Assessing Your Writing Year

 

The gifts have been opened, a great deal of the feast demolished, a few leftovers in the fridge. It's cold here in Kansas this week, even had a little snow Monday and Tuesday. Outdoor activities don't seem too appealing. 

Happily, writing is usually an indoor activity, so perhaps you have some time to tap away on your keyboard or put pen, or even one of the colored pencils in today's photo, to paper with thoughts of many things. It's often the final week of the year when we look back at what happened in our personal world and the world in general. Most of the latter's news is pretty sad at the moment, but what about your writing life this past year? Five stars or only one? 

Now would be a good time to take an inventory and assess the ups and downs of your writing year. Create a group of lists. It's not complicated, so let's start the ones below. Add any others that come to mind.  

List 1:  How many pieces did you write in 2023? List all of them, whether for your writing life, for an organization like your church, women's club, civic organization and more. 

List 2: In this one, put all the writing that you submitted for publication.

List 3:  Put all that were accepted and where and when they were published. 

List 4:  This one is for the submissions that were rejected. Place a note by each if you have any idea why they didn't make it.

List 5:  Money earned from writing published--the publication and amount paid. Also list those that were a no-pay but were published. 

List 6:  Your 2023 Goals should be listed here. Next to each one, put a comment like 'made it' or 'didn't come close' or 'partially'. 

List 7: What did you do to help yourself become a better writer? Books read, workshops and conferences attended, time with other writers. 

List 8:  This is the place to put your thoughts on what you might have done differently. Figuring this out can be helpful in making your Goals for 2024. 

After you take a good look at your lists group them in a file. At the end of 2024, it might be interesting to review them and see if you progressed or slipped back a little. 

Magical Christmas Windows

 

One more repeat of my Christmas memory stories. Those very small memories you have of happenings of your childhood Christmases can easily become full stories. When a memory floats through your mind, stop, grab it, and start remembering the details of whatever it might be. Then, write about it. One more piece to add to your Family Stories Book. 

Magical Christmas Windows

At least once during the Christmas seasons of my 1940s childhood, my mother and I rode the elevated train from suburban Oak Park to downtown Chicago, exiting at the Marshall Field’s station. Pigeons strutted on the wooden platform and railings, flapping soft gray wings now and then, drawing my attention, but Mother pulled me toward a long flight of steps to the street, leaving the pigeons far above us.

We headed to a special, magical place, the big department store’s Christmas windows. Often, the wind and cold air stung our cheeks. Sometimes snowflakes floated lazily over us, but it didn’t matter. A crowd formed close to the windows of Marshall Field’s, and Mother and I wiggled into the center, moving closer and closer to the front until we stood before Christmas Window #1.

 There, before us was a wonderland that brought ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from the crowd. “Look, Mommy!” could be heard off and on as well when excited children pointed out the obvious to their mothers.

   Marshall Fields initiated the Christmas window display in 1897. During November, the windows were covered with brown paper and not unveiled until the day after Thanksgiving. For weeks, designers and their staff worked long hours to create a story told in eleven successive windows, using a fairy tale or child’s book theme. Animation came in later years, and the designs grew more and more lifelike.  Piles of snow and frost-covered trees looked real enough to touch. A tray of gingerbread men near an oven so perfect, I could almost smell the spicy aroma. A scroll or some other unique prop told part of the story, and the rest came with our imagination.

   The earlier windows were toy displays, a marketing scheme that drew thousands of shoppers. Later, in the mid-40s, the story windows began, and Uncle Mistletoe and Aunt Holly were introduced, becoming well-known to all Field’s shoppers.

We moved from window to window enjoying the continuing tale. Stories like Snow White and Pinocchio came to life behind the giant windows. They were probably more exciting in the days prior to television, for we had nothing like this anywhere but the movie theaters. By the time we’d walked the entire route, our feet were tingling with the cold, and we headed into the store to warm up.

What better place to thaw out than in the line that ended with a short sit on Santa’s lap. By the time, we reached Santa, we’d shed gloves and hats and unbuttoned our heavy coats. I told Santa my dearest wishes, never doubting that he’d remember and bring at least one of the items I’d requested.

When the 1950s rolled around, I made the trip downtown to Marshall Field’s with my girlfriends. Even then, my excitement stayed at a high pitch. I noticed more details in the story windows, and my friends and I giggled and chatted, and pointed things out to one another. With rosy cheeks and numbing toes by the time we’d gotten to the end, we headed into the store. Not to see Santa but to savor a cup of hot chocolate, gaze at the giant Christmas tree in the atrium, and then spend some time wandering through the massive place looking for Christmas gifts for our family members. We might finish the day with a Frango Mint, the candy made famous by Marshall Field’s.

Today, Field’s is no more. The sign in front now says Macy’s. It was a sad day for me when that happened. A piece of my childhood crumbled, never to be the same. But the memory of the Christmas windows and my visits to Santa remain even many decades later.

 

Chocolate Lovers Christmas Story

 

Christmas Sweets

Here we are with only days to go until Christmas 2023. At this time of year, I like to share a few of the Christmas stories I've written over the years. Childhood memories can inspire a Christmas story. Your special memories can be enjoyed by others, IF you take the time to write the story. Do it now while it's fresh in your mind. Even if you do nothing more than a first draft, that's fine. Later, go back, edit, and revise. Come summer, you'll be ready to submit to a publication for Christmas of 2024.

The story below was one mentioned many a time in my family. I've posted it before, but it's worth another go. Enjoy.

A Spoonful of Fudge

Spiral back in time with me to a mid-December day in 1947 and relive one of my treasured memories. With our teacher’s guidance, my third grade class planned the Christmas party, which would be held on our final day before the holiday break. Our classroom already looked festive thanks to a live Christmas tree decorated with our art work. Cut-out paper snowflakes adorned the tall windows, and in free time we’d made construction paper chains which we used to decorate every available space in the room. 

But now the most important part of getting ready was upon us. Miss Marshak asked for volunteers to bring Christmas napkins, cookies, and punch.

“Now what else would be good to have at the party?” she asked. 

A boy in the last row hollered, “Fudge!” 

At his one-word answer, I sat up straight and waved my hand in the air. When Miss Marshak did not call on me immediately, I bounced up and down in my chair and gestured furiously.

 “Yes, Nancy,” she finally said. 

“I’ll bring the fudge. My mother makes the best fudge in the world.” My mouth watered at the thought of the creamy, rich chocolate candy my entire family loved.

I could hardly wait to get home and tell my mother that I’d volunteered to bring fudge for the party. She’d be so excited to share her special fudge with all my classmates. I barely felt the cold December air as I hurried along the six blocks from school to our apartment building. My feet scarcely touched the stairs as I sailed up the three flights to our door. 

Mother stopped peeling potatoes when I burst into the kitchen. I announced the great news, but I didn’t get the reaction I’d expected. Her face paled. “Fudge? Isn’t there something else you can bring?” 

“No. Other people signed up for the rest.” My excitement deflated like a pricked balloon.

What could be wrong? 

Mother shrugged, picked up the potato peeler and said, “It’s all right. I’ll make the fudge.”

The December days slid by, one by one. I helped Mother put up our Christmas decorations. Dad took my brothers and me to pick out a tree, and Mother spent her days wrapping packages and baking special cookies and Christmas cakes. At school, we practiced for our part in the all-school musical program, read Christmas stories in reading time and created our own in Language Arts period. Giggles got louder as Christmas surrounded us.

Finally, the day before the party arrived. Our teacher went over a checklist to make sure everyone remembered what they were to bring the next day. How could I forget? I’d thought about the chocolaty, wonderful fudge Mother would make every day. I could almost taste its smoothness and the lingering sweetness it left.

When I got home that afternoon, my baby brother was crying, and Mother looked about to cry along with him. “What’s wrong?” I asked. My worry centered not on the baby or my mother but on the fudge. 

Mother sank into a kitchen chair. “I’ve made three batches of fudge today, and none of them worked. They’re all too soft. I can’t send it to school.” 

I had no idea why she was so disturbed. Fudge was always soft and gooey. We spooned it up every time we had it. “Why?” was all I could think to say.

“Nancy,” my mother said, “fudge is not meant to be eaten with a spoon. It should be firm enough to pick it up in a piece and pop into your mouth. I beat and beat it, but it’s like it always is when I make it. Too soft. And I made it three times today!” 

Tears welled in her eyes, and my baby brother reached up and patted her cheek. Maybe even he knew how bad she felt. How could I bring the fudge to school? I loved my mother’s fudge, but maybe nobody else would. Maybe they’d laugh when they saw it. I worked up my courage and asked, “What are we going to do?”

The next morning, I carried a big pan of fudge and 21 spoons to school.

The soft candy was the hit of the party. After we had our punch and cookies, everyone gathered around the cake pan of fudge, spoon in hand, and dug in. My fears were never realized. One of the boys licked his spoon and said, “You were right. Your mom does make the best fudge in the world.” Echoes of agreement sounded around the circle. We dipped our spoons for more.

Some years later, Mother began to make a new fudge recipe that contained marshmallow crème. The ads promised it was foolproof--firm fudge every time. They were right, but the spoonsful of soft fudge we’d eaten all those years before remained my favorite, and I never forgot how my mother found a solution to what might have been my biggest third grade disaster. It wasn't only fudge she'd given me that December day.

 Originally published in Chicken Soup for the Soul Chocolate Lovers Soul 2007

A Winter Writing Exercise

 

Nighttime in Prague

Description is such a big part of writing well. If we merely report what happened, but give no indication of when, where, what, images, weather, feelings and more, our piece ends up being exactly that--a report. You can give a report to your boss at work using simple language and not embellishing it in any way. Just the facts, and that's fine.

In creative writing, it's a whole different story. Take a look at today's photo. It's a nighttime picture of Prague, Perhaps on Christmas Eve. It begs for description when you write about the photo and what it depicts. 

Here's a list of words that came to mind when I studied the scene: 

A. silent

B. snowy

C. frigid

D. slippery

E. darkness

F. lamplight

G. stone wall

H. tall trees

I. dome

J. city buildings

K. night sky

L. street lamps

M. distant light

N. softness

O. chill

P. footprints

Q. hill

R. steep

S. winter

T. peace

U. cold

V. icy

W. shine

X. roof

Y. windows

Z. weather

How about that? I found 26 words for the 26 letters in our alphabet. Challenge yourself to do the same. With the photo for today, or one of your own choosing. As you study the scene, and the words come to mind, perhaps a story idea will also evolve. Use your list of words to either write a story or only a few paragraphs describing the scene. Note that I suggested you 'study' the scene. A mere glance won't bring much. 

There are so many photos online for you to use. It's an easy and productive winter writing exercise. Give it a try! 

Writing Holiday Stories and One Special Story

 

When's the best time to write a Christmas story? I think it's during the season while the spirit of Christmas surrounds you. You hear the music, see the many Christmas trees and other decorations, smell the special holiday treats baking in the oven, listen to Christmas music. A memory comes floating by. Reach out and seize it to write a special story that has to do with this annual, festive holiday.

This works for stories based on other holidays, as well. Hannukah, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving along with patriotic days like Memorial Day and Veterans' Day. When it's happening, you're more tuned in than if you tried to write a Thanksgiving story on the 10th day of July. Oh sure, you could do it, but I'm thinking that it will be a better story if you write it around the time of the holiday. 

Let's say you write a Christmas memory story in mid-December. You'd like to submit it for publication, but send it in January, and an editor probably isn't interested. Wait until early summer, then submit it somewhere. Editors will be thinking about holiday issues by then. Make a To-Do list of stories you want to send later in the year, then check it off and on. 

The story below is one I wrote in 2008 and was published in The Big Book of Christmas Joy. It's a special memory of the year my classmates and I learned it is better to give than receive. 

The Best Christmas Present Ever

In 1949 the twenty-one children in my fifth grade class learned one of life’s greatest lessons. Ten year olds usually care more about the importance of receiving gifts than the considering the joy in giving them. But that year, we found out that giving truly is better than receiving, and it was all because of a special teacher.

Lyle Biddinger served on a navy destroyer during World War II, went to college on the GI Bill and landed in a Chicago suburban grade school teaching fifth grade. We were his first class, and he was the first male teacher in our Kindergarten through eighth grade school. Young, handsome, and an outstanding teacher—he was all any ten year old could ask for.

 During family dinners, I talked endlessly about what Mr. Bid had told us that day, what he’d shown us, the games he’d taught us. He may as well have been sitting at our table every night, for his presence was evident Monday through Friday. I hurried through breakfast so I could get to school early, and I offered to stay after class and do whatever little jobs needed to be done. I wasn’t the only one who acted this way about Mr. Biddinger. Oh no--all of us adored him.

 We were so proud to be in his class. We preened our feathers like peacocks around the kids in the other fifth grade. He was all ours, and like kids of that age, we let everyone know it. Our teacher made learning fun, and in the 1940’s this was a new approach. At one point, some of the parents went to the principal and complained that Mr. Biddinger spent too much time playing games during class time. School should not be fun; it was to be hard work. Somehow Mr. Biddinger and the principal placated the disgruntled parents, and life went on as before in the fifth grade.

December arrived, and the Room Mother contacted the other parents. Each family was asked to give a modest amount of money to be used for a Christmas gift for the teacher. It was not an unusual request in our school. Next, she called Mr. Biddinger’s wife to find out what might be the perfect gift for him.

 It was to be a secret, of course, but we all knew about it, and whispers and notes flew back and forth. Our class Christmas party would be held the last day before the holiday break. We would have a grab bag gift exchange, punch and cookies and candy. We’d play some games, get out of schoolwork and give Mr. Bid his gift. The days trickled by slower than ever before, and our excitement grew steadily. We looked forward to our school Christmas much more than the one we’d each have at home. 

 Finally, the big day dawned. Our Room Mother arrived bearing the punch and brightly decorated Christmas cookies and hard candies. But where was the big boxwith Mr. Bid’s present? We didn’t see it. We wriggled in our desks and fretted. Whispers sailed around the room until Mr. Bid scolded us. “Settle down,” he said, “or the party’s over as of now.” Quiet reigned. The treats and grab bag gifts were passed out. We munched on our sugar cookies and slurped the red punch. The classroom door opened, and a strange woman walked in. Mr. Biddinger’s looked surprised at first; then a big smile crossed his face. We were soon introduced to his wife. The Room Mother disappeared into the hall but was back in seconds holding a good-sized box wrapped in Christmas paper and tied with a wide red ribbon. The chatter in the room ceased immediately, and all eyes were riveted on that box.

The Room Mother cleared her throat, walked to our teacher and said, “Mr. Biddinger, this gift is from your students. They wanted to show their love and appreciation by giving you something special.” As she handed him the box, the room tingled with an air of excitement. 

Mr. Bid seemed excited, and that alone thrilled us. He untied the bow and handed the ribbon to his wife. Next came the wrapping, and we all leaned forward. He opened the box and lifted a hunting jacket from the folds of tissue paper. This had been his fondest wish for Christmas, Mrs. Biddinger had told the Room Mother. He loved to hunt on the week-ends whenever possible, but the special hunting gear was beyond a teacher’s salary at that time.

 For the first time, the man who taught us so much became mute, totally speechless. He turned the jacket over and over, looked at the special pockets on the inside and outside. He tried again to say something but couldn’t. But the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his face said all we needed to know. He finally found his voice and told us over and over how much he loved his new jacket. “It’s probably the finest gift I’ve ever received,” he said. He didn’t say why, but we knew. We had no doubt that the reason was that it came from his first class, the twenty-one ten year olds who adored him.

 I don’t remember the gifts I received at home that Christmas, but I’ll never forget the gift we gave Mr. Biddinger. It was the best Christmas present ever.

(C) 2008

By Nancy Julien Kopp Nancy - December 10, 2021  

 

Writers Must Be Determined

 

Determination is one characteristic a writer needs if he/she wants to be successful. A few synonyms for determination are perseverance, firmness, resolute, unwavering and tenacity. 

Whew! Those are all pretty strong words, ones that can carry a writer to high places. 

Writers who submit often and receive multiple rejections might be so disappointed that they figure it's useless. They give up. It's understandable. No one likes to be smacked down over and over. 

It's the determined writer who is going to find success, even if it takes a long time. One writer whose determination served him well is John Grisham. He approached publishing house after publishing house with his novel The Firm before it was picked up. He didn't give up but kept sending queries and sample pages to editors. He's not alone. There are myriad novelists who have experienced the same kind of difficulties. The ones we know are those who kept pursuing publication even after multiple rejections.

What about the writers who don't write books but short pieces instead? They seek publication, too. They might receive rejections and take one of two paths. They'll either wilt like yesterday's flower and give up, or they'll develop an attitude of continuing to submit a piece, perhaps after some editing and revision, but never giving up. These are the writers who end up being published.

Do these writers get depressed, feel down in the dumps when a rejection floats their way? Of course they do, but the determined ones move on to the next market on the list and submit again. (market list? That's a hint for those who want to be published!z0

It's up to you to decide how much being published means to you. How determined you can be. How much effort you want to put into your writing life. I hope many of you will be like Mr. Turtle and keep moving toward your goal of publication.