Taking A Break

Having just finished the crappy (emphasis on crappy) first draft of my second novel I am now required to take a break.  The idea is that you have to get away from the work for a spell, get perspective.  The best way to do this is to refuse to even look at it "for at least a month" (according to Bethany).  This is not an easy task.  My ending is so dreadful.  I can't wait to change it.  Every chapter is lacking important plot-heavy details that would help the story make sense.  And character dialogue keeps running through my mind at inconvenient times (they seem to talk more, now, than when I was actually writing).


On a side note I totally caved and re-read my first chapter...it's awful.  Worst part?  It's the best chapter I have in the book...proving that Bethany was right and I should probably get some perspective.


In the meantime, I am having Writing Withdrawals.  I'm dreaming of zombie apocalypses, alien dragons, with breathing tubes, attacking the earth, and feeling cranky.  I need my writing fix.  


NaNoWriMo is just around the corner.


My thoughts diverge here.  


Like a new romance, I worry that putting my novel down and focusing on another project will cool my feelings.  That at the end of our separation I will have lost the sound of my characters voices, that I won't be able regurgitate the internal motivation to create--in their world.  How do I cling to my novel, while fervently pouring myself into something else?  Will working on a new project give me the perspective I need or pour cold water on the fires of creativity?


On the other hand.  At least NaNo allows me to write...something.  I hate waking up in the morning and having no project.  I'm anxious, and empty.  I feel more like a writer than I've ever felt, as I come face to face with the hole it has left behind in my soul.  NaNo is a writing vacation, an exercise in perspective, that allows me to write.

Autumn

Leaves rustle as the wind sweeps them in giant circles across the pavement.

Writing

I feel the echoes of poet Allen Ginsberg in my soul, burning up my heart and bringing tears to my eyes.  When asked by students at Yale University, if there was a moment when he consciously decided to become a poet.  Ginsberg said,

 'It wasn't quite a choice--it was a realization.'*

Oh how this realization has been bubbling up inside of me, a spring of joy, an obsession--in a good way.  How right the world feels when I write.


It brings to mind a quote I have written on an index card attached to the cork board that sits above my computer, encouraging me in my daily work

When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
--Anne Sexton

If I never get published...if the world never hears about me, or reads a single one of my words...daily I get the privilege of entering into the act of creation, with my Creator, and I discover that there is no more daunting or rewarding task than this. 


*Excerpted from On Writing Well --Zinsser

Massive Insomnia

def.--Laying in bed (awake) until midnight, drifting off to sleep for two hours, laying in bed (awake) from 2 am-4am, giving up on sleep.

Battling A Case of the Insecurities

My favorite ocean memories come from the time I spent at the beaches near Fort Walton Beach, FL.  The water was clear and warm, beautiful in ways that make the Pacific envious.  I loved walking out far enough that, as each wave came in to beat on the shore, it would first raise me up.  My feet would leave the sand and I would float in peace until the wave set me back down.  Sometimes my melancholy and insecurities are like this.  I'm mostly OK, and there are times when God picks me up and holds me close in his hands and I feel my feet leave the sand.  
There are times in the ocean, however, when you misjudge a wave.  The water, no longer gentle, pummels you with a rage that sets your heart on edge.  You are no longer lifted up and floating, rather your body is crushed down into the sand with great force.  In these times you fear for your life.  You hold your breath longer than you dreamed possible and you swim and push and fight against the sand trying to find the direction of the air.  Sometimes my melancholy and insecurities are more like this.  The enemy has taken the gloves off, he's thrown the gauntlet and we are going to battle.  My God is still there watching every move closely, keeping the enemy on a short leash.  He's still there rooting for me, loving me, and preparing for my battle victory.  The knowledge of such wonderful things should turn the tide for me, make my victory easier.  It should.  It does...make it easier but not easy.

What's the Hap? the 411?

I'm still dreaming, longingly, with drool dribbling, of somehow getting back across the pond.  Missing London, dreaming of Ireland, and Germany and Spain.  I missed my calling as an independently wealthy traveler.
I've been working...a lot.  Going to classes, writing, teaching homeschool (re-learning Geometry, struggling through Chemistry), attending meetings as one of our church's Attraction Leaders for Children's Ministry--don't ask me how I got the gig, I'm not exactly a poster child for it.
Bethany is attending her first forensics tournament tomorrow.  (She's gonna be great at this.  One of the kids called her bad-ass...proud moment for me)
NaNo is coming up quickly.  Not sure what exactly I'm gonna write about.  Have an idea but it's not my passion, just a different genre.
Bradley keeps asking for more...or new...or easier...or quicker computer science courses.
Dan's going back to school and he has mad* opportunities at work.

I'm praying about-my mom, my illness, writing, that I will be a good friend to those God has given me, an envy problem, wisdom for Dan as he thinks about work stuff, a friend's divorce.

What God has been teaching me-how weak I am, how unfaithful, how big He is...no He's bigger than what you just pictured, my brain can't even keep it in focus for more than a few seconds, how faithful He is, how strong He is, that He is in control--I'm safe in Him, that He is working all of this chaos and pain and difficulty for my good.

He really is beautiful!!!


*(mad means-mucho).

Beth Moore

Anybody can be like everybody else.  Only those who are exceptional choose to believe the possible over the probable.  You, beloved, were created to be exceptional.


(Single greatest motivating statement in my life right now!)

Relient K

Life could you be a little softer to me.

Life could you be more gentle to me.

Yeah, I know, this is a selfish plea,

Because Christ sacrificed His flesh

On the cross for me

But this world is hard,

It's cruel and I wish it could be...

Softer to me.

The Imitation of Christ

Give place, then, to Christ, but deny entrance to all others, for when you have Christ you are rich and He is sufficient for you.

--Thomas a Kempis

Albert Einstein

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.

NaNoWriMo

Run whooping through the valleys of your imagination.
--Chris Baty

Psalm 139

O LORD, You have searched me and known me!
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You discern my thoughts from afar.
You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O LORD, You know it altogether.
You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.


Where shall I go from Your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Your hand shall lead me,
and Your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,"
even the darkness is not dark to You;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with You.


For You formed my inward parts;
You knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are Your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in Your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.


How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
I awake, and I am still with You.


Oh that You would slay the wicked, O God!
O men of blood, depart from me!
They speak against You with malicious intent;
Your enemies take Your name in vain!
Do I not hate those who hate You, O LORD?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against You?
I hate them with complete hatred;
I count them my enemies.


Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!
And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!

NaNoWriMo

National Novel Writing Month is quickly approaching and my blood pressure and fear of failure is rising. I didn't finish my last attempt at writing a novel in a month. I only got about half way. Still 25,000 words is more than I had ever written before and some of it is actually good. This time I will actually be attempting it during the official month. This means that if I manage by some miracle to finish my novel I could get some small recognitions from other WriMos or some humiliation, should I fall short of the 50,000 words.
The thought of writing a novel in a month is terrifying. As I sit here typing away on my keyboard, wasting words really on a blog rather than on my novel, I have approximately zero good ideas for a new story line. Of course those are the rules. You cannot use material you've already started on. It has to be something fresh and new. You can, however, begin planning characters and settings one week before it starts. My heart just started beating faster as I typed the last sentence. One week. I think perhaps NaNoWriMo is for psychotic, insane people who for some ridiculous reason feel that they need to write a novel in a month. I'm proud to say that I am one of them.

November is National Novel Writing Month.

Update: Taco Bell

My family and I went out to Taco Bell again today and were again charged double for my sour cream as well as being charged double for my daughter's nacho cheese (.45+.45=.90, a full order of nachos is only 9 cents more). Starting to become irritated by this I decided to call 1-800-TACO BELL. They didn't really seem to care and they couldn't provide me with any information on whether or not this was on the up and up. I told the lady that I spoke with that what I really wanted documented was how deceitful it felt to me to be charged 30 cents plus 30 cents. If the price of sour cream has really doubled from 30 cents to 60 cents, it would seem like a more straight forward business practice to print 60 cents on the receipt. To me it seems as though these particular Taco Bells are cheating people out of money. It feels like they are hoping that most people won't really look at the receipt. It comes off to me as though sour cream is really only 30 cents but they are trying to rig the system and make more money.

Christians Aren't Funny

According to an article in Time magazine, Christians--of which I am one, are not funny. We are apparently unable to delve into the darker sides of life and can't muster more than a good poop joke. This was completely shocking to me but as it is in a reputable news magazine (though obviously an opinion piece) it must be absolutely correct. I am going to have to go out immediately and stop my sister-in-law Charla from speaking ever again because I can't seem to get through a conversation with her without laughing about something. And you, follower Cassie, I don't know what you're going to do.
Just last week at the end of my women's bible study my daughter and I watched a video with what appeared to be Kay Arthur, Beth Moore and Priscilla Shirer. But they must have been imposters because I was laughing so hard (and so loud) that I was crying. It couldn't have actually been them, because they are Christians.

In all seriousness, I guess that the writer of the piece felt that you can't be funny if you aren't using swear words or making a jab at God. Or perhaps he just hasn't met the right Christians.

Trashy

I don't understand people who throw their trash out of their car. Did they grow up in homes where they threw their stuff on the ground only to have mom or dad pick it up? Do they feel that they own the world so they can trash it how they please? Do they have so much trash already filling up their car that they couldn't possibly fit one more piece of paper? Is having a clean car more important than having clean streets? Or are they so wrapped up in themselves that they just aren't aware of anything else? It is upsetting to be driving down the road and have paper fly at your face. Sometimes I feel like pulling up beside them and lecturing them. Actually I wish I could do this for a lot of driver's as well..."You do realize the speed limit is 45, not 25 right?"

Taco Bell Fiasco

Recently my family and I went to Taco Bell for dinner. Actually it was the night we were off to see A Midsummer Nights Dream at CSU (super awesome play! loved it!) When we arrived I proceeded to order my staple item, the one thing I order every time I go to Taco Bell, a Nacho Supreme, and a side order of sour cream--they never put enough on. A side order of sour cream is about 35 cents. It is definitely worth it. I believe that the standard regulation for sour cream is one pump, per 35 cents. However, many Taco Bells that I have had the pleasure to eat at give the sour cream two pumps, therefore filling the nacho cheese sized cup. When this does not happen I make due with my one side of sour cream. On this night, I walked up to the counter and gave my order, grabbed the various cups, went to sit at a booth and somewhat patiently await my food. Dh used to work at TB and is in the habit of reading over every receipt, TB or otherwise. As he perused the assortment of items that his family had ordered he noticed that the boy at the register charged me twice for my sour cream, once for each pump. My issue with this is that I didn't order two sour creams, he didn't give me the option of just paying for one pump, instead without my consent he over charged me for sour cream. I did get the two pumps that I paid for but I'll probably eat at the other TB in town from now on.

Obama's in Trouble

I have to say that I have been pleased in the last 24 hours to see that Obama's popularity with the media hasn't stunted their ability to report on the foolish things that Obama does. The particular foolish thing that I am referring to (as many may not know which one of many) has to do with police officers who act "stupidly". I'm not sure I understand why, just because you are black, AND wealthy, AND a personal friend of the president you are no longer required to comply and cooperate with a police officer. I'm not sure I understand how a police officer can treat you "by the book", just exactly as he would treat a white man who was breaking into a home, and yet be racist. However, that is the platform that Gates has immediately jumped up onto and, unfortunately been followed by many others--apparently, including the President.

This whole story irks me incredibly. My logical brain struggles at times to digest the ridiculous roads that our country sometimes hurls itself down. The "logic" being conveyed on TV is that in the past police officers have been known to have problems with being racist, this man is a cop, therefore he is a racist. That kind of logic would be appalling if it were used in the reverse. Obama will be lucky if his comments don't incite someone to violence. I don't see how turning a "by procedure" arrest into a racial matter is anywhere near healing race relations in our country. Isn't that what Obama said he would work towards?

What I am pleased to see is that this officer is refusing to apologize for following procedure. So many times something like this will happen and some poor cop will be fired or publicly humiliated for daring to arrest a wealthy man. (Some of the rich in our country seem to expect special treatment at all times--that's retarded, offensive and irritating.)

I have been pleased as well to see that many of the online polls relating to this situation have shown the outrage that the people feel over such explosive language from the president.

Facebook

Facebook depresses me sometimes. It is a page filled with all of the exciting things that are happening to everyone else. Some even manage to get others to post comments on their status. It just feels so much like a finger pointing at me and a voice saying: "Look at all the things that you are not doing." It's a laughing and mocking voice. And I am struggling to do something, to be something. But I am always running smack into the brick wall of my limitations.

Draft

I draft everything and post nothing. My "Edit posts" page is filled with the words draft, draft, draft. Sometimes my life feels like a draft. I'm always in pieces. Unsure of where God is leading. Unable to see the finished product that God has in mind for me. A rough draft. Constantly working it all out. Wondering at the world.