It’s been a long time since I’ve been a reliable blogger, but I’m jumping back in with a post that will be the first in a series exploring the horrors (and occasional gleam) of process (as it looks & feels to me).

We hear often, from the experts, that it’s all about the process.

The journey.
The gettin’ there.

Not just writing, but life, too.

This isn’t always easy to swallow.

We want to believe that there’s an endpoint that will make the fear and self-loathing and doubt and effort and second-guessing not just ‘worth it’ but ‘gone’.  There’s a self-protective desire to be knocked out for the tough stuff and wake me when it’s over. We want to skip ahead to product. To success. Fame and fortune. The finish line.

Or do we?

What’s occurred to me lately is that if I wish away process, I’m wishing away the better portion of my days.
Better, as in larger.
But also better. As in, more good.

Because really, is there anything more good than getting into the zone — working your way through the fear and self-loathing and doubt and effort and second-guessing, and getting into the zone? Logic disappears, logistics vanish, time suspends, fingers race. And somewhere in the midst of that dreamy, muse-driven floatiness your brain says, "I’m onto something here." That is pretty sweet.

I’m thinking specifically about writing, but really, isn’t there a mama zone and a runner’s zone and a teaching zone and a gardening zone and, well, you get the idea.

Isn’t there?

Which makes me think, "There are no short cuts to the finish line and thank god."

Plus, even those moments (which are many) that don’t qualify for dreamy, muse-driven or floaty, even those all feed who I am and what I do, such that not a single line of poetry or a story idea would have legs or hold water if I hadn’t done what I did to get there.

So, I no longer wish process away.
But I still try to manage it.
Because the arbitrary, unscheduled, unpredictable riskiness of the artistic process is something akin to tightrope walking.
I think.
Although I don’t know for sure, because I’m too scared to try. If you see what I mean.

So, how do I manage process so I can enjoy it a little and not just bite my nails and beg someone to institutionalize me? 
More on that tomorrow…

Things have been so crazy here that I’ve barely been keeping up with my minimum training schedule.
And I certainly haven’t been posting about it.
That said, I ran 13 miles yesterday so I’m still in the running.
So to speak.

Mileage for the week: 25 miles

Longest run: 13

Grand total since I started training: 120

High point: The annual Turkey Trot on Thursday. Nearly 12,000 of us kicked off Thanksgiving Day with a festive little jog through Austin.

Fun Fact: 77 Days ’til the marathon

Which sort of seems right around the corner when you take into account the holidays and all.
I am daunted when I think that what I ran yesterday is just half of what I’ll need to run in February.
But then I just put my nose down, lace up my shoes and try not to look too far forward.
Having a long view can be helpful when envisioning a big life, but so much of getting there is simply doing what needs to be done.
Right now.
Today.

Quote for the week:
Our grand business is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand. — Thomas Carlyle

I am grateful for my husband, who is funny and supportive and patient and tender and dear.

I am grateful for my tall one and her deep heart, and my small one and her quick wit.

I am grateful for my mom and dad, and their constancy.

I am grateful for my mother-in-law and the still-very-nearness of my father-in-law, who have always made me one of theirs.

I am grateful for my sister, who lives back in this country again — just one time zone away.

I am grateful for my sisters- and brothers-in-law and my neice and nephews and countless cousins and aunts and uncles, of whom I got more than my fair share.

I am grateful for Goodness, capital G.

I am grateful for friends, true blue, and students, old and new.

I am grateful for my writing chums, without whom I’d hurl myself from windows, and my agent and editor and illustrators, for whom I’d hurl myself from windows. So to speak.

I am grateful for libraries.

I am grateful for the hike-and-bike trail and Ladybird Lake and the Rocky Mountains and the deep blue sea.

I am grateful for running shoes, yoga mats and tents.

I am grateful for good cheese and fine wine.

I am grateful for music.

I am grateful for unlimited long distance and email.

I am grateful that email has an off button.

I am grateful for my cats and my old white dog.

I am grateful for the muse and the mind, the body and the breath.

I am grateful for you…

I apologize for my sudden absence, friends.

I flew to California last week to talk about books, art and process with my editor and current illustrator, and I got all caught up in things.

In a good way.

There was humor, wisdom and inspiration to spare, and I hope to access a little of that once I’m settled back at my desk.

But in the meantime, I am pausing with my family to say farewell to my father-in-law who has finally succumb to a seemingly endless one-on-one with cancer. Dear Jack — husband, dad, and granddad, lover of dogs. Attendant to poetry lovers and hummingbirds. You will be missed, but we’re grateful you’ve finally been given real rest.

We shall find peace. We shall hear angels,
we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.
                                       — Chekov

Be well, everyone, and I’ll be back with regularity soon.

Two weeks ago, the illustrator for my first book was in Austin, promoting her new book with the… ahem… Duchess of York.

Robin is illustrator to the stars, which is sort of funny since I’m not one.
But she is also just an all-around gal to lunch with.
Which I did.

And now, tomorrow, I leave for California to connect with the illustrator for my second book, along with my beloved editor.

Marla and Allyn are illustrator and editor to other stars and, also, all-around gals to lunch with.
Which I will.

Counting my blessings over here in my own earthly little universe…

Maybe it was the s’mores ’round the campfire this weekend, or the fact that my husband is out of town and the girls were out of school, but as a runner I was not at my stellar best today.

I didn’t even get out there ’til 6:30 pm (a good 12 hours later than usual) and it was just plain clunky.
I was not fast.
I was not strong.
I was not inspired.

I  just put in my time.

So it is nice to reflect back on last week and remember it wasn’t half bad.

Mileage for the week: 19 miles

Longest run: 9 miles

Grand total since I started training: 67 miles

High point: Running with company!
My good buddy Kathie came off the IT-band bench and we clocked the perfect nine miles on Friday — blue and breezy, with a big ol’ latte waiting at the end.

So back to today. One silly little day. Three miniscule miles.
I guess the take-away message is that some days are better than others, and the crummy ones still count.

Putting in my time — as a runner, a writer, a parent — isn’t, in itself, going to win me any awards or beauty contests.

But it will keep me afloat, with a hand-hold on what I’m working toward.
So that when the good days — the strong and inspired ones — arrive? 
I’m at the ready.

Quote for the week:
Slow and steady wins the race. — Aesop

Those of you who have kids know that writing prompts aren’t just for breakfast anymore.

Once the property of Natalie Goldberg and writing workshops for grown-ups, writing prompts have become a fixture in the elementary school classroom.

And they pretty much work for kids the way the work for us — intermittently.

"It’s like bad prompt week at school," one of my girls will say.

"Today’s prompt was so random that I pretty much didn’t even get it!" the other chimes in.

(Side note: Doesn’t it just kill you when kids (of all people) call something random?!?!)

Other times they rave.

"I could’ve written for my writing prompt all day today!"

"I started writing about my dream but then it took off into the greatest story!"

Every so often one of them will want to share what they’ve written, and tonight was one of those nights.

I asked permission to share this with you all.
It just seemed so dang pertinent.

It’s by my Tall One. Enjoy.

If I Could Create a New Holiday…

If I could create a new holiday it would be called W.A.O. day. W.A.O. stands for We Are One!
It would be an international holiday.

Then there would be more music and fireworks.
It would be a great holiday.

No kidding.
And according to her calculations, it’s tomorrow.
In Malaysia.

You coming?

I’m bringing soup…

"… Always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way,
nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change…"

— Barack Obama

My elder daughter is taking a field trip to the Texas Capitol today.

She’ll learn about the red granite they used to build the dome, she’ll have lunch on the rolling lawn, and she’ll be told that the women and men who work in that building are there to speak for her, for all of us.

She’ll be told that the people of Texas — like people all across the United States — come together in union to work toward a common good, to achieve liberty and justice for all.

They come together in schools and churches and neighborhoods and meeting halls and courtrooms and buildings like these,

where, she’ll be told, they make promises — to be truthful and faithful, to protect and defend, to do equal right to the rich and to the poor.

She’ll be told that there is system in place in our country designed to ensure that all that is fair and good will prevail.

This is not unlike what we say to children in picture books.

We assure them that there are people who love them and who are there for them no matter what.
We let them know that each of their voices — unique and small though they may be — are valued and heard.
We show them that their lives are full of hope and possibility.
We remind them that even if today was rough, there’s a new day tomorrow.

I tend to cry on election day — and the day after — no matter the outcome.

It’s both humbling and empowering to understand the weight of what we’re being asked to do.
Which is, in the end, nothing less than going to our polls and making good on all the things we’re telling our kids.

Marathon Monday is my new once-a-week, keep-it-up-because-I’m-too-embarrassed-to-quit-with-all-these-people-watching, marathon training post.

Last week, I laid out all the low-down nitty gritty.

This week, tidbits:

Mileage for the week — 17

Grand total since I started — 48 (which is a little disheartening when you figure that’s not even TWO marathons and it took me three weeks!)

Lowlights — Thursday morning I really and truly was still asleep for the first 1/3 of my run. I think I may have even had a dream. Also, it feels like I’m going to have to replace my shoes sooner rather than later.

Highlights — When you have to replace your shoes in Austin, Texas, you get to go to Runtex and they treat you with such attentive care that you feel like you’ve been to the spa. Or on a date. Something.

Other highlights — As I finished my run on Saturday, the sun rose, the sky glowed apricot, the rowing sculls came out in droves and two swans slept in the middle of the lake with their long necks tucked completely into their wings. You can’t get all that on a Stairmaster. And, best of all, my running partners are emerging from their injuries and joining me again!

Quote for the week — Workouts are like brushing my teeth; I don’t think about them, I just do them.  The decision has already been made. – Patti Sue Plumer, U.S. Olympian

That’s what I’m looking at this week.
A lot of really decent tooth-brushing.
You?