What do April showers bring?

My garden? I wish! Tulips at Brookside Gardens in Silver Spring, MDSpring has finally arrived after one of the most grueling winters I can remember, and with that comes the desire to abandon my laptop, feel the sun on my face and get some garden dirt under my fingernails. I’ve always fancied having a green thumb. The problem is that my thumb, like the rest of me, is brown. The desire to cultivate a gorgeous garden is fueled by the fact that my neighbors all have them. Some of them are professionally maintained, but several are meticulously cared for by people who not only have an eye for what looks appealing but also the ability to keep things alive.

I, on the other hand, struggle to keep up with the Johnsons and the Kucklemans. When I moved into the neighborhood from a no-maintenance townhouse, I followed their lead, getting a hand seeder and bags of turf builder . I even bought a wheelbarrow to haul mulch and leaves like they did and felt really great about myself. And then, after the weeds slowly choked out all of our grass over several seasons, a lawn service was called in to fix my mess. 

Next, I planted a variety of bushes and perennial flowering plants to fill the beds in front of the house. It looked pretty for a very short period of time, until the plants grew out of control or died and a professional landscaper was called in to . . . fix my mess again.

Since last year, I’ve come to term with my limitations and I now stick to potted plants. I’ve spread a bunch of planters on my deck and around the entrance, which I fill with bright annuals. So what do April showers bring? May flowers, of course. But let’s see if they can make it to July. I’ve learned which ones are the hardiest varieties that thrive with neglect. Because once the heat, humidity and mosquitos kick in, my laptop wins over the great outdoors, and those suckers are on their own.


Getting around the writer's block

During school visits, I’m often asked about “writer’s block” and how I overcome it. I generally talk about how I take a break, read something else, or just push through. And that’s true, for the most part. When I was as young as these kids, I imagined writer’s block to involve anguished moments of staring at a blank page. I’d be unable to pull words out of my brain, frozen like a stubborn hourglass on my outdated laptop. But now that I write for a living, I realize that’s not quite how writer’s block manifests in me.

There are many times where I’m unmotivated or uninspired to work as I stare at my computer screen. And then my fingers sneak away from the keyboard to the mouse, where I click on social media, shopping sites or my inbox. Sometimes, like I tell the kids, I do manage to push through, telling myself to put something on the page that I can edit later. On rare occasions I have a burst of creative energy and the words flow out easily. I recognize those moments because I am literally pounding on the keyboard and the sound distracts me enough to pause and be pleased with my progress. And then somehow I end up back on Facebook before my inner voice scolds me to return to what I was doing. Yes, I inevitably end up wasting a lot of time when I’m “writing.” But that isn’t actual writer’s block. It’s just the way I work.

For me, writer’s block is self-doubt—those moments of despair where I question what I’m doing altogether and am “literally” paralyzed. This can strike at any moment, although there are of course the obvious triggers: rejection letters, the black hole of non-response from agents or editors, and at times, even other writers’ new books and the ugly, envious feeling of “why not me?” The hardest moments are when I read what I’m working on with a self-hating lens. Suddenly, the exciting project I’ve been devoted to for days or months seems futile. “This is horrible!” my inner voice moans. “Will anyone want to read this? Will anyone publish it? Am I just wasting my time?”

So what do I do in these instances? I wish I was the kind of person who could read an inspirational quote or do yoga to get out of my funk. But more often than not (okay, pretty much always) I owe it entirely to someone else. A friend who reminds me how lucky I am to do what I love. My critique partner, who commiserates and shares a personal low moment. Or a stranger who reaches out to tell me she loved my books for no reason other than kindness.

I recently received one such beautiful note from an educator in Iowa named Jane. At the time I was deep into a full-blown pity party that might have included the phrase “this is pointless.” It shamed me and thrilled me at once to read her letter, including how much she appreciated Golden Domes and Silver Lanterns, how she shared it with others, and how she was even thinking of framing pages from it for her home. And she closed with an encouraging, “please continue to write more books!”

Jane’s message served as the giant reboot I needed. It snapped me out of my ungrateful mood and reminded me that there is an audience out there welcoming and appreciating what I am doing. I turned back to my screen reenergized and recommitted to my writing, and hopeful for more people out there like her. Because even though this industry can be filled with rejection, and at times lonely, confusing and bleak, you all make it completely worth it. Thanks for being the remedy I need.