27 April 2009--Hack

"Our reading--and enjoyment of art, film, music or the web--is nourishment. We need to feed our imaginations." Kate Mosse

Thank you for that reminder. Now I just need to get over myself and write.

I've been so afraid recently (and if I'm honest, this trend has happened continually for at least four years) of being a hack and "plagiarizing" that I've stifled my imaginations for too long. Sure, it's discouraging that I'll not make a profitable career in writing, maybe not in years or ever. But I do know that I'm enjoying the writing and creative process, so why stop now? When have I ever let over thinking stop me from doing something that I knew to be right? Actually, I should say, I didn't even have to think through to conclusions on decisions that I knew were right. I didn't have to think to go to Word of Life, the best year of my life. Or, Cedarville, where I met Mark. Or, transferring to Virginia, where I fell in love with literature and reading again, and realized that there was more to life than being prodded like cattle from one class to another. Funny how I felt more anonymous at Cedarville than I did at a huge school like JMU.
I definitely didn't have to think about getting married to Mark on Maui or worry that we didn't have a job in Ohio. I just didn't think about it. I honestly knew that everything would work out and I would be happy with the result.

Through all these things, there was a certain amount of work involved, like ensuring that applications were turned in on time, researching the right place and time for a wedding, making phone calls to rentals in Cedarville. But, they were just part of the process and I took them for granted because there was no doubt in my mind that I would engage in that activity. It's just that the few things that are occupying my time now, namely this house-building and writing is encountering greater work, a greater process, but at the same time, these activities result in a larger end or gain.

The writing to me is an end in itself. Like being able to be married with a month's preparation. The reward was Maui and a transferrable job. The reward now will be living in a completed house with little to no debt and a published novel. Being published is not the goal. Writing is. Being published would be the reward, or fruit of these labors. And in a weird way, a means to an end, because practicality dictates that I need money to pay the bills. The ideal would be that I could quit my day job and write full time. But, truthfully, I am beginning to understand that I would write anyways, and again, should get over myself, and apply the same fervor of getting a second job (working 20 hours a week) on top of my own 40-50 hours towards writing. What more can I accomplish with 4-5 hours a day of writing! Ideally, I would want to do this everyday, but I know that I will need to rest and refresh from time to time.

19 April 2009--The Story's in the Telling

I've been at my desk, at my computer, for roughly 6 hours now. I've typed out a character analysis for the protagonist, and kept getting distracted with some details, but thankfully, I was able to rein in the research bug that may get me off the novel-writing altogether. For the majority of the time, I was typing out one of the first ever scenes that I've envisioned for this story, and let me tell you, what I thought was a scene actually has three or maybe even four distinct parts, and I barely finished two of them. And really, that's what writing a novel is all about. Writing it scene by scene.
*Sigh*
Writing may be what I love doing, but it's still work. I physically want to write, but right now for example, I am really burned out. My eyes are wigging out, my shoulders are tense (massage please!) and no matter how much I snack, I'm still hungry. Hopefully Mark will be home soon with some Wendy's chili and plain baked potato.
I just still can't believe that on this first run through, where I've already scribbled down the basic idea of the scene and I just needed to flesh it out as I transcribe it onto computer form, I barely am halfway through. I'm not even at the "meat" of what this scene is about. I had a little flash of my future, and in it I see my novel becoming an unwieldy 400-page beast. And not because I have a lot to say. Well, I do, but it's more like I am too long-winded and ramble on unnecessarily. Even now, when I'm too burnt out and Mark actually did just come home, and I really should stop typing, I'm typing and being wordy.
I'm heartened that I will be able to finish this novel of mine. Not specifically soon, of course, but that I will finish it. I had a revelation this afternoon that when my addiction to writing exceeded that of my reading, I knew that this was already a done deal for me. It's already written. I just don't know how long I will need to write it.
Here's to the official day one of breathing flesh onto the bones of the story.

14 April 2009--Dead Poet's Society As I've Never Seen It

One of my associates at work is also a high school English and Drama teacher for Anderson High School. This past week, she brought in a couple of essays, which were a pastiche of the worst sentences from actual essays submitted by her students. The objective of these essays was to analyze specific characters from the movies, Dead Poet’s Society and Beauty and the Beast (the Disney animated version). Oh boy. After reading those essays, I wept, both from convulsing, hysterical laughter and from the knowledge that these students are the future of this country. God, save us all.

Without further ado, here are my favorite snippets. I tried to be as faithful to the grammatical errors as possible. Thank you Tiffany, for making my day, week, month, and for making me grateful that I chose not to be a teacher.

“In the movie Dead Poets Society everybody doesn’t think for them selves.”

“The Poets Society club was of campus in a cage that was across the stream.”

“…because he all about negative things.”

“Him being at Welton is at stake.”

“Todd felt like he couldn’t live up to his brother’s standers.”

“Todd rely say anything unless someone was talking to him.”

“Other people reaction to Todd probably was to engorge him.”

“His name is Mr. Keating and the tells them to “to Seize Of The Moment” so the start to do that then he join a group call “Dead Poets Society”.

[By far, the most egregious error, considering the movie pivots around that climactic “Carpe Diem!…Seize the Day!” moment.]

“The Walton School doesn’t want them to do that because Todd best friend die, and supposable Mr. Keating is the to blame so they get ride of him.”

“The change will be permanent because he’s dead now.” [hahaha!]

“He is away talking and teaching how to seize the day and do make you life extrondaly.” [what??]

I could continue, but those had to be the highlights of my reading pleasure. I could also put some snippets of my favorites from the Beauty and the Beast essay, but I brought it back to my store before making any notes from it. I do, however, remember that the first line said that the movie took place somewhere in France sometime in the past somewhere, and that another line said that it took place in a village in “Fracne” but I can’t seem to remember past that since I could barely read it, I was laughing so hard.

My life is so humdrum boring at times, with my repetitive retail environment rife with petty complaints and squabbles, that I’ve been able to see the joy in these random little snippets. Either that, or my perceptions have gotten warped over the years that I see everything around me in an ironic sense.

11 April 2009--Reawakened

Well, the need for a reawakened life has laid heavily upon me for a while now. I don't know if it's just aftershocks from the "New Year, new you" mentality, or realizing that this year is the last year in my 20's. Or maybe it's thinking about Easter and the resurrection and the impact of what Christ did for me: I have a new life because Jesus Christ died for my sins, rose from the dead, reigns as Lord, and poured his spirit in me so that I'm continually becoming like Christ.

I guess that it's in this spirit of change and newness that I would like to acknowledge that I've committed myself to take care of this body that God gave me. And like anything else in life I just need to prioritize my schedule to make physical maintenance on par with the mental and spiritual. An old proverb states that "all things are difficult before they are easy." I want to get to the point where the idea of incorporating exercise and training into a routine becomes easy, like "making time" to take a shower or brush my teeth. Those things are a non-negotiable for me; exercise and proper nutrition ought to be a given as well.

So, bottom line: 45 minutes on the treadmill, 3 miles, 250-300calories burned=reborn. 2 days down, 28 more to go.

09 April 2009--The Ghosts of a Story

I think I sort of view my characters as those ghosts in Ghost Town. Rick Gervais is the only one who can see or hear these ghosts, so they take advantage of that by clamoring to him so that he may be able to take care of their unfinished business, and they can go to their final rest. Funny movie, by the way.

Now that I've finally begun to truly write, it's as if I have all these people talking to me and I'm trying to write down all these images and words that they give me as fast as I can Unfortunately, I don't know where these snippets are going. I don't know which character goes with which story and what unfinished business they have that I need to fix (or facilitate in the fixing). What's worse is I don't know if any of this storytelling is related to the one I'm working on. I'm just trying to get all those voices out and on paper, so at least they can breathe a little bit, and in doing so, I hope to be able to follow the one voice that I so desperately want to, and be able to finish her story, since it's the most compelling (to me, of course). I'm still developing the discipline of sitting down with the one project and developing those characters and rounding out their roles and where they will fit in my current project.

I woke up this morning thinking of her and her name and how it's all starting to fit together. I had the fleeting thought of trying to figure out the opening pages of the book, and then realized I benefitted more with knowing about the last half of the book before the first half. I have a sketch of the second half, but it's still so very rough. It really is at the point where it needs to be thrown into the computer, and then cull whatever is not in lines with the universe I've created. The cullings will of course exist somewhere. I think I'll make a file folder or bulletin board with them "pinned" on. Pin. That reminds me of that movie agent in the movie, Bolt.

I still have homework to do tonight. I have left her family a mystery to her, and I realize that as the maniacal god of this universe, I should at least know about her family. I find that at times it's hard to separate being in close connection with that character and directing the action. Again, something I'm learning. Yay for me and all my learnings.

08 April 2009--Journaling, or the Importance of Capturing the Now

I think the act of journaling allows snippets of experiences to take a breather and lay dormant in the experiencer's subconscious, waiting to be fitted into or filtered out of, the conscious life. The snippets that have become incorporated will take their place (however small) in the centralized "life's mission statement or philosophy." This hard-wiring may take months or years to distill, but the result is no less impactful than the Damascus road experience was for Saul of Tarsus. These little snippets still have the impact to change one's philosophy, hard-wiring, and/or views of the world. And I feel like I get inspiration from rereading how these little snippets have impacted my life years ago, and see how it changed me in the moment of the happening, and I also get that thrill of seeing where I am now, and see if that snippet really was as life changing as I hoped it would be. At the very least, rereading some of my journals, as I did this morning, I was very much inspired by what I read to pursue writing even more. I felt an even closer tie to the old me because I know that at the present, I am closer now more than ever to my goal of writing.
Snippets to me are those names, quotations, music, memory, random research, any of those fleeting things that have no relevance to the real world or to life-as-I-know-it-now, but strike an internal chord of sympathy or empathy to the subject matter. Most of the time, I just think it's intriguing and just needs to be captured, and then not thought about again. For, to me, they are more useful after they have found their meaning in my life in my own way in my own time.
I wonder sometimes that being in such a social workplace has helped me to bridge the gap between external and internal worlds; or maybe, just helped me to observe social interactions and envision people in their "everyday" and not just their "special occasion" face.
I also think that's why I have such a hard time with blogs. My first tactile (and therefore comforting) expression has always been writing, pen to paper (versus drawing, music, dance, etc). I'm still part of the scribbler generation, and have come to terms with my messiness and incoherence--broken free of the staid and constrained ways of thinking that expresses itself in really neat handwriting. What first started as small, whispered, scurried thoughts are now huge scratches along the page of my current notebook/pad/palimpsest where I can barely read my own writing. Oh, and arrows. Lots of arrows drawn in and around the page. I guess what I'm trying to say is that as I've become more aware of myself and my need and right to express myself (which would be through writing/journaling), the writing itself has become more free and easy and relaxed. I've recognized that I can be casual with myself and how I treat my thoughts and not be so formal in the words that I choose, not be so guarded. Who is going to chide me for thinking my own thoughts in my own journal anyway? I know I can be my worst critic, but that's mainly for things I do or should have done better, and not for the actual expression of thought. And I think that obstacle, and the recognition and removal of it, has opened up my creativity even more so that I have been able to transition between journaling and describing and dreaming to really working on my writing and move to the place where I am comfortable with dictating the lives of characters and write a novel.
But, I've discovered another obstacle in my resurging desire to whip myself back into shape and develop the discipline to sit in front of my computer and write: I get creativity blocks in which the primordial soup of not quite formed thoughts cannot find shape, life or breath onto the computer screen. Which is why I've decided to renew my blogging presence. For practice.
So, I have made peace with my computer, and therefore blogging, in this way: that I will continue to scribble on my preferred writing receptacle of the moment, and then transcribe it to a blog form whenever I feel like it. This process will hopefully be the baby steps that I need to bridge the gap of creativity between the mind and computer. Ideally, I will be able to write and develop ideas on the computer, too, so as to centralize all of the rabbit trails that my mind, and therefore characters and plot, eventually rambles upon.
Plus, it appeals to my need for duplicates or triplicates. I don't know where that anxiety comes from, which could probably be a post all on its own. I'm sure it's rooted in my childhood somewhere, a sense of loss or rootlessness because we moved so frequently, that I had to create these soothing mechanisms so that I'll know that I've left an impression somewhere and that I have a piece of the moment with me and a piece of me in the moment. But that's just a knee-jerk observation. I could be totally off-base.

07 April 2009--Mark's 32nd Birthday!

What a beautiful day God gave to Mark for his birthday!

We still have lots to do, but we've already cut his birthday cake so that we can eat it throughout the day. For the rest of the day, we've planned on going to IHOP for biscuits and gravy, and have a Pizza King dinner. All the basic things for a growing boy!

We will also have a movie marathon somewhere in there, just so we have something to watch while we stuff our face with heart-stopping food. No worries, though. We plan on unearthing our treadmill (finally!) and having a little workout setup either in one of our spare rooms or the basement. But, that sort of thing we'll do tomorrow, because today is Mark's birthday, and he has deemed that he doesn't have to work at all during his birthday, and I am in whole-hearted support! Yay for birthdays!

06 Apri 2009--Rainy days

I love days like this. Being able to be at home and have a reason to be lazy. The thing is, I don't even feel like I am lazy. Working all the time with no regular schedule and varying work shifts, I feel that my body physically needs these planned convalescences. And so it is, that I was able to spend such a relaxing yet productive day with Mark, on the eve of his birthday. I like that I've been able to wait on him and give him some pampering and attention (on his terms, as I've discovered that his version of being spoiled and pampered differs from mine). Right now, we're recovering from a "dinner" of junk food and soda, and I just put a marble fudge swirl cake in the oven so that tomorrow, on his actual birthday, he'll have a day's supply of cake throughout the entire day. No waiting necessary.
The one thing I hate is the gnawing feeling that I can't shake from the back of my mind; the one that wonders if the store is okay and if I set my store team up for success. I hate that kind of worry, especially because it is so needless. Of course, I want to be able to run a successful business, and I want to work to the best of my ability. But, at the end of the day, as long as the store is physically standing, and all the employees are alive and well, my worry is very much extraneous. In fact, it's awfully self-centered of me to have to worry, especially since the business model of this store is basically set up as a turnkey operation: insert any other leadership member, and the business runs itself. But, I guess that's the price of being a store manager for someone like me. I am overburdened with a healthy portion of responsibility, accountability and guilt. I blame my parents.
So, at least I've acknowledged my unhealthy attachment to my work. Now, I need to balance that out with my real life--to be present with my husband, who's birthday it will officially be in less than a minute.

05 April 2009--Are you listening?

I was reminded today at church that God uses imperfect people to fulfill his plan and bring glory to himself. I've heard this over and over again. But what I don't hear on a regular basis is the continuation of that logic. Why does God choose us? If he can use anyone, why us, and why in this way? Thanks to Elijah, God has given me an example that I can carry with me as a reminder throughout my life.
As 1 Kings 18 shows us, God listens to us. He hears all of our cries, big and small, and answers appropriately. With the backdrop of "Who's the God?" with Baal prophets on one side (450-850 strong) and Elijah on the other side, a contest of wills plays out where the goal is to simply find out who is God, and in the knowing, why don't we follow him? After a whole day of the Baal prophets beseeching gods that don't exist, goaded by Elijah's sarcastic comments and needling, by the way, the prophets had to concede that their sacrifice was not being acknowledged, and needed to swallow the full ramifications of what that might mean. More so, what it would mean if Elijah's sacrifice was accepted.
Well, after a full day of sarcasm streaming from Elijah (among my favorites: "maybe he's asleep, and needs to be awaked"), he asks the people to come near him, repairing the altar of the Lord that was broken (imagine the implications loaded into that simple phrase?). He then prepares his sacrifice to the Lord, the full details being in verses 31-35. And then, Elijah prays that the Lord will hear him because he is the Lord's servant.
I can just imagine the kind of buildup that Elijah was giving at this point in the evening. He had been teasing and deriding the prophets all day, pointing out the fact that their "gods" weren't listening, because those gods simply didn't exist. Right now, he must be feeling like he better bring all the big words he was slinging. And I'm not criticizing Elijah's insecurities. I think I like him better because of them. I liked seeing that Elijah was selfish and insecure. It made him real to me today like he never was before when I'd read and studied this passage in the past. Before he was holy and righteous, true, and was God's vessel, and of course, God would answer him. This rereading, though, Elijah is still God's vessel, but I see his selfishness and insecurities and God answers his prayer anyway--with an all-consuming fire that leaves no doubt about who the true God is. All of these actions show that God is listening. But then, I've also understood this as a given. The real lesson for me comes next.
In the next chapter, it talks about the next piece of the loop: am I listening? I never realized the significance of Elijah running to the king's palace, seeing that Ahab and Jezebel's regime was still in place, proceeds to run for his life south toward Horeb. I didn't realize that he would have felt disappointed, disillusioned and alone even after such great miracles as he had seen and experienced. So, after 40 days of wandering, he found himself at Mt. Horeb, ready to hide out in a cave for the rest of his life, because he was over it all, and ready to quit. Of course, God wasn't finished with him.
God followed him into that cave, and asked why he was there. Elijah's response? He was tired of seeing all the injustices of the world, and how people like Ahab and Jezebel are still in power, and are unaffected by anything, but God's people are left to be picked off and killed. I can sympathize with him on that one, given today's social and political climate. He was tired and lonely, and was done. God's answer? "Come here."
What a great phrase. My favorite image is that of a parent with a child who tells that child to "come here" not because the parent thinks that the child can't hear him/her if the child is more than two feet away, but because the parent wants the child to truly listen and understand the important things that he/she wants to tell that child. Likewise, there needs to be a sense of attention and submission to God's authority.
So, at this point, God told Elijah to stand before the Lord, because the Lord will pass by. Interestingly, Elijah stays in the cave through wind, earthquake and fire. But, when he heard that still, small voice, Elijah went out. He didn't feel God's presence until he heard that still small voice. (Again, I can only imagine the kind of implications loaded in that popular verse that can speak volumes about authority and leadership alone.)
God asks him the same question as before, and Elijah answered as before, except this time, Elijah was ready to listen to God's response. Now, God can tell him that Elijah's not done yet and needs to anoint kings to execute the judgment that was necessary, and anoint Elisha, Elijah's successor. Even though Elijah felt alone, he really wasn't. God needed to show him that he had protected a remnant of 7000 whose faith never wavered. Elijah ran away, went into a cave, but God pursued him. Even with other people that he could have used, God went after Elijah. Even though it may have been easier to start from scratch, he went after Elijah. I know that I would have given up on Elijah (how often do I want to do that with peope in my own life?).
God can shake up the world to show his power, but he's not after a shaken up world. He is after our heart condition. He wants us to listen so that he can lead us, encourage us, enlighten us, and yes, sometimes, maybe even many times, rebuke us. But through it all, he wants us to listen so that we know that he loves us still. This is the glory of God.

02 April 2009--My Life's Playlist

Considering how much I hate being in touch with emotions and have a hard time expressing them, i find it rather hilarious that I am most inspired by emo music as a stimulant to writing. I don't know half of the songs that play when I write, I just know that Dashboard Confessional plays prominently in my playlist (well, it kind of has to, since that's the station to which I set my Pandora Internet radio).
On another note, Lahiri continues to astound me with her command of prose. Her writing is both inspiring and intimidating. It's almost like she is writing the story of my life, but at the same time, after reading some of her stories, I am overwhelmed with the feeling that anything that I can contribute to the writing world would be like trying to build a cathedral with popsicle sticks, in the shadow of Notre Dame (or whichever architecture fills you with awe).
It definitely makes it harder to focus on my writing, being distracted with maor feelings of inferiority. But, I keep telling myself that my concern is only about my writing, my world, and not how it will compare to other people's.

01 April 2009--April Fool's Day!

Well, this morning didn't turn out as well as I would have hoped. First of all, I was still on the couch, which was disorienting in and of itself. And then I realized that I stayed there because I was feeling a bit queasy/nauseated last night, which was odd, since I couldn't recall eating anything for dinner, until I remembered my unholy craving for Taco Bell in the afternoon, and the really long day of no sleep. All these factors, I think, led to my general feelings of wanting to slither into a hole and die. The only thing stopping me, though, was my greater physiological need for coffee. Everything else can wait, including impending death, until I had that ohso important first cup. After setting the coffeemaker, and ensuring that it made the proper sounds, I finished my morning ablutions, and after perfecting my cup of coffee (too much sugar, so I needed to keep sipping room out of my cup so I could slowly siphon more coffee into it to balance it out), I ended up staring out of my living room's picture window for the next hour. I couldn't focus on anything this morning. My whole world revolved around my rumbly tumbly and what I could do to make it feel better. So, no reading or writing for me today. I did have a little bit of fun updating my facebook status to say that I was pregnant. I didn't think anyone would have taken it seriously, but within 5 minutes, I got a flurry of comments on that status, ranging from hilarity to little disappointments. Oh well. I think next year, I should mention that I need to sell my home or something.
Tomorrow, I will endeavor to feel better so that I can be more productive, literary wise. After all, that is my goal in life, not my current day job.