A pattern is emerging: First day was ugh, second was fine, third was ugh again.
According to my complex analysis, tomorrow should be another fine writing day. That is a relief. I don’t think I could take two days in a row of crying out in a fit of self-loathing as I slam all fingers onto the keyboard, momentarily sending the display into a quivering spasm of random chaos.
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12,839 / 38,000
(33.8%) |
Today was a bit easier. A couple days ago I realized I need to compress this book’s time-line but it stressed me because I wasn’t sure how to do that. And I sure didn’t want to tackle that dilemma today when I’m trying to get in the habit of adding words every day rather than slash a couple thousand in one sitting.
So I pulled a Scarlett O’Hara and told myself I’d worry about that issue tomorrow. And then I just kind of picked a jumping off point and started writing. Those words came pretty easily. In fact, I might go add some more right now.
As of this moment, I have at least 469 more words in my story.
Hope the day was productive for you, too, my writing comrades.
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12,277 / 38,000
(32.3%) |
Made my 400-word goal. Just barely. Ugh. Hope the next 74 days aren’t filled with such insecurity and angst. I felt so adrift in the story it was unnerving but I wrote my word count and now hope for an epiphany that will keep me on track for tomorrow.
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11,808 / 38,000
(31.1%) |
I’m so happy because I’ve felt well enough to hoop the past two mornings. Yesterday I was a bit tentative because I didn’t feel 100% but this morning I had such a grin on my face when I started dancing and twirling to the music. (I’d like to bottle that feeling and take a whiff or two throughout the day so as to remember not to get stressed about the small stuff).
I’ve gotten much more coordinated than when I started but I’m still somewhat stiff and sometimes feel a bit like Frankenstein as I move about my living room. But as I alternate between fluid movement and heavy clomping, I’m slowly internalizing one of life’s basic truths: whatever it is I’m trying to do, I’m always much more successful when I relax into it. Which, of course, makes me think of the writing process (because don’t all roads lead there?!) So here it is:
I’m trusting my gut on this one. Knew I couldn’t move forward until I’d resolved the dynamics between two characters.
I LOVE feeling confident about what needs to be done, and am documenting this moment here for those moments in the future when I’m wallowing in doubt.
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11,341 / 38,000
(29.8%) |
I haven’t posted in forever despite having all sorts of stuff to say. So even though some of this deserves a post of its own, I’m settling for the mish-mash approach:
1) Finished LOUISIANA’S SONG by
. I’m in awe of her ability to juggle so many characters without any of them coming across as mannequins. Lyrical writing and vivid imagery plus the ending was just perfect. Hooray, Kerry Madden!
2) Finished A CROOKED KIND OF PERFECT by
. Read the ending while in my parked car during a rainstorm that interrupted my son’s outdoor basketball practice. After reading the last page I closed the book and thought, “I have to call Linda right now.” Then I remembered that although I “know” Linda in an online capacity, I don’t know her know her, much less have her phone number. But I just wanted to talk to her and tell her how much I loved her book. I crack up every time I imagine “Istanbul” (Not Constantinople)” on the organ.
3) Zebu and I started discussing the name “Bernadette” as a possible character’s name and discovered we were reading the same book. His teacher is reading SO B. IT by Sarah Weeks to his class and I read it to myself. Much to like in this book, including the character Bernadette.
4) The last week held some intensely difficult parenting moments, the kind that made me wish I lived alone in a tree fort. We’ve had some rough times over the years but this was bad in a whole new way. Fortunately, some friends talked me through it and we’re doing better here on the home front. May I just say that boy hormones are not much fun?
5) My WIP is creeping along. Not going great guns but am making slight progress and still like what I’m creating. I’m looking forward to the discipline of![[info]](https://i0.wp.com/stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
jonowrimo.
6) I continue to love my hoop and all things hooping. Days are always much brighter when I can hoop so I jump out of bed (okay, maybe it’s more of an ooze) and get dressed in the stretch pants and lycra shirt that facilitate hooping success (tight fit is key) and then hoop for thirty minutes. I can now walk, twirl, and dance as I hoop – in both directions! I sometimes still look a bit stiff and Frankenstein-ish as I walk about but am learning to relax.
7) I sold my little piece to the SCBWI Bulletin. It’s an article on exercises for crossing the mid line so as to stimulate both halves of your brain and jump-start creativity and it, of course, includes HOOPING!
8) I wrote and submitted a short essay to a national magazine which makes me feel good because now I have a reason to watch the mailbox again.
9) I haven’t commented on many LJs in the past week or so but have read many of them. Sorry for not responding but sometimes I just can’t muster the energy to write anything. The emotional turmoil I mentioned (Item 4) rendered me useless, so I apologize for dropping out of the loop. I did appreciate escaping in to your lives, though, so thanks for letting me in.
10) After eight years of helping feed the homeless and working poor, Wildebeest has decided he’d like to switch his volunteer efforts to cats and dogs. We’re trying to get him set up with one of the local animal shelters.
11) Here’s to everyone having a good week.
I’ve got no cute socks
but I’ve got a dryer that eats socks
which leaves me with all sorts of mismatches
such as these which don’t even belong to anyone in my family
and must have been left in our house by one of the neighbor kids
even though they sorta look like our kind of sock since they’re dingy gray.
But I’m willing to reveal
my family’s sad sock reality
for a really good cause like promoting
Linda Urban’s A CROOKED KIND OF PERFECT
a middle-grade novel I’ve been longing to read
and so am sharing my own version of a crooked kind of sock-related perfect.
Please share your own sock secrets
by September 1 (official release day)
and help spread the word on A CROOKED KIND OF PERFECT!
I couldn’t figure out how to post two videos in one post so apologize for multiple posts. This is the companion piece to the Russ Feingold video….
For those who might never have seen (gasp!) this segment from D. A. Pennebaker’s film, “Don’t Look Back” (a documentary on Bob Dylan’s tour of England in 1965) in which Bob holds cue cards while “Subterranean Homesick Blues” plays:
If only Russ Feingold would run for president. And I ain’t just saying that ’cause I’m a former Cheesehead, either! Here’s Russ doing “My President Will Be . . .”
I highly recommend checking out the Progressive Patriots Fund.
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9,789 / 38,000
(25.8%) |
Not much progress since I last posted but I did go back and polish what I had thus far. So while it doesn’t look like much, what I’ve got is solid.
Plus last night I finally figured out something my brain has been struggling to sort out for the past month or so. Something to do with a secondary character and the main plot line. Anyway, I knew there was a reason why my narrator kept referring to that other character but wasn’t sure what it was. Now I know. At least for today I know.
Isn’t it a weird sensation when you can literally feel your brain tripping on something over and over, and then there’s a shift and suddenly the answer is just waiting for you to pluck it off the shelf and plunk it down on the page?!
Here we go again.
We must not let it happen again.
It’s worth the three-and-a-half minutes time to watch this.
Promise.
Look at me! Posting for the fourth day in a row!
Didn’t work on my WIP at all today. But that’s okay because I did write today.
Inspired by
who yesterday finished a non-fiction article that had been hanging over her head, I decided to tackle an article for the SCBWI Bulletin. I’d submitted one last spring which Stephen Mooser rejected with the suggestion of reworking from another angle. So that’s what I did today. The article isn’t lengthy or all that literary, in fact it’s probably more closely related to a blurb than anything else, but it is a finished project. And that makes me happy. After Zippy gives it a read, I’ll send it off.
Tomorrow I’m doing some magazine research at the library for something else I’m considering writing. I think it will improve my mental state to finish another project or two and have them out in the world so that my focus/obsessiveness is more evenly distributed across the landscape.
Or something like that.
Okay, I usually avoid these quizzes but this one appealed to me and not just because I ended up with this:
You’re Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you’re
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You’d
be recognized as such if you weren’t always talking about talking rabbits.
When I was fifteen, my parents let me skip school one day to wait in line for Bob Dylan tickets. He was touring for the first time in years and it was a huge deal. I’d requested permission to camp out but the best they could do (which was still pretty cool) was let me get in line at 5:30 in the morning. My best friend, S., and I got to the Dane County Coliseum and were amazed by the many tents and the many, many bedraggled people who’d been waiting in line for several days. Bottles, cans, paper bags, and sleeping bodies were scattered about. Among all that general debris was a copy of WATERSHIP DOWN. It didn’t seem to belong to anyone so I picked it up.
After hours of anxiously waiting and hoping, S. and I got tickets just minutes before they sold out (we felt bad for but were also grateful to the “disoriented” folks who hadn’t made it back into line). Our excitement was temporarily dampened because our tickets were stamped “Limited Vision” and were for seats behind the stage but then we decided to just be ECSTATIC. And when the time came, Mr. Zimmerman didn’t let us down. He turned and played much of the night to his fans seated behind him, giving us nearly front-row seats. The show was phenomenal.
Well, somewhere in that timeline I read and fell in love with my newly adopted copy of WATERSHIP DOWN. And I guess after that maybe I did a lot of talking about talking rabbits because S. and other friends started calling me Bigwig (which they continued doing throughout high school).
My ticket stub is in my scrapbook.
That copy of WATERSHIP DOWN is on my bookshelf.
And S.? He’s in my heart.
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9,247 / 38,000
(24.3%) |
So I’m having a tough time getting my butt in the chair so I can work on this project and I don’t know why that is. It’s actually a pretty lighthearted story with a fun voice. I guess it’s that I’m feeling a little demoralized because I’m basically writing another first draft. I finished one last November and then let it sit but when I got back to the book in May, it felt off. Not all the way off but enough off that I felt the need to tweak the perspective a bit. Not a huge amount but a little. And for some reason that little tweak makes it feel as if I’m tackling a whole new project.
Ah well. The writing life.
My point is, it’s hard getting motivated on this project. So I went back to the beginning and read what I have so far, and liked it enough to keep forging ahead a tiny bit.
Today, at least, I was able to unearth the joy that keeps me going.
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8,760 / 38,000
(23.1%) |
I haven’t worked on my WIP since last Friday.
I’m also doing that withdraw-from-the-world-thing which is what I do when feeling glum.
So, I’m going to start posting my word count again in hopes of re-energizing my writing PLUS keep connected with my LJ community.
Hopefully it won’t all be blue meters on my part. Maybe I can sprinkle in posts of interest. And maybe I can finish the draft of this project. Again.
It’s official.
If I were stranded on a desert island, I’d want a copy of David Bowie’s HUNKY DORY.
I can listen to this over and over and over again.
Do you have any absolute, for sure, no-doubt-in-your-mind desert island picks?
We’re loading up the car and heading south to Westcliffe where my parents spend their summers. One sister and family plus one brother will be there, as well as other friends. These annual mini-reunions always make for a crazy weekend but I’m good about getting away for some quiet time so I can regroup.
Wishing all of you a lovely weekend.
Be back late Sunday.
Sometimes it’s easy getting caught up in envy for other writers’ processes, especially the Stephen King-esque writers who hammer out manuscripts at an astonishing rate.
Last night I found out (again) why I’m not that kind of writer. I was feeling frustrated and anxious about the scene I was writing (or as ![[info]](https://i0.wp.com/stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
idaho_laurie so aptly put it, I felt twitchy) until I went back a few pages to where the writing felt good and then, with a running start, read to what I’d just written.
It took a couple reads but then the problem was suddenly so obvious. And the fix was very easy.
Now, if I’d caved into those demon voices that ridicule me for producing just hundreds of words per day, that taunt me because I’m nearing forty-five and still haven’t sold a book, that admonish me to get the lead out and produce something marketable, well, I’d either have curled up in the fetal position or started pounding the keyboard in a panicked attempt to write pages and pages just to prove I was a real writer writing a real book in a take that, demon voices! kind of way.
I’m so glad I didn’t. I know from past experiences that it’s so much harder for me to rescue a book from tangents and mis-placed emphasis than it is to write at a slow but solid pace.
I need to remember that this fall when I participate in JoNoWriMo+1.5; a couple hundred solid words per day, every day, is a perfectly fine way to draft a book.
It’s been a hard writerly slog the past couple weeks, both mentally and emotionally, but I’m grateful for the image of William Faulkner protecting the sacred circle surrounding my WIP and me. He’s doing a helluva job keeping those demon voices at bay. Sure, they slip in now and again but with one well-aimed profanity, he sends them running for the hills.
Take a look at this article from The Guardian to see how Jane Austen would fare in today’s publishing world.
I’d really like to start posting everyday because when I let too much time go past, I get overwhelmed by all the subject possibilities.
For instance, I’m back from our car trip extravaganza and I could post a Yellowstone photo of the fireweed with the backdrop of tree remains from the ’88 wildfires:
I could share how wonderful it was meeting
and her gorgeous children, Catgirl and Tornado Boy, and the dissertation-slaving Mr. C. Laurie and I only had a bit of time together but our online interactions made me feel as if we’d already met. She’s just as smart and funny in person as in cyberspace.
Hmm, what else? Oh yes, I’m totally enamored of my hoop. I took it on the trip and hooped all over the place. Along a path in Yellowstone where I converted several older women to a hooping existence, alongside a swimming pool, in various hotel rooms, on the lawn of a hot springs resort in Montana. Wherever I could grab a few minutes. Hooping wakes me up AND calms me down (kind of a non-narcotic, non-stimulant speedball effect).
On our first day of the trip we stopped at some tiny store/gas station in Arlington, WY, where the actor James Woods was buying orange soda and chips (which he started eating before leaving the parking lot). According to Zebu, the men’s restroom in that place was literally overflowing. Ugh.
Random thought: I feel so vindicated in the knowledge that the “moderate” John McCain and his “straight-talk” campaign have imploded!
I’m reading COLD MOUNTAIN right now and am in awe of the writing. I know I’m way behind the times here, but better late than never. I read another adult novel on the trip, a Pulitzer winner from the 80s, and was not so impressed. Charles Frazier, though, is the real deal.
I’m happy to report that I’m back on track with my WIP. Zippy thought of some plot point while on the trip and said, “I know you don’t want to talk about your book but I was thinking…” Well, let’s just say I was less than graceful in shutting down that conversation.
This morning I got a call from my neighbor letting me know a local radio station was giving away tickets to Bob Dylan at Red Rocks. Well, I hooped away while hitting redial and while I got through a bunch of times (the first time I nearly choked on the jolt of adrenaline), each time the phone just rang and rang, and then went to the busy signal. Sigh. Guess it’ll be a Zebu-only experience tomorrow night.
Okay, I’ll stop here with a vow to post more often so there’s not so much stuff to wade through.
Zebu got sick yesterday.
Still sick today.
We hope to leave tomorrow.
I’m trying to catch up on sleep missed last night tending to the delirious, sweat-soaked Zebu.
Had to cancel Saturday night in Yellowstone but should still be able to meet
on Monday.
Here’s hoping all your plans are falling into place……..
Saturday night Zippy and I went to Red Rocks for the concert.
Mavis Staples – WOW!
John Butler Trio – very good.
Michael Franti and Spearhead – TRANSCENDENT. One of the most moving experiences of my life. MF is angered by the daily dose of bullshit and criminal behavior we’ve been subjected to for the past six and a half years BUT he’s also filled with hope for the planet. He’s a minstrel bringing messages of awareness and hope to the masses, and the people respond. I absolutely recommend seeing Spearhead’s live show, especially if you’re feeling so worn down you just can’t go on. Did I mention you’ll dance?!
Wildebeest and Zebu are back from camp. I picked them up Tuesday morning. Monday afternoon I received my one and only letter from camp. It was from Zebu. Dated Friday, June 29, the letter began: “Dear Mom, For me, the past two days sucked.” He went on to document how the powdered Gatorade container he volunteered to carry on their hike up a mountain opened in his pack, covered all his stuff, and coated his arms which made him “a feast for the mosquitoes.” He listed other travails which I read through my tears. I got there early on Tuesday morning, expecting a sad little camper eager to leave the mountains. HA. We were the last family to leave. My two guys kept laughing and talking with the counselors, doing card tricks and taking photos. It’s nice having them home again.
I haven’t written a whole lot in the past few days but I did manage to get over that bad spot and find my way back into the story. I’ve gone back to keeping the book secret as I write this second draft, and it feels better. William Faulkner is doing a good job guarding the circle.
I have a new addiction. I learned about Betty Hoop when there was an article in the paper about her Bolder Boulder run. She hooped the entire 6.2 miles without the hoop hitting the ground! Anyway, I just love my hoop because it’s made for adults (heavier) and stays up when I twirl. I always thought I couldn’t hoop but now I can go nonstop and am feeling all sorts of stomach muscles I haven’t used in years. Hooping mellows me out but also energizes me at the same time. Plus, it makes me smile! (If anyone is interested in getting one, the GAIAM hoop/DVD was on sale for $24.50 when I ordered by phone. I haven’t used the DVD yet, am having fun just twirling and staring into space).
Tomorrow morning we take off for a week in Yellowstone and Montana. It turns out
will be in the same Yellowstone lodge at the same time! We’re going to meet! I’m so excited! Can you tell?!
I’m taking my travel hoop on the trip. Hooping next to the geysers! (Right. As if Wildebeest and Zebu would allow that).
Wishing you all a wonderful week.
The story begins:
I was thirteen when my dad caught me with Tommy Webber in the back of Tommy’s Buick, parked next to the old Chart House down in Montara at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. Tommy was seventeen and the supposed friend of my brother, Darran.
I didn’t love him.
I’m not sure I even liked him.
We’ve all done things we regret but most of us are fortunate enough to keep our indiscretions private. Deanna Lambert isn’t so fortunate. When Deanna’s dad catches them in the backseat, Tommy doesn’t keep his mouth shut but broadcasts the story to the high school population. Deanna is labeled at school but even more painfully, at home where her dad hasn’t really spoken to her in the almost three years since catching her in the Buick.
With perfect pacing, Sara Zarr reveals bits and pieces of the pain Deanna feels during the summer after her sophomore year. Deanna explores her version of events – not Tommy’s, not her father’s, not the stupid boys’ at school – but her own version of why she got into that Buick with Tommy, and as she comes to a greater understanding of the circumstances, begins to see herself, and Tommy, in a different light.
From page 125: It was both sad and funny, you know, how two people’s memory of the same thing could be so different. And that was the whole problem, really, that this thing had happened between us, and to Tommy it was one thing and to me it was something else, and once my dad got involved it became something else again. Three people at the scene of the crime, each with a different story. Add onto that the whole jury known as Terra Nova High School and who knew anymore what had really happened?
This is a powerful story of forgiveness and redemption, and not just Deanna’s redemption. Every single character is real and has a story of her/his own. I was blown away by this book, literally gasping aloud when reading a particularly exquisite sentence. After I finished STORY OF A GIRL, I read it again (jotting down page numbers and sentence references because the writing is that good). Then I bought my own copy.
I don’t know what else to say except Deanna could be me or you or someone you know. Her story is unique but in Sara Zarr’s capable hands, Deanna’s pain and struggle are universal.
This morning
pointed out that I was leaving rather sad writing-related comments on journals. She wisely advised I stop beating myself up about my lack of progress and instead, give myself room to write whatever comes to mind. To relax and breathe. Or just be stuck. Her concern brought tears to my eyes.
A few minutes after reading her comment, I left for my weekly somatic experiencing appointment. When I got there, I told my therapist I was weepy this morning because I was so frustrated and stuck on a project. In talking about it further, I realized a huge part of my anxiety is the worry that I’d “talked” myself out of this book. The thing is, I learned the hard way (as in having to abandon a really great project) that I cannot talk about a book until I have at least a first draft written because each time I say something about the book, it’s like letting air out of a balloon. Pretty soon the book/balloon is flat and lifeless and I have no desire to play with it anymore. I do have a first draft of this book but it’s different than the others I’ve written. More plot oriented than character-driven. Since I’m not as comfortable with plot as characterization, I started talking with Zippy about plot issues. Well, he suggested stuff and we talked and talked about my book, and at the time I thought it was really cool to have that connection and collaboration. Now I’m not so sure.
In discussing all this loss-of-energy-on-this-project stuff with my therapist, I realized I needed to stop talking about this project. Then she recommended visualizing a circle around me and my project, one that keeps that creative energy close but also prevents anyone/anything from interfering in my process. So I closed my eyes and did that (somatic experiencing is all about looking within and tracking physical/emotional sensations. I know it sounds wacky but it’s been a lifesaver for me). She asked if there was anyone I wanted to stand guard on my circle, to help me keep out the interference. I chose William Faulkner. As I visualized my circle with ol’ William standing guard, I felt relief. Not one hundred percent relief, but some.
Then we talked more about the panic and doubts I’ve had about this project and I told her I felt like I was in a free fall. She asked if there was anyone I’d trust to grab onto me, to stop my fall. I immediately visualized a human chain of writer friends, all of you, reaching out to grab my hand. As I pictured all of us linked by our hands, I thought about how you all understand what I’m going through, how we all cheer each other on, and celebrate the good moments and mourn the bad. I thought about how this publishing trek is so tough and competitive but how everyone here is willing to help out the other writers.
I got teary again. The good kind of teary. In that moment, I felt safe and confident of my writing ability. The panic and doubts were gone. I wasn’t alone in my crazy shame spiral. You’ve all been there. You know what it’s like and you all do your best to drag fellow writers out of that icky place.
Since this morning’s appointment, I’ve had a couple more moments of loathing and doubt. But each time I visualized my connection with all my writer friends, and felt calm again. Later I sat at my desk, closed my eyes and basked in the quiet
wrote about in today’s post. And you know what? I wrote 700 words.
I appreciate each of you so very much. Thanks for all you give.
Tracy Abell 