How I Finished Writing "Route 66 Dreams"

I don’t often talk about it, but when I was four years old, I had eye surgery to tighten the muscle in my right eye. The surgery went well, however, it turned out I was allergic to anesthesia and I have horrible memories of my hospital stay because I was miserable.

It took me a long time to realize how that experience, despite the fact that my maternal grandfather was a doctor and I was raised around medicine, left me fearful of hospitals.

Four years ago, I had surgery to remove my uterus because fibroids that had been removed once before came back. It was absolutely worth it, but for those three weeks prior to the surgery, I found myself more scared than I was willing to admit because of one thing– I had to spend the night in the hospital.

While I knew I’d be okay, I also had this fear I’d been carrying around with me for all these years and I was always proud of myself for managing not to have a hospital stay. Before the surgery though, I had to find some way to cope, some way to make the most of those three weeks rather than sitting around and dreaming up all the bad things that could happen.

First, I set to work and finished recovering the outdoor patio cushions I’d been working on. Then I realized I also needed to finish the manuscript I was writing– get the rough draft finished so I could put it away. I devoted more time to Route 66 Dreams in those three weeks and also to the research I needed to do at the library because it took place in 1986 (the 1986 newspapers weren’t available online and instead I had to take a trip to the university library and then one of the city libraries for the microfilm).

It wasn’t easy but I found it was a good way to train my brain. Instead of ruminating about my unfounded fears regarding surgery, I had to keep my head on the Danielson family road trip that I was writing about. When I showed up for surgery that June 1 morning, I had put them away for a while, giving myself distance from the manuscript while I also needed the time to recover from the surgery.

I was still scared, but at least I hadn’t spent three weeks staring at the ceiling, playing all the loops of what might happen. Instead, I learned a lot in that time while also facing one of my biggest fears. And I created something I’m proud to say is mine.

The Inspiration for "Route 66 Dreams"

We were a road trip family. My happiest memories were those trips in the family station wagon. Those were the memories we would reminisce about at Rascal’s, a restaurant we ate at on Christmas Eve in my hometown of Napervlle, IL. There was always some funny story or adventure to remember.

My dad took a trip on Route 66 with a friend in his convertible (he and his convertible are pictured above at a wedding- this one I believe before my parents knew each other) before my parents married. I don’t know that they went all the way to Los Angeles because I don’t remember conversations about LA. We do have photos and home movies he took of the hotels in Las Vegas, I believe where they must have gone instead before heading back to Chicago.

When my dad and I took the first trip to Albuquerque to sign me up for my graduate school classes and find an apartment to live, I remember how he turned the car off I-40 right when you drive into Albuquerque after the canyon, at Tramway. Central, as Route 66 is known here, is just a block away and we took it all the way through town. What I remember most are his comments that there were few motels left and instead mostly mobile home dealers.

We were a Holiday Inn family and it was a game that after we passed the billboard of our chosen location for that night, to see who could spot the familiar Holiday Inn sign.

These road trips laid the foundation for “Route 66 Dreams.” While we never drove west (most of our trips kept us east of the Mississippi), we did a lot of driving– there was always a new place to stay and a list of sites to peruse in each place we went. The Danielson family isn’t my family, Jana’s story isn’t mine beyond the dream of wanting to be a writer.

Instead, her story was born of me wondering how I found myself wanting to be a writer, of wondering what it might have been like if I’d had the same adventures she had, a father who was much more open than mine ever was. There are so many stories to tell and there are small pieces of me in this story (and things that I experienced) but mostly, it was about exploring something I had started to wonder…where are our dreams born?

For Jana, they were born on this trip and it’s this trip in her life that I’ve chosen to share with the backdrop of the nostalgic eighties (I do believe 1986 was the best year for music and maybe a reason I chose to center the book in that very year) and a family vacation.

St. Dwynwen's Day

January 25 is St. Dwynwen’s Day. She is the Welsh patron saint of lovers and in our house, this is our Valentine’s Day.

I’m not sure how my interest in her began except that I remember flipping through a book, Britain’s Holiest Places, at Wendy’s cottage in the Welsh countryside and somehow I became interested in St. Dwynwen’s site on the sea.

I knew I wanted go to there, but it wasn’t until I was trying to finish my book That Cooking Girl that I knew I needed to go there to finish writing the novel.

The book centers around Megan, a Welsh name that John Peters, the man I called my “UK Dad’ and who died just a few weeks after my mom, thought I should build a character and story around. While my story about Megan isn't quite what I know he had in mind, I did incorporate so much that he shared with me, especially adding the “Mzee,” the wise uncle he called himself. It’s a Swahili term he learned from the years he and his family lived in Kenya.

It was important to John on my visits to the UK that he and his wife Jean show me Wales. He wanted me to see the “other” part of the UK that he felt Americans too often overlooked. On my next visit there, which fell during my one-year wedding anniversary with Greg, Wendy (who had never been to St. Dwynwen’s site) and Nigel took us there.

It’s important to note that you can only visit when the tide is out otherwise you need a boat (good luck swimming since it never really gets warm there!) to get to the little piece of land where she lived.

That visit allowed me to finish the book because I had the final piece I needed for it. And each year since then, we have celebrated St. Dwynwen and her day in our house. Maybe one day I’ll understand why I was drawn there, but I’m not sure it matters. The reality is that I felt a need to go, I was able to do it and had people who wanted to experience with me, and I finished my fourth novel because of it.

I’m sure John is nodding approvingly.

Telling Stories

It’s hard not to get dragged down by the seemingly endless roller coaster ride we’ve been on.

Some days are better than others and I find that keeping my list of things to do long, that even though I don’t finish the list, at least I’m accomplishing something.

Somewhere yesterday the depression set in as it seems to do every few days. I had decided I needed to focus on doing things outside my office, those little things that pile up on the kitchen counter or in the laundry room, the ones that don’t take long to do, but we constantly walk by and say, “I’ll do that later.” And yet we don’t. Yes, those things.

I did them and then I settled into reading the multiple extra newspapers our very kind newspaper lady has been bringing me– while we subscribe two two newspapers, she brings me the day or two old returns for two other newspapers that are in the recycling bin. But I had gotten behind doing my sewing so I sat down to read them.

It was there that I found out that director Joel Schumacher had died (how did I not know this??) and the man who wrote the screenplay for “The Great Santini.” I also ready obituaries and stories about people I’d never heard of, many who rose above lives started with immigrant parents and somehow ended up in Los Angeles at least for a few years. There were threads in these stories– garment workers, the death of a parent.

I found myself drawn back to the one thing that probably makes me happiest inside, telling stories. It’s telling the stories in my head, of people whose lives are influenced by those I have read about. It was that feeling that brought me out of my passing depression as I was knocked on the head once again for my true calling in this life.

Sometimes in my frustration with the chaos in the world I start to veer a bit from my journey. But. thankfully, I am aware enough that it pulls me back quickly.

Lenten Journey 2020

I have written on social media recently that I feel like I am on a journey of crossing a murky lake, much like the one in the photo above. While we have been taught that Lent is about crossing a desert, for me, this year it’s about the murky lake.

I’ve been crossing the desert for years for Lent and in other times of my life and this year I felt the need to change things up. While I always feel that Jesus, Our Lady of Guadalupe, Saint Rita, and Saint Monica travel with me, this time they are in a boat rowing alongside of me, cheering me on, helping me to see the way to the shore ahead.

And for many years I wrote here that I felt I needed to put more effort into letting go at Lent although that changed a few years ago. I’m not saying I’m good at letting go (excuse me while I fall off the ball I sit on and laugh on a few minutes), but I needed to do something different. The last few years it’s been about working steadily on a writing project during Lent.

Part of this stems from the fact that the writing, sewing, and creating are coming at me strong and it’s hard to keep things in check and make sure that I stay focused and complete things, not just start them and move on. There are several unfinished writing projects and my thought was that if I keep my focus on one during Lent, keeping my nose to the grindstone and staying the course, the goal is to have the rough draft completed by Easter.

It sounds easy and the first week or so, once I get started, isn’t so hard.

But the hard part comes a few weeks in when other ideas creep into my head, I get distracted wanting to do other things. It’s at that time that I want to climb into the boat, dry off, and not work so hard for a while. Ah! But that’s the third lap of the four-lap (1600-meter) race around the track, the lap when you need to work the hardest to bring you momentum for the final lap.

That’s when the Lenten Journey gets tested. Can I do this? The finish line isn’t that far away, but just far enough away that I can’t see it.

Here I am, work having started slowly, talking myself up, and getting ready for what will be worth it come Easter: a completed rough draft of another novel.

There is something to be said about the reminder that we should take this journey each year. For me, it makes me stronger and reminds me that I can do it. And I’ll be even stronger next year.

My Own Genre

When I have been looking for a publisher and an agent, it’s been a challenge to say what genre my books fit because as my writing has evolved, my work doesn’t fit into one space.

I have a friend who said she didn’t read The Green Dress because, “I saw it was a romance and put it down.” Well, Green Dress wasn’t a romance nor is That Cooking Girl or anything else that’s going to come after it. When I think of romance, my mom’s cabinet filled of Harlequins comes to mind and I could only stomach a few of those and never read them again (although I would love to find a few for Chelle Summer photos…).

I really struggle to find fiction that I like, often resorting to my first love of biography and autobiography. I often find myself not identifying with main characters– the same problem I have with many television shows and movies– because of their, well, stupidity. I get tired of the bad decisions. People say it makes them feel like they can relate to a character, but I have tried to write characters who make bad decisions and I find it so hard to empathize with them that it comes out…wrong. That also means that my writing doesn’t fit neatly into one box which also makes it hard for me to find writing that enjoy. And so I keep writing.

I’m not saying my characters– or me– or perfect. I’m also not saying that my character and I have picked the perfect relationships (speaking of my past– not life with Greg!), but I see relationships as secondary to the stories in my books. Yes, the relationships are important because they make life and reading more interesting. However, I don’t see my stories that way.

I prefer to write about women who are trying to go forward, to make the best decisions, and trying not to stand in the way of their own happiness and success.

That Cooking Girl was never meant to be more than a fun story (charming, someone told me just the other day) to be enjoyed and also as maybe inspiration for someone who has people rooting her (or him on) in this game of life.

The point of the book was that Megan is on the brink of success in her life and it’s about how she lets the past and her own fears go to enjoy the excitement of all that’s ahead.

After all, isn’t that what any of us want?

100 Pages for Lent

I believe that Lent is about finding a way to make yourself better, to do something that challenges you to work on growing closer to God. 

It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to this year. In fact, Lent had already started and I still wasn't sure what I was going to do. But then through a series of thoughts and writing, I realized what I wanted to challenge myself to do was write 100 pages in March.

It meant five pages a day during the week when I typically do three with several days off during the month to accommodate life events and schedule changes. It also meant doubling the 50 pages I usually write in a month.

But I believed that it would draw me closer to God because it would bring me the stories I'm supposed to write.

I won't say it was easy– it wasn't supposed to be– and there were days I had to focus harder than usual, or let go of other things I wanted to do, to make sure I had the time to write. Several days I wrote ten pages to make up for other days when I knew things were coming (or didn't know in the case of getting call to do television extra work– it helped that I'd gotten ahead the day before shooting!). 

There was an incredible amount of accomplishment each day that I forged forward toward my goal and also that the creativity kept coming. I didn't lack for material write which helped. And reaching 100 pages felt like a milestone– probably only the second time I've accomplished this in a month.

Finally, it gave me the sense that I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing and as I said in my blog two weeks ago, there's thought that keeps coming to me–

"Keep writing and you'll get where you want to go."

I'm now 100 pages closer to that goal thanks to Lent. 

Process and Journey

Greg will be the first to tell you that I'm about the destination, not the journey. I don't particularly like to go for a Sunday drive nor do I enjoy the scenic route hiking up a mountain. It's all about the end destination for me. 

And when I have a list of things I want to accomplish, it's not about the process there either. I'm more about seeing what I can accomplish in a time period. What most people don't understand is that I've had so much loss in my life that there isn't always a sense of tomorrow. For me, it's do it today because you don't know what tomorrow may bring. I've had too many days in my life where tomorrow ended up turning my life upside down because I was faced with a major challenge (or, like last week, a flat tire and my phone ceasing to work).

However, I can always look back and appreciate the process and the journey of how I've gotten to wherever I'm standing or what I've made/written. I can see that my writing has improved– and continues to do so– even as I'm frustrated trying to find an agent for my latest work. I see how easy it is for me to sit down at the sewing machine and whip out a handbag or a bucket bag after what is now about a year of making them (it's been nearly two years on the bucket bags). 

And then there are the process and journeys I sit in the midst of now– my continuous writing, the paintings in the photo above, and the stack of sewing projects I can't seem to complete with everything going on around me.

Some years ago I realized that  if I wanted to accomplish something far greater than simply doing my job each day, I would need to write/sew/create around my daily responsibilities. When you are trying to make life more than you have, sometimes it's hard to enjoy the journey because you know the destination is where you want to be. And the reality is that I've been working on one major goal since I was six years old– to be a bestselling author. At this point, it's not about the journey. It's about continuing to climb what feels like a steep hill to my destination.

I might not be about looking back until I get where I want to go, but I will when I get there. When I can rest because I have arrived.