I was working on cleaning our house, eternally, and I found a box in our bedroom that had a teal plastic index card box in it. As I am now 50, I tend to keep good boxes made of all kinds of materials, because this is one of the lots in life you bear when you become 50. You keep a good box because it's a good box, and it could be handy someday.
Turns out it was already handy, because it had in it probably 200 3 x 5 index cards. Most of them were blank. About 20 of them had things written on them, taped to them.
They were from 2013-2014. This was when I was doing The Artist's Way and Vein of Gold by Julia Cameron.
I have a whole thing I think about this, and it's in one of the green notebooks I was keeping for preparing for submitting for the Hearst and I need to figure out what it was, but it wasn't all positive, but it's fine, it can go here.
The thing is, I have lots of books, in to be read piles, in bookshelves to look like I am smart because I own them, but I probably haven't touched them since I bought them and put them on said bookshelf, books, and books, and books. Both of my kids are bookworms; I tease Tabitha about them having to have no less than 4 books with them at a time: at least two they are currently reading, a back up book, and a back up back up book. I tease because I did the same dang thing when I was a kid, and I'm proud that they do it, and I also think it's cute.
The point is, I don't know where my copy of these two books went, but I do know I was working The Artist's Way during this time so I am pretty sure the index cards with the things written on them came from one of those two books as a suggestion.
Some of the index cards have quotes on them. Some of them are pictures I printed off of the internet and then scotch taped to the index card. The other side of the index card had the date it was taped or written, where it came from, maybe some other things I thought were meaningful. Except, of course, why I was doing it.
Which is important to Being Autotelic. Do you have to know why you're doing what you're doing? No, not exactly. I pick up a pen and a notebook and begin to write because I am writer. I might decide to make a painting, and I will get out my canvas (often a remnant from Walmart or Joann's (RIP) and some paints and paint because I am a painter. I get out yarn and a crochet hook and start making a blanket because it soothes my anxiety (at least until I had issues with my left arm and had to stop). The point is, I do the creating because I want to create. It's fun. It's soothing. It's what I do.
I am introducing a new thing I am doing on my blog: smitten. The world is absolutely on fire, and we all need some joy and something maybe inconsequential to care about. So I want to write about the things I love that maybe might be a surprise to people that I am absolutely, ridiculously, deeply in love with.
First up, women's basketball.
Anyone who has known me for a while knows that sports has never really been my thing. I followed the Cubs because my husband is a Cubs fan (and I think it's the law if you were born in Illinois that you love a Chicago team and they are mine), I get excited about some sports sporadically (because Olympic curling and break dancing are awesome), but I never really followed anything.
Then in early 2024, Tabi decided they wanted to take a basketball class at our local rec center. She loved it. After a couple weeks, I said, 'hey, have you heard of this Caitlin Clark chick? She's on the University of Iowa's women's basketball team, and she's supposed to be really good". To which Tabi said that they did not and we agreed to check out an Iowa game because why not?
I don't recall which game was our first, but it wasn't our last. I remember Molly Davis getting hurt on March 3 and having to miss the rest of the season due to a fractured/dislocated knee, so I am going to go with that one being the first one. We watched the rest of their season, and post season and we were hooked. Tabi liked it but I LOVED it.
I devoured everything I could about women's basketball, and laughed myself silly at the Iowa Hawkeyes Women's Basketball team social media, and really developed a deep love for Kate Martin (which remains to this day).
We watched the draft and cheered for Caitlin when she got drafted to the Fever, and I went to bed early because I had to work and missed the rest of the draft. So it was only about 20 minutes later that I was scrolling socials and screamed because Kate Martin had been drafted to the Las Vegas Aces.
I subscribed to the W so I could watch all the games. Tabi and I had an unfortunately terrible experience in Minneapolis seeing the Fever play the Lynx that year (it had everything to do with Target Center being very vertical and we were at the very top), and I was able to meet my friend from college, Michelle, in Indianapolis for my first Indiana Fever game against the Dallas Wings (the game where Arike Ogunbowale got fouled out of the game--Arike is another of my favorites).
We watched all the summer Olympic games we could and Tabi and I both screamed and absolutely lost our minds when USA beat France by a point.
We watched the first two seasons of Unrivaled, and are making plans to hopefully go to Miami in January in order to see a game.
Gainbridge Fieldhouse is a vibe--it's fun and upbeat and probably the best place to see a basketball game (outside of McLeod Center on the UNI campus of course).
Last summer I got to see the Fever play the Golden State Valkryies at Gainbridge and I finally got to see Kate Martin play in person. We weren't planning on going to any games this year, but we got an opportunity to see the Fever play at Gainbridge for the second to last home game of the season against the Mystics, and Tabi and I are going.
So, what's the deal, Toni, you might ask. Why is women's basketball your total jam?
First, it's insanely fun to see such strong amazing women play sports. I feel this way about seeing any women's sports at this point (women's professional baseball is starting up this summer and I am stupidly excited about it).
Second, the personalities are so fun. Social media is great for this. The teams do a lot of behind the scenes where you get to see them practice, and answer silly questions and do silly things.
I realize I am an atypical women's basketball fan. I am fine with watching games after they have aired, even if I know the score already. It's not the score that is important to me, it's the story of how they got there. I also have multiple favorite teams and players. While Kate Martin is my overall favorite, I feel the need to cheer for all of the players. I would be hard pressed to find a player I don't enjoy in some manner. I will say that I think the Connecticut Sun and the Chicago Sky are boring, so I am less likely to watch them.
I am also a baby fan. This coming summer (if there's a season) will be my third WNBA season. I am, due to life reasons, not planning to go to see any games this summer, but I am definitely going to be watching. I am learning a lot--I have been devouring books and documentaries and Wikipedia pages. 'Coming Home' by Britney Griner was beautiful and sad--I am glad that she was able to come home and continue to play basketball.
There's a lot of amazing life lessons too--not giving up when things are hard; rely on your team; love your people through good times and bad.
Like this clip of A'ja Wilson talking, because if she has a hard time being who she is, as great of a player as she is, I don't know, it makes me feel better somehow--not that I feel good that she might have struggles, but that someone as good as A'ja feels like that too makes me not feel alone.
And I know that of all the things going on in the world that basketball is not important. But it's nice to have something that isn't so life and death to love with all my heart. It gives me a break, a place where I don't have to be a mom, I don't have to deal with mental health challenges, the amount of existential dread at the moment and I can just cheer for my team.
Somehow, basketball has saved my life in the last year, and I am eternally grateful for it.
And I can't wait to see where Kate Martin ends up next.
This past February, I took some days off from being a mom, my job, everything, and drove to the Quad Cities where I holed up in an AirBnB for four days and did nothing but write. I let three people know I was in town, and I saw those three people, but during the day I wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I dissected Summer of '89, created a new list of things to work on, questions to answer, plot knots to untangle. I even created a color coded chart to track my issues (that was really for my ADHD, it doesn't really serve any other purpose than to let me color while I am working). It was a good experience. I wrote on my time, I watched basketball while doing this, and I went to see friends when I wanted to. It was glorious.
Fast forward to this past week, which has been less than glorious. I dropped Tabi off at Girl Scout camp, and drove to my AirBnB and checked in and promptly dropped into bed, exhausted. I spent the next two days attempting something that looked like writing. I did some fiddly planning and timeline work. I planned the religious lessons the campers in my novel will learn from. But I avoided the big things. I felt terrible and ended up at urgent care for no reason in the end other than I was on vacation and just didn't feel good so I wanted to make sure to nip anything in the bud that was going to be a bigger problem if I wanted until I got home.
The next day, I sat down and started working on the hard stuff. Trying to make the plot make more sense. See what is going on with the characters that I can make work better.
To put it bluntly, this writing retreat really really sucked. I was a nervous anxious mess the entire time.
And The Central Authority was just having a great time this week, and for some reason, I just let them have at it. I felt like shit, to put it bluntly. The Central Authority was kind enough to remind me that I am 51 years old, and I have gotten nowhere with my writing since I left college in 2005. It reminded me when I saw who the writer was that got a residency I applied for recently that I didn't get, that I won't ever get a residency until I get something published. And that won't happen until you finish a novel. And please, don't forget about making a social media presence and doing ALL THE SOCIAL MEDIA THINGS that will help grow an audience. Again, without a book to promote. Even when I remember that Social Media is a facade, and a lot of the writers who are out there have to have help in some form, whether it's someone taking care of the kids, that writer not having a job, etc., to keep them going in the background while they present this perfect writing visual in the foreground. I know a lot of writers who have busted their asses to get where they are, and it was a lot of work. But comparison really is the thief of joy, and The Central Authority really likes to steal your sunshine.
So what am I going to do with this week that The Central Authority insists that I have wasted? I am going to realize that the last year has been incredibly hard, there's been a lot of hits from the universe that have worked really hard with The Central Authority to make things even harder. I am going to realize that extra sleep and watching time shifted basketball games might be what I needed.
I am going to pick up Tabi from Girl Scout camp in a few hours, and I know that they had the best time from the pictures. Her dad talked to them on Wednesday and she said that she was hanging out with a friend and having a great time. She got to spend time away from her family, which I know was seriously stressing her out.
We are going to check into an AirBnb after I pick them up from camp, and we have some plans for this weekend, seeing friends and family, going to a Summerween event put on by my friend, Minda, and seeing Hadestown on Monday afternoon before coming home. All while staying at a sweet place right across the street from the Mississippi River. I am hoping that she and I can have a nice time together before we have to return to real life, and slide into our first year of junior high.
I do have some things I am working on that are upcoming, so I look forward to talking about those things when I can.
Until then, I am going to attempt to keep The Central Authority busy with anything else, and just breathe. Because sometimes what your work needs the most is just breathing.
It's been since November 2024 that I have been working on Summer of '89. One and a half years. It feels longer because I have no sense of time, and because I have gone through A LOT to get to where I am today.
There's been a lot of development in this novel, of both my characters and myself. I'm not sure I have ever been so changed by something I am writing, but I hope that bodes well for anyone who might read it that it might be changing for them as well.
I have used the Save the Cat beatsheet to write the last couple novels I have been working on, and I have to say, it's been life changing too. If you are familiar with the beat sheets from Save the Cat, you know there are three acts and multiple beats within the acts. I used to just be what is called a pantser, which is a writer who just dives in without an outline or beat sheet, and I clearly needed to try something different. Someone (my perimenopausal brain ate that info) recommended this book, and I've carried it with me as my main reference since. I even got the Save the Cat Writes a Young Adult Novel because Summer of '89 is probably that genre and there are some specific things about it that I need to work with. But the original novel version is fine for most things, but there are specialty ones as well.
Anyway, back to the beat sheet. I was having issues with the 3rd act. It seemed that my main character had TWO Dark Nights of the Soul, one right after enough, and the end of the novel seemed to be on the other side of that second Dark Night of the Soul. But I was stuck. It felt weird for there to be TWO Dark Nights of the Soul. And I realized today, after months of literally struggling with it that there are definitely NOT TWO Dark Nights of the Soul for Joanie. There's one, and a distinct ending, and the other one is part of a second book.
How it took months for me to realize that is beyond me because it seems obvious. I will just blame it on perimenopause because it's making everything harder in the worst possible ways (but that's for another post).
Here's to persevering and waiting for the goods to be delivered. I am not a patient person. I often want the thing I am waiting on RIGHT NOW, like most people, and when it comes to writing, I have found that I can't always break through. That's why I have 35+ years of unpublished and unproduced novels and plays. I walk away, thinking I will come back (and sometimes I have) but still, the mountain of undone work remains. And taunts me--which again is another post.
But this time, I have remained with Summer of '89, waiting, writing myself in and out of corners, giving myself space if I need it. Luckily, applications for writer residencies and retreats have come up at the right times to give me the space I wouldn't just give myself. And life has a way of behaving badly and killing long loved cats and mother-in-laws, and also making mental health challenges for EVERYONE so that there's forced downtime. Maybe I just need to learn to listen and this wouldn't happen. Who knows, but I got through this and I have an end to my novel.
Now I just need to untangle that great wild beyond of the middle of the novel, and then we will see where we are.
On Saturday, I went to the Hearst Center for the Arts and attended the first event for their 2025- 1016 Writer in Residence, Felicia Babb Cass, called "Quiet Power, True Fans". It was a really cold day, and it was surprising how many people showed up; more chairs had to be brought up to the tables and we all smooshed in a bit.
The room was filled with people who are creatives, not all of whom were writers--some of us want to be or are working toward it--but everyone there had done something creative. There were photographers and artists of all stripes there. It was an energetic room.
Felicia created a space where we could learn some basic things about figuring out marketing, which is the side of this whole writing thing I am not good at. For some one who almost went to college at the Art Institute of Chicago for music P&R, back in the day when you could get a degree in something like that, you would think I would know more about how this works. But I didn't go there, I didn't get the degree, and while I feel icky about promoting my stuff, I feel less icky about it after Felicia's program.
Felicia gave us exercises to do, questions to answer, and it all felt a lot less about demographics in terms of audience, and was more about the psychology of the writers you are trying to attract to your work. There was discussion of finding your sweet spot--the thing that is your passion and your expertise; content tilt; and audience pathways--taking a stranger to curious browser to engaged reader and finally a true fan.
It was fascinating to hear what other people thought, and while some of the people in the room are already published, some were in the process, we discovered that we all are in the same boat here, so we might as well just stay in the boat for the ride and learn from each other.
Felicia suggested that we do a 90 Day plan. She suggested choosing small concrete steps, with 'a gentle rhythm outlasting heroics'. The 90 Day Plan has three parts, visibility, engagement and deepening, and we are supposed to choose one action per category and do it. So here I am, writing about this as part of one of my actions.
I had an idea about talking to people about what they deeply and truly love, even if it's something weird or unusual that people might not think that person would be into that, or be an expert in that, or whatever. Like me with basketball. I may start there and just write about the things that truly bring me joy.
I was having a problem with a throughline from BE AUTOTELIC to smitten (which is what I am temporarily, permanently, whatever calling this), and as I was driving along this morning, from therapy to go get coffee before I had to pick up my son for his therapy, I realized the through line is love and joy, like Chuck Tingle said in a post early today
BE AUTOTELIC is about loving what you do so much you do it no matter what. And smitten is about talking about what you love so much you are into it or do it no matter what. Love is the through line.
And based on how the world has been lately, love is going to continue to be the thing that gets us through.
I am a person living with depression, anxiety, adhd, social anxiety disorder and grief. I take medication for some of these things, I see a therapist for all of it, and I consult my psychiatrist, therapist and regular doctor when needed.
I do not have a background or education in nursing or psychology or anything related. Anything contained within my blog or comments section or that I have shared should be considered medical advice or used to replace seeing a qualified individual who can diagnose and treat.
This blog is about things that have worked for me. Your mileage may vary. This being said, if my experiences are illuminating, I am glad to be of help.
While I was working on my writing samples for a recent submission, I found myself wrestling with a particular sample. It came from the middle of a novel I am working on, and there were a lot of things that happened in the novel to get to where the sample began. I was conflicted on how to make this particularly fantastic section of writing make sense to anyone who might read it outside the context of the novel.
That's what I needed, I thought. Context. Put a little paragraph at the beginning to just set the stage for the writing sample.
The Central Authority, however, had other ideas. It wasn't surprising. The Central Authority always had other ideas, along with insults and put downs.
What I call the Central Authority some people call their inner critic, the inner judge. Certainly not the thing I call my conscious, because that at least seems neutral. No, the Central Authority thinks it runs the place, feeding my self-doubt, making me feel, for lack of a better term, like absolute shit and that I can't do anything right and why should I bother?
So the Central Authority thought that putting a context paragraph was a dumb idea. It insisted that I needed to shoehorn into the sample the information that would make the sample make sense, even though I felt that that would slow down the sample and take away from the sparkle that made it a great writing sample for a submission. But as usual, I listened to the Central Authority and spent two more whole days as I was running out of time for the submission window, to attempt to do what it wanted. When I was reaching critical mass.Against my better judgement.
When I was in college, and finals would roll around, I'd grind hard to get the best grade I could (nothing less than 100% would satisfy the Central Authority). I would study, long and hard, writing, copying, until I hit a wall. My brain was full, I was tired, and I knew if I didn't know what I needed to know by that very moment, I wasn't going to know it.
The Central Authority, however, would go into straight panic mode, stirring up my anxiety, requesting more caffeine and sugar, and demanding I go until the very last minute, cramming my tired brain full.
And that's where I was with the sample, but I knew that if I continued trying to do what the Central Authority said, I might just ruin it.
Those two days trying to do the Central Authority's bidding was painful as it goaded me on. You can't be done. It's not good enough. You're not good enough. You need to keep going until it's perfect.
Somewhere in the comments, it said that it took this machine three days of running 24/7 to break down, cleaning up its own 'blood' while bleeding out.
That's how the Central Authority works for me.
At the end of the second day, I was panicking, running out of time, feeling absolutely terrible about myself and writing and like I should probably just quit writing, because I couldn't get this one simple sample done. Those pages on their own were just fine, but no, the Central Authority had to be right. I must be doing something wrong.
I messaged my bestie, V, and this was our exchange:
And then I discovered the first rule of Be Autotelic. I was grossed out by the word 'rule'. The word 'rule' feels very contrary to creating for the sake of being creative. So I am going to call it a Gut Instinct.
Gut Instinct #1:
Trust your voice.
When I say voice, I mean writing voice. Totally different from the Central Authority. The writing voice is sometimes quiet and soothing, sometimes shouting and raucous, doing cartwheels as you try to get down what it is saying is part of the story before doing flips into the next section.
Trust what your voice is telling you to do, even if it breaks the rules. I know I just said rules are contrary to Being Autotelic, and they are, but when it comes to writing, you do need to learn some rules. Like how stories are structured and characters are created. Then after you learn the rules, you can break them. Evaporate them. Trust your voice.
Someone out there wants your writing. Someone out there is waiting for your writing. Maybe your writing is exactly what will make them feel seen, like there's someone else out there exactly like them, and for the first time, maybe they will see they aren't alone. And there is so much power in that.
But in order to do that, you have to break the rules you've learned, defy the Central Authority, and just create.
