Purpose Reborn

So much stronger than fleeting happiness, a sense of purpose can drive us forward through the dark days.

What was I thinking when I published a book, took on the unknown world of marketing, left my job, started a new job, had hand surgery, underwent various dental procedures, and participated in several author events? 

No wonder I'm tired.

After the dust settled and the new car smell wore off those wonderful new experiences, the work of it settled into my bones and I understood what I'd gotten myself into. No matter how inspired I might have been to finish penning a chapter or complete a project, like I always do, I hit a place where I question my own capability and wonder if I can make it through. 

After reading A Room With a View in college, I have always thought of that state as being muddled. (Fabulous read, by the way.)

Photo courtesy of Upsplash.com

There are few endeavors I undertake lightly. I've always been a test the waters, then retest the waters again before jumping in kind of gal. So when I feel like I'm going through the motions, pasting on a smile while everything inside me is cold, it's particularly muddlesome. 

The cycle typically begins with a period of wallowing in couch potato land, accompanied by ranting, raving, and basic hermit behavior. (I try to keep this part strictly offline. To my dear friends, I love you and I'm sorry.) When I'm finally ready to take a proactive approach, I do the following:

I mentally review what brought me to this place and this decision. For me there is usually a pinnacle moment, a feeling of rightness that precedes the decision and gifts me with the purpose to see it through. Remembering that moment awakens at least a portion of that purpose again.

Sometimes taking a moment to breathe and rest, reconnect my heart and mind, and remove myself from the muddle is enough to recenter my mind. Music, art, theater, and literature all distract me from the drama of day-to-day life and help my mind refocus. On top of escape, the bonus gift of inspiration is just as likely to spark the next good idea, solution, or direction. 

Acting like an utter imbecile removes me from the muddle and allows me to examine the issue from the outside. Game night, chicken dances, kitchen yodeling, acting like a kids with kids, and about a million other pointless activities always help me remember who I am. Some people are off-put by silliness, but there is little I know that is better for retraining negative thoughts.

Each of us has moments when we lose sight of our purpose. As devastating as that might be, we can always reclaim it. And yes, I'm right there with you. Leave me a comment and tell me how you cope with life's muddles.

Dead. Dead. Deaded.

Deadlines. Have we ever discussed the fact that the word itself features the word dead? It's like diet, whose root word is obviously die. Die! Die! Die!

Uh, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. We were going to discuss the fact that meeting some deadlines might make you question your purpose in life. Or at least your sanity. Sometimes the worst deadlines are the ones we set ourselves. Today marks the close of the summer when I tried to kill myself off with the Mother of all Deadlines.

For me, summers are sacred to writing and playing. Last summer I not only edited Becoming Beauty for publishing, but I also wrote the bulk of Twelve (except it's now retitled...uh, I'm not telling yet) and took a number of vacations. This summer the plan was to submit Twelve and jump into writing the next book (which is a retelling of Rumplestiltskin). But I never could have guessed what would happen instead.

Allergies and severe carpal tunnel syndrome curtailed most of my summer writing activities. Exactly half a chapter of Book Three has been set down, which was disappointing. But luckily, my ducks were in a row to submit Twelve to the publisher. I knew that as soon as I went into surgery I wouldn't be allowed near my laptop for weeks. (What I didn't know was that during recovery I wouldn't even have the desire to write.) So, after getting all the comments back from beta readers, I pushed through my story. Twice. The dreadful surgery week arrived and a few more personal tragedies and family dramas took my attention away from writing. Finally, I shut myself in my room, ignored my lovely parents, and started finalizing the submission process for Twelve. I think a little angel must have been watching over me because the process was more upscale the second time around. Luckily, I had most of the elements ready or nearly ready. It took a about 90 minutes to prepare everything, an extra five minutes to stare at the forbidding SUBMIT button, four seconds to take a deep breath, and a millisecond to tap that silly red button and bid farewell to my baby.

Then, the Waiting Game begins. It's different going into it the second time because I know what to expect and I have a back-up plan. Also, I know the editors, marketing directors, and cover artists and I've already spoken to a number of them about this project. And I'm VERY excited and hopeful!

Let the waiting game begin!

Meanwhile, summer is pulling to a close and I'm heading back into kindergarten teacher mode. (No worries, it just means LOTS of amazing stories, my dears!) And since we're on the subject of school, in 100 words or less, turn in an essay on the subject: My Summer Vacation. Due immediately! Drop it in the comments. Thanks for stopping by!

Laughter is the Best Medicine. Also Percocet.

You're all well aware of my philosophy on drama, right? Suck it up, laugh it off, only deal with what you have to? That's me. 

So when this summer's health problems hit, I was taken by surprise. (I didn't freak out horribly.) Honestly, the one million allergies diagnosis was a relief because it meant I wasn't sick all the time and with some treatment, I would feel better. I didn't panic about carpal tunnel surgery until I was on the gurney under the huge, bright surgery room lights and the anesthetic hadn't kicked in.

Before that point, I'd been making jokes. My mom said, “You're silly. And all they've given you is sugar water!” I was trying to ignore the large needle they'd shoved in my arm and the fact that we'd already waited a good two hours for the doctor to get started. A girl has gotta do something instead of just sit and stew, right? And it kept us both amused.

Later on when my friend sent me a selfie in a truly goofy pair of glasses, I remembered something else in my arsenal. My own crazy glasses. That first day we got some funny comments:
Hoe-lee-crap.
Are you surprised? She was completely drugged!
Well, you're having a goooood time!
I promise it wasn't the meds, but hey, a good dose of pain meds never hurt a gal, either! 

So, this is me. Saying thank you for all the laughter, support, prayers, kind thoughts, flowers, treats, and everything else that came my way. Every day I'd post updates and receive so much love in return. If my recovery is going well, it's because of you. Thank you, friends, family, and wonderful far off friends who support from the other side of the globe. I certainly needed it, because Percocet or not, we all need the to feel the love from time to time.

If, like me, you're going through a rough time, please remember that you're never alone. There are many who will uplift and tease until you feel like yourself again. Thank you, my friends.

Here's a bit more inspiration for you! What Doesn't Kill You, Cringe Worthy, Panic City, Population: 1, and Plot Twist!

Cringe Worthy

I'm the type of girl that makes odd comments during the dramatic moments of movies. Like when Matthew Macfadyen (aka Mr Darcy) walks across the mist cloaked plain with his coat billowing, I said, “Yeah...every guy needs one of those,” loud enough for the whole theater to hear. 

I'm the girl who thinks it's appropriate to say random crap in front of complete strangers. I've announced that, “unlike half the other girls, I'm not nursing,” in front of fifty people. Things sound so much better in my head.

I'm the girl who does embarrassing things in front of strangers. Once, I leaned too hard on a shopping cart handle, popped a massive wheelie, and ended up making a mad dash after a runaway cart in front of everyone waiting to check out. (Meh, the bread only got squished a little.)

It's all really great fodder for a writer like me, right? However, there is one horribly, embarrassing, terribly awful moment that's too bizarre to use. I may as well share it with you.

* * *

He was adorable, spunky and cute with a stocky build, quick grin, and dark brown eyes. Plus he was a Yell Leader. You know, the dude on the college cheerleading team who tosses the skinny-minnie girls around like rag dolls. (I may have been smitten by those girl-tossing biceps...maybe.)

I arrived early to class and chose a seat between my girl friend (on the left) and Mr Muscles (on the right). My friend was busy chatting with someone else, so I put my notes and multicolored pens in order and doodled until the professor's arrival.

So, there I was in my built-for-a-righty desk when my purple pen slipped out of my hand and landed between the aforementioned Yell Leader's feet. Dashing knights are meant to come to a lady's aid in moments of duress, right? I gave him a half-smile, just to be sure he would play his part. He was deep in conversation and made note of neither me nor the pen. There was nothing to do but take matters into my own hands. 

It was simply a matter of leaning sideways and reaching far enough to lay a finger on the purple pen. The plan was sound, eloquent, uncomplicated. 

Except I couldn't quite reach the pen. I tried again.

I reached a bit too far. All my weight was thrown onto the bar--you know, the one that attaches the chair to the desk. Quicker than you can say, "Sarah is a big, dumb, idiot," I lost contact with the carpet. Feet flailing, if I'd been in petticoats you'd have seen my granny panties airborne. I would have landed on the floor, desk and all, if something hadn't broken my fall. I looked up. A pair of dark brown eyes glared back. 

Meanwhile, my friend was on the other side, frantically trying to pull me upright. The desk and I remained firmly stuck in the Yell Leader's lap. I hazarded another look. Nope. He was not pleased. Luckily, he put that rage (and those muscles) to good use and popped me back up.

A southern belle would have made good use of such a moment. One hand on her brow and a drawled “My hero,” would have set everything right. (Given my overacting tendencies, everyone would have laughed it off.) Likewise, if he had been the romantic lead a girl dreams about, our little interlude might have been the beginning of something wonderful. “When we're seventy, I'll tell our great-grandchildren that this is when I fell in love.” He might have said that. But he didn't. 

Before I could say anything clever or sink into the ground like I wanted to, Mr Muscles saved me the trouble. “Next time,” he said coldly, “just ask.” The lesson was clear, ladies, nice boys are only flattered when you fall for them, not on them.  

* * * 

My advice, ladies and gentlemen? Keep record of your mortifying moments for posterity. Or whoever reads your blog. Or in case you need to humiliate a character. Good luck!

Like to read a bit more about my ridiculous life? Try Adventures in Kindergarten, I'm Too Old For..., Panic City, Population: One, My Boyfriend, The BBC, or Geek Chic on for size! Thanks for stopping by, and as always, Happy reading!

Expect the Unexpected

Because that makes sense. It's about as enlightening as What goes up must come down. Oh yeah, Sherlock, are you sure about that? How about Until you learn to master your rage, your rage will become your master. 

The problem is that the unexpected isn't something you can anticipate. Because, after all, it's unexpected. (Can you tell I spend most of my life with five-year-olds?) What you can do is keep the freak-outs to a minimum, keep your support group on call, and keep a stash of homey comforts on hand (chocolates, softy blankies, burly firemen, and the like).

Awesome things are coming my way. And yours. I don't know about you, but I can't wait! And I really can't wait to share them with you...but in the meantime, this is my game plan:

Stay involved in amazing projects: I have several back burner projects I can whip out at any time. Focusing on them, even just for an evening, gets my creative juices flowing. (And some of them have nothing to do with writing!)

Stick with amazing people: I will forever be grateful to my friends and family. When anything goes sideways, or hey, even when it's awesome, they're there for me. We celebrate. We commiserate. We go bowling. We watch chick flicks. It's all good.

Participate in something inspiring: If it's church and gospel study or inspirational memes on Facebook, Pinterest, or Instagram, I try to find something inspiring and uplifting every day. And share it with someone else. Nothing recharges the batteries like pondering something good and sharing it with someone else.

Get plenty of rest: Mental health and acuity are more tied to physical health than we realize. So, why am I still awake writing this? I have no idea. But the plan is to rest. (Sometimes my body has a plan of it's own...but there's always Tylenol PM.)

Read/watch something fabulous: We call this research, but as often as not, taking a stroll down a different path freshens our minds and gets the creativity percolating. And plus, we just really like 5 hours of Downton at a time. (Not even kidding. And not even sorry.)

Do something you love (even if it's only for 5 minutes): Getting stuck in a loop where worry and nerves affect your emotional well being isn't fun. Even if it's five minutes of breathing and out and resisting the urge to hide under the table and/or throw things, it can help you move on instead of having a massive freak out. (Dancing in the kitchen while making brownies is a personal favorite.)

What do you do to keep yourself from crossing over into the bad place? (Or getting out of the bad place instead of taking up residence there?) Leave me a comment! I'd love to hear what you have about your coping strategies. And stay tuned, news is forthcoming (the next couple of weeks will be fun).

Like to read more? Here's are a few more posts about my crazy life and how I cope with everything life throws at me. (Man, it's been a tough year!) Ready or Not, Author Envy, Panic City, Population 1.

Ready or Not...

If you're like me, you know what's happening tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and so on until the end of time. On occasion, a twist appears in the road. Sometimes instead of your regular run of the mill twist, there's a loop-the-loop wicked enough to trigger your vomit reflex.

The question is, do you take the curves or do you stay on the well-known path? 

My life has been upside down since 2013. In a good way. Because of the experiences related to publishing Becoming Beauty, I've reevaluated how I see myself. For over ten years I have been The Queen of Kindergarten. My career as the Kindergarten Teacher Extraordinaire has been my entire identity. Not that anyone knew about it, but writing was always just something I did. It had never defined me. Until my name was printed on the cover of Becoming Beauty. Oh so quickly I became Sarah E Boucher, author. 

Accepting that there was more to me than my chosen career as an educator was a huge mental shift. The ups and downs aren't what I'm used to, but the process is amazing. Each day I'm learning more about who I am and who I am becoming. And I love that.  

 We all encounter twists and turns in life. How we respond to them defines us.

In writing: The planned outcome. The perfect resolution. The safe road. But sometimes the best ideas come mid-project when the only option is doing some substantial rewriting. Throwing your heart and soul into a project is what makes life exciting and makes stories magical.

In editing: Passing your work into someone else's hands is an act of faith. The most horrifying thing you may ever do is trust someone to make your best better. No matter what the outcome of that interchange, the process will grow you as a writer. (And hey, nobody said you had to listen to any of their comments...)

In life: There's nothing wrong with being happy with your place in life. There is something terribly wrong with going through the motions and feeling miserable and out of place. Believe me, YOU and I were built for something amazing. Whether big or small, in the limelight or behind the scenes, your life should be beautiful.

The question stands: will you take the curves as they come or will you stay on the well known path? Life is teaching me the importance of questioning the easy choices and embracing the good ones. I have no idea how things will turn out, but it will prove interesting!

Thanks for dropping in!  Good luck finding your happy place!

Author Envy

Pity party for one, please! Here's your complimentary box of Kleenex, ma'am: 

I love my fellow authors. I love interacting with and learning from them. I love how freely they share, uplift, and inspire. Yet here I sit, bawling my eyes out and having a full-on lady moment.

Why? You might ask. Because I'm finally admitting that I have a nasty case of Author Envy.  

I envy full-time authors, those making money and those who aren't. See, that's just not my reality. No matter how much I wish it was. Nope. If I don't pay the mortgage, nobody does...

I envy authors who know what they're doing in a veritable sea of social media. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning. Sometimes it feels like I'm riding the waves. (Really, I have no idea what I did differently.)

I envy authors who GET what marketing is all about...and those who sit back and let someone else do it for them. Oh, how I'd love to have a personal marketer! But once again, if I don't hop off the couch and put myself out there, nothing will happen with any of my projects.

I envy authors who schedule time daily, weekly, & monthly for writing. Frankly, I run out of energy. The sweet little cherubs I work with every day have something to do with that, I'm sure. The little funny darlings.

I envy authors who can stay home and write in their pajamas. Why do pajamas just feel more inspiring than say, slacks and a blazer?

I envy authors who know what their characters are going to do and when they're going to do it. I regularly argue with my characters. You're making me sound like a woman! My main character keeps yelling at me. I do feel like I've emasculated him. Poor, poor Jonas. I shall try to make a man out of you, my dear.

I envy authors who seem to have it all figured out. Hold the phone! These guys don't even exist do they? If they do, I don't like them anyway. Nevermind. It's like complaining about unicorns, anyway.

I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this. Unless you really are one of those authors who has everything figured out, then I really don't want to talk to you. 

The thing I'm trying to remember throughout this whole process is that Author Envy goes both ways. And instead of comparing myself with others, I need to stand tall and be proud of my strengths as a writer. 

With an open heart and mind, I can participate in the wonderful community of professionals who freely help, uplift, and inspire one another as both readers and writers. And isn't that what we're here for?

Thanks for reading, my dears. I appreciate your support and expertise more than I can tell. Keep it coming!

Run, Forrest, RUN!

Saturday, May 17th, the Ogden Marathon (Utah's first marathon of the season) was held. Several of my friends do the whole or half-marathon every year, and honestly, I admire them. (I do it from the comfort of my bed each year, but I admire them just the same.)

I'm not much of a runner, and I will probably never become a marathoner. 5Ks, hiking, biking, walking, and swimming are more my thing.  And at this time of year, I'm facing another type of finish line anyway. See, I teach kindergarten, which means I transform Neanderthals into fully-functional first-graders. You'd think it would get easier this close to the finish line (we're into the single digits now!), but I work with the strange breed of animal called humans, who even though they know the rules and how to behave in practically any school situation, still push the envelope. At this time of year, I find myself frazzled and counting down the days more eagerly than the children.  On the up-side, I'm not alone.  This happens to not only educators, but writers, businessmen and women, and all the rest of humanity who deal with looming deadlines of one type or another.  In honor of them and the Ogden Marathon, I offer my tips for runners of all types of life's races:

Stay hydrated:  There's little worse than having nothing to give to friends, family, students, neighbors, and coworkers because you haven't taken care of your basic human needs. Drink plenty of water, or, if you prefer, down copious amounts of what my friend calls "Cocktails"--the soda of your choice with whatever cherry, berry, coconut, or lime syrup can be rounded up.  And keep the chocolate on hand, just in case.

Rest up:  Any runner will tell you that lack of rest can ruin even the best training regimen. In the middle of the push til the end, we all need to take the time to rest, relax, and do positive, happy things for ourselves. (Perhaps not in a real race...that might result in a Tortoise and the Hare scenario.)

Find your stride: There's a certain zen quality that settles over me as I fall into the right pace--not too slow, not too fast, just that sweet spot where I could run forever. Frantic emotions fall in my wake as I move forward purposefully, hitting all the checkpoints along the way.  Discovering the best circumstances in which you work--pace, time, and place--is important to creating your best product.

Breathe.  Just breathe: Yoga taught me about soul-cleansing deep breathing. Sometimes, when deadlines approach and irate bosses (or in my case, kindergartners) and everyone else's problems are piling up, the only thing we can do is stop for a moment, breathe, pull it together, and move on.

Look around: Becoming fixated on putting one foot in front of the other and seeing nothing more than the pavement under your feet can be exhausting. The road to the finish line can feel interminable, but, if we look around, beauty can always be found.  A child's laughter, a mountain vista, a compliment from a friend, a much-needed hug, all of these boost our vitality when our resources are dwindling.

The final push:  The end of any 5k is my favorite part. With the finish line in sight, I realize I've got more left in the tank than I thought, and yes, this is the moment when I become a real runner.  With all that is left, I speed toward my goal.  The exhilaration of crossing the finish line, finishing a tough project, or simply clicking after tying The End makes much of what comes before worth it.

Celebrate: Even if no one else is at the finish line to cheer you on, we need to celebrate our own successes. Moving from one drama to another without taking the time to pat yourself on the back, head out to dinner, buy the cute shoes, or drive-thru Sonic for half-price shakes after 8, will deplete your resources until you can longer keep going. My philosophy: Buy The Shoes.

Forrest Gump had a gift for expressed things simply, yet profoundly. On the topic of running, he said:

Whether it's an actual marathon, finishing out a school year, the novel you're currently writing, or a work project that has you all tangled up, I hope these tips will be of use. The biggest lie the world would have us believe is that we are alone in our struggles. Here's the truth:

We are all in this together. The sooner we learn to pull together instead of constantly competing, the stronger & healthier we will be both as a society and as individuals. 

So run the good race, my friends.  If I can keep it together in the land of out-of-control kindergartners, you can do what you need to do too. Thank you for running this crazy race with me.

* * * * *

For more inspiration on finding the environment that works for you and creating a support system, please review Butt In Chair and There Are Weirdos For Everyone.  Thanks for reading!

Reality Smackdown

The moment I realized I was grown up was not when I turned 21 and became "legal." It wasn't even when I <<wince>> turned 30.  The moment I knew I had grown up was when I became the only authority figure in children's lives. That's a terrifying revelation for a singleton with no children of her own, but I pulled up my big girl panties and got to work anyway.  Here I am today, still showing to work with my little people.

Isn't that the way of things generally?  We're thrown into situations that stretch our abilities and grow our skills, and only recognize the progress we've made in retrospect. Life is about the journey. How we arrive at the destination--the unexpected twists and turns--is as important as the destination itself.

Is there any story that isn't about a journey, either figurative or literal?  I can't think of one. And if I've ever encountered one, I'm sure I tossed it aside long before reaching the final page. Personally, I am uninterested in people that don't face drama, challenges, or struggles. And I am equally unimpressed by anyone who comes out the other side unaltered for good or ill.  

Our character is defined by how we respond to the plot twists in life.

Good books tutor us on how to react to life's twists and turns. Either consciously or unconsciously, we relate with the characters we read. Hand in hand, we complete an emotional journey, facing impossible odds and emerging victorious.  

Since girlhood, heroines like Anne Shirley, Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennett, and a variety of twisted fairytale princesses have taught me bravery, patience, strength, self-worth, morality, and kindness. Why is that? What does fiction have to do with reality? Like the Hobbit's tale, going There and Back Again with these characters lends me the strength to carry on when adversity comes. 

So, here's my invitation: whether you're a writer or reader, find exemplary characters to follow, open your heart to the lessons you will learn, and take the journey together. The world grows harder and colder each day. Only a soul steeped in hope and filled with the vision of what is possible will be strong enough to withstand the onslaught.

With years of goodness stowed in your heart, thirty sugar-induced five-year-olds with mommy issues (or any other equally daunting task) becomes a walk in the park. 

As long as your walk in the park includes muggers, screaming babies, and naughty toddlers.  Happy reading and writing!