Surrender, or What I'm Learning From Yoga

Happy First of June! The leaves shine like emerald mirrors and irises stretch feathered petals towards the sun. Ahhhhhh, summer has arrived.

I know I've posted a lot lately about my new Bikram Yoga practice, but I can't help it. Aware as I am that yoga is meant to maximize a mind/body connection, I'm still amazed at how much I take away from each class beyond a strenuous workout.

One of the yoga poses (asanas) is shavasana (corpse pose). The point of this pose is complete relaxation and meditation. It's normally what ends a yoga class.

When leading us through this final pose, my teacher said: "It took me a long time to get shavasana. It's about surrender, and I just didn't understand. Then I realized that trying to understand surrender was the problem. You just have to let go."

Writing requires near absolute surrender. So much of what happens in the craft lies beyond our control.

In a recent conversation with my agent, we discussed the fact that my book could very well be sold as adult or YA; thus, he's doing a big submission to both YA and adult editors.

In many ways this is great news. I do believe my book has broad appeal, it's what could be categorized as "crossover" and my beta readers, both teen and adult, all loved it.

In other ways this news makes me want to go into a fit of nail biting (as so much of this process does). The worry remains that my book could fall into the cracks between YA and adult genres and be dismissed by all editors as not clear enough for its intended audience.

So what's my recourse? Only surrender.



The book will find its way and its readers. All I can do is continue to write, and I remember how much I love the process of creating novels. The rest is out of my hands.

On another note, the New York Times totally stole my last blog post.

Children's Book Week

Happy Children's Book Week!

My favorite children's book store, The Red Balloon, is celebrating by hosting Rick Riordan tonight (I can't wait!).

As I'd imagine is the case with most writers, books utterly sculpted my childhood. In honor of Children's Book Week I've concocted a brew of the top ten (yee gads, the choice is painful!) texts that left an indelible mark on my soul. In light of the honorary week of kid lit, this list is exclusively children's books, though I read a lot of "adult" books as a child. I've also only listed books that I read as a child, so anything published after 1996 (I'm calling 18 years old adulthood) won't appear.

Chris Van Allsburg's oeuvre. From Jumanji to The Stranger, this genius author/illustrator's dreamscrapes made me believe in infinite worlds (im)possible.

Maurice Sendak. Be daring. Be bold. Be wild.

Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising series. Cooper's weaving of contemporary England and Wales with Arthurian legend still inspires my writing.

Lloyd Alexander. Yes, children's fantasy can be dark. And scary. And wonderful.

Louis Sachar. Sideways Stories from Wayside School. Zany, sharp humor never fails.

Walter Farley and Marguerite Henry. Because I will always, always be the girl who loves horses.

Natalie Babbit, Tuck Everlasting. Revealed the fragility of life and the pain of immortality.

C.S. Lewis. The Chronicles of Narnia. Deftly woven, intricate worlds and fantastic, profoundly moving tales. Narnia is the kind of place you long for.

L.M. Montgomery. Anne of Green Gables. Every smart, independent young woman's role model. Bonus if you've got red hair. And wouldn't we all love Gilbert Blythe (sigh)?

J.R.R. Tolkein. The Hobbit. Now I realize I'm walking a fine line here. I wouldn't list Lord of the Rings, as I think of that series as "adult," but The Hobbit always struck me as a children's book. My family owned the hardcover text illustrated by Michael Hague. Orcs, elves, dwarves, dragons. Can't get much better than that.

That's ten? Oh horror! So many books left unnamed, but I'll stick to my limit. What children's books shaped you, or are still on your shelf, yellowed and dog-eared like mine, after so many readings?

Quote of the day from my Bikram Yoga instructor: "This is Simon Says in hell."

Give and Take

I want to start this post by saying thank you to each of you for reading this blog. It's wonderful to have comments and emails about my quirky posts, rants, and scribblings (yeah, I know they're typed but I prefer to think of them as scribblings. Besides they often start as scribblings on sticky notes, napkins, or torn envelopes before ending up on the screen).

The more I write the more I discover what a collaborative process it is. Without your presence and encouragement staying the course (living a life with what feels like two full-time jobs) would be difficult.

Life is better when we listen to others (those who are sincere and wise, that is. Ignore inane, snarky babbling and general pettiness at all times.) Snippets of thought, compliments, questions, and invitations from friends and strangers bring us closer to our selves.

My friend and poet-extraordinaire, Kristin (her book comes out this fall!), invited me to try something new this morning: Bikram Yoga.

For those of you not familiar with the yoga world, Bikram Yoga is hot yoga. Really hot. The studio is heated to 105 degrees. I normally practice Vinyasa (flow) or Ashantaga (power) yoga, and I think I'm a decent practitioner.

Let me tell you, Bikram is hard.

I'm a red-haired, fair-skinned lass who takes heat about as well as a snowman. According to Eric Cartman I'm what's known as a "Daywalker."



But trying new things generally creates good outcomes, so I pushed aside my anti-heat prejudice and joined Kristin at the studio at 9:30 this morning for a 1 1/2 hour session.

About fifteen minutes in I was certain I was going to pass out. Or at least vomit. Beyond hot, my skin was slick with sweat. I became convinced my body was actually evaporating. I had started wilting and was definitely no longer "following my breath."

The air sparkled before my eyes. My muscles quaked and shook. All my yoga hubris crumbled. I didn't think I would make it.

But the hour and a half passed and I didn't lose consciousness. I completed the class. And I felt wonderful.

I signed up for more sessions.

What does this have to with writing?

It's about risks.

The writer's endeavor is all about risk-taking. No success without the potential for failure (or at least the eternal delay of seeing one's work published and lauded - if that's your goal, there are many versions of success). Writing represents an intimate part of the self made bare for everyone to see. It's scary and thrilling, horrifying and gratifying. There is nothing in the world that means more to me and nothing I have more fear of than this craft.

But it's worth the risk.

So what are the risks I'm taking this summer?

Finishing the sequel to my novel, continuing the creation of two other WIPs, and mastering toe stand pose.

Shavasana (With Pug)

I run and practice yoga. The latter activity is meant to lengthen my muscles and spine (which it does, I was a half inch taller at my last physical, I kid you not), but also to quiet my oft-frenzied mind.

Usually this goal is attainable, but recently I've been having trouble achieving inner peace. Because of Rocco.

Rocco is a pug (pictured here with Gwyn, a border collie who tries to herd Rocco around the house). And he has decided that yoga is an activity he should be involved in.

Rocco is a beloved pet, but much like a stegosaurus I would surmise that his brain is walnut-sized. Pugs originated in China, and unlike most dog breeds they had no utilitarian purpose (rat catching, hunting, etc.). Pugs were bred only to sit on the laps of emperors. Hence, Rocco's only goal in life is to snuggle as often as possible. Rocco is an aggressive snuggler. He launches into laps from across the room and becomes deeply offended if you are trying to work on your computer and won't allow him to sit between you and your keyboard.

Lately his purposeful snuggling has invaded my yoga practice. Forward bends, twists, inversions, all have to be modified because as I strive for stillness Rocco inevitably sidles up to me and attempts to mold his body into a nap position that corresponds with whatever pose I'm in. He always snorts and give me an incredulous look when I shift poses and he is forced to begin the process over again.

Finally, during shavasana, which is supposed to be deep relaxation and meditation I end up with a pug paper weight in the middle of my chest. Some days I find this irritating, but most I resign myself to Rocco's determined cuddles and content myself in the belief that Nirvana without dogs wouldn't be worth much anyway.