Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Insecure writer's support group

Some people go on vacation to vegetate -- to chill the hell out. I go on vacation to write, but it usually happens that other things get in the way like VACATION and children and "knock, knock -- housekeeping."


This time was different. I went to Hawaii for a week with my dad -- no kids, no husband -- just me, dad, my computer and a couple of spiral notebooks.

It was hard at first to get my bearings. Until a week ago it had been something like 41,200 minutes since my last writing moment, one of those heaven-sent minutes in which I happen to be sitting at my computer, or I have a pen and something to scribble on -- my skin for instance, because I haven't carried a notepad around since I stopped reporting the news (insert frowny face here), and even then I rarely had a notepad when I needed one -- I took notes on napkins and empty cigarette boxes.

ENOUGH rambling -- I havent't written much since I got promoted to leader of  I think I signed a contract that prohibits me from telling you exactly.

But I got promoted, and I make more money, and while that's mass rad, super awesome, WOW, fabulous -- it consumes ALL the time. I do important things now between shooting my coworkers -- and being shot by my coworkers -- with rubber bands, Nerf darts and little balls of paper and tin foil. I spent all of last month, breaking computers. It wasn't Premeditated -- just a series of freak slayings, which is probably what every serial killer who's been arrested told the cops in interrogation "I didn't mean to kidnap and strangle them; it was an accident."



I attend lots of meetings about things that ONE, make no sense to me, and TWO, have nothing to do with me. I spill at least one cup of coffee a day. I get yelled at and praised and yelled at again in the same sentence. And all I write lately are meeting notes and bitchy emails to my coworkers about job performance and so forth.

It's dark when I board the bus in the morning. It's dark when I board the bus at night -- I get home, hug my kids, eat whatever is handy (even Drano if we had some), and before I sit down it's time for bed.

I was READY for a week-long writing fest -- it could have been in Burien, WA., so long as there was someplace to sit undisturbed for hours at a time. Lucky for me that place was a beach on the Island of Kauai.

I spent most of the first and second days fretting about things at work, checking emails, chatting online with coworkers until they begged me to leave them alone and start my vacation.



I eventually wrote myself over the starting hump and went through two spiral notebooks in one day.

My first milestone -- I made it past the 150 mark on my book. I could be as far 200, but I haven't typed them up yet, which brings us to my second milestone. I discovered I'm much more productive with a pen a paper than I am with a keyboard and a backspace button, so the next time one of you non-writer folks suggests a computer instead of my reliable spiral notebook -- watch out for my foot in your ass.

My third and favorite milestone: I nearly completed a sex scene. It's sad really -- and funny -- my character almost got laid, but due to my discomfort with intimacy he got blue balls instead. (I'll find myself a therapist for that one.)

So yeah, it was a good writing week, and now that I've discovered how much easier it is to write with a pen. I may have a couple more good writing weeks on the mainland.

Mahalo!

The Insecure Writer's Support Group: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Insecure writer's support group

Listening to the radio on my way to work this morning I learned that Internet Use Addiction was recently added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Health Disorders, which got me thinking -- perhaps there's a writing addiction disorder.

If the clinical definition of addiction is any compulsive behavior that interferes with your life and relationships -- I'm definitely an addict. 

It's a wonderful scapegoat -- addiction. 

When I finally lose it and shave my head and burn down my house and crash my car into the gun range clubhouse, I can blame it on my writing addiction -- "I'm sorry officers. I was suffering from writing withdrawals. It's a real thing -- look it up in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Health Disorders."

I feel like a fraud these days calling myself a "writer." I don't write; I think about it all day while I'm busy with other crap, and when I finally get home and lock myself away to put words into sentences with periods and commas and quotation marks nothing happens -- or nothing good happens. I'm sure my family considers the door slamming, hair pulling and loud swearing SOMETHING.

But similar to coming off of cigarettes, alcohol, heroin or crack cocaine -- I feel anxious, delusional, nauseous, homicidal and depressed if I go too long without writing. 

"I'm itching for a pen and paper -- and a 40-sack of verbs -- F yeah. Hook me up, dude."

That would be something -- if I met with shady characters in dark assault-me alleys to purchase writing time. It works for druggies. And what honest-to-god druggie doesn't have a buttload of crazy stories to wow strangers on buses or long-lost relatives at family reunions they -- the druggies -- weren't technically invited to? 

Ermahgerd! It's like totally brilliant. I'll scuzz on the streets for a while, and my family will force me into treatment -- I've seen it on A&E's Intervention. I could write a novel in a treatment facility or at least catch up on my blog. I'd have to invent something stronger than a writing addiction to get into treatment obviously -- buy a junky's pee and fake withdrawal symptoms. 

I did drama in college -- I can pull off tremors and cold sweats no problem.


The Insecure Writer's Support Group: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Put down your weapons

Buck Henry and his posse of toothless, pickup-driving hillbillies are down at the gun range again blowing sh*t up and polluting my writing space with their god dammed racket.

I'm one POP away from marching over there and taking them down with my husband's pink remote control airplane or maybe his potato gun. 

It's 8:00 at night. I think it's quite reasonable to expect all gunfire will cease by the time some boring people go to bed. 

I'm trying to concentrate here, but my train is interrupted every half second by explosions and echoes of explosions and the faint clang -- they're a mile away -- of Henry's moonshine jugs being tossed in the back of some buttworm's rusty hunting vehicle.

What if I started a commune next door to the gun range?



http://suminhorto.wordpress.com
What if I blasted sitar music and tantric chanting on really BIG -- for lack of any audio words -- speakers?

I know a guy who sells  patuli-scented tiki torches and sandalwood peace arches.

Imagine: free-range chickens in bullet-proof vests -- obviously -- and a token furry naturist couple.

I'll find me some yurts, a dozen-or-so barefoot beatniks, a ton of Kevlar and some tambourines, and we'll see how the trigger happies like it when their space is interrupted.

My husband says I'm unreasonable, but I don't think so. The gun guys can shoot round the clock if they want to -- I just think out of common courtesy they should use silencers after 7 p.m.