Writing Practice

A Cozier Home

2009-03-24T14:27:00.000-07:00

I have given this SERIOUS (can you hear the dense drumming in the soundtrack for this posting?) consideration and have decided to merge this blog with my Insane Parents Unite! blog. Quite frankly, I find it difficult to homeschool my son, write in my parenting/homeschooling blog every day, write for my No Shame theater group, edit my manuscript for my critique group every week and keep the house and laundry up, plus design, plant and succeed at my first ever garden.

Plus I want to, you know, submit stuff to be published, too.

So this blog seems a bit extraneous to me right now. For the time being (and maybe even for forever), please join me at Insane Parents Unite! where I will write about my home/unschooling journey with my son, my woes and worries of being a parent, my permaculture attempts, my artistic endeavors and my latest essays.

When I first started blogging, I created the three different blogs (writing, parenting and grief) because I liked the segregation of my ideas. The different place settings for my thoughts soothed me. There was order. But I have found that often the things I live through -- and therefore write about -- bleed over onto each other, like a red sock in the washing machine of my life. (heehee) Thus, the intentional cross over.

Enjoy! It might feel a bit crowded over there, but I'd rather live at Mrs. Weasley's Burrow than Martha Stewart's mansion any day.

The Blinkin' Cursor

2009-03-07T11:33:00.000-08:00

“The Blinkin’ Cursor”

By Valerie Willman

I am at No Shame writer’s meeting again, and I have no topic. I hate this part of writing: the frightened eyes caught in the headlights part. The part where I don’t know what to write. The part where I don’t know my name, let alone my voice. Gelatinous globs of inadequacy plop off onto my keyboard. Remember the old Jello commercials? “Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle.”

I read a lot about voice and am inspired by others’ works. But somehow the euphoric wave I ride as I close the book on this week’s famous author dwindles to shock. Shock that I’ve already forgotten what it was I was so excited about in the first place -- thought, while I stare at my blinking cursor. The blinkin’ cursor. Like bleepin’ cursor, only more literal.

It’s cold in the Center where we are writing. But I’m prepared this time. I have coffee, fingerless gloves and a wool cloak. Also my Costa Rican scarf, which I never leave home without. My cheeks and nose are cold, but the portable heaters take off enough chill that our breath does not cloud in front of us.

I think I might make myself another list. Lists are so comfortable. You can feel so important with a list in hand.

“Forget it, Inner Wimp. We have a list this time – so no potty mouth from you!,” my drill sergeant says to the room. He carries a hot pink plastic clipboard – but only because that was the last one on the shelf when he bought it.

Lists empower you. They create that false sense of superiority that only those of us that crave external validation understand.

Each thought is pulled from my brain and placed on the list so that I no longer need to think about it … like Dumbledore’s Penseive. I can doodle and scribble and underline and make notes in the margins. I can categorize and erase and start new pages when the thoughts spill over.

But when the list gets too long, a crushing side effect of chronic list-making happens. I can’t get it all done. And there it is, staring at me. Taunting me with its bold length.

And then! When all hope is lost and I feel like a failure I can, at the end of the day, look through my lists one more time and discover that I Accomplished something after all. Maybe it was just a small thing, but it’s something. And then I get to do the thing, the thing that is the REAL reason people write lists: I get to cross something off.

LOOK! I’m accomplished! Scribble. LOOK! I finished something! Cross off. LOOK! I reached a goal! Slash.

My husband tries to take the wind out of my sails when he says, “You just make lists of things to do so you don’t have time to do them.” (snort) What does he know? He doesn’t look beyond himself for validation. He thinks he’s cool, just as he is. What a freak.

Also, if he made a list, he would forget where he put it.

“Val?! Where’s my keys?” “Val?! I can’t find my shoes? Damn. These pants are too short, you can see my white socks … maybe I’ll wear my boots.” “Val?! … Where’s my cell phone?”

I should wear a post-it note on my face: Where you put it.

If I made another list -- it would be a sort-of life-line for me. A place to start when I’m staring at the blinkin’ cursor. Sort-of like Writer’s Digest writing prompts, but not. “A green bird in winter.” “Your baby’s first snot bubble.” “The curse of Great-Aunt Marge.” Yeah, those aren’t so helpful.

But maybe if I spent some time creating first lines of paragraphs, or a brief scene from a story I want to tell … kind-of like an elaborate “Ideas” book that I could bring to No Shame meetings to spur me into a clackety writing frenzy.

Or maybe instead of these personal writing prompts I would create, what if I made a list of different writing exercises that I want to do, instead of the ones given to me in books, like the one I saw yesterday: Write as a man, if you are a woman, what it was like to have your first wet dream.

(?) There’s that deer in the headlights look again. Only this time with raised eyebrows.

My writing exercises would be more like: find that one book you liked, with the green cover, and find that page where they talk about bacon. Yeah, that one. That was funny. If you want to write funny, see how he wrote it.

Another could be: Remember that blue Marshall Method Writing Book? Make a plot skeleton for five different stories based on his method.

Then I would file them away for days where I felt I must have words with … the blinkin’ cursor.

I need to write a freakin' query letter.

2009-03-05T09:22:00.000-08:00

So, I actually allowed Robert to video game early in the morning for the purposes of writing. My sacred writing time is not to be used for any other purposes. I thought this would be a cinch.

Nope. I've already wasted about 40 minutes to checking emails, FB, myspace, and a couple of blogs. And now I have to go to the bathroom. And I want to take a shower.

I think it'll take me a few days to work out the kinks of this 'sacred writing time'. HaHa. You'll never believe the 'Fruedian typo" I just made. Instead of sacred writing time, I wrote scared writing time. Gulp. What is it I am scared of anyway?

I think it is trying and not being good enough.

I can handle trying and failing. I understand that rejection comes with the territory. I know that the more rejection notices I get in the mail just signifies that I am getting closer to publication. But what if I try and the reason I am rejected is not because "they just published something like this six months ago" or "this doesn't fit our magazine's readership" or "this is good, but ... ", but because the writing is just NOT GOOD. Or a more emotional phrase for me: not good enough.

I offered to host a guest speaker on a fellow blogger's blog tour last month, but got no response. Is that because my blog just hasn't been in circulation long enough, or because I don't have enough followers yet? Those I can manage ... they seem to be standard rejections. But what if she checked out my blog and hated it? What if she just didn't want to be associated with such poor writing?

In my brain, I know this cannot be true. There are aspects of my writing that are very good. I've been told by multiple people that this is true. I am critiqued on my writing every week in my critique group; I am complimented on my pieces almost once a week at my No Shame theater group. I know I write well. And well enough to be published. As I was once before in the paper ... 5 years ago!

Gotta start submitting.

How. Do. I. Get. Over. This. Block. Of. Submitting. ??? I need to write a freakin' query letter.

Sacred Writing Time

2009-03-04T11:52:00.001-08:00

It's easy to find time to write when you are on your honeymoon in Mexico.

Not so easy at home with huge lists of house projects, gardening projects, writing projects, and Joey projects (we 'home' school).

And I never seem to get anything done on Paul's days off. Does anyone else have that problem? I purposely not plan things to happen on those days because I want to have the freedom to do something unexpected with him -- like a spontaneous hike with the kids and our dog. But that just means NOTHING gets done. You can usually see me wandering aimlessly through the house, like a earthquake victim who's lost the walls in the living room, wondering what to do with my time. There isn't enough time to fit anything in before I need to ... (fill in the blank), so I might as well not start anything, if I can't finish it. Right?

My mother-in-law has encouraged me to NOT make the kinds of lists I normally make: a kind-of stream of consciousness piece with fifty-four random things that immediately need to be done.

But rather, a categorized version of it. So then I might have five or six items in the Writing Projects section of the master list and seven things in the Gardening Projects part of the list.

I want to take it a step further and itemize each project within the sub-category. So, if "organize garage" is in my Household Projects list, I know I can break that down into: *through away all trash, * pull out all Aniela's things and invite her over to go through them, *start a charity pile to be picked up, *CALL Aniela to set up a specific day, *CALL the charity to arrange for a truck to make a pick-up .... etc.

And then, as far as writing goes, Anna tells me -- get this -- that I need to have Joey play video games or watch t.v./movies one or two hours a day and have that be my "Sacred Writing Time", not to be used for anything else (like planning birthday parties). And that I need to do it everyday.

lol

shit

Maybe I'll do it.

sigh

What a great parent am I.

*Though I did have a thought: what if making video gaming be mandatory, I squelch all desire for him to do it?! Hooray! Wouldn't that be a hoot?

Newest Project

2009-02-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

http://insaneparentsunite.blogspot.com/2009/02/nablopomo-march.html

Come see. :)

Depression And Anxiety Are My Special Needs Children

2009-02-20T09:03:00.000-08:00

Movies I watch can inspire me to write or paint or sculpt.

But some only create the longing for it, and not the release – like the nightmares where you can’t scream but know that if you try with all that is in you, you could make enough noise to cast your voice out among the billions who also trudge this land.

There’s an ache – when I feel unable to create my art -- a loneliness that wiggles inside my brain so that it hurts, and my throat so that I cannot communicate.

My fingers are frozen at the page, clamped desperately around the pen. My breath stops as I wait for the timid kernel of inspiration to share itself through me – but alas, it is not Inspiration or Idea or even Plot Device that appears … it is: Clamminess, Brick Wall, Pettiness, Fatigue, and Not Good Enough.

The metallic sour taste of lethargy and self- judgment sit with me when the longing to create art is strongest. I’ve sat with and asked these soul-sucking companions why they visit. I sometimes get a response and sometimes not.

I wonder how to get rid of them – like they are the slugs on my sugar snap peas that eat holes before I get a taste.

But perhaps I should simply share space with these evil shadows of myself and honor their place in my house. What if I extended love to them, accepted them and knew there was an ancient lesson they came to teach me, if only I would listen -- like the hundreds of thousands of families with special needs children?

Depression and Anxiety are my special needs children. I court them, suckle them and find their triggers to tantrums. I sit with Depression and rock him to sleep with haunting music lilting from the iTunes across the room; I coax Anxiety out to play -- break out the glue and treeless paper and collage until she is more grounded.

I discover their strengths and weaknesses and take time out for myself when they become too much for me to bear alone. I nurture myself with popcorn and movies under the feather blanket, hot tea with a friend, or an afternoon alone at a coffee shop with my laptop and latte. And I think. I take time to Feel.

When I do this -- when I give myself permission to emote -- only then am I open enough to welcome ideas and plans and as-of-yet formless characters into the sacred circle I have created for them. Only then am I able and willing to give birth to their stories.

But that’s not right either. I am always willing. That yearning and longing to write and to create are always there. But maybe the readiness is not.

Maybe I must coddle my children, Depression and Anxiety before I can create. But … I don’t believe that one must be depressed or suffer anxiety attacks in order to create art. Art lives in us, we breathe it as air and it binds to the molecules within us. We bleed our art. We are art.

Perhaps I don’t need to be depressed to create art, but that if I am struggling with it at some particular time, I must sit with it first before I attempt to express an emotion I do not yet understand. Only if I take time to nurture myself, to Think, to Feel, to ask Depression why he had another nightmare, to ask Anxiety why she cried today when the house was a mess – maybe then I can unfreeze my fingers and find my voice and let it roar with all the passion and longing and creativity I have.
And then, I can create. I can write, paint and sculpt. I can communicate and breathe and love myself again. All the parts of me. Even the shadowy parts.

No School Day

2009-02-16T13:20:00.000-08:00

I'm on my way to take my kids to Skate World so I can write in ... peace?

"Mom! Mom! Look at this!"

"Mom, can you buy me some food?"

"We ate at home."

"But I'm hungry again."

"We can go home and get some food."

"Then can we come back?"

"Mom, can I have some money?"

"No."

"WHY NOT?!"

Hmm. We'll see how much writing gets done.

February Blues

2009-02-12T12:06:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling weird and pensive and out of sorts.

I don't know what's up with me today.

I'm tired. The sun from yesterday is gone. My front lawn is ugly with leaves. My unfolded laundry is piling up on the love seat and at the foot of my bed. The dishes need catching up on. I still can't seem to write a query letter. My theater writing group is meeting tonight and I can't think of anything interesting to write about. I haven't looked at my manuscript in what feels like ages. I haven't even started a sewing project meant to be done by next week, nor have I started making Valentine's or cookies for the swap that is tomorrow. And even at this late date, I am still wondering and concerned about how to home-school Robert. Everything I want to try seems to conflict with something else I've tried. Or want to try.

I'm tired of my own inconsistencies.

But most of all, today, I'm thinking of old lovers. Missing them. Wondering if I made a difference in their lives; if they still think of me, as I do of them.

Re-Commitments

2009-02-08T12:18:00.000-08:00

I handed my list of fifty things I'd written down that I wanted to accomplish every week to Paul. He told me I couldn't fit them all in.

Sigh.

But I want to. How can I choose over soaking in a tub for an hour and folding laundry? (snort) 'Cuz there is no choice there, in my opinion.

How can I chose between taking my kid on a field trip and writing a blog entry?

How can I chose between reading and answering emails and detailed cleaning on my house?

How can I chose between personal reading time and having a bedtime ritual with my children?

I want to do it all?

One of things on my list was to write (hand-write! With actual paper and stamps.) a letter to a family member once a week. My family is all spread out across North America.

Oregon, Washington, California, Wyoming, Texas, Alaska, Kentucky, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, North Carolina, Colorado ... and that's just the family I know of and does not include Paul's family. (That would add New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New Mexico.)

So, visiting my relatives is a daunting, if not impossible, task. My commitment is to write to one of them every week. I've made this commitment before. And it hasn't worked. I've not done it. But this summer I am not able (do to financial woes -- and let's be honest -- I just don't want to travel there this summer) to visit my Massachusetts family.

They (and my children) would like us to visit them every summer for weeks. To lessen this blow (if I may be so arrogant to suggest), I wrote a letter to one of my relatives in MA and sent pictures of the kids from recent months.

She's been asking for pictures and letters for months (and years) and I always say I'll try (because really I DO want to communicate with her). I'm hoping that if I can re-commit to my letter writing goal, maybe she'll be less disappointed with us not coming if she gets more frequent updates and pictures of our lives.

Here's hoping so.

Mom's on the Left

2009-02-06T11:18:00.000-08:00

(A recent picture of my mom with my youngest sister from Kentucky.)

I miss my mom.

Whenever I needed a clear head, because mine was befuddled with the way time seems to evaporate as I approached it -- kind-of like a mirage in a desert -- my mom and I would find time to sit together and organize on paper.

Even when our lives separated us across the continent, we could find time over a phone call to organize my life in neater compartments, and to reassure me into a calmer state.

No, people couldn't do everything all at once. Yes, prioritizing was hard, but she had faith in me.

In fact, with a pad of paper and a pen in hand (for a pen in hand always helped me think better, even if I never wrote anything with it), I believed in myself more. Like somehow the energy of my mom believing in me and her buoyancy in approaching the tasks head-on transferred to me, simply by holding that pen and making lists with it.

But I am not holding a pen now. And I am not believing in myself now. And I am not sitting with my mom in our living room right now, nor have I made the time to call her while she's not at work.

And I don't have a cup of coffee beside me.

Maybe I'll get a transference of energy from my pen-wielding mom if I drink a cup of coffee and think of her! (And we won't think of this as procrastination ... that would be disloyal to the process my mom and I had in figuring out challenges and how to come out on top of them.) ;)

I can hear the grinder now.

My Compassionate Self

2009-01-26T08:16:00.000-08:00

Morning thoughts.

My word for the year is compassion. Compassion for myself, compassion for my children when they are driving me nutty, compassion for the people that anger me, compassion for the people I'm scared of.

But mostly compassion for myself. That sounds selfish to my ears, but ... you know, the thing with the airplane oxygen masks ... and saving yourself first before you help others ... maybe it is just that kind of compassion. If I can be consistently compassionate with myself, then I will be more compassionate and aware of inner feelings. Underlying issues. Thoughts dared not to be spoken.

For instance, my massage therapy career. "Should I go, or should I stay?" I would much rather spend the money I would've on massage classes, insurance and licensing on writing classes and conferences.

The economy is bad and our income has been reduced as a result, so our budget is tight. And spending money on conferences and lodging seem frivolous. To me. But I yearn for it and it feels necessary to my blood. To my lungs. To my psyche. To my heart.

But will Paul feel that way? Will I burden him by asking? Should he have a say in whether I quit my practice (such as it is?). And that's another thing.

I haven't done all I could and done my best to make my massage business succeed. I didn't look for a job in a salon or day spa. I didn't network tons (only once a week) (sort-of). So, I feel like a failure. And quitting seems to cap that.

But Paul says, No. I helped me grow, it helped me entertain myself while I was home with the preschooler and baby. It's a great hobby to have, one that will help the family when we are feeling poorly. A great skill to have and one that can reasonably be started back up again, if finances dictate or I just want to.

And I guess I wouldn't need his "permission" to quit doing something I'm not really doing anyway, and then use the same money I was using to maintain my license for writing. Hmm.

When I make a decision, after long agonizing "What do I do with my life?" sessions, I usually feel much relief. But I dread telling others of my decision. I'm going to have to write a letter and send out multiple copies to anyone involved with me as an LMT. Sigh. I cringe at their judgement.

I'd like to really work on No Shame Theater and my writing career. I really want to start submitting. I need to write up a query letter. Maybe I'll bring that to my critique group tonight instead of a novel excerpt. Or both.

Signing off now.

P.S. I am anxious about keeping up three different blogs. I like the idea of keeping them separate because the topics are so widely different (writing, grief and parenting/homeschooling) but, if I am only able to write an average of two posting a week and sometimes (most times) I am writing them in only one of the blogs ... that leaves the other two sorely empty ... and that doesn't make for readers.

And I know that is true because my site meter has told me that I've had NO visitors for the last three weeks!!! For one of my blogs, anyway.

"office woes" otherwise know as "I cannot see the floor"

2009-01-02T13:33:00.000-08:00

I am finally cleaning my office today in hopes of giving my husband a massage on the massage table which I cannot fit in the room as it is right now.

Also I am hoping to work on my writing resolutions (as in put them into action rather than just looking at the ones I wrote in my journal) once the office is clean.

New Years Resolutions

2008-12-27T11:19:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I sat down with a red journal and my mother-in-law and had a goal setting brainstorming session. We came up with a few ideas that I'm anxious to start.

Today I am hoping to write thank yous for xmas gifts and encourage the children to do so as well and to clean out my office ... (insert wide eyed stare)

It has been too long since I have attempted it and it is overwhelming even me. I now need to walk sideways to get to my computer. I literally, I am sorry to say, have only six inches of bare floor, in some places, for a pathway to my door.

I would like to set up a writing/marketing/editing/submitting/researching schedule that will work alongside the other things I am committed to doing: raising a family, housework and home-schooling my seven year old.

Tall order.

(grimace)

Some poem-ish things I found in my journal from forever ago.

2008-12-05T14:48:00.000-08:00

Squishy, molding,spinning,

Caressing of the hands

Building skyscrapers in my

Mind, or wheels of clay

For distant lands.

Dream maker, Dream maker

Grant me sacred dreams

Of frolicking and sweetness

In each baby's cries.

***

Listening to music with headphones,

Recording detail for others to read.

Sampling cheesed and bread

(homemade with butter)

While madly displaying my art within the

Lines of my notebook.

My thoughts bleeding on the page

Quaking with fear, distrust, unworthiness

I record my thoughts, dreams,

Fears, pet-peeves and wishes.

Fearful of rejection I jump into the void

Knowing full well that either certain death

Looms before me or the

Wild ecstasy of success.

Success is a death of a kind,

For success is as short lived as an orgasm,

Rocking the mind and body

Sending shock wave after shock wave

Rippling through.

Success, like orgasm,

Is addictive.

Always wanting more,

Never satisfied.

Only a few beat the addiction and

Are content with the blessings they have

And are satisfied with the

Here and now.

I'm a winner!

2008-12-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

I made it, I made it! I finished my novel yesterday and became a Nanowrimo winner for the first time. (This is me breathing on my nails and shining them on my shirt.)

Sneezy

2008-11-21T16:19:00.000-08:00

I've sneezed eighty times today.

I'm in the hat

2008-11-16T18:52:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling weird. Pensive, tired, melancholy, unsettled? I want to listen to music on my playlist but I don't want to stay in my office. I'm better out in the living room with Paul and the children.

I'm having two extra kids stay with me while their mama is still in the hospital with baby number three. I'm taking the older ones to school tomorrow and picking them up and then taking them home afterwards, barring on mama being home.

I emailed a man that has been doing missionary work in another country for three years today. He and I went to school together as children, and then later as teenagers, and finally in our twenties in college. We had a brief and spontaneous *ahem* 'study session' at his house one day and that was the last time I saw him.

Now with this email today, I struggled with whether to bring it up. He is obviously devoted to his God and to bring up something that his life path is so far from -- I opted not. It started me thinking why this 'interlude' took place.

This was after my divorce to Eric and I was feeling rather low in the self-esteem department, and any attention, especially sexually, was a wash of tonic for me. But it was more than that. I think that I felt safe with him, someone I'd known peripherally at least for a long time. I think I craved the comfort of the familiar. It was sweet and lonely at the same time.

And I think he'd wished he hadn't done it. Which is why I never saw him again. He didn't really want me. Perhaps all he wanted was the same tenderness and safety that I craved that day.

And so today, it was with peaceful and glad heart that I wished him well and joy in his world.

Namaste to all.

Blessed Be.

sickness and tiredness blahs

2008-11-13T18:42:00.000-08:00

I'm going to type a sentence or two on my nano pages. I'm going to rest now. Today was tiring.

Laments

2008-11-13T11:17:00.000-08:00

I'm still in bed with a sore throat. My son is watching a Harry Potter dvd and I'm trying not to watch it. I totally need to work on my nano book but I don't want to do it right now.

I'm sick, I'm tired, my throat hurts, the dog is crying and I don't know why and it's breaking my heart, I'm hungry but I can't eat anything that requires swallowing.

I shouldn't have decided to write in the Regency style. I'd have a lot more to write about if I were doing it in modern times, with kids in the mix. I'd have limitless stuff to write about.

I talked to Paul about it and he said that I should just go ahead and write it however, just to get it down, modern-wise; but then when I edit it, to put it in Regency language later.

Maybe so.

I need to get something to drink now. I haven't hydrated myself today and it already 11:45 a.m.

Joey keeps jumping on my bed and it's pissing me off.

update

2008-11-12T13:43:00.000-08:00

Up to 20K words despite being massively sick for 2 1/2 days. Doc says she thinks I'm on the mend. Fever down to 99.5F.

This means I can sit up more and take small walks around the house before feeling like I'm going to collapse. As opposed to thrashing around in my sweaty bedclothes because my fever was high enough that I hurt everywhere and couldn't lay still.

So, my head is hurting a bit and I need to crawl back in bed.

We'll see if this homeopathic remedy works. Doc couldn't decide between two of them, but felt more drawn to this one.

Namaste, friends.

Pizza, Novels and Depression

2008-11-09T19:53:00.000-08:00

Over 16K words now. Still plugging along. My house is suffering, And I'm yawning a lot. I attribute that to the excessive (for me) amounts of pizza I am consuming as all the write-ins are at pizza joints.

As a gluten-sensitive person, pizza is one of the worst foods I can think to eat. Gluten makes me depressed and "over the top-I can't get out of bed-I just want to cry" tired. And the depression forces me to bed to watch movies.

Not good for parenting, nor connecting with a sex deprived hubby, nor writing a novel. Sigh.

No more pizza! I'm smuggling in a Yumm! bowl Wednesday night.

Write On!

UPDATE: the next day I came down with a horrendous sore throat and fever. I guess the gluten really got me down. My naturopath thinks so, too.

Kick-Off Party

2008-10-29T17:17:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo Kick-Off Party tonight at Roarin' Rapids at 6 p.m.

Hooray! The start of something fantabulously weird.

Are you enthralled? Join me!

Nanowrimo 2008

2008-10-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

I tried to get this in my side bar but to no avail. Argh.

Hooray for me! I also like: and . I was able to add the badges to my webpage. But for some reason, not on my blog sidebars. Hmm.

But anyway, Hooray for me!

A gentle thanksgiving

2008-10-14T10:28:00.000-07:00

I'm seriously considering going vegan. I went to an EVEN meeting where Wayne Geiger talked about Lighthouse Farm Animal Sanctuary and have been doing some pretty unsettling research. (The findings are unsettling.)

I listened to an audio talk on cd which said that within three weeks your taste buds could completely change. I've had experiences where my own tastes have changed and I've not liked things I previously have eaten. You know, like, Snickers bars and kool-aid. The sugar content now is revoltingly high and I can't stomach it.

Though, I have to say that, sugar continues to be an embarrassing vice. I can eat whole vegan dark chocolate bars in one sitting and handfuls of vegetarian candy at a time. Nothing I'm proud of and proof that if I do make the switch, my junk food slip ups can (who am I kidding? will) continue.

So, my husband returns from Peru tomorrow evening. YEE-HAW! I'm going to talk with him about my idea of our family pledging veganism for three weeks, and then seeing what happens. Even if none of the rest of my family do it, I may very well continue on my quest for the end of animal cruelty. I can at least do my part by not eating them myself. One can make a difference.

Be Gentle this Thanksgiving, my friends.

Writing Calendar

2008-10-02T10:59:00.000-07:00

Paul's taken the camera to Las Vegas so this will be without photo.

I just finished creating a calendar and log for article/essay submissions. I'm going to take the advice of a woman I met at Willamette Writers Conference 2008. She submits something (ANYTHING) on the 1st and 15th of every month.

So I printed out a monthly calendar from FreePrint.com, three-hole punched it, and put it in a binder. I yellow highlighted the 1st and 15th of every month except Novembers. (NaNoWriMo)

I also set up a document with columns for "Article," "Place Sent," "Date Sent," "Follow-Up," and "Mail Received." This goes in the binder, too, as well as any guidelines for contest submissions that I'm going to try for.

When I discover a contest I want to try for or market I want to query, I print out the guidelines, put it in my binder and enter the deadline in my calendar.

We'll see how it goes! Onward!

Escaping the "artist's way"

2008-09-17T18:17:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my local coffee shop taking a break from home life to write. My husband magnanimously offered that I go, without having me to ask for it. He loves me. He loves me.

His only request was that I was home in time to help him put the children to bed. Sigh. (HeeHee.)

Never mind, this decaf americana more than makes up for it. Not hearing my loving and excited children singing early Christmas carols with made up choruses in the kitchen while my head pounds more than makes up for having to go back and tuck them in.

In fact, what joy. I get to come here, after being with Joey for most of the day, have piece and quiet and listen to the fountain splash water next to me and write - which I love to do - and then I get the pleasure of tucking in my lovies. But not have to Put Them To Bed. (HeeHee.)

I am meeting Ginger tomorrow to go over our Artist's Way chapter and do our check-in. I haven't been doing the morning pages (sigh) and I haven't done any of the tasks. This time. I have done them (quite a few of them) before when I read the book, but I feel this is cheating to not do them again. After all, I am in a different place this time. I'm a different person. Evolved to a new space. So I shall go over them again and do at least one. Oh. Also, I haven't done the artist's date. Unless I count this. I am alone. I'm writing. I don't think that is supposed to count. I'm supposed to be filling up the well, not depleting it by creating. Hmm.

I do understand this. And agree with it. But maybe not in this sense. Not in the sense of me escaping my house (and the noise that goes with it ... and the laundry that needs to be folded) and writing to purge and get my feelings and emotions out. Though I haven't actually done that. I think that this should be counted as an emergency artist date. :) I like that. So I'm counting it.

And now, to book.

"New Blog vs. Old Blog" or "Excuse me while I tear out my hair"

2008-08-26T19:24:00.000-07:00

ARG~!

I was trying to set up a new blog -- a "subdomain" of my new website. It sucked. I couldn't figure out how to use it. I've tried for hours on three different days and haven't come much closer. Blogspot is just so much better for managing. There were some other cool features that Blogspot/Blogger doesn't have, but the crapola I've been dealing with just to post a picture that fits in my templet or posting the darn thing in the first place is not worth the heartache. :) So I'm staying here!

But DO go check out my new website and let me know if you have feedback.

I'll even buy you a coffee if you post a comment to any of my blogs!

Must go check on the munchkins!

New Website!

2008-08-21T11:02:00.000-07:00

I've worked hard to get a new website up for internet promotion purposes. Take a look and let me know if you think changes should be made for readibility, etc.

http://www.valeriewillman.com

Internet Presence

2008-08-06T07:05:00.000-07:00

I'm all sorts of excited about building a platform and an online presence. I took a FANTASTIC class called "Internet ACE" by a guy called Gregory Kompes.

I'll be working on a new webpage in the very near future. Hooray! I'm excited about this.

Well, off to yoga! :)

More to come for sure. Like, links to article directories with stuff I've written! I'm so excited!

I'm here!

2008-08-01T18:53:00.003-07:00

Here I am at the Willamette Writer's Conference in Portland, OR. I'm staying in the hotel the conference is in and I've left my family at home in the care of Paul and Paul's mother.

Today was the first day of workshops. I took four ... well, five if you count the time I walked out of a really boring one and found a new one half over. My favorites were about queries and platform. I got real excited during those.

The class on queries was given by an agent -- Marilyn Allen -- and talked about the twelve deadly sins she finds on a query letter. Funny, smart, and to the point. I got lots of notes.

The one on platform had a good speaker, too, and got me looking at my blog/website in a new way. And just wondering about the different ways that I, in particular, can build up my presence on the web -- and on the physical realm.

A colleague once told me to write articles and print them in newsletters or on the web, so that I could be considered an "expert" in my field. In this particular case, a grief expert. I sloughed it off because ... well, because I just didn't consider myself an expert. My only claim to that was that I was a widow. I didn't have a PhD or anything. But after this class on platform I'm thinking more seriously about it.

After all, I've been a widow (despite my remarriage to Paul) for eight years this month. Eight years. Talk about work experience. ;)

6-12-08 Dedication

2008-07-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

I dedicate my writings to my grandmother, Lola Kathleen Hanna, who wrote secretly and not so secretly.

For my third husband, Paul, who inspires me everyday and is irritated when I don't try and risk failing.

I dedicate these writings to me, as I unfold and open to the blessings everywhere.

To my children, for their individuality.

To all the authors I've read that encourage me to write: Natalie Goldberg (Writing Down the Bones), Marilyn See (Living a Literary Life), Anne Lamont (Bird by Bird), Stephen King (On Writing), Noah Saltzman (If you can talk, you can write), Sol Stein (On Growing a Novel), Author (Pen on Fire), Julia Cameron (Artist's Way, Walking in this World, The Right to Write), Ariel Gore (How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead), Christina Katz (Writer Mama), and Catherine Newman (Waiting For Birdie) because I love the way you write. (etc.)

To the teachers that have encouraged me.

To my writing groups.

To all those that accept me for me.

Blessed Be.

6-12-08 Disclaimer

2008-07-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

This is a perfect time to write my disclaimer -- in read pen no less, like the stringent critic in my brain. It is a perfect time because I don't want to do it. For all the reasons my critic/editor prevents me from writing in the first place.

For days when I need to call my critic out for who he/she is and see the ridiculousness in its words, here: (I'm reminded of a boggart -- and so I say, "Ridikulus!")

It's boring.

No one will want to read it.

I'm ashamed of my foolishness.

I'll sound like an idiot.

I'm afraid of sounding stupid.

I'm afraid people are secretly pitying my horrible attempts at writing -- and worse -- may not even KNOW how terrible I sound and blithely continue on embarrassing myself. Without knowing. Like those singers on those reality shows that are told on the the air that they suck and are laughed off stage. That's me.

Those are the internal reasons I don't write. The external reasons are, obviously, internal ones, too, only in disguise.

"External" reasons not to write:

I'm too busy.

I've got errands to do.

My writing studio is messy.

I want to write at a cafe but I feel guilty for leaving my dog alone.

My dog is crying for attention.

My kids are home and distracting me.

My kids are at school and I feel I should be working on menu planning, grocery shopping, more errands, cleaning the bathrooms ...

I don't have any clean underwear.

I need to do the laundry.

I need to pack for my trip.

I should be writing a letter to my gramma ... aunt ... mom ... cousins ... sisters ... dad ... etc.etc.etc.

I'm hungry.

I can't write while I eat, so I'll read -- but then get sucked in.

I want to soak in the bath.

I want to go play with friends.

My roommate's talking to me.

The kids are talking to me.

I have to pick up my kids in twenty minutes so I can't start anything now.

I don't know what to write about.

My hand hurts.

My head hurts.

My stomach hurts.

I need to check my emails.

I have a business meeting.

I have class.

I just want to sit and do nothing.

I want to spend time doing nothing.

I'm distracted.

I don't want to do the writing assignments in this book -- or any other I read.

I want to read.

I need to ... ? do something else that prevents me from writing.

I need to make a schedule.

I need to make a list.

I need to figure out Joey's schooling.

I'm doodling.

I'm looking at my calendar.

Fiction or Non?

2008-06-16T08:48:00.000-07:00

I have two book projects that are percolating, maybe three, and I'm not sure what the smart thing to do is regarding time and energy management. One is a fictional piece about "Larry" and his journey through his grief of his wife dying and also his sexual exploration with Steve. The other project is a creative nonfiction/memoir compilation of sorts. It would be essays on grief and merging old family with new after the death of a spouse; letters to the deceased; journal entries; my story. The third project may very well be my first project after all. I'm signed up to do NaNoWriMo in November and I have so little of Larry's story written and I'm ambiguous about Larry's sexual story (homo- or hetero-sexual) and really who the main characters are -- excepting Larry -- that I feel I could honestly and ethically use the Larry story as my NaNoWriMo novel base. Then I'd only have two projects to do. :)

So if that decision is made (though that could change if I start writing in November and a completely other novel comes out -- like Colin and Olivia and their travels, which is another shadow of a story forming), then I could be free to work on my non-fiction project right now.

My original plan was to work on my non-fiction project from January to summer and then closet those essays and such until after I wrote my novel in November. Then I'd closet the novel and edit the non-fiction book and query and submit while I edited the novel. That didn't really materialize. I worked on some small essays from January to March and then did one large one (3200 words) in April and then nothing since. It's June. I wanted to be wrapping up the project now-ish. So that I'd have a little bit of a break before I started the novel. Not too long of one that broke my momentum of writing, but a family vacations worth anyway.

And now the Willamette Writers Convention is coming on and I have the option to pitch something, or at least have a pitch practice session, but I don't even know which pitch -- fiction or non -- let alone if I have the courage to do it in the first place.

It, this indecision between fiction or non, affects even my registration of the conference! The sessions/classes are all sorted by category/genre: fiction, non-fiction, children's/ya, and film. So should I take a couple of each fiction and non-fiction? Or should I concentrate on one and get as much information about one as I can?

More questions to follow. For instance, now I'm trying to decide if I should go to WWC three days and ditch Faerieworlds (which I've gone to for the last two years and am starting to build community with) or go two days and miss out on part of this conference experience! AHH!! There are so many decisions to make lately. And not easy ones. Ones that throw you across the cavern, which you miss and fall into the deep abyss, bumping all the way down. Like, do I homeschool my son next year?

Fuck.

Quilts and Kids

2008-06-11T21:14:00.001-07:00

"Aubreeey!" Joey's voice squeals higher than necessary as he stomps up the stairs to bed. Minutes later I hear voices raised and giggles with clumping feet above my ceiling. Someone is humming loudly. There. Someone jumps on a bed. Then ... thud thud thud ... I don't know what that sound is. Another loud voice and more mysterious noises. They are not doing as I told them: to get into bed.

It is 8:11 p.m. and I am not "inspecting what I expect," as my husband always reminds me to do. Instead I am leaning back in my bed with a cup of decaf chai tea, a sploosh of organic half-n-half and a squirt of agave nectar. My children and I just finished our nightime reading of Harry Potter. And instead of going upstairs to tuck my kids in bed, I am distracted by my crazy quilt.

My crazy quilt is every color imaginable with a churning disarray of patterns. Yellow blocks with lighter yellow squiggles encased in a thin black line; multi-colored stars in a glittering heaven of blues; violas; paisleys; burgundy and white leaves; green and gold wildflowers; pink and blue calico; country blue with white hearts; building blocks and polka dots.

One square sports a beehive and flowers; one a cat in a pink bow, waving at me with yarn tangled in her paw. I see geese and apples, swirls, stripes, reeds, ice-skating snowmen and an autumn harvest. One square is of a pumpkin patch with an artichoke in the middle.

Do artichokes grow in the Fall? In the middle of pumpkin patches?

I used to hate this quilt. Paul bought it off ebay. It has a neat story though.

The woman who quilted it was buying a trailer from Paul at the RV lot he manages and she and her husband wanted to trade in five of her hand-made quilts as part of their down payment on the trailer. Paul couldn't take them in trade, but liked them and later found she was auctioning them off on eBay and bought them.

I gave one to my niece when she was born -- it had dear Holly Hobbie appliques on it. Three others rotate around the house: on the couch for snuggling, on the massage table for clients, or on a child's bed for dreaming under.

"Mom, I love blankets," sighed my son one morning under one of those quilts.

But the crazy quilt always stays on our bed because it is the biggest of them. The quilt, not the bed, though that is true, too.

And so it has grown on me. I imagine the stories the fabric swatches held before they were quilted into her blanket. Were they once her children's clothes? Or from a pillow -- long since fallen apart -- given to her on her wedding day? Or maybe they were just swatches from the dollar bin at the local fabric store.

But someone else's joy, love, frustrations and intentions went into this blanket and I snuggle under it every night.

In the winter months we add a fluffy down comforter to our bed, obscuring the craziness. Both my husband and I are allergic to dust mites -- which coincidentally love feather blankets. So, we encase our fluffy feathers with a crispy allergy cover, which we then soften with an ecru duvet; though it seems the zany colors would shed more warmth than that lighter hue.

I've tried putting the crazy quilt on top of the feather blanket instead of hiding it, but sometimes it's too hot and if we end up kicking off both blankets, we are only left with the sheet.

The way I've managed to savor the colors and stories and glee peering from the squares during the winter is to make my bed with the feather comforter folded at the foot of the bed. It's there when needed at bedtime, but during the day when I pass by, I can hear the giggles from the quilter's children float on the breeze as I pass to my next task.

My children have clumped downstairs, obviously not in bed, to show me their Mad-Eye Moody disguise. Once again, after an appreciative laugh and a hug, I send them upstairs and this time I follow them.

2008-06-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

This is me just writing -- just showing up. I don't know what to write. Im sitting in the waiting room at Asthma and Allergy. When my 30 minutes are up, I can leave and get something to eat.

I have a little headache. I need water and I don't like drinking out of water fountains. The water is either too cold or tastes like bathroom water. Sometimes I stumble across one that tastes like sulphur. Blech.

My mom got a new dog.

My grampa's in ICU with pneumonia. I haven't seen grampa (or gramma) but once in the last couple years. I just don't know if I should visit him.

Paul reminded me that I have no 'true' excuses for not writing these days. I have time during the day while the kids are at school, we have enough income, I have support from family. I have desire and I have fear.

Fear of failure, fear of no one caring what I have to write.

But then I remember that if the purpose to writing is to connect emotionally with the reader, all I have to share is my own bleeding emotions. Others will relate and attach with tiny white neuro tendrils -- like new green bean shoots wrapping and reaching around twine and PVC in my friend's garden.

I'm led to read -- but ... I read to distract myself from writing. Hmmm.

But maybe that's parental of me.

It is, of course.

Can traveling with kids be a spiritual experience?

2008-06-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

I just watched "The Darjeeling Limited." That, coupled with the memoir I read a couple weeks ago -- "Honeymoon with my Brother" -- and I am reminded pointedly of the kind of travel experiences I want to have. I crave that spiritual journey that the brothers in D.L. went on. And the honeymoon brothers. They were on less of a spiritual journey and more of a relationship journey. Learning about each other again after a long absence.

I don't know how or when I'll be able to do that kind of traveling -- but I'd love to explore new lands and culture! Think of it! I wonder how I'd get my kids to be interested in it. Hmm.

Looked at with their perspective, my kind of travel is boring and uncomfortable. All the food is weird at best, but mostly gross. There's no xbox, or even TV most of the time. Or even if there is TV -- it's not in English and they don't have "Ben 10 Alien Force" or comcast on demand. Why would any normal person want to subject themselves to a week or two of that?

Now say 'waterslides' or 'DisneyLand' and I think you've gotta smile. But, ew.

Computer Widow

2008-05-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

I’m so frusterated and pissed at Paul. His fucking computer game is his whole life. It puts me second string and that’s just unexceptable to me. Yes, this is his day off. Yes, he spent time talking with me this morning at the coffee shop when he didn’t want to go.
I feel like Robert (I still want to call him Joey). I’m mad when I don’t get attention paid to me when I ask for it. I don’t want to wait for Paul to “finish what he is doing on the game”.
“I want to talk about the budget.”
“So do I.” Staring at the computer screen.
“When can we do that?”
“Tonight. After the kids go to bed.”
“No. It’s date night. I don’t want to talk about the budget during our date.”
No answer. He just ignored me and continued playing his game.
So I started talking to him right then about the questions I had about the budget. He answered a few and then mouthed off about talking to him during the game.
“Could you just ask or let me know you need to talk to me and then wait until I have a spot where I can stop what I’m doing?”
“I tried that. You didn’t answer.”
“OK. I know you want to talk. Just let me finish what I’m doing first. It shouldn’t take me very long.”
I didn’t say anything. Just climbed off the tabletop, pushed in the chair and briskly clipped off in my high heeled boots. Clack Clack Clack on the hardwood floors.
It’ll take him an hour to get off the computer. I hate the computer games. Robert has this same assinine problem. So did Rob.
“Robert, You can only play until dinner time and then the computer turns off.”
“ok”
“Robert, Seven more minutes until it’s time to turn off the computer.”
“Ok”
“Robert, It’s time to turn off the computer. Dinner’s ready.”
“OK”
“Robert, I said it is time to turn off the computer. “
“Ok. I am in the middle of a fight. Let me just finish this one thing.”
“How long will it take?”
“A couple minutes.”
“Ok.“ I gather the rest of the things for the table and set everything in order. Aubrey’s already at the table starting to eat. I ask everyone what they want to drink and get it on the table. Robert’s still at the computer.
“Robert. It’s time to turn off the computer. You’ve done your thing now join us at the table. Dinner’s ready.”
“I just wanna do three more things.”
“No. It’s time to get off.”
He doesn’t move and is still playing at the game.
I get up and walk to the computer, huffing all the way at my irritation. My intent is to turn of the damn computer myself because he is not pulling his junky mind from it.
“OKOKOKOKOK! I’m doing it! I’m getting somewhere safe!”

Paul is just like this.

I'm sick but I want to write

2008-05-01T09:27:00.000-07:00

Blah.

I have a cold. Day three.

Day one means: "Ooo. I feel a little bit yucky, let me stay in bed all day taking herbs and Emer-gen-C packets."

Day two means: "Yes, that's much better." It is a light-duty day. One where you can take the kids to school and see a client for a couple hours, but then wander the house in a kind of stupor wishing that you hadn't eaten so much sugar because it depletes your immune system. And maybe now is not the time for that. But your sore throat is gone and you maybe, might feel the beginnings of a headache but hopefully not.

Day three means: "WTF." Your head is now squeezing your brain and you breathe with your mouth open. Also you start picking apart everything about yourself and your surroundings.

Your toenail polish is chipping and you desperately need to push down your cuticles before they grow over your nail bed. The dishes keep multiplying like mutant cancer cells. There is crumbs on the table and you haven't changed the sheets on the bed for three weeks. And you're breathing with your mouth open.

In addition to "Day Three," my new housemate is moving in today. At 11 a.m. I'm helping him move in -- as in dressers and beds up my flight of stairs moving in. (day three) And the children have a playdate after school today, too. (day three) And I have a writer's meeting I wanted to go to tonight -- (day three) -- but I'm really thinking 'no' now.

So, instead of cleaning up the mutant cancer cells or vacuuming up dog hair, I was reading my favorite blogs this morning. And felt inspired to write. So I showed up on the page.

I'm going to submit a 'tip' to a magazine and then get to that dog hair before roomie gets here. I want the house to look like I at least try.

Even if it is day three.

World Land Trust

2008-04-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

The coolest green gift I've ever received was from my husband.

He purchased (in my name) two acres of threatened tropical rainforest in Ecuador, via the World Land Trust.

Now clear cutting can't hurt those two acres and the flora, fauna and wildlife that live there are safe.

My First Rejection

2008-04-02T10:32:00.001-07:00

Hi Valerie

Thank you for your recent submission to the WritingAustralia.com eZine. Unfortunately you were unsuccessful on this occasion.

We appreciate your efforts and wish you well with your future writing endeavours.

Kind Regards

Penny Johnson

Assistant Editor

WritingAustralia.com

http://www.WritingAustralia.com

Paramount Publishing

Qld, Australia

Cable television

2008-03-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

Oh no.

I hope the novelty wears off soon. As in yesterday. HGTV is sent from the devil! Too bad I don't believe in the devil. I guess that just means it's my fault, my weakness. :)

Last week my kids decided that they would rather give up going to Bounce gymnastics on Parents' Night Out in exchange for us getting cable again. (It was about the same price.)

We've been without it for over a year and it suits me just fine. I don't watch TV, there is nothing of any redeeming quality on the shows they put on nowadays. The irony is CABLE has all the channels that show the OLD shows that I USED to watch and seem to be drawn into in this past week. God/dess, I hope it passes quickly. I don't want to succumb to yet another distraction from writing.

My friend said to her husband a little while ago: "Why don't we sell our house and move to India?" And why not? I want to go, too.

It has become increasingly important to me to travel to distant lands and write while I am there. This blogging, I suppose, is to get me into the habit of writing so that when I am in India, or France or Ireland ... or Australia, or New Zealand -- ok, don't get me started -- I won't be distracted by the beauty of the land or the adventure of it all, but I will smell it and live it and breathe it, and write about it.

I'm reading one of Frances' (?) memoirs of Italy. I'm in to her second one now: Bella Tuscany. It's mostly about her neighbors and the flowers they plant, but it's also about letting go and the serenity of just stopping and appreciating what you already have. 'Course, she already has a lucrative writing career, an apartment in New York and a villa in Italy that she and her husband live in half the year. Yeah. I'd appreciate that. :)

Dragons

2008-03-21T10:38:00.000-07:00

"Tempt not the dragon ...
For thou art crunchy and good
With ketchup."

A Walk Through Silver Creek Falls

2008-03-21T10:20:00.000-07:00

11/01

Beyond the gloom, the sun still rises.
Water ripples and soggy leaves drop.
Cascading rivulets caress
Fallen tree limbs and rocks.

Seventeen people
Disturbing nature's symphony.
Idle curiosity rings with
Merry shouts, whistles and murmurs.
Instead the air calls for
Monk silence, solitude
And quiet whispers
So as not to break the spell.

Peeking up through the brush
The souls of the tres and Elf spirits,
Little Dryads and Gnomes
Blink.
I hope that man does not
Disturb them much.

I wonder what natives
Bathed here
Or quested of visions.

Writing Prompt: recognize the basic need for solitude some of the time.

2008-03-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

I crave solitude. LOTS. Funny, I never did. Until I was 22. Always before I couldn't stand silence, being alone with my thoughts or just myself. I would never go to the movies by myself or a sit down restaurant. How embarrassing. But when I was 22 I joined the army. Imagine sharing living space with 42 other women that didn't know each other. Oy.

Pretty much ever since I've craved and needed silence and solitude to complete thoughts, do hobbies, meditate, write and create art. Even now, twelve years later, when I am by myself I turn off the radio. I just love silence and the resultant peace that warms me like windowsill sunshine on a recumbant cat.

Some days noise is more bothersome than others. Today for instance, as I sit in this cafe writing: Norah Jones is too loud in the speaker above my head, a man is speaking to his companion too loud, the woman next to me is scraping her spoon against her granola bowl and occassionally smacks her mouth while chewing, the espresso machine grinds. And that's just the noise. People walking by distract too.

My challenge with solitude is that I feel myself sliding into an extreme of wanting too much. This butts up against other desires of mine. I crave community also. Solitude and community are pretty much complete opposites. :)

So how do I resolve that conflict? Balance. Ha. What's that?

So I try to get solitude during the day while my children are at school. If I stay home from all errands, meetings, doctors/dentists appointments and socializing then I can get my solitude but it is not just solitude that I crave. If I am home alone with my dog and I am paying the bills, or even doing what I like and writing, I am in solitude but that doesn't seem to count. I guess what I crave is the silence and peace I spoke of earlier.

Hiking at Silver Creek Falls. Meditation/Journaling. Spiritual Ritual. Sitting in Nature.

I think it is just the slowing down, noticing the Now, and NOT worrying about whatever that I crave. For instance, despite the noise in this cafe and the people around me, I am almost alone. No one is talking to ME, no one is expecting anything of me, I have no other responsibilities her save for writing my words. Yet what I'm thinking of right now is my dog being lonely and that I haven't submitted anything for publication. I've sent no essays nor query letters out. And how will I become an author if I don't do that that? I was going to say 'How can I be a full-time writer if I don't submit?" but that I can do. I can write full time. Just writing everyday will do it. But journaling or writing prompts aren't something you can submit. Just writing makes a Writer, yes, but publishing makes an Author.

I want to go to a writer's retreat. But here's the catch. I want my whole family to come. I want to stay for a month (three weeks minimum) in a quite place (preferably foreign) and write in the morning/early afternoon while Paul plays and cares for our children and then I join them all in the late afternoon and evening to connect; play; sight-see; explore the land, culture and people; talk; and have dinner and snuggle and read together. This is my dream.

So how to make this my reality? I REALLY want this. What would the steps be?

Outline time.

Jumping In

2008-03-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at Brewed Awakening again. After eating my scramble I continued checking emails, blogs comments, and started in on reading about writing again. Frustrated, I closed the link immediately and started writing this.

I do that a lot. Read about writing. It takes me a long time to get into the writing groove. I do all the aforementioned tasks and a considerable amount more, usually in the name of research. Then I get involved in my writing and it's great; I'm on a roll. THEN I need to stop to do parental things or other obligations (dentists, meetings, clients) and I lament (ok bitch if I'm honest) that I didn't have TIME to do any writing.

Ha ha. You see the pattern, I assume. If only I would just sit down and write and not do all the other time wasting pre-writing. So I'm trying it today.

It feels stunted but it will start flowing in a bit -- maybe on another project I've got going -- and it'll feel good.

And then I'll remember my dog home alone and feel bad. I'll go home to continue my writing and get sucked into doing the dishes. Ug.

Travel is an aphrodisiac.

2008-03-13T12:51:00.001-07:00

Every place can have sensual appeal if approached with an eager mind. Think about it.

Warm, salty waters lapping a sandy beach and breezes that tickle your skin. OK, that's a given.

What about drizzly walks under Parisian umbrellas and savoring hot drinks and delectable concoctions in independently owned cafes?

Or wool sweaters in misty moors and cliffs in wintry Ireland?

Maybe the historical ambiance gives those places more sex appeal.

So how about sloshing through snowdrifts to sit in a hot spring pool by a merry river -- and look! It's snowing on our naked bodies -- since hot springs in Oregon are clothing optional. See? Sex appeal. Or is that romance? Sometimes I get the two mixed up.

Even strolling the December streets of New York City and coming home to your cousin's apartment and the rickety loft bed that you are sure will collapse while you sleep if you so much as wriggle next to your lover is romantic.

Is it the difference of the place that is the aphrodisiac?

Belizean Adventure

2008-03-11T13:51:00.000-07:00

I'm popping handfuls of chocolate chips as dessert for my unsatisfactory lunch. I ate them because I wanted another gluten-free scone but I'd already eaten two this morning. I'm hungry.

I wrote 500 words of silly dialogue this morning that I will CERTAINLY not post here. :) Then, in a moment of alleged brilliance, I began researching Belize on the internet -- looking for videos. This took a lot longer than I imagined. (snort) So I never got back to my story.

I'm reading "What If: writing exercises for fiction writers" and have found a smidgeon of inspiration. Wish me luck!

Oh.

I have to pick up the kids from school.

Brewed Awakening

2008-03-04T08:58:00.000-08:00

There is a coffee shop near my home that sells great granola, yogurt, fruit concoctions and the coffee's not too bad. It's actually a little too 'trendy' for my taste. 'Preppy' is what I called it in the 80's. But it's got a couple of couches by a fake fireplace and free wireless internet. The owner's pretty cool, too.

I like coming to places outside my home to write because it distracts me from the dishes and the vacuuming. But. Then I worry about my dog at home by herself. And the music here is a little distracting. It's good music (though redundant because I come here so often) and so I listen to it. If it was bad maybe I wouldn't listen to it instead of listening to myself and the words that strain to break out. (Was that cliche?)

Today I'm trading services with a co-worker. She's treating my sugar addiction and I'm giving her a massage. Fair trade.

I submitted an essay to a contest yesterday. EEK. My second submission ever. It was exciting really. Maybe I could get used it this. I got the market from "Small Markets" at FundsForWriters.com. Hope Clark has a blog that has markets on it, too.

I think I'll check out writersmarket.com again and see if anything strikes my fancy. I'd like to commit to sending out three submissions a week. 'Course that will mean I need to up the writing. Right now I'm getting by on submitting work I did last term in my essay writing class.

I wonder if I should take the next class. It's on memoir writing. It may help focus my non-fiction project on grieving. I'm feeling a little separate from my family lately, though. I had two classes and a writing group this last term and it was a bummer for Paul. Maybe the kids, too, but they never complained. Only Paul. :)

Should I do it? Linda only does the class every other term. So I couldn't take a term off and then take it. I'd have to wait until the summer? or quite possibly the next school year. And I KNOW I'm not taking any classes in the Fall because I'm going to do NaNoWriMo. Anyone want to join me? I've got one yes and two maybes and most else look at me with that glazed look. :D

LIVE YOUR DREAM!!!

Fear

2008-03-03T11:10:00.000-08:00

Paul is in the living room playing an online computer game on his laptop. My children are asleep upstairs and I am nestled under a feather blanket thinking about the movie I just finished watching. It is a cold night and I snuggle deeper trying to find warmth. I'm disturbed by the movie's message. The Year of the Dog is roughly about a woman that makes some life changing decisions and discovers what she is passionate about. She takes action and does something about these passions -- albeit sometimes in underhanded or illegal ways. But she does something.

The side table lamp shines on my leather bound journal. At least she does something.

I feel disgruntled. I'm disappointed in myself because I don't take action, that I don't stand up for what I believe in.

But what do I believe in?

I wish I could carry the warmth from my bed with me. I wish I had pants, slippers and a sweatshirt on, that I wasn't already in bed and that my paints and easel were all set up so that I could paint my madness. My despair, my sadness. Reds and purples. Bruises on the heart.

I hate fear. I've spoken to Fear before. I know his bag. He's there to enlighten me, to get my attention, to raise the red flag of awareness. But he's an attention hog. I want to break his flag in two.

I hate Fear because he prevents me from feeling, from doing what I want, and from living the life I crave. He sucks the essence from me; I second guess myself. I re-evaluate and re-re-evaluate everything and it becomes spoiled with Fear's black hued tinge -- like a scar. Ugly. I hate myself for caving and succumbing to Fear's influence -- I am weak.

I don't fear death -- I fear not living. I fear never having passion for something. For not living with zest. For not having a cause.

I stop writing in my journal and take a long drink of water from the orange plastic cup beside me. I scan what I've just written and make a face. I'm just whining and ranting. I'm not able to express myself the way I need to. And so I try again, putting pen to page.

I want to be imbued with a driving ache - a need to DO something.

I fear being a nobody, of not making a difference in someone's life. I want to feel alive with love and romance. I want to feel in love -- with passion and thinking and yearning. I want to ache with longing.

I've wished since high school to be passionate about something. A cause that I thought was worth shouting about. I've never had one.

I think the challenge is I'm afraid that if I allow myself to feel passionately about one thing, I'll feel it for all and it'll tear me up. How can I choose just one cause?

Gay rights? Animal Rights? Global Warming? Universal Healthcare? Green living? Schooling for chldren? Poverty? AIDS Worldwide? UNICEF? Habitat for Humanity?

I would burn up. So out of self-preservation I do nothing. But then I feel even more of a loser because then I'm not doing something out of fear rather than ignorance. And that's a big difference.

I don't want to live internally as a coward. I want to know myself as strong and with a fighting spirit. Conviction.

I fear not living my life to its fullest -- not using my time to follow my dreams. It's a pattern I've noticed over the years, so I'm honest when I see it.

But after all this, I do have a secret dream. And that is to pursue a fulltime writing practice and career. Instead of filling my days with busy work: errands, volunteering, meetings, housework that can be done at other times -- I have asked for and received the most valuable gift. Time. So what am I going to do with it?

Will I waste it? Will I discover other things to volunteer at because now I have time? Will I become a master housecleaner to avoid writing? Will my fear of being a terrible writer prevent me from trying? Will the people who read my work secretly hate it and pity me because they think I don't know how bad of a writer I am? Will I play too much? Will I selfishly hoard and stake out time for myself when one day a week would suffice? Will my family suffer because of my choices?

These questions plague me and create a sticky web of self-doubt that I fear will pin me down ever more.

Mostly I hate being afraid because it is such a waste of energy and time. And I have no one to blame but myself -- which doesn't make me any happier. It's a bummer to blame yourself for things. Especially when you deserve it.

My husband says that it gives him great pleasure to give me exactly what I need to start writing.

"It's so much easier to not live your dream and always say, 'If I only could.'" Paul and I are walking into the $1 theater to see Dan in Real Life. He's telling me I don't need to work at the health clinic anymore if I don't want to, and I could start living my 'writerly life o' dreams'.

"It's easy to blame other things and people for what you don't do. If you don't become an artist, you can't fail as an artist. You don't have to fear failure if you never try it -- it's easier to make up excuses," Paul said. He shifted in front of me to open the glass door of the theater.

"'I would've been great if only I would've done it.' Some people create excuses for why they don't do things because that's easier than doing it and risk not being great. So I want to take away all your excuses." He smiled and winked and I bought him a ticket.

Yes, it will be scary. I will either succeed or I won't. I can no longer use the excuse of not having time to prevent my fear of failure. Now I need to try and maybe fail. And for that Paul is happy. Not that I might fail, but that he has created a space for me to try.

Trying and failing is better than not trying and not failing. Because that is cowardice. That is not living. That is living in fear.

Quickies

2008-02-29T09:35:00.000-08:00

I found one more way to avoid writing.

Ug. Moaning and a writer's prompt that finally kicks off at bit.

2008-02-28T10:12:00.000-08:00

I started this blog for my writing practice. My goal is to write a thousand words a day. No matter what it is. Obviously I'm hoping for genius without trying. (snort) But something tells me it'll be harder than that. :)

I've already started a load of laundry, a load of dishes, wiped down the kitchen counters and dining room table and cleaned the downstairs bathroom. And done more research on blogging, check my emails and myspace page all in a vain attempt to avoid writing my thousand words.

I still have a million things to do. I'm expecting company tonight so the clean laundry will have to be moved from the couches and I'm hoping to straighten my office, put up the massage table and vacuum before he gets here. Ha.

I also have an appointment today while the kids are at school, I need to bring Paul his lunch and do after-school chaufferring. Then, of course, there is the homework battle, snack and dinner and chores. So if I don't write now, it won't happen. I just dropped everything and forced myself to write these insipid words.

Paul said he started a blog once but never wrote on it. He didn't have anything to say. Well. If this post has anything to say about it, I don't either. Apparently. :)

I want to clean the upstairs bedroom because we are having overnight guests tomorrow. Add that to my list above.

(snort) ANYTHING to keep from writing, huh? You'd think it'd be easy to sit down and do something you love.

I think it is mostly ego and fear that keep me from writing anything of import right now. Because I ache for the aforementioned 'genius', I'm afraid to write drivel and be laughed at.

SO LET'S MAKE ONE THING CLEAR.

This particular blog is only for shit copy. :) Please do not expect any lyrical brilliance. It is only to form writerly habits of writing everyday. This is only practice. The insane part of it is the publishing. WHY would I publish to the world my shit stuff? Why not only the polished work? (see other blog at valeriewillman.blogspot.com)

Why? Um. To develop humility and spontaneity? Hmm. Now the only thing holding me back is censorship. My own, of course. Maybe I should create a new blog anonymously a write all my shadow stuff there.

I wonder how many words that was.

Ah-ha! A writer's prompt. (That's what I should call this blog. "Writer's Prompts" or "Prompting the Writer" "Promptings" ? Um.)

Today's prompt is: "What if ..."

What if. What if what? I'm always wondering. (Now I'm listening to music so I'm not concentrating. Maybe I should just straighten up in here instead. AHH!)

"What if he finds out? Are you sure this is OK?"

"What if the sky turns red and your nose falls off?" ~Grandmother Willow from Disney's Pocohantus.

What if I'm a terrible writer? I really can't concentrate with this music on but I love this song.

There is no way I'm posting this. lol

Maybe I'll read a book.

This is totally a journal entry NOT fit for public viewing. :)

"What if someone finds out?" I asked Steve. His lips nuzzled my ear and his hot breath moved over my soul.

"Just breathe, Larry. Just love me. Just feel. Feel what we are doing right here, right now." He turned my head to face him, his fingers entwined my hair and cupped my ears and jaw. His warmth softened my fear and I melted into his strength.

Steve kissed me. Lightly. With tenderness that I longed for and I remembered that Nan used to kiss me like this. Nan. I miss her. God. So much. What would she think of me doing this? But I need this. I need Steve. He's been my lifeline since you died, my love. You wouldn't deny me my sanity, would you?

A quiet chuckle escaped from me at the dementia I must be suffering to be talking to Nan in my head while Steve is ... Steve pulled away a bit and looked at me. He was hesistant and unsure in his eyes. He must've thought I was laughing at him and I know this is weird for him, too.

I pulled him closer again and smelled his neck. I laughed again. I couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I. This is so weird." I shook my head and looked down at his shoes. Brown and old leather. Steve is solid. He held his breath. I could feel it in the stiffness of his arms that I still held. I looked back up at his face rough with stubble; he swallowed.

"But I want it," I said. I looked at his lips and dove in. No more questions. No thoughts. Just drown and worry later. Here, now, I have peace. If only for a moment I am not alone or lost or missing Nan so much. Breathing makes sense when I'm with Steve like this. "And who cares if people find out?" I know Steve will say later. Later. I'll think about it later.