Hence, I didn’t procrastinate about sitting down to write.

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I knew what I had to write each day. And I actually sat down and did it!

I didn’t have to refresh my memory as to where I was in the story. Also, a benefit for my ADD self—I could break the writing up into doable chunks. I assigned myself a chunk for each session. Though as a pantser at heart, I sometimes kept writing because I got into the story and couldn’t stop myself.

Plotting in advance didn’t mean I couldn’t change things up once I got going. The climactic scene changed as I wrote it, and it wasn’t a big deal to go with that in the moment. I could throw in some interesting detours, since I knew where I was going to end up.

Whether you make it up as you go along or you plot your story in detail, it’s not a bad idea to shake things up. A YA writer in my writing group, a very detailed plotter, is now writing a sci fi romance with no plan at all. She’s loving it.

Part of learning the craft of writing is to try new things, to consider yourself a learner. And as someone only on her second book, I am not an expert at this. It’s possible over time I will settle into a completely different routine of sussing out a novel.

Pantser, plotter or plantser. We’ll see which way I go with book #3!

Writer friends, which one of the three Ps are you?

Running: my new writing buddy

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Sit as little as possible. – Friedrich Nietzsche

I started running again recently, after a long stretch of being sedentary.

I’m not saying it was an easy thing. I went through a few weeks of pushing my reluctant body out the door in the early morning, making sure I wasn’t awake enough to resist.

Then it began to feel amazing. 

Four years ago, I tore my meniscus and was hobbling around, at work and at home, my knee swollen and feeling pretty awful. Since I’d torn it running a race, I thought maybe my time was up. I’m too old. My body can’t take the impact any more.

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The infamous 5K in which I injured my knee. The beer was good, though.

I had knee surgery, did the physical therapy to get back on my feet and resigned myself to remaining safe. To prevent it from happening again, I would stick to gym equipment and the occasional hike.

Except that I didn’t do those things.

I sat.

I wrote, sitting or curled up on the couch with my coffee, before my family got up in the morning, or as my husband played video games in the evening. Most of my day, with the exception of going to work and teaching or getting groceries, I sat.

Writing and running are similar in some ways. There is that way-famous quote by Dorothy Parker or George R.R. Martin, whichever you choose:  I hate writing but I love having written.

I love having run.

In return for the energy I’m expending, I get energy back for the rest of the day.

When you start out, running feels like a job. You have to get yourself psyched up—or guilted—to get out there and move. But once you hit your stride, you’re good. It’s like your body thanks you for using muscles that were aching to get back to work.

A few months ago, I got nostalgic for that feeling of motion. For how good it felt in the cool morning to put one foot in front of the other. The rhythm. The flood of endorphins. So I downloaded the Couch to 5K app on my phone and ventured out to find dirt, grass and padded areas to try running again.

I ran in the park behind our house, then I moved to the padded track at the local high school.

And….no problems with my knees.

When I’m running, my thoughts fly giddy and free, like kids on a road trip hanging their heads out the car window. They’re having fun, along for the ride. New ideas pop into my head. Several times after running, I’ve gotten new insights into my characters. Yesterday I thought up a plot twist for a story I’d about given up on.

This is not a new idea. Author Laura Lippman has talked on Twitter about the value of working out before writing. Nathan Bransford wrote a blog post about how exercise helps his creativity:  https://blog.nathanbransford.com/2010/12/importance-of-exercise-for-writers

So I encourage you. If you want to jumpstart your writing creativity or just get more energy, give running or some form of vigorous exercise a try.

To make sure you stick with it, look for a system to keep you accountable, like a running app or a local running club.

If I can do this, you can!

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I use Action’s Couch to 5K app. A little perky for early in the morning, but the interval training works.

 

Sneak attacked by joy

When I was growing up in Iowa, May Day was the best.

You made up little baskets filled with candy and goodies, then sneaked them over to your friends’ houses. You left them on the porch or hung them on the door knob. Back then, in the Midwest, everyone did it. Judging by what I see on Pinterest and parenting blogs, I’m excited to see this tradition is coming back.

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I thought it was the coolest thing in the world: surprising someone with a goodie. I practically giggled to myself as I imagined my friends finding the treats.

I loved the element of stealth. So did my mom.

This holiday was absolutely my mom’s thing. She loved surprising people with something fun, just because it would make them happy. To imagine the look on a friend’s face. One day, before my mom’s dementia got really bad, she was sitting at the kitchen table with a mysterious look on her face. I asked her what she was thinking about. She told me she wanted to sew a toaster cover for Lori, her neighbor, because “she really needed one.”  She was figuring out how she’d make it and how she’d get it to fit without Lori knowing.

Today I celebrate May Day. And my mom, and her love of sneak attacking people with fun little things.

Let’s keep bringing it back.

MargaretSUEVierk

Margaret “Sue” Vierk 
April 8, 1935 – April 22, 2019

What the Faux, Hemingway?

img_20190308_093930.jpgThere is a famous quote about writing:  Write drunk, edit sober.

Though it’s been attributed to Hemingway (whose name lends gravitas to quite a few things), Hemingway never said it. We probably attribute it to him because of his tough, whiskey swilling image. Those who have researched this say that the quote actually came from humorist Peter de Vries.

The career of writing tends to pick up more “image” language than most other profession. Writers are hard drinking and mentally unstable. Out there living life brazenly and defiantly, like Jack Kerouac, drinking, driving and womanizing alongside Neal Cassady.

The fact is, most writers I know are hardworking rather than hard drinking. They work day jobs, persevere through MFA programs and take care of young children. They squeeze their writing into precise, regular pockets of time. While carefully curating their social media platforms in their spare time.

They persist through rejection, sickness and financial pressures like a protagonist fighting her way through the rising action of a novel.

You can’t do this drunk. Let alone edit with a hangover the next day.

Here’s my take on it. This quote lives because there is some truth in it. As writers, we wear many hats. When you write a first draft, you need to ditch the inhibitions. Let the words flow. Follow the dark, twisting paths of your imagination, and don’t stop to censor or rewrite. Then when you do go back to edit, look at what you’ve written as a critic.

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Sometimes great inspiration looks less-than-great the next day. Sometimes chemistry and creative writing don’t mix.

After you’ve had your coffee:  Does that awesome metaphor you wrote about relationships even make sense to you this morning?

In a way, this quote is a metaphor. Write without inhibition. Edit with common sense.

If you want to read the funny story of a writer who took the quote literally for a week:  https://www.bustle.com/articles/88879-i-wrote-drunk-and-edited-sober-for-a-week-and-heres-what-happened-to-my-work

Happy writing (and reading), my friends!

Christmas Eve day, 10 am. Status: Still shopping.

flickr-target-store-shopping-carts-cropChristmas Eve day, 10 a.m.

I have ventured into the mall to get “just one more thing.”

Everyone seems to be here, cycling up and down the aisles in an endless search, Roomba vacuums narrowly avoiding hitting shelves or each other.

I am grouchy. Lines are long. Cars move slowly through the Moebius-strip like parking lot circuit.  I want to tap on the horn to speed them up, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. I wonder about the legal trouble I’d get into if I drove directly over the grass berm to the street.

Why did I come here? I had most of my gifts purchased early and conveniently delivered via Amazon. But last night I had a haunting vision of that one, poor family member, sitting amid the colorful litter of everyone’s unwrapped gifts, lower lip trembling. Does my family even love me?

Target is a sad and desolate place today, its employees tired and its shelves and racks depleted. Except for an odd selection of things:  weirdly abbreviated women’s sweaters, manly flasks, and…..bath bombs. There are lots of bath bombs. If they actually exploded, that would make for an interesting gift. Alas, they do not.

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They don’t actually explode.

I continue searching for something, anything, for a present. My thoughts go toward condemning our country’s consumerism, embedded in us so deeply that we don’t feel good unless we’re buying things. I think of how Jesus himself would see this. Would he, who was born in the poorest of circumstances, approve of this scene? Would he replay the biblical scene in the temple in Jerusalem, by kicking over the Santa and Rudolph plushies, mad that they were an affront to the seriousness of his birth? Would he overthrow the displays of green and red bath bombs?

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I believe God is able to be sad about the need-to-buy desperation, while deeply loving the people caught up in it.

Jesus would be looking at the people pushing the carts. The ones who are here because it’s the first day they could drop their kids off with a relative so they could go buy them gifts. Jesus would be looking at the employees, working one of the three jobs they need to work in order to afford to rent a room in Silicon Valley. Jesus would look at my grouchy heart, sad that I am making unnecessary stress for myself this morning (Finally nailed that gift for Aunt Flo—and it was on sale!) when sitting down and listening to Aunt Flo would be less tangible but a more memorable gift.

When my freshman English class read Fahrenheit 451 this year, we learned that a dystopia starts with a good intention. One that is thoughtful and fair. Then it gets twisted out of proportion. In the Christmas shopping scenario, our desire is to show our family and friends that we value them. We want to see their faces light up when they open a gift. We have family friends who excel at giving joy-inducing gifts to one another, and it’s a beautiful thing. But I don’t feel great when I buy something just to give somebody something to unwrap with my name on it. I want to think differently next year.

As I hang out with my family today, the grouch in me is receding. Rain has started here, just enough to give us some seasonal ambiance here in California. From the kitchen, there’s the smell of freshly baked bread. In the other room, I hear sounds of bumping, crinkling and giggling that accompanies gift wrapping. I am happy. I don’t need much else.

To all of you, your family and friends–best wishes for a Merry Christmas and/or happy holiday!

Back from the UK (with pictures)

The jet lag has worn off, but two weeks ago I got back from a wonderful trip to England.

I walked through London in the footsteps of my favorite writers. I ate lunch at the pub in Oxford where Tolkein and C.S. Lewis met on Tuesdays. I got to see the hangouts and graves of the classic writers who gave me my love for the English language. The weather and the people could not have been more congenial.

London was busy and energetic, full of so many people under 30 that I felt pretty damn ancient. As Harry Potter fans, our first stop in the city had to be Platform 9-3/4 in King’s Cross Station. 

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Hedwig’s missing!

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We saw Westminster Abbey, on a tour led by a bossy, hilarious verger who rolled his eyes at the new, abstract David Hockey stained glass window. I got to see Poets Corner, and the grave of my literary crush, Samuel Johnson. As a Californian, the history awed me. The site has been a religious gathering place since 960 AD.

It was a relief to get away from US politics, but we did catch a brief glimpse of British Brexit drama, when streets were shut down for the Wooferendum, a protest in which dogs and their owners marched against the travel quarantine that their dogs will have to endure when they vacation in the EU after Brexit.

In Oxford we ate at The Eagle and Child, where the Inklings (C.S. Lewis, Tolkein and friends) met. Our friend Ruth then took us over to the Bodleiean Library where we saw an exhibit of Tolkein’s drawings and heard recordings of him speaking the languages he invented for Middle Earth. 

Ruth drove us (very fast, on incredibly narrow, twisting country roads) up to the Cotswolds for a roadside picnic.

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Our picnic spot in the Cotswolds
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The punts at Magdalen College, Oxford. Imagining Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane heading out on the river.
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Lunch at the Inklings’ hangout!

After leaving our gracious hostess, we headed for Stratford-upon-Avon, a tourist town but in a good way. Shakespeare’s birthplace and the associated sites are well kept up and the tour guides are knowledgeable. The town had even more meaning for me since I’ve been teaching Shakespeare and watching the hilarious BBC show, “The Upstart Crow,” a comedic version of Shakespeare’s life as a struggling playwright.

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The Avon part of Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s hometown

We finished off our trip in Bath. I love this city! A beautiful abbey, the Roman Baths, the site where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, and the Jane Austen Centre. We ate Sally Lunns, Bath Buns and many, many scones with clotted cream. I drank Samuel Johnson’s favorite tea.

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Pulteney Bridge, Bath

 

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The Roman Baths, built around 400 AD. Coincidentally the site on which Mary Shelley wrote one of my favorites, Frankenstein, 1400 years later.

I’m still feeling a pleasant buzz from the scenery, the history, and the friendliness and dry wit of the British people.

As I corral myself into my daily routine for NaNoWriMo, I’m dreaming of my next trip.

The impossibility of writing in an empty house

IMG_20180906_120325The door closes. There is that beautiful sound: silence.

The sound I’ve longed to hear, through years of being a mom to three children. No video game boss battles. Nobody banging away at musical instruments (which I admit I enjoy). No requests for food or money.

I am…alone.

I’ve made up my to-do list. All I will do with this time. Clean the bathroom, read that new magical realism novel I downloaded. Pay a bill. Write my book.

With the house to myself, with no interruptions, I should be able to write literally THOUSANDS of words. I should be able to sit at my desk and nail down the scene that’s been coalescing in my head.

The characters in my book—the young police detective, the unhappy wife, and the grieving family of the murdered ex-Nazi—are breathing sighs of relief and exchanging grateful glances. Finally, she’s alone! Now we get to do something.

download-1It’s our time. Our time down here, my book’s cast of characters chant as they launch into Sean Astin’s speech from The Goonies. They can get on with their investigations, conversations and illegal/sketch activities! At least they are motivated.

I have my special coffee mug and hot water in my French press. I have a healthy, Whole30 compliant snack. I turn on the MacBook, open Scrivener and I sit.

And wait.

A phone call interrupts my thoughts and now I’m out of my seat. I remember I haven’t watched the latest episode of The Great British Baking Show. And oh, my God, it’s Cakes! If I watch it, fold the clothes from the dryer and maybe think about that scene some more—that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? At least I’d be getting something done.

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And so the rationalization begins. If I do sit back down and write, my time is short and full of distractions.

After a few of these frustrating sessions, I decided to work with myself and my distractible tendencies. Just as I would with students I teach or one of my kids. Let’s strike a deal here, make this work.

My thought process went something like this:

Realization #1
I don’t get much time to myself. I am alone-time deprived.

Realization #2
My self discipline fails me when I feel deprived, whether it’s a diet or schedule I’m trying to adhere to. (If you’re an enneagram person, I am a Self Preservation 4, which means I’m a creative type with a high priority for self care.)

Brilliant hypothesis!
If I indulge myself for a set period of time, I will get rid of those feelings of deprivation.

My latest tactic:  For an hour, I allow myself to relax and enjoy the quiet house. Watch that Great British Baking Show episode. Prepare myself something that tastes really good. Maybe put on a Spotify playlist of my favorite songs.

Then I sit down in front of my computer. I have fully savored my alone-ness, given in to any desire to dance around like Tom Cruise in his underwear in Risky Business. I am ready now.

And so I write.

Thankfully, this is working pretty well for me so far.

If you’re a parent or spouse who doesn’t get much time by yourself—how do you stay focused when you get your alone time?

Who’s up for a bored game?

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Century, Golem Edition. A family addiction for us.

I grew up in a family of poor sports.

The kind of people who stomped off to their bedrooms when they started losing a game. I remember Monopoly games so intense that objects were thrown. Issues came up that had nothing to do with the placement of little green houses on Park Place.

Soon the winner (often my mom) was gloating, losers were dredging up past grievances and I was ducking into the nearest closet to hide.

But my engineer/gamer husband grew up playing games for entertainment. His dad is a card shark, who’s played in poker tournaments in Vegas. His mom and siblings love games. My husband goes to regular board game nights. The other days of the week, he is secretly plotting the acquisition of his next game—if not actually going down to Game Kastle to get it.

Since games haven’t been a happy part of my past, it’s taken me a long time to want to share that interest. My husband constantly looks for games that might lure me to play: “Honey, this one’s about art. I bet you’ll really like it!”

But in my mind, board games = angry confrontation. Or just boredom. Learning a set of rules to follow, and patiently taking turns at following them, seemed pointless to me. That’s supposed to be fun? Seriously?

But as I observed my husband, I started to see that it’s not about the game. It’s about the interactions of the players. My intelligent, introverted husband takes games to parties because it gives him a context for being social in a sea of small talk. He can explain the rules of the game he’s introducing (something he’s great at). Then the rules of the game are the boundaries for the discussions. He doesn’t have to work at coming up with things to say.

A game-playing friend of mine says she loves the interactions that happen while you’re playing a game. “You see how people react when things get competitive. You see what they’re really like under pressure. It’s a microcosm of life.”  I saw that big time when I was growing up. But playing a game is kind of like going on a virtual adventure with people. You enter into this thing together. Afterwards, you recount your adventures, you talk about what made  you win or lose, the close calls, and what you could have done differently.

If the game is really epic?  You’ll talk about it for years.

Are there some games that you’ve enjoyed playing with your significant other or family?

Games you might want to try with your SO or family:

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The incredibly addicting Century: Golem Edition game

Century (Golem Edition)
My husband found this on the discount shelf at a game store. We were immediately addicted and ended up hooking other friends. The goal is to collect colored gems, which are used to buy golem cards of different point totals. The art in this game is beautiful and the transparent gems are incredibly alluring. It’s a very easy game to learn.

Dominion
This game has made me something I’d never thought I’d be:  competitive.  You play different cards in strategic combinations to get money and victory points. The unlimited card combinations make each game different. For some reason, the variety levels the field, and no one player, even an uber gamer, has an advantage over time. I can win this one.

Apples to Apples
A social game, great family game. Many gamers won’t consider it worthy of attention. You play an adjective—e.g., “Evil, Pretty,”—and players play a card with a celebrity or cultural reference they think fits the word. Each person takes a turn as a “judge,” to pick the one they like the best. Goal is figuring out how to play to the judge so your card will get picked.

Goa
A game based on colonizing the Indian island of Goa. The idea is to set up spice plantations and colonies, and win victory points. The game is a favorite of my game-playing women friends. It pairs well with an evening of food and wine, probably because you’re constantly thinking about acquiring cinnamon, clove, pepper and ginger.

The top 5 writing distractions. (#5 will surprise you)

If anything is a test of your will as a writer, it’s resisting the distractions that curl up a ghostly cartoon finger and lure you away from the page. They’re evil, I tell you. Evil.

And the rationalizing that goes on in a writer’s head could fill volumes.

Everyone has their own temptations. Mine are food and the internet. I’d love to hear yours in the comments. Wait–maybe I could do some research on the subject of distractions! Now that could be interesting.

Let me just pop onto Google and look this up (disappears into bottomless void).

Distraction #1
What’s for lunch?
What’s in the fridge? It’s only 10:30 am, but it wouldn’t hurt to get something started.
Rationalization: Food is necessary to sustain life. Nobody disputes this.

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Note: This distraction gets worse when you’re on a diet and all you can think about is food.

Distraction #2
I need another cup of coffee.
Making coffee will take maybe ten minutes, but it will make me write faster.
Rationalization: So I’m actually creating time if I take a break to make coffee.

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Distraction #3
What’s Trump doing right now?
He’s up to something, that’s for sure. I’ll check my news feed and find out what it is.
Rationalization: If it’s nuclear war, I want some notice so I can revise my less-than-perfect first chapter. It may be found in the Cloud someday, after the apocalypse.

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Distraction #4
Let me go online to check something. It’ll only take five minutes.
If I go online, I will head down a rabbit hole and emerge 40 minutes later, knowing a lot more about gopher traps and French property laws, but completely derailed from my story.
Rationalization: But if I don’t check, the mistake will end up in a published book because my revising self and all my beta readers will miss it. Readers will write me mean letters.

Distraction #5
Because…cute pet
Look what Fur Ball just did! This is so going on Instagram.
Rationalization: The little guy is adorable. Posting a pic of the cuteness will make people happy. After all, nuclear war could break out at any time. Don’t we all need joy?

Since I currently don’t have any pets, the members of my writing group have kindly sent me these pictures of their adorable distractions:

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Charlotte, the therapy cat. Courtesy of rcgwriter on instagram
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One of Ariel’s very literate cats, courtesy of leiraklewis on instagram
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That face! O’Neill, courtesy of onceuponrosanna on instagram

What are your big distractions, writing friends? How do you overcome them to stay focused?

Hot date at Safeway

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My husband, right after a joy ride on the shopping cart.

My husband suggested that we go by ourselves to the grocery store. We needed some things for breakfast, and we had a house full of family–a wonderful thing, but noisy.

“I like going to the grocery store with you,” he said. “It can be like a date.”

So at 10 pm we went to Safeway, and talked as we ambled down the aisles, pushing the cart. We talked about food, traits our kids had in common, and the music we’d played together that morning in church. We took a good, long time. It was catching up, connecting, and it was fun.

The older I get, the more I find myself leveling my expectations. I have gotten excited anticipating the “perfect” weekend getaway, dinner at a great restaurant, or an awesome concert from one of my favorite bands. Now my greatest joys are things that happen off the cuff. A hike with my kids. Frisbee with my husband in the park behind our house.

I think there is something about getting older and having experienced the highs and lows of life over and over again. You realize that it isn’t what you do, it’s who you’re doing it with and what your state of mind is at the time.

There is life that comes from connecting with another person, no matter how introverted you are (my husband’s an introvert and I’m right smack between E and I). Our son is autistic, and I see the life in him when he connects with someone over a common interest. There is a jolt of relational energy that passes back and forth between them. We were made for this connection, and when we bind ourselves up in tasks to be done or plans for a big, anticipated event, that often gets lost.

I love the movie, Up, especially the conversations between Russell, the young Explorer Scout and the old man, Carl. In one scene, Russell remembers playing a game with his dad sitting outside Fenton’s ice cream parlor. A silly game they made up, where they score points for every red car they see.

“That might sound boring,” Russell tells Carl as he tells him about the game, “but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.”

Me, too.