Category Archives: Motivation

#&*$%@$ Day Job!

I know, I know . . .  potty mouth.

But, lately I’ve been very frustrated with the amount of time my day job is taking away from my writing life.  Now, I love my job and it is very fulfilling – I’m an attorney for U.S. Navy and you couldn’t have a better group of clients.  And, this working thing isn’t new. I am not independently wealthy and while my husband is a few years older than I am – he’s no Sugar Daddy. (Although I hear that “the Hef” is now available and apparently has room at the mansion and rockin’ party already planned and paid for)

So, when I began down the path of publication and took this compulsion to write seriously, I always had to work it around the day job.  I write in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed and I can usually get in a good 2-3 hours before my comfortable bed beckons from across the room. And, sometimes I can squeeze in extra time on my regular day off and my lunch hours.  Not bad for a full-time, working mother.

I have excellent time management skills. I juggle my work and the supervision of three others and I fill-in for my boss when he is out.  I’ve done this for years . . .  so, what gives?

Beats me.

Lately work has been crazy and I’ve had a terrible time focusing when I do get a chance to sit down in front of the computer.  Not a good thing when you’re trying to maximize your writing time.

So, I’ve decided to go back to basics and seek some help. Obviously, my life and workload have shifted so I need to re-adjust my time allocation and techniques to maximize my writing time. And, like any good attorney, I went looking for some research tools – some advice from others who have been there and bought the t-shirt.

So, I have started reading this:

We’ll see if it helps.  It’s gotta be better than crawling into a fetal position and crying over blank pages.

What do you do to make time to write?  What do you do when life throws you a curveball?

Robin

Resumes and Synopsis . . . So Much Alike!

I will have to say I haven’t had time to get on-line as much as I would like to lately.  Recent situations in my ‘real’ life have interrupted much of my normal routine.  Having had a rough 2010 with my hubby laid-off (he has a solid job again and I thank God every day) and the economy the way it is, we’ve had to accept the fact I can no longer be a stay at home Mom in which we’d both agreed to eighteen years ago when my oldest was an infant.  When my second daughter came along 3 years and eight days after the first, it didn’t make sense to work just to pay for daycare.

Now that the oldest is in college and the youngest is two years away from high school graduation, it’s time for me to beat the streets of the job market.  Years of volunteering and various jobs from home (everything from in home party sales to helping my father-in-law with his insurance company) I’m now trying to figure out where I fit in, while waiting for my books to hit the market someday.  The employment agency is a fount of information for anyone out there but it’s a zoo right now as others have had to re-evaluate the job market from lay-offs, downsizing, etc.

I sat in orientation the other day and listened to one of the career counselors talk about putting together a resume in todays employment arena. Employers on average in the last year or two have hundreds of potential resumes/applications to choose from–they can be choosey.  Listen to some very interesting points:

  • Employers don’t have time to weed through hundreds of resumes a day. (Agents/Editors?)
  • A cover letter explaining who you are and what you have to offer is the first step. (Why gee–that sounds like a Query to me!)
  • In your resume an employer wants you to summarize your skills–designed for the particular job you are applying for–in the first paragraph of your resume. Employers only have time to glance over the first paragraph or two.  If it doesn’t ‘hook’ them right then–they toss it. (Agents/Editors with our Synopsis?)
  • Sell yourself and your skills–don’t go for generic (vanilla) formating.  Wow! your potential employer.
  • Be an extrovert–have business cards made up so you can network and talk about your abilities.  (Hey–isn’t that what we did at retreat and of course Nationals coming up?)
  • When you finally go for the interview–have a pitch ready and ask questions. (Agent/Editor interviews?)
  • Don’t expect to hear back from your employer interview for a few weeks (okay–perhaps months in the writing industry but you get the idea).
  • Keep sending out resumes until you hear something. (Keep sending out Queries/Synposis until you hear something.)

Okay, I guess my point is our writing is a career.  Many of us are PRO members already and we’ve either taken those steps and have the ‘job’ or are still working on those steps and are waiting for an employer/editor to pick us up as the perfect match for their business.  We may start out on the ground floor in an entry level position but as we learn the art of our career we will advance.

The parallels are uncanny. But if we associate one with the other we can get a better understanding of our goals as a writer and how it is a career choice for many of us–even if we have to work at it along with another part-time/full-time job until we can stand on our own financially.

What are your comments?  I would love to hear from you all.

Calling All Underdogs!

 

Doesn’t everyone want to be inspired?  Let’s face it.  We all have that hunger to be the one-in-a-million shot.   And if we can’t be it, we at least want to root for that underdog.    

The first movie that had me sitting on the edge of my seat was Rocky.  With my heart pounding with excitement, I watched as he beat the odds.  I remember being so disappointed and even dumbfounded that Rocky didn’t win that fight with Apollo Creed.  I’m not sure I even knew that he didn’t win until years later.  I couldn’t imagine it.  Where’s the happy ending?  Between Adrian’s red beret falling off and her running, running madly for the man she loved and Rocky not caring a fig that the announcer was declaring the winner and him shouting, shouting soulfully for the woman he loved, it sure felt like he won. 

But then, I got it.  It was about GETTING THERE.  Getting the shot and not being afraid to take it. 

Everyone assumed Rocky would lose.  It was a publicity stunt, after all.  But they didn’t count on one thing.  The drive and determination of the average guy, the common man, to rise above and let nothing stand in his way. 

I love the real life underdogs as well as the fictional ones.  I love ‘em all.

As writers, we want to create characters that not only go the distance, but make the journey to get there inspirational.  As readers or viewers, we want to cheer for those characters. 

Who didn’t cheer for Susan Lucci when she finally received her Emmy?  After eighteen nominations, she finally won in 1999, and celebrities there that night openly cried.  Hell, Oprah Winfrey rushed the stage in her excitement!  Even though she’s beautiful and glamorous, we all felt a bit sorry for her when she lost.  Because she lost so many times and became an ongoing joke in the media, we felt sorry for her—glamorous life or not.  She was our celebrity underdog, and we rooted for her.  I never watched All My Children a day in my life, but I sure wanted her to win that Emmy. 

I also love the romantic underdogs or the story where either the man or the woman jumps life’s hurdles, takes the shot, and WINS!  One of my all-time favorites is the original Ice Castles.  Who can ever forget that moment when the blind ice skater finishes her program successfully only to slip and fall on the flowers? Or Robbie Benson coming to her rescue as he skillfully maneuvers her through them to the theme song “Looking Through the Eyes of Love”?  And him saying softly, “We forgot about the flowers.”  Oh. My. God.  I loved that movie when I was a kid.  The romance.  The blind girl not wanting anyone to know she could no longer see after her accident.   Wanting to be judged on her skill and not win by pity. 

So, when writing or life is getting you down, do you tend to see movies or read books where the Underdog wins?  And which of those stories are your favorites?  I wish I could name the top 100, but I’ll limit my list.     

Kim’s Top Ten Underdog Stories

  1. Rocky (of course.  I’d pick all five, but that really limits the rest.)
  2. Karate Kid (the original with Daniel LaRusso and Mr. Miyagi)
  3. Gladiator (where a gladiator defeats the emperor of Rome)
  4. Slumdog Millionaire  (all I can say, is OMG)
  5. Pretty in Pink (this is what I call a romantic underdog story)
  6. Gattaca (defying the odds at any cost)
  7. Twilight series (need I say more?  Vampire…human.  Yeah.  Work THAT out.)
  8. Eva Peron (from the common people to EVITA, for God’s sake)
  9. Ice Castles  (the original.  I Cried.  Cheered.  Cried.  Cheered.)
  10.  Cinderella Man  (Russell Crowe apparently plays a great underdog.  See #3)
  11.  Shawshank Redemption  (Okay.  I know I cheated with eleven, but, come on.  Who wouldn’t want Andy to get some recognition here?  Defeating a corrupt warden and his posse?  Climbing through literal crap to escape from prison after being falsely imprisoned….? )

Please share your top five Underdog stories.  You can cheat if you want.  I won’t judge if you list six.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar: Artist Date and Bento Box

When I was four years old, I made a caterpillar in preschool. I glued together cut-up egg-cartons to form the segmented body and stuck pipe-cleaners on the “head” to form antenna. When I finished, the teacher instructed me to put the caterpillar into my cubby hole, and the class went outside for recess. When we returned, the caterpillar was gone. In its place was a beautiful butterfly.

I remember staring at this butterfly, in delight and astonishment and wonder. Its wings stretched out in an array of color, and glitter dusted its body. Life was all about discovery and exploration, and anything was possible in this world. Absolutely anything.

Of course, then I grew up, and school was no longer about art projects and magical transformations. It revolved, instead, around analytical thinking and practical skills, and I forgot all about the pure joy I felt when I looked at my butterfly.

And then, I stumbled across Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way, “a course in discovering and recovering your creative self.” In this book, Cameron sets forth the concept of the artist date, “a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist… an excursion, a play date that you preplan and defend against all interlopers.” (Cameron, 2002, pg. 18). My eyes widened as I read these words. Two hours a week? To do anything I wanted? Unbelievable.

But there was more. The artist date is so important because “[i]n order to create, we draw from our inner well…. As artists, we must realize that we have to maintain this artistic ecosystem. If we don’t give some attention to upkeep, our well is apt to become depleted, stagnant, or blocked.” (20). While we fill this well, Cameron urges us to “think magic. Think delight. Think fun. Do not think duty. Do not do what you should do.” (21).

I immediately thought of my caterpillar. When I made it, I didn’t worry about whether or not I was any good at gluing. I just created. When I saw the butterfly, I didn’t analyze how it had gotten there. I just marveled. The artist date encouraged me to do things I’ve always been afraid of doing. I bought a sketchbook and colored pencils and drew. A pot of flowers, an olive jar. I wasn’t all that good, but it was fun. More importantly, the artist date gave me permission to see myself as a creative person. Now, when I am intrigued by a new project, whether it is tie-dying T-shirts or decorating cupcakes, I don’t question my ability. I just do it.

Since I’ve had children, it’s been more difficult to take two hours a week for my artist date. But I like to think I’m keeping up with the spirit of Julia Cameron’s ideas by incorporating creativity into my life. My latest endeavor? Bento-box meals for my children. They’re fun to make, my kids love eating them, and when I look into their eyes, I see some of the same wonder and delight I felt when I experienced magic for the first time.

What is your idea of the perfect artist date? How do you fill your creative well? We all feel depleted sometimes. I’d love to hear your thoughts and be inspired by your creative outlets!
(Bento boxes pictured inspired by the recipes in Yum-Yum Bento Box, by Maki Ogawa and Crystal Watanabe.)

Rewriting: the Love/Hate relationship of writing and how we manage it

I have a draft open on my laptop right now:  “Lucky Numbers v12 100p June4”.  Tomorrow, the version 12 will be version13.  One hundred pages will have been re-read and minute changes made, for the thirteenth time.  If I can finish those hundred pages tomorrow it will be submitted, along with the synopsis (currently version 14) to an editor who requested it at the WRW retreat in May.

But my secret is, I didn’t write all of it.  I’m putting the final rewrite on a manuscript I’ve been writing with a collaborator for two years.  This is the most recent version of the tale, and it’s been a long and complex production.

How do you handle rewrites?  Is putting the story down a breeze, and the rewriting a slog?  Do you plot as you go, and then have to go back and patch up all the holes you left behind?  Or is it all carefully planned, with minor time needed for revision?  Do you struggle for the words, even though you love the craft?

I’ll out myself here:  I rewrite too much, and it ends up being an excuse not to submit.  I’ve done rewrites where entire pages were dropped or scenes reworked.  My heroine in “Lake Effect” had a sister (briefly) suffering from Multiple Sclerosis.  Poor thing, she’s gone after one scene and six pages.  Reworking the plot yet again, she was unnecessary.

In “Lucky Numbers” this evening, Joanna’s cat went from having silky fur to having almost none.  After all, a life that’s trying to achieve perfection needs something that can never be perfect at all.  It’s a minor detail, but it says a lot about what she’s been through.

I have a deadline for the “Lucky Numbers” project, though, and a collaborator who is waiting for me to perform.  I can’t let them down.  So, I will read every line of these 100 pages for detail.  I will find the periods that were deleted by accident when a line was changed.  The awkward phrasing will be reworked.  A better word will be chosen.

And, though these current 100 pages has been through twelve versions, I’m reminding myself this weekend that I’ve had my hands on just six of them.  We send the work back and forth, with strict rules for rewrites and comments and (most important) version control.  Yes, I’m thrilled to have the final say in this manuscript.  Terrified, too.  Tomorrow, it goes out.  I owe myself, and my partner, that much.

So, back to the question:  how do you approach your rewriting?  Are you eager to tackle the job?  Is it an excuse not to submit?  And how do you cope with someone else’s comments if they mark up your cherished words?

 

The Muse…To Tell or Not To Tell?

Today I happened to be innocently surfing the web, in search of…well, a kick start for a character, yes…a muse.  I came upon the official website of a talented and handsome actor and decided to check it out.  The website was under construction but there was one active tab I could click on.  So I did.  And it was a link to contact the actor through email. 

That is a dangerous thing in the hands of a writer on the search for that little something to give her some oomph behind a character.  My first reaction was to click on the link, type something cheesy about how talented and handsome he is and to be clever, add a little thank you for being my inspiration today. 

Thank goodness my secret sense kicked in just in time before I made a fool of myself!!

And it got me thinking…as a writer, which aspects of your personal process do you feel should be kept secret and which ones do you think are safe and beneficial to share with the rest of us?

As for me, I definitely think that the muse is the one thing to keep mysterious.  Share everything else because it helps others.  But the pictures we paint in our minds as we read about a character are so personal and subjective; I would never want a reader to have my own taste get in the way of theirs.

That being said and to have a little fun, (because it’s entirely too hot out not to have some fun!) I am going to give my “five hottest guys” list.  Please don’t leave me hanging…come on, let’s see yours too!

Disclaimer—No active muse of mine is listed below!

1. Snoop Dog

2. Andy Whitfield

3. Dave Gahan

4. Jimmy Fallon

5. Robert Pattinson

I’m a Romance Junkie

Hi, my name’s Avery and I’m a romance junkie.

It all started in middle school with purloined copies of my mother’s V.C. Andrews and Jackie Collins. So brazen did I become that my sixth grade teacher – oh, she of the see-through blouses – sent my mom a note ratting me out for bringing The Thorn Birds for my independent reading time.

That wasn’t enough to rid me of my demons. No. I scoured used book stores for dogeared Harlequin novels. The sweet and sheltered heroine whose innocence reels in the arrogant and demanding hero (who later in life I realized was often a total prick). I’d devour the books in one marathon session in the tub, refilling it with hot water as necessary. Then I discovered Johanna Lindsey’s regency romance novels. Independent, smart, spitfire heroines out to right a wrong. And the heroes? Oh, yeah. Brawn and brains – and a title to boot.

The list goes on and on, there’s rarely been a romance novel I didn’t caress with lust, eager to rip open the cover and loose myself in the pure joyous high of the happily ever after, the adventure, the intrigue, the mystery, the black moments, the rediscoveries, the plot twists and the laughter found within its pages.

Until recently, I had no idea I had a problem. Sure, it wasn’t unusual for me to burn dinner because I was too engrossed in the tale to pay attention to my cooking. But that happens to everyone, right? At the romance junkie house (AKA the bookstore), the pushers knew me by name. Then, they started sending me e-mails recommending other romance authors they thought I would enjoy. I’d buy the romance books unable to resist their heady charms.

Then a life coach explained that romance novels are addictive and as horrible as porn (I clutched my pearls at the thought because everyone knows only dirty men like to watch porn). Romance novels can cause major problems in a person’s life. She even had the pseudo-science to back up her claims!

The news hit me like a thunderclap. Crack! And here I thought I was doing OK. I graduated from college, own a business, married a devastatingly handsome and smart man, am raising three kids, have good friends, volunteer for local non-profits and donate to charities. But no, I am a romance junkie and it’s time I faced facts.

Fact One: I experience a thrill when I read a romance novel. Goosebumps. Butterflies in my stomach. An overall feeling of happy. We all know there is nothing worse in the world than allowing yourself to experience happiness.

Fact Two: For years, romance novels and their required happily ever after ending have been one of my major stress relievers. Obviously, I should have been scrubbing the floors to work out my stress.

Fact Three: Sometimes, I am so drawn into the lives of the characters that I cry (cry!) when misfortune befalls them. Caring about others? What was I thinking?

Fact Four: The heroines in romance novels have taught me to stick up for myself, to fight for the underdog, to be willing to take risks and to not settle for anything less than I deserve. I need to get back to my subservient role immediately.

Fact Five: Romance heroes have taught me that not all men leave, that strength and intelligence are sexy in men and women, that even boys get scared and that they, too, should not settle for anything less than they deserve. I know now, this is pure poppycock.

Shame is welling up within me as I type these facts. No jury in the world would fail to convict me.

I am a romance junkie.

And I’m off to take another hit.

Who Are You Meant To Be?

You know how some things are a secret? Like the chocolate stash behind the canned vegetables at the back of the pantry. Yep, no danger of anyone finding the mini candy bars hidden there in my house.

Writing was one of those things for me.

I grew up in a less than ideal home and I used writing as my outlet. Over time the journal entries and poems of my youth evolved into short stories. Not very good ones at first, but it was still satisfying to see the story in my mind come to life on the page. And yes, for those of you wondering…I do in fact carry on conversations with my characters. In what other profession is it possible to get paid for talking to your imaginary friends? Yeah, in most places they medicate you and introduce you to a little thing called a straitjacket!

But I kept my writing a secret. No one knew. Not my friends, not my family, not even my husband, a wonderful man I have been married to for almost 18 years! I never set out for it to be a secret. It’s not like I lead a double life as a secret agent or anything. I just never felt good enough, talented enough to make my deep, dark, crazy dream of being able to walk into a bookstore and one day see my name on the shelf a reality. So, I didn’t say anything.

Then about three years ago a friend asked me to be a beta reader for her manuscript. She knew I was an avid reader and I jumped at the opportunity to give her feedback. Boy, did she get more than she bargained for! Fortunately, she was so happy to get constructive feedback that she called me again and again to ask questions and get opinions. In return, I was thrilled to be involved with a real author; after all she had an agent. We worked well together and I quickly became her critique partner.

Since that fateful day, Anita Clenney has encouraged and cajoled me into coming out of the writer’s closet and embracing the insanity that is the publishing industry. I have written my first full-length manuscript and pitched it at the WRW Retreat. Although, I have been fortunate enough to receive multiple submission requests I now realize that it doesn’t matter. The true gift that my friend has given me is confidence in my own abilities. She has opened a door to an entire community of incredibly talented nut jobs that talk to their characters too.

My friends and family have been very supportive since my coming out. The first time my husband read an excerpt of my work he said, “Holy crap! I had no idea you could write like this!” and “Oh yeah, now that I know, can you edit my master’s thesis on water management in Europe?” For the record, I would rather edit an entire manuscript than his incredibly dry academic thesis again.

And by the way, my dream of seeing my name on the bookstore shelf came true April 29, 2011. My friend and critique partner, Anita Clenney, published Awaken the Highland Warrior (the first in a trilogy) and bless her heart, she dedicated it to me.

The point is we all come from different places and have taken different journeys to get where we are today. For some of us the path has been relatively easy, tripping over wonderful opportunities at every turn. For others, the road may have been wrought with challenge and constant reminders of past failures. But the question I ask is this–Have you ever looked back at your life and thought… Wow, that was so not worth it. I really wish I hadn’t tried. Or, do you more often look back and think… That was such a great opportunity. I wish I had learned to _____________. Or, I should have _____________.

At the end of the day, no matter what your journey is, put it all out on the line and see what happens. Because you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take and along the way you short change yourself out of being who you’re meant to be.

 

At Least I Have Choices

Choice is a concept that is scary and liberating all at the same time. I find, as I sit to write another manuscript, I am sometimes frozen by having choices. The choice to use whatever word I want, to depict whatever emotion I wish, to whatever characters I create. But choice also gives way to fear: what if I use the wrong word, the wrong description, the wrong simile? This conundrum of choice reminded me of my decision to pursue another Masters degree, this time in something other than finance or economics. This was my essay that helped garner an admission and I find it more relevant than ever, now that I have forced myself to sit down at yet another book.

I knew if I focused my gaze on the greasy Kalashnikov slung across his back, I could disassociate myself from the rough hands that were fumbling my threadbare coat. The solider who was rifling through my pockets was looking for money, gold, diamonds or whatever other treasures he was instructed to unearth. Unable to find anything of value, he grunted and pushed me away from him and toward the turnstiles. Using as much force as my seven-year-old body contained, I shoved past the metal gates and ran as fast as I could toward my parents. With a sigh of relief, they grabbed my hands and we quickly headed toward the waiting staircase. As we sat on the tarmac, I knew what my parents were thinking. Finally, we had done it. We had crossed the Iron Curtain.

The first seven years of my life were spent living in a “A Room and a Half.” My room, my parents’ room, the living room and the dining room were all the same room. It’s no irony that the words “privacy” and “fun” have no direct Russian translation. My memories of life in Communist Russia are an intricate patchwork of fear, nostalgia, paranoia, oppressiveness, entrapment and constant longing. The longing was like a grumbling stomach that quietly but incessantly begs for food. Technically, we had almost enough to survive: enough potatoes, enough cabbage. But somehow, it was never enough. The first word I learned in English was orange. Not the color, but the fruit. That’s because I had only read about the sticky nectar of that forbidden delicacy in books and longed to try it. It was only when we came to American, that for the first time, at the ripe old age of eight, I was lucky enough to taste a slice of heaven.

These days, few can imagine there was a point in my life, when I was bewildered by things such as Crayons, peanut butter, fitted sheets, shampoo, shorts, bananas, pizza and bowling. On the surface, other than somewhat Slavic looking features and a misspelled name, I’m as American as any of my colleagues. But my veneer of Americanism is very thin. Beneath the surface, I am still a myriad of fear and longing, so similar to the seven-year-old child I supposedly left behind. Like a mewling kitten trying in desperation to push through a closed door on a cold winter night, I am in constant longing to accomplish the next thing in life. It’s the combination of that longing and fear that contributed to my incessant hunger for accomplishment. Writing had always been a part of my life. I can’t live without it. But it was always done in secret. A furtive undertaking used as a tool to express all my pent up anguish that is in such contradiction to the serenity I portray on the surface.

So now what? Now, I am done. Literally. Although literally, I hope I am just beginning. The advanced degree has been earned, the “real” job is taking off and the children have been birthed. Now it is my turn. I spent many years trying to stifle my longing for writing. But like rising dough escaping from a bowl, the longing to write has once again begun a drumbeat in my ear. And now, it’s hard to ignore. Fear was always the cold water that suffused my longing to write. You’re not a writer. Your missives are a joke, are thoughts that would permeate my existence. After all, I am a product of my environment; Russia’s brilliant method of encouragement through belittling and degradation in order to inspire a fighting spirit. But maybe finally it has worked. I operate in an environment where it’s either or. I’m either talented or I am a worthless nobody. I am either as good as some of my favorite writers or I am a useless statistician, relegated to live in the underbelly of financial analysis. But maybe it doesn’t have to be so black and white. As I remember the greasy Kalashnikov on the back of that solider, I’m also struck with an inspirational thought. If I was lucky enough to escape from behind the Iron Curtain, maybe I am strong enough to break down whatever self-imposed curtains I created in my mind. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? At least I am still free.

Look, Ma! No hands!

My junior year of college, I was sitting in the library, typing away on my laptop, trying to finish up a term paper, when it happened: my hands froze. Not good-God-the-library-is-cold-I-wish-I’d-brought-a-sweater froze. Not even kill-me-now-I’m-never-going-to-finish-this-paper froze. No, I mean my hands physically froze, as in the muscles from my neck through my shoulders through my elbows through my forearms through my hands froze up, so that I couldn’t move them. And they stayed that way for a week. I couldn’t brush my hair. I couldn’t bring a fork to my mouth. All I could do was lie in bed, terrified that my life was never going to be the same again.

And it wasn’t. In the last 14 years, I’ve seen countless doctors, physical therapists, and chiropractors. I’ve tried Western medicine, meditation, and acupuncture. I’ve had a variety of diagnoses. Fibromyalgia. Repetitive strain injury. Myofascial pain syndrome. And my personal favorite, “It’s all in your head.” Yeah, right, Buster. You try experiencing the kind of pain that makes you curl into a fetal position and scream, and then tell me that I’m imagining it.

Still, I tried to continue down the path I had set for myself, the one that was respectable and practical. In spite of the confusion over what was wrong with me, I knew one thing: one of the main triggers for my pain is typing. So I hired a typist, installed a voice-recognition program onto my computer, and got permission to take my exams – even the bar exam – orally. After graduating from law school, I went to work at a corporate law firm. I was miserable, but everything was progressing according to plan. And then I had another flare-up.

Another round of doctors. Three more months flat on my back. Six months of physical therapy. Six months of disability leave. In the midst of this pain and anxiety and suffering, I realized something. My body wasn’t punishing me. It was talking to me, in a way that I could not ignore. It was telling me, Get off of this path. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had one dream, one passion – to be a writer. But parental expectations, discouraging teachers, doubtful friends, and “prestigious” opportunities made me set this dream aside.

I think the voice inside me was sick of being ignored. It had to speak louder and louder until I finally listened. Until I finally understood that I had to pursue my dream. For if there’s one thing that I can do in spite of this disability, it is write – or more specifically, dictate into my voice-recognition program. I can “write” sitting in my recliner, so that my head and shoulders are fully supported. Or, when things are really bad, I can “write” flat on my back underneath a glass coffee table, my laptop face-down on top of the glass, while I dictate into my microphone.

Fourteen years ago, I never thought anything good could come from this pain. But there has. The pain reminds me on a daily basis to listen, really listen, to the voice inside of me, the one who knows me better than anyone else. The one who has the power, finally, to make me happy.

What does the voice inside of you say? Do you struggle with contradicting outside forces? What made you finally listen to your voice?