Posts - Kerry Gans, Author

Monkee-ing Around

December 6, 2012 By Kerry Gans 6 Comments

If you know me at all, you know I’m a huge Monkees fan. I was devastated when Davy Jones died earlier this year, because I was sure I’d never see another Monkees concert again. However, in a surprise move, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Michael Nesmith got together and did a short tour this November!

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Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork
Keswick Theatre
Glenside, PA
11/29/2012

Not only were they touring, but they were playing my “hometown” theater, the Keswick…on Nov 29th. Why does the date matter? Because my two best friends and I rocked the Monkees all through high school and college and beyond. And Donna Hanson Woolman’s birthday was Nov 29th. She died almost 10 years ago, and I couldn’t help but feel some sort of karmic convergence in the date.

And to further the cosmic aspect of the Keswick’s date, my other Monkee friend, Donna L., scored 6th row center seats for me. The amazing thing is not that she got the seats, but that she got them 4 HOURS after the tickets had gone on sale. As a veteran of many concerts, I can tell you those prime seats should have been gone in the first 4 MINUTES. While I don’t believe that God cares a hoot where I sat to see the Monkees, I couldn’t help feeling that Donna Hanson Woolman had a heavenly hand in making that happen.

So, I saw them at the Keswick Theater in Glenside, PA, and at the NJ State Theater in New Brunswick, NJ. Both shows rocked! All the favorites, plus all of my favorites that they never used to play. Since Mike never toured with the other three in the USA before, this was the first time I ever heard a lot of his songs live. Since his are some of my favorite tunes, I greatly enjoyed rocking to them.

The guys sounded great, and the music was excellent. These guys can still rock it like no one’s business! Mike on the guitar, Peter on guitar, keyboard, and banjo, and Micky on guitar, drums, tambourine, maracas, bongos, and the big timpani drum for Randy Scouse Git. The crowds jammed hard, too, singing along with every song.

The guys had an easy rapport with each other, talking back and forth in a mix of ad lib and scripted banter. They didn’t mind goofing around a little either, with Peter hamming it up during Auntie Grizelda, and Mike pretending to be a Moog synthesizer during Daily Nightly.

In an interview I read, Peter stated very firmly that this was not meant to be a “Davy is Dead” tour, but that Davy would be very much represented. Sure enough, on the big screen behind the band, video clips from the TV show, their movie HEAD, and even from 33 1/2 Revolutions Per Monkee ran continuously, Davy included. They also had a special tribute video montage of Davy, featuring clips from his pre-Monkees day as well as Monkee highlights. And, of course, no Monkees concert could be complete without Daydream Believer. For this, Micky pulled an audience member up on stage to help him sing, and the audience as a whole carried the refrain, while Davy danced on the big screen. It was a moving and fitting tribute.

Davy
Daydream Believer

I had a great time, hitting back-to-back Monkees concerts and singing myself hoarse! I felt like a teenager again – until Toddler woke me up very early in the morning. Then I remembered I wasn’t 18 anymore!

I’ve been a Monkees fan since grade school, and starting following their tours in 1986, their 20th Reunion Tour. I’ve seen them together and on solo tours many times over the past 26 years. No matter how many times I see them, or in what configuration, I always love their shows. Together or separate, they have never failed to bring the energy, the skillful musicianship, and the showmanship I’ve come to expect.

Even after all these years, I’m A Believer.

Finding Golden Writing Time

November 29, 2012 By Kerry Gans 4 Comments

Most writers squeeze their writing in between jobs and/or family. Writing time is precious and rare. But a funny thing happened when I suddenly gained more writing time: I didn’t know what to do with myself.

My daughter started preschool this month, and that gives me about 6 hours a week extra to write. More importantly, it is CONCENTRATED writing time—no distractions from child, phone, or Internet (I work at the local library while she’s in school).

On her first day of school, I had planned what I would work on for the 2 hours I had that morning. Thing is, I had forgotten how much you can get done when there are no distractions—I finished my project in half an hour. So I moved on to another project. Then another. I actually ended up playing Solitaire for the last 5 minutes because I had run out of things that “needed” to be done!

These weeks of her in school have let me be a great deal more prolific in a shorter amount of time. I’m now able to work on short stories in addition to my novels and weekly blog obligations. And once I get home, I still have Toddler’s nap time (when she takes one) and after she’s in bed to work even more.

At first I felt like I needed to keep cramming in writing tasks in the nap and bed time slots. But I found that trying to use ALL my free time for writing was counter-productive. I ended up getting burnt out on the writing. So I did something totally radical. I started using the evenings to do OTHER THINGS I ENJOY! For instance, reading or genealogy or conversing with real people in my life.

I’ll admit I felt guilty at first, having fun during what had been dedicated writing time. I don’t feel guilty any more. Having that fun time has allowed me to focus better when I have the writing time in the morning, and it has left me more energetic and mentally sharp.

I still use nap time for “business” stuff – queries, social media, and, of course, more writing if I feel like it. I also will use the evenings to write if I want to, but I don’t force it if I’m not feeling creative. Overall, I am quite happy with the new writing setup. Am I a bad mommy that I am already looking forward to all-day kindergarten in 2 years? 🙂

Where have you found your golden writing time?

Thanksgiving 2012

November 22, 2012 By Kerry Gans Leave a Comment

In our culture, it’s easy to not be grateful for what we have. We are constantly bombarded with the newest gadgets, bigger houses, more elaborate lifestyles. And even in our daily life, we wish some things were easier/better, or that we had what someone else has, or that a dream we held dear would come true.

It is so easy to lose sight of what we have.

Thanksgiving is, of course, a good time of year to look at our lives and be thankful for what we have. Coming so close on the heels of Hurricane Sandy, I am immensely thankful for the sturdy roof over our heads, the electricity running through our power lines, and the easy fulfillment of our basic necessities such as food and water and heat. We were so, so much luckier than so many of the people not so far from us.

The other things I am thankful for sound familiar, and that’s because these things should be the most important in our lives. I am thankful for my family. I have a wonderful, loving husband who supports my writing dreams and me in every way. I have a healthy, energetic, intelligent Toddler girl who can drive me up a wall but whom I love with all my heart. I am lucky enough to still have my parents, healthy and active. And my brother, who I fought like crazy with as a child, but who I am so proud to have as an ally in my life now. My extended family—sisters-in-law, nephews, nieces, mom-in-law, cousins, aunts and uncles—is warm and generous and I am grateful knowing that if I ever need them they will have my back.

I am thankful for my writing community, who have helped support and forward my dream—including all of my blog readers. My Author Chronicles pals have shared the burden of creating author platform, my Advanced Writing Workshop classmates help keep me laughing and energized, and my beta readers, Nancy Keim Comley, J. Thomas Ross, and Bob Drumm lift my writing to higher levels. Professional mentors (and friends) Jonathan Maberry, Marie Lamba, and Kathryn Craft have help sharpen my writing skills and keep me from giving up on this long journey.

I am thankful for my health and that of those I care about, for the opportunity to pursue my writing dream, and for the 3 mornings a week my Toddler is now in preschool so I can write!

Mostly, I am thankful for the love in my life.

Without love, the rest means nothing.

With love, I already have everything.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Preschool and the Craft of Character

November 15, 2012 By Kerry Gans Leave a Comment

My daughter started preschool this month. Hard to believe she’s old enough, but she is. Watching her go into that school all by herself was a little surreal. She was ready, though—she turned and gave me a big smile, that smile that showed she was proud of herself. And she should be—she’s handled the new routine very well.

The really weird thing for me is that now she has this entire facet of her life that I’m not a part of. Seven and a half hours a week where she’s “off stage” to me and I have no idea what’s going on with her. My toddler is no help, either. When you ask what she did in school, she says, “I don’t know.” Sometimes I think 3-year-olds are really teenagers in disguise.

The point I’m making (there really is one) is that my daughter’s “off stage” activities will change her as a person and will change the way she interacts with the world once I pick her up. This is the same with all of our characters—they all have a life “off stage” in our stories, too. Or they should.

The main character, and perhaps some of the other leading characters, don’t have much off-stage time. But some of the supporting, recurring characters do. We need to remember that their lives continue even when we don’t see them. Every time they show up in our book, they should be subtlely different. Perhaps one time they’ve had a fight with their other half, the next they’re late for work, the next they just learned that they got the job they’ve been wanting. They don’t need to have experienced a life-changing event to be different. Maybe they simply haven’t had their morning cup of coffee.

We need to remember this for every character we see more than once in the book—even our main character. If there is a scene where they are off stage, take a moment to think about what they are doing while this other scene is happening. Are they sleeping? Driving in a car frantic to get somewhere? Having lunch? Talking to mom on the phone? Once you know what they’ve been doing, you can introduce the results of their activities the next time we see them.

The reader need never know what our characters do off stage—honestly, they never should know, because if it was important enough for the reader to know we probably should have shown them in the first place. But keep in mind that whatever it was will affect how that character interacts with the others. If their off stage activity has made them irritable, show it. If it’s made them happy, show it.

By shading our recurring characters with the impacts of their off stage activities, we add depth to them and give the reader a sense that their lives go on even when we’re not watching. After all, that’s what we want the readers to believe when they close the book: That our characters are real people whose lives continue after the story ends.

Why Can’t We Talk about Politics?

November 8, 2012 By Kerry Gans 6 Comments

With the election newly over, passions are still running high. But, as one of the pundits pointed out last night, after all the hard campaigning, we are still pretty much where we started: with Washington gridlock. Some people blame the President and Democrats for the gridlock, some the Republicans. Some just want to sweep both current sides out of office and start over.

The fact of the matter is, we as a people are losing the ability to truly talk about the issues facing our country. Presidential debates have become nothing more than a series of pre-packaged messages bits and sarcastic jabs at the opponent. The media as a whole tends to give the megaphone to whoever has the most extreme views of each party, ignoring the vast majority of people in the middle. “Discourse” in America has become an exchange of negative ads, half-truths, and sound bites.

This has got to stop.

America faces huge issues—energy, immigration, and the debt, just to name a few. By the narrow margin in the popular vote, it is clear our nation is split down the middle. The problems America faces cannot be solved by one party ramming an agenda down the other’s throat, only to have it repealed when the opposing party comes to power. To enact real and lasting solutions, our politicians have to work together—and they are not.

We the people need to demand more. We need to demand that our politicians put the country first and their own re-election second. We need to demand that our media dig deep into the issues, giving us reliable facts, not spin and sound-bites. We need to demand that debates become a forum for true discussion, not “issue speed-dating” where you touch on these complicated issues for two minutes and then move on.

We the people can do this by setting the example. By learning to talk to each other without letting passions overcome our ability to listen to the other side. This year, a child went Trick Or Treating with his friend. They went together as Obama and Romney. There were actually people who refused to give the Obama child candy because of politics.

Is this who we want to be as a country?

Of course not. The majority of us, in both parties, are rational, intelligent people who simply want common-sense solutions. We understand that there may have to be some compromise to find a way forward, and that the compromise solution will likely only be a first step, not a final fix. We want to see all people treated equally, to see all children have an equal shot at attaining their dreams, to see America strong again.

We all want the same things. We disagree on how to get there. The popular vote numbers show this. But rather than despair that the roughly 50-50 split means more gridlock, we should accept it as a challenge to learn to communicate with one another. Our learning to talk across the divide and find common ground is not a luxury—it is an imperative. We must do this, or we will destroy our country from within. United we stand; divided we fall. This is more true now than ever.

The election may be over, but our role in our country’s future didn’t end when we cast our ballot. Going forward, we still have a voice. Use it to speak to your representatives. Use it to speak to the next generation. Use it to speak to your neighbor.

Just remember to listen, too.

UPDATE: Visit Don Lafferty’s blog to find out how YOU can get your voice heard and protest the gridlock in Washington. http://donaldlafferty.com/the-election-is-over-but-were-not-finished-end-government-gridlock/

A Tale of Two Bullies

November 1, 2012 By Kerry Gans 5 Comments

October is Bullying Awareness Month (and yes, I realize it is November, but anyone reading my last 2 posts will understand why I am behind.) I experienced bullying twice in my life. To anyone who thinks all bullies and all bullying are the same, let me share A Tale of Two Bullies.

The first was in 8th grade. While I was never popular, I had a few close friends and that was enough for me. But then my best friend turned on me. For some reason, she and the other friend we had hung out with started picking on me, talking about me, and generally making my life miserable. They would taunt me, tease me, and there was even on instance where pages were mysteriously torn out of my textbook—the exact pages I had been supposed to do for homework that night (which I then couldn’t do, of course).

My friend’s behavior baffled me. She had always been a warm, generous person, and now I hated coming to school because of her. I hated walking home because she lived near me and walked much the same route I did. She and her bully ally would walk past my house on weekends, waiting for a chance to see me outside and tease me. I remember climbing a tree once so they wouldn’t see me.

It culminated in my best friend slapping me across the face in the classroom one lunchtime. I went home for lunch and cried and cried. I didn’t want to go back to school. But then I got angry. Who was she to keep me from school? And I refused to let her see how she had hurt me, hurt me so much more than a temporary stinging slap in the face.

Summer alleviated the situation, removing me from her daily reach. And then one day, towards the end of summer, she called me. She wanted to meet. To talk. I hesitated, because she had lured me into traps earlier in the year with similar promises. But I went, because she had been my best friend.

I met her, and the meeting was sincere. She apologized. She explained that she had been having a rough time with her parents’ divorce and had taken it out on me. She asked me to forgive her. I did. While never as close as we were before, we remained friendly as we went through high school, eventually growing our separate ways, as often happens with childhood friends.

The other bully event happened in high school. A girl in my class apparently decided I was to be her target. I don’t know why. I had never “done” anything to her—heck, I barely knew her. But in the first semester of sophomore year, she and her friends bullied me every single day.

They would titter and whisper about me in class. They followed me into the bathroom once, so I started only using the bathroom during class time. They would jostle me in the hallways. They would surround me and taunt. One day this girl started getting in my face, saying, “I call you out! I call you out!” (For those that need translation, that meant she wanted to fight me.)

I never answered her. I always pretended I didn’t see her, didn’t hear her. But I did. She grated on my nerves like a constant nails on chalkboard. I held my breath as I dove into the shark-infested hallways between classes. My friends stuck close to me when they could, but our class schedules weren’t the same. This girl made me not want to come to school, when I loved school. She made me loath to get up in the morning. She made me so angry I wanted to hit her. Hard.

And I hated her for it.

I hated her for taking away my pleasure in my friends. For taking away my love of school. For making a misery of what was supposed to be a fun time in my life. I hated her for laughing at my pain.

After Christmas break, I braced for a renewed assault—but it never came. Apparently this girl had gotten rid of whatever bee had gotten into her bonnet. I was relieved—but it wasn’t enough.

You see, this girl never apologized. Indeed, she never even alluded to her behavior. She even had the nerve to ask me to vote for her for class president. (I did not.) I have seen her at reunions since, and she has smiled at me, pretended she was happy to see me, acting like nothing had ever transpired between us.

And perhaps she thinks nothing did. Perhaps she thinks it was “just words” or “just kid stuff.” Perhaps she thinks that because I never showed my emotion that it didn’t hurt me. Perhaps she doesn’t even remember, or thinks I don’t remember.

But I do.

She would be surprised, I’m sure, to know that her actions still make me so angry I want to hit her. That remembering that time still makes me almost cry. That when she smiles at me now I want to slap her. That I want to tell her what a hypocrite she is, and let everyone know what a nasty, mean person she is at heart. That the scars have not healed.

The difference in these two tales? One bully apologized. The other didn’t. The bully that had been my best friend was more devastating during the event, but the wounds healed with her sincere explanation and apology.

I know my high school bully will never apologize. And my wounds will never fully heal because of that. And I would never ask her to apologize, because unless the apology came truly from her heart, it would mean nothing. Most of the time, I’m okay with that. Most of the time I don’t even think about that girl or her actions. But when I do—the freshness of the pain surprises me. The rawness of the wound, even after almost 25 years.

So if you’ve ever bullied anyone, or even think you might have inadvertently, and regret it, let me tell you: It is never too late to apologize. Those simple words, “I’m sorry for hurting you,” will work wonders towards healing your “target.”

Because the pain is real.
Because the pain lasts far beyond high school.
Because words can wound, sometimes fatally.

But words can also heal.

Farewell to Aunt Marge

October 25, 2012 By Kerry Gans 1 Comment

I didn’t think I’d be writing another one of these so soon, but on Friday my great-aunt Marge passed away. She had just turned 90 a few weeks ago, and thankfully she went peacefully.

Farewell, Aunt Marge. I am glad you are reunited with Uncle Ed, your soul mate for 64 years, your sisters, and your parents.

Aunt Marge had a bubbly spirit. I can’t think of her without hearing her laughter. She always seemed to be laughing. Vivacious is a perfect word for her. Even when health issues began to crop up, her lively personality shone through.

She was by far the most positive person I ever knew. No matter what happened, she saw the good in it. Aunt Marge simply had a deep faith that somehow everything would come right in the end—things would work out for the best, even if we couldn’t see it at the time.

Aunt Marge also had a serenity about her. Perhaps it came with age and wisdom, or perhaps it, too, stemmed from her faith. We never spoke about religion together, but her faith was tangible in her calm acceptance of life and all its ups and downs.

Aunt Marge is, however, responsible for my genealogy addiction. Probably a decade ago, we visited her, and she mentioned that she wished she knew where the Warren line of the family had come from. She handed me my first piece of genealogy—her application to the Daughters of the American Revolution—and my obsession was born.

I am sorry that I was not able to trace our Warren name back to its roots. I lost the trail in 1811 in Halifax, Nova Scotia. So I do not know where they originated. They could have come to Nova Scotia directly from England, Ireland, or Scotland. A more interesting scenario would have them have come to America prior to the Revolution—many New England families who wished to stay loyal to the Crown left New England and went to Canada. The New England Warrens, who came over on the Mayflower, were prolific, so it is not impossible that this was a branch that fled.

Her interest in genealogy reflected her overall attention to family. She loved her family, both immediate and extended. Whenever we visited, she always asked what we were doing. She would listen attentively, and you knew her lively mind was taking it all in. Like me, Aunt Marge seemed eager to learn a little about everything, which is one thing that kept her so young at heart.

Aunt Marge was one of the kindest, most sincere, and genuinely loving people I know. I do not know if it was a grace that came with age, or if it was a hallmark of her generation, but I said similar things about her husband and sister, who left us on the same day last year. Aunt Marge was the last of her generation in my family. She takes with her the experiences and wisdom of an age that has long past and will never come again.

Hopefully, though, her values of family and faith, of love and laughter, will remain—passed down to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Aunt Marge never failed to touch the hearts of everyone she met. She bore her trials with grace and dignity, celebrated her good fortunes with pure joy and gratitude, and loved life and her family with every fiber of her being.

I will miss Aunt Marge, and can only hope to live up to the high standards she set for us all. I will remember her, and whenever I do, those memories will be accompanied by her bubbling laughter.

Goodbye to Uncle Bill

October 18, 2012 By Kerry Gans 6 Comments

This past weekend we lost my Uncle Bill suddenly. Although he had some health issues, his death at that moment was unexpected and devastating. We will all miss the generous, jovial man who was husband, father, brother, and uncle to a family that loved him dearly.

You always knew when my Uncle Bill walked into a room. He was a big man, physically, but that wasn’t the reason you noticed him. Uncle Bill’s warm voice flooded a room, his ready smile and quick laughter lit up the space, and his hand reaching out to greet everyone brought joy with it.

My Uncle Bill was a people person. He never met a person he didn’t want to know. He would talk to anyone and everyone he met. He would charm the ladies and pal around with the men. Within minutes of meeting someone, he would know their life story. He defined the word “extrovert.”

He got along so well with people because he had a strong sense of empathy. He was always quick to offer help to those in need. He would share whatever he had with people who had less. He would be there for people when they needed someone to talk to or just someone to care. This is why he was so passionate about his work with the band cadets at Valley Forge Military Academy—he wanted them all to succeed in life.

My uncle’s own life, like most of ours, was not free of setbacks. But the thing about my uncle is, his setbacks did not define him. He picked right up and kept on striving, kept on trying, kept on working hard and honestly in order to reach for his dream. That takes a lot of courage, to keep going when times get hard. But I think the thing that sustained him through any disappointments was knowing that his loving wife and children stood beside him always. To Uncle Bill, his FAMILY was his ultimate success, and the rest was just window dressing.

Family meant a great deal to my uncle. My memories of family get-togethers always feature Uncle Bill’s booming voice—and his stories. Who could forget his stories? My uncle was a born story-teller. He would have us all laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe, and tears would stream down our faces. We all knew that his stories “evolved” over time, and that they had their share of “enhancements”, but that was part of the fun—and the heart of the story always remained the same.

In the end, I think what defined my uncle best was his heart. His empathy, his courage, his laughter, and his love all poured out of his huge heart. He was a generous, kind man who spread warmth and goodwill in a world that needs many more people like him.

I have no doubt that he introduced himself to everyone in line while waiting at the Pearly Gates. I can see him now, recruiting angels into the Celestial Band. I can hear him talking to Moses, and saying, “Don’t worry about all those years lost in the desert, Moses. My infamous driving shortcuts never worked out very well, either.” Most of all, I can see him hugging his mother and father, sitting down to a huge family dinner with them and all our ancestors, and regaling them with stories of what we’ve been up to down here on Earth while they were in Heaven.

Uncle Bill lived life fully. He would want those left behind to do the same, not to let his passing stop their joy. We can honor him by reaching out to others, even if it’s just a smile for the cashier at the store or meeting someone’s gaze as you pass in the street. Uncle Bill’s gift was in making everyone feel like they mattered, like someone really saw them, really heard them. Our divided world needs more people like him who reach out and say, “We’re all human, we all matter, and we all have worth.”

So think about how you can make a difference in your own life. Think about where you will go from here. Think about your own dreams and how you will reach them. After you’ve thought long and hard, answer the deeply philosophical question that was Uncle Bill’s trademark: “What’s the pla-ha-haan?”

Then go out and do it.

How To Tap the Darkness Within

October 11, 2012 By Kerry Gans 9 Comments

We were discussing in our Advanced Novel Workshop with Jonathan Maberry about digging deep and putting your pain on the page. Jonathan talked about how he has found his writing highly cathartic. Tiffany Schmidt talked about the difficulty of writing emotional scenes and then finding a way to leave the pain in the book and not let it color your real life. As Jonathan said, leave the tears on the page.

Except in a very few instances, I have not shed tears while I write. I have not felt emotionally drained like so many writers talk about in their blogs. Apparently, I have not tapped into my deeper levels of pain, anger, darkness, and, yes, joy, love, and healing and laid them bare in my writing.

This could explain why beta readers feel my characters are not quite “real” or that they don’t “connect” with them on a deep level. It’s always a struggle before I get the characters in shape.

Why can’t I access these deeper places? There could be a few reasons. One, I don’t HAVE deeper places. Two, I lack the empathy to connect to other people. Three, I’m afraid to go into the darkness.

As for number one, I’m sure I have deeper places. I know I feel things deeply at times, and seemingly benign things like commercials can unexpectedly bring a welter of feelings in me. Examining number two shows that I am close to my family and while my close friends are not many in number, the friendships run deep. So maybe I’m just afraid to go into the darkness?

It is true that I don’t like letting strong emotions loose. I find it very, very hard to put emotional genies back in the bottle. I have an anxiety disorder, so once emotion wells up, it often spirals out of control. It can impact my life for days—not a good thing when you have a toddler to take care of. As a survival technique, I have gotten very good at surpressing the anxiety, but perhaps that comes at the cost of cutting myself off from connecting to the world as wholly as I might like. Which then might mean I can’t connect my characters to the reader the way I should.

I don’t doubt there’s some subconscious fear there. But the other side of the coin is that I don’t really know HOW to access those stronger emotions. Not consistently and effectively. If my character is sad and I’m not, how do I call that up? Or anger? Or fear? And I don’t know how to turn them off when I’m done. Maybe I can call on one of my actor friends to help me with that.

So what do you think? Do you need to be so emotionally invested in your book that you cry (or want to) at times while writing it? Should it drain you emotionally?

And do you have tips on how to access those emotions—and then leave them behind when you’re done?

Writing While Traveling

October 4, 2012 By Kerry Gans 3 Comments

Whew! I have been doing a lot of traveling the last few months. A trip at the end of August, one in September, one coming up soon, and of course Thanksgiving travel in November.

All these trips are relatively short—3 days to a week. But it still totally throws me off my writing game. I usually get no writing done, or just a little. The travel days themselves are usually write-offs. Anyone who has traveled with a small child understands this—there is no writing at rest stops or while eating. And the trip takes longer because of frequent bathroom breaks.

And of course once you reach the destination, the days usually fly by in a chaos of activities. Obviously we traveled to somewhere for a purpose (usually to visit relatives) so most of our time is taken up with visiting (which is great—I don’t get to see these relatives nearly enough!). And the whole sleeping, eating, visiting with a small child whose schedule has been totally disrupted can make my down time not so “down”. By the time I finally get time to myself to write, I’m usually exhausted!

I’ve long since decided that while traveling I can only do what I can and try not to beat myself up too much about it.

What are your writing while traveling secrets?

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