Cindy on April 10th, 2011
You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” ~Franklin P. Jones
Conducting a home-based business with little ones underfoot is rarely easy, whether you’re designing jewelry or writing for the local paper. What happens when your child really needs you, but you’re trying to meet an impossible deadline? How do you stop worrying about your clients when you should be focusing on your family?
In this week’s “No Place Like Home” column on Royal Oak Patch, I share some of my early struggles to balance motherhood with freelance writing, plus some new and timely advice from parenting experts. Click here to read it.
Cindy on June 23rd, 2008
I’m always on the lookout for books on the craft of writing to recommend to new writers in my workshops. My shelves are crammed with old favorites like Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Brenda Ueland’s If You Want to Write. But it’s not easy to find helpful books for those who want to learn what it’s really like to be a freelancer typing alone at home, maybe in a terrycloth bathrobe…. So I’m happy to share a new title, Sixty Candles: Reflections on the Writing Life, which was published this year to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the American Society of Journalists and Authors, the nation’s leading organization for professional freelancers.
Written by ASJA members, Sixty Candles lights the way with dozens of short essays — some reflective, some informative — on the ups and downs of the freelance writing life. Everything a new writer needs to know, from how to cope with isolation to the thrill of breaking into that first glossy magazine, is shared between these covers. (The book includes a short essay of mine on dealing with rejection.)
“Never lose faith in freelancing,” writes Norman M. Lobsenz, an ASJA founding member. “It is a tough business, and not getting easier to survive in electronic times. Yet somewhere along the way each of us has learned to have faith in our skills and in our selves.” Â If you’re serious about writing for top newspapers and magazines, this book is worth your time and $14.95. -- Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on June 4th, 2008
Lately I’ve been hearing from a lot of readers who are new to my work. If you stumbled on something I wrote elsewhere and liked it enough to stop by, I’m happy you did!
I’m a card-carrying homebody and freelance writer who’s always on the lookout for the sacred in the suburban. I’ve traveled extensively in this country and abroad — only to find that my quirky hometown is the absolute coolest place to be. Last year, I was appointed to my local public library‘s first honorary Writer-in-Residence position, which means I get to fulfill my longtime dream of sharing my favorite books and the craft of writing with others in my community.
Focusing primarily on home, family, and women’s issues, I specialize in personal essays and lifestyle columns. Early in my journalism career, I worked for a reference book publisher and freelanced for several publications. I also spent six years editing a small bed-and-breakfast travel magazine.
After writing a weekly “slice of life” column for 12 years for our local daily newspaper, I discovered that personal columns and essays were the perfect vehicle for reaching others who were also looking for the beauty in the ordinary; the truth in everyday experience. It was one of the best assignments I’ve ever had. For one thing, I could do most of the writing at home while my only child was in grade school. Secondly, the weekly deadlines challenged me to look beyond newsworthy events for small miracles and epiphanies in my daily efforts.
Weeding my perennial garden, for instance, I would suddenly unearth an early memory of my grandparents’ backyard in Detroit. Baking bread in my kitchen while U.S. military forces bombed Baghdad, I renewed my commitment to being a peacemaker in my own community. And while recovering from two major surgeries, I realized how many of life’s fundamental gifts and simple pleasures I had taken for granted.
I live in a 1920s Tudor-style home on a boulevard where the trees are as old as the houses, and the houses always need some renovation or repair. But everyone here appreciates character — in houses and people. I work in a small room — yes, a real home office — with a nice view of the neighborhood. And while I like to think of it as a room of my own, the truth is, I share it periodically with my husband, son, and two cats.
I’ve always believed that the personal is the political, and that what happens in our own homes has a ripple effect on the rest of our world. I write daily to discover what I believe, how I think. And I’m truly grateful for the opportunity to reach others who are also struggling to fit all the pieces together.
My essays and feature stories have appeared in over 50 different publications, from Catholic Digest to Reader’s Digest to Writer’s Digest. Through my inspirational writings, I’ve met a lot of wonderful people from many different faiths who cherish their families and boast an abiding respect for community. My goal is simple: To continue a dialogue with these people, adding what I hope will be a supportive voice on the journey. I post new essays at least once a week in addition to random blogs or updates on my Writer-in-Residence programs. So please come back often — and let me know what you think in the comment space, or send me an e-mail. – Cindy La Ferle
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A favorite quote: “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.” -- Annie Dillard
Cindy on April 10th, 2008
There’s an interesting article on “mommy blogs” in the 4/10 edition of The Wall Street Journal. Frankly, I’m not quite sure what to make of the mommy-blog phenomenon. (For starters, as another commentator suggested, the use of the word “mommy” here is a bit condescending — as if there’s something small or inferior about motherhood?) But really, it’s the privacy issue — the blazing lack of boundaries — that disturbs me. And I wonder: do younger mothers today lack real-life friends with whom to share their deepest personal issues? Is blogging just an antidote to our boredom or isolation or loneliness?
In the interest of full disclosure, I blog occasionally too. I’ve also written about my family in newspaper and magazine columns, which aren’t exactly private. My son was barely nine when I was assigned to write what my features editor described as “a slice of life” column for our local daily newspaper.
“Write about things that typical suburban families can relate to,” the editor said. While I didn’t like to think there was anything typical about my small family of three, the chance to rehash everyday epiphanies and preserve memories in newsprint initially seemed like a journalistic coup — the perfect beat for a work-at-home mom.
This was back in the day before the blog, so the thought of reaching 16,000 people every week was pretty heady. I’d already published articles and personal essays in several national magazines, but my byline was hardly a household name. A weekly column would change that, at least locally. Of course, not everyone bothered to read the lifestyles section in which I appeared, and not everyone was keenly interested in the poetics of keeping house. But before long, I had established a small but faithful Sunday readership — just enough to help me earn the title of local writer and reap some recognition in the produce aisles and the post office.
Writing about real life — my real life — turned out to be a great way to work through some prickly domestic issues I’d been grappling with, plus I got paid to do my thinking on paper. It further proved that, despite all the laundry and the carpooling, I also had an inner life. But it didn’t occur to me, at first, that personal writing made public could be a tad self-indulgent if you get too careless — or that what you might consider a charming family anecdote could mean nothing less than lunchroom hell to your kid. My son, who was in grade school then, was the first to expose the hubris in all of this.
“If you’re going to write about me, you better get it right or don’t publish it,” he exploded after I wrote about the time I discovered a sticky stockpile of empty soda pop cans under his bed. The column, which had mercilessly trashed the housekeeping habits of little boys, also chronicled my terror upon discovering that one of the pop cans hosted a small colony of honey bees. I had also stretched the facts a bit, implying that my son was keeping the bees as pets. This infuriated him. Everyone else thought the piece was hysterical, but my son’s pride was wounded, especially after his teacher brought it up in class the following Monday.
Another time, when he was 10, he pointed out that I had misquoted him in a piece that, in my view, was flattering to him. I tried to explain that it’s not easy for mothers or writers to quote accurately from memory, unless they diligently record every scrap of conversation in a notebook. But the jig was up. Feeling used, he was rightfully suspicious of my motives.
We came to a critical juncture when my son reached middle school. In a fit of total ignorance, I’d made a passing reference to the fact that he had dressed as Spock from “Star Trek” one Halloween. After the offending paragraph appeared in the paper, I was told that I did not have permission — or the right — to write about his personal business. I had no idea that Halloween costumes qualified as personal business, but of course, it wasn’t really about the costume.
“I wish you’d quit writing about me,” he repeated, fighting tears as he ran upstairs. “I don’t want to ruin your job, but that’s just how I feel!”
It was a very brave thing to say, since he knew he had posed a serious dilemma: The small-but-faithful readership had made it clear that the “kid columns” were my best stuff and they wanted more. So I was momentarily caught off guard. Hadn’t I been too careful all along? I was already worried that I’d be dismissed as a wimpy journalist, usually eschewing hot-button topics. It’s true that I always tried to render emotionally honest stories — yet I published what most writers would consider safe material, knowing full well that my son had to face the village at school while I hid behind a desk at home. Even from a personal angle, I avoided the sort of brutal honesty I’d been reading in the work of other essayists and newspaper columnists. I routinely read my columns aloud to my husband before sending them to the paper, just to ensure the pieces weren’t too revealing, too invasive. But I hadn’t done the same with our son.
And so, after our tearful talk at the top of the stairs, I decided to honor my son’s request and agreed to a temporary ban on the kid columns. The ban was lifted in high school after my son grew thicker skin and facial hair. But I still avoided forbidden material, tempting though it was, including his budding relationship with a girl at school. (As testament to my prudence, his first car accident was quietly resolved without a single paragraph in the Sunday paper.)
Today, while I am a fan of literary memoirs, I can’t help but wonder how the more candid (i.e., brutally frank/angry) material is being tolerated by the authors’ children. As much as I admire courageous, confessional writing, I get squeamish when too much is revealed about youngsters who, like my son, might be melting in the spotlight while their moms negotiate story fees. So much depends, I realize, on where the work is published — and when (or if) the authors’ children see it. But kids aren’t stupid; they know when their every move is being scrutinized.
The dilemma still haunts me; still nags at my conscience. Yet this much I know for sure: Too much of our culture is fueled by celebrity. We all want more than our 15 minutes of fame and a terrific agent. (Are we terrified of being invisible?) But after two decades of professional writing, it occurs to me now that the most important stories are those imprinted on our hearts. And maybe it’s just as well to keep some of those stories to ourselves.
Having spent the last 19 years of motherhood trying to teach my son the importance of respecting boundaries, I’ve finally learned how to respect his. And thanks to my son’s willingness to express his own feelings honestly, I have learned how to strike a compromise between my desire for recognition and his need for privacy. Before hitting the send button, I also pause to consider the motivation behind every single piece I publish about him. – Cindy La Ferle
—Parts of this essay were originally published on Literary Mama.com and in MetroParent magazine.—
Conducting a home-based business with little ones underfoot is rarely easy, whether you’re designing jewelry or writing for the local paper. What happens when your child really needs you, but you’re trying to meet an impossible deadline? How do you stop worrying about your clients when you should be focusing on your family?
