Shifting priorities & changing projects--part 2.

So I'm continuing to chew over this whole thing where I'm changing projects and focuses. After I posted that about going away from LDS fiction yesterday, I had some sadness because I really am genuinely excited about the LDS contemporary story I'm working on right now. I am not kidding when I say I also love LDS fiction. And because I'm excited about that one right now, I should write it right now instead of setting it aside for several months or longer & having to come back and re-remember what I intended and get that whole train started again.

I have decided (and this is a tentative decision because it seems crazy to me) that what i need to do is work on both of them. I'm going to switch off every other day, working on one, then the other. That way I can finish them pretty much together, and that actually solves a big worry I've had. It's actually kind of an answer to prayer, I think. I've been praying about how to work on being a great writer for my current publisher but also placing a general fiction where it belongs. Finishing two novels at the same time is kind of a brilliant solution to the problem. And that's all I'm going to say about that for dipolomatic and legal reasons :)

But that means I need to ramp up the writing routine. I figure, if I decide to do 2000 words a day instead of 1100, and I am completely disciplined about not skipping even one day, and I write on Saturday as well as weekdays, that means I'm going to finish two novels in about the same time I've been able to finish one. It will mean probably writing for about 2 and a half hours per day.

That may be difficult. It means I'll be typing while nursing. Thanks to the inventor of the Boppy pillow, that is actually a possibility. It also means I'll be typing while nursing and also fielding questions from my kids about schooling, probably getting up to help them with things, and pause for moments at a time to discipline/make sure they're doing what they should be doing. But that's nothing new. I've had to be a writer that is interruptable. Kids come first.

Anyway. I'm kind of excited at the thought of becoming a bit more professional in my routine. If I write 2000 words per day, that means when I'm back down to writing just a novel at a time, I'll be finishing a couple of novels a year instead of just one. That may actually be necessary, if I end up with books in different venues/publishers. Which I really hope to do. In the perfect world, I'd write LDS fiction for Cedar Fort and Fantasy fiction for a more general well known national publisher. I don't know if that's even allowed. I hope so because that's what I'd love if I could just do it my way all the way.

Another plus about all this is, I finish my fantasy manuscript, and then I can really take time to be patient finding the right agent or publisher, because at the same time I'll be writing and publishing books with Cedar Fort and it's not like my career is on hold while I wade through rejections and then, when someone accepts me, wait the years until a book is actually published in a national market.

So this is a good thing. But it means writing really will be a part time job for me. I've been kind of waffling--doing what "feels right" in the moment, skipping days now and then. But I really need to focus and decide this is a job. Important, that I can't just shove aside whenever anything comes up. I had some inspiration during a temple session a while ago that sort of supports this decision to make it more serious. So... yeah. It all makes sense the way things do when you're finding the right answers. I hope.

Change of Projects, Change of Pace.

Lately I have felt worried about my writing career. LDS literature is what I've had published so far. It's what I have written that has been accepted and sent out there into the world to be read by people. And now people are kind of niche-ing me. Or starting to. I've had interviews lately on Modern Mormon Men and Motley Vision and Mormon Artist, and in each of these interviews I have been asked why I chose Mormon Lit as my venue. Well, it sort of chose me. That's what I've published so far.

Lately I have thought, well then, I need to make that my focus. I'll write three more LDS stories and give them over to my publisher. But when I'm done with those, I'm going another direction.

My feelings have changed suddenly. I have been editing two manuscripts. One of them is my sister's. One is a friend's. Both are fantasy.

See, my first love? It's fantasy.

Fantasy is what I breathed growing up. And it wasn't just writing, it was games in the backyard about fairies and monkey people and hags and good and evil and poor kids with magical abilities and rich people with lots of jewels, orphans with royal birthmarks, people who make their clothing out of flower petals.

Growing up, fantasy was my favorite. The Book of Three, the Black Cauldron. Dealing with Dragons. The Alanna books. The Ordinary Princess. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, The Stolen Lake. And all those scholastic or apple paperbacks about wishes that come true or dragons hatching from eggs or teachers being aliens. So, I have written and lived in fantasy from the time I was too small to really be writing yet.

Up until I started writing seriously, with more focus and intent, giving myself a word count and everything, my less-than-serious forays into novel writing (three abandoned chapters, five abandoned chapters, sketchbook full of maps and character descriptions and drawings of characters and places and people, ideas that accumulated in word documents and then got scattered and lost because there were so very many word documents containing ideas) was all fantasy.

Today I got a great idea about how to start the fantasy novel I have been rewriting for the last fifteen years. I did my most recent rewrite of it after Lightning Tree, and Cedar Fort rejected it due to some content. I would have gone on to submit it elsewhere if I didn't know it still needed a lot of work (including the content Cedar Fort objected to. I'm still not sure how necessary it is to my story. Trying to decide.) But today, I got an idea that I think will solve all of that. You have to start a novel at the correct point in the story--that was my problem. I started it in the wrong place.

I also realized that I was writing the story like it was a YA fantasy. This story is an epic fantasy. Totally different. For one thing, an epic fantasy can be longer, so I don't have to think "Okay, how do I tell this entire story in the space of 350 pages." And for another, it's kind of expected that in epic fantasy you meet a lot of people and go a lot of places.

Try telling an epic fantasy in the space allotted to a YA novel. If you're a fantastic writer, you might be able to do it. I'm betting H.G. Wells could do it. I'm not a fantastic writer yet, however. I'm just a pretty-ok writer.

Anyway, I got this idea for a starting point, and the idea just boiled over in my head. And I felt, today, more excited than I have felt about writing in a while.

I kind of need to write this one, maybe. Next. Not after my butterfly story about the guy who ages out of the singles' ward and the third in my planned trio of Historical LDS novels. I've been saying that to myself for a while in the same way you say to yourself, salad first, then dinner, then you can have your dessert. But the thing is, if it's what I love to write most, and it's what's taking over my brain right now, why am I making myself do other stuff?

I am niche-ing myself and drying myself out as a writer. And I'm feeling discouraged because while the audience for LDS fiction is very loyal and wonderful, it's not very big. I can't go ahead and tell all my Facebook friends, "buy my book, you'll love it!" Because some of them wouldn't. I have tons of friends who love fantasy, and a smaller number of friends who love Mormon fiction. Not even most of my Mormon friends read Mormon Fiction.

And while I do love Mormon fiction, in fact, love it enough to write it even though I know I won't find a big audience, my first love really is Fantasy. And man, I need to get back into it.

So. Plans changed, I think. I'm going to launch myself back into the deep-blue of fantasy. I'm going to draw pictures and maps. I'm going to think about amazing places and impossible people and the mysteries of the universe. And then when I've finished this story, I'll probably enjoy going back to the funny, close dearness of an LDS contemporary fiction story or the driving curiosity and deep, aching issues and mysteries of an LDS Historical Fiction.

Am I allowed to do that? Write everything? Will that confuse people?

I don't know. I'm just writing what I need to write... sorry if that's confusing.

The Selfishness of Recovery

I worked for a while at a residential treatment facility that housed women with serious eating disorders. A lot of those experiences really impacted my life, and I find myself thinking about those women, the things I saw, the things I heard, often. I think one of the most ironic things about that (working there) was, I was watching (hundreds, by the end) of women go through recovery. And yet I hadn't even touched on my own. I was a good employee, and for some a great tech, but I didn't reach probably 70 percent of those women emotionally. And I know it's because I was struggling myself. I wasn't even to "stage one," (awareness) myself. I couldn't be vulnerable and be sensitive sometimes because some of what I saw & heard overloaded my emotions and threatened me to the point where I couldn't handle it. I sat behind the desk and volunteered to chart rather than go out and talk to the girls/women about what they might be struggling with. At the time I thought it was my introvert-nature & fear of rejection that held me back, but now I know it's not that. Honestly, I'm not sure if I really am an introvert by nature. I've just been unable to face my own feelings and feel good about them, and let others see them.

I remember one case in particular. This woman, newly married. She was really put-together. Like, General-Young-Women president-like. She was strong, intelligent, gracious, driven, mature. All the time. She reached out to others and was so great with the other patients, though she didn't talk much at all about her own struggles. I remember kind of looking at her and wondering what the heck she was doing on this inpatient unit.

And then I remember when she started to come apart. She turned into someone clingy, demanding, self-destructive, weak, childish. (See how judgmental I was, thinking these words.) Watching her I felt like, this isn't good. This is wrong. We've broken her. This treatment is bad--it's making her into something bad. It's undermining her testimony and strength. I wondered at the time if it was selfishness--her selfishness, breeded by a system that makes recovery into something self-obsessed and self-focused. I felt very, very conflicted feelings about the treatment program, watching her.

I remember feeling some outrage at how she was hurting her husband. He'd married this kind, strong, others-centered person and now she was cutting, and threatening suicide, and rejecting him, and just, petulant almost.

Now that I'm looking at things from the other side, though, I understand a lot that I didn't back then. She was already hurting inside. Why else would someone come to an inpatient facility and spend thousands of dollars to be locked up in a small set of rooms and eat cafeteria food? She had been hurting from the very beginning. That petulant, selfish, emotional, childish person--that was always inside her. She just hadn't ever allowed herself to take off the mask she wore. And it was killing her. It was distancing her from those who she should be able to trust. She was trapped--not feeling, except when she was feeling too much and harming herself in feeling.

This child inside her? That was her hurt self that needed healing. And you can't heal something you and others cannot see.

This last year has been a hard one for my spouse. I think often of this other patient and feel so bad for judging her. I also think often (in my petulant moments) of those things that have hurt me, and I feel angry that I even have this hurt being inside of me that needs healing.

This last year has been the most difficult of my marriage. For Jeff, it has been really worrying, and at times hearbreaking, I think. We still haven't had many conflicts, but he's seen me be completely dysfunctional, and unpredictable emotionally. He's had to pick up a lot of slack with the kids. He's had to put up with some reactions that are not his fault, where he suddenly turns into something in my head that he is not. I think that's the most painful for him.

And yet, Jeff has said that this last year has also been the most wonderful of our marriage. These last few months, especially, we have been far closer--kind of comfortable and gleeful and best-friend-y and just real, and appreciative of each other. I have felt so much more capable of being his best friend, as well as his wife, because I've been able to actually reach out. If you've got a mask on, people are at arm's length. You've got to peel that sucker off if you really want to be close to someone.

I think back on my very weakest moments of this last year with a lot of sadness. And yet, I wouldn't change it, because it has ended in much deeper, "real-er" happiness.

It's hard to think about it that way, because we've been taught in the gospel that faith can heal everything. Sometimes people draw from that the conclusion that it will be a painless, struggle-less, graceful healing. But the thing is, healing never is. Wounds are ugly. They aren't pretty to look at even when they're half-healed. They hurt.

The labor of healing from significant trauma is, I think, a lot like the labor of childbirth. You know it's God's will. He, in fact, rejoices in it. And you know it will end with something precious. But you also know you're going to do silly things. You're going to groan and complain and maybe get a little whiny. You might, in the moment, feel angry and blame people, simply because you're so overwhelmed with pain. If you can focus, you can relax to a certain degree and let it happen, but it will still be and feel messy, and ugly, and overwhelming and in moments you'll think, "how can this be from God?"

My husband gave me a blessing before delivery. He said it'd all be allright. Doesn't than mean I should be able to labor in a cross-legged position, hands outstretched, chanting in soothing tones and looking absolutely serene until it's time to lie down and bring forth a baby?

well, no, that's ludicrous. And yet we know, Labor is a godly thing.

The labor of recovery is also a godly thing. I need to continue to remind myself of this, and not feel guilty for having feelings, having needs, even for having people judge me, or having people I love get worn out at times.

One thing that has been indelibly apparent to me, driving me through this process--I am a better wife. I am a better mother. My husband and my kids are my first priority. Therefore, I *must* continue to recover. It doesn't matter what others think; if they judge me the way I judged that patient, if they feel that my difficulties are born of selfishness or immaturity or not communing with the Spirit. They don't know. They don't know how I've prayed, and the way I feel so very close to my heavenly father even in those moments when I've done things that have been petulant. I feel His love and comfort surround me even in those moments I've had that have been ugly to myself and those around me.

I think if I were truly being selfish, I would have allowed fear of judgment, or self-judgment, overwhelm my desire to heal, and just continued to go through motions--be a mess inside but mostly functional on the outside. I'd do the safe thing and just slap a lot of bandaids on those wounds. But I feel Heavenly Father bending my knees to recovery. I feel Him opening my lips to ask, to express, to allow people to see my weakness and reach out. And as this year has worn on, I have felt some truly happy, truly peaceful times. Perhaps the first in my life.

I find myself wanting to hug my kids, and my husband, all the time. Wanting to be around them. I find joy in being around people, in listening to them and even opening up to them. I think that joy has always been there, just buried under layers of fear and pain.

My heart has clicked into place over the last few months, especially. I'm feeling stuff. Oh, lots of stuff. Not all fun. But I'm also feeling the good stuff-- delight in my kids, happiness with friends, peace instead of fear of rejection when I find an opportunity to help someone else.

So I guess my conclusion is, recovery, while self-focused, is in no way selfish. Because it has made the people I love very most on this planet much, much happier to have a mom whose heart is fully turned on finally. It has made Jeffrey, who is the best friend anyone could have, really and truly my best friend. This last labor, he climbed into the hospital bed with me. He labored with me. That's what a best friend and a spouse does--labor with the other. I can finally allow Jeffrey into that place and it feels so incredibly wonderful.

When you've had bad stuff happen to you--stuff you didn't choose, or stuff you brought on yourself-- and you are trying to heal, it's good to keep in mind that there will be some pain an petulance to get through for a while, and people around you might be sad simply because they love you, and seeing you sad will make them sad. But remember--you're doing it for them. For yourself, so you can be there for them.

Birth is, in the end, a beautiful process in spite of any messes it causes, and in spite of how sore your husband's arms might be from counter-pressing your back and lifting you off the edge of the bed and hugging you tight when nothing else really helps, he wouldn't change anything-- you woudln't change anything. The end result is obviously worth every moment.

Stuff I'm Learning About Writing: Start Slowly?

I just finished final draft edits on a manuscript and sent it to my publisher. I think, after finishing a novel, the temptation to "take a break from writing" is very high, simply because you've just exerted a lot of teary, bloody, sweaty writing effort and you feel you need a break. One trick I've learned is, instead of taking a break from writing altogether, which has some risks (writer's block, stagnation, habits dying)I take a "break" by working on something else; something vastly different. Maybe not even a novel--maybe poems. Or maybe (as is the case right now time for me) working over someone else's manuscript.

This manuscript has sat in the dockets for over a year. I owe this guy one because he took one of my manuscripts and meticulously went through and commented on every page, sometimes every paragraph. Now, if you're a new writer, you might not see the gift that this truly is--for someone to go over you manuscript and say every single thing they feel could be improved. It can feel soul-crushing if you're just barely footing it into the whole serious writing thing, because writing at that stage takes so much motivation, and really, you just need lots of encouragement. But after you've written for a while (and particularly, after you've been published and realize how very unsympathetic at times an audience can be) you see the treasure of a close, good critique.

Anyway. I've been returning the favor, taking it two chapters a day with his manuscript. And after that, I have my sister Caitlin's to look at. It's been a refreshing change that surprisingly (or not surprisingly) has motivated me to start unwinding some spring-growth on my next two stories. Outlining one, and slowly coming up with events, characters, and conversations for another. And you know what I've realized?

It's really, really great to go into a new story slowly. Giving myself time to get to know the characters. Allowing myself to stop short after just a paragraph (because I *am* still getting a quota of writing in by reviewing his manuscript, and don't have to feel guilty or worried about stopping and stagnating.) Being able to just stop because I'm not sure I know what comes next, or what "feels right" for a character, and not being threatened at the idea of completely rethinking things and revamping all the pages I've written so far so that a character evolves before the story gets to that 70-page mark where my stories usually gel and then having to go back and re-work 70 pages-- it's been a nice thing.

Some people say that the end of a story is the hardest part to write. I would disagree, possibly violently (if I tended to be the sort of person who disagrees violently.) The beginning of the story is where you get to know your characters, where you start your plot threads. If you start in a wrong place, you can sometimes discover this way further into a story than you'd like. And it takes a while to get a really solidly great thing going. No matter how good a writer you are, I'd argue that actually writing, that process, is what starts the real development of a story. Which means... you're writing it *as* it's solidifying and becoming better. Which means you may need to revamp, revamp and revamp at the beginning of the story. OFten, for me, the beginning has periods of time where I feel like I'm working reaaaally, really hard to get up a hill. Then you get some momentum going, and it clicks, and things start to run smoothly. You've hit the track and things glide, and eventually, seem to go faster than you can even keep up with. But just like breaking a path in snow is far more difficult if you're at the head of the line, breaking that path at the beginning of a story is sometimes discouraging. Dogged determination and 1100 words a day has sometimes been the only thing to get me over the hump.

But right now.... it's actually a very good feeling. Hammering away 1100 words a day can take a toll on writer's morale. I still love that routine, I still feel very accomplished and powerful and happy when doing so, but feeling "fresh" and "new" and all that. It's something I need in my writing career right now. Forget all the worries about copies sold, marketing, what Cedar Fort will think of this next manuscript I've slaved over and... just play. Savor details. Savor creating characters. These things, they are the love in it all, the thing that makes it delicious and something I could never leave behind or cut out of my life.

So that might be my new thing. I'm going to start slowly this time and see just how much better it works. Maybe I won't have to slice apart 70 pages at the beginning of my story this time. That would be VERY refreshing.

Update on our Attached Greenhouse (we are excited.)

So, the funny thing is, when we got that notice from the city I talked about a couple of greenhouse posts ago, I knew it had to have come from someone in the neighborhood/area who read this blog. Because somehow, the city had gotten word that we were building a "greenhouse," only they were told it was going to be a freestanding greenhouse. Since Jeff & I don't generally talk a whole lot about our plans with people, the only real place I could think that someone would know we were building one would be if they read this blog. So I know now that people in this city, people I know, read this. Thus, being more careful about posts, being more aware of peoples' privacy.

I have worried that people will think this is going to be an ugly monstrosity. I don't blame them because, hey. Look at our place! So many weeds. WE used strawbales to insulate our walls last winter, and then Jeff pulled them away from the walls & then never found time to go put them in the horse shed thingie. My kids scatter stuff everywhere. Just like they do inside. And it's harder to remember to ask them to tidy up in the backyard because I don't see it all that often, to be honest. And it doesn't help that all the garbage blows over from the highschool. I have dealt with that by paying my kids to pick it up, a penny a piece, and generally we've been able to keep the area looking OKish, but. You know. Our place is currently kind of the neighborhood disaster. I have goals about changing that this next spring, but who knows if they can happen depending on finances, how well the new baby fares etc.

Anyway, I can see how someone who is familiar with our place might be like, "a greenhouse? Right. It's going to look cobbled together and terrible."

Well, and it's funny because our friend Dave thought the same thing, when we were initially describing our plans to him. Though he didn't tell us this until a couple days ago when Jeff showed him the progress we've made. He gave us a compliment that was also a bit of a dig--"Wow. It actually looks good! From the way you guys were describing it, I was thinking it'd be kind of trashy looking." (Not offended, Dave. It made Jeff laugh. But only because we know you love us!!)

The thing is, when we do stuff, we want to do it right. For Jeff, that means planning meticulously, gathering the precise measurements, the exact pieces, and then (for me) an important thing is finding a period of time when we can work on it until it's finished. I hate half-done projects. They are usually messy, obstructive to routine and space, and not very nice to look at. So... yeah. When we do stuff, and slowly, little by little, we'll do stuff, people will hopefully get an idea of us as a family that really does want their place to look nice, and be a credit to the neighborhood.

Having said all that. Here's where we're at now for the outside (about 3/4 done with plywood, window framing, etc):

We're going to have to leave it plywood until spring, when we'll put insulation and cement board on the outside. Also we'll be mortaring the cinderblock then; right now it's just stacked.

We'll be painting the cement board probably the same color as the rest of the house, with another complimentary for windowframes etc. I'm trying to decide if we do the other color in white, kind of like the rest of the house, or if we go a darker grey to make a nice, pretty contrast. And I'm planning on hanging flower basket planters all along the beams, and planting some red flowers in each. That combination of grey and red is just very pretty. I've seen it done before.

We also plan on taking some of those white flagstones our friends the builders of our house put in a long winding path throughout the yard, and repurposing them to create a path along the house, along the periphery of the greenhouse, and then out to a white flagstone patio/barbecue pit. We're also planning on coldframes along the south (so the path would go around those, too). Overall, I'm pretty certain it will end up looking very nice. Which actually is quite important to me :)

Here's where we're at for the inside:

I am kind of swooning over the amount of space. Our plan for the south side is 4X4 square foot garden beds up against the window side, for sun and warm loving plants such as tomatoes, squashes, peppers and herbs. I plan on hanging strawberry pots/baskets on the inside from every post as well... lots. I love strawberries and want to grow a wide variety.

There will be a path of dark flagstones or pavers (which we will have to buy) for along the house-side wall, so we can walk and have access to everything. We plan on setting it all on sand (with landscape fabric underneath to prevent weeds growing up through, though we don't have many weeds inside anyway because it's graded gravel.) I plan on growing nice mosses in between the flagstones/pavers. It should be quite beautiful. Then as we wrap around toward the east (that corner there you see) we'll probably change to either trees planted in the ground or trees aboveground in giant pots, plus lots of multi-level pots, on stands or hanging, containing bush-berries and fruits or other edible plants that like a great deal of sun. Then as we come around to the east, where there's still good sun but not as much, and it won't be as warm, we'll have a few more square-foot beds with the colder winter vegetables. Then in the very north corner (jeff hasn't built yet) we have a pair of French doors off of the house that open into the greenhouse. We're planning on making that area a sort of indoor solarium/patio, with nice wicker chairs or cast-iron chairs or something more solarium-like, and probably a fountain and a little pot-pool with some stones and maybe a few fishes.

And possibly on that wall of the house, we'll hang one of those pallet-gardens, or a couple, with shade-loving plants like ferns, etc.

Underneath will be more of the dark flagstone pavers on sand, with mosses or elfin thyme growing between the cracks.

In a word, when we get done, it will be wonderful.

SO, back to right now: we've almost got it all enclosed. Jeff is also working on making it airtight--closing in the space between wall and rafter, etc. It's still pretty drafty; we haven't insulated, there are places for the air to get in quite easily, and we haven't even closed off the entire thing yet--the north side's just an open frame, and Jeff hung a tarp to close off the enclosed space to give himself a warm area to work in during the day. But guess what? Even with just that, the nighttime temperatures inside the greenhouse have measured 20 degrees higher than outside temperatures. And during the day:

It's already warmer outside in the greenhouse than it is inside our house!

Think of how it'll be once we get it all enclosed, insulated, caulked if we need to. We may actually need to vent heat inside the house during the day to make sure things don't get too hot for the plants.

Jeff and I have a plan, too, to keep things warm at night (though hopefully it'll be less of a problem than we currently anticipate)--we're going to create curtains of insulation that can drop down over the windows once the temperature inside the greenhouse gets too low. Jeff loves smart-home techology; he'd like to set it up to work automatically with thermometers that gauge temperature, so that when the air at night starts to get below a certain temp, these thick, insulation curtains slide down over the windows and in the morning, when the sensors pick up that the outside temperature is warm enough, they can slide back up. And we can get our sun and warmth at night, too, so we can grow things like...


tomatoes. the holy grail of vegetables. Which I have never been able to make work to well here in an outside garden, even during the summer. The season is just too short.

Well actually, honestly Eggplants are the holy grail. I couldn't even get those to grow in Utah.

It's possible we can use the same system of heated water tubing that warms our concrete floor inside the house, to heat the garden beds as well. Run several loops of the hosing under the bed, keep the soil warm at night. There are lots of options. I want vines of tomatoes swinging from my ceilings year round. Did you know they get really long if they can grow all the time? And they keep producing, too.

It will be amazing. It's Jeff's & my christmas present to each other this year... he's been building all christmas break and I think he's really enjoying it a lot. I'm enjoying seeing it go up, and seeing our dream become a reality.

Sort of a part V-- Grateful Reflections in the aftermath of life explosions.

SO I've posted some difficult stuff lately. About struggles with my family, and ward, and bishops. Now that I've got all that out of the way, I want to fall back and enumerate some truly great things people have done for me and been for me. Nobody's perfect--like Oaks said, we're all imperfect appliances. But (as I've stated before) I have a truly great family, and my ward and also my bishop at the time of Paul, were/are also truly great people. I think they're due for some praise and gratefulness.

I'm going to number this just because it makes me think better sometimes to number things.

1) My Dad. Who I've talked about struggling with. Some wonderful things about him (other than what I've already said about him being brilliant, creative, funny, and someone who really loves me) is also an amazing piano player. One thing I always cherish with him is time when he plays the piano and I can sing. Want to know how I found my voice? (and it's a pretty belty voice... and has been since I was probably a 7-th grader). It's because I could sing freely while my Dad played because i know he loved me and our time together was special. While my dad's love language isn't the same as mine, he does do a lot of things to show people he loves them. He serves people, quietly, with no expectation of praise or returned favors. He also never, ever says things vindictively about others. He doesn't gossip. And if he has a problem with someone, he can still appreciate their good points.

2) My Mom. I've written poems about her. She is a person I'd love to be like. I like to call her a rennaisance woman. She can do anything creative. She throws herself into projects and is talented at just about everything she tries hard at. She is a woman (like I've said before) with a big heart and no chip on her shoulder--she'll come and clean poodle poo off your floor if you're wheelchair-bound and your six elderly poodles need cleaning up after. She is loyal. She is always on the lookout for the underdog, or for people who are lonely or are maybe in need of more help than others realize, and she does all she can to help. She helped nurse my great grandmother through the last stages of her life, even though it was not easy. She works really, really hard to make sure another of my grandmas, who is currently struggling a lot, is as happy as possible, and she takes the difficulties she faces silently, without returning hurt for hurt or feeling a need to defensively gossip. She is an inspiration to me that way. I wish I had her bravery to serve people without apology. She also is a master-organizer. She organized and put together and ran all the big events for my high school choir for years, and was willing to do even the hard jobs nobody else wanted to do, like chastise kids on Europe trips for buying stuff they shouldn't :) My mom is a rock star and she doesn't get a whole lot of recognition, except from those who love her and know her well enough to know who she is.

3) My sisters and brother. They are hilarious and brilliant and when I'm with them, I feel like I'm a member of some cool tribe. We have a sense of humor (my grandmother curtis's sense of humor) that is just its own flavor. Aaaand we do great things together. My siblings are very talented at a lot of things and they choose very interesting things to do in life and aren't afraid to dream big, or be themselves. Sometimes this has earned them some eyebrow raises or even disapproval--watching them do what they do and be what they are anyway, and still have very strong testimonies they wouldn't give up for any reason, or person, makes me feel grounded in my own love of the gospel of Christ.

4) Bishops and ward members. Specifically at the time I've been outlining lately--when all went down with Paul.
Despite my struggles with the bishop (which were because of all the circumstances already related... everything so messed up and stressful) I have a lot of admiration for this person. I know him still, and have gotten to know him better over the years. We have some association because of common interest groups, online and in other ways. He is a very good person. He's had trauma of his own. He is very loving and giving and really, a very sensitive person overall. Who was thrown into a very difficult situation. The last interaction I had with him, he actually came to my home (some ward members were over and we'd just cleaned it, ready to move me to my new apartment.) He handed me a book--the compilation from the Women's Conference that had just ended. And he said, 'I feel like I haven't been the best bishop to you.' and I could see how much he wished things had worked out better. I do, too. He is a good man. And I know we both learned a lot from our time together.

Ward members: People were so kind to me. One person brought me by some Christmas pretzel chocolates right when I needed reassurance. People still involved me in baby showers and such. My home teachers, one of the experiences with them that was quite hilarious was when a big media van pulled up in front of my house, and one couple distracted them while I sneaked out the back & headed over to the other couple's house. It was a bit double o seven ish. To be able to laugh at something so stressful was a relief. We even turned the TV on to see the news to see if they were still trying to film my house. People let me visit teach them. One relief society, the teacher dispensed with the lesson (right after story broke) and said she thought we should just sing hymns the whole time. I felt that was for me. The sister sitting next to me told me what a beautiful voice she thought I had. I needed to hear that. I will always be grateful for my relief society president who came over and mopped my floor, and then took walks with me, both of us hauling our baby strollers. I appreciate them and a couple who lived next to them, who invited me over occasionally to talk to me and laugh with me.

And on top of that, I now appreciate all the people who have written me to express how they wanted to help, even though they weren't sure how, but that they were thinking of me. I know that made a difference. Maybe one plus in having my story all over the place was I had a whole bunch of people praying for me.

One sunday, I was informed that the entire provo police department was fasting for me.

So.... I guess what I'm saying is, difficulty is difficulty. We go through crap. People aren't perfect. But they are still wonderful. Even people who make things hard are wonderful. I'm sure I've accidentally (or maybe on purpose, I don't know) made things hard for others. I hope they can forgive me, and I hope that whatever harm I've done, can be healed eventually. I'm grateful for healing. I'm grateful for people.

I'm grateful for my voice teacher, who became my friend and who gave me blessings. And who taught me to find my voice again, and who has continued to be a wonderful friend forever.

I'm grateful to the people who watched Loli with such love and care, and who weren't awkward about it at all, who I felt were my friends.

I'm grateful for psych professors who didn't condescend to me or mention anything, even though I'm sure they knew who I was and what I was going through.

I'm grateful to a guy I dated (between Paul and Jeff) who helped me realize I was a desirable person to date, and a fun person to be around, and who helped me gain the courage I needed to date my husband when that happened.

I'm grateful for random ward members (especially ones who cooked lots of Indian food and gifted me with a homemade-cool ball thingie) (and later moved here where I can be their friends now still) who took Loli when I needed to go to the temple or some other appointment.

I'm grateful to teachers and classmates who expressed concern.

I'm grateful to the people at my work, and my boss, who put up with me not always being the greatest employee, and who moved me (illegally, using work vans) into my new apartment, on work hours. Because they wanted to make sure I was OK. They made me feel very loved and supported.

I'm grateful to my (now cousin-in-law,) who convinced me it wasn't selfish or inappropriate of me to try attending the singles' ward, where I met my wonderful husband.

I'm grateful to lawyers and therapists who worked with me, I suspect, partly pro-bono.

I'm grateful to a bishop who advocated for me, even though I wasn't supposed to be attending the singles' ward, and whose grin kind of split his face open when he attended Jeff's and my post-sealing luncheon.

I'm grateful for whoever anonymously donated 1000 as a "scholarship" for me one semester, and enabled me, along with some help from my grandparents as well, to buy a vehicle to replace the one that had so many bad memories, and also not very good gas mileage, and was safer to drive.

I'm grateful to a former YW leader for her show of support and help.

I'm grateful for Elder Groberg too, who I am sure prayed for me. And who, I'm sure, wanted me to make the right choices.

I know I've missed lots and lots of you. Sorry about that. It's like numbering grains of sand. I know you're there. I'm grateful for the warmth and support I stood on, and continue to stand on.

I'm just grateful, is all, and Merry Christmas to everybody. Love you all.

Parts 1-5 of this post:

Part 1



Part 2


Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

My Struggles With Priesthood Leaders and Mormon People Part IV

OK. I realized, reading all the comments and such, that I need to go ahead and finish this today. I just feel so self indulgent writing about it all and thought I should save it for another time & not expect people to spend hours today reading about me. But I think it's important. This is a thing that involves more than me, it involves my family, friends, a community, because of how publicized everything was and because of how hard it was on everyone who knew me and also Paul (who grew up in my stake.)

So Paul has moved on. He served 4 years, and married again, and had kids. From all I know, he's doing OK. And I'm glad. He wrote a letter during the cancellation of sealing process about how he was glad I'd found someone worthy to marry. He talked about how he knew I was a good person and was moving on and it was OK with him. I am grateful he did that, because I've heard of many circumstances where someone doesn't react that way. Clearly, the part of Paul that is Good really is there, and exists, and hopefully he is living a better, more peaceful, less addiction-burdened life and getting help for his struggles. Because I do love him, he was somebody very important to me and the father of my oldest child (who is, actually, in personality a lot like him.) (The guy I married before things went crazy.)

When I talked to the bishop, it was at a temple recommend interiview. I decided, with a lot of prayer, to approach it differently this time. Instead of saying, I have a problem. I really hate bishops (which didn't get very far with the bishop in Provo... perhaps understandably) I downloaded and printed the article (yeah. I'm already crying)Healing the Tragic Scars of Abuse, by Richard G Scott. I read it a few times, then went through and underlined a couple of sentences in the talk. And when I went to see the bishop to renew my recommend, I just told him, I'm really struggling. And it's not because I don't like the church, and it's not because I don't have a testimony. And I handed him that talk and said that the sentences I'd underlined applied to me. He took it and kind of looked across at me and said, "Sarah, I think this is important. You'd better come back and see me. I'll read it, thank you for the article."

So a week passed. I was in a play in town. The Man of LaMancha. I was playing Aldonza and it was a tough experience for me because, in this town, everyone's in the ward, the stake etc. And here I was doing something also vulnerable for me (singing in front of people, and having to say an almost-bad word! They toned it down, but they left one word in. And I was so worried about what people would think of me.) I had my picture in the paper again. I think it triggered something.

That first experience by the river was the first "anxiety episdoe" or "breakdown" I'd had. I had another one the next week, after the play was done. I called up the bishop on the phone. I wasn't very coherent. Mostly crying. & feeling really stupid about it. But he had me come in and see him. And I sat there, across the desk from him, and told him everything that had happened to me. I hadn't told anyone the whole story except, I told part of it to the singles' ward bishop (kinda had to, to have him feel OK about me attending the ward) and I told Jeff of course. But I hadn't told any other bishop or person. Except when people would ask about Jeff's and my time married, and look at me funny because Loli's older, then I'd say something like, I was married before, it was difficult, he ended up in jail.


Anwyay, telling the whole story was cathartic. And strange. And immediately I realized I'd chosen the right person to talk to, because my bishop didn't overreact, and he didn't act all bothered and uncomfortable to see me be pretty emotional, and he was able to express how terrible it was (it was) without making me feel like a terrible person for piling it on him.

he also knew that he needed to keep helping me. I felt pretty abandoned by my first bishop. This bishop un-abandoned me. He met with me weekly, and occasionally we messaged on facebook. when I had further anxiety episodes, he talked to me without acting all weird about it. A person going through an episode of intense anxiety or depression is not fun to talk to--he was patient with me.

I realized pretty soon how much I loved this person. My bishop. And being able to trust him and talk about stuff I'd always been really afraid to talk about was helping. My biggest worry was not feeling stuff. I couldn't "turn on" my feelings anymore, because they had been kind of shocked or killed, it felt like, into nonexistence, except when they'd rise up in these geysers of catastrophe--anxiety or not-able-to-get-out-of-bed level depression. But as I talked to this bishop, and as we grew closer, I began to feel again. It frightened me, how I couldn't feel much for my husband or kids sometimes. I'd have brief, wonderful moments where love would well up inside and I'd feel it, but mostly I felt blank and tired. I was starting to be able to feel love for my husband and kids, little by little, kind of like ice cracking maybe. Ice Princesses are that way for a reason. I mean, before, I went through the motions--hugging little bodies, Hugging husband, asking how his day went, etc, but mostly I felt so blank. And I was unable to engage in conflict because it was too frightening to me. My relationship with Jeff was more like that of a kind parent and daughter, somewhat. I didn't meet him on his terms or challenge him, and I constantly felt like I was a dissappointment to him. Which is really sad because it wasn't true.

Bishop and I started talking about my childhood experiences and how they've fed into this. I talked about some things I've never been able to even fully realize in my head because they were too threatnening, like, what if I'm a bad person. What if I kind of brought on what happened to me. What if all those people who judged me were actually right. But in talking about childhood experiences (and he began sharing some of his, too) we quickly realized (bishop and I) that we have a whole lot in common. It was almost eerie. We began to feel related.

I was really kind of weirded out by this. I said a lot of prayers, because you're not supposed to get too innapropriately close to a bishop. I was starting to feel like he was my Dad. Which, if you're a psych major, which I was, brings up a whole slew concerns. But I prayed and got an answer, just like every other answer in my life, that I was supposed to trust it and let it happen. I was supposed to let this bishop help me, and talk to me, and be my Dad.

I have a great Dad. But he's in California. And he struggles with vulnerability. When everything happened with Paul, he couldn't talk about it to me. Or anyone, not even mom. He still doesn't talk about it. I had a bishop who didn't want to talk to me, and a Dad who couldn't.

When Jeff and I moved up here to where we live, we did so because the house and land were perfect. Exactly what we wanted. But I think Heavenly Father put us in this ward on purpose. I was supposed to meet this one family. I was supposed to let this one bishop become my Dad. And he has. It's kind of a miracle. I've cried with him, and talked to him, and become really good friends with him and trust him and am glad to have him. He's told his family that we're a part of the family. I love all of them. Even before I got to know Bishop/Dad, I had some random experiences going on walks with his wife and was drawn to her in a way I'm not usually drawn to people. And two of the daughters were the first people who came up to me and made friends after we moved in. There's something about those two girls, and me, that I felt like kind of clicked weirdly. We have the same kind of akwardnesses, the same kind of interests, and enjoy the same types of conversation... we all answer too many questions during sunday lessons....

yeah it was all getting a little bit strange. To the point where we were trying to figure out how we were related. Not *if* but *how.*

Dad started talking about this one ancestor of his. It came up because of the book I wrote (Lightning Tree) and the experience of my main character, who lost her family and then had her possessions taken and distributed. He had an ancestor this happened to, as an aftermath of the Mountain Meadows Massacre. I was pretty interested in this. So he gave me some manuscripts to look over, and some books to study and I learned all about Olive Olivia Coombs and her tragedy. I was getting more and more intrigued about this person, partly because I was working on a sequel for Lightning Tree and her incident happened in the exact year i'd chosen, in a place I'd planned on having my character be at some point during the story. I asked him if he'd mind if I included her story in my book. He said he thought that would be all right with him.

I studied the story more in-depth, to get details and history right. I looked everywhere online and found some additional accounts that Dad/bishop didn't have, and passed them on to him. This is a really rare line to be related to, and so not a lot of stuff had been written about this ancestor. Dad said that he knew of only four descendants today with connection to the family. He'd been in correspondence with a man who was trying to do research about this, and the man had only found four other people with information to add.

I was starting to really bond with Olive and her children, Emily, Bella, Ella and Olive. Bella, the second oldest, was the one related to Dad--his great, great grandmother. (or great grandmother can't remember how many greats). I was feeling a whole lot for them--I felt connected to them.

One evening, we were talking about something. Dad brought up a hymn in the hymnbook that he said he found special, "As the Dew From Heaven Distilling." My ancestor, Theodore Curtis, wrote that hymn. I didn't tell him that, I just asked him, "why do you find that one special?" And he said it was because he had family connected to it--one of his ancestors had written it.

Theodore Curtis is both our ancestors. And even more amazing. Olivia Coombs, who I'd been reading about? She was Olivia Curtis Coombs. My great, great, great something aunt. This woman I'd been reading about this whole time. I was related to her. I later found out that one of the four people this man had been corresponding with, trying to get information about the Coombs incident, was my own Grandmother, Patricia Curtis. It was pretty amazing, and emotional for me. And I understood the counter-intuitive answers to prayer I'd gotten. This bishop, and this family, were my family. There is something special about being a Curtis. I've written about that before. There aren't very many of us around.

My journey with Bishop (and Dad) has done a lot of miraculous things for me. And for him. I didn't know that, at the time I'd given him a jab about his scary bishop tie, he was going through one of the worst times of his life. Lots of stuff was going on, and he was pretty stressed out. Knowing each other, finding a new relative, being friends and most of all, allowing him to help me, has helped him, too. Kind of like how it is in a family.

So thinking back on bishop experiences before, particularly the difficult time when all that happened with Paul, I feel kind of like Heavenly Father has slowly been inching me in the direction of St. Anthony all of my life. I have family here, and He knew it. And He wants me to heal, and so he brought me here where I could. Where I could be "un-abandoned." And let me tell you, if you want to be un-abandoned, someone like my bishop right now is the perfect person to do it. As my relationship with priesthood authority in my life has improved that way, it's improved other ways. Dad's a good example in how to exercise priesthood. He's taught me about asking for blessings. He's taught me to lean on Jeff and not feel guilty for not being independent, but that spouses are for that--leaning on each other. He's helped me step up and be a wife, which Jeff has needed me to be for a long time. I can talk to this family of mine about kid issues and parenting issues and realize, I'm not a bad mom, only a stressed one sometimes. And I've been able to feel more and more for my family as a result.

Priesthood is an important influence in our lives. I think that Heavenly Father blessed me for not giving up. Not all bishops are going to be the ones I (or others) identify with or understand or can communicate easily with, and because I went through something so difficult, it was very hard for me to deal with that. But the thing we don't do is give up and leave, because someday, somewhere, Heavenly Father will come through and help you find peace. If you keep working at it, you'll find it.

I am still pretty vulnerable and scared and worried. Especially when I feel like people judge me or talk about me (which probably they do a lot less than I worry about.) Having your stuff in the papers and having good people believe things about you that aren't true, is a hard thing to get over. But I recently read a quote from Elder Packer (which surprised me. Who knew Elder Packer went through something like this?):

"A few years ago I indulged on one occasion in some introspection and found there were reasons why I didn’t like myself very well. Foremost among them was the fact that I was suspicious of everyone. When I met someone, I had in mind this thought: “What’s his motive? What’s he going to try to do?” This came about because I had been badly manipulated, abused by someone I trusted. Cynicism and bitterness were growing within. I determined to change and made a decision that I would trust everyone. I have tried to follow that role since. If someone is not worthy of trust, it is his responsibility to show it—not mine to find it out."

-Elder Boyd K. Packer, 1977

Here's the link if you want to read the rest of it.

And so step one, for me, was talking about writing in young women. And step 2 (admittedly a pretty giant step) was writing this blog, which I know is read by not only old friends, writing friends, and family, but people in my ward and stake. Ward and stake, I want to get to know you. I'm pretty awkward in person at first sometimes, but I'll keep trying if you keep forgiving me for awkwardness. I really do love people and want to trust them.

Thank you for reading this, everyone who has. I know I'm not the only one who struggles with this stuff. I hope people who read this, who might be on the edge of giving up like I was, can keep going until something great happens. Or maybe if you want, come talk to me. Or give another bishop a chance. As Elder Oaks says, "you don't stop believing in the power of electricity because of a faulty electrical appliance." We are all faulty electrical appliances, but I think we're all mostly trying our best.

About six or so months after that initial meeting with my bishop, and after getting to know him and knowing he loves me and thinks of me like family, and knowing I feel the same, feeling the security of all that, I was called as Young Women president in my ward. I know, I KNOW I could never do this calling without that support, and without healing enough to also accept support from my husband, and also being capable of resolving other stressful issues, with my kids, with the complications of trying to be a leader and not blame myself when things aren't always easy. It's meant I've had to give up the two support groups I was going to *instead* of my ward--a writing group and a homeschooling group. Heavenly Father's working hard on turning my heart back to trusting the people I should trust.

I guess Heavenly Father really does know what he's doing. And I hope someday I can say I'm stronger for this whole experience.



Parts 1-5 of this post:

Part 1



Part 2


Part 3

Part 4

Part 5