Paper Bridges » Writing

NaBloPoMo is here! Let the writing begin

Monica Brand — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 01:47:49 +0000

Today marks the beginning of another round of National Blog Posting Month, a good exercise for us mad-crazy writers who need more excuses to belly up at the keyboard.

The best part of NaBloPoMo (can you say that five times fast?) is the discipline of writing daily: You must post. I suspect pictures and video do not count. Since you must post original writing to your blog everyday for the month of June, that doesn’t give you a lot of time to worry about if the writing is as perfect as you would like.

Write fast, write brave. Or fail. This is not the task for the wimpy blogger.

This blog has seen me take this challenge on before and I almost made it, yet was foiled by a failing clock battery. This month I vow to do better, lasting to the bitter glorious end.

I will not be defeated by a faulty kitchen clock.

And honestly, I need a challenge. My blogging here has been quite uninspired and lacking in drive, going weeks with me updating. I’m hoping NaBloPoMo will help me to get into a good rhythm so I can continue to write everyday beyond June 30.

Who is brave enough to join me?

It’s only 9:30 p.m. – you still have time to make today’s deadline if you haven’t written yet today.

The birth of a writer

Monica Brand — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 21:27:09 +0000

“My story was published on Nicktropolis yesterday, Mommy.”

My story. This was a short story Susan wrote without any help from me, and as a intentional home schooling mom, that is saying a lot. I like to think I had enough sense to stay out of her way, allowing her to discover her love for writing and words on her own.

But let me back up for a second. I’m getting ahead of the beginning of the story of how this all came to be. This is a post about my eldest – whom I refer to as Susan. I’ve recorded my son’s reading journey and how I’ve come to let go of my expectations for him. Now I want to tell you about Susan. This is her story: her birth as a writer.

The beginning

Susan’s home schooling began at age six with math, oral grammar and lots of read alouds. (You can read earlier posts about teaching her here and here.)

By age seven, she was reading on her own. We continued with oral grammar lessons and read alouds. I assigned her books that she was interested in reading, like Little House on the Prairie or a Rod and Staff reader. We dabbled with history. She did Awana. She loved attending church. She visited with Grandma. She lived life.

The one thing Susan did not do was write. No book reports. No creative writing. No required writing of any kind. I did attempt the first level of Writing Stands, but it was quickly abandoned. “She’s not ready for this” was my reasoning. She did copy work easily. Sometimes Susan would write a letter to a friend, but it was always her idea and for fun.

Whenever we came across a writing assignment in Spelling Workout or Story of the World, I would have her skip it. The one thing I did require from her was narrations. And, how she hated those! Those narrations, done a few times a week, was the closest she ever got to a formal writing assignment.

We continued with a mix of oral and written grammar lessons. Still reading lots of books; Susan developed a fondness for non-fiction (reference books, Fandex and the dictionary are a few). We traveled. We stayed busy.

And she played a lot with her non-reading, younger siblings.

Connecting it all

Susan read books and magazines to her brothers and sister; sometimes the text they shared would become part of their imaginary play. Susan began making up her own stories based on toys and imaginary creatures of their playtime. This oral storytelling, along with input from her siblings, morphed into her forming her own stories in the privacy of her room, or in the backyard, away from interruptions – a talkative toddler and pesky boys (and perhaps even me, her hovering, homeschooling mother.)

Needless to say, it wasn’t much of a leap to begin writing these stories down on to the computer.

All of this without formal writing lesson from me.

This week, at age of 11, she proudly read me a short story she submitted to a kid’s website, thrilled with the comments she gets from her peers. My girl is a confident writer. Her grammar and punctuation are excellent; spelling fine. The art of well-crafted fiction she will be learning for the rest of her life, but for now – most importantly – she enjoys writing. It’s fun, bringing her joy and a sense of accomplishment.

Now if only I can transfer that passion to fractions…

For writers with young kids at home

Monica Brand — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 18:10:46 +0000

Writing Around Life is sound advice for you.

No related posts.

Surfing contentment: confessions of a Christian mommyblogger

Monica Brand — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 19:50:52 +0000

I keep trying to write this post explaining my thoughts about why I would consider deleting the past four years, but it’s been so difficult not to not sound like a whiner. Let me see if I can do this without the Internal Editor.

Contentment. I’m not too good with all the verses telling us to be content with where we are, with what we have, who we are. I feel like I’m on a cyber surfboard on my little blogging wave. I’m doing okay. I’m in the water, the sun warm on my skin, the water salty on my lips. The surfboard so familiar to me now as I’ve been at this blogging gig for so long. My balance is good, it’s a nice rhythm.

But then I take my concentration off my own modest sized wave and look to the other surfers around me – their waves are so much bigger than mine. They are faster, bigger. People on the shoreline are impressed, clapping, pointing to her. I think to myself: Cool. I want to try riding those big waves.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Contentment.

I’m just a mom. One step further in – I’m a homeschooling mom. My wave is scattered with a tween, a preschooler and two inbetween. It’s a day full of little people.

That mom over there on that other wave, she might have her kids in school or they’re older than mine or she only has one. Her wave is hers. That’s her blog. My wave, for what it is, a mix of family stories, homeschool reference points, book lust or just cyber goofiness, is mine.

But dang it, friends, I sure do want to catch that other wave. All those “Hey, Lord, what about me?” prayers.

So that’s where I am: struggling to learn contentment – seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever been good at it, even before blogkeeping.

***

Okay, I just reviewed what I wrote and this is the way I feel. I’m writing in my journal, that three ring notebook I keep next to the bed so I dont’ have to get out of bed to record thoughts (often, it’s the only quiet place in the house.) After breakfast… no, tween Susan cooked breakfast muffins, all I have to do is tidy up. After that, I’m going to type this up, tweak the paragraphs, and punctuation, but I’m not going to touch one word of it in order to save face. I may change the title. Right now it’s Confessions of a Christina Mommyblogger, but that sounds too sexy. Maybe some nod to surfing or contentment. Not sure yet.

So now you know why I questioned Monday as to the future survival of this blog. I don’t want to delete Paper Bridges. I want to write, post videos of my kids doing kidly things and continue to be me. But me better – content with what the Lord has given me.

Okay that’s all for now.

Practicing for November: National Blog Posting Month

Monica Brand — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 12:17:20 +0000

I don’t really have anything of great importance to say at the moment, but I want to write anyway. It’s good practice for next month, and since it’s so freezing in my office, I’m hoping even the slightest exertion will generate body heat. At least my fingertips will be warm.

Did you know I have an office, like a real writer? Actually, it’s not that impressive; it’s only a spare bedroom that may convert back to guest or kid room if we need it. Right now everybody around here shares a bedroom. The two girls together. Two boys bunk in the next room. Susan and Lucy have the biggest age difference, and I was concerned tween and toddler wouldn’t mix, but Susan adores her sister, so it’s going well.

The boys wanted to separate several months ago. No way, I told them.

“Nobody gets their own room. Even mommy and daddy have to share.”

Feel free to borrow that line if you need it.

So like I said, this is all just practice for next month. November is National Blog Posting Month, and for the first time, I’m going to participate. The whole thing is a play on the more widely known National Novel Writing Month, when you attempt to write a full-length novel from November 1 to 30.

I’ll take a pass on the novel writing gig.

I’m confident I can post a fairly interesting post here everyday in November. I’m already posting at least three to four times a week, so with a little more effort I can make it daily. There’s no rule every post has to be informative, intelligent or compelling, and normally I try to hit at least one of those three, but when it’s 11:46 pm on November 26, and I got nothin’, I’m not going to care what I get onto the page. I’ll just be showing up at that point. And a lot of times, just showing up is half the battle. I suspect there is a Scripture that applies, but I can’t think of it. My hands are too cold to type anymore.

Let me know if sign up for NaBloPoMo or if you’re crazy brave enough to try NaNoWriMo. You can also check out all the pretty bling in my sidebar relating to NaBloPoMo. Me likey new widgets. Sigh. So shiny.

NaBloPoMo is here! Let the writing begin

Reading: If I Am Missing or Dead: A Sister’s Story of Love, Murder and Liberation by Janine Latus:

Monica Brand — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 04:24:59 +0000

So many emotions as I read If I Am Missing or Dead (A Sister’s Story of Love, Murder and Liberation) by Janine Latus. Anger, sadness, disbelief.

And as I read, a haunting ghost came from my past.

A woman I knew when I worked at a Christian bookstore. Me a college co-ed. She a mother of two. A wife. Both of us Christians. We talked, but never really shared intimate stories of our lives. Then one night that all changed. A co-worked told me of her secret, swore me not to tell. That night, I saw a different woman than the one I knew from the store. The black eye told me more than I could have guessed.

I’d forgotten about her until I picked up this book and read of how these two sisters endured physical and mental abuse from various men in their lives. This book made me grateful – my loving husband, the example my father set with my mom. I have what many do not.

As much as this book is about domestic violence, it’s a story of self esteem and feeling comfortable in your own skin as a woman. Often, it’s difficult to read – horrifying is the best way to describe what Latus survived, especially as a girl. Horrible, yet so important.

This one will go on the shelf for my daughters to read one day.

Then their brothers can read it as well.

Author Janine Latus’ website is If I am Missing or Dead.com

I just realized tonight

Monica Brand — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 11:14:41 +0000

I’ve been blogging three years now.

That’s a lot of hours invested here. And what is here, really? Just a small corner of the web. I think of all the time and effort I’ve invested in this little blog and I wonder is it worth it? Does it matter much in the grand scheme of life that I keep adding thoughts here?

I believe it does.

I may not have a huge audience of readers, Sitemeter numbers of great significance or the attention of the masses, but I believe what I have to say is important. Be it family history my children can read later to remember, observations of church life, or comments on a book I’ve read, it needs to be said.

And only I can say it.

My life is unique. My story is my own. The Lord has put me here now for a reason. Right here: this redhead Jersey mom with a messy house and the desire to share what I’ve learned, what I know. It may not be much, but it’s me and this is where He put me.

What about you?

You’re unique too. Your story can only be told by you. Make sure you tell it – write it down, even if it’s only in a private journal, not to be shared outside your family. Never think you are insignificant. Never for a moment believe your life amounts to nothing or you can’t make a difference in someone’s life. If you keep a blog, then keep going. Each one of us has a gift to offer a soul seeking.

Your life is a story. Now go tell it.

Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues: a story of a beloved bear

Monica Brand — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 10:50:29 +0000

Pink Teddy, as he’s come to be called, is Lucy’s favorite toy, her lovey. Most of the time – like right now as I write this – Teddy lays on the floor among the other toys, the plastic doll house pieces, My Little Ponies and Legos. But when Lucy wants to sit in my lap for a cuddle, the bear is back in her arms.

Pink Teddy is a little faded now, yet the pattern of Xs and Os, symbols for hugs and kisses on his fur, is still clear. His chest is permanently matted because Lucy uses him as a pillow at night. Her older brothers play a game of Steal the Teddy. Typical big brother behavior little Lucy tolerates poorly.

Lucy takes the bear to church and we leave him behind by mistake. She cries all the rest of the way home. That Tuesday, Pastor drops Pink Teddy at our house, driving out of his way to do it. Pink Teddy disappears into the washing machine when mommy says so. Lucy not too keen on that either.

Pink Teddy is my daughter’s lovey for cuddling, but to me he is much more than a toy. He is the physical memory of her suffering, a reminder of the kindness of strangers. A time when I could do nothing to help, but to hold her hand and pray.

Lucy screamed when the EMTs pulled back the temporary bandages to examine the growing burn blisters on her body. Our parade of ambulance, police cars and the curious halted a Little League baseball game. As we waited for the helicopter to land in the outfield to fly us to the doctors she needed, a squad member handed Lucy a pink teddy bear. Lucy immediately found comfort from it.

Today, as I watch Lucy push Pink Teddy on a swing or pretend to share her juice with him, I wonder if the squad volunteer ever thinks of my girl, curious to what happened to us. I keep meaning to send a letter of thanks, to let them know it turned out okay, but I always let busyness keep me from it.

I want to thank her for giving my Lucy a toy we both treasure.

—

While camping Memorial weekend in 2006, Lucy, 13 months old, suffered extensive burns on her tummy and thighs from spilled coffee. She and I spent three days in The Burn Center at Saint Barnabus in Livingston. Thanks be to God, there are no scars on her body today. You can read the previous post about the ordeal here.

This post is a writing exercise inspired by the book Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues. Tomorrow you can read other posts about mothering at New Jersey Moms Blog.

Shoot. I forgot to enter, but here it is anyway

Monica Brand — Mon, 26 May 2008 17:32:32 +0000

20th Carnival of Christian Writers.

It looks like there are new writers contributing, so go check it out.

As for me, I’ll have to read it later. No timeout from being a mommy, national holiday or not. Sigh. I’m not bitter, really. I wonder what my garbage man and letter carrier are doing right now…

“I love God, but find it difficult to pray.”

Monica Brand — Mon, 26 May 2008 04:03:15 +0000

I hear ya, friend. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Somebody Goggled that phrase, “I love God, but…” and ended up here at Paper Bridges, so I thought I would share some thoughts. I’ve mentioned prayer briefly before, but never at great length.

I look at prayer the same way I do writing. Both take discipline, hard work. Lots of practice. Writers will tell you how long they toiled over just the right turn of phrase or the editing they did on the second draft or all the butt-in-chair time to get that novel finished. Same with prayer. It’s the doing that makes it easier.

Want to write? Write.

Want to pray? Pray.

And trust that the Lord is listening.

Yeah, I know. Not so simple. We are constantly bombarded with information, advertisements, talk radio, talking heads, cell phones, email, and blogs. And an enemy who wants us to do anything but talk with God. So much to ignore and fight against. It’s tough to block it all out to concentrate. And to cultivate a consistent, rich prayer life really can’t be left to chance.

I’m the first one to admit I hate work. I’d love to eat mangos and ice cream all day, lounging by the poolside. But I’d become fat fast, wouldn’t I? I discipline myself to eat broccoli.

There is no quick fix. The Lord is not going to sprinkle magic pixie prayer dust over you as you kneel at your bedside. Or wash dishes. Or whatever posture you take when you attempt to pray. Personally, my best time for focused prayer is right when I wake up in the morning. And driving alone in the car works for me too, but since that’s not a daily occurrence for me, I’ve got to work a bit harder at finding those times of focus.

Yup, I’ll say it again. I’ve got to find a way to make it work. I call it discipline.

What about you? Can you identify with the seeker who loves God, yet has a hard time connecting with Him in prayer? What advice would you give?