Happy!

I am just remembering what it's like to be... really happy.

I feel really happy these days.  I feel positive, I feel healthy, I feel happy, I feel hopeful.

Now to harness that into some 'I feel productive'!

Slowly, slowly...

Sometimes I go through these wretched periods of invalidity---in the sense of being made an invalid, and then having to go through the slow process of regaining health afterward. I wish I knew what caused these episodes, or how to prevent them, but instead I have to bravely keep putting on foot in front of the other, breathing deeply, moving on.

I have been slow these last few weeks. I have been sad and angry and happy and loving and depressed. Not so different from anyone else, I think. But I have also felt as though I am constantly three weeks behind where I want to be, need to be, should be, and the running after myself, the waking up feeling as though it's already time to go back to bed in preparation for another day... that's draining, physically and emotionally.

When I say, "I know other people have worse problems than I do; I don't understand why I can't be happier, healthier; I don't understand why I get so upset," my mother always tells me that no one can really understand anyone else's life; their feelings, their hurts, even their happinesses.

So I am recovering on my own time, at my own pace, and no one is more frustrated about the slowness of the process than I am, but I am also trying to practice kindness toward myself, and love, and forgiveness. One day at a time.

Writing and the Day Job

You know, here's the thing: writers (or aspiring writers) always talk about how if they only had more time they'd write. If they didn't have to get up and go to the office, they'd write. If they didn't have to take the kids to school, make dinner, go grocery shopping, watch American Idol, they'd write.

What with my precarious visa situation here in the States (I'm allowed to be here, but I'm not allowed to work), I have nothing but time. In some ways it's been productive, I'm not going to lie. I've written the first draft of a second novel, starting shopping novel number one, am halfway through a first draft for novel number three, and have managed to maintain a quarterly schedule for my online magazine. This, all told, is probably more actual writing than I managed in the two or three years before I moved to New York.

Waitressing is not a good job for people who want to do other things, even though the stereotype is out there: struggling actors, writers, artists, singers, dancers... they all usually do a stint wearing an apron and serving food. Maybe it works for some of them. For me, it ended up draining whatever energy I had. If I had to work in the evening, I spent all day fretting about it and wishing I didn't have to go. If I worked earlier in the day, by the time I got home I was exhausted and curling up to read a book seemed much more enticing than sitting down to write one.

However, I am beginning to see why other responsibilities are good for the procrastinating writer. I, for example, do odd job work for a PR firm in Vancouver (see, I am not working in the STATES, even though I live here! Telecommute!!!) and it never fails... my boss sends me work and BAM all of a sudden writing is so appealing. Nothing cures writer's block like having to do some 'real' work.

It's good work if you can get it. But now I have procrastinated long enough, and have to cram some PR work into my day so I can get back to the characters clamoring in my head. They are so needy when they think they might be ignored!

*Blank*

Honestly, what to say?

Went back to Canada, visited family, my sister's wedding. A week later my niece was diagnosed with a massive brain tumor. Surgery, recovery, surgery and chemo starts next week. No writing in almost two months, lost my zip drive with the current novel on it, need to get more query letters out. Lost 1/3 of husband's funding due to a lack in the $$ pool, so are now destitute in the city.

Very tired, stressed, but also thankful and happy. Had first year wedding anniversary. Need more sleep. Have a new place to live at the end of the month.

Please leave a message after the tone.

Jinx

I don't want to jinx it, because I'm enjoying the process so much so far, but I'm really liking the way the new book is coming along. The characters are already speaking to me, clamoring for attention, trying to get to me with their stories. If only I could write faster. If only I had slept better last night.

No complaints, though. I am enjoying getting to know a new bunch of people and hell, even a bit of a new world. More needs to be done with that.

I am happy.

Happy is great.

Looking forward to hearing back about my queries. Right.... now. Now? How about now? Soon.

Rumors of my Demise have been Greatly Exaggerated

Wow. I haven't written here in over a month. And what a month it's been.

I have decided to stop letting life happen to me. I am taking control. I am watching what I eat and what I drink and how much I sit around. I am sending out query letters. I am writing. I am inspired. And almost as soon as I start making one change, so many other changes follow in the same direction. It's amazing. And it's something I should know about myself by now.

I am a bit of a control freak (in my head, I hear my husband laughing, saying 'a bit?!') and when I start to let things slip out of control, I have a tendency to give up entirely. Can't write? Well, better eat whatever the hell I want and drink whatever the hell I want. Eating too much? Well, may as well sit around watching TV on DVD all day, right? It's depressing. But it's nothing new. Because I have always, always been this way. And it's not depressing, because it can all be turned around, just as swiftly.

I sent my first query letter. The next couple of weeks I spent a lot of time soul-searching, thinking about myself. And I realized there were a lot of things holding me down, holding me back. Some of them can't be changed, and I know it. But others can. It is easy to drink more water in a day. It is easy to choose carrots over chocolate, at least six days a week. I mean, it's not even a struggle---I love carrots. It is even easy to sit down at my computer and really write for a page or two or five. Easy AND fun. When I am sad, everything becomes a tragedy. What a pathetic way to live. I am not a victim, and I don't want to live as though I'm one.

I am happier in these last few days than I have been for weeks. I feel cleaner. I feel inspired.

Rewriting

I am going to do something I have never done before.

I am going to rewrite a book from scratch.

Okay, 'scratch' may be a little harsh... but I am going to open a Word document, completely blank, and I am going to start retelling the story that managed to get so mangled the first time out of the gate. I imagine I will be able to keep great big chunks of the original manuscript, but I've realized -- while bashing my head against a wall over and over -- this story doesn't work the way I've told it. The problems are too big, too all-encompassing. It needs a rehaul. And a rehaul means starting from the beginning, and not being too fixated on working with everything the way it stands right now. Because right now isn't working. Right now may have salvageable parts (I hope to God it does!) but... but.

I have heard of writers for whom this write-scrap-rewrite business is de rigeur. I just never thought I'd be one of them.

I Wish I Had More to Say...

But I don't. I'm in a bit of a holding position right now. I'm working more slowly than I'd like, but still making progress. May is a month for visitors here, and visitors mean a break from routine. (Not a bad break from routine, but a break nonetheless.)

I've been staring out the window for five minutes, and have thought of nothing to say except: "It's raining outside."

Probably this means I should cut my losses now, take a shower, get myself together, and write more when I have something cogent and interesting to say.

A Stack of Plates

Well, that was a week.

I am getting a lot better at recognizing my triggers, and reacting to them positively before they cause a full breakdown. It's not easy, and sometimes my early-warning systems still fail. I wouldn't say this week was a bad week, but it was an emotional one. It was the kind of week where every day offered some new temptation into the spiral of depression, and every day involved me holding together all the pieces of myself as well as I could.

Imagine you're a person carrying a stack of plates. The top plate starts to teeter. The top plate is, you know, about to fall. But, if you try and catch the top plate, you know the entire stack will join it. So, sometimes it's better to let that top plate smash, put the rest of the plates down somewhere else, then come back and clean up the mess. Because at least it's only the mess from one plate, and not from ten or twenty or fifty. Without getting into the details, that was the kind of week I had.

Here's hoping this week does not follow in last week's footsteps.

A Little Epiphany is Still an Epiphany

So, I started thinking the past few days about why I've been having such a hard time writing. The screenplay, especially, but I'm behind on a few other projects, too. I've realized something sad: all the hard work I put into Novel2--writing and not editing; getting words on paper; working without overthinking; working consistently every day--got forgotten when I started a new project. A screenplay is a screenplay. It's just a piece of writing. And a first draft is just a first draft: it's meant to be edited; it's meant to be changed; it's meant to be rough.

Instead, I've sat at my computer beating myself up for not being perfect right out of the gate. The horse I'm riding may have stumbled, but I let that little setback set the tone for losing the whole race.

"Failure seldom stops you. What stops you is the fear of failure." -- Jack Lemmon

Hell, yes, Jack Lemmon. You are so, so, so right.

In other news, it is ten o'clock in the morning and I have already accomplished more today than I've managed in the past several days. There's something to feel good about, to feel proud of. Most of all, there's a foundation on which to build the rest of a productive day.

A Whole Different Ballgame

Well, this is what I can tell you about my progress with the screenplay for Script Frenzy: I am trying valiantly. I am plugging away. I am merely thirty pages behind where I ought to be at this point, and I consider that a victory.

A few days before I started, I began to have the sneaking suspicion I wasn't being honest with myself about how hard it was going to be. After all, didn't I write about two hundred pages of novel back in November? Without the fancy-pants formatting that allows for a lot fewer words per page? How hard could 100 pages of hugely indented dialogue and three-line action sequences be?

Really, really, really hard. The mindset (and writing skill-set, for that matter) necessary for screenwriting is very different from that of noveling. I can't rest on the laurels of being good with turn of phrase or being inside a character's head. Everything must be related to visuals or audio and man, oh, man, it is tough. Gratifying and interesting and challenging but tough.

And now I must go back to it. I've been working all day and I'd still like to get a few more pages done before dinner. Wish me luck.

I Am Not A Bad Writer

Every once in a while something happens to remind me I am not a bad writer. I'm not even close to a bad writer. I'm just an unpublished writer, and only because I am still afraid to start the process of sending out query letters (are you tired of hearing that phrase from me? I am getting pretty damn tired of saying it...) and, well, finding an agent and getting myself published. Etc, etc, etc. But my writing is good. My stories are good. My word choice, turns of phrase, use of metaphor... it's all good. Sometimes it's even great. Sometimes, when rereading something I've written, I get so caught up in the story, the characters, the world of the book, I forget I am the creator and just enjoy the story because it's a good story. I mean, that's a good feeling. Fabulous.

The other day, coming back from an event where I was fortunate enough to hear a reading from one of my favourite authors (and fortunate enough to have a brief chat with her, where, she reminded me, perhaps four years is long enough to worry about one novel. It may, she said, be time to let it go out into the world. Ahem. Yes. So, so, so true), I sat on the subway next to a woman reading a novel. It was in large print, so it was pretty easy for me to sneak peaks at the content. This book was terrible. It was possibly the worst book I've ever surreptitiously read a dozen pages of. It was so horrifyingly bad I still can't believe it was ever published in the first place. I mean, I thought it was ... I don't know! I thought it was self-published or something. It was so bad.

Today I found out it is a sequel to another book. IT IS PART OF A SERIES!!!

Not only did some agent decide to represent this book; not only did that agent then find a publisher to publish the book; not only did this book make it onto bookshelves and into libraries: THIS BOOK IS ONE OF MANY. ONE OF MANY TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, WRETCHEDLY WRITTEN BOOKS IN A SERIES.

I need to get published. Like, yesterday. If only to give people an alternate choice when it comes to the fiction they read on the subway.

Summer in April

Today is one of those glorious days where spring is completely bypassed in favor of summer. The weather network website tells me it is currently a balmy 22 degrees Celsius (71 for those playing the Fahrenheit home game) and it feels even warmer in the sun. Glorious! I have had my Starbucks iced coffee, I have strolled in the sun, I have written several pages of screenplay... life is good.

However, I have a teeny tiny little bone to pick. Because it is so warm and lovely, I am wearing a summer dress. What is it about the summer dress that turns men into slobbering idiots? I mean, honestly. I know I am attractive enough and I look nice in my summer dresses, but the amount of attention I received today was alarming. When Random Man number ten or eleven or twelve (definitely double digits) whistles/grunts/ogles/etc it stops being flattering and starts being gross. And kind of disturbing. Disconcerting. Yes, it's a dress. Why yes, it is a nice color. I, too, am fond of my figure. Please stop acting as though it somehow belongs to you.

Genuine admiration is one thing. So is a genuine compliment along the lines of "Your dress is really beautiful." The creepy staring and strange, wordless noises? Not so much. Okay, random men along Fifth Avenue from 10th to Garfield in Park Slope? You hear me? Enough with the noises!

Back to a To Do List

Sitting next to me, right this very moment, is a schedule. On this schedule, my day is broken up into one hour and half hour chunks. The one hour bits are taken up by writing/editing/yoga/searching for weekend theatre tickets. The half hour chunks are episodes of The Office UK.

I know, I know. I can't help it! I have been wanting to watch The Office UK for ages, but never wanted to shell out the cash necessary to rent each individual DVD of the various series. Enter my new best friend: Netflix. Netflix is amazing! It lets you watch things directly on your computer. Legally! No endless download times! And it's unlimited! So yesterday I watched series one, and today I'm working on series two. With a healthy dose of writing/editing/work in between.

Oddly, even though I am watching what amounts to three hours of television, I am also getting more work done today than I've managed in the past three (illness-ridden, mind you) weeks. I feel successful! I feel happy!

And folks, I ain't gonna argue with happy.

Handling Disappointment

I promised to write more often, so here I am. Writing. More often. I also promised to write about my experiences with Script Frenzy. So I will.

First, I should say this: I don't handle disappointment very well. It's a character flaw I've been aware of for years, and that I've been working to overcome--or at least minimize--for a long time. I'm a perfectionist, and no one's standards for me could be higher than the ones I set for myself. This is why I've been editing a novel for four years. This is why I have real trouble when it comes down to the nitty gritty work of, say, sending in query letters. It's not so much that I'm afraid of rejection... it's that even when other people--people whose opinions I trust and value and respect--tell me my work is excellent, I'm still not convinced in my own head. All of this began weighing very heavily on me last week, and sent me into a spiral of I-don't-want-to-get-up-from-bed-and-face-the-world despair. I was caught in the tragic cycle of second guessing everything, and feeling disappointed with myself to boot. Oh, disappointment. The most useless of feelings.

I didn't do much writing last week. I didn't do much of anything, really. Sad, but true. This week promises to be better. My screenplay is solidifying in my head, even though very little has made it to paper. Instead of being upset with myself for this perceived failure, I think I'll just look at it as a challenge and go from there. I'm behind about 20 pages. I have a stack of things to edit for others. I have a couple of other pieces I need to write. I have a novel to think about. I am busy and productive, and I will not beat myself up based on nothing more solid than expectations that may or may not be real and relevant. I will not allow disappointment and depression to win the day. Even if I don't reach the height of my potential today, hey, I managed to get out of bed. I ate cereal. I updated my blogs. Baby steps.

Write What You Know?

When I was younger, and more of a fantasy writer, I used to hate--and I really mean hate--those people who said, "Write what you know." In my adolescent peevishness, I thought a lot of unkind thoughts toward those early teachers, those early naysayers. I was busy creating worlds! I was writing about magic and elves and princesses and knights! Every time someone condescendingly said something about fairy stories and "Shouldn't you be writing what you know, sweetie?" I wanted to pitch a fit, complete with stamping feet and hands balled into fists.

Years later, what I've learned is this: those people who blindly spout "Write what you know" like a mantra? Those people who mean "Write about your own life and only your own life"? They don't really understand writing. They don't understand creation. They don't understand storytelling. If you're a fantasy writer and you're creating a world with its own set of rules and races and laws of physics, well... you could make a case that you know the ins and outs of that world, couldn't you? I mean, it's entirely possible you're the only creature in the world who knows that imaginary world well enough to write the stories happening in it. How's that for responsibility?

More than anything, I have learned that part of the reason I am drawn to writing is, as a writer, you are forced to learn constantly. You have a character who is a nurse? A history professor? An editor? A musician? A princess? A wizard? All of a sudden you, as the the writer and creator, need to know about walking a mile in the shoes of a nurse/history professor/editor/musician/princess/wizard. I don't think writers only tell stories about their own lives. I think the magic of being a writer is knowing with enough spit and polish and research and imagination, any person's story can be told.

If writers only wrote what they knew, there would be a hell of a lot more stories about, well, writers, wouldn't there? And I think everyone would get mighty bored of writers writing about sitting at their desks or in cafes, writing about writers writing.

Don't think, just DO.

While in Vancouver, I went to see a psychic. I've always been curious so when my friend suggested it, I agreed. It was an interesting experience, not because she told me I would have several children, that my husband is a good match for me, or that I'll be swimming in cash sooner rather than later (all of which she said)... but because she gave me some very common sense advice. "You can't open the door if you never put a key in the lock," she said. "You can't expect the door to open if you never turn the handle. You think too much. You need to stop thinking so much and start doing."

At first I was pumped up---yes! You are absolutely right, lady! I think too much! I need to do more! I have been sitting on a very good manuscript for years because I over think the details of query letters and agents and publishing. But I was still on vacation, and by the time I returned home, a lot of the high had faded and once again I find myself over-thinking instead of just doing.

I have several projects to take care of this month. Sending my query letters has to be one of them.

I am sick of being in this same rut, spinning my wheels. It's boring. It's depressing. It's frustrating. Enough already.

Some videos deserve to be shared...

...and this is one of them.

You're going to start out with some little frogs. Just wait. Because pretty soon you will see a ballerina dancing on a man's head.

That's right. Dancing on a man's head. She also dances on his arm.

This is me, shaking my head, jaw somewhere in the vicinity of my knees.

God bless YouTube.

Script Frenzy

Back in November I participated in NaNoWriMo--National Novel Writing Month. This April I am challenging myself to take part in the screen/stage play counterpart: Script Frenzy. I have always enjoyed the screenplay format, even though I focus mainly on novels.

The ideas are starting to come together, and the characters are starting to speak to me--tentatively, not quite in full thoughts or with full sentences--but most of all, I'm starting to get excited. Starting a new project is always such a thrill. Even when I know the general gist, the possibility of surprise lurks around every corner, and getting to know new characters and new settings and new situations is magical.

I'm going to attempt to set an even more significant challenge for myself this April: blog more often about the process, the ups and downs, the failures and successes. This poor blog has been so neglected of late. Perhaps this is just what it needs to get itself up and running again. We'll see.

Do You Know...

What I hate more than jet lag?

Picking up the flu virus (probably from the plane) and then spending the entire week of your in-laws' visit in an agony of fevers over 100 degrees and exhaustion and guilt about not being a better host and not being able to eat and chills and sweating and ...

You get the picture.