Thursday, June 30, 2016

Good luck campers!

Tomorrow kicks off the 2nd (and final) Camp NaNoWriMo for the year.
I'm not participating. Again.

I tried the virtual writing camp once, coming off my first full on NaNoWriMo experience. Maybe it was because I was in a 'cabin' with all local writers and not being placed with others writing similar genres. Maybe it was because your goal is made up by you (and I have a complete disregard for myself). Maybe it was because my clinical bitchy resting face is spreading to my brain. The event just didn't do it for me quite like the madcap November escapade did.

I can tell myself to write 500 words a day and fail spectacularly on any day of the year, thank you very much. No need to join a website to do it. Or get asked for donations at every turn.

That was... bitchy. And unnecessarily so.
The truth is, this current writing backlash is my own personal demon. Just because this particular incarnation of a writing activity didn't send me to the heights of creative glory before, doesn't even mean it wouldn't work for me now. The shiny inner child inside thinks it's a fantastic idea and I should totally join in. Oh inner child, your enthusiasm knows no bounds. My inner teenager seems to be more vocal.
I love the idea of writing activities throughout the year. If you've read my blow-by-blow of NaNoWriMo, you'll be aware I complain (at great length) about the timing of it. But it is a relief sad when it's over. Maybe I should give camp another run in the future. I probably have sold the experience short or focused on what I felt I wasn't getting out of it instead of rising to meet a writing goal.

There is no perfect place/time/situation to write (or anything else for that matter). So kudos (a word I don't think I've ever used verbally) to those who are choosing to make the extra effort this July to work on their writing projects. Keep going!

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

The Olympic Choice

I had a different post all put together and even posted it briefly. About 30 minutes after I did, I wanted to take it down. Revamp it. So I did. After spending hours, yes hours, on getting it close enough just right, I've decided to go in a different direction.
I may revisit that diatribe in the future. But the tone as it stands bothered me. Because I'm trying to rework my brain back to being more positive. The nice thing about this blog is it gives me an instant forum to work through thoughts or events as I experience them. The unfortunate thing about this blog is exactly the same thing. Not everything I want to vent about needs to see the light of day. Some things can be addressed in a different approach once the initial flood of what.I.feel.in.this.moment passes.
So while I wrote and it felt damn good to express myself, where do I go next to try to keep my blog updated on a (fairly) regular basis? First thing that came to mind was the Olympics.

When I was a kid, I loved, loved, loved watching the Olympics. Swimming most especially, followed by figure skating, gymnastics and diving. I entertained dreams of being an Olympic swimmer for a few brief, naive years. Some of which I maybe didn't even know how to swim yet. What can I say, imagination was always my strong suit.
I vividly remember staying up late into the night in the summer to watch all kinds of competition during my last pre-teen summer games. This was back when the winter and summer games weren't staggered two years apart like they are now. My interest in the games waned during the awkward teenage thru mid-twenties decade.
For the first time probably ever, I've been watching the US Olympic trials this week. It's something my father-in-law and I do together. My husband's family have been fans of collegiate/"amateur" sports. My dad watches pro, American football and that's about it. While I can't sit through the college world series... or whatever it's called, my father-in-law is tickled to come into the living room and I already have the Olympic coverage ready to go for us.

I can't imagine the pressure these athletes face. I also can't imagine what it's like to have literally millions of people cheering you on. It is the kind of heroic inspiration that I direct into my characters as they face their own situations. It is the kind of unity I wish the world population could get behind on a more regular basis to be more human to each other. Millions of people collectively screaming at the judges of gymnastics for an undeserved deduction. Millions of people holding their breath as the diver breaks through the surface of the water awaiting splash or no splash. Millions of people overwhelmed with pride, tears leaking from the corner of eyes as someone overcomes adversity/injury/being dead last to excel and stick the landing, cross the line first, make history.
I'm a little sad that the coming games are being overshadowed by a virus and the potential of facilities not being ready. It's not right that people with Olympic dreams and talent have had to make the choice to skip these games because of that virus. It's not fair for people to make the team, take the risk and not even have a prepared, even playing field ready to go. Such is life. I'm sure the athletes involved, the ones who truly deserve their place, will make the best of it.

Enjoy! Cheer! Marvel at 12 pack abs & buns of steel! Embrace good sportsmanship! Wear clean underwear! You can do it!

Monday, June 20, 2016

Climbing out of the rut

I should be writing. The lost in thought, internal movie playing, searching for just the right way to describe, squeezing blood onto the page exquisite agony.

But, like an unfocused, scared, doody head, I'm not. I'm blogging. And not that there is anything wrong with blogging - when anyone but me does it. But when I do it, when I'm put together 3+ posts in a row on varying topics and have another halfway completed one in my brain... well, I'm stalling.

Writer's block? I don't know that it really applies. I don't lack for ideas, regardless of quality. I don't lack for characters. Even when I struggle to find a particular way to phrase something for days on end. I don't think writer's block is really the issue. Unless my view of writer's block is narrow or lacking perspective.

Regrettably, I think I'm in the territory of pullum stercore. See? 'Cause wasting the time to look up how to say chicken shit was such a brilliant use of my time.
If I remark, for surely the four hundredth time on here, that it's been an off kind of time lately for not just me but plenty of the people I know, I'm not covering any new territory here. I feel dangerously close to wallowing. Which probably means I've been wallowing for some time and I'm getting uncomfortable as self-awareness dawns.

The writing community around my area has ebbed. The kick in the pants of getting together regularly that may have helped me get my groove back when I personally hit a nonproductive rut, is kind of having an off year as well. Not that my lack of motivation/energy/mental state is their fault. Or their problem. It's always going to come back to me. I finished one manuscript in artistic isolation. I don't really have an excuse. But if you've got a few minutes, I could readily expound on any number of reasons (*cough* rationalizing *cough*).

And I know I'm not alone. Not alone with struggling to get my rhythm back. Not alone struggling to make progress and keep up a viable momentum with life projects. Not alone, period.This past week I met up with friends several times. Went & saw a movie that gave me full on goosebumps for the first time in I can't remember when. We took in a regional attraction, and though underwhelmed, got in some exploring and tested out a new coffee shop. And chattered at one another.

It's helpful for morale. Alas, I'm still ankle-deep in a blog post.

I have been thinking about trying a different genre on for size. And then I get lost in an internal debate about am I just not finishing other projects I'm starting or realizing I need a change of pace? Overthinking until I cannot make a move.

Out of fear. Fear of being rubbish. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of success. Fear of being overwhelmed.

Out of guilt. There is so much I should/could be doing at the moment instead of playing make believe and dream of being a 'respected' *cough* paid *cough* author some day.

Self-inflicted mumbo jumbo drives so much of our own inner crap. And in the interest of being honest, it is this self-inflicted crap that is tying me in knots. I work out my inner sludge through writing. I entertain myself through writing. I express myself, liberate myself, unburden thousands of chaotic thoughts through writing. So when I notice that I've stopped reading, that I've pulled away from my characters and stories, that new ideas are no longer coming to me rapidfire, I'm in a muddy, stinking rut. I've let my self-inflicted crap get the better of me. It serves no purpose other than to make me feel less than and effectively take away that which personally brings me joy.

I'd love to finish this post with some rah-rah go get 'em ending. I'm still detached. I'm still sad. I do see the dawning of a new day and I know this will pass. I will make progress. I will get back into my writing groove. I will finish a project. And then another one. And then the next.


Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Respecting yourself

Even yourself
Self Judgement. Isn't that what we all think about in the wee hours of the morning on nights we can't sleep? Well, that and at least 5 dozen other rapidly shifting thoughts. It hasn't been a good week so far for sleep.

Contrary to what some may believe, I'm oh so aware of my short comings. They are plentiful. Just because I am working on this 'let it go' stage of life doesn't mean my own bullshit smells like a patch of petunias. I will never be the person I secretly long to be. Never making mistakes. Always on the ball. Manners and social grace for days. In short, perfect. Because it doesn't exist - or so I try to convince myself whenever I come across someone seemingly capable of it all.

Most (half to a solid two-thirds, maybe) days? I accept it and move on. Now. After a lot of behind the scenes inner dialogue. Unneeded agony. Internal melodrama.

Those demons and voices in your head, the ones that sound suspiciously like bitchy Aunt Irma, bigoted Grandpa Sal, a parent, a heard of catty heifers from middle school, a backstabbing confidant and so on? The ones who mock and systematically detail your every fault? It's like the wizard in Emerald City, baby. Clear the smoke and mirrors, pull aside the curtains and find a scrappy, dejected version of yourself.

Oh, to go back and shut that shit down sooner. Oh the grace I'd like to allow myself to have that I so willingly grant to others without thought. And the other others? The ones who you & I steadfastly believe have.their.shit.together? The ones you just know don't even break a sweat in the face of what keeps you up at night? They've dealt with or are still dealing with their own inner cacophony, too.

More to the point, what I wouldn't do for those I love and care about to be able to shut that shit down A. at all & B. without the lengthy & painful learning process. Just rip out all the pesky years of self loathing. And the reality is not everyone is going to learn how to love themselves. To accept themselves, warts, short tempers, catty moments, duh moments and all. But I so hope that you make the effort.

One thing about being shy and every kind of socially awkward is that it can be hard to open up to others about the things you're internally taking off points for. You sit and stew in the idea of you're a freak and nobody, nowhere else on the planet does whatever horrific thing(s) you believe makes you so unworthy. Because remember, in your mind, everybody else has all this stuff figured out from the word go. Few things bring as much relief to someone locking themselves up in their own personal judgement spiral as hearing the phrase "I do that, too!" when you're sure revealing a closely guarded weird factoid mundane personal bit of trivia is about to inspire fainting spells and gasps of horror from the mild mannered people around you.

Have you committed genocide? I seriously doubt if you're reading this that you have, so stop treating yourself as though you have.

But it can be hard to let go of that feeling. I totally get it.  And as in so many other things in life, you are not alone. There is a whole tribe of people afraid of how they'll come across so they just hide. (Or so I tell myself...)

I talk a good game in my blog posts about liking myself. About learning to accept myself and letting go of the negativity. It is a work in progress. But it is such a refreshing change of pace from the more traditional and socially accepted practice of never feeling good enough. I strive to create that inner peace. I strive to forgive myself and forgive other people. Oh, is that ever a work in progress. But it's active.

There is no manual that everyone else got, but somehow missed you. That 'perfect' person you're comparing yourself to? I'd be willing to be money they are as imperfect as you with the stomach flu horror story to prove it. Vomit and diarrhea, the great equalizers.

OR
There are people, far more qualified, far more eloquent, yada, yada, so on and so forth, who have said it better. And probably without the bodily fluids reference. Maybe not.
Like I said, better.
Respect yourself. Forgive yourself for being wonderfully imperfect. Accept yourself.

And for crying out loud, find a better hobby than writing blog posts before the butt crack of dawn when you can't sleep at night. And once you find it, let me know. No macramé. Also, fun fact, needlework makes me swear. A whole lot. So something quiet so I don't wake the house up. Like reading my library book. Or finger painting. Or making Christmas ornaments. Or figuring out world peace. Or finishing my friend's amazingly good manuscript that I shamefully have had for too long without giving helpful feedback. I'm an awful person. 
So tired.

Monday, June 13, 2016

One step at a time


When I was in 8th grade, I went on a school trip to Washington DC. Our last stop after a few days of site seeing, to the best of my memory anyway, was the zoo. Part way through our day at the zoo, teachers and groups of the "jockier" boys collected everyone else to send back to the bus. A group of girls in my class had been approached by some aggressive guys and groped. In modern (more appropriate) verbiage, you might say assault, molestation, maybe even attempted rape. I don't recall any of those words being used. We sat on our bus, one of those large cross country deals with a restroom where at least 2 kids are going to act up on the trip and get everyone else banned from using it, and waited for I couldn't tell you how long as the powers that be ‘handled’ it.


The rest of us were stunned. The chatter around the bus varied. People talked about what they'd do when faced with something dangerous back home. And I had the dire need to be a part of the conversation. Now I barely knew those girls. But I was horrified. And the chances (skewed by part naivety and part from low crime numbers of a smallish town) of a roving gang of thugs attacking on my way home from school at the time were slim to none. But I formulated a plan of what I'd do just in case.


For years, I've looked back on that moment and thought how ridiculous I was.


In the aftermath of Sunday's tragedy in Orlando, I kind of get it now. My social media news feeds are full of people looking to show a connection and more to the point, make sense of something unimaginable. How can you make sense of something so scary, something close to you but not necessarily directly involving you? How do you process the feelings, the need to do something? It probably makes a lot of sense that our minds start with what we know best, ourselves, when struggling to figure things out.


I graduated from high school and college in Orlando. I've been coming to Central Florida since about 1985 and lived here since middle of the 1990s. I went clubbing in Orlando in college. I have friends and family that could have been in that club. I wouldn't have hesitated to join them for a night out there, except for being old & tired. Music & dancing fought alongside reading for my top interests back before you could hear my joints grind together.


My friends and family in the LGBTQ Central Florida community are devastated. It could have been any of them. Or their family. Or their friends.


I'm heartbroken and angry, too. My LGBTQ nibbling doesn't feel its okay to let their extended family know who they are. Or that their friend is their partner. I am bitterly angry that my friends and family can't even hold hands walking down the street without fear, and the people who have supported denying their rights are suddenly extending their condolences because to not do so at this exact moment would be political suicide. If this wasn't the largest mass shooting in our country's history, would those folks be so carefully, publicly supportive?


I don't have any answers. I'm overwhelmed with a grief I don't feel I have a right to. My family and friends went to bed last night. Woke up this morning. Went about their lives as I did this morning. For the families and friends of the victims…. I just cannot imagine.


My community, Central Florida, is not necessarily comprised of the most tolerant or open minded people at least in part, (I remember my first visit with a newly out high school friend to the LGBT Center, how small it was in such a fire & brimstone area. How could this tiny space be enough of a safe haven for my friends?) but is coming together. 7 hr waits to donate blood, 2 days in a row. Those who can't give blood bringing snacks and drinks, chairs and umbrellas to those waiting to give. Monetary donations to help the families pay for funeral expenses. People offering homes for free to out of town relatives of the victims, offering care for pets left behind or left unattended while their owners heal. Vigils and prayers.


I don't think there's any sense to make of this.  I do think there are actions to take in the aftermath. Positive actions. Conversations that need to happen. It's a reality check in too many ways. A catalyst. I want to vomit from the idea that it takes something so horrific to force change.

So I challenge you, each and every one of you who read my blog. (Even those poor souls who stumble across sheerly by accident.) I challenge you to make the world a better place. I challenge you to be kind. I challenge you to take the high road. I challenge you to be patient with those who need it and impatient and unwilling to wait for someone else to make things better. I challenge you to check in with at least one loved one today just to let them know you’re thinking about them. I challenge you to commit to do something that makes you happy, no matter how frivolous you think it is. I challenge you to find something simple about the day to appreciate. Something you’d miss, something trivial and not something you’d think about if your life changed. The perfect mix of syrup and carbonation at a soda fountain. Extra salt on a pretzel. The way your dog’s butt wiggles when they’re happy. The gooey, slobbery kiss of your pet when you least expect it. The sound of your shoes crunching on the ground as you hike. The feeling of typewriter keys under your fingertips. The funny dance your spouse does in the shower when they don’t know (or don’t care if) you’re watching. Seeing butterflies dance around plants bursting with flowers. The smell of roses in the garden at dawn.

I challenge you to live your life, regardless of the scary things that could happen. It's a gift.

Thank you for reading my way of beginning to process what's gone on and how I feel about it. Thank you for visiting my blog - just by stopping by and increasing my views by 1, you make my day better. So in taking my own suggestion, thank you. Thank you.

If you'd like to help out, here are just a few of the ways:

One Blood No matter where you are, blood donations are always needed.

Pulse Tragedy Fund Go Fund Me led by the local LGBT Center in Orlando

Pulse Victim's Fund Go Fund Me led by the state of Florida's LGBT civil rights organization, Equality Florida

Tolerance - many people will be quick to blame, to spread their own feelings of fear or angry or frustration onto others they feel may be associated. This was the act of an unbalanced individual, not the act of a someone who belongs to any civic or faith-based community.



Monday, June 6, 2016

Two kinds of people in the world


Truth be told, I tend to think in all kinds of shades of ... well.. midway between black and white. (Go ahead, snicker anyway, I'll wait.) But you've heard the "two kinds of people" thing applied to all sorts of labels. People who use one alarm or fifteen. People who do something or people who are wrong. People who like X or people who like Y. People who either know what I'm talking about or don't. 

For today's post, do you think we get messages from angels/a benevolent deity/spirits/the universe to guide/reassure you or do you absolutely believe that's BS and we're on our own to figure out our lives?

In my (limited) experience, I've known plenty of non-religious people who utter the phrase "it must be a sign" in the face of an occurrence that confirms or rules out something on their mind or going on in their life. I've known deeply religious people who scoff at the idea of messages (for lack of a better term) being sent over mild mannered life decisions. 

Do you think a butt-load (technical term) of social media posts/advertisements/etc is a sign from the universe to cool your jets and wait for something or someone to come to you or just the result of intensive marketing research indicating people are busier and more stressed out than ever, burning the candle at both ends and thus more receptive to investigate these peaceful, patience touting 'messages'?

Do you find these messages, be patient or let go negative people or buy triple ply toilet paper for better life satisfaction, to be eerie in terms of timeliness or annoying in their frequency? I read an article last week about a woman claiming one of the biggest social media sites is recording conversations and using the content to adjust what advertisements you see. If you're inundated with repeated ideas or suggestions, is it simply because an algorithm decided you'd be more apt to click, investigate and create web traffic ($$)?

That's both cynical and a triggering thought. Let's move to potentially less paranoid thoughts.

My newsfeed overflows with astrological sign memes by people who are nothing like they believe their signs claim they are. At least once or twice a week I scroll past a numerology article asking if I see 11:11 all the time. (I don't, FYI. I do see repeating numbers from time to time, just not anything anyone ever writes articles about, apparently.) Everybody and their uncle share inspirational posts (moi included) the tickle their fancy, speak to friends or family in a difficult situation, or to preach a viewpoint.

So A. I have a lot of people on my newsfeed who are looking for answers/guidance B. I follow groups/pages that post random stuff (full disclosure, most of my newsfeed is flooded with puppy stuff) & C. does it mean a darn thing?

Coincidence or sign? Intervention or algorithm? Pants or plotter? (Er... NaNoWriMo flashback. Kinda fits.)

Since I'm the one posing the question, where do I fit? I don't know, agnostic maybe? My father taught me to question things. But at the same time, this practical man of science also uses the phrase "it must be a sign". Not necessarily in conjunction with seeing something on social media. Let's not beat the example into a pulp, hmm? I'm openly skeptical, open to the idea that anything is possible but suspicious as a general rule.

So where do you fall on this? Do you believe in/look for/see signs in your life or do you take things as they come, your life being the direct result of free will alone. By all means, comment below and give me some more food for thought.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

With a little help from my friends

In the era of social media, where people rack up 'friends' in the hundreds and thousands, where click-bate stories want you to believe whatever it takes to get the web traffic, there's an article for everything. Small circles of friends are more meaningful. Large circles of friends will make you more successful. Having friends will extend your life. Shorter friends throw better parties. Taller friends mix better drinks. People who wear turquoise will never be honest with you. People who wear exclusively polka dots will grow food for you in times of famine.

It's all on the internet, so it's gotta be true.

What I know is this:

I have almost always had a hard time making friends. Painfully shy as a child, my first friends in elementary school came to me. Best as I can remember anyway. Those memories, once crystal clear, are getting fuzzier at my age. But as I look back, with all the glory of hindsight coupled with self-analysis, I completely get the quote from Stand By Me:

I moved around the time I was 12, away from friends I'd had what seemed like my whole life. Honest to goodness BFFs. Girls I figured I'd grow old with. Even boys I figured I'd be friends with for ages. And then I was out of the picture. I moved a few more times before I graduated high school, becoming more shy and more socially awkward along the way. But what about the kids who moved a lot and become outgoing and easily make friends? As far from me as a lavender unicorn in sage culottes dancing in Swan Lake.
How cool would that have been though?!
Social media has shown me that my old BFFs ended up as adult BFFs, which has a bittersweet feeling for me. I think it's awesome they've been friends this long. But I wonder what it would be like if I'd managed to stay firmly sandwiched in there. And then I wouldn't have had the life I've had and blah blah blah. I also wonder if I'll ever like mushrooms or beer, not that I intend to ingest either one in the next several decades.

It's funny (to me at least) as I get older and the messages within things I've heard or seen finally sync in my brain. Kind of like listening to a Prince song with a kid for the first time. Or letting a 7 year old watch something from your youth and being scandalized at words that used to make you giggle (and still do when the kids aren't around).


So the bit about the never having friends like you had at 12? Totally. And upon reflection, why would you? Your baggage, best case scenario anyway, is so minimal to non-existent at that age. Chances are you probably haven't been stabbed in the back by a friend yet. You haven't been humiliated by your nearest and dearest. You and your friends haven't played the magical game of silent musical chairs where the loser is shut out of the group with no warning and allowed back in (or not) at random. All that weird psychological warfare people play is generally at the infant stage.

I realized all this over the last few weeks because one of my niblings is going through these friendship growing pains. She's the one left behind when friends moved away. She's trying to figure out how someone can be her best friend one day and the next leave her in the dust. She loves and cares for people who don't always care about her. And it all comes flooding back. It's not just because I was a new kid (not that it helped), or because I felt weird. It's because people start carrying around their own baggage and become affected by it. Then add in hormones, which I firmly believe plays a part in weaponizing baggage.
Teenage anything quite frankly.
Our internal struggles, the things we secretly harbor, they truly are more universal than we realize in our youth. It's perhaps one of the blessings of aging. Wisdom. Distance. Understanding. Perspective. Just about anything you think only happens to you happens to other people, too.

I may never have friends like I did when I was 12, but (and this is the part I get now) who does? While that 12 year old idealist who couldn't understand how adults compromised their standards, how anyone could ever be 'tired' from life, who thought 30 was so old *shudders* still resides within me, I'm not her anymore. And that means, I've grown. I've learned. I've experienced. I've made mistakes. I've triumphed.

The people I click with now? They've all grown and learned and experienced and made mistakes and triumphed. They're weird. They've felt isolated. They laugh at horrible, macabre things and want to fight injustice. They're storytellers and anti-bullshit. That's not to say the friends of my youth are lacking anything. We just don't know each other in that way anymore. When I think of them, I think of the little girls I played Nintendo at sleepovers with, regardless of having seen them since we've become adults.

So here's to the friendships over a lifetime: the ones that made youth feel endless, the ones that carried us through the growing pains, the ones that taught us valuable lessons, the unexpected ones and the ones you can finally appreciate from the word go.


To the End

When I began this blog 5 years ago, it ended up being a catch-all for whatever slogged through my brain, mostly writing and the difficu...