Category Archives: My Writing

So This is the New Year

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Woody Guthrie’s resolutions, 1943.

& I don’t feel any different. I mean, the calendar system we use in the US is so arbitrary. I’m really more of a lunar cycle kind of girl (btw, is that series any good? I’ve never had much inclination to check it out).

Throwing it back to last year’s post on this day, 2017 was chock full of THINGS. I did less traveling than the year prior, and most of it was for job interviews with airlines. Some time around the end of March I decided to give up the ghost, take some time to have a regular sleep schedule and maybe be a flight attendant again in a couple years when I’m more financially secure.

I added several more odd jobs to my list of “I’ve done almost everything for money (but I won’t do that),” and btw, I would strongly discourage anyone from working in the cannabis industry in Denver unless you’re pretty solid dealing with dickbags and shady business. I quit my job, and spent a good amount of time crying on the phone before I checked my voicemail and heard my invitation to interview for a new one

So, for the second half of 2017, I worked a 9-5 in a law office, moved from a suburb to Denver proper (pretty close to downtown and “the action,” which is where I love to be), and got a lot of puppy snugs. I submitted poetry, was published twice! and closed out the year with potential and growth and all of that positivity nonsense you never hear from me.

What I didn’t do was finish anything. Does a poetry manuscript count? Even if I’ve written the majority of the pieces in it in years prior? I exist constantly in this weird pendulum swinging between trying too hard and not trying hard enough.

I’m moving next month, hopefully starting in an upward position at my company (send hopeful vibes!), and will hopefully crush it personally and professionally this year (by finishing a damn book). Even my personal life is looking pretty tolerable (although I have friendships and family to tend to, and men are trash, except the one that is currently less trash). I’m looking forward, and I hope I can drag a few friend’s gazes future-ward as well. I’ve been so lucky to not be under the constant yoke of depression and I want that for others, too.

With that, I’ll leave you with a link to Angel City Review’s current issue. I’m in there, along with a poem I wrote 6 years ago when I was bitter and angry. I’m still bitter and angry, but not in LA anymore, and less so.

My writing was published in a magazine!

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photo credit: Birdy Magazine on Facebook.

A few months ago I wasn’t doing much writing, so decided that I needed to be a Real Writer™ and start submitting. I am floored because two of my poems have been accepted by two different publications and it’s seriously wild to think that other people read something I wrote and thought it was good enough to accept for publishing (and pay me for it!)

 

The December issue (vol. 48) of Birdy Magazine is out and one of my poems is in it and I’m all aflutter. Birdy is a local Denver magazine and it’s really very cool, chock full of art, and devoid of the kind of garish advertising you see in more “commercial” magazines. It’s also free. The quality of the printing makes each issue pretty and collectible, and the artists featured on each cover do such a great job. I couldn’t be happier to be featured, and I want to show everyone this issue.

However, it is deeply, deeply uncomfortable publicizing my poetry. I’ve never had an issue sharing stories, blogs, articles, you name it. Poetry, on the other hand, is like my deep dark secret activity. I’ve only really ever written it for myself, and I almost never show it to anyone. With the exception of a couple poems I submitted to a writing contest once and in workshops, I just don’t share.

I brought a few copies of the magazine to work, and after the fifth person tried to open the mag and read my poem right in front of me I started awkwardly insisting they go away first. As much as I love attention it seems really self aggrandizing to blather on, and I’m not falsely humble. I’m happy to brag, it’s just such a quagmire of emotions and awkwardness to share something personal. I should probably get used to it.

Writing, art, passion, loneliness.

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I just sent in a poetry submission. To a real publication (I am still unsure if my community college writing contest counts, but that’s a question for a poetry editor somewhere), and I find myself feeling strangely not relieved or excited. Just the same strange strong obligation to march ever onward.

I tried explaining this to someone recently. We were discussing ambition and motivation and life-in-general stuff, and explaining my perception of my life and goals wasn’t very relate-able. Writing is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, not necessarily for money, or fame or success, but to do.

I have to write. Not often or in any particular quantity, but it’s what I have, and I have always felt a weird undercurrent of obligation to do so. Also I’m getting kind of good at it at this point, so it’s easier than say, oil painting would be, in terms of expression of the self.

Anyway, the thing is, not everyone has that drive to share, to express, and I didn’t really know it until recently. Not every human on the planet is constantly obsessing about creating art in ways that other people can relate to. You see the urge in other things, relate-able social media, memes, etc. Storytelling is a part of most human cultures, but not everyone has a tiny voice threatening you every day to write, or else. Yeah, my passion threatens me, what does yours do?

The part we did agree on, in this conversation, was that any endeavor that requires focus requires ALL OF THE FOCUS. This is part I struggle with. I can’t neglect the routine, the self-care, socializing. Those are all  things I need to stay sane so I can write. I am never going to be that shut-in genius that people talk about in hushed tones about my dedication to my craft. I like living and doing and laughing, and if that means I blow off editing this damn poetry manuscript for another month, I shall. And you shan’t stop me with your guilt-trip, self. SHAN’T.

Anyway, writing is lonely. Unless you collaborate with another person (and this idea is HORRIFYING to me, because control issues), you’re bound to spend a lot of time alone, with paper. Lots of paper. And pens. And computers. That is an incredibly off-putting realization, for me.

But I just submitted some poetry. And I’ll do it again. And I’ll continue to (very slowly) write this book (and the three others I’ve started since I started that one).

NaNoWrimo: Update on extreme failure

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So predictably I haven’t been writing for NaNo. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the pressure, maybe it’s that I am just really bad at juggling life and stuff, but I’ve topped out at about 6 or 7k words.

Top 3 reasons why:

 

1. I got bored.  

Like, really really bored. My story, which seemed so new and exciting was starting to feel real. Like real life. I knew too much about it and I couldn’t be excited about something so mundane. The ironic part is it’s an urban fantasy, so maybe I just need to up the amount of dragons and monsters and butt kicking and stuff.

2. The mood.

Seriously, what’s up with that? I really wanted to want to write. I did. But I was invariably tired or grumpy or couldn’t focus. What are this.

3. That pesky social life.

Now, don’t laugh, because I’m not making this up. People actually wanted to hang out with me. It’s like every time I even put my fingers to the keyboard my phone would go off. Usually friends, but sometimes work. I had four work events, but I could have written despite those. It was the fact that I had friends to talk to that really threw me.

Unfortunately there isn’t a real solution for any of this. Whenever I am feeling particularly loser-like I am usually too restless to sit and write. So even if this was an off season for me and the calling cards ceased coming in, I doubt I’d be any more productive.

I’d have to write like 9k words a day to finish NaNo by the end of the week. Can I do it? Probably. I’ve written 10k in a day before, but that took monumental effort. Will I do it? I don’t know. I am not sure I can commit to that. It’s a really draining endeavor, and to be honest it’s not really up to me. I’d basically need someone (coughboyfriendcough) to take care of all of the things for the next five days. I don’t know if that’s something I can ask. Or will receive.

I’m pretty disappointed in myself, but it’s not too late. On the upside I’ve been reading, and have a review to post later today. I’m also doing a blog tour for T.M. Franklin’s The Guardians on Dec. 2. So check back in a week to see what I thought of the book (spoiler alert, I loved it) and read my interview with the author!

How is your NaNo going?

NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month, week 2

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So I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year. This is my fifth or something year participating and I have yet to win, so I’m really trying to put all of my mental resources into writing, which means less (or no) reading. And probably no review blogging.

 I’ll try to post here with my updates. I really like my story idea, and I think it’s going along swimmingly, though I’ve got less than half of my day 8 target words written. I’m hoping to use the next couple of hours to really knock some of my word count out of the park.

Word count: 5074
Cups of coffee desired: 2309410397410410