Finding Time For What You Love: Guest Post by Author Renee des Lauriers

Check out her book on Amazon!

A good writing buddy is precious. It's the rare combination of a sympathetic ear, a cheerleader, and a friendly but firm kick in the pants. Renee has been that for me and more. The other day I called her up and we chatted about our lives and writing and how we both wish we lived closer together. She was about to get on an airplane when I asked if she would like to do a guest post for my blog. Like a boss, she wrote this on the plane and sent it to me a few hours later. Behold, the life of a published author:

It started on a purple couch with a dream, caffeine and a blank computer screen. It continued with fierce word wars, the pattering taps on keyboard keys with loud coffee slurps and furrowed eyebrows. It was the birth of my first novel. A novel that was more than just a novel. It was the dream that survived from childhood-the dream of a dyslexic girl struggling to prove that she was as smart as everyone else. A girl who had entire landscapes and characters and worlds to share if only she could get them out of her mind and on to the blank page.

How do writers write? How do they do it? I know that I can't speak for everybody but I can certainly say that I wouldn't be able to do it without my writing buddies, Naomi des Lauriers and Laurel Nakai. There is something about hearing their fingers moving across keyboards, a sound as many and plentiful as rain that really lets me know that I need to get moving already.

Now that I am on the other side of America, figuring out what I want from life on the desert sands of Las Vegas, I find myself stuck. So begins my writers block and a settling in to non-writing.

"it's so easy to forget what we are made of and what we can do when we are drowning in life's minutiae."

It's not that dreams die. They just get buried in responsibilities- those everyday things like shopping for food and paying the electric bill so that the power won't get shut off and keeping lint off the carpet. It isn't that those things are more important than passion, it's just that it's so easy to forget what we are made of and what we can do when we are drowning in life's minutiae.


There's something so necessary about having supportive people in your life. I was blessed to have the best sort of friends-the sort who believed in my dreams and supported me in the day to day fight not to give in to trivialities and time wasters, but to instead give to those things that I believe in and want most.

Stuck in the day to day grind, it's easy to forget what writing has added to my life. I shot my first gun so that I could know what it felt like and capture the experience accurately in ink. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and made Dunkin Donuts employees vaguely uncomfortable all in the name of art. It was all in order to accurately capture the spirit of the zombie apocalypse.

I remember when Hurricane Sandy hit in fall and the power went out, Naomi and I lit up hundreds of candles and started writing through it. I remember writing on line at the bank, on buses, in hot tubs, in food courts at casinos. I wrote on Laurel's couch so often that I sincerely hope that she never sells it as so much of my sweat and passion and coffee spills have seeped into the fabric.I am writing these very words above the clouds on a Spirit airplane.

"whatever it is that you love to do, do it."

Writing is an act of creation. It is taking something intangible from the hidden recesses of the mind then ripping it forth into the real world and down upon paper. I know that writing is not for everybody. For others it could be cooking, jogging, photography or gardening. I just hope that for every person out there, whatever it is that you love to do, do it. Do it every day, even if it's just for five minutes. Even if it's just for one. Because having that something adds a spice and a wonder to life that wouldn't be there without that individual take on the world. It makes me not merely exist, but live. So, from far away I'm holding on to my writing buddies and holding on to my dreams one word at a time.

Renee des Lauriers is the author of The Oxygen Factory (Sunbury Press, Inc.) She resides in Las Vegas, where she teaches high school English and raises chinchillas. 

The Power of Grief

This year, I lost my grandmother, an aunt, a family friend who was like an uncle, a high school classmate, and remembered the one year anniversary of a good friend’s passing. This happened all within a span of about four months. It was as if the Universe was holding back tragedy, only to have it spill over all at once. I can see now, that these and other events significantly contributed to my stress and a slow but steady spiral into depression, but at the time I couldnt fathom what was happening. I felt like the world around me was speeding past, while I was sloshing through mud, desperately trying to gain a foothold. By mid July, I was at the bottom of a pit, not knowing how I had gotten there or how to pull myself out.

It’s been a gradual process, a rope made of self-care, support from family and friends, therapy, and self expression. I am by no means an expert and I know that everyone has their own unique way of grieving. I consider myself an optimist, not in the sense that I’m happy all the time, but that even in the midst of tragedy I try to find something positive that I can take from it. For better or worse, I try to tease out the silver lining. So I was thinking about it the other day, what does grief have to teach me?

Here is what I have learned so far:

I’ll never be the same

I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but it’s true. I thought that grief was something you heal from, a period of time that you struggle through before you get back to normal. Grief changed me. Which isn't to say that I am some unrecognizable version of myself, but that when something so significant happens, the remnants of it stay with you. There is no going back to before, because before will always be a time when your loved one was there.

As a child, my own extended family all lived in different states, and we saw each other once a year if we were lucky. In college however, when my grandmother began to need full time assistance, I spent a little over a month of my summer break living with her, cooking, cleaning, driving her to doctors appointments, and staying up late watching TV. I did this for a couple of years until I graduated and my younger sister took over. She was my last living grandparent, the one I had gotten to know the best, and spent the most time with.

We are blessed to be living with my in-laws at the moment. It’s been wonderful to have my own children be able to have such a close relationship with their grandparents. One day, as I was watching my children talk and play with my husband’s mother (Noni, as she’s called in our house), I was struck by the relationship between grandparent and grandchild, and I realized that since my grandmother’s death, no one would ever love me quite like that again. It was an immediate feeling of both sadness and gratitude.

This conflicting emotional state seems to be one of the defining characteristics of grief. At least for me, when I am in the midst of it, I can never define my emotions as either negative or positive. Instead, it feels like being engulfed by a tornado of ambivalence, where swirling winds toss me in different directions, all grasping for my attention at once.

I have learned to let that tornado wash over me, and to not worry about defining it. That I have no control over when it will surface is another matter.

It Tenderizes

I cannot tell you how often I have started to cry while reading a book, watching a movie, or doing random, everyday tasks. While I am normally an emotional person, the morning news (which I have largely stopped watching) can send me into a fit of tears. Grief seems to magnify and personalize everything. I feel the pangs with a stronger force. Even fictional characters throw punches at my tender heart. I have been trying to read the book The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt, for months and it’s not for lack of time or interest. When I read a beautifully heartbreaking passage, I am overcome by the tornado, and I have to put it down. It often takes days to feel that I have to built myself back up enough to continue. I’m still only a quarter of the way through.

This constant pounding on my heart, in the long run may serve to make it stronger, the way a guitarist builds up calluses on their fingers. At present though, there is raw skin and blisters.

In the wake of recent tragedies, of continued war and conflict, of so much strife and injustice, it would be easy to sink back into that dark pit. Today, and one day at a time, I am choosing to listen to the lessons grief has to teach me. Today I will choose to be more compassionate, generous, and grateful. Grateful even for the excruciating parts, because they help me empathize on a deeper level with my fellow human beings. It seems to me, that while grief is extremely personal, it may also be the emotion we can all unite around. No matter what your politics, race, nationality, religion, we all will experience loss at some point. We will all be shaken to our core. We will all be changed, hopefully for the better.

To my grandmother, who would have turned 99 this month, and to all of those loved and lost, your life and your death continue to shape mine.

I love you.