When You're Writing a Book about a Magical, Enchanted Space . . . and Then the Magic Dies

Dear friends,

I have been writing a middle-grade children's novel set in a cottage like the one I live in with my sweetheart, on a street filled with whimsy and wonder like ours. The book has a quasi-magical quality to it, where wishes come true in unexpected ways - was it magic? or not? - or was the magic just the warmth of the connections among the people who live on this street and interact with each other in such a caring way? I finished the first draft of it a week ago - TA-DAH!

But then yesterday morning, something terrible happened. 

While David was out for a short walk with Gaia-the-dog (while I was off on an outing with my visiting grandchildren), he came back to find the front door open; he assumed he had somehow forgotten to shut it, which of course he never does (neither of us ever bother to lock it) - but what other explanation could there be? Then he saw, lying on the loveseat in the living room, a carton of orange juice and empty bottle of raspberry lemonade. What?? He couldn't fathom what could be happening, until in the bedroom he saw the contents of one of the nightstand drawers on the bed - and discovered that from his drawer his wallet was missing . . . and the two dongles for his Subaru ... and my spare car key, too. He looked out the window and saw his car was gone. Then he called 911. The intruder, unbelievably, had not only robbed him of his wallet and car in the fifteen minutes or so he was out with Gaia, but had gone into our fridge and drunk our juice and lemonade!! All this happening in broad daylight at 9:30 in the morning.

We are both devastated. Our sweet little cottage, our late-life love nest, has been invaded, violated, desecrated.

And WHAT ABOUT MY BOOK? One friend said, "Well, now you have a plot twist." I don't want a plot twist! And certainly not THIS plot twist! But can I still encourage young readers to believe that magical spaces do exist, that there are enchanted places right here in our world, like the one in my story? One adult character in my book even denies the existence of "bad guys"!

Well, maybe our "bad guy" wasn't so very bad. Maybe he was just thirsty! And curious about what was in those closed drawers.... and the wallet and car dongle were just too tempting. Maybe he will bring back the car, sorry for his impulsive act. In the book, he could end up being friends with the child characters, and the book's final scene would show everyone having orange juice and raspberry lemonade on the rooftop deck together.

Ooh! Maybe, rather than my needing to change the book to match this sad reality, the sad reality will shift to match this imagined ending to my book! David's car will be parked outside the cottage again tomorrow morning! Maybe my fictional magic is strong enough to change the lives not just of my characters, but of mine, their creator?

I'm still pretty sad today, ready to start locking not only the doors of the cottage (a locksmith has already come to change them), but of my trusting heart.

But once I launch into revisions of the book, maybe my own story will work its magic on me, and I will let myself, like my fictional children Piper, Lydia, Xander, and Gabi, start believing again. . . 

When the Writing Magic Happens

February was an intense writing month. For me, "intense" means faithfully writing for a (predawn) hour a day, every day, up in my writing nook, with all my cozy paraphernalia (fluffy bathrobe, lap-size afghan, hourglass, tea or hot chocolate, and candle lit to consecrate this holy hour). It also means - gasp! - occasionally having a SECOND writing hour somewhere ELSE. One day I took my writing self to the elegant lobby of the posh St. Julien Hotel; on another, to the Bookmark Cafe overlooking Boulder Creek at the Boulder Public Library.   

No other book of mine has invited me on such a meandering journey to find my way into the heart of the story. This was also the work-in-progress where I somehow managed to leave all my notes-in-progress and beloved, battered, fifty-year-old clipboard on the plane, gone forever. I kept reminding myself of Tolkien's oft-quoted line, "Not all those who wander are lost." Except that I WAS lost. 

But then. . . as I kept on wandering . . . I got found. I guess I could say the story found me, or else that by dint of daily diligence with pen in hand, I somehow found it myself. What bliss when the path before you finally becomes clear! 

I'm calling this my "Bluff Street book" because it's set in a cottage like my cottage on a street like my street, where I'm making use of the abundant whimsy and wonder I've found here, courtesy of neighbors I've never met, such as in this sign:

I'm making use of it all - the fairy garden across the street from us, the mailbox that offers free seeds, the beckoning path up to tiny Lovers Hill Park. 

But for the longest time, all I had was a jumble . . . a mood . . . four characters with their heartfelt yearnings. What I didn't have, and readers seem to expect in a book, is a PLOT. And now . . . I do have one! I've been writing scenes that are very exciting (in a quiet way, of course! there is no murder or mayhem, no mystery, no adventure, the stakes so small ... but oh, so important to the children who care about them). 

I wrote the most thrilling (for me!!) scenes this past week. One left me so drained I had to take to my bed after the writing of it! It was the single most exhilarating hour of writing I've ever had. Now all that is left for this first full draft is half a dozen short scenes that follow this climactic moment to bring all these strands together in what is (I hope!) a wonderfully satisfying way. Then will come weeks of revision, and sharing it with my writing group, and more weeks of revision. Who knows if it will ever get published? These days, I take nothing for granted. But when the magic DOES happen, when the Muses finally reward a writer's faithful toil, it all feels worth it. 

It really does. 

Joy Report as Month Two Begins

My ONLY goal for 2025 is: "stuff my creative life as full as I can of JOY and PLAY." I am here to report that this is turning out to be an excellent goal indeed! I mean, what's not to like about JOY? PLAY is a bit more challenging for me; I'm so product-oriented that play has often seemed, I hate to say it (so I'm lowering my voice to a whisper), a waste of time. But I'm opening myself to play as well (appropriately, as my WORD for the year is "openness").

So: I have been doing my best to slip out of bed every morning at 4:30 to have a full hour of writing on my work-in-progress for young readers, which I call my "hour of bliss." Bliss was already provided by the standard elements of my writing routine: my trusty hourglass, my favorite pen and pad of paper, Swiss Miss hot chocolate or tea in a teapot (kept warm with a Liberty of London tea cozy from a long-ago trip to England).

But for this to count as a year of joy, EXTRA joy needed to be added, right? I found two FABULOUS additional joy-suppliers.

We turn off the heat at night in our cottage, so it is downright chilly in the morning when I creep upstairs to the writing nook. So . . . TA-DAH!

I seldom buy anything new; most of my clothes come from Goodwill. This luxurious, soft, plush, warm, pretty L.L Bean bathrobe is an enormous treat. How cozy and comfy I am now as I write!

The second new joy-supplier is even more fabulous. I am a passionate fan of the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace, a series of books published mid-twentieth century, based on the author's childhood in Mankato, Minnesota (Deep Valley in the books) at the turn of the last century. In my favorite of the books, Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown, the four friends are going Christmas shopping, where their dimes (!) will ultimately be spent on Christmas ornaments, but along the way they pretend-shop for all kinds of other possible things. In the drug store, they "sniff assiduously" at the perfume counter and then each choose a fragrance: rose, lilac, violent, and new-mown hay,

Well, the Betsy-Tacy Society found a candle-maker to create candles in all four fragrances! And I bought them! And they are beyond adorable! Now I burn one each morning during my special, sacred writing time.

The writing on my book is going reasonably well, and I did try my hand at a draft of a personal essay which I kind of like, and I have a date this afternoon to brainstorm ideas for the picture book I want to write with my younger son's soon-to-be bride. So these are sources of joy and play, too. 

But, dear writer friends, consider splurging on a new bathrobe! And literary scented candles! I am hugging myself every day with happiness because of mine. 

Plans for the New Year: Joy and Play

I had lunch yesterday with a dear friend I hadn't seen for a long while. "Where was your new year's blog post?" she asked. "I was so looking forward to being inspired by it!"

Well, that was sweet to hear, of course, as well as guilt-inducing. But as the years go by, I have to confess that with each January 1, I feel I'm just making the same plans and setting the same goals I've done dozens of times before, blah, blah, blah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let's see if I actually do them this time. And yet... there is still something about the new year that gives me a tingle of anticipation, that tiny thrill that comes with a blank canvas, an open calendar, twelve months to fill with whatever I most want to fill them with.

So . . . 

I'm starting to feel I really am done with trying to coax the universe to shower me with its fickle, faddish fame and fortune, with shiny gold stickers on the covers of my books, with tiny tidbits of glory I can brag about on social media. I'm still not done with WANTING these, but I HAVE to be done with breaking my heart over not getting them. This year, I really DO have to write just for the joy of it. And writing still gives me so much joy!

There are few things I love more than to slip out of bed very early, tiptoe upstairs to my writing nook, with my hot chocolate or tea, and write for a blissful hour measured by my treasured hourglass.

I still want to write books for middle-grade readers, and I'm back on track writing the book for which I lost those fifty pages of notes on the plane in December. I thought maybe this was the universe's way of telling me to start the whole thing over again, but I am slowly rereading the 65 typed pages I already have of it, and have decided that whatever the universe thinks, I love this book, I do! And I want to keep going on it. So there, universe!

But this year I want to write lots of other things, too. I want to write poems for my sweetheart, David, to copy into the special book I created for his birthday three years ago. Many pages remain to be filled.

No other audience anywhere, ever, will love what I write more than he loves my poems. 

It's a tradition at my church that I deliver the sermon and preside over worship on the last Sunday of the year. I did that this past December, too, and they loved it as they always do, loving people that they are. I LOVE writing for people who love ME!

But I want to try writing some new and different kinds of things, too. I've always wanted to write (and yes, publish) personal essays. Now's the time to do that! There is a picture book I want to write with my younger son's bride-to-be. Now's the time to do that, too. At the least, it will be a way of deepening my already delightful connection with her. Could I try writing a play? I have an older friend who just wrote a play for the play-reading group at her retirement community, What fun it was to go there and see it performed by her friends and neighbors. I bet I could round up a group of friends who would have a blast reading a play of mine.

So, my ONLY goal for 2025 (well, except for being serious about using the waterpik with new faithfulness for my poor gums) is to stuff my creative life as full as I can of joy and play. I'm going to have FUN writing this year. Maybe I'll take myself to some delicious writing retreat somewhere. Or two or three! I'm certainly going to spend as many sweet hours in my writing nook as I can - this will be The Year of the Nook! I'm going to write with friends; I'm now in TWO groups of writers who are committed to a communal writing date each month. I'm going to EAT NICE THINGS while I write. Maybe apple turnovers? I do love apple turnovers...

Universe, are you listening? Whatever you decide my fate as a writer should be, I'm deciding my fate should be to give myself the gift of writing this year in the spirit of creative play, just for the joy of it.