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Writing is Taking Risks: Guest Post by Leesa Freeman

Lessa Freeman and I share several things in common: we are misplaced Texans and lovers of Dr. Pepper (though it’s off the menu for both of us…pure torture), and we both have a fire to write. Today, Leesa talks about her journey to publication–about finding courage. As a bonus, she’s giving away an autographed copy of her novel, THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE. Just drop your name in the comments. It’s that easy.

Take the Risk to Blossom

Leesa Freeman

headshotnewWriting saved my life.

Yes, I realize that’s a rather audacious statement, but follow me on this for a moment. Before I discovered I’m a writer, I kind of drifted, lost. I thought it would be “really cool” to write a book, but more or less in the same way I thought it would be “really cool” to learn to play the guitar or scale Mt. Everest or go skydiving. (Have I mentioned I’m desperately afraid of heights?) But I kept myself from doing it with all the usual excuses: I don’t have time, what the heck do you talk about for 200 pages, and who would give a rat’s hat what I have to say, anyway?

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~ Anaïs Nin

Several years ago I had a dream that I couldn’t quite get out of my head, and I sat down at my computer with equal parts curiosity and desperation. In my dream, a girl was in a hospital waiting room waiting for her friend to get out of surgery so she could tell him for the first time she loved him. It was surreal, it was vivid, and I had to know why she hadn’t told him before.

And so I began writing just for me. Just to move on. Once I was done with this piddly little short story, it was gonna go somewhere on my hard drive and that would be that, right?

Wrong.

The more I wrote, the more I had to write, until I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t wait to get home when I was out, and was generally obsessed with this whole thing. And somewhere in that process, I became a writer.

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” ~ Anaïs Nin

There’s something magical in discovering what you are truly good at. Not that I knew everything when I began, not that I know everything now, but that moment when you not only realize not only have you found your gift, but you have the courage to embrace it, call it forth, and make it your own is an Angels-singing-on-high feeling.

And that’s what saved my life, because I was able to see myself differently. I was able to become who I’d always wanted to be, but was too afraid of rejection, or being vulnerable, or whatever crazy excuse I’d come up with that really boiled down to one thing: if I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail.

Once I realized I couldn’t fail because I had already succeeded, it became easier to take on all the other challenges I had rejected out of fear. I found the courage to embrace the things that had previously scared me. Since then, not only have I published my first book, THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE, I’ve written a second for which I’m currently looking for an agent, and I’m working on a third. That in and of itself is huge, but as I write this, I’ve also lost almost 100 pounds – I couldn’t keep becoming Who I’m Meant to Be while feeling bad about who I was.

“If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write, because our culture has no use for it.” ~ Anaïs Nin

Writing is, for me, therapy. Through it I have spent hours at my computer opening my heart and my emotions, trying to immerse myself into my character’s lives to tell their stories as fully and deeply as I possibly can, and it has been those moments of laughing with them, crying with them, and rejoicing in them that has given me myself.

Maybe writing didn’t save my life in the “traditional” sense.  You could argue that I wasn’t technically dying, and I would agree with you. I wasn’t. But I would also argue that without embracing the gifts we are each given and finding the courage to use them unapologetically are we really living?

“Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.” ~ Anais Nin

~

A native Texan, Leesa Freeman enjoys escaping the chill of New England, if only in her imagination, often setting her stories in the places she loved growing up. Some of her favorite moments are the ones where it’s just her, her Mac, and simply conversing with the people who live inside her head, and sharing their lives with those who take the time to read her stories. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and two daughters, where she is also an artist, avid baker, a self-proclaimed music snob, and recovering Dr. Pepper addict. Visit her website and follow her on Facebook.

About the book:

WisdomTodd Randall spent his life pushing the limits: stealing a pack of cigarettes and a beer and coming home smelling like tobacco and cheap bear; “borrowing” his father’s car, usually to pick up girls; snorting lines of OxyContin after a knee injury on the football field, eventually landing in rehab at the age of seventeen. Now he works in his uncle’s auto body shop, struggling to stay clean, and refusing to get close to anyone because he fears he is unfit for human consumption. When he meets Shawn Clifton, for the first time begins to see himself differently, and even though it scares the hell out of him, he feels compelled to reach for the life she offers.

THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE is the story of one man’s desire to accept his mistakes, find the courage to allow himself to truly love, and finally become the person he so wants to be. Read an excerpt HERE.

Drop your name in the comments for a chance to win a copy of THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE or purchase your own copy on Amazon. Random.org will choose the winner of Leesa’s autographed copy on Tuesday, November 12th.

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When Writing and Real Life Intersect: Guest Post by Trish Ryan

I’ve written before about my belief in a Power greater than myself that helps me  maneuver through life. And, writing (no plea is too silly). I’m not alone. When it comes to writing, plenty of authors talk about a spiritual nature that took them from here to there and well beyond their imagination. Today I welcome Trish Ryan, author of the memoir, He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, who tells us a little about her journey and her encounters with that “still small voice” (or, not so small as it may be).

My Journey from Dreaming to Doing

author-pic-1-for-websiteI didn’t always want to be a writer. In college, a professor thought I’d make a good lawyer, and I grabbed that vision and ran with it.

A few years later, I was a litigation associate at a mid-sized firm in Philadelphia, defending grocery stores against plaintiffs who’d injured themselves slipping on produce. I wasn’t clear why I was doing this, and billing my time in six-minute increments made me so miserable I could barely face Mondays.

I left law to pursue a graduate degree, but soon had a chance to work for a bestselling author. That’s where I learned what life as an author looks like, how it doesn’t have to be long hours sequestered in some garret, perfecting the prose; it can be capturing sentences whenever they occur, letting the world wait a moment while you jot down an idea. That, I could do.

I jotted my own sentences on restaurant napkins and odd pieces of paper. The trouble was, I had lots of ideas about how life works, but no story. Good writing is about what happens when our ideas intersect with real life. For that, I had to to wait.

A few years later, I was at a family funeral, driving down the road feeling pitiful, thinking about my cousins and their amazing families. I’d tried and failed repeatedly at romance, and wondered if I’d ever make it work.  At a stoplight, I heard a voice in my head that sounded (don’t laugh!) like James Earl Jones. He said, “I have more for you. I have a husband for you, a family…everything you want. But you need to take Jesus seriously.” It’s a sign of how unhappy I was that my response wasn’t surprise or questions, but simply, “Well, okay. If it’ll help…”

I was fairly sure no one else in Cambridge, Massachusetts was taking Jesus seriously; I figured I’d need to move to Nashville or Tulsa, get some high hair and some awkward-looking clothes. But if it would improve my chances to build a happy life, I was willing to try.

Then a friend told me about a church our city where there were real Christians. The next Sunday I went, feeling like an anthropologist observing a rare tribe that has wandered from its habitat. I was surprised: by the smart, friendly people, by a sermon that made sense, and by how I felt when I left: hopeful, like a small door was opening and I wanted to walk through and see what was on the other side.

On the other side, it turns out, was my husband. Now I had a story. I decided to write a book to encourage women that God cares about our romantic lives.

As I wrote, I studied the publishing industry: Did I need an agent? How should a book proposal be structured? What would make my query letter compelling? I spent hours pouring over author and agent websites, learning how to give my project legs in this business.

I picked an agent to query – I’d read and liked two books by authors she represented. She didn’t typically take on spiritual titles, but she’d just had lunch with an editor who’d said, “I’m looking for something like Eat, Pray, Love, only Jesus-ey…”

That editor bought the project, and helped me shape He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not: A Memoir of Finding Faith, Hope & Happily Ever After into a book that appeals to readers of all faiths (or none at all). Two years later, I published A Maze of Grace: A Memoir of Second Chances, about figuring out how to live into this idea of happily ever after.

Now, I have a bigger dream: a bookstore shelf filled with books written by me and others, each sharing stories of what happens when you believe more is possible in life than circumstances might suggest.

We just put out a new edition of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, and it includes a preview of my new project, The Courage to Ask: Thoughts on Praying for A Husband. In all of this, moving from dreaming to doing still comes down to what I learned working for that author all those years ago: grab ideas and write them down when they occur. Let the words and the work pile up in small segments, day after day, then see how they weave together. Learn and adapt as you go. Push through until you type, The End. This is how dreams become reality.

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Trish Ryan is an author, speaker, and writing consultant. She lives outside Boston, Massachusetts with her husband Steve and their genetically improbable mixed-breed dog, Kylie. She is the author of two memoirs about the intersection between the search for the right guy and the right God.  You can connect with Trish via her website, www.Trishryanauthor.com, on Facebook (Trish-Ryan-Author) or Twitter: @Trishryan.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not is available for purchase HERE on Amazon.

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Writers at the Table: Meet Ted Johnson

For well over a year, I’ve been leading a creative writing class at a senior living center near my home, listening to a great group of folks tell their stories. I’ve grown fond of these writers. They are creative and kind and willing. And today, I’m honored to feature one of those writers here.

IMG_0726Ted Johnson was the first person to show up on my inaugural day of leading the class. He couldn’t have known how nervous I felt, nor how grateful I was to see him there–with pen and paper and a smile. Ted has an easy way about him, always has a kind word for others, and brings to the table some great stories. I met him for coffee this week so that I could take his picture, and I reminded him of the importance in this work, in the stories he sets to paper. We forget, sometimes, the power of memory, of the connections we make when we share those memories with others. Enjoy reading this essay by Ted Johnson. 

My Mother

By Ted Johnson

At 87 years old my mother still lived alone in her apartment in Minneapolis and apparently loved it. My sister was living in Billings and I in Milwaukee, and we worried about her—a lot. She had given up her car a couple years before with little fanfare, and I could only hope that I would be that mature when my time came.

I drove to Minneapolis to see her and to assure myself that all was well. We had been trying to get her to move to Milwaukee for years, but she was adamant, unyielding. “It wouldn’t feel right,” she said. “Anytime I’d turn on TV to get the news, I’d see a face I’d never seen before. I’m used to all these local people and I’d miss them. Bill Adams has been the weatherman on WCCO for twenty years. It wouldn’t seem right to go to bed at night without listening to Bill.”

“Are you watching a lot of TV these days?” I asked.

“No,” she said, her tone indicating that she sensed some criticism in my question. “I don’t watch a lot of TV. We play bridge. We play sheepshead and work jigsaw puzzles. We have coffee parties at each others apartments. I’m not watching TV all the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to criticize, and I don’t feel there is anything wrong with watching a lot of TV. In fact,” I told her, “Your  generation hit it just right. Just about the time your kids were ready to leave the nest, television came in to its own to help you fill your spare time.”

She took a deep breath. She didn’t like that. I’d seen this measured and controlled exasperation many times before.

“You know”, she said, “I wouldn’t worry so much about my generation not having a full and rewarding life. I honestly think we have seen more changes than any other generation that has lived on this planet.”

She went on to remind me that she was born in a small mining town in northern Minnesota where they used candles and kerosene lamps for light. That even after Edison invented the electric light bulb, they didn’t see it for three or four years. “For transportation,” she said, “we had the dependable horse and buggy. Cars were not available to us until about 1903, when I was 10 years old.” Henry Ford’s Model T was the first car she remembered.

“We went through World War I and not long after that we suffered through the greatest Depression the world had ever seen. Shortly after that we went through the biggest War the world had ever seen. 50 million people world-wide were killed in some manner,” she said. Every family in the United States had some relative of theirs in the service in World War II, she told me. “After the War, our generation came back and built this country into the strongest and richest country in the world.”

She took another breath.

“And to cap it all off we sent a man to the moon.”

“That,” she said, “should keep you from worrying about whether my life is exciting enough.”

And, that’s the way my mother set me straight.