Then Actually Falling

October 2023 || How I'm getting back up, this time.

Before we get started, I must admit I don’t have words for what’s happening in the world, right now. I often won’t. Social media has trained many to believe the quiet ones don’t care, and it’s simply not true. There are a lot smarter and more resourced individuals sharing information and thoughts about the crisis currently taking place in the Middle East and its ripples felt around the world. I am no expert on any of it except doing my best to see the humanity behind the headlines and to let my heart “mourn with those who mourn.”

Just a few weeks ago we spent several history lessons studying the Holy Land, discussing its significance to Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. Navigating the complexities of this is quite the task with three children ages seven to eleven, and we barely even scratched the surface.

“Will there ever be peace, there?” the littlest one asked, not knowing how soon we’d all be forced to ask ourselves the very same question. My heart crumpled a bit at the earnest hopefulness laced with sadness in his voice.

“I’m not sure, buddy. But I pray, one day, there can be,” was all I knew to say.

Living

Remember when I was propped on pillows writing my way through pain? Turns out, all those times in my youth I’d wrapped my ankle in an ace bandage because I’d “sprained it,” I was merely exercising my flair for the dramatic. (Can we talk, too, about the title of my first newsletter? I mean come on with the foreshadowing!)

One child insisted that “sprains could be worse than breaks or fractures.” I didn’t believe him. A week later, after all the RICE-ing I could muster (shoutout to Cliff for taking the kids out of town for a soccer tournament that weekend leaving me home to recover), I finally hobbled my way to the ortho for x-ray confirmation that it was, indeed, only a sprain. A very, very bad one.

“People have the mistaken idea that sprains are a better outcome than breaks or fractures.” The doctor’s cold thumb pressed gently into the tender space below my ankle, and I winced. “They’re not, and this is going to take awhile.” I could already hear the smug “I told you so,” awaiting me, later that day.

They outfitted me with a fancy boot walker, which I now own two of, thanks to Cliff’s insistence that I purchase another so I’d feel free to get sandy and wet during our annual fall break at the beach. And that I did. It was different and weird, but good, and I’m grateful. 

(That’s the perfect title for my first book of essays, don’t you think?)

This week, I’ve got an ankle lacer and should be starting physical therapy, soon. YAY!

Writing

Not that you need a catalog of all the things that have gone wrong, one week after another, since I came down from “on high” (AKA Stanford, Kentucky), but here they are:

• Dishwasher leak (on a Tuesday and its repair on Thursday, the next week)

• Warped floors (and their professional, week-long drying)

• A sick kid (on a Tuesday)

• A broken AC unit (Thursday)

• A sprained ankle (Tuesday)

• My transmission went out (Tuesday)

Guess which days of the week I’m supposed to have a few uninterrupted hours to work. 

When we left for the beach (in a rented minivan while my car sat undiagnosed in the shop), I was determined to get enough space to stop treading water for just a minute. Catch my breath, maybe.

Shortly before my sprain, I’d had a three-mile walk epiphany that my initial attempts at page-by-page revision weren’t working. I needed to read the book again from start to finish, pen-less, and then again, wielding my proverbial pen like a machete. This is what I’ve done with every previous draft, of course, but I kind of blacked out while querying.

I also realized that it’s imperative for me to make space, when I have writing time at all, for work besides this book. In every previous iteration, The Other Side of Hope was all I had. This draft around, I’ve got half of another manuscript I really love, three other really solid ideas I’m excited about, and this little Substack (which is way more a joy than I realized it would be).

“What if you’re not using the right kind of time you do have for the right kind of writing?” Cliff asked me recently, while I waxed philosophical about all the ideas I’d had about my writing life during our time away. And he’s right, that’s totally what’s been happening. That, and I haven’t been adjusting well around the hits that inevitably come in life.

So I’m trying something new, due in part to a book I recently finished.

Reading

This month, I set a goal to read two books on the craft of writing. Written: How to Keep Writing and Build a Habit That Lasts by

Bec Evans

and

Chris Smith

of

Breakthroughs & Blocks

, was my first, and goodness, the timing!

Upon reflecting on the types of time we have to write (referred to in their work as: Spontaneous, Time Boxing or blocking, in this case, Binge, and Daily), it dawned on me that, yes, I have successfully done each of these at different times over the last five years I’ve been really-really writing, and no, I don’t have to utilize only one type in a given season. Enter Spontaneous writing to my beloved Time Blocking, and your girl is now in business.

As such, I’ve relented to using Google Docs on my phone and small notebooks in my bag to house work I can do in small increments (instead of, you know, scrolling). I’ve got a Note with writing prompts when I need to try something new. These are light work times, but even those matter and add up. And then bigger chunks of time are for Scrivener or longhand in notebooks when I need a change of pace and perspective. This is Cal Newport Deep Work-kind of time.

I’m now tracking my work time, too, keeping a record of what project(s) I’ve worked on during a session, and asking myself each and every time “What’s working? What’s not working? What’s next?” I’m also keeping an open notepad nearby during any work requiring extended, undistracted focus so I can download the random thoughts that pop up and get to them later. I’ve done this haphazardly in the past, never with quite so much intention.

It’s the intention that changes everything.

Another read worth noting was a re-read, for me, of Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift from the Sea. As old as this text is, it’s timeless: I always find something to sink my teeth into and gnaw on as the seasons of my life as a woman, wife, mother, and writer change and evolve. This quote, in particular, has stuck with me all week.

“For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others.”

Listening

One of my favorite rituals has been to fix a hot drink, light a candle, and turn on Bill Evans: the perfect soundtrack to writing, reading, or doing school on fall days. Anything by him is a masterclass in jazz piano, but I’m loving the texture the Fender Rhodes adds to this album.

I recently made a fun discovery that one of my favorite classical pianists, Jean-Yves Thibaudet, released an album in ‘97 improvising on some of Evans’ compositions. (He’s also got one playing on Duke Ellington, too!)

Watching

Apparently autumn is my time for revisiting beloved stories, and I’m now two seasons deep into what may be (I’ve lost count) my fourth time watching Felicity. When I started in September, I didn’t even realize this rewatch would line up with the 25th Anniversary of the show’s premier (and move from Prime to Hulu). They’ve queued up “Best of” collections for both Team Ben and Team Noel, which is kind of ingenious. All the way through, though, is the only way for me.

Who else is watching Season Two of Loki, because OMG?! I love this show.

Enjoying

We went to get pumpkins, this weekend, and came home hankering for some hot apple cider. I used this recipe and was a rebel, throwing in the whole orange and lemon (each quartered) instead of just the peels. It was a hit with everyone and I’ve had multiple requests for this to be a regular thing.

That same night, I made one of my go-to meals for when it starts cooling down outside. Upon first look, this sausage, potato, and green bean Instant Pot recipe doesn’t seem like it would be all that special, but there’s some sort of alchemy that happens here, and it’s fantastic. AND QUICK. AND EASY. I usually sub kielbasa for the andouille, take out the mushrooms, and use Old Bay seasoning instead of cajun and everyone eats at least some part of it, which is a win in this house.

If you’ve made it this far, well done!

Shoot me a comment (and tell me what you’re listening to on repeat right now or anything else you’d like to say; I’ll listen) and you’ll be entered into a super special random drawing for a warm (or cold!) drink of your choice, on me!

Thanks for being Team Kristine.

Grace and peace,

Kristine