Accountability

So. This writing thing. I'm getting about the business of it.

Right. Now.

Seriously.

Although I think that my morning nosh of a NutriSystem Apple Scone and a YooHoo Lite is not the Breakfast of a Champion Writer. But my knee hurts too damn bad for me to stand at the stove and make some NutriEggs for a breakfast burrito. How sad is that.

(Sidebar: YooHoo Lite. The definitive definition of a Bad Impulse Buy. What can I say... I was tired, my knee was aching, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I think this is what Nancy Reagan was really referring to when she pontificated on the "Just Say No" thing.)

Here's what's on the docket today:

* I'm wordsmithing my contest essay.

Topic: "What was the most important day of your life?" Can you say hyperbolic? Damn.

Three guesses what day in my life qualifies as the most important... and the first two guesses don't count. My biggest challenge is going to be trying to get all my thoughts shared in 3000 words. As you know if you've checked out my Will Chronicles posts, I've got a lot to say on this subject. Deadline is in a month. I think I can handle that.

But feel free to ask me how it's going. Nothing motivates this Southern chick with a fear of disappointing people like some indirect, totally unintentional guilt. ;-)

* I'm penning a sorority recommendation for the daughter of a very good friend of mine. I love doing stuff like this -- it makes me happy to pass the torch of my college experiences along to a new generation. Although writing-wise, it's not a great challenge. However, my thesaurus is close by, as superlative adjectives are in play here and "great", "awesome" and "fantastic" can only go so far.

* I'm still noodling with a blog piece about my status as an Disorganized Liberal. The thoughts are there -- I just need to get them to a place where I'm happy with how they flow. Yeah, I know it's a simple blog item that will only be read by a handful of people (whom I love and adore for seeking out my blather... MWAH!) -- but it needs to be just right for ME. Frickin' control freak tendencies are seeping out here.


PS: I know it's rather meta for me to be writing about writing. But a girl's gotta start somewhere, right...

Putting My Mouth Where the Money Is...

(damn, does that sound dirty -- SO not my intent, believe it or not...)

I'm putting my foot down. Or rather, my hands down on the keyboard.

Enough pussyfooting around and paying lip service to this "oh, I want to be a real writer" bullshit.

I'm doing something about it. Starting right now.

I'm going to enter a writing contest. 1500 words about the most important day in my life... three guesses as to what day that might be?

I'm taking my blog entry about the day Will was born and tinker-tailoring it to be a standalone essay. At least that's my plan at the moment.

I'm determined this time to make good on my self-promise to see where this writing thing can take me. No distractions or diversions. *knock on wood* Hopefully no bouts of self-doubt or talking myself into believing I don't have the goods to follow my heart's passion for words.

I have a deadline: 11:59 pm, September 9, 2008. That's totally attainable. Provided I don't kamikaze my own damn self.

So here it is -- out there in print for the world (or the handful of y'all who read my blatherings) to see. Feel free to gently nag and ask how things are going -- that will be enough to trigger my finely tuned sense of self-guilt and get me moving if I've stalled.

This task I'm attempting may not seem big in the overall scheme of things as far as becoming a serious writer/author chick. But it's a step (with prize money involved!) And it's something I'm doing for myself. Which really ain't easy for me. But I believe it's necessary. And that's a step forward in itself.

Here goes. I'll keep you posted. Promise. I think.

Swapping recipes with John Waters

Fascinating article on John Waters in the sorta-kinda-maybe most recent issue of New York magazine. It's the most recent one to appear in my mailbox, anyway.

Besides being a very entertaining piece, it was also enlightening to me and provided a nice bit of writer's inspiration... check this out:

Waters is unusually regimented. He wakes up at exactly 6:10 every morning and reads newspapers and drinks tea until 8. He starts writing “right at eight o’clock—not 8:01, not 7:59,” and works until lunchtime. Waters is rigidly devoted to these morning sessions, and his hired wife plans his travel accordingly. He will go somewhere a day early or stay a day late rather than fly in the morning, even if it means staying at an airport hotel, “because I need to write five days a week,” he says firmly. “As far as I can remember I have done that, at least for 25 years. I most never miss a day. When I was young and went out every night—like during the days of Multiple Maniacs and Pink Flamingos—I don’t know how I did it. I took pills and smoked pot every day, but I still made those movies. I don’t think I was as stringent in my Swiss personality, as I call it, but I did make those movies.”

Now that's regiment. Not sure I can carve out such a strict gameplan for myself, but it's given me some food for thought. And speaking of food... if I didn't dig John Waters before (which I did), I would after reading this:

Even his misbehaving is methodical. On weekends he “eats irresponsibly.” (The rest of the week he prepares his meals from recipes in Cooking Light magazine.)

Cooking Light magazine. Awesome. He and I could totally start our own recipe club.

A Matter of Ritual

Who knew that Jack Kerouac and I had so much in common?

Actually, we have two things in common that I know of -- which may not qualify as "so much," but it's at least a start.

Turns out that Mr. Kerouac died in the same hospital where I was born, albeit five years later. That's kinda weird and gruesome, actually, but interesting, at least to me.

And, it seems that we have the same ritual in regards to sitting down and starting to write. We both light a candle.

Granted, I doubt that his was exactly like mine -- currently, I'm burning Illuminations Tea & Honey jar candle . I'm thinking that wouldn't have been Mr. Kerouac's style. But still.

I gleaned this little candle tidbit from a rather interesting writing tool I picked up in a hipcoolgroovy independent book store I ran across in Key West. The Observation Deck by Naomi Epel is a jump start idea box for writers. A collection of suggestions to help get the creative juices marinating is paired with a book of application anecdotes from successful writers.

The box had been sitting on my dining room table (which is really, at the moment, the junk accumulation table) since I'd returned from the cruise. Just hanging out, giving me the inanimate stink-eye every time I walked by and ignored it. Seemingly saying "Come on. I dare you. Open me up and give me a whirl."

So I did.

I pulled my first card. Which said "observe a ritual." And after pondering this for a while -- long enough to make me feel thoughtful but not so long as to permanently deepen the furrows between my brows -- I turned to the companion book. Which is where I learned about Jack Kerouac and his candle.

I didn't really realize it until now, but I do have some rituals in which I engage when I sit down to write. Lighting the candle is one. Taking off my shoes is another. Under my desk there is a huge pile of shoes. A couple of pairs of socks. And a lone flip-flop, its partner flung to parts unknown. I also take off my jewelry -- watch, rings, earrings. My morning dressing routine more often than not ends here in the office, where I put on the day's adornment and footwear. And sometimes even my bra -- I've been known to whip it off too and hang it on the corner of the file cabinet.

I light my candle. My sense of smell is finely tuned -- I have many memories that are triggered just by a certain scent in the air. And I turn on some music. That is perhaps the most important pre-writing ritual I have. I am one of those weird people who has to have background noise in her life -- almost at all times. Something needs to be playing in the background -- else I go slightly mad. I had to study with the TV or radio on in college, which, when I had roommates, could become a bit of a bone of contention. Couldn't do libraries for long periods of time unless I had my Walkman available. Back in the early '80s, it was not uncommon to find me, cross-legged at our coffee table, working on a project with MTV as company.

I fall asleep with the TV on (after setting the sleep timer); I have my iPod handy at all times; the radio is always on in the car. I'm not sure why I prefer to function this way -- part of it stems from living alone for so long. In the 10 years between college and when I got married, I lived alone. The noise was my companion -- it helped to fill the empty spaces. And, strangely enough, it's also comforting to me. My mind never turns off -- I fall asleep thinking and wake up thinking. No blank spaces or empty pauses. The background noise gives me something to focus on other than my own thoughts. Which, believe me, is a very good thing.

When I write, though, I have to have music that's not a distraction -- songs that I know and love and immediately sing along to aren't conducive to my creative process. Jazz, classical or anything from Putumayo is perfect when I'm putting words to virtual paper. In fact, I've got Brazilian Lounge crooning in my ears right this very minute. I have no idea what any of the lyrics are saying (anyone know Portuguese?) but the beat is soothing and mellow and exactly what the muse ordered.

So. For someone who initially assumed she wasn't a chick of ritual, I guess I fooled myself.

Go figure.