Slow But Sure

It's 7 am, I'm working through my first cup of coffee and trying to get my brain back into "on" mode. My writing has been going very well lately, I spend every day from 9am (when my husband leaves for work) to 2:30pm (when I leave for work) writing. I apply to at least 2-3 freelance jobs everyday, submit at least one short story or query letter, and get about 1,000 words on my second novel. I'm 10,000 words in and going relatively strong. I have stayed on with my company in a very part time, very non-committal way, and may be phasing that out to tutor Korean executives in English (also very part time). I only wish that I could somehow slow the passage of time, turn things back so that this perfect period of writing and making headway could last longer. I fear change, the dying of the muse, whatever the trigger that slows the creative flow. But it's not here yet, so no time can be wasted...

Back to the Grind

Well I returned to work about a week ago after taking a leave of absence to finish up my degree. It's been a lurid combination of invigoration and exhaustion punctuated by a revolving door of coffee mugs and alarm clocks. But all in all it's good to be back, sort of... I decided to make some changes at work and do a floating position, at least temporarily. Which means instead of spending my days in Ann Arbor, I'm frantically driving all over the state to "assist" needy centers. My staff is not happy with me, but they understand that my priorities have been changing lately and writing is taking a front seat in my life, which puts my company in the back, or the passenger seat at least. It is not an easy adjustment, leaving my consultants and working with people that I've never met, but I view every new person as material, what an interesting character she was etc.. I am also trying to make progress towards the MFA situation. The biggest challenge that I find is slowing down life long enough to do a bit of it all, it's so easy to get caught up in the mundane and forgot that changing the cat litter really is not a priority today, well maybe it is...

Back to Writing

Classes have closed for the summer, the play-hard fourth of July weekend has come and gone, and it is now time to dive back into my book. Easier said than done I've realized as other forces fight to consume my time. Like reading for instance, every time I finish a book, I make this ridiculous self declaration that I'm not starting another, no, I must spend all of my extra time writing. Then I wander across some mysterious title promising at least two days worth of intrigue and I'm off the wagon, yet again. So I finished "The God of Small Things," wonderful by the way, and I'm off books for at least a week, or at least until the weekend, we'll see. 

Finishing Up

I am currently taking a few summer classes to finalize my psych degree, which has been about 95% finished for two years. Soon 100% completion will no longer elude me. However, this time I had hoped would leave ample space for creative writing has been crammed with papers, exams, and long winded discussions about mad poets who commit suicide. Not that these things are not interesting, but the challenge lies in overcoming your current reality vs. your previous expectation. I had fully intended to end June with novel revisions complete and at least ten query letters circulating. I have 100 pages of revisions left and haven't even researched agents, let alone, queried them. I have managed a few short stories and a single article, but somehow the hours slip away, unnoticed as I slowly plodder thru stacks of to-do's that manage to leap to tomorrow's list before the day is out.

Oh Joyous Summer

There is no feeling quite like a Michigan summer day. The sun seeps down and delves through your skin into bones turned brittle, by five long months of winter. Smiles come back, road rage subsides, and the lake glints like glass, harnessing a clear blue sky. I am eternally thankful for summer. But on to topics of significance, my revisions have stalled in lieu of masters program preparation. I am currently assembling transcripts, letters of recommendation, and writing samples to ship off for consideration. I have teetered on the MFA fence for some time now and after a long discussion with my husband, have decided to take the plunge. With that and my job, time for my book has dwindled to maybe a couple of hours a week. However, there is not time even to fret, for every second that passes thinking about "not working on my book," I'm Not working on my book. So that is it for now, I would like to continue, but again the clock is ticking...  

Writing Prompts

Well I have been in novel revision hysteria lately, so I took this morning to escape the pages of red ink and grammatical errors and do writing prompts instead. I often forget how wonderfully insightful writing prompts truly are. You escape from your typical subject and genre and simply write. Whether it be in reaction to a quote or a character or a plate broken on the floor, any image can conjure a whole novel of life that exists in your mind. Sometimes as I "novel" write, I get bogged down by the obstacles of audience, and publishing, and commercial value. But just writing, writing at random feels so good that I am instantly reminded why I must be a writer. Whether I am a financial success or I simply cling to a stack of unpublished manuscripts and tattered journals, I really do not care (well I care a little), but the true reality is that few things bring me joy and fulfillment the way that writing does. And I am so happy and thankful for that. Because although many of our childhood fantasies about being whom-ever and whatever we want to be often vanish in the night, doing what you love does not go away. Perhaps the eternal optimism that it will be a career gets tarnished, but the actually doing it, never does. 

The Great Escape

Well I've done just what I said I would not do and disappeared from the blogging world for a full month. But I am back full force and I will not claim any consistency here because, quite frankly, I am not consistent. But I am here today because I have decided to make writing the full time aspect of my life and put away the nine to five for now. Mu husband and I are getting out. We have set a deadline for June 30th and we have begun the winded process of wrapping up the life that we have created. We are saying goodbye to the two hour commutes, the stiff suits and itchy nylons, the migraine inducing bureaucracy, the flashy apartment, and most of all the Corporate consumption of our lives. I undulate between raw excitement and total fear. Knowing that the fear is the illogical reaction completely induced by societal expectations. By what my mother thinks I should be, my girlfriends, even my facebook profile. And the culmination of those forces and this insane desire to be pleasing and admired has sent us down a rabbit hole of misery, vainly seeking the so-called American Dream that simply constitutes bombarding you with enough electronic gadgets and visual stimuli to distract you from the life missing from your life. So we are packing up, we are selling our furniture, our car, most of our clothes and we are moving to an island up north. We've set aside enough to live on for the summer and then it will be part time jobs and full time life, not vice versa.