What Losing Control Taught Me About Life and Writing

By Maureen L. Bonatch

Happy Labor Day! Enjoy your celebration of the American worker and the unofficial end of summer with a hot dog or two. Or perhaps rebelliously declare your intention of wearing white long past the season. Sixteen years ago, this holiday took on a different meaning for me and changed my mindset despite my resistance. 

I gained two babies, and lost all my control.

In 2001 I was pregnant with twins. (The first hint of my loss of control was when my pregnancy turned out to be a BOGO.) In my obsessive Virgo control-freak mind, I decided the girls would be born on Labor Day. It made perfect sense with the play on the word “labor”. Also I would be 36-weeks pregnant that day and the girls lungs should be adequately developed.

Imagine my surprise when my water broke a week prior to Labor Day.

This Wasn’t the Plan

I’ve always liked to be in control when it comes to planning my life. My writing? Not so much, I’m what you call one of those who write by the seat of my pants. (Panster)

In order to survive twin babies I became more organized than ever. (Have you ever used a feeding and poop chart? Believe me, if you don’t, and you’re only getting a few hours of sleep then one of those munchkins isn’t going to eat while the other one eats twice!) Having the twins was only the beginning of my loss of control.

I wished for a parenting book with all the answers laid out so I knew if I was doing the right thing. That outlined how to regain the upper hand when you were outnumbered by two little munchkins who had more sleep in one day than you had in the last month.

I stressed myself out as I struggled to dress them in cute little outfits (that they immediately vomited on) and to take them out to show them off (with a entire van full of supplies for a one-hour outing) or to fit back in my pre-pregnancy clothes (Twin pregnancy=yeah right). I often felt like I was failing, until I stopped resisting.

Go With the Flow

I stopped trying to regain control and went with the flow. I stopped trying to be the perfect mom because perfection isn’t real. Despite writing fantasy and paranormal I’ve always strived to create honest, real, ordinary characters in an extraordinary world. Because when I tried to write a story without paranormal or fantasy, it felt unnatural. Once I embraced my true writing self and stopped trying to write like everyone else, my stories got better. I did the same with my girls.

I started being honest with myself about being a Mom, and with everyone else. Other moms bragged about how their kids slept all night or that they were already potty-trained. I told them the brutal truth about my struggles—and saw the change in their expression. Many were only saying what they thought people wanted to hear. They wanted to assure everyone that they were in control—when they were not. Being a good Mom takes practice, patience and admitting mistakes. I apply a similar formula when I'm writing a story.

Enjoying the Ride

My girls are 16 now and I’m proud to say that they follow the beat of their own drum and don’t try to follow the crowd. I let them have control over their life and follow their heart just like I do my characters.

Raising twin babies was hard, really hard. And writing novels is hard. Neither come with instructions, and both only become magnificent on their own when you relinquish control.

Have You Ever Had to Give Up Control? Or Do You Always Go With the Flow?

Feast your eyes on my newest 'baby', Evil Speaks Softly now available for Pre-order. 

Everyone has a story to tell. Even the dead.

They were never supposed to meet. Fame came easy for Liv by following in the footsteps of the female writers in her family. The cycle repeated for decades…until Liv changed the story. Her villain

doesn’t like the revision—and he isn’t a fictional character. In his story, the bad guy always wins.

They were never supposed to find love. Liv never questioned her demanding nocturnal muse, or the strange incidents in her old, family home until she met Gage. His job was to watch her from afar, not reveal the truth about the curse and the stories of the dead.

They’ve broken all the rules. Together they unravel secrets as they strive to stop the cycle. Liv’s ability to find love, and protect her loved ones, hangs on the fickle whims of the dead—and they’ve got nothing to lose.

Author Bio: Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four

seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line. Find Maureen on her website, Facebook & Twitter

The Paranormal in my Real Life

So, two days from now I will be having another ultrasound.  Currently, for those of you who know NOTHING about me (and really how dare you? I jest in case sarcasm isn’t my strongest suit right now.) I am 32 weeks pregnant. 

 

As I’ve talked of in other places, I do have Gestational Diabetes, which makes the end of every pregnancy a little tricky.  Before anyone worries about this too much, I do everything they say to do to handle it and my first two children are healthy, beautiful boys.

 

I tell you this not to talk about my pregnancy—actually I’m finding with the third pregnancy that my desire to talk about it almost zilch—but as a means to explain to you why I have ultrasounds every two weeks. 

 

I don’t think there could be anything more amazing, but let’s also face it, bizarre than watching my quickly growing third son on the Ultrasound machine.  The first thing they do is find the heartbeat.  I hold my breath until it shows, although I have every reason to believe the heartbeat is fine as I feel him jumping around inside of me like my internal organs are his playground. 

 

Every week, somehow, my body knows exactly how to grow the baby, how much weight to put on him, which one of his organs should develop and which ones will come in the next few weeks until ultimately we reach the end of gestation where only the lungs wait for fulfillment. 

 

If women didn’t do this every day, we would call it science fiction. 

 

Last week, Her Wolf released from Liquid Silver Books.  I didn’t have to have any ultrasounds to make sure it was healthy nor did I experience any labor pains.  But I have to admit, I worry about it—all of the time.  Do people like it?  Is anyone reading it?  Did I take good enough care of it when it was just mine to make? 

 

Hopefully, both my works in progress will continue to grow as they have been and some day I can tell baby number 3 about how he helped me publish my first novel. 

 

Best to all of you. 

 

RR