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?

(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.

October is "Read More, Bitch" Month

...and update your blog more, too.

I need to read more. Again. My mind has once again become stagnant and dulled. It begs for life to be breathed into it and at best I've been able to manage a weak sigh.
So last night I sat down, took out a fake Sharpie and a piece of construction paper (because sometimes for important lists you have to be eight... that's just how it is), and wrote down a short-ish list of book to read for next month. Seeing as how it's going to be October, and I love all the fallishness (or what I remember of it, since southern California doesn't have seasons) and Halloween funtimes that go with it, it's a pretty Gothic-centric list.
However, to keep myself on task, I'm tacking on the added challenge of blogging a review of these once a week, hopefully on Tuesdays. That way I satisfy two goals in one, and help my poor story-starved brain recover from its lack of imaginative air.

If you want to peek in every week to check my progress, please do so -- and if you want to know what I might will be reading, here's the list:

Hell House - Richard Matheson (re-read)

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

The Vampyre  - John Polidori

Roald Dahl's Ghost Stories - Roald Dahl

Dracula (graphic novel) - Bram Stoker / Marvel Comics*

Bonus Book TBA

*The Dracula graphic novel review will actually show up over at The Comics Observer, likely on 10/29, but I'll post a lil' tidbit and lingage here on that date.

Read along with me... IF YOU DARE. MUAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAA!
(See. Halloween. Love it.)

If It's Been Done Well, Leave It Alone

*deep breaths before diving into a hot button issue with me*

Articles and speculation about adapting classic literature (and literature in general) always draw my attention and, sometimes, my ire. I am not one of those Every Book Is A Holy Canon Which Should Not Be Altered For Screen people. I'm a writer, and I have flaws. I've written for the screen, and have flaws. No writer is perfect and no medium of expression is perfect in conveying what one medium already covered. My issues with adaptations are not rooted in that base problem, they are rooted in this: when one creator crafts a story and characters, it is the responsibility of someone later coming along to adapt that work to at least stay true to the overall tone and message of the source, as well as its characterization -- or change the g-d name! You change plot points? As long as we get to the same eventual conclusion, fine. You combine or omit characters? As long as it makes a stronger narrative and doesn't mess up essential moments in the story, fine. You alter a major character motivation, changing who they are on a fundamental level? NOW I have an issue, and my outrage will be rantalicious unless you give damn good support for your change or, you know, CHANGE THE G-D NAME. (Noticing a trend?)

My only other gripe with adaptation (and why I pretty much never take issue with Shakespeare films because he's the one writer out there whose work we never quite get right), is that once a well done, faithful adaptation is accomplished it's time to close the book, so to speak, and remove it from the realm of stories up for grabs. In my hasty youth, I didn't even extend this to previous film works. I thought, hey, if you can update a classic film well, then go for it! I've wizened and grown curmudgeonly in recent yeas, however, and now see the error of my ways. And if ever I need a reminder, I think of High Society (yeah, Hollywood was pulling that even during its Golden Age, so we can't heap all the blame on ourselves for the current state of stagnant original ideas). It's fine to have a vision of someone else's story in your head. If you're lucky enough to be allowed the chance to craft that story in another medium, then kudos to you -- you're already achieving one of my biggest dreams. Just... don't eff it up. And if you do and then someone else comes along later and hits the marks where you missed them, then at least you had that chance. However, if someone beats you to your dream (and I swear I will probably resort to every known tactic of undermining human success if this happens to me -- yeah, I can get competitive when I need to be), accept their success and find a new dream for yourself. The idea that once a good, faithful adaptation has been crafted someone else can come along with a new interpretation that will make the successful one shudder in shame is ridiculous. Improving a work from one medium to another is one huge accomplishment. Don't tempt fate by trying to improve the adaptation -- find something different or original to make, or CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

What spurred my current eruption of emotion about adaptations? Well, it's been sort of a slow burn recently between varying reports of remaking IT, a clustermess of issues in season two of Game of Thrones (many of which end up as just sloppy storytelling -- and making strong characters into idiots), and culminating in the top news of this article about directors who were born for certain adaptations. The article itself is intriguing and has some interesting (and some, really, very safe) choices in the roster. What made my head do a Linda Blair was the news which sparked this article: that Guy Ritchie is doing an adaptation of Treasure Island.
Now, I don't necessarily doubt that the movie will be a fun romp with cool action sequences, quippy dialogue, and a sassy Long John Silver. There's just two issues with this equation. First, that concept is not going to end up being Treasure Island. Second, there already exists a near perfect adaptation of the book -- we don't need another.
Addressing issue the first: Guy Ritchie's already proven this is his MO with the Sherlock Holmes movies. Those guys bashing around the world solving mysteries are not Holmes and Watson. What Ritchie crafted is a set of cool Victorian buddy movies, with two men who happen to share names with and few characteristics of two of the most compelling characters in literature. You want to really see Holmes and Watson on screen? Watch the BBC series Sherlock. It's a modern setting, yes, but it IS Sherlock Holmes. I enjoy the movies, but I told myself about fifteen minutes into the first one that this was a Victorian buddy movie, not a Sherlock Holmes movie. In my head, I CHANGED THE G-D NAME, and then it was fine.
Now on to issue the second: already a near perfect adaptation of Treasure Island? Yep. I've never seen that... you think. No, you probably haven't. Yet it exists. It's a very good film, and it is one of the best examples in existence of how to adapt literature for screen. It's faithful to the tone, style, feel and majority of the plot. The characterization is spot on with a stellar cast. It's not a perfect movie, but Treasure Island is not a perfect book. It is however proof that when you maintain the core of a novel as your guiding star you can make not only a good film but a truly faithful adaptation of a work which deserves that treatment. Yet, people are still making Treasure Island... except no other adaptation I've seen really is remotely close to actually being Treasure Island, thus the crux of this whole entry: if you're going to keep remaking something and yet deviate drastically from the source -- CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

Creating New Magic

AKA: Starting a New Journal

I wrote yesterday about the trials and process of dealing with the loss of magic in one's journal. Once you accept and mourn the loss of one, however, you must move on and discover the enchantment in another journal.

In some ways, choosing a new journal is more vital to me than saying goodbye to one whose magic is gone. I've always felt journals to be precious, magical devices capable of eliciting unencumbered creativity -- so long as you choose one which suits you as an individual. Weird, old-fashioned notion? Yup. Have I tried to break myself of that idea? Yup. Did it work? Hell no. Do I argue with my 'process' of selection anymore? Hell-to-the-no. It just drags out the ordeal, and it can be a long and daunting enough journey as it is. Until I reach a day where 'any old blank book' will do (and honestly, I kinda hope that never occurs), I'll keep to my list of qualifications.

1. Easily portable, but not tiny. I'll buy larger journals (and occasionally sketchbooks) on occasion, but they tend to be for special projects and seldom see use. In order for a journal to become an extension of my writing and creative habits, it's got to be able to fit easily into a medium-sized bag with all my other take it everywhere crap. 5x7 or less in size, but not too small because then it feels like I cannot put anything of decent length in it without having to turn a page every ten seconds.

2. Place marker. I don't care what style it is, or how fancy, I just need something to mark a place in the journal to which I will pick up next time.

3. Lines. I MUST have lines for writing in a journal. Blank pages are daunting enough, the lines provide the tiniest amount of structure in what I otherwise see as a terrifying blank canvas. Plus, it helps keep my furious writings at least barely legible (to me, anyway).

4. A durable cover. It doesn't have to be hard; it doesn't have to be leather. It just needs to be durable. This book will live with me for, typically, at least a year and that requires it to be able to withstand a lot of getting shuffled and bashed around.

5. Paper of decent thickness. I usually write with mechanical pencil, however at times I write with fountain pens in dark ink. I don't want my scribblings to bleed through to the back of the pages. That's a waste of valuable writing space and again can sacrifice valuable writing time to having to flip pages too often.

6. An overall design and construction that is comfortable. See above re: carrying this thing everywhere. The cover design/color must appeal to me. I dislike sharp corners or edges as I can press down pretty hard when writing and don't like cutting myself when I really get into a tear and write twenty pages in an hour. It also cannot be too heavy, again due to the necessity of carrying it with me constantly.

7. Instinct. This is, obviously, the one aspect I cannot describe with objectivity. So long as it meets the above qualifications the only reason I choose one journal over another tends to be because I just happen to see one and my internal compass points and says, "That one!" And no matter how many journals I find that meet the above requirements, I will not purchase a book that doesn't pull me to it. I need to feel the magic. It must hit me before I ever sit down and start a single word.

At times, this search for a new magic tome has taken weeks of seemingly endless toil -- hours spent in bookstores and on the interwebs hunting for a book that not only fulfills my requirements but reaches out to me, personally, and voices that it belongs in my hands, and mine alone. Thankfully, when I felt the magic draining from my now dearly departed Red, I happened to find a replacement without an arduous or lengthy search. Another clearance item, it beckoned me from an end cap display. The size and weight are perfect, the pages crisp, lined, and decently thick. It even bears a resemblance to a previous journal which my parents got for me as a gift and holds the majority of (the handwritten portions of) my first novel. Above all, the instant I laid eyes on it, I knew. It knew.
It put a spell on me, and now its mine.

I know I'm not alone in this, so what, gentle readers, are your requirements for a new journal/sketchbook/notepad?

When Journals Lose Their Magic

Writing, the act of actually putting a writing implement on paper, seems to be becoming more antiquated by the day. Yet there are still those out there who require at least some of our time spent writing to involve this act. For myself, there are times when not only is typing inconvenient (I have an outdated, though reliable, laptop that does not accompany me everywhere, nor any tablet device -- but I ALWAYS have a pen and a notepad), it lacks a certain connection to the material I create.
I've always been a hands-on creator. I draw. I paint (very poorly). I play piano (or could, once upon a time). I make jewelry. I put together shelving units and desks with the 'help' of the horribly illustrated diagrams of do-it-yourself furniture. I cook -- and while I don't always enjoy getting my hands seeped in ground meat, or chicken guts, or sticky doughs, I understand  and accept it's a part of the process of crafting meals.

The difference between crafting in those other mediums and writing, for me, is that when I get a notebook or journal to write in, I'm not only picky about the ingredients (as I am with any creative project), I also reach a point where those ingredients which shaped my need for the journal lose their power. The whole journal loses its power and ability to spur on my writing. In short, the journal loses its magic.
Yet I cannot bring myself to simply toss aside the book as if it were remnants of silver wire, or a broken cerulean pencil, or an extra wing nut that doesn't fit onto any conceivable part of the rolling shelf unit. I know many who use journals and sketchbooks feel the same. The desire to hold on to the physical evidence and memory of what once inspired you is too strong to discard.
However, this time around I've used the same journal for just over three years and while there are still probably 80 usable pages remaining, I noticed a couple months ago that every time I reached for it, opened it, any creative impulse I had disappeared. The book itself lost the power to draw me into it and furiously write down my inspirations in an encapsulated red-covered parcel of paper. It infuriated me not just because I don't like wasting paper, but because I felt that I had betrayed this loyal companion.
This books contains notes from my time on the Artistic Management Committee at my theatre. It's got the first piece of fanfiction I began that doesn't make me feel like fanfic is a derogatory form of writing. It contains tax calculations, shopping lists, career coaching notes and oh yes, dozens upon dozens of pages filled with writings from two of my (currently) four in-progress novels. How does something that contains that much of your life, that has been the keeper of important notes, dreams, creative bursts you never imagine, suddenly transform one day into a dull collection of pages where each time you set your writing utensil to a sheet of paper all your desire to write melts away?
There's likely some psychological time+overuse=meah-related explanation for it that relates to the amount of time and energy you invest into it and one day your brain just no longer relates to that object as the receptacle of such things. I, however, surmise it thus: one day the magic dies -- whatever you wrote in that journal still carries import, and always will, but the days in which your mind pours itself onto those particular pages is over  -- and until you accept that, put the journal to rest, and find a new receptacle, your ideas will become stagnant and uninspired (if the ideas ever deign to come at all).

So yeah, the other day I posted about my brain missing. And it is still, to an extent, but I have had to force myself to come to terms with the idea that part of my lost mind is due to going far too long without physically writing. I need that type of release for my thoughts and ideas, and by clinging to a magic-less book for too long I allowed that part of my mind to run off in search of I know not what.

Here's to my red journal. I found it in a Borders on clearance for $6 in the early spring of 2009,  and it has served me ever so faithfully. Within it are words I might never have written had I chosen another journal at the time. It grieves me to let go of something that once inspired my mind in new and exciting ways. A part of me will feel lost without it. However, a much larger part may lose itself forever if I do not accept this loss and endeavor to rekindle the magic in a new journal.

Stay Tuned!

New, interesting, thought-provoking, occasionally ranting, sometimes fangirling posts coming REALLY soon. 

Just as soon as I find my brain.

Which will be very soon.

I hope.

I mean, it was here recently. I have a dim recollection of having amazing ideas for posts, and articles, and the drive to complete them.

Enter debilitating invisible illnesses rearing themselves for a week and POOF! my brain went into hiding. I now have the attention span of a four year old on pixie stix. I can barely finish a coherent thought let alone...

Have you noticed how incredibly hot and talented and all-around-geeky Tom Hiddleston is? Classically trained Super Actor who refers to Loki as 'cray cray,' gets himself memed all over the interwebs (Loki'd!), and will either rap Will Smith's "Miami" or recite monologues from Henry V on command.

Oh, and then there's this:

What was I talking about?
Ummm...
Oh yeah, I'm going to see APOCALYPTOUR in less than a week. Which might help get songs from Holy Musical, B@man out of my head... or just embed them deeper. *shrugs* Still doesn't make me regret having Supersnoop saying "You got a phone call, motherfucker," as my ringtone.

Wait... that wasn't what I was talking about...

Oh. Yeah.

Brain missing.

Hopefully not for much longer...

A Story a Day? More like a Pain in my Ass...

In a moment of blind enthusiasm for something that might bust me out of the writers’ funk I’ve had going on, my brain went, “A story a day for a month? Why the fuck not?!?” 
 Now, no matter how many times I give reasons for ‘why the fuck not,’ it keeps pushing back with ridiculous drivel about how I need to be committed and accountable for writing something and this provides it to me. 
Stupid brain.
 You make me want to go drink until I can’t feel feelings anymore. Feelings like unadulterated fear at the prospect of having to craft and finish not one but MANY stories in a single month.
Yet I’m going to do it… so the brain wins this round.

Also... new blogger layout is new. Not sure how I feel about this yet. I find change disquieting.

MoffTissIan

I'm proclaiming it, right now. (Links will contain major spoilers...)

The only thing which currently gets my brain a-buzzing, my pulse a-racing, my geek heart a-pitter-pattering as much as the ASoIaF series, is Sherlock.
While I understand that for the quality of the series to remain so spectacularly high they can only produce three per season, IT'S NOT ENOUGH. Just like waiting for The Winds of Winter (or, T-Wow, as my geek friends and I like to call it), waiting for whatever will follow "The Reichenbach Fall" is equal parts excruciating and exciting, both mentally and emotionally.
Thankfully, the interwebs indulge my addiction, while constantly proving to me that there are other fans out there just as invested. Even more so.

While following up on every theory and explosion of fandom awesome regarding these series may not equate to the best use of time which could be spent being 'productive,' it does get those synapses firing in a way nothing else does.

It's certainly better than spending my days following celeb news on TMZ and Perez Hilton...




#believeinsherlock

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.

Kicking Brain Puppies

Editing is hard. Just getting that out there for any and all aspiring writers. Slashing words you've grown accustomed to, and in some cases even grown to like (possibly A LOT), does not lead to great joy until you get yourself in a headspace capable of knowing what you do is meant to make your work stronger. Once you wrap your mind around that and accept it, it can make you stronger, too. After a while you begin to feel that just by deleting passages and correcting spelling and grammar issues for clarity, you have done what is necessary to make your work better.
Oh no, sweets.
There's more.
It's called re-writing.
And it's a pain in the ass.

Your editing mind has finally come to terms with its existence and you have a symbiotic relationship. You cut things out, and change some structural issues, and feel better about yourself, the process of editing, and your work as a whole.
Then you must go back and look at the work as a writer again, to fix plot holes, clarify and/or strengthen characters and relationships, add layering details... and your writer brain hides in a corner like a punished child, neglected by time apart from it and weakened and afraid from having the editing mind push it away while Editing Mode trumped all other needs for the work.
It's malnourished, depressed, and confused as to why you're seeking it out again with such joyful energy when three weeks ago you banished it in favor of the bullying Editor Mind.
Editor Mind doesn't care. It's happy to hang around and wait until you need it again (because it knows you'll come crawling back soon enough). Writer Mind, however, looks at you with plaintive eyes and quiet whimpers of sadness. You coax, you bribe, you get down to face it on its level and ask oh so sweetly for it to come back to you. It's wary, though. You wounded it and it hasn't recovered yet. It remembers screaming to you, wanting to be released while you had it locked in a closet when working with Editor Mind, pleading and begging to rewrite passages. You didn't listen. You needed to edit. You didn't want to shut away the Writer Mind, but you exist in a world of deadlines which Writer Mind doesn't understand. Editor Mind does, though, so you needed its help. Editor Mind is damn good at telling Writer Mind to STFU and mind itself. So good that Writer Mind has just been likened to an abused puppy for an entire paragraph in hopes that giving it the treat of extended metaphor might coax it out of hiding.

*le sigh*

This is one of those times I know I need to be a writer. It drives me, feeds me, pulses within me. Without it I am utterly lost. That ain't to say it's easy, though. Easy right now would be to chuck it all aside and turn to something that is... like knitting, or playing piano, or becoming an expert marks-person. I can't do any of those. I have a puppy to coax out of a corner so I can finish my novel, start writing query letters, and then have myself and my puppy kicked an inestimable number of times until someone coaxes us out of a corner...

There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

Inspire Me

The previous post made a to-do of my summer playlist, or at least a sampling of it. However, it focused on the music I listen to while driving, working, jamming… my writing music tends to central around only a handful of styles.
Sure, I’ll listen to a little stylistic music to get the emotional tone for some writings, but typically my genres for writing ‘seriously’* are limited. And since a not small number of posts here relate to writing and creating, I thought it about time to provide some of my most inspirational writing tunes. And by ‘some’ I mean enough to make a full length album.
It’s pretty soundtrack heavy due to my being a very visual writer and since music, good music, can drive a show or film with expert precision into a certain mood or emotional state it works very well for someone who sees pictures in their head as they write. Sometimes those pictures need coaxing from the right music to transform into words.
I have an extensive mix (actually several) of music to listen to while writing, as a good sprint can go on for hours and the more fuel provided for that sprint, the better. This list represents not necessarily the most outstanding or emotionally driving pieces, but ones I do turn to time and time again to get the creative juices flowing and the fingers working in time with the brain to transfigure mind pictures into fleshed out scenes.

The Kiss – Trevor Jones (The Last of the Mohicans): A great film score overall, yet despite the cheesy dialogue that accompanies this music in the film as a standalone musical work, this selection engages my synapses to fire in rhythm with my pulse every time.

A Game of Cricket - Adrian Johnston (Becoming Jane): Another score which stands out as a captivating work on its own. Anything that requires romance, a period feel, and/or a bit of cheek mixed with splendour is served by listening to this song and the score as a whole. Honourable mentions for: Selbourne Wood and Rose Garden

Marco Polo – Loreena McKennitt (The Book of Secrets): Instrumental with vocals is tricky because if the vocals don’t fit with the tune, or overpower it, it becomes too distracting. However, McKennitt has an extraordinary gift in blending her voice with the music she composes so when a song is instrumentally based and lacks lyrics her voice always compliments what the rest of the song already carries. While the album version is solid, I have a deep, visceral reaction and connection to the live version from Live in Paris & Toronto.

Loneliness of Six – Christophe Beck (Buffy the Vampire Slayer): One of the most overlooked series compositions ever. The music in Buffy (at least during Christophe’s main run in seasons 1-5) is some of the best television composing ever done. I listen to this cut most often because of the sweet melancholia it brings out, especially when the solo guitar comes in 2/3 through. Honourable mentions for: Remembering Jenny (with a haunting vocal by Anthony Head), Close Your Eyes, and Waking Willow

Madame De Pompadour – Murray Gold (Doctor Who, series 2): All right, let me be frank, there will be an entire post at some point dedicated to the incredible music composed for Doctor Who and Torchwood, and how each piece affects my writing. I truly cannot express how deeply invested I am in this music. However, if I have to choose one piece that succinctly captures all the sweetness, majesty, heartbreak, and hope that Gold’s music inspires, it is this one selection. Some days it gives me hope. Some days it inspires romance. Some days it causes me to break down into uncontrollable sobs. Yet I value each of those experiences equally and they always fuel some good writing. Honorable mentions: too many to name. Seriously. I’ll be doing a post just on Whoniverse music.

Sarabande Suite (Aeternae) – Globus (Epicon): One of very few tracks included on my epic writing playlist with actual words. However, at nearly eight minutes the lyrics make up a very small portion of the tune. I have a (no longer) secret goal to one day raise enough funds to make a trailer (to raise more funds) for my #1 pet film project. The trailer will be set to this song. And it will.be.epic.

The Funeral – Greg Edmonson (Firefly): Whedon shows take very specific stances with their music, and I love that about them. This piece came out of the composer after hearing the show had been cancelled. It’s the requiem for the series and never ceases to give me chills.

A Window to the Past – John Williams (Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban): While Williams’ composition for the first film stands as one of his best works, the second offered little in terms of new material to expand that standout effort. Yet when the tone of films changed with PoA and its new director, so did Williams’ music and the transformation took what was great about the first film’s score and amplified it (which is more than any subsequent HP score managed). This track is beautiful, haunting, bittersweet and emotionally complex as anything Williams has written since "Binary Sunset" for the first Star Wars film.

Maestro – Hans Zimmer (The Holiday): I’m a sucker for Zimmer (and his band of acolytes), I’ll just get that out there now. His compositions have a way of smacking me in the chest with powerful emotion and not letting go. If ever a romantic comedy deserved critical recognition for its score, my vote would be for The Holiday (appropriate as well as Jack Black’s character is a film composer). This selection opens the film, and when coupled with Kate Winslet’s incredibly opening VO sets the tone for what is a magical little movie with an amazing score. Honourable mentions for: Cry and Gumption

Jugglers – Javier Navarrete (Inkheart): Never underestimate the score of a ‘kids’ movie. A surprising number have incredible scores to accompany them. Inkheart is a strong example of this. The music overall is well done, but it’s obvious that (as with readers) the composer’s favorite character to write for is Dustfinger. Whenever I need a little boost in magic, I listen to this. Honourable mentions for: Dustfinger Disappointment and Meadows (also Dustfinger tracks)

My Name is Lincoln – Steve Jablonsky (The Island): Crap movie. Not outstanding score overall. This one piece? Incredible. (And it fits into the score of Elizabeth: The Golden Age almost better than that film’s real score)

Letter That Never Came – Thomas Newman (A Series of Unfortunate Events): See above re: scores to kid-oriented films. The music for this hits the tone of the film (and really, the books) directly on target. Newman knows how to pull at the heartstrings while still keeping a touch of hope and magic alive.

Samwise the Brave – Howard Shore (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers): Choosing a single track from these scores made my heart ache. The music of these films is intrinsically tied to the emotion and journey of the films. When they use bits of the score during the production diaries for The Hobbit, I get choked up. Yes, really. The epic efforts used in creating these films is felt in every piece of music and no matter what track I listen to, I can feel the fueling emotion of the entire trilogy within it. Honourable mentions for: The Council of Elrond, The Breaking of the Fellowship and The Grey Havens

PMs Love Theme – Craig Armstrong (Love Actually): I love this movie. Suck it. All the major score themes resonate with the tone of the film, making me feel equally hopeful and bittersweet with every track. When I need to press on to some great moment in my writing, this track always pushes me to the light as I picture little Sam tearing his way through Heathrow to have an epic tribute to The Graduate -- except The Graduate didn’t include Bill Nighy stripping on telly in the background.

Injection – Hans Zimmer (Missions Impossible: II): Yes, another Zimmer track. Yes, from the Notorious rip-off that is MI:II. Yet fresh off his epic achievement in scoring for Gladiator (with Zimmerite Lisa Gerrard), this soundtrack soars far above the provided film material.

The Moon Beckons – Nick Glennie-Smith (The Man in the Iron Mask): This score pretty much began my obsession with soundtrack music (well, this and The Lion King). An instance where the music fuels the film when it could have destroyed it, but the quality of the score helps me overlook the UN Committee style accents scattered through the film.

Lancelot Theme – Rohan Stevenson (Merlin: Series 1): Merlin’s score themes are limited, but the ones that are used time and again never grow stale. The music for the show covers playful and epic, romantic and dramatic, with its own stylish flare. It’s more subdued and grounded than a lot of fantasy TV series’ scores. The Lancelot theme is the main romantic theme in the show, and it’s haunting beauty is both inspiring and swoon-worthy. Honourable mentions for: The First Code, Merlin Rides Out and Lancelot Leaves

The Caravan – Jerry Goldsmith(The Mummy): Take the score of The Omen and do a mash-up with the score of The Wind and The Lion, and you have the score for The Mummy. The score perfectly captures the feel and tone of one of my favorite flicks. Equal parts epic adventure-comedy-romance and old-fashioned-horror. This piece always makes me want to go ride camels through the desert – and I hate sand. And heat. Honourable mentions for: Camel Race and Giza Port

Wolsey Commits Suicide / Finale – Trevor Morris (The Tudors: Series 1): Period-style scores in TV dramas are tricky to get right, and Morris not only got it right, he excelled at it. Any montage done in this series set to his music wields as much power as any of the best written scenes in the show. This piece in particular. Honourable Mentions for: Henry Meets Anne Boleyn, More’s Love of a King, and the title theme

Gabriel’s Oboe – Ennio Moricone (The Mission): I may have my own preferences and leanings when it comes to film scores, but that doesn’t mean I shy away from greatness even when it doesn’t fit my usual style. The score for The Mission is one of the most haunting, beautiful, accomplished works of film music ever created. This oboe-driven piece never ceases to inspire depth in my writing. (And how often do you get to use the phrase ‘oboe-driven’ in scores? It’s rare.)

Barbossa is Hungry – Klaus Badelt (Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of The Black Pearl): Again, Zimmerphile here, but the scores to the first and third Pirates films are, like The Mummy score, perfect matches with the film material. While I love all the music, this track holds special significance for me. When I want power and speed, I use this. Also, play this track through your best sound system at about ¾ full volume – you’ll shake walls. Promise.
Honourable mentions for: Will and Elizabeth, One Last Shot, and One Day (by Zimmer, from At World’s End)

So there you have it. Twenty-one tracks (off a playlist of about 650) that inspire me to write more, better, and often.
What music inspires you to create?

*'seriously' equates to writing with intent of creating something that may someday be viewed by others for critical and/or commercial use… or anything I write that I want to pour myself into fully.

Boyness

Fear not, this will not be a post about boys in relation to my personal life (nothing to speak of in that area, which is another issue in itself, so we'll just pretend your mind never went there and just get on with our day, shall we? Good.).

This is about re-embracing the non-gender-specific empowerment in all of us. (Inspired, partially, by a post yesterday by Luv & Kiwi)

I'm pretty laid back when it comes to fashion. I like to be comfortable. Jeans and tees kind of gal, kicking it in flip-flops or chucks. I do like cute, girly tops, love corsets, and even a good flowy dress or skirt can make me feel like my feminine powers have increased. Yet I experience a different kind of empowerment when I don a pageboy cap, or a snappy vest. Don't even get me started on what kind of empowered mischief I could get up to if I owned a bow tie...

When I get girlied up, even if it's in slacks and a barely-breathable corset with a snazzy necklace that drops down almost into my cleavage, I feel womanly. I feel as though I could walk up to some good-looking bloke, plant one right on his lips, and he'd be dazzled by my awesomeness (rare is the occasion I do something like this, but I FEEL that I could, without consequence). It's a pretty great feeling, don't get me wrong.

However, when I embrace my dapper don side, pulling on the pinstripes, capping my head with a cap, aligning some cute tee or collared shirt with a vest I feel like... like I could take on members of either sex in a bar fight whilst giving redecorating advice to the owner between blows and singing a jaunty tune the whole time. It's like I grew phantom balls that come equipped with a power of fearlessness, attitude, and not giving a toss. All the female insecurities about opinions, looks, emotions, selfish behaviour, stepping out of a comfortable situation... it all just melts away.

Now, I'm not saying I'm trading in my beloved AE jeans or flip-flops or (heavens forbid) corsets for suspenders, ties, vests and a fedora. I wore a skirt and flip flops with the magical hat yesterday, and was comfy and cute all day. Still, it's an interesting realization that a bit of man-flare makes me feel powerful in ways no frilly skirt, deftly-tied scarf, or stiletto heels ever could.

What about y'all? Do you find a difference in how you think and feel when you add a bit of the 'traditionally opposite' sex's garb to your dress?



(It may be a kiss-o-gram outfit, but Amy Pond is totes bad-ass in her collared shirt, tie, and bowler)

Un-Wall Me...

I posted the below in my more personal 'blog,' but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it's not just applicable to personal events and emotions -- because whatever crap you deal with (or avoid dealing with, more typically in my case) affects your creativity and the productivity of all creations. I'd like to believe that hermiting away to shun external (and internal) issues helps fuel my passions, but that's just another mask I put on to fool myself into thinking I can be really and truly depressed and still be productive.

I'm tired all the time, and while I think part of it is not taking care of myself I'm really coming to think it's more not listening to myself and trying to hard to be the best I can be in front of other people and in so doing feeling like I'm failing myself. Yeah, it's all emo up in here, and by the seven do I hate that... I hate being a shell. It's just hard to break out of the shell when you've built it around yourself to keep the bad from getting out. You don't realize you're walling in the good as well.


Interesting thing I've learned about myself just writing some of this out: I don't do well with other people trying to help me come upon revelations. It's just not how I'm constructed. Once I hit a revelation, though, I love help. But I won't directly ask for it (this is true of just about everything important to me). I like rowing the boat on my own, and if you climb in to help me you better strap yourself in and lash your hands to the oars because I'm liable to push you off after a bit. I just won't believe you're really in it with me until... well, you're really in it with me. As in, I fall overboard and almost drown; you pull me out, drag me to the shore, give me CPR and put us both back on the boat to continue rowing. Great strategy for entirely self-sufficient hermits. Horrible for anyone who even occasionally wants real, deep, meaningful interactions with other humans.

We all have ways of blocking other from helping us, and in turn ways of blocking ourselves from being receptive to help from any source. When the walls go up, even if it's to block others from seeing the bad, those walls create a divider of all energy and emotion. The longer they stay up, the harder it becomes to access the good, the desire, the passion, and even the necessity.





I am woman... hear me SMASH!







So there's your personal insight moment for the week...

Pin Me!

A couple weeks ago I got sucked into a new online world.
No, not Google+ (still working out how worthwhile it will be vs. how worthwhile it could be).
Pinterest.
Explaining Pinterest to the uninitiaed is rather difficult. You can't really explore it until you join, and once you join you can't really understand it until you explore. A lot. It's a very experiential site -- the more you dive into it, the more you become one with it. It may sound very zen, and a tad creepy, but I have never found a 'fluff' (or as professionals call them 'social networking') site that makes wasting hours of time on it feel so useful. There's not much in the way of creating connections beyond a very surface level. There's no witty banter about life, politics, the weather, or CARMAGEDDON! There's no constant stream of outside links to click, videos to watch, or Farm games to play. It is, simply, a giant bulletin board of awesome/inspiring/pretty things. The users are a collective of people who like to create, express, explore, design, craft, inspire... and gaze at pretty things.

I'm a quote whore, and the number of amazing quotes I have found in exploring Pinterest astound me.
For example, I found this one this morning.



Remind you of anything?
"Sometimes I get nostalgic for the time when this massive universe called The Internet did not exist, nor was it so easy to create a stream of words, thoughts and ideas and then delete them in a flash.
Sometimes I want a physical record of my creations, not just a glorified collection of electric pulses and digital code translated to 'my work.'"

That, in a pin, is why I love Pinterest.

Life Finds a Way

I haven't written here in a while. Until earlier this week I hadn't really written anything, anywhere in a while. I could chalk it up to stress and busyness, to overwhelming amounts of work while trying to get my life together, but that stuff happens all too frequently and I still find the time and energy to write a bit here and there.

Admission: it was fear.

I began fearing that I could no longer write. Then I began questioning my ability to write at all. Dark, heady thoughts overwhelmed me. My writer's block became an avalanche of negativity collapsing in on my writer's mind and suffocating any spark or glimmer within me to write.
Yet I knew through all of this that I wanted to write. I needed it. It's as vital to me as breathing, which may sound hyperbolic but anyone who writes knows the feeling. To lose belief in your ability to write starts to affect any belief in your being.
I'm not sharing the secret of what dug me out of this pit (though it didn't dig me out so much as pierce through with a brilliant blue light and haul me out), because it’s not what gets you out so much as the realization once it happens that you can and are meant to write. In one day I wrote (physically wrote, you know, with a pencil… on paper… in a book… like the olden days) twenty-five pages of material. My brain has been afire with the writing twitch all week, and while it isn’t for projects already in existence or new projects I believe will go anywhere, the mere act of writing again – and profusely – is overwhelming in the best possible way.









Whether you’re plugging away at a project you feel had stagnated, are stuck in the depths of writer’s block, or write everyday without fail and yet feel unsatisfied: I know it’s rough. If you need encouragement, I will be happy to cheerlead, or chastise, or help in any way I can.

If there’s one thing I’ve realized over the past few weeks it’s that wallowing in your frustration alone never produces anything. Even the smallest bit of progress is still progress, and when that moment of inspiration hits, grab it, hang on by the tips of your fingers and go along for the ride. You can make up hours at work, reschedule social obligations, and postpone a great many things in life (I’m looking at you, giant pile of laundry. I swear I’ll get to you soon…), but you can’t reschedule ideas when they hit. When the concept hits, when it overwhelms all your other thoughts, get to the nearest writing implements and just write – it’s not always true but generally speaking, life can wait and inspiration never does.

Oh, my beautiful idiot...

"Then you stole me... and I stole you."
"I borrowed you."
"Borrowing implies the eventual intention to return the thing that was taken... What makes you think I would ever give you back?"







He calls her “Sexy.” He strokes bits of her and sweet talks her while also banging her parts with relentless and seemingly reckless abandon. He stole her, and she allowed herself to be stolen. They traveled for hundreds of years together and never spoke... until she was ripped from her home and crammed into a fragile female form.
Talk about innovation.

“The Doctor’s Wife” may eventually rank among the best ever Doctor Who episodes for sheer inventiveness alone. That and the brilliance that is Neil Gaiman.

While I am insanely jealous of this literal outside the bigger-on-the-inside box thinking, it is also inspiring. It fires some of those dormant, struggling synapses within my own writer’s mind, begging me to re-examine some of my own projects. They call to me, requesting that I Gaiman it up a bit --- to think of the maddest things imaginable, the seemingly impossible twist, and write it.
I’m not what one would call a true worshipper at the altar of Gaiman, but I may have just become a convert. Any writer who can do something entirely new with the Whoniverse after its nearly fifty year history deserves more than respect. He deserves adoration, accolades, and genuine gratitude for his innovative and inspiring ideas.

The brain is aching. The fingers are twitching. The soul is yearning for something new. I’m ready to leave myself unlocked for the mad thief of inspiration to rush inside and take me for a ride.