My blog turned 4 this last weekend.
It’s been four years since I first hit “Publish” back on my modest little MobileMe site (remember MobileMe? No? Neither does anyone else). Since then I’ve written 274 posts – just over a post a week. I also earned my masters degree, had a baby, finished a few short stories, wrote a travel book, did some actual traveling, took a full time job and well, lived life. A lot has happened.
Looking back, my first post was about trying to hit a deadline. I was writing the first draft of my novel to turn in as the thesis project for my masters. I wrote 45 pages in three days!
These days I write about 200 words a week. Granted, I only manage to squeeze in a few hours of writing over the course of seven days, but still. Did I suffer a serious blow to the head or something?
I’ve been thinking a lot about this. The 45 pages I wrote in that crazy long weekend were not good. But are the two hundreds words that I spend a week on now-a-days THAT much better?
I think I need to lighten up a bit. I so over think every word I write lately that it’s becoming paralyzing.
Actually, that’s not true. At work I pour words out all day long. I have to. I have deadlines. And come to think of it, I wrote those 45 pages on a deadline too. So maybe what I need to do is set deadlines for myself. Just bust out some words because that’s what I’m sitting there to do. At work I don’t second guess every word. I write them, then I review them to make sure they say what I meant them to say, edit a little as needed and move on. My fiction-writing self needs to take a hint from my corporate writing self.
So resolution for my fifth blog year: just keep writing and stop over-thinking.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
I‘ve opted for yoga, talk therapy, and wine. It’s nice to know I have the prescription if I need it, but I really think it’s jumping the gun a bit. (If my posts start to get too dour, please tell me, and I’ll revisit the idea of medication.)
While I’m updating, I feel compelled to admit that 1) I have not been writing every day like I swore I would and 2) I have not hit my 1000 words a week goal (since the second week).
I did however have one week recently where I managed to get up early EVERY DAY, which I’ve never actually done before. Usually I wuss out on Friday, if not Thursday too. But I still didn’t hit my word count goal. I needed to take some time to work out the plotting of my story, and I’ve been dabbling with a new idea, so some mornings I just write in my journal to see where that takes me. I’m pretty sure it’s the next novel, but I’m also trying to not over-think it just yet. I already have one project I’m over-thinking. This new one is just a story I’m interested in. I play with ideas, do research on Google. It’s a shiny new toy.
I’ve reached a strange place with the novel where I’ve been working on the story for so long that I’m actually growing less attached. This draft is bringing some radical changes to the storyline. The whole tone of the story is shifting. It’s better, but it’s definitely different. At least, I’m hoping it’s better. I’ve decided to just keep writing, which sometimes feels good, like I’m hiking up a hill and will eventually get there, and sometimes feels futile, like I’m walking in circles.
Anyhow, that’s all the news from this end.
I have a question.
I was at a doctor appointment (my GP) last week and happened to mention that I was feeling tense, stressed. I have a lot shit going on. I worked a 15-hour day yesterday, all in. Between family, and work, and writing, and exercise. Life is busy.
Well the doc whipped out her prescription pad and wrote me a note for Zoloft. Just like that. I had no idea it was so easy.
The question is – should I take it?
Part of me is thinking why not? If I have the option to take the edge off life, to calm this buzzing that has me always a little tense, why would I not give myself that rest?
On the other hand, since when do I need medication just to get through the day? Isn’t that what alcohol is for? Just kidding. But seriously, if my life has me that stressed out, shouldn’t I try to make some changes that would help feel a little calmer without the meds?
I don’t know. I guess I worry it might crush my creative drive, or kill that basic artistic dissatisfaction that keeps me writing. I really don’t feel depressed, just stressed out.
So should I stick with wine and try to find myself good therapist?
Or should I take the drugs like its 1999?
If there’s one thing that can really make LA look like a smoggy pit, it’s 10 days in the Pacific Northwest.
The family and I just got back from vacation. We spent the first five days with my dad in northern Idaho to celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday (that’s a picture of him with the cool shirt we got him), and then met up with some great friends we hardly ever get to see to do some camping just east of Mount St. Helens. The air smelled like cedar, and there were so many stars I gave myself a neck ache looking up.
As always, I carried my little notebook with me everywhere to jot down ideas and observations, but the thing is, I’ve realized, I didn’t jot down a single thought. Great details kept catching my attention, but they never made it into the notebook. I kept beating myself up for it, every time I didn’t pull out my notebook, but if guilt actually got things done, there would be a lot fewer to-do lists in the world.
The thing is my kids are still young enough that I have to keep a pretty close eye on them, especially when we’re out in the wilderness, or by a lake, or a road, or well, really anywhere that isn’t our home. The only time I don’t have an eagle eye on them was when they’re strapped into their car seats (but I get really car sick, so even if Daniel is driving that’s not a good time for me). I continue to carry that notebook, but it’s always so buried under diapers, peanut butter sandwiches, and random lego pieces that I just don’t ever bother to dig it out. Instead, I keep telling myself I’ll write it down later, but I never do.
Like everything else in this life, I’m starting to realize that taking notes is a matter of practice. Just like exercise or eating well, you have to keep doing it, or the inclination to do it at all will slowly fade.
It’s not like I need another thing to do, but this is important. It’s those little details that make stories great. Writing them down is a way of not only reminding myself to be a keen observer, but also for remembering them later.
The details are already starting to fade (sadly), but here’s one little gem I will always remember: At one point my step-mom was describing a friend of hers that we were heading out to visit and she said “just wait until you see how she walks.” I thought that was such a funny thing to say about someone, but you know what – her friend actually did have a lovely walk.
Ahh, summer… with the lazy days around the pool, the deepening of my LA tan, and the- wait, what?
Man, I miss summer vacation. I no longer get to lay by the pool, but I do get to figure out how to juggle my hours at work so I can drive two kids to preschool, swim camp, soccer, and music, and that’s all before the first of July.
The first half of July is always a little crazy around here. There’s the 4th, of course, then our anniversary, then our daughter’s birthday, and this year, just to make it all a little more interesting, throw in the wedding of one of our best friends, in Chicago, which meant we had to fly both kids to the Bay Area first to stay with their grandparents, and then just try to fly back to San Francisco a day after a major plane crash. Just try. In fact, try doing it with a raging hangover. That’s even more fun. When we got to the airport Sunday morning our flight (which was scheduled for 11:30) had “5:45″ written next to the flight number and I actually turned to my husband and said “what do they mean 5-4-5? Is that code for something?” As it turns out, it was code for canceled.
Anyhow – all this is to say how super busy things have been the last two weeks, but I’m happy to say we are nearing the end of the crazy part.
This Friday I head out for a weekend with my writing group. I’ve been prepping for it (on the few mornings I’ve been able to get myself up early to write). I know what I want to work on. I will have two solid days, and half of Friday, to write, write, write. Historically these types of things go well for me, but I always feel nervous leading up to them. I so desperately want to make good use of the time that I have to remember not to psych myself out.
Just go. Write. Sleep. Write some more.
Wish me luck.
I haven’t been blogging. You may have noticed.
The truth is, I have nothing to say lately. Or rather, I have nothing good to say. Work has been busting my hump and I have no time for anything related to my own writing. I have all these ideas in my head, punching me in the back of the skull trying to get out, and it’s giving me a damn headache.
There’s the short story that’s almost ready to go out, the two different articles I’m dying to research and pitch, the novel that I’m trying to finish, and the next novel that I’ve already started outlining because I can’t wait to start writing it. Oh, and this blog. I’m telling you, it’s painfully crowded in my brain.
Getting up at 5am to write gives me about an hour and a half a day, but I don’t motivate to do it every day. Most weeks I average about three mornings a week. Last week it was one. An hour and a half of my own writing all week. When I think about it I get so fucking cranky.
And I’m not complaining about my job. My job is pretty great, insorfar as I get to do a lot of writing (for other people), and I have a lot of flexibility, but it just doesn’t leave much time for the work that keeps me feeling engaged in life, excited to face each day.
I refuse to give up. I will keep plugging away, and maybe I’ll even manage to get over myself, stop complaining and just get up early more often to write. But if I’m a little lax on the blogging trust me – I don’t have anything good to say anyway.