Torn Between Two Loves

When I told my husband that this was going to be the title of my new blog post he said, "who is he?" I laughed and replied, "don't worry, you are the only man for me. I'm talking about writing and illustrating." He sighed with relief. 

Here it is, Valentine's Day, and I thought that to be the perfect timing for ruminating on one of the most strange relationships in my life: the seeming "love triangle" I have with both words and pictures.

When I speak in schools I am often asked, "which do you like better, writing or illustrating?" I have used a somewhat pat response, "when I'm writing I wish I was illustrating, and when I'm illustrating I wish I was writing." There is a smattering of truth in that statement, but it's not really the honest answer.

Since I was a child I have always created "the whole book." That meant everything from the cover design to the marketing blurbs on the back. I majored in illustration in art school, and I'm also trained as a graphic designer with some art direction under my belt as well. I even did off-set printing and letterpress as a teen. My writing has been a part of my life like the very blood that courses through my veins- and like that blood, sometimes it has left me a bit bruised... more so than the strength of my artists' bones. 

I have always been a storyteller, a poet, a songwriter... but I never majored in it. Why do we seem to place such importance on degrees? I have a BFA in illustration and for years after I graduated I thought of myself as an illustrator and made a living as one. However, I kept writing in my journals, creating stories, writing poems, making notes for concepts of future books. 

I love illustrating. I am at peace. Listening to music (another love that sometimes demands my attention) and playing with technique and style, lost in my thoughts, and yes, coming up with new ideas for stories while I draw, or paint, or create collage. I just write them down and then get back to illustrating.

But somewhere along the line I stopped loving being a freelance illustrator, a wrist for hire. I didn't want to do art for advertisements or corporate brochures anymore. The main reason was because the work didn't have any soul. I need soul in order to thrive. The money was not worth the loss of the depth of meaning I craved. That was around the time that I had finally gotten my first book, "The Night I Followed the Dog" published.

There was a time when I dreamt of winning a Caldecott award. I wanted the recognition of my souls' creations. But that turned out to be a very disappointing desire and I taught myself to not wish for it anymore. I also started falling a little out of love with illustration and I started pursuing writing in the heat of lust.

Delving deeper into my writing was the product of a personal epiphany that I will share with you. I came to the realization that what drew children, or people to my books were not my illustrations, although they did love them. What captivated them were my stories. Story, I discovered is the most important element. Story is what brings you back again and again. Story is what lives in your heart. I love story.

Loving story is not as simple as loving illustration. Story is writing, and it is far more fickle and complicated and moody and sometimes brutal. For me, illustration is generally a walk on a beautiful beach, finding treasures at every step. Writing is almost drowning in an angry ocean, treading water at all times, desperately wanting to feel the ocean bottom under your feet, keeping your head above breathing air. I have a tempestuous relationship with writing. I love it and it tortures me ofttimes. Yet when it flows, it is sublime and soul-satisfying on an even higher level than my art.

I wrote my first novel, "Jacked" over a period of years and it is currently being shopped. It was scary, almost death-defying experience to write this first huge hunk of story. There is a lot of my soul in those words, and there is truth behind the fiction. I have no idea if it will see the light of day yet... but I am now working on a middle-grade novel and other ideas are auditioning themselves in my head, too.

However, I have not forgotten my first love, illustration. I still love to dance with her, and I have a line-up of picture books and board books that we'll be reunited in wedded bliss as soon as I get permission from designers to start sketching and then painting. 

But again- it was my stories/poems/ideas that let me paint those pictures- so I know I will always need both in my life. It can get complicated, but this is the path I am on, and all I hope for is that I can be the best lover to both of them. 

Here's wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day.

Celebrate all of your loves.

With love,

Nina

An Update: A Release with a Happy Ending- or a Happy Beginning

If this was a book that I had written, it would bring tears to your eyes as you read it. When it ended you would wish that it wasn't over and that you could revisit it again and again. Sometimes life gives you stories, real true stories that prove that there can be happy endings. This is one of them.

Back in August 2011 I came upon this abandoned seal pup on our neighborhood beach on Lummi Island. She was starving, trying to eat gravel, yet she was still feisty. You can read the original post on this blog here. That day I contacted my friend Cindy Dahlstrom, who is part of the Marine Mammal Stranding Network, and she made arrangements to get this little pup to the Wolf Hollow Rehabilitation Center on San Juan Island- which would not have happened without the help of our neighbors, Peg and Gene Larson and their fast boat, "The Wavelength."

Fast forward to November and the little seal is not only doing great, but she is about to be released back into the wild. Her name is now Eliza, and she was released with another abandoned female pup that they named Waadah. Because some of us cared, and because of the incredible work that Wolf Hollow does, these seals started their stories over again, with a much better beginning. 

The holidays can get us all discombobulated - and Cindy just finally sent me these incredible release photos and documentation the other day, and I wanted to share them with you. 

Here, Eliza is being weighed.

Here she is in the transportation carrier.

I think this is Waadah coming out of the carrier.

Both Eliza and Waadah come out of the carriers.

Here she is in shallow water.

Eliza and Waadah swim off together.

Not the end, but the beginning of a new and beautiful life.

And this is the documentation for sweet Eliza- now forever wild and free:

ELIZA

History –  Seen alone on  west shore of Lummi Island for several days. Picked up 8/12 by Whatcom County Marine Mammal Stranding Network and transported to Wolf Hollow.  Observed eating sand on beach.

Condition – Age ~ 10 days. Sex-Female, Weight – 15.8 pounds. Severely emaciated, dehydrated, puncture wounds on fore flipper, sand in mouth and nose.

Treatment –  Rehydrated with oral and SQ fluids and gradually introduced to formula. Wounds cleaned, antibiotics given. Radiographs of digestive system to check for possible impaction.

Progress Notes – some highlights of her progress

8/12            Arrival at Wolf Hollow.  Wt 15.8 pounds. Alert but weak, emaciated.

8/13            Radiographs show ~18 small rocks in stomach and sand in lower intestine, but no apparent impaction.

8/14            Active in bath. Passing sand in stool.

8/18            Passing small pebbles in stool. Trying to climb out of tub.

8/19            Radiograph, 8 small rocks in stomach.

8/23             First fish, swallowed okay.

8/25            Wound healed. First swim in pool. Weight 20.4 pounds.

8/29            Radiograph, ~6 small rocks in stomach.

9/2            No more formula, just fish.

9/9            In pool full-time. Alert and playful.  Weight 24.6 pounds.

9/19            Eating on own off bottom of pool.

10/1            Moved to big pool. Weight – 39.4 pounds.

10/14            Weight 44.6 pounds.

           

Release– 11/5      Weight   49.85 pounds

If I could tell a story like this in a book, I would be a happy woman... but I'm thrilled to be able to tell the story here, and let you fill in the rest in your imagination. 

May you celebrate all of the happy endings and beginnings in this new year and in years to come.

Happy New Life to Eliza and Waadah!

With Love,

Nina

New Year's (Low) Resolution

The holidays ate me alive, digested me, and spat me out. I survived some serious disappointment, and experienced support of family members akin to repairing a fractured china cup with super glue. I think I can still hold water, although I still need to be handled with care.

Why do we let family torture our souls on a level that we would never accept with a friend? And that, my friends, is a rhetorical question! I told my shrink at our last session of 2011, "what doesn't kill me only gives me hemorrhoids." He laughed and told me that that would make a great title for a book. I wish there was Preparation H for the cracks in our psyches. (and I think there is, actually... the "H" stands for Hawaii, which is calling my name. More about that later.)

Seriously, I have never been able to understand those families who can have joyous holidays that seem to be Hallmark Movies of the Week. My family holidays lately would be psycho-zombie thrillers that inspire insomnia and anxiety attacks. 

So here I am, relieved that those very days are over-

-so over, that I bid "Good Riddance" to 2011 numerous times on December 31st. (I actually used "stronger words," but I don't want to say which ones here.) I was so stressed and exhausted that evening. For the first time in my adult life, I could not even make it to midnight. Our dear friends, Jeff and Penny lovingly nursed us and made dinner. We shared their bottle of Piper Sonoma, as if it was a healing tonic, and then we bid them adieu and passed out at 10:20pm. 

I usually prepare for New Year's. There are rites and rituals of passage from one year to the next that must be done in order to kill and maim the demons from the year passing so as to not bring them forward into the new year. In the past I've written problems down on wooden sticks and burned them in the woodstove. I've held coins for ensured material success. I've eaten herring, black-eyed peas, and various other substances to bring luck, love, good health, and whatever else one could wish for. 

And then there are the resolutions. It's all about the resolutions this time of year. Everybody makes them. Work out more. Lose weight. Turn off the (insert name of device here). Donate. Give. Take. Change. Start. Stop. 

What? Why? 

This year I did not make any resolutions. None. I did not vow to write or paint/draw more. I did not resolve to work out more, ride my bike more, play my guitar more, sleep more, live, love, create, more, better, longer, deeper, faster, wider, higher, around the world, the universe and forward into the future, forever and ever, amen. 

This is a year of low resolution. Grainy. Unfocused. You may be able to see it if you squint just a little. This year is going to resolve itself. Reveal itself. Unfold itself. 

And I am going to be watching, waiting, feeling, touching, tasting, hearing and loving whatever comes my way. 

No pressures. No stress. Just living and breathing. Sharing and experiencing. 

No goals, no scores. Just a large playing field waiting to be explored.

I once met a cool, older man in Pendleton, OR. His name was Bud and he carved walking sticks. On those sticks he carved folk wisdom. I bought one of his sticks, and he sent me a second as a gift for my husband. I sent him my books for his daughter, a teacher. My favorite thing he carved was "for a successful marriage, view your mate through a telescope, not a microscope." I think that applies here. So I will leave you, and 2012 with this as my only resolution:

"For a successful new year, view your life through a telescope, not a microscope."

Thank you, Bud.

With Love,

Nina

Ghosts of Christmas Cards Past

I have made my own holiday cards since I was a child. My mom got me started, so I can blame this on her. She used to do block prints. I remember one where she took all of the religious icons and had them morph into peace signs. That was probably in the late sixties. She had me making potato prints where I would carve a Christmas tree into half of a potato and then I would dip it in tempera paint and press it onto construction paper to be used for cards. I haven't stopped making them since. I made fish cards in 1992 and hand painted them.

This one was scratchboard, but instead of printing it myself, I paid a printer to print it and fold it. That was way better than the three days it usually takes me to make around 120 cards or so. I used to send out about 200 cards, but I've had to cut the list back. We owned espresso bars in Atlanta when I made this over-caffeinated Santa.

I can't remember when I made this one, but I think it was the year that my book, "The Night I Followed the Dog" came out, which was 1994. That would explain the dog theme.

In 1998 I got fancy. I created this skating polar bear in chalk pastels and Peaceable Kingdom Press printed and sold it and sent me a stack, so I sent out full-color glossy printed cards for the first time. 

I'm not sure what happened between 1998 and this card from 2006. I know I created and published a slew of books. But this card with a "gourmet snow-person" featured my brownie recipe inside, which called for all-purpose flour. This was the year before my husband's health went from bad to horrible and we discovered he was allergic to wheat and gluten. This was also the last card I illustrated.

For some reasons that are not so odd, life started to become very difficult. I switched to making cards with photos that I took, printed, and glued onto cards that I also printed, cut and folded. It seemed to take a little less time to go into Photoshop and use Illustrator for layout instead of illustrating in whatever medium I chose- mostly it had been scratchboard in the past. 

In 2009 we had a really bad year, but somehow we survived. Hence the Titanic theme. We wished for a better 2010, and it was a little bit better, but I won't show the card I made that year. I don't like it.

This year I'm going with a photo again. This year has been rough. Not quite Titanic rough, but we still feel a bit beat-up. So this year I'm going to look forward. Not back. And I'm hoping that next year I'll have the desire to illustrate again. Something fun. Something feisty. Something festive. 

For those of you who are on my list- you will get the card in the mail. Hand made. Days of printing, cutting, folding and taping. For those of you who are out there in cyber-space- I will share the card with you here. May we all have have happy holidays, a happy new year, and may the ghosts of the past go on their merry ways and send nothing but good cheer.

From my heart to yours.

With love,

Nina

The Post-Post

How do you feel when it's over? How do you feel when you've finished that first draft? Do you feel a little empty? Is it like post-partum depression? You spent all this time and emotion and days, weeks, months, dreaming, pounding keys, and now what? Did you let that manuscript rest a little? Let your brain rest a little? (or treat it to something bubbly and numbing?) Did you start thinking of editing in your sleep? Were your characters calling you up in the middle of the night saying, "I miss you, come back, you forgot a transition between chapter twenty-two and twenty-three?"

It is an odd feeling to complete a manuscript, especially when you have given yourself a very time-compressed deadline. You live and breathe that work, and then suddenly it's over. Gone. You are left with a 614K document file. What do you do? Comb through it again and again. Look for typos. Check to see that your characters are staying true to their voices. I have one character in my new work-in-progress that does not use conjunctions. No, he does not. Another says "ye," instead of "you." Fine tooth combs don't alway catch these things on screen, so often, I have to print out the full text- in this case 212 pages and edit the old fashioned way.

Once the line edits are done, and the re-reading makes me smile, or cry, or feel hopeful, then, and only then do I hit the "send" button and my new child goes off to school for the first time- off to my agent's inbox. Waiting there in the queue for her to read it.

And then you are back to that "post-post" feeling again, which will repeat itself when, if all goes well, your "baby" will be sent on to submissions. All that waiting and anticipating is anxiety producing. Writer Jeffrey Eugenides told me that he called it, "being on the roaster" when I met him at the Seattle Library over a month ago. It's true. It does feel like you, or your creation is on a spit, turning ever so slowly over a fire. There is really nothing you can do to put the fire out. Except maybe to start dreaming of the next story. To start plotting, scheming, researching, sketching.

But really it's that fire that keeps you going in the first place, so enjoy the heat while it's there, because it is your creativity that produced it. Break out the marshmallows and toast your accomplishments- each step of the way...

"It's not the destination, it's the journey," is a popular and true statement.

To that, I add, "it's not the published book, it's the story behind the story that makes your journey so rich and rewarding," so enjoy it all whether or not you ever get "there." Wherever there is.

Writer Richard Peck said, "you should end with a beginning."
I agree. I will be beginning another book soon.

I hope you will find joy in endings, and beginnings...
and middles, too.

With Love,
Nina

Who Says An Artist Needs to Suffer? (and giving thanks)

I have had this postcard since I was in high school. It has followed me through art school, through my early career and life in Atlanta, and now over thirty years since I bought it, it lives on the cork-board in my home/office in Seattle.

When I first bought it, I looked at the woman artist sitting on that stool. She seemed old to me. Now she seems young. I loved the butler and the maid and harbored a fairy-tale-like fantasy that someday I would have a huge loft in Soho and servants to help so that I could just create.

(pardon me, I'm rolling on the floor, laughing)

Noooo... that didn't happen. I do everything myself: cook, clean, shop, weed, take care of two homes, an elderly father, and stepsons, one who is currently back in residence and causing enormous stress. The cat seems easy, so she is no burden, and my husband is my helpmate and my fellow inmate during the rocky times and the good times. And I work. I write, I concept, I illustrate, I promote, I live and breathe books.

I just finished the first draft of a new Middle Grade novel using National Novel Writing Month, also known as NaNoWriMo as my deadline. I wrote just over 50,000 words in twenty-two days, which worked out to 210 manuscript pages. I wrote early in the morning each of those twenty-two days until about 2pm, and then quit to go do grocery shopping, cook, clean, and deal with any fires that needed to be put out. 

That three-plus weeks of writing kept me sane. I told friends that my fictional life was better than reality, and it was true. My characters were nicer company than certain family members who shall go nameless. My writing filled me with a sense of accomplishment and a sense of hope. 

There are times when I have believed that you do need to suffer for your art. My dear friend, artist Woodleigh Hubbard once told me, "Nina, you are like an oyster. You can only create the pearl when you are irritated."Maybe she's right. But sometimes I think I need to revise my definition of suffering. We all have to deal with our share of tragedy and pain. You can chose to complain about it, or you can chose to use it as a motivator to improve on all levels. 

As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches, I must say that I am thankful for my suffering. It has taught me a lot. I think I am a better, more empathetic person for it, and I think it has given my work a richer texture. No, it has not made me rich from a financial standpoint, but I feel rich because of what I treasure most: my loving husband, my amazing friends, this beautiful world, and the chance to speak my mind and share my talents. I am thankful for all that and more. 

I hope you are not suffering this Thanksgiving, but if you are, I feel your pain, and I hope you will find a way to share it and be creative.

Sometimes the gravy is lumpy, but it still tastes good.

With Love,

Nina

That NaNo Thing: National Novel Writing Month

It's that time of year again. November. It's been a time of harvest and preservation, and a time of family (way too much family, and it's not even Thanksgiving around here...) and a time of writing. There is no need to go into the history of the wild band of pensmen and penswomen in San Francisco who started the NaNoWriMo movement. You can read about it on their website. "It" stands for "National Novel Writing Month," and the object of the game is to write 50,000 words between November 1st and 30th.

This will be my third year doing NaNoWriMo, and I've "won" the two previous years, writing over 50K both times. The first year my husband asked if you could write the same word "fifty-thousand times." Yes. I'm sure some do. Or they copy the dictionary. Or they write proprioceptively emptying the contents of their brains directly into their hard drives.

The inside of my brain would look something like this. So many things. So much going on. But is there a plot? (I do love to do a lot of things, not just writing and illustrating, and I worried about that. Maybe I was schizophrenic. My shrink assured me that was not the case; I was a polymath. I feel better now. I think.) 

I couldn't approach NaNoWriMo that way. I couldn't approach writing a novel that way. The word "novel" is the key to the whole exercise. You are writing a novel: that means it has characters, voice, setting and a plot. Some participants call themselves "pantsers," meaning that they write by the seat of their pants. I'm not one of them. I want to make the best use of this gift of a weird deadline. Under normal circumstances writing 50K words, which is close to 200 manuscript pages is insane to attempt in thirty days. But it is doable. And donable. (yeah, you can make up words, too.) But the real trick- or treat- is that it makes you turn off your inner editor, the little voice that says "you suck." When you have so little time, you have to tell that voice to "shut the heck up," and get back to your writing. They'll be plenty of time to edit over the next year.

So I began with an outline way before November 1st. This year I'm writing an upper Middle Grade novel. I had the idea for this book years ago, and in 2008 I wrote a 25 page outline for it. Then right before NaNo started, I did heavy research so it would be fresh in my mind- I love to mix facts and fiction. The research gives my story texture, richness and hopefully believability. Plus I get to learn all sorts of cool things. (For example: did you know that folk wisdom says that if you want a boy, when you are pregnant you should eat red meat and salty things, and the husband/father should drink coke? Who knew?)

Then the rest is up to you. Open that document. Put your fingers on the keyboard, and listen to the voices in your head. One of the best parts about this is that when you are in the flow, even though you may have outlined and thought you knew exactly what was going on, your characters will take on a life of their own and surprise and delight you. Keep typing and transcribing. If you write about 1700 words per day, you'll "win." You win way more than feeling the accomplishment of writing all those words- you also win a Work In Progress that is already a first draft. That's better than just talking about that novel you're going to write someday.

Okay. I'm wasting words. I'm on page 36 of my WIP now. Time to get back to it. My characters have things to tell me, and at this moment in time, my fictional life is much happier than what is going on at home.

Happy NaNoWriMo-ing!

With Love,

Nina