I have been busy. Extremely so. Between helping out on my parents' farm (a neverending adventure) and going to class and doing homework and studying for the Praxis II, I haven't had much time for writing. Really, I haven't had much desire to write lately, period.
So the urge to write took me by surprise today. In fact, it happened right in the middle of reading the summary of Oedipus Rex. No idea why. I don't really like the play. But it really made me want to write.
And my class makes me want to write, too. I never realized how much of a grammar nerd I was until this class, but now I find re-learning the rules of grammar actually exciting. Now, instead of saying, "Well, that sentence looks funky, but I'm not sure why" I can actually point out why. (Yes, I am officially a dork.)
Also, being outside, counting cows, learning how to feed hay (and how to drive a huge diesel truck and operate a hay spear), cleaning, rearranging and all that it entails has really inspired me. I've actually caught myself daydreaming while out mucking stalls and chopping wood. A very good thing, because my daydreaming ability has been severely limited as of late. In fact, I believe that it is stifled by sitting in front of a computer screen all day. My best ideas don't come when I'm actually sitting down to write, but when I'm in the middle of doing something physical. Strange, huh?
Speaking of dreams, I also realized that I haven't really had a dream in a while. Granted, I want to be a teacher, so that is sort of a dream, but I tend to think of it more as a goal. A possibility. Something I will come to achieve sooner or later. It's within my reach as long as I keep reaching. But, in that sense, it's a bit depressing. When did I go from a girl with HUGE, practically impossible dreams to one with attainable goals? How boring is that?
What made me think this? My friend. She's continually dreaming up these grand ideas about what she wants to do with her life. She wants to operate a sign business (and is actually doing so now), but she also wants to open an indoor playground/daycare/gym/spa. (Yes, all combined into one.) If you took a picture of her idea, I'm sure it would glitter and have flashing lights and all that, because it is so BIG. It made me sad to think that I didn't have a BIG dream anymore.
What about becoming a novelist? Yes, what about that. I would call it a dream deferred. I haven't written anything in so long . . .I haven't even READ about publishing or querying or anything of that nature in so long, I feel disconnected from it all. Honestly, it feels as if I've given up on it.
I don't know why I feel like that. Maybe I'm suffering from an it's-time-to-grow-up-Wendy moment. Because, honestly, I would love to pursue that dream of being a published (and successful) novelist, but that dream has taken a backseat to the dream of having a job that is not only rewarding, but will give me the first opportunity in my LIFE to stop living paycheck to paycheck. Once I have that, I think I will be able to focus more on writing. Actually, once I don't have a very important test to study for, I might start writing again. In the meantime, it's back to pursuing those little dreams (a.k.a. goals).
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Friday, March 2, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
Dystopian Novels and Real-Life Civil Rights
I recently read an article by Amy Alkon regarding her experiences with a TSA agent violating her civil liberties by sexually molesting her.
Some might think Ms. Alkon's take on the incident (being subjected to a pat-down) is extreme and overwrought. You might even think that she deserves to pay the $500,000 lawsuit filed against her for taking her story to her blog and accusing the agent of rape. But whether you think her outcry was justified or not, if you read any dystopian novels, it probably gave you a little twinge of unease.
There are many dystopian novels out there, especially when it comes to Young Adult literature, and of those I've read, many of them deal with a society where people have surrendered their rights (in most cases, willingly) for the "protection" of the government.
In The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, children were sacrificed to a violent, sadistic game and forced to kill each other in exchange for the provisions the government provided.
In Matched by Allie Condie, people married not for love, but for biological and genetic purposes to produce the most viable offspring. The government tells the characters what to read, what to do and what to think. The consequences for going against the Society were severe and often included death.
In Delirium by Lauren Oliver, love is seen as a disease and people flock like sheep to be cured. Those who'd rather not be cured, are persecuted and exterminated.
These are just a couple examples, and each of them made me a tad uneasy when I read them because I see a parallel in our own society. Sure, it's just a pat-down right now (because why shouldn't we allow our persons to be violated just because we want to visit our grandma and paid an outrageous amount to do so?), but what else will we surrender for the "protection" of the government?
I'm not a radical or activist by any means, but I'm beginning to resent how much the government interferes in my personal life—something I will keep in mind this November.
Some might think Ms. Alkon's take on the incident (being subjected to a pat-down) is extreme and overwrought. You might even think that she deserves to pay the $500,000 lawsuit filed against her for taking her story to her blog and accusing the agent of rape. But whether you think her outcry was justified or not, if you read any dystopian novels, it probably gave you a little twinge of unease.
There are many dystopian novels out there, especially when it comes to Young Adult literature, and of those I've read, many of them deal with a society where people have surrendered their rights (in most cases, willingly) for the "protection" of the government.
In The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, children were sacrificed to a violent, sadistic game and forced to kill each other in exchange for the provisions the government provided.
In Matched by Allie Condie, people married not for love, but for biological and genetic purposes to produce the most viable offspring. The government tells the characters what to read, what to do and what to think. The consequences for going against the Society were severe and often included death.
In Delirium by Lauren Oliver, love is seen as a disease and people flock like sheep to be cured. Those who'd rather not be cured, are persecuted and exterminated.
These are just a couple examples, and each of them made me a tad uneasy when I read them because I see a parallel in our own society. Sure, it's just a pat-down right now (because why shouldn't we allow our persons to be violated just because we want to visit our grandma and paid an outrageous amount to do so?), but what else will we surrender for the "protection" of the government?
I'm not a radical or activist by any means, but I'm beginning to resent how much the government interferes in my personal life—something I will keep in mind this November.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Last Day
Tuesday was my last day at the junior high where I've been volunteering.
A part of me is a little sad about this. After all, it was an interesting, informative and even enjoyable experience. It certainly taught me a lot about what to expect from teenagers in a classroom-type setting.
Another part of me is just SO glad it is over with.
Because I learned that I'm not a fan of junior high kids. They're drama-drama-drama. I hated junior high when I was IN junior high, and going back, even in a position of authority, is no different. There is still the backstabbing, the cliques, the mean girls (yes, they exist in high school, too, but not to the same extent), and the hurricane of hormones. OMG, the hormones. Girls and boys are starting to "like" each other, but it's that immature "I like her so I'm going to pull her hair" kind of like. Ugg. It can be amusing to watch, but also irritating because it constantly interferes with the lessons. Also, my chihuahua has a longer attention span than most of these kids. Jeez.
But it's over now. Now, it's all about writing a paper and turning in hours logged and then one more tutoring session with Upward Bound students (high schoolers, thank God) and I'm done for the semester. Yay!
But I think I will miss it. Even the eighth graders.
A part of me is a little sad about this. After all, it was an interesting, informative and even enjoyable experience. It certainly taught me a lot about what to expect from teenagers in a classroom-type setting.
Another part of me is just SO glad it is over with.
Because I learned that I'm not a fan of junior high kids. They're drama-drama-drama. I hated junior high when I was IN junior high, and going back, even in a position of authority, is no different. There is still the backstabbing, the cliques, the mean girls (yes, they exist in high school, too, but not to the same extent), and the hurricane of hormones. OMG, the hormones. Girls and boys are starting to "like" each other, but it's that immature "I like her so I'm going to pull her hair" kind of like. Ugg. It can be amusing to watch, but also irritating because it constantly interferes with the lessons. Also, my chihuahua has a longer attention span than most of these kids. Jeez.
But it's over now. Now, it's all about writing a paper and turning in hours logged and then one more tutoring session with Upward Bound students (high schoolers, thank God) and I'm done for the semester. Yay!
But I think I will miss it. Even the eighth graders.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Cavemen Were Not Depressed
I don't think Cavemen had to deal with all the mental illnesses that we deal with today.
Why?
They were too busy trying to find food and, you know, being chased by saber-toothed tigers. Doesn't give much time to wallow or explore feelings. All of their energy was put into SURVIVING. And, if by some chance, one of the cavemen stopped to cry or whatever, he would have been picked off and eaten.
Just sayin'.
This post was inspired by this article.
Why?
They were too busy trying to find food and, you know, being chased by saber-toothed tigers. Doesn't give much time to wallow or explore feelings. All of their energy was put into SURVIVING. And, if by some chance, one of the cavemen stopped to cry or whatever, he would have been picked off and eaten.
Just sayin'.
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| Do I look depressed to you? |
This post was inspired by this article.
Monday, December 5, 2011
I Wanna Be More Like Her
Can I tell you a secret?
This is who I want to be . . .right now. Not when I "grow up" (seriously, 25 is too old for that), but right now.
In case you don't know (what are you, a cave man?) this is P!NK. In case you don't own a radio, she's a singer. An AWESOME singer. I first discovered her music when I was 15 with the CD Missundaztood. The song "Don't Let Me Get Me" did not describe me, but it resonated. And almost every song since has had that same resonation. Her lyrics speak to me in a primal way, awakening that dormat badass girl sleeping within.
That's why I love P!NK. She makes me feel like a sexy, powerful woman. With attitude, with sass. The kind of woman that doesn't take anyone else's bullshit.
The kind of woman I really, really want to be.
I think if I were more like P!NK, I wouldn't care as much about what people thought of me, and I sure as hell wouldn't be so sensitive. I wouldn't let people disrespect me, bully me, or talk to me like I was something on the bottom of their shoe.
I certainly wouldn't let them get away with hurting me.
So, this New Year's one of my resolutions is going to be "Be more like P!NK." But I'm going to go ahead and start right now.
This is who I want to be . . .right now. Not when I "grow up" (seriously, 25 is too old for that), but right now.
That's why I love P!NK. She makes me feel like a sexy, powerful woman. With attitude, with sass. The kind of woman that doesn't take anyone else's bullshit.
The kind of woman I really, really want to be.
I think if I were more like P!NK, I wouldn't care as much about what people thought of me, and I sure as hell wouldn't be so sensitive. I wouldn't let people disrespect me, bully me, or talk to me like I was something on the bottom of their shoe.
I certainly wouldn't let them get away with hurting me.
So, this New Year's one of my resolutions is going to be "Be more like P!NK." But I'm going to go ahead and start right now.
Friday, November 25, 2011
The Pointless Journey of Self-Discovery
About once a week I have an epiphany. An "ah-ha!" moment where I discover some aspect of myself that was previously hidden from me. You'd think at that rate, I should have a pretty good grasp on who I am. And that would probably be true, if I would quit changing.
See, as we become more aware of certain traits in ourselves (and sometimes even traits in others), we adapt to embrace or reject that trait. (I think that might be the royal we.) For example, I've known for a long time that I'm a perfectionist. I could either embrace that aspect of myself or I could reject it. What did I decide? Um. Still working on that.
But I have decided that I'm going to quit trying to "find" myself, because once I do, I inevitably flit away again. Maybe that means I'm wishy-washy, but I prefer to call myself malleable.
I'm the type of person (most of the time) who will try anything once (the exception being something stupid or dangerous or both). Because of this, I find and gain interests at a rapid pace. I pretty much like everything, actually. I like politics, science, mathematics, English, poetry, foreign languages, crafts, mechanics (though I pretend ignorance so my husband doesn't actually make me change my own oil), dancing, music (ALL KINDS), crocheting, typing, puzzles, writing, gardening, fishing (surprise, surprise), exercising, running, shadow-boxing, painting, baking, cooking, drawing, etc. I could go on and on. In fact, most of the time I feel a bit overwhelmed by all my interests and will find myself torn over which ones to pursue. (You ever heard that song by Terri Clark, "I Wanna Do it All"? That's totally me. But at the same time that I have all these diverse interests, I'm hesitant to share them with people for fear of coming across as less than knowledgeable/talented/experienced. Why? Must be the perfectionism kicking in.
But I'm slowly becoming okay with my wishy-washiness, my scatter-brained eagerness to discover and learn and try more and more things. Now, if that perfectionist side of me would only get with the program and let me crow about my interests without fear that someone will come along and call my efforts pathetic.
What are your interests? Any that you've recently acquired?
See, as we become more aware of certain traits in ourselves (and sometimes even traits in others), we adapt to embrace or reject that trait. (I think that might be the royal we.) For example, I've known for a long time that I'm a perfectionist. I could either embrace that aspect of myself or I could reject it. What did I decide? Um. Still working on that.
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| No, this isn't my arm. I'm not that hairy. |
I'm the type of person (most of the time) who will try anything once (the exception being something stupid or dangerous or both). Because of this, I find and gain interests at a rapid pace. I pretty much like everything, actually. I like politics, science, mathematics, English, poetry, foreign languages, crafts, mechanics (though I pretend ignorance so my husband doesn't actually make me change my own oil), dancing, music (ALL KINDS), crocheting, typing, puzzles, writing, gardening, fishing (surprise, surprise), exercising, running, shadow-boxing, painting, baking, cooking, drawing, etc. I could go on and on. In fact, most of the time I feel a bit overwhelmed by all my interests and will find myself torn over which ones to pursue. (You ever heard that song by Terri Clark, "I Wanna Do it All"? That's totally me. But at the same time that I have all these diverse interests, I'm hesitant to share them with people for fear of coming across as less than knowledgeable/talented/experienced. Why? Must be the perfectionism kicking in.
But I'm slowly becoming okay with my wishy-washiness, my scatter-brained eagerness to discover and learn and try more and more things. Now, if that perfectionist side of me would only get with the program and let me crow about my interests without fear that someone will come along and call my efforts pathetic.
What are your interests? Any that you've recently acquired?
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tired of Being Superwoman
I'll admit, I'm not a huge fan of the holidays. The commercialism, the politically-correctedness (is that a word?) of it, just makes me nauseous. I seriously want to go hermit and hide October through November.
Granted, there are things that I DO like about the holidays: Christmas carols, pumpkin pie, family gatherings, old movies, cold nights and hot chocolate, snuggling with your spouse. But anymore those things tend to take the back seat to the constant rush of the season. It's all about shopping lists and late-night baking frenzies and long trips to see people you're not even sure if you like.
Sigh.
Piling all this seasonal pressure on my already over-full schedule is just a disaster waiting to happen. I feel it today, especially. The day before Thanksgiving, and instead of ruminating on all the joys of Thanksgiving and all the things that I'm thankful for, I'm worried about cooking and schedules and resenting the fact that we have to go to my in-laws when all I really want to do is spend all day noshing at my parents' house (and I love my in-laws, I really do . . .but, well, they're not family-family). It's been all about compromise for me. And you know the thing about compromise: it never makes you happy.
So, I'm not all that happy. I'm stressed, is what I am. Fracturing, truthfully. About to blow my top. Every spare moment of my time has been dedicated to racking up the volunteer hours I need for the class I'm taking, and while I enjoy volunteering it's a far cry from the relaxing "me time" I need to keep my sanity.
Honestly, if it weren't for running, I would probably have gone crazy a week or so ago. But running keeps me sane. If it didn't take so much of my energy, I would probably be happy as a clown right now. But, well, running can be HARD (especially when you push yourself to go faster, further and harder each time, like me) and it makes me tired. And everyone knows (or soon will) that a tired Brandi equals a I-want-to-rip-your-eyes-out Brandi. Never good.
In order to keep this from happening (and destroy the "oh, she's such a sweet person" impression that my in-laws have of me) I'm going to take tonight off. Just me, the hubby (who'd better cooperate and be nice to me), the furry babies and some trashy movie that makes me laugh. Maybe some hot chocolate, too.
That will certainly give me a few things to be thankful for (like having the state-of-mind not to attack people for no reason).
Happy Thanksgiving!
Granted, there are things that I DO like about the holidays: Christmas carols, pumpkin pie, family gatherings, old movies, cold nights and hot chocolate, snuggling with your spouse. But anymore those things tend to take the back seat to the constant rush of the season. It's all about shopping lists and late-night baking frenzies and long trips to see people you're not even sure if you like.
Sigh.
Piling all this seasonal pressure on my already over-full schedule is just a disaster waiting to happen. I feel it today, especially. The day before Thanksgiving, and instead of ruminating on all the joys of Thanksgiving and all the things that I'm thankful for, I'm worried about cooking and schedules and resenting the fact that we have to go to my in-laws when all I really want to do is spend all day noshing at my parents' house (and I love my in-laws, I really do . . .but, well, they're not family-family). It's been all about compromise for me. And you know the thing about compromise: it never makes you happy.
So, I'm not all that happy. I'm stressed, is what I am. Fracturing, truthfully. About to blow my top. Every spare moment of my time has been dedicated to racking up the volunteer hours I need for the class I'm taking, and while I enjoy volunteering it's a far cry from the relaxing "me time" I need to keep my sanity.
Honestly, if it weren't for running, I would probably have gone crazy a week or so ago. But running keeps me sane. If it didn't take so much of my energy, I would probably be happy as a clown right now. But, well, running can be HARD (especially when you push yourself to go faster, further and harder each time, like me) and it makes me tired. And everyone knows (or soon will) that a tired Brandi equals a I-want-to-rip-your-eyes-out Brandi. Never good.
In order to keep this from happening (and destroy the "oh, she's such a sweet person" impression that my in-laws have of me) I'm going to take tonight off. Just me, the hubby (who'd better cooperate and be nice to me), the furry babies and some trashy movie that makes me laugh. Maybe some hot chocolate, too.
That will certainly give me a few things to be thankful for (like having the state-of-mind not to attack people for no reason).
Monday, November 21, 2011
Revamping
So, it's been a while.
I keep popping on here to write thoughtful and interesting tidbits on writing and reading, and then I stop. Either discouraged or bored by my own ramblings, and fade quietly back into the blogosphere. I still read blogs. Quite a bit, actually, but I rarely, if ever, comment on them. It probably makes my online friends feel like I don't care (or that I've died), but I do (and I'm still alive). I just felt like I was stagnating, regurgitating the same old things (cursings and musings) over and over. I felt unoriginal. I didn't feel like a very inspiring or even interesting person, let alone a writer.
Therefore, I stopped doing the whole blogging thing because, well, I couldn't handle the pressure of constantly coming up with a new, sparkling idea. Instead, I threw myself into a personal blog (which is private) and basically blogged about anything and everything that popped into my head. But since it wasn't writing related, I thought that it wouldn't be a good fit for this blog.
And then I had an epiphany. Why does this blog have to be just about writing and reading? Why can't it be about ME? I mean, I'm not anyone special or particularly exciting, but I'm sure a few of you might find my quirks interesting. And, believe it or not, I can be humorous and witty and even knowledgeable on some occasions.
So here I am. Back. To revamp Cursings and Musings and retake it for my own. This blog is going to reflect me from now on, and I'm an ever-changing, organic person. Are you ready for it?
I keep popping on here to write thoughtful and interesting tidbits on writing and reading, and then I stop. Either discouraged or bored by my own ramblings, and fade quietly back into the blogosphere. I still read blogs. Quite a bit, actually, but I rarely, if ever, comment on them. It probably makes my online friends feel like I don't care (or that I've died), but I do (and I'm still alive). I just felt like I was stagnating, regurgitating the same old things (cursings and musings) over and over. I felt unoriginal. I didn't feel like a very inspiring or even interesting person, let alone a writer.
Therefore, I stopped doing the whole blogging thing because, well, I couldn't handle the pressure of constantly coming up with a new, sparkling idea. Instead, I threw myself into a personal blog (which is private) and basically blogged about anything and everything that popped into my head. But since it wasn't writing related, I thought that it wouldn't be a good fit for this blog.
And then I had an epiphany. Why does this blog have to be just about writing and reading? Why can't it be about ME? I mean, I'm not anyone special or particularly exciting, but I'm sure a few of you might find my quirks interesting. And, believe it or not, I can be humorous and witty and even knowledgeable on some occasions.
So here I am. Back. To revamp Cursings and Musings and retake it for my own. This blog is going to reflect me from now on, and I'm an ever-changing, organic person. Are you ready for it?
Friday, July 15, 2011
Silencing the Superfluous Voices in My Head
But keeping the good ones.
Clicking on some of my previous blogs, I realized that I used to be helpful. I used to be "in the know" about writing and publishing and querying and all that inky stuff. So why did I stop?
Simple: Too many voices in my head.
I'm a people-pleaser. I also am an idea-monger. Those two traits do not help with writing. And I found myself, more often than not, struggling with conflicting advice rather than just trusting my gut.
I'll admit, I've also been going through enormous bouts of self-doubt again and moments of "why am I doing this again?" but I've really tried to keep them private. I got tired of having pity parties, for one, and then I just felt like a wimp. In fact, I went through moments where I thought, "Maybe I'm not ready for this whole writing career pursual." So, I took a step back.
It bothers me (quite a bit actually) that I'm no longer providing insightful, helpful information to the readers of my blog, but I'd rather be silent than sound like a phony. I have no authority in the matter, really. I'm just like (the majority of) you. A scribbler struggling to be a writer. But even as I read blog after blog (and still read a lot of blogs, mind), it took me a long while to realize that the most important thing to being a writer was something I was sacrificing so I could fit the mold of what everyone else wanted: my voice. I was so concerned about perfecting my technique, that I came to struggle with what is honestly the most important thing when it comes to writing: voice. Style. What makes your story different from the hundreds that came before it.
The sad thing is, before I had all these "expert" voices clamoring in my head for attention, I had a pretty good grasp on my voice. It's flowery and sometimes dark, sprinkled with humor and elaborate descriptions. It can be serious or light-hearted. It's almost always romantic. And of all the things that I know about writing (having a bachelor's degree in creative writing, I should know a little bit) it's that it doesn't really matter if your spelling is atrocious, your colons should be semi-colons, and you occasionally use one too many adverbs as long as you have an established and engaging VOICE.
Take my story The Dragon Queen for example. When I started it, I got a lot of flack for my main character, Jade, being "cliche". I worried and fretted about this for so long, that I couldn't even revise the story. I kept getting dragged down into the worry that she wasn't good enough. But then I realized there are reasons for cliches: because they're good. Yes, you see a lot of rebellious princesses, and, sure, if that's all there was to Jade, I could see it being a real issue. But it isn't. Why? Because of Jade's voice. Through her voice (or mine, whichever) the reader eventually reaches the conclusion that just because Jade is cast as a stereotypical, rebellious princess, doesn't mean that's all there is to her. And soon those same readers who had issues with her being a stereotype, ended up reneging their words soon after.
So, while I've learned to trust myself a bit more, I'm still refraining from dipping into the writer world of shoulds and shouldn'ts. Now, I'm trusting in my own abilities and the advice of a few helpful critters, and I'm a stronger writer because of it.
Clicking on some of my previous blogs, I realized that I used to be helpful. I used to be "in the know" about writing and publishing and querying and all that inky stuff. So why did I stop?
Simple: Too many voices in my head.
I'm a people-pleaser. I also am an idea-monger. Those two traits do not help with writing. And I found myself, more often than not, struggling with conflicting advice rather than just trusting my gut.
I'll admit, I've also been going through enormous bouts of self-doubt again and moments of "why am I doing this again?" but I've really tried to keep them private. I got tired of having pity parties, for one, and then I just felt like a wimp. In fact, I went through moments where I thought, "Maybe I'm not ready for this whole writing career pursual." So, I took a step back.
It bothers me (quite a bit actually) that I'm no longer providing insightful, helpful information to the readers of my blog, but I'd rather be silent than sound like a phony. I have no authority in the matter, really. I'm just like (the majority of) you. A scribbler struggling to be a writer. But even as I read blog after blog (and still read a lot of blogs, mind), it took me a long while to realize that the most important thing to being a writer was something I was sacrificing so I could fit the mold of what everyone else wanted: my voice. I was so concerned about perfecting my technique, that I came to struggle with what is honestly the most important thing when it comes to writing: voice. Style. What makes your story different from the hundreds that came before it.
The sad thing is, before I had all these "expert" voices clamoring in my head for attention, I had a pretty good grasp on my voice. It's flowery and sometimes dark, sprinkled with humor and elaborate descriptions. It can be serious or light-hearted. It's almost always romantic. And of all the things that I know about writing (having a bachelor's degree in creative writing, I should know a little bit) it's that it doesn't really matter if your spelling is atrocious, your colons should be semi-colons, and you occasionally use one too many adverbs as long as you have an established and engaging VOICE.
Take my story The Dragon Queen for example. When I started it, I got a lot of flack for my main character, Jade, being "cliche". I worried and fretted about this for so long, that I couldn't even revise the story. I kept getting dragged down into the worry that she wasn't good enough. But then I realized there are reasons for cliches: because they're good. Yes, you see a lot of rebellious princesses, and, sure, if that's all there was to Jade, I could see it being a real issue. But it isn't. Why? Because of Jade's voice. Through her voice (or mine, whichever) the reader eventually reaches the conclusion that just because Jade is cast as a stereotypical, rebellious princess, doesn't mean that's all there is to her. And soon those same readers who had issues with her being a stereotype, ended up reneging their words soon after.
So, while I've learned to trust myself a bit more, I'm still refraining from dipping into the writer world of shoulds and shouldn'ts. Now, I'm trusting in my own abilities and the advice of a few helpful critters, and I'm a stronger writer because of it.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Quarter of a Century
It's official. I am now a quarter of a century old.
Woohoo! Right?
Pffbt. I don't feel like 25. Most of the time, I still feel like I'm 19, struggling with "finding myself" and grasping at dreams. And that's okay. Especially if it means that I keep getting carded for things like buying knife sets (I am not joking).
I honestly thought that by 25 I would be set. I would be married (check), be paying on my own home (nope), have a kid or two (do dogs count?) and be well-established in my career (haha). Funny how life isn't predictable and doesn't follow a schedule. While there have been some things I've managed to keep to the plan (getting married AFTER college, having kids AFTER landing a career (so far at least)), mostly I've been all over the place.
First of all, whoever thought I would be going back to school to be a teacher? Not me. But here I am. Taking classes. Trying not to think about the enormous debts I'm going to accrue or how completely exhausted I am going to be. And once I get my schooling out of the way and start teaching, the husband is going to go to school for . . . something. He hasn't decided yet.
My husband is a little like me in that he wants to do EVERYTHING. He wants to learn about EVERYTHING. We're like kindergartners, changing our minds every three seconds about what we want to be when we grow up. But I've finally buckled down and decided to be a teacher. No worries, I'm still writing. In fact, I've been writing and revising like crazy. I just haven't been talking about it much. Not sure why.
So, the new goal is to be a secondary English teacher and writer. That's what I'm going to be when I grow up. Or get older I guess. I've heard it's all downhill from 25. (Lol.)
One thing is for certain: I AM slowly becoming my mother. I used to loathe gardening, taking care of animals (I liked animals, just didn't like cleaning up their poop), and Martha Stewart-esque household chores. Now, I have a garden that I spend a LOT of my time in (and enjoy it, which is the weird thing). I want to have livestock so badly, but can't. Grr. And this past weekend I made pickles. Yep, I canned. All by myself. (And they are delicious!)
I'm looking forward to the next 25 years. We'll see how the plans go for them.
Woohoo! Right?
Pffbt. I don't feel like 25. Most of the time, I still feel like I'm 19, struggling with "finding myself" and grasping at dreams. And that's okay. Especially if it means that I keep getting carded for things like buying knife sets (I am not joking).
I honestly thought that by 25 I would be set. I would be married (check), be paying on my own home (nope), have a kid or two (do dogs count?) and be well-established in my career (haha). Funny how life isn't predictable and doesn't follow a schedule. While there have been some things I've managed to keep to the plan (getting married AFTER college, having kids AFTER landing a career (so far at least)), mostly I've been all over the place.
First of all, whoever thought I would be going back to school to be a teacher? Not me. But here I am. Taking classes. Trying not to think about the enormous debts I'm going to accrue or how completely exhausted I am going to be. And once I get my schooling out of the way and start teaching, the husband is going to go to school for . . . something. He hasn't decided yet.
My husband is a little like me in that he wants to do EVERYTHING. He wants to learn about EVERYTHING. We're like kindergartners, changing our minds every three seconds about what we want to be when we grow up. But I've finally buckled down and decided to be a teacher. No worries, I'm still writing. In fact, I've been writing and revising like crazy. I just haven't been talking about it much. Not sure why.
So, the new goal is to be a secondary English teacher and writer. That's what I'm going to be when I grow up. Or get older I guess. I've heard it's all downhill from 25. (Lol.)
One thing is for certain: I AM slowly becoming my mother. I used to loathe gardening, taking care of animals (I liked animals, just didn't like cleaning up their poop), and Martha Stewart-esque household chores. Now, I have a garden that I spend a LOT of my time in (and enjoy it, which is the weird thing). I want to have livestock so badly, but can't. Grr. And this past weekend I made pickles. Yep, I canned. All by myself. (And they are delicious!)
I'm looking forward to the next 25 years. We'll see how the plans go for them.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Where's My Dang Rainbow?
Have you heard about the flooding in Arkansas? Maybe? Well, I was in the thick of it.
I also live about a billion miles away from work (not even exaggerating) and we have to cross a moat (also known as a low-water bridge, but I like the sound of "moat") to get to our house. When the hubby drove me to work yesterday morning, the water in the moat was already high. High enough that I was leery about crossing it. But we made it. And like good little people, we went to work.
Then all hell breaks loose. The rain begins to POUR. The thunder growls. The lightning strikes. The streets outside were GUSHING water. And I was seriously FREAKING out. I work in a newsroom, and it's bad when reporters look happy. (Okay, not necessarily happy, but definitely excited.) The police scanner was going crazy with reports of roads closing and people needing to be rescued from their homes and vehicles. Hubby calls and says, "I'm coming to get you!" So I leave work an hour early.
Not early enough. My mother, who works out where we live, called to tell us to not even TRY to get home because she couldn't even leave work. The police had all the roads closed down. Even the back roads that we were pretty sure only drug dealers and redneck locals knew about were closed. Okay, not a problem. We'll just stay with my friend. Except we can't even get to her house because the Illinois River bridge on the main highway is UNDERWATER.
So we have to turn around. We end up getting a hotel room (there goes the money we'd been saving to get new tires) and spend the rest of the night flicking between watching the news and River Monsters Unhooked (yes, that was hubby's decision). Meanwhile, I'm fretting about our dogs and cat. The dogs were inside and we fed and watered them before we left, so we were pretty sure they would be okay. The cat, however, decided he wanted to be outside yesterday morning and wouldn't come when we called. So he got to brave the storm outside (we have a barn, which I'm sure is where he ended up staying). Nonetheless, I worried about my furry babies. To the point where hubby decided he would go check on them before he went to work because the waters had gone down and most of the roads had reopened.
My babies, thankfully, are fine. Even the cat, which hubby said was extremely happy to see him and wouldn't stop meowing until he'd gotten fed. Hubby decided to stay and repair what was left of our drive-way and move the boulders out of the moat with the tractor so we could actually get through.
Now the sun is out, but more rain is coming. Need I remind you, God, that you promised not to do in the world with floods again? Speaking of which, where's my dang rainbow?!
(Disclaimer: Some events have been dramatized, but, unfortunately, most of it wasn't.)
I also live about a billion miles away from work (not even exaggerating) and we have to cross a moat (also known as a low-water bridge, but I like the sound of "moat") to get to our house. When the hubby drove me to work yesterday morning, the water in the moat was already high. High enough that I was leery about crossing it. But we made it. And like good little people, we went to work.
Then all hell breaks loose. The rain begins to POUR. The thunder growls. The lightning strikes. The streets outside were GUSHING water. And I was seriously FREAKING out. I work in a newsroom, and it's bad when reporters look happy. (Okay, not necessarily happy, but definitely excited.) The police scanner was going crazy with reports of roads closing and people needing to be rescued from their homes and vehicles. Hubby calls and says, "I'm coming to get you!" So I leave work an hour early.
Not early enough. My mother, who works out where we live, called to tell us to not even TRY to get home because she couldn't even leave work. The police had all the roads closed down. Even the back roads that we were pretty sure only drug dealers and redneck locals knew about were closed. Okay, not a problem. We'll just stay with my friend. Except we can't even get to her house because the Illinois River bridge on the main highway is UNDERWATER.
So we have to turn around. We end up getting a hotel room (there goes the money we'd been saving to get new tires) and spend the rest of the night flicking between watching the news and River Monsters Unhooked (yes, that was hubby's decision). Meanwhile, I'm fretting about our dogs and cat. The dogs were inside and we fed and watered them before we left, so we were pretty sure they would be okay. The cat, however, decided he wanted to be outside yesterday morning and wouldn't come when we called. So he got to brave the storm outside (we have a barn, which I'm sure is where he ended up staying). Nonetheless, I worried about my furry babies. To the point where hubby decided he would go check on them before he went to work because the waters had gone down and most of the roads had reopened.
My babies, thankfully, are fine. Even the cat, which hubby said was extremely happy to see him and wouldn't stop meowing until he'd gotten fed. Hubby decided to stay and repair what was left of our drive-way and move the boulders out of the moat with the tractor so we could actually get through.
Now the sun is out, but more rain is coming. Need I remind you, God, that you promised not to do in the world with floods again? Speaking of which, where's my dang rainbow?!
(Disclaimer: Some events have been dramatized, but, unfortunately, most of it wasn't.)
Thursday, April 14, 2011
5K Fever (And A Little About Writing)
I signed up for my second 5K today--the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It will be April 30 in Rogers, so if you're in the neighborhood and want to watch my face turn flame red (no joke) then drop by. (Also, it's for a good cause.)
I'm trying to raise $100 before the race, so, if you're interested in making a contribution (yes, I'm a donation junkie) go here: bit.ly/i1EIRo
Despite having a race under my belt, I'm a little nervous. My husband has agreed to run with me, and I know that he (and everyone else I know) will leave me in the dust. That's okay, I guess, but I can't help but want to keep up. I've told myself that as long as I meet my time of 34:20 at the previous 5K, I'm good. Heck, it would be GREAT if I could shave a minute or two off of it. I'm going to train like crazy over the next two weeks.
Okay, now for the writing stuff.
There was a discussion about how the more you learn about craft, the less you're able to ignore "bad" writing in books. Authors that you normally devoured lost their appeal. Errors leapt from the pages, the characters were flat, the plot static. And then you find that the book you loved two, three or five years ago isn't as spectacular as you remembered.
What do I say to this?
Woohoo!
Maybe it's because I'm an overzealous editor, but I think it proves to a writer just how far they've come when they can find flaws in their past favorites. Sure, it can be annoying and it sort of takes the joy out of reading at times, but here's where I want you to know a little secret: you'll find better books and better authors and once again you'll be that blissfully happy reader. You will just be a special kind of reader: a finnicky one.
As I used to say when I was more arrogant (man, I miss being arrogant): I only read books by authors who can write at least as well as I can. Despite the snootiness of that comment, it's true. If a book is below your own skill (or at least your knowledge of skill), then it's very difficult to make yourself read it. So, you see, you're not becoming a worse reader, you're becoming a better writer!
Write on!
I'm trying to raise $100 before the race, so, if you're interested in making a contribution (yes, I'm a donation junkie) go here: bit.ly/i1EIRo
Despite having a race under my belt, I'm a little nervous. My husband has agreed to run with me, and I know that he (and everyone else I know) will leave me in the dust. That's okay, I guess, but I can't help but want to keep up. I've told myself that as long as I meet my time of 34:20 at the previous 5K, I'm good. Heck, it would be GREAT if I could shave a minute or two off of it. I'm going to train like crazy over the next two weeks.
Okay, now for the writing stuff.
There was a discussion about how the more you learn about craft, the less you're able to ignore "bad" writing in books. Authors that you normally devoured lost their appeal. Errors leapt from the pages, the characters were flat, the plot static. And then you find that the book you loved two, three or five years ago isn't as spectacular as you remembered.
What do I say to this?
Woohoo!
Maybe it's because I'm an overzealous editor, but I think it proves to a writer just how far they've come when they can find flaws in their past favorites. Sure, it can be annoying and it sort of takes the joy out of reading at times, but here's where I want you to know a little secret: you'll find better books and better authors and once again you'll be that blissfully happy reader. You will just be a special kind of reader: a finnicky one.
As I used to say when I was more arrogant (man, I miss being arrogant): I only read books by authors who can write at least as well as I can. Despite the snootiness of that comment, it's true. If a book is below your own skill (or at least your knowledge of skill), then it's very difficult to make yourself read it. So, you see, you're not becoming a worse reader, you're becoming a better writer!
Write on!
Friday, March 25, 2011
I Think I'm Broken
I've felt a little shifty lately (and, no, that's not a misspelling), and just can't focus. I wrote another short story, felt good about it, sent if off into submission-land, moved on. Poked and prodded at other projects, which just sort of twitched but wouldn't perform. Then I started scratching at rewrites and edits and got a little excited when they rolled over or begged, but the appeal quickly fled.
So, to sum it up to those of you who haven't given up on me after my long silences, I think I'm broken.
Granted, life has been BUSY and full of other things to focus on. I've been training to run a 5K and, yes, it's been emotionally, mentally and physically challenging. When I'm not actually training, I'm reading about training and shoes and run times and PRs (still have no clue what that stands for; practice runs?) and drooling over running gear that I could never justify buying ($40 for a pair of shorts? Haha). And all this fanaticism has just about drowned out that voice that tells me that it's about time I started writing again.
I feel distanced from my critique friends. I feel like I've missed too much and now I can't possibly catch up. I feel a little left in their dust, honestly. And while I am happy for the varied successes, I'm a bit overwhelmed. Just a few months ago, that was ME chattering about my latest WIP, characters, plots, offering critiques like they were going out of style. And then--I'll admit it--I received a lot of flack about some of my stories (not just in one critique group, either) and sort of got discouraged.
There, I said it. I am discouraged. And when I am discouraged it's difficult for me to be excited about a project, which means it's difficult for me to write it. If I lack faith in a story, it shows in the writing. So why bother?
So I briefly focused on other things. Things that had yet to be touched by that discouragement because, well, they were my "secret" stories. The ones that were too "mature" for my critique groups. While writing them, I regained some of that faith and confidence in myself. I thought that even if I couldn't write the traditional fantasy stories that I wanted, I could at least write about sex. (And I can do it pretty well, if I do say so myself.) But as much as I enjoy writing my naughty stories, they're not what really calls to me.
Honestly, it's like that Langston Hughes poem, "A Dream Deferred." I keep waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen that rekindles that dream. But maybe it's too shriveled up at this point.
It's not like I haven't tried. I HAVE. I've even posted new strictly fantasy stories up for critique and received encouraging reviews, but that spark is still gone. I don't know how to get it back.
My 5K is April 16. After that I'm going to really dig in and focus on my writing. This dream may deferred, but I'm not giving up on it.
So, to sum it up to those of you who haven't given up on me after my long silences, I think I'm broken.
Granted, life has been BUSY and full of other things to focus on. I've been training to run a 5K and, yes, it's been emotionally, mentally and physically challenging. When I'm not actually training, I'm reading about training and shoes and run times and PRs (still have no clue what that stands for; practice runs?) and drooling over running gear that I could never justify buying ($40 for a pair of shorts? Haha). And all this fanaticism has just about drowned out that voice that tells me that it's about time I started writing again.
I feel distanced from my critique friends. I feel like I've missed too much and now I can't possibly catch up. I feel a little left in their dust, honestly. And while I am happy for the varied successes, I'm a bit overwhelmed. Just a few months ago, that was ME chattering about my latest WIP, characters, plots, offering critiques like they were going out of style. And then--I'll admit it--I received a lot of flack about some of my stories (not just in one critique group, either) and sort of got discouraged.
There, I said it. I am discouraged. And when I am discouraged it's difficult for me to be excited about a project, which means it's difficult for me to write it. If I lack faith in a story, it shows in the writing. So why bother?
So I briefly focused on other things. Things that had yet to be touched by that discouragement because, well, they were my "secret" stories. The ones that were too "mature" for my critique groups. While writing them, I regained some of that faith and confidence in myself. I thought that even if I couldn't write the traditional fantasy stories that I wanted, I could at least write about sex. (And I can do it pretty well, if I do say so myself.) But as much as I enjoy writing my naughty stories, they're not what really calls to me.
Honestly, it's like that Langston Hughes poem, "A Dream Deferred." I keep waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen that rekindles that dream. But maybe it's too shriveled up at this point.
It's not like I haven't tried. I HAVE. I've even posted new strictly fantasy stories up for critique and received encouraging reviews, but that spark is still gone. I don't know how to get it back.
My 5K is April 16. After that I'm going to really dig in and focus on my writing. This dream may deferred, but I'm not giving up on it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Is There An Echo in Here?
Oops. I realize I've been absent from the blogosphere recently. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. I almost didn't notice because I've been so busy.
I complete a short story and sent it off for possible publication.
I started and then stopped and then restarted A Darkness Forged in Fire. I like it, despite not devouring it like I normally do with books that I like. I think I'm a bit burnt out.
But the real reason I've been absent is because it's SPRING. It's, like, warm outside. It's pretty. There are FLOWERS! And I can go outside barefoot again! And start a garden! And SQUEE!
So, sorry for my absence, but I just need more SUNSHINE!
I complete a short story and sent it off for possible publication.
I started and then stopped and then restarted A Darkness Forged in Fire. I like it, despite not devouring it like I normally do with books that I like. I think I'm a bit burnt out.
But the real reason I've been absent is because it's SPRING. It's, like, warm outside. It's pretty. There are FLOWERS! And I can go outside barefoot again! And start a garden! And SQUEE!
So, sorry for my absence, but I just need more SUNSHINE!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
What the H-E-Double Hockey sticks?
It's been a weird past couple months. I haven't seriously written since November. I managed to write about 3,000 words on Last of the Elves since then, but nothing new. Nothing fresh. Everything is sort of stagnating.
Not sure why.
I have been revising Dragon Queen like it's no body's business. It's getting so much stronger. So much richer. I'm starting to believe that it might actually be publishable soon. OMG. Then I just have to find an agent/editor who thinks the same thing.
With all this (successful) revising I shouldn't be so upset that I haven't cranked out anything new recently. But I am. I don't feel like a writer when there's nothing new to spark my interest. To surmount this lackluster obstacle, I tried to write another erotica. It came out stilted and awkward even though I thought my idea behind the story was awesome. I'm trying to pin down what has kept me from writing and I think it's because I'm putting too much pressure on myself. I want to be a great writer. Not just a good one (and god forbid a mediocre one). So I won't just let myself write. Every rough draft has to be stellar, and when it's coming out as less than, well, I give up. Kind of defeats the purpose, right?
I can see myself doing it and yet I can't stop it. Sigh.
I think it's time to break out Write or Die again. I need to just write. Get words down. Not worry if they stink more than cat poo. And a short story sounds like a pretty good idea.
Not sure why.
I have been revising Dragon Queen like it's no body's business. It's getting so much stronger. So much richer. I'm starting to believe that it might actually be publishable soon. OMG. Then I just have to find an agent/editor who thinks the same thing.
With all this (successful) revising I shouldn't be so upset that I haven't cranked out anything new recently. But I am. I don't feel like a writer when there's nothing new to spark my interest. To surmount this lackluster obstacle, I tried to write another erotica. It came out stilted and awkward even though I thought my idea behind the story was awesome. I'm trying to pin down what has kept me from writing and I think it's because I'm putting too much pressure on myself. I want to be a great writer. Not just a good one (and god forbid a mediocre one). So I won't just let myself write. Every rough draft has to be stellar, and when it's coming out as less than, well, I give up. Kind of defeats the purpose, right?
I can see myself doing it and yet I can't stop it. Sigh.
I think it's time to break out Write or Die again. I need to just write. Get words down. Not worry if they stink more than cat poo. And a short story sounds like a pretty good idea.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Love is a Rifle
I'm trying to embrace the quirkiness that is my life. Usually, I try to bury my redneck roots under a mountain of books and education and refinement. I enjoy red wine and dark chocolate and intellectual discussions. I also enjoy a cold beer, crass jokes, and walking around barefoot.
I am also a burgeoning romance writer. I've choked on this for a long time. I didn't WANT to be a romance writer. Sure, I like to read romance, but I thought it wasn't "serious" or "literary" enough to be worth the effort. It's "fluff" and I didn't want to write "fluff."
Yet I couldn't stop myself.
The same thing goes for my redneck roots. I try to ignore them as best as I can, but they still break the soil and trip me up. It doesn't help that I married a redneck either who NEVER LETS ME FORGET where I came from.
So, what does this blend of redneck heritage and romance writing have to do with a rifle? Just that when it comes to real love, you can't make this stuff up . . .and it's pretty dang hard to write a romance that rings true.
My darling husband and I had agreed that this V-day was going to be low-key because we're still playing catch-up from all of our wedding expenses. Except yesterday he comes home with a card, two chocolate bars, and a rifle.
Yes, a rifle.
Nothing says "I love you" better, does it?
Hubby: Look what I got you, darling! Isn't it just beautiful? And you can kill almost EVERYTHING with it. Even an elk! We should go elk hunting. [He strokes the stock like it's a kitten.]
Me: Oh . . .thanks, hun. That was . . .so sweet and thoughtful of you. I've always wanted to kill an elk. [Mutters] Just never realized it until now, I guess. [Takes the gun] Wow, it's . . .heavy. [mutters] And is probably going to knock me on my arse the first time I shoot it. Fun!
The refined, educated, snobby part of me wants to bury the entire gift and the conversation that came with it under a rock and pretend that, instead, he brought me a dozen of roses. Instead, I decided to embrace the gift (and the warped sense of romance that brought it to me) and repay the favor.
So I'm bringing home a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a dozen roses for my husband. I'm sure he'll love them.
Try writing a romance more realistic than that!
I am also a burgeoning romance writer. I've choked on this for a long time. I didn't WANT to be a romance writer. Sure, I like to read romance, but I thought it wasn't "serious" or "literary" enough to be worth the effort. It's "fluff" and I didn't want to write "fluff."
Yet I couldn't stop myself.
The same thing goes for my redneck roots. I try to ignore them as best as I can, but they still break the soil and trip me up. It doesn't help that I married a redneck either who NEVER LETS ME FORGET where I came from.
So, what does this blend of redneck heritage and romance writing have to do with a rifle? Just that when it comes to real love, you can't make this stuff up . . .and it's pretty dang hard to write a romance that rings true.
My darling husband and I had agreed that this V-day was going to be low-key because we're still playing catch-up from all of our wedding expenses. Except yesterday he comes home with a card, two chocolate bars, and a rifle.
Yes, a rifle.
Nothing says "I love you" better, does it?
 |
| Nope, mine doesn't look like this. I wish. |
Me: Oh . . .thanks, hun. That was . . .so sweet and thoughtful of you. I've always wanted to kill an elk. [Mutters] Just never realized it until now, I guess. [Takes the gun] Wow, it's . . .heavy. [mutters] And is probably going to knock me on my arse the first time I shoot it. Fun!
The refined, educated, snobby part of me wants to bury the entire gift and the conversation that came with it under a rock and pretend that, instead, he brought me a dozen of roses. Instead, I decided to embrace the gift (and the warped sense of romance that brought it to me) and repay the favor.
So I'm bringing home a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a dozen roses for my husband. I'm sure he'll love them.
Try writing a romance more realistic than that!
Monday, February 7, 2011
I Live in the South for a Reason . . .
. . . And it's not for the snow.
Normally, I like snow. I think it's beautiful. Pure. It reminds me of fairy tales, princesses locked in ice castles and little fairies dancing on snowflakes. But then I grew up and, well, when you work in the news field, your work doesn't halt just because a foot of snow decided to drop on your doorstep. Bleh.
But what's really ticking me off is that I've been busy planning a fundraiser for a sick coworker and the snow keeps messing with my plans. I had to reschedule it because there was no way I was driving to work in the dark on ice-covered roads in order to get everything set up for our breakfast benefit. So, it's supposed to be this Thursday. So what's on the way? You guessed it! More snow!
Sigh.
But there is good news! Because of the snow, now I don't have to go to Missouri for my cousin's wedding this weekend. Hehe. Now, before you go wagging your fingers at me, let me say that I could not only NOT afford to go (but was going to anyway) but I'm not fond of this cousin and was only going because I love my aunt and uncle (who came to my wedding, just them, not the cousin). That's it.
So today I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with snow. Loving it, because it got me out of going to Missouri and hating it because it's messing with my fundraising plans. Grr.
Anyways, I apologize for being scarce hereabouts. It's like every time I get on here my brain turns to mush and I just start drooling all over the keyboard. This blog, really, has presented its own case of writer's block. Meh.
I guess I could tell you what I'm doing tonight. I'm baking cookies. Chocolate chip cookies and no-bake cookies! Yummy! They're for tomorrow's bake sale for said sick employee. All I have to do is not eat them all. Hmm, I think I need to buy some gum to keep my mouth occupied.
As for my writing . . . you know how it goes. Life gets in the way sometimes. But I've been smoothing over Dragon Queen's rough edges, so it should be ready for querying soon. Gulp. Now I just have to grow a pair before I send then. Lol.
Normally, I like snow. I think it's beautiful. Pure. It reminds me of fairy tales, princesses locked in ice castles and little fairies dancing on snowflakes. But then I grew up and, well, when you work in the news field, your work doesn't halt just because a foot of snow decided to drop on your doorstep. Bleh.
But what's really ticking me off is that I've been busy planning a fundraiser for a sick coworker and the snow keeps messing with my plans. I had to reschedule it because there was no way I was driving to work in the dark on ice-covered roads in order to get everything set up for our breakfast benefit. So, it's supposed to be this Thursday. So what's on the way? You guessed it! More snow!
Sigh.
But there is good news! Because of the snow, now I don't have to go to Missouri for my cousin's wedding this weekend. Hehe. Now, before you go wagging your fingers at me, let me say that I could not only NOT afford to go (but was going to anyway) but I'm not fond of this cousin and was only going because I love my aunt and uncle (who came to my wedding, just them, not the cousin). That's it.
So today I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with snow. Loving it, because it got me out of going to Missouri and hating it because it's messing with my fundraising plans. Grr.
Anyways, I apologize for being scarce hereabouts. It's like every time I get on here my brain turns to mush and I just start drooling all over the keyboard. This blog, really, has presented its own case of writer's block. Meh.
I guess I could tell you what I'm doing tonight. I'm baking cookies. Chocolate chip cookies and no-bake cookies! Yummy! They're for tomorrow's bake sale for said sick employee. All I have to do is not eat them all. Hmm, I think I need to buy some gum to keep my mouth occupied.
As for my writing . . . you know how it goes. Life gets in the way sometimes. But I've been smoothing over Dragon Queen's rough edges, so it should be ready for querying soon. Gulp. Now I just have to grow a pair before I send then. Lol.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Curb Your Enthusiasm
I'm pretty sure all my passion/enthusiasm for writing got sucked up by my fitness routine. My writing has flagged. My stories garner only my passing interest, but start talking to me about diet and exercise and OMG I could gab for HOURS.
Now, before you accuse me of buying into the New Year's Resolution Hype, I've been pretty health-conscious for the past few months (pre-wedding, even). It drives my darling husband a bit crazy (he cannot, for the life of him, understand why I want to try to kill myself with P90X every night...and he's a Marine). But, thinking on it, I guess I've always been shy when it comes to talking about what I'm working on writing-wise. I have my moments when I've gotten super excited and can't SHUT UP but most of the time I'm pretty reserved. I'm still that little girl on the outskirts of the playground hoping someone notices me and wants to play, but too afraid to go ask someone myself.
Yeah, I know it's silly.
Also, I have several short stories out on submission and I'm afraid to blab about them because I don't know if I'd be breaking some obscure (or not so obscure) publishing rule. So, I'm zipping it.
But I guess I could tell you what stories I have out...maybe? Mmkay. Well, I have a zombie story on submission (craps, forgot to check on that one's status!), a sci-fi story out on submission and whole pile of rejections.
But the funny thing about those rejections? They don't sting so much for short stories. Not sure why. Maybe because they are more like my stepchildren. Sure, I care for them, coddle them, guide them through their teenage angst, but I'm more than willing to boot them out of the house when they come of age. My novels, however, are my babies. It breaks my heart to think of someone NOT loving them (as they obviously did NOT love FURY (another story for another time)). So, I'll admit I'm a bit timid and not sure if I'm altogether ready for another novel submission. And I have realized that, if anything, you NEED to be SURE that your baby (novel) is ready to fly.
I need to distance myself from them a bit before I can throw them from the nest, I guess.
So I apologize if I'm coming across as lets than enthusiastic about writing. I'm still enthusiastic, I'm just being a bit more secretive about it.
Now, before you accuse me of buying into the New Year's Resolution Hype, I've been pretty health-conscious for the past few months (pre-wedding, even). It drives my darling husband a bit crazy (he cannot, for the life of him, understand why I want to try to kill myself with P90X every night...and he's a Marine). But, thinking on it, I guess I've always been shy when it comes to talking about what I'm working on writing-wise. I have my moments when I've gotten super excited and can't SHUT UP but most of the time I'm pretty reserved. I'm still that little girl on the outskirts of the playground hoping someone notices me and wants to play, but too afraid to go ask someone myself.
Yeah, I know it's silly.
Also, I have several short stories out on submission and I'm afraid to blab about them because I don't know if I'd be breaking some obscure (or not so obscure) publishing rule. So, I'm zipping it.
But I guess I could tell you what stories I have out...maybe? Mmkay. Well, I have a zombie story on submission (craps, forgot to check on that one's status!), a sci-fi story out on submission and whole pile of rejections.
But the funny thing about those rejections? They don't sting so much for short stories. Not sure why. Maybe because they are more like my stepchildren. Sure, I care for them, coddle them, guide them through their teenage angst, but I'm more than willing to boot them out of the house when they come of age. My novels, however, are my babies. It breaks my heart to think of someone NOT loving them (as they obviously did NOT love FURY (another story for another time)). So, I'll admit I'm a bit timid and not sure if I'm altogether ready for another novel submission. And I have realized that, if anything, you NEED to be SURE that your baby (novel) is ready to fly.
I need to distance myself from them a bit before I can throw them from the nest, I guess.
So I apologize if I'm coming across as lets than enthusiastic about writing. I'm still enthusiastic, I'm just being a bit more secretive about it.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Charlie Brown Teacher-Speak
I'm not sure what to say anymore, and each time I try to gather my thoughts, they flit away like little sparks of light that mock me for trying to catch them in the first place. So I apologize if this blog post sounds like the Charlie Brown's teacher: wanhnwanh wanh wanh wahnwahn.
I want to tell you guys a lot of things. Like about my New Year's resolutions and how I made them but they don't really amount to much.
How I keep riding the roller-coaster of "Believe in Yourself/Give Up."
How I'm on Week 4 of P90X and am somewhere between really, really loving it and despairing that it will never be over with.
How I'm really sick and tired of reading YA and am reconsidering trying to WRITE it.
How sometimes I really, really hate other writers who are better than me. And yet, how I am also really, really happy for their success.
I want to tell you how happy I am in my marriage and grateful that I am with someone who loves me so much, and whom I love.
I want to tell you about all my personal issues, but I won't. Hopefully EVER.
I want to talk to you about my writing with passion again, but anymore it's like I'm scared to.
I want to write poetry, but I can't. It all comes out wahnwahn wahn wahn wahnwahn.
How I want to run until I throw up, and then run some more in the hopes that it will make me feel like I'm going SOMEWHERE.
But I can't elaborate. Every time I try, it ends up muddled and confused.
How more often than not, I feel like a YA character and that really ticks me off.
It's all Charlie Brown teacher-speak, though! Gah! Frustrating!
I want to tell you guys a lot of things. Like about my New Year's resolutions and how I made them but they don't really amount to much.
How I keep riding the roller-coaster of "Believe in Yourself/Give Up."
How I'm on Week 4 of P90X and am somewhere between really, really loving it and despairing that it will never be over with.
How I'm really sick and tired of reading YA and am reconsidering trying to WRITE it.
How sometimes I really, really hate other writers who are better than me. And yet, how I am also really, really happy for their success.
I want to tell you how happy I am in my marriage and grateful that I am with someone who loves me so much, and whom I love.
I want to tell you about all my personal issues, but I won't. Hopefully EVER.
I want to talk to you about my writing with passion again, but anymore it's like I'm scared to.
I want to write poetry, but I can't. It all comes out wahnwahn wahn wahn wahnwahn.
How I want to run until I throw up, and then run some more in the hopes that it will make me feel like I'm going SOMEWHERE.
But I can't elaborate. Every time I try, it ends up muddled and confused.
How more often than not, I feel like a YA character and that really ticks me off.
It's all Charlie Brown teacher-speak, though! Gah! Frustrating!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just wanted to say that.
No, the real purpose of this post is to let everyone know that I'm WRITING again! Like, writing toward a goal. Writing with the intention (or at least delusion) to get published.
I'm not too proud to admit that I gave up on myself for a while there. Not sure why. It might have been author envy, a realigning of the stars, or just a funk, but from about November through now I kept telling myself, "You're good, but not good enough. So why bother?"
Why bother? Because I LOVE to write, okay! And I would really love to share my stories with other people.
AND it's not like I'm entering 2011 without hope of publication. My short story, The Seer's Mask, will be published soon through Circlet Press. (Yay!) So I sucked it up, smacked my dreary self around, and began submitting short stories for publication again.
But I hadn't really WROTE anything until just this past week. I'd piddled around in some WIPs, but hadn't really added anything new. And then I got the juice back. My muse returned from her Bahama vacation, showing off her tan, but ready to get down to BUSINESS. So, I'm back. Look out 2011, you're my year for writing!
No, the real purpose of this post is to let everyone know that I'm WRITING again! Like, writing toward a goal. Writing with the intention (or at least delusion) to get published.
I'm not too proud to admit that I gave up on myself for a while there. Not sure why. It might have been author envy, a realigning of the stars, or just a funk, but from about November through now I kept telling myself, "You're good, but not good enough. So why bother?"
Why bother? Because I LOVE to write, okay! And I would really love to share my stories with other people.
AND it's not like I'm entering 2011 without hope of publication. My short story, The Seer's Mask, will be published soon through Circlet Press. (Yay!) So I sucked it up, smacked my dreary self around, and began submitting short stories for publication again.
But I hadn't really WROTE anything until just this past week. I'd piddled around in some WIPs, but hadn't really added anything new. And then I got the juice back. My muse returned from her Bahama vacation, showing off her tan, but ready to get down to BUSINESS. So, I'm back. Look out 2011, you're my year for writing!
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