L.J. Keys

For the Love of Editing

January 5, 2020
Red Lady J
For Writers
1 Comment

I love writing! I’ve loved it since I was a wee little thing. I blame my mother and the stories she read to me almost every night before bed. The first tale I vividly remember writing was a short story about how writing was invented. It involved cavemen, leaves, stones and a dubious interpretation of history.

“You might not write well every day, but you can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.”
– Jodi Picoult

From there, I kept writing: more short stories, some plays for school or church, poetry, a handful of novel beginnings and lots – I mean LOTS – of journal entries. My career helped me with my business writing skills but it wasn’t until I moved to Texas in 2017 that I started to take creative writing seriously. About a year and a half into working on my novel, I realized how much of writing is actually made up of editing.

Every time I sat down to edit, I found myself humming “Edit” from Regina Spektor’s 2006 masterpiece Begin to Hope while hopelessly, desperately, furiously searching for all the -ly words in my writing. Into the darkness of my living room, lit only by my computer screen, I would cry, “Regina, I can’t edit OR write!” Then she’d sing me “Better” and I would, indeed, feel better.

So began my quest to get better at editing. My friends at the weekly critique group I attend helped me find some of the most consistent issues in my writing. I watched YouTube videos, read articles and books, and got a certification in editing. But the quest isn’t over! I will never be done learning and the exciting part about that is now, I get to share all this stuff with you in the For Writers section of my blog!

If and when you’re looking for an editor, I am so excited to read your work and help it bloom. I know how exciting and terrifying it can be to share your writing but I’ll also say that one of the biggest things that helped me along this editing quest was, in fact, reaching out to an editor. (Yes, editors need editors too.) I work with a few different editors for different projects. A friend suggested the Novel Doctor himself, Stephen Parolini and the feedback he gave me was awesome. He was the first editor I had ever reached out to and he was constructive and honest. If I’m not able to help you, I wholeheartedly send you his way. I also recently began working with Kraken Editing & Literary Service Investigations and Kelsey is no-nonsense. Her feedback has been integral to my growth as a writer – and she offers research services as well. Every writer is different and therefore, it’s important to find an editor that works best for you and your project.

Shannon Hale said, “I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.”

Let’s build sandcastles together!

Arugula Salad for Life

December 28, 2019
Red Lady J
For Readers

I LOVE ARUGULA!

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I want to admit that I got the idea for this salad online somewhere. I usually pin things and even though I often make changes to recipes, I like to provide the original post so credit is given where it’s due.

In this case, I was furiously googling a simple salad to go with some salmon we already had in the refrigerator. For the sake of providing an original post, I found this one! The first couple times I made it, I included the pine nuts but found them to be relatively unnecessary (though a delightful addition).

Now on to the meat and potatoes! Or rather, the lemon juice and olive oil.

Life.

It’s so simple!

Grab a 5 oz container of arugula and some light extra virgin olive oil. Dump the arugula in a big ol’ bowl and add two tablespoons of olive oil. Mix together! I use my hands so I don’t crush the arugula leaves.

Now, the magic happens.

Depending on what you’re making (or the season), you can add a tablespoon of lemon juice OR a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar. I do not jest when I say that this salad goes with everything. Like, I’m pretty sure if you served it with pigs feet, it would be delicious… The salad part anyways.

So, you pick your poison, add that in, mix with your hands again. Grab a couple of bowls (the hubby and I like this salad so much that we’ll split the whole container between the two of us – in a household NOT obsessed with arugula, it would probably comfortably serve 4 people), and divide the arugula between them. The hubby can’t have much salt so I don’t add any beforehand but I’m a salt fiend – actually have a sodium deficiency – so I add a splash to mine and mix it in. Then, add your parmesan. We usually do two tablespoons each.

Then toss that protein on top and boom, baby! As if you’re sitting on a stone patio overlooking the Adriatic Sea, flavor rushing into your heart and enveloping you in its loving arms.

The lemon juice option is almost always lovely paired with a Chardonnay and the balsamic option is almost always delicious paired with a Cabernet Sauvignon (but of course, this depends more on your protein).

Recipe

1 – 5 oz package of arugula
2 – tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
1 to 1.5 – tablespoons lemon juice or balsamic vinegar (or one of each if you’re feelin’ frisky)
4 – tablespoons of parmesan cheese (shredded or grated)
1 – teaspoon salt (optional)
Add protein on top

Step 1 – Add arugula to a large bowl.
Step 2 – Add 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil. Toss.
Step 3 – Add 1 to 1.5 tablespoons of lemon juice or balsamic vinegar. Toss.
Step 4 – Add 1 teaspoon of salt. Toss.
Step 5 – Top with 4 tablespoons of parmesan cheese.
Step 6 – Top with protein.

Serves 4

The Gifts of Imperfection – Brene Brown

December 28, 2019
Red Lady J
For Readers
2 Comments

The Book That Started It All

I was in a pickle!

There I was, sitting in the chair at the therapist’s office. I had just moved from New York to Texas and felt like I’d left everything behind. I left family and friends, I left my job, I left our neighborhood, I left my childhood behind. If you’d asked me then, I’d have probably told you I left myself in Buffalo.

This!

But I was in Texas. My husband and my dog were in Texas. All my stuff (except my piano – a story for another time) was in Texas. For a few months, I felt like two halves of a tree struck by lightning and tied together with twine. I tried to grow roots but all I found was ash.

That’s when things started to fall apart. There, in that chair in my therapist’s office, everything came rushing out of my heart as if Arwen once again sang to the waters of the Misty Mountains. Each childhood fear, each trauma, each patriarchal dismissal, each time I was “too sensitive”, each time I was “too much”, each time I was not enough, galloped from my lips and dove into the ground like icicles until I found myself in a fortress quite like Elsa’s.

And weirdly enough, I actually did eventually find myself singing that damn song that echoed across the radio waves for months. But I didn’t really begin to let it go until I read a very special book. A book I purchased in January of 2018 at the behest of my therapist and my best friend alike. Enter *the crowd goes silent in anticipation* BRENÉ BROWN! *and the crowd goes wild*

Ok, I know, I know. The whole world is bonkers for Brené. But seriously, a woman who studied shame, is ruthlessly honest about it, and delightfully comical while doing so? A comedy gem of 2019, Amy Poehler’s Wine Country (on the Netflix), tells the truth: of course we all have obsessive love and a zillion questions for Brené. But Brené has boundaries! So instead of trying to have one on one conversations with millions of people every single day for the rest of her entire life, she wrote us a bunch of seriously awesome books to answer the most pressing of our questions.

Rawr. Courage. Rawr.

I highly recommend The Gifts of Imperfection as a starting point. I’m going to say this a lot in this section of the blog, but I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it: this book changed my life. The deep gratitude I feel for the life I have wouldn’t be a thing. And for that, I will be forever thankful to Brené.

I needed to read about courage and compassion. Compassion for others and for myself. I needed to learn about gratitude and what it really looks like. I needed to learn what it feels like to really let go of anxiety. I needed to learn all of it. And of course, I haven’t learned it all yet – but I’m trying. AND rereading.

Hope you enjoy the book! Let me know what you think of it!

Father Time

November 17, 2019
Red Lady J
Short Stories

This story was based on a flash fiction writing prompt I was given during my weekly writing group session: Observant father having the day of his life.

I slept like a baby! I woke up today and, honest-to-goodness, felt like a child. The window was open and the rain fell all night long. This morning, the sun is pouring in and the curtains ruffle in a light spring breeze. The grass is getting a little long though. I wonder if I’ll have time to mow today. What if I had ice cream for breakfast? No. No, no. I’m not actually a child. But coffee, yes. And pancakes.

My wife is with her sister. They’ve been planning this trip for months. No sooner do I think about my wife than I hear our daughter beckoning, or rather, wailing from her bedroom. It’s the best sound in the world. She wakes up and cries like she just spotted a kraken from her crib, her ship on the high seas, until my wife or I walk in with our swords drawn and ready for battle. Her face immediately glows with an enormous smile even though her cheeks still glisten with tears. And this morning is no different. She’s scooped into my arms before I even have time to think. Her favorite blanket is draped over my shoulder and her head rests gently in the crook of my neck. My little furnace.

We have breakfast and play. Before I know it, lunchtime is here. I set her up in her highchair and buckle her in before getting our skinned, halved grapes, cheese puffs and yogurt. For just the briefest of moments, the window between the kitchen and dining room turns into a school bus window and I see Abigail waving goodbye on her first day of school. Back in the dining room, I see her excitedly flail her arms at the sight of the cheese puffs. Still my baby.

Watching her fall asleep mid cheese puff is another secret delight. Her little hands still reaching for the last few puffs as her head droops. Her tired fingers working overtime to connect with her tired mouth. I can’t help but watch for another moment before I get the wipes and clean up her face and hands, inadvertently humming her favorite tune. She fusses a little as I get her back into her crib for naptime and I break into a tender but impassioned rendition Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle.

I’ll never forget when we discovered her favorite song. It was about two months in and Kim and I were at our wits end. We took Abi for a drive to see if she’d sleep. We tried station after station to no avail. But then, we reached the oldies and our buddy Harry crooned his December 1974 Billboard Hot 100 top hit into a silent car. It was about halfway through the song before we realized what had happened. But that was it. We’d been struggling and managing but I think that was the moment we really, really became parents.

I grab the monitor and wander through the silent house. The sun is high in the sky bringing a sudden heat wave like a summer day. I head for the patio, stopping by the fridge to grab an ice-cold pomegranate seltzer water. Pomegranate seltzer. What have I become? The grass is indeed a little long. But it can wait. This seltzer is delicious.

A coo. A whimper. The rustle of fabric. Time to get my girl.

I head back into the house and hover outside her door. I imagine knocking and an angsty voice replying a drawn out, “I’m up, I’m up!” and me telling her she can’t be late for high school again. Though that would prove what we already assume: She’s just like her father.

I push open her door to see her standing in her crib, patiently waiting for me to pick her up. Another favorite. We play, we skype with Mommy. I wish time would slow down but the sun is getting lower and the afternoon is getting chilly. I wrestle her fall jacket out of the closet and we head outside to play soccer. And by “play soccer”, I mean roll around on the ground and occasionally throw a soccer ball in whatever direction feels right.

Time for dinner. I make my famous black bean soup and cheese quesadilla. Abi helps by being a goofball with the refrigerator magnets. But really, who knew that a one-year-old could have such an awesome sense of humor?

We clean up the dishes and Abi knows it’s time. We read often but this is our every-night-dedicated-reading-time. We rush to get her in pajamas and into her oversized bean bag chair (that I really bought for myself). She makes sure to stop by her bookshelf on the way and picks a handful of books. As she struggles to get her books over to me, I see her carrying all her college textbooks across campus. I grab as many books as I can from the trail she left behind and we read and read. And then we read just one more.

I sing another quiet rendition of Cat’s in the Cradle and her breathing slows. There’s a chill in the air and I’m suddenly glad I put her in her footie pajamas. As soon as she’s sleeping, I head to the thermostat and turn the temperature up a couple degrees. I check my phone expecting to see a winter weather warning.

I walk through the dark, empty house and get the urge to call Kim again. We talk about our days. I tell her my most recent vision is of us as empty nesters, waiting on a phone call from Abi. But it doesn’t make us sad. I’m so thankful. I tell Kim I love her and can’t wait for her to come home.

Time for bed for me too, I think. I’m so very tired. But what a wonderful day. What a wonderful life. I drift off to sleep in peace.

The Clouds

November 10, 2019
Red Lady J
Poetry

Cumulus clouds are my favorite. Dollops of whipped cream on a sunbeam. Only blue skies for miles and yet, it’s as if they each hold a memory, taunting that they might spill over and drench the world in nostalgia.

Cumulonimbus, the giant. The great force. Your hair stands on your neck as the earth grows quiet, electricity coursing through your veins. Severity in their height, danger in their breadth. The swirling air bringing nightmares to your bedroom, setting stones on your forehead as you sleep.

Have you ever seen a cloud and felt its weight on your shoulders; known that it was heavy with more than rain? Sensed the tension building in the atmosphere and behind your eyes, your head swimming? Sinking.

Have you ever wondered if dreams fall from the clouds? Is that why the rain births a new world? As if the clouds themselves are full of anger and weep with regret until the flowers are watered and the dirt is washed away. I can hear it. The rain on the roof. Such a comfort, especially at night.

Nimbostratus hovering dark over the horizon. Lying in wait for some poor soul to venture out with a heart full of sunlight only to be doused like a lit candle dropped in a bucket of water. Can you hear the sizzle of the flame? Smell the smoke rising off the water? Can you smell the rain before it starts?

Breathe deep, my dearest. Breathe the earth into your lungs. The moisture thick, almost alive. Down to my lungs it races and awakes something in me. Something in my core.

What if dreams roam the cosmos like some distant planet until they collide with our universe, scattering and bouncing from particle to particle until they find water and stick. Maybe dreams hold to water the same way that life does.

What if we all, what if it all
comes from the clouds?