Most mornings I wake up and I think, “it’d be really nice if I had this thing.” I don’t usually buy this thing, let alone does it randomly show up on my doorstep.
With my current, “could I be a non-fiction writer?” fantasy/pursuit underway I’ve been really jonesing for the anthology Ira Glass just put out The New Kings of Non-Fiction; This American Life, and reading interviews with Ira Glass obsessively for days on end, is really what made me realize that non-fiction was what I write, am good at writing, and is even an up-and-coming creative market right now. It only seemed right that this book be in my possession.
This morning, as I talked at Matt about what I should be doing right now to pursue these writerly dreams of mine I said, “You know what I really want? That book Ira Glass published recently.” Honestly, I haven’t mentioned this book since I found out about it a month or so ago, so this wasn’t something I’ve been talking about every day or anything.
Our day was lovely, if not similar to most days. After breakfast we did some light “yoga” in the morning (okay, so by yoga, I really mean stretches similar to what we did in gym class). We went to Best Buy to exchange some games my mom bought me for games I really want (namely, the new Super Mario Brothers.Wii game, which looks even crazier and all over the place than it’s predecessors). Then we came home to make some gourmet veggie dogs for lunch.
As we walked in, Matt suggested I go check the mail. Bills, bills, a credit card offer, and a bulk envelope from This American Life in Chicago …
I opened it, and it was the exact book I wanted plus an illustrated comic on “how to produce your own radio show.” I looked for an invoice, or a packing slip. Nothing. I stood there, looking at it in smiling awe, held it up and said, “Matt, look …”
He looked at it as baffled as I was. “How did this happen?” he asked, “Did you enter a contest of any sort?”
“No!” I exclaimed excitedly, realizing what was happening, “It’s magic, that’s all there is to it. Either that, or my mom got it for me. I did tell her I wanted it, but she sounded very put off that she had to go to a website that wasn’t Amazon to buy it.”
“It must have been your Mom.”
“Yeah," I said, "It must have.”
I called my mom, and left a message, by then convinced that it was she and we sat down to lunch. Just as we sat down, of course, my mom called back. She informed me that, she doesn’t like her new camera because everyone looks good in the pictures except her, and oh no, she didn’t buy me that book.
Okay, okay, magic isn’t real there is a logical explanation for this. Matt and I checked my bank and credit card statements, maybe I sleep/drunk bought it. Nothing. I checked my email. Maybe I won some contest I didn’t know about, and the email ended up in my junk folder. Nothing.
I’ve decided this is a sign, a magical sign that I must pursue this writing thing. Maybe it’s not a super natural sign; maybe it’s a sign from a shipping clerk that screwed up and went into the “people who have made contributions” list on the computer instead of the “people who bought things from us” list. Whatever this is, the world we live in rarely feels magical when you’re this sober and I’m taking what I can get.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
(Im)Perfection
Why do people make art?
Not too long ago, I felt like I could have answered that question, but over the last few years the feelings of being an "artist" have eluded me. I still would talk, here and there, about wanting to get back into "this" or start to get into "that", but the ugly truth is that I haven't known why. Like anyone who stays in a relationship long after it should have ended, I suspected it was because I didn't want to admit that passion had left me.
This evening, however, while methodically arranging my bookshelf, emotion hit me in the same way a cold wind will bite at your insides: I had become content. I was no longer restless, and so I lost what every artist posses: the entirely unattainable drive for perfection. Not the drive to make everything around you perfect, no good artist sees perfection in the world. They see beauty and pain in the imperfection all around them, and have the insatiable urge to express that imperfection as perfectly as they can - in a way that will make people feel engulfed in familiarity and fantasy all at once.
I no longer want to be merely satisfied by my life, there is always something lying underneath the surface, and I intend to uncover it, the way no one else can.
Not too long ago, I felt like I could have answered that question, but over the last few years the feelings of being an "artist" have eluded me. I still would talk, here and there, about wanting to get back into "this" or start to get into "that", but the ugly truth is that I haven't known why. Like anyone who stays in a relationship long after it should have ended, I suspected it was because I didn't want to admit that passion had left me.
This evening, however, while methodically arranging my bookshelf, emotion hit me in the same way a cold wind will bite at your insides: I had become content. I was no longer restless, and so I lost what every artist posses: the entirely unattainable drive for perfection. Not the drive to make everything around you perfect, no good artist sees perfection in the world. They see beauty and pain in the imperfection all around them, and have the insatiable urge to express that imperfection as perfectly as they can - in a way that will make people feel engulfed in familiarity and fantasy all at once.
I no longer want to be merely satisfied by my life, there is always something lying underneath the surface, and I intend to uncover it, the way no one else can.
Monday, December 7, 2009
10,000 words ain't nothin' to be ashamed of ...
At least that's what I keep telling myself. I did not finish NaNoWriMo (a fact that I'm sure none of you are shocked by) but I'm surprisingly okay with it. I stopped because my main protagonist had the likeness of a woman, but she had no past, and therefore, no story. I realized if I wanted to write this novel (which is a character heavy novel), I have to write some background on her. I don't know why she does the things she does, and that's kind of making her feel like a character from a sitcom.
I think the reason I'm okay with this, is because it got me writing again, and that's the point of NaNoWriMo. 10,000 words is more than I have ever written on one project that wasn't intended for scholastic purposes. Far more in fact, and that's really the whole point of NaNoWriMo, to get people writing fearlessly. I am dead set on finishing this novel. It will probably be a short novel, and it's a baby step in terms of creative fiction on my behalf, but it will happen. I've put too much thought and energy into it to never see it happen. Also, I will be participating again, and hopefully around the same time next year you will see not just a "2010 NaNoWriMo Particpant" badge, but a "winner!" badge as well.
Additionally, I re-realized I my love of poetry. There's no future in poetry, except to become a teacher, and teach other students with no monetary future in the craft how to write it, and then they will teach the next generation, and so on and so forth ... but I love doing it. I also find I hate most contemporary poetry, which is kind of okay, because I think there are poets who follow in the more traditional styles and still convey a modern voice.
Back to fiction ...
I was thinking for a while that I don't want to write anymore fiction after this current project. My best prose is when I'm just writing blog like things, and while there is a market for that, I like the idea of challenging myself to find a story within all of the emototing and thoughtful phrase turning I do, which will be part of the challenge in writing Grasp (the tittle of Sonya's story).
I think the reason I'm okay with this, is because it got me writing again, and that's the point of NaNoWriMo. 10,000 words is more than I have ever written on one project that wasn't intended for scholastic purposes. Far more in fact, and that's really the whole point of NaNoWriMo, to get people writing fearlessly. I am dead set on finishing this novel. It will probably be a short novel, and it's a baby step in terms of creative fiction on my behalf, but it will happen. I've put too much thought and energy into it to never see it happen. Also, I will be participating again, and hopefully around the same time next year you will see not just a "2010 NaNoWriMo Particpant" badge, but a "winner!" badge as well.
Additionally, I re-realized I my love of poetry. There's no future in poetry, except to become a teacher, and teach other students with no monetary future in the craft how to write it, and then they will teach the next generation, and so on and so forth ... but I love doing it. I also find I hate most contemporary poetry, which is kind of okay, because I think there are poets who follow in the more traditional styles and still convey a modern voice.
Back to fiction ...
I was thinking for a while that I don't want to write anymore fiction after this current project. My best prose is when I'm just writing blog like things, and while there is a market for that, I like the idea of challenging myself to find a story within all of the emototing and thoughtful phrase turning I do, which will be part of the challenge in writing Grasp (the tittle of Sonya's story).
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Giving Birth
A tight feeling constricted my chest as I sat quietly reading. I have this feeling often, a feeling of emptiness and anticipation. The space between my ribs becomes starved for undiscriminating abandonment of all responsibility – I never give in.
I always wonder if I did, what would happen? In these moments, I don’t have any particular desire, except I know that art is an adventure that I have yet to embark upon. Would this emotion look like paint splattered carelessly across a canvass, or the words on this page being fleshed out into the form of something more? Something with life, something that people would read and they would feel the breath of literature on their necks; sparking their insides and becoming aware of the emptiness that too lay in their chests.
As I write these words I know there is a character waiting to be nurtured, and a poem waiting to be unbound and woven back together in tighter, richer patterns. These are children born of my mind, and I deny myself as I deny them.
They say art is a labor of love, and not unlike raising a child you raise your artwork up. You give life to it, and as it grows you grow with it, putting more stake in it’s future with every caress and extension of your being. Like children, denying their growth is to deny yourself, and leave the space between your ribs tense and hallow for all time.
I always wonder if I did, what would happen? In these moments, I don’t have any particular desire, except I know that art is an adventure that I have yet to embark upon. Would this emotion look like paint splattered carelessly across a canvass, or the words on this page being fleshed out into the form of something more? Something with life, something that people would read and they would feel the breath of literature on their necks; sparking their insides and becoming aware of the emptiness that too lay in their chests.
As I write these words I know there is a character waiting to be nurtured, and a poem waiting to be unbound and woven back together in tighter, richer patterns. These are children born of my mind, and I deny myself as I deny them.
They say art is a labor of love, and not unlike raising a child you raise your artwork up. You give life to it, and as it grows you grow with it, putting more stake in it’s future with every caress and extension of your being. Like children, denying their growth is to deny yourself, and leave the space between your ribs tense and hallow for all time.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Lone Writer
Well, Matt left Wednesday morning, and since then I've written aprox. 3,000 words, leaving me far more than half way behind my word count. Matt and I thought this time away from each other would be great time to focus on our novels, but it seems for me I need another writer around to inspire me to write.
A couple of people have asked me what my novel is about, and I have divulged to them the plot (which isn't incredibly interesting) and gotten asked more than once, "is the main character you?"
"No," I always explain, "she's not me at all, she just happens to have a few experiences in common with me for the sole purpose of me being able to write about them well."
This is true, or at least it was when I started the novel. As my writing goes on, I'm starting to not be able to write because I'm realizing I have no idea how this character thinks. I mean REALLY how she thinks. I know how she acts, that was vaguely outlined when I first had the idea, but she has no voice of her own. Sonya (my main character) is a mere shadow of a human being right now, and while she has revealed a little about herself to me as I write, she hasn't revealed enough and I know I need to make some decisions for this writing process to continue.
Oy, my words wreak of "amateur writer", but that's what I am right?
Also, Audrey Neffenegger has a new book out, Her Fearful Symmetry, which I couldn't help but buy even though it's not in paperback yet ... (I love you Matt, don't be mad!)
Well, back to the writing grind. Wish Sonya and me luck!
A couple of people have asked me what my novel is about, and I have divulged to them the plot (which isn't incredibly interesting) and gotten asked more than once, "is the main character you?"
"No," I always explain, "she's not me at all, she just happens to have a few experiences in common with me for the sole purpose of me being able to write about them well."
This is true, or at least it was when I started the novel. As my writing goes on, I'm starting to not be able to write because I'm realizing I have no idea how this character thinks. I mean REALLY how she thinks. I know how she acts, that was vaguely outlined when I first had the idea, but she has no voice of her own. Sonya (my main character) is a mere shadow of a human being right now, and while she has revealed a little about herself to me as I write, she hasn't revealed enough and I know I need to make some decisions for this writing process to continue.
Oy, my words wreak of "amateur writer", but that's what I am right?
Also, Audrey Neffenegger has a new book out, Her Fearful Symmetry, which I couldn't help but buy even though it's not in paperback yet ... (I love you Matt, don't be mad!)
Well, back to the writing grind. Wish Sonya and me luck!
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
One word after another after another ...
Okay, first to credit my ever encouraging and under appreciated boyfriend Matt-Josh, he said this to me many times before I went on my digital inspiration journey: JUST-KEEP-WRITING.
Last night I only pumped out a couple hundred words because I kept changing little tiny words and phrases so as never to complete more than a page. I sat down to write tonight, and I found myself researching everything I wanted to write about. The mention of a city, a color, the anatomical make up of a strand of hair (okay, that last one is an embellishment). Finally desperate from my own self inflicted sabotage, I went to NaNoWriMo for some inspiration.
I read through all of the pep-talks by published authors, and of a collective 17 respected authors, only two really did it for me. They came down to three simple facts:
1) Writing is the hard part of being a writer. The plots, the metaphors, the shimmering, cleverly flawed characters laying in wait - those are icing yet to be spread with out the messy toiling of a first draft.
2) At more than one point I will hate every single word I write and try and convince myself to do anything but write, as every writer has done this with every book they have ever written.
3) Writing is a journey. You start with a few basic ideas and then it takes on a life of it's own as long as you let it and don't get bogged down by the "rules of trade".
Now, without further butchering of good advice by neophyte like myself, writing pep-talks by Neil Gaiman and Tom Robbins:
http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1065561
http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1052008
Last night I only pumped out a couple hundred words because I kept changing little tiny words and phrases so as never to complete more than a page. I sat down to write tonight, and I found myself researching everything I wanted to write about. The mention of a city, a color, the anatomical make up of a strand of hair (okay, that last one is an embellishment). Finally desperate from my own self inflicted sabotage, I went to NaNoWriMo for some inspiration.
I read through all of the pep-talks by published authors, and of a collective 17 respected authors, only two really did it for me. They came down to three simple facts:
1) Writing is the hard part of being a writer. The plots, the metaphors, the shimmering, cleverly flawed characters laying in wait - those are icing yet to be spread with out the messy toiling of a first draft.
2) At more than one point I will hate every single word I write and try and convince myself to do anything but write, as every writer has done this with every book they have ever written.
3) Writing is a journey. You start with a few basic ideas and then it takes on a life of it's own as long as you let it and don't get bogged down by the "rules of trade".
Now, without further butchering of good advice by neophyte like myself, writing pep-talks by Neil Gaiman and Tom Robbins:
http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1065561
http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1052008
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Happy NaNoWriMo!
Most of the last 24 hours has been Halloween, which Matt and I celebrated'ish. Matt ordered 25 fair trade chocolates (we only gave out 22 though, in part to end of the night laziness, and in part to a sweet our monstrous sweet teeth). They came with little cards about fair trade, organically grown chocolate alternatives and little patches of that tacky glue stuff often used in cheap packaging, which we pressed onto the cards. It's called reverse trick-or-treating. We got asked a couple of times what we wanted once we handed them the chocolate and said our little spiel, and got genuine surprise when we said, "nothing." We were offered non-fair-trade chocolates many times, which not long into our roll reversal adventure, we gave in and accepted graciously. We also ran into my co-worker, Bekha, which was awkward because work is kind of shaky right now. A story for hopefully never again because I'd really like to just get on with my day to day life, and never relive this past week.
More importantly though the last hour has been the start of NaNoWriMo! Matt and I went to Frontier, a local, cheap, New Mexican food place where the first NaNo write-in began promptly at midnight. We got there a little later, and there were easily 15 people there, most in Halloween costumes, all typing away furiously. I'm really quite sad we didn't bring our good camera (the one that kind people at cost-co so graciously let us take out on loan for $1,000, which we'll bring back within 90 days and get our money back) so we could get a picture of just how amazing of a scene that was.
I've written approximately 750 words so far (goal for the end of November 1st being approx 1600), and I'm not even sure I'm going to stick with this story line.
Wish me fruitful noveling!
More importantly though the last hour has been the start of NaNoWriMo! Matt and I went to Frontier, a local, cheap, New Mexican food place where the first NaNo write-in began promptly at midnight. We got there a little later, and there were easily 15 people there, most in Halloween costumes, all typing away furiously. I'm really quite sad we didn't bring our good camera (the one that kind people at cost-co so graciously let us take out on loan for $1,000, which we'll bring back within 90 days and get our money back) so we could get a picture of just how amazing of a scene that was.
I've written approximately 750 words so far (goal for the end of November 1st being approx 1600), and I'm not even sure I'm going to stick with this story line.
Wish me fruitful noveling!
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