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Almost

Today I was deep in my feelings of failure. I’d received another rejection– a very nice one, one that told me how much the editor liked my story and it invited me to submit again to their anthologies.

As soon as I saw the email, I thought to myself: Great, another rejection. I hadn’t even read it yet.

My inner critic came up and attacked me. It’s not an editor– an editor improves your work. The Inner Critic trashes your work and your soul. “Great, I’m still almost good enough. Not there, never there, but almost good enough.”

It  was enough to make me cry.

Last week, I showed a very personal short story that I had experimented with to some beta readers. Ok, only one of them was really one of my normal Beta readers. Mostly, while they enjoyed the story, it confounded them. It almost made sense. I haven’t read the notes my regular beta reader sent me, but I think I will soon. She reads as an editor, not a critic. My other, who actually HAS edited my work, hasn’t read it yet. It’s out of my wheel house.

It’s real.

No dragons, witches or even an AI or space ship. No elves. Just something this side of way too real. I wrote it for one class, rewrote it for another and… people didn’t get it. I completely ignored the feedback from a classmate whose writing and crits I highly admire, though. The one that said I had spot on characterization, and the details of being cold were right as well.

The class that starts on Monday I’ve been looking forward to. It’s on writing linked short stories. I have read the course page backwards and forwards, and it didn’t say anything about the stories we write having to be in the literary vein– i.e. no fantasy, sci fi, speculative fiction. Can I catch a break? The last “normal” story I wrote confounded people.

So I did what any good, self respecting sulking writer does. I called my sister. She’s been a second mother to me all my life, and we’ve gotten a lot closer in the last few years. We talk Monday through Friday. And she told me what I needed to hear.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

You’re not almost good enough.

You’re almost there.

 

 

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Neuro

My path is not the

Straight and narrow 

Of your ken…

You say you understand,

My brain isn’t wired like yours.

And yet, 

Every time,

Everyday,

I have to fight for the

Simple right

To be 

Who 

Am.

If I had autism

I’d fit in your b
ox.

If I had ADD

You’d feel better

Putting pills 

In my mouth.

It’s not my fault

You choose not 

to see….

There are no boxes 

For souls

And mine is beautiful

Even if you choose

Not

to

See.

Busy Brain

I’m happy tonight. Bouncing around, music in my head that no one else can hear happy. Busy brain is starting to kick in.

Busy Brain is an anomaly. I don’t tend to like doing a lot of things. After work, I like coming home, getting comfy and being DONE for the day. But there are, unfortunately, only so many books to read or shows to watch before your ass gets covered in moss. I know! It’s so unfair!

I don’t know if I talked about my busy brain idea on here before or not. But… here goes. Way back when I was in college, even doing my Masters Degree full time, working a full time job and a couple of part time ones… I was happy. Bad days, good days, of course. But fundamentally happy.

If you’re happy and you know it….

So. After going through a mild depression, I decided to join Partylite to get myself out of the house and start the busy brain phenomenon rolling. Then, the Princeling and I went on a trip (woohoo! loved it!). A brief pause while I had the stomach flu and then…

I signed up for an online writing class. And am debating taking a certificate program modelled on MFA programs. I want it for the writing, not the degree (already have an MA). So I did my writing assignment, gave feedback to others, posted my assignment and am now busily plotting my weekend.

Which includes laser tag and a Ren fair. WOOHOO!

Work is going well. I’m working on putting up a blog for my job, which is interesting. I’m writing, both fiction and here. I have a few Partylite things going on. I have a busy brain and that brain is happy.

Smiles…

I even did a garbage version of bullet journals for my son and I. I say garbage because I am not into the big expensive leather bound journals. Instead, I made one out of graph comp books. I didn’t do anything too fancy schmancy and we’ll see how that goes. I’ll keep you posted 🙂

I hope you had a great, music in your head bouncing around happy kind of day and are looking forward to a fantastic weekend.

Travelling

Today, the princeling and I are going on a trip, in our favorite rocket ship…. it’s time for us to go out and about. On our own. Well, sort of. We’re going to go visit family, but twill just be he and I in the car.

My son can’t remember the times we used to go travelling on our own. Admittedly, it’s only been twice, but still. My child thinks his mommy can’t travel on her own. Which if you knew my travel history is hilarious.

I love travelling with Linda. She’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Somewhere along the way, I’ve allowed myself to rely a bit too much on her. Yes, there are situations where I am uncomfortable. But something she said to me on the firstish trip (she ended up meeting me and a friend and ray in monterey) has been ringing in my head. “Why did you bring Her? You’re fine, you don’t need help with the princeling. You’re a good mom and you’ve got it handled”. 

And then I promptly let her handle the travel. Don’t get me wrong, I love travelling with her and T. It’s fun, and we get to talk answer laugh and share heart to heart moments. 

But my son sees me as weak. I write about kick ass women who save themselves and my son sees me as weak. It’s time to write a different story, one that includes travelling with Linda, but also some solo adventures with the princeling. 

It’s al,osteoporosis time for us to cut loose. Stay well my lovelies! 

It’s 6 am

It’s six am and there’s just a few things…

My son is sleeping after a late night playing with his friends on the xbox. He’ll go back to his dad’s later, but for now I’m enjoying his presence in the house.

It wasn’t originally in the plan, but I’m loosening up on that.

Originally, I wasn’t going to have him. Then, I was going to pick him up and drop him off yesterday. But the princeling wanted to come home for the night. He filled the space up with his stories and my heart filled with his laughter.

This week is supposed to be hot. As in over 105 most of the week, starting today. I’m debating precooking. Cook up stuff this morning, maybe later today, so I don’t have to worry about it during the week. Dad is on his way home, and I’m sad that I may have to give up my thermostat settings. 75 rocks.

But mostly, I’m thinking of my stories, and going in and firing up the laptop and writing. I’ll let the priceling sleep a little more. And defrost some meat. 

And hit the keyboard, dreaming of cooler weather.

Description

The weather here in Northern California has been… complicated. Today was nice.

Last night it was not.

One major thing that this crazy weather has done for my writing: helped me with description. I’ve always been a little light on description, but the following have popped out of my mouth:

The wind is blowing so hard, I’m glad I’m *not* in Kansas.

There’s so much water on the ground, with the fog coming up around it… it looks like a Lady in the Lake scene— in the middle of a cow field. (It did! It was gorgeous!)

And so on and so forth.

“Oh Shit, there’s a tree in the parking lot” the phrase has a lot of heat behind it, and it was more a large limb than the whole tree. And while the parking lot is LINED with trees, these limb(s) were lying in the middle of the asphalt. My sister understood, especially when I clarified for her. But when we’re creating our scenes, we don’t have that give and take.

So. I am learning to describe my surroundings for my sister. Because it makes it so much nicer for her to have a visual when we’re talking. Just as we need to have visuals for our readers.

So. Take stock, figure out what you can practice your description on. I try to describe things for my siter, and also in my journal. As always, there’s a different flow when you’re talking as opposed to writing, but that just gives us fodder for dialog.

 

 

Keeping Honest with Writing

I didn’t promise that I would write every day in 2017. That was never one of my resolutions. Instead, I made a resolution that I would be honest about it.

So. Since I accidentally ended up with 2 day planner/calendar thingees from Christmas, I am using one of them to keep track of how many pages I write per day. This is handwritten pages, by the way. I still prefer starting out creatively with pen to paper.

Since that first night, I have only had 2 days with a zero word count.

I’ve tried Nano. I’ve tried getting other people to keep me honest.

Turns out, I only need to be honest with myself. All my writing for the day goes in there, so a day’s entries might be:

Wrote 1 page
Journaled
Wrote to Aunt Mary
Blog Post.

Not much to it. Nothing fancy. No bells, no whistles. Just a writer, being honest about the time she puts into writing. There’s so much else that we are, in addition to writers. It’s easy to forget to take the time to breath in, take pen in hand and write.