November's Come and Gone

Well it has not completely gone, but just about. Amazing how quickly time passes. I could have sworn I had just updated this, only to realize that it has been a month. Anyhow, it's been a very busy month. I've passed the 30,000 word mark on my book and I'm "in it." I say that because I don't know how else to describe the free flow of thought that is sometimes there and sometimes not. Right now I am without any form of writing block; however, I am rather short on time. Between the nature association, classes, and my articles I feel constantly pulled away from my book. Not to mention, I've been sicker than a dog. I just got over a cold/sinus/chronic headache thing that lasted a week and left me feeling like roadkill. My husband and I have also been spending a lot of time with his uncle who is a third generation candy maker. I've learned how to make hand made candy canes which is pretty amazing. Okay I'm rambling here which is not productive, I'll return when I'm not so distracted.  

The Fall of Fall

Right now it is in the low 40's, the trees have done their collective upheaval, and the ground is covered in a layer of bone crushing frost that means starting the car, wearing a coat, and no more sandals. Fall comes and goes more quickly than any other season for me. As soon as we pause to look at the fall colors they've turned brown and crinkly and are laying on the cold hard ground of winter. But!!! Yes - there is a but, winter/fall is such a great time to write. It is the time when writing feels like the images in my head of writing appear. Fire places, hot coffee and tea, fuzzy slippers, dim lighting, oh and a laptop or notebook. It may be ridiculous that I cling to these fairy tale ideas of writing bliss, but they affect me in the same way that Christmas lights and snow laden branches do, like I'm a kid embarking on another joy filled holiday season. I specify kid because the adult holiday season is something else all together. Mangled carts thrust through 5 am store buster door ways, the psychotic rush for furbies or elmos, cooking dinner for nineteen people, overloading one side of the Christmas tree with ornaments and having it fall on you, shopping, overeating, more shopping, and then the shriek of horror at the balance on one's bank account come January 1st. This is a hypothetical holiday, I am not one of these shopping fiends. In fact, I avoid the grocery store during the months of November and December. I would rather haul out three year old baked beans and rotini noodles than face the grocery store mob clawing their way to the last jar of cranberry sauce. Really though, writing right now, in this moment, is made better because there is a fire burning behind me and I am wearing my husband's giant wool socks. This year I am thankful for that. 

Coffee is Key

It is, coffee I mean. I have to have it. Not just because it gives me that much needed energy jolt, but because it improves my entire day. I am instantly at ease knowing that I have a steaming mug of black coffee sitting beside me at the computer. No need to get up, no worry of other distractions, I have my coffee. I am 22,000 words into my current novel and really enjoying where it is headed right now. The first novel is in purgatory, I may have to absolve some of my writing sins before it can be liberated to publisher's heaven, but hey no biggie, it's done right? I'm having one of these days where my preference is to write about personal things, but i try as much as possible to avoid that here. This is not my journal, it is my median for exercising my writing demons. Which means even if I want to wax on about my husband's stressful job I need to, instead, turn my thoughts towards grammatical complications and mouses that dive around the computer like kamikaze pilots. I have published a story at the Providence Foundation. It does not pay, but it still feels like a great way to get your work out there. Something about seeing it posted on any site, but your own is satisfying. This past weekend we removed the docks at the Island (this is what we call our cottage in northern Michigan). This process is like driving home from summer camp. I wave goodbye to yet another season of warmth and water and bliss to return to pavement, smog and suburbia. My husband often talks about how much more productive we'd be if we lived in a warmer climate. Is this really true? Do people in Florida and Arizona accomplish more than us Michiganders? I'd like to vehemently disagree with this claim, but I have to say it has some merit. I mean, during the winter I am always just one blink away from hibernation. I am attracted with a magnetic power towards anything warm, fuzzy and lazy. I would probably curl up with big foot if I thought he'd make a nice pillow. My days shrink from 12 hours to about 8 hours. I avoid showers or any instance where I am wet and stepping into a room that's 30 degrees. But how about these sun bathers then? Do they fling themselves from the covers every day with a smile on their face just because it's light out? Do they skip to their Volvo's, their shiny shoes tapping, and whistle while they drive to work? I sort of doubt it. In fact, I bet they think "if we just had some damn seasons, we might be able to get stuff done around here." How can I do spring cleaning without any spring? The truth is as much as I love the sun and summer and light at 8pm, I love Michigan too. In some sick weird masochistic relationship, Michigan is like my abusive lover. That's probably a really non PC analogy. Okay Michigan is like my deranged narcissistic cat that I try to snuggle with anyway. Does that one work?

Has it really been a month?

Wow time flies when you're swamped. Mostly I'm writing, well and taking classes and tutoring Korean executives at 5 am each morning. I recently read the Twilight series which was phenomenal. I often shy away from young adult series, but I was wrapped in from page one. Which somewhat problematically got me on the track of wanting to start a young adult novel and put my current thriller on hold. I'm still up in the air for the most part. My finished novel is currently collecting dust, I haven't been querying agents because I can't seem to find the time, but I am writing articles. Not to mention that I'm swamped with press releases and guidebook synopsis for the Nature Association. Does this sound like complaining? It's not I swear, I love every minute of every day that my hands are on this key board. I'm just distracted I guess. I have three other windows open and I'm trying to write a query letter to a magazine. Okay that will have to do for now.

I Wish for a 30 Hour Day

Life has come back full force. I am in classes, working on the second novel, sending out queries for the first, writing freelance articles, preparing to begin a journalism internship, and working a part time job ( oh and recently beginning to sell books on amazon). The day flies by in a flurry of words on the page, races to class, and an occasional sigh of overwhelming distress as I add another task to the list. But ya know what? It's fantastic. I am finally doing what I love. I am not getting up and shuffling in to a job that I'm unhappy with day after day. Instead I am writing and reading and analyzing. I find time to journal when I take the bank deposit for my part time job. In my previous life as a full time career woman I was lucky to get 500 words of anything done a day (reading or writing) now 500 words passes in about twenty minutes. There is no limit to my thankfullness for finally finding myself in this place.

Brain Freeze

This is me struggling to get back into the game. I've been gone for a week in Vegas and a week in Vegas is more like a year on another planet. The real world disappears in a haze of free drinks, flashing lights, and glittery outfits meant to distract the eye and the mind. My writing has stalled and though I've been back for four days, this is the first actual writing that I've done in almost two weeks. I hate when I get in a groove and then life pulls me elsewhere. Now instead of hopping up at 6am for coffee, I'm hitting the snooze button, four - five- six times. But hey no complaints, I'm here right now, the words are on the page. Next week begins school again, more distractions, but these ones are relevant to my writing life, so that's just fine with me.

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...