Just a Little Update

Hello my lovelies! It is the end of April, believe it or not, and it’s been a while since I’ve written anything worth your time. Heh. Last month’s post, “When Dreams Don’t Come True,” was written back in January. “Would You Be Patient with Yourself?” was written in February a couple of days before my grandfather passed away. Yes, February 2024 only got worse, and I feel like I’ve been trying to recover ever since.

Here we are now, at the end of April. My friends are graduating college, taxes have been filed, the weather is changing, life goes on, and I somehow have to go on with it. It’s not too bad, though. I’ve been rather fortunate to have been able to hide in my comfy cubby for the last two months. Now it’s time to climb out and start participating in real life again, even if I feel like Lego Batman when Alfred opens the window. Hisses at the sun.

What is real life for me right now? Well, it started with spending time with my family again. After that, I started getting into a regular routine with my chores again. Then I slowly built up the patience for writing. Yeah, I know. I’ve said I love writing and that it will always be a part of me. This is still true, but that doesn’t mean I will always enjoy it. Heh.

Actually, the reason I’ve been away from the world was my online writing community started a storytelling game in February, right when all those bad things were happening. It was a great escape for me and ended up becoming more. It helped me feel alive again, feel emotions other than sadness or being completely numb. It helped me develop some characters I’ve had for a long time. And it brought me a little closer to some of my writer friends while making new ones. I wish everyone could have a fun storytelling game community like mine.

The game is still going now, and it doesn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon. I enjoy the game too much, honestly, and haven’t given my time to hardly anything else. A couple of weeks ago I started actively pulling back a little from the game to make time for real-life things, which is difficult because real life is boring. Haha! But here I am, writing this blog, the first I’ve written in two months. I know it’s the end of the month, but I’m here. It’s part of being patient with myself and appreciating the blessing of being able to stay away for so long.

Currently, I am working on finding a balance between the game and real life. I had been neglecting my family, and spending time with them was the first step back into the real world. Then came the chores. And now I’m working on my writing business. Speaking of my writing business, I have exciting updates!

I bet you’ve noticed an uptick in social media activity from yours truly. I recently hired a social media manager who has been wonderful to work with. We get along well and they keep me accountable, yet understand when I need a break from writing. This is to say welcome and thank you to my social media manager. I’m sorry I haven’t sent you anything all month.

Another big update is that this website and blog are official! bethfreemont.com is now a real website without ads (thank goodness for your eyes)! That means I was also able to activate a professional email, and now those of you who are subscribed to my monthly newsletter will be receiving emails from contact@bethfreemont.com. This is becoming real, y’all, and it’s exciting and terrifying.

I have completed edits on A Week in Galerod, and now I’m trying to figure out how to format it correctly. Once I can do that, it will be time to get it to your ereaders, and eventually, on your physical bookshelves! I’m excited to share this story with you. Meanwhile, I shall do my best to keep up with this blog and accompanying newsletter better in May. I look forward to the adventures we’ll be sharing.

~ Beth

Wishful Thinking

Under the cardboard flap lay an aluminum lunchbox. Its once colorful Glory Man images had been covered in a few layers of dust. But why the dust could reach its surface and not the sun, it didn’t know. Day after day, light flooded the little attic and drifted away. Night after night, crickets could be heard making trills and chirps. All the while, the lunchbox remained forgotten. Languishing in the rotted ashes of bread crumbs and growing clouds among the smudged mustard, the lunchbox remained helpless.

One of these boring days, the attic door opened for the first time in years. The lunchbox couldn’t see it, but the creaking was unmistakable. The lunchbox wanted so badly to see who had come up here and what they were doing. But alas, for several hours, indeed, for several days, people would come into the attic and move things around, then leave again.

After a week, a pair of white-gloved hands pulled back the cardboard box flap, allowing the sun to warm the lunchbox’s dirty surface.

The glorious moment did not last long. The white-gloved hands stuffed the lunchbox into a crate, which they moved to the back of a truck, bouncing down the road. The sensations felt familiar to the little lunchbox. It remembered the days it was young, smooth, bright, and being transported from the factory to the stores.

Back then, the promise of distant lands and exotic foods had sparked life into the aluminum box. On a shelf with a dozen other lunchboxes, the aspiring traveler passionately expressed all its hopes and dreams for the future. The identical drones around it only laughed it to scorn. That is, until a little boy pulled it off the shelf, leaving the others behind. It had the last laugh then.

The lunchbox met with a long string of disappointments from there. When school started, there were no distant lands or exotic foods to experience. Instead, every day contained the same bus, building, and sandwich. The same three things every. single. day. As the boy grew, the box got passed down to his sister, then their cousin, to a friend, a boy down the street, the girl next door, and finally, to an old man looking for collectibles. All its previous owners had gone to the same
school and eaten the same food. It was conventional chaos!

Now, the old lunchbox sat in the back of the bouncing, rumbling truck. Was it fated to return to the same store? The same school? That couldn’t happen. The lunchbox wouldn’t let that happen!

The truck hit a bump, knocking the crate lid loose. This was its chance! At the next bump, the lunchbox used everything it had and launched itself out of the crate. Another bump opened the truck door, and the lunchbox slid through and onto the street.

It skid across the hot, rocky gravel, making new dents and scuffs in its already battered surface. The fast pace of the traffic exhilarated the lunchbox. A tire nearly crushed it, pushing it into the path of a bike, which crashed into the lunchbox, flipping it. Someone kicked the box against the sidewalk, and a bird pecked at one of Glory Man’s heroic eyes. Another kick flipped it again, flinging it toward a gutter.

Teetering on the edge of a black abyss, the lunchbox strained and rocked, trying to return to the street. The underworld was not an appealing adventure destination. The lunchbox much preferred the cars.

A despondent feeling of betrayal overwhelmed the box as another tire bumped its handle, sending the lunchbox careening into the darkness.

Every forgotten detail of its life zapped through it. That time the tornado siren went off, or when Jenny and Bob kissed outside its locker. Perhaps the lunchbox had been too ambitious. Maybe it should’ve enjoyed those little moments more. What would’ve really happened had it stayed on that truck? It didn’t matter now. Not anymore. Life was over, and it was all the lunchbox’s fault.

A pull on its handle invigorated the box with new hope, and the darkness slowly grew farther away. The little hands that had rescued the lunchbox turned it over. A young boy with tight red curls and missing teeth smiled at the fading superhero on the front.

“Wow! I’ve alwayth wanthed a methal luthbockth,” said the little human.

He trotted home, holding the lunchbox’s handle. The box happily bounced with the boy’s skips, content that more boring days lie ahead.

When Dreams Don’t Come True

What do you do when your dreams don’t come true? That’s something I’ve had to ask myself a lot the last couple of years, and I think I’ve finally come out the other side, which is a huge accomplishment when you’ve been wanting the same things since you were about thirteen. Life can be surprising and unpredictable. Most of the time, it’s not as simple as having a beating heart like Cinderella, or determination like Belle. Sometimes, you have to change course and adapt.

So, what are the dreams I had to let go of recently? I’m glad you asked. I remember wanting to be anything and everything when I was little. My mom said I wanted to be a doctor, but as an adult, I struggle to watch the nurse draw blood samples. I wanted to make movies and be a director, but now I see I’m too lazy for that. Ha! Fashion designer also made the list, but I don’t have the patience for it.

After a while, I just wanted to be a stay-at-home mother and wife. I thought—still think, really—that raising children in the Lord is the greatest thing anyone could ever do. And I’d always been a romantic. Surely, if the Little Mermaid could win her prince without a word, I would do just fine. Not to mention, I wanted to write between it all. I had ideas that would last me into my thirties by the time I was a teenager. I knew I was set.

But year after year passed, and nothing happened. I never dated anyone—not for trying, and I had one book finished that really wasn’t good (I didn’t even know what point of view was yet!). I had always thought I would be married by the time I was 25. I turned 26, and still nothing. That was a difficult year of realization that my dreams would not come true after all.

I’m 28 now, and it was only last December that I really sat down thought about where my life was going. I’d had passing thoughts and shallow conversations with others, but I never seriously wrestled with the fact I needed new plans. So, after almost two years of mourning the loss of my dreams, I decided it was time to stop waiting for the magical moment when they came true. I mean, there’s not a whole lot I can do about my marital status. But there were other things I could take charge of and pursue.

Of course, I was in college the whole time my existential crisis hit. College had been a safe way for me to continue living productively until my dreams happened, and when college ended, I was forced to reevaluate everything. Once I was able to get past the various mourning stages, I could tackle the dreaded question: what next? I had experimented enough in college to know my limitations and possibilities, and I began researching where different paths might lead me and what it would take to walk them.

I realized at the climax of my journey that I was still technically waiting. I was working a part-time job and half-heartedly researching these paths. I forced myself to ask and answer questions about what I wanted, being honest with myself that the question felt selfish, confessing what I feared about each plausible decision, cutting out what I knew I didn’t want to do or physically couldn’t, etc. I wrote it all down so my brain was free to think. It was a lot to process, but I felt better afterward. After spending some time with other people, I came to a conclusion that I felt good about for the first time in years.

I returned to my little journal and wrote down my thoughts. I was ready to pursue new dreams, that still held the core of my old ones but were very different. God had been helping me trust Him with my love life. I had decided that whether He saw fit to give me a husband or not, I would trust Him to meet my needs in ways only He could. That meant I let go of my marriage plans, and that was relieving, allowing me to stop waiting for my life to happen.

I still struggle sometimes with being depressed about being single, but it’s easier to push those thoughts aside and think about all the good things around me. I have friends who are happy in relationships, and I’m happy for them instead of envying them. I can watch, read, and write about romance without having the painful desire to experience those things for myself, and then falling into depression again about how I can’t. I can truly find joy in the beauty of love without feeling contempt for it.

Something else I did was practically evaluate the kind of career I would be able and willing to perform. After all, I would have to provide for myself now that I understood marriage wasn’t an option. I researched what I was interested in, read the job descriptions, read reviews, looked at the educational and experience requirements, etc. I learned quickly I was not physically able to perform the tasks of a history interpreter, nor would it align with my third new-ish dream discussed below. I decided that becoming a professor in English and history is the path for me. Everything had been pointing me in that direction anyway, I’d just been avoiding it. After some discussions with professors and gaining experience in teaching, I felt more at peace with the idea than ever before.

Thirdly, I thought about my family plans. I still desire to be a mother. I want nothing more. I want it more than marriage, always have. When I was about seventeen, God had placed it in my heart to one day adopt children, for many reasons. I had learned a few years later as an adult that adopting as a single pringle is possible. It’s hard, but possible. So, I wrote down that once I complete my education and have a steady job, I will pursue my adopted children. Whether God brings me a husband or not, I will have these kids, and I know God will prepare us for each other.

Lastly, I will always write. I can’t stop writing, not again. God gifted me with an imagination and a love of stories, and as long as I keep Him before my stories, I will never stop writing. So, in all of this chaos of dreams, you can be sure your future favorite author will always be around. And that is where my new journey begins. I’m honestly excited about these new dreams. They’re different than before, but they still reflect who God made me to be—and that’s a wonderful feeling.

What do you do when the dreams you’d had most of your life are no longer possible? Well, you mourn them, then you learn to adapt. I discovered that is actually what growing up is about. At least part of it—another step in the process. You might wrestle with yourself, wrestle with the world, with God. Trust me, God can handle it, but don’t turn away from Him during your struggles. Instead, lean into Him more, and He will guide you with His peace that surpasses all understanding.

~ Beth

An Oddity, Indeed

Benjamin Keeled was a kind fellow. No one really knew why. In a world of haters, killers, liars, thieves, and every other form of monstrous occupational title available at any given moment, this man was an oddity indeed. Yet, because he was kind, even the most gruesome bloodthirsty maniac felt the urge to be nice in return.

Of course, no one knew what that word meant, but whenever Benjamin Keeled walked past, it was like a moment of enlightenment cooled their brains and filled them with knowledge that never existed there before, and never existed thereafter.

People began to wonder if they should pay more attention to him. After all, there was a peaceful feeling that came over them when he stopped and talked. The bartender had spoken to Benjamin Keeled enough times that when he saw the man walk into his saloon, he felt a sensation he could only call happiness—even if he did only order grape juice. The barber was always sure to cut his hair just as he ordered, instead of giving him a lop-sided shave or coloring it vomit orange.

Of course, it helped that Benjamin Keeled always paid for the services rendered to him. The grocer made sure to thank him ten times when he purchased a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and a loaf of sliced bread. It seemed to be the only thing he bought. Every two days Benjamin Keeled was seen walking through town, going about his rounds among the different merchants. He never seemed to have friends, but who did? Partners, rather, temporary alliances were a normal part of life, but Benjamin Keeled only associated with the merchants who provided what he needed.

No one knew what he did to get money, nor did they know where he lived. Many spies had followed him to the edge of town, and just as many lost him. He always disappeared after rounding a lone bush on the edge of the town’s border. When the spies followed him around the bush, there was nothing there. Sometimes spies described a fleeting twinge of what they considered to be remorse as they followed him to oblivion. Other times, spies stayed far enough away to resist the inefficient urge to leave him alone.

One day, the townsfolk decided to band together and stop him from leaving. Benjamin Keeled was a common curiosity, so it was no surprise the massive alliance formed. What they never expected was to feel the need to apologize profusely when he was cornered. They split open a path for him, and he left. To their greater astonishment, he said please and thank you with no indication of malice. Yes, he was an oddity, indeed.

Would You Be Patient With Yourself Already?

Hello, all! It’s the end of February, the last full week of the month, and I’m just now getting to post a blog. The funny thing is, I’ve been planning to write about having patience with yourself this month since December. Little did I know how appropriate that topic would be for my own life.

The month started with the expectation that I would publish Season Five of the Adventuring Together series my friends and I do biannually. We’ve been bringing free flash fiction anthologies to your e-reader for two years now, and it was my turn to make sure it was published properly. This was the first time I had ever published a book on my own, and I was STRESSED.

The first two weeks of the month were almost entirely devoted to gathering twenty stories, formatting them, proofreading them, compiling, and uploading the ebook to stores. I hit one setback after another almost the whole time. But, when I saw the book on my Kindle, I cried. All of my hard work had paid off and it was beautiful!

And then the unexpected happened. One of our precious fur babies of nine years passed on. Even now I get teary as I write about it. The Thursday after the anthology launched, a great sadness fell upon the house, coloring everything I saw and touched, said and heard. That little guy was always patient with us and rewarded us with lots of purrs when we followed his lead. Last week was probably the hardest of my life to date. And I’ve had some pretty crappy weeks. But as I told my former roommate, I never have to live that week again.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because now that we’re at the end of the month, and I’m past the celebrations and shock of loss, I’m finally catching up to the other parts of my life I’ve let slip. But I’m tired and don’t want to do anything that I should or want to. I want to sleep when I should write, my brain goes foggy after just doing a few things in the morning, unable to do anything else the rest of the day, and I feel like I’m doing the minimum every day.

I don’t want to use the past two weeks as an excuse for my perceived laziness, and I shouldn’t. But the truth is, I can’t just go on with the rest of the month like nothing happened. That’s not realistic, it’s not healthy, and it would be lying to myself and everyone around me. Therefore, I must have patience. Yes, I acknowledge the struggles of the past week, but it doesn’t define my new week, only explains it.

That’s an interesting way to say it, right? I wish I could take credit for the saying. I first heard it from my former university pastor almost ten years ago. He gave a sermon on King Josiah found in the Old Testament of the Christian Bible (the exact books escape me), and how his past started darkly, but he didn’t allow it to influence his reign. His past explained how he became king at nine years old, it explained why he had no family left, it explained his determination to do better, but it didn’t define his expectations. He didn’t use it as an excuse to become evil or prey on others’ sympathies. He didn’t become a victim of his family’s sins. He just lived.

I’m not going to allow my past week to define this one or the next. It explains why I’m sad more often than not, why I sleep more than I should, and why I’m getting overwhelmed more easily. But it’s not an excuse to wallow in self-pity and indulge in destructive behaviors. I have a wonderful family and friend circle that is helping me get through the sorrow, but I’m also part of that circle. I have to be present for those who are hurting as well.

I want to clarify, I’m not pushing myself beyond my limits. I’ve had to learn how to work with my body all my life. So, I’m careful to listen to it and make sure I’m still taking care of myself. Sometimes that means doing a different task than I probably should have been doing at the moment. Sometimes it means taking a thirty-minute nap. There is something rejuvenating in doing the tiniest of things. I mean, I would love to take an eight-hour nap, or just sleep for thirteen hours. But seeing as I can’t, I will take the little thirty or fifteen minutes where I can.

That’s something else I’ve been learning lately. For years I always wanted large chunks of time to devote to a difficult task. I would put that task off over and over until I couldn’t anymore just because I wanted four or five uninterrupted hours to work that was impossible to find. It caused me some trouble in college. But now that I work as a tutor who only meets with her students for fifteen minutes every day, I’ve seen the value of short windows. I’ve seen what can be accomplished when I just do something, even for a few minutes.

That’s part of being patient with yourself. Maybe you’re angry that you want more sleep, or you’re angry you haven’t gotten to watch YouTube all week. But, you don’t have to watch that twenty-minute video in one sitting. You could watch it in two, giving yourself that sorely needed break where you can get it. Maybe when you come home from work, instead of starting dinner immediately, take a thirty-minute nap. Maybe you just need to close your eyes and listen to one song on Spotify. Really listen to it, don’t multi-task while listening. Sometimes you need to slow down for five minutes.

Having patience with yourself means recognizing your limitations and needs and working with them. It also means understanding that you’re not a robot or a superhuman. You need to give yourself space to mourn. You must allow yourself to celebrate. It’s okay if your output isn’t up to par some days. Just be sure your input can match it. And remember, your past doesn’t define you, it just explains you.

I will have a short story for you this month, and I’ll be sure to send out my monthly newsletter before the month is over. So, be on the lookout for those. In the meantime, why don’t you do me a favor and make my stressful week worth something? Go download your copy of Adventuring Together: A Flash Fiction Anthology: Season Five. It’s completely free to do so!

Thank you for reading. I hope and pray you have patience with yourself. I know our precious fur baby would want you to do the same.

~Beth

P.S. The cover photo for this post is a tribute to our fur baby Phillip. He was sassy but loveable. I know this picture purrfectly captures his spirit. Imagine Phillip telling you to keep holding on, to be patient with yourself as you are with others.

Faithful

The weight of immovable earth lifted and a cold rush filled all the loose spaces around the Soul Smite’s blade. It had been several decades since sunbeams had warmed its metal. Faithfully had it remained at the side of the fallen chieftain, and faithfully it would have remained had the Joakim clan not needed it to rally morale. The grandson of the dead chief knelt beside the open grave and placed his hand over the empty tomb of the corpse’s heart.

“Jarl,” he said, “son of Jesper, warrior king of the Joakimites and slayer of the six thousand. I, Jens, son of Jørgen, thy son, beseech thee and thy ancestors to grant me the blessing of thy weapon, that I may wield it in battle and claim victory over our assailants. Grant me the strength and wisdom needed to secure the safety of thy people, of whom the gods have entrusted me. Let your spirit guide this blade, and give me the humility required to follow.”

Jens then bent low and kissed the forehead of his grandfather’s skull. He then removed the sword from the web-entombed bones and stood to his feet in one movement. His attendants covered the skeleton once more, as Jens ran his fingers over the browned blade. “We have searched all of the island for you,” he said. “We knew the battle my grandfather had perished in, but we knew not where his body lay. Now, if my prayer has been heard, then we shall be victorious once more.”

The Soul Smite was committed to the silversmith and his apprentice to restore the weapon to its former glory. They were careful to follow the etchings, carvings, and paintings made of the weapon’s appearance throughout its history. The tradition of the Joakimite chieftains spanned nearly two millennia, and each chief added his mark to the blade or its hilt. But its time spent in the earth had caused deterioration.

“We must melt it down and recast it,” said the silversmith.
“We can’t!” cried the young chief. “So much history will be lost, and its essence destroyed.”
“We can make sure it looks exactly as it once had, but it will be of no use in battle as it is.”

Jens took a turn through the room, one hand on his hip, another on his chin. It was clear to all that he was thinking desperately. “Let me see it,” he finally said.

Jens followed the silversmith to his forge. The weapon had been cleaned of its dirt casing, but it was not the shining silver depicted in the portraits. Jens lifted it with both hands and examined the carvings in the blade’s sides. He ran his fingers over the letters, shapes, and animals. They were hard to see, worn almost flat with age. Jens closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Jens’s reverie was interrupted by the apprentice who said with his voice faltering, “Sir!”
Jens turned to face the youth, no more than a few years younger than himself. “Yes, my son?” he said.
“Might I suggest a new tradition?”
“A new one?”
“Yes, sir. One that honors the past and brings hope for the future.”
“Proceed.”

The youth ran his hands across the portraits and said, “The life of the Soul Smite is far from constant. It has changed with each generation that wielded it. The changes were subtle, such as the various carvings you now see. However, after studying the portraits, I found that the hilt was replaced more than once. The blade itself contains sealed cracks, meaning some of the metal is not original to the blade.

“The sword will always possess its essence, but for it to maintain vitality, it must be reborn from its own ashes. I propose that, to keep it alive for as long as Joakim exists, the sword be melted down and recast with enough new material to stabilize it for every new chieftain, both to strengthen it and as a symbol of the chief’s reign. There will be motifs preserved, the images of our clan, but the overall design will always reflect the character of its current wielder. Thus, the blade will preserve our heritage and perpetuate our legacy.”

Jens looked at each of the portraits, following the apprentice’s every word. He closed his eyes once again, still holding the Soul Smite. Peace came over his troubled soul as if the weapon whispered to him that all would be well.  When the young man finished his discourse, Jens opened his eyes and turned to the silversmith. He placed the sword back into his hands and said, “Your apprentice does you credit, sir. Do as he says. Make up some sketches and I will tell you which I want for the new life of the weapon.”

“Y-y-yes, sir!” said the silversmith.

The silversmith and his apprentice made sketch after sketch, changing the designs ever so subtly, slowly approaching the ideal design of the young chieftain, to the point that the elders worried the young ruler’s pride would get the better of him and the sword would not be ready to liberate their clan. To their relief, Jens decided on a design, and the craftsmen were allowed to work.

They were careful to give the sword all the reverence it deserved, making it their best piece. When it was complete, the apprentice was the first to hold it, swing it, and admire it. He could feel its past life through the vibrations it made as it cut through the air, and when it was still, something deep down inside him said this would not be the last time he would melt it down and recast it.

The accession ceremony was delayed until the sword was ready for battle. The elders came to the forge to retrieve the weapon, and the apprentice reluctantly handed it over to the master, who carefully passed it to the elders.

Jens never saw the sword until the ceremony. It had been a generation since the sword was missing from the proceedings, and this occasion brought tears to many a stoned eye. Jens himself was overcome with emotion, wishing his father could have known where the sword had been, and in consequence, where his father lay. Now, all would be restored, and Joakim would be independent once more.

When the elders approached with the Soul Smite, Jens might have believed his own soul had been cut down by its majesty. He hesitated in taking the weapon, feeling as though he was unworthy of its legacy.

That is the reason you are worthy.

Jens knew not from whence the thoughts came—he felt as though the sword had said it. Nevertheless, he took up the weapon and held it high over his head as his warriors cheered for Chief Jens. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for his clan, and again he feared he was not ready. But the sword… he had the sword. Surely it would not fail him.

The clan celebrated that night with a feast that had not been seen since the Great Fall, and Jens worried at the recollection. The sword had failed his grandfather and hid from his father. How much help would it be to him against the very foe that had struck his family to shame? Would it really be the weapon that restored his honor?

The sword, resting against his seat at the magnificent banquet table, seemed to call to him. For a moment, all else faded away, and Jens was alone with the Soul Smite. There were no words to hear, no magic thoughts entered his mind. All he felt was the desire to trust. Trust that his prayers would be answered. Trust that he had everything he needed to defeat his foe.

My Newest Experiment

Happy 2024! I’m so excited you’re here with me. Coming this February, I will have had this blog for two years! It’s been an interesting journey coming this far. You’ve been here with me through almost half of my secondary education, heartbreak, depression, and four publications! I’m excited for what this new year holds for me, my friends, my family, and my writing. Today, I want to talk about my writing plans.

I know what you’re probably thinking: Not another author talking about their yearly writing goals. Well, you’re in luck. I’m not going to be talking about my goals, but my writing process. I think it’s about time to share some neat writing tricks I’ve been learning. Actually, did you know I’ve been experimenting with my writing process?

I’ve been telling stories for as long as I can remember, literally! I have a few faded memories of my time as a toddler, and many of them include stories I made up. I have a strong imagination that has stuck with me my whole life. Over the last five years, I’ve dedicated myself to experimentation. This year, I feel it’s time to bring together everything I’ve learned about myself and conduct a new major experiment.

After I get A Week in Galerod to your ebook reading device, I’m diving head first into a new novel that only a handful of people know about. It’s something completely new that is unrelated to any of my other projects and doesn’t have literal years of expectations piled on it. One thing I’ve found helpful in all my experiments is that when I’m trying something new, it usually helps to have a new story to go with it. I’ve also learned that talking about it kind of kills my excitement for the new shiny. So, I’m not going to tell you anything about this new story just yet. Rather, I want to talk about how I plan to write it.

First off, I’m not following a particular structure, at least not consciously. I am a pantser by nature, and a plantser in refinement. I love writing by the seat of my pants, but when I’m dealing with a story that contains a lot of world-building, I want to build that world first. I will daydream about my characters all day, always have, but the world takes some intentional planning. Furthermore, I’ll dream up some key scenes with emotional punches, but how to connect all those points also takes some brainstorming hours.

For this stage, I’m using a notebook, whiteboard, index cards, and Discord. Having all my notes on the computer just doesn’t work well for my brain; it’s too rigid of a tool for my chaos. The notebook is where I can keep my final decisions about plot points, world-building details, character bios, etc. The index cards will be used to generate scenes and can easily be rearranged to perfect the novel’s timeline. Meanwhile, my whiteboard is for making random diagrams that I can quickly and easily manipulate with dry-erase markers. Any final product I need to save I just snap a picture of with my phone, which can then be uploaded to Scrivener or Discord.

I use my private Discord server for messier brainstorming sessions and random bits of dialogue. My brain often thinks faster than I can write by hand, and typing out my thoughts like I’m talking to someone helps me really think about what I need for my stories. I like using Discord for this because I can access it from any device, pin messages for easy access, use emojis and gifs, send it to other people, etc. I also use it when my hand can’t hold a pen or I don’t have access to paper. Stuff I put in Discord, once I get it sorted out, will eventually go in the notebook or index cards.

Another thing I learned about myself is I can’t plan every detail and eventuality. I can figure out the big picture in the planning phase, but there will always be nuances I fail to see until I start drafting. I’m super excited about the drafting stage. Back in 2022, I tested the 4 Notebooks Method. It gave me enough direction to keep my story on point, but most importantly, it showed me how much I prefer writing by hand.

By the end of a few months, I had a complete manuscript, and a year later, I transcribed it to Scrivener. My biggest mistake, however, was refusing to edit any part of the story while transferring to the computer. By the time I got all the words typed out, I didn’t remember where anything was or what I wanted to do to edit my manuscript. Sure, I left notes along the way, but not enough, and what comments I did leave weren’t helpful.

A friend in my writing group a few months later said she discovered she does better editing while writing, and I realized I probably would too. I hate editing. I’ve never liked it. When I reach the editing stage, I just stop. But, when thinking about how I could draft some words, then edit them the next day, and draft more, I realized that I could balance my cortisol and dopamine levels. I can get some nasty editing out of the way and reward myself with more drafting after.

So, I have the planning phase out of the way, I know I need to edit during the drafting phase, but what are my plans for the drafting phase? I watched this video a couple of months ago by Jed Herne who attempted to use the same writing process as Neil Gaiman for a week. The way this process worked was the author must sit with a pen, paper, and a window. Nothing else. No music, internet, cell phone, anything that could cause distraction. Mr. Herne found this method worked well to help him get back into a novel he was stuck on.

I already know I do better on paper, but not having any distractions or music around is something I haven’t tried. Additionally, Mr. Herne said that a rule Gaiman put on himself was that during his writing session, if he wasn’t writing, he only allowed himself to stare out the window. This forced him to be bored, thus generating more creativity. My next question was, how do I decide when my writing session is over?

This past November, during NaNoWriMo, I would write until I couldn’t anymore, either due to my hands being tired or my brain going kaput. While it’s fun to be able to say I wrote 50k words in 30 days, it’s not fun coming in each of those days with less and less energy. At the end of NaNoWriMo, I watched a video with R.L. Stine, the author of Goosebumps. He said that he plays a game with himself when he writes: he stops when he’s written exactly one thousand words for the day. The next day, he will write exactly one thousand again.

I thought that was brilliant. I’d always heard about stopping your writing session in the middle of a sentence to help kickstart your creativity the next day, but I never could decide which sentence to stop on. Writing an exact word count, whether that’s one thousand, fifteen hundred, or eight hundred, sounds like the perfect way to do that. My next issue was, however, how do I know when I’ve hit that exact word count? I’ll be writing on paper! Bring in a clicker!

I’ve been wanting a clicker for a while. Sometimes it would be nice to have something that helps me count things. This writing experiment was the perfect excuse to get one. I’ve already been trying it out. I hit the clicker each time I write a word until I reach my desired word count, and then I’ll stop for the day. It’s so much fun, more so than I imagined! It’s not as loud as one might think, and the clicker gives a bit of resistance when it reaches a new hundreds or thousands mark, giving me a warning that I’m approaching the day’s quota.

And that’s it! That’s my new plan. I’m plotting and world-building right now. By February, I hope to start drafting. I’ll be armed with nothing but my pen, paper, and clicker. The day after my first session, I will start with transcribing the previous day’s quota into Scrivener, and editing as I type. Then I’ll draft a new quota and repeat the next day. I’ll edit larger sections as they come, and allow myself to edit anywhere anytime. This way, everything is always fresh in my memory and any changes that occur will immediately get resolved earlier in the manuscript.

Each of these editing stages I’m calling half drafts. I’ve found that calling my paper manuscript “draft 1” and my first round of edits “draft 2” and so on intimidates me. It kind of tricks my brain into thinking that the draft is done and therefore cannot be changed. But, calling my first round of edits “draft 1.5”, the next round “draft 2”, and the next “draft 2.5” feels more fluid, allowing me to think there is still more that can be done. It’s silly how I have to play mind games with myself, but hey, whatever works!

Why am I telling you this? To inspire you to take chances, make mistakes, and get messy. I hate making mistakes, and messiness is the worst, but that’s what you have to do to succeed sometimes. Also, I want you to see that it’s okay to mix things up. I’m taking bits and pieces from several writing methods and combining them into my own personalized plan. These are just the processes I’ve kept. I’ve tried several methods, like the 3 Act story structure, typing everything, typing and handwriting, the Snowflake Method, no planning, all planning, and others.

All of those things did not work for me, and I have a lot of half-finished stories because of it. If this new method helps me get a completed manuscript that I love online for sale in less than two years, then I can go back to those other stories and finish them as well. If this new experiment fails, I’ll evaluate it and see what I can change for the next attempt.

I want to be a successful author. I’ve had to decide for myself what that means, and for me, it means having a published novel once a year and at least ten loyal readers. Really, any amount of readers would be wonderful, but ten… I’ll feel like a writing queen! It all starts with accepting some failure, dusting myself off, and trying again. And if I can do it, I know you can too. Here’s to 2024.

~ Beth

A Little Christmas Alone Time

It’s that time of year again—you know the one—when we gather with family and give presents. With all the parties and the cards and the decorating, it can be easy to get lost in the busyness. By this point, though, you’ve been enamored with “Remember the Reason for the Season” posters and tons of videos, stories, movies, TV shows, music, and who knows what else trying to tell you it’s okay to give small gifts—it’s the thought that counts; or remember that spending time with your family is the important part.

I bet you’re tired of hearing about these things. I’m guessing that you know all this already, and you’re trying your hardest to do all the right things, feel the right things, and say the right things, but you’re exhausted! Sometimes staying in the right head space and being present can hurt as much as being a Scrooge or a Grinch. I’m here to tell you to take some time for yourself. Between your job, family, and influx of activity, where do you fit into all of this?

Now, I know what you’re thinking: We have less than a week until Christmas Day. This permission to take time for myself is a little late. Alternatively, you might be thinking: I don’t have time for myself. Okay, two things: You still have time even now, and you must choose how to spend your time.

Here’s the thing, everyone has the same amount of time. There are only 24 hours in a day, and as long as you’re breathing, you have time. Here’s how you can make different choices on how to use time for yourself.

1. Say no
That’s right. You don’t have to go to every party, concert, gift exchange, pageant, or whatever event with the word “Christmas” attached to it. If you say no to some things, you can say yes to things that really matter, like locking yourself away in your room for a few minutes to an hour to read, paint, sleep, or pray. Maybe saying no to that office party means you can say yes to taking that carriage ride with your family, going to look at store windows, or driving through the neighborhood looking at lights.

What’s that? It takes 45 minutes to get through the line to see and do those special things? Do something special while you wait. Sing with your kids, take turns making up a story, play through a thumb war tournament. No one said you had to stand stiffly staring at nothing, or scroll through your phone. That leads me to the next one.

2. Stop scrolling
You know what I mean. Maybe it’s surfing YouTube, flying through reels and TikToks, or making that comment on X. You know it already; doing any of those things every free moment doesn’t actually energize you. And if you’re one of those rare people that it really does help, don’t do it at any free moment. Instead, take time to really immerse yourself in those cute kitten videos and cosplay nonsense. But only watch those things that do make you happy. That’s the next point.

3. When you take time for yourself, really do it
That may mean putting on your headphones and jamming to your favorite music, reading the next chapter of that book you’ve been too busy to finish, taking a nap, painting your fingernails, or praying. Whatever it is, give it your full attention.

Maybe you’re a mom with a newborn. I bet you could listen to that song while you burp the little human, change their diaper, or give them a bath. Sure, you’re still multitasking, but you’re multitasking for yourself. Maybe your energizer is praying. You can do that without closing your eyes and bowing your head. And if you have that newborn, praying while taking care of your baby will be good for both of you.

Perhaps you have 3 jobs, and you haven’t seen your family in a while. Even 10 minutes with your family is nice, and then taking 10 minutes to enjoy something on your own will go a long way. If you find you have it, use 1 hour to spend alone, or with someone you truly care about that really makes you happy. 10 minutes to an hour every day, or every three days, doing something you love will go a long way.

4. It’s biblical
Did you know Jesus took time to be alone and re-energize Himself in the midst of His ministry? He only ministered for 3 years, but He shook the world. His greatest act happened in a weekend! Yet we see over and over again Jesus going off somewhere alone to pray. Nothing helped Him prepare for the next day’s activities more than praying, and it was His go-to when he was in excruciating distress.

An irony I thought of just now is that when Jesus went alone to pray, he was doing all of the above. He was spending time alone, spending time with family, and spending time with God. I mean, if Jesus is God, then yes, He was technically by Himself. Also, God is His Father, so He’s spending time with family. And, well, He’s talking to God, so yeah, He’s doing all three. (Don’t think about it too hard. It has to do with the Trinity. Just go with it.)

Did you notice that one repeated phrase? Spending time. Time is a currency, an allowance. I said earlier that we all get the same amount of time and we choose what to do with it. Jesus chose to spend time on rejuvenating Himself for the work He had to do. Like I said, He only worked for 3 years. That seems like a small amount of time for what He accomplished.

How many of us don’t have a long-term deadline, but are simply living day by day? Why can’t we take some time to get alone, to do something we love, and even pray, each day? What would happen if we prioritized replenishing our souls? Maybe our holidays would become an even better experience.

~ Beth

Christmas Excursion: A Justin & Clara Adventure

Justin fiddled with a spoon on the table, staring at nothing in the real world. His thoughts wandered from one idea to the next. What if I just flipped this spoon? How loud would the crash be? Could it fly into the multiverse and disappear? What about all the wrapping paper over there? If I shred it into a million little pieces, would it look like snow to the carpet mites? What would happen if I just walked out of the room? Would anyone notice? One of the cats might.

He winced. Mom would notice, and then she’d make me feel guilty afterward. But they’re not doing anything! Justin had a clear view of the living room and kitchen from the dining room, and he took advantage of it to look at his family without moving from his warm seat. That’s the benefit of open floor plans. He snickered. Clara hates open floor plans. She likes having everything in separate places.

He straightened his back. I wonder what Clara is doing. He shook his head. Nah, I can’t bother her while she’s with her family. He looked at his brother in the corner of the living room playing video games on the small TV. His eyes scanned to his dad sitting at the big TV on the opposite end of the room watching sports. Justin’s mom lounged on the couch, scrolling on her phone. He pulled his own phone from his pocket and texted Clara: Merry Christmas!

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, he turned his attention back to the spoon. He pushed it across the table, watching the ceiling pass along its reflective surface, expanding and shrinking with the spoon’s shape. His pocket vibrated and Justin pulled out his phone.

Clara: Hey! Merry Christmas!
Justin: Whatcha up to?
Clara: Not much. You?
Justin: Same.

He stared at his phone a moment; he hated small talk texting. I should just call her, right? I’d have to leave the room of course… His eyes shifted to his mom and back. Maybe I should keep texting. He huffed, then quickly typed, “I wish I could be with you.”

His thumb hovered over the button to send. Is that too sentimental? Justin’s thumb began to shake. Anyone else, maybe. But… It’s Clara, for crying out loud!

He hit send.

“No, wait!” he said out loud.

“Everything okay, Justin?” his mom asked.

“Fine,” he groaned, accepting his fate. “Hey, uh, Mom, since everyone is doing their own thing, do you mind if I go up to my room?”

His mom looked up from her phone. The look of shock in her eyes wavered his hope for escape. He initiated his irresistible puppy dog eyes in response. She looked at his dad and said, “Dear, Justin wants to know if he can go to his room.”

Justin looked at his dad. He didn’t answer.

“Carl!”
“What?”
“Justin wants to go to his room.”
Justin’s dad half waved his hand. “Eh.” Justin’s mom rolled her eyes and nodded her approval.

Justin held back a smile and paced himself up the stairs so he wouldn’t look too eager. He gently closed his door and then jumped onto his bed, lying flat on his back, then looked at his phone. He’d received another text: Aww! I wish I could see you, too. Maybe next year we can meet up somewhere for Christmas.

Justin powered off the screen. “I don’t want to wait till next year to spend Christmas with you,” he said out loud. “I want to spend Christmas with you now.” He turned over on his stomach. “If I could make a door of nowhere, I can make a door to you. I just have to concentrate.”

Justin closed his eyes and imagined Clara—her short, soft, bouncy blond hair, her little button nose, her sky-blue eyes that always knew what he was thinking and feeling before he did. He thought about her laugh, exasperated sigh, and focused glare when she studied and he was being annoying. He always said she had better grades because of the way he teased her. She retorted that he would have better grades if he studied like she did. He simply said, “Who’s going to help you focus?”

Justin closed his eyes and said, “The door to Clara is a fine door of the most exquisite wood. It’s painted over in pale baby blue with simple pink, yellow, and white flowers at the bottom, nestled in bright green grass. The handle is just the right height for her hand. It’s made of blue crystal and silver hardware.”

He turned over on his side and saw the door standing in his room. He stood and faced the door, reaching for the handle, but stopped short of touching it. I don’t know where she lives. He looked at the phone in his other hand. I could ask for her address. But…

“This is the Door to Clara,” he said confidently. “It knows where she is, and it will take me to her… please?”

He pulled on the handle and opened the door. He never expected to see a vast land of sand. He closed it back, shut his eyes, and said, “No. To Clara. To Clara Higgins. My… my friend.”

He opened it again. Still just sand. He took a deep breath. Surely I can walk back through to get home if this goes wrong.

Stepping through, Justin felt instant heat. He welcomed it at first. It was twenty-five and snowing at home, his mom didn’t like turning the heater very high, and she’d turned off the oven a couple of hours ago. The heat quickly became too much, though, thanks to his Christmas sweater.

Justin faced the door and saw a small house behind it. The only house around, it stood with white chipping walls and covered windows. Justin decided he’d come this far—he might as well knock. No one answered. He put an ear to the door. Is that snoring?

He knocked again. This time he heard feet shuffle to the door. There was a peephole, and he wondered if the person on the other side was looking through it. He smiled his best, but he felt dumb doing it.

The handle clicked unlocked and the door cracked open, revealing Clara’s blue eyes. He started to say her name, but she pushed him back and stepped outside, quickly and quietly closing the door behind her. She pushed him a few feet from the house before saying, “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“I uh… made another magic door?”

“Another magic—“ Clara stopped when she saw the door standing in the middle of her… lawn. Justin couldn’t think of anything else to call the sand around her house.

He buried his hands into his pockets with a tiny shrug. “It’s the Door to Clara.”

He could see so many different thoughts pass across her face, yet he couldn’t discern a single one. After a moment, she crossed her arms and leaned on one leg. “You made a door to me?”

Justin smirked. “Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to see you for Christmas. But I didn’t expect to find you—“

“Living in the desert with my uncle?”

“Your uncle?”

Clara’s arms moved from crossing over her chest to wrapping around the other . Her gaze dropped as she said, “I haven’t told you everything about my home life.”

“Hey,” he put a finger to her chin and lifted it. “You don’t have to. That’s not for me to know, that’s for you to keep private or share whenever you want. Right now, though… do you think you would be missed if we went on a little Christmas excursion?”

Clara glanced back at the house. The snores had gotten louder. “I suppose not.”

“Great. How about you go get your coat—I know you have one, you’ve worn it at school—and I’ll make a new door.”

“Okay!” Clara rushed to get her coat, and Justin thought about Christmas in New York City. The lights, the trees, the snow… it was all so beautiful, and just what Clara would need. Maybe next year they could visit London or some other place, but he wanted to start out somewhere they would be a little familiar with. After all, they’d watched plenty of movies set in New York together. And if the door stopped working, they wouldn’t be in a foreign country. Yes, New York was it.

Clara came out to find a telephone booth. “I don’t think those still exist,” she said.
“Good. We’ll be able to find our way back easier.”
“Won’t someone else see it?”
“No one will see. I’ve decided to put magic on both doors.”
“You can really do that?”
“It’s Christmas,” Justin said with a wink. “You gotta believe anything’s possible. Especially for my best friend.”

Justin saw Clara blush for the first time since he’d known her. “I’ve called you that before, haven’t I?” he asked. She shook her head with a shy smile. He took her hand in his and said, “Well, you are my best friend. Forever and always.”

Clara’s shy smile turned into a bright grin. “Forever and always,” she whispered.

“Let’s go!” he pulled her along to the telephone booth. They stepped inside, and snow swirled around them until the desert faded away and they could see the bright lights of New York City appear.

If you would like to read the rest of the story, sign up for my free monthly newsletter. The next part of the story will be released in that special newsletter on Christmas Eve! Follow the adventures of Justin and Clara as they explore New York City on Christmas Day!