Category: On Writing

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When a plan comes together

blog on planning and revision

All the talk about revising gets me thinking about novel writing or even podcasting. Sounds a bit far-fetched at first, right? But when you think about it, revising has a lot in common with such undertakings as creative writing. Not only are they both processes, they each require some level of planning.

Never mind those novelists and podcasters whose delivery comes like Johnny on the spot. They are exceptions to the rules. The rest of us need a plan, at least I know I do.

Sure, the ideas often come fast and furious, perhaps when I am running or even flying, but to develop them properly, I need a well thought out plan, which admittedly often gets chopped and changed along the way.

Arguably, the output is all the better for it. The difference between my first novel, Crossing Over, which never saw the light of day, and the actual third one, The Barrenness, which was my first published novel, was not only maturation and growth as a writer but also planning was in the detail, which meant employing writing techniques that allowed the plot to thicken, if you will.

Without a plan, I received a devastating result, a host of rejections, a vocational habit as a writer, but these were empty, without hope and questions about my abilities as a writer rejections—soul destroying.  For ages, I put the manuscript away, couldn’t stand to look at it. But years later when I did find the courage to pull it out and dust it off, not able to get writing out of my blood, I saw the error of my ways.

While some of the writing was good stuff, not all of it admittedly, the piece did not hang together as a novel. With a better understanding of novel writing, I re-wrote it, renamed it Preparing for Grace, and thanked my lucky stars that it had not been published as it was.

Someday, you never know. But for now, I have other plans, the biggest one is growing UIO: You Inside Out, the podcast for teen girls. In the meantime, I have personal plans too. One is to get more sleep. And you know what, when I didn’t have a plan my efforts were futile. But with a plan that includes signing off of all electronic devices two hours before I go to sleep, I’m catching some z’s. Now you know why I don’t answer late night messages anymore. Fair enough, right!

Of course, revising is a bit different to novel writing, but the truth is: planning is always in order, as long as it doesn’t become a distraction. The bottom line is this: planning means prioritising and being intentional about the task, whether it is writing, exercising, eating right or revising. So, what’s the plan?

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The Spirit of Identity

Embrace your identity uiopodcast

Identity is one of those things that is always there from birth–we get many tags if you will–a gender, a race and nationality, a weight, a health check and eventually a name and all sorts of abilities and so on. Still, as if it has never been there before identity, as a huge concept, pops up on the teenage radar screen with blinking red lights: Warning! Warning! This is your gender, your sexuality, your race, your ability and here is what it means.

The pressure is on to identify with different parts of you and if there is an internal clash or negative connotations about something you identify with, this can cause problems.

More on this coming in our UIO: On Undiagnosed Mental Illness podcast with Eleanor Segall.  In the meantime, however, it is important to make the point that identity and mental health are linked, if only because clashes and negativity can cause anxiety, worries and so on.

In some instances, anxiety and stress can escalate into depression, even self-harm. And even in the majority of instances when it doesn’t escalate, the stress over identity is to be taken seriously. At the very least, bad moods and low self-esteem can set in.

And though it is easy to say don’t worry about it, that is easier said than done. It has taken me many years to really understand this and even now I have my moments. Rachita Saraogi and Rebecca Thomson, in our upcoming UIO: Your Identity Inside Out podcast, advise not owning the negativity, leaving it with the people who perpetuate it. You might not be able to change them, but you can change your views on how you view yourself, who you are.

That’s the spirit!

Reflecting on my teenage years, I remember obsessing a lot about hair— its length, its texture and so on. While I can’t say that I have ever consciously disliked my hair for its texture or length, I was not immune to beliefs about Afro hair, if you will, the talk about good hair and bad hair.

Admittedly, there were times in my life when I wanted a certain hairstyle because it was popular and considered the highest mark of beauty. For example, long straight hair was the in thing but as I wasn’t in charge of my hair, my mother was, I didn’t get it.

I doubt if it had anything to do with the political belief that relaxed hair is somehow symbolic of a European standard of beauty. Her reasoning more or less had to do with growing up too fast and economics.

Nowadays, many teen girls have returned to natural hair, as part of a resurgence of the natural hair movement in black communities around the globe, which proposes that hair is healthier for the individual physically and mentally in its natural state.  Furthermore, some believe that natural hair suggests a stronger sense of identity with one’s heritage and straight hair suggests the opposite.

Though I don’t agree with the line of thinking, I think it is wonderful to see teen girls and women with Afro hair in its natural state—the ponytails, the braids, the Afros, but just the same I love seeing hair in all of its versatility as long as it is healthy and well maintained.  That is what is key for me and mainly why I continue to relax my hair—it is either for me to maintain, though I have worn braids over the years, returning my hair to its natural state and in high school, I sported an Afro.

Regardless of style, I identify strongly with my hair and what I have learned about this over the years is that it is mine, part of my beauty, part of my health, and rightly or wrongly it is a big, big, big part of my self-esteem. Thus, regardless of trends, movements, beliefs, politics, I need to be happy with my hair—not the world.

And nowadays, I don’t make any excuses or apologies for that. End of story. Underneath the hair is where my real identity lies and it is up to me to embody that. That’s the spirit!

 

Stay tuned for UIO: Your Identity Inside Out podcast coming soon.

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Cracking the Code: Rising Above Odds

Credit: monkeybusinessimages

The line-up for the new podcast series is looking great. We have some amazing guests coming up on various subjects, one of whom is Hannilee Fish, founder of Ikan Health, to talk with us about Rising Above Odds.  I can think of no one better to interview about the subject than Hannilee, who readily shares experiences of a difficult youth and how she overcame. The podcast is slated to air in early October.

In the meantime, I have been thinking about times in my life when it felt like the odds were stacked against me.  One that springs to mind goes well back to my teenage years, preparing for college, now known as university. A bright student, always in the top percentage of the class, though not the top 1% or anything like that, I could not crack standardised tests. There was something about them that left me numb. From the Psat to the SAT (scholastic aptitude test), I had scores that didn’t match with my grades at all. Not only were they lower than what would have been predicted for a student of my calibre, they weighed in highly for getting into a good school.

It seems that my smarts, personality and talent otherwise took a back seat to my lower than desired test scores. There went the idea of getting a higher education at a major university anyhow. After all, my peers were off to the big leagues. And for a girl who Aced her way through three grades of school and pretty much B’d her way through the rest, interestingly enough after integration, it was a hard pill to swallow. What were the odds that one of my dream schools would take me?

I would never find out, as I didn’t try given the peers who did get in had not only top notch grades but also really high test scores and no one encouraged me after the scores came out. Compared to my friends, I felt dumb, which took a toll on my self-esteem. But there was something inside of me that refused to give up.

So I enrolled in a Junior College, something I didn’t feel good admitting to years ago but when I look back now, I see that enrolling in any college was a game changer. From there, I went to Valdosta State University (VSU), where I received my BA in English/Journalism and later would achieve my MA in International journalism and here I am today, still not proud of my PSAT and SAT scores but how much do they matter in the big scheme of themes today?

Make no mistake about it, this is not suggesting a license to fob off tests but here is what I am saying. When the odds are stacked against you, there might be an opportunity hidden in the upset, the disappointment and so on and here is what worked for me.

  • A change of mindset – while I had my mind set on the University of Georgia or something like that, it would never be but as soon as I realised that what really mattered was a good education and how I decided to perceive what was good or not good, I met some wonder professors/lecturers and made lifelong friends and contacts. Proud to be a VSU blazer graduate, as proud as any Bulldog, Georgia Bulldog that is.
  • A willingness to abandon tradition, think outside of the box – Getting good grades that I could transfer worked in my favour. Maybe I didn’t go in through the front door, more like the side door, but I came out through the front, waving my mortarboard with my fellow graduates. That degree not only led to my MA but the opportunity to blaze new trails, like working at the Albany Herald, as its first female black reporter.
  • A bit of new knowledge – Still shying away from standardised tests, I decided to find out why? Was it me or was it something bigger than me? Turns out it was a bit of both. There are people who are better test takers than others but research on the tests offered at the time showed that they were not designed for me and students like me, though some from a similar background made the grades. The majority of us didn’t, however. Later I would write an article for The Guardian on this very thing and one word that I know all too well now, regatta, turned up on the test. Is it a boat race, a bike race or a special picnic in the park? I am sure these were not the choices but the point is, I didn’t have a clue and why would I. In Southwest Georgia, we didn’t have regattas and still don’t and at the time I hadn’t been exposed to literature and history about the famous boat races, for example, between Oxford and Cambridge.

You live and you learn and that is part of what you have to do to rise above odds, as well as believe in yourself and champion the situation to pave the way for others. See it for what it is—a hurdle that can be jumped over with the right mindset, some out of the box thinking and a bit of knowledge. That’s all!

 

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Live Life Wherever You Are

Depending on who you ask, autumn is closer than you think.  While astronomers maintain that fall begins September 22, meteorologists say its tomorrow–the first day of September. I vote for the latter for a number of reasons. From fresher days to earlier nights, there is a newness out and about. Even if one isn’t fortunate enough to see it in the colour of bright leaves falling, it is in the air–the whiff of newness that begins with new beginnings. Back to school, back to work, back to life after a long summer holiday, old ways, whether local or global, seem a bit stale. Time to look ahead.

That’s me! After taking off a month or so, I am looking ahead to next week’s official return to my desk. In the meantime, I have a thing or two the say about life as an expat. In short,  Live Life Where You Are (as written about in latest Huff Post blog)…Seems like an obvious thing to do, doesn’t it? But living life to the fullest when transitioning to a new city, a new country, for example, isn’t always the easiest thing to do.

Undeniably, so much has been left behind both physically and mentally. At least that is the way I felt when I moved to London nearly twenty years ago, but holding close to my chest some savvy advice from my brother, a Retired US Airforce Chief Master Sergeant, who had already travelled the world, I got looking ahead fairly early on instead of always looking over my shoulder.

See the thing is: looking ahead doesn’t always mean forgetting the life lived previously, but it does mean adding to it and living life in the present.  Read more in the Huff Post about making a smooth transition from one country to another.

And follow me on LinkedIn, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Sonjalewis.com as I continue and complete my podcast series, You Inside and Out, dare to write more perceptive commentary and transition into a the next phase of living life to the fullest, right here in jolly old England.

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The Seasons Re-launched as KDP Select

There’s nothing like curling up on the sofa with a good book on a crisp autumn day. Images of snuggling underneath a favourite blanket with a fire in the background, nose poked in a page-turner, eyes glued to the page – oh yeah! Been there, done that and looking forward to doing it again. I love books and not only in the hardback or paperback format, but also e-books. If only for their convenience, e-books have made their way onto my devices.

And it just so happens that my collection of short stories, The Seasons, has been re-launched as KDP Select. This means that the book is exclusive to Amazon in the digital format. Also, you can borrow it from the Kindle Library without purchasing it. Now that’s a deal.

So with the wind whipping up a whirl outside and clouds, swelling and threatening to burst, I think it is time to curl up with a good e-book. Check out The Seasons, and watch this space for special promotions, leading up to the holiday seasons. What? Yes, almost time to wrap-up, too.

 

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Paying Tribute to Gloria Naylor: My Muse

A friend sent me a Facebook message asking if I had heard of the death of award winning author Gloria Naylor on September 28, one day before my birthday. I had not. Feeling a bit out of the loop, I went online and met all the condolences head on, reflecting for a good while.

After I came out of my stupor of sadness, I began to remember Gloria Naylor fondly from receiving Bailey’s Café as a birthday gift in 1992 from my BFF to discussing Mama Day, in particular, at my first book club in Albany, Georgia, to meditating and conjuring her up as my muse during a writing exercise meant to improve my own writing skills. Bear with – it really happened.

Anyhow, though I never met her, over the years, I have been privileged (in and out of interviews) to answer several questions asked of writers: what are you reading, what are you writing and who is our favourite author? In other words, which writer has most influenced/most inspired you? The answer to the first two questions naturally varies but the third one has always been the same—Gloria Naylor.

On that note, however, outside of North America, some interviewers and questioners had to ask Gloria who? But upon mentioning The Women of Brewster Place, which was made into a movie, the author’s repute became unmistakable.  An amazing author, Naylor has a way of getting into the reader’s bloodstream, if you ask me, heightening the senses in an indisputable way, even of those who thought she was a bit too deep.

Just a few folks from my book club of yester years said as much but even they couldn’t refute the heart racing, eye popping, ear permeating read of Mama Day, which combines the supernatural and the natural in a genuine yet gripping way.

As one writer asked in a workshop I was in years ago, how does she (an accomplished writer) do it, make you smell the scene, even taste it. Hopefully, she had the chance to ask Naylor, but if she didn’t, all she has to do is study an excerpt from one of her novels. Check out this one from a chapter towards the end of Mama Day:

“When I reached the dogwoods on the west side of the road, the throbbing was beginning to turn into an iron vise in the middle of my chest. I put one foot on the paved road and glassy needles splintered throughout my brain. The house was wavering in front of my eyes. The road felt like water under my buckling knees. It was impossible to cross over, make it up those porch steps, and into our room. I did it. But I was too cramped to even unbend my body on the bed beside you.

 “The worst thing about the blinding pain that finally hit me was the sudden fear that it might be the end. That’s why I gripped your shoulder so tightly. But I want to tell you something about my real death that day. I didn’t feel anything after my heart burst. As my bleeding hand slid gently down your arm, there was total peace.”

Extraordinary, every single word of it, don’t you think. Makes me want to re-read the novel, not only for old times sake, but for the future, too. I could use some inspiration nowadays. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. Bear with.

In the meantime, I join many others, her family, friends, fans and followers in celebrating the life of a literary great—Gloria Naylor, who will undoubtedly live on in the hearts and minds of millions. May her work continue to inspire young and old writers alike. Actually, let’s make that older, much more appropriate for me.

 

 

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Ready to Work

Readiness is important in many major areas of life: ready for university, ready for marriage, ready for parenthood, and sometimes after a long absence, we need to be ready to do something vital again such as work.

For weeks now, I have not written anything comprehensible, haven’t worked. I am sure this hinges on the loss of my mother. Though I have had much to say, I haven’t had the wherewithal to say it in writing. Let’s face it. Daunted by grief, I quit working for nearly three months.

This is not to brag about it. Nor is it something that I am particularly proud of. On the contrary, I would like to pretend it hasn’t happened. But it has and all things that happen out of order, my silence as a writer, deserve an explanation.

Otherwise, such practices sneak their way into the norm, though I do understand that it is normal to grieve. And that there is no set time when we should get back to work, back to life as we knew it before loss. Of course, the latter never happens since with loss, life changes and often drastically, depending on the degree of the loss. We find ourselves taking on new roles, living in unacquainted space, etc. I know I have, but that’s another blog.

In any case, most of us have a responsibility not only to ourselves, but also to our surviving loved ones to live after loss and often to the deceased one, too.

A friend pointed out that surely my mother wouldn’t want me to quit indefinitely. Spot on! When she lost her father to a tragic accident and then her mother to an illness, my mom felt broken hearted as I do now, but was able to maintain her commitments to family, church, community and work and so on.

On this note, it is fortunate for me that I am self-employed and have a fall back—my husband. Otherwise I am almost sure I would be out of job, not to mention what else I would be out of.

But writers, artists, the likes, do have a history of long absences; dry spells and so on, since the mind is our most valuable tool. And grief, at least for me, has been mind blowing. The tricks of the trade that helped me out of the dessert in the past have been futile —stepping away from the work, running, which normally satisfies my thirst, letting the work rest and going back to it and so on.

Typing for Inspiration
How about typing for inspiration?

This time, the quagmire, whatever you want to call it, was different. As I came to terms with this, I accepted my feelings as natural to the grieving process, although they felt (and still do) rather alien, as alien as death itself, though dying is a natural part of living, I said with a brave face to a dear friend the other day.

With heartfelt remorse, she replied, no it isn’t.

Of course we’re both right. Everyone has to die; there is no way around it. It is the natural end to life, however it comes about. But death is an evasive matter, one that plunges us into the depths of grief. Nothing about it feels natural. Nothing.

Yet, here I am, to some still early days yet, returning to work. To others, I am ever so late. Due to the nature of their work and the way they process grief, they’ve been back for ages, even if their hearts still ache.

But here is the thing that we likely have in common. To some degree, we return to work, do what we need to do, when we are ready. Ultimately it was such words that provided the incentive I needed to write again, coupled with a take away from my church’s Bible in One Year subscription.

In Luke 19: 11-14, Jesus tells The Parable of the Ten Minas, in which a man of noble birth called ten of his servants and gave them a mina each before he left on a journey. When he returned, it was the one who turned the one into ten that received the highest of blessings, precisely because he made good use of his resource.

To paraphrase our vicar, Nicky Gumbel, we are not only supposed to use our money, but also all the gifts God has given us. That means the gift of writing, too.

Hence, I am ready and I hope you are too. Visit sonjalewis.com or sonjalewis.com for weekly blogs on life, on lifestyle, on London, and other relevant topics. See you next week.

 

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Reflecting and Projecting Because I Can

Off to a slow start this year? Me too. When my alarm sounded at seven this morning, I thought it was a mistake, surely. Only when I realised that Paul had been up for a while yet was I convinced that someone had not played a first Monday in January practical joke on me.

Even so, I kept my space, feeling comatose for another thirty minutes, okay nearly an hour, contemplating what to do next—roll over and go back to sleep, pray and meditate on life in general or get up and go for a run. In the end, I settled for a combination of the latter two and thank goodness I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting at my desk, beavering away.

For a while now my mantra of sorts, which has kept me moving, is to just do it, whatever it is because I can. Sadly, there are people who want to run, to walk, to write, etc., who can’t.

With that said, already, I have done some serious reflecting on 2015. More went wrong and less went right. Never mind that I didn’t promote my books at all, didn’t even begin the Jana Project, working title for an effort to help girls ages 8 to 12 stay in tip-top shape in their in between years and enjoy doing so, and that I dropped more blogs on my website than I care to admit, I am going to focus on what went right. I delivered more on the Huff Post than I dropped, and also, I introduce the game: What City Is This, even if it did fizzle out after a hyped couple of days.

Not bad, not really. Okay, it wasn’t my best performance. But that’s all behind me now, doors closed. In front of me, however, are alluring doors that mostly have not been opened. Even though some are slightly ajar.

It is up to me to make some projections of sorts, starting today, and then walk or run through those attractive doors, even if I move a bit slowly like I did this morning. Then, a young woman, sauntering took a short cut apparently and came out just before me at the main road/path. So ashamed, I had no choice but to dig deep and shoot past her.

There, though several runners, some of them pros of sorts, others novices, left me behind, I felt better for making an effort because I could. That’s it: off now to make some more projections and get on with delivering them, all because I can.

Such fun anticipating a can do year and wishing you one, too. Happy New Year!

 

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Perspective In The Eye Of The Beholder

And I thought my packages were extravagant–beautifully wrapped boxes from Net-a-porter, Matchesfashion.com, Harrods, etc.– until I saw the brightly coloured Lamborghini delivered to my neighbourhood recently.

On my way back from an hour of much needed training, I was contemplating my soreness and how I might convince myself to return to my computer to write (as I haven’t written for weeks, owing to stress masquerading as writer’s block) when I saw this expensive spectacle being backed off of a truck.

As I fixed my eyes upon it, suddenly fathomable prose struck me with an exciting force. Not that I hadn’t anything to write about before laying eyes on this car. There is plenty of that.

From the London restaurant where the tables have built in computers to order one’s dinner to the magnificent Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty exhibition at the V & A, I have been a girl about town lately. Not to mention the enthralling yet dark play, The Nether, at the Duke of York theatre, focusing on life without consequences. Disastrous! Not the play, which is rather brilliant, even if it is haunting.

Anyhow, that’s three more blogs to come, but with stress addiction (to be explored in a Huff Post blog surely) I was stymied until I saw the Lamborghini.

Enchanted as I was, I moved past the car rather quickly and into my concierge to pick up my own package, which Paul ought to put into perspective now surely, don’t you think. And then back outside, I glimpsed the owner zipping into the parking garage.

Up to the truck driver I strolled and confirmed that it was indeed a Lamborghini since I don’t always get my cars right but I do remember a friend of mine pointing out years ago that ‘the darn thing has wings.’

Anyhow, the truck driver smiled in confirmation, albeit staring quizzically, perhaps wondering if I was a groupie of sorts of if I lived in a hole somewhere. So glad to be a writer again, I dispelled any groupie myths and moved along, knowing that on some level he must have known that I had seen my fair share of such cars in London. Who hasn’t? From Lambos to Aston Martins to Bentleys, they are all here.

At one point certain posh hooligans had to be fined heavily for drag racing along Piccadilly. Never mind this. The point is I had never seen one delivered or witnessed the owner admire it, accept it and take possession of it so to speak.

Something about this experience got me thinking coherently again. Although the car is lavish by most standards, it reiterated something to me about perspective—it is in the eye of the beholder.

With that thought, I tore into my rather modest package–shush it’s a Sophie Hulme handbag. Let’s hope Paul agrees. Regardless, there’s more to come soon, that is writing. Well, maybe packages, too.

 

 

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A Good Story: Whose Is It Anyhow?

I love a good story–reading and hearing one and writing one, too. Hence, my vocation. Yet finding the right topic isn’t always the easiest of tasks and not because there isn’t enough to write about. I’d say it is quite the opposite.

Nowadays my own life is filled with enthralling stories, but the question I find myself facing more often than not is: Do I have the right to tell this story?

Most times I listen to my gut, my moral compass for a final call but admittedly, the answer is not always simple, not only from a professional point of view but also from a personal one, too.

Personal stories are entangled, the best and the worst of them. Thus, the dilemma: Whose Story Is it Anyhow? 

This month’s Huff Post blog looks at the question of story ownership from a broad view, if you will. Still, I would love to know your take on it. Do comment here or directly on the Huff Post.