Like there's no tomorrow

Last night was the first performance of Child's dance recital. Of course she was utterly cute and perfect (whether she did the steps or not), and when she's on stage I can't look at anyone else but her. She glows for me.

When she's not on stage...well.

I was a ballet dancer for 8 years. I was in a professional ballet company (even though I was a teenager). I also did tap, jazz, and modern. I am cursed for the rest of my life with the dancer's eye.

This means I see how it should be, each move: arms, hands, fingers, legs. Extension. Arch. I see whether a movement is on beat or off. Whether the group is together the way they should be. Whether everyone hits their jumps at the same time, who is weak at turning left, who can dance fine on their own but doesn't do well as part of a group. It's similar to when you learn to be a writer and you have trouble reading just for pleasure anymore--you see craft, or lack of craft, everywhere.

But I realized again last night, watching girls of all ages and all different skill levels on that stage, a vital truth. It is NOT, ever, the most important thing to be technically perfect. It wasn't the technically perfect girls my eye was drawn to, that I enjoyed watching.

It's the ones who put their hearts into every move.

They were confident, not hesitant. They didn't hold their bodies back for fear of making a mistake--or even if they did make a mistake. They owned the dance. They sold it. They smiled, not the fake grit-teeth smile plastered on, but the smile that says "This is ME dancing. I am enjoying the hell out of this."

Watching someone dance like that, I forget about all the technical stuff. I nod along, and wish I was up there too--because damn, it looks like fun.

That's the kind of writer you want to be too. Confident in your words, your characters, your images, your story. Not writing for other people--that's like the fakey-fake smile. Writing for your ownself, and enjoying the heck out of it. Dropping your whole heart into every line.

And you know what I was thinking last night, as I was clapping another girl who hit the last beat, arms spread wide, grinning like she would do it again, this minute?

Maybe that's one of the secrets to life, too.

The title for this year's show: "Dance Like There's No Tomorrow." Indeed.

A little shaky

So I'm not always confident.

Last night just before I went home I printed out (and re-read) my synopsis for Jenna. I don't know what it is about synopses, but even though it tells the story, it has the voice, etc....it still makes the story sound kinda weird, all crunched down like that. I think that's what spurred the two dreams I had last night:

1. I dreamed that I got a rejection letter back from my #1 agent, and it was strange (of course, it was a dream, duh) because instead of writing her own letter, she had written snarky comments all over my query, in orange pen. The sweet part about this dream is that after feeling very disappointed for about a minute, I looked up at my husband and said "well, let's tackle the list--let's send out ten new ones today" and immediately started writing queries to other agents. Good attitude turn around there.

2. Shortly after this one I dreamed that I had to read my manuscript out loud to a class. (The provenance of this dream isn't hard, as I was observing peer critiques in a creative writing undergrad class yesterday.) Except it wasn't really Jenna, it was some mutated blog form of Jenna with illustrations I had to show everyone, and a kid's poem to start. And I had that moment of panic where I realized this was just too weird to show anyone, much less sell...

And that's when I woke up and had to get ready for the day. It left me with a little residual sense of negativity, I must say--I wish I'd ended with the first one. Must move on and write on Book 3 today, and I plan to print up Jenna in the next couple days and read the whole thing just before I leave, to pump up my enthusiasm. Hopefully. {s}

Small things I've learned about Natalie in the past 2 days of writing/thinking (that may or may not ever actually make it into Book 3). These aren't major points, just details for me to know:

• she's always late
• she likes to wear baseball caps
• she lived in Seattle when she was little
• because of this she's a Mariners fan (you're welcome, Kreekie)
• she has a soft spot for underdogs and will stand up to bullies
• she's a bit of a daydreamer
• she's not very into schoolwork, except art class

I really enjoy this part of getting to know a character. It feels like they become real, and settle into my head. And whether or not any or all of this makes it into the writing overtly, I think that if I know it about her, it makes her rounded, whole. And it makes sense if I suddenly want to write a scene and I find it starts with her watching a Mariners game. {s}

And a picture for you!