International Long Covid Awareness Day, 2023

Today is International Long Covid Awareness Day. It’s been almost a year since my first covid infection and four months from my second. I have become one of the “Millions Missing,” - someone who has developed a debilitating form of long covid - specifically, Myalgic Encephalomyalitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS).  
 
I don’t (and won’t) post regular health updates, but I am today because awareness doesn’t come from silence. There’s little research into ME/CFS, no cure, and no proven treatment plan. Raising awareness is the best tool we have for prevention, increasing advocacy, and for getting the needed funding to find appropriate treatments and a cure.

ME/CFS isn’t being tired a lot. I often am, but that’s not the problem. It’s the cardinal symptom of post-exertional malaise that keeps me from work and the activities that I love. Post-exertional malaise, or PEM, means that during or after exertion, the cells of the skeletal muscles aren’t able to produce enough energy to function normally. This is why sleep doesn’t cure the fatigue and why exercise makes this condition worse. No amount of coffee can stimulate my muscle cells into functioning correctly. (So maddening!!) Typically, it takes two or three days of bed rest to recover when I’ve over exerted myself. But after major events, such as the holidays, it can take weeks. 

In the spring of 2021, I graduated from nursing school, realizing my life long dream. I worked for only four months before getting covid. With the inability to maintain an appropriate amount of energy, I've been unable to continue pursuing my career. I hope to return to nursing next winter.


 

 

 

 

Ten ways ME/CFS impacts my life:

- It can feel like my legs will collapse beneath me, it can be hard to sit up, and hard to scroll on my phone because I don’t have enough strength.

- It’s the challenge of making a healthy meal and then being too fatigued to eat it.

- At it’s worst, it feels like my body is shutting down as if there’s not enough energy to function.

- It’s grief for the strong, active woman that I was and frustration with my inability to do the things I love and with the people I love.

- It’s frustration at being unable to contribute financially and to complete my usual household duties. There are weeks when a trip to the grocery store is too much.

- On days when I do have energy, it’s the joy of getting things done, the hope that this time I’m really getting better, and the despair that follows when I crash again.

- It’s pacing myself to preserve energy. Both to try to have enough energy to be able to make dinner at the end of the day, and resting up a day or two before social engagements to be able to participate and to decrease the recovery time.

- It’s the emotional pain of having an invisible and poorly understood disability that some people doubt, especially as I don’t often leave the house on bad days, so they only see the “good” days.

- It’s hope that I’ll get better. And fear that I won’t.

- It’s the fear for all of us as we get covid again, and again, and again.    


About five months from my first infection, I had days where I felt completely normal, but still experienced significant energy crashes every week or two. I have not yet reached that point after my second infection. But as there’s recently been a little improvement, I’m hopeful. Even though this has had a huge impact on my life, I’m still lucky - many people who developed ME/CFS from covid are currently housebound or bed bound.

I hope this has helped to raise awareness of ME/CFS for the estimated two million Americans who have developed it after getting covid. I hope that if you develop fatigue, you listen to your body and rest. I hope you take appropriate precautions to prevent getting infected.

On Another Plane

On Another Plane
by Jo Marie Bankston
From the 4am Series

We were

Unmasked,

Unfurled,

Unraveled,

Unleashed.

Until 

We were

One breath,

United. 

Our Crazy Survival Story at Grayson Highlands/Mt. Rogers

Into The Woods

We were somewhere in rural Virginia, following a blue Jeep Wrangler to the rustic cabin we’d rented. It was such a hard house to find, the owner had met us at the local gas station so she could lead us in.

“There’s a run away calf in the driveway,” the owner had warned us. “She’s been there for a few days, and I don’t know who she belongs to. Just be careful not to hit her,” she’d said. We’d promised not to hit the cow and set off towards the cabin in the woods. 

Rogue calf in the driveway

The roads narrowed as we drove further and further from town. Finally, we pulled into the long driveway. On one side was a tall wire fence. The other side was thick with vegetation that hit the side and roof of our car. Finally, we found the calf. The Jeep had already passed her, but she danced around in a panic before standing close to the fence. 

“If this place wasn’t a bit creepy, I’d say she’s adorable,” I said.

“Uh, huh,” my son, Josh, said. He was too busy avoiding potholes on the narrow drive while keeping our promise of not hitting the cow.

“You don’t think this is one of those remote places where they lure tourists in to rob and kill them, do you?” I asked. I was mostly joking. My story-telling brain was having just a little too much fun imagining all sorts of lurid outcomes.

   

“Probably not,” he said.  

We turned one last corner, and were finally at the house. It was a quaint log cabin nestled into the woods. The owner let us in and gave us a tour of the small house. After the owner had left, however, Josh picked up a book that was on the coffee table. “Hey, maybe you were right,” he said. He laughed at my expression as I read the title: Death In a Small Southern Town.

“Seriously?” I said. I grabbed the book to check out which publisher had printed it and who the author…. “Oh, crap,” I said. “You know who the author is?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The man who owns this house.” 

Josh burst out laughing.

“That’s just great,” I said. “We’ll be murdered in our sleep.” 

“Then robbed,” Josh said.

“Exactly.”

Josh took the book from me and walked away. 

“Where are you going?”

“To hide the book,” he said as if that was going to save us.

The rest of the evening went well. I made dinner and we watched the news and when I finally climbed into bed, I realized that the owner used the same laundry detergent my grandmother had used. I feel asleep, soothed.

The next morning, I woke up happy that the night had been uneventful. No deaths in this small town. As I showered, I noticed that the bathroom smelled foul - as in, outhouse foul. Gross. But as there were no other signs of a sewage backup, I shrugged it off and and we loaded up our packs and headed out towards the state park. 

Heading out

We parked at Massie’s Gap and as I slug my pack on, I felt strong, confident and prepared for this eleven-mile hike. We had plenty of bottled water, food, and our emergency supplies. We laced our boots, put on sunscreen and headed out onto the trails of Grayson Highlands State Park. 

We chose to drive all the way to Virginia just for this park. I’d read many glowing reviews, including one from my cousin, who assured me it was one of the best parks she’d ever hiked in. Plus…. There’s wild ponies. Seriously! Wild ponies - roaming the entire park! What’s not to love? Totally worth the drive, right?

As we started out, our plan was to complete an eleven-mile loop that would take us on several trails including the Appalachian Trail. As we’d already hiked thirty mountain miles at Smoky Mountain National Park, this trail would put us just over our goal of forty miles. And, as we’d recently hiked Ramsey's Cascades Trail - an eight-mile trail that was more strenuous than this one, we felt ready for this last challenge. 

Ramsey's Cascades Trail - is four miles
uphill, and four miles back down.

(It was worth it!)

Ramsey's Cascades - tallest waterfall in
Smoky Mountain National Park

Even though we felt prepared, little did we know what awaited us around mile six.

Miles 1-3

Grayson Highlands is beautiful. The terrain is grass and rock, making it feel like you’ve wandered into a filming site for the Princess Bride.

The only difference is that there’s about a thousand rhododendron bushes scattered on the hillside. We missed the bloom by about a week, but it was still beautiful. The visas from the highlands were incredible. Row after row of low mountains rolled out beneath us for as far as we could see.  Even if we'd only hiked this area, it would have been worth it. We saw a group of wild ponies but as they were facing away from us and busy grazing, I was a bit disappointed. I hoped we’d see more further along the trail.

Miles 3-5

We crossed out of Grayson Highlands State Park and into Mt. Rogers National Recreation Area, following the Appalachian Trail. We passed through many beautiful landscapes and crossed a few streams. Some had bridges, some not.

One of the more serene spots was a tranquil pond that the trail crossed via stepping stones. 

Somewhere in this stretch, we came upon a pony and her nursing filly. We spent about ten minutes watching them. The mother didn’t mind us and the baby was curious, but kept her distance. It was so cool! I decided I was definitely coming back to this park.

Scales

We took a break at a fenced-in area called scales. It used to be a spot where cattle were driven to get weighed before being sold. As it turns out, cattle are still driven up there to build muscle mass before being sold. By the time we got there, I was a bit tired, but all I needed was some food. Peanut butter on gluten-free bread isn’t exactly a match made in heaven, but the area was so beautiful, I didn’t care. I listened to several groups of school kids on a overnight field trip laugh and play as I scarfed down my lunch. A few minutes later, we were off again. 

Mile 6

Within a hundred feet of Scales, the Appalachian Trail led us into an old-growth forest. It had an almost northern rain-forest feel to it - with lots of ferns and moss. It was stunning. 

But.

Something was wrong. My lunch wasn’t perking me up. I’d felt this kind of tired a few times on our hikes in the Smokies, and food had always helped. I opened a juice - my emergency sugar supply, and started sipping it. We kept climbing, slower and slower as I waited for the sugars to hit my bloodstream. But every minute, I felt weaker, instead of stronger. 

My son turned to me. “You don’t look good,” he said. By then, I knew. We were not going to finish this hike. I tried to hide my tears as he graciously told me it was okay to turn around and head back to Scales. My legs felt shaky and weak, and I was fighting just to stay upright and not pass out. What felt like a ten-minute hike up into the woods, felt like a half hour back down. I was still puzzled, because I eaten and was definitely not dehydrated (I learned that lesson many years ago at Yosemite and have been careful about staying hydrated ever since). Had this week been too taxing on me? Had I hiked far beyond my strength? It was hard not to cry with frustration and disappointment.

Finally, we reached Scales and Josh left to ask other hikers what the best route back was. As I waited in the shade, I heard a loud bellowing cow. At first, I thought it was one of the kids who were on a class hiking trip. But then I saw it. A long-horned bull.

“What was that?” a girl asked as the bull bellowed again. She was clearly hiking the Appalachian Trail. Her huge pack sported the AT tag just as her hat sported the M that signified the University of Minnesota. 

“It’s a bull,” I said, pointing to the hillside.

She peered upwards and sighed with relief. “It’s brown and white. Those are usually docile. If it was a black and white, I wouldn’t get anywhere near it. Those are mean,” she said. And as she opened the gate, I thought I heard her curse the word, Holstein. 

Josh came back and said the unanimous vote was for the horse trail. It was almost entirely downhill through a valley, while the other trails wound up and down across the mountainsides. Taking this route though, meant we had to walk past the bull. And then, to my dismay, his friends. I had just enough energy to pull out my phone and get two pictures - because how weird is it to see bulls on a trail that’s supposed to have wild ponies? A man with a mountain bike walked along side us for a few minutes. He gestured towards the horned cattle.

“I just told these animals to leave me alone," he told us. "I said, 'I don’t mean you no harm.' Seemed to work,” he said. He demonstrated his strategy for keeping the cattle away through the entire length of the herd before getting on his bike and wishing us luck. 

Once again, we were on our own. 

Horse Trail

Sometimes math sucks. It would have been better if I hadn't remembered that there were more than 5,000 feet in a mile. My progress was so slow, it felt like we moving one linear foot at a time. I thought about what my friend and yoga teacher would say if she was with me. “Your body’s telling you stories about what it can’t do, but you can do this. You're stronger than you know.” I kept that in my thoughts as I forced my body forward, each step eliminating one of the more than 25,000 feet we needed to travel. 25,000 feet. One stinking step at a time.

It was hot. Sunny. The trail was very rocky and clogged with dead leaves. It seemed like the perfect habitat for rattlesnakes. I keep my eyes on the ground watching my footing and for snakes. More trouble was the last thing we needed. Josh and I talked off an on. He kept encouraging me, promising me we were going to get through this. I just nodded. We’d make it. We had to. But after an hour, Josh stopped talking.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. But, being his mom, I heard something in his voice and knew that he wasn’t. 

“You need to eat,” I said starting to panic. How would we make it if he collapsed from exhaustion? I pulled trail mix out of my pack and handed it to him. He grimaced.

“You know that metaphor about the oxygen mask?" I said. "That's you right now. You need to eat.” He still didn’t take the food.

“If I eat that,” he finally said, “I’ll throw up. You didn’t go past your strength, Mom. We’re sick.”

I closed my eyes for a moment as I thought this through in choppy half sentences full of curse words.

Holy F*! We’re sick. Up on a F'ing mountain. And only God knows how bad it's going to get and how much further we have to go. We could literally die out here. 

Reality

You know how awful it is to walk from the bathroom to your bed when you have the flu? Yeah. It was like that. And we still had miles to go. We both knew that if we stopped to rest, even for a minute, we might not have the willpower to get back up. 

So. One foot in front of the other. Miles would pass. We just needed to keep going, one footstep at a time.

“I’m never coming here again,” Josh whispered.

“Me either.” Our hike, which had started out delightfully had turned into a nightmare. 

WT*?

We rounded a bend and I think both of us paused for the briefest moment.

Because on the trail right in front of us were two calves. But flanking both sides of the horse trail were about five or six mature and fully horned adults. Seriously? More bulls? We’d read about what to do if you see a bear while hiking. I’d researched what to do if you’re bitten by a rattlesnake while out on a remote trail. But who in the world comes across bulls in the wilderness?

Apparently, we do.

All the tales and legends I’d heard and read about bulls were not encouraging. Even worse, these bulls weren’t twenty feet away like the heard by Scales. These bulls were only a couple of feet away. I could literally lean over and pat one if I didn’t think it’d kill me. 

The odds were not in our favor.

In our moment of hesitation, I weighed our two options. Climb back up the mountain, or take our chances with the bulls. There were no other choices before us. There was no Siri to tell us the best option for survival was to climb a tree and wait for them to move on. There wasn’t even enough signal to call 9-1-1 and ask how to avoid being gored by bulls and if they happened to have a rescue helicopter they could send.

No matter how ridiculous and potentially dangerous our situation was, there was only one option. We were too weak to climb back up. We continued forward.

I ignored the first bull and he didn't seem to mind our presence. But the second one, literally five feet away from me, shifted his weight as we walked right in front of him. His head turned as we passed, closely watching us. 

“Don’t make eye contact,” I whispered.

“Oh. Sorry,” Josh said.

The two calves skittered along the trail in front of us, clearly upset that we were heading straight for them, but we did not change our pace or direction. They paused for a moment, watching us, then scurried ahead again. Suddenly, there was a sound, right behind us. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that bull, the one my son had looked at, the one who didn’t appreciate our presence in his peaceful glade, step onto the trail, about ten feet behind us. His hooves clomped on the rocks. Josh looked back.

“Um, mom?”

Just keep going, I thought. I could hear the bull breathing behind us and dared a glance back. He was closer now. I knew he wasn’t following us because we might be friendly humans with food. He was driving us off so we wouldn’t harm the calves.

Who knew bulls had a paternal instinct?

We picked up the pace. The calves rushed off the trail and up the onto grassy hillside where another fully grown, and horned beast watched us as we passed by. 

Maybe he was waiting to attack if the bull behind us did. Maybe he thought the whole thing was kind of amusing. Or maybe they were all suspicious of obviously sick humans in the same the way we give wide berth to an oddly behaving raccoon.

  

The trail sloped upwards again, and we soon left the group of cattle behind us. The one bull continued to follow us up, maybe another thirty feet before deciding that we were not coming back. I’m sure that if either of us dared to look behind us a few minutes later, he’d still be standing there, making sure we did not turn around. 

“Did that really happen?” I asked a while later. “Did we really get chased by a bull?”*

“Well, we didn’t actually have to run,” Josh said. 

“He chased us off.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess he did.”

“I’m sticking with the word chase,” I said. “We got chased by a bull.”

“In like a year, it’ll be funny.”

“Hilarious.”

“Yeah.”

Safety 

Over all, It took us four hours to make our way back to the car. Five and a half miles of walking with a flu-exhausted body. We were so lucky, though. Not only because the cattle didn't attack us, but also because we never got violently sick out there. I'm sure we would have survived, but our journey could have been so much worse.

On our drive back to the cabin, I found out Josh had also smelled sewage in the bathroom that morning. Maybe the rustic cabin was just a bit too rustic? Maybe that was the reason we were sick. It’s hard to say for sure, but we decided the safest thing to do was leave. Immediately. When we got back, we packed up within twenty minutes. 

"Ha!" Josh said. "We did almost die." He held up the book, Death In A Small Southern Town, for me to see before dropping it back onto the coffee table. I couldn't help but laugh, even though my stomach was still in knots. Five minutes later, we got back in the car, said goodbye to the calf in the driveway, and was on the road. It took nearly two hours of driving to get us to the nearest city and the luxury of a clean, safe, Marriott Courtyard. 

The next morning, when we felt strong enough to drive to Nashville, we got in the car. It didn’t take a year for our misadventure to be hilarious. It took less than a day. We howled with laughter as we pulled onto the highway, imagining what we’d say when people asked us how our summer went ("Well, I got chased by a bull,"). And if walking past bulls without getting gored was something you could list on your resume. 

All in all, it was a fabulous trip. Even with all the trouble we ran into, we ended up hiking a total of forty-two miles on our trip. I highly recommend hiking in Smoky Mountain National Park and I even recommend Grayson Highlands State Park/ Mt. Rogers National Recreational Area. Just…. Beware of rustic water supplies and of course, bulls.  

*When I got home, I researched cattle and found out that horns are not a sex-linked trait. Female cows can also have horns. It’s very possible a female chased us.

Keeping My Story Close

These days, I'm not writing as often as I like. Now that I'm a student again, I'd hoped to have more time, but most of my time is spent studying. At first, I was dismayed. I knew that there wouldn't be much time for writing when I decided to go back to school. I just assumed that there'd be a little time left over each day. But that hasn't been the case. And as an unhealthy distance began to grow between me and my novel, I knew I had to change tactics.

So, I gave up my large chunks of writing time and instead, learned how to keep my story close. I bought a small, thin moleskine notebook that tucks into my bag without taking much room and weighs almost nothing. Perfect for a bag as overloaded as my schedule. I started working in the "off" moments, even if only for a few minutes. Even if it was just adding one thought, or one sentence. My brain is more full of biology terms and nutritional concepts, than the plight of my characters, but they are always nearby. And by grabbing a minute or a quarter hour on most days has kept me close. Now, as I'm approaching spring break, I'm not worried about trying to 'find' my character and plot again. Because it's still fresh. It's still close.

Facing Fear

Sometimes timing is ironic. A few weeks ago, I decided to write a post for Kidliterati on the nature of fear and how stories use fear as a driving force (You can read it here). But little did I know that just days after I started researching this topic, I’d come face-to-face with perhaps the greatest fear I've ever experienced. The kind of fear that shudders in your bones and makes your heart forget a few beats - it’s the fear of losing your child. 

Just a couple of weeks ago, we could have lost our child to an adverse reaction to an antidepressant. However, I first want to say that I’m grateful for antidepressants. They’ve made my child’s life a lot brighter and happier. She is more successful academically and socially because of them. They are generally well tolerated by most people and they have improved and saved many lives. I would never say that people shouldn’t be on one if they need to. People, like my child, need antidepressants. 

For months, she’d been one type of medication - the one that made her brighter and happier. But at the beginning of last month, her doctor thought it was time to try something else. An SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) because it was tolerated better over a longer period of time. But… as we found out, the black box warning is REAL. Most likely, if you take an SSRI, you’ll be fine. If your teenager takes and SSRI, he or she will probably be fine, too. But again, the warning is real - especially for teenagers and young adults. 

My child was fine one day, then compulsively suicidal the next. 

As for fear? It was in every direction I turned. That first night when we knew something was wrong, I slept on the floor of her room, my feet pressed against her door to keep her in, afraid of what might happen if she wandered the house at night. The next morning when she was worse and I was driving her to the emergency room, I was scared of how the staff would treat us. In the psych room at the hospital where they locked away all the medical equipment and locked us into the room, I managed my fear by reading out loud to my daughter for an hour and a half. But then that moment when the doctor told us she had to go to a behavioral hospital until the medicine had passed out of her system, fear turned my knees to jelly, my brain into a jumble of stunned neurons.

By then, I was emotionally exhausted and fear was clawing at my mind, and prickling along my skin. I called on one of my friends and my family to help me dig up the courage I desperately needed, because I could not afford to come unglued. No matter how afraid I was, I had to do the best I could to give my daughter every ounce of strength that I could before she went into a hospital that I could not enter. Where I could not protect her. 

I knew she needed to go - her compulsions were so strong, and there was no way I could make my house safe enough. And, I realized, I could not keep my eyes on her every single minute for an undetermined amount of time. But it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face. It was a week of constant stress. A week of fear. A week of pleading with God and begging the spirits of all four of her great-grandmothers to watch over her because I could not. 

Over all, we were lucky. She never harmed herself. She’d suspected right from the start that this was from her medicine which helped her to fight against the darkness of her racing thoughts. The staff at both hospitals were wonderful. Even though the behavioral health hospital was literally falling apart, the nurses, therapists, doctors were kind and spent time with her and the other patients instead of brushing them off. 

I am grateful I took her symptoms seriously and didn’t downplay them. I’m grateful that my daughter and I have a strong relationship and she could tell me what was happening and what she was thinking - instead of trying to handle it on her own. And I am so grateful for the medical staff that treated her and kept her safe. She told me a week later that she’d needed to be there - even though it was awful. She said that they’d saved her life. 

Today is World Mental Heath Day, and my hope is that people are not afraid to seek the help they need. My intention was not to scare you, but to spread awareness. If a medication is prescribed, give it a try. But please - pay attention to the warning labels. Suicidal ideation is a rare reaction, but if it’s a possibility with a medication you or a loved one is taking, be aware that this can happen. And if it does, take it seriously. 

Today, my daughter is still tired and has a lot of catch up work to do for school. But she is safe. She is on her original medications and is back to normal - healthy and happy. When you come through such an experience that causes so much stress and fear, you don’t take heathy and happy for granted. You see it as a true gift.

Book Review: WIRED FOR STORY by Lisa Cron

If you follow me on Twitter, you might have guessed that I’m in love with Lisa Cron. Her book, WIRED FOR STORY is my favorite book on the craft of writing. 

I love books about writing - I’m always curious about the process by which other writers write and what tips on craft they have to share. But what sets WFS apart is that Cron focuses on what happens in the brain when we read stories. There’s a biological reason why we cried when Beth March died and why we swooned when Mr. Darcy said, “But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you.” 

All by itself, that information on how our brain responds to stories is fascinating and helpful. But Cron doesn’t stop there. She teaches you how to evoke emotions and how to construct your story, scenes, and characters to give our brains the stories they crave. Do you want to know why you sometimes stay up long past your bedtime because a book is too good to put down? Or how to keep your readers from abandoning your story? Pick up this book! 

I’ve only had it for a few months but it looks years old. The cover is scuffed up, many pages are dog-marked, and I’ve annotated the hell out it (Yes, I’m a monster, I know!).

This book has changed the way I think about what a story actually is and how it functions. It made me realize why some plot points in my WIP weren’t working and how to fix them. I fold pages and write notes, and take it on road trips because it's not a book I read once and put on the shelf, it's one one with ideas I want to absorb.

As I get ready to open my current project, Lisa Cron’s new book, STORY GENIUS, is slowly starting to get that beat up look. I’m only about fifty pages in, but the concepts and exercises on character have already made a huge difference in my WIP. I can't wait to see where I'm at when I finish reading this one!

If you haven’t picked up Lisa Cron's books yet, do so. Soon. I’m willing to bet you’ll fall in love with her too. 

Family Traditions

I’ve been thinking a lot about traditions lately and how they help define who we are. (See my post on how to use traditions in your writing here.) They can have a powerful influence on the decisions we make in life - both good and bad. As I struggled to bring my  protagonist to life, I realized that her heritage was only skin deep. There were no long-standing traditions or beliefs that influenced her. Even though she spends very little time with her family during the course of the story, she still should be deeply influenced by them. So, I started to think about traditions that are specific to me. 

One of which, I’d like to share with you. 

This tradition started during The Great Depression and family became more important than ever. My great-grandmother had been recently widowed and she had a lot of children to raise and support. Her older son, James, could have stayed independent or started a family of his own, but he didn’t. He moved back home and helped support his mother and siblings. But, times being what they were, the family still struggled and James was determined that special occasions, like birthdays, would not pass unnoticed.  

James couldn't let a birthday go unnoticed, so he created a birthday tradition of his own. The night before one of his brother's or sister's birthday, James would make a unique 'happy birthday' sign and put it in the child’s room while he or she was sleeping. He also left a small bag of candy. When the child awoke and saw their special sign, they were delighted. They loved a sign that was just for them - more even, than the treasured bag of candy. And of course, when James’s birthday rolled around, his room was filled with little signs and a bag of candy from all the kids who adored him. 

When James’s siblings grew up, many of them passed along his tradition, including my grandmother and then my mother. My mother, however, changed it up a bit. She opted for balloons and streamers rather than a sign and candy. But the intention was the same. Waking up to a room decorated with balloons and streamers is magical and you can’t help but start your birthday with a smile. It is one of my favorite memories of childhood.

I can barely remember my Great Uncle James, for he passed away when I was quite young. But he is still well remembered and his acts of generosity and love have continued on. Sometimes I think of him when I’m standing in the kitchen late at night, blowing up balloons. Did he have any idea that this tradition he started would last four generations? And hopefully more? 

Now that my kids stay up late studying, I decorate their rooms while they're at school.
This allows for more complex designs, like this one. 

This tradition isn’t the kind that sparks a story-worthy question, but it is the kind that strengthens the bonds of family. The kind that rounds a person out, or fleshes out a character. Now, as I work with my protagonist’s backstory, I think of all the traditions that may have affected her life. Those that might influence her inward journey, and those that round out her life. 

 As you think about your own work, what traditions do your characters follow? Which ones to they rebel against? Consider how deeply tradition affects your life and use that richness to strengthen your stories.