EW

Ramblings on writing, crafting and life.

It’s been a hell of a week. Lot’s of little niggling things going wrong, adding into one big stressful mess. It’s at times like these that my world view becomes obsessively narrow. I seem to fixate on all the bad things that are occurring, till they overshadow everything else that’s going on. All I can see is the past due bills, the low bank balance, the broken plumbing, etc etc. I miss the baby chasing after her older brother arms outstretched calling his name like he’s Elvis, and hugging and kissing his shirt every time he stops. Or the oldest, helping the baby up onto the couch and hugging her when a Halloween commercial on the tv is deemed “scareeeee”. Or my lil man, dancing like a crazed monkey jumping and stomping his way across the wooden floor at Oktoberfest, and running back to me every two to three minutes just to be hugged and held a moment, before taking off at breakneck speed back out onto the floor.

These moment, while blending into the mundane roll of a domestic life are the equivalent of mini-miracles. A perfect moment in time where something so simple, so unexpected brings you joy. It is my utter failure that they are frequently obliterated by worry. Much like not seeing the forest for the trees, I don’t see my blessings for my fears. It seems such a simple thought, but I always lose it. When I approach the world from an aspect of gratitude, the fear doesn’t win. It’s how I stopped needing regular medication for panic attacks, it’s how i’ve approached almost every major obstacle in my life for the past several years. And it works. And I never fail to forget it when I’m deep in the drama of whatever my current crisis is. If I can still myself long enough to shift my perceptual point, from that place where everything is absolutely horrible, to the place where I am so very lucky to have the life I do, then I can usually manage to pull myself up and out.

It is this shift in perceptual residency that I find fascinating. I am a firm believer in the theory that we alter our world through our thoughts and perceptions, perhaps even create it. I first came across the entire concept as a mode of behavior in Carlos Castenada’s work. The basic concept being a persons perception of the world resides at a point in space/time. Given the existence of an endless number of points in said plane, it should be theoretically possible to shift one’s perceptual residency to another point in that place, thereby totally altering ones experience of reality. For example, in my case, I shift my perception from a place of “Everything’s a disaster because of this and this and this.” To….”I am so incredibly lucky to have the three amazing children I do, to be allowed to love them and raise them and be a part of their lives” That one little shift in focus, changes my entire world from something bleak and lackluster, to a place fraught with possibilities and potential. Now…I’m not saying this shift is an easy one to make. Initially it was right up there on the difficulty scale with giving yourself a root canal. But, like most things, it gets easier with practice. Till now, when i focus it’s a fairly simple thing to capture that point and stick to it. Like worn spots in an old carpet that help you get the couch back where it belongs after a thorough vacuuming, your brain gets used to the new position till the thought pattern becomes an easily recognizable one.

I started thinking recently, that these kinds of shifts, might be vital. At least for me. Deliberately taking myself out of familiar thought patterns and world views and placing myself somewhere essentially alien, fires my creativity in a very basic and visceral kind of way. I had this illustrated while reading Elie Wiesel’s Night. If you haven’t read this. Go. Now. Buy. Read.

Night is Wiesel’s narrative of his time in the German concentration camps. I’m about halfway through at this point. And I have to admit, I need to read it in fairly small doses, or risk emotional overload. It’s horrifying. And Wiesel’s writing is brilliant in its immediacy. He is honest in his agony and you are right there with him as he is broken by an unimaginable man made evil. I come away from each reading forcibly reminded that my world view is terribly narrow. That there are so many more experiences and lives and points of view than I can ever hope to conceive of, that it makes mine much more fluid. And so much less important, not in a negating way. But more along the lines of the single grain of sand on a the immense beach way.

Well, I finally get to a good spot with the book, and what happens but life gets kinda crazed. Too much to do, too little time. Too much stress, too little sleep. Well, you get the idea. I keep thinking there must be some method I’m missing for making space for this book. Some secret of life that I haven’t gotten yet, that might help me finish this first draft already.

Tossing it out into the virtual ethers….

Well…I finally moved on to Chapter 14. The still smoking carcass of 13 trailing behind me as I trudge into the fresh space of 14. Plot wise things are rolling again, it is a happy spot. I’m trying to relish it while I can. The next couple of chapters are big ones, fast paced and action-y. I always have fun with that.

Give me a good round of vicious fighting, tension, suspense, and I’m good to go. I decided to just skip the dithering, and get to it. Notes..no notes. I will get to them when I’m motivated in that direction. Otherwise I just find myself putting off the urge to actually write, in lieu of making notes that I’m not actually doing. Kind of ridiculous.

Off to watch the last five minutes of Sleepless in Seattle. (yes yes..Meg Ryan movies are a guilty pleasure of mine, along with really dark chocolate, good, freshly ground coffee, Sundays in bed and grey rainy days spent with books and soft blankets)

I found myself able to grab a single hour to myself today. And I spent it in my usual manner, wandering the aisles of Barnes and Noble alternately drooling covetously over the dozens…nee hundreds…of books I wanted to drag home with me, like so many literary orphans, and wishing that was my book sitting there on that shelf waiting to be dragged home and loved by some other reader. Then back home again, with every good intention of stealing a solid hour for working on the book tonight. Only to find the evening gone, along with my energy and attention span – as is usually the case.

I refused to go to bed until I had written something…ANYTHING…and after a long spell of staring numb at the blinking cursor. I wrote a poem. A poem? I confess I am at a loss. I love a good poem. To read. I’ve never been much for the writing of them. I wrote a great many song lyrics when I was singing. But…I dont really consider the verse of a song the same as poetry. Maybe thats just an excuse. Who knows. So I am left to wonder…is this poem a result of hormonal/emotional fluctuations. Much like all that teenage angsty writing I indulged in so fervently. Or did I tap something in my desperation to write that anything? And more importantly, does it matter? As poems go, I am fairly certain it sucks. Badly. I think it is why I avoid poetry attempts. I am really quite bad at them. My prose, at least, seems to come out with a bit of color and meaning to it. My poetry (what there has been of it) has always seemed a Frankenstein of mismatched pretentions to literary-ness. Ugly and disjointed in its hamfisted attempts at subtle meaning. Among my list of numerous flaws is the apparent inability to be subtle. I would much rather just whack you over the head with my intentions thank you very much.

Anyhow, my skin needs thickening. And a little humility never hurt anyone..right? So here it is:

The ease of misery

defining each step…

Marching in place

to that inner dirge that rides my pain.

And razes the day

Athena sprung forth from my failure.

Girded with my wasted thoughts.

Armed with regret.

Laying siege to the dream.

I am barren.

Well so much for daily posting, but rather than flagellate myself for that particular laxity – Ill skip straight to the grousing portion of this adventure. Its been a rough coupld of weeks, writing-wise, personally, all the way round. Meh, it happens right? Today was supposed to be Liz Liberation day! Two breaks…could you swoon? The last night Middle Child is up on and off all night trying to climb into our bed with bad dreams, and he had gone to bed complaining of a sore throat and saying his stomach felt “weird”. Well I listened to my mom radar and put the bucket by his bed (better safe than changing sheets at 4 in the morning). Well sure enough he has a temp this morning. Not bad- just in the high 99s. But sufficient to keep him home today. So no Birthday party in the park..no trip to grandmas. And sadly, no Mom break. This minor inconvenience, really is just that..minor. But it is one in a seeming string of hundreds, that when strung together span the two year life of this novel. And I have to ask myself…other mothers write, and complete things, even around sick kids, and diapers, and two year olds spaghetti dinners (dont ask). Why then, does this seem insurmountable to me at times? More importantly, when is the Universe going to get a grip and realize that my creative genius needs smooth untroubled waters in which to sail free . (Yes, I almost snorted coffee out my nose at that one. Painful. Messy.)

I have a friend, who writes for a living. We went to college together (before I decided Vassar wasn t going to teach me what I needed in my life – ahhh the arrogance that can only be acheived by a 19 year old) and we had lost touch for years. I finally found him through the Alum pages. And we have been doing the email thing. When I mentioned being halfway through my first novel. His reponse was, (and I paraphrase) You have a 22 month old, and you expect to write a novel? What is your secret. Truthfully, I had not thought of it that way. I just operate under the ignorance is bliss theory. If I believe I can do it, then I can. Regardless of those inconvenient bits of reality that keep cropping up. Unfortunately, after two years and only half a book later… I fear the blinders are off and Im beset by doubt. Maybe this is just part of the deal? Some kind of writers trial by fire. The dragon you must slay before you can reach the castle and rescue your book from the perilous cliffs of death!

Then again…maybe I just need more coffee.

But apparently as I’ve been told, I can no more write small, than I can cook small. Perhaps it’s a genetic issue. Perhaps I’m just fond of hearing myself toss the prose about. But either way, this had started as a themed short story for a writing group. I , of course, missed the deadline, and thought I’d just post it here. But the damned thing keeps getting more involved. So I guess I’ll just do it in segments. Here goes… (oh btw..the theme was “A man get’s punched in the face”)

    He pissed me off, so I punched him in the face. In his nose to be precise. I probably shouldn’t have taken QUITE so much pleasure in the dull crunch, or the sudden flow of blood as it broke. What can I say. It’s the little things.

“Jesus, Franklin…”my partner, Joel sighed and shook his head, glaring down at me from his lofty 6 foot four inches , “Did ya haveta break it?” He had the weasel, Lil Sam, dangling by his arm blubbering and cupping his hands to his face. I really couldn’t be blamed for the comparison. His thinning dull grey hair had been combed over a shiny, oddly shaped skull. His face was narrow and pinched, and his eyes were small and constantly shifting. He looked…rodent-like.

    “He’s lucky I didn’t pull what passes for his brain out his nostril while I was at it.” My voice was a low growl, but I toed the warn carpet with my boot. I’d most likely queered our deal irrevocably. All for a hand on my ass – I knew better. We needed the money this gig would have gotten us. As slimy as Sammy was, guarding him for a couple of hours would have still paid the electric bill, and several other bills for that matter. I watched Joel shake Sammy till the smaller mans eyes bulged, and he stopped most of his blubbering. It didn’t seem likely that he’d want me watching his back now.

    I looked up into Joel’s wide, brown eyes, and felt like a total heel. He had Maddy and the baby to think of now, and here I was letting my ego screw us out of our first job in a month. I sighed, and swallowed the giant, acidic lump that was my pride and bent to stick my face closer to Sammy’s. Speaking up so my half-broken voice could be heard over his wet snuffling. “I’m sorry, Sammy….I …Overreacted.” I couldn’t help adding, “But I did ask you…three times…to move your hand off my ass…” I slanted a glance up at Joel , only to find he had his eyes closed, that long suffering expression on his face.

    “Sammy?”I leaned in a bit closer, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard me over his own wet snuffling, when he jerked in Joel’s grip suddenly, kicking out at me and screaming.

    “You broke my nose you bitch!” Joel shook him a bit more forcefully this time. I swore I could hear molars rattling. Sammy the weasel settled back down into a pathetic series of whimpering mumbles.

    I had easily avoided his flailing, and Sammy had lost the benefit of Joel’s sympathy. At this point any leverage was better than none. I bent back down, elbows resting on my knees hands dangling limply in front of me….See me..I’m harmless…A tiny woman..couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s a guise I had worked hard to perfect.

    “Sammy….we all know that you came to us last. You’ve been through every “Big Boy” Agency in town already, and every single one of them turned you down.”

    “We were your last shot before you had to turn to some outta town talent.” I kept my voice low, there was still a chance to diffuse this thing. We were private, in the front rooms of what served as our offices. No one had been witness to my thumping Sammy, so his balls wouldn’t be in a twist to prove his manhood. If I could just manage Diplomatic for a few minutes..I might pull this out of the trash. I didn’t wait for acknowledgement, just kept chipping away.

    “You know any outta town boys you hire are gonna be at least twice what we’d charge. And you wouldn’t have time to check them out. Not thoroughly anyhow. You know us, Sammy….our rep is good.” There was a low muttering jolt from the weasel, and he lifted his head to meet my steady gaze with his beady eyes.

    “I want a discount.” Which actually sounded more like I wunnadiischcow…but I got the idea. He shook himself free of Joel’s grip and barely avoided landing on his ass in front of me. I rose fluidly, offering him a hand. I saw him consider batting it away for a brief second, then shooting a glance up at the bulk of the man behind him, took it instead with muttered thanks.

    Once standing he smoothed his cracked leather duster, then his hair, spitting a gob of bloody mucous on our carpet. Lovely. The guy was a class act. But…I was learning about picking my battles, so I didn’t even bristle.

“5% less.” The gravelly rumble of Joel’s basso, startled the weasel and he jumped, turning to face my , till now, silent partner.

“25%” Countered Sammy. I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stuff his 25%, but one look from Joel had me zipping shut again. Fine..he was always better at dealing with the clients than I was anyhow.

“10%” Joel chuckled.

“20%”

“15%…final”

    The weasel looked from Joal to me and back again, before shaking his head and grumbling, holding out his thin, pasty hand to Joel and saying “15%…deal”

    They shook on it, and Sammy wrapped his coat back around himself, still holding his red soaked handkerchief to his nose as he warned us to be on time. He skulked out of our offices without a backward glance.

I’d cost us 75 bucks an hour. Me and my stupid temper. But, we still had the job.

        “Mara,” Joel began in that over-calm voice he uses when he’s about to tell me what a moron I am. Thing was – I couldn’t really muster up a defense this time, and we both knew it. “We’re lucky we managed to talk him around at all, you realize that right?”

“I know.” He did that single brow quirk of his and I grumbled “I KNOW…allright. I’ll be on my best behavior tonight.”

    He just snorted as he moved past me toward his office. We both knew that my best behavior was somewhat below sub-par. But we needed this gig, and the connections we might make at the meet. Sammy was scum, and only a bit player, but everyone who was anyone would be at the Palms tonight. And we had an in. Now if I could just manage not to screw it up…

I was sent a link to an ebay auction, for an opened package of gaming cards placed by an obviously harried, and very witty mother. The auction boomed, followed by massive hits to her blog - Because I Said So , all of which ended up with her getting a book deal, tv appearances…very cool stuff for her. The funniest thing – it was my husband who sent me this link. He said it caught his eye because, “She’s you, if we had three more kids.” Now initially, my mind balked at the very idea….three more?!?! Are you freaking insane? Hard on the heels of this was the sharp slap of jealousy. I’m shamed to say that was second, but there you have it. Here I’ve been trudging for almost two years…yes count em..we are approaching the two year mark.  I’ve only hit half way through my first novel, and she puts an auction on Ebay, landing a book deal. Once I was done pitching a mini inner tantrum that would have done my four year old proud. I hit the “WOW! That is so incredibly, damned cool” point.

Good for her!

But really…the point of this post is I’ve been keeping up with her blog. Reading her new adventures as they occur and kind of cheering her along. And I’ve noticed she tends to post every day. So I start to wonder, if she can manage this..with twice the number of short, purveyors of parental insanity grabbing at her…why the hell can’t I? What’s my excuse? I’m tired by the end of the day..sure..of course…but aren’t we all?

I guess I should send her a thank you, for being an inspiration, and an in my face reminder that most of my excuses to not write daily…are just that. Excuses.