Afraid of the Dark

 I love working night shift. A lot of people think that it’s because there’s less work to do, which might be true, but it’s more that there’s a different kind of work. A lot more of the behind the scenes, checking orders, etc to help day shift out.

I’ve worked day shift too, and I do enjoy the bustle and the busy. The thing that I hate is the hours. If I could get the busy of dayshift, but at night, I would be perfectly happy. But I don’t think my body is equipped for day shift. Waking up that early in the morning makes me want to cry sometimes. I’d rather stay up late than wake up early, and I don’t think that will ever change.

Working night shift also comes with a whole different set of situations. Night shift is obviously dark, since most of the lights are dimmed so the patients can sleep. It’s also quiet for the same reason. We want to let the patients sleep so that they can recover and heal. The other part is that it’s much more empty. You don’t have anyone in the kitchen, all of the activities and therapy people are gone for the day, and administration doesn’t work at night. It’s just the bare bones, enough to get through to the next shift. At least, that’s how it is in a skilled nursing facility.

What still amazes me is how many nurses and CNAs I’ve worked with over the years who were afraid of the dark. They would work night shift, but they were still terrified of the dark. They would jump at every sound, and they would spend their time scaring themselves while at work.

A few years ago, I was walking a patient up and down the hallway when she couldn’t sleep. After a few laps, she leaned in closer and asked, “Do you still hear the voices?”

I’m sure my eyes grew big, and I had no idea what she was talking about. Turns out, she’d gotten me confused with another nurse, who was afraid of the dark, and afraid to work alone in the hallway the patient was on because she would ‘hear voices.’ For me, the worst part of the story was that she told the patients, who had to live and sleep on that hallway, that she found it creepy and heard voices.

I had a CNA that I worked with who would close all of the windows. She was terrified people would be peeking in while we worked.

Any of you afraid of the dark, or worked with someone who was? Did it make it hard for you to work nightshift?

Illegal Immigrants

Before I left the United States, I didn’t have a lot of friends who weren’t US Citizens. There were the Mexicans who I knew from church, but I hadn’t really stopped to think about where they came from.

When I moved to Spain, I was amazed by how many cultures and countries fit into Madrid. There were people from everywhere, and since I attended an international school, there were even more in my classes.

I lived in Spain during the time of the boom. Everyone wanted to live in Spain because it was doing so well, and because there were so many opportunities. The immigration system was a little bit different than it is here. For many of them, if they could last several years without being caught as illegal, and if they could prove that they’d lived, and served as upright people in the country, they could obtain their residency. That was an opportunity that many couldn’t resist. It’s not to say that they didn’t come with any risks. The main form of transportation, the metro, was always considered a trap. There would be random checkpoints where everyone trying to get onto the train had to show their paperwork.

I’m not quite sure when I realized how many of my friends were illegal immigrants from different countries. For me, they were just my friends. But after a while, I started to notice that those of us with papers would go into the metro stations before others, and then we would call up if they weren’t doing checks.

There was one evening, when we had an activity that ran over, that two of my friends ran to the metro before they were late. One of the girls had her paperwork, and the other didn’t, and that was the night when they were doing checks in the metro. They caught my friend, and she was deported back to her country.

It was quite a sobering experience for me, since I’d never had to live with the fear of being deported. I’d never left my country hoping for a better life, or for an opportunity to live in a better place. The way my husband described Spain was: “It’s like the American dream, but in a country where we could speak the language.”

It’s amazing how fortunate we are to have the opportunity to live in a country where dreams are made possible. Where we don’t feel like we have to escape to be able to have a fulfilling life. I wish that this opportunity could be true for everyone.

Just Write!

This month, I’ve had the chance to talk to a lot more writers than I normally do. It’s amazing to see the different levels that writers are in. I’ve seemed to spend more time with brand new writers, ones on the very beginning of the journey.

What’s really surprised me, is that many of these writers find that the prewriting process, the idea, is much more important than the writing. One young man told me that he’s found that the writing part is most difficult. He told me that he’s written about five pages in the past six months or so. I had another writer tell me that she’s hoping to use NaNoWriMo to finish her novel, since she’s been working on it for about five years.

I don’t know that I’ve ever had that issue. I hear the excuse of ‘no time’ a lot. To me, that seems like an excuse for those who doesn’t make writing a priority. My senior year of college, the last month, right before finals, and before I took one of the most important tests of my life, I wrote an entire novel. Three weeks, while studying for finals, and I wrote over 50,000 words. My Co-ML has 4 kids. Last year, she worked full time, took care of her kids, and finished her 50,000 words in almost 20 days.

It’s possible. Time is something that everyone struggles with. We all get the same amount. 24 hours in a day. What we do with it really shows what we find most important.

This month, I’ve realized how much I’ve let my own writing slip. It’s not been a priority, even though I say that I want to be a writer. I want to write.

I’ve been adjusting my schedule, making sure that I put the time into writing so that I can’t use an excuse when I realize I haven’t been as productive as I meant to be.

How do you find time to write? What kind of sacrifices have you had to make so that you can get writing in?

Fortitude

When I was younger, I learned a word that has always stuck with me.  I read it in a book from a series I loved.  The main character was talking to his best friend, a guy who was desperately in love with the main character’s sister, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day.  When he asked the main character’s advice, he gave him one word:

“Fortitude.”

What a fantastic word.  Life liked to knock us down.  I know each of us has our own hardships, our own struggles.  What could a little fortitude give us?

It’s not just persistence.  It’s an emotional and physical determination to endure whatever comes, and to keep going.  It’s not stubbornness.  It’s more than that.

Why do I bring it up?

Because this is something that all writers must have.  This should be a prerequisite to writing.  Writing isn’t easy.  There’s the first draft.  Finishing that first draft, especially when you’ve never written a novel before, can be absolutely daunting.  In fact, I know quite a few people who’ve never finished one.  Then there’s the revisions.  Some might say that it’s even harder than the actual writing.  It’s taking away the inspiration and going for the analytical.  Looking at phrasing and syntax and ugly adverbs. 

After that?  Depending on the route you take, it’s querying, getting rejected, revising your query over and over again.  Or it’s self-publishing and fighting to get noticed above everyone else in the throng.

There’s nothing easy about writing. 

There's going to be a lot of curves and bumps in the road

A few weeks ago, I saw a fellow writer get discouraged because of feedback she’d received.  This was her first time, and I know how daunting that can be.  For someone else to look at your baby?  The thing you created from your own sweat and tears?  Yeah.  I definitely cried that first time.  Probably the second time too. 

When I talked to the writer about it later, she told me, “I’m not sure if I’ll be putting much more energy into the project.”

I wanted to grab her and shake her.  This is just the beginning.  She has a story, she has a plot.  The feedback wasn’t to scrap it and start all over again.  It was to do some revising and some fixing.  It was totally doable.  It’s a matter of taking a deep breath, closing her eyes and diving in.  Once you get to the other side, where critiques make you happy – even when they tear your work apart – that’s when things are starting to get good.

It’s too easy to give up.  Don’t do it.  Whether it’s your dream of writing a novel, learning a foreign language or riding a hot air balloon strap on some fortitude.  You’ll get there.

Why We Like the Underdog

For those of you not watching the World Cup, something pretty spectacular happened a few days ago.  The USA is in the same group as several very great and well renowned teams.  Most people thought the USA’s chances were about zero.  In fact, the coach didn’t even have any expectations of winning.

That’s why it was so spectacular when the USA beat Ghana.   No one expected it, and somehow, that team overcame everyone’s doubt.  My husband watched the game at his school, and took a video of the reaction when the game ended. 

The overwhelming response is actually quite overwhelming, the shouts, the flags, the celebration – it shows that when someone can overcome the greatest of challenges, the response is even greater. 

Who wants to root for the winning, obvious champion?  Probably a lot of people.  But does the victory mean the same thing when they’re already expected to win?   The constant struggle, the uphill climb is something that everyone can relate to.  We all understand that feeling.

I remember my first semester of college, I was in the lowest Spanish class available.  I wasn’t too concerned, I’d already taken three years of Spanish in high school, and I’d studied on my own.  The first day, we were given a pretest to determine our knowledge of the language.  Needless to say, I failed.  I couldn’t even figure out what the test wanted me to do.  A few days later, my teacher pulled me aside and told me that it would be better if I just drop the class, because there was no way that I could keep up.

F

I probably should have listened to her, but for some reason, I took that as a challenge.  I studied on my own, I went to the park and practiced speaking with complete strangers.  I read books in Spanish, and I spent every spare moment trying to get a handle on the language.  My first midterm, I failed.  But I still didn’t drop the class.  My second midterm, I got a C. 

One little grade just gave me so much hope.  I’d actually been able to pass.  I kept going, and I ended up getting an A on my final, and with homework, I managed to pull an A- that semester.  Not only that, I became fluent in the language.  I probably wouldn’t even remember that much about the class if I hadn’t have struggled and worked so hard.  And I wouldn’t have been so proud of my grade if I didn’t have to raise it from a failing grade.

I hope that I put my characters through the same thing.  I hope that life isn’t so easy that there’s never a challenge.  I want them to grow and struggle.

Easy Isn’t Always Better

Let’s face it.  We’re creatures of habit.  Humans have a way of gravitating toward what feels most natural: what they know.

I’m that way.  Easier is… well… easy. 

But easy doesn’t mean it’s always the best option.  I’ve learned that the hard way.  And on multiple occasions.  The times of my life that I remember the most, the moments that changed me for good have been the times that were hard. 

Here's my story.

 I grew up in Colorado.  I wasn’t really an adventurer.  I preferred to stay home with a good book rather than go out and do something new.  My plan for my life was to get a nursing degree at a university near home, with my cousin as a roommate.  From there, I planned on living my life without any excitement and without any difficulties.

I would have been perfectly content with a life like that.  No fuss, no injuries.  But who’d want to read about that?

As a senior in high school, I received a pamphlet for Saint Louis University’s Madrid Campus.   It had an opportunity to obtain a bachelor’s degree in nursing from both the United States and Spain.  The thought both intrigued and terrified me.  I won’t go into the details, but after a year of debating, dealing with the fear of the unknown, I moved to Spain.

In the two years I lived in Madrid, I experienced things that I’d never dreamed of.  I learned a new language, I traveled to Germany, I met a handsome Bolivian and brought him back to the US where we got married.  I even learned how to dance.  Each experience is one that I treasure, and the person that I became is who I am today. 

Castle Manzanares El Real

Symbol of Madrid

Segovia

As a writer, I search for those moments that take my characters out of their comfort levels.  I want them to struggle, to learn, and to grow.  Because ultimately, that’s the story that I would want to read. 

How about you?  Have there been moments when you stepped out of your comfort zone and experienced something new?

Moving Closer

Until recently, I never considered publishing.  I was writing for me, not for anyone else.  I became obsessive about editing and revising, and editing some more.  I even had betas going through my writing to try and improve it.

It wasn’t until my very pushy, yet very supportive husband asked me what I was doing.  I had no clear goals, all I was doing was writing.  But what was I writing for?  For me, right?

But when he asked that question, I started to realize that I wanted to share what I wrote.  For someone like me, so chronically shy that it’s hard to look into people’s eyes, admitting something like that was difficult.  My writing is one of the most personal things that I’ve created, and to share something like that is terrifying. 

Once I realized that I wanted to publish someday, I started making clear, definite goals.  I joined a critiquing website, began researching the publishing industry.  Then, this year, I felt like I was finally ready to take that plunge.  I participated in the #Pitmad in January.  I had one person request my query and first five pages.  After I sent it, she responded with a very nice, very kind rejection. 

So I kept working.  I researched queries.  I practiced and I revised.  Fortunately for me, I can get a bit obsessive about that kind of stuff. 

This week, I participated in a second #Pitmad.  This time, I got another editor to request pages and a query.  And the next day, I got a response.  In it, she told me three times that my query was well written, but because I’d already queried their agency, she wasn’t able to.

Yes, that’s a rejection, but it was a great rejection.  It made me realize that I’m getting closer.  I’m moving toward my goals.  Each step feels like an accomplishment.

How about the rest of you?  Moving toward your goals?  Making those small steps?

Dealing with Death

I work in a profession that deals a lot with something that most people try to avoid: death. 

Death is something that can’t be avoided.  It happens to everyone at some time, whether it’s someone they love or their own.  Each experience with death is something private and personal.  As a nurse, I have the chance to watch patients and families as they go through it.  It’s a chance to glimpse through the window of a person’s true personality, their true values and how they deal with something so tragic. 

Honestly, I could spend pages and pages writing about different experiences I’ve had with death.  People who’ve died ten minutes to midnight New Year’s Eve, families who plan the death of their parents years in advance, or even people who don’t believe that death is imminent.  I’ve seen angry, inconsolable, relieved, and even happy.  Each time, it feels new, yet the same at the same time.

But that’s not what I want to focus on.  

Death isn’t necessarily always physical.  As I’m working on the Blue WIP, I’m starting to realize that there’s always something that a character fears, and death can be one of the most effective.  Right now, my character is afraid of the death of her career.  This is something she’s dreamed of her entire life, and as she’s watching it crumble and slip away, she’s left to deal with the end of the one thing most important to her.  Now that she’s left vulnerable, I can really delve into who she really is, to learn what she really values once her career dies. 

That’s just one example of death in literature, but there can be so many other possibilities.  Death of romance/relationships, death of beliefs, death of security.  Loss defines us as humans and is one thing that we can all relate with.  Whether or not I’ve experienced the same kind of loss, I can always understand what it’s like to deal with it. 

So, right now, I’m working on throwing a bit more ‘death’ into my writing.  I want the reader to glimpse through my characters’ windows, to see who they truly are when they lose the one thing most important to them.  Who are they when they have to deal with grief and loss?

Out of Control

A few weeks ago, my mom came to visit, and I decided to make a birthday cake for her, since we’d missed her birthday. 

Now, I’ve recently (over the past two years or so) been experimenting with cake making, and I’ve really learned to enjoy it.  I love the creating process and the ability to create something that people can enjoy.  Ironically, it’s very similar to writing, except the result is must faster.  I can make a cake and have someone eat it later that day.  With writing, I’m still waiting for the chance to share it with others.

However, one of the things that I struggle with when I create is the ability to give up control.  I like to make things perfect, so when something goes wrong, I have the tendency to get frustrated. 

With the cake that I made, I ran into more problems than I normally do, and I got incredibly frustrated.  The cake wouldn’t bake, and once it was finished, it was too crumbly and wouldn’t cut.  Even the whipped cream topping I had turned into some kind of runny, milky, mess.  Honestly, I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong.  Even though the cake was delicious and turned out okay, I was still frustrated with it.

I wish I could say I don’t do the same thing when I write, but I can’t.  The greatest thing about creating is knowing that there’s always the chance of losing control.  There’s always the chance that mistakes, or things that don’t turn out the way that you want can be the best thing that happens.  Sometimes the characters or the story itself can resist to what I’ve planned and prepared, not because it was a bad plan, but because that’s not how it’s supposed to turn out. 

So that’s my goal for now.  I’m trying to release some of that control and give it to the actual creative process.  How about you?  

The First Step

I’m not an adventurer.  I usually leave that to my characters. 

For me, I love my comfort zone because it’s cozy and it’s something that I know.  I very rarely take risks without calculating all of the possible outcomes and yet, those risks and changes are what have made my life exciting.  In those moments when I have to move out of my comfort zone, leave what I know or try something new, I get a rush of excitement.

As many of you may remember, one of my New Year’s resolutions involved sending out my first queries in the month of January.  Writing is a passion of mine.  I do it because I love it.  But I’ve gotten to the point where I feel like it shouldn’t just be for me.  I want to share it with others.  Since I’ve decided to try traditional publishing first, that means querying. 

I participated in #Pitmad earlier this month, and WOW!  I was amazed by the fast-paced momentum that it went by.  I’m glad I participated, and maybe someday later I’ll be able to participate in another twitter pitch session, but I’m not sure that I liked the speed that it went by.  I much prefer taking things at my own speed, rather than trying to shout for attention.  I did have one editor request a query and the first 500 words, so it was a good experience, just one I’m not sure I’d repeat.

The rush of having someone actually request a query was fantastic.  The waiting, the anticipation… it was enough to make me want to try again.  This time, I sent out a query on my own, where it was just one on one.  I know the agent probably receives hundreds of queries a day, but at least I don’t have the feeling that I’m one of thousands trying to get attention.  (Though it’s probably not an inaccurate description.)

Last week, I received rejections from both the agent and the editor.  When I was talking to my mom about it later, I told her that I had the urge to print them both out and hang them up on the wall.

It’s not that I enjoy rejection.  I don’t.  But the fact that I was rejected also means that I tried.  I took that first step toward publication.  I tried and I failed.  But that doesn’t mean that I won’t ever succeed.  If I had never tried, then I would never achieve my goals.  If I never take that step, then I’ll never get anywhere.  And that’s why I’m going to celebrate this failure.

Picture taken and edited by me

Taking Chances

When I was little, I really liked watching “The Magic School Bus.”  Something about their zany adventures adding with science was just the right mixture for me.  And there was always Miss Frizzle’s catch phrase:

Photo created by me

Now that should be my theme for 2014. 

I’m a normally cautious person.  I like to examine every option, and usually, my most common decision is to take the safe route.  In high school, I never went out and, I never liked going out of my comfort zone.  Safe is good, it’s not scary.

But safe never got me anywhere.  When I started applying for colleges, there were the safe ones.  The ones I knew I could get into and that I didn’t have to really worry about the applications.  There was one specific school I applied to that was a long shot.  I didn’t have a very good chance, and even if I did, it would be more difficult than going to a school near home.  Instead of moving to a different state, I’d be moving to a different country, learning a new language and a new culture.

I was terrified, but I took the chance.  When I got accepted to a university in Madrid, it took me weeks to convince myself that I wanted it.  That I was ready for it.  It took even longer to convince my parents. 

That one decision, crazy and outside of my comfort zone, was the best decision I ever made.  I found myself becoming more comfortable with myself, making friends I wouldn’t have made otherwise, and I ended up meeting my future husband.  I learned a new language, traveled to places I never thought I’d been and learned how to fend for myself.

You’d think that I’d have learned my lesson, but I still enjoy my comfort zone.  And that includes within writing.  Yes, I’ve slowly expanded the circle, but there’s still stuff that terrifies me.

This month, I finally did something that I never thought I’d be able to do.  I started sending out queries.  Now, that is terrifying.  And yet, I feel like it’s a step in the right direction.  I took a chance.  Was it a mistake?  Possibly, but it’s the only way that I can become a better writing and move past the fear that I have.

So that’s my new theme for this year.  I’m going to “take chances, make mistakes and get messy.”

Why I Write

The ending of 2013 was a bit rocky, though I think I’ve figured out why.  I stopped writing.  Life got pretty hectic and I felt like I had to set something aside, and writing was what I chose.  December was a terrible month, but after a long talk with my dad over the holidays, I realized that writing is my escape. 

When life gets hectic, the last thing to do is desert the thing that releases stress.  While driving to my parents’ house and back, I began writing again, and I remembered everything that I love about writing.

Going back to my stories is like greeting old friends.  I know these characters inside and out.  I know their struggles and their needs, and I want to cheer for them as they pursue their goals.  These characters make up a large part of my life.  And I know that it sounds weird saying that since technically they aren’t real.  But they’re real to me. 

Writing is a way for me to connect with my subconscious.  My creativity.  My inner child.  The part of my mind that doesn’t stress about passing medications on time or whether or not someone needs a catheter changed.  A section that doesn’t notice the laundry that’s piling up or the dishes lying in the sink.  In that part of my mind, I don’t remember the health problems that bring me down or the disappointment that make me want to cry.  It’s the chance to feel new and renewed, experiencing life for the first time and in a new world where I can control everything that happens.  I know that things will work out, even if it’s an imaginary struggle.  It still feels like a victory when it’s over.

When I write, I create.  I make a difference that I can see.  That’s not always possible in the rest of life.  As a nurse, sometimes, I get discouraged, knowing that there’s only so much that I can do for someone.  The human body is unpredictable, constantly changing.  At home, no matter what I do, there’s always something else that needs attention.  But when I write, I can see the changes, the increase in word count, the building of chapter upon chapter.  And no matter what happens, whether I need to rewrite it or not, it’s there.  I’ve saved it and it’s not going to disappear.  It’s not going to change. 

I need writing.  I need to allow that part of myself freedom to create and to flow.  When I suppress it, the rest of my life suffers and I struggle to focus. 

Why do you write?

I Write

I had an interesting conversation this week with one of my coworkers.  We were talking about what we do in our spare time.  He mentioned that he doesn’t like to do very much, so he likes to waste his time (his words, not mine) watching series on Netflix.  According to him, it’s like being able to watch a 50 hour movie. 

Usually in this kind of conversation, I kind of mumble a response, something about laundry and stuff like that.  But this time, I decided to get brave and tell him that I use my spare time writing.  I just said, “I don’t like to waste my time with that kind of stuff because I like to use my time writing.”

But it was his response that surprised me.  I really don’t tell people because I’m afraid of what they say.  How do most people respond when I tell them?  Just a ‘That’s cool,’ and a quick change of subject.  But instead, my coworker responded by telling me that he was impressed.  He told me that he’d thought of writing, but he’s never actually done it. 

He told me that I was in the 1%.  The kind of person who actually goes after my dreams instead of sitting around thinking about it. 

I’ve never had such a positive response before and it made me really think.  Why am I so afraid to say those two words? 

I write.  I write.

It’s a very important part of my life, something that takes up all of my free time, and even some of my laundry time.  And my dishes time.  But for some reason, it’s scary to say out loud. 

Which is why I’m so grateful to my coworker for his response.  He made me realize that writing isn’t something to be embarrassed about.  It’s not something that I have to hide from those I associate with.  It’s a part of me.  Just like coloring and playing the piano.

What do you like to do in your free time?  I write.

When Dreams Come True

I’m going to veer a little off topic today.  I think this can apply to just about anyone.  I would love to hear what you think below.

When I was seven years old, I decided I wanted to be a nurse.  Not just a nurse, a nurse for old people.  I was the crazy 10-year-old that not only could spell the word geriatric, I knew what it meant too.  As a child, I used to unbend paperclips and poke stuffed animals and dolls, pretending I was giving them shots.

Since I was seven, there were only two moments when I doubted my decision.  Both were important, but I’m only going to mention one.  It was when I was about nine or ten.  My dad took us to see a high school performance of Oliver! During intermission, my little sister (only two at that time) fell and split her chin open.  We had to rush to the hospital where my other sisters and I waited in the waiting room for what felt like hours.  As I sat there, all I felt was fear.  I saw the blood gushing from my sister’s chin and I was terrified.

I realized I couldn’t be a nurse if I was afraid of blood, and so I put away many of my medical toys, thinking that I couldn’t achieve my dream. My fear was in the way.

Thankfully, as I’ve now realized years later, it wasn’t the blood that scared me.  It was the uncertainty and the inability to do anything to help.  I wanted to be a nurse because I wanted to help the elderly.  Not knowing what to do in that situation (even though I was only ten) made me doubt my abilities as a future nurse.

Obviously, I overcame that doubt.  I’m currently a BSN working at my dream job – in a nursing home.  I can’t count the number of times people have asked, “Why don’t you do something more with your degree?”  I’ve been told that I’ve thrown my education away and that I’m wasting my time as a floor nurse.  With a BSN, I could be management, work in prestigious hospitals.  I’m encouraged to continue on my education and become a nurse practitioner.

But I don’t.  I’m a floor nurse at a nursing home.  I’m the one who gets to see everyone’s hemorrhoids, wake them up late at night when they’d rather be asleep.  I’m the one who gets yelled at by both patients and doctors.  I act as the middle man.  I deal with death on almost a daily basis, helping others learn to prepare for it or deal with it after it occurs.  I’m expected to work nights, weekends and holidays, 12-hour shifts.  When someone has an infectious disease, I still go in to provide their care.

And I love it.

Not a single shift goes by that I don’t go home, exhausted and content.

Why?

Because I still remember why I became a nurse.  That dream as a seven-year-old girl wasn’t about the money, prestige or anything else.  I wanted to be a nurse because I wanted to ease the pain and loneliness of the elderly.  I wanted to be the one they called when they needed help.  I wanted to be able to make a difference in their lives, especially so near the end.  And so, no matter what others think, I keep working, keeping perspective on what really matters.

Having dreams and goals is important, but so is remembering why we wanted them in the first place.  Every dream needs a little perspective.