Sunday, January 29, 2012

Has it really been a week?

So my writing this past week has been pretty good. Not spectacular. Not any 6000 words a day (pffff!).

But I do have a total of 7,000 words on a new project. Even so, I have slipped into some previously bad habits of fooling around the internet, reading interesting forums, getting hooked into fascinating you tube videos, etc. Time to Get Serious again.

And another note on writing. I struggle a lot internally between wanting to write something that will hit a "sweet spot" and catch on fire, that is, a subject matter that is suddenly "hot," like vampires were just as Twilight came onto the scene or what happened with the author that we went to see last weekend, where she was told that suddenly time travel books were "in." So naturally I want to hit one of the sweet spots. Dystopian novels are really in, and I really do dig those. I feel like I have no new ideas for one of those that hasn't already been done a million times. Sadly, though, as part of that whole "Be Andrea" resolution happiness projecty thing that I've been trying to act on, my interests tend to gravitate toward things that are not overall popular. I tend to go for the darker side of fate and human nature, things that people don't really want to escape read to explore. I tend to be interested in morbid things that most people would shudder about and say, "Why do you want to read about/write about such things?" I'm not afraid of the dark, I know what goes bump in the night, and sometimes I just want to explore it with my own flashlight. But my "nice girl" side just can't. My "nice girl" side wants to write something fluffier that appeals on a mass level. So somehow I need to find a balance between the two.

In other news, have to drop sugar and flour from my diet for awhile. Long story, but hypoglycemia is knocking at the door again. So while it is very disappointing to have to give up some awesome things that I love (like J.'s amazing homemade breads and pizzas!) and cupcakes. CUPCAKES, noooo, not fair, I know from previous experiences that after a few days, I will start to feel super good and energetic once again. Also this isn't forever. By summer I should be able to have those things occasionally again!

Sunday, January 22, 2012

The Writer and the Green-Eyed Monster, Squashed

So I promised A. I would write this post, sort of. That is, I mentioned in passing in an email that I definitely was going to blog about this.

So...there was this local author that spoke at the library yesterday. She's from the area and has written a young adult book that is getting a lot of buzz nationally and even internationally. Tempest by Julie Cross. I knew nothing about it before this speaking event. I did look up the premise and felt a little "eh, whatever" about it. I'm not really into time travel novels. They tend to confuse me and leave me disoriented and unsettled.

But that wasn't why I initially didn't want to go to this event.

My first reaction upon looking at the picture of this author that was in our library was a mean snark that she is pretty, but the picture looked totally pretentious and posed, as I'm sure it's supposed to. Like she's supposed to look sort of mysterious. It made me cringe inside. Anyway, that's not her fault. That's what the publishers probably do as part of promotional thingies.

But on top of that, author talks make me cringe because of an embarrassment squick. It's like all I can think about is how they can go dreadfully wrong. Like the author will start spewing stupid stuff or nobody will be interested or ask her questions or there will be hostile questions. I would die of embarrassment for an author if I were in the audience and that happened.

And then there was the other part of my feelings about this -- the secret, ugly part. Not so secret anymore. When hearing about this young, newly successful author who was sort of writing in my genre, I had to swallow a whole lot of bile and jealousy. Yes, that old fashioned, ugly, vile jealousy. She's young, she's local, and she's done what I can't seem to get going on in my life. She has achieved my dream, my longing, and she's here, right in the same town, not some glitzy New Yorker or L.A. hotshot.

HOWEVER, in alignment with one of my happiness project resolutions this year, I began to be super hyper aware of the thoughts in my headspace and worked on "reframing" the thoughts. I decided that to counter these thoughts, I actually needed to go to this event with an open mind, ready to learn from this person. I needed to go with genuine admiration for this person who has done what I have not been able to do yet and most importantly, I needed to go with the prevalent thought that her success does NOT equal my failure and that there is room for more, should I actually f***ing finish something.

This also goes along with another resolution of mine this year and that's to say yes to things that I would normally just automatically turn down or be too lazy to attend, especially local events.

So I went, I conquered, and it was good. I know most of you probably will think this is absolutely ridiculous, but I was nervous. I was waiting for A. and a friend of hers, and I was just nervous. I didn't get to sit with them because they had registered and I had not. I wasn't even sure I would get in because it was a popular event, but at the end they let people in when they determined who wasn't showing up on the registered list. I sat next to a very nice woman who keeps a book-reading blog, which I need to look up.

Anyway, I was still nervous. Why, you might ask? I was afraid of my thoughts! I was afraid that those jealous, resentful, knee-jerk reactionary emotions of shame that I, too, was not yet successful would return and make me ugly inside. I just took deep breaths and reminded myself of many truths, not the least of which that no matter what, there is something to learn from everyone. Anyway, the author had a young man do some reading from the book, and unfortunately the one scene that I did not want to be read was read (there was a home invasion murder toward the beginning that sets the rest of the plot in motion and those types of scenes are personally very triggery to me). But then it was over, I survived it, and the rest of the time was left for questions. I began to relax and enjoy. I took a lot of notes. Mostly I was looking for time management/motivation vibes from the author, haha. Quote from her, "I watched no television, had very little sleep, and had a lot of caffeine." Yep. Also her agent was there. Man, I always pictured literary agents as older/crusty/cynical people with rough New York accents, lol, but this woman was very young and pretty and sweet (she spoke a little, too, about the process of becoming a literary agent, which I found fascinating).

The weirdest thing that happened was that about, say 50 minutes into it (out of the hour time), a person at the back raised her hand and said in a tiny, sort of muffled voice, "I came in late. Do you think you could summarize everything you said up until now?" Everyone in the room was like HUH? and some people giggled nervously. The author was quite gracious and just babbled a bit. That seemed to satisfy the asker.

In conclusion, I'm glad I went. I did something I'd never done before and I'm glad. Another notch in the saying yes to something I normally would have turned down...AND I was able to conquer a major source of insecurity in my life. I shall start going to more of those, I think! :)

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Of the magical hour...

So, I still haven't forgotten Part 2 of that Writing post, believe it or not. I am just easily distracted. And a really good procrastinator.

And I am thinking about something in particular that is related to writing. I actually used to get up at 4 a.m. on a regular basis to write. Insane you say? Okay, yes, I will give you that. Everyone I've told this to, writers and non-writers alike, looks at me in awe and then steps away as if it might be catching. Luckily, it's not something I've ever been consistent with. Apparently I like my warm, cozy bed at 4 a.m. too much. Even if I am already awake because a certain lynx point Siamese thinks it's party time at 3 to 4 a.m. (Yes, I regularly wake up with all his toys in my bed and him batting at my face. And it is 6:40 p.m. right now and he is zonked out. Therein lies the problem.)

Anyway, I noticed that I really do come up with my best ideas at 4 a.m. The writing can be downright otherworldly -- stuff I don't even remember writing later, as if I wrote it in my sleep. My inner editor is a late sleeper and can't be bothered to deride everything I write at that time. The problem is, very few of these brilliant ideas that I might get while lying in bed still are ever remembered beyond that time because I'm too lazy/incompetent/tired/whatever to actually record the idea in my phone or write it down. I am really stuck on a particular writing idea right now. I brainstormed like crazy on a 4-mile walk I took today. I got little glimmers of something, but not too much. My plan is to try this again at 4 a.m. tomorrow. Yes, on a day wheN I don't even have to get up early for work. Actually this is a better idea because I can always go back to sleep at a time that pleases my cat a bit more.

I'll let you all know how it goes...

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Turistas Go Home

While I know I still need to do Part 2 of my writing history, my brain seems to be too fried to do so, and I will not really be home much the next few evenings. So I figure, a good vacation gone wrong movie review? Can't go wrong with that, right? ;D

And this one's a classic!

Turistas



IMBD says: A group of young backpackers' vacation turns sour when a bus accident leaves them marooned in a remote Brazilian rural area that holds an ominous secret.

I should point out that I watched this movie about 3 1/2 years ago very soon after I had first come back to the States after my own "vacation gone wrong" story, so I think this movie had a different effect on me than it might now or might have before. I was still high in PTSD mode, and yet I was seeking these kinds of stories out like crazy. Also, I was watching it while running on a treadmill in my parents' basement so the sound quality was not the best for me and I had to turn subtitles on. Which amused me to no end when it would say something like, "Babbling in Portuguese."

That being said, it was not the best of the genre, not the worst. The character development and ominous feeling at the beginning was pretty well done. Once we knew what was really going on and the terror really kicked in, it was actually kind of "eh whatever." Especially when the whole thing was REALLY about hot young people in bikinis/without shirts most of the movie. And yes, there is illegal organ transplanting going on. Also, I would be remiss if I didn't point out that I'm pretty sure it wasn't the best portrayal of Brazilians, full of stereotypes and all galore (which is pretty typical in this genre, as I have pointed out a few times before).

Vacation Gone Wrong Factor: * * * (Getting my organs stolen does not a restful vacation make)

Did I Care About the Characters Factor: * * (I don't remember very well now, but I don't remember feeling disgusted by them so I'll give them the benefit of the doubt)

Verdict: * * * (When expectations are low and emotions are heightened and it's the only thing distracting you from an hour-long run on a treadmill, the flick did not disappoint)

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Stop the presses, I did something amazing today!

Last night I met some friends at a great local restaurant (a little pricey, but heck, I never go out to eat, and this was some good food -- Mongolian barbecue style where you pick what you want stir fried together and they do it for you).

Anyway, someone there convinced me to participate in a 7.45 (or is it 7.6? Not sure!) mile Trail Run called the Siberian Express in a nearby state park. This race is done the first Saturday in January, no matter WHAT the weather. So given that it's usually below 0 windchill with snow on the ground this time of year, I think we lucked out with it being in the 40s and bright and sunny today.

Wow. So one of the tag lines about this 7.45 mile trail race that I just completed is "No Wimps!"

No Wimps? No kidding! My body hates me right now.

I had never done a trail race and I didn't know what to expect. I was told it was easy except for one famous hill. Well, there were a whole hell of a lot of hills, but none so bad as the One Hill.

Kickapoo Park is amazing in its beauty. It really is a gem, and only about a 30 minute drive from where I live. I started with my friend, but I told her NOT to wait for me because I was not really in any kind of shape to run 7.45 miles, much less on rough trails without doing some major walking along the way at some points. However, I LOVED this experience of trail running. I ran along this trail with a sappy smile on my face, just really taking in the scenery, really appreciating it -- the river, the ponds, the meadows, the woods, the ravines. About 4 miles into it, The One Hill came up. I was afraid. It was the first time I got a little freaky-deaky. The trail at this point was about 1 foot across and muddy and very slippery -- with a big 50 foot or so drop off on the side. I refused to look down, but just focused on crawling in the mud on hands and knees, grabbing for tree roots and hoping the person in front of me didn't slip and take us all down. When I reached the top, I had this HUGE GIDDINESS go over me that I had done that. I hadn't freaked out or frozen. I was badass.

I did have to stop and walk a few times, for sure. Trail running is NOT like running on a treadmill or even on regular sidewalks/streets. It's a lot harder. But the challenge of it and the scenery and the need to pay attention to where your feet are falling so you don't fall or slip is really a good distraction. My goal was to finish in under 2 hours, and I did finish 1:43! So not bad, considering I did stop and walk multiple times, sometimes very slowly to deal with slippery mud, and I did have to crawl on hands and knees a few times to navigate dicey parts of the trail!

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Writing in the Past...Part I

So I asked some friends about some potential blog post topics, and my wise friend and fellow writing sufferer Audrey wrote, "I want you to write a post on your stories... I want to read about your past writing...."

Now, a few months ago, I did write this post:
How is Nano Going?

I will probably include some quotes from it in this story because it's story just sort of tangles in with all the others.

Me? I've been writing stories since I knew how to move a pen across paper. Back in the day, there were no computers or word processors or ipads. No siree. It was good old fashioned long hand or a clacky electric typewriter. No problem, I LOVED old fashioned long hand. I still return to it on occasion. Hence, my buying notebook obsession. (Yes, when Walmart has the yearly 10 cent college ruled notebook sales every fall, I am like a kid in a candy shop. It doesn't matter if I still have fifty unused notebooks at home. I hoard them like they might be deemed illegal next year).

Other kids are excited when their parents bring them home a toy or candy from the store. Me? I was ecstatic every time my mom brought me home another notebook. And don't get me started if I got to buy a notebook and pen before a major car/plane trip. Oh, the thrill! What worlds would my imagination open? What new emotions would it all spark? What universes would unfold? I don't remember much of those early stories. I do remember having to illustrate the upper part of it with bad stick figures (drawing has never been one of my talents). I know many of the stories were about friend conflicts and jealousies and drama (duh, I was in third grade). But there were also fantastical tales about magical cats (I wanted to be a cat for the longest time) and their kittens and a mystical land called Evony where soap bubbles floated everywhere.

In fourth grade I placed in the school district's Young Author's Contest with my multi-chaptered novel called "Sylvia Meets Jealousy on Links Street." Yes, these combined my above themes of cats and pre-adolescent angst. And surprise, surprise. The characters were personified cats and some of them were loosely based on friends I had at the time.

In fifth grade, I went through a bit of a writerly goth stage. I was into horror and adult angst and exploring the effects of things like fires and burns. Okay, at the time I wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up, little knowing that I wasn't going to grow very big or strong. I wrote violent, gory stories and shared them with my friends and then destroyed them afterwards. I can't even blame Stephen King for the influence. I didn't discover him and his horrifying pet cemetery of a mind until 8th grade. He was the one that later taught me to go where you don't think anyone wants you to go with your writing. And then go deeper and darker. It wasn't really a lesson I have heeded until later. And by deep and dark? I don't necessarily mean dark. I really mean deep. Dark only if necessary. That's a power to be wielded pretty sparingly.

I recently discovered a cheesy fantastical novel I wrote in eighth grade called "Beyond the Mirror." I laughed myself silly rereading it to myself. It was flowery and full of purple prose, about some friends who go through a mirror into a magic land (how original, right?). Ah, well, I'm pretty sure I enjoyed it immensely at the time. I filled a whole notebook with it. Oh gosh, there were sparkly unicorns and fairies and mermaids and everything that is awesome. But mostly there was a centaur named, get this, "Janein" (haha, "Yes-no" in German since I was taking German that semester). I think he came to a bad end in that story, as I have never been shy about killing off my darlings.

In high school, I started a big novel. I seem to have blocked the title out of my head, but oh boy, it filled my WORLD for about three or four years. Actually, beyond, because I remember when I was in college and learning to use word processors for the first time (shut-up, I was terrified of computers because they were new-fangled and I thought they would all go away) that I was typing it into a file. The main character was a girl, aged 12ish and she and her friends find? are given? a book that is magical. Stuff happens. Creepy stuff. The dead author is apparently after them. Also there is an older girl who had reportedly been driven mad by the book and was in a coma somewhere. (Her name was Rachel and apparently I had bored my sister with this story enough times that she named some toads she found and kept as pets Rachel, Rachel II, Rachel III etc. Win! Why is my niece not named Rachel? Huh?) There was a slightly older boy who had been friends with Rachel that the main character was in love with, but he had a girlfriend named Sherry (I had a cat named Sherry later - d'oh!). There was drama and creepiness and intrigue. Apparently there was a gateway to another world inside the book. Who knows, I'm sure it was all horribly executed. There was a lot of build up to a big, disappointing climax that involved a really bad storm.

Thank goodness that all relics of that story were destroyed so that one day when I'm terribly famous people won't sell it on ebay.

Okay, so it's getting late and I need to do other stuff so this was part I. I shall continue with part 2 tomorrow or more likely Thursday. :)))

Monday, January 2, 2012

Being Me

Well, as I mentioned yesterday when I talked about the Happiness Project and the author's personal commandments, I was really struck by the one that is "Being ___[insert your own name]."

It sounds so obvious and yet -- not. I think most of us are used to masking who we really are in order to fit in or hating ourselves because we don't, whether it's with your family or coworkers or friends (Thankfully, I have a huge number of friends and family who seem to accept my eccentric self the way I am for the most part). Still, being a creative type who tends to work with very normal people, it's really more often than not that I have to hide at least parts of my true nature. Now, I don't act fake. I don't pretend to like shopping or discussions about domestic things like bathroom improvements. In fact, I'm sometimes way too opinionated. I used to have a notepad that stated, "Everyone's Entitled to My Opinion." Uh-huh. But the surly curl of my lip while raising my eyebrows at the very idea of having bathroom improvements in my life has never in any way meant to put other people's interests down. It was more an insecurity thing. Part of me wishes I were more "normal," that I fit in with what regular 40-something women were into. (I do admit to trying to get into "Dancing With the Stars" in order to be able to participate in a lunch time discussion with colleagues...*cough*, that didn't last very long)

The other part of me is very pleased that I do not fit in. I may not have a normal marriage or own a house or have 2.2 kids and a dog, but I have had experiences not many others I have run into have. I have lived in foreign countries, I have traveled alone, I have looked death and horror in the face in the guise of an armed robber/rapist. I have made rash decisions, some of which have come out okay and some have not. But I never regret not trying.

So what does "Being Andrea" mean? It means owning my own experiences and ways of looking at life. It means being okay with being a writer who has yet to follow through on something (although that's changing now). It means not being ashamed that I like hokey old school soca music and Abba and 80s hits and occasionally really angry hip hop. It means openly admitting to people older than my three-year-old niece that I think mermaids are the coolest. It means not being ashamed that I talk to my cat in silly sing-song in the bathroom (the neighbors probably concur that this is dorkitude). It means admitting that I love bad horror movies (and of course vacation gone wrong movies!) and dark, gritty true crime shows. It means admitting and being okay with not liking to go out late at night to parties or rock concerts or baby showers.

I feel like I should be writing more that is profound here. There is probably more to say on this. A lot more. But I will stop for now. Stay tuned for writings about writing soon!

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Happy 2012!

As I scuttle around the house on the very last day of my vacation (which did not go wrong and in fact was very good on a lot of different levels), cooking for the week, doing laundry, etc., it occurs to me that I am at peace beginning this January and it's all because of an awesome blog that I discovered during the last few days:

The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

As often happens in these cases, I was desperate to find something to inspire me out of this funk I've been in for months on end, something to help me change my attitude, get off my butt and start living and creating again, and get organized. I don't even know how I found the site. I think it was an accident, but I have been devouring the archives for the last five days or so and I'm only in 2007 somewhere!

The blog started when the blogger, a writer (yay, writers! WE ARE COOL YES WE ARE), decided to do research and self-experimentation in pursuit of happiness. She approaches it from different angles, from current scientific knowledge to wisdom from the ages to popular culture. There is a lot of concrete advice, a lot of inspiration in just the way I tend to like it. Not overly sappy/sentimental while being concrete enough to try myself or mold it into something I could try myself. She has twelve personal commandments, the top of which is "Being Gretchen" (basically about loving and owning who she is and being authentic in that way). This is more complicated than you may think and I will talk about that another day.

So here, starting January 1, 2012, I embark on my personal Happiness Project. I know that a huge part of what makes me happy is when I think I am living up to my expectations and accomplishing personal goals (such as writing/running/etc.) and not brooding. I don't call these New Year's resolutions per se, because I hope it's not something that drizzles out in a few days, weeks, or even months. I hope it's something to hang onto when my natural tendency to be lazy and unmotivated kicks in.

And also? Not to be so stereotypical New Year's Day, but these extra holiday pounds (5 of them!!!) have to go. Farewell to the plethora of cookies, rich dips and chips, comfort food, wine, chocolate. Hello, vegetables and fruit and water and running. I've never really been on a diet that's lasted for more than two days (I get really bored by diets), so this will be interesting to see if I can last.

Anyway, I know I promised Pink Audrey a post about writing -- that will come some time this week.

Happy New Year, good friends and family! Good luck to us!