Working to relax?

Last week, it occurred to me that during the past three years, I have yet take a vacation without taking work with me. I've never given much thought to that fact and doubt that I would be thinking about it now were it not for a comment that my brother made. He said something like, "You don't even take summers off." I laughed and shrugged it off, after all, graduate study requires a year-round commitment. The workload is just something I do. Nevertheless, it was not lost on me that his pronouncement carried with it the insinuation that, in his opinion, I should, at the very least, be taking summers off.

The more I think about his response to my workload, the more I am convinced that most people just assume that those who are in grad programs get to take summers off. By "most people" I should clarify that I mean those well-intentioned civilians who haven't the slightest idea about the rigors of graduate study. At any rate, I lamented my plight for about three seconds before acknowledging that despite how luxurious not working over the summer sounds, I know myself well enough to admit that unless I had someplace exotic to go and new things to learn about, I would probably become terribly bored.

That said, I decided to make a concerted effort to find more time to relax. My daughter needed a book for school. Bookstores (any bookstore) are widely regarded by those of the literary bent to be a premier destination. What could serve as a better break? With kid in tow, I headed to the bookstore, certain that it would be a relaxing way to spend an afternoon. It is, after all, a bookstore.

The bookstore in question sells used books and allows patrons to trade out books they've read for either cash or store credit. My daughter brought a sizable pile of books to trade out. I brought three... which is enormous for me... I have an aversion to parting with books, but that is a blog for another day. All told, We spent the better part of the afternoon rummaging through the store's enormous variety of books. My daughter found several books, including the one that she needs for school. I managed to pick up a few novels, some books on Modern Irish Drama, Twentieth-Century Russian plays, Drama Theory, and a very nice Bedford Introduction to Drama -- which, no doubt, will prove helpful when I take the Drama comprehensive exam next year.

Being at the bookstore was, in itself, fairly relaxing despite having to lug a bin full of books all around the store. The cash we earned back from the books we traded covered the costs of some of our new purchases. However, when we got back home I unloaded my new collection and began reading. The reading was more or less relaxing, but because I was reading drama, I was also taking copious notes. I read the introduction to the Bedford collection and a play I haven't read before. Of course, that lead to taking more notes. Afterward, I decided to type up an informal response to what I had read and add that to a notebook I've created to help prepare for the Drama comp. exam.

Upon reflection, I am not sure if I could call my attempt to relax successful. The trip to the bookstore resulted in me working again. Could it be that I can't relax unless I am working?  

Abstracted

Writing an abstract can be a daunting task, particularly for academic writing. The article I have been working on is getting "closer" to sucking less, so I figured what the hey -- I should start checking out some CFP's and see if I might find a few query ideas -- you know, for when I'm "closer" to being satisfied with the draft. It never dawned on me that I might actually find a CFP that announced an upcoming special issue of a journal that would suit the project I have been working on perfectly. Of course, by the time I found this CFP, abstracts were due in a matter of days. Yay. Can you read the enthusiasm? What should have been a positive experience felt more like getting dental surgery sans the numbing goodness of Novocaine. That's not because I had to write an abstract, my first for real-world submission, or that I had to send it off quickly, but because I had to get all of that accomplished in the midst of travelling.

Trying to write an abstract for submission is challenging enough without the added stress doing so under the distraction of being on holiday. Did I mention I had to tap it out on a netbook while breakfasting in the very near vicinity of my parents arguing for the zillionth time over God knows what?

Needless to say, I am not operating under any illusion that this abstract will get accepted. It might not even get read. Despite the likelihood that this submission will wind up at the very bottom of the slush pile, I am still glad to have experienced writing it and writing it under a certain amount of duress. I suppose I can look at it as good practice for the eventuality of finding myself writing, once more, under less-than-ideal circumstances.

There... and back again

I'm in the process of writing an article that I *hope* will one day find publication. The subject matter is academic and derived from portions of my master's thesis on selected plays by Samuel Beckett. But, therein lies the rub. It's damn difficult to figure out how much of the thesis introduction to use, especially since I am pulling the article out of a section that is nestled in the middle of the thesis. I started working on this last summer, shortly after my defense. However, after spending nearly a year writing the thesis, by the time I was ready to begin pulling an article out of it I had gotten so close to the work that I felt like I could no longer "see" it clearly. After struggling with the material for a few weeks, I decided it would be better to take a step back from it, and let my brain decompress from the pressures associated with writing the thesis.

Ultimately, I took this hiatus a bit further and (deliberately) weaned myself off of the rather maniacal all-things-Beckett diet I had restricted myself to during the semesters in which I wrote the thesis. I even had the good fortune of participating in an independent study course in modern/contemporary drama throughout which, as my professor suggested, I could take a break from reading so much Beckett. I planned on returning to my article writing endeavors just as soon as the academic year let out.

Of course, when I made that plan (it was a good plan), I did not know that my landlord would decide to sell the house I'd rented for three years, thrusting me into a summer-long house hunting/packing/moving/unpacking frenzy. During the crazy month leading up to the move, I was able to get some creative writing done, but academic writing was pretty much out of the question. My ability to concentrate on anything as complex as research based writing was non-existent. Once the move was complete, I still had to organize my office space. Now that I have gotten that out of the way, I feel like I can finally breath enough to get back to work.

Today, I dusted the cobwebs away from the initial draft of my article and managed to etch out a the beginnings of a beginning (I think). I also jettisoned five pages, bringing the remainder to a more manageable and sane length of twenty-five pages. I still have a great deal of editing to do before I'll let anyone read this hot mess. Honestly, though, the best remedy for this paper would be to have another set of eyes on it. At some point, I will need to beg one of my professors to take a look at it to provide feedback and suggestions.

After working on the article for a few hours, I pulled up Ye Ole Library Database (because I hate the new one) and started along the journey of researching journals and publications I might query once this article is finished. I found a few drama/theater journals that might be good prospects. Of course, it will be some time before I send off any queries, and before I do I'll need to seek the advice of my professors.

I wouldn't call this a highly productive writing day, but I am glad to have taken my old project back up. I've missed writing and thinking about Beckett. While I'm still in what I've come to describe as "introduction HELL" I am kind of at peace with that. Taking a break from the article has renewed my enthusiasm. I feel like I have a better vantage point from which to view my work because I stepped away from it for a while.

And the irony that this behavior is not altogether unlike one of Beckett's characters has not eluded me. I am well aware of the circularities I am continuing to navigate. If I did not think that a propensity for tracing back over one's steps is part of the scholarly process, then I might be worried. The process of doing this kind of writing might best be described by a line from Beckett's Endgame: "You must learn to suffer better if you want them to weary of punishing you -- one day."

The truth about NOT writing

I love writers who don't write. They make me look so productive. However, I can't stand it when these non-writing writers don't write and then proceed to complain that they are not writing. This produces nothing. At worst, it further enhances the un-writer's malaise. At best it drums up the camaraderie of other writers who are either likewise not writing or are writing but sympathize. And they sympathize because at the end of the day, any writer who's been writing for longer than five minutes has been there.

"There" is that place where nothing happens. Creativity goes untapped, ideas are stunted and blank pages remain... well... blank. "There," is no place for a writer. And as a writer when you are not "there", you certainly don't want to talk about being there. At least I don't. It's uncomfortable.

I like to live creatively in that little place called denial. I'd much prefer to not think about not writing. Probably because I like writing. It's a part of me - a huge part of who I am. Like most writers, I self-identify through my writing. So loss of writing, non-writing, would damage my concept of self.

So, I choose not to go "there." And I truly believe that writers have that choice.

A writer can choose a state of un-writing just as they can choose to end, what I believe to be a self-imposed position of not writing. Complaining about not writing is a waste of creative energy and time that could, if the writer so chose, be put to far better use actually writing.

It may sound harsh; but this is the voice of experience talking. Stop complaining and WRITE! No doubt we've all heard that often the best solution to a given problem is the simplest. Perhaps in no other art is that concept more true than in the writing arts. The stringing together of words with any kind of complexity first requires simplicity. The simplicity of action. By simply doing a writer can undo what they've not done.

I can promise that writing just one well formed paragraph will make you feel far better than hours of moaning about not writing.
Step up. Shut up. And WRITE.

Sticky Business

Ugh. So here it is; the week that I need to decide which topic to write my English Lit research paper on that is due the week after next. The problem is that my professor gave us so many topics to choose from that are interesting and I would like to write about, that I'm having a hard time choosing. Could be worse, I know. He might have given us a crappy list to choose from and then I would be complaining about having to research the crap. At least it won't be horrible to research a subject that I want to explore in detail.

Documentation is a different story. If there is one thing I despise about college writing, it is the endless hours spent documenting and citing sources. A necessary evil to be sure, as there are many students who would be thrilled to just cut and paste another's words into their own research papers if they thought they could get away with it. But, that is plagiarism... unless of course the appropriate quotation marks and works cited styles are utilized. Then it is research.

Literary research paper writing can be quite a sticky business simply because you are researching another's work and words. It is a very fine line between paraphrasing a writer's work and meanings and plagiarizing. It never ceases to amaze me how many students think that they can get around citing works if they just reword their sources. They get caught up in thinking that if they just change a few words around here and there, then they are not actually copying.

It is a pity. Really. Here, I, along with a majority of the other students take great care in ensuring that we are producing an original, well documented research paper. But there is always that poor misinformed schlep who tries to get past having to do the hard work. I mean, HELLO! They have software installed at the writing lab that is specifically designed to catch cheaters.

Copy THAT!

I'm hoping beyond hope that in this class, on this research paper, no one tries to lift work that isn't their own. Cheaters suck and plagiarists are the bottom of the barrel.

Let it Rain

Don't you just love it when a day that starts out with horrible, torrential rain type weather? Yeah. Me neither, but that is just how the day started. As I stared out my car window waiting for my daughter's school bus I was treated to Mother nature's version of a light show. Huge bolts of lightening speared the morning sky, menacingly beautiful as they sliced through the charcoal colored clouds. And I thought, this day is gonna suck.

To add to the bright mood of the morning, I had an American Literature midterm exam first thing. I was not looking forward to it - even the thought of driving to the college agitated me. Naturally, it poured incessantly the entire trip. I was grateful for backroads and the ability to avoid the pitfalls of heavy traffic backups on the rain slickened main streets.

Part one of the midterm consisted of six questions to be answered in short essay form. Short meaning two to three hundred words. Part two required I choose to answer one of three questions in "standard" essay form. That is between five hundred and one thousand words. Thankfully, we have word processor capabilities in the test lab. I was able to get the whole thing done in under two hours. Our professor allowed us two and a half, so I felt satisfied that I finished early.

Still pouring when I left campus. When I got back to my office computer my English Literature professor had e-mailed me with my grades from our first test and essay in that class. I earned an "A" on both. The day was looking up. Only maniacs and English majors are fool enough to take two Literature classes simultaneously. I happen to be both.

So, anyway, my English Lit professor also e-mailed me regarding a discussion a few of us were having in our critical analysis group. The subject was Arthurian legends and what makes them appeal to the modern audience. I made several points and mentioned my admiration for the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien. My professor wrote me that he had taken a 20th Century Literature class in grad school taught by Corbin Carnell; one of the few people at the time who wrote serious criticism on Tolkien. Then he worked with Corbin on an independent study examining the works of the Oxford mythmakers Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams.

How cool is that? Anyway, I let him know that I am officially envious.

After learning that bit of information, I was no longer bothered by the rain. I was too busy counting my blessings that I am fortunate enough to have an English Lit professor who has a keen understanding and appreciation of Tolkien, Lewis, Williams and the fantasy genre. Lucky me :)

I Wrote! I Wrote! I Wrote!!!!!

I finally did it. I set aside my studies for a few precious hours and dedicated that time to writing in one of my novel length wips!!! It was so nice to get back to my characters. I've missed them so. I mean, they are with me every day, I'm always thinking about ways to further develop them and the plot, but to actually sit and just write them is heaven. What was interesting was that I had been at an interesting turning point in my world building at the last point I left the manuscript. After rereading just that small section before adding to it last night, I was able to fill in some holes and through doing that I wound up in a place where I can add an antagonistic device. Sweet! It needed that little something extra there, and now, not only is it going to get it, it is going to tie in seamlessly.

I must have been in creative mode major. Not only was I able to write last night, I woke up this morning with a vivid recollection of the most amazing dream. I dreamt an entire story, characters and all from beginning to end. I've always been able to dream certain aspects of a story - a characterization, a plot - something, but never an entire story. This definitely marked a "first" for me. My daughter invited my niece for a sleepover last night, and they came in my room this morning and jumped on my bed to wake me up. It must have been just at the completion of this dream. Talk about timing. I think maybe if they hadn't woke me, I might not have remembered the dream at all.

Anyway, I immediately went into my office to write out the outline of what I remembered. I didn't even put on a pot of coffee first. I was too concerned that I would lose some of what I was remembering. Thank goodness the kids weren't hungry for breakfast at that moment. So now I have this entirely new story sketched out and I am literally itching to write it.

The thing that is frustrating is that I already have two manuscripts that I am trying to complete. I really should not start another, especially considering the time constraints of my schedule. I have about twenty-five chapters down in one of my wips and ten or so in the other. I really need to complete at least one before I begin another.

I took the kids to the beach for a while this afternoon and met a friend of mine there with her daughter. After I told her about the dream I had she said she wondered if maybe I should concentrate on the new, dreamt story because it came to me in such a way. I don't know. I'd hate to put priority on it simply because it was "given to me," as my friend put it.

One thing is certain. I wrote. And obviously it fired off some creative neurons or something in my brain because after that I wrote in my sleep.

This is a Test...

Well, since I'm in the midst of summer session mid-term hell, it seems like I spend every spare moment studying for a test. At least I got a little break today at a big family cookout. It was actually a pretty near perfect day, with tons of laughter, great food and lots of swimming. I began the day by accompanying my daughter to a friend's birthday party. Ten seven year olds bowling and drinking way too much soda, but they had a great time. I coach several of the girls who were in attendance, including the birthday girl.

I think that probably the best part of a child being on a team is that they can always count on their teammates to attend their birthday parties. Several weeks ago my daughter went to a party for a school friend and she was the only invited guest to show up. The poor mother of the kid was distraught. She'd planned the party for weeks and sent out the invitations early, had it at a really fun indoor basketball gym adjacent to a popular park, but still... no one came. I talked with her at length about considering enrolling her son in a team sport of some kind. A week later it was my own daughter's birthday. I held her party at the gymnastics facility where I coach. Of course, we invited tons of kids, including her friend from school whose party was all but ruined from lack of attendance. I felt so bad for his mother, because when she saw how many kids came to my daughter's party, she was awe struck.

We invited thirty-five children to my daughter's party and of those, thirty-three showed up. Of the two who couldn't make it, one was sick and the other had to go away for the weekend. The mom who had been so upset at her son's party, has told me several times since my daughter's big day, that she has never in her life seen anything like my daughter's party. She couldn't get over the turn out of kids. But I explained to her that of the kids who attended, only three were school friends, the rest are all my daughter's teammates and that my daughter's birthday parties are like that every year.

I ran into that mother yesterday while shopping for a birthday present for the party we attended today. She told me she signed her son up for baseball camp and plans on keeping him in a team sport. Then she asked me how I, a single parent, finds the time to be a writer, go to school and coach gymnastics. I told her that it's not easy. I work my tail off, and right now my writing is suffering from the time crunch. But I wouldn't change the coaching part. I do that so I can spend time with my child. I do that because if I didn't coach I couldn't afford to have my daughter in such an expensive sport. But the main reason I coach is that through doing it I am able to give my child a team experience that you simply cannot put a price on. She is having the time of her life, making lasting friendships and memories that will stay with her long after she stops doing back hand springs.

Could I write more if I didn't coach? Sure. Would it be worth the trade off? That is a test that I wouldn't risk failing.

Inspiration

Sometimes inspiration strikes at the darndest times. I was in the middle of taking an exam today when ideas came out of nowhere for one of my novel-length wips. Trying to jot down the thoughts was impossible. I had nothing to write on other than my test paper and that was being turned into my professor. Then, of course I had to concentrate on answering the questions on the test, but it was really difficult to focus on the exam when all I wanted to do was write down the character interaction that was dancing in my mind before I lost it.

It's not the first time story ideas have come to me at an inopportune moment. I've taken to always keeping a small notebook in my car in case inspiration hits me as I am barreling down a highway or stuck at a red light. But I can't keep a note book in the shower, or pull one out during lunch with a friend, or in the middle of coaching gymnastics. So what's a writer to do?

I don't generally lose the entire epiphany, but invariably bits and pieces go unrecalled, leaving holes in what had been a complete thought. Just the way it is I guess. That thought doesn't make losing the muse any less frustrating, but it does support my assumption that every writer undoubtedly experiences the same problem at one time or another.

What makes it more frustrating is that there really isn't any way to change it. How do you prepare for an idea that hasn't actually come, but might, and possibly in the shower? I can't think of a way, but I can't spend too much time pondering it either. I guess it is just a matter of timing and hoping that yours is good. With any luck, the perfect idea will hit at the optimal time.

At least it is something to wish for.

Late Night Write

I love to write late at night. I don't know what it is exactly that I find so pleasing about it. Perhaps it is the quiet of the house, my kid is asleep, no neighbors are mowing their lawns next door, no doorbell rings, even my three dogs are settled and don't come up to nudge me for a treat or a pat on the head. Heck, they rarely even bark this late. So, maybe it is the peacefulness that causes late night writing to be so appealing to me. Maybe it's just that I am more creative at night. I always was a bit of a night owl. Even as a young child I could never fall asleep early. Could also have something to do with my current genre. I am working on two fantasy novel-length fiction manuscripts. Might be that I feel night time is more conducive to writing about my created world replete with non-human characters. Possible I suppose.

Honestly, I am not sure why it is that I seem to always do my best writing after midnight. Editing I do better in the daytime, but my creative writing is definitely a late night pursuit. I do notice that I fall asleep quicker after I have written. As if allowing the characters in my stories to spill onto the page somehow quiets them and allows me to sleep rather than lie awake thinking about what they are going to do next or how they are evolving.

Maybe it is just that I have trained myself that if I am gonna be up late - I may as well write. I know other writers train their creative focus to allow them to pursue writing morning pages. I keep telling myself that I am going to mix it up a little and start getting up early to write rather than stay up late, but there is something about getting up at 6am to write fiction that seems insanely barbaric to me.

For now, I will probably stick with the late night write that I have become so accustomed to. You know what they say; if it ain't broke...

I wonder though if fixing it would actually repair a weakness or cause it to break down all together

Crossing the Finish Line

I never thought that this semester would utterly consume my every waking minute. Had I known though, I don't think I would have changed anything. I'm excelling in all of my classes and can finally see the finish line looming ever closer as the end of the semester draws near. After that I will be taking six classes through summer session, as long as my grant holds. Yeah, I did say six. It's going to be mountains of work but I want to get through to my degree and following summer session I will have only two classes that I need to take to graduate in the spring. The prospect of finishing is both exciting and exhausting. I can't wait to complete my degree, though I know that after I do, life will become more exhausting because I plan to plunge right back into the University. My dream is to earn a doctorate in English and an MFA in creative writing.

It has occurred to me that plodding along through school has not been at all unlike plodding my way through writing my two novel-length fiction works-in-progress. They too present their own set of challenges, sometimes on a daily basis. There have been days when I toy with the idea of abandoning the stories and not finishing. If you write at all then you know what I mean. The days when you're all out of fresh ideas, or you've reread over your material and decided it is terrible, and you have no talent and you might as well throw in the towel and go take a job in retail or some other underappreciated service industry.

But then after the whining and feeling a bit sorry for myself I return to my keyboard and pound out some words.

I have a rule that is working quite nicely for moments like that: I force myself to write 50 words in my manuscript - even if they really make no sense whatsoever. This always works for me, because before I know it, the ideas are flowing again and if nothing more is accomplished at least I feel better afterward because I was able to work through the creative crisis. It reminds me of the way I will push on through schoolwork even if it is something difficult, or far out of my comfort zone.

It gives me some peace realizing that I can work through enormous challenges by myself and that understanding of how I work and why the hell I do it in the first place encourages me to push on through school and my creative writing, because I know if I do, I will eventually cross the finish line.

Easy Work

There is something to be said about preparedness. What it is exactly, at this point, I don't know... but I know there must be something. After all, aren't we taught all our lives to follow little golden rules of preparedness? Gosh. One rule that immediately springs to mind is: Do your homework. Why? Why, do people have such a hard time with this one? Literally and figuratively it seems to me that we are swiftly becoming a nation of bumbling, fly by the seat-of-our pants - idiots.



Take for example, a college class that I am currently enrolled in. I am an English major, not to mention a freelance writer. As such take my writing classes extremely seriously. This particular class requires a good deal of research for writing analytical essays on the literary fiction we are studying this term. Of course, research translates to citing various sources. So, anyway, there is this one girl, um, wait... girl is an inappropriate description, as this girl is probably in her mid 30's. Anyway, put delicately, this young woman is driving me nuts!



First, she is often late for this class. She blusters in, loudly, I might add. Hey, I could live with that - but for the fact that no matter where I sit in the room - she weasels her way either right next to me, or across from me, or worse - behind me. It's moderately bothersome, but I could still tolerate that, were it not for the fact that she then proceeds to address me with whispered questions. She'll ask what she missed, or if I did the reading assignment - I mean - DUH!!! I didn't become an "A" student by blowing off my reading assignments.



Regardless, it gets worse. She is forever fielding me questions about her written assignments. I feel for her in a way. She is, after all, to be counted among the walking clueless of the world. Blissfully unaware of how ignorant and tactless she appears to others.



So, good person that I am, I try to help her here and there. I offer advice. I have even gone so far as to edit a draft of one of her essays at her request. Mercifully, I have taken courses taught by my current professor previously. She had definitely noticed my unease at being targeted by this classmate as her personal tutor. She has tolerated the disruption up to this point, but I know the unprepared student is in for a rude awakening if it continues.



I have tried to distance myself. This week, after class my classmate approached and asked if we could exchange telephone numbers, you know - in case she had questions about the upcoming research paper. I was aghast. No. Not going to happen. I explained that I am an extremely busy writer, student and single parent. That while I do not mind helping her from time to time, I cannot spare a moment on work that is not my own. I told her, and honestly so, that I am lucky that I manage to get my own work done.



Well, she became frustrated and pushed the issue. After all, she only has a few questions and surely I can take a few minutes to help her out. Then she blurted that I should help her because writing is easy for me. EASY! Pardon? What say?



She said it in the same accusatory way that former coworkers have in the past. The ones who assumed that I would pen their reports for them because writing came easy for me. Friends who have needed help sprucing up a resume, would offer a similar tone, when they would promise me that it would only take a few minutes. After all, writing was hard for them. But not me. It's easy for me.



My professor glanced up from stacking papers on her desk. She had taken notice of the exchange between myself and my unprepared classmate. Part of me wanted to humiliate this girl, by informing her just how much work goes into writing well, and do so in front of our professor who undoubtedly understands the complexities to which I refer . But I thought better of it.



What I did instead was suggest that she seek out the free services of the tutoring lab. I assured her that writing comes easy for them too, and that they would be pleased to spend as much time helping her as she might need, so that next time she might come to class prepared. She left in a bit of a huff.



My professor didn't say a word about it, but the approving look she gave me was enough.



Tomorrow we have a quiz on two short stories that were assigned a week ago. Afterward, we will have open discussion, analyzing the works. Then we will shift gears and review twenty research questions that we should have completed with sources cited on a separate page. Invariably, there will be a few students who "forgot" to do the reading assignment, or perhaps one or two scrambling to complete the research questions.



All I know is that I have done my homework. Then again, writing comes easy for me.

Lesson in Courage

Iraqis turned out to cast their ballots in their first free election in over fifty years. It is remarkable that the elections proceeded as scheduled. More astonishing is the sheer number of Iraqi people who rose up and exercised their new found right to vote under the threats of death by radical insurgents.



The numbers are staggering considering the circumstances. It is estimated that between 60 to 72 percent of all eligible Iraqi voters actually voted. Weigh those numbers against the estimated 50 percent of all eligible American voters who participate in our democracy by voting, and it is clear that the Iraqi people have sent a message to the world: they are willing to risk everything to embrace democracy.



Americans would do well to take note and reflect upon the dear price that has been paid by those who came before us to ensure our right to vote. We have taken our open elections process for granted for too long. How shameful it is that in our free nation so many fail to take part in the democractic process that is the model for the world.



The Iraqi people have reaffirmed that which our forebearers knew so well; that freedom is worth sacrificing for. The newsfootage of Iraqi women, most of whom have suffered unimaginable oppression their entire lives, casting their ballots should serve as a stark reminder that women in our own country were at one time ineligable to vote. Were it not for the committment, courage and sacrifices of women during the Sufferage movement, perhaps American women would still be refused the vote.



It has been reported that an alert guard at a polling location in Iraq noticed as a man came charging toward the enterance to the polls. When the man refused to halt the guard opened fire, and the man, an apparent suicide bomber, blew up. The Iraqis who turned up to vote at that location were not disuaded by the attempt on their lives, rather they became inscensed and refused to leave the polling place without casting their ballots. What a lesson in courage.

Back with a vengeance!

There is something to be said about being too busy: it sucks. There. I said it. Now I can move forward. I think I need my head examined - as I create my own too busy state. It's not enough that I am a working freelance writer, a coach, a college student, a single parent. No. My life wouldn't be complete if I were not working, albeit feverishly, on two book-length fiction works-in-progress. It's kind of like I can't allow myself to slow down for fear of losing momentum.



Unfortunately, my blog suffered for my tight schedule and the inevitable exhaustion that has plagued my evening hours - the time when I usually would have the time to update my blog. No doubt the stress of suffering a direct hit from two hurricanes within a three-week period between August and September have added to my weariness. I don't know what the main cause for my overall tiredness was; but, I suspect it was simply my pre-holiday, pre-finals workload.



Now that all of my work, holiday and education related goals have been successfully achieved, I've finally had a little time to relax before diving headlong into spring semester and new writing projects. And I mean a little time. It seems as though there is just never any real time off. I swore myself to relaxation and enjoying the two weeks of winter break. No school. No coaching. No work. Just hanging out with my kid, having fun and writing for the love of it whenever I felt like it.



But life isn't like that. No matter how I plan, there is still laundry to do, a house to clean, dogs to care for, meals to cook, the undecorating to do, and bills to pay. I've been off for a week and still haven't caught a break! In light of that fact, I had an epiphany. It went kind of like this: Update the blog dummy!



So, I have - and recognizing that I am never going to have sufficient time to do anything, not blogging, really makes no sense whatsoever. So expect to hear more from me.



I'm back.

With a vengeance.

Does Your Vote Count?

The Democratic process is in full swing across the nation, or at least, we hope so. Getting out the vote is the hot topic in the news today, as well it should be. However, some of the reports coming in are a more than just a bit disturbing. Some major issues have been brought to light, such as pencils sitting on the desks of the absentee ballot processors in Iowa. When it was discovered that a writing device made available to the processors could actually interfere with fair processing, the pencils were swiftly removed. The worry there was that an unscrupulous processor could potentially use the pencil to alter ballots. Then the legal battle waging in Ohio, with GOP watchdogs vowing to prevent voters who were registered, as they claim incorrectly, by Democrats, from being permitted to vote.



Quite frankly, whatever party affiliation a citizen subscribes to - that type of 11th hour partisan wrangling and intimidation should outrage all Americans. In Florida, Theresa LaPore, the notorious Palm Beach County Supervisor of Elections, has come under fire for altering the laws governing the allowable distance from polling places where reporters, campaigners, and non-partisan voter-assistance groups can gather. Should anyone have such power to change laws without any process whatsoever, to serve their own purpose?



In Philadelphia the latest reports tell of a GOP legal action, claiming that four electronic voting machines are suspect, and the 13,000 votes cast in those machines should be thrown out. Huh? Toss out votes? Is that the American way?



Perhaps the most worrisome of all the Election Day revelations is the fact that in most of the states where electronic voting is in widespread use, there is NO PAPER TRAIL.



In the wake of the 2000 election debacle is anyone really comfortable with that? How could there possibly be an accurate recount, should the need arise, without a paper trail? How could there be any argument against it? And doesn't the suggestion that 13,000 votes be nullified in Philadelphia punctuate the need for a paper trail?



Computers have been known to eat information before, and let's face it - they are susceptible to a certain degree of tampering, either via hacking or virus.



At best these partisan tactics are an annoyance; at worst, and it could easily escalate to worst, it disrupts the process utterly. How sad that in this great nation it has come to the point where partisan interference does so much to dishonor our history of democratic elections. It poses the question: Does every vote really count?



The campaign trail absolutely must be followed by an Election Day paper trail, or literally all could be lost.

What do Medusa and Pippi Longstocking Have in Common?

Well their stories are the stuff of legend - Pippi being unnaturally strong, and Medusa being so frightfully hideous that any who look directly at her are forever petrified in stone. They also happen to be the characters my daughter and I chose for our Halloween costumes. She was Pippi, of course, and a winning one: she took First place in a costume contest. I was green with envy (pun fully intended.)



Donning a Medusa costume brought forth an alarming number of people who had no earthly idea what the Medusa character is. So I would explain that she is actually a rather popular character in the Greek mythologies. Which would be met with a blank stare that practically screamed Huh? The whole experience really caused me to wonder how these folks ever managed to graduate high school, let alone college. Two of the clueless are acquaintances of mine and I know for a fact they both attended universities.



Alternately, there were many who immediately recognized Medusa, and commented on the creativity of my costume, but only after they gushed over my adorable Pippi counterpart. My serpent headpiece was a conversation starter and had strangers at a local fair coming up to me specifically to touch my head and see what it was I made the snakes with.



To their credit, a great many children recognized Medusa. That heartened me. I took comfort that at least some of the younger generation were being taught the Greek tales in school, until one little ten-year-old boy looked at me and exclaimed, "Medusa rocks! She's a creature in a lot of games." Be still my heart.



I fear the tales of antiquity shall be told only in excerpts of freshly made-for-gaming plots, and the rich characters stretched so thinly across the cyber-world, that their literary significance will be lost forever.



In the immortal words of the Wicked Witch of the West, "What a world, what a world."

Into The Great Unknown

Writing is a lot like gambling; if you play at it long enough you might just get lucky. That is what I tell myself every time I write a query, develop a proposal or send a completed manuscript out into the great unknown. It's hard to send your work out there. I mean, it's your work and in a great many ways, it is part of you. A representative of your creative self. An extension of yourself through the interpretation of your art. You baby it, fight with it, love it, hate it... and after you've picked apart all of its weaknesses, toyed with it, tweaked it and polished it - then you love it again. And after all of that, you diligently research possible markets for your work, your baby, and dutifully send it off to vie for publication and you wait.



And wait. And... well, you wait some more. You tell yourself that no news is good news. Your friends say things like, "Well, at least it hasn't been rejected"reminding you that rejection is the most probable outcome and it is only a matter of time before the rejection notices start pouring in. After all, it is the most probable outcome.



Suffice to say that landing an acceptance from a traditional publisher is a long shot, even if your work is excellent. Which is a good part of the reason so many writers have opted to self publish via Print on Demand companies. But even that isn't quite so simple and often P.O.D. contracts saddle the writer with the burden of high fees with very few, if any benefits.



Publication is the side of writing that is absolutely the most frustrating. Everything must be perfect if the writer hopes to attract the attention of an editor. Queries must light the fire of interest without being too long, or too wordy. It has to be perfect.



So you wait and as you wait you start to wonder if you did a good enough job. You start to doubt. And if, or rather when rejections roll in - you start to doubt your work. You pick apart the possible reasons why your query wasn't effective. You rewrite it. Edit it. Polish it and send it out into the great unknown again.



The fact is, you have to have a thick skin in this business. Critiques can be harsh, editors are usually quite demanding and rejections can sometimes be hard to swallow. But it is the way it is, and knowing that, the writer writes some more and dutifully sends their work, their baby, out into the great unknown hoping this time they'll hit the publishing jackpot - their name in print and a check with their name on it for their efforts.

Invasion of the "What if's"

Here I sit. Keyboard literally in hand... poised to bash my head into my computer monitor. I've had the same blank page in my "Word" program staring me down for about an hour. I had every intention of continuing my novel length work-in-progress (A.k.a wip) from my most recent stopping point. Actually, I ended a chapter and undecided on the direction I want to go, I opted to line edit and execute minor rewrites on all the chapters that led to this point. It was a good idea. Took a few days. Got a lot done.



It was a good idea... or at least, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I realize that in taking that pause rather than working through the stopping point, I failed to address the issue of direction. I didn't solve my dilemma rather, I sought to avoid it for as long as possible.



So now I'm left wondering why I allowed myself to duck for cover behind line edits. What stopped me. What made the end of this chapter a stopping point. Why was I so willing to pull away?



Could it be that my story really has no where to go? Is it dead? No, in fact I'm sure it is not. This story has taken on a life of it's own. It feels almost sentient to me. The characters breath and think and feel; they are perfect and flawed and in the world I've created in my wip, they are real. Okay, so the story isn't dead. So what's the problem?



Clearly, I'm at a transitive crossroads in my story. I could go in any one of several directions. But how to choose? What if I make the wrong choice? What if the idea sucks? What if...



What if I had sat down in my plot outline and ironed out my plot objectives rather than excuse myself by hiding in edits? Then perhaps I would not have found myself staring blankly at a blank Word document. I let the fear of the "What if's" distract me to the point of inaction. Duh! Didn't I see it coming?



Of course I did! I knew I was avoiding tough choices. I knew, I knew and I know better. I could kick myself for allowing the "What if's" to get to me. Plot transition needs to be addressed rather than avoided. Ugh. There is probably nothing as frustrating as being the cause of your own frustration.



Now I need to dig in and push through my own insecurities, so my wip can continue on it's intended path. And it has an intended path - I just need to figure out the twists and turns along the way.

Time Bandits

It seems like nary a day goes by in which some misinformed individual passes a judgment as to the flexibility of my writing schedule. People automatically assume that because I am a freelance writer my cup must certainly runneth over with scads of free time. After all, I work when I want. Therefore, I am endlessly called upon to run here, go there, be available at such and such a time... blah, blah, blah. And you know, for a while there - even I fell for it.



I figured, well, sure I'll do this for so and so. After all it'll really help them, seeing as they have to work and all. I can spare a few hours. If they needed me to come in a bit early to coach at the gym, they could count on me. I'd be there. It only meant going in an hour early, it was okay.



A chunk of time here. A smidgen of time there. No big. I could deal. I could work around it; I create my own schedule you know.



Yeah, I was in deep alright.



The worst part about it was that I was permitting my own work to be compromised and devalued by failing to demand that anyone, anyone at all, respect my time. Even myself. And it was nearly fatal to my creative works. The more time I spent pursuing the tasks everyone else prescribed me, resulted in completing my paying assignments during the hours I would have spent on my creative works had I held to my own schedule.



Finally, it was up to me to undo the damage. I had to start saying no. And it wasn't easy. People weren't very receptive to my sudden inclination to decline their requests of my time. Their response when I asserted my need to adhere to a writing schedule I likened to how I imagine a thirsty dog would react to the sudden removal of his water-bowl while he is smack-dab in the middle of drinking. Dogs don't like going thirsty, and people don't like hearing the word no. Unfailingly both respond with the same surprised sideways tilt of the head, wearing an expression that asks "Huh?" Some even growl. So be it.



It had to be done or my creative work would literally die of neglect. Robbed of its sustenance, its value, and ultimately its right to exist by the time bandits who would continue to raid my creative itinerary, unless I stood to defend it.



That's not to claim that my reclaimed writing agenda is without interruption. Life happens. Business need to get done, kids need tending, dogs need to be walked, house needs to be cleaned and, in my case, gymnasts need to be coached. It's like a smooth walk across a balance beam just before tossing a back Handspring that lands a little wobbly; sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and hang on, or the amazing thing you were doing has lost all its value.

What's It Matter?

A couple of months ago while at a networking mixer a new acquaintance asked what it is I do for a living. I'll never forget the response I got when I said I'm a freelance writer. He looked at me blankly and blurted "Yeah, well everyone's a writer if you give them a pen." Of course, I wasn't about to just let that go. So I sucked in a deep breath and calmly countered with, "True enough; but not everyone can write well." He poked the olive drowning at the bottom of his martini and said "What's it matter? Half the population can't read anyway." When he said that, I knew I had him. I quickly flashed my best and brightest wise-ass grin and asked "So, who's your favorite author?"



He didn't have one. He doesn't read much. Muttered something about not having enough time and reading makes him tired anyway, before he excused himself to hit the bar for a refill. I shrugged his comments off and moved on, secure in the fact that I'd successfully one-upped him.



On the drive home I found myself thinking about what he said. Everyone's a writer if you give them a pen. It irritated me. The whole next day his comments assaulted my concentration to the point that I actually stopped writing midday. Instead I started to examine why in the world I was allowing what this guy said to bother me, even a little.



See, it wasn't really what he said that nagged at me, but that there is really some truth to it - a basis in fact. Not that I think him right, no... not for a moment. But after close consideration I do think him rather, well, average.



Let's face it; there's a large percentage of folks out there who do not regard writing as an art, or even a skill. He's one of them. With the world gone e-mail and the art of the letter all but dead, most people are not what could be characterized as practiced writers. I'm sure the fella was not altogether off base in his assumption that half the population can't read. Now I don't mean that literally. I'm certain that a greater percentage of the industrialized world can and do read, I'm just not convinced that they are practiced readers.  If we're not writing letters (I don't know about you, but the majority of e-mails I receive are not by a long shot well constructed so I won't count them as letters) and not adhering to basic writing and language principals will we recognize mistakes while reading books, magazines or the newspaper? Does it matter if I strive to write well, or will my efforts simply go unnoticed?



After much deliberation I've concluded that yes, it does matter if I write well and yes, my efforts will probably go unnoticed... and they should. By all. No one should take note of smooth, accurate writing. If it reads in such a way that not one person notices a thing about the writing other than the story itself, then I have done my job well.



I suppose it is true that everyone with a pen, or these days, a keyboard can write. Not everyone is going to appreciate a well written and compelling story. Not everyone reads or reads often enough. My martini sipping acquaintance got that right, and he'll probably never become aware of what he got wrong. So, what's it matter?



Maybe it's not for him to know, or even worry about. But as a writer, it is my job to contemplate such things. To elevate my work  - whether it is writing the copy for an advertisement, etching an article, scribbling an essay or immersing myself in constructing novel length fiction. It may never matter to any other person who reads my writings, but it means everything to me.



What's it matter? It matters plenty.