21 Things I Still Need to Remind Myself of... Even Past Thirty

Life is a learning process. Anyone who doesn't think this, who believes there's some magical age or point you reach where you know everything and have absorbed and retained all the knowledge you're capable of, is certifiable.
However, as you get older, you do tend to think there are certain aspects of life you should know about, that are ingrained in your being, and there are even ones you do know but seem to need reminders of on an annoyingly frequent basis.
These are some of mine...

1. You can just toast/eat half a bagel.

2. Few things will teach you as much about human nature than observing how others treat people in the service industry... and Shakespeare. That man knew people.

3. They stopped making your favorite journal five years ago. Accept it and stop hoarding other notebooks to fill that hole. WRITE. DOODLE. CREATE.

4. You are never going to regret having a pen or pencil with you -- unless it stains your clothes. So make sure you buy sturdy pens and handbags you love.

5. Making food for the week, writing, cleaning, yoga, and goal planning do not make a Lazy Sunday.

6. Lazy is not being present in your own life, and that of your loved ones.

7. Writers write. They also dance, cook, clean, sing, doodle, binge watch shows, play games, and sleep -- to avoid writing. And they live.

8. Unless it's crafted by scumbags or spreading hate/violence, never be ashamed of the music you love. If others judge you harshly on this, blast some goddamn Taylor Swift in their face and Shake It Off.

9. One day, your primary source of income will come from doing something you love. Until then, you do not have to hate your job. If you hate it and it's killing your soul -- quit. The universe will not let you become homeless.
Also, if your coworkers aren't foodies, leave. Leave now.

10. People who are angry often want you to be angry, too. Misery loves company. Avoid temptation, slap on a smile, and laugh when they get angrier that you haven't absorbed their vitriol.

11. Your favorite shows and movies will change over time. So when you get a new fav, immerse yourself in it. Memorize it. Cherish it. And don't be sad when it's time to move on.
This goes for friends, too.

12. Your sexuality and relationship history/goals are an important aspect of yourself. They are not your whole self. If you are being made to think they are, blast some Edith Piaf at those fuckers, drape yourself in a fabulous dressing gown, and float away.

13. Say "fuck." Go ahead. Do it. Did anyone die? Did you get slapped? If the answer to both questions is no, say "fuck" as much as you fucking want.

14. There is nothing better for your body and soul (or more rare), than a great fitting, comfortable pair of cute shoes. Don't be afraid to buy two pairs when you stumble on this miracle.

15. Read more. No matter what you read, or in what format, keep reading. It is never a waste of time. If you give something a chance and don't like it, grab something else. Just read.

16. If a trip to The Huntington won't cure it, a trip to Disneyland will (unless you're trying to cure the measles -- vaccinate, damnit).
A message brought to those of you considering a membership or pass to your favorite places. Just do it. Get one. And don't wait for the 'best time' to go. Just go. Go when you need to, and leave when you're done, and return as much as you can.

17. Keep learning. Cooking, art, music, history, religions, languages, people. Learning any of these doesn't have to cost anything, so find the time.

18. Dishes, laundry, and basic household cleaning are a part of life. Unless you're a billionaire. Employ whatever methods necessary to do these things -- and reward yourself for doing them for as long as you need to.

19. Yoga. Just fucking do it. Don't worry about fat-burning hot yoga, or if you'll ever be able to do inversions, or that you have to modify poses due to injuries. Just let go and practice the damn yoga.

Life Goal: to be Nina Dobrev

20. You made it this long not being someone entirely dependent on caffeine, or alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs. Keep up that streak.

21. Step away from the screen. Computers, TV, phone, tablet -- whatever. Get up. Don't look at that temptress for at least 15 minutes. Walk around. Stretch. Snack. Make tea. Dance. Sing. Keep your eyes and mind on the tactile, the full body, the present. Breathe deep. Then return to the screen if you must, but always take breaks. Take breaks to live, work, play, cook, eat, drink, be merry, and dance.

A Change is Gonna Come...

OK, yesterday's pity party over. I just needed to get that out of my system. 
A short while ago, I was directed to this short post regarding committing the first 90 minutes of your 'work day' to your passion project, for 90 days (allowing time for it to become habit, rather than a challenge to be met).
I started earlier this week doing what I need to get more 'real job' ducks in their proverbial row. I made it two days before I wanted to give up and cry. Because as necessary as this process is, it's incredibly tiresome to repeat day in and day out. However, the alternative (having my soul die bit by bit every day I'm in this dead-end job) is worse. So while it may not be my passion project, I'm not going to have passion for anything if I don't change the manner in which I spend a 'work day.' And yet...
After three days of reassessing and editing resumes and cover letters, submitting to new sites, applying for 30+ positions, I need a day off to actually live up to the challenge and work on my passion project: writing. As disorganized as my job search efforts had become, my writing is in an even worse state. The chaos of life and other distractions has left me with more unfinished projects and rough idea outlines of projects-to-be than ever before. The act of just writing escapes me. Planning and scheduling have become a joke, not for lack of desire or commitment, but due to the overwhelming fear that to finish something may only tick off that work as 'done' on a checklist and never go any farther.
I've become afraid of the force of my own imagination. I've had my inner puppy kicked so many times it hides in the corner now any time I call its name. The true point of the 'challenge' is to work on your passions first, and the rest of the work later, and the truth is I've been afraid to do so. There has to be a balance for me, in making job searches a passion project of sorts to improve every aspect of my life, not just the creative ones. However, spending too much time focusing on everything that isn't writing is what put me in this depressed slump in the first place. Thus, writing needs to be given priority in this scenario. Now that my resumes are more in order and I've joined more job sites, I'm relegating the job searches to two days/week. The other days are for writing. Period.
It's been a tough week, but a productive one. If it's done anything, it's exposed how easily I can focus on projects if given the freedom and allowance to do it -- and how sometimes you have to give permission for that freedom to yourself because you're the one holding you back.

What Do You Mean No One Cares About My Problems?

Seriously. I'm awesome. At least I try to be. I work hard, especially doing the things I love. I even work hard doing things I don't love if they're necessary and/or I'm getting something useful from it. I may not work as hard, but my "getting by" with work is most people's excelling. That's not hyperbole, it's fact. If you look at my employment history, it's a clear cut distinction -- I work for you, I excel.
Except I can't seem to parlay that excellence into the fields that actually drive me. I keep excelling at doing stuff to just get by instead of excelling at what I know I'm meant to pursue.
But I forgot. No one cares. I'm one tiny speck of human dust among billions of other specks on this planet. Throwing pity parties for myself doesn't help me any more than it helps anyone else.
The issue is, as little as anyone else cares about my problems, they care the exact same amount about my abilities, talents, experience, knowledge, drive, passion, etc. How do you make your voice louder than others when no one cares what's being said? How do you stand out from the crowd when your number in the queue prevents you from being seen even when squinting into the distance? How do you go from excelling in a career that makes you hate yourself to excelling in a life calling?
Seriously, how?

Haunted by the Signs

One of these days I'll stop harping on about life's little (or not so little) signs and get on to more exciting things like anti-hero worship, purple shirts of sex, hand porn, netflixing your time away and more (really, I have a list). However, the reason for my day skip in posting schedule happened because I was a bit taken aback by something that occurred yesterday.
Understatement -- I came thiiiiiiis close to having a mini breakdown.
See, it's all well and good when you're on the lookout for signs during life, and when you're getting encouraging nudges to certain things. It's kind of empowering to feel like your current situation of being trapped in a soul-sucking job that barely pays your bills is not the right choice for you, because YOU say it isn't, and life is encouraging you in fits and starts to seek out other possibilities.
It's not so refreshing when the universe slaps you in the face with just how out of place you are.
Imagine you're living in a home and the home is, potentially, haunted. You feel uneasy there. Just being in that environment drains you. It's kind of a nebulous feeling and you're constantly uncomfortable and stressed. Occasionally the furniture rearranges itself and you're deeply unsettled, but you take the oddly stacked chairs off the table and move on with your day. You can't afford to move, but you're looking at other places nonetheless. You're trying to make a plan of escape, but it might take awhile. Then, one morning, out of the blue, you hear a voice. You don't just hear it, there's an apparition with it. A spectral presence with only slight transparency comes right up to you, inches from your face, looks you right in the eye, and says, "GET OUT."
That, in essence is what happened to me yesterday. At my job.
Needless to say I didn't need any coffee after that encounter -- I was shocked into alertness. And then I panicked. And then I got angry. And then I tried to once again look at the wreckage this poltergeist has made of my life and tried to put some logical reasoning in place. There was a fair amount of denial and bargaining internally with what I saw and heard. So by the end of the day I wasn't good for much beyond going home, facebooking, twittering, and Netflixing.
Today is a new day, however. The presence has made itself known loud and clear and I don't intend to ignore it. I'm getting out. Soon.
But I'm still going to do it on my terms -- no matter how many times you rearrange my furniture or drag me towards the abyss of the TV.

Please don't kill me giant demon, I wanna be in the sequel!

Following Some Signs

I once wrote a post about there being no map for life, no real signposts that tell you where to go, what to do, how to adult, or why schools don't teach practical skills along with other 'necessary' knowledge. While I still hold to that, and the concept of needing to learn how to read and follow your own life because it will always differ from everyone else's life on the planet, I do acknowledge that sometimes the universe sends you tiny messages sprinkled across time to somehow encourage or discourage certain courses. The key is you have to be open to receiving those messages, and you have to be in a constant state of observation regarding yourself and your life -- a thing which is not easy to maintain.
However, sometimes those little messages don't bother with much subtlety. Sometimes the signs aren't a leaf blowing past you on a cool morning, making you think of times past and inspiring you to start a story you've been mulling over for months. Sometimes the signs are someone walking in the door and saying, "I had coffee with someone today who's looking to fill a position and you should write to them now. Right now." Sometimes you're contemplating your current structure and if it's working, and if your deadlines are realistic, and if you're too overwhelmed with projects, and then a string of online articles across various social media slaps you in the face with tips you didn't even know you wanted and you surmise, for a few brief moments, that The Universe is supporting you in a very small way.
And sometimes you're not in the mood to write a blog post because the list of ideas you have for posts just isn't speaking to you today, and then you become inspired anyway because of life's little road signs.
For this moment, right now, something in The Universe seems to be pushing me ahead down a path. Not sure what the path is exactly, or where it leads, or how long it'll take to reach a destination, but I'm open to pursuing it, and sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other and keeping an eye on the world around you is the best you can do.
Well, that and sending your resume off immediately when someone tells you to.

(Working Through) Discouragement

This marks my 150th post... wowsers. I feel like I should have written so much more.
One of the perils of the internet age: oversaturation.
I have a facebook, a twitter, two tumblrs, no less than three emails, google +, livejournal, linked in, this... it becomes difficult to digest all the incoming social data, much less find a way to maintain your own presence across multiple platforms for multiple purposes.
Yet I made a goal this year to write more often here, at least once every three weeks, and I would like to hold to that.

So it's a new year. January already gone. I find myself with goals, but little focus. Hopes, but little direction. Even typing this up feels off -- as though there's a switch that's been disconnected which usually forms the pathway from thought to word, deed, or action.
It's not an unfamiliar feeling, and occurs both with reason and without, but it is one that gives me cause for concern.

Therefore, here's brief list of things i have accomplished so far this year and/or am grateful for:

Updating resumes
Making segmented lists of goals
Talking with people about said goals
Unabashedly working on writings which may not net me anything besides experience, but give me pleasure to create
Finding more free / uber-cheap activities to attend in Los Angeles
Getting more creative with food
Ripper Street
Figure skating
Good friends, both near and far
Tea

In the coming weeks, I am determined to make more progressive strides and already have some very specific appointments made with the express purpose of doing so. Yet still, I am realistic in my thoughts that these feelings of discouragement and confusion will not easily be pushed aside. They need to be worked through, dealt with, and nurtured with better emotions and experiences.\

Hopefully everyone else's year is getting off to a better start than mine, but if not we can take solace in not being alone, and perhaps promise each other to work through the poorer times toward the better ones.

There’s loads of boring stuff like Sundays and Tuesdays and Thursday afternoons.

From a little blog post I did on another site regarding this day:
Thursday is my least favorite day of the week. That’s right. Not Monday, when (if you’re cursed with a standard day job) you must return to the blinding fluorescent lights and windowless cubicle world for another five days of torture. Not Sunday when, just like as a child, you dread the upcoming return to the cubicle/classroom environment. No, it’s Thursday for the win. 
Thursday dangles the weekend before you yet stands as a constant reminder that you’re not done yet. People tend to be more testy, more easily riled, and more frustrated with the universe on Thursday (at least most of the people I know). Thursday reminds you that all those deadlines you set for the end of the week and haven’t achieved yet are imminent — and you’re probably not going to achieve them. Thursday afternoon is the most interminable three to four hours of the whole work week. Time actually does move backwards. 

There's been a lot happening in my little 'verse lately, and yet not so much that I feel as though a lot of progress has been made. I think it's a pitfall of spending so many years in theatre that I yearn for an immediate response to projects which are completed start to finish in a matter of months. Setting deadlines to complete a work that's been in progress for years... my patience just wears thin.
Still, I'm trying to avoid the pitfalls of wanting to move on to something else because damnit, this year I am going to finish something. More than one something if I can stick to the deadlines. 
I just have to work through the low days, including every wretched Thursday...

Writing for More Than Myself

As if completing a first draft of a novel weren't accomplishment enough (or proof enough of my insanity), I have decided to once again participate in National Novel Writing Month.
For those unaware, the probability of my having a first draft without NaNo is... well, zero. Thus, as it's the primary reason for my current ability to tell people, "Yeah, I'm an anti-social mope who spends more time with books and writing implements than other human beings. Well, I've written a novel. What have you done lately?" I've decided this year shouldn't just be about me attempting to scribble another sequel to my ever-expanding series of novels. This year requires a little 'thank you' to the amazing construct that is NaNoWriMo... and maybe a little pat on the back for me.
Ergo, my 2011 NaNoWriMo Sponsorship / Thank-You / Encouragement Program

Here's the scoop:
Me - Five-time NaNoWriMo participant, three-time winner. First draft completed October 2011, with submission attempts by January 2012. Dedicated this year not only to writing another novel, but encouraging/supporting/mentoring a handful of participants. In need of caffeine and writing accouterments.

NaNoWriMo - Non-profit organization started online in 2000, which challenges participants to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Supportive, worldwide community which encourages writers to do what many say they want and few accomplish: write a novel. Also created a Young Writer's Program for students and classes, Script Frenzy (like NaNo, but with scripts), and the new Camp NaNoWriMo.

You - A citizen of the world who wants to support writers, creative types, non-profits, bloggers, arts education programs, and/or show some love for me.

How to Help:
Sponsor my writing efforts by donating to NaNoWriMo at this link. It's tax deductible and the money goes to help NaNoWriMo and their Young Writers' Program (it's for the kids!)

If you don't want a tax write-off, or to help kids (or have already done such and just want to encourage me), you can gift me one of these items to help get me through my fifth year of spending the month of November eschewing all social activity that does not involve writing in order to (hopefully) draft another book.
NaNo Survival Wishlist (leave a comment with your email/site for shipping deets):
Schuil Coffee Full Moon Mocha (auto drip)
Chateau Blanc White Tea
Gift Card to Espresso Profeta
Republic of Tea Wild Blueberry Black Tea
Ashby's Cinnamon Plum Tea


Now is probably the moment where you ponder: What do I get out of this?
Well, I'm a poor person (starving artist and all that), however there are some things I can give you as appreciation for your support. I've even tiered it for people who want to feel special by donating more.
All donations. Even a dollar. Really.
- Timely thank you for your donation on Twitter & facebook.
- End of November email report to wrap-up the successes of the month, as well as that of those I'm mentoring (for those desire it)
- NaNo Wrap-up blog post shout-out

$20 - $40
- All the above
- Dedicated blog entry during November on you and your awesome support (with pimping of personal site / work / project / etc.)

$41 - $99
- All the above
- A handmade thank-you gift of your choosing from the following: necklace, bracelet, key chain, hand-printed set of notecards/envelopes

$100+
- All of the above
- Specialized thank you in vlog post come December. There may be a song. We'll see.
- When published (which it will be, either through self-publishing or other means), a signed copy of Novel the First with personalized message

Donate now!

I Wrote a Book!

I wrote a book! I wrote a book!
Take a good, hard look -- I wrote a motherfucking book!

No, really. I did.

*whew*

It took about three years to get a draft in a place where I felt it could be viewed by others for eventual submission to agents. A little over my original nine month plan, but hey, I'd never written a book before. I was young and optimistic.
Still, for anyone out there struggling with a creative project, completion negates any whining about how log it takes to get there. Stay the course (or "Stay on target."). Distractions will always arise. Life will always be complicated and seem to block you at times (or oftentimes). However, if you work your ass off and try... really, really try, you can do it.
Don't listen to Yoda. There is a wasteland of try on the way to 'do,' and that journey makes it all the more worth the satisfaction when you reach what you're trying for -- I can now say this from experience. Like a boss.

Now to scan through the very drafty sequels to prep for NaNo. And start looking for agents.
Yipes.

Perhaps also take my own advice and have a look at the screenplay baby I've neglected for far too long.



I wrote a book.

A Report From the Other Side of the Lens

Or: Am I really getting paid to hang out with my friends?

Let me level with you: Acting is a rough career path to choose. Though, like many industries, the amount of work you do in relation to those around you is generally inversely proportional to how much respect, money, and chance for advancement you get. Good acting, solid acting, is difficult… but it’s not brain surgery. You’re not curing cancer. You’re not risking your life to protect other human beings. You’re not educating a future generation of lazy, sugar-high rugrats who have been raised in an ‘I’m entitled to whatever I want because that’s how mommy, daddy, the nanny, and the internet raise me’ generation. You’re not organizing the life of an individual who probably could not tie their shoes or find their way to the nearest Starbucks if not for you. Still, it’s a career I chose a long time ago to abandon because I didn’t want to put up with all the baggage involved. I wasn’t passionate enough to dedicate my life to it, and I don’t think you can seriously expect to make it your true job if you’re not.
This isn’t the post for me to enter into the flawed system of filmmaking and the aforementioned disparity between what you do on a set versus how people treat you (and how you are expected to behave/be treated). Suffice to say it’s one of my eternal grudges against the industry (and really, most industries) that because you hold a certain title in one situation, one job, that either entitles you to special, sometimes over-pampered, treatment OR degrades you to one of the muck-soaked peasants in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. That scene pretty much explains my feelings regarding any type of ridiculous hierarchical structure.

Anywhooos, yesterday I took a turn around the other side of the camera during a well-crewed, enjoyable shoot of an international commercial. The whole situation was quite surreal, mostly because I’m not used to being ‘talent’ when on a set, but also because it took an inordinate amount of internal adjusting to come to terms with the facts that a) I wasn’t just talent, I was principal talent, b) this required allowing myself to not jump in and help the crew and c) I was getting paid to ‘act’ with three of my closest friends.
Granted, it wasn’t all fun and rainbows. During the multiple takes, I got my ‘box’ slammed into a few times… but, you know, I don’t want kids anyway. That’s what happens when you’re the rudder of an office rowing team and you have to stop, and it takes everyone else a few seconds to catch up to you.

All in all, it was an intriguing study in the structure of filmmaking. I have to give a shout out to the crew for their efficiency with set-ups and generally being very easy-going, on top of everyone’s needs, and professional… on top of having a good sense of humor. I hope someday to see the fruits of our labor on YouTube or some such bastion of crazy internet videos.
In the meantime, unless the casting overlords see fit to start placing me in filmic creations with my close compadres, don’t expect me to return to acting as my creative outlet anytime soon… though if I do, I promise to not turn into one of ‘those’ actors.

L.A. Strangetown

Or: How I learned to start worrying and wonder whether or not this world has any idea who I am...

I'm in the midst of major writer's block. Trying to get the writing brain started after a period of editing is providing soul-crushing levels of difficulty. Part of it is not feeling like I have a good place to write (as in, a physical location conducive to writing). Part of it is exhaustion/my own stupidity. Part of it is having told the writer mind to shut up for so long that it decided to go on an extended vacation and leave me in the arid silence of a wordless desert.
Part of it is a lack of validation for my writing, critically and, to be blunt, financially. I hunt gig postings like a hound for something other than corporate babble, SEO BS, or 'copywriting' (read: do everything related to writing, editing, and publishing our newsletter/blog/magazine/paper without all the benefits and money that go along with it), and find nothing that makes me even want to put together a writing sample. I know my capabilities as a writer. I know I can crank out corporate crap ad nauseum if I'm getting paid for it... I just would really like, for once, to be able to write in my own voice and have people accept that enough to toss a bit of dough my way. And I know anyone who desires writing as a career has these feelings, as do actors, designers, crafters, etc. We all want to put our own little stamp on the world, in our own way. Instead, far too many of us find ourselves trapped in a cubicle, or off on writing assignments which bear no resemblance to our actual interests, or scraping together rent from a myriad of 'creative' gigs -- because we 'chose' this path.
(Note use of quotations. Anyone who accepts and embraces a life in a field which relates to the creative, cultural and/or literary arts should recognize the flaw in stating that those fields were ones we chose of utter free will. Art chooses you. Those of us who know this realize how simple, and painfully dull, life would be if we just settled for accounting...)

Thus, I hold this inward struggle to attempt writing without foreseeable profit. It's need which drives me, and right now the need is not enough because even that itching in my fingers, that throbbing in my head, cannot coerce me into actual creation of material.

Then, the universe comes along in all its mighty cock-uppery and says, "Hey, you need money from a creative endeavor? We can totally give that to you. As an 'actor.'"
What.The.Hell.
Granted, my ass is sore with getting itself kicked in the financial rear so much the past, well, always. Ergo, there's No.Way. I'm turning the opportunity (read: money) down. Yet is it so much to ask that I get a little cash for an endeavor I really care about? I have dozens of actor friends, many of whom would probably kick me for a) getting this opportunity and b) rail me for hours on how unfair this business is when they can't get work doing what they want, and I have the gall to be selected for something I only auditioned for to help out a friend. (Though I'd be willing to bet if they were thrown a desirable, for me, writing gig for this kind of money they'd take it.)

I'm happy about the gig. It'll be fun times with friends doing silly work for awesome money. I'd just feel like less of a tool if my writing garnered me similar work.

Meanwhile, in the Depths of Editing...

As previously mentioned, I (perhaps foolishly, perhaps brilliantly) agreed to have a readable first draft of Novel the First completed in a couple weeks. After the initial shock of it all, I planned out a rough timeline of how to accomplish said goal.

Week one (now): Scan through binary (i.e. computer-stored) draft, seeking out obvious spelling and grammar issues, major plots holes, items that still need explaining, and logistical problems. If a solution cannot be found to one of the non spelling/grammar issues, mark it, describe the issue, and move on for now.

Week two (next week): Compare edits made on printed draft to those done above. Correct further grammar issues. Hopefully find solution to a few of the other problems.

Week three (oh, lord...): Fix all the things. All the things? Yes. Fix all the things like a mother-effing adult! All the things... or at least as many as I can.



Week four (I predict): Send this wicked child out to be viewed by other eyes. Panic. Begin work on query letters. Panic more. Drink. A lot.

Progress is... progressing. Not at the present moment, obviously. This is in part due to the fact that I have entered the repeated 'shit hitting the fan' section of the book (i.e. the last third) and even in Editor Mode there's a lot of emotional turmoil happening to the characters and it's difficult to look at that with a completely disconnected eye. It's the first time I've really done that to characters I created, so I'm quite new to this feeling.
Still, I continue to press on... or did until I decided to pick up A Feast for Crows and finally finish it. Getting my head out of Westeros is proving difficult. But hey, if I want throngs of readers to one day have themselves sucked into worlds I create because I nurtured those worlds, and my writing, then by the seven I shall find a way to exist in both realms.

After all, when your mind races with thoughts of your own writings along with thoughts of a master's, sleep is irrelevant, right?

Edit all the things!
Fix all the things!
Defend the Wall... erm, all the things!

I'm a Writer!

Yeah... still coming to terms with that phrase. Despite encouragement from teachers over the years, including a college professor who once stated that everyone in our creative short fiction course WAS a writer already, just by being in the class. Despite all my in-progress works, years of blogging, completed projects of which I have evidence... saying I'm a writer with emphatic assurance makes me squirm inside.

Well, I have three weeks to get over that as yesterday I agreed to have a readable first draft of Novel the First done. Then I shall embark on the arduous journey of creating query letters for agents while allowing a privileged few friends take a gander at the book.
Nervous? Panicked? Freaked? Self-doubting? Wanting a time machine so I can return to yesterday and say, "NO! No way. That is way too soon, and I have life and stuff (do you know how much laundry I DESPERATELY need to do?)... and besides the book isn't perfect yet!!!"? Yep. All of those are happening right now.
Know what else is happening?
Excitement. Empowerment. Hope.
And a bit of fear-driven motivation... with a dash of screw you, Universe, I'm going to be a WRITER!

Deep breaths.

I.am.a.writer.

Culpability

March is over -- and this is my 100th post. WHEW!

Can’t say April is anything to sing about yet, what with the insanity of moving and taxes and all, but having the beast of burden that is March behind me (and the hell that is August well in front) lightens my spirits a bit.
I did not ‘win’ NaNoEdMo, however I hit just over the halfway mark and am damn proud of myself. It’s amazing what 25 hours of editing actually feels like. Feels like climbing a never-ending mountain of perils and doubts with your bare hands is what it feels like. Thus, even reaching the halfway plateau gives you a damn good view (so long as you don’t keep glancing upward at what’s still to come).
In related writing news, I attended another worthy ‘coaching’ session this past weekend which, even with the ‘AHHHHHHHHH!’ of moving hanging over me at the moment gave me another healthy dose of confidence, measurable goals, and a list of to-dos which seem pressingly daunting right now – kind of like the boxes piled up around me in my abode, looming over me as I continue to pack more of them. Yet the list also gives me items to be accountable for and goals to work toward that, while intimidating, never seem out of the realm of possibility (especially when talking with my excellent coach).
Though I’m hanging back on many of these tasks until after some of this moving insanity is wrapped, some of them even incorporate into moving which makes moving seem a little less like a futile exercise in attempting to grow up and carve out new sections in my life, and more like a way of expanding some of the things I love doing and creating a newer, better space in which to do them.

"Benevolent bad-assery. It’s what’s for dinner."

Via Writer's Digest on Twitter, through the magic of LiveJournal, the interwebs brought this article on life after high school, writing, education and the like. It needs to be read by anyone in high school, or who went to high school, or... well, has lived.
As someone who exited high school, with supportive parents, entering what I thought would be a pit-stop at my local college on a road to bigger and better schools and experiences and ended up staying there for five years, I can say that 'life happens' applies to myself as well -- and all of us.
I honestly believe everything Libba Bray says in her post is true and applicable, especially to young creative types, but really to everyone. The pressure our faster-better-more-NOW, climb to the top and don't worry about who you step on, technology is god and we need to feed it and praise it with our time, money and energy every second of the day, puts on everyone is mind-boggling. Add to that the pressures of peers, friends, family, co-workers, anyone we come into contact with who think they know what's best for our lives... it's a wonder we don't all crack up and spend some quality time in a padded room alternating between fetal-positioned comatose states and fits of maniacal screaming.
However, it's not like there's a roadmap to life, as Libba states and many others have before her. Whatever wool society tries to pull over our eyes, no one has the answers to what makes for a successful, happy, productive life -- because each of those terms mean something different to every individual person. And those ideas can change as we get older and gain in experience because we are ever-changing creatures. What sounded like the Best Life Ever in high school can change in a few short years -- or not. While I thought I knew myself and everything about who I was and how I wanted to be and the life I wanted to have my senior year in high school, come four years later I'd lost it all. Now, in my late twenties, I'm (in many ways) more confused than ever. I champion anyone who knows what they want and goes for it, because it didn't work out for me and I now don't know what I truly want anymore.
Yet would I sacrifice the relationships I've formed, the experience I've gained, the life I've lived to go back and try again? Some days, yes. When I really stop and consider the most important people in my life and how they've changed me for the better, the answer is 'no.'
I'm still stumbling along, map and compass-less, on the road to growing up and maddening as it is I know I'm not alone. I also have faith in the universe, and myself, that when I discover what I want to be when I grow up, achieving that -- whatever it is -- will be possible. Because I'm a fighter. Benevolent bad-assery is actually a specialty of mine.
And whatever I decide to do, or whatever life throws at me, I know writing will be a part of it because when everything else is stripped away from me (and it has been before -- or at least it felt that way), the one aspect of self that never leaves is my drive to write, to create, to shoot my little fingers off expressing the words and thoughts constantly swirling (often screaming) in my head.

I also know a good number of people who make really good snacks and rate high on the Share-O-Meter when it comes to snacks. People who give you snacks, and tea, are worth keeping in your life no matter where you find them.

EEK! A 'writing blog'

Greetings past, present and future readers -- and welcome! (Those of you reading from the future, please don't spoil the 2010 World Cup for me and also refrain from telling me when/who David Tennant married. Knowledge of either of these results may cause serious damage to the universe. And by 'universe' I mean 'my own obsessive emotional being.')

On the advice of my most hallowed career servicer (coach is too sporty, and counselour makes me sound more mental than I really am; I can be balanced, promise), this marks the beginning of my 'writing blog.' Having kept a personal blog for many years I should feel less terrified at the prospect of putting my writing out in a more public way, though for some reason writing about writing, my interests (read: obsessions), and my projects in a somewhat professional context makes me want to become a hermit. Yet it seems nowadays even hermits can blog about whatever strikes their fancy on the interweb and I have the advantage in not being a hermit of being able to participate in the world at large as well. Daunting having the whole of the internet and the real world literally at my fingertips, but I'm trying this new thing where I attempt to turn daunting and terrifying into exhilarating possibilities.

We'll see how that goes.

So if I haven't scared you off yet, or if you want to stick around to see whether I experience a complete mental collapse in this attempt or somehow manage to get over my fear of public writing (the way I still haven't mastered public speaking), stick around. Subscribe. Comment. Join in the rants. Rant on your own and link back here. Ask me questions and I'll give you real (though maybe not always serious/true) answers.