I was going to do some kind of reflective, year-end post about 2012, but I’ll be honest…I don’t really feel like it.
Most of it was pretty boring. I did boring, routine things. I struggled to pay my bills, used up a big part of my savings, felt like a complete failure, failed to meet many of the writing goals, and totally lacked any kind of success on the professional front (and most of the personal front, too). Really nothing to get into or write the Internet about.
But I did rarely have the occasion to do some cool things. I went to Cubs Con and Casino Night. I saw the Cubs lose their 100th game of the season, but Pat Hughes waved at me and that totally kills any of that pain. Let me repeat that. Pat Hughes waved at me.
I was able to hang out with friends I hadn’t seen in a long time (Hi, Becca!) and I met some really cool people, too (Hi, Harry!). I reconnected via social media with some people I haven’t seen in ages (Hi, Josh!) and I met some really cool people that way, too (Hi, everybody!).
I found out just what I’d do to try to make a life and a career my way and just how frustrating and hard that can be (and just how frustrating and hard I can be, too).
I changed a little, grew a little. It wasn’t all fantastic and glamorous. Most of it wasn’t. But it wasn’t an absolute waste either.
2012 was okay. And it’s a good thing I went through it because I have a feeling that 2013 won’t be much different.
I set myself two goals for the years. I wanted to get fifty short story rejections and I wanted to read twelve books. The results were mixed, but honestly, it was an overall fail for both goals.
First the fifty rejections. That was kind of a lofty goal, in retrospect. I tend to submit in bursts and I really didn’t have enough completed short stories to make this possible. Even the short stories I wrote during the year weren’t really enough to make up that deficit. Even though I scaled back the goal to twenty in November, it still wasn’t enough. As of right now, I garnered seventeen rejections for 2012. An improvement over last year’s total for sure, but far short of my goal. I think next year I’ll be a little more realistic and shoot for a more obtainable number.
The reading goals I set for myself were pretty specific (if you remember; I didn’t…I had to look them up). Not only did I have to read twelve books, six of them had to be fiction and six of them had to be non-fiction. Of the fiction books, at least one had to be in a genre I don’t read. Of the six non-fiction books, one had to be a memoir and only one could be a re-read.
The good news out of this is that I ended up reading a total of twenty books and I did read a couple of genres I normally don’t read. The bad news is that I failed in the non-fiction goals.
14 1/2 of the books were fiction (Margaritaville had both short stories and essays so I counted it as half). 5 1/2 books were non-fiction, falling half a book short of my six book goal. Two of those books were re-reads. And I didn’t manage to read a full on memoir.
So while I read more fiction than I usually do and read more overall than I have in a while, I totally bombed the non-fiction portion of the goals. I think next year’s goals are going to reflect that and my need to achieve balance.
Overall, I’m pretty disappointed with my lack of achievement. I’ve got some work to do next year.
When I first started doing the Grinchmas thing a couple of years ago, I didn’t realize it would become an actual thing. At the time it was a reaction to all of the Christians demanding that I say “Merry Christmas” and then telling me I wasn’t allowed to celebrate their holiday because I didn’t belong to their religion (note: I have never had a Jew do this to me; apparently it’s a Jesus related thing). So I started telling people Rob Whoville! instead because I wanted them to embrace the meaning behind the month of December, let their hearts grow three sizes, and stop being dicks.
Yeah, that effort has pretty much been ignored as I ended up shaming a bunch of people on Facebook for crying persecution and saying they’re not allowed to say “Merry Christmas” DURING HANUKKAH. Seriously. It’s things like this that just aggravate my spiteful spirit. The more you say I have to, the more I do the opposite.
Anyway, that’s not what I meant about Grinchmas becoming a thing. It’s become a thing FOR ME.
Without much intention, I’ve found myself attaching behaviors and beliefs to the concept and forming traditions in regards to my made up holiday. Giving of myself is a big part of it. It comes from being broke. I can’t buy wonderful, awe-inspiring gifts and frankly, I shouldn’t have to. Instead, I give little things that I think someone will like and/or use. I want to give useful things. I want to make things for people.
This year, if I didn’t make the gift, then I bought it with Amazon gift cards I’ve been hoarding. Or I spent as little as possible on ready made items to assemble into a gift. That’s right. I tried to not spend any actual money on anyone. I wanted to give as much from myself as I could without coming across as stingy or cheap or in general an asshole.
Now, I probably will anyway. People are so conditioned in this day and age to go broke proving their love for friends and family by buying them as much as possible. Because I didn’t, I’m going to look like a dick. The exception might be my nieces because I’ve been giving them various handmade items for Christmas most of their lives. They’re used to Aunt Kiki not spending money on them, but spending time and creativity on them instead. (Besides, those kids are spoiled anyway; they don’t need me spending any more money on them.)
I’m not knocking anyone else’s holiday celebrations. If it makes you feel good by going into debt for your loved ones, then hey, rock on. I don’t pay your bills. Everyone should get to celebrate the way they want to. I’m just saying that with Grinchmas solidifying into a real holiday practice for me, I’m going up against what is considered normal and proper for the holidays. It’s not going to be understood by most people.
I’m going to be labeled a cheap asshole for celebrating this way. That’s what I’m saying.
And I’m kind of “Oh well” about it. Because it means something to me.
Grinchmas is just as made up as any other holiday. I’m just the only one practicing on it.
The moral of the story is December holidays are about more than free stuff, but in the end, we all like free stuff, so just be happy if you get free stuff from me. It means I care.
Using my child-tending mornings two/three days a week to work on writing projects has me writing in a notebook. My laptop is in need of a new battery, but even if it didn’t, it’s much easier to walk a notebook next door than to bother with my laptop. It’s been a while since I’ve written longhand this much.
Back in the day, when I first started to write seriously for publication, I drafted all of my short stories longhand. I’d do my first round of revisions when I typed the story up. It’s a habit I got into because I was working retail and I’d write on my breaks. It’s a habit I got out of when I stopped working in retail because I had my computer at my disposal at all times. It seemed silly to bother with writing it out longhand and then typing it up. It was like a waste of paper.
Getting back to it now in the mornings I’m telling the boy it’s time to take a shower and eat his breakfast to break up his Pokemon DS quests, I realize that it’s not silly or wasteful. It’s true I don’t get as much done in that time span writing it out by hand, but I’m a little more thoughtful doing it that way. It’s not as easy to correct myself with ink and paper. And I don’t like a lot of scribbles marking up my paper, even if it is a first draft. So I pay a little more attention. The idea that I can go back and fix it (which plagues me because I still do battle with the voice in my head that I MUST get it right the first time) is still present in some sense, but I think I end up with a slightly better first draft than when I type it on the computer first.
I think part of that is because writing it out by hand does slow me down. I type like 70 words per minute (that’s an estimate based on a typing test I took at some point in high school, so there’s very much a margin of error here). Because my fingers can nearly keep up with my thoughts, I don’t take much time to pause and reflect when I’m getting that first chunk of story down. Writing longhand slows that whole process down. I can’t think about what’s coming next because I’m still working on what’s happening right now.
It’s a nice change of pace. Writing on the computer and then writing on paper is doing me more good than harm. The back and forth makes me feel more productive and better at what I’m doing.
It makes me FEEL that way. I can’t guarantee that’s actually happening. But it’s a nice feeling.
I’m looking for some serious advice about how to get popular because I am clueless as to how to make this happen.
You see, as someone attempting to make a career of writing, it helps to have a fanbase…aka…to be popular. This is not a thing that comes naturally to me. It might have to do with my social awkwardness. It might have to do with not liking to be the center of attention. It might have to do with me being a Capricorn. It could be a number of reasons, really. But what I’m looking for is solid advice to help me overcome these reasons and make myself popular.
I realize that there could be some serious work involved and that’s fine. I don’t mind hard work. I realize this could take me out of my comfort zone. That’s fine. I need to do more of that. I realize that there might not be any advice to give that could help me and I accept that. I don’t like it, but I accept it and it doesn’t hurt to ask.
So, I’m asking.
How can I make myself popular (short of giving out blowjobs, handjobs, or cash, or suddenly becoming drop dead gorgeous because good looks draws popularity on its own)? What do I need to do to make more people like me and be interested in me and my work? How can I make myself more appealing to the masses?
The theme song is easily in my top five of all-time favorite TV theme songs.
This was one of those shows I watched at my grandma’s house on the all awesome-detective show network (okay, not really; it just seemed like these shows were all on the same channel, but they were all awesome). It was right up my alley. A 70’s detective show. I didn’t realize then how much I would love that specialization, but I’m sure The Rockford Files had something to do with it.
Jim Rockford (James Garner) is a private investigator that drives a kicky Firebird, lives in a trailer at the beach, tries to talk his way out of physical confrontation, and keeps a gun (for which he does not have a permit) in a cookie jar. He did time in San Quentin for a crime he didn’t commit and was pardoned for. His father Rocky (Noah Beery, Jr.) does his best to get Jim to find a safer line of work, but usually gets drawn into his cases (or brings some to him) anyway. Jim also has a friend from prison, Angel Martin (Stuart Margolin), that tends to bring trouble to his trailer door, usually due to his scheming. His lawyer (and sometimes girlfriend) Beth Davenport (Gretchen Corbett) and Sgt. Dennis Becker (Joe Santos) help him out of more jams than they get him into.
Trouble with a capital T.
There wasn’t much glamour in Rockford’s private investigator life and his pursuit of cases (missing persons, minor insurance scams, and closed cases so he doesn’t have to deal with cops working open ones) in order to earn a living sometimes got him into trouble. That was pretty much the whole point of the show. Rockford would end up working on cases full of trouble and then he’d have to find a way out while solving the case.
Despite Rockford not being fond of getting into physical altercations, it seemed like he got into at least one an episode, more than once getting the crap kicked out of him. Definitely a different take than other detective shows in which the star in question rarely got roughed up. Rockford also seemed to have to evade trouble (or chase trouble) in his gold Firebird, scenes that loved to feature what became known as the J-Turn or “Rockford”, a move used by the secret service which involves driving backwards, turning the wheel sharply to spin the car around in a 180 and then slamming that sucker into drive. I don’t know how he never dropped a transmission doing it, but he’s a man that makes off the rack suits look great, so there you go.
As for guest stars, this show had them including several recurring characters. They included: Louis Gossett Jr., Isaac Hayes, Dennis Dugan, Tom Selleck (before he was Magnum, he was Lance White, the perfect PI), Kathryn Harrold, James Whitmore, Lauren Bacall, Harold Gould, Sharon Gless, Ned Beatty, Joan Van Ark, Linda Dano, Joe E. Tata, Gordon Jump, Noble Willingham, Stacy Keach Sr., Carmen Argenziano, Bill Mumy, James Sikking, Abe Vigoda, Veronica Hamel, Hector Elizondo, and (for the Dallas and Halloween II fans) Hunter von Leer.
My favorite episodes were the ones with Angel. He’d always end up getting Rockford in trouble somehow, usually because he was in trouble and needed help, and while Angel was sniveling and whining and scheming, Rockford would spend the entire episode fed up and at his wits end.
He looked like this a lot, too.
I loved the Rockford/Angel relationship. Their back-and-forths were some of the best. I also adored the father/son relationship between Jim and Rocky. One of my favorites.
It’s a great show. I could use a Jim Rockford in my life.
I feel like that sometimes, like I have no clue what the hell I’m doing. Not just when I’m working on my writing, either, though that happens plenty of times. For every day I think I know what I’m doing, there are two that I feel like I don’t.
I’m still not sure I know how to write a novel because I’ve yet to successfully revise one into completion. Working on short stories, more than once I’ve stopped to ask myself, “Is this right?” Even when it comes to blogging, I feel lost at times, like I’m just faking my way through it, looking like an idiot all the way.
But this feeling of not knowing what I’m doing goes beyond the writing doubts. It encompasses my whole career (if you want to call it that). Should I be splitting my time between writing novels and working on short stories? Is the Outskirts a waste of time? Should I really be self-publishing my novellas? Should I even be writing novellas? Should I focus all of my time and energy on getting one novel manuscript finished so I can start shopping it to agents? How do I connect more with the writing community? I need to get into it, but where do I start? Should I wait until I do have a novel manuscript finished and few agent rejections so I don’t look like the impostor I feel like? I consider myself a writer, but will they?
It feels like flies on a dead body in June when my brain buzzes like this. It freezes me. I can’t make any decisions, can’t even look for a logical place to start trying to figure anything out. I can’t even figure out what I DO know because I’m not sure I actually know it.
It’s kind of a bitch.
When this sort of overwhelming “where am I?” happens, I find myself throwing up my hands and yelling “fuck it!” at the sky and going back to work on whatever it is I’m working on. Do I know what I’m doing? Fuck it! I’ll do it anyway! That’s the spirit!
Which really doesn’t do me any good because it doesn’t fix the underlying problem, but at least I do get something done. And the productivity makes me feel better. It makes me feel like I at least know how to cross something off my To Do List for that given day. It’s a sense of accomplishment.
It’s just the rest of it I still need to work out.
My bathroom picture skills leave something to be desired.
Many people on my Twitter timeline watched the Victoria Secret Fashion Show last week. Of those that watched, the comments ranged from the impracticality of the lingerie shown to men drooling to women complaining about how good the women looked and how they paled in comparison to men complaining about the women complaining.
I was eating ice cream and watching reruns of The A-Team at the time, but I did catch a snippet of it and saw a woman in elaborate tiger lingerie and my first thought was, “Holy hell, I couldn’t wear that. I’d get shot by some big game hunter or a redneck drinking shine on his porch.” That probably wasn’t supposed to be my first thought, but I’m crap about getting it right the first time.
Here’s the thing, I don’t watch the Victoria Secret Fashion Show because it holds no interest for me. I can’t fit into their lingerie, practical or impractical, I don’t really need lingerie, and though I do appreciate the female form, their models are too skinny for me. It creeps me out if I can see your spine when you bend over. You might be a very lovely person and we might get along swimmingly, but still. Bones go on the inside. That’s just one of my irrational quirks.
And I certainly don’t watch it to punish myself. There’s no sense in me looking at underwear I’m never going to fit into or compare myself to women I’m never going to look like. I was built to plow fields, so I’ll never lose enough weight to be thin. Being a size 4 is impossible if my bone structure won’t allow it. My self-esteem is kind of important and I try to go out of my way to nurture it. Watching HM Murdock fly helicopters and do impressions of Paul Lynde and aggravate BA Baracus is way better for my self-image than watching thin women walk around in their underwear. But that’s just me.
I try to maintain a mindset of fat and fabulous. I try to make that be my center. I can be both. I realize most people don’t believe this and in fact, try to fight it as hard as they can, and that’s cool. Everyone has their own agenda and this one is mind. I feel it’s better for my mental health to rock the body I’m currently using. If this body loses forty pounds, then I’ll rock it forty pounds lighter (I’ve done it before). If this body loses 100 pounds, I’ll rock that one, too (but I bet I’d be able to see my spine, so I’d probably spend a good portion of my time creeping myself out, too). The same would be done if I gained twenty pounds.
If it’s mine, then I’m going to own it. I realize that really offends people that want me to change to fit the ideal. I realize that it automatically puts me at a huge disadvantage in the realm of romance because society dictates that I’m not allowed to have what I want unless I conform or am willing to settle for much less than I want. I realize that I’m going to have to be harshly judged until the end of time and have to constantly correct people’s misconceptions.
But I also realize that I’m not the loser in this situation either. Your hang-ups about my looks aren’t my problem. It’s a consequence of being fabulous.
So good on Victoria and her secrets and her model and her questionable underwear.
December is always a screwy month for me. I’m coming down from NaNoWriMo, I’m dealing with the holiday gauntlet, and in general my time and energy is in flux. I never know what to schedule for myself during December because I never know how this roller coaster month is going to work out. I either give myself too much to do, decide to take on projects that are too ambitious, or I don’t give myself enough and I end up feeling like a slacker.
I’ve decided to err on the side of slackerdom this time around. I think I’m going to end up working on some Outskirts stuff. I’ve got a Paxton story I’m working on and some ideas for some Maisie Day stuff. I’ve got this idea for a couple novellas as written by Maisie (since she is a writer, you know). I think that’s what my morning project is going to end up as and I think I’m going to revise and cut down the Ivy novel I wrote over the summer to be one of Maisie’s. I’ve also got an idea for another one, but I haven’t done anything with it yet.
Working on all of that is both productive, but also low-commitment in a sense. There’s nothing urgent about it.
I will also continue my quest for rejections. It’s because obvious that I’m not going to meet my goal of 50 by the end of the year since I’m sitting at 15 right now. But 20 is within reach and I’ve got five stories out and four ready to go. If I finish the revisions on “Just Visiting” (I’ve already done most of the heavy lifting), that’ll be five. I didn’t submit at all in November, didn’t even really look around much. I need to finish the year with a final burst.
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