The deed is done, 50,276 words!

It's done! My first novel -- written, thanks to the good folks at Nanowrimo. I am so excited.

Knowing that a well written novel is not that same thing as a written novel, I am taking the advice of those more experienced than I which means that I am leaving all 80 pages (!!!) in my files for a couple of weeks and then I'll go and start the real process of writing which is the rewriting.

For now, I'm going to sit in the glow of getting this done. This is an awesome feeling.

38,000 words and other such fun

I'm watching David Letterman, my 2nd favorite show in all the world. OK, third...my first being my newly developed addiction to Law and Order (all versions). Next is Jon Stewart and then is David Letterman. I'm ecstatic to report that Oprah will be on the "Superbowl of Love" on Dec 1, really, it's true. Yes, Letterman, after 16 years of paying penance for his bungle of the Academy Awards -- who can forget the amazing, "Oprah - Uma" debacle -- Oprah is finally coming on the show.

I'm a little upset though on the recent phenomenon that I see with all the ads on television. I didn't think too much about Dylan advertising Victoria's Secret. And I turned a blind eye when car companies used songs that I earned good money bagging groceries (a week's salary!) to hear at the OKC Myriad. I guess I didn't think too much about the marketing approach...but that was then and this is now.

Who the HECK suggested that Target would use "Boogie Wonderland" to advertise some of theire retro/shlick ads this season? I'll admit to some heavy metal and I'll come clean on some ELO (which was used for something I saw the other day). But "Boogie Wonderland"? What self-respecting middle age shmuck is going to sit there and dance out to that innane melody while watching seasonal ads for Target? Not me.

It's bad enough that my kids turn to me and ask me, "what song IS THAT?" when Chrysler or "zoom zoom" advertises their stuff? And I admit, it's pretty deft to see that the marketing execs have finally figured out that most of us in this generation listened to more music than we read anything? It's bad enough to see music legends being reduced to advertising pansies and I draw the line at being pandered to with "Boogie Wonderland". I'm initiating a one week personal boycott of my local Target for stooping this low.

Are you with me? I say forget about it if Target has Starbucks and other designer goods. This new gimmick is as bad as that creepy Burger King man. They must go!

34,000 words - we're almost there

My "novel" is now at 34,000 words and I'm ecstatic. I find that working my job, family aroundmy writing really can be done -- I am more of a sprinter, though, doing a 30 minute write several times a day instead of one long sit down. That's also how I work in my job, too, so that must be a rhythm that works for me.

I have been reading along with writing, the memoir "Million Little Pieces". I think reading is an important part of writing, without it, I wouldn't have moments of abject disappointment in realizing that my novel may never approach the brilliance of another. Seriously, writing and reading are two pieces of the same puzzle and they build on each other. Reading a great book only inspires me to want to write more -- not less - so it's a good way to feed the muse when you're going for word count.

I'd like to say something about this book because it is a profound experience for me. The thing about great writing is that it can be viewed on so many levels. The part of this book that resonates so much with me is the author's dogged determination for healing from addictions. There is a scene in the book where he must undergo painful dentistry (is there any other kind??) and he must do it without any kind of painkillers or anesthia since he is in rehab. This is a graphic piece in the book and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone that has a squemish stomach (or has nightmares of their dentist).

What is profound to me about this scene is the willingness to which the author subjected himself so that he could find wholeness and healing. Literally being strapped into a dentist chair, with no anesthia and no painkillers while he undergoes two root canals.

The reason this book has such a profound impact upon me is that I talk to people everyday who claim that they want their lives to be different, that they want it to change 0r they want to change. I often say that, too, and yet I have to ask myself, am I willing to undergo the transforming power of change to get there? Change generally happens when there is only enough pain to force the change to occur and generally not until (speaking personally).

I have to admit, I probably am not and the courage to which the author applies to the process of health and wholeness is inspirational to me.

The book offers a profound insight into addictions of all kinds and I am more convinced than ever that most of us, including myself, have our own "drug of choice" to which we are faithful.

I am not sure yet if I agree with all the authors premises or if I agree with him totally on his position on God or a "higher power". I do think the book offers some interesting questions for those that are courageous enough to ask them about the power of change, the power of healing and what we do to find these transforming qualities and what we do to avoid them.

Nanowrimo...crossing the great divide

For those waiting in anticipation (hi, mom!) I have now crossed the threshold...am at 32,000 words.

I actually am doing it! A life long dream of getting a novel, getting the "bones" on cyber-paper. I cannot begin to tell you what a great feeling this is for me!

My characters continue to morph and change in front of me. I didn't see the relationship between my protagonist and her neighbor. I didn't know that there would be a murder right smack dab in the midst of the first half of the book. And I have no clue what the ending will look like yet, but the structure is there.

I owe a lot to Jordan, my friend/mentor/editor at large is the fact that she has really guided me in this process. She suggested the outline, she reminded me about nanowrimo when I had almost decided that writing was just a thing I'd do "someday".

I'm not writing an acceptance speech here, but it feels great to get off center, to face a fear of a blank screen and just move foward. Yeah!

I celebrated today by going all out -- bought a book from A BOOKSTORE...no amazon, no library, just plunked down my cold hard hard earned cash and bought it. I feel like such a groupie, too, because I bought "Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. I always feel like a bit of a cheat whenever I buy an "Oprah's book club" piece, because it feels so "trendy". Actually, though what attracted me to this book was the prose, I picked it up before it was "christened" as an Oprah pick and read the first chapter and was hooked then, thought I'd wait for it at my library but bit the dust on it today.

This weekend, I plan to write another 15,000 words and be finished (I can't believe I'm saying this -- ) MY FIRST DRAFT.

And, before I get too cocky, I should remind myself that writing is rewriting and that the real work has not even begun yet.

16,000 words and counting

I just passed 16,000 words on my novel for Nanowrimo. How is that an outline can be rattling around in your head for months, years and a simple goal -- that of simply putting words on a paper/screen -- can create things that you never knew were there.

My characters seem to be taking on their own lives. One of them just murdered another one of the characters (and I kinda like that character so it was kind of sad). Funny, she didn't seem like a murderer when I first met her..

And so it goes..now I understand better when I hear a writer talk about their work how characters do emerge from their imagination and begin to live lives that are discovered as each word builds on the next.

I have no illusions that my novel is anything but a learning exercise, that it is a story that most in the writing world might look and give a chuckle. Hey, that' s OK...just getting this far is a huge step for me and I look forward to seeing what my novel turns out to be. This is fun, plain and simple.

November Novel Writing Month

I'm in the run for the annual NaNoWriMo http://www.nanowrimo.org/ this year. Last year, I found out about it too late, but a great writer friend of mine reminded me! The idea is to write an entire novel in one month...no editing, just writing. This is a great way to get past the "what do I write about" stuff and so far I've already got over 5,000 words (50,000 words needed). My goal is to have 10,000 words by the end of the weekend.

Because of this and other writing goals, I probably won't post much, but I'll let you know when I ass the finish line.

The Spirits in the Sounds

I remember being warned by well meaning, devout people that spirits lived in some forms of music. I remember being told that certain songs, when played backwards, gave homage to spirits that are evil.

I think they are wrong. I think that all music has some spiritual connection and that, on certain fall days - or any days -- a song, a soundtrack can touch me in ways that nothing else can.

I was out today on deliveries, while the trees snapped with color and the smell of fall was everywhere. I am listening to the "Elizabethtown" soundtrack and the sense of journey was so present in those moments that I yearned for the road to take me wherever it may.

There is a sense during Fall - the season of transition that calls out to me for change and renewal. And yet, deeper still, is the call of something that is unchanging, for something that never changes. Those two tensions evident in the changing of the leaves and the pursuit of traditions and holidays, make this a time of year that is perfect for reflection.

I am taking a few days off this week after a hectic schedule. Today, I luxuriated in an afternoon nap and felt not the least bit guilty. I read for hours, listened to music and then reluctantly, did a few things that had to be done, like those deliveries. And yet, even in that sense, I was enjoying the drive, enjoying the thoughts and promises of new things to come.

I see the changes in my children as they play basketball and finish homework. They are real people now, with lives that don't always include me. I find that fact both refreshing and terrifying, that someone whose once existence depended upon me is now happily eating Cheetos with friends, playing video games, not even considering me in the least. Such is the life of a parent when Cheetos is a higher priority than mom or dad.

And yet I find great satisfaction in this, too. Like a sense of "hey, we did it. we raised somewhat normal, adaptive human beings -- all from a few things found around the house." There is a sense that we're at a wonderful crossroads that will yield both new things and new directions.

What I'm reading

http://www.rillaaskew.com/works.htm

I picked up "Fire in Beulah" by Rita Askew at a weekend conference. I was drawn to the book because of Rita, who I heard speak at a writers conference at University of Tulsa. The book is about the Tulsa Race Riots and although the story is fiction, the historical aspect is not. As I'm reading the book I see the streets and parts of Tulsa that are all too familar for me which allows the book to resonant with me in a special way. I'm excited to have briefly met Rita (she signed my book for me).

But what makes this encounter truly special is that I shared the book with my 15 year old daughter who has been studying the Race Riots in school. It was very special to be able to give my daughter the view that this really did happen and there are people who researched it etc. It gave my daughter a sense of reality that perhaps is missed from textbook lectures.

I could say more about the conference, but I'm still mulling it all over. I'll try to write more on it later. It was a fabulous experience for me, but that sounds so trite, doesn't it?

Fall weekend happenings

I just returned from shopping in my small Okie town. We are now officially on the map since we have an Old Navy, Pier 1, Target and a plethora of other fine shopping establishments in our small town. 20 years ago, this town was a corn field. Now Starbucks has taken up permanent residence so civilization is here to stay.

I'm elated, though, at more than having twenty stores within a five mile radius of my home. Something amazing has happened, I am now a full 2 sizes smaller than I was this time last year. It was not necessarily intentional but a fair amount of energy has gone into wondering how I, someone who has never had a weight problem, had ballooned up to a double digit size. Once last year, I walked past a mirror and shrieked. I thought I had seen my mother through a window, but it was just me in the mirror. That's when I knew something had to change.

My mother is a beautiful woman, but who grows up saying, "I want to look JUST LIKE my mom??" Not me. I still see myself as a skinny, smart, dweeby kid. The last two adjectives still fit, the first one...not so much.

I started thinking what could have caused this weight loss (since I'm always looking for a way to make a buck, who knows?) but I couldn't come up with much. I have traded in my boxing gloves for walking shoes and instead of kickboxing twice a week on lunch hours, I walk every morning at least one mile. This is not a nature walk but a survival skill....I detest everything there is about mornings, so having an objective upon awakening is a good thing. After stumbling around in a coma, starting the tea or coffee brewing, I hit my residential street in somewhat of a foul mood. By the time I return from walking, though, I'm a civil human being and somewhat able to face the world (more or less).

The other thing, is a strict schedule that I've imposed upon myself. Like an athlete that is stretching towards the next level, I have been attempting to stretch outside of my comfort zone in my own business, which means sticking to a more rigorous schedule. I've been working with a business coach and when asked to adhere to the schedule I originally though, "no problem." I'd been doing this work for 13 years and felt like I was working. But we are all masters of deception and I am the Queen of Self Deception and found that I was THINKING about working far more than I was actually working (a common problem in Self Employment Land) This weekend marks a halfway mark through this exerices (120 days) and I am rewarding myself by taking a few days off, attending a writer's conference and most of all, spending time with my kids on fall break.

I like the metaphor of the corporate athlete a lot and have been inspired for some time by the book "The power of full Engagement" by Tony Schwarz. A lot of what is shared in that book has been somewhat revolutionary for me. I am learning the power of nurturing what fills me (especially since I'm a hard core introvert in a line of work that is people-rich -- and not always people-friendly). Writing, yoga, walking, taking time is as important or more so for those of us who may push hard for big goals. I think it's far too easy to forget that and feel that we just must redouble efforts and push harder. That, I have found, is a sure fire map to Burnout, USA and I'd prefer not to visit there much.

So, the realization that I'm enjoying a splendid fall weekend with the things and people that I love -- and have dropped two dress sizes -- is definately a time to celebrate.

Pass the chocolate cake.

Elizabethtown

http://www.elizabethtown.com/home.html

"Elizabethtown" hits so many points that it almost feels like two movies, hinged together.

The movie transports me back to the ruckus in my great grandmother's kitchen with goofy cousins and old men and the yearning to be a part of this chaos, this family and know that you are not and that you may never be.

The movie transports me to times when success was all that mattered and failure was non-negotiable.

The movie transports me to times when the long journey ahead offered no company, no calm, nothing but grief and the "deep melancholy of what all this means". (quote from film).

To say I liked this movie is to say I like chocolate -- which is true but not fully. I LOVED this movie..I loved the simplicity of it, the music and the way it dealt with the themes of death, failure and renewal in straightfoward ways.

What I loved most is that it resists temptation to spiral down into maudalin themes of "home folk" and the such. It doesn't offer a lot of answers because, I believe, the answers lie in the journey which we each take and with which we each see differently. "We all have different versions of him" was one of the many great one-liners that permeate the film.

I can't wait to get the soundtrack and relive it.

What does a Marching band have to say about leadership..?

After a long day of traveling, teaching I drove to Arlington, TX to see my son and his High School Marching Band ("The Pride of Owasso"!) compete in the Regional Finals. Somewhere between when I graduated from High School and my kids entering High School, marching bands have transformed themselves from two-bit half-time shows into first class entertainment and high art. The pudgy baton twirler has been given up for the acrobatic flag corp, marching has been morphed into athleticism and John Phillip Sousa has been discard and movie scores have been added. I never imagined I'd hear "Fly Like an Eagle" on a football field. I cannot imagine what that means for those of us who rocked out to Foreigner, Tim Nugent and Meatloaf. When one's youthful music becomes fodder for the high school marching band, I think it means only one thing -- you be old.

It was the perfect transition from focused teaching to coming home to a new week. My mind was treated to visuals that are unmatched. And it got me thinking..

What happens on the marching field between the confusion of transition to the neat form lines and that of a perfect one-two step? What happens between the movements from bold brass to soft flutes? What happens between the note and the silence?

What does this art form teach me about my world? So many things. For one, art is so needful in a rough and tumble world. It soothes, it jolts, it focuses, it comforts. It makes life rich and soulful. The more techy we become, the more I believe art wraps us in meaning and in truth.

Next, it teaches me that life is one of contrasts and textures. Brass played long and hard is simply tedious. Add the cadence of percussion, the visual of a waving flag, the form becomes a message, a phrase lived, a story rich with meaning.

It also teaches me that life is richer simply because of these contrasts. The line on the field may dissolve into confusion, then resolve itself into neat formations that could not be formed if the disruption of the band had not thrown itself into chaos. Confusion before clarity.

And it teaches me that silence is not to be feared. It is the pause, the moment before harmony, the moment before movement.
Regional Finals, Arlington, TX

Justice

My hope in televised programming has been restored -- "The Simple Life" has been cancelled. I don't have to see Paris Hilton turning her nose up at washing dishes or taking out the trash. What a relief.

More room for the good stuff...more room for "Law and Order" reruns.

Fall Clean Up

It began with a simple wish -- I just wanted more room in my closet. After several trips to Goodwill, where I left who knows how many boxes of clothes, shoes and other such truck and days of cleaning and vacuuming and cleaning some more, my house is now unreocognizable.

Can a simple wish change a life? I've reorganized my personal closet and getting it ready for painting. I've cleaned out bookshelves, transformed my dining room into a room that I'd actually enjoy eating in. I'm tuckered out and ready for a good dinner and a nap.

It's strange to think that I can go through my life in a semi-coma state, not really noticing where things accumulate, that I can't find my shoes, that I seem to be missing something. Maybe it's me missing from my harried, scattered life.

A few days with a vacuum cleaner in tow, I've taken out bags of garbage, bundled up old books (I'll go through those later and figure out what I really want....and I've sworn off Amazon for a bit...I've got a great library just a ways down the road and a new library card -- any book I want is within a day or two away and its FREE!).

The seeds for this were laid a few weeks ago when I started making space for things meaningful in my life and for getting rid of things that are just worn out and past their time. During this military operation (my husband and kids ducked out and would return from time to time to see if the coup were still in operation)...I found some real treasures...photos of my kids that I had forgotten, things made by my grandmother that I'll never throw away, books that I had missed.

My office and home are once again a refuge, peaceful and clean. What's more, very little of it was purchased new..mostly it was digs from around the house, moved around, cleaned up made useful once again.

My mind is still whirring away on ideas for new color in the bedroom and ways in which I'll use the new space cleared out with all this cleaning madness. But for now it is just a refreshing feeling. Wood that is clean, floors that are sparkling and a closet that I can truly walk into and find things. I don't want to press the metaphor but it is almost a spiritual feeling -- a sense of a newness that is ordered, neat and purposeful.

Soul Food

www.route-66-diner.com

I didn't intend to take the whole day off. It was just a lunch with Dan but there's no way I can return to work now. Not after those cinnamon rolls. Not after the lunch I just packed away.

The Route 66 Diner is located, not surprisingly, in Tulsa's Route 66 district. Fresh bread is made everyday and eating it is a spiritual experience. This is the kind of bread that should be served in churches, although the yeast thing would drive some of my holier-than-thou friends nuts. (note -- did you know that the whole thing with yeast in the bible is the idea that sin causes us to go outside our boundaries, like dough rising, hence the whole unleavened thing. After today's bread, I say, what kind of a God wouldn't eat bread like this???) I remember when I was a kid, eating my grandmother's baking and I would find myself humming, the food was that good. As I sat today in the cool autumn air, finishing off a slice (more like a a slab) of that great bread I felt like that kid again, coming in after playing outside, eating something that was both soulful and sinful.

After the lunch I couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. I indulged other appetites. I stopped by the library and checked out two new authors. I stopped by my favorite florist and found candles and I am content this afternoon, in the lingering scent of fig/olive and the remains of a cinnamon roll to simply loll through the afternoon.

Girl at Cafe

I'm sitting here at a local restaurant stop and I have given myself a 30 minute window to write for 30 minutes. I people watch and I see this lady sitting near me and I want to write about her...she is reading a very large book, it looks like a bible and my mind goes to work on all the assumptions that I have about someone that would read their bible in a coffee shop over their lunch hour. They are not good assumptions, I'm afraid and I am embarressed by my own cynicism. I feel guilty so I ask her, "what are you reading". Maybe she knows what I'm thinking? So I try to be nice, to assuage my guilt in some tangible way. She smiles up at me and says, "The book of Matthew" and I cringe. I am torn between two very distinct possibilities -- either I play dumb, like someone who has never read the bible for myself or I try to disarm her with intellectual questions. I find I am a bit put off by her saying, "the book of matthew" in such a matter of fact way. What if I was someone who just landed on earth and didn't know what a bible was? What is the book of Matthew? Why would one read it..? Who is Matthew? Why did he write a book..??? My questions start and I am again, feeling very sad that I am so cynical of someone who clearly is having a great time. I'm getting all worked up for truly no real reason.

She then says, "reading the bible helps me stay calm"? Oh yeah? I am tempted to say, just to be crass "I feel the same way when I take a Tylenol PM late at night?" Should I say, "what do you need to be calm about?" or do I just let it go? So many questions, so little time.

I find it is times like this that my sad bias towards those that would read their bibles in broad daylight astounds even me. I wonder, "was I ever that smug?" Did I ever have a time in my life when I had so many answers? Probably. And that's exactly what is bothering me, I think.

I am bothered by my lack of answers on faith and the cosmos. I am bothered by my lack of faith in so many things. I am most of all bothered that I can create this whole scenario about a poor girl who just is trying to find some peace at her lunch break. Symbols are powerful things and there are few things more symbolic to a recovering fundamentalist than a big bible. I have this theory, the bigger the bible, the smaller the mind.

None of this is fair, I realize. I am reacting to 40 years plus of brain wiring that has suddenly, at age 40, come unwired, blown a fuse, or whatever the technical, electrical terms would be here.
40 years of bible toting, bible banging, bible-throw-it-down-your-throat-until you puke. I have become innoculated, unable to read it myself for the sheer emotion that seeing a bible brings to me. I have become, comfortably numb in this post-faith state that I find myself in these days.

I want a God that is so big that he/she/it cannot be understood and that I can spend the rest of my life ponidering the many things about it/him/her. I don't want pat answers. I'm tired of cliches. Don't give me a 3-point sermon or 7 steps to anything. I want to think, to ponder, to reflect. Most of all I don't want to spend time with those that live in bi-color -- black or white-while I dabble in the deepest recesses of gray.

I've been thinking a lot about the hurricane survivors. I've been thinking about how hard it is to start a new life.

I know that my life cannot be in any compared to their lives -- lives of upheaval, suffering and renewal. Yet I cannot help but think about the themes that run through all our lives, the themes of courage and the will to start again.

Mostly what I have are questions. Questions such as:

1 - Why do some people stay?
2 - Why do some people go?
3 - What attitudes keep people/us/me stuck in places that will never be the same again?
4 - What attitudes allow people/us/me to move forward with lives after all has been lost?
5 - Why do some people insist on trying to recreate that which can never be again?
6 - What kind of loss is there in standing and fighting? What is gained?
7 - What kind of losses are there in moving into a life that is new?

I watched the Truman Show over the weekend and I think this movie has a lot to say about recreating one's life. At some point we each have our own limit that we must move on...but how do you do that? What is the cost? What is to be gained? Each of these questions must be answered individually, they cannot be answered en masse.

I read this quote today from "Fearless Creating" and it seems to fit these questions:

"Not many men are prepared to face the challenge of themselves, to assume the full responsibility for thier own existence. Rank concluded that there were three levels or styles of response to this self-challenge;

the first, and most common, was simply to evade it;
the second was to make the effort of self-encounter, only to fall back in confusion and defeat (the person arrested in his creative development this way Rank called the 'artist-manque');

the third, and much the least common, was that of carrying the confrontation through to self-acceptance and "new birth". These three attitudes or approaches correspond to Rank's three types o fhuman character: the "average" or adapted man, content to swim adjustively and irresponsibly with the tide; the "neutortic" type, discontented alike with civilization and hiimself; and the "creative", the twice-born (as represented in the ideal types of Artist and Hero) -- at peace with himself and at one with others."

What is really illuminating to me is that in most christian literature the idea of "twice-born" is not at all a new concept, and yet it rarely has been connected to that of creativity. Go into many churches and what you see is bland uniformism. Creativity creates anxiety it seems in most of these places. And yet creativity, that of imagining and sustaining a new life is the most creative of all endeavors, yes?

Memoirs of a Writing Group Newbie

I arrived late, relieved to see there were fewer present than the week before. My newly put together "writing backpack" that has my journal, my laptop and all things writing. Kind of a writing costume, I guess, for this new part of the journey.

I tried to not show how intimidated I am, how strange it felt to be with others that just want to write and do it well. I thought of my essay, tucked into my bag, wondered when -- of if -- I'd get it out.

After writing exercises, which I finished early, a sure sign that I have no idea what I'm doing, I drew curly-ques in my margins, just so I'd look busy.

Then, time came for reading original work. In a moment of adrenaline rush, I volunteer, mostly just to get it over with.

I heard my voice and heard my words, which is wierd since most of writing is done in the interiors of the crevices of ones head. I felt sweaty, kind of sick, ready to go.

I finished and fidgeted a bit, having more quesiness in my stomach than I ever remembered. But I had done it.

Time for comments from the group. I looked at my feet, breathing heavy.

I remembered a few of their comments - mostly all kind and reassuring. But the real triumph is having the courage to create something and then share it. And have it received.

The Fickle Gardner

I stooped this morning with the late summer sun beating my back. In spite of my jug of tea, my mouth was dry, thirsty. I cursed the bermuda with its long zipper-like tendrils growing literally over my everygreen shrubs, hiding them, concealing them, draping them in its green arms.

At spring break, I was out here toting hoes and garden tools ready to embark on this new journey. My plans were clear, my faith secure, my heart open to the beauty that would soon be mine. As I went about my work, I marveled at the spring miracles and each new leaf, each new bud was a thing to be celebrated.

Now, after weeks of sapping 100 degree heat, I look at my garden from the cool of my porch and say, "Maybe tomorrow I'll go into the garden."

It's not that I don't love my garden. It's just that it hasn't quite realized my original expectations for it. The weeds,particularly the bermuda grass, continue to plague me. Each day I have weeded only to see more weeds the next day. Did I miss some warning in a garden magazine: NOTE: Weeding bermuda actually creates more bermuda. Forget your high-minded ecology. Just spray the stuff and be done with it.

There exist big gaping holes in my garden border where I thought there would be color. I understand now where I should have planted a shrub and should not have. The pavers that I worked so hard to level now appear as if a small earthquake has shaken them from their original space. Moles have feasted on the grubs and have made my clean-lined path look like something from a Dr. Seuss book, all lopsided and topsy-turvy.

I lamented the holes from some unknown pest that has devoured my sweet potatoe plants. I languished at the sight of my pond, scummy and green. The bright left over blooms of my roses aren't as alluring as I picked off the spent blooms and brushed them under the plants.


Whereas before I jubilantly looked forward to each new day, the heat and the weeds and the bugs have taken their toll on my passion, made me cautious, stand offish. I don't drop by as much to see the objects of my affection. I don't bring it new friends or water it like I should.

Like a fickle lover, I dodge my responsibility, play coy.

I'm like the bride who, after the honeymoon, is upset to discover that her new husband would really rather watch ESPN than "The Notebook". What really did I expect? That my garden would have no weeds? That my roses wouldn't wilt from the Oklahoma heat? That my pond wouldn't need cleaning out after months of standing in the piercing sun?

Yesterday a friend gave me a copy of one of my favorite gardening magazines. I sadly took it and laid it on my table, next to my unwritten novel and the books I've been meaning to read. I leafed through it but had to put it down, the pain was too great. It was like reading a Harlequin after just filing for divorce.

Four years ago I began in earnest to create this illusion drawn from the pages of glossy photos that seduced me mind, body and soul. In the throes of such passion, I did not stop and think about watering requirements, drainage needs, sunlight hours. My heart was set on some eden-like moments, where I would walk through my lovely garden and point out the objects of my affection, like a boy at the prom with his beautiful date. It was all about appearances and ego.

Now, four years later and in the throes of a late summer heatwave, my daylillies need dividing, my grasses are a mess and my roses need deadheading. I wonder through this garden of mine like a lover betrayed. I'm jealous of its lackluster blooms. I'm weary from its incessant needs. How could it need this much work? Where is the beauty that I thought would be mine? Where is the joy that I first knew?

I have on my desk a photo of my garden from four years ago. In it, the water birch is tiny, hardly able to be seen. There is no pond and no pergola. No roses, no shrubs. Only a small
dark ribbon of fresh earth where my dreams warmed in the pale spring sun. The rose arbor stood tall, erect but bare. It is on days such as this that I pull out this photo, remembering those early days. Like a old woman remembering her wedding day, I know the rush of new love is now long gone, like the wind in the dustbowl. It was not meant to last and perhaps this is the most difficult of all the cosmic laws of love. That slightly crazy-love is like the cast on a broken arm, holding two pieces together until the right growth can bind them together never breaking in that same place, never letting go.

Thought for today

"If you don't work at your art because you feel like a beginner or because the work frustrates you, I would ask you to stop using those facts as excuses. If you believe that celebrated artists are not beginning for whom each new creative project is a trial, now is the time to reconsider. You will remain a beginner and find the work hard until you die: you need no longer feel sad about that. So will ever other artist: you no longer need envy them their supposed maturity or ease." -- Eric Maisel, from "Fearless Creating"

Blogging at Panera

Since Panera has free wi-fi, I've started hauling my laptop with me on appts and stopping at lunch time to write. I'm motivated to do that today after having some good interviews this weekend with some people that helped me fill in the gaps on some facts that I needed.

I had an opportunity to interivew some Tulsa Co. Sherriffs this weekend while going about some business. It was kind of a fluke, but since one of my novel characters is a narcotics officer I thought it might be good to interview a few, since I don't know any. I never really thought about it before -- I've never thought about what a sheriff does in his or her line of work. I've never thought too much at all about police work. So when I had some time to talk to a few of them on the Tulsa force, I found out a lot about the work of Sheriff's and narcotics officers. I also made that discovery that most writers must make and that is that my own life is so incredibly boring (in a good way, I guess) that I'm drawn to those whose lives are different than mine. I think that must be a quality of a good writer -- finding novelty in others lives that are different than their own.

I always feel like I have to somehow explain to those that I'm interviewing or researching in this process -- that yeah, I'm writing a novel but y'know, I'm not a REAL WRITER, I'm just learning how to write by writing...I don't know why I feel that I have to qualify myself like that, I guess I'm afraid that someone will think that I'm impersonating a great novelists or something, or worse that they believe that I BELIVE that.

What I'm finding is that most people aren't so impressed with the fact that I am writing but are very much impressed that I find them interesting enough to ask questions about what they do, what's an average day like, what do they like best, etc. Come to think of it, if someone asked ME those questions, I'd be kinda impressed too.

So here's my announcement to those that care -- I know I'm not all that in the writing world. I'm learning. I have so much to learn and yet the process is becoming more real to me every time I stay with the structure that I'm imposing on myself.

After cleaning out my office and making room - literally and figureatively -- I've also looked at my daily calendar and moved some "non-essential" (read: BORING) meetings off my calendar and started spending that focused time in writing. This is where the laptop and Panera come in handy...instead of traisping all the way back home, I just turn on the laptop, have lunch and do what I came to do.

Which today is blocking out chapters 4 and 5 of my great American Novel. I'm learning how to find a form that works for me at this point which is to write and when I get stuck somewhere, I start writing down the questions that I need to answer for that scene to take form and flourish. So my notes look pretty garbled but when I do that, it starts creating the characters and their actions.

The best writing advice that I've received so far is to "think like I'm watching a movie". In other words, if my story were a movie where would I start the action, where would the scene take place. This has been so helpful and yet it seems so obvious. THANKS JORDAN!

The advice also has helped me while watching movies to find ways that the writers may be moving their story forward. It has kind of made watching movies and TV shows a little less fun to watch, because now I start finding all this stuff that they (the writers) could do and not do to better the story. Not surprisingly, I find is that the best written stuff allows the viewer to get past the mechanics of the story and become more involved in the story itself.

So, onto chapters 4 and 5.