Tag: #Writer

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Dear Younger Jen,

Jen Sinclair

Hi! I know you won’t believe this, but I’m you many, many, MANY years in the future. Right now, you’re probably sitting cross-legged in our upstairs bedroom on Westminster Drive, surrounded by dolls and stuffed animals, dreaming up adventures for them. Crafting intricate plots, like the time you had Barbie’s friend Whitney talk her into sneaking out of the dreamhouse (the one you made out of a cardboard box) to steal a ride on Pegasus before Megan woke up. You see, Megan didn’t trust Whitney to take care of Pegasus, so going behind her back was the only way Whitney could get what she wanted.

You always did have a penchant for drama. For the push and pull between good and evil. For the little unexpected twist. For the ending that was only satisfying when the heroine realized she had the power to save herself and others the whole time. All she had to do was go through hell to figure it out.

I guess that’s why you really were born to be a writer. Not a pediatrician or an astrophysicist or an astronomer like you once believed.

You will eventually want to be a writer. You’ll realize that you can be anything inside the stories you create. So you’ll start writing them down. Short stories, screenplays, and eventually a novel. You won’t share a single thing for a very long time because you won’t feel like you’re any good at it. But you’ll keep writing, keep creating, keep growing.

Until one day, you’ll decide to be brave. You’ll find a community. You’ll meet friends who support you. And though you’ll go through lots of rejection, you’ll eventually choose to listen to your voice. The one that started where you are right now. The one that believed you could do anything and be anything.

And you’ll do it.

Because today, you became a published author. And that world inside your head seeped out so others could experience it as you imagined.
It may be later than you thought. It may be different than you wanted. But here we are. Doing it. Living the dream.

And it is so worth the work and the wait.

Love,

Older Jen
Author of There’s Always a Price
Available on Amazon

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What do you write?

Jen Sinclair

Aside from scary movies and haunted houses, nothing terrifies me more than someone asking me this: “What do you write?”

I mean, come on. I should be able to answer this since it’s literally what I spend hours doing every single day. But that’s not what happens. Instead, I give a nervous chuckle and then mumble and muddle through a very awful explanation.

So, what do I write? The genre I fit best in is women’s fiction. Yes, it’s an archaic term, but no one has found a good alternative. This genre has a unique feature compared to most others: the plot is advanced by the character’s emotional journey and ultimate change. While characters in many genres undergo some change at various times, they aren’t driven by it. Instead, they’re usually swept up in a huge issue happening outside them. In mysteries, it’s the crime. In romance, it’s the love interest. In horror, it’s the scary monster that’s chasing the main character.

In women’s fiction, the monster is an internal wound deeply seated in the main character long before the reader ever meets them. It gives the character a belief, or rather a misbelief, about the world and usually about themself. This misbelief directs everything the character does from the first page through the story.

Events happening outside the character—the plot—force them to apply their flawed logic. This is where subgenres like thriller, mystery, paranormal, and suspense come in. THERE’S ALWAYS A PRICE has a romantic subplot. But the heart of the story is driven by Cassie and her misbelief that bad things happen when she chooses something she really wants.

So what do I write exactly? I love writing complicated and morally gray characters. I drop them in uncomfortable and entertaining situations and put them through hell all so they hopefully come out better in the end. They fumble and fall; they fail and succeed; they have moments of clarity and then regress into their wounded selves. In short, they’re human. And while growth and change are the goals, how they get there is where the real magic of the story happens. Kind of like life.

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These are just words

Jen Sinclair

As I prepare to launch my first book, I’ve been mulling over different ways to connect with readers. One suggestion was to create a newsletter to reach inboxes. It makes sense because while social media platforms may come and go (or change the algorithms) most of us will use the same email address forever.

This strategy presented me with a couple of problems. First, how would I, who is fairly inept at tech stuff create a newsletter? And second, what the hell would it even be about? The second problem proved harder to fix than the first (because I can do hard things when I’ve got YouTube to guide me). Coming up with a concept that would appeal to a wide audience, while remaining entertaining took a while. Especially since I held the very lofty goal of keeping it short, and for a writer this is not always easy.

But, guess what? I did it! I created a newsletter! It’s short! It’s engaging! It actually works! Don’t believe me? You should sign up and find out for yourself. Just hit the shiny new “Newsletter Sign Up” button in the footer. Or you can also click here and it will take you to the same form (though I am very proud of that Newsletter Sign Up button).

Thanks for supporting me! I’ll see you in your inbox soon. 🙂

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Grief is a gift

Jen Sinclair
Tim Lynch

It’s been a year since I woke up to missed calls and texts from my sister and mom, asking me to call as soon as I got up. Yes, mom was okay. Yes, my nephews were fine. This was about my brother, Tim.

I remember my brain interpreting, “…the police are there, and Tim’s gone,” as he was missing, and we needed to find him. Until the words, “he passed away in his sleep,” sunk in and gave way to the shock, disbelief, and denial that ushered in my old friend, grief.

I’m no stranger to it. Is anyone? Loss and grief are universal, touching every person at some point. Whether it’s the end of a relationship or a life, grief slides into the picture when someone we love leaves it.

Life changes in the shadow of death. The grief descends, darkening everything else. It’s all-encompassing and inescapable. And yet, even in the darkest of times, I’ve found comfort. Grief didn’t make me darker: it blurred out the things that were no longer important so I could see the things that were. It framed my life with the perspective that time is uncertain and that I needed to change what I could to live the life I always wanted.

So that’s what I started to do.

One year later, his death remains a bruise embedded in my heart, and the pain of his absence throbs with every beat. But in that pain is a call to action to love harder, appreciate more, and live with a greater purpose, and to share this message:

Grief is a gift.
It moves me to feel.
It pushes me to breathe.
It wants me to live.
It reminds me I’m strong.
It grants me courage.
It fills me with hope.
It wipes away doubt.
It encourages my dreams.
It slows my anger.
It renews my faith.
It inspires me to live.

The best way I can honor my brother is to embrace the life that comes with grief. As long as I talk about him, write about him, paddle his kayak, crank up good music, dance at concerts, and live—Tim is still here. And he always will be.

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Father’s Day is hard

Jen Sinclair

I dread Father’s Day. Not because I don’t like showering my amazing husband with love and attention and gifts (although I am by far the inferior gift-giver in our relationship). Celebrating him is the easy part. It’s the other father stuff that creeps in and makes it suck.

My father died seven years ago, but our relationship ended long before that. It had become a difficult one, marked by a final shouting match many years before his death in which I went low and he went lower. We hadn’t talked in a very long time due to those big emotions that often rule in relationships like ours, namely pride and anger. Pride kept him from accepting any apology I attempted, because how dare I say that thing to him. Anger came to my rescue because how could I not say it after what he said.

It wasn’t until I was sitting by his hospice bed, the bubbling of his breath the only indication that there was still life in him, that I realized all that anger was grief in disguise. The years I spent resenting him because he let me down. The time I wasted wondering what I ever did to make him not love me. The memories I swallowed because I didn’t understand why there weren’t more. I finally understood what they all meant. My father gave me what he could. He simply wasn’t capable of being what I wanted or needed or deserved. And while it wasn’t my fault, or maybe even his, it was the truth.

So in the hours before his rattling breath stopped, I put down some of that heavy baggage, took his hand, and told him I understood. In those moments alone with him, I turned away from anger and leaned into gratitude. I thanked him for being my dad and for giving me so many gifts:

My brothers and sisters who are some of my best friends;

My mom whose unconditional love more than made up for the absence of his; and

My life.

The tender bruise etched in my heart will always burst with fresh pain whenever I wonder what it might have been like if things were different and if he was different. But the lessons I learned from him, both the good and especially the bad, have helped make me the person and the parent I am today.

So thanks, Dad, for always having quarters so I could play Pacman. Thanks for taking me to get my driver’s license and teaching me about baseball, football, over-medium eggs, and French toast. And thanks for giving me life. Happy Father’s Day.

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How someone else’s book launch party launched me

Jen Sinclair

You are one decision away from an entirely different life. 

I’ve scribbled this Mel Robbins quote at least a dozen times since I came across it. I understand how one choice is all it takes to change the trajectory of a life. While I have many examples, bad and good, the one that springs to mind revolves around a book launch party.

I should start by saying that I am a true introvert who needs time alone to recharge and avoids new social situations at all costs. But a year ago, I promised to stop dragging my feet and make my writing a priority in 2022. When Tammy, a local author I had met once, scheduled her book release party on January 16th, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to further my 2022 goal.

But true to my introverted nature, panic shot through my nervous system as I drove to the launch party. I willed myself to keep the car moving forward instead of slamming on the brakes and going back. While I was nervous about this new social situation, I was terrified by the prospect of derailing my writing goals yet again.

I parked around the corner from the event and called Chris, my husband. I told him I couldn’t do it. It was going to be a disaster. My hands shook. A swelling lump suffocated me. I was sweating even though it was a mild day. Chris (always the calm to my storm) reminded me why this was important for me to do. He told me how strong I was, how cool it was that I got to do this and that he would get in the car and meet me in half an hour if that’s what it would take for me to go inside.

As he talked, my legs inched closer and closer to the door. Before I hung up, I told him I could do it but made him swear not to leave the phone just in case. And then there was nothing else for me to do except step inside. So, I did.

Here’s the thing that happens when you get brave—the universe somehow catches that wave of courage, and it rewards you. For me, it came in the form of Sheila, another writer I met at the local Women’s Fiction Writers Association get-together months before. She stepped right up and introduced me to two other writers with her, Kristi and Christel.

Before I knew it, I agreed to attend a write-in (whatever that was) at Sheila’s condo the following day. I remember calling Chris on my way home, giddy and saying something like, “Not only didn’t I die, but I’m going to hang out with them again tomorrow!” I felt like a kid coming home on the first day at a new school. Meeting people with the same passion and creative energy fed my own. Plus, it was nice not to feel so alone.

At Sheila’s the next day, she, along with Kristi and Christel, encouraged (read: FORCED) me to join a virtual WFWA write-in through Zoom. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I didn’t want to do it. Before I could come up with a viable escape plan, we were all Zooming and meeting with a larger part of the WFWA tribe. And again, a decision I made (albeit via peer pressure) sent my life further down the writing path.

In the year since my first write-in, I have come so far in this writing journey, buoyed by the connection with fellow writers, in-person and across Zoom. I’m querying a book I am proud of and want people to read! I’ve published essays! I’ve cannonballed into the deep end of the freelance writing pool and am building my business and creative portfolio. 

My journey isn’t anywhere near done. In fact, it’s just getting started. But, had I not walked into that book launch party, I would have still been stuck wanting what I now have: a group of friends and writing allies who mean the world to me and for whom I will always carry a heart full of gratitude.

Remember, You are one decision away from a completely different life.

And once you make that decision and start living that life, you will never want to go back.

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The Santa picture that broke me

Jen Sinclair

We’ve all seen those silly Santa pictures and chuckled. I did, too, except I was also relieved that none of my kids behaved that way on Santa’s lap. Getting the perfect picture meant a lot to me. So much so that I would literally break a sweat making sure everyone looked as perfect as possible.

And then my youngest kid totally threw all of my planning out the window.

A month before his second birthday, I sat him on Santa’s lap, and, well … he absolutely was not having it. At all. Not even a little. And after about thirty seconds of absolute embarrassment and horror, something inside my tightly wound body snapped. It broke me. And it made me so much better.

I no longer put a whole lot of stock into catching my kids at their worst. It meant more to me that each picture captured who they were at that particular moment in their lives. My daughter’s kindergarten picture day came exactly three days after she launched herself from the swingset and scraped her chin all to hell. My oldest’s third-grade picture day happened right after his dad shaved his head down to the scalp. My youngest has blessed us with some of the most memorable pictures purely by being his emotive self.

Insider gave me the chance to talk about how that Santa picture broke me and made me better. I now have a deeper appreciation for those snaps that capture authenticity rather than obsessing over the appearance of perfection.

Did you have a moment like this in your parenting journey? I would love to hear about it if you do.

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Divorce as a SAHM

Jen Sinclair

If your relationship has been declining, you may not want to consider that you’re headed toward a divorce. But this is exactly when you need to start thinking about your future without your spouse. A little preparation can go a long way in formulating and executing a successful exit strategy. This is especially crucial when you have children and no tangible financial way to independently support them.

I know a little bit about this because, in the year preceding my divorce, the alarm bells continuously sounded. Every day, there was some further sign that my marriage was ending. Soon, instead of wondering what would happen if I got a divorce, it changed to what would happen when I got a divorce. And that forced me to make some plans.

I was a stay-at-home mom then, with three kids from 10 years old down to a newborn. We didn’t have a ton of money, but not having any of my own was downright terrifying. I let the terror paralyze me for a little while until one day, I knew I had to act. If I wanted to put myself in a better financial (and mental) place to go through a separation and divorce, I needed to build up some resources.

Mother Untitled gave me some space on their website to share how I got through those trying times. Divorce is an emotional and mental rollercoaster. But doing it when you don’t have a paycheck in your name feels like you’re riding that coaster without a seatbelt. With a little planning and a few actions, you can give yourself a lap bar to provide some measure of stability during your divorce.

Do you have any pre-divorce preparation tips you wish you knew at the time?

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We’re Not Blended …

Jen Sinclair

My husband and I came into this marriage with a whole lot of battle scars and fresh divorce decrees under our belts. While we muddled through to find our footing, we dragged our combined five kids along. What could possibly go wrong? We loved each other and our kids. And isn’t that all it takes to succeed at this blended-family thing?

Nope. As it turns out we were wrong. So.Very.Wrong.

Scary Mommy gave me the chance to pull back the curtain on parenting in a more scrambled than blended situation.

Have you been successful at blending your family? Or is yours a little more scrambled and scattered like mine? Maybe you vacillate between the two. Whatever it is, I would love to hear about it. Drop me a line and let me know whether you’re killing the step-parenting gig or it’s killing you.