It's been an interesting few days. I should really be doing the twenty items on my to-do list (of which, none is blogging -- tsk, tsk Valt) but I'm over here because I'm avoiding the Serious Stuff. I'll do it all sometime after midnight when the brain is active and I have peace and quiet, both of which are in short supply prior to the witching hour.
It's nice to take a breather and just go... ahhh, a blog, where the words don't have to be good words! Yes, I write compulsively. I always say that if I didn't write, I'd currently be treated for hallucinating. But I have my paws in a lot of other puddings at the moment, things other than NaNoWriMo (which has currently taken a back seat to Serious Stuff) and having a bit of an issue with submission materials because they have to be PERFECT (*17-May-12 note: Yep, perfect, hence why they're still not the least bit suitable for me yet). I'm working on applications for graduate schools (for programs with no connection to Writing) (*17-May-12 note: Was accepted to grad school, actually), documenting cemeteries for a cemetery preservation group I run, and trying to get my own clothing line off the ground. There just aren't enough hours in the day.
I'd really like to start a petition for a 30 hour day. 24hrs just like usual, and then a bonus six for sleeping because, really, sleeping cuts into all the time I could be doing something else.
I'm also a gym rat now. I go every day, faithfully, whether it's cardio, weights, or classes like Zumba or Pilates. I went yesterday evening and this morning to run on the treadmill for a little while and then hit up the Zumba classes, and while I do this almost every day (replace Zumba with Bar Work or Weight Sculpting, whatever class is going on when I throw in the towel and decide I can't make anymore words until I've made the rest of my body scream "uncle" ), yesterday and today was hard to do. My entire body ached in the not-so-awesome way. This is not because I've made it worker harder than it is accustomed to but because Thursday night, I did something very painful.
I fell down a flight of stairs.
I had socks on (which I never do in the house since I'm a little savage, but I was getting ready to go out) and I slipped on the carpeted top step and hit every step on the way down. To make the situation worse, I was carrying my cat so that I could put her downstairs in her little back room until I returned home. Subsequently, my shoulder feels like it was stabbed several times where my cat decided to embed her rather pointy claws into my flesh and my entire backside feels like I've spent a week-long vacation at the Spanish Inquisition Resort, five-star dungeon accommodations complete with a complimentary Iron Maiden Massage.
...And yet, I still forced myself to go and work out these following two days because I thought it was important and I knew that I would milk my injured-status if I didn't tell myself to push through the pain.
And this puts me in mind of writing! (Great link-in, right?)
Pushing myself to do something I don't feel like, say finishing a story/novel/what-have-you, is one thing, yes, but that's not been my issue since I'm usually as eager to get to the end and find out what happens as much as anyone who might read it unless it's a story for sh*ts-and-giggles that's a tinker-toy that I pull out on particularly self-indulgent weekends.
Mostly, I'm thinking about this whole agent-finding/ query process because it is what has been squatting in my mind for a very long time -- so long that I might start asking it to help pay the utilities at least. If/when the time comes, I'm okay with rejection -- no, it's never fun, but I sing opera, I dance, and I have been part of the theatrical world for an age, so I've had more rejections for roles than Ben & Jerry's pints have calories. I'm prepared for this. Still, I have this fear that I'm wearing socks on The Carpeted Staircase of Literary Agents and I'm just going to wipe out and hit every possible bump I can. And then The Cat of Self-Doubt is going to stab me with claws for good measure. Er, just go with me on this.
I will pick myself up. I will ache. I will want to go crawl away somewhere and lick my wounds and forsake ever going to the gym again or submit anything again, but I won't. It would be so easy to do, to say "oh, I don't really need to go to the gym to be healthy and happy" just like I'd tell myself "oh, I don't really need to write to be healthy and happy," because I do, even when I do fall down the stairs and get hurt. And I keep telling myself this so that I don't lose my resolve or my drive or my hope.
Apparently, there's no bruising (yet), but it hurts like the devil. Fingers crossed that I don't fall down the stairs again even metaphorically. All I can do though is give my all, do my best, and not wear socks.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The Mountain Climb and Other Sundries
I have spent the past few weeks staring at a collection of files that have amassed on my computer Desktop, my chin resting on one hand so that my mouth would not be open in the tell-tale fashion of overwhelmed dismay and my other hand holding a large clump of hair ready to pull it out. These files have the innocuous names of QueryLetter and WriterBio and Synopsis, all perfectly normal and harmless documents ... one would think. I know otherwise. These innocent looking files have infiltrated my dreams and turned them into nightmares.
Writing a cohesive and intelligible story with enough humour and surprise to keep readers interested seemed like conquering the mountain peak. I had a flag -- and I stuck it in the mountain top and claimed this story for Valtinen Silvero, word explorer, discoverer of untold tales. And then the fog lifted and I went "holy hell," because there, hidden by the fog was yet another peak, taller, steeper, and decidedly more slippery than the terrain I had just climbed.
Of this new leg of my journey, I am partway up the slope. I have to thank Dina James for dealing graciously with my hyper-paranoid ulcer-inducing fear of heights. The Synopsis though remains an icy ledge with no way around. I plan on making a grand frontal assault on that eventually. Of course, once I do all this and reach this new peak, plant my new flag, and give myself a smug pat on the back, I know that the fog will again clear to show me yet another peak I must climb in order to conquer the mountain, that of the actual submissions and agent responses.
That leg will be the hardest of them all, comprised mostly of waiting out the storm after every submission and hoping that I won't get knocked over too harshly. I plan on picking myself up, brushing myself off, and trying again when I do -- I'm a stubborn man -- but I am not looking forward to all the scrapes, bruises, and broken bones.
This adventure has been a confusing one with many sources telling me different things, even the same sources contradicting themselves about format. I suppose that I will find out what works eventually. Of course, even contemplating the brazen act of querying anyone makes my hands tremble. How cheeky of me.
I have recently been faced with another writerly challenge. I was asked to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. For those of you who don't know what that is, November is National Novel Writing Month and the objective is to write 50k words in the thirty days of the month. I, personally, am not a great fan of this concept since I believe it leads to lazy rambling redundant writing -- a thing of which my own NaNoWriMo project is guilty -- and tempts most people into thinking "50k words! Imagine! It is a brilliant novel as-is," which lazy rambling redundant writing never is. I understand and approve of the discipline NaNoWriMo forces upon the writer though to create words and bring life to what was a mere shadow of an idea, which was why I went along with it.
My NaNoWriMo project is something I am going to bury once the month is done. I was going to delete it, but I was talked out of such a drastic measure. I am not proud of it though. I do not like it. I feel as if I am short-changing myself by allowing the word count to mean more than the words themselves. However, I am taking this challenge seriously, viewing it like work, and attempting to get it done.
This adds yet another obstacle to my mountainous climb. First, holidays, no matter what religion or non-religion you subscribe to, usually is a time for families to spend time together, and I would be truly selfish indeed to expect any agent to look at my stuff while s/he was supposed to be taking a moment out of the year to breathe. Secondly, I have been told, NaNoWriMo participants tend to give into this perfect as-is trend that I mentioned above, thinking that because they wrote 50k words in 30 days it is the next NYT Bestseller, and subsequently drown agents in queries. I have to wait at least until February before I can consider sending anything -- at which time I may already be committed to a graduate school program and will be unable to devote time to my writing, in which case, I shall not be sending anything out at all.
No pressure, right?
Writing a cohesive and intelligible story with enough humour and surprise to keep readers interested seemed like conquering the mountain peak. I had a flag -- and I stuck it in the mountain top and claimed this story for Valtinen Silvero, word explorer, discoverer of untold tales. And then the fog lifted and I went "holy hell," because there, hidden by the fog was yet another peak, taller, steeper, and decidedly more slippery than the terrain I had just climbed.
Of this new leg of my journey, I am partway up the slope. I have to thank Dina James for dealing graciously with my hyper-paranoid ulcer-inducing fear of heights. The Synopsis though remains an icy ledge with no way around. I plan on making a grand frontal assault on that eventually. Of course, once I do all this and reach this new peak, plant my new flag, and give myself a smug pat on the back, I know that the fog will again clear to show me yet another peak I must climb in order to conquer the mountain, that of the actual submissions and agent responses.
That leg will be the hardest of them all, comprised mostly of waiting out the storm after every submission and hoping that I won't get knocked over too harshly. I plan on picking myself up, brushing myself off, and trying again when I do -- I'm a stubborn man -- but I am not looking forward to all the scrapes, bruises, and broken bones.
This adventure has been a confusing one with many sources telling me different things, even the same sources contradicting themselves about format. I suppose that I will find out what works eventually. Of course, even contemplating the brazen act of querying anyone makes my hands tremble. How cheeky of me.
I have recently been faced with another writerly challenge. I was asked to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. For those of you who don't know what that is, November is National Novel Writing Month and the objective is to write 50k words in the thirty days of the month. I, personally, am not a great fan of this concept since I believe it leads to lazy rambling redundant writing -- a thing of which my own NaNoWriMo project is guilty -- and tempts most people into thinking "50k words! Imagine! It is a brilliant novel as-is," which lazy rambling redundant writing never is. I understand and approve of the discipline NaNoWriMo forces upon the writer though to create words and bring life to what was a mere shadow of an idea, which was why I went along with it.
My NaNoWriMo project is something I am going to bury once the month is done. I was going to delete it, but I was talked out of such a drastic measure. I am not proud of it though. I do not like it. I feel as if I am short-changing myself by allowing the word count to mean more than the words themselves. However, I am taking this challenge seriously, viewing it like work, and attempting to get it done.
This adds yet another obstacle to my mountainous climb. First, holidays, no matter what religion or non-religion you subscribe to, usually is a time for families to spend time together, and I would be truly selfish indeed to expect any agent to look at my stuff while s/he was supposed to be taking a moment out of the year to breathe. Secondly, I have been told, NaNoWriMo participants tend to give into this perfect as-is trend that I mentioned above, thinking that because they wrote 50k words in 30 days it is the next NYT Bestseller, and subsequently drown agents in queries. I have to wait at least until February before I can consider sending anything -- at which time I may already be committed to a graduate school program and will be unable to devote time to my writing, in which case, I shall not be sending anything out at all.
No pressure, right?
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