Gracesicle

Oh, poor blog. Who will update you when I freeze to death in my own home, abandoned by a landlord who doesn't live on site, doesn't pay the bills, and doesn't seem to care? Alas.

Honestly, though, the standards in New York seem atrocious. At a party on Friday night several of us wandered into the topic of apartments. Here I thought we must just have a terrible landlord, because how, how, HOW can it be normal for people to struggle to stay warm in one of the biggest, most fabulous cities in the world?! But no, it is the norm here to have landlords out to screw you of:
a) heat
b) hot water
c) heat AND hot water
d) your--always astronomically huge, I might add--damage deposit.
(And don't even think about breaking your lease, even if you are freezing to death. The landlord can sue you for the entire amount rent owed to him for the entirety of the remaining lease.) It seems criminal! (Not unlike the rents. And the very existence of cockroaches.)

Some things New York excels at: big-scale musicals, museums, parades, libraries. Other things need such a serious amount of work: acceptable levels of heat, true protection for the tenant and not just the landlord, the price per square foot of rental apartments.

And now what?

So, in spite of a series of major third week setbacks, I managed to finish my 50,000 words--with a day to spare! Of course the immediate rush of pride and accomplishment was followed by a numbing sense of... now what? Rationally I know I need to do several things, not the least of which is finish the manuscript! I even know what happens next, but for some reason the sitting down and doing part is really draining.

I know, I know, I need to take my own advice and at least do the ten minute magical power write.

I also need to finish that query letter, and start trying to get that first book published.

And I need to get the first issue of my online magazine up and running. This weekend.

Mostly I just want to sleep.

Ahh, yes, depression my old friend. You love to hang about when the days are short and dark and cold. You love to creep in when my defenses are down. You love to crawl into the dark space under the stairs of my brain and start whispering. Depression, you are a real asshole, you know?

For now, Depression, screw you. I am going to make myself some tea. I am going to put some slippers on my freezing feet and wrap myself in a cozy cocoon of sweaters and blankets and sweatpants. I am going to write all afternoon, where I will be transported to Paris and my two main characters will continue squabbling, and eventually they'll start to see eye to eye. Maybe I'll even get to write another surprise kiss.

Surprise kisses on Parisian foot-bridges under rose-petal sunsets make it all worthwhile. In the background someone is playing Yann Tiersen music on an accordion, and I will follow their example.

Do I hate the Sun?!?!?!?

I think I hate the sun. At least during the winter time.

I love the sun when the weather is warm, when I can throw on a strapless sun dress and drink beer on a patio in some fabulous place in Europe, when the only thing I have to think about is the present moment: how the cold beer feels against my lips when I take a sip, watching people pass, and engaging in great conversation, and most importantly, knowing that a trip to the art museum or beach is coming up.

But when it's cold....I want clouds and darkness. I want to wear sweaters and jeans, and I want overcast and grayness. And when the sun comes out in the middle of my damp and depressing wonderland, I, like a vampire squint, and get poopy and want my sad weather back to make me feel good. 

Weird? Maybe. According to the weather forecast, this winter will be the coldest one in Vancouver since 15 years ago. Give me until March--I'll be eating the words on this blog and longing for the sundress and beer.

It's funny--I have days where I feel like I'm walking on air, and then there are those days when my feet get stuck in the ground, movement in any direction takes all my energy, and I cannot see beyond the tip of my nose. Those days when you feel like: "There is nothing, NOTHING, to look forward too." Today I realize that this happens when two things lack--clarity and specificity.

Maybe they are pretty much both the same thing. When I look at the big picture of things I want to accomplish, I get overwhelmed and forget about all those little things--the little things that are possible--that I need to do to reach my goals. If  you think of the big picture as a puzzle, you have to pay attention to the small pieces that will help you get to where you need to go. When you have small, specific blocks to work on, it almost becomes easy. Well...almost.....

I'm a dreamer. I like to DO, as opposed to simply dream, but at the same time, trying to finish off a project o a plan can be painful because I will often lose that excitement and curiousity I had earlier. It' the "Crap, I need to get this all done now now NOW!!!" that screws me up. I suppose what I am saying to you all, or more for me than anyone, is that it's all about living one day at a time. Day by day, step by step. It will all get done.

Well, easier said than done, but I vow to try my own advice.

Dogs are Great

I can't sleep. I have no idea why, as I feel ridiculously tired and my bed is really really comfortable. I even called my boyfriend hoping he would come over because I usually fall asleep when he is around. Puke - how icky is that? Oh well.

Anyways, I put my head down on my uber-soft pillow, ready for a long winters nap but my brain WILL NOT SHUT OFF. And for some reason I start thinking about my dog who passed away earlier this year. Her name was Molly and she was a white fluffy dog with long legs. She resembled a muppet. I got her when I was 11, or was it 12? I think it was 12. Anyways, she clearly has been in my life for a really long time and I really really really miss her. How is it possible to miss an animal almost, if not more, than some human beings? Only non-pet people will not understand.

Dogs (or any pet I suppose) are great. Dogs are cute. They do funny things like spoon with you or sit on your lap when you are driving and they clearly need a cuddle. They are there when you are sad (or can't sleep) and are always happy. Their tails will tell you what kind of mood they are in (usually happy) and they are smart. Well sometimes, I have met a few cocker spaniels who are not smart. My dog was smart.

The last time I saw Molly was after Christmas. She was curled up in the backseat of my parent's car on her blanket. As they dropped me off at the airport I made sure to cuddle her one last time and bury by face in her fluffy whiteness and kiss her head. She barely acknowledged me, poor old lady.

Anyways, if you have ever thought about having a pet you really should get one. People who grew up without pets missed out on something great (my bf is one of these - he had no idea what to say when I was weeping over my dead dog.) Therefore, I urge you to go buy a dog. They rock, even though their paw print on your life is brief . . . .

Ease

I thrive on change. I really do. There are things where I love consistency, like good coffee at my favorite cafe, knowing that my favorite movies will make me laugh or cry, and waking up in the morning to know that I won't have a huge blemish somewhere on my face--these things, I like to know what's coming. But with work, travel, the people you meet the people you see, I must say I love the variety. But I am having, more often than not, these days where I have an epiphany, and something will suddenly make sense and make me realize why I am feeling the way I feel.

First off, I'm surprised how the past few days I am not stressing over the things that I have no control over. You know how they say the more you worry about money the less you have? It may be one of the teachings of "The Secret," but I have finally put that to work. I'm not used to 'not worrying.' In fact, those two words do not go together in my mind. Work is another one of those "Hey, don't worry--it will all fall into place" things. Funny, I have absolutely no problem saying that to my friends and believing it on their behalf. When friends come to me with worries, I really think all will be well and do not give it another thought. What if I apply this to myself?

I like my job. Well, the work I do I like. I like the people I work with. But.....what can I say? I double guess myself, do not get paid much, and find myself coasting and having a hard time focusing. Then I rationalize it by saying, well, I do not get paid much. I know that this is felt at work--sometimes it is very hard to hide your energy. And it is scary to think the work I decided I wanted to do is not fulfilling me the way I want. Is it the work? Is it me? Is it the environment? Am I a lazy bag? Or am I just beating myself up? One thing I have discovered is that your job, a job that you truly love, even if it may be stressful at times or high paced, should have some ease in it. Work and ease? Yup. At this point, I am willing to do something completely different. I have to admit I want to change my line of work for more money, but I am okay with that. I just want to find that ease.

I like the change. I have decided to embark on a new city overseas. A new environment. A new job. A new life. Everything will be different and new, from the way the money will look in my wallet to the way people speak and the side of the street they drive on. Instead of filling me will fear it gives me a sense of ease. There is something lovely about the notion of leaving one world behind to enter another. If one world is not working for you, even if you gave it a good shot, then go to the next world. I gave it a good shot here, and want to see how I'll work in another environment.

I the meantime...I look forward to finding out what what will fit in the suitcase and where that suitcase will end up.

Only Popping in for a Moment...

I've disappeared for most of the month while dedicating myself to my National Novel Writing Month challenge. I should probably have kept more careful track of the ups and downs (there have been an abundance of both!) but I rather suspect writing a book is like having a baby--for a long time you get big and fat and unwieldy and uncomfortable. Then you have the insane pain of giving birth. But after it's all over and you're holding that baby (or novel) in your arms, you completely forget all those times in the past year (nine months, whatever) where you said "I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN" and you just think Oh, this is the best feeling in the WORLD!

Writing books is fun, but it is also stressful. It involves this strange blend of cockiness ('Well, of course someone will want to read this! It's brilliant!') and humility ('Will someone want to read this? Do I want to read this?')

In this blog entry, however, I want to share my new favourite thing: the magical ten-minute power-write. The magical ten-minute power-write has changed my life! I'm not kidding. Ten minutes--it's practically nothing. It's a third of a sitcom. Hell, it's the amount of time you spend watching commercials during a sitcom! (Give or take a minute or two.) My point is, everyone has ten minutes here and there. So, in order to plow through the last 10000 words of my 50000 word challenge, I knew I was going to do something drastic. Meandering through my day writing ten words here and there was not going to cut it. So I set the alarm on my cell phone for ten minutes, put my fingers to the keyboard, and did not allow myself to stop typing until the phone beeped at me.

First time out: 424 words. Followed by a second ten minutes: 440 words. Then 400, 477, 439, 404, 483, 505, 486 and 482.

That's right, my friends. 100 minutes and 4140 words. If you wrote an average of 450 words in ten minutes, and only spent ten minutes A DAY (do you realize how many ten minute blocks are in a day??!!) writing... you'd have an 80,000 word novel in less than six months. Imagine what you could do if you spent three ten minute blocks writing every day. Or six. Or ten. That's right, just imagine it. And that, my friends, is the magical ten-minute power-write.

Hey... you got ten minutes?

Snow please Snow!!

Yesterday snow fell on the north side of me, the east side of me, west of me and the south side of me. But not on me!!!! While the news showed idiot British Columbians who are terrified of snow talk about the traffic travesty I was deeply saddened that the weather outside my door was not frightful. I love snow!!! I am from the prairies where it SNOWS. And at this time of year I can't help but crave the fluffy white stuff.

When it is snowing outside, you get to cozy up in fluffy PJ's and slippers, the fire blazing (that's right, I turn my fire switch to ON), tea in a steaming mug, and a good book. Or a boyfriend. Or a movie. Or some pizza. Whatever, as long as you are inside. Watching the snow gently fall creating a soft light and a certain quietness on the city. You can snuggle and listen to Christmas carols. I just love snow.

My prairie family says about rain 'well at least you don't have to shovel it.' But this is no consolation as I live in a condo and don't shovel. Also, this city shuts down for a few days - no one goes to work but they play outside like kids after a blizzard. I remember one year it snowed after Christmas and the parks were full of snowmen and grown adults having snowball fights. I really really love snow.

The mountains were all glorious and glistening today under the crisp (and unusual) sunlight. I saw some cars with snow on their roofs and felt quite jealous. I have underground parking so I no longer have to scrape snow off my car.

Maybe the key to loving snow is living in a city that rarely gets it, and when they do everyone plays. The roads are shut down and everyone is forced to relax. I don't have to shovel nor do I have to scrape ice off of my car. And we also have the happy knowledge that the snow is temporary and that -30 weather is not right behind it. Maybe I have forgotten the five months of snow that seemed to drag forever. Nope. I even miss that crunch of snow underfoot you only get in really cold places when snow falls on snow falls on snow.

I can't say it enough: I LOVE SNOW!!

I Thought I'd Miss My Television More

Hours spent scrolling through channels all playing The Simpsons, Oprah, King of the Hill, American Idol, America's Next Top Model. Hours spent watching reruns of television shows I'd seen two, three, even four times (in the case of most Simpsons episodes) before. Hours spent not reading, not writing, not going for walks, not spending quality time with my husband or my friends. Oh, television, you ever-so-demanding mistress.

When we moved to New York, the television didn't come with us, and it wasn't a high priority item on the must-replace-or-I-will-die list (unlike the bed, say, or chairs.) We've been here almost three months now, and I've read more books than I can name, I've dedicated myself to writing, I've spent a great deal of time with my husband. (Still no word on the friends front, but eventually I imagine I'll make some. Hopefully.) Now, I'll be the first to admit I haven't quit TV cold turkey. One of the Internet perks in the USA is the existence of streaming video. I've learned I don't need to be at home, planted in front of my television, waiting with baited breath to hear what sarcastic witticisms Dr. House will spew before miraculously solving yet another mysterious illness. In fact, waiting until the next day (or even two or three days later! Heaven forfend!) to catch up with my television shows causes very little discomfort at all.

I was going to use this forum to comment about the Writers Guild of America strike, but honestly, I'm not sure I'm aware enough of both sides of the story. I am, however, aware enough to know that many, many of the individuals spouting off on the Internet about the strike ought to keep their mouths shut until they get caught up with all sides of the issue.

That said, it's important to note that unions still exist for a reason (antiquated or not) and an entire union doesn't choose to strike in order to cause harm and distress to others affected (in this case I mean the teamsters, actors, and assorted behind-the-scenes staff who are or will be out of a job if and when the stockpiled scripts dry up---not the person sitting at home jonesing for a new episode of their favourite sitcom)---a regular layperson spouting off about the greed of the ever-so-rich writers of Hollywood needs to...well, they need to stop, read some statistics about just how many members of the WGA are working at a given time, and just how much the median members of the WGA bring home in a year.

The WGA isn't striking to piss you off, random television viewer. They're striking because they feel let down and betrayed by the system they work for. Read up on it. Then come back and try to have a civilized conversation. Ranting, raving and frothing at the mouth about the wealthy Hollywood sons-of-bitches who are denying you your weekly Heroes fix isn't helpful, it isn't interesting and it isn't even accurate.

Until then? Read a book. I bet you'll find quite a few in your local library. Some of them are even as good as TV shows, no kidding! Go for a walk. Play Monopoly with your family. Take it from me--the world keeps on turning, even without weekly doses of Prison Break.

Procrastination is an UGLY beast

I have my computer open and raring to go. So what am I doing? Re-organizing my kitchen. I swear I often have the most organized and cleanest house in all the land. I stared at my screen for a while then decided I had nothing to write about so went to clean my kitchen. And being the Virgo that I am, once I start, I just can't stop!!!!! Double GAH! At this rate I will have to go to Ikea to buy all new furniture to deal with my newly organized kitchen and office and bedroom. Speaking of which, I need a desk. GAH!

But when I am writing I LOVE LOVE LOVE it - what is wrong with me? Why can't I just go straight to my computer? Good things happen when you do. For instance, I have been writing and developing a TV series for what seems like an eternity. In my mind I knew the computer was calling me, saying "write the character breakdowns, write the character breakdowns". It said this to me for about two months before I actually did. And you know what happened as soon as I finished this last piece of the puzzle? I got two major parties interested in reading the freaking script!!!! So clearly good things happen when you break past that procrastination elf on your shoulder and WRITE.

Okay, back to my kitchen. The knowledge that pots are sitting on my floor is driving me INSANE!

Even More Fun...

...than I thought it would be.

There is something truly freeing and gratifying about just writing for the sake of getting words on the page. Yes, realistically I know these are not the best words I've ever written. Yes, I can already imagine the great chunks that will eventually disappear beneath the wrath of my red pen. Yes, I am catching myself repeating words or phrases in the sheer rush of adrenaline necessary to get words out. It's a little sloppy, frankly. And I don't care.

I am writing. I am two and a half days, and nearly seven thousand words, into National Novel Writing Month which, for those playing the 1667 words-a-day home game, means I am more than a day ahead of schedule! The story is coming along steadily, the characters are starting to speak and unexpected things are starting to take shape.

Ahh, you beautiful, terrific rush of creativity. I missed you. Please don't go away on such a long vacation again.

6835 / 50000 words. 14% done!

Inspiration

I am taking a breather in day number two of the two days between visitors. Visitors explain, perhaps, why I haven't written in a week (though it's not a proper excuse...I'm sure I could have made time if I'd tried harder.)

Since my last entry was about writer's block, I think I'll continue a little along the same vein. Later that same day, I had a tremendous inspiration for the story I'm going to spin during my month-long NaNoWriMo challenge. As I sat on the subway, scribbling madly into a little notebook pitiful, complaining lines like "I just want to write! If I was Grace's brain, what would I write?" and along came a story, sprung into life as quickly as that! I'm not allowed to start writing until Thursday, but the story is still there, waiting, adding details to itself. I'm tremendously pleased with the concept, not the least because it will be quite different from anything else I've written. I hope, at least, it will be a little lighter, a little more sprightly, a little less concerned with the mechanics and questions inherent in attempting Great Fiction. The thirty day, 50,000 challenge encourages speed and output rather than quality, and for a change I think this may be exactly what I need. A month of bubbling over, rather than a month of delicately choosing just the right word to complete a sentence that's been bugging me for weeks.

Not to say I don't believe in quality: I certainly, certainly do. I've just allowed myself to become so bogged down by it in the past that all writing ceases full-stop. There will be time for tinkering and perfecting, but for now I shall be content to open up a new document and spill out words.

I need that sense of accomplishment right now.

Writer's Block

There are two parts of my writing brain. Writer Brain and Editor Brain. They don't get along. One constantly undermines the work of the other. I've been working with Editor Brain so long that Writer Brain, feeling neglected perhaps, seems to have taken a vacation.

I'll have a brief (emphasis on brief) inspiration, and then... fizzle. Nothing. Nada. Staring at the screen, tearing out my hair, crying into my tea, NOTHING.

I suffer from insomnia. The worst part of sleeplessness is knowing you really, really just want to sleep and the more you want to sleep, the less likely sleep is to arrive. One anxiety feeds on another until basically you're left staring at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock, watching the numbers tick toward wake-up time.

Writer's block feels a lot like insomnia. I want to write. I'd give my left foot to write, right now. I've tried everything: little games, blogging, more sleep, less sleep, more food, less food, more exercise, more caffeine, less caffeine, writing on paper, writing on the computer... but here I am, drawing blanks. The shadows of stories in my mind refuse to spring to my fingertips and into reality.

Still signed up for NaNoWriMo, though. Hopefully something will kick start in my brain before November 1st.

Life Lessons

Sometimes you have to start over again.

I have decided that I'd like to learn French. I've always wanted to know how to speak the language, and took French classes starting in the second grade, all the way through to the end of high school. One might think that with ten years of instruction, a language would stick, right? One would think wrong, in my case. As much as I want to be able to speak French, and as much as I think I should have been able to maintain some knowledge of the language... I just don't know it. Not beyond a jumble of vocabulary (which are masculine and which are feminine? argh!) and verbs I don't really know how to conjugate. Don't even get me started on tenses.

So, sometimes, you have to start over again. Stop pretending you know what the hell you're doing, stop acting as though everything is perfect, just... stop. And press rewind. And start over.

It's hard for someone like me (read: perfectionist with ridiculously high expectations of herself, who literally falls into the pit of despair when those ridiculously high expectations are not met) to start over. Starting over, for me, never seems like a clean slate--it always seems like a failure.

When people talk about those silly job interview questions one always has to answer, the "what's your worst quality?" or "what's your biggest fault?" ones always come up. You're supposed to say something that sounds like a fault, but is really something positive, and people always use perfectionism (so much so that's it's become cliche and job interviewers hate to hear it, I'm told, because it's an obviously fake answer.) But what if perfectionism is your biggest fault? And it's really not positive? What if your perfectionistic tendencies actually become so debilitating you can't imagine sending novels out to agents, or going on auditions, or trying to make new friends? Because you're mortified, actually terrified--heart-poundingly, palms-sweatingly anxious of doing something....imperfect? That's perfectionism. Not the desire to do a job completely. Not the desire to put in extra hours. Not all those positive aspects a job interviewer is supposed to infer. True perfectionism is as crippling as true depression (sometimes they even go hand in hand!) or true paranoia or true anxiety or true panic attacks.

So, I've decided I want to learn French. Even if it means starting at the very beginning, with "Bonjour, madame" or "comment ca va?" or "je m'appelle Grace." It sounds like a back step, it feels like a failure, but unless I'm willing to let go of the perfectionist who holds me back at every turn, I will never know how to hold a conversation in a language I've always wanted to know.

C'est tout.

NaNoWriMo

For those not in the know, November is NaNoWriMo---National Novel Writing Month. This is a bit of a misnomer, however, since "national" novel writing month has been international for quite some time. The website of the organization can be found at nanowrimo.org

I've been making excuses not to participate for about four or five years, but this year, with no job, no pressure and--other than visitors in the first week of November--no time constraints, I really have no excuse. The goal is to complete 50,000 words of a novel between November 1-30. For those playing the home game, this is about 1,600 words per day, give or take a hundred here and there.

Ideally you're supposed to start a completely new project, but since I only have about 30,000 words of the Los Angeles novel, and my real problem with writing that book seems to be a tragic case of over thinking everything, I think using NaNoWriMo to completely throw caution to the wind and write, write, write, might be exactly what I need to silence Editor Brain for good--or, at least until I need her again.

I once participated in the Three Day Novel contest, over Labor Day Weekend, and managed to complete a 26,000 word novella in 72 hours. I'm hoping this bodes well for writing 50,000 words in thirty days. 50,000 words added to the 30,000 I already have would bring me very near completion.

Quite frankly, I'd just like to remember what it feels like to sit and crank out several thousand words in one day. So if I can get that feeling back? This little experiment will be well worth it.

Waiting

I'm waiting for the novel to start talking to me.

No one needs to call the psych ward; put down your phones. The thing with writing--and it's not just me; other writers talk about this phenomenon also--is that often it does sound a little as though the creative process is doing the tango with some kind of mental illness. (Maybe it is?)

For me, there is a magical moment in the process of writing a book where all of a sudden the book starts talking. The characters stand up, dust off their clothes, and start having conversations. What may have seemed like an agonizingly long wait is made completely worthwhile by the fact that the story has literally sprung to life. It takes on a life of its own. Careful notes and preparation are thrown to the wind, because these people know their stories, and damn aren't they going to start telling you about them.

It's a great moment. It's probably the moment that makes all writing worthwhile.

I have not reached that moment yet, with this current story. Almost. I've glimpsed the characters. They've whispered a few things in my ear. Like a recalcitrant child being dragged from the playground, I have been forced to stop and look and listen, since evidently my ideas are not always the same as the story's ideas.

The biggest issue for me, thus far, with Los Angeles book, is the question of the multiple point of view. I have (and I kid you not) gone through so many incarnations of this story, I hardly remember how it started. First it was only one character, as a 3rd person POV. Then that one character said 'Uh-uh. 1st Person.' First person the story became. Just as I was settling into this style, some of the other characters said, 'Hey, can we talk too?'

At first I said, 'Sure! Why not? The more the merrier!' I'm still not sure if this, artistically, was the right decision to make. Part of my symmetry-loving brain doesn't want to let these characters speak unless everyone gets approximately the same amount of POV-time. Problematic, since one of the characters only (at least so it seems to me) wants two chapters. They are a potent two chapters, and I'm loathe to lose them. But are two chapters enough? Is it going to cripple my audience if they only get to see inside this character's head for two chapters?

Because the fact I am forced to face is this one: other characters aside, there is still one character who is the main POV. It is, essentially, her story. Are the other POVs serving the story, or are they interlopers trying to distract me, the writer or you, the reader, from the main tale?

Why yes, I should be a member of OverThinkersAnonymous.

I have a feeling the book is never going to start talking if I don't let these questions go, at least for the time being. No one says I have to let anyone see the first draft, and, if I find at the end of it all the other character POVs are gratuitous--so be it, they will be banished.

Just write the damn story already, right? Right.

A Low Weekend

For many, the idea that an artistic temperament goes hand in hand with intense highs and lows is commonplace. This past weekend, for no particular reason, was one of those lows. The thing with mental issues is while being self-aware can act as a warning sign ('Oh, I know this feeling. Do something cheerful, now, now, now!') there are times when all the forewarning in the world can't and won't change what is about to happen.

And sometimes pretending to be cheerful just doesn't work. Because that's what it is: pretending. I abhor pretense. I actually hate pretending to be happy more than I hate living with being sad.

I do not confide in people often. And yet, I am a person to whom others confide. Most of the time I don't begrudge it. Helping others with their problems, even when those problems mirror my own, grants me clarity. It is, perhaps, a terrible shortcoming that I am able to give advice, but not take it.

Nevertheless, I miss having a network of (nearby) friends. I miss afternoons strolling down busy streets, window shopping and drinking cappuccinos. I miss sitting with someone face to face, speaking about my work, or theirs. I admit, I long for my artistic safety net, my contemporaries, the passing back and forth of interesting information related to creativity. The things that make us happy; the things that make us tick. The things that make the highs and lows worth bearing.

I miss being around people who understand the highs and lows; the weekends spent sad for no reason; the singular Wednesday afternoon spent high as a kite on nothing more potent than a great idea.

I have work to do today, even if, at present, this work has an effect on no one save myself. Low weekends pass, and one can always hope for a High Wednesday. Or, even better, an Even Keel Day, Week, even Month where every day a little more work is completed.

The Painful Oversimplification of Language

I just overheard (eavesdropped on) a conversation.

Two girls, probably in their early twenties, NYU students (not the easiest school in the world to get into, I'm told) meet in a coffee shop. They haven't seen each other in a while, and so the conversation immediately leaps into the realm of "So, what have you been doing lately?"

First of all, the prevalence of the word 'like' used in my place of 'um' or in order to hold one's place when the next words aren't forthcoming is so ugly. I say this knowing I use the word myself all the time. I don't have to like it, even if I am an offender myself. My first year acting professor was a violent hater of the word 'like' and tried (mostly through acts of humiliation) to beat it out of us. It didn't really work. I've read articles recently that claim 'like' is here to stay---our language has merely adapted and evolved to the point that like exists and like isn't going anywhere. Unfortunately.

The second thing I noticed was the distressing overuse of the words 'cool' and 'sucks' (usually accompanied by 'like'). Girl number one had spent the summer in Europe visiting such places as Florence, Spain, Paris. "The people there were...I don't know. I guess they were like, cool. Yeah, I went to Florence. It was like, cool. And like, pretty."

We have a vast vocabulary available to us. The English language is veritably swimming with words. There are, in fact, a plethora of words. (I particularly like plethora.) However, instead of using these words we say Florence is cool. Venice is cool. This thing sucks. That thing is, like, I don't know. Cool. We may not have a thousand words for snow (a myth, I might add) but we do have more options than 'cool' or 'sucks.'

Use them!

A List of Little Joys

I've been trying to think of a clever blogging topic all day, to no avail. Instead, I will share a completely random list of little things that bring me joy.

1. New Furniture
Everything about new furniture. How clean it is. How comfortable. How none of the cushions are squished out of shape, and none of the springs are poking you through a worn-down mattress. The smell. It's like new car smell, only better.
(Why yes, I did get new furniture today. Why do you ask?)

2. Good Stories
I don't care if these stories are told to me by a friend, written in a book, shown on television, read over the radio, sung in a song, projected at the movie theatre...I love stories. I admit I am not the most critical consumer of movies/TV/books/theatre because it takes something genuinely terrible to put me off the possibility of a new story.

3. A Pot of Tea
Black, green, white, oolong, rooibos, herbal, tisane. I love tea. I love the sacrament of preparation, of making sure the ingredients are added in the right order and the perfect ratio. Then, when it's all prepared, there is nothing quite like sitting down, inhaling that first hint of aroma, and tasting. I feel about tea the way I feel about wine, although I know more about tea, so that adds a layer of appreciation.

4. Good Drink
In the last year I was introduced to straight vodka--something I never imagined I would enjoy. Until I tried good vodka. Really, really good vodka. All of a sudden adding a mixer seemed like sacrilege. (I have since been introduced to really, really good gin and really, really good tequila. Anyone out there want to introduce me to really, really good rum? I have tried scotch, but I'm not quite...there yet.)

5. Good Food
This almost speaks for itself. My cuisine of choice is usually French---they know how to put together a palate-pleasing plate, that's for sure. But there's not much I don't enjoy. Except kiwis. I'll probably die if I eat kiwis, and that would definitely not make it on the 'life's little joys' list.

6. Good Company
With no slight meant to my husband, this is what I miss the most here in New York. I don't actually know anyone. And I am shy, so getting to know people is not as easy (for me) as sitting next to the same guy three days in a row at the tearoom (Hi, blondish dude with white Mac! How are you?) and striking up a conversation. And, much as it pains me to admit, talking to friends via email, chat and phone just doesn't feel the same. However, the positive side is---I now realize how much I appreciate good company! The funny thing with introversion (and I am, despite the arguments of several of my friends, an introvert) is that, for the most part, I don't need to be around people. But I want to. And I love each and every person who has ever shared some of the aforementioned good drink, good food or pots of tea with me.

Faith is a Motherfucker Part 2

It is crazy what a difference a week makes. One week you are in the depths of despair, and then the next week, you decide to take control.

We all have crap weeks where the light at the end of the tunnel fades like a distant memory and it's just easier to flip off the world and sulk. That is usually not my style, however after a very eventful three quarters of the year, I realize that I tend to react to things much more differently than I used to. I wondered where I lost my optimism. This week I realised that I let it escape me.

These are little reminders I found helpful this week, and for those of you who may read this, feel free to take these nuggets of almost wisdom for yourself:

1. Worrying about money is absolutely, ABSOLUTELY pointless: It is. All the people I know who have money--not that I know tons who have it at this point--are not totally reckless with money, but trust that it's coming and do not even think about it. There is tons of money in the world. It will find its way into your pocket. As long as you think positive, do things that will create the opportunity to make the money--I mean, don't sit on your ass an hope it comes to you---and think big. I have a friend that is going to write a book about making sock puppets--I know she'll love doing it and make some cash from it.

2. Take time to read. Really: Take time to sit down and read. Even when you are super busy. I have been really busy lately, but I'm taking at least 30 minutes to an hour to devote to the book.

3. Write--even if you have nothing to write about, write. Write about what you want and what makes you happy and the things that you are curious about. Don't write about the shit that sucks you down into the pits of hell. Don't. Just don't. Support yourself and be good to yourself--think about the things you want to do and accomplish.

4. If you are not happy with your job make steps to change it. Even if they are just baby steps. If you are just sending out one resume a week and researching places you would love to work, you are doing something. You are putting it out to the Universe that you want something, that you want change. Baby steps! Every week do something more and track it.

5. Do something nice for yourself everyday. I know if you have to save the pennies. I do. But it makes me happy to buy a nice latte every now and then or to buy myself a nice cup of tea while I read.So that's what I do. And every now and then, I buy a really good book. It keeps me going. Take care of yourself.

6. Dream. Dream. Dream. Your best ideas come from dreaming. Dream, write them down, and know that they are possible. Not wishing or hoping, but KNOWING that they are possible. There are people that are living their dreams and doing the unexpected. It's not a matter of 'if' it happens but 'when' it happens.

7. Faith. Yes. I know...it's back and I have reclaimed it. Have faith that it will all work out, because it will.