Where have I been?
Well, Cyrus has a cold and has been a barnacle, attached to me all day every day, an keeping me up at night. Also, I've been writing a lot (in other places) which is good
Brain is full of cobwebs today, can't think of anything good to say. Plus, the barnacle needs me.
xoxo Hope everyone is having a fab week!
So I'm reading this little book by Dorothea Brande called Becoming a Writer.
Lately I have been thinking about writing a lot. Thinking about writing. But not actually writing. Thinking about my novel. But not once have I dusted off the laptop, opened those files and tapped out even a single word. Not even a letter. Why?
Well, I'll tell you why. Because during the course of a day I will find every excuse available to NOT write. Why do I do this when my characters and the world I created are always back there, whispering little things to me? I don't know. It's a phenomenon, an illness among writers that I need to address. Part of the illness says, "I am not good enough to call myself a writer!" and to prove that I am right, I do not write.
What is a writer, anyway? I guess sometimes I get hung up on the fact that I never majored in creative writing in college. I never even went to college. I never learned how to structure a story, I never learned what makes for a compelling plot, and chances are my grammar sucks.
I have also never been totally interested in what people consider "literature" these days, though I have read my fair share of popular literature. You know, think: Oprah's Book Club. Books that make you feel like wow, what a deep and pondering soul who wrote this. So smart, so literary. What prose. I enjoy those books to some degree. Those books that underneath the surface reek of a sort of formula that so many of today's literary works tend to follow. If you've read one, you've sort of read them all.
Last year I took an online writing class. This is where I got my first taste of the fact that among writers, exists a sort of snobbery about writing. A segregation. In order to be considered a "real" writer, one must master the short story and write literature. I've never done either of those things.
Mastering the short story may well be a really damn good idea, would probably help me tackle my fantasy epic in smaller, manageable bites instead of reeling from the vastitude of it all. But as for writing literature, I'm afraid I have no interest in aspiring to such heights. I suppose that as a writer I would fall into the category of Worthless Hacks Who Write Genre Fiction. But that's what I like to read and write best. If I am ever considered successful as a writer, I will surely prefer the company of said Hacks to the Snobs of the literary sect.
I honestly can't understand how these writers of literature get so damn snooty about the way they string words together to tell a story compared to the way a genre fiction writer goes about it. Maybe it's in the content. A literary writer would never allow Harry Potter in all his wizardly glory to step foot between her pages. How trite, how un-literary. How fantastical and imaginary. How, therefore, lacking in real substance. I'd be willing to bet that these people would find themselves entertained completely, totally sucked in, by the clever wit of Jonathon Stroud, who I daresay could easily hold his own in any literary showdown. He is a literary scholar, who, horrors! CHOSE to write fantasy! How can his writing not be considered literature when it easily persuades readers to believe in a totally fantastical world while simultaneously exploring subjects of universal interest? If there is any one writer on the planet I am most jealous of, it is Jonathon Stroud who just may be the guy who puts fantasy on the literary map.
It is a sad and pathetic intellectual war between these writers who ultimately suffer from the very same sickness; the need to give the people and characters living inside of their heads a voice... and let them tell their stories. It is foul to think that the only "good" writing is "literary" in nature. There is such a thing as badly written literature. And not all genre fiction is just fluff and nonsense. Have these Snobs re-written the meaning of literature?
Here is the definition given by Merriam-Webster:
1archaic : literary culture2: the production of literary work especially as an occupation3 a (1): writings in prose or verse ; especially : writings having excellence of form or expression and expressing ideas of permanent or universal interest (2): an example of such writings <what came out, though rarely literature, was always a roaring good story — People> b: the body of written works produced in a particular language, country, or age c: the body of writings on a particular subject <scientific literature> d: printed matter (as leaflets or circulars) <campaign literature>4: the aggregate of a usually specified type of musical compositions
I don't see anything excluding fantastical stories about wizards or imaginary worlds. Notice the specific mention of "ideas of permanent and universal interest." Tell J.K Rowling, the wealthiest author ever to grace the planet, that her stories are lacking in permanent or universal interest. I think not, oh snobby writers! Imagination and the prospect of magic is about as universal and permanent as it gets. Check your history books, people.
Perhaps they are simply jealous that their imaginations have withered, and their childlike wonder for the world around them has morphed into a certain uptight bitterness and a need to prove that their superior eye and mind has been trained to accept only works that they and their colleagues deem worthy of literary greatness? Well, they're missing out on some fantastic, well-written tales. Some extremely clever storytelling. Some damn good reads. It's sad, actually, how this kind of partisan schooling takes something magical from young writers and kills it. As someone who never had any proper training in this craft that I so adore, I am finally coming to grips with the fact that my lack of traditional education may actually be to my advantage in the end.
How do I become a writer, then, at this stage of my life, with insignificant formal education on the subject? According to Dorothea Brande, I must write. That's it. That's all. Just write. Write enough and often enough, that I can access that genius that is in there somewhere, mingling with my imagination and longing to tell a story. An exercise she requires all would-be writers to do is to wake up and start writing immediately, while still halfway in dreamland. This way, we are already close to accessing that genius, and in writing daily like this, we learn to train that genius to write on command.
We'll see how it goes. As with mastering any craft, quantity eventually leads to quality. Basically, I gotta write a lot of crap to become a better writer. Thanks for reading a load of mine.
P.S. I am perfectly aware that vastitude is not a real word. I made it up. My imagination is in tact. I can make up words if I feel like it. Poor literary snobs.
Good night. It's so late and I've been a very slacking blogger. I'm sorry.
Because if I don't change my mind, everything will stay the same. Do you get what I'm saying? I'm saying this: I could cry about my harsh childhood or my early adulthood in which bad things happened to me, shaping my thoughts into negative creatures, which then brought about even more negative results. I could blame every person who ever wronged me for my unhappiness, my depression, my panic attacks. I could blame this person for not being perfect, or that person for lying to me, or the other person for hurting me so deeply.
But the truth is, people, ALL people, have the ability to accept negative feelings and thoughts, or to not accept them. If you accept these kind of thoughts into your mind, then how do you think that the world around you can ever possibly change into a place that will support you in a positive way? The truth is, the world, you will find, is supportive of whatever thoughts you choose to have. Good or bad, the universe at large is very obedient, and will deliver whatever it is you are focusing on the most.
If you think life sucks, it will. How can it not? If you think it sucks, you aren't going to notice anything good that IS HAPPENING right under your nose. If you focus on all things negative, you are going to experience negativity. I know this sounds so simple as to sound stupid, but this is seriously the most profound, life altering truth. If you focus on positive experiences, you will breed more positive experiences. With people, with life. Most importantly with your views about yourself.
Let's face it, it's really easy when feeling down to list all of your questionable choices, qualities, behaviors, words and come up with a pretty ugly picture. And it's a picture that's really easy to believe. With all those "facts" laid out there like that, how could you be beautiful or wonderful? After all, there's so many people who are MORE beautiful or MORE wonderful than you. Right? Wrong. There is no one more beautiful or wonderful in this world than YOU. And this is true of every one of us, it doesn't make sense but trust me, it's true. Have you ever met a child who has some crazy disability that you can't possibly comprehend, that OH MY GOD if that were MY CHILD, I would NOT be able to handle it? And then you see this little person light up the room with some infectious laugh, or you look at her mom and see this amazing kind of love that you will probably never know, and then you realize that there is more beauty in that little person than you've ever seen in your life. Real beauty, real wonder-fulness comes from a place with no mirrors, no judging. You can't be ugly when real beauty is present. It's only your thoughts about yourself that are ugly. And thoughts can be changed.
Experiences, the past, no. Those can't be changed. But your thoughts ABOUT them CAN. You can stop thinking about your past the way you always have, and guess what? You will be free of it. It will no longer rule your reactions and your thoughts, your experiences. I know that I spent a good portion of my life totally clueless to this simple truth. I had bad thoughts about myself, bad thoughts about others. I had a hard time trusting anyone. I was afraid, I was so harsh on myself for making mistakes and not being perfect. Shit, NO ONE is perfect. So what? Why focus on how lame you were yesterday, when you can just focus on being awesome today? Seriously, anyone who has ever dealt with depression knows that they were really just suffering from a major lack of self worth. For whatever reason. There are tons of "reasons" that people end up feeling like total crap about themselves. Some seem so much bigger and more legitimate than others. But in the end, they are all the same. Because we ALL have the same ability and right to change how we see that shit that keeps dragging us down. Our experiences do not dictate who we are. This is a hard pill to swallow, because it means taking responsibility and making some changes. It means forgiving yourself for being a dork, for not knowing that the tools you needed to feel better about yourself were always within your reach at any moment. It's okay to start over. It's okay to change your mind. It's okay to change your thoughts about the past. It's okay to change your mind about the present, and start living a happy life by using the power that you've always had. Change your thoughts. Change your life.
I change my mind all the time, because I enjoy change, and I enjoy pushing myself to the next level of what's possible. Baby steps never killed anyone. A year ago, I was a mess emotionally and mentally. About eight years ago, as you know, I was diagnosed with PTSD, depression and panic attacks, all of which had plagued me for many many long years, and even after being diagnosed, plagued me for a good seven more. Depression is one of the hardest things on earth to beat. Maybe harder than cigarettes. You think nicotine is addictive? Try negative thoughts. One thing I never did, was take any drugs to alter my moods. There was a doctor who really wanted to put me on the whole zoloft, prozac, whatever else program, and I refused. I KNEW there was a way to heal myself that had nothing to do with drugs. I just had no idea that it was as easy as changing my thoughts. I could be pissed that I wasted a ton of good years living in a kind of hell, now that I know how really simple it is to just change my thoughts so that I can experience good things. But I'm not going to waste my thoughts on bullcrap like that. Those days are gone, and I have a limited number of days in front of me. Thinking good thoughts is the only way to go, and nobody, no one, can EVER take my thoughts away from me. Think about that.
Happy Sunday!
Okay, if you haven't figured this out about me yet, I like change. I like it a lot. Staying the same for too long bores me to tears. So here I am. Again. At Typepad. With a new look. Which will last a week or two. Maybe three. Here's the funny part: I'm bloggin' over here and you're not going to know. I guess I'll have to go back over to wordpress and put the word out. Sigh. What is my deal? One thing about me that hasn't changed is that I still LOVE LOVE LOVE MGMT's Electric Feel. Like CRAZY love it. It makes me want to dance in a cage.
Okay well, enough of that for now. It's late. I've been night owlish tonight. I guess that trip to Denver screwed my sleep all up.
P.S. Things are picking up around here. Modofly is starting to move a little faster, and there's some awesome good stuff in the works. Will keep y'all posted.
Happy Monday!
We all are aware that I have a fondness for words. Check out this really fun site (you have to do a screen grab to save your work, or you can publish it on the site for the world to see.)
Wordle made this when I entered my blog's url. It grabs words from any blog and makes a cool wordy picture. You can change fonts, colors, layouts. Fun!
Wordle and I made this. It's my new mantra. I realize it isn't a spectacular work of art or anything. But go play with Wordle. It's wicked fun, and will make your Monday morning less sucky.
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
-- Mark Twain
Here's one of my new favorite songs, stolen from Dooce's website which I made the mistake of visiting yesterday. Because after said visit, I realized that yes, chances are extremely high that you people have found a new blog to love. And which also means you probably already know about this song. Whatever. Fine. Old news or not, it kicks ass and if you already know about it, then you will want to hear it again. Click:
and this one I am SUPER MEGA LOVING: MGMT "Electric Feel"
I have not been a very good blogger lately. Days go by and before you know it I'm climbing into bed preparing myself for another sleepless night having not pulled it together to post. Why is that? Possibly because life here in Dayton bores me to tears. I'd have to be phenomenally skilled at writing, you know, like Dooce, to make my boring life entertaining in some way. (Those of you who don't know Dooce yet, well, once you read her blog, I'm afraid, my faithful readers, you will defect. And honestly, who could blame you? That girl is HILARIOUS!)
So here's a rundown of my yesterday. Nobody called or looked at the house. The house is still for sale. This is depressing, beyond all reason. This house. Needs. To be SOLD. To someone who will love it. So I can leave this town for good. FOREVER. Anyone from this town who should ever care to see me again, is more than welcome to visit me wherever it is I'm going. Which happens to be Charlottesville, VA if you must know. Because I am NOT coming back here. That is a fact.
At some point during the day, when I was sitting at my computer not writing a blog post, Cyrus approached me full of pride, shoving something my way for closer inspection. The thing he shoved my way was his potty seat container thing. The thing he was shouting with pride was "Mommy I pooped in my potty! Look!"
Okay, first of all. I am NOT one of those moms who delights in discussing the ups and downs of potty training, or any subjects mildly related to necessary bodily functions that also happen to be disgusting. I did not grow up with brothers, maybe this is why. I grew up with my best friend's brothers, and maybe THIS is why.
So, looking left and seeing the object of my son's pride FAR TOO CLOSE to my face was slightly, okay TOTALLY horrifying. BUT, as you all who have ever had a toddler and are damn sick of changing diapers are aware, I had to feign excitement. I had to act like this was the best thing I had EVER seen. Because the wrong reaction could easily result in another six months of boycott the potty. No thank you!
A celebration took place, a flushing, and hand washing, a few million high fives. A special ceremony which included the appointing of the sacred Batman briefs. Then we went to Elk Drug and the proud pooper got to pick out a treat. (an orange toostie pop, hmmmm.) We spent the rest of the afternoon at the pool, where I did my best to avoid starting up conversations about the boy's big success with the other moms, because frankly, I really did not want to hear about their adventures in potty training. At all.
I did squeeze in a lap swim last night, but sadly the pool was infested with children who took up most of the lanes. I had to share lanes with these children because the only two adults who were there were actually a couple of young men who obviously race on a team, given the Speedo hot pants they were both sporting. That, and the fact that they glided through the pool with an effortlessness that only a pro could display. So yeah, I spent my laptime dodging little girls and a boy learning to do a flip turn.
This is why I didn't write yesterday. Because are you asleep yet? Holy. I thought maybe I'd have something better to write about today. No dice. Today promises to be twice as dull as yesterday. At least Friday is almost here. And I can sit around and wish I lived in a town that didn't have a lights out at 6pm policy.
Crap. Can someone Please buy my house?!
When you've been pummeled by kung fu baby all night. Cyrus is going through this freakish phase of needing to be attached to me like a flippin BARNACLE at all times. I haven't slept in two nights, partially because of kung fu baby, and partially because my mind has not shut up for days due to the myriad of problems that need solving in my life. I am at a point where a fast forward button would really be fantastic. Just get past this yukky part to the next, better, awesome part. Which HAS to be on the horizon. Has to.
There are days when the only sound I feel like uttering, okay maybe screaming.. is a four letter word starting with F. And maybe I'd really like to extend that word to include several extra KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKs at the end. That's just really the only word that is working for me right now.
(Begin hoobie doobie emails from my mom which include "good vibrations" and "the light" and how four letter words are not the answer.) Actually, mom, sometimes, they are just the ticket.
So, up there in the corner of my blog, you will note my (potentially regrettable) decision to post a photo of me taken right this minute each and every day (or maybe just whenever I feel like it). This should be amusing for you for several reasons. One, you get to see my puffy eyes, no sleep, bed-head self today, and this should really boost your self esteem. Also, you can start to monitor how fast my hair grows. You will note that my cute baby bangs are already reaching stupid length and are no longer cute.
Have a good day everyone. I'm excited and also freakishly pissy and frustrated at the same time. Good things are happening, just not quite fast enough for me. I leave you with today's note, which, if I had any sense at all, would heed its wisdom right now.
If you just whistle every now and then, Chelsea; skip every thousandth step or so; skim the odd stone across the odd pond; go dancing on the occasional blue moon, if only alone in the dark; dress up sometimes, even with nowhere to go... for simply stirring up some little bit of hope, no matter how silly or disconnected your actions seem to be with the rest of the world, magic flashes in the unseen, friends are summoned, connections are timed, stars are aligned, opportunities are crystallized and serendipities are calculated, creating possibilities for new realities that cannot now even be imagined from where you presently stand.
Shazaam -
The Universe
(Please, Universe, I neeeeeeeeeeeeed some SHAZAAM!!!)
Okay Sisters of the interwebs.
So the last few days, as you well know... I have been somewhat of a disaster. And you, my awesome virtual friends, have been so good to me. I have gotten a plethora of emails from many of you and sweet comments from lurkers concerned about me, and I have to tell you...you all have lifted my spirits ma-jor-ly. Thank you so so much. It's crazy how technology has introduced me to some of the coolest people that I never would have known otherwise. I am about to bust out Kips' wedding song to LaFawnduh. For Real.
You gals are all over the globe, and I feel so lucky to know you! I hope that at some point, I can throw some kind of massive awesome party and invite you all to it, and we can party til the sun comes up. That would be wicked cool.
So, for you awesome gals, (do I have any male readers? Seriously.) who have really helped me get through a rough patch. Really. I mean it. I leave you today with this, sent to me by my best friend, Julie this morning. You may have seen it before, but it's worth another read, fo sho. This is some wisdom courtesy of Maya Angelou. One smart cookie.
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
enough
money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own,
even if she never wants to or needs to...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
something
perfect to wear if the employer,
or date of her dreams
wants to see her in an hour...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE.. .
a youth she's content to leave behind....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a past juicy
enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her
old age....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..
one friend who
always makes her laugh.. and one who lets her cry...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
a good piece
of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her
family...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
and a recipe for
a meal,
that will make her guests feel honored...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
a feeling of
control over her destiny..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to quit
a job,
break up with a lover,
and confront a friend
without ruining the friendship...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK
AWAY...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that her childhood may not have been perfect...but it's over...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW....
how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. .
whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't take it personally...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
where to
go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table..
or a charming Inn in the woods....
when her soul needs
soothing...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..
What she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...
