Phase one of the hair affair: the motivation and the leap

I'm about to do something I've never done before. Thought about, often, over the course of the last few years, yeah. Done? No freaking way. See, I've got these issues. Body image issues. And even though I'm 36 years old now, and I'm no longer starving, puking, or exercising 6 hours a day, I still have this little sick, dark disease. It's like a venomous pet. I know it could kill me, but I still let it get too close to me sometimes. It's frightening. And embarrassing. And exhausting.




The reason I bring this up now is I've had a relapse. I hate the word relapse. It describes nothing, and means different things to different people, yet it's supposed to convey the steps you take in the opposite direction. The unhealthy backtracking one does on one's way to progress. I should have seen it coming. I spent 20 years in the hell of my disease, did I really think I could come out in a couple short years just because I said I wanted to? I did think that, actually.

Rachel, you're thinking, what does this have to do with your hair? Fine, I'll tell you. I still allow way too much of my identity to be rooted in how I look. My value, my importance, so much of it still hangs on the thread of how I feel about my looks. You should know it pains me to write that publicly. And, I'm really not sure how to let that go. I wish I knew the recipe for it. Instead, I decided to challenge my view of myself by changing my looks. Drastically. So I'm trying hairstyles. Turquoise, spiky, pixie, chin length, bangs, you get the idea. Then I will shave my head. I don't have any delusions about the way this will look. I know how a buzzed head looks: great on some, not-so-great on others. But this CANNOT be about how I will look. This is about choosing to have an experience.



Join me if you will, I'd love some company. You don't have to cut your hair for solidarity, just pop in every now and again and share in my self-discovery. I plan to do at least 6 hairstyles in the next 6 months. I'll be heavily supervised by champion hairstylist, Rachel Vanderbeek. Don't worry. Cutting my own hair was not on my bucket list. I'm so excited to get started. Let phase one begin.

And by begin I mean it's already begun. We did it. Look one is already here. Stay tuned.

Agents are scary.....until you meet them.

Traditional publishing is a competitive business. And when I say competitive, I don't mean the bake off where there's only one "Best Cookie," but you could go home with "Most Original," or "Best presentation," instead. I mean competitive in the sense that the gladiators meant it in Roman times. It's brutal. Representation to negotiate with (or even get your work in front of) publishers is a hot commodity. It takes work. You have to read articles on the agents, read and watch their interviews, pick the ones that might suit you best (or at least accept queries in your genre), query them and then wait week after agonizing week for them to request to see more of your work, or reject you without reading a sentence of it.

 

Imagine my delight when the LDS Storymakers conference I was attending offered meetings or pitch sessions with agents as an optional add-on to your registration. So I signed up. I had never heard of any of the agents, so I read a little on each and selected one that seemed a good fit for me. Victoria Marini. Please check out her website and I dare you not to fall in love with her approach. Also she's a sucker for cat GIF's. Trust me, you'll want to query her. The manuscript consults at the conference were a first-come-first-served kind of deal, so there were no guarantees, but due to a happy coincidence involving a fortune cookie, I got in. I cheered and gushed for a while until I realized I was going to discuss my first chapter face-to-face with someone from the meanest, harshest, most cutthroat group of people on the planet.....Literary Agents.


I was terrified.

Then I got my time slot. 5:00 pm on Friday night. FIVE P.M.?!? After her full day of pitches and consults and my full day of gorging on info from industry professionals, but before DINNER?? That's when we have to meet?? Forget terrified.  I was screwed.

I walked into the tiny room wherein sat Ms. Marini.  We shook hands. And then in a move so professional and respectful I could only sit in awe, she proceeded to give me feedback on my pages. She didn't waste time on small talk, she didn't pretend interest in my personal life, she went to work. I LOVED it. I only had 15 minutes with her, for crying out loud. She praised where she thought praise was due, critiqued where called for, and warned where she felt warning was necessary. Then she requested more pages. This is, I believe, common practice among agents, to request pages from authors with whom you are face to face, and it's brilliant. Tell me what you like to see, and don't like to see, then give me time to revise and submit more to you. Not the move of a cutthroat meanie, by any stretch.

I ran into her later in the hall, and we chatted. She told me about her adorable mother that would follow her to conferences just to have lunch with her on a break. I talked about my kids. She took pictures of the mountains I take for granted everyday. She was real. Ladies and gentleman that is what you should be looking for. When it came to social time, she got personal. When it came time to teach her class, she was animated, energetic and informative. During the consultation she consulted. This woman may never be my agent,  but she really helped me understand the benefits of having one.

I took most of the classes taught by the agents and editors at the conference, and at the end of it all it was pretty clear. These people are just people. Lovely, wise, and HONEST people. They want to help us. They want us to improve and excel. Why? Because they have a vested interest in selling good products. So if you ever get the chance to meet one, or consult with one, or take their classes, don't hesitate. You can't lose.

So, you want to write a book... 5 things to think about before you begin

Yes, this is me dusting off the old blog. I happen to have a very good reason for my hiatus. Don't care? Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway. Not because I'm narcissistic and believe you need to hear about my struggles to properly appreciate how important I am, but because of one simple phrase I hear ALL.THE.TIME.

 "I've always wanted to write a book."

If you have said this, or any of the other myriad variations, this post is for you. And no, this is not a Scared Straight program. I will not discourage any person from writing a book. Ever. I love books,and I love the people who write them. So, if you have that same little itch that brought me to the excruciating twelve to twenty-four month social absence I've just experienced, I'd like to share some things I learned along the way.

1. Start with a good idea


Think you've got a super original idea for a book? You don't. Sorry. I don't mean that rudely. I just mean, it's 2015. The concept of original thought is basically extinct. Actually, if you think about it, the fact that none of our ideas is original should be quite liberating. It's all been done. So we're free to reinvent to our hearts' content. Just remember to do it in your own unique way. Got a dystopian post-apocalyptic story? Heard it. Got a romance? It's a love triangle, right? Or maybe it's the one where the MC hates the love interest in the beginning, but they end up together in the end. Or maybe you've got an epic fantasy with an MC who has a special gift that will help them save not only the world you've just built,  but also the world as we know it. He or she has a group of plucky sidekicks, and a mentor, and there may or may not be a prophecy involved predicting our hero's success or failure. Predictable. Patterned. There are patterns for a reason. They work. But if you want yours to stand out, figure out how to put a new spin on it.

2. A book is a completely different thing than an idea for a book.
 

I don't just mean the difference between your idea and a published and bound magical form of diversion and entertainment that you and I willingly addict ourselves to daily. I mean the typed and completed manuscript that means you took your New Year's resolution seriously this time. I mean the jacked up back and shoulders, and sore fingers that indicate you committed to said idea, and then let it push you violently down a gajillion rabbit holes until your idea morphed into a semblance of a plot, which then morphed into characters that became your best friends, but sucked the life out of you like enemies, which then morphed into a storyline. There are many differences, but the biggest one is reality. An idea is cheap. You could have a million a day. Don't make the mistake of thinking your idea will sell itself without actually learning to write a book. You want a finished product? Sit your butt in the chair and finish the project. And for the love, do NOT put an ad out looking for someone to write your book idea for you and offer to pay them $50. Offer them no less than all your money, assets, and first-born child, or write the thing yourself.
3. Learn how to write a book.

I hesitate to write this one, because it will sound harsh, which can sometimes translate into discouragement. But it's important. When I told my mother, a very wise and well-read woman, I wanted to write a book, she said, "You should take a class." I failed to take that advice when writing my first book, and it cost me months of extensive and brutal editing, only to end up with a book that was just OK. So when she said it again on the next book, I took a class. Then another. Then bought books on writing. Then followed blogs on writing. Then joined author's groups. Went to conferences. Entered contests with the sole purpose of gaining feedback from professionals. Guess what happened? I learned how to write. And, perhaps more importantly, I learned how not to write. I learned the dangers of cliches, filter words, outdated dialogue, vague pitches, poor outlining, predictable endings, etc.  I've also had the opportunity to read and critique other writers' work. You know the difference between the works I enjoyed and the ones I rolled my eyes at? Understanding of the craft of writing, and, those willing to put in the time to gain it. Want an example? Let me know and I'll show you the difference between my 1st draft and my last draft. It's staggering.

4. Do not let the only eyes on this manuscript be yours and the agent/publisher/audience you want to woo.


The most valuable thing you can do for yourself during the writing process is get feedback. Not from your mother, unless your mother is brutally honest and somewhat skeptical. You need to hand pick your critique group. Call for volunteers, and then select them with extreme prejudice. This subject could become a blog post on its own, but I'll tell you, finding the right beta readers made  my progress from draft to draft possible. Period. So get some. Other authors who also need betas are a great resource, and are frequently willing to trade.


5. Balance your life with ferocity.
 

Writing takes time. So does parenting, your day job, your relationships, and every other blasted thing you have going on in your life. Writing can and will take over your life and leave only dirty dishes, overflowing hampers, and disappointed people in its wake if you let it. Decide what portion of your head space you are going to give it, and protect those boundaries like the border police. Give it the time and effort it requires, but time is your most valuable commodity, so budget for it.

The truth is, that idea you have in your head? No one else can write it like you. So buckle up, and get it out there. We'd all love to read it.

Do you have tips for beginning writers? Please share!

Amazon Launch

It's finally here! Launch day on Amazon. Dear Girls is now available for Purchase. Let me tell you why you might want to buy this book.

Dear Girls is all about body image. It is written for girls age 12 and up. It is about one girl's journey from body hatred and eating disorders to health and healing. It is a message of hope, of health, of forgiveness, of self-care and empowerment. This is a message our daughters (and maybe even we as mothers) need. Dear Girls is written in the form of letters, and though names of people and places were changed to protect privacy, the events described in this work are true.

I wanted to be honest and real with people about the dangers of certain ways we think of ourselves and others. I wanted to talk about competing and comparing, and how damaging that can be. Most of all, I wanted my girls to know that the key to unlocking their power and potential in this world (and they will be powerful) is to look past how they look, and see what they can give. What we look like is barely a part of who we are, and once we realize that and focus on who we are and what we can do, all kinds of opportunities open up for us. I know, because I'm experiencing it now. Please pin this to your "Books" board, please pass this on to neighbors and friends. I believe in this message, and I know you all know people who might need to be reminded of it right now. Thank you so much for your help and support. I'd love your comments!

Rachel

Launch Party!

I am so excited about this party I can hardly stand it. Not only is it at one of the COOLEST venues in Salt Lake City, Beauty Redefined is coming to give one of their life-changing presentations for us! Then there's the food, which I planned so it will be some of my favorite things. Oh, and a crowd of my friends, family, and future friends in one room celebrating the launch of this beautiful book....See why I'm out of control excited??

The party is on Tuesday November 27 from 7-9pm. The Church House (which is not a church anymore, that's just it's name) is located in Salt Lake at 129 North 600 West. Parking is available on both sides of the street as well as in the parking lot to the south of the building. Enter through the main doors. Books will be available for purchase and signing (if you want that kind of thing). Please either RSVP here, or let me know in a comment here if you can attend. The more the merrier, we want plenty of people (especially moms and teens) to experience this party!

A Bouncing Baby Book

Folks, it is finally time to announce the completion of a project I've been working on for the past year. It's a book. It's called Dear Girls, a Mother's Message about True Beauty. It's written for girls age 12-25, and is about body image, and taking healthy steps to discovering our power and potential in this world. It is based on my very own true story.

"If you don't quit worrying about your body, your girls will start worrying about theirs." These chilling words spoken by a true friend have haunted Rachel since the day they were spoken. Worried there might be some truth to that bleak prediction, she decides to write her young girls a story, one that tells her very own tale of forgiveness, health and healing.

The book is due to come out in mid-November, and a launch party will be held at the end of November for any who want to attend. More details will follow, but until then please enjoy this teaser chapter of my beloved project: Dear Girls.

   The Beauty of Boys

November 6, 2011

Dear Girls,

“This, like all other stories worth telling, is all about a girl.” That’s one of the first lines Peter Parker speaks in the 2002 hit movie Spider Man. Sometimes when words like that are spoken by a cute boy on a big screen it sounds romantic. When I was younger, though, and I heard a girl say something like that about a boy and her actual life, it sounded pathetic and desperate.  Why was that? Why did I think that the pursuit of a girl by a boy was romantic, but the pursuit of a boy by a girl was just sad? It’s because in my mind, you only had to pursue a boy if you weren’t good enough. If you were good enough, perfect enough, skinny enough and enough enough, they would come after you. And that was just plain romantic.

I was in sixth grade when I first noticed boys noticing my body, and to my dismay, other girls’ bodies. I was boy crazy for as long as I can remember and I craved their attention. I had at least one dramatic and devastatingly deep crush every school year. I couldn’t name all my teachers, but I sure can tell you who I spent my time thinking about each year. From Brandon Fisher in Kindergarten right on up to Billy Walters in fifth grade I had someone to daydream about.   Sixth grade was when I discovered how exciting it was to actually earn your crush’s attention by flirting.  Back then it was “totally in” to be “going out” which of course did not mean going anywhere at all, but that you were committed to a lasting, meaningful relationship with a particular individual as long as you both shall live, or until he broke your heart at recess, whichever came first.

The boyfriend I was most proud of that year was Shawn McGee. He was the new kid, so his allure apart from his heart palpitation causing dimples was his mystery. He sat next to me in class and was the shy, blushing type. He could kick the ball the farthest in kick ball, run the fastest in all PE activities and was the tallest and most athletic of all my classmates. He was an only child, which was interesting to me since I had four siblings. He lived right by the school.  I got to walk past his house every morning and afternoon in my to-and-from school travels.

At that age, as any self-respecting sixth grade girl can tell you, you have to beat them at something to get their attention. Then be flirtatious and fun for the most part so they’re not insulted, just impressed. Then you have to tease them and pay them lots of attention.  I did my utmost to make sure I was on the opposite team in kick ball and always played the outfield so I’d be in prime position to catch his high flying kicks in my direction. It almost always worked. I flirted shamelessly with him every day. And then it happened. Right around February that year he asked me out! Not on a date, of course, for in sixth grade, the words, “Will you go out with me?” took on a much deeper meaning than a simple possibility of an upcoming date. No, no, those words meant commitment. I of course wrote “yes” on the note he had passed me to submit his request. I can almost feel the butterflies now.

The next week was very important because it was going to be our first (and likely only, but you couldn’t tell me that) Valentine’s Day as a couple. I had to wear the absolute perfect thing, of course, and think of something completely meaningful to give him. I mean, a valentine’s gift isn’t just your average present ladies; this is something you bestow upon each other to symbolize your deep and abiding love! Also it had to be under $5. Tricky.  I planned balloons and candy. I had to get up early and beg my mom to take me to buy the balloon bouquet and heart-shaped chocolates I thought he’d like most. Carrying them to school with me made me feel so special that those multicolored balloons might as well have been carrying me off the ground. He surprised me with a card he stamped himself with a teddy bear stamp and: a rose. A ROSE! Oh man, that’s when you know you’ve made it, girls, when you can proudly tote a rose around to all your classes on Valentine’s Day and even the teachers noticed. I was living the dream, and Shawn and I lasted clear into that spring.

 In early April I secured the envied crossing guard duty. It was always a privilege to be a crossing guard at any crosswalk, but this time I got what I considered the best news of my life up to that point: I was assigned the crosswalk on Ridge Street, right by Shawn’s house! Every morning I would arrive early with my neon orange flag and walk kids across to safety right where he could see me if he so chose. Every afternoon, I later found out, he and his friends really would watch me that whole week. It was then I heard the powerful words he said about me. These words filled my heart with the joy of success and feeling wanted and loved.  Randy Chapman told me that Jason Stock told him that Shawn said, “Rachel has the best body in the whole sixth grade.” Done.  I now knew exactly what I had to have in order for the boys to love and want me around: The best body. Did I need to be funny? Nope. How about fun, easy going, sensitive, a good cook, smart, or rich? Nope, nope, nope.  Beauty had now been defined to me by a boy I liked: The best body. And who determines whether or not I have the best body? The boys do, by the amount of attention I receive from them.

I tucked that golden nugget of what I thought was knowledge away for future romantic pursuits. I imagined I had the key to ensure I was desired, loved, and otherwise doted upon for the rest of my life. Little did I know what a double edged sword that “knowledge” would prove to be.

The summer before seventh grade was a trying one. Shawn and I broke up (no surprise there), and I entered the summer with no strings attached. I went to the pool every day with my friends, had a great tan, and spent many a carefree eve with night games and sleepovers. Also I gained over twenty pounds.  Yes sir, puberty bit me hard, right on my growing gluteus maximus. I didn’t know what to do. I thought puberty came with menstruation and that had happened ages ago back in the fifth grade! I totally thought I’d dodged the weight gain bullet of puberty. But no, that summer I passed the dreaded one-hundred pound barrier, and had one fleeting wistful glance at it as I ran right through it to a hundred and ten. What?? What are these weird white stretch marks on my beautifully tanned and otherwise muscular thighs? How did that unsightly flab appear overnight on my upper arms, and what the?!? Are those LOVE HANDLES? Life? Over. Beauty? Gone. Hopes of ever catching anyone as fabulous as Shawn McGee again? Dashed.  I felt shafted, doomed, and otherwise ill-fated. That my puberty should consist of a period and weight gain seemed outrageously unfair. Plus I got braces and zits. Oh how could it get any worse? It would though, because I was about to enter the deep dark hellish hole we refer to as Middle School.

Hidden Peak Hustle

I love to run, obviously. I would change almost anything in my schedule around to go. Running trails are my therapy. However, I have very strong feelings against races. Why? I'm a cheapskate. I just feel there is something fundamentally wrong with paying to go running. Also, most races are run on pavement. I can't pay to run on the road.  I've been very vocal about this view, so you may find it surprising to hear that in early September I participated in my first ever 10k race.

First of all, it was a trail race set in the beautiful mountains of Snowbird. Secondly, my friend Hilary found a Groupon for it. Win-win.

Hilary Lesh and Andrea Morganegg, two of my favorite running pals

unplanned matching outfits.

Altra loving girls. These shoes seriously rock.

I should mention that while we had all been running regularly, we did not find it necessary to train for this particular race. I didn't think the altitude difference would be that big of a deal. Turns out going from 4,000-ish feet to 8,000-ish feet really changes things!

 It was brutal in the beginning. Steep inclines, coughing like mad in the thin air, and trying to keep up with the group took a toll, but the middle was absolutely gorgeous.We hit our stride at about mile two. It was a lovely time clear until mile four when we all thought we should be done and the nice person at the drink station told us we were just over halfway. What? Then the inclines began again. Who plans a race with hills at the beginning AND the end? Oh well, at least it was pretty!

We all finished within minutes of each other. Over all not a bad first race. They even had really cute T-shirts for us, not just the big old boxy man T-shirts I was expecting. We were greeted with applause, water and stroop wafels at the finish line. Best. Cookies. Ever. Would I do it again? Maybe next year, if stroop wafels are still involved.

At the end.

A moose we saw next to the parking lot as we left.