Little, Whispering Voice

There is no motivator like intense hopelessness, if you're naturally a hopeful person. 

Back in 2008, hubby and I decided to join a gym.  We went with one that was close by, had childcare, and gave us many options to get in shape.  Much as I would like to say we started our exercise regimen and stuck with it faithfully, the reality was we were often too tired to make it for a workout.

Yet, funny how things turn out because I was having one of the worst teaching years ever in my almost fifteen year career.  There are some groups of students you just don't click with, and this was one of two in my teaching career I dreaded working with daily.  Don't get me wrong, there were some amazing kids in this student group, but there were also some that delighted in causing as much mischief as they possibly could.

I was miserable, felt out of control and at the end of my rope.  So I began getting serious about something I could control--making time for the gym.  I'd heard at some point that exercise was an excellent stress reliever, and though I thought it was a long shot, I decided to give exercise a try.  At least two or three times a week, I would jump on the elliptical and do my best to push my stress out with the sweat.

As I got into a habit, I noticed I missed the activity if I didn't make it to the gym, and eventually, I was going four to five times a week.  My school year wasn't getting better unfortunately, but my anxiety level dropped.  The most beneficial part of adding an exercise routine started about six weeks into this major change in my life and continued for the next six months--I lost about twenty-five pounds.

It was awesome.  Everyone noticed--co-workers, family (especially hubby), and I noticed.

My stomach was getting flatter, my hips were getting narrower, and even my breasts were fitting in my bras and button-down shirts better.  I was excited to keep working toward my ideal weight.

Then, in September 2009, I was showering, and the thought popped into my head that I hadn't completed a self-exam on my breasts for years.  Yes, years.  It's easy just to go through your routine and think things will always be the way they've always been.  Why I thought to do a self-exam at that moment, I don't know.  I like to think it was an intervention from God.  I wasn't exaggerating when I said, I hadn't purposely examined my breasts for years, and though I'd been to my regular appointments, I hadn't since I'd begun to lose weight.

It was completely unexpected (I mean who really expects it?), but sure enough, I found a lump in my left breast.  Maybe it was because I'd lost so much weight that it was so noticeable to me now, but there it was--undeniably a golf ball size lump.

Two things about that time continue to make me wonder.  My weight-loss, though originally motivated by a tough day job, was probably the key to my being able to feel the lump, and the fact something greater than myself inspired me to find the lump.

Hard times might just be your wake-up call.  And, of course, listen to that little whispering voice.  It might just save your life.

More to come,

Sherry

It's About Time

To say it's been awhile since I last posted is an understatement and a half, but my goal was to begin writing about my recent experience with breast cancer, and honestly, I don't think I was really ready.

Truth be told, given a hundred years to process that time in my life, I don't think I would still be ready, but I'm forging ahead anyway with the hopes that someday, someone reads this and it gives them a little hope to hold on to.

Where to begin was a little tricky.  Sure, I could start with the day I first discovered a lump in my breast or I could talk about the day I was diagnosed, but to really understand the devastation of the experience I needed to begin much earlier.

I had just finished my first undergraduate year at Eastern Kentucky University and was excited to begin my second summer as a camp cook at Aldersgate United Methodist Church Camp.  The previous summer had been one I would never forget, and I expected nothing less of the upcoming one.  Boy, was that calling the spring grass green.  I met my future husband that summer, and eighteen years and three children later, he's still my unforgettable hero.

At the time though, we were young, felt immortal, and rushed headlong into a romance.  As we grew closer, he told me his mother had battled cancer five years earlier, but that she was doing fine now.  Unfortunately, that changed very quickly in the fall.  I met her once.  Actually sat down and had a conversation with her.  I remember she had short, dark hair, a kind face, and a powerful love for her family.

One month later, she passed.  The cancer returned with a vengeance and took her very quickly.  It was a sad time for all.  I was there to support my then boyfriend as he went through the visitation and funeral.  My heart broke for his father, sister and him as they grieved, and though I knew there was nothing I could say or do to make things better, I attempted to be there for my boyfriend.

Looking back, two things about that time stand out to me now.  One rainy evening about a month after her death, I was driving to a creative writing class and had a fender bender.  After the police and insurance reporting was over, I skipped my class and went to my boyfriend's house to wait for him to arrive.  While there, I called my mother and gave her a tearful explanation of what had happened, after which I sat with my now father-in-law and apologized for crying.  He gave me a slight smile and said, "That's okay.  I've cried a little myself today."  Perspective in a second.

Unfortunately, the other thing that I remember about this time is that my future husband and I broke up.  We decided not to see each other any more.  He was sad, very sad, and though I'd tried to be supportive, he needed time alone.  I, of course, understood, though my heart was devastated.

Believe it or not, a month later, we were together again, and I had no lingering doubts about the relationship.  We were meant to be together.  I still feel I could search the world over and never find anyone as perfect for me than him.  He has proven time and time again that love is a very real and powerful force, and I thank God He brought us together.

So, this is where I knew I had to start.  That time was a roller-coaster of emotion, but without this backstory, meaning about my personal struggle with breast cancer years later would be lost.

Until next time,

Sherry

Posting on Location

I'm posting at ACA this Monday about when life hands you lemons--write about it.  Come check it out.

Happy Writing!

http://www.cheriemarks.blogspot.com
http://www.cheriemarks.com
Into the Fire releasing October 5, 2011 from The Wild Rose Press

Things You Might Want to Know and Some Things You Probably Don't

I had the big C.  Whew!  Not a good time in my life.

Specifically, I had breast cancer, and my treatment consisted of a mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation, and five years of Tamoxifen.

Now, I'm not going to lie.  I was strong.  I faced it all with my eyes on a future without cancer.  Not because I'm naturally a strong person (most definitely not true), not because I suddenly found strength, not even because I was completely confident I would make it through it all, but I was strong because I'm a wife to an amazing husband and mother to three children--the oldest of which is just now a teenager (although she acted like she achieved that age a whole lot earlier) and the youngest just finished kindergarten.

Plain and simple--there was no other option.

Now I'm a year cancer-free (I love saying that), and I thought it was time to begin living my faith that God would provide a cancer-free future for a long time to come.  So, I consulted a highly recommended plastic surgeon about breast reconstruction surgery.  After speaking with her extensively, I elected to undergo a Tram-Flap Reconstruction.

As usual, it hasn't been easy.  There have been complications, so over the next few blog posts, I'm going to use this space to explain my decisions, the process, the complications, and maybe answer some questions for anyone out there trying to make decisions of their own or those that are just curious.

This is what is swirling around in my mind right now, so I'm going to use this space to get those thoughts, fears, and musings out.  Maybe then I'll free up some space in the old noggin for some lighter topics.

Until then...

Happy Writing!

Complications

Still kicking after all these complications, except I'm dealing with medical issues again. Three weeks ago, I elected to have a breast reconstruction surgery. It was supposed to be the happy ending to my breast cancer story. Everything seemed to be going well, until it swelled. That went down eventually, but then it began to get infected. So that's where I am now--another complication. And all along the way, little complications keep coming. But what can I do? People tell me I'm strong, that I'm a trouper who has gone through so much, but the truth is, there is no other option. I have to keep praying, hoping, and trying until things work out. And they will. That's where my strength truly comes in. I don't let myself think of any other option than things working out.

I can't help relating my medical struggle to the ultimate goal of being published in book-length fiction. You see, I take chances, write a piece in which I have confidence, then put it out in front of others to see the reactions. Along the way, there are complications--big and small--and my ability to push through the blocks, the lack of time, the unfortunate medical issues, the plot bunnies, or whatever happens to get in the way of the story is what will ultimately lead to success. Regardless of all these possible problems, I don't let any other option other than pushing through and getting published even become a possibility.

Complications are going to happen, but they're merely bumps in the road. Never full stops.

Happy Writing!

The Bumpy Road to Love

I write romance, so even from the first word, I know my hero and heroine are going to fall in love, have a happy ending, and forsake all others forever more.  But to get there, I have to really make it worth it.  Torturing is the name of the game.

Probably the first thing I had to learn was that in order to make it worth it, I had to make my heroes and heroines likable.  That way, no one could doubt they deserved a happily ever after.  I struggled with creating an Alpha male without making him unlikable.  My first attempt didn't work.  I kept getting feedback that he wasn't likable at all.  Not good.  I figured out that even if my hero had a hard edge, he had to have a deep, dark reason that matters to the reader.  In other words, he had to have some internal conflict from the get-go.  With my stories since then, up-front characterization has been key to creating people I like and people readers like as well.

Once this important component is put in place, it's time to provide external conflict.  Time to make their lives miserable.  In order to do that well, I have to establish what the character really, really wants, and what would be the worst thing that could happen instead.  It can't be so horrible that it can't be overcome (no maiming, if possible), but it needs to be something that creates a bumpy road for the character.

In the end, the characters need to overcome all external and internal conflict and come together.  Their goals are either met or changed until they can be met to make everyone happy in the end--to make all the torture worth it.

My own path to love wasn't/isn't smooth, and although fiction can surely take leaps that reality doesn't, real life can give you ideas for possible conflicts in your stories.  I love to listen to other peoples' stories about falling in love, but I'll admit that I often use tidbits here and there (so be forewarned, friends, aquaintances, and strangers).

At any rate, as a romance writer, I have to make the happily ever after worth it, and that means creating a bumpy road to love.

Happy Writing!

How Do You Know?

How do you know when you're good enough?  When your voice is distinctive?  When you have an original plot or a new twist on an old one?  When people other than your mom, sister, spouse, or best friend like what you write?  Honestly, I don't have a clear-cut answer.

Some days I read what I write and think it's good stuff.  Other days, I'm sure I'm deluding myself.  Clearly, I'm not the go-to-girl to judge good enough.

Is a contract a validation?  For most, yes.  But there's always a bigger, better publisher to net.  Maybe it's the number of contracts that counts.  If that's true, the more prolific, the more successful, right?

Then there's the indie authors.  I know indie authors who are some of the most successful writers I've seen.  How do they know they're good enough?  Number of downloads?  Money earned?  Number of POD books sold?

The reality is there's no such thing as good enough.  Craft and skill only get you so far.  In my very humble opinion, you're good enough when you're brave enough to put yourself out there, whether it's to a crit partner or an actual submission.  Every step brings you closer to your goal, and if you get a publisher's nod or not, you're working toward your dream, and that's good enough for me.

Happy Writing!