Black Friday

I didn’t shop for Black Friday. I never do. It’s the day after Thanksgiving though, and I’m with my family at the cabin we like to stay at at Sequoyah State Park. It’s thundering outside but it is nice. We are cozy and Harry Potter is on the TV and board games and puzzles are underway. I’m eating a piece of pecan pie and it is a delight.

I read my friend Kim Ventrella’s upcoming book, Hello Future Me, this afternoon and it was so very good. Exactly what I always expect from Kim but her writing always impresses me, even though I know she’s a great writer. She mentioned me in the acknowledgements. I think this is my first time to appear in those for anyone. It feels nice and a little surreal.

Black Friday would be a fun name for a book. Some kind of cool horror story that takes place the day after Thanksgiving, right? I wonder if someone has already done that?

Morning Pages

So, I’ve been doing Morning Pages since October 15. It’s basically where you do three handwritten stream-of-consciousness notebook pages every day, preferably first thing in the morning, and that will help you to be a better artist. Or writer. Creative. We’ll say creative.

I am sick of Morning Pages. I will finish my first notebook in a few days (which is a LOT of pages) and I am planning on quitting there. But I wonder if I will write more without these, or less. (HINT, I haven’t been writing much AT ALL.) So Morning Pages didn’t save me from this ridiculous writers block.

Maybe the next thing will.

New idea – to blog and write fic and not worry about finishing my novel for a few days, at least. Going to the cabin we visit each year at Thanksgiving and I am fantasizing that it will give me the hard reset that I need. Hopefully.

Dance Poem

I was looking back at earlier posts and I forgot I used to put poetry on here. I’m going to try it again. I’m not sure about the quality of this one but it took up some time while I was at the dance convention, and that was nice.

By Regina Garvie

I do not dance.
Once I danced, when I was young
Tutu and leotard and tights and special shoes
Shoes for tapping, shoes for toes
But then the dance studio closed in my little town
And no more dance
Until high school and college
Sometimes a ridiculous thing called A dance
With awkwardness and embarrassment and stiff swaying
My daughters dance. My niece dances.
I’ve been watching them dance for twenty-five years
Recitals, conventions, competitions
Tap, ballet, jazz, contemporary, hip-hop, lyrical, more
I do not like dance recitals or conventions or competitions.
Don’t get me wrong
Watching my loved ones dance is a lovely thing
But recitals and conventions and competitions include
A lot of other people dancing
And I could
The other moms CARE. The other moms
Pay to watch conventions
Get excited about competitions
Look forward to recital
But I only look forward to seeing my daughter dance
And for recital being done and the brief breath between seasons
And then
It starts again
Tap and ballet and jazz and the rest
Money shelled out
So. Much. Money.
I sit in the lobby of the convention and type
I squirrel away in the back of the auditorium
And put in my headphones and write at competitions
While all the other teams dance
And all the other moms watch
But I love watching my daughter
And my older daughter when she was up there
And my niece when she was up there
And oh, how they LOVE to dance.
And so I keep going, and paying, and waiting
For the one I love to be on the stage
Then I watch.
Then I care.
My heart is full.
And then the song ends



I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. I thought that I might as well, since I am trapped at a dance convention in Tulsa, listening to all the electronics around me. Someone is watching a ball game and it’s hard to not listen to it. I hate when other people don’t use headphones. I would like to watch a video myself, but I forgot any headphones and so I’m not going to do that. It’s rude.

I’m writing a column for the local newspaper now, about the arts council in our little town. I’m just doing it volunteer. I am planning to write about the dance convention in the next one.

I’m on sub again, with Candid Dates. I feel confident.

I’m also reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, and I’m trying to follow the steps. I’ve been doing Morning Pages for six days, although I didn’t really know much about it. I’m counting today as my first day for The Artist’s Way, so now I have a week to do Morning Pages, do the Artist Date, and do the other assignments. Feels a little overwhelming. I don’t even know where I’d like to go to spend two hours with myself. I’m going to have to think on it quite a bit, I’m afraid.

I’m not sure if the Morning Pages are helping very much, but maybe they are, seeing as how I’m actually writing on here and I’m reading the book. I wish I had something else to read up here. Maybe some good fiction. All I brought to read was this book and I did my weekly pages, and a book for the ladies’ class at church but that book is kind of dull and I have until next Sunday to read the chapter. I also read from the book of Daniel today but I did eight chapters and I’m going to save the other four for later this week. That needs to be done by my Bible study class on Wednesday night.

What else. I’m volunteering at the community theatre, running movies and videos and music outside their haunted house. Only three more nights for that. Then it will be time for Thanksgiving and Christmas! What a year it has been.

I’m tired of this conference and of Tulsa. I want to go home. But they won’t be done until after 6 pm. Sigh.

Conference afterglow

I went to the 2019 Spring Conference for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators of Oklahoma this weekend. Originally I was planning to not go. I hadn’t even updated my membership, even though I was still doing some publicity work for the group. I was very blah about the whole thing, and I couldn’t seem to get anything published. Writing was at a stall. I wasn’t even going to my SCBWI Oklahoma meetings, even though I’d always enjoyed them. I went to critique group, but it was a big challenge to go.

So I had a dream, and out of that dream came the idea for the novel I am about to begin writing. I was trying to feel more enthusiastic and writers-ly, so I invited the best writer friend I’ve got, Kim, over to talk publishing and stuff. So we hung out and talked, and she invited me to stay with her during the conference (it was in Tulsa). So I went and registered.

And then she texted me that night, super apologetic, that I couldn’t stay with her after all (for a really good reason so it was all good, but I didn’t know what to do then). Rooms were really high, and the idea of driving to Tulsa sounded so gross. Plus, my family were headed into their weekend crisis time, with one child needed rides to one place and another needed to go other places, and the eldest (who can drive) at work so she couldn’t always be there. Plus I had to get stuff ready for the theater in town by Saturday and I had a whole church lesson to get ready for my children’s church class. And there was a ladies lunch after church and I needed to bring food for that and suddenly going seemed a WHOLE LOT HARDER than staying and so I decided to stay home.


I had told our regional advisor that I would work the registration table, like I always do, and so I needed to text her and bow out gracefully. She immediately asked if it was about the hotel cost and I said kinda, but there was the other stuff too, and then she invited me to share a room with her and the ARA. For nothing. Just couchsurf with them. And even though the other stuff was still looming over head I said yes.

And it was great. I rode with Kim and stayed with the leaders. I helped a lot and the couch turned into a pullout and they invited me to eat with them several times and we got a free breakfast and I spent so little money but came away with a lot. The speakers were lovely and so fun to talk to and I got that delicious sense of camaraderie and creativity that descends on one during writing events.

So now I’m gearing up to start the new novel. I’ve been jotting down ideas in a notebook and I’m getting closer to beginning. Usually I have that perfect first line before I begin, and I’m not quite there yet, but I can feel it getting closer. I don’t have the names of the characters yet but hopefully soon.

Anyway, I got busy talking to my mom and looking at social media tools, so I’m going to get done and take care of that. And then I’m going to keep doing my plotting/planning.

Down in the depths

I am down. Depressed, I guess. I’ve been here before.

The difference this time is I know how to fix it. But I can’t. Long story short (without spilling all the gruesome details) is that I feel that I am in a place where I can no longer be true to myself, and to what I believe my soul is called to do, in order to please someone else. Good joke is that the other person isn’t even happy with my efforts anyway. Which I suspected would happen.

And I know no one reads this, really, but if someone did, it would be so obvious that of course I shouldn’t compromise my own self and well-being and basically my SOUL for anyone else. But it’s not always that simple, I guess. Or maybe it is and I’m so messed up to even understand it.

Only a small handful of people know what’s going on with me, and those that do don’t really care about my truth or what is happening to me. I’m only told that I am wrong, and I must change. Do they not understand that denying my own internal truth is destroying me? I suspect they do, but they don’t care. No one cares enough to try to really understand me. Not something I can really be mad about, since it’s rather hard to explain it myself.

But. I do know that if I allowed to just be true to myself and to my understanding of God and the universe, I am happy. Blissfully, joyfully happy, optimistic, calm, and completely full of hope and peace. But no, they tell me. I’m wrong. I’m bad. I have to stop. I have to deny it all. It doesn’t matter if that sends me spiraling into a pit of confusion and darkness.

Can you imagine having all that internal peace and joy and completeness? I never could, until I discovered it and accepted it, along with everything else in my life and existence. Now imagine finding it, and then having to leave it behind. To place it on someone else’s altar, to please them, even though you are sacrificing yourself to a place where you are only focusing on the thought that at the end of this life, you will be able to be free from the denial of your own soul. Counting down the days, almost, even though there’s no way to know how many days are left.

Anyway. I’m not talking about writing, even though writing isn’t getting any better with this tied around my neck. And now I have critique group tomorrow and a writing retreat tomorrow and I don’t want to do either. I just want to do nothing in my bed and feel sorry for myself.

Sorry this was dark and weird. Like I said, I’m not great at explaining it. But I know I found my truth…and I had to turn my back on it. And it’s pretty awful. Hopefully things will be better soon. idk.

Christmas show

So I finished the play I was adapting this weekend. It’s a version of A Christmas Carol that’s been relocated to our small Oklahoma town. It’s going to be performed at the theater here.

I’m not as stoked as I wish I was. It’s probably because I didn’t really do all that much. I just took someone else’s work and stuck a few fun things about our area into it. I also kind of took a stab at NaNo, but I had to finish the script first, so I haven’t done much. I’m at the point that I could catch up, but I don’t know if I’m going to.

I also have critique group this week, and then a writing retreat weekend, but I’m not super excited about those things either. I’ve been working so very hard to stay excited about my writing, even though professionally there hasn’t been much activity in so very long. I’m ready for some results…like seeing my name in print. Anyway, the enthusiasm is definitely waning. I don’t know what to do about that, either.


By Regina Garvie

I am not being heard
They look at me
And they hear the words
But the meaning is lost
They don’t really listen
They don’t really understand
And they don’t care anyway
And it feels like they don’t care because
What I’m feeling doesn’t matter anyway
After all, feelings can’t be counted on
We have to have faith
Not feelings
Even though I’m not even sure how to separate the two
Perhaps it’s a secret
That you need a Y chromosome for
(And I wanted to write penis
But I’m trying to not be offensive)
They say that I’m divisive but I don’t want to be
I just want to be heard
If you really want to know what’s going on inside of me
And listen
Because I’m saying it
But no one hears
no one listens


Poetry hour

So yeah, I decided I’m going to publish the poems here. I don’t think they’ll be seen by that many people. That’s not my intention anyway.

Honestly, I wanted to reread the first day one a couple of times this week, and I couldn’t, because it was only on my computer. So I figured I might as well blog them and then I can go read them when I want to. Also, makes my blog a little more lively so woohoo.

I went and saw my agent speak this weekend. She did really great. And we hung out for an hour or so and just talked and ate stuff and it was super cool. Now I have some ideas of what I need to do. Got me back on track, I think.

I still gotta write this Christmas play but then I’m going to write all the things. Including some brand new things.

Keep writing, Regina.

Writer dreaming

Writer Dreaming
By Regina Garvie

A published author
That elusive title that slips through my fingers
Like salt spilling on the floor
So alive and full of flavor
And almost mine
But not
Tonight I saw my agent speak
She read her book, she was applauded
I felt no sorrow, only gladness
At her, her success, her happiness
But now, quiet, alone, I remember
The pain this week when all my author friends
Talked and laughed
About the festival they were speaking at
The event they were all a part of
And I felt left out
Like a junior high me by myself in a crowd
Surrounded, but alone
They didn’t mean to do it
I know that
But it still was a stark reminder
Of what they are
And what I’m not
I want what they have
I want what my agent has
I want what my agent’s other clients have
My words – my worlds on paper
Hard cover. Dust jacket.
Spine cracking as I pull it open and
The scent of my dreams
My name on the cover
My dedication in the front
My thanks in the back
My life on every page
And my turn at last!
My friends at my signing
At my reading
At my launch party
Reading my words
And telling me that they like them.
That they like them.
Because liking my words, my dreams, my worlds
Would be everything.
But not yet.
Not yet.
And so I wait.
And I write.
And sometimes I cry
But sometimes I don’t.
Keep writing, Regina.
Keep hoping
Keep praying
Keep waiting.
Keep writing.
Keep writing.
Keep writing.