if you get a chance, hop on over to jason's blog to check out his "miscellaneous top lists of 2006." after i read his lists, i told him i wanted to copy the idea for my blog, and he said to go ahead. so here i am. going ahead. (going to be redundant for readers of both blogs, since jason and i have very similar taste.)
top 5 movies SEEN in 2006 - in no particular order
1. casino royale - could daniel craig BE any hotter?
2. talladega nights: the ballad of ricky bobby - reminds me of home
3. the departed - so, so good. this movie was very emotionally involving.
4. inside man - good crime flick, well written, humorous and slick
5. pirates of the caribbean - had many sucky aspects, but johnny depp is the shit
top 5 movies i SHOULD HAVE seen in 2006 - in no particular order
1. borat
2. babel
3. little children
4. little miss sunshine
5. miami vice
top 5 movies i'm GLAD I DIDN'T see in 2006 - in no particular order
1. crank
2. snakes on a plane
3. step up
4. the hills have eyes
5. anything in the saw series
top 5 books read in 2006
1. a fistful of charms by kim harrison
2. definitely dead by charlaine harris
3. undead series by mary janice davidson
4. the eyre affair by jasper fforde
5. the traveler by john twelve hawkes
(can you tell i like pulp fiction? i read tons of books in 2006, and all my favorites are contemporary fantasy.)
top 5 tv shows watched in 2006 (new)
1. battlestar galactica
2. bones
3. entourage
4. supernatural
5. boston legal
6. deadwood
7. 24
8. house
9. daily show
10. colbert report
11. ugly betty
(yes, i know that's more than five, but what can i say? i like tv....)
top 5 tv shows watched in 2006 (syndication)
1. the simpsons
2. star trek: deep space nine
3. arrested development
4. family guy
5. without a trace
top 5 events of 2006
1. getting engaged
2. quitting access justice
3. winning a week in the province writing contest
4. getting more than halfway through writing my book - thanks to everyone for the encouragement but especially to margarita, without whom i wouldn't have made it this far
5. getting my new job
top 5 meals of 2006
1. las margarita's salsa
2. wrap zone's bombay wrap with chicken
3. milestone's tomato basil capellini
4. milestone's garlic and goat cheese appetizer
5. grandma's spaghetti and meatballs
top 5 commodities of 2006 (purchased or recieved)
1. creativ zen vision m video mp3 player
2. canon elph digital camera
3. engagement ring
4. HP pavillion desktop computer with 21" widescreen monitor
5. sirius satellite radio
top 5 albums of 2006 (chosen by how often i listen to them)
1. chemical city by sam roberts
2. ambassador by elliott brood
3. thumbelina's one night stand by melissa mcclelland
4. with teeth by nine inch nails
5. brushfire fairytales by jack johnson (old, i know, but i listen to it a lot)
top 5 songs of right this fucking minute
1. you know i love you baby by melissa mcclelland
2. uprising down under by sam roberts
3. gold lion by the yeah yeah yeahs
4. everlong by the foo fighters
5. the hand that feeds by nine inch nails
top 5 orgasms of 2006
just kidding!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
cannibalistic sex
not really. though jason really encourages it with a passion that makes me wonder about what goes on in the dark depths of his mental sexual dungeon. ;) i had the pleasure (no pun intended) of writing about a kiss in my last chapter. it was SO FUN! i can now understand why laurell k. hamilton, who used to write about murder and mayhem among supernatural creepy crawlies, now writes about multiple orgasms with multiple partners. i mean, if writing a kiss was that much fun, how fun is it going to be to write actual sex?!?
the feeling was quite similar to the feeling i get when writing fight scenes (of which i have had two major ones now). what is the lesson to be learned here, grasshopper? writing ACTION is more stimulating to the author, or this author anyway, than descriptive or expository writing. don't get me wrong. i love descriptive writing, almost to a fault. but writing action, whether it be sexual or violent, provides a thrill that is somehow akin to the real thing. i don't know if that's because it brings to mind your memories of those things, or if imagining the acts pokes around in those areas of the brain that live next door to the hippocampus. either way, whether it's a character's fist making contact with someone's face, or a character's mouth making contact with someone's neck, writing an intense action scene is an awesome experience.
i can't wait until my next one... which unfortunately is probably a few chapters away as my heroine has some detecting to do. we must solve the mystery, not go around fucking and fighting everything that walks!
the feeling was quite similar to the feeling i get when writing fight scenes (of which i have had two major ones now). what is the lesson to be learned here, grasshopper? writing ACTION is more stimulating to the author, or this author anyway, than descriptive or expository writing. don't get me wrong. i love descriptive writing, almost to a fault. but writing action, whether it be sexual or violent, provides a thrill that is somehow akin to the real thing. i don't know if that's because it brings to mind your memories of those things, or if imagining the acts pokes around in those areas of the brain that live next door to the hippocampus. either way, whether it's a character's fist making contact with someone's face, or a character's mouth making contact with someone's neck, writing an intense action scene is an awesome experience.
i can't wait until my next one... which unfortunately is probably a few chapters away as my heroine has some detecting to do. we must solve the mystery, not go around fucking and fighting everything that walks!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
oh, oh, oh! or... i'm a dumb shit
instead of thinking about my book, i thought about thinking about my book, and how i don't do it as much. and i was like... why not? and then i fucking realized what the fucking problem is. sorry about the profanity, by the way. i cuss when i'm happy, mad, sad or otherwise excited. anyway. the PROBLEM is that i am not READING ANYTHING. sure, i read the paper, i surf my favorite sites. but when did i finish my last full BOOK? i've started a couple of crappy ones, and not finished them. i think the last book i read from cover to cover was.... ugh. janet evanovich's 12 sharp. and before that, i think it was the kelly armstrong books IN SEPTEMBER. yes, that's right. IN SEPTEMBER. which is not to say that i haven't been looking for new good books. i have been. all the time. but i haven't found any. i've been prowling the library like a wild animal, accruing overdue fines on books that are too crappy or uninteresting to read. THAT'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM.
all writers know that what makes them writers is that they are first and foremost readers. over the summer, when all my favorite authors were releasing books like literary ho's, i was reading 4-5 books per week. none of my favs have released anything since september or so, and none of them will until march. march, i say! why do all my favs come out in the spring and summer?!?! why do they make me wait?!?! i've read all your old stuff! write faster! my writing depends on it!
all writers know that what makes them writers is that they are first and foremost readers. over the summer, when all my favorite authors were releasing books like literary ho's, i was reading 4-5 books per week. none of my favs have released anything since september or so, and none of them will until march. march, i say! why do all my favs come out in the spring and summer?!?! why do they make me wait?!?! i've read all your old stuff! write faster! my writing depends on it!
sheepish
umm...well, it's been over a month since i posted here. i was rather hoping that it had been less than a month. a month is a nice round, arbitrary number. less than = no guilt. more than = guilt. so, here i am, posting and feeling guilty and sheepish.
i don't know why i didn't post for so long. it's been an eventful time. i won a week in that contest, ironically the week after i posted about it. i'll find out this weekend if i'm in the top three or not. also, the furry one and i got engaged. no big surprise there, but it's nice. and so's my ring ;) i printed out a draft of my novel so far -- 160 pages, 70,000 words. i figure i've got about another hundred pages to go, which is ten weeks if i work at a chapter per week pace.
the book has been giving me some trouble lately. why is it that i only post about the trouble? i don't post about all the times that i get a warm fuzzy from writing, the times when i have the writer's equivalent of a brain orgasm because what i'm writing feels that damn good to me, the times i send off my chapter to margarita with satisfaction and pride.
nope, you don't get to hear about that. you get to hear about the tough times, the struggles, the blocks. right now, i'm in a block PERIOD. earlier in the fall, i was writing a chapter a week. since the beginning of november, i think it's been a chapter every two weeks. traumatizing. part of the problem is that i'm paralyzed by the thought of the agent search process. i'm already thinking about query letters and editing and hooks even though i've not finished a draft. luckily, margarita has helped exorcise that demon from my mind, and i'm not thinking about it. as much. i'm still thinking a lot about editing, but that's because i've changed a basic premise of the book, so i'm going to need to do some editing when the first draft is done. i KNOW KNOW KNOW i have to wait until it's done because if i wait to finish it until i've edited everything i need to edit, i won't ever get it done. i'm also having insecurity problems, doubting the readability of both my writing and my story. i'm worried that my main characters won't hold a reader's interest the way they hold mine. the only thing that's keeping me together is a line i read in stephen king's book "on writing." to paraphrase: the first draft of a novel is you telling the story to yourself. the second draft of a novel is you telling the story to someone else. i'm living for the second draft, and i think that's bad, because i'm only 2/3 of the way through on the damn book. i'm not giving it all of my attention, and i think it's coming through in both the length of time it's taking me to write and the product i'm writing.
i think to some extent writing is like losing weight. not that i've been too successful at maintaining the latter, but i've probably lost over 150 pounds if you add all my diets together over the years, so i know what it takes to be successful at taking it off if not keeping it off. anyway, you can think and you can plan and you can make charts and journals and all that shit. in the end, the only thing that matters is getting off your ass and DOING it. preparing healthy food. going to the gym when all you want to do is sleep. sitting in front of the computer and typing even when you're drenched with apprehension and worry. get. it. done. or, as my southern friends might say... git 'er dunn!
i don't know why i didn't post for so long. it's been an eventful time. i won a week in that contest, ironically the week after i posted about it. i'll find out this weekend if i'm in the top three or not. also, the furry one and i got engaged. no big surprise there, but it's nice. and so's my ring ;) i printed out a draft of my novel so far -- 160 pages, 70,000 words. i figure i've got about another hundred pages to go, which is ten weeks if i work at a chapter per week pace.
the book has been giving me some trouble lately. why is it that i only post about the trouble? i don't post about all the times that i get a warm fuzzy from writing, the times when i have the writer's equivalent of a brain orgasm because what i'm writing feels that damn good to me, the times i send off my chapter to margarita with satisfaction and pride.
nope, you don't get to hear about that. you get to hear about the tough times, the struggles, the blocks. right now, i'm in a block PERIOD. earlier in the fall, i was writing a chapter a week. since the beginning of november, i think it's been a chapter every two weeks. traumatizing. part of the problem is that i'm paralyzed by the thought of the agent search process. i'm already thinking about query letters and editing and hooks even though i've not finished a draft. luckily, margarita has helped exorcise that demon from my mind, and i'm not thinking about it. as much. i'm still thinking a lot about editing, but that's because i've changed a basic premise of the book, so i'm going to need to do some editing when the first draft is done. i KNOW KNOW KNOW i have to wait until it's done because if i wait to finish it until i've edited everything i need to edit, i won't ever get it done. i'm also having insecurity problems, doubting the readability of both my writing and my story. i'm worried that my main characters won't hold a reader's interest the way they hold mine. the only thing that's keeping me together is a line i read in stephen king's book "on writing." to paraphrase: the first draft of a novel is you telling the story to yourself. the second draft of a novel is you telling the story to someone else. i'm living for the second draft, and i think that's bad, because i'm only 2/3 of the way through on the damn book. i'm not giving it all of my attention, and i think it's coming through in both the length of time it's taking me to write and the product i'm writing.
i think to some extent writing is like losing weight. not that i've been too successful at maintaining the latter, but i've probably lost over 150 pounds if you add all my diets together over the years, so i know what it takes to be successful at taking it off if not keeping it off. anyway, you can think and you can plan and you can make charts and journals and all that shit. in the end, the only thing that matters is getting off your ass and DOING it. preparing healthy food. going to the gym when all you want to do is sleep. sitting in front of the computer and typing even when you're drenched with apprehension and worry. get. it. done. or, as my southern friends might say... git 'er dunn!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
the contest
i only wish that the contest to which i am referring bore any resemblance at all to the famous seinfeld contest. alas, this one has nothing to do with masturbation, fantasies about nude neighbors, or money. it DOES raise the issue of whether or not i am queen of my domain -- in this case, my creative mind.
a local newspaper is holding a contest for canadian writers to complete a chapter in a 'serial thriller.' each sunday, the winner is published in the newspaper, and more importantly, qualifies for the grand prize, which is a trip to mexico and a meeting with a literary agent who will read the winner's manuscript. the second and third place winners also receive the latter half of the prize, which is the most important reward to someone like me anyway. my goal is to just win a week so that i have a 3 in 11 chance of submitting my manuscript to an editor who HAS to read THE WHOLE THING (not just the first page, like so many editors do before sending a scathing rejection letter).
last week, i submitted a chapter (which is limited to 1000 words -- YOU try putting in authentic character development and advancing the plot in such a short space and see how fucking hard it is) and made it to the final four. this week, i submitted a chapter and got a big fat nothing. i've read this week's winner, and my brain is already desperately casting around for some kind of something that will allow me to win next week. and therein lies the problem.
i have very little interest in the story -- it's a cop drama, which bores the hell out of me under the best circumstances. cops have too many rules, and i don't like rules in fiction. i don't really identify much with the characters, so i find it difficult to imagine them in three dimensions. also, i write long fiction -- novels. i'm not sure i have the chops to write something so short. so why i am i wasting my time? i want the prize so bad i can taste it. i don't care if my name (and my story) gets published in the paper. but the thought of getting past the hurdle of having an agent read more than just my first page fills me with more excitement than the prospect of brad pitt appearing naked and willing on my doorstep (oh, lord, what's happened to me?!?!?!).
last week, i spent TWO DAYS working on the chapter that didn't even make the final four. i gave up time that i should have been spending on MY book. on thursday, when the paper annonced the final four by email, i refreshed my email once every two minutes until i knew the winners had been notified, and i was not one. every time the phone rang, i hoped it might be the sunday edition editor calling to tell me congratulations. this morning when i opened the paper, guess which section i went to first? in short, i am obsessed with this contest and with becoming eligible for the grand prize.
it is not a healthy obsession. i don't want to think about it all the time. i want to go home tonight and write the stupid thing -- which realistically should only take a couple of hours given its length -- and think about my book for the rest of the week. i know that's what i should do. but what i should do and what i actually do in many aspects of my life don't usually overlap at all.
when i was a kid, i never won any contests in school. my best friend stefanie, who i have no trouble admitting is much smarter and more creative than i am, always won, and i got second. as usual, childhood trauma rears its ugly head and stomps on my rational, logical and healthy thought processes to produce this obsession with the contest. i gotta win this one. second just isn't good enough.
a local newspaper is holding a contest for canadian writers to complete a chapter in a 'serial thriller.' each sunday, the winner is published in the newspaper, and more importantly, qualifies for the grand prize, which is a trip to mexico and a meeting with a literary agent who will read the winner's manuscript. the second and third place winners also receive the latter half of the prize, which is the most important reward to someone like me anyway. my goal is to just win a week so that i have a 3 in 11 chance of submitting my manuscript to an editor who HAS to read THE WHOLE THING (not just the first page, like so many editors do before sending a scathing rejection letter).
last week, i submitted a chapter (which is limited to 1000 words -- YOU try putting in authentic character development and advancing the plot in such a short space and see how fucking hard it is) and made it to the final four. this week, i submitted a chapter and got a big fat nothing. i've read this week's winner, and my brain is already desperately casting around for some kind of something that will allow me to win next week. and therein lies the problem.
i have very little interest in the story -- it's a cop drama, which bores the hell out of me under the best circumstances. cops have too many rules, and i don't like rules in fiction. i don't really identify much with the characters, so i find it difficult to imagine them in three dimensions. also, i write long fiction -- novels. i'm not sure i have the chops to write something so short. so why i am i wasting my time? i want the prize so bad i can taste it. i don't care if my name (and my story) gets published in the paper. but the thought of getting past the hurdle of having an agent read more than just my first page fills me with more excitement than the prospect of brad pitt appearing naked and willing on my doorstep (oh, lord, what's happened to me?!?!?!).
last week, i spent TWO DAYS working on the chapter that didn't even make the final four. i gave up time that i should have been spending on MY book. on thursday, when the paper annonced the final four by email, i refreshed my email once every two minutes until i knew the winners had been notified, and i was not one. every time the phone rang, i hoped it might be the sunday edition editor calling to tell me congratulations. this morning when i opened the paper, guess which section i went to first? in short, i am obsessed with this contest and with becoming eligible for the grand prize.
it is not a healthy obsession. i don't want to think about it all the time. i want to go home tonight and write the stupid thing -- which realistically should only take a couple of hours given its length -- and think about my book for the rest of the week. i know that's what i should do. but what i should do and what i actually do in many aspects of my life don't usually overlap at all.
when i was a kid, i never won any contests in school. my best friend stefanie, who i have no trouble admitting is much smarter and more creative than i am, always won, and i got second. as usual, childhood trauma rears its ugly head and stomps on my rational, logical and healthy thought processes to produce this obsession with the contest. i gotta win this one. second just isn't good enough.
Friday, October 06, 2006
question answered and other things
no doubt you all have been chewing your fingernails with worry, wondering what decision i made about taking the data entry job. i turned it down with chris's full support (he was even more certain about the 'no' decision than i was). then i spent the next two weeks working my ass off on report revisions for my current job. not complaing. lots of money to sock away for lean times. which might begin now since the revisions are complete, and no other projects have been directed my way.
there are two 'other things' that i'm going to post about in this blog. (why do i feel like i am writing a third grade level paper? in this paper, i will talk about items one, two, and three.) the first is the difficulty of getting back into The Book after an almost two week work-induced haitus. the distance gained by such a break is a double-edged sword. good side: i get perspective and see the outline of the book rather than getting mired in the chapter details. bad side: i get perspective and see holes. which in and of itself is actually a good thing, but when the holes seem to be the size of a small eastern european country and make you think that maybe your writing and your story are crap crap crappy, it ain't so good. luckily, i seem to have found a happy medium and have a feasible plan about plastering the holes that will require a decent amount of editing but won't take a herculean re-write effort.
the second thing is that i spent a goodly amount of time this week pouring over the 2005 guide to the publishing market, looking up agents and publishers. it was a learning experience, that's for sure. some folks are snobs and won't take submissions from new writers. bitches. who needs them anyway? (a reasonable voice in my head is right now saying, "we do" but i am resolutely ignoring it.) others take new writers but they don't publish very many copies, and since writers (especially new writers) are paid mostly by royalties... well, let's have a little math lesson, shall we? 10% of 10 bucks (most first novels come out in paperback) equals $1. $1 times 1000 copies printed (which is what most small publishers put out) is $1000. that would be a payment of 1000 bucks for how many months of work? i dooooon't think so. it appears as though getting an agent is the way to go. an agent is kind of like a lawyer. they will take shitloads of your money but they will end up netting you more than you would have gotten if you had self-represented. most agents only want three chapters and a cover letter, which means that i could start looking for them now, but they also want you to be able to give them a manuscript the very second they ask for it, so i'll have to wait to start the search. which gives me plenty of time to prepare for the numerous rejection letters i am undoubtedly going to recieve. (i'm not being negative -- it's just a part of trying to get published.) so anyway. look at me, actually trying to learn the business i am choosing to work in.
so yeah. that's it.
there are two 'other things' that i'm going to post about in this blog. (why do i feel like i am writing a third grade level paper? in this paper, i will talk about items one, two, and three.) the first is the difficulty of getting back into The Book after an almost two week work-induced haitus. the distance gained by such a break is a double-edged sword. good side: i get perspective and see the outline of the book rather than getting mired in the chapter details. bad side: i get perspective and see holes. which in and of itself is actually a good thing, but when the holes seem to be the size of a small eastern european country and make you think that maybe your writing and your story are crap crap crappy, it ain't so good. luckily, i seem to have found a happy medium and have a feasible plan about plastering the holes that will require a decent amount of editing but won't take a herculean re-write effort.
the second thing is that i spent a goodly amount of time this week pouring over the 2005 guide to the publishing market, looking up agents and publishers. it was a learning experience, that's for sure. some folks are snobs and won't take submissions from new writers. bitches. who needs them anyway? (a reasonable voice in my head is right now saying, "we do" but i am resolutely ignoring it.) others take new writers but they don't publish very many copies, and since writers (especially new writers) are paid mostly by royalties... well, let's have a little math lesson, shall we? 10% of 10 bucks (most first novels come out in paperback) equals $1. $1 times 1000 copies printed (which is what most small publishers put out) is $1000. that would be a payment of 1000 bucks for how many months of work? i dooooon't think so. it appears as though getting an agent is the way to go. an agent is kind of like a lawyer. they will take shitloads of your money but they will end up netting you more than you would have gotten if you had self-represented. most agents only want three chapters and a cover letter, which means that i could start looking for them now, but they also want you to be able to give them a manuscript the very second they ask for it, so i'll have to wait to start the search. which gives me plenty of time to prepare for the numerous rejection letters i am undoubtedly going to recieve. (i'm not being negative -- it's just a part of trying to get published.) so anyway. look at me, actually trying to learn the business i am choosing to work in.
so yeah. that's it.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
to write or not to write, that is the question
i can't remember if i posted under that title before... if i did, forgive me for being entirely uncreative. if i didn't, then fuck you for jumping to conclusions.
here's the thing. i've been working pretty hard the last couple of weeks, i've had deadlines approach and recieved some new assignments with more deadlines. i haven't had the mental energy to write very much. i've written a bit, enough to keep me thinking about the characters and what's going to happen next, but not as much as i'd like. i'm behind on my weekly submissions because the work has been full time and then some.
here's the other thing. i just got offered a data entry job with a government branch. it's technically classified as research, but it's data entry and document coding. the job will suck. but it might get my foot in the door for actual real research jobs. my current job is about to come to an end, though the possibility of getting the occasional scrap exists. the new job would be from 8:30-5:00 in downtown vancouver. the pay would be about 4,000/month. there are pros: my foot gets in the door with the research gig, the pay is good, there's work for the forseeable future. there are also cons: i would be gone for twelve hours because of the commute, i lose any chance to do other research jobs cause i won't have time. and the biggest con of all: no time to write The Book. my experince of the last several weeks has shown me that i can't write and work full time at the same time.
so i have to ask myself at this point: how important is this dream? is it stupid? is it a waste of time, and the possiblity of starting an adult future with chris? how much do i want to finish the book and why? do i take a haitus or do i refuse the job and continue writing? will this hurt my chances of getting a job in the future? do i hope for the best and prepare for the worst? does taking the job preclude the possiblity of writing The Book? does writing The Book constitute an act of childish hope? good lord. what will happen to me, to my psyche, if i don't finish The Book because i took a job? and what will happen to me, to my psyche, if i don't take the job, i finish The Book, and chris and i are forced to eke out an existence without anything to look forward to because i squandered our future on the barest hint of an idea of what i wanted to be?
i need some answers, and it pisses me off that they are never really very easy to obtain. and they are usually unsatisfactory in some major way. i am going to have to sacrifice something. if it were just me, i wouldn't worry about it. i'd throw caution to the wind and write the goddamned book. but it's not just me, and i don't want to end up sacrificing chris's well-being for my own. i fucking hate making decisions like this. hate. it.
here's the thing. i've been working pretty hard the last couple of weeks, i've had deadlines approach and recieved some new assignments with more deadlines. i haven't had the mental energy to write very much. i've written a bit, enough to keep me thinking about the characters and what's going to happen next, but not as much as i'd like. i'm behind on my weekly submissions because the work has been full time and then some.
here's the other thing. i just got offered a data entry job with a government branch. it's technically classified as research, but it's data entry and document coding. the job will suck. but it might get my foot in the door for actual real research jobs. my current job is about to come to an end, though the possibility of getting the occasional scrap exists. the new job would be from 8:30-5:00 in downtown vancouver. the pay would be about 4,000/month. there are pros: my foot gets in the door with the research gig, the pay is good, there's work for the forseeable future. there are also cons: i would be gone for twelve hours because of the commute, i lose any chance to do other research jobs cause i won't have time. and the biggest con of all: no time to write The Book. my experince of the last several weeks has shown me that i can't write and work full time at the same time.
so i have to ask myself at this point: how important is this dream? is it stupid? is it a waste of time, and the possiblity of starting an adult future with chris? how much do i want to finish the book and why? do i take a haitus or do i refuse the job and continue writing? will this hurt my chances of getting a job in the future? do i hope for the best and prepare for the worst? does taking the job preclude the possiblity of writing The Book? does writing The Book constitute an act of childish hope? good lord. what will happen to me, to my psyche, if i don't finish The Book because i took a job? and what will happen to me, to my psyche, if i don't take the job, i finish The Book, and chris and i are forced to eke out an existence without anything to look forward to because i squandered our future on the barest hint of an idea of what i wanted to be?
i need some answers, and it pisses me off that they are never really very easy to obtain. and they are usually unsatisfactory in some major way. i am going to have to sacrifice something. if it were just me, i wouldn't worry about it. i'd throw caution to the wind and write the goddamned book. but it's not just me, and i don't want to end up sacrificing chris's well-being for my own. i fucking hate making decisions like this. hate. it.
Friday, September 08, 2006
laughter
**too much information warning: if reading corny, lovey-dovey stuff makes you squeamish, please skip the first paragraph and proceed to the second... or maybe skip the whole post**
two nights ago, i laid in bed and cried. i wasn't crying because i was sad or because i was angry or because i was sexually frustrated. no. i was crying because i love chris so much that it fills me up and spills out. sometimes this overflow takes the form of hysterical giggling, sometimes it takes the form of tears. my tears (oh, god, i think i am making myself nauseous with this stuff, but alas, the story needs to be told) that night were fueld by a mental picture that i couldn't erase from my head or my heart; it just kept replaying over and over again. chris was sitting on our moldy green couch, and he was laughing. yeah, that's it. that's all. but bear with me! this is not some hysterial, overly-romantic rambling about how very very cuuuuute my boyfriend is when he laughs. this is a hysterical, overly-romantic rambling about the nature of laughter itself.
chris's laughter is unique in my world. and i don't use that world lightly; i recognize that unique means singular, not just weird or strange or a little bit different but not really that different. what makes his so special? well, i don't want to get to the climax before you've had some foreplay, so i'll save that for later.
how often do you really listen to people laugh? i mean, we hear it, we hear it all the time, but how often to we really listen? what does laughter have to say? what does it mean? i have one friend who only chuckles quietly under his breath, never letting loose with a laugh. another friend laughs, really laughs, when someone has put down another person; he only laughs at other people's discomfort or awkwardness or social retardation. another friend laughs at his own jokes, never anyone else's. when you really listen, you can hear in laughter a multitude of emotions: sarcasm, cycnicism, derision, happiness, amusement, embarassment, hysterics. laughter is like a hidden language, or maybe a dead language, one that we use to communicate but is rarely understood or correctly interpreted. the next time you hear someone laugh, turn on your universal translator and listen for that language. do you hear discomfort under the peals? cyncism under the snorts? sexual attraction under the giggles?
since i've never been one for a whole lot of foreplay, let's get to the important part. what makes chris's laughter unique is that, unlike many others, and i would argue unlike all others, his laughter does not contain one iota of anything negative, his language is easily understood. when he laughs, the only things i hear are enjoyment, amusement, and genuine delight. i want to say that his is like the laughter of a child, but even children sometimes laugh at other people's misfortune, even their tinkling laughter can contain a hint of dislike. when chris laughs, his eyes crinkle up and he flashes teeth all the way back to his molars, and if you really freaking listen you hear nothing but pure joy.
i wish i could laugh like that, but since i can't, i'm just happy to be able to inspire it.
two nights ago, i laid in bed and cried. i wasn't crying because i was sad or because i was angry or because i was sexually frustrated. no. i was crying because i love chris so much that it fills me up and spills out. sometimes this overflow takes the form of hysterical giggling, sometimes it takes the form of tears. my tears (oh, god, i think i am making myself nauseous with this stuff, but alas, the story needs to be told) that night were fueld by a mental picture that i couldn't erase from my head or my heart; it just kept replaying over and over again. chris was sitting on our moldy green couch, and he was laughing. yeah, that's it. that's all. but bear with me! this is not some hysterial, overly-romantic rambling about how very very cuuuuute my boyfriend is when he laughs. this is a hysterical, overly-romantic rambling about the nature of laughter itself.
chris's laughter is unique in my world. and i don't use that world lightly; i recognize that unique means singular, not just weird or strange or a little bit different but not really that different. what makes his so special? well, i don't want to get to the climax before you've had some foreplay, so i'll save that for later.
how often do you really listen to people laugh? i mean, we hear it, we hear it all the time, but how often to we really listen? what does laughter have to say? what does it mean? i have one friend who only chuckles quietly under his breath, never letting loose with a laugh. another friend laughs, really laughs, when someone has put down another person; he only laughs at other people's discomfort or awkwardness or social retardation. another friend laughs at his own jokes, never anyone else's. when you really listen, you can hear in laughter a multitude of emotions: sarcasm, cycnicism, derision, happiness, amusement, embarassment, hysterics. laughter is like a hidden language, or maybe a dead language, one that we use to communicate but is rarely understood or correctly interpreted. the next time you hear someone laugh, turn on your universal translator and listen for that language. do you hear discomfort under the peals? cyncism under the snorts? sexual attraction under the giggles?
since i've never been one for a whole lot of foreplay, let's get to the important part. what makes chris's laughter unique is that, unlike many others, and i would argue unlike all others, his laughter does not contain one iota of anything negative, his language is easily understood. when he laughs, the only things i hear are enjoyment, amusement, and genuine delight. i want to say that his is like the laughter of a child, but even children sometimes laugh at other people's misfortune, even their tinkling laughter can contain a hint of dislike. when chris laughs, his eyes crinkle up and he flashes teeth all the way back to his molars, and if you really freaking listen you hear nothing but pure joy.
i wish i could laugh like that, but since i can't, i'm just happy to be able to inspire it.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
oh, bother
i'm going to completely contradict my last post by saying that writing absolutely freaking sucks. for the last week, i have been struggling with the same scene, writing and rewriting, more than thirty pages now, trying to get my characters from point a to point b. this is a new one for me. i have had writer's block before, but it's been because i've convinced myself how bad my ideas are. this time, it stems from having too many possibilities. i remain confident in my story, my plot, my people. i just don't know how to get around this road block.
i've tried action and inaction, talking and not talking, dealing with one subplot or another. none of it seems right. none of it flows like my last chapter did, which practically wrote itself. or the chapter before that, or the chapter before that. i think i am going to have to learn a new way of writing to fill gaps like this, but i don't know what that way is!
i thought that blogging about it might help, but it hasn't so far. i thought that just sitting down and forcing it would help, but it hasn't so far -- it's just kept me from my other work, the work i get paid for that is due in a little over a week. i turn on music, i turn off music. i turn on the tv, i turn off the tv. i pull out some hair. and the more i talk about it and think about it, the more frustrated i get. so i'm just gonna post this, mess that it is... otherwise, i'll stroke out and the blog's new beginning will be its end.
i've tried action and inaction, talking and not talking, dealing with one subplot or another. none of it seems right. none of it flows like my last chapter did, which practically wrote itself. or the chapter before that, or the chapter before that. i think i am going to have to learn a new way of writing to fill gaps like this, but i don't know what that way is!
i thought that blogging about it might help, but it hasn't so far. i thought that just sitting down and forcing it would help, but it hasn't so far -- it's just kept me from my other work, the work i get paid for that is due in a little over a week. i turn on music, i turn off music. i turn on the tv, i turn off the tv. i pull out some hair. and the more i talk about it and think about it, the more frustrated i get. so i'm just gonna post this, mess that it is... otherwise, i'll stroke out and the blog's new beginning will be its end.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
new look, new purpose... still too lazy to capitalize proper nouns
greetings. when i first created this blog (and it really wasn't much of a creative act -- it involved choosing a template from blogger and typing some words in a text box) it was supposed to be a place for me to write and be creative and ruminate upon all the cliches that my daddy always told me: don't let anyone steal your joy, everything happens for a reason, wish in one hand shit in the other and see which one fills up faster... he reiterated each of those classic gems with an almost frightening frequency because he believed in their truth and wisdom.
recently, for possibly the first time in my life, instead of pondering, ponificating, analyzing or agonizing, i actually started to do something. around june-ish, i initiated several large changes in my life. first, i quit my old job. i had great coworkers... and, well, that was the only thing i liked about it, really. the work was very stressful and very unsatisfying, and i realized the other day when i didn't freak out about some news that would have sent me into a screaming rage six months ago that the stress of that job went mostly unacknowledged. nevertheless, it had been killing me emotionally and spiritually, and if i hadn't left when i did, i would have gone over to the dark side of the force. second, i got a new job, doing social science research from home. it pays much better than my old job, and the commute is much shorter. ha. it isn't necessarily steady, and i almost had a panic attack when i realized that i was TURNING INTO MY FATHER, who never had steady work and counted himself in the ranks of the self-employed, otherwise known as contract workers. gulp. but alas, the job allows me to work less hours and get the same (or more) money as my previous one, which leads me to waystation number three on my Journey Toward a Fulfilling Life. the new job has given me the time and mental freedom and energy to start Writing a Book. i have about seventy pages so far. i was lucky enough to find a person who is also Writing a Book willing to share her wonderful work with me, and to keep me on track by exchanging at least ten pages a week of new material. ten pages isn't a lot, but it really is when you are working a near full-time job and trying to maintain a romantic relationship. perspective: if i keep up this pace, i will have a draft completed by valentine's day. i am finally doing something that is meaningful to me. it gives me pleasure. it makes me happy in ways that i never imagined.
and so, i am reshaping the content of this blog. instead of thinking about my dad's cliches, i am living them. it is hard to believe that everything doesn't happen for a reason when i applied for and got a job that gives me the time and money to write. it's hard to think that everything doesn't happen for a reason when through that job, i met a writing partner who helps me every day. it's hard for anyone to steal my joy now that i am doing something i am proud of. so many years of thinking about these things and how to achieve them, and all it took was doing something i really really wanted to do.
from now on, this web log is about books and writing, my two favorite things. and sometimes chris. but of course, he is inextricable from all of it because of his support and his inspiration. right now, i am thinking that many of my posts will be book reviews, ruminations about the writing process and flaky, floaty, shallowly deep ideas that pop into my head but don't really fit into the Book. i hope those of you who still read this blog like the changes.
recently, for possibly the first time in my life, instead of pondering, ponificating, analyzing or agonizing, i actually started to do something. around june-ish, i initiated several large changes in my life. first, i quit my old job. i had great coworkers... and, well, that was the only thing i liked about it, really. the work was very stressful and very unsatisfying, and i realized the other day when i didn't freak out about some news that would have sent me into a screaming rage six months ago that the stress of that job went mostly unacknowledged. nevertheless, it had been killing me emotionally and spiritually, and if i hadn't left when i did, i would have gone over to the dark side of the force. second, i got a new job, doing social science research from home. it pays much better than my old job, and the commute is much shorter. ha. it isn't necessarily steady, and i almost had a panic attack when i realized that i was TURNING INTO MY FATHER, who never had steady work and counted himself in the ranks of the self-employed, otherwise known as contract workers. gulp. but alas, the job allows me to work less hours and get the same (or more) money as my previous one, which leads me to waystation number three on my Journey Toward a Fulfilling Life. the new job has given me the time and mental freedom and energy to start Writing a Book. i have about seventy pages so far. i was lucky enough to find a person who is also Writing a Book willing to share her wonderful work with me, and to keep me on track by exchanging at least ten pages a week of new material. ten pages isn't a lot, but it really is when you are working a near full-time job and trying to maintain a romantic relationship. perspective: if i keep up this pace, i will have a draft completed by valentine's day. i am finally doing something that is meaningful to me. it gives me pleasure. it makes me happy in ways that i never imagined.
and so, i am reshaping the content of this blog. instead of thinking about my dad's cliches, i am living them. it is hard to believe that everything doesn't happen for a reason when i applied for and got a job that gives me the time and money to write. it's hard to think that everything doesn't happen for a reason when through that job, i met a writing partner who helps me every day. it's hard for anyone to steal my joy now that i am doing something i am proud of. so many years of thinking about these things and how to achieve them, and all it took was doing something i really really wanted to do.
from now on, this web log is about books and writing, my two favorite things. and sometimes chris. but of course, he is inextricable from all of it because of his support and his inspiration. right now, i am thinking that many of my posts will be book reviews, ruminations about the writing process and flaky, floaty, shallowly deep ideas that pop into my head but don't really fit into the Book. i hope those of you who still read this blog like the changes.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
cool james sallis quote # 2
"we live metaphorically, striving always to match our lives to images we've accepted or imagined for them -- family man, middle American, true believer, gangster -- contriving these containers, a succession of them, that preserve us, define us, that keep us from spilling out and give us shape, but rarely fit." -- from eye of the cricket
Monday, June 26, 2006
recommended reading: the long legged fly by james sallis
so. my idea of math: love of books + boring everyday existence + voracious search for new favorite books + blog = the occasional book review.
i recently stumbled across a detective noir (in more ways than one) series that begins with the long legged fly. in addition to featuring as it's main character black private investigator lew griffin, the book provides the reader with a perfectly nuanced and accurate snapshot of life in new orleans, at various points in the character's and the city's history.
the book begins in 1960 with a murder scene. lew is the murderer. he is a vigilante who kills the white men who rape and murder little black girls and boys. this scene, as with all the others in the book, is written so simply and sparsely that not one word is superfluous or unnecessary. each word of dialogue, each description of body positioning or physical surrounding is tight, yet incredibly apt at producing a reaction in the reader.
we follow lew, who we know early on is a dangerous man with a sense of justice, as he struggles to make ends meet as a PI in 1964. we see his shattered family -- wife and son no longer with him, he has a relationship with a hooker named laverne. we see that he likes to drink. we see how he is sought out by people who need to find people, and we see him find a prominent woman who is broken by the pressure of her life as a civil rights activist. in 1970 where the book continues, lew has built his business up and doesn't have to struggle to eat anymore. he still sees laverne. he is older, more mature, less likely to commit violence. he observes more and acts less. a black christian family seeks his help finding their daughter, and he does -- right before she dies of a drug overdose inflicted by her white, older lover. jump to 1984. lew has gotten back with his wife and they have divorced again. he has suffered an extreme psychotic break caused by alcoholism. he awakens in a hospital, and is released into a halfway house. he starts a relationship, a real one. he makes a friend in the halfway house, and the friend asks him to find his sister. he does. he saves her from what would have probably been a very bad fate. his lover leaves, unable to handle the violence and racism that plague the city. 1990. lew has become a writer, almost by accident. he writes from his own experience as a PI. one day his ex wife calls. she has not heard from their son, who teaches english at columbia in new york. he knows, as the book comes to an end, that he will not find his son, that he is gone.
you may be crying out "ack! you bitch! you have so many spoilers in this post that it stinks worse than two week old household garbage on a hot day." not so, gentle reader. for the magic of sallis' writing is that the plot seems to be only a vehicle for telling the parallel stories of lew griffin and new orleans, and how they evolve (or devolve) together. he captures with his laconic prose and dialogue the flavor of new orleans, the fact of blackness, the metamorphoses of personal growth and personal degeneration. he understands that history, personal or social, does not move in one progressive direction; lew and new orleans gain and they lose and they make circular progress, if any. sallins creates a character that is both archetypical and anti-archetypical; just when you think you know lew, he changes.
how much do i recommend this book? i have already ordered every other book in the series from the library. if you like detective stories that run to the more sophisticated side (no jonathan kellerman or tami hoag readers, please -- they aren't even in this guy's stratosphere) this book is for you.
favorite quote from the book: "either it's only in the relationships we manage that we live at all, or we must think that in order to manage them in the first place. we go on trying not just to survive, but to find reasons, such as love, that allow us to betray ourslves into choosing survival."
i recently stumbled across a detective noir (in more ways than one) series that begins with the long legged fly. in addition to featuring as it's main character black private investigator lew griffin, the book provides the reader with a perfectly nuanced and accurate snapshot of life in new orleans, at various points in the character's and the city's history.
the book begins in 1960 with a murder scene. lew is the murderer. he is a vigilante who kills the white men who rape and murder little black girls and boys. this scene, as with all the others in the book, is written so simply and sparsely that not one word is superfluous or unnecessary. each word of dialogue, each description of body positioning or physical surrounding is tight, yet incredibly apt at producing a reaction in the reader.
we follow lew, who we know early on is a dangerous man with a sense of justice, as he struggles to make ends meet as a PI in 1964. we see his shattered family -- wife and son no longer with him, he has a relationship with a hooker named laverne. we see that he likes to drink. we see how he is sought out by people who need to find people, and we see him find a prominent woman who is broken by the pressure of her life as a civil rights activist. in 1970 where the book continues, lew has built his business up and doesn't have to struggle to eat anymore. he still sees laverne. he is older, more mature, less likely to commit violence. he observes more and acts less. a black christian family seeks his help finding their daughter, and he does -- right before she dies of a drug overdose inflicted by her white, older lover. jump to 1984. lew has gotten back with his wife and they have divorced again. he has suffered an extreme psychotic break caused by alcoholism. he awakens in a hospital, and is released into a halfway house. he starts a relationship, a real one. he makes a friend in the halfway house, and the friend asks him to find his sister. he does. he saves her from what would have probably been a very bad fate. his lover leaves, unable to handle the violence and racism that plague the city. 1990. lew has become a writer, almost by accident. he writes from his own experience as a PI. one day his ex wife calls. she has not heard from their son, who teaches english at columbia in new york. he knows, as the book comes to an end, that he will not find his son, that he is gone.
you may be crying out "ack! you bitch! you have so many spoilers in this post that it stinks worse than two week old household garbage on a hot day." not so, gentle reader. for the magic of sallis' writing is that the plot seems to be only a vehicle for telling the parallel stories of lew griffin and new orleans, and how they evolve (or devolve) together. he captures with his laconic prose and dialogue the flavor of new orleans, the fact of blackness, the metamorphoses of personal growth and personal degeneration. he understands that history, personal or social, does not move in one progressive direction; lew and new orleans gain and they lose and they make circular progress, if any. sallins creates a character that is both archetypical and anti-archetypical; just when you think you know lew, he changes.
how much do i recommend this book? i have already ordered every other book in the series from the library. if you like detective stories that run to the more sophisticated side (no jonathan kellerman or tami hoag readers, please -- they aren't even in this guy's stratosphere) this book is for you.
favorite quote from the book: "either it's only in the relationships we manage that we live at all, or we must think that in order to manage them in the first place. we go on trying not just to survive, but to find reasons, such as love, that allow us to betray ourslves into choosing survival."
Friday, June 23, 2006
the end is near.... or, reminiscing
after today, i have exactly fourteen work days left at my current place of employment. this is very exciting in MANY ways (the first, foremost, and best thing is that i will no longer have to talk to, look at, interact with, or think about my oft-mentioned crazy, annoying, and maddening boss). however, as is often the case when a period of one's life comes to a close, i am starting to reminisce about the good times, the happy people, the (usually) functional and clean ladies' washroom in our building -- in short, i am dwelling on the reasons that it has taken me so long (more than a year since i first started thinking about quitting) to make the decision to leave.
reason 1: coworkers. i like my coworkers. i realized a long time ago how lucky i am to be able to say that. many of my friends LOATHE their coworkers, and have to deal with nasty nasty people every single day. by virtue of the fact that we are all crammed into a tiny space without any cubicles, we spend a lot of the day talking about politics, music, books, whatever. sex or some variation of it invariably comes up. someone's size is insulted, someone's orientation is questioned, someone's propensity to burst into giggles at the slightest mention of nether-parts is ridiculed. hilarity invariably ensues. it occurs to me sometimes, as i drive to work, or relate some funny-ness to chris, or sit on the couch after the commute that i will miss all of these people very very much.
reason 2: free parking. near downtown. 'nuff said.
reason 3: flexible hours. i basically get to come in whenever i want, as long as i'm here eight hours a day. it makes it easier on chris and me to commute in to town from the boonies.
reason 4: commuting with chris. i HATE the commute. i cuss. i spit. i make profane hand gestures. but i LOVE commuting with chris. it's two hours a day of uninterrupted time with him. in the morning, he puts his hand on my thigh, and i put my hand on his, and sometimes we talk and sometimes we don't, depending on just how sleep deprived we are. we put on the fox morning show, and make disgusted noises when one of the deejays says something too stupid for words to address. we see sunrises together, and we notice all the early morning weirdos who are up at the same awful time that we are -- the lady who takes her morning walk backwards, the girl who wears scrubs waiting at the bus stop, the guy doing tai chi in the park. in the afternoon, i tell him about my day. sometimes this takes five minutes, and other times it takes the entire freaking commute home, depending on my level of outrage. he tells me about his day. i alert him if there's someone turning in our lane or if he's about to hit a pedestrian (which he's done before -- you really have to watch that guy). we usually hold hands during all this (except at those moments when driving necessitates the use of both hands). it's good quality couple time, and it's time that i really appreciate. thinking about him commuting to work all by his lonesome self, not being able to use the HOV lane, not having anyone to hold hands with, makes me really sad. and oddly, it makes me feel guilty. maybe because i am probably going to be unemployed for the next three months? yeah, that could be it. anyway, i am going to miss that time with him more than i could have ever imagined. damn it all to hell and back.
reason 5: washroom. one toilet. roomy. clean. good hand soap. this is the washroom i will miss. the building administrator is making it a bit easier to leave, however, since the washroom is kind of dirty right now, and smelly, and there is some algae growing in the fresh water tank that's coming out when the toilet is flushed. so this is really only half a reason right now.
reason 6: local shopkeepers. when my brain makes an exit from my cranium, which it does regularly due to the ridiculously boring nature of my work, i get out of the office and spend some of my hard earned cash at local shops. aveda salon. body shop. chocolatier. ah, yes, the chocolatier. i love it. there's this red-haired chick who works there and she knows me by now, and we chat about everything and she gives me free chocolate. i'm going to miss her.
reason 7: money. as poorly paid as this job is, it pays something for god's sake.
reason 8: volunteers. we work with a lot of volunteers. some of them are idiots. some of them are irresponsible. but most of them are interesting people who i'm glad to have met. they come from all different backgrounds and cultures. they are young, so they keep my old ass down with the street lingo. they are enthusiastic about being here, which warms the cockles of my cynical and sick-of-this-shit-job heart. i'm going to miss meeting so nice, young, and bright people.
okay.... i think that's enough. i am already all depressed and maudlin about leaving. if i keep dwelling on all the things i am going to miss, i might, in a fit of temporary insanity, retract my resignation and decide to stay here. thank god that we have already hired and started training my replacement. it would be a little difficult to explain to her that i've changed my mind.
why is it that change is so hard? i know that i want, and probably need, a major change in my professional life. and even though my brain knows that, my gut is sad about it. my gut is also worried and anxious. if my gut had fingernails, it would be chewing on them. if my cut had cuticles, it would be picking at them. so on top of sadness about leaving some very good things in my life, i am dealing with anxiety about the lack of career certainty in my future. i have basically been promised a job in october, but what if that doesn't work out? i have promised to work on my book during this three month hiatus, but what if i fail myself? jesus, mary, and fucking joseph, where is pollyanna when you need her ass? WHY AM I SO NEGATIVE???
i want to be excited about leaving, and i am, but in the way that one is excited about getting rid of the mold in one's fridge. yeah. i don't have mold anymore. but what do i have to look forward to? what's in my fridge now? NOW MY FRIDGE IS EMPTY!!!! i got beer and mustard and empty shelves. and i don't even like beer.
reason 1: coworkers. i like my coworkers. i realized a long time ago how lucky i am to be able to say that. many of my friends LOATHE their coworkers, and have to deal with nasty nasty people every single day. by virtue of the fact that we are all crammed into a tiny space without any cubicles, we spend a lot of the day talking about politics, music, books, whatever. sex or some variation of it invariably comes up. someone's size is insulted, someone's orientation is questioned, someone's propensity to burst into giggles at the slightest mention of nether-parts is ridiculed. hilarity invariably ensues. it occurs to me sometimes, as i drive to work, or relate some funny-ness to chris, or sit on the couch after the commute that i will miss all of these people very very much.
reason 2: free parking. near downtown. 'nuff said.
reason 3: flexible hours. i basically get to come in whenever i want, as long as i'm here eight hours a day. it makes it easier on chris and me to commute in to town from the boonies.
reason 4: commuting with chris. i HATE the commute. i cuss. i spit. i make profane hand gestures. but i LOVE commuting with chris. it's two hours a day of uninterrupted time with him. in the morning, he puts his hand on my thigh, and i put my hand on his, and sometimes we talk and sometimes we don't, depending on just how sleep deprived we are. we put on the fox morning show, and make disgusted noises when one of the deejays says something too stupid for words to address. we see sunrises together, and we notice all the early morning weirdos who are up at the same awful time that we are -- the lady who takes her morning walk backwards, the girl who wears scrubs waiting at the bus stop, the guy doing tai chi in the park. in the afternoon, i tell him about my day. sometimes this takes five minutes, and other times it takes the entire freaking commute home, depending on my level of outrage. he tells me about his day. i alert him if there's someone turning in our lane or if he's about to hit a pedestrian (which he's done before -- you really have to watch that guy). we usually hold hands during all this (except at those moments when driving necessitates the use of both hands). it's good quality couple time, and it's time that i really appreciate. thinking about him commuting to work all by his lonesome self, not being able to use the HOV lane, not having anyone to hold hands with, makes me really sad. and oddly, it makes me feel guilty. maybe because i am probably going to be unemployed for the next three months? yeah, that could be it. anyway, i am going to miss that time with him more than i could have ever imagined. damn it all to hell and back.
reason 5: washroom. one toilet. roomy. clean. good hand soap. this is the washroom i will miss. the building administrator is making it a bit easier to leave, however, since the washroom is kind of dirty right now, and smelly, and there is some algae growing in the fresh water tank that's coming out when the toilet is flushed. so this is really only half a reason right now.
reason 6: local shopkeepers. when my brain makes an exit from my cranium, which it does regularly due to the ridiculously boring nature of my work, i get out of the office and spend some of my hard earned cash at local shops. aveda salon. body shop. chocolatier. ah, yes, the chocolatier. i love it. there's this red-haired chick who works there and she knows me by now, and we chat about everything and she gives me free chocolate. i'm going to miss her.
reason 7: money. as poorly paid as this job is, it pays something for god's sake.
reason 8: volunteers. we work with a lot of volunteers. some of them are idiots. some of them are irresponsible. but most of them are interesting people who i'm glad to have met. they come from all different backgrounds and cultures. they are young, so they keep my old ass down with the street lingo. they are enthusiastic about being here, which warms the cockles of my cynical and sick-of-this-shit-job heart. i'm going to miss meeting so nice, young, and bright people.
okay.... i think that's enough. i am already all depressed and maudlin about leaving. if i keep dwelling on all the things i am going to miss, i might, in a fit of temporary insanity, retract my resignation and decide to stay here. thank god that we have already hired and started training my replacement. it would be a little difficult to explain to her that i've changed my mind.
why is it that change is so hard? i know that i want, and probably need, a major change in my professional life. and even though my brain knows that, my gut is sad about it. my gut is also worried and anxious. if my gut had fingernails, it would be chewing on them. if my cut had cuticles, it would be picking at them. so on top of sadness about leaving some very good things in my life, i am dealing with anxiety about the lack of career certainty in my future. i have basically been promised a job in october, but what if that doesn't work out? i have promised to work on my book during this three month hiatus, but what if i fail myself? jesus, mary, and fucking joseph, where is pollyanna when you need her ass? WHY AM I SO NEGATIVE???
i want to be excited about leaving, and i am, but in the way that one is excited about getting rid of the mold in one's fridge. yeah. i don't have mold anymore. but what do i have to look forward to? what's in my fridge now? NOW MY FRIDGE IS EMPTY!!!! i got beer and mustard and empty shelves. and i don't even like beer.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
god, i'm boring
wonder why i haven't posted in a long time? see title. you know what my mama said? she said if you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, so i haven't. the majority of my thoughts lately have been nasty, insidious, self-flagellating (and NOT the good kind of flagellation) ones about myself. so.... do i have anything nice to say yet? nope. not at all. check back soon.
Monday, May 15, 2006
neurasthenia, mother fuckers, neurasthenia
don't say i never did nothing for ya -- i've contributed to your vocabulary, if nothing else. unless you're too lazy to look it up. yeah, you didn't look it up, did you? alrighty then. neurasthenia: a psychological disorder characterized by chronic fatigue and weakness, loss of memory, and generalized aches and pains, formerly thought to result from exhaustion of the nervous system. no longer in scientific use. well, it should still be in use, goddamn it. for the last almost two weeks straight, i have been fighting almost constant stomach cramps and nausea, on and off headaches, bleary eyeballs, and a sore back (read: generalized aches and pains). let's break them all down, shall we? stomach cramps and nausea -- work related stress causing ulcer. on and off headaches -- work related stress causing abnormally high blood pressure. bleary eyeballs -- work related stress causing sleep deprivation and red, puffy eyes. sore back -- work related stress causing neck and back muscle spasms. freaking excellent. now kiddies, what's the common thread here? could it be.... work?!!?!?! damn my need for money and damn capitalism!!!!
in all seriousness, my mood is more serious than i am letting on. continuing with the theme of my last post, my work life has degraded into something dark and ugly and slimy and smelly and horrifying and my conscious self is coiled up, huddling in a corner of my brain, arms wrapped around knees, rocking back and forth, muttering under her breath to just make it all go away. it really is an interesting condition/state of mind. there are some people who would undoubtedly be thrilled to have a job like mine -- sit at a desk all day in a comfortable chair doing work that while demanding is not particularly hard. i am sure that there are some people out there who could deal with and maybe even thrive on the crazy, self-absorbed, immoral boss and the steady stream of complaints and the office politics. however, i am not in that group of some people. for whatever reason (my own limitations, childhood traumas, etc.) i cannot seem to make it past the negative points of my job that stab into my body like ice picks. i feel like a dark cloud is hovering above my head, putting a crushing pressure on my shoulders, and i can't get away from it. yet, i am self-aware enough to realize that this is a panic/horror of my own making. i am in control of my emotions and my thoughts, and i am the one who is dwelling on the bad and the ugly rather than trying to accentuate the positive.
i believe that a portion of this state of mind arises out of a mid-twenties crisis. in august, i will officially be a quarter of a century old. for most of my life, i was ahead of the class. i started college at 16 with a 4.0 GPA. i finished university with honors and a double major at 20. i finished my master's at 22 -- sooner, if i wasn't such a lazy ass. but now.... well, i have been working at a doomed and dysfunctional non-profit as an administrator for the last two years. i spent all my savings immigrating to canada. while i learned some useful adminstrative stuff (nifty tricks on excel, how to use a database, the difference between a statement of claim and a statement of defense, etc.), in my mind i have not learned about or gained any new, different, or marketable skills. i have got to get out of this place, but i don't have another job lined up. nor do i really want another job. jobs suck. i want a career (note previously mentioned trite i-want-to-be-a-writer post) but i have no idea how to start it. especially given the geographic limitations placed upon me by my boyfriend's very secure and well-paid union job that he probably couldn't get anywhere else in north america. (that sentence refers to the fact that the job market is absolute crap in vancouver for anyone other than a skilled tradesperson which i am not and which i am not interested in becoming.) said wonderful and spectacular boyfriend has offered to support me financially if i want to quit working for a while to finish the book. he is so freaking amazing. how many other boyfriends would offer to do that? when i asked him why he has so much faith in me, he said, "i think it's great that you feel passionate about something and you're trying to go after it. and i believe that you can do it and that it will be great and if you don't do it now, you'll regret it when you're older." oh, getting teary eyed now. so, other than a man who believes in me and loves me and supports me and is the bestest person i've ever known in my life, what am i left with? (don't get me wrong -- i am SO thankful for chris in my life that i really wouldn't have any regrets if he were the only good thing in it, but i feel that i need to follow this panic attack to its logical end.) a flimsy and nascent book idea, no time to write it, and even if i did write it, what about publishing it? and even if i did publish it, what about getting paid for it? and what about the next one? and what about buying a house and maybe one day having a dog or a kid and a retirement fund? what the fucking hell am i doing with my life??? aaaarrrrgggghhhhhhhhh. oh, god, my stomach hurts.
in all seriousness, my mood is more serious than i am letting on. continuing with the theme of my last post, my work life has degraded into something dark and ugly and slimy and smelly and horrifying and my conscious self is coiled up, huddling in a corner of my brain, arms wrapped around knees, rocking back and forth, muttering under her breath to just make it all go away. it really is an interesting condition/state of mind. there are some people who would undoubtedly be thrilled to have a job like mine -- sit at a desk all day in a comfortable chair doing work that while demanding is not particularly hard. i am sure that there are some people out there who could deal with and maybe even thrive on the crazy, self-absorbed, immoral boss and the steady stream of complaints and the office politics. however, i am not in that group of some people. for whatever reason (my own limitations, childhood traumas, etc.) i cannot seem to make it past the negative points of my job that stab into my body like ice picks. i feel like a dark cloud is hovering above my head, putting a crushing pressure on my shoulders, and i can't get away from it. yet, i am self-aware enough to realize that this is a panic/horror of my own making. i am in control of my emotions and my thoughts, and i am the one who is dwelling on the bad and the ugly rather than trying to accentuate the positive.
i believe that a portion of this state of mind arises out of a mid-twenties crisis. in august, i will officially be a quarter of a century old. for most of my life, i was ahead of the class. i started college at 16 with a 4.0 GPA. i finished university with honors and a double major at 20. i finished my master's at 22 -- sooner, if i wasn't such a lazy ass. but now.... well, i have been working at a doomed and dysfunctional non-profit as an administrator for the last two years. i spent all my savings immigrating to canada. while i learned some useful adminstrative stuff (nifty tricks on excel, how to use a database, the difference between a statement of claim and a statement of defense, etc.), in my mind i have not learned about or gained any new, different, or marketable skills. i have got to get out of this place, but i don't have another job lined up. nor do i really want another job. jobs suck. i want a career (note previously mentioned trite i-want-to-be-a-writer post) but i have no idea how to start it. especially given the geographic limitations placed upon me by my boyfriend's very secure and well-paid union job that he probably couldn't get anywhere else in north america. (that sentence refers to the fact that the job market is absolute crap in vancouver for anyone other than a skilled tradesperson which i am not and which i am not interested in becoming.) said wonderful and spectacular boyfriend has offered to support me financially if i want to quit working for a while to finish the book. he is so freaking amazing. how many other boyfriends would offer to do that? when i asked him why he has so much faith in me, he said, "i think it's great that you feel passionate about something and you're trying to go after it. and i believe that you can do it and that it will be great and if you don't do it now, you'll regret it when you're older." oh, getting teary eyed now. so, other than a man who believes in me and loves me and supports me and is the bestest person i've ever known in my life, what am i left with? (don't get me wrong -- i am SO thankful for chris in my life that i really wouldn't have any regrets if he were the only good thing in it, but i feel that i need to follow this panic attack to its logical end.) a flimsy and nascent book idea, no time to write it, and even if i did write it, what about publishing it? and even if i did publish it, what about getting paid for it? and what about the next one? and what about buying a house and maybe one day having a dog or a kid and a retirement fund? what the fucking hell am i doing with my life??? aaaarrrrgggghhhhhhhhh. oh, god, my stomach hurts.
Monday, May 08, 2006
nudity, sexuality, and violence
i've just finished reading a recent post from a friend/coworker that got my thinkin' cogs slowly grinding (a miracle on a monday morning after five hours of sleep, and after i woke up to a mysterious and painful bump on my head -- mayhap chris decided i'm more work than i'm worth and attempted to elbow me to death in the wee hours of the morning?). i only read the goddamned thing because he promised scenes with coarse language and sexuality. boy, was i disappointed to find NOT ONE cuss word and no smooching, groping, or flashing either. false advertising. not only did this post make me think thoughts that are entirely too deep, it also got me wayyyyy too emotional.
some persistent themes included: the horrific myopia of our boss (not literally -- he's deaf, not blind), the family-like emotional and psychological ties of affection (as in, we like each other, mostly) and dysfunction among and between the office staff, and the general feeling of professional castration and uselessness that our organization often fosters. boy, i hope i don't get dueced for this post. good thing my boss is a technophobe. anyway. i feel that writing about themes 1 and 2 would probably fuck me up this early in the morning, so by default, i'm gonna talk about theme 3. now, the coworker who got me thinking about all this stuff definitely has the shittiest job in the office -- he is/was the administrative assistant to our executive director (it's a little unclear exactly what my coworker's position is now, as we have added yet another staff member with an ambiguous catch all job title). he is/was responsible for loads and loads of unnecessary typing, answering the phones, looking up bus routes for our erstwhile director, and a pile of other random and unpredictable things. his input was not wanted or required, in spite of the fact that he's fairly smart (though a pinko commie -- we can't really take him seriously, then, can we?). said coworker is understandably fed up -- when you eat a diet of shitcakes and shitballs and shitsticks all day everyday, you tend to get full fairly quickly. however, thinking about his plight got me thinking about the plight of others in the office. at the apparent opposite end of the spectrum are myself and our IT/finance manager. we have 'held the ear' of the boss for the longest time, have been here the longest (bless our hearts), and therefore have earned certain privileges. however, though i am dubbed the operations manager, i do not have the authority to make decisions on even the smallest points of policy, or even the smallest points of operations. the guy who is/was working as the admin assistant was supposed to be my 'second in command' as far as operations are concerned, and he was co-opted by my boss, and now i am doing the job alone. which is fine, in principle, but really, this job is best shared by two people. that's how it was in the past, and that's how it was when our little organization was operating at peak efficiency. so that's my cross to bear -- even though i can talk to the boss, and sometimes have him listen to me, he only listens when i give him answers he wants to hear. so of course, it makes me feel a bit like the office bitch -- i deal with the consequences of outdated policy or our director's inaction/missteps. as for the finance/IT manager, he is often asked to literally make up budgets, to shuffle money from our director's personal account into our office account, and to make all of this awful accounting look like it's on the up and up. he doesn't get to protest. he doesn't get to decide anything. the boss says jump for the money, and he has to ask how high. also, he is supposed to be working on a dedicated server to streamline our IT.... our website crashes all the time because our shared server can't handle the traffic, and we are running two databases, which causes all sorts of errors. but, our boss won't earmark any money to purchase a shared server. it's absurd. so the IT guy has to listen to all of us bitch about the IT system, when he isn't given the budget to buy what we need to fix the problems. our volunteer manager has a pretty decent gig, though she has to explain why it is that volunteers sometimes don't show up or change their schedules -- obviously she is doing something wrong when college students and teenagers decide to sleep in or fuck or anything fun like that instead of showing up for their volunteer work. our publicity/fundraising person has to write drafts and drafts and drafts of grants, only to be told that the project sucks and have to start again. she can't publish any posters or ads or anything because she doesn't have a budget either. each of these problems arises out of one source: the b-o-s-s. he has managed through his manipulation and his obtusity (is that a word?) and his awful awfulness to kill the spirit of not just my coworker who talked about it on his blog, but every staff member in this office.
now, i know that i said above that i was going to talk about theme 3, and my concluding sentence looks a lot like theme 1, but the two are inextricable from each other. having a boss who treats you like a child, who patronizes you and uses your labor like an abused sex toy to be taken out for his own gratification at his will and leisure (see, i got in some sexual content after all) is incredibly demoralizing. hold on. before you accuse me of white, lower-middle class self-pity, i do recognize that having an office job, no matter how shitty, is preferable to picking cotton in a hot field all day or cleaning out shit buckets, or whatever, consider that i do realize there are much worse jobs out there and i am by no means implying otherwise. i'm just trying to articulate the effects of working at a place where the boss is like a little dictator. in spite of the fact that ALL of us in the office have a bachelor's degree or better (two of us have master's), in spite of the fact that most of us have participated or directed meaningful social or political actions, in spite of the fact that we are all pretty darn decent, smart, and worthy human beings, we are not treated as such. and not only does this have an effect on our senses of self on a personal level, but it also has a devastating consequence for our senses of self on a professional level. i mean, how do you view your professional self when you have gotten what seems like so very little professional development? how do you view your professional self when you have no room for promotion? how do you view your professional self when your ideas are consistently pooped upon? how do you view your personal self when your boss refers to the royal "we" in a way that dehumanizes and devalues you? how do you view your professional self when you only exist at the office to serve the whim of another human being? you start to view yourself as expendable, as fairly useless, and you start to be afraid. you start to wonder if you would be able to cut it at a 'real' job, you start to think about your resume and how few skills you have acquired during your tenure at this place. your professional self shrinks into a little ball of apprehension and ennui. so... even though that effect is not so awful has having your fingers hacked off by a machete while cutting down sugarcane or not sleeping because of spasms in your back caused by ten hours of heavy lifting, it is there and it is significant, and for most of us, it really sucks.
now then. are you as depressed as me yet? i figure you must be. you're either depressed cause you can relate to the stuff i've said or you're depressed cause you've just wasted ten minutes of your life reading this shit and you're thinking that humanity is doomed if self-interested, sniveling little bitches like me populate the north american work force. in either case, i have to pat myself on the back for a job well done.
some persistent themes included: the horrific myopia of our boss (not literally -- he's deaf, not blind), the family-like emotional and psychological ties of affection (as in, we like each other, mostly) and dysfunction among and between the office staff, and the general feeling of professional castration and uselessness that our organization often fosters. boy, i hope i don't get dueced for this post. good thing my boss is a technophobe. anyway. i feel that writing about themes 1 and 2 would probably fuck me up this early in the morning, so by default, i'm gonna talk about theme 3. now, the coworker who got me thinking about all this stuff definitely has the shittiest job in the office -- he is/was the administrative assistant to our executive director (it's a little unclear exactly what my coworker's position is now, as we have added yet another staff member with an ambiguous catch all job title). he is/was responsible for loads and loads of unnecessary typing, answering the phones, looking up bus routes for our erstwhile director, and a pile of other random and unpredictable things. his input was not wanted or required, in spite of the fact that he's fairly smart (though a pinko commie -- we can't really take him seriously, then, can we?). said coworker is understandably fed up -- when you eat a diet of shitcakes and shitballs and shitsticks all day everyday, you tend to get full fairly quickly. however, thinking about his plight got me thinking about the plight of others in the office. at the apparent opposite end of the spectrum are myself and our IT/finance manager. we have 'held the ear' of the boss for the longest time, have been here the longest (bless our hearts), and therefore have earned certain privileges. however, though i am dubbed the operations manager, i do not have the authority to make decisions on even the smallest points of policy, or even the smallest points of operations. the guy who is/was working as the admin assistant was supposed to be my 'second in command' as far as operations are concerned, and he was co-opted by my boss, and now i am doing the job alone. which is fine, in principle, but really, this job is best shared by two people. that's how it was in the past, and that's how it was when our little organization was operating at peak efficiency. so that's my cross to bear -- even though i can talk to the boss, and sometimes have him listen to me, he only listens when i give him answers he wants to hear. so of course, it makes me feel a bit like the office bitch -- i deal with the consequences of outdated policy or our director's inaction/missteps. as for the finance/IT manager, he is often asked to literally make up budgets, to shuffle money from our director's personal account into our office account, and to make all of this awful accounting look like it's on the up and up. he doesn't get to protest. he doesn't get to decide anything. the boss says jump for the money, and he has to ask how high. also, he is supposed to be working on a dedicated server to streamline our IT.... our website crashes all the time because our shared server can't handle the traffic, and we are running two databases, which causes all sorts of errors. but, our boss won't earmark any money to purchase a shared server. it's absurd. so the IT guy has to listen to all of us bitch about the IT system, when he isn't given the budget to buy what we need to fix the problems. our volunteer manager has a pretty decent gig, though she has to explain why it is that volunteers sometimes don't show up or change their schedules -- obviously she is doing something wrong when college students and teenagers decide to sleep in or fuck or anything fun like that instead of showing up for their volunteer work. our publicity/fundraising person has to write drafts and drafts and drafts of grants, only to be told that the project sucks and have to start again. she can't publish any posters or ads or anything because she doesn't have a budget either. each of these problems arises out of one source: the b-o-s-s. he has managed through his manipulation and his obtusity (is that a word?) and his awful awfulness to kill the spirit of not just my coworker who talked about it on his blog, but every staff member in this office.
now, i know that i said above that i was going to talk about theme 3, and my concluding sentence looks a lot like theme 1, but the two are inextricable from each other. having a boss who treats you like a child, who patronizes you and uses your labor like an abused sex toy to be taken out for his own gratification at his will and leisure (see, i got in some sexual content after all) is incredibly demoralizing. hold on. before you accuse me of white, lower-middle class self-pity, i do recognize that having an office job, no matter how shitty, is preferable to picking cotton in a hot field all day or cleaning out shit buckets, or whatever, consider that i do realize there are much worse jobs out there and i am by no means implying otherwise. i'm just trying to articulate the effects of working at a place where the boss is like a little dictator. in spite of the fact that ALL of us in the office have a bachelor's degree or better (two of us have master's), in spite of the fact that most of us have participated or directed meaningful social or political actions, in spite of the fact that we are all pretty darn decent, smart, and worthy human beings, we are not treated as such. and not only does this have an effect on our senses of self on a personal level, but it also has a devastating consequence for our senses of self on a professional level. i mean, how do you view your professional self when you have gotten what seems like so very little professional development? how do you view your professional self when you have no room for promotion? how do you view your professional self when your ideas are consistently pooped upon? how do you view your personal self when your boss refers to the royal "we" in a way that dehumanizes and devalues you? how do you view your professional self when you only exist at the office to serve the whim of another human being? you start to view yourself as expendable, as fairly useless, and you start to be afraid. you start to wonder if you would be able to cut it at a 'real' job, you start to think about your resume and how few skills you have acquired during your tenure at this place. your professional self shrinks into a little ball of apprehension and ennui. so... even though that effect is not so awful has having your fingers hacked off by a machete while cutting down sugarcane or not sleeping because of spasms in your back caused by ten hours of heavy lifting, it is there and it is significant, and for most of us, it really sucks.
now then. are you as depressed as me yet? i figure you must be. you're either depressed cause you can relate to the stuff i've said or you're depressed cause you've just wasted ten minutes of your life reading this shit and you're thinking that humanity is doomed if self-interested, sniveling little bitches like me populate the north american work force. in either case, i have to pat myself on the back for a job well done.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
dum de de dum dum
well, it's happening already. barely eight pages and three character sketches long, and already i am starting to do with my current 'book' project what i have done with every other intended book in the history of me -- thinking that the idea is crap, that it's so been done before, and that i am a stupid fuck for believing i could ever write something interesting, creative or good enough to be self-published, much less paid for by a publisher. sucks, sucks, sucks. this after a blitz where i wrote pages and pages without even having to stop and think about them, this after a moment of i-can-totally-do-this certainty. ah, what a difference a sleep makes. don't really know what to do here -- even though i definitely write for pleasure and escapism (notice i don't write for literary value -- i have no literary delusions of grandeur -- i just want to write fun, entertaining pulp fiction, i want to write the kind of books that i have read and loved and consumed like crack for my entire life) i am also writing because i want to make a living as a writer. shudder. that is just ever so slightly less trite and overdone than wanting to make a living as an actor (no offense meant to any starving and aspiring actors out there). but how can i make a living as a writer if i suck so much at it?!?!?
perhaps these were the thoughts going through harvard chick's head when she rationalized plagarizing like FIFTEEN PEOPLE. (yes, i am still stuck on her.... fuck you for judging me.) my great friend jenny, knowing how interested i have been in the subject, kindly fowarded me two recent (as in published yesterday or today) articles cataloguing the catastrophic plunge of harvard chick into infamy. the first one is a quote from salmon rushdie (just one of the virtual football team of authors she is accused of copying from) talking about what a shame it is that she would do something like this and jeopardize a writing career this early in her life. the other is from the harvard crimson, the paper that originally outed her, and it refers to further possible incidents of copying from such well-known authors as sophie kinsella (the shopaholic series). holy moly cow. and you want to know how she defends herself? she says (hold on, i'm laughing too hard to type now) she has a photographic memory, and she internalized these passages without realizing it. hah! my above-mentioned friend jenny could be said to have, if not a photographic memory, nearly so, and let me tell you -- she can remember a lot of shit, AND she remembers that she READ it. she doesn't think she came up with, for example, durkhiem's theory on tribal spiritualities. again, i am amazed that a girl who could get into harvard could be dumb enough to come up with these weak defenses. i guess she can't just come out and say she did it on purpose, and that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and all that for legal liability reasons. but i would certainly respect her a lot more if she did. i mean... let's see. unintentional, almost word for word copying. victimized and betrayed by her amazing photographic memory that's not quite photographic enough to remember the real authors' names....have mercy. gotta roll my eyes here. a lot. again.
alright, enough of that shit. when i don't have the dumbest harvard chick ever to occupy my thoughts, they return to the endangered future of my book. i feel like a schizophrenic manic depressive (please, no comments here about my callous use of the schizophrenic and manic depressive conditions -- my mother has suffered from the latter and my mother-in-law still suffers from the former, so, having lived with people who live with said conditions, i feel that i have earned the right to invoke said conditions in my blog... again, fuck you for judging me). i mean, one day it's like, i am going to be a writer. as in a W-R-I-T-E-R. and the next day, it's like, i am going to suck at everything until the day that i die, and i will probably suck at that too (how does one suck at dying? well, maybe they drown in a hundred pounds of elephant crap or maybe they die of auto-erotic asphyxiation or maybe they use too much easy off and then stick their head in an oven.) at this point, you can probably read a sense of panic in my words. panic is exactly what i am feeling. which is weird, cause while my prevailing emotion is usually annoyance, it isn't panicky annoyance. i guess this is what happens when you want something really really badly. or when you love something. i have this same panicky feeling but worse when i remember that chris is mortal and that i am so ridiculously imperfect and one day something might happen that removes him from my life. okay, i am glad that i got that out of my system. i think thinking about something (someone, i guess) really and truly important, no, essential, to my existence has put the book into some perspective. i'll either work on it, or i won't. i'll either finish it, or i won't. and just because i don't finish this one doesn't mean i won't start and finish another. but jeez, i hope this is the one. cause i don't have any more ideas. heh.
perhaps these were the thoughts going through harvard chick's head when she rationalized plagarizing like FIFTEEN PEOPLE. (yes, i am still stuck on her.... fuck you for judging me.) my great friend jenny, knowing how interested i have been in the subject, kindly fowarded me two recent (as in published yesterday or today) articles cataloguing the catastrophic plunge of harvard chick into infamy. the first one is a quote from salmon rushdie (just one of the virtual football team of authors she is accused of copying from) talking about what a shame it is that she would do something like this and jeopardize a writing career this early in her life. the other is from the harvard crimson, the paper that originally outed her, and it refers to further possible incidents of copying from such well-known authors as sophie kinsella (the shopaholic series). holy moly cow. and you want to know how she defends herself? she says (hold on, i'm laughing too hard to type now) she has a photographic memory, and she internalized these passages without realizing it. hah! my above-mentioned friend jenny could be said to have, if not a photographic memory, nearly so, and let me tell you -- she can remember a lot of shit, AND she remembers that she READ it. she doesn't think she came up with, for example, durkhiem's theory on tribal spiritualities. again, i am amazed that a girl who could get into harvard could be dumb enough to come up with these weak defenses. i guess she can't just come out and say she did it on purpose, and that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and all that for legal liability reasons. but i would certainly respect her a lot more if she did. i mean... let's see. unintentional, almost word for word copying. victimized and betrayed by her amazing photographic memory that's not quite photographic enough to remember the real authors' names....have mercy. gotta roll my eyes here. a lot. again.
alright, enough of that shit. when i don't have the dumbest harvard chick ever to occupy my thoughts, they return to the endangered future of my book. i feel like a schizophrenic manic depressive (please, no comments here about my callous use of the schizophrenic and manic depressive conditions -- my mother has suffered from the latter and my mother-in-law still suffers from the former, so, having lived with people who live with said conditions, i feel that i have earned the right to invoke said conditions in my blog... again, fuck you for judging me). i mean, one day it's like, i am going to be a writer. as in a W-R-I-T-E-R. and the next day, it's like, i am going to suck at everything until the day that i die, and i will probably suck at that too (how does one suck at dying? well, maybe they drown in a hundred pounds of elephant crap or maybe they die of auto-erotic asphyxiation or maybe they use too much easy off and then stick their head in an oven.) at this point, you can probably read a sense of panic in my words. panic is exactly what i am feeling. which is weird, cause while my prevailing emotion is usually annoyance, it isn't panicky annoyance. i guess this is what happens when you want something really really badly. or when you love something. i have this same panicky feeling but worse when i remember that chris is mortal and that i am so ridiculously imperfect and one day something might happen that removes him from my life. okay, i am glad that i got that out of my system. i think thinking about something (someone, i guess) really and truly important, no, essential, to my existence has put the book into some perspective. i'll either work on it, or i won't. i'll either finish it, or i won't. and just because i don't finish this one doesn't mean i won't start and finish another. but jeez, i hope this is the one. cause i don't have any more ideas. heh.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
man in black, et al
johnny cash is the fucking shit. enough said. no explanation or sappy words needed. who else in the entire world can you describe so accurately, so perfectly, so succinctly with the words "(blank) is the fucking shit"? can you say simply that richard simmons is the fucking shit without talking about his frizz ball hair or sexy girlish legs? can you say that martha stewart is the fucking shit without wondering aloud if she is the reincarnation of john a. macdonald? hell, no. thank you goddess for giving us johnny cash and his wonderful voice and his wonderful songs and for my mp3 non-ipod device in which i can store my entire johnny cash cd collection.
follow up to yesterday's post: the publisher of the plagarized author's books do not accept harvard chick's apologies or excuses for her blatant knock-off. i sense a lawyer in this girl's future. while my compassionate self continues to feel sympathy for harvard chick, my prevailing emotion seems to be glee (obviously my compassionate self is a tiny little honey-i-shrunk-the-kids sized person). i have a smile playing at the edges of my lips and again, nelson munsen keeps repeating "hah hah" which is interfering with my johnny cash listening pleasure. you know.... i wear the black for those who have never read... hah hah. damn.
follow up to yesterday's post: the publisher of the plagarized author's books do not accept harvard chick's apologies or excuses for her blatant knock-off. i sense a lawyer in this girl's future. while my compassionate self continues to feel sympathy for harvard chick, my prevailing emotion seems to be glee (obviously my compassionate self is a tiny little honey-i-shrunk-the-kids sized person). i have a smile playing at the edges of my lips and again, nelson munsen keeps repeating "hah hah" which is interfering with my johnny cash listening pleasure. you know.... i wear the black for those who have never read... hah hah. damn.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
testing testing 1,2,3
it has come to my attention that my comments function isn't working. so hopefully it is now. but i really suck at computers, so it probably isn't.
guilt post
well, i haven't had a blog for all that long yet, but already i am writing my first guilt post. as an avid reader of blogs, i have noticed that all bloggers, no matter how talented they are, no matter how many great ideas they have floating around in their heads, eventually get to a place where they post only out of a panicky guilt feeling. like, oh, shit, it's been so long since i posted that if i don't write something soon, all of my readers are going to abandon me! you can discern these posts by their random quality, their lack of cohesion or theme, and babbling. that's right, babbling. useless words with useless meanings that run on and on and on and on. babbling. (sigh. i just realized that my pooh post could be considered a babbling messy... thing..., which would mean that this really ISN'T my first guilt post. but i really did feel like a chubby little tubby all stuffed with fluff that day. i did.)
since this is my first guilt post, i will indulge another first, but one that will likely become the first of many given my obsessive morning reading of the new york times online edition. i am going to write for the first time about an item in the news. about a week ago, i was reading about this chick who got a $500,000 book deal as a sophomore in college. now, said chick is very privileged, and recieved her book deal because of some quality networking between her college admissions coach (yes, that's right, a college admissions coach) and said college admission coach's connections with several publishing houses and publishing agents. naturally, my first thought was a jealously uttered "bitch". my second thought was "oh, jeebus, what's wrong with me? i am 24 years old and have never ever accomplished anything worthwhile in my whole entire life!" ahem. so, yeah, it was a little dramatic and completely illogical, but i may have been on my period, who the hell knows? this morning, i start surfing the net, and i find a story about last week's chick and how she might have plagarized 13 passages in her book from a popular author of young adult drama, and that another 29 passages bear "striking similarities" to scenes in the popular author's novels. naturally, my first thought was a nelson munsen inspired "hah hah!" my second thought was "my stuff may be shit, but at least it's original." my third thought was "i feel kinda bad for this chick. her book was about the pressure on young women of her class to perform like circus dogs, to be successful in walking tightropes and fetching brightly colored balls, and she becomes successful because of this book, and now she's a freaking plagarist." then i reverted to my usual cynical misanthropic self and decided that she deserves what she gets cause if she's smart enough to get into harvard, she's smart enough to realize that she has plagarized one of her favorite authors. its something that all writers have to face, i think. i struggle all the time to balance between being inspired by my idols and just repeating their ideas and style in my own work. (if you laugh because i am referring to myself as a writer, i will kick your ass.) it requires a huge amount of self-criticism and self-reflexivity. everytime you write something, you have to ask yourself, has this been done before? where did i get this idea? am i writing in my own voice, or in the voice of the last author i read? but you HAVE to do it. because while it's true that there is very little in the literary world that is truly original, you can't be a writer by imitating the style or stealing the words of real writers. i guess this harvard chick was more interested in the $500,000 than she was in being a writer. or maybe it was just fan fiction like that star trek novella i wrote in the seventh grade.
since this is my first guilt post, i will indulge another first, but one that will likely become the first of many given my obsessive morning reading of the new york times online edition. i am going to write for the first time about an item in the news. about a week ago, i was reading about this chick who got a $500,000 book deal as a sophomore in college. now, said chick is very privileged, and recieved her book deal because of some quality networking between her college admissions coach (yes, that's right, a college admissions coach) and said college admission coach's connections with several publishing houses and publishing agents. naturally, my first thought was a jealously uttered "bitch". my second thought was "oh, jeebus, what's wrong with me? i am 24 years old and have never ever accomplished anything worthwhile in my whole entire life!" ahem. so, yeah, it was a little dramatic and completely illogical, but i may have been on my period, who the hell knows? this morning, i start surfing the net, and i find a story about last week's chick and how she might have plagarized 13 passages in her book from a popular author of young adult drama, and that another 29 passages bear "striking similarities" to scenes in the popular author's novels. naturally, my first thought was a nelson munsen inspired "hah hah!" my second thought was "my stuff may be shit, but at least it's original." my third thought was "i feel kinda bad for this chick. her book was about the pressure on young women of her class to perform like circus dogs, to be successful in walking tightropes and fetching brightly colored balls, and she becomes successful because of this book, and now she's a freaking plagarist." then i reverted to my usual cynical misanthropic self and decided that she deserves what she gets cause if she's smart enough to get into harvard, she's smart enough to realize that she has plagarized one of her favorite authors. its something that all writers have to face, i think. i struggle all the time to balance between being inspired by my idols and just repeating their ideas and style in my own work. (if you laugh because i am referring to myself as a writer, i will kick your ass.) it requires a huge amount of self-criticism and self-reflexivity. everytime you write something, you have to ask yourself, has this been done before? where did i get this idea? am i writing in my own voice, or in the voice of the last author i read? but you HAVE to do it. because while it's true that there is very little in the literary world that is truly original, you can't be a writer by imitating the style or stealing the words of real writers. i guess this harvard chick was more interested in the $500,000 than she was in being a writer. or maybe it was just fan fiction like that star trek novella i wrote in the seventh grade.
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