How I Blog

I've had a few people ask about how I stay consistent with blogging.  Which is really nice to say because sometimes I feel anything but consistent. That said, there are periods of time when I am consistent, and I know what leads to that. 

When we moved into this house last year, I bought a blank calendar that I hung on the wall in our office.  It's my blog calendar.  I use it to map out each month, giving every Friday an "Around Here" post, planning Carly's monthly update on the 24th, and scheduling any other special events (ie birthdays, holidays, etc.) that need to be penciled in before I can get creative. 

Once I've scheduled the regular stuff, I pull up my Dashboard on Blogger on the computer (where all my Drafts sit) and see what ideas are on the docket. I sort through, see what feels inspiring, and try to choose publish dates for them all.  

I write on the calendar in pencil until the post has been published. Then I go over it in pen. Just that little thing, writing in pencil and going over it in pen once I've accomplished it, inspires me to get posts published.

Between this month-to-month planning, when I'm just living life and coming across random inspiration I use two tools for harnessing ideas.  The first is my Notes app on my phone-- I use this to jot down quotes, concepts & post ideas that I've come across.  Later, once I'm home, the second thing I use is my actual blog.  Maybe once or twice a month I make an attempt to transfer those ideas from my Notes app to actual blog post drafts on my Dashboard.  

Probably once a week I upload pictures from my phone and camera, picking & choosing what pictures will go into each post and get them into the drafts so that when I have a minute to gather my thoughts and finish a post, the photographs are already ready to go.  That way I can just focus on the words. 

So this is what I have found works for me.  It's not a perfect system, but I have found myself blogging pretty consistently since I started using it.  Whatever you do choose to do, don't aim for perfection.  Your readers just want honesty.  They just want your truth. Remember what I tell myself, "Published is better than perfect!"  (Oh, and it doesn't hurt to have a few people you know will read and let you know if there are any grammatical errors! Thanks Roxanne!)

"You're going to feel like hell 

if you wake up someday 

and you never wrote the stuff 

that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart: 

your stories, memories, 

visions and songs 

-your truth, your version of things- 

in your own voice.  

That's really all you have to offer us, 

and that's also why you were born."

-Anne Lamott

***

To be continued...

Click here to read the first part of my short story, written in September...

He opened the door for me as I got in the car, something our therapist had suggested he do to make me feel cared for.  I settled into my seat, fighting the urge to pull down my visor and check myself out in the mirror.  Kyle turned on talk radio, leaving me to my thoughts.

I was remembering the last conversation I had with Natalie.  The way the words slipped from her mouth so effortlessly and left me bleeding for days. Weeks. Months.  She felt justified. I understood that. It was the truth about how she felt and what she believed. The trouble was, I didn't feel the same way. I didn't believe the same thing.

I remember when I first told her we were trying.  It had been half a year, and since we were young and not in any hurry, I hadn't really blinked when I told her we'd spent the last six months trying to get pregnant.  She responded flippantly, saying that sometimes it takes a while, and we went back to talking about where we should meet for dinner after work on Friday.

Two months later, she and Heath announced they were pregnant.  She had known during our conversation that she was pregnant and hadn't confided in me. It hurt, yes, but I was able to move on. It was their first, and I wasn't sure how it felt to be pregnant. I didn't know if I myself would worry about sharing too soon, or if I'd want to shout it from the rooftops.  The rip was silent, but that was the first tear.

The second tear came when her daughter, a perfect seven pound bundle, was delivered and I went to see her at the hospital the next day.  As she held her baby, she glowed.  "Oh, Paigey,"she cooed at me, "You just have to have one.  It's all magic and life and everything you can imagine." I cringed. If not outwardly, than at least inwardly. It had been nearly eighteen months, and still nothing for us.  I hugged her and told her I was so happy for her.  And a tiny piece of my heart sunk to the bottom of my chest like a pebble in a pond.

Three months later I convinced Kyle to come with me to see a fertility specialist.  We had just hit the year and a half mark, and now I was getting impatient.  We ran through all the tests, desperate for an answer.  Finally, two weeks later I got a call.  It was me. My cycles were too inconsistent & sporadic for me to ever get pregnant on my own. We were going to need help.

The next morning Natalie and I had agreed to meet for coffee. She was still home on maternity leave, but didn't mind meeting early so we could catch up before I went to work.  I hadn't told her about the appointment with the specialist. Not because I was being secretive, but our phone calls were few and far between the last twelve weeks since she'd had her baby.  I arrived before her, securing us a table, and she appeared in the doorway wearing Caroline in a baby sling on her front, a trendy diaper bag slung over her shoulder and looking every bit the perfect mother.  She ordered herself some green tea and joined me.

Little Caroline looked like an angel.  Her pink cheeks were lax with sleep as she nestled into her mommy's chest, sinking deeper with each breath.  I wanted her. It was a sudden, physical ache.  I looked Natalie square in the face and told her everything in one deep breath. "Oh God, Natalie, I want her. I need one of those. I want one of my own. We've been trying for so long now and nothing's happening and I am hoping, praying, crying every month that the test will be positive.  And we went to see a specialist and he says it's me, that my cycles are too irregular and we will never get pregnant on our own, but treatments are so expensive and risky and not guaranteed, and why can't it just be easy? Like it was for you?"

And after I had word vomited my baby lust/infertility issues all over her cute diaper bag and fresh cup of tea, she put her hand around the baby's head, almost as if muffling her ears and said to me, "It is that easy, Paige. If God wants you to get pregnant, you will."  That time, I heard an audible rip.  Her shoulders were firm.  Her jaw was set.  I looked at her one more time, searching desperately for her heart, her compassion, but found none.

"Well, it's been too long. And I don't think God is hearing my prayers anymore. So I am taking matters into my own hands."  And with that I picked up my purse-that-didn't-double-as-a-diaper-bag, my to-go mug of coffee and walked out the door.  It wasn't until I got in my car that I burst into tears.

That night I had walked Kyle through what had happened, and he was outraged.  I appreciated his support, but at the time, I just felt numb.  Of course I didn't want to have trouble getting pregnant. Of course I wanted it to "just happen".  But I didn't get to choose. It was like a double whammy.

You can't have babies.
WHAM!

Your best friend just broke up with you.
WHAM!

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to come out of my thoughts and back into the present moment.  I looked over at Kyle behind the wheel and smiled. I was grateful that those were just memories.  Those terrible first months when we weren't sure if the treatments would work, when it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning.  The depression that wrapped around me like a wet blanket, pulling me down, making me weary with its weight.

And then, after our first cycle of Clomid, I was pregnant. And just like that, the fog instantly lifted.  I could sing and clean and laugh again.  Like Natalie, I kept my pregnancy a secret until I was well into my fourth month.  I was so scared.  Thankfully, the pregnancy progressed as expected, and in the spring we gave birth a beautiful little boy, Atley Benjamin.  Atley became my whole world. I quit my job, becoming a stay-at-home mom and promised Atley that I would be the best mom a little boy could ask for.

A year and a half later we went through another cycle of Clomid and I got pregnant again, this time giving birth to a baby girl.  Mabel Nadine was a feisty baby, angry and unreachable for the first six months.  Slowly she softened into the sweetheart she is now, but colic stole those first few months of bonding from us.  It was awful.  It was during this dark time that Kyle began his affair with Whitney.

When I discovered it, via a text sent erroneously to me instead of her, I was dead inside.  I hadn't slept for nearly a year, was struggling with the demands of two small children and an absent husband, and though I was angry, mostly I thought, "Of course."

"Of course he's been cheating. Of course things are about to get worse. Of course he's not interested in having sex with me."

Kyle pleaded with me to give him a second chance, and I agreed, mostly out of laziness. I just wasn't up for a divorce.  Moving out, all the paperwork... So we found a counselor and slowly worked our way out of hell.  Mabel started smiling and sleeping, Atley started talking and Kyle started listening.  Our family started to solidify.

It was at this point that we decided to try for one more.  Our family didn't feel complete; Kyle and I were, I hate to say it because it sounds so cliche, stronger than ever, so we went back for one last cycle of Clomid.  Like the previous times I got pregnant on the first try.

Unlike my previous pregnancies, things didn't go as planned...

creative writing

Creative writing day: write a (very short) fictional story that starts with this sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."  The story does not necessarily need to have a conclusion- you can leave your readers wishing for more!

To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.  My husband was dressed and ready, the sitter was with the kids at the kitchen table, dragging chicken nuggets through ketchup like she was one of them, and I stood before the long mirror in our bedroom staring at myself, wondering how I got here.

We were going to a dinner party where not only was my ex-best friend going to be in attendance, but the woman who had been in an affair with my husband two years prior.  My husband's company was taking a big leap, joining forces with another firm, and to celebrate, the boss was having all his key players over for dinner.

This included Natalie, my former best friend, her husband Heath, my husband's coworker Paul and his petite wife Meg, and my husband's ex-lover, Whitney and her new boy toy, Rob.  There was no way to get out of the dinner. If Kyle wanted to continue moving up in the company, there was no way we could skip out.

I had toyed with the idea of pretending one of the kids was sick, but the thought of Kyle alone at a dinner party with Whitney was enough to make me change my mind.  There was no way I could compete with her. She had spent every morning the last five years at the gym.  Meanwhile I had bore him three children.  She had long, luscious brown locks. I had mousy, thin hair in a pixie cut.  She had boobs that nearly touched her chin.  I had bags that used to be breasts before our three little blessings sucked the life out of them.

Kyle and I had been in therapy, decided to move on with our marriage and get over what had happened during our sleep deprived year post-second child.  We had since had another child, bought a house and made a once-a-week date night commitment. We were good. We were solid.

So why then was this dinner, this few hours, throwing me for such a loop?  Maybe it was because he worked with Whitney, a fact that I hated being reminded of.  Maybe it was because I hadn't seen Whitney in over a year.  Maybe it was the mix of seeing both her and my ex-best friend.  All I knew was that as I stood critiquing every centimeter of my 34 year old body, the whole thing was too much for my poor frayed nerves.

Kyle walked in, handsome, fresh shaven, his smile bright as he took me in, "You ready?" he asked slowly.  I looked in his eyes.  I could see there, behind their soothing brown, an electricity that told me he was as nervous as I was.  I took his hand in mine, fingering his wedding ring, and nodded my head curtly, "Ready as I'll ever be."

To be continued...


Update: Part Two