Finding a Voice

If you keep up with my blog, you know I’m writing a children’s book that is highly anticipated by my son. I’m feeling the pressure of a deadline from an eight year old, and it may be as bad as having an editor on my case.


The rough draft is complete. The story is on paper with words that swim before my eyes as I read and reread them, trying to figure out what I need to do to make the story match what’s in my head.

I keep trying to find the voice of a child to tell the story, but my inner editor keeps pouncing on every simplistic word and description, and the end product ends up formal and stuffy, so unlike a child’s voice.

So I began paying attention to the stories my students tell. First, let me warn all parents that all children, no matter what age, love to tell stories about their families. The phrase “way too much information” was invented for the stories we hear from students.

My students are always requesting my stories though. They’ve even wanted several to be retold. So how come the words don’t flow onto the paper as easily?

I think it’s because my inner editor shuts off when I tell a story to a class full of students I want to impress with certain details. My voice, which is filled with imperfections and sarcasm, doesn’t worry about how I’m supposed to be writing. I’m not staring at the words on the page and seeing all their flaws.

But how does one turn the inner editor off when one is an English teacher? My students would be scandalized if I wrote grammatically incorrect.

They listen to my stories though. They appreciate that I can tell a story about when I was their age and actually get them. They even enjoy the sarcasm because it makes them laugh. That’s the voice I need to get on paper.

So I will return to the blank page and see if I can write the story that is in my head instead of what my inner editor is waiting to pounce on with her red ink pen.

New Resolution

At ten I wanted to be famous in a way that everyone knew me and envied my glamorous life as a writer. This was before I grew up to know that writer’s lives are not that glamorous and most are only recognized by their most avid fans.


You may ask why I am reminiscing about what I wanted to be when I grew up when I’m all grown up already. In the newest issue of Oprah magazine, an article stated that we’d have the most job satisfaction if we did what we wanted to do when we were ten.

My first thought was that at ten I still played with Barbie’s to act out my dreams. I don’t think they pay to play with Barbies. (Though, that may increase job satisfaction). But seriously, at ten we dreamed of being the best version of ourselves. The self that hadn’t figured out that we weren’t good enough yet at everything. But that may be the point.

What would we really be happy at doing if we didn’t doubt ourselves?

Truthfully, over the years I’ve had many distractions in the past that led me away from that ten-year-old version of myself. As I get older, and especially after my birthday this weekend, I think maybe I need to remind myself of what my ten-year-old self wanted. When I get busy, writing always gets pushed aside. (Hence, my blog is late). My childhood self would make enjoyment a priority. Maybe that’s what we really forget to do. We forget that work can be enjoyed and not just be a countdown until the weekend.

So I need to make writing a priority again, which means I’ll need to submit my blog on time and finish up that children’s book I keep dwelling on. I wonder if I can include Barbie dolls in this new plan. My daughter may like the playmate. I can always claim I’m acting out the story ideas I plan to write.

A List a Day...

I’m a list person. I make grocery lists, to-do lists, goal lists, and the list goes on, of course. I even have my five year old and eight year old creating lists when they need to clean their rooms or when they want to do several things in one day.


Recently, I’ve struggled with my lists because well, they are all work. Definitely nothing fun about house work, school work, and work in general. Once there used to be this exhilarating thrill when I completed the list, but as the lists grew, that satisfaction dissipated as I realized there wasn’t much time for anything but the tasks on the list.

So I experimented and attempted to forget the lists. For two weeks, I didn’t make a daily to-do list, not to mention the big one for special projects for the week. The result was I forgot my grade book at school when progress report grades were due. I forgot a test. I showed up for a parent conference on the wrong day. I basically made a mess of things. Not because I was lazy, but because I just couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do. My lists may not have been fun, but they substituted for my short term memory.

I had to rethink this problem. I suppose stopping lists cold turkey wasn’t the solution for me. Enter my idea to actually put the fun things on the list. Gone would be the problem of never doing anything fun, and I wouldn’t have to feel that nagging guilt because I was doing something fun before my list was all crossed out.

So I added throwing the Frisbee with my son and Wii night to my list, not to mention a game of Life where I finally won. I had the satisfaction of crossing things out on my list and having fun all at the same time.

Who knows? Maybe I may make out a list of only fun things. That’s an idea. I’ll get started right now.

Change of the Seasons

The crisp, cool air of fall has arrived heralding my favorite time of year. I once read somewhere that people have a preference for the season they were born. Though I don’t know if this is true for everyone, it is certainly true for me.


In South Louisiana, we don’t get to see the leaves change color, but we do notice the stifling heat give way to cool nights and crisp mornings.

My favorite part of fall is the bonfires though. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I paid much attention to the magnetic excitement that tingled through me as the flames scorched my face and the air chilled my body. I’d sit bundled up around the bonfire my dad had built for us, shivering and thriving on the rush.

The contradictory elements made me feel alive in a way that only teenagers feel. I can remember discussing the latest crushes and camping out in our old playhouse just to continue the night of excitement. The air electrified by the possibilities of what could happen during our chilly night under the clear, sparkling stars. An excitement that only the young experience.

So as fall arrives, I’m in need of some of that teenage resilience, so I’m welcoming the season wholeheartedly. I’m going to break out my sweaters, wrap myself in a blanket, and enjoy the beautiful clear darkness of a fall night.