Month of Discipline

Ahhh, it's that time of year. I would say again, but I can't remember the last time I was actually disciplined.

So, the game plan. This year, I'm doing ScriptFrenzy, hopefully getting a first episode of an original spec and writing a spec for a current show. So, getting disciplined about my writing.

Start walking for 30 minutes - 1 hour a day. Disciplined about my health.

Stop going out nearly every night. Pick nights and times and stick to them. Disciplined about my time.

Stop drinking as much, which goes back to my health. Not cutting out drinking, just not drinking as much.

Get a little more organized and set up a schedule I can (and will) follow.

I'm hoping the month of "practice" will give me the impetus to follow this discipline for the rest of the year. I will add more socializing, but I kind of want to start from nearly zero and go up from there. I also want to get some of these projects I've had in my mind for a while and put the down on paper, finally. That's my problem. I don't get everything on paper like I want.

Maybe it will work, maybe not, but at least you will get to hear me complain about it. That's right, one of the disciplinary things I'm adding is to write about my day on this blog. I may also post my entries for my writing prompts. I need to write everyday, not just on my scripts for ScriptFrenzy, but also on the other things I want to write. So yeah, writing prompts, and story research, and grant finding, and all the like...

Only a few of you know how badly I want to be able to leave my job and just write. My job isn't bad, it's just no longer satisfying. My job is frustrating and uninspiring. Writing is frustrating, but when you break through and have a finished piece that you're even partially satisfied with, that is something. I want to do work and feel like that. My students adore me and listen to me and talk to me and that is satisfying, but they don't agree with me and that's the hard part, seeing them after I've taught them and having them say they wish they'd listened to me. It's hard and that part is not satisfying. Of course, I've talked to one student who said that they're glad they listened to me. That is satisfying, but it doesn't keep me going and striving for the ends I strive for when I teach.

Anyway, that's another story and one not thankfully told. I have other thoughts that reside outside of this post. I'm just challenging myself by letting you know. At least two people who read this page will keep me accountable (you know who you are) and maybe, just maybe, I can emerge from the month of April with some new habits for becoming a more successful writer.

Location, Location, Location

I live near the downtown area of my city. That is enough to take away the suckiness that is my hometown.

I spent the majority of my life dreaming about getting away. I lived in the ghetto, or damn near it if you want to get technical, and as you might imagine, that does not instill a sense of wonder and awe. I wanted to go to there, there being anywhere that was not here. Whether it was Victorian England in the crappy (and not so crappy) romance novels I read, or to the stark northern environment that served as the non sci-fi backdrop of Madeleine L'Engle stories, I always wanted to be somewhere else. I read, I watched tv (when I was allowed to watch tv), I talked to old people at my grandfather's nursing home, people who were more than willing to share about times when they had been someplace other than there, all in an attempt to escape.

Finally, it was my time. I got into the plane without so much as a backwards glance to my home state and swept myself and my stuff up the eastern seaboard to my new home of Boston, MA. Pearl Jam's "Rearview Mirror" was my theme song and the line "I gather speed from you fucking with me" echoed in my head. I was there for two years. When I returned home, which fires and other misfortunes generally make you do, I realized I knew more about my adopted city of Boston, and the surrounding area of Cambridge, than I did about the place in which I lived for more than 17 years.

Actually, first I mourned. Six months in my pajamas, teaching our new dog to love the music of Korn, Pantera, and The Doors, roaming my boring neighborhood freely without knowing that my brother ran interference with every thug he played ball with so that I would be "looked after" but not sexually accosted by said gang members on my runs. I stayed up late, slept long, and ate little until one day my mom told me I was going to have to do something, get a job, volunteer, something(!) if I was gonna stay at her new, not burned down house.

So I got out, volunteered at a nearby school, realized I needed money, got a job, wanted to go back to school, met some nice people who introduced me to Downtown.

Now, at this point, the late 90s, the Downtown area was coming off of an all time low. Prostitution had once been so rampant, there was a city law that stated you couldn't walk down Cherry Street in red heels. I love that that's the sign of a prostitute. Anyway, drug deals and only a few businesses made it supposedly scary to be around Downtown at night, which meant no one was, especially once the drug dealers and prostitutes left from lack of business. Most had deserted this once beautiful area, but not all.

The place was a little nothing of a spot with a beautiful bay window, right next to this elegant, old hotel that had been turned into low income housing for old people. Inside, little cafe tables were spread haphazardly around the floor with clear line to the counter at the back of the store. On the inside of the bay window was a stage where you could get up and read your poetry or play music. It was not my first experience with a coffee house, but it is my most enduring coffee house memory. I went there with friends, some I've lost touch with, some who have died, and others who still remember those days. AOL disks as coasters, the best tea I've ever had in Macon, and delicious deserts, not to mention the bad poems and easy laughs we were always so willing to share, come flooding back when I think of J and the CC.

A few years later, I was invited by a comic book artist to share his creative space and write with him. Weeks later, he left town and I stayed in that creative art space as a writer for nearly 5 years. That was when I knew that my heart would belong to downtown. I walked constantly, never needing to fear for my life, although some lost possessions and one person lost their life just by being downtown. But couldn't it happen anywhere? I met people, I've seen establishments come and go. Even when I got married, I dreamed of the moment when my husband was as assured of my ability to take care of myself as I was so we could make the move downtown. For nearly three years, I lived and worked away from downtown, but as soon as I saw the opening, I pounced.

I ran into someone at the grocery story yesterday, an old friend from school. She asked me if I saw myself and my Honey moving any time soon. I told her we were going with the winds of grad school when that time came, but for now, I was content to be here because I lived downtown.

Don't get me wrong. The allure of being other places still haunts me. I dream of Africa weekly. I imagine Asia, going to China and Japan, going back to Paris and Barcelona and the want of those places weakens my knees. I think about our last trip to Boston and how walking around Cambridge made me long to be back in that area again. Also, since we drove from California back to Georgia, both the Honey and I have kind of kept Albuquerque in mind as a "someday, maybe" place. There are definitely other places I would like to be, but the friends I've made, the home I've made, and the connections I've made makes me not mind it if I have to stay right where I am for a long, long time.

Sorry for the Silence

I was working on an article that was due last week. Took a lot out of me. But now I'm better.

I've started knitting again. I decided, however, to teach myself to knit in the continental method. I was doing the English method, with is characterized by throwing the yarn (your hands move in much larger swoops) while the continental methods is characterized by picking up the yarn with your needles. The movements are much more efficient.

I mean, it will be once I figure the damn thing out. It's like learning to knit all over again. I'm not awesome at knitting, I have to watch every knit to make sure I'm doing the right thing, whether it be purling or knitting. I'm following a pattern, so you can see it if I mess up... It's completely ridiculous and completely fun.

I need another rotator thingy for my spinning wheel so I can combine to strands of yarn I've already spun. I made the strands super thin so that I could spin them together. I guess I could wind each one separately and use it as sock yarn, but I wanted to maybe put together a shawl or something for my mom. Maybe I will just make it something lacy and use the thin strands. Actually, I just want to get these strands off of my spindles so that I can work on this other yarn I've been itching to spin. It's got tinsel in it. I was thinking of doing it with some thin pieces and some thick pieces so that it would make an interesting looking scarf. I have enough to do that and I wouldn't have to worry about the strands being so thin.

When I told my mom I was spinning my own yarn, she said I was becoming the Proverbs 31 wife. I loved to cook, I had a garden, I was "making" our own clothes and some people have said I could sell my knitting, and if I'm spinning my own fiber, it would not be cost prohibitive. She doesn't think that any more, about me being a Proverbs 31 wife, even though I still do all that stuff. I think the belief in Jesus Christ as Lord has to be present for me to be that, although, technically, that was written without the concept of Christ being introduced to the readers. Also, I don't have a city gate at which I could sell my stuff.

I have a lot of work to do now that I have a rough idea of where I want my writing to go. I'm hoping I get to sit down with this other freelance writer and learn what my further options are. I also need to find a way to take classes. With The Honey going to a better, but private, college, fundage has been $0 at best, -$ at worst. Keeping up with my other website (the one I have to pay for) and taking classes to help me become a better writer is on the agenda, but is rapidly being pushed down past the top 10, even though it is what I need. I'm being positive though. If this next article is a cover story and I can pitch a couple more, I will be rapidly moving towards increasing my income, growing my writing career, and putting myself in a better position to get the further education I need.

Yay!

But the work must begin in earnest. I did neglect a few things to finish, but I didn't really put aside the unnecessary things of life this past week. I did my fair share of going out and I didn't watch enough tv for my tv blog, although I did a little catching up this weekend. I am not as tired as I usually am at this time of day, but I certainly did not want to get up and go to work today. But I do have a job that I can enjoy and that is a good thing.

Get Back

I've been up since 6:30am. I don't like getting up that early. I have a lot of writing to try to do today before 6pm - maybe even until midnight if it comes down to it, so I will be brief in this format.

I was so ready to go home yesterday and when I got home, I was so glad to be there that I didn't ever want to leave. For those of you who pray and for those of you who ask things of the universe, my one request is that this year I am successful. Ask that for me.

I'm not talking success as in my name is known worldwide - although that would be nice. I'm not even talking big publications in big... publications. I'm talking about able to support myself and my college captured husband solely on writing. We're working on him supporting me in the future. But now, let's work on me for support.

We knew when we took this step, it was going to be hard. We knew there would be times when we wouldn't have any money. But now we are looking at bills we didn't even know existed (poor record keeping. My bad) and having no money once all the monthly stuff is paid. I wish we could get a break. The thing that put us over was switching to a new school. Extra money we weren't expecting to pay... they waited until it was too late to make the switch back to the old school which wouldn't have been as expensive, although it would be a waste of time because nothing else he took would transfer... and we would have lost the "hold" money we had to pay once they accepted him into the school. It feels like a racket.

And as much as I talk about wanting to do something else, I'm so grateful for my job. I could be without a job. I know several people who are. I could have to try to do this all on half of my salary, which is what almost any other job would pay. I'm glad that I am coming up with ideas that may help us in the future, but I wish that those ideas could be paying for us now.

Can you see how much our financial woes are affecting me? So I worry and my hair doesn't grow and my skin gets dry and the area behind my eyes are tired and I find myself slipping into despair (yeah, that bad). And then I remember we've been able to survive with the help of friends and neighbors and occasionally, my mom. At least when my dad was alive, before the end, I could count on an infusion of $80 every couple of weeks because he'd won somebody's lottery. I'd buy an orange soda and sit in the car with him as if these were old times. They were not. Our landlord is awesome too. Not enough can be said about his generosity and kindness to us in our hard times.

Financially, the thing I miss the most is eating out. I need to start writing food reviews again. Maybe I can do them on my own and take them out of taxes next year. I still haven't tried the brunch at a couple of places. I hear there's a Bloody Mary bar (Make your own Bloody Mary's? Heaven. With lots of hot sauce) and they put hollandaise sauce on the omelets.

Oh well, eventually, we will get out of this hole and be the better for it. Maybe we will learn to be frugal people and will become people who learn to save our abundance.

National Novel Writer Month Has Begun

... and I am behind. Of course.

Why do I always do this? I know it is my bad habit of procrastination and that feeling I always get at the beginning of November that I can't finish the 50,000 words before the end of the month. I did it last year and I start each year's NaNoWriMo with such heady optimism, I am always afraid, by the end of week one, that I can not hold on to it.

But by the end of the month, I will have my 50,000 words and more. I know I will because I have a husband who's disappointment is as big as my own, except it's on his face. When it's on my face, I can ignore it. Just avoid mirrors. But when it is on his face, when I give him my word count at the end of the day, I see it and I know that I have to do better and stop sabotaging myself.

Still working at the same place. I keep reminding myself of the sacrifices we are both making for a better future. Still, I wish I could spend more time on writing. But I'm going to kill this teaching thing so that there will be no doubt that, despite wanting to leave, I can do a hell of a job doing my job.

Anyway, just a few thoughts to tide me over and so that whoever it is that checks this site once a day will have something to read.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow looms brightly. It is big and full of potential. As the day fades, after working for most of it, when the white screen sits empty before me and the little black line in the left hand corner of the page blinks, I look longingly at tomorrow because I know that is when I will have the energy and the creative energy to do all of these things I feel I have the potential for.

I can feel tired seeping into me. I've watched my shows and now, all I have to do is right. That's all. Just write. But the longer I sit here, the longer it takes my fingers to move over the keys. I glance at the clock and it shows me that night has become the next day. Tomorrow is only a day away.

I wish I would do the things now that I imagine for tomorrow.

Free Falling

This is harder than it used to be, getting my thoughts out. Back then, I didn't have anyone to embarrass but myself. I still remember the url - http://publictrust.blogspot.com. I got the name from a poster on the wall about the constitution at a former place of employment. Back then, I didn't know that you wanted a url that people could remember and go back to.

Those days were a bit more carefree - I had time, a job that didn't require a full 8 hours, no one was paying me to come up with articles on a monthly basis. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but it's harder to get in the creative stuff. Or just to get stuff off of my chest.

I had lunch with a freelance writer a few years ago. She told me that if I started writing for a living that writing creatively would be much harder and that I would even begin to hate the act of sitting down in front of the computer to do something. I'm definitely not at that point, but I do resent the time that my body requires for sleep and for friends and all the other things I want to do. I like those outlets: trivia night, movies, hanging out, staying in. But it all takes time. Just like I have to come to a realization about my weight (despite the magic office mirror in which I look fantastic), I have to come to some sort of realization with my writing.

The Honey is sick of hearing me talk about this. In his mind, if I wanted it, I would do it. And really, in my mind, that's how I feel too. But then I try to imagine a future where I just teach and don't go after writing and my fingers begin to itch, like I've already cut the computers away from their tips and they feel the phantom pains.

So, yes, I want to do this and yes, I will whine, and yes, I need your encouragement (and sometimes ass kicking) and maybe a deadline or two that has nothing to do with the writing I get paid for. While I'm going to apologize to you now for what you may have to put up with in the future, I'll thank you kindly for the encouragement.

Starting Somewhere

Every morning, I wake up wanting the day to go differently. This morning, with the foggy, sunless morning, I just wanted to get back in bed, wake up an hour later, then read my book for an hour or so before getting to the page, electronic and otherwise. I imagine this life as I step into my red All Stars and put on a blue shirt that complements my skin tone and I imagine that I'm excited because I have a job that can support me and my husband as he goes to school. I appreciate my job for that. But I long for something different (better?) and I feel it just beyond my periphery every day. So if I am able to do the things I've set my mind and heart ondoing, even as I let other things get in the way, I feel there is hope that I will find the new pathe I want to be on and still be financially stable.

That the dream, right? Write, work hard, and eventually you will be writing from home. I see the dream, kitten in my lap, laptop humming, coffee cup rings on my desk marking the time, looking forward to my husband coming home to tell me about his day.

Yeah, this is a bit wistful, but we all have to start somewhere, right?

Working Half To Death

I used to be able to have 2 or 3 jobs without blinking an eye. Bills need to be paid, money needs to be had, that sort of thing. But now that I'm getting older, I'm realizing that I need to be smarter, not just by doing something like budgeting, but even by doing things like job consolidation.

Granted, I only have three jobs because I include writing in that, but the other two are sucking the life out of the writing job. Saturday, I got called into my second job and I had to turn them down, not because I didn't need the money, but because I needed to just sit down and write.

I found out I also needed to sleep. And that my feet were killing me.

I also need a new needle for my record player.

And although those things are beside the point, they are the point for the life I'm leading. I think I should replace "need" with "want" in my vocabulary - for most things. I definitely need more sleep. But I only want a new needle for my record player.

Oh well, want. need. In the end, we work for it because we feel like it's a necessity. But maybe when we get it is when we realize that we never needed or wanted it after all. Whether it is going back to school or eating a slice of chocolate cake from Market City - we do the things we want and we do whatever it takes to get there. So I'm sucking it up because I want to do the things I want to do, working my jobs, making that paper, and maybe when I've done what I need to do, the ends will have been justified by the means.