Free Your Mind Friday

Okay, I understand that technically, we are free everyday. But today I've decided to give my brain a break from all the stress and worries of everything around me, and give it the freedom to just CREATE.

And I think you should do it too.

Here is a little something to get you started:

What do you think is happening in that grove? (If you feel like sharing, I'd love to hear about it!)


Also, if you haven't noticed, I'm starting an author newsletter, and I'd love for you to sign up (see the sidebar to your right). Next week, I expect to be sharing epic news. Hope to see you back here!

It's Not About the Size of the Tree

The first Christmas after we moved into our house—feeling extremely festive and perhaps overly excited about the vaulted cathedral ceiling in our living room—we bought a new artificial Christmas tree. (I know, artificial isn’t nearly as awesome as real. But I have this thing where I’m pretty much incapable of keeping plants alive indoors. My thumbs are black, not green. And we prefer to not burn down our house.)

The thing is twelve feet tall, before decorations. (No, I am not joking. Yes, I am crazy. And before you ask, I probably won’t buy one quite this big ever again. It requires an insane amount of time to set up and take down. But I love the end result.)

Anyway, that first year when the tree was up and decorated, one of my new neighbors made an offhanded comment that was something like, “Wow, how will the rest of us ever keep up with that?”

Even though it was said in a joking tone, those words stung deep. Our choice of tree was not about competition. It was about joy. Joy for being in our new house, joy for the season and everything it meant, and joy for being able to make our family celebration as big or as tall as we chose to make it.Or on the other side of that coin, as simple or as small.

The day we walked into Costco and saw the tree, my kids squealed in delight, and their eyes lit up with sparkles. And funny enough, the cost turned out to be significantly less than many of the other trees we’d looked at that day. It was a good purchase that has lasted seven years and counting.

But every year when I’m decorating this monstrosity, that particular comment comes back and reminds me why I do things the way I choose, and why I don’t do them the way other people would have me do.

Regardless of what some might think, Christmas spirit is not determined by the size of your tree (or the number of lights) any more than a man’s masculinity is determined by the size of his truck or SUV. Any more than a woman’s worth is determined by her ability to sew or cook or clean house. (Yeah, that last one is so cliché it’s ridiculous. Forgive me for that. I’m lacking in all those departments.)

There was not a lit Christmas tree in Bethlehem or lights circling the roof of the stable. No gifts wrapped in expensive paper. No Black Friday shopping days. There was a family, experiencing quiet moments of pure, unadulterated joy.

Our tree could be a one-foot twig for all that it matters. We’d still find joy within the quiet warmth of our family. The only difference is it wouldn’t be quite so visible to the rest of the world.

What do you think? Does the size of your tree really matter? And do you really care what the neighbors think?

*Don't forget to enter this week's totally fab I *Heart* Followers contest* 

Growing Trees and Publishing Books: Which Takes Longer?

Last week at a conference, Christopher Robbins from Gibbs Smith Publishing said something that I thought—at first—could be true. However, after thinking about it for a few days, I think I might have to respectfully disagree.

Christopher said something along the lines of, “It takes longer to grow a tree than to publish a book.”

Well. Okay. That is possibly true for a pine or an oak, and if you’re comparing to a short book that was written in a flash. Maybe. Or maybe not.

It all depends on the book, the author, and the kind of tree.

For instance, I started writing (secretly) right about the time my family and I moved into our current house. Since we built this house, when we got here we had zero yard. Nada. Zilch. In fact, our first major purchase—after the house—was several truckloads of dirt. Dirt, people! (Let’s not get me started discussing why anyone should have to pay for dirt.)

After the dirt, we proceeded (slowly) to plant several baby-sized trees, some grass, and other various plants.

I’ll give it that most of our trees started as actual trees—probably a year or two old. Let’s say two. We have lived in this house for six years, and I’ve been writing for that many years. In the past six months, I’ve had two books published. Books of the shorter, smaller-market variety.

Now, let’s discuss my apple tree. If it was two years old when we planted it, and it started producing apples (more than two or three) last fall, then I believe we have something of a tie. Well, okay, I might have been a tiny bit faster in this case. But.

I also have a national market book, for which I am currently seeking an agent. This book has taken me much longer, and quite a bit more work than my others (partly for length—it’s at least twice as long). And if by some miracle I happen to find that agent in the next six months, it will then likely take me another three to six months of edits before my agent will send my book out on submission (okay, just a guess—not necessarily all true). Then, IF we sell this book to a publisher, up to a year (sometimes more) will likely pass before that book is in stores.

So, I’m looking at two years, if all goes the way I hope.

It’s entirely possible my apple tree will be OLD by then. So will my other trees. Including my maple, which is almost fully mature.

So, does it take longer to grow a tree than to publish a book? Not always. Not when you look at it from the author’s perspective.

Maybe we should as a tree for an opinion?

(This blog is done in fun and not intended to offend any publishing officials—especially Christopher Robbins—who is not actually the character from Winnie the Pooh.)

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!