On Being Good, Being Kind

My husband and I watched Kubo and the Two Strings last night and it was breathtakingly lovely. Near the end, for no specific reason that I can point to, I began to think about dying. Not the abstract certainty that yes, I'll die some day because we all do, or the deep mourning I have felt when someone close to me or to my family has died, or the fear that comes on me when my children are too quiet or absent too long or running high fevers in the middle of the night. Deeper, darker, realer than that. Being dead.

Going to sleep and never waking again dead.

Getting in my car and crashing into someone or something, feeling it roll over and over and over me dead.

Just, ceasing to be.

I had my head on my husband's chest, felt his shifting muscles, his beating heart, my own seize up and tighten, tighter, as I imagined not being. Even now I can't even capture the terror that gripped me. That I am, now, that I live and breathe and dream, now, and someday I won't anything. One day I'll be gone, and I might not even know that I'm gone because I'll just. Be. Gone.

I don't prescribe to any particular faith. I never have, and perhaps I never will. A very good friend of mine recently told me of how she prays during times of uncertainty and trouble, how she's learned to recognize the answers to her prayers in herself, in others, in the world. It sounded to me like a pleasant dream I'm not sharing, a guidance I sorely lack but don't even know how to begin to crave. I have always been firmly agnostic, though I feel it's one of those things that lacks firmness. I'm not sure what's out there, what's after, what came before, but I'm not ready to say there's nothing.

Neither am I ready to say there's something.

The movie ended and I sat up and when he started to talk to me about how he felt about it, I started to talk, too, and my mouth just hung open. I started to cry. Harder. And then I couldn't breathe, and my heart felt slow and fast at the same time.

"I'm scared," I told him. "It's scary."

I've not had a panic attack of this magnitude since college, and I've never contended with my own mortality in so visceral a way. But I'll tell you what's the same between this response and the crippling anxiety I experienced as an undergraduate: stress and lack of control. At 23, I was so overwhelmed by my course load, my job, my family, and my aspirations that I quit two of those things and sought counseling. Eleven years later, I have the presence of mind to know that this is just a moment in time, and eventually I'll feel better. Unfortunately, my scope of worry is now so much bigger.

I feel maddeningly powerless about a number of things right now, but I'm painfully Type A, guilt-ridden, and suffer an unreasonable sense of duty that urges me to continue to try anyway. To throw myself against the wall until it breaks or I do. I look at what's in my life and tell myself I can't quit anything, but that's not really true. I can and I must, because it's pretty clear to me I can't keep on like I have been. I don't have any more to give to stress and fear and uncertainty and speculation. I need to focus on what I can do: raise strong girls. Elevate the stories, amplify the voices, and share the incredible transformations in schools and communities through my work. Love my husband and my friends. Tell my own stories, not to escape the world I am living in, but to put magic into it.  I can't be sorry but I already am.

I need to believe that this is enough.

This is plenty.

This is good.

Where I Write

I am not one of those who prescribes to the notion of a writing sanctuary. While this doesn't mean I don't lust for a She Shed of my very own, it does mean I can't let something like place determine my capacity and commitment to write. Some of my favorite places for word craft?

1. Doctor's offices.
2. In the car with a little one napping in the backseat.
3. Meetings where my presence is not really necessary but is required.
4. Coffee houses... really any, but I have a few favorites.
5. My writing desk.

I have listed my writing desk last because it really is the one place where I do not spontaneously write - and thus the writing that happens there is the writing that feels the most like work.

Because it is work, and sometimes a change of scenery, or an unexpected moment seized for creation rather than tedium, is all the motivation that I need.

But, my desk.

I write there, a lot. It's a place of seriousness, of getting down to business, of meeting deadlines. I am lately interested in what I can do to make it a worthier space. I bought it a few years ago off of Craigslist after searching for "antique school desk," and my dad refinished it for me. The top is still pocked with the vigorous efforts of some kid working to dismantle it a compass point at a time. The drawer is often stuffed full of drawings from my daughters, rogue colored pencils, beads, buttons, receipts for things I think I am going to return to the store but never actually do, and handwritten notes to myself about things that I am writing or want to write.

I leave it relatively bare, because I haven't wanted distraction. There's a jar of dice and a ceramic pencil cup filled with dry erase markers for my Pathfinder game, and I recently purchased a tiny, weighty iron owl who is meant to hold place cards but instead holds my gaze when my mind is wandering. It's cozied up next to a functional fire place that is nevertheless rarely lit, and whose mantle is stuffed full of novels.

I have a lamp because warm light is essential, and an uncurtained window because soft, blue daylight is beautiful, too. There's a print of a paper cut tree hanging on the wall. Sometimes there are dozens of post-its, usually not. It's a good space: clean, comfortable, nook-like. I grew up in a bedroom that was probably the size of your closet, writing in bed with a spiral bound notebook balanced on my knees because there wasn't room for any other furniture. So I like small. The less room there is for my body the more there is for my mind, right?

What about you? What are your creative spaces like?

Dear Friend, Dear Dreamer

I'm not gonna lie, it's been a rough week. I've cried, a lot. I've raged, equally as much. But I have babies to raise and books to write and we all have work to do to build a world that's worthy of what we're putting into it, so I'm making a rope of words to climb out of this pit of despair. Beginning with delivering on my promise to write more letters. I walked with a sympathetic co-worker to the library today, and in addition to joining their friends program for folks who believe in and support their work, I picked up a handful of cards in the library gift shop to mail to gals I know who are also grieving.

Now, more than ever, tiny, active gestures of kindness and compassion seem to me the greatest gift we can give each other. Before we can mobilize, we need to heal. And after the deluge of political propaganda in my inbox and my mailbox, I know that I would welcome something real.

So even if you aren't receiving a letter from me - which you totally could, you know how to reach me - I have one for you.

Dear friend, dear dreamer, dear doer and maker and believer and reader,

I appreciate and recognize you. I may not really know you, may not always understand you, but I believe that you are moved as I am by what is in your heart and in your head. You have the capacity to love and to give and to grow, and I hope that you do. We may never hold hands, never really, and perhaps never on all of our ideas, either, but we share a space, a city, a state, a nation; we are small but our world is not. I trust you to remember this.

If you're not ready, I want to help you. And if you're not ready for help, I am good at waiting. There is a lot to do and I can't be still, not when there is risk, when there is opportunity, when there is work for open hands and willing ears. Because nothing is simple, least of all being really and truly heard.

But I hear you.

Or I will try to.

With hope and in love,

Jillian

ETA: You should know I wrote this in the afternoon, and on my walk home to my car from work I was hit by a car. Is that as ridiculous to read as it was to write? Because it happened. I was crossing the street and the driver wasn't going terribly fast, but it definitely hurt and I called the police because I was giddy with shock.

The driver kept meeting my eyes, his own face ghost-pale, and saying how sorry he was, how sorry he was. I took his hand. I clapped him on the shoulder. I told him it's been a terrible week, and shit happens, and I was probably fine. I asked his name. I gave him mine. It was a desperate, ridiculous, gut-wringing human moment.

I'm fine, I really feel that I am.

And I just keep hoping that he's okay, too.

Because that's the kind of world I want to live in.

Because I believe it's possible to be concerned for yourself and for others.

Because I am just not going to let anything stop me.

Cosplay Dreams for 2017

The weeks and months immediately following Dragon*Con are the very best for plotting for next year's Dragon*Con, and this year I've been busier than ever. I've doubled down on my commitment to cosplay Dottie next year, as I absolutely owe it to my best friend. And, our mutual friend expressed some interest in joining us as Mac, so, winning.

And we've agreed together to try for Arwen and Elrond, which is the cosplay we never knew we wanted to do until we so did. I've had the pattern for one of Arwen's dresses for more than 10 years, and thank goodness multiple sizes are included because, ahem, I am a bit more than the woman I used to be.

The minute I doffed the red hat I was ready to be Peggy Carter again, and to expand my wardrobe. I purchased an Eisenhower jacket on eBay so that I could put together her ensemble during the scenes where Steve Rogers commits to Project Rebirth. The bonus of this get-up, of course, being that I get to sport some victory rolls.

Finally (for now), my nerd-excitement over a Duckie sightingat this last con is shared by many, and a whole crew of folks are now planning to cosplay characters from a variety of John Hughes movies. After about a seven second deliberation, I decided I couldn't cosplay a teenager, not even a 20-something pretending to be a teenager, so I settled on Iona from Pretty in Pink. Let the wild but intentional thrifting begin.

While there's still a part of me that's desperate to try my hand at Sabriel or Aeryn Sun, I think this is enough to be getting on with?

Meet Me at CONjuration

I didn't anticipate returning to Atlanta until next year's Dragon Con, so I was surprised and delighted when I received a last-minute invitation to CONjuration, a fan-driven convention celebrating all things Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, and other magical literature, movies, and experiences. It's being held November 4 - 6 at the Marriot Century Center in Atlanta, Georgia.

I've scrambled to acquire more copies of The Hidden Icon and also to assemble chapbooks of The Two Sisters to disseminate. I am positively stoked to be sharing a table in the vendor hall - aptly named Diagon Alley - with Lee Martindale, and trying to figure how many goodies I can squeeze into my suitcase along with clothes and a Yule Ball gown. Priorities, friends.

I'll also be on a few panels.

• Saturday, 4:00 PM, Tail and Tongue: Don' t Step on the Worms - Grima Wormtongue and Peter (Wormtail) Pettigrew both get a bad rap. Yes, they were pawns of their evil lords. Yes, they betrayed their own kind. Could they really help it or were they victims, too? Did their deaths give them any redemption or did they just confirm their roles as tragic characters and tools cast aside by their masters?
• Saturday, 6:00 PM, Stranger Things: The Magical Influences - Drawing from such influences as Dungeons & Dragons, Tolkien, Magic: the Gathering, Stephen King, and the movies made by Chris Columbus and Steven Spielberg, the supernatural, enchanted elements of Stranger Things fairly drip from the screen! The series’ surreal atmosphere is propelled forward by humanity’s lack of understanding of the paranormal. The unknown science is magic!

In addition to some seriously cool programming - really, I don't know how much I'll be willing to stay at my vendor table because everything looks so fun - there are opportunities to win House points, live performances, and of course, a Yule Ball. I am also over the moon excited to meet Juliet Marillier, who will be launching and signing her latest book at the event, and whose writing has been influencing and inspiring me for more than a decade.

So, if you're in the Atlanta area, I don't think you'll want to miss this, and I won't want to miss you.

Books are Forever

While I love me some libraries, I'm also thrilled to finally be in a financial position as an adult and grown ass woman to buy books (almost) whenever I feel like it. For Christmas this past year my husband gave me a year-long membership to one of my favorite local booksellers, and I began working within a block of another. And if I was going to take advantage of the discount at the first, I really ought to grab a coffee and a paperback on my lunch break at the second. Filling the shelves - and the mantle - of my new home with novels that lack the used college bookstore sticker on the spine has been an absolute treat.

It used to be I would only buy books I knew that I loved, and even those, rarely in hardcover. There's a book festival in Cincinnati where I've been caught up in the happy moment of chatting with an author and purchased an unread story, because it makes everybody feel good, and leads sometimes to beloved friendships.

This year I have bought more books than ever, and while I've certainly loved some of my acquisitions less than others, I'm keeping all of them. When my girls are grown I want what I wanted as a child: a room full of books and books in every room. My parents weren't readers, but they went out of their way to be sure that I was. They provided me that early and everlasting love of libraries - I'd be warned when I started reading books in the car on the way home from our local branch that it would be a whole week before I would have new ones - and a handful of yard sale-acquired paperbacks you can still find peeking out from in between weightier tomes on my shelves.

I was a reader well before I was a writer, and when I am a mad, half-blind old woman raving about the way paper books used to smell, I expect I will demand that one of my great-great grandchildren read me the latest Margaret Atwood.

A few years ago I vowed to buy an eBook for every overpriced cup of coffee I bought, but I was pretty broke that year and am also desperately addicted to coffee. I didn't commit. But, I am trying to make up for it. One of my 34 in 34 goals is to read as many books, and ideally, I ought to own them. I suppose I'd like you to think, too, about how you could bring more words into your life. Please read, and please talk to me about what you're reading. Show me what it looks like on your digital and literal shelves. Because you're not just pumping blood into an author's heart and vital air into their lungs, you're bringing friends into your home. Adventure. Whimsy. Gravity.

Clothes and coffee are temporary treasures. Books are forever.

34 in 34

I just celebrated a birthday, and I decided that in my 34th year, if only makes sense to combine my love of lists with my love of ambition. In no particular order, here are 34 things I hope to do while I'm 34. I might need your help.

1. Finish writing another book.
2. Continue to work out at least three times a week.
3. Read 34 books.
4. Watch Star Wars: A New Hope with my oldest daughter. It's not that I think four is necessarily old enough, it's that I just can't wait any longer.
5. Attend Books by the Banks as a guest. With my second book slated for publication in May, I am cautiously optimistic.
6. Finish one new costume for Dragon*Con. Of course I have more than one planned, but I'm being realistic about my sewing follow through.
7. Run a successful writer’s retreat. After the holidays I plan to hit the ground hard plotting for a writer's retreat in April at a castle. If that sounds like something you'd be into, you know how to reach me.
8. Go swimming.
9. See a play.
10. See Bethany and Stephen get married!
11. And my girls are going to be flower girls, so, weep profusely.
12. See Alex and Christopher get married!
13. Go to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Dreaming big, friends.
14. Grow vegetables.
15. And then eat them.
16. Blog twice a month.
17. Sew something for each of my girls. I've actually already managed this, but I'm not letting myself completely off the hook.
18. Write real letters. Volunteers? I have a lot of stickers to compliment my poor handwriting.
19. See live music.
20. More candid photographs of my girls with my actual camera.
21. LARP more. After years of playing I took a break when my littles were very little, but I found time again last autumn and I want to keep it going.
22. Send Miss E to kindergarten in style with a Schultüte.
23. Grow my hair out.
24. Or cut it off if I'm really feeling it.
25. Watch Gilmore Girls in its entirety. I love it now but never watched it while it was on the air, so I am woefully behind.
26. Knit. I may as well if I am going to be watching television; these hands are so rarely idle.
27. Finish the quilt that's languished half-assembled since before I was married.
28. Discover some new music. Any recommendations?
29. Visit my dad at least once a month.
30. Endeavor not to fight with him.
31. Acquire a Stratton compact. While Peggy Carter turned me on to these vintage beauties, I'm not attached to hers unless I get lucky.
32. Read, paint, dance, and dream more with my girls.
33. Appreciate my husband in word and deed.
34. Elect a female president. #sorrynotsorry

What's in a Name?

Writing as a teenager, one of my favorite things to do was to name characters using the handy baby name bible passed on to me by my cousin. I loved looking up what a name meant and largely made my decisions that way - though I could also search by country of origin, astrological sign, season, or famous folks who shared a name. If I was feeling real crafty, I could choose a name and change a letter or two: the height of creativity in my late teens.

Now that that the internet is a thing and I'm not cramming a week's worth of searching and fooling around on the computer into one class period, I've got a lot more resources at my disposal in selecting the perfect name for my characters. Whether it's naming my latest gaming avatar or current favorite narrator, there are as many opportunities to be unique as there are risks in duplicating what someone else has already done. The work is practically being done for us these days.

But there's still something about selecting a character's name that feels like it ought to be organic, at least for me.

In The Hidden Icon, I wanted both Eiren and Gannet to be named for birds. I wish I could tell you that I had a really cool reason why this was, but I'll be honest: I did not. I wanted there to be something immediately connecting the two characters, identifying some kinship between them. Names are vital things: they're given to us, but they also principally define how we first think of ourselves and how we connect to others. Being the mother of small children and often in the company of other small children, I can tell you, names are a pretty big deal. You tell a small child she's "silly" and she'll insist, "No, I'm INSERT NAME HERE."

In the first draft, Eiren was simply 'Wren.' I later changed the spelling of her name to be more fantastical, which feels so lame to admit, but it's true. I've had some delightful (for me) conversations around the pronunciation of her name, and I've been surprised by the variety. Some folks have normalized it, assuming it's pronounced AIR-en, others EYE-ren. In my head, it's always been EAR-en, but I've truly got no dog in this fight. I just love that there is a fight.

Her sister, Lista, was also originally named 'Chantal,' which I changed because I wanted something more grounded. Morainn's name was different in the first draft, as well: she was Morrigan, which obviously has a lot of connotation I later wanted to avoid. There's some bird stuff there, too - you'd think I'd planned it.

As I'm writing, I often have to come up with a name for a character on the spot - and I do it quickly, often with the intention of changing it later. I like to lean on names that have the flavor of the setting the characters are in, and just like my oh-so-ingenious teenage self, my best (and possibly only) trick is mixing up a few letters to create something that's unique to my world. I tend to poke around and try things out until I settle on something that just has the right feel, just as one does when naming children, really.

Bonus about naming in books? No arguments with my husband. The characters are all mine.

Meet Me at Imaginarium

Excitement! I'll be participating in the Imaginarium Convention this coming weekend, 7 - 9 October, in Louisville, Kentucky. I've been trying to attend this convention pretty much since it began, and my babies kept being born and preventing me from doing so. If you're local to the area, it looks to be a pretty fabulous event for reading, writing, gaming, and cosplay. I'm on a few panels with some cool folks and I'm practicing my jokes so they aren't lame. Except, my rehearsed jokes are possibly lamer than the spontaneous ones.

My schedule:

• Friday, 5:00 PM, Slow Down, Hot Stuff! - If you’re into waiting a solid six hundred pages before characters jump into bed together, instead savoring meaningful glances, heated accidental brushing of hands, and lots of dancing around feelings, have we got some book recommendations for you.
• Friday, 8:00 PM, Author Signing in Vendor Hall
• Saturday, 11:00 AM, How to Fracture a Fairy Tale - Fairytale and mythic retellings are a popular storytelling device – some might say too popular. How do you pull it off in a way that feels fresh and interesting?
• Saturday, 5:00 PM, What's In a Name? - How to create names for your characters that fit your world’s language and culture.
• Sunday, 1:00 PM, Bad Boys (and Girls)! - The anti-heroes, the lone wolves, the ones so bad they are good. Why do we like the bad boys and anti-heroes sometimes more than the white knights?

Guys, I bought the good treats for my signing and will have paperback copies of The Hidden Icon available for sale - the very same editions you can no longer buy on Amazon, or ever again, as it will be re-released along with the second book next year. Consider yourself bribed.

What's Your Fictional Type?

I definitely have a "type" when it comes to fictional characters. These are the sorts of folks who I wouldn't find myself associating with in real life: they'd be unbearable to be around, impossible to talk to, or just intimidating as hell. But on the page or the screen? It's true love. The Strong, Silent Type

Dudes who are supremely self-contained, whose moods occupy the eye of the storm until they are the storm itself, who communicate volumes with their eyes alone... it's no surprise I love them, right? One of the first - and possibly most embarrassing - fictional crushes on this sort of fella was Conner McDermott from Sweet Valley High: Senior Year. When you identify strongly with bookish, rule following Elizabeth Wakefield as a teen, it's kind of hard not to fall for the boy you 100 percent shouldn't. But, this archetype is an interesting one, and has appealed to me the longest possibly because I want to believe there are hidden depths to everyone... or want to justify my tendency to lose my tongue in the company of quiet, steely-eyed, handsome dudes. Noteworthy SSTs: Bran from Son of the Shadows, Mr. Darcy, John Thorton from North & South.

The Scoundrel

I really ought to know better about this one, and while I've certainly crushed hard on some real-life troublemakers in my time, I much prefer the fictional variety. No consequences with those - and no need to confront the reality that you neither can nor should try to change who someone is to accommodate your love of law and order. This guy can make a girl laugh even when he's about to get her killed. I've not found many mischievous book characters I find believable or likeable, which makes me worry about attempting to write this sort of person myself. But I'm sure someday I'll try. Noteworthy miscreants: Han Solo, Sky Masterson, Malcolm Reynolds, Rosto the Piper from Tamora Pierce's Terrier and Bloodhound.

The Boss Bitch

I want to be her and I want to be her best friend. She's tough, smart, and capable. There's not a day in her life she's taken shit from anybody. I like that these women are strong, physically and emotionally, and I swear half the reason I've been working out lately is to be more like the fictional women I admire. I doubt my capacity to ever write this sort of woman, though, because I am, regrettably, too much of a pleaser. I blame being raised in the Midwest, and, as my best friend recently pointed out to me, the sort of person who apologizes when other people bump into me. Noteworthy bosses: Katniss Everdeen, Beka Cooper from Terrier, Bloodhound, and Mastiff, Garth Nix's Sabriel, Aeryn Sun.

So, who's your type?