The Balancing Act

One of my guiltiest pleasures is reading People magazine and people.com. Recently, they had a short piece on Benjamin Bratt and his wife celebrating their eighth wedding anniversary. They talked about being parents and how much joy that brought to their lives, and how they are choosier now with work projects. This particular paragraph really spoke to me:

“Having children also has made the couple more discerning about their projects. ‘[Parenting] informs the work, enriches it,’ Bratt, 46, said. ‘The stakes are much higher on every level. The work that you choose will draw you away from that which you care for most, your family, [and] gets a whole new scrutiny.’”

I often feel torn between two worlds as a working mom — the world of work and my professional ambitions, and the world of my home life and being a good wife and mother. There are days I love my job, when everything clicks, when I can see a clear path toward accomplishing my goals. On those days, I have no doubts that I have made the right decision in being a working mom.

Then there are days when I really would rather just be at home with my daughter, watching her play with her puzzles and books, teaching her how to count to three. Mothering gives me such a sense of peace, maybe because life seems simpler when you hang out with a toddler. Everything is new to a 20 month old. Blowing bubbles never gets old. Ripe strawberries are the best food you’ve ever tasted. Daddy is the funniest person on the planet. Being a parent brings us both so much joy and laughter. How can any job compare?

I recently had a job opportunity that I was really excited about. The work would have been varied, fast-paced, challenging. The people seemed nice, fun and super talented. It really would have been a great career move. But right from the get-go, I wasn’t fully committed to landing the job. I was worried about my career taking too much time away from my family. I was worried about my plans to have another baby in the very near future. So I downplayed my experience and probably hinted too strongly about my family plans and didn’t get past the second interview. I secretly didn’t want to get offered the job so I wouldn’t have to decide. But when I didn’t end up getting it, I was disappointed. I felt like a coward. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten the job anyway, but I think I will always feel a bit of regret for not going for it 100 percent.

So what is the lesson here? Can you really ever reconcile being a mom and being a career woman — especially when your children are very young and need so much of you? Was I wrong to want to stay where I’m comfortable, where I know what to expect given my family plans? I’d love to hear what others have to say…

Such a nice way of saying we are all procrastinators...

"There is no expedient to which man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking." - Sir Joshua Reynolds

Research...

What I've learned so far about novel writing is that, like the writing I do in my professional life, it requires a lot of research. My main female character is a painter and while I have taken many art classes in my lifetime (from photography in high school to art history in college), I feel the need to brush up on my knowledge.

Here are a few tidbits I picked up this evening...

1. FSU has an art gallery for its Master of Fine Arts students - Big Bend Contemporary - to not only display their works, but to gain experience in developing, preparing, installing and presenting exhibitions.

2. In art schools, students used to have to spend years learning to draw before they were allowed to use paint.

3. We "read" paintings the way we read words on the page - left to right.

4. Expressionists (early 20th century), such as Matisse, studied and developed Van Gogh's sense of shape and color. Cubists (also early 20th century), like Picasso, were inspired by the planes in Cezanne's work. (Loved how this seems an incarnation of how each generation takes what the previous generation did and redefines it, pushes it further...)

5. One interpretation of why Van Gogh painted the stars so large in "The Starry Night" (above) was simply that he thought they were beautiful and wanted to express his joy in looking at them. (I thought this was a very simple and clear explanation of what it means to take a subject and interpret it through painting.)

Image from Wikipedia.

The Long Road Ahead

Days left: 419
Words written: 4,715

As far as writing sessions go, this was not my most productive one. But that is not the point. The point is that I wrote! On a Tuesday night! For the first time in weeks! So yay me!

I know you probably get tired of hearing my excuses because I get tired of hearing my excuses. So, tonight I decided to suck it up and just write. I have to say it was tough, mostly because I haven't worked on "the novel" in a few weeks so it took a while to get the juices flowing again.

Writing, I find, is a lot like exercise. The more you do it, the easier it is and the stronger you get. When you don't do it for a while, you basically have to start all over again and deal with sore muscles and getting back into a routine, etc.

Obviously, intellectually I know this. It's putting it into practice that I've always had trouble with. Which is the whole point of this project - to see if I can actually break my bad habits and actually complete a story I start.

Looks like I still have a long way to go...

(Photo from wvs.)

Review: An Echo in the Bone

Last Sunday, I finished reading An Echo in the Bone by Diana Gabaldon. This is the seventh novel in Gabaldon's Outlander series, which feature Claire Beauchamp and Jamie Fraser. The series began with Claire traveling back in time from the late-1940s to 18th century Scotland, where she met and married James Fraser. The subsequent novels are about their adventures together and eventually the adventures of their grown children as well.

Though all the books in the series are on the long side (Echo was 814 pages in hardcover), the story is typically gripping enough that the pages seem to fly by.

I did not find this to be the case with Echo. I never thought I would finish this book. Maybe it was because there was so much going on - there are several storylines and numerous points of view. I found it hard to keep track of who was doing what and why. (Perhaps because, being a working mother, I was only able to read a chapter or two a night.)

There were two specific things that bothered me about this novel. One, Gabaldon's lengthy and detailed descriptions of medical procedures (including the amputation of a character's finger). Claire, who is the only character Gabaldon writes in the first person perspective, is a doctor, but is it really necessary to go into that much detail? Gabaldon's background as a research scientist is clear in these passages.

The second thing that bothered me was that Gabaldon spends so much time on the middle of the novel that the end feels a bit rushed. This is especially true of a fight scene between two characters that she spends the whole novel building towards. A gun goes off and then we cut to a few hours later, having to assume what happened. Very disappointing.

Other than that, I enjoyed the book. Gabaldon is a master of bringing the 18th century to life. Not just the big events, like the American Revolution depicted in Echo, but the day to day lives of the people of the time. How they cooked, washed their clothes, behaved toward each other. I find it all fascinating.

These are characters I have spent a great deal of time with having read the six previous novels, and I go through withdrawal every time I finish one and have to say goodbye. If you love losing yourself in another time, I highly recommend this series. The earlier novels (Outlander and Dragonfly in Amber) are much more streamlined and seem to zip along in comparison with the latter few.

Lazy Bum

Days left: 422
Words written: 4,568

A few weeks ago, I had one of those days where the words just flowed out of me and I wrote like a thousand words in just a couple of hours. It felt amazing!

That has not happened since, mainly due to lack of motivation on my part. I admit it. I have been a lazy bum, preferring to nap or watch a movie instead of working on "the novel" in the hour or two I get to myself on the weekend. Frankly, I am not even feeling that motivated today (hence why I am blogging and not writing).

Knowing myself though, I realize I will never really feel like writing. It's something I just have to make myself do. Usually, once I get going, I get into it and enjoy myself, but it's that initial push that feels so much like work.

Sigh.

I suppose that that is what I need to do this afternoon. Or tomorrow...

Books

"These are not books, lumps of lifeless paper, but minds alive on the shelves." — Gilbert Highet