Writing–The Week I Didn’t Write

Write Your Story Blank Lined Notebook Paper Cr...

Between a heat wave that pretty much obliterated most of my productivity and a small “what am I doing with my life?” crisis, I didn’t write for a week.

That’s right. I didn’t write.

Initially, I’d just decided to take a 3-day weekend from writing, something I hadn’t done in a while. Like I said, I was having a bit of a crisis and I needed to take a break and reset. However, with the heat (I don’t have A/C in my room where I spend most of my time and do most of my work) those three days stretched out to a week.

Part of my crisis was the doubt that I should be wasting all of my time writing. I’ve been getting frustrated with it, the lack of progress, the lack of motivation, the fact that it felt like work. I decided to take a few days off and see how I felt about writing. If I thought I could leave it, then I would. I didn’t know what I would do, but I’d find something.

As it turns out, not writing was actually a good thing. Oh, I still want to make my living as a writer and I’m still going to write. But not writing helped me gain some perspective on my situation.

First of all, just because I wasn’t writing didn’t mean I wasn’t still thinking like a writer. What I mean is even though I was on break, I was still getting ideas. Ideas for new stories, ideas for revisions, ideas for rewrites. I did a lot of jotting down while I wasn’t writing. It was nice having the ideas just come to me like that instead of trying to force them or beg them to come out of hiding.

And I still did other writing. I kept up with my blog posts and  I wrote in my journal. I also scribbled on a couple of other goof projects, stuff that will never see the light of day. I could do it because I had the time to do it and I didn’t feel guilty about devoting twenty minutes to writing down a bit that came to mind.

I will admit that I was very bored without my writing. Yes, sometimes (lately most of the time) it feels like a pain and a chore, but without it, I was often left staring at my computer screen wondering what I should do. Sure I read more and of course I watched baseball, but that didn’t really fill the time like writing does.

In the end, not writing for a week helped me more than if I’d pushed through it and made myself write. I needed that time to reset, recharge, and re-evaluate what I was doing and how I was doing it.

I’m back to the grind again, working on a few different projects. It still feels like work sometimes. But it feels like the right kind of work now.

No Good Deed

English: A picture of three eggs in a bowl, in...

Shortly after my parents divorced, when I was living in housing with my dad, I decided to make a cake. It was a box mix cake because baking isn’t my strength and when I was 16 cooking in general was not something I had a handle on. I thought it would be nice to surprise my dad with this cake.

So I my cake-baking on, putting the mix in a bowl and getting the eggs out of the fridge. As I’m putting the eggs back into the fridge, I drop the carton. I can’t remember exactly how it happened; I just remember that every egg in the dozen sans the two I pulled out for the cake mix broke all over the floor.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but I tell you what, I bawled over those broken eggs.

And that incident stands out in mind as the perfect illustration of me trying to do something nice for people. I pay for it in some way. It doesn’t stop me from doing it, but I admit, the price has sometimes been high.

I realize this can come off as whiny and bitter and I admit to being a little whiny and bitter about it, but I’m also fascinated by it. “No good deed goes unpunished” isn’t just a saying for me anymore. It’s a rule to seriously consider before I do something nice for someone.

If you believe in Karma (and I kind of do), then ideally, if you do good, you get good in return. I do good and I, well, I don’t get it back. In terms of Karma, it makes me wonder what bad I’m still burning off that I can’t catch a break.

I should clarify that I don’t do good things for people with the idea of getting good things in return. First of all, it doesn’t happen. Second of all, I do good things because I think they should be done and I want to do them. It’s not an entirely altruistic feeling. Sometimes it feels like a duty or an obligation and maybe that’s where I’m screwing myself. It’s a have-to, not always a want-to. Good things don’t come from obligations. That’s why they’re obligations.

But then you have to figure that it’s because I feel like I have to do nice things for people that I keep doing nice things for people. Let’s face it. You would think that at some point I’d learn my lesson and just stop doing anything nice for anybody to avoid the cosmic retribution that comes with it. But I don’t. I keep doing nice things knowing that a kick in the groin is most likely coming. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. Sometimes not at all. Sometimes I get nothing and I’m happy with that.

Nothing beats a groin kick any day.

I guess what I’m trying to say with all of this blathering is that I like to do nice things for people even if I get some not-so-nice things in return from the universe and it just boggles my mind how literally my life takes the “no good deed” saying to heart.

It’s just one of those things.

Recipes: Shrimp Pizza with Spinach and Roasted Tomatoes

In the winter time, I like to make a shrimp pasta dish with rainbow rotini, spinach, and roasted tomatoes and I’ve often thought that the ingredients (minus the pasta) would transfer well to a pizza.

I was so right. Here’s the recipe if you’re into trying new things.

INGREDIENTS

-1 bag of thawed, jumbo pre-cooked shrimp (cocktail shrimp)

-2 thin pizza crusts (store bought or make your own)

-2 bags of shredded cheese (I use Kraft 4 Cheese Pizza Cheese)

-1 bag of baby spinach

-roasted tomatoes (store bought or make your own; I’ll include my recipe for my own)

-1/2 tablespoon of butter

-1 or 2 cloves of garlic, minced

-olive oil

-red pepper flakes

INSTRUCTIONS

Pre-heat oven to 425.

In a skillet on medium heat, melt the butter and add the garlic. Add the spinach and wilt, giving it a good toss in the butter and garlic. Set aside.

Drain and prep the shrimp by pulling off the tails (pinch the tail from the top/bottom instead of the sides and the shrimp should pop right out with a little tug). Season with red pepper flakes (use as much or as little as you want; I usually use 1 to 1 1/2 tbsp).

Spread a thin layer of olive oil on the crusts. Use about a third of a bag of the shredded cheese to make a thin layer on one of the crusts (you’re going to use a bag a pizza). Top each pizza with the spinach, shrimp, and tomatoes. Use the rest of the bag of cheese to cover the toppings.

Bake for 9-11 minutes directly on the rack, until cheese is melted and a little brown and the crust is crispy.

The recipe makes two pizzas. It’s easily doubled or halved. I make two because if I don’t, I don’t get a piece. It’s very popular in my house. But it also keeps well, so it’s great for lunch the next day.

My recipe for roasted tomatoes.

INGREDIENTS

-3 or 4 medium tomatoes

-2 to 4 cloves of garlic, chopped

-olive oil

-salt and pepper

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 400.

Slice the tomatoes into fairly small wedges and seed them (aim for about 8 wedges a tomato). Arrange them in a single layer on a baking sheet (I use a pizza pan covered in tin foil for easy clean-up). Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper (about 1 tbsp each) and the chopped garlic. Give it a quick toss.

Roast (bake) in the oven for about 20 minutes.

I typically double this and make a big batch at once because I use them in several of my recipes. They keep really. Just make sure you let them cool before you stick in them in the fridge in a container.

Enjoy!

Writing–50 Shades of…Um…

Notes in a Moleskine notebook
Notes in a Moleskine notebook (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

First of all, let me say that aside from excerpts, I haven’t read 50 Shades of Grey. And the excerpts I’ve looked at read like fanfiction. Which is fine, except this is a best selling book and a kick right to the nuts of my ego.

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t a knock on fanfiction. I like fanfiction. I wrote A LOT of fanfiction (well over 100 stories in at least 10 different fandoms, if not more; I can’t really remember). For me it was a great training ground. You’ve got to write a lot to learn how to be a better writer and I put in my time doing fanfiction. With characters and worlds ready-made, it was very easy to drop a story down on it and see what I could do with it. And I did a lot.

To this day, I feel my greatest fanfiction accomplishment was writing a story for a fandom that I knew little about. I mean I hadn’t even seen the movie the fandom was based around. My friend challenged me, told me some key details, and then let me go. Somehow, I was able to write a story deemed accurate and very in-canon. I’m still very pleased that I could do that.

However, in terms of popularity, nothing can compare to a story I wrote years ago. I’m not going to name the story, or hell, even the fandom because the Internet is forever and I don’t want anyone looking it up. I HATED that story. I hated it when I wrote it and I still hate it now. It was supposed to be a little one shot fic, but so many people clamored for more than I caved in and wrote more. To date, it probably eclipses everything I’ve ever written, original and fanfiction, in terms of popularity.

I’ve read it a couple of times since it was originally posted over a decade ago and while I still hate it, I also see how far I’ve come as a writer since. I still hate that story, but now I hate it on different levels, from the bones on up.

When 50 Shades of Grey first came out and its Twilight fanfic origins revealed, I gave a passing thought about giving my popular fanfic story the same treatment. Just find/replace the names and post it to see if anyone would still think it was so great.

With  my luck, they would. People would clamor over it now like they did back then and some publisher would want to buy it and then I’d have to go stick my head in the washing machine because it’s old enough that it’ll run the spin cycle without the lead closed. I couldn’t imagine being forever tied to that story, to have my success based on that story. It’s garbage and I know it and the fact that people would be willing to ignore the garbage-ness of it would make me wonder why I ever bothered to get better as a writer at all.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m working on novel manuscripts, making a concerted effort to get better as a writer, and a piece of renamed fanfiction hits the best seller list. Jealous? Of course. Disappointed? Absolutely.

It makes me wonder why I’m wasting my time.

Maybe I should have stuck to fanfiction.

The Many Hair Colors of Kiki

You saw my many faces, now you get to see my many colors.

In my early 20’s, I decided to break out of the norm and go wild. I needed to express myself and I did it through altering my appearance. I wore a lot of heavy make-up, mostly purple as it’s one of my favorite colors. Purple eyeshadow and purple lipstick were the norm (away from work; I didn’t wear make-up there). Black eye liner and black mascara. Sometimes I’d do glitter designs on my face. Before it was all done, I’d had my eyebrows pierced five times, including three times on the left side (the other two done on my right were done at two separate times because the first one ripped out) and had my nipple pierced (I’ve got a fun story about that, too, but some other time).

And then there was my hair. It was long then and I did a lot of things to it. I’d braid it in pig tails, braid it in tiny little braids and then put ribbons on the end, fashion spiky buns, give myself what one lady called “turkey feathers”, but mostly I wore it in a pony tail.

I was about 20 when I started coloring it. I eased into it, having a professional do it first, then I became the professional. I got really good at coloring my hair myself, bleaching it and then dying it with Manic Panic. I used gloves and a brush and ruined a couple of shirts and a bathroom rug. Sometimes my tub would be blue or purple or red for days. I dyed my friends’ hair. I became the go-t0 hair dye expert.

I worked at Wal-Mart at the time. A lot of customers would come in to see what color my hair was that day (I changed it every six weeks to two months). Only a few times did I get a negative comment. When our HR lady complained, my district manager gave me special permission to keep my hair any color I wanted. I don’t know if it was because I was good at my job or what, but I appreciated it.

Once I quite my job at Wal-Mart, the hair had to go back to normal so I could get a new job. I dyed it burgandy for a few months while I found and got a new job. Then I colored it with the goal of getting it back to my natural hair color. I’d wrecked my hair bad with all of the dying and bleaching and coloring and I wanted a break. That was over ten years ago. I haven’t colored my hair since.

So here are some (not all!) of my hair colors over that time period.

To get a feel for where I was and where I ended, this was my hair before I colored it. My natural color now is actually much darker and I love it.

This was my first color combo: black, purple, and blonde. The blonde and purple hues are very subtle as I had this professionally done and she didn’t get too wild.

I think this was my first go on my own. I ended up with blue, green, and black. Note the purple make-up and the glitter tears. I wasn’t kidding when I said I did that.

Red and black. I loved this combo. I also loved to wear my hair like this. And yes, I did wear this outfit out of my house to places like the mall and the movies. I still have the dress and the jacket.

I bleached my hair A LOT in between dying so the color would take better. I was never blonde for long, though, because I HATED being blonde. The longest I was ever blonde was a week and that’s because I had to have my hair a natural color because I was working at another store. Also, that’s my first rat I’m smooching, Zero. I’ve had a total of five of them.

This is what happens when you want to dye your hair, but don’t have enough dye to do one color. I used the leftovers. Not one of my favorite looks. It didn’t last long. You can also get a sense of how large my chest was. Pictures never really did it justice, though.

I loved the effect of this color combo with the blond bangs. It was really cool. But you can see the damage starting to take its toll on my hair.

Blue and purple. Another combo effect that I really liked with the blue bangs in contrast with the rest of my hair being purple.

My last wild color combo ever: pink, orange, and blonde. One of my co-workers called it Tequila Sunrise.

Hair colors not pictured: Purple and black; orange and yellow; pink and purple; blue and blonde.

I’m not going to lie when I saw I miss some of these hair colors and there are days when I wish I could dye my hair purple or red and black again. But looking back on that time I realize part of the reason why I did it. I was trying to find a way to be pretty. I knew then, with my wide ass and my huge, non-perky boobs and my extra weight that I had no chance to be conventionally pretty. But I still wanted to be pretty. So I made a different way to be pretty.

People have said that I did it for attention and you know, maybe I did a little. But my main goal was I wanted to be pretty, to feel pretty. I couldn’t compete with the little blonde things that men always drool over, but when my hair was green and my eyebrow was pierced, they couldn’t compete with me. I owned that look like they never could.

I was pretty on my own terms.

And I still am.

Writing–50 Rejections Update

English: Logo of the band Rejected Español: Lo...

We’re about half-way through the year and my goal of getting 50 rejections. I’d love to say that I’ve already made that goal. I’d love to say I’m even half-way there. Unfortunately, neither is the case.

In fact, I haven’t even broken double digits.

As of right now, I’ve gotten 8 rejections, 2 acceptances (“Soul Sister” which is up at Suburban Fool now and “Powerless” which should come out next year), and I’ve still got 6 short stories out that I’m waiting to hear back on.

I admit it. I haven’t been as productive as I hoped I’d be.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I HAVE been productive, just not so much on the short story front. But when it comes to the short stories, yeah, I haven’t been as much of a go-getter when it comes to sending them out. I’ve got 5 ready to go and a couple of them have been sitting there, waiting, for quite a while.

I’m back to that hang-up of struggling to find an appropriate place to send them. Obviously, I read guidelines and I try to adhere to them as closely as I can. I don’t like to waste people’s time. But I’m not the greatest judge of my own work and I’m sure that there are pieces I could submit to places, but I’m on the fence on whether or not they fit. They could, but then they couldn’t. That indecision is probably costing me in the rejection numbers (and possible acceptances).

It’s something I’ve got to work on, for sure.

I’m not giving up on my goal. Sitting here now, it looks like I don’t even have a shot at it. And that’s kind of a bummer. But I have trouble quitting on things, even if they are long shots. I’ve got to see them through until the end.

And this is one of those goals that even if I fail, I’m still going to be better off than if I’d never tried in the first place.

I’ve just got to keep going.

Fat Business

Someone I follow on Twitter retweeted the following tweet:

Am I the only one that gets angry and wants to yell when I see fat people eating junk food?

Well, I can definitely say that no, you’re not and yes, people actually do.

I also invite you to come up and yell at me while I’m noshing on a corn dog and see if it’s not one of the more ill-advised decisions you make in your life.

Because the first words out of my mouth are going to be, “WHAT FUCKING BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS, SKIPPY?”

It seems that in this society being fat is everyone’s business should you venture out in public. Like a pregnant lady constantly getting her belly felt up by strangers, it seems to be no breech of etiquette to confront, insult, and/or shame a fat person for being fat.

Now, I can’t go up to a thin person and tell them that they should be eating chocolate or tell them they need a burger. I can’t tell a thin woman that she has the body of a pre-pubescent girl with implants. I can’t tell a thin man how unattractive he is because he’s thin. That’s rude.

But for someone to come up to me and tell me to put down the Ho Ho, that’s fine. It’s perfectly fine for a thin woman to call me a fat bitch. It’s completely acceptable for a thin man to moo at me. I deserve it because I don’t fit society’s ideal standards.

Well, ya know what? Fuck off. It’s none of your business.

No, really, it’s not.

You cannot possibly think that I don’t know that I’m fat. Believe me. I know.

You cannot possibly think that I don’t know the implications of being fat. Believe me. I do. I’m shunned for my size and treated badly because of it. I’m disrespected for it. It’s more socially acceptable to be a heroin addict than a fat person because, hey, at least the junkie is skinny.

And I know the health implications, too. Actually, I probably know MORE about that health implications than a thin person because they’ve been shouted right at me. I’ve also learned to read between the lines and take my health into my own hands because people are so quick to say that I’m unhealthy because of a number on a scale.

Did you know it’s possible to weight over 200 pounds and have good cholesterol, blood pressure, and sugars? It’s true. It’s been done. Hell, I’ve done it. And so have other fat people. Those are actually better measures of health than weight. Why? Well, because thin people can have shitty cholesterol, high blood pressure, and be diabetic. Wild, huh?

Yeah, you don’t know my medical charts. You also don’t know my life. You have no idea why I’m fat, how fat I’ve been, or how fat I’m gonna be.

You don’t know my diet and can’t judge it by one cheeseburger. Maybe that’s my weekly treat and for the rest of the week I live off of salads and water. Maybe I was in a hurry, like you, thin person, and had to grab something quick on the go when I’d rather have eaten a balanced meal. Maybe all I eat is McDonald’s. How do you know? That’s right. You don’t.

Did you know you can be fat without eating all of the time and eating a lot? It’s true. There’s no telling how much I eat. I might graze all day. Or I might go back for seconds. Or thirds. I might only eat one big meal a day. I might eat three balanced ones. Again, how can you possibly know?

Did you know you can be fat but still work out? It’s true. You have no idea how much I work out. I may sit around the house all day. Or I might run 5K’s. I might walk every day after dinner. I might do yoga every morning. Maybe the only exercise I get is lifting that cookie to my mouth. But you don’t know, do you?

Heaven forbid I insinuate that all thin people are workout anorexics that puke after every meal. That’s rude! It’s generalization! It’s not fair! But, it’s perfectly fine to think all fat people are unhealthy, lazy, gorging slobs. That’s not a generalization! It’s a truth!

Well, fuck your truth. Stick your truth straight up your ass. Replace it with this truth:

I don’t hate you for being thin. I hate you for disrespecting me for being fat.

And if you have such an issue with me smashing a DQ Blizzard, then please, come up and say something. We’ll discuss it.

I’ll set you straight.

Writing–Finding Stories

Trash bin

My roommate Carrie and I were sitting on the patio by the side door which faces our neighbors’ yard. On their patio, next to their garbage cans, was a large box, probably for a television. Carrie speculated on why they might need a new one. I really didn’t care.

She told me that I wasn’t curious enough to be a writer. That I should look at that box and wonder what story is behind it. Maybe the neighbors are aliens and the new TV is a communication device (which made me think of This Island Earth) or maybe they had a poltergeist in the old TV and they had to get a new one (which made me think of, you know, Poltergeist).

I shook my head at both of those ideas (which she considered an insult) and told her that for me a TV box by the garbage wasn’t a story. The recurring personal ad in the paper that just said “Please Forgive Me. Barbara Smith” was a story.

The conversation ended with Carrie basically telling me I was wrong, but it did get me to thinking.

Stephen King has said that stories are found things. I believe that. I find stories anywhere and everywhere. That night I found my story in a newspaper, not next to a trashbin. I’ve found stories doing laundry, taking a shower, watching TV, driving past cornfields, doing all sorts of mundane, every day life things.

I don’t find stories everywhere I go. I don’t expect to. Not every story is meant for me to find. I’ve been known to find stories that aren’t for me. I’ve tried to write them, but they never turned out well. So I try to be smarter about that. I leave those stories for other people and only pick the stories I know are meant for me. I’m developing my sense for that now and I’m getting better at it.  The idea notebook has been a great asset in that respect.

So in the end, the stories Carrie found might be valid, great stories. They might take the nation by storm and inspire a bunch of people. And that’s terrific. Unfortunately, I didn’t find them. They weren’t there for me to find. Maybe someone else will.

But when I looked across the driveway at the neighbors’ back patio all I saw was an empty TV box sitting next to a trashcan.

The story was nowhere to be seen.

The Many Faces of Kiki

Kiki (1931 film)

I have this weird single-minded aspect to my personality.

I like to think that what other people think about me doesn’t matter, but in a way it does. Not so much the harsh criticism and insults often hurled my way, sometimes verbally, sometimes only mentally. I mean if you bother to think that I’m a fat, ugly, stupid bitch of a human being, I’m pretty sure I’m not associating with you much for that to be a really big issue.

I guess I’m more concerned with what people think about me in terms of how people think of me in relation to the way I present myself.

If you ask me what I am, I’ll tell you that I’m a writer first and foremost. That’s me. That’s my career (as unsuccessful as it currently is). It’s a big part of my identity. But it’s not my ENTIRE identity. I know that. I’m sure other people know that. And I don’t think that way about other people. But for some ridiculous reason I’ve got it in my head that if I present any other aspect of my identity, then people won’t take me seriously as a writer.

Crazy, right?

It’s like this. I know that most people don’t consider writing a real job. I don’t get a regular paycheck. I don’t go to an office. Hell, I don’t even have to put on real pants. Because I can’t support myself, it’s not real work. It’s hard enough already to be taken seriously as a writer because I’ve yet to publish a book and/or I’m not a best-selling author (yet).

Now, you take that insecurity and couple it with my other interests and I’ve created a great dilemma for myself. For example, I make and sell jewelry. I like jewelry. I like to make jewelry. It’s another creative outlet for me. Selling it gives me a little more money towards making the ends meet every month. But I’m afraid that by promoting the jewelry I make and sell people will think I’m not serious about my writing.

And thus a big part of my identity is negated.

I hate that.

Now, I realize that most of this is all in my head. Not everyone makes their work such a big part of themselves. Most people don’t think of themselves as one thing, so they don’t think of other people as one thing. They probably don’t even bother to break it all down. They don’t think of me as a writer and a jewelry maker and a fat girl belly dancing and a rerun junkie and a baseball floozy and a t-shirt enthusiast and a lover of horrible things. They look at the sum total instead of the parts and it either makes up someone they like or someone they don’t.

It’s my paranoia at play. I know that and I do my best to shove that squirmy thing back into it’s aquarium and lock the top and just let it go and be all of those things. But it’s not always easy. I’m not always able to do it.

Ah, the joys and pains of being a constant work in progress.

Writing–Writing Retreat Results

Lincoln Log Cabin State Historic Site, near Ch...

The week in solitude with only two dogs and three cats to demand my attention and limited Internet access did me some good. Not only did I get several chapters of the Ivy novel written and revised, but I also found a new creative spark for revisions on The World (Saving) Series.

The first two days there I admit that I kept the same slow, slightly distracted pace. But by Saturday night I realized that I was getting bored and needed to do more work to better fill up my time. That was good enough to light the fire under my butt.  I found myself doing twice as much work as I usually did when I was home.

The exceptions were Tuesday and Thursday. Tuesday I had a job interview and was gone a good chunk of the day, so I only did some outlining. Thursday I got a chapter written and one revised, but didn’t have the attention span to push it past that. I was looking forward to my aunt coming back that night so I could go home. It was nice to get away, but I was ready to get back to my bed and my fridge and my animals.

I’m pleased with the productivity I had that week and I hope at least a little of it carries over back at home. The Ivy novel is going to continue to take its dear sweet time and I’m going to get frustrated with my lack of progress on it and I’m going to deal with my bad habit of procrastinating, but I think this burst of productivity will help propel me through the hard parts. And I’m really glad that I had a chance to tinker with The World (Saving) Series again. It’s gotten me excited to get back to the project and I think I can hammer out the revisions on the first third of the novel before the month ends.

In the end, it’s all about discipline and focus. I need to carry the writer’s retreat mindset of getting my work done in my mind all the time.

A saying has floated on my Twitter timeline repeatedly and it’s so very true:

Writing is 90% not getting distracted by the Internet.