Ta-da! Welcome to my Brand New Website.

In fact, if you have read this far, then you have likely already arrived and are seeing it in its brand-new glory, with its lovely fonts and clean pages. And photos. Ever so many photos. Of me. (More on that shortly).

Welcome. I’m delighted you’re here, and delighted and grateful that this website has been created, a process that has taken Some Time–largely because of me.

But this post is not about that. Neither is it about me. Instead, I want (again) to welcome you here. Welcome! When you’ve finished reading this post, please take time to explore. Click on all the site’s click-able links, read the various blurbs. Sign up for my newsletter (details about the newsletter in a later post). Check out the countdown (at the bottom of the home page) to my next book’s release. Peruse old blog posts you may have missed. And just generally enjoy yourself.

I think you’ll agree that it’s a beautiful website. I can freely say that because, like you, I am (mostly) on the receiving end here. I didn’t make this website. Not really. Not (hardly) at all.

Shanna

Instead, first credit for this creation goes to Shanna Stevenson, my daughter-in-law. Without her, I never would have thought of getting a website. I would have continued happily–as I had for years–with my blog: a place to craft and then post short pieces of writing; to talk about my book(s), among other things; to write in a public space on the off-chance that someone would want to read it.

I never bothered much about the blog’s appearance because, truth be told, design is not my thing. No, the blog–for me–was always about the writing.

But Shanna understood it differently. A great fan of my work, she convinced me that it was worthy of a beautiful platform. “You’ve already got the content,” she said, by which she meant the writing. What’s more, she pointed out, you have a book to sell. On-line presence is pre-eminent, she said. Your work needs an honest-to-goodness website.

And so the idea for this site began.

Joy

Yes, I had the words, but a website of words might actually just be the blog I already had. I would be needing pictures.

Enter Joy, a beloved friend from CrossFit, partner for a workout or two (or six) in a competition in fall of 2017. The kind of gym friend who always has me lingering for at least an extra twenty (or forty) minutes after class because we just have so much to talk about.

And also a stellar photographer.

But not just a stellar photographer. Joy is the kind of photographer who can almost (very nearly) make you forget you are getting your picture taken–and this was something I needed, because having my picture taken (in various places and poses) for the better part of two hours made me feel weird.

I know, I know. Millennials do photo shoots with their friends All The Time. What’s the big deal? And I shouldn’t be so self-conscious.

But I am no millennial, and I am self-conscious–maybe not about many things, but very definitely about having my picture taken. Again. And again.

Somehow, Joy knew how to get me to pose without feeling like I was posing. She got me to laugh or to reflect, to shift my posture to make it look natural. To think about other things so that the expressions on my face were genuine. In truth, she made the entire process a pleasure.

It was two hours of her time for the photos, and then who knows how many hours for the editing, but the results are pretty stellar. Which is a reason why there are so many of them on this website.

Toban

Still, the website would not exist At All if it were not for Toban of Penner Web Design. His was expertise I desperately needed. Left to my own understanding, my website would be a barely customized template with occasional personal photos plugged in here and there. Its information would be haphazard in presentation. It wouldn’t guide the viewer or feature anything in particular.

But from the outset, Toban knew the questions to ask about my work and my hopes for it. And he is experienced such that he knew what to include and highlight. In fact, our conversations at the beginning were as much about marketing as they were about websites.

And yet it wasn’t long at all before the website was taking shape. I really trusted him more than myself about most decisions, but he was nonetheless readily responsive to my questions. When something needed an adjustment, he often fixed it before I’d had a chance to check for his answer in my inbox. And from my collection of favorite photos, Toban distributed them across the website such that they are a good reflection of who I actually am. This helps so much (So Much) when it comes to that whole self-conscious thing I mentioned earlier.

And Me

Really, it’s the self-conscious thing–the Me thing–that, if anything, has been the problem. I am the one who delayed this project that was born (way back) in April.

April. That’s more than six months ago.

But when Toban was needing text (and he needed text, as you’ll see from your perusal of the website), I was dragging my feet. I like to write, yes. The production of text, per se, is not difficult for me. But writing “About Me,” or crafting blurbs about the book I wrote or the book I’m writing–these things trip me up. Knowing these are “due” can make me suddenly busy in all sorts of other directions.

And then there’s this other bit–the many (many) pictures of me. I’m self-conscious about those, too. Should there be so many? What difference does it make where I live or what I look like when it comes to the words on the page (or screen)? Writing is writing, and you like it if you like it. You could conceivably find me annoying or even hate my guts and still appreciate Healing Maddie Brees.

But here is where your marketing, website designing experts can help you; this is what the best photographers know; and this is what the millennials–even your old-soul, profoundly wise daughter-in-law–might open your eyes to: we live in a visual age. And maybe, to some extent, the whole world always has. What’s the adage? A picture is worth a thousand words, or something like that.

Here’s my hope: that this website makes you feel welcome. That, stopping here, you know I am grateful you’ve come. That regardless of who or where you are, there are ideas here that interest and hold you, ideas that might start a conversation–on these pages, or with a friend, or even in your own head.

So when you see my face on (almost) every page, hear, too, what I’m saying: Hi. Welcome. Thanks so much for being here.

The post New Website! A Tale of Shanna, Joy and Toban (and Me) appeared first on Rebecca Brewster Stevenson.

Here is the post-workout photo of the amazing people I did Murph with this year. See how everyone is smiling? That’s because it’s over.

Day four, and I’m still sore.

Not bragging. Not complaining. Just saying.

We are four days out from the workout known as Murph, and I am still sore.

What is Murph, you say?

Murph is a workout named for Michael Patrick Murphy, a navy SEAL killed in Afghanistan in 2005. He was awarded the Medal of Honor–the U.S. military’s highest decoration–and he lost his life in service to our country. Later, a workout was named in his honor.

As in many CrossFit gyms, we at Bull City CrossFit do Murph together every Memorial Day in remembrance of this soldier. It is, quite honestly, a great way to begin to imagine the endurance and dedication practiced by our military every single day.

And it’s a killer workout.

So, what exactly is Murph, you ask?

Just this: a one-mile run, followed by 100 pull-ups, 200 push-ups, 300 air-squats, and then another one-mile run.

We do a lot of difficult things in our gym. A Lot. I have been doing CrossFit for over three years now, and I still have much to learn, and all of it is hard. Many are the workouts that leave me lying on the floor, just trying to remember how to breathe.

But Murph is in a class by itself, as you can tell from its brief description, above. My husband calls it, “aggressively difficult.”

Truth.

There are lots of ways to tackle Murph, and before I go further, I will tell you that you are supposed to do it precisely as described above, in that order, one exercise at a time. But also, you are supposed to do it in a weighted vest. A 20-pound vest, to be precise. Forgot to mention that. Sorry.

This is my son Will, in the weighted vest, winning at Murph. And there’s me, way in the background in the red shirt, talking to myself about doing more push-ups.

Suffice it to say that I have never done Murph in a weighted vest. Neither have I done Murph straight through, as described. Instead, I do the run and then I break the exercises into pieces, like so: 5 pull-ups, 10 push-ups, 15 air-squats. Repeat. Twenty times.

Aaaand another mile-run.

(still sore)

You could break it into smaller increments (say 2 pull-ups, 4 push-ups, 6 air-squats), if you wanted, and then do more rounds (in that case, 50 of them).  Or you can go for the gusto (and potential serious muscle fatigue) and do it straight. (Some people are fit enough for that.) Whatever you choose, I can tell you this for certain: There will come a time in the midst of your Murph workout that you will wonder how you will ever possibly finish.

There’s only one answer to that nagging question: You keep going.

At the gym we have names for workouts like Murph: they’re called “chippers.” The idea is simple; I’m sure you already get it. You just keep chipping away at the workout. You just keep doing your reps. Who cares if this is round 8 or round 18? You’re not finished until you’re done, so you might as well keep going.

Need to breath a second? Fine. Need to talk your legs into squatting before you commence with that (again)? Have that conversation. Need to remember you have arms (and where you left them) before you grab the bar? Sounds like an excellent idea.

But whatever you do, just keep chipping away. Just keep going. Just do the next thing until you run out of things. And then go run your (second) mile.

That’s the thing about endurance– a thing that soldiers know, and athletes, and (sometimes–here it comes) writers. The only way to endure something is to, well, endure.

***

Once upon a time, I wrote a book. A novel, to be precise. The book is 300 pages long–but unlike my comprehension of Murph and its scope, I didn’t know–going in–how long it was going to be.

Instead, I knew (for the most part) what the book had to say. I knew the general plot-line, and the characters (mostly). But there were many (many) moments, descriptions, even conversations that I didn’t know were going to be in there. I discovered their necessity as the writing unfolded.

Sometimes these developments frustrated me. I thought I knew where I was going, and I wanted to get to the end. These new necessities felt like delays, but it was a disservice to the story as a whole to skip them.

As I got closer to the end, I would imagine finishing. Heading into a full day of writing, I would convince myself that today was the day I would finish. The story and its necessaries were clear and tidy in my head. It was only a question of writing it all down–and seriously, how long could that take?

But I was only right about that one time: I only truly finished writing the book once.

Now I’m writing another book, one that is simpler than the last. More on that later, but suffice it to say that I have a clear and detailed outline, and I know where I’m going.

Still, it’s happened to me already: my vision so clear, my confidence so hopeful, that I sit down to write thinking today is the day I will finish this chapter.

So often (almost always), it isn’t.

It turns out that, like so many CrossFit workouts, writing a book is a chipper. You sit down to work with the whole of the project in your head, but you pick just one little place to start. You work on that, you develop those ideas, and you finish that one bit. If you have more time, you write some more, and maybe you finish that part, too.

Either way, you chip away at it: a section, a paragraph, a sentence at a time. There’s no other possible way to get it done.

And someday you actually finish.

Because truly (I must remind myself), writing a book is a game of endurance. It’s going to take a long time–and a lot of solitude, and quiet, and keeping yourself squarely in front of your laptop/your notepad/whathaveyou–to come to the end.

I only learned this by writing a book, mind you. And maybe also from CrossFit.

The post A Post in Which I Explain How CrossFit and Writing are Basically Exactly The Same appeared first on Rebecca Brewster Stevenson.