In 2007, I wrote a post called "Back to 'Bird by Bird'" which described my feelings about struggling with my writing especially what to do with the first draft of my historical novel and a lecture I attended with Anne Lamott, who wrote "Bird by Bird," a classic book on writing. A friend of mine mentioned that he read the post the other day.
Reading it now makes me smile. That was over four years ago. I can't believe all that's happened in these last four years. I'm now on the third official draft of my historical novel. I'm home sick today and spent some time reviewing all the chapters I'd thrown together, eliminating the ones that definitely did not belong, and noting ones that only had one sentence (placeholder chapters, really!), and compiled the document into Word. It's now over 88,000 words or 237 single-spaced Word pages.
The story has taken on a gigantic life of its own with at least two viable backstories which are both over 70 pages long (not currently included with the Word document), and a couple of secondary characters who keep insisting on running away with their own story. Those boys need to pipe down and wait their turn.
And I went to Europe in 2010 and researched the story setting when I visited Nuremberg. You know, if you had told me I was going to lose my job soon after I came back to that trip, I may have thought twice about going but I'm glad those guys didn't tell me because it's going to be a long time before I can do any significant travel. I'm so grateful I got to go there once. I would love to go back in December but I don't see how that's possible.
Anyway, I burned through my (new) black ink cartridge printing out my hard copy of the novel. No matter, there's more where that came from. Serious revision is going to begin to turn this bad boy into the real deal and I'm really looking forward to it.
It surprises me to say this but I feel so much more comfortable with myself in general. I think about that time in 2007 when I was laid off, and about that time in 2010 right after I came back from that trip. My situation is still far from stable but I feel very sure of myself, my writing, and my ability to take this story where I want it to go. It's very odd to realize this for the first time as I'm writing this post.
It's a bit like realizing you have an idea of what you're capable of, and that you don't have to be at the mercy of whatever is being thrown at you all the time. I'm not saying shit isn't going to get thrown at me, it happens, but I know there are some areas of my life that will still remain under my own control.
It's good to be back on the blog, people. I hope you are all doing great. More later.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
Saturday, December 03, 2011
Dating Life: I Posted This Ad On Craigslist...Annotated
Note: I posted this ad on craigslist last Valentines Day. It was just an experiment. I was more interested in writing the ad itself and not at all interested in meeting anybody. I got something like 20 responses, none of them viable. I took the ad down after I kept receiving responses asking what kind of drugs I was using (none). Here for your reading pleasure is the ad, annotated.
Un Chien Andalou (n.1) or Warm and Heavy Like Old Friendship
[Once upon a time...] (n.2)
Those ancient and old symbols quiver in the bright sunlight. We don't feel as old as we are but time keeps marching on as soldiers in formation. While the phalanx formation was appropriate for angels (n.3), time has no such poetry. It's all just straight lines and measured beats.
Speaking of poetry, how about if I do a little waxing? Of moonlight and walks on the beach? Of the stars that twinkle like shattered windshield glass on nighttime asphalt (n.4)? On seashore while we walk, ignoring the flaring bonfires of hipsters and hippies in our midst, watching cloud-like clumps of sea foam sliding across dark wet sand (n.5). Sandpipers are just barely visible running over the shore, delicate shadows. I could go on but I think what makes this evening special is the easy silence between us, your arm around my shoulders, warm and heavy like old friendship.
[Eight years later...]
This past week it's all about the films. Independent ones. I've tried cramming as many films into this week and next that I'm about to collapse from the stories and images flying around my subconscious like sugared up screech owls (n.6). Sure, I stole those words from the title cards but I couldn't resist. This post is about time after all. Time together, time marching on, the time of our lives, good times, and the time is now. Time bending and twisting like my brain did while watch nun exploitation films at 1:00 am with bad editing and worse acting (n.7).
I like to do a lot of other stuff too. Writing, obviously, though I write fiction with coherent stories most of the time. I like looking at paintings and sculptures. I like notes and beats, instruments. The usual stuff, though I'd be lying if I didn't disclose that the main reason I indulge myself in such pursuits is to fuel my imagination for more writing. Speaking of more, let's talk about that. More excellent conversation, more sexy moments, more telling you how cool you are (n.8), more fun times, more exploration of the world and each other.
Not less. I'm tired of less. The biggest form of less in my life right now is the job situation, just so you know. Other forms of less that have proved tiring: less kindness, less warmth, less understanding, less lovely connections.
[Around three in the morning...]
We are not battleships passing each other in the night firing our guns at random. When we see each other, we defy the usual norms by actually staying and talking, then asking each other our names, then explaining that we'd like to meet for coffee or a dinner. We like each other and follow through. We listen to each other and want to know more stuff about...us. At least that's the hope. A good one, wouldn't you say? For hope is not the broken down, kicked-in-the-ass bird trying to fly around on one wing that I sometimes imagine it to be. No, hope is the real deal, the enduring idea, and the sweet clenching in my chest. Hope never goes away in spite of my best efforts (n.9).
[Sixteen years ago...]
About me:
Long dark hair, eyes like the night wind
A little on the chubby side (padded)
Beautiful but in an average, non-descript way (n.10)
A solar-like smile
Short
Looking for single/divorced, educated man.
[In the Spring...]
My life is full of too many maybes and what ifs. You know what I mean. These things crowd around me like gnats with tiny bombs. The only what ifs worthy of my attention are the ones related to my stories. Time to walk out into this big world, barefoot and open. Time to take a look around. Time to see what's up. If you've made it this far in this post, I thank you for reading. If you're at all interested, please do write.
***
Un Chien Andalou (n.1) or Warm and Heavy Like Old Friendship
[Once upon a time...] (n.2)
Those ancient and old symbols quiver in the bright sunlight. We don't feel as old as we are but time keeps marching on as soldiers in formation. While the phalanx formation was appropriate for angels (n.3), time has no such poetry. It's all just straight lines and measured beats.
Speaking of poetry, how about if I do a little waxing? Of moonlight and walks on the beach? Of the stars that twinkle like shattered windshield glass on nighttime asphalt (n.4)? On seashore while we walk, ignoring the flaring bonfires of hipsters and hippies in our midst, watching cloud-like clumps of sea foam sliding across dark wet sand (n.5). Sandpipers are just barely visible running over the shore, delicate shadows. I could go on but I think what makes this evening special is the easy silence between us, your arm around my shoulders, warm and heavy like old friendship.
[Eight years later...]
This past week it's all about the films. Independent ones. I've tried cramming as many films into this week and next that I'm about to collapse from the stories and images flying around my subconscious like sugared up screech owls (n.6). Sure, I stole those words from the title cards but I couldn't resist. This post is about time after all. Time together, time marching on, the time of our lives, good times, and the time is now. Time bending and twisting like my brain did while watch nun exploitation films at 1:00 am with bad editing and worse acting (n.7).
I like to do a lot of other stuff too. Writing, obviously, though I write fiction with coherent stories most of the time. I like looking at paintings and sculptures. I like notes and beats, instruments. The usual stuff, though I'd be lying if I didn't disclose that the main reason I indulge myself in such pursuits is to fuel my imagination for more writing. Speaking of more, let's talk about that. More excellent conversation, more sexy moments, more telling you how cool you are (n.8), more fun times, more exploration of the world and each other.
Not less. I'm tired of less. The biggest form of less in my life right now is the job situation, just so you know. Other forms of less that have proved tiring: less kindness, less warmth, less understanding, less lovely connections.
[Around three in the morning...]
We are not battleships passing each other in the night firing our guns at random. When we see each other, we defy the usual norms by actually staying and talking, then asking each other our names, then explaining that we'd like to meet for coffee or a dinner. We like each other and follow through. We listen to each other and want to know more stuff about...us. At least that's the hope. A good one, wouldn't you say? For hope is not the broken down, kicked-in-the-ass bird trying to fly around on one wing that I sometimes imagine it to be. No, hope is the real deal, the enduring idea, and the sweet clenching in my chest. Hope never goes away in spite of my best efforts (n.9).
[Sixteen years ago...]
About me:
Long dark hair, eyes like the night wind
A little on the chubby side (padded)
Beautiful but in an average, non-descript way (n.10)
A solar-like smile
Short
Looking for single/divorced, educated man.
[In the Spring...]
My life is full of too many maybes and what ifs. You know what I mean. These things crowd around me like gnats with tiny bombs. The only what ifs worthy of my attention are the ones related to my stories. Time to walk out into this big world, barefoot and open. Time to take a look around. Time to see what's up. If you've made it this far in this post, I thank you for reading. If you're at all interested, please do write.
****
I've written some excellent ads on craiglist over the years but this was the weirdest one. I read a horoscope that stated I needed to keep experimenting and frolicking around in matters of love. Or rather I interpreted it as frolicking. This was one way I could think of doing just that. I have no idea if I'll get any responses but I wanted to share this strange piece of writing with you anyway. Besides, it's fucking Valentine's Day, right?
(n.1) "Un Chien Andalou" is the most famous surrealist film ever made. It was a French silent film made in 1929 and directed by Luis Bunuel. Here's a blog post I did on it.
(n.2) The comments in brackets follow the title cards in "Un Chien Andalou," hence the post title. A title card was used in silent films to set the time, note dialogue, or provide explanations. Luis used the title cards in this film to mess around with time and force people to shift their expectations of what was happening when.
(n.3) In Milton's "Paradise Lost," there's a war in Heaven and the angels use the Ancient Greek phalanx formation in their battles. If you've seen the movie "300," Gerard Butler goes into a short explanation of how it works.
(n.4) It occurred to me that this phrase "shattered windshield glass on nighttime asphalt" might be a bit too grim to include in a personal ad but I left it in because I really like it.
(n.5) I was walking on Ocean Beach by myself one night and there were these giant clumps of seafoam sliding across the dark wet sand. They looked like cumulus clouds and they were moving very steadily. I felt like a giant walking on the roof of the world.
(n.6) I was in the middle of attending the San Francisco Independent Film Festival (SF IndieFest) when I wrote this post.
(n.7) The name of this film was "Nude Nuns With Big Guns" and I really did watch at 1:00 am.
(n.8) In Miss Turtle's world, one of the biggest compliments I can give a guy is "You are so cool." The only one that's better is when I tell him he's my hero. Heroes in my life are few and far between, starting with my Dad. The guy has to be a knockout to reach that status.
(n.9) This part is painfully honest. I'm generally a cynic when it comes to matters of love but this little confession about how hope never goes away even though I try to beat the crap out of it is so true.
(n.10) I'm always brutally honest when I post dating ads but there's nothing average and non-descript about the way I look. I wrote that down because guys never seem to notice me.
***
Footnotes(n.1) "Un Chien Andalou" is the most famous surrealist film ever made. It was a French silent film made in 1929 and directed by Luis Bunuel. Here's a blog post I did on it.
(n.2) The comments in brackets follow the title cards in "Un Chien Andalou," hence the post title. A title card was used in silent films to set the time, note dialogue, or provide explanations. Luis used the title cards in this film to mess around with time and force people to shift their expectations of what was happening when.
(n.3) In Milton's "Paradise Lost," there's a war in Heaven and the angels use the Ancient Greek phalanx formation in their battles. If you've seen the movie "300," Gerard Butler goes into a short explanation of how it works.
(n.4) It occurred to me that this phrase "shattered windshield glass on nighttime asphalt" might be a bit too grim to include in a personal ad but I left it in because I really like it.
(n.5) I was walking on Ocean Beach by myself one night and there were these giant clumps of seafoam sliding across the dark wet sand. They looked like cumulus clouds and they were moving very steadily. I felt like a giant walking on the roof of the world.
(n.6) I was in the middle of attending the San Francisco Independent Film Festival (SF IndieFest) when I wrote this post.
(n.7) The name of this film was "Nude Nuns With Big Guns" and I really did watch at 1:00 am.
(n.8) In Miss Turtle's world, one of the biggest compliments I can give a guy is "You are so cool." The only one that's better is when I tell him he's my hero. Heroes in my life are few and far between, starting with my Dad. The guy has to be a knockout to reach that status.
(n.9) This part is painfully honest. I'm generally a cynic when it comes to matters of love but this little confession about how hope never goes away even though I try to beat the crap out of it is so true.
(n.10) I'm always brutally honest when I post dating ads but there's nothing average and non-descript about the way I look. I wrote that down because guys never seem to notice me.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Old Blog - Dating Life: Strange Comments From Guys I've Dated
(First posted 12/14/05) A friend of mine asked me to put this post up along with its counterpart (see post below)
"I always sleep with the same hand towel on my head every night. I've been doing that since I was three years old." (First Date)
"You really should check out the Power Exchange sometime but it's only interesting if you're really drunk or really stoned." (Second Date - The Power Exchange is a famous sex/fetish club here in SF. I have not been there.)
"Don't you want to be loved, adored, and worshiped? Don't you?" (Second Date)
"I guess you're kinda cute." (First Date)
"Since we have time before the movie starts, why don't we go to my car and stretch out in the back seat? I have some CDs we can listen to." (First Date - the guy was particularly proud that he had an SUV and really wanted to get me in there)
"So what are your feelings about the toilet seat? Should it be up or down?" (First Date)
"So when do we get to have sex?" (Fourth Date - This guy was not making any moves in that direction at all. He wasn't trying to hold my hand nor did he try to kiss me. Nothing.)
"Yes, I have a real Warhol. I used to have a Chagall but I gave it to my lawyers to pay for attorney's fees." (Second Date)
"I can't watch movies with subtitles and eat at the same time." (Second Date)
"I always sleep with the same hand towel on my head every night. I've been doing that since I was three years old." (First Date)
"You really should check out the Power Exchange sometime but it's only interesting if you're really drunk or really stoned." (Second Date - The Power Exchange is a famous sex/fetish club here in SF. I have not been there.)
"Don't you want to be loved, adored, and worshiped? Don't you?" (Second Date)
"I guess you're kinda cute." (First Date)
"Since we have time before the movie starts, why don't we go to my car and stretch out in the back seat? I have some CDs we can listen to." (First Date - the guy was particularly proud that he had an SUV and really wanted to get me in there)
"So what are your feelings about the toilet seat? Should it be up or down?" (First Date)
"So when do we get to have sex?" (Fourth Date - This guy was not making any moves in that direction at all. He wasn't trying to hold my hand nor did he try to kiss me. Nothing.)
"Yes, I have a real Warhol. I used to have a Chagall but I gave it to my lawyers to pay for attorney's fees." (Second Date)
"I can't watch movies with subtitles and eat at the same time." (Second Date)
Old Blog - Dating Life: Strange Comments I've Made To Guys I've Dated
(First posted on 12/22/05) In all fairness, I've decided to include the list below. I can be quirky and stupid, and I'm known for sticking my foot in my mouth. At least I'm honest about it.
"So what is the point of being enlightened anyway?" (First Date - I said this after a guy was explaining with much enthusiasm how he had achieved a high level of spiritual awareness. I also quoted Captain Kirk during this conversation.)
"It's time for you to shut the fuck up now." (Third Date - The guy was going on and on about how hemp was going to save the world.)
"I can't spend the night with you. My dog has serious separation anxiety and she will freak out if I don't come home." (Fourth Date - It has been suggested that I've used this as an excuse, maybe it's along the same lines as "You can't come up to my apartment, my dog hates men," but it's true; my dog can't handle being by herself all night long.)
"Wait, isn't your email handle the same name as the husband who killed his wife in 'Vertigo?'" (First Phone Call - It turned out of the true, believe it or not. He never thought in a million years that anyone would figure that out. This is why Google is so great.)
"This is just a one night stand. I can't be your girlfriend." (The Day After - apparently it wasn't clear to the guy that this was the situation because he kept insisting that I really did want to be his girlfriend.)
"You've been evaluating and testing me all evening, trying to see if I fit into some preconceived notions of what a mate should be. Knock it off." (First Date - this guy was clearly looking for a wife and I passed all his tests with flying colors. Unfortunately I couldn't stand him.)
"What kind of person doesn't watch DVD commentaries?" (Third Date - Sometimes the movie snob in me comes out in full force. The guy liked movies; I was floored when he told me he'd never watched a DVD commentary. He said it was too much of a time commitment.)
"I'm sick of people making fun of me because I love Harry Potter. You need to get out of my face with that shit." (First Date - I've made this comment, or a similar one, a couple of times now.)
"Are you going to talk to me or are you just going to stand there talking to your friend?" (First Meeting - I was sitting at a restaurant bar eating dinner and reading a book. This older gentleman was standing nearby talking to his friend about the book I was reading but looking at me. He did talk to me but was so thrown by what I said that it didn't last long.)
"Was that a joke? Are you being funny?" (Fourth Date - This was a difficult one for me. I really liked the guy but was self-conscious around him. I couldn't tell if he liked me, I couldn't tell if he was joking most of the time, and he was very impatient about it. He concluded that I had no sense of humor and we were not compatible.)
"Why did you bring that leather whip?" (First Time Sleeping Together - I think it's rude to bring your BDSM toys to bed the first time you're going to sleep with someone without checking to see if the other person is into it too.)
"What is up with the stem on this rose?" (First Date - This guy bought me a rose while we were having dinner in North Beach. The stem was really thick. I proceeded to suggest that the stem had been genetically engineered to be thick and went on about the possible reasons why. He didn't know how to respond to my comments. Poor guy.)
"Don't make me figure out the tip." (Nearly Every Date - said in the same tone of voice as "Don't make me hurt you.")
"So what is the point of being enlightened anyway?" (First Date - I said this after a guy was explaining with much enthusiasm how he had achieved a high level of spiritual awareness. I also quoted Captain Kirk during this conversation.)
"It's time for you to shut the fuck up now." (Third Date - The guy was going on and on about how hemp was going to save the world.)
"I can't spend the night with you. My dog has serious separation anxiety and she will freak out if I don't come home." (Fourth Date - It has been suggested that I've used this as an excuse, maybe it's along the same lines as "You can't come up to my apartment, my dog hates men," but it's true; my dog can't handle being by herself all night long.)
"Wait, isn't your email handle the same name as the husband who killed his wife in 'Vertigo?'" (First Phone Call - It turned out of the true, believe it or not. He never thought in a million years that anyone would figure that out. This is why Google is so great.)
"This is just a one night stand. I can't be your girlfriend." (The Day After - apparently it wasn't clear to the guy that this was the situation because he kept insisting that I really did want to be his girlfriend.)
"You've been evaluating and testing me all evening, trying to see if I fit into some preconceived notions of what a mate should be. Knock it off." (First Date - this guy was clearly looking for a wife and I passed all his tests with flying colors. Unfortunately I couldn't stand him.)
"What kind of person doesn't watch DVD commentaries?" (Third Date - Sometimes the movie snob in me comes out in full force. The guy liked movies; I was floored when he told me he'd never watched a DVD commentary. He said it was too much of a time commitment.)
"I'm sick of people making fun of me because I love Harry Potter. You need to get out of my face with that shit." (First Date - I've made this comment, or a similar one, a couple of times now.)
"Are you going to talk to me or are you just going to stand there talking to your friend?" (First Meeting - I was sitting at a restaurant bar eating dinner and reading a book. This older gentleman was standing nearby talking to his friend about the book I was reading but looking at me. He did talk to me but was so thrown by what I said that it didn't last long.)
"Was that a joke? Are you being funny?" (Fourth Date - This was a difficult one for me. I really liked the guy but was self-conscious around him. I couldn't tell if he liked me, I couldn't tell if he was joking most of the time, and he was very impatient about it. He concluded that I had no sense of humor and we were not compatible.)
"Why did you bring that leather whip?" (First Time Sleeping Together - I think it's rude to bring your BDSM toys to bed the first time you're going to sleep with someone without checking to see if the other person is into it too.)
"What is up with the stem on this rose?" (First Date - This guy bought me a rose while we were having dinner in North Beach. The stem was really thick. I proceeded to suggest that the stem had been genetically engineered to be thick and went on about the possible reasons why. He didn't know how to respond to my comments. Poor guy.)
"Don't make me figure out the tip." (Nearly Every Date - said in the same tone of voice as "Don't make me hurt you.")
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Jittered, Capped, and Dead Weight
Below are three separate posts from my old blog. When I first posted it, people told me Jittered was a strong piece of writing, the first compliment of its kind for me. Fortunately, it wasn't the last one. The other two posts, Capped and Dead Weight, are meant to follow Jittered. I love all three. Jittered accurately describes a stressful day at work where all the men found me insanely attractive for some reason. Maybe it was because I was wearing a skirted suit. I love Capped because it's an odd description of complete exhaustion vs. sexual longing. Jittered might be the best written of the three but Dead Weight is my favorite, especially the end.
****
Jittered
(First Posted Feb. 9, 2006)
At 7:20 am I stood outside City Hall
looking for the way in. I ignored that replica Italian dome vying for my
attention. The sun was warm, the sky beautiful and it was already a bad start
to the day.
I walked briskly, trying to disguise the
fact that I had the shakes. I was pulling a hand truck with important
documents. Documents that could make or break things, but I didn't care. I
still had to get into the building. Something popped in my head. Grove. Street.
I walked passed a couple of guys who both said good morning. I've been looking
good lately. I feel like hell, but I smile and flirt anyway. Part of the job.
I'm holding the one thing in my hand that
I should not be carrying. The one thing that will make and break me: a cup of
strong coffee with a little sugar. I haven't drank it yet. When I do,
everything will go jittered. My thoughts will scattershot all over the place.
Must wait for the right moment.
7:42 am and I'm arguing with security who
keeps telling me to go to the door at the end. I try to stay calm, but that
shaky inside feeling is getting worse. I finally find the right door. The sun
blazes outside. The angry employees are leaving all that warm sunshine for the
big dome.
I manage to make it through the metal
detector without falling to pieces. The security guard chats away. I thank him
and move on. Basement. Okay. Up the elevator now. The men are tripping over
themselves to help me find my room. They try to talk to me as we ride up four
floors. I long to ask someone what kind of wood is on the paneling, but I keep
forgetting. The brain is jumping here and there. To and fro. When I get off on
my floor, the men realize they forgot to press their floor number.
I make it to my room and the door is
locked. I wait outside with the documents. The hallway is long and wide with
gleaming white marble floors. More men in suits show up and they all smile, say
good morning. One guy really likes me. He's a hyperactive little shit or maybe
I'm just projecting.
I drink my coffee now. I breathe. It's the
last breath of the day that will have any effect except to move the oxygen
around. In about ten minutes, I can barely keep it together. The morning flies
by, a blur of papers and people. I'm sitting for hours on a red velvet chair
that's too small. I get cranky. I want to punch the only other chick here in
the face. Bitch.
Later I'm wandering through the
Controller's Office. Everyone ignores me. I smile and look around waiting for
someone to ask me what the hell I'm doing there. No one does. I could steal
anything from that place right now because all the employees are sitting around
talking about what they watched on TV last night. There are too many exits
here, too many side stairs.
Back to my velvet seat. I drank that cup
of coffee as quickly as possible. I'm so wired, I can't feel sorry for myself
anymore. I try to calm down, but it's not working. I'm still cranky, but I'm
kicking ass. I don't know how I do it. The suit next to me keeps flirting.
Giving me sideways glances. He smells good.
I wander into the hallway to make a phone
call. I stare down to the main part of the building. I look up at the huge dome
and then down four floors of white marble and concrete. Alarms are going off in
my body, something about not falling and going splat. I'm having a perfectly
ordinary conversation and then another one. Each lasts ten minutes. My voice
has not started shaking, but I notice it's pitched to a slightly higher octave.
Inside my head pounds and my eyeballs start to burn. Tears run down my left cheek.
I manage to stop the tears and get off the phone. Now my eyes are burning so
bad it feels like I've been blasted with tear gas. I stop and "drop"
into the moment. It works, but now I'm in the "moment" eyeballs
burning and inside shaking.
Back to my red velvet seat. I kick some
more ass. I got everything. You want it now? I got it. I'm ready for ya, baby.
Bring it on. I know what you want before you do.
I'm finally out of there. I have to go
find a man about some equipment. I spend the next 30 minutes wandering around
City Hall while he tells me I can have anything, I just have to ask him. He
gives me his cell phone number. I thank him and leave. The security guard
insists upon carrying my boxes for me down the front stairs.
Day is
beautiful. So am I. Jittered.
Capped
(First Posted Feb. 9, 2006)
Safe in my stripped down apartment, the
shakes start to subside a little. I'm pushing the envelope with all the wrong
combinations. The only thing that would make things more interesting is if I
added some recreational drugs. No dice tonight.
I watch a very bad movie. The same message
keeps showing up: "The disk is dirty." That's accurate. I have to
turn it off after a few clicks of the remote. Brain overload. I need water.
I shake out my thick hair and smooth cream
on my soft skin. Floss. Brush. Stretch. I have good, sensitive hands.
Almost time
for bed. I'll curl up in my silky cool sheets and dream about all the things I
need so badly. I want to whisper softly. I want to tumble and flourish. I
couldn't even if I wanted to. The body wants much, but must drop into dreamland
now.
Dead Weight
(First Posted Feb. 10, 2006)
The trembly overlay stayed with me all
day. At least I didn't feel like punching that bitch out. In fact, I didn't
feel like punching anybody out. Progress. I had a glimpse, a murmur of what it
must feel like when the gangster raps that it was a good day because no one died.
I keep drawing shivery breaths. I managed
to stay off the caffeine. I went to my own funeral just now, but left because
they were getting ready to put me in the ground. The box is not a good place
for me; cremation is the only way to go. Heaven and Hell are two sides of the
same coin, two turns in the wheel. My worst nightmare is about to come true:
I'm going to be reincarnated as a creature at the bottom of the food chain. A
krill, anchovy or zooplankton.
I keep telling myself I should be coming
down now, but it's not happening. That's not unusual. I tell myself things all
the time and the outside just ignores all my yapping. The brain bounces but
then goes back to center and stays for a second. I can't hear anything anymore.
A promising sign.
I sat in my car when I got home and closed
my eyes. I'd found center again and wanted to stay there. So I stayed for a
while. The world went dark and quiet. No dreams. No nothing.
A friend looked me over today and said I
looked like I should be reporting the news. "I like it," he said. My
arms are trembling a little and I don't want to think about my hands anymore. I
am chagrined and sheepish. Nothing new there.
The usual confusion blasts through my
head. I'm full of mysteries and cocksure of them all. Everything is complicated
because I make it so. Deadweight it all. Need to channel all those stories out
of my really really world and onto the page where they belong.
Then I stand
up straight. I look around. The stories are overflowing. It's like the water
pouring out of the dark apartment, taps turned up full. I'm so shrink wrapped
that I can't even see them. I've been slogging through the water and not
noticing them at all. Everything is right in front of me.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Writing Life: Class Progress - Part Two
I'm supposed to be writing now, you know, working on my novel but
I've been screwing off this evening so I'll further indulge myself by
writing this post. I already frittered away the evening by getting the
photos from my Zion trip ready for public viewing. Who knows, I may
email one of my classmates after this blog post is done if my brain
continues to rebel.
Nah, I won't do that. What I'm going to do after this post is published is write. What I mean by that is I'm going to work on my class novel (this blog post doesn't really count towards my daily quota). And the reason why is because I have been writing everyday (except this past Sunday when we were hiking the Narrows at Zion) and this habit has ingrained itself into my psyche.
Write everyday, man. Produce. It's becoming my new motto. Write even if I'm sitting in the back of the car, as we scream down I-5 en route to Vegas and then onto Zion National Park. Write even though I'm crammed in with all the camping gear, luggage, pillows, etc. and there's barely any elbow room. Write even though it's night at the campsite and everyone else is sitting around the picnic table having a lovely dinner. I'm eating too but I'm apart from everyone because I have to "work." The stars are ablaze overhead and the moon has not yet come up. And still I have my eyes fixed to my Galaxy Tab while they indulge in conversation.
Write no matter what.
My ability to produce a story quickly out of thin air is getting easier. Whether the story is any good is a whole other thing. I'm getting the idea that the novel I'm working on for this class isn't going in the right direction and I'm going to have to completely rewrite it. Though this can be disconcerting, it's actually huge progress on my part. Most of the time I get through the entire first draft before I discover the story isn't right and then I sit there wringing my hands wondering what the hell to do next.
Nah, I won't do that. What I'm going to do after this post is published is write. What I mean by that is I'm going to work on my class novel (this blog post doesn't really count towards my daily quota). And the reason why is because I have been writing everyday (except this past Sunday when we were hiking the Narrows at Zion) and this habit has ingrained itself into my psyche.
Write everyday, man. Produce. It's becoming my new motto. Write even if I'm sitting in the back of the car, as we scream down I-5 en route to Vegas and then onto Zion National Park. Write even though I'm crammed in with all the camping gear, luggage, pillows, etc. and there's barely any elbow room. Write even though it's night at the campsite and everyone else is sitting around the picnic table having a lovely dinner. I'm eating too but I'm apart from everyone because I have to "work." The stars are ablaze overhead and the moon has not yet come up. And still I have my eyes fixed to my Galaxy Tab while they indulge in conversation.
Write no matter what.
***
We
are little more than halfway through the class and my critiques are
getting ever more detailed and elaborate. I don't think this is a good
thing though one of my classmates assures me that it is. I just keep
finding more and more things to suggest about sentence structure, first
lines, story structure, transitions, characters, etc. And if someone
asks me to answer questions about the story, like one person did, then
God help them I'm off on a whole new page of commentary. I had to force
myself to keep the comments to one page. I think I moved the margins and
went down a font size in an attempt to look like I wasn't babbling on.
So fucking embarrassing.
Thing
is, going to such measures is a lot of work. I have to be in the right
frame of mind and ready to put pen to paper. I have to have a large
block of time because I do it all in one go so I can keep the story
fresh in my mind. And I have to think, and reach, and keep digging to
find more stuff to pull out of myself that might have some use to the
writer.
All this effort is making my own
writing better. And I know my long winded critiques are helping at
least one student. And my teacher tells me I'm getting good at picking
apart stories.
Rest assured I'm not making all this
effort for the other writers in my class. I'm doing it for me. I know
that if I put an enormous amount of effort into this shit then the
benefits will come back to me a thousand-fold. Or at least ten-fold.
Something like that.
***
My ability to produce a story quickly out of thin air is getting easier. Whether the story is any good is a whole other thing. I'm getting the idea that the novel I'm working on for this class isn't going in the right direction and I'm going to have to completely rewrite it. Though this can be disconcerting, it's actually huge progress on my part. Most of the time I get through the entire first draft before I discover the story isn't right and then I sit there wringing my hands wondering what the hell to do next.
I can skip the wringing hands part this time because I know what I need to do. Progress.
Though all of these things are good,
I'm expected to make a contribution to our class anthology Portion
Control and I have no idea what I'm going to contribute. I'm inwardly
balking at the idea of including an excerpt of my class novel. It's
going to have to be something else. Christ, how am I going to pull that
off?
Yeah, I did say I can produce quickly but...well, I guess we are going to see just how quickly in the next couple of weeks.
***
Even with all my bellyaching, this class is one of the best things to
happen to me in my writing life. I'm seeing myself getting better and
better, hands getting dirty, ink stains everywhere. And good habits
being developed besides.
I jokingly told my instructor when he
was done with me I was going to be carved out of wood. I was kidding
but now I'm sure that statement is true.
Time to work. On my class novel. Not on the email to my classmate.
P.S. Wow, I barely had to edit this post. I guess I am getting better.
Zion Road Trip 2011
Yes, it's that time of year again. A time to get into the car and drive for 13 hours on Friday, arrive at Zion for the weekend, then hop back in the car on Monday to drive another 13 hours home. Still, it was a lovely trip. The weather was amazing (but a bit too hot for my taste). Gourmet food, wine, and cocktails were brilliant as always. Camping in tents and no showering for a couple of days.
And, best of all, fantastic friends. Click on the picture to enjoy the photo album.
And, best of all, fantastic friends. Click on the picture to enjoy the photo album.
Saturday, October 08, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Writing Life: Class Progress - Part One
I started a writing class. It's only the second one I've taken in my entire life. The first one I took at San Francisco City College when I got here seven years ago and it was pretty bad. The instruction, if you want to call it that, was non-existent.
At the time I thought I could teach the class better even though I didn't have much writing experience. Now I know I could teach it better and I haven't published anything.
This writing class is taught by Tony DuShane. Check out the link there if you want to know more about him. He's published a novel and has his own interview show, etc. I decided to start a new novel for this class instead of working on one of my existing ones. I have plans for them and don't want to show them to anyone right now. I was feeling a bit cheeky about that, truth be told. Sure, yeah! A new class, new novel! No problem.
However, last Tuesday I sat down at my Galaxy Tab and stared at the blank screen. I realized I had to pull an entirely new novel out of thin air and I wasn't sure if I was up to the task. To top it off, this novel will be critiqued so I can't write a new novel and allow it to be a major mess no one looks at. There has to be something for people to work with and it has to be of reasonable quality so no one's time, especially mine, is wasted. The only thing I had to work with is I decided it was going to be a haunted house story. I knew I wanted the setting to be a huge, sprawling estate. I had an idea for the opening sequence but no ideas for the characters, the story, or even what the house looks like.
Almost everyone else is working on novels/memoirs they've had for a while so they're all farther along than I am and (presumably) their stories are going to be more polished. I stared at the blank screen of my Tab, place my fingers on the keyboard, and started pounding out a story.
At the time I thought I could teach the class better even though I didn't have much writing experience. Now I know I could teach it better and I haven't published anything.
This writing class is taught by Tony DuShane. Check out the link there if you want to know more about him. He's published a novel and has his own interview show, etc. I decided to start a new novel for this class instead of working on one of my existing ones. I have plans for them and don't want to show them to anyone right now. I was feeling a bit cheeky about that, truth be told. Sure, yeah! A new class, new novel! No problem.
However, last Tuesday I sat down at my Galaxy Tab and stared at the blank screen. I realized I had to pull an entirely new novel out of thin air and I wasn't sure if I was up to the task. To top it off, this novel will be critiqued so I can't write a new novel and allow it to be a major mess no one looks at. There has to be something for people to work with and it has to be of reasonable quality so no one's time, especially mine, is wasted. The only thing I had to work with is I decided it was going to be a haunted house story. I knew I wanted the setting to be a huge, sprawling estate. I had an idea for the opening sequence but no ideas for the characters, the story, or even what the house looks like.
Almost everyone else is working on novels/memoirs they've had for a while so they're all farther along than I am and (presumably) their stories are going to be more polished. I stared at the blank screen of my Tab, place my fingers on the keyboard, and started pounding out a story.
****
The story isn't terrible so far. I decided to completely go for it with this class. If people are going to be critiquing my first draft I might as well push myself to produce something and not rely so much on the revision process before I do any polishing. I'm uncomfortable with anybody looking at my first draft so this will be a valuable learning experience.
Tony's approach so far is spot on. He requires that we work on our novels everyday for at least 20 minutes and that we critique our fellow students' work every week. This is going to be a difficult thing to maintain for eight weeks but just these class requirements alone should seriously improve my writing, editing, and ability to produce quality material.
I'm going to have the first ten pages of my story reviewed during the second critique session. I have to email everyone my draft this Monday. I started this novel last Tuesday. Tony asked for volunteers and once again, I just fucking went for it. For myself, and this may not apply to other writers, I think the ability to pull a story out of thin air, write it down quickly, and make it into something good in a short period of time is a worthwhile skill to have.
Stay tuned for more on this class.
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