Accountability

There is a lot of writing advice on how to write, how to market, suggestions for what to write and how to follow trends, but there is a dearth of information on writing accountability. I'm not talking about fact checking for a nonfiction piece, or whether or not you should smear your sibling's reputation in your memoir. I'm not referring to creating the good habit of writing each day either. I'm talking about being accountable for what a fiction writer serves up for readers and how it might influence, change, or desensitize them.

I noticed from a young age that there are many calibers of fiction writing. Not just the quality of good prose, but the quality of subject and how it is treated. For many years I've witnessed online debates among writers about pushing envelopes to see how much they could get away with including certain topics, scenarios, and even words in their writing. The flow of this river seems to always want to pick up as much dirty debris off the banks as it can and gather energy over the rapids to make it become the new normal. There's the age-old conundrum of art reflecting society and society reflecting the art it consumes. Kind of a chicken before the egg or egg before the chicken scenario.

I'm not here to profess an answer, but I am a firm believer that you are what you consume - whether it's food, medicine, music, movies, books, news, etc. That, of course, implies that consumers should be responsible for their choices, and they should. But what if all a consumer was offered was junk food? Or the only medicine they could afford had six horrible side effects? It's the same with our media consumption. If all that is being put out is dark, violent, sexual, rude, biased, mean, promotes abuse, or is of one type of ideology, then what are consumers to do? It goes beyond trends. If this art we produce is what we feel society is like, aren't we also promoting that type of society?

I've seen society's moral compass rapidly slide into the trash bin. I find it highly disturbing, and as a consumer, it has greatly limited my options for consumption. I used to get excited to try out new media, and now I approach it all warily, ready to close the book, switch channels, or turn off the streaming service as soon as something horrible pops up. I don't care how compelling the story is. I'm sick of the vulgarity, darkness, violence, and sexual unreality. 

Writing is one of the oldest influencer arts there is. Writing should reflect life, but I dare to ask, why are we so focused on reflecting the worst of us rather than the best of us? What is with this drive to create the baddest, darkest, most gritty version of a story in order to feed the consumer? True, there are stories that creep into inspirational when a character travels through a dark world and comes out victorious, but is it really inspirational when so much mud and filth has to smack the reader along the way? 

I know when I was a teenager there was much eye-rolling going on over stories about perfect people. Perhaps the fall into the mire was a result of defying those norms. It is possible to balance these. Writers make choices over what to focus on in their writing. So even if the MC is going through a gritty world, do we have to spell out every detail of that world? Do we have to make the MC make subpar choices because it's now the norm in society? Where are the MCs who defy the norm by having higher standards? Where are the powerful meek characters? You know, the ones with great discipline, who don't stoop to roll in the mud with their counterparts because they know better? Meek characters aren't arrogant, or revengeful, or "in your face" (which is something the modern teen has so few role models for). Where are the noble characters who have a sense of duty and sacrifice? Where are the loving characters who show respect for the person they love by not undressing them but by serving them and being there for them? 

There is no publishing or government agency (at least not in the USA) that sets a bar for accountability of this kind. I'm not saying there should be. I do say that whatever we write, we are accountable for to society at large. Once you write and publish something, it's out there, and there's really no going back. Your words are powerful, and they will influence the thoughts of someone else. Thoughts lead to actions and expectations. If you're adding the worst and most profane vocabulary to your stories, those words will stick in readers' minds. Words like that have become more common now because they became more common in the media consumed by people. We creators helped in a large part to make it more acceptable. If you're illustrating through words scenes of passion or abuse, then those images will be in your readers' minds. And some readers are so impressionable that coming across something like that distresses them, and they can't get those images out of their heads. If you're choosing to take your readers through one violent action after another, they will become inured to that kind of horrible behavior. That doesn't always translate into action on their part (because the reader has the power of choice and accountability too), but you influenced them. If your aim is to shock, bend the rules, or push boundaries, you are accountable for the effect on reader's minds. It's lying to yourself to say that readers know what they are getting into, because there is no regulation on books and their contents to prewarn them.

To desensitize means to expose yourself or others to something so often that it no longer disturbs, jumps out at you/them, or is noticeable to you/them. The point I want to make, is that the person was sensitive to that certain thing originally. If you think of a child, pure and wholesome, and then life and the influencers around that child create a level of environment that either keeps those sensitive guardrails intact or tears them down. Why do we think that becoming a teenager and then an adult means we have to weaken ourselves by partaking of horrible or harmful things? Why is that a rite of passage? I'm glad that a person can choose to re-sensitize and step back from the sheer cliffs of "adult" material. The walk up the mountain of life really is nicer when you aren't on the edge or constantly stumbling down never-ending pathways of addiction to "adult" content. Things of an "adult" nature are designed to addict, and content creators always have the challenge of coming up with worse material to one-up the industry. It's a death spiral for one's moral compass and grip on reality.

I know, this is a shot in the dark, an echo chamber against the powerful new norm. I miss the days when there were more choices for consumers out there. When I could pick up a book even in the MG or YA section of the library, open and read it without having my inner guard up for the moment the story violates my sensitivity level. I haven't been to a movie in a very long time, and the last handful I went to were rather subpar kids' films. I've been re-reading the books I've bought rather than take a gamble on something new for a couple of years. And I'm kind of tired of watching the same older shows and movies because new content on TV turns me off from the preview. A few things have passed muster, but not much. If this narrowing of my options has taught me anything, it's that I need to be accountable for what I create and dish up to consumers. Am I wallowing in the dirt of the worst realities or am I showing paths to inspire better behavior, better societies, better choices, and better outcomes? Good can be a reality too, things that are light, clean, bright, wholesome, and focused more on moral character than outrageous attitude. I know it can, because I've lived with people who are wholesome - not perfect or without flaw - but who try to emulate the best possibilities and are encouraging. Hope thrives among them, self-sacrifice, patience, love, virtue, kindness, determination, and respect. 

Art doesn't reflect the life I know. The chasm between them is impossible to ignore. 

It's your choice as a writer, as a consumer. I'll not deny you that. But regardless of choice, there is accountability of one type or another. We can help to lift or drag down our society. What kind of world do you want to live in?

Why I Write

Pixabay stock photo

 I've been reflecting on the reasons I write, sort of a self-analysis, if you will. Sometimes one needs to step back and look at the broader picture to understand the smaller parts. After all, there are many types of writers out there. I've tried fitting my hexagonal peg into round and square holes in an attempt to find my place. All in vain, naturally. So then one wonders if writing is worth continued pursuit, hence the self-analysis. Conclusion? Yes, I'm a writer. Not a traditionally-published-bestseller-career sort of writer. And I'm okay with that. I think my love of writing would shrivel up and die if I was trying to be that.

 So what are my reasons for writing? For continuing to do it if it's not going to make money or win me fame? (Which, by the way, I think are shallow reasons for doing anything.)

1. Love of language. Not necessarily my primary reason, but I have always loved studying my language and other languages - to play with usage and form. From an early age I loved random study in the dictionary in order to learn new words and their meanings. I tend to enjoy older literature because of the rich language usage. It's like composing poetry in prose form, if that makes sense.

2. Love of stories. Can't get enough of them. Books, movies, anecdotes shared verbally with someone, memories and memoirs - oh, the study of humanity and what makes us tick. Our reactions and actions, our triumphs and sorrows - real or imaginary. It's another rich and fertile ground with so many possibilities. Stories that make me feel something aid in my personal learning journey.

3. I have ideas to share. There are so many of us on this planet, and only a few are heard or have the power to get their messages out. Everyone has something to say. Writing helps me speak out. Whether ideas on improvement, or concerns for something, or perhaps wanting to share the inner joy or sadness I feel over a situation or person. This is the experience mode that bleeds out onto the pages of what I write. I can't walk into City Hall and effect change, or influence anyone in a powerful position, but in an imaginary world, I can express and show my ideas, while playing with the possible results both good and bad. 

4. To keep my sanity. Yes, you read that right. Writing is a vent for me, a means to let out my pent up anxieties, anger, or whatever else I'm feeling. Often, this is writing in a journal or a letter to a friend, but it comes out in my fictional writing too. An hour or two of this kind of expression makes me a calmer, more clear-headed person. It's akin to sitting down at the piano and just playing out what I'm feeling. 

5. To keep me humble. Writing is hard work as much as a pleasure. It's a drive, but it isn't something I can just scribble off and be done with. I make lots of mistakes and errors. I've learned much, but always I'm reminded I have further I can go. Since writing is an act of communication, I have to make sure whether I'm jotting a note for someone or writing a novel, I'm being clear and understandable. Knowing there isn't an arrival point is sobering.

So whether I've had the opportunity of exchanging correspondence in some form or other with you, or you've read some of my blog posts, or my novel, or unfinished novels, you're getting a glimpse of a person who is learning and growing, who makes mistakes, who feels deeply, and one who couldn't give up writing even though she's wanted to in recent years. It's too embedded in who I am. I suppose that is the sum total of my self-analysis. 

 Of late, I've looked at people who aren't writers who seem to have more time, happier outlooks because their inner drive isn't constantly hammering at them to write, and I've envied them. Momentarily. Because when I plug myself into that kind of scenario (note, this is being a storyteller again), the richness of the meaning of my life is missing. Other key components are there, and I'd be lost without them, but the drive and one of the prominent fulfillments in my life is absent. I'm stuck. I'm a writer. So now the goal is to take this acceptance and continue down the path I'm on.

Pixabay stock photo

If anything, I'll probably have a very entertaining autobiography for my posterity to read.

Soliloquy

Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels

 I survived. 

Came out from the ruin and ashes of what I once was.

Examined what was left and wondered how to begin again.

Bits and pieces of what I loved float around me--elusive ashes.

I grasp and reach, unable to spark the old flame inside.

Desire remains, ability impaired

I'm not the same.

A new crater waits for me to climb out.

The horizon's changed, few people remained.

Once fallen a failure, now rising back defiant.

And in my hidden places inside, some are weaker, more are stronger.

I'm raw and unfinished, yet bridled and wiser.

Will I come off triumphant? Will I make it through more?

Will my voice become silent? Unmissed and unsought?

What's my contribution?

Swept out to sea. Alone on an island where a world used to be.

Yet I linger, intelligence intact, spirit much stronger, the wind at my back.

Crying out again,

Dare to dream.

 

Joyce R. Alton, Sep. 28, 2021

Writing Update for December

One of the tools I like to use is a chronological chart of happenings, paralleling each character's thread. I'm looking at the chart for Trefury: The Secrets of Callorin and I'm near the end. It's a good feeling. Five months ago I felt I'd never get to this point. I've faithfully kept a writing journal as I've plodded through my current rewrite and the dismay of an empty 3-ring binder and a brand new notebook has given way to a sense of satisfaction as they both have filled up. In fact, I may need a second notebook before I'm through. My scene profile files on my computer are grouped based on plot threads and it's handy to be able to read through them and make sure that information and action are where they need to be.

Basically, a daunting, humongous task has become less Herculean due to persistence and hard work. I don't have the luxury of having several hours a day to devote to writing. I snatch an hour or two where I can, sometimes only half an hour. The little bits add up and I'm glad that I documented them as they compiled.

Writing is so solitary an endeavor and I often find myself tucked away from the rest of the writing world as I'm in the middle of creation or revision. I poke my head out once in awhile and make sure I keep active on my writing forum because writing contacts and friends are important too. What I think I enjoy most is the self-discovery part of writing, the omniscient feeling. And the realization that how I picture my worlds and characters will never translate perfectly through words doesn't disturb me as much any more. As writers, we create alone, then give away what we write to the imaginations of those who read. Wouldn't it be scary and cool if there was a way to perfectly translate the story we see in our heads? Kind of like plugging up everyone else to the movie in our heads, including the strength of our emotions and how we feel about what is going on. I'm sure someone will create a movie about that concept someday.

It's interesting to reflect and chart your own growth as a writer, too. The absorption of technique, critiques, brainstorming, and improved skills is exciting to see. I don't think that makes each story we write any easier, unless we are following a set formula, but we're not the clumsy beginning artists we once were. There's a little more confidence, fewer paths down tangent roads that eat up time and make us feel like novice idiots. We've learned rules and when to break them. We've learned that there are very few hard rules in fact and that we can move creatively forward without incurring the wrath of people we once thought of as experts on pedestals. We've learned the difference between indulgent writing for ourselves and the slavery of writing to everyone else's expectations, and hopefully chosen a place in between.

We present our work to the world, have our PR time, then go back into the cave of solitude to create another story. And that's where I am. I've had my break from writing, gagged the internal editor, and am blissfully reworking a story I feel passionate about.

I'm having surgery today and I'm excited about it. I look forward to finishing this year and starting the next spending my recuperation time finishing up this draft before doing my final rewrite (the one before I solicit beta readers to help me iron out the bugs). I hope those of you who write or work in other creative endeavors have a great New Year and if you take anything from this obscure blogpost from this obscure writer, I want it to be hope that even if your circumstances are not ideal as to time and means to pursue your creativity, that you know even the small moments add up. Don't give up or give in to frustration because it isn't happening the way you want or in the time you want it to. Do give your best and work hard. Push yourself; it's so worth it.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Ah, Valentine's Day. Cue the cuddling, frustration, or depression depending on what camp you're in, "The Mad Scientist Ruins Valentine's Day":

I'm a day early, but I don't blog on Sundays. To celebrate this weekend, here's some more insider tidbits about me. Let me know in the comments if you like what I like, or just what you like in the same categories.

My favorite love stories:
(Okay, I don't really read romance and if I do I prefer sweet romance to anything hot and heavy.)

The Blue Castle by L.M. Montomery
At twenty-nine Valancy had never been in love, and it seemed romance had passed her by. Living with her overbearing mother and meddlesome aunt, she found her only consolations in the " forbidden" books of John Foster and her daydreams of the Blue Castle. Then a letter arrived from Dr. Trent, and Valancy decided to throw caution to the winds. For the first time in her life Valancy did and said exactly what she wanted. Soon she discovered a surprising new world, full of love and adventures far beyond her most secret dreams.

Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster
When Jerusha Abbott, an eighteen-year-old girl living in an orphan asylum, was told that a mysterious millionaire had agreed to pay for her education, it was like a dream come true. For the first time in her life, she had someone she could pretend was "family."
But everything was not perfect, for he chose to remain anonymous and asked that she only write him concerning her progress in school.
Who was this mysterious gentleman and would Jerusha ever meet him?

Emma by Jane Austen
Beautiful, clever, rich - and single - Emma Woodhouse is perfectly content with her life and sees no need for either love or marriage. Nothing, however, delights her more than interfering in the romantic lives of others. But when she ignores the warnings of her good friend Mr. Knightley and attempts to arrange a suitable match for her protegee Harriet Smith, her carefully laid plans soon unravel and have consequences that she never expected.


My favorite love songs:
"Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden

 "If Your Not the One" by Daniel Bedingfield

"Stars Dance" by Selena Gomez

"Whenever You Call" by Mariah Carey

My favorite romantic movies:

 Daddy Long Legs (based off the book but different)
In this musical, American millionaire Jervis Pendleton (Fred Astaire) becomes taken with an orphan named Julie (Leslie Caron) while vacationing in France. Determined to improve the quality of Julie's life, he secretly sends money so she can receive a good education. After receiving a flurry of letters thanking her mysterious caretaker, Jervis decides to visit his pet project. When he arrives and sees that Julie has grown up into a beautiful young woman, he quickly falls for her.

I Love Melvin
Insignificant assistant photographer Melvin Hoover (Donald O'Connor) is instantly love-struck after meeting struggling actress and chorus line dancer Judy LeRoy (Debbie Reynolds). To win her over, Melvin greatly embellishes the importance of his position at a trendy magazine, claiming that with his help Judy could appear on the magazine's cover. Their budding romance is threatened, however, when Melvin's ploy is exposed to Judy and her entire family during a staged photo shoot.

Sabrina
Sabrina Fairchild (Julia Ormond) is a chauffeur's daughter who grew up with the wealthy Larrabee family. She always had unreciprocated feelings for David (Greg Kinnear), the family's younger son and playboy. But after returning from Paris, Sabrina has become a glamorous woman who gets David's attention. His older, work-minded brother Linus (Harrison Ford) thinks their courtship is bad for the family business and tries to break them up -- but then he starts to fall for her too.

Ever After: A Cinderella Story
This updated adaptation of the classic fairytale tells the story of Danielle (Drew Barrymore), a vibrant young woman who is forced into servitude after the death of her father. Danielle's stepmother Rodmilla (Anjelica Huston) is a heartless woman who forces Danielle to do the cooking and cleaning, while she tries to marry off her own two daughters. But Danielle's life takes a wonderful turn when she meets the charming Prince Henry (Dougray Scott).

Beauty and the Beast 
An arrogant young prince (Robby Benson) and his castle's servants fall under the spell of a wicked enchantress, who turns him into the hideous Beast until he learns to love and be loved in return. The spirited, headstrong village girl Belle (Paige O'Hara) enters the Beast's castle after he imprisons her father Maurice (Rex Everhart). With the help of his enchanted servants, including the matronly Mrs. Potts (Angela Lansbury), Belle begins to draw the cold-hearted Beast out of his isolation.

And just for fun, here's a couple more Valentine's Day clips from Studio C, "Changing Your Relationship Status":

... and "Aww Yeah":

Writing Update for January

I'm up to my head in intricate astralgic negotiations, summer rain forest season versus a volcanic winter, constant peril, and changing relationship dynamics. It's been a busy writing month. Sometimes I have to sit back and be still for a long time in order to digest the mad whirl going on in my imagination. It's heady. (lol) And while I'm trying to take it slow and in careful stages, I catch myself tripping ahead sometimes.

January has been a month of hard decision making. What to write, what to cut, what to change, what to insert, and what to rewrite. Oh, the rewrites! I groan as I realize I need to do it, I fight it, but I know that I'll always like the end result better than the original.

Save for a couple of these rewrites and one insertion, I've finished the first third of the book. The first third can be so exciting to set up the world for the reader, but also the most trying. It's all that introduction, first attempts and failures to be reckoned with. In a publishing time of slim mini-skirts, I'm attending the party in full 1700's ballroom regalia and I'll tell you what, it can be tricky navigating those narrow doorways in a crinoline. I trimmed back quite a bit this month and now find myself wondering if I've left too many holes and gaps. Parts of the story seemed skimmed over rather than fleshed out and it leaves me feeling wanting.

I'm writing an epic, I'm writing an epic ... (I have to constantly remind myself.) When I visit the library each week and glance through books I smile at the other epics on the shelves. They're my friends. They say it's possible and everything doesn't have to be in mini-skirt fashion. It's all about recognizing your genre and sticking to it.

I never used to suffer from so much hesitation and self-doubt until I became serious about publishing. Granted, I'm grateful for the research and feedback I gained, but I also gained a fear that never leaves my shoulder. It's easy enough to say, "Chuck it," to that fear, but once it's taken root you can't kill it. Fear that every choice I make is wrong. That despite how much I may like something I've written it will never be accepted by anyone else. I'm sure you know what I mean. If your reading this post, you're probably deep in the publishing waters and going through the same thing.

So I've labored with the fear on my shoulder, the ideas bursting in my head, and my emotions see-sawing between elation and dejection as I write and rewrite. Topping it off is a growing sense of isolation. To dive deeply into writing is to set yourself apart from others, and in my case, with the writing community. I pop up to the surface once in awhile to say hello or answer an email, but the overall sensation is that of sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean while the party boats go by with their fanfare and camaraderie.

I have enjoyed my time writing and tend to lose track of the time and place when I'm in the zone. The great struggle to get the words down as they tumble out, to express emotions and places and events as they are in my head, I've loved it. Even as it has stretched me and caused me to lament at times.

I'm about a third of the way through the second book I'm simultaneously working on. That one has taken a back seat the last week since Trefury 2 needed more rewrites. When I get too bogged down or stuck in one world I have the other to jump into. Developments there give me a constant thrill as I work on it. The two main characters are very real and dynamic to me. Their worlds are so abstract and shifting I never get tired of settings. I know I'll feel a deep sense of loss when I reach the point of saying, "This one's done."

Do you ever feel the pull of several stories clamoring from their rough draft files towards you? I do. The more I work on one, the more I understand how they all connect and enhance each other. I thought writing on two books at once would calm the commotion. It did for a little bit, but the other stories are there, jostling for priority and position in the back of my mind, staring out at me from their 3-ring binder covers on my office shelves or their icons on my desktop. It's too much, yet I love it. How I ache to have the time, ability, and energy to write and write and write.

Common sense comes into play: "If you write all the time, Joyce, you will have no life to draw from. You love your life. You love the people in your life. Keep the balance."

So in the end, here I am, another tortured, artistic person striving to feed the creative beast, striving to be better as a writer, yet also trying to be the best and most well-rounded wife, mother, friend, daughter, neighbor that I can be. I wish I didn't tire out. I wish I didn't have to sleep or eat. There's too much I want to do and not enough life-time to do them in. At least the road is never boring or without drive and purpose.

Reflections: One Year Later

Today marks the one year anniversary of the publication of my debut novel, Trefury: Mendi's Curse the first book in the Trefury trilogy.

No big hoopla, no big internet splash planned. I'm a rather simple person at heart. I'm marking the occasion with the release of the book in trade paperback format. You can find out the details by clicking on the Trefury button at the top of the page or clicking on the sidebar cover to enter the giveaway.

It's hard to believe it's been a year. I remember how stressed I was, how much time was consumed in the production of the book. All the details that go into a publication ... just wow. And I'm by no means an expert on the subject. Donning editor-mode for so long nearly killed my love of writing anything new. To make the switch from demanding perfection of yourself to freely spilling word vomit in a rough draft is hard. It took me months to let go of the iron fist.

I want to thank again those who contributed time, expertise, and a sympathetic shoulder to my endeavor. Sometimes writing is a very solitary process and it's easy to feel alone, abandoned, or forgotten. You're constantly mixing reality with the fantasy scenario and world going on in your head. People ask what is preoccupying you and then have a ho-hum attitude when you enthusiastically or shyly admit you're writing a novel. Everyone's a critic. Some people love the story concept. Others just don't get it. The world continues to move on with their day-to-day lives whether you meet your deadline or not. So it's the wonderful few who support and encourage you that make all the difference.

I've been asking other people for years why they write what they write and what inspired them. Lately I've turned the interrogation on myself. Why? Why did I write this book? Why do I intend to finish the other books piling up on my desk? And why in the world did I decide to publish? There is a difference, you know, between writing a story and publishing one.

I literally dreamed up Trefury a little over twenty years ago. I was a teenager, already engrossed in writing novels, sometimes with friends. I wrote a very short, very summarized rough draft as soon as I woke up. The first official draft came soon after. I wanted to share this cool idea of an invisible girl and the living whip she worked with to protect a country and the young man destined to lead it, with my circle of friends and family. I remember sitting on my bed with my sisters at the other end listening as I read it out loud to them. I always end up reading out loud to someone. Seeing and hearing how excited they'd get with each development in the story made my day. Trefury was the first story that got enthusiastic approval from my cousin, who was my harshest critic and first teacher in the art of good storytelling. That felt wonderful. To have her care and even demand more of the story meant more than any review, rating, or high-acclaim I might receive now. I had reached my audience and touched them.

Trefury went into a 3-ring binder and took up space on a shelf while I pounded out several other novels in the years that followed. Then I took a ten year hiatus from writing. I jotted down a descriptive sketch or brief scene or two, but for the most part I was too involved with living life and learning from it. It wasn't until soon after my third child was born and I was cooped up at home, because he was under quarantine for six months since he was a preemie, that I pulled out some of my old novels to read. I wanted to see if they were as entertaining then as they had been when I was younger. I'd like to say I'd been a brilliant writer in my youth, but I'll be frank, some of those manuscripts were awful. The stories were pretty sound but the execution *shudder*.

I didn't have a circle of writing friends at the time. They'd all grown up and moved far away. Every once in awhile one of my sisters would ask me about her two favorite stories. I read through the critiques I'd been given for Trefury and decided that if I were to jump back into writing, I'd pursue doing it professionally, not as a hobby. This manuscript had received the highest praise. It was a good place to start.

Many drafts ensued. Many revisions. Many heartaches and sublime moments where the inspiration was so good I surprised myself. I developed an online community of writing friends. And I'll admit I'm terrified of most of them because of their talent, ability, and the way they can socially navigate the online world a million times better than I can. I had moments where I felt like a total fake, a fraud, like dross among so many stars. Always in the back of my mind I felt grateful for the kindness of these other people, all the while worrying they knew how inept I was and were too polite to say so. Well, some did come out and say so in critiques, but that's good. You want to know where you are inept so you can fix your writing.

I had a lot to learn, but I'm a pretty motivated person once I set my mind to something. I dived into the pool of learning with both feet. I read blogs, books, followed authorities, experimented with so many different techniques. Sometimes I think Trefury ended up being a patchwork of these things. I hesitated to let people read it. I was a small fish. I knew I could always make my writing better. I didn't want anyone to read it until I deemed it palatable. Eventually I did let others read. How my heart skipped a beat when the first two critiques came in after reading my first three chapters! While there were things to fix, my two beta readers were mostly impressed. I climbed to the sky then.

Of course that didn't last long. My opening chapters weren't as well received by the next couple of beta readers. I went back and made cuts and changes. The feedback was better. New people read. Everyone had suggestions. It got to the point where I didn't recognize chapter one anymore at all. It was no longer fun to read or work on it. I was a hack who apparently wrote in alien gibberish because no one understood what was going on. I put it aside and finished up the rest of the book. The next beta readers were as enthusiastic and excited as the first two. They loved the opening. They loved the rest. I was ready to pull my hair out.

Back and forth, back and forth. I didn't know who to believe and came to the conclusion that clearly this book wasn't a mass appeal book. Either you're going to love it or it's not going to be your thing. I had to come to terms with that. I revisited the beginning and put the love and fun back in. I had reached the point where I knew the story was what it was and that was enough. Like dealing with me in person, you're either going to want to love it or keep your distance.

I was Thssk. I was Cortnee. I split my personality and then let them develop in their own directions, becoming less like actual me. Anyone who communicates with me will find traces of both their vernaculars in my writing and speech. That was fun. They had to have very different and distinct voices. How I agonized over Ientadur! He's a necessary and huge part of the story, yet my first chapters with him were wooden and lackluster. I remember writing on a sticky note: Make myself care about Ien. And I did. I drew deeply from the people around me composing the other characters, especially Damon. Without realizing it at first, I copied many of my father's mannerisms into him. It became especially poignant as I neared publication and my dad died of cancer. He'd helped me often with research and making sure I wasn't too far fetched with the science-y things I included in the book.

I went for hardcover first, which is the opposite of what writers are advised. You have to understand, I wanted the best version of this book for my own bookshelf and for the bookshelves of my core, original audience. I knew it would mean very limited sales because of the cost. My marketing budget was ... well $0.00 and still is. I wanted to give free copies to those closest to me, I just couldn't afford to do more than a couple of giveaways. The paperback version's cost allows me to do a bit more this time around and when the ebook comes out, there will be a lot more giveaway options.

I got lucky with editing help. I also took a crash course, building upon what editing skills I already had. I had to do extra jobs to earn the money to pay my cover artist, although she gave me a fantastic first-timer deal.

Basically, publication represented a mountain with sheer vertical sides and very few handholds. But I climbed it and I have the scars to prove it. I proved to myself that I could finish a writing project completely. The view on top of that mountain has brought me enormous peace, even though I know my view is not as breathtaking as it is for others, yet I'm content.

I learned a lot about myself and what my priorities are. For so many years I was convinced I had to get an agent and a traditional publisher, especially to get vindication that I wasn't a fraud and a hack. I did the research, I went through the query trenches. And then I discovered I was miserable and not because of the inevitable rejections everyone gets. I wasn't connecting to any of the people I queried. The ones I thought would match up with best, I found that the other books they were putting out I didn't like at all and they certainly weren't like my story, or the agent's personality and goals clashed with mine. We didn't fit. I couldn't find an agent who did so I stopped querying. I didn't like the dating feel of the whole process. The trending, the favoritism for certain elements and styles, and all the suck-up courting going on from writers. The thought of actually signing with someone and dealing with publication negotiations made me physically ill. I realized I didn't want the traditional route, vindication or not. I dreaded the thought of possible book signings, public appearances, all that extra marketing, the short deadlines that would stifle my creativity and clash with the pressing schedule of my actual life ... I absolutely don't want it and I'm no longer envious of anyone who has chosen to go that route. If that's what my friends wanted and got, I was happy for them. But I don't feel one bit jealous.

So where am I now? I'm a writer who has learned to enjoy the ride again. If I never make it onto anyone's list, that's okay. If my stories resonate with you, they will. I don't seek for online reviews and ratings, I got my five stars long ago. I intend to keep on learning and improving my craft, to strive to put out high quality projects but not at the cost of my self-respect, my integrity, or my sanity. Writing should be a joy. Sharing what we write should also be. The world is large enough for many more stories and more types than the trends and bigwigs of the business allow. Perfection and what is deemed professional quality - the standards are always changing. Give me a story to read that I can connect with and I can forgive a number of things on the technical side.

Once upon a time ...

It's still magic.

Writing: Getting Back On Your Feet

A writing colleague asked me: "How do you pick yourself back up after a setback? How do you keep on keeping on?"

At first, you don't. You fall, sometimes flat on your face, sometimes you break a figurative bone. The fall can be from a short height or from a seemingly high mountain, depending on what you have at stake. It hurts. Usually our pride smarts the most and longest.

I don't think there is one definite way to get back on your feet. Your character, personality, and circumstances all play big roles in the fight to endure.

For myself, I've been broadsided, sometimes knowing beforehand that I might be (which is akin to watching a tragedy unfold before your eyes while you're helpless to prevent it). After a really big blow to my ego in regards to my writing, I withdrew for a long time. I didn't feel like I had a leg to stand on, and that every word aimed against me and my story had to be true. I had no self-confidence left. Emotions were so bad and so high that it affected me physically. The last thing I wanted to do was continue writing, or even communicate with anyone in the writing community. I felt like a fraud, a leper, that everyone was laughing at me behind my back.

In other words, I had to take time off. Partly because of how self-destructive I was feeling, but mostly because I couldn't see or think clearly about the situation. A few months later I started to see. I wasn't a terrible writer or a hack, but I did have areas I needed to work on and improve. I realized that some people weren't going to like my story no matter how I rewrote it or packaged it, and that's okay. I certainly don't like some things I read. We're subjective creatures.

There came a critical point where I had to ask myself if I wanted to sacrifice the integrity of my story in order to please one or two people, or even a collected body of people who shared the same mindset. Bearing in mind, that yes, I wanted to please an audience, I wanted to sell my story, I wanted to make it as reader friendly as I could and that I could change some aspects to meet those goals. But I had to really think about who my target audience was and what their expectations were. Who was I writing for?

I had a life outside of writing to fall back on. I couldn't just lock up and stay hidden from the world. I have a family and a community of people relying on me. They made it possible for me to get up in the morning each day, to even smile. Focusing on the other parts of what makes me, me rekindled my drive to write.

I think it's easy to lose yourself when you dive fully into the writing community. We're affected by personalities and hit with a constant barrage of opinions. While writers collectively are viewed as great individualists, we really tend to act as sheep like most people do. We want public approval, sometimes so badly we're willing to write what we think the collective wants us to write and how they expect us to write it. We try to fit into some mysterious, mythical mold and grope around in the dark to find the magic elixir or key to unlock the doorway to opportunity. Admit it, we've all taken a turn doing it. Don't belligerently deny it.

My solution to overcoming a writing setback? Get to know yourself again. Get away from the writing community. Read what you really love to read. Fantasize to the length and breadth of your imagination regarding your story because no one is going to be standing at your shoulder judging you. Write with abandon again; turn off the internal editor that was primed and set by your desire to appease and supplicate. What makes you, you? How does that reflect in the way you write and express yourself? Look at your story. Do you love every aspect of it? Does it excite you to read any passage over and over again, or are there places you skim over or get bored with? Fix them.

Is your life well-rounded? If it just revolves around your writing, you won't have anything else to fall back on when the writing life gets tough. Writer friends are great and fine for support, but people who are actually around you are even better. People you can see and touch and laugh with, who will hug you and love you whether or not your story is going to make waves in the literary world. People who know there is more to you than being a writer.

And sometimes, even though we never want to admit it, sometimes our story isn't reader-worthy. It's a story just for ourselves that only we can truly visualize and love. If we're beating our heads relentlessly against a brick wall of rejection from everyone (and I mean everyone), no matter how many times we've revised, maybe it's time to set that story aside. I have a few stories like that. Oh, I never bothered trying to get them published because I already knew they were special only to me. I still pull them out and get a thrill when I read them. Their purpose is realized right there. And that's okay.

So, you look at your other stories and ideas and visualize your target audience. Is it a broad audience or a small one? Set your expectations based on that. If your goal is to break into the publishing side of the writing world, then pick your brightest, best idea and work on it.

Sometimes stepping back from the novel you care so much about can help you see if there are really problems in it or not. Kind of like cleansing your palette between courses during a meal so that the taste of one dish doesn't intermingle with the taste of the next. Maybe you've been locked into one story world for too long and need a vacation. Working on a story that is totally different can be refreshing to your creative side.

Another good way to help bounce back is to write in a journal regularly. There you are free to express your grief, angst, and worries uncensored. Don't do it online. Most people don't care and don't want to hear about your problems. Vent your spleen privately. I've found that journal writing helps me get refocused and lets out all the negative energy so that I can think more clearly and objectively.

Sometimes the problem is we have a very clear goal and know exactly how we want to achieve it. So when we don't reach our desired milestones or can't continue on the road we've picked, we get frustrated and angry. We blame the road, other people, the universe at large. The thing is, who says there is only one road to reach your destination? Who says you have to meet every milestone on a generalized checklist to get there? There are other roads. Getting up from a major setback could be as simple as picking a new route, or even a new destination.

In a nutshell:
1) Be humbled so you can think clearly.
2) Get to know yourself again.
3) Vent in private not in public.
4) Have a well-rounded life so that other aspects can keep you afloat.
5) Take a vacation from the writing community. As long as you need. Don't feel pressured to make appearances or submit your work if you're not ready to.
6) Get realistic about your novel, your target audience, and your goals. Make changes based on your clearer perspective.

Above everything else, remember you are an individual and you are worthwhile. You have talents you're trying to develop and that's wonderful. Having goals and dreams helps make life meaningful, but don't let them crush or blockade you from living. And remember that popularity and acceptance are both fleeting and illusions. You are neither. Don't give up on yourself.

Break, Reason, and Spreading My Wings

I know the blog has been silent for awhile. I apologize. I've been wrapped up in helping my mom buy a house, go through renovations, and then the actual moving. We're nearly done. Sometimes life calls and you're happy to answer, even if it means dropping other obligations.

Which brings me to announce that I will be taking a few months sabbatical from writing. Blog posting will be sporadic, but the posts I mean to write will hopefully be very useful for my readers. I am engrossed in learning right now and am excited to share some of the concepts I've picked up. I am also taking time to work on other talents, which for me, means a more enriching environment and set of experiences to draw upon when I pick up my writing again. Since I have the freedom of not being under a publisher's contract, I can take the time to rejuvenate and then finish writing the best book I can, based on my ever growing capabilities. I know this announcement will be disappointing to some, but please know, I won't be able to write well unless I take this break. Writing has been a primary focus for the past decade, often getting in the way of other pursuits and obligations. Now that book one is done and out, it's time to get realigned and in better balance.

I personally believe the usual publishing model is skewed wrong, based entirely upon the impatience of the consumer, rather than for the benefit of the writer. Writer's aren't given time to rejuvenate. If they try to they are dropped or forgotten. I suppose I'll be dropped and forgotten in the next few months. I'm okay with that. Better to be left behind by the crowd in order to do something better than continue along with the crowd and suffer constant fatigue.

In my long journey as I've studied and sought publication, I've come to learn that my initial instincts were correct, and while I don't regret having diverted so much energy into pursuing the norm because it taught me a lot, I probably would have published sooner and with less stress if I'd listened to that instinct. No one should assume that my decision to self-publish is a sign of failure or second choice, I voluntarily quit the process. I am very happy with where I ended up. I have never wanted many of the things that come with a traditional contract, even when I tried to convince myself that I did, because that's what the industry was saying I had to want. I was a sheep, and I apologize if I ever made any of you feel like you had to be a sheep as well. Choosing which side of the publishing spectrum you want to be on is an individual thing. What is right for one person is completely wrong for another. I've learned that now. It took ten years of butting my head against a figurative concrete wall to realize what an idiot I had been.

So the break begins now. You can still contact me via email or in my writing group. I won't be on Facebook or Twitter as much. I wish you all the best in your writing and publishing endeavors. Thank you for the companionship on the last ten years of the road.

Behind the Scenes #3: My Writing Soundtrack for Trefury, Track 1

*I now have an official author page on Facebook. You can find the link in the sidebar. I'm also on Twitter, if you haven't already linked up with me.

It's countdown time until my science-fantasy novel Trefury: Mendi's Curse is published (coming Sept. 2014). Continuing to explore my research and writing process for this novel, I'm going to share some of the music I listened to while writing the story.

This first song is "You Can Still Be Free" by Savage Garden. It's a beautiful, emotional cry for hope and it fit perfectly the opening chapter for one of my main characters, Thssk. Thssk is at a point of little to no hope, he's in hiding, and he wants everyone else to leave him alone. He's had some major disappointments, like the near destruction of his kind, and his long-standing estrangement from his human wielder. Thssk is an ancient, powerful creature, but he is also vulnerable. By the end of the chapter, Thssk comes out of hiding with a vengeance. Not just proactive, but a definite force to be reckoned with. His little light of hope is enough to carry him forward.

Everyone goes through low moments, times when we feel we can't take one more step, that we have nothing left to give. Tragically, some people choose to end their life when they hit rock bottom, or they quit life and hide. It takes courage to keep on going, to take that one more step, even if it's a baby step. Life is full of disappointments, rejection, hardship, and pain and sometimes when we're crumpled up at the bottom of a figurative ravine we can't see a pathway out, or we don't notice that the sky is still blue above us, or pay attention to the pretty wildflower growing an arms-length away. We are focused inward, nursing our pain. It's when we take the effort to look outside ourselves that we can find a hand grip to get out of the ravine. Maybe it's through helping someone else climb, maybe it's by taking a different path, maybe we have to admit that we were wrong and make retribution or start over.

I've been at the bottom of a ravine many times. That is why I could write about Thssk and get into his character. His overall arc deals with conquering his past demons and not only moving forward, not only reaching the top of his ravine, but finally flying high as he was always meant to.

Question for you:
What do you do to pull yourself or others out of an emotional ravine?

Previous Behind the Scenes Posts:
Forbidden Without Knowing Why
Let's Talk Hair

Imagination Lives!

Now that it's warm outside I've started talking my kids for an hour long walk nearly every day. It's not something they particularly relish, although we change routes each time to keep the scenery interesting. The reward for going on a walk is our destination. There are three major parks with playgrounds in my town. We get to the park, the kids get to play (another sneaky way to get them to exercise) and then afterwards, we walk home.

The most rewarding part has been the conversations we have. I get to listen to their ideas and they like to share the stories they are making up, their goals, and the things they'd like to do. And once we're at the park, I get to sit and watch them in action. My kids like to round up every available kid on the playground into a group and then they initiate some kind of game or story scenario to play. No one gets left out. It's fun watching their imagination in action, and even better when I see other kids, who were hesitant at first, get into the spirit of things and have a blast.

It's a great show for me. And yes, I sometimes feel bad for the other parents who are sitting around on their cellphones or other gadgets, who miss out on the experience. Not long ago, we didn't have handheld gadgets. We were kids on playgrounds. I know I couldn't do the monkey bars again, and I'm too big for the twirly slide, but I remember how it felt. The calluses I'd build up, the high-stakes terror of not getting to the bottom of the slide where danger lurked, twisting around in a swing and then letting go, dizzily spinning as it unwound. Okay, so I'm very nostalgic right now. We can't go back to being kids.

Remember when you were a kid? What sorts of things did you like to pretend? Did you prefer to stray into the realm of fancy alone or did you like to do it with friends?

Here's a fun video to help recapture the memories:

 Share a memory in the comments or tell me what your favorite playground game was. Mine was Ghosts in the Graveyard.

Meet and Tell

I know I've been something of a mystery since I first took on the nickname of Clippership and began interacting with other people online. Even my author name, Joyce Alton is a pseudonym. There are good reasons why I'm protecting my identity. But I don't want to continue to be an unknown quantity. So I'm opening up my blog this week to you. Ask me anything you like and if it doesn't violate one of my reasons for privacy, I'll be happy to answer.

I love all the sky we see in my part of Idaho.

I'll start you off with 5 facts about me:

1 - I'm married and have three children.

2 - I moved around a lot so I don't have a hometown or home state. I currently reside in Idaho.

3 - My favorite colors are blue, green, and purple. (Not necessarily in that order.)

4 - My favorite season is autumn, my least favorite is summer.

5 - Despite my age, I know the names of many more older actors and actresses than I do current actors and actresses. (Older as in from the 1930's through the 1950's.)

After you ask me a question, please tell me something about you. What you're writing, what the weather's like, what's on your list of things to do before you die, anything like that. Please no plugs to buy anything.

The Power of Words Pt. 3

I've discussed how words can build people up and tear them down, and how words do influence us and others in this post and this post. Now lets take a look at authority and how having a position of authority gives your words more power. Furthermore, think about how that power can be wielded for good or bad as you watch this video:

I don't know about you, but this experiment brought up a number of questions. One of the first ones was how our recognition of authority or position overrides our personal sense of right and wrong. How easily we can be cowed by the loudest, strongest, or most charismatic voices. If told to do something, should we just do it because someone says so?

There's a fine line between respecting authority—which is necessary for any civilized society to run efficiently—or giving someone more authority by doing what they say. Likewise, if we were in the position of authority, how tempting would it be to abuse that authority or influence and have others do what we say?

And if pressed, would we have the moral courage to stand up against someone else when asked to do something we inwardly know is wrong?

I thought mostly of dystopian novels while watching this video, but I think there are several lessons here that writers of all genres could expound on and use. What did you get from it?

The Power of Words Pt. 1

Hearkening back to a younger time, you may remember the old saying: Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me!

Kids say that as a defensive mechanism, but the truth is, words hurt worse than sticks and stones, because they stay in our memories. Words can also uplift and strengthen. Words are powerful.

Think about it for a moment, when we want to find out something we choose a resource and then read the words of that resource (unless you're watching a how-to video, but even then, you are usually listening to words.) Often we take those words at face value, and unless we have reasons to doubt their truthfulness or the resource itself, those words have the power to mold and shape our opinions, ideas, and actions. Words have authority.

Words convey many things. While on Goodreads the other day, I noticed part of a review a friend had posted where she mentioned she couldn't get past chapter three of a novel, despite how promising the premise was, because of the writing style. As a writer, that made me curious to look closer at the novel. I saw that a friend of this friend had also posted a similar review prior to my friend looking at the book. I wondered how much weight that other review had on my friend's reading experience. (Again, why I don't normally go by reviews when choosing reading matter.) Despite the negative feedback this author was getting for her writing style, it piqued my curiosity to find and read a bit of the book to see how I felt about it. Words have influence.

Hopping on Twitter or Facebook we invite ourselves to be bombarded by words. And if these spur of the moment, social media sites are our number one source for information, we are subjecting ourselves to the whims and opinions of whatever is trending or popular at the time. It's scary how so many people take what is written as an opinion and instantly think of it as concrete fact. I've seen the same thing happen to people who subscribe to certain written publications or who watch certain news programs. Someone posts a link to an op-ed or to someone's blog who has some or no accreditation and the online world goes berserk for a little while based on that person's opinion or non-conclusive findings. Words can create scary reactions and spread ignorance.

I had a bad experience last year in regards to a writing critique. It was evident that this beta reader didn't care for my style or subject matter, but they took it a step farther than they should have and turned it into a personal attack. What made their words powerful here was that I really respect this person and value their good opinion. Alas, a good opinion I'm not likely to get. Their words nearly destroyed my love for writing and nearly killed my attempts to improve or even bother writing again. I let this person's words override common sense, especially regarding the fact that they were being very subjective, and that they were only one opinion. Words can destroy.

On the other hand, I had a posse of enthusiastic beta readers who loved my book. They encourage, objectively correct, and uplift. And I've had beta readers that have been not quite so enthusiastic, but still were interested in helping me, not in tearing me down. They knew when and how to be truthful and when to keep silent. I've tried to do the same when I read for others. I had to step back from beta readers and even from doing critiques myself for several months to let the positive words heal the damage one set of negative words had done. Words can also restore and create.

Perhaps you've also experienced something similar.

I don't think there is anything more powerful than words and how we wield them. We don't think of using words as a responsibility usually, since they're our main form of communication. Words come with a price and we can be the receiver or the deliverer. We have a larger impact than we think and we don't always see the damage, repercussions, or kindled hope our words cause. As writers, perhaps we should be setting a better example of using words responsibly and well. Other people, who aren't writers, are reading our words and are being influenced by what they read. Anyone who shrugs off the notion of this responsibility is deluding themselves.

I've been influenced by everything I've ever read. It doesn't matter if I agree with it or not, the words stick and I have a pretty good memory. I remember what emotions those words triggered, what new inspiration opened up in my mind, what darkened or sullied my thoughts, what made me smile, what made me cringe, and certainly what made me mad. It's not just a sensory, fun experience we're delivering to readers. You never know how your words will impact someone else for good or bad. And to assume that what we write won't have any impact at all, again, is delusional.

We can’t help what words other people throw at us, but we can choose our own words. Take a few quiet moments to really think about what words you’ve sent out into the world lately. Were you mostly positive or negative? Did you focus on building up those around you, or were you attempting to tear people down? Were you truthful? Were you spreading information that wasn’t verified? Were you trying to deceive someone else? Were you uplifting and edifying? Were you vulgar or narrow minded? Words shape our character, and sometimes it’s best to stay silent so bitter words don’t poison the world around us.

What are some ways you've noticed the power of words? What impact have words had on you or the people around you?

Stay tuned for my next blogpost where I'll share a story of one time I really blew it with words and what happened.

A Gift to Survive

I'm so grateful to have the kind of imagination that takes me far far away from reality. I think I would have gone crazy, become chronically depressed, or worse if I didn't have this ability. Real life is hard, and sometimes it's so bad you want to curl up in a ball and cry.

That's why I love to read books that are not in contemporary settings. Fantastic places, or back in time, anything but a reflection on what real life is like. I have to get away. I can't run away from reality, and truthfully, I don't try, but I do need a respite in order to survive.

That is why I enjoy world building so much when I write. It gives me a sense of control, and being the creator of these unique places makes me feel ... safe.

I'm certainly not going to give a laundry list of my circumstances. Needless to say, we all have rough patches, times when we are pushed beyond what we think we can handle. And it's wonderful when we take that one more step we don't think is possible because we then know we can go further than our expectations. It's growth. Understanding that also helps when writing. We know how to push our characters and we don't baby them because we know they can also take that one more step.

I expect to grow a lot in the next few months. Fortunately, I have soaring vistas, beautiful gardens, fantastic creatures, and irresistible characters to explore. It's a blessing, and it's why I write.

How about you?

Let's Pretend

My family went on a walk the other day through our town. At one point we came to a set of railroad tracks running along a huge grain station and some silos. A weathered For Sale sign hangs on one wall. The weeds have overrun the triangular field next to it, a small concrete rectangle sits out in the middle of the field, and there are mailbox posts still standing near the road, the boxes removed.

The kids and I are fascinated by this run-down piece of property and as we inevitably do, we started weaving plans around it as if we were prospective buyers. It's amazing how in sync our thought processes were.

"Let's make it a train station."

"It could be the main depot. The trains carrying people from (Point A, to B, to C), catering to students and tourists. There'd be a market for it."

"I want to walk up and down the aisles selling treats!"

"I want to work in the ticket office."

"There's room for a small restaurant or cafe."

"Would we use a big train?"

"No, something small to start with. Strictly passenger oriented."

We saw a shiny new building, a cleared parking lot, people milling about, pretended to hear the train whistle as it approached. Padded seats, probably red, inside the train. Excited children standing at a fence, waiting for their turn. The smell of food from the restaurant.

"What should we serve?"

"Hot dogs!"

"Hamburgers!"

"Indian tacos!"

"Wait, we need healthy food."

"Fruit. Lots of fruit."

"And carrots."

"Cookies."

And then we crossed the tracks and moved away. Now we were passing homes.

"I want a house just like that."

"Why?"

"It has a chimney."

"I love those flowers."

"Don't run through other people's yards!"

"Look, a deer!"

"It isn't real."

"They have a playground."

"This house is cute."

"This grass needs a haircut."

"I want to live in this house, too. It has a rock path."

"I love the trees."

"Ah, shade!"

"A squirrel!"

"Excuse me," to a lady walking outside, "what kind of a bush is this? We love the flowers on it."

But the best moment was on the way back home. Two teenage girls passed us, talking. My five-year old son quickened his step. "Hey, girls!" To us, "Those are my girls." Yelling ahead, "Wait up girls!"

I don't think they heard him since they never stopped talking or looked back. He continued to hurry after them, chattering on about how they were his girls until they turned a corner and went out of sight. He slipped his hand into mine and said, "Mom, I love you."

One of my daughters grabbed my other hand to cross the street. She gave it a squeeze.

I love walks with my family.