How to Change a Name
What happens when Jenn Langefeld actually means failed writer? I imagined stepping into editorial meetings and my real name slipping out. “Oh, you’re her? Scratch that contract.”
Jenn Langefeld graduated from Calvin in 2006 and charged into a life of full-time novel writing. She is currently working on an exuberant, adventurous trilogy for middle grade readers. She writes under her great-grandmother’s name, Lucy Flint, and blogs about making a lionhearted writing life at lucyflint.com.
A Vertebrate’s 6 Rules to Remapping a Life
But as I relax into it, the mix of sensations becomes oddly soothing. I think of my spine letting go of its wanderlust ideas and settling back to where it’s meant to be.
The One That Made It
I spent a lot of second grade working on damp purple worksheets and trying not to think about my feet. Because once I started thinking about my feet, I couldn’t stop.
How to Wait for a Train
But letting go of all those demands emptied me out, and the process of refilling with the right things—that’s what’s taking so much time.
How to Go, and How to Stay
I lived in a little southern Illinois town with my nose pressed against a window. I hated second grade, with its D’Nealian script, phonics dittos, and dodgeball.
8 Reasons Why I’m Glad I’m Not Published
Eight years ago yesterday, I announced I was a novel writer. So February 22 is Decision to Write Day, and I bust out the cake.
The Best Way to Skip Resolution-Making
Before one of our visits, she announced that while we were there, she wanted to have a List Party. With a cake. As soon as she said list party, the idea grew legs. Wings. We all said, Absolutely yes.
Room
The more I think about it, the more a purge seems like acceptable Advent behavior. Wasn’t God’s son plunked into a feeding trough because there wasn’t room in the right place?
A Tale of Rescue
The book patted my hand. “Let’s keep talking,” it said. “We can fix all that.”
No, Seriously: Who’s On First?
Why is baseball season so eternal? And why does each game last so long? Give me a narrative, for goodness’ sake. Something engaging I can latch onto.
I Must’ve Skipped a Step
Did I miss something when I grew up? Was there some native knowledge dancing on the polleny wind that somehow blew past me (because I was inside with a stack of library books)?
Aunthood
What is she thinking? You hope she approves of you. You touch her nose, her thin eyebrows, her fuzzy black hair. You trace her perfect ears.
Some Garlic Sizzling in Oil
I need to find a farmers’ market for writers, where I can pick up armfuls of raw paper, measure out markers and pens. Bring home the overflowing crates and get to work. I’ll chop the paragraphs and dice adjectives (pick out the stray adverbs that fell in).
