Monday, December 13, 2010

As the Writer Writes

There are four perceptions of writers.

1. They are masters of their art, continuously pumping out fantastic works of genius
2. They are looney recluses who should be avoided at all time, if you get a chance to before they go ahead and avoid you
3. They are awesomely quirky and eccentric; wearing their hair in messy buns, donning geeky glasses and fingerless gloves, and possibly smoking pipes
4. They are lazy bums who do nothing but sit at their computer all day moving their fingers as their butts get wider, never bothering to contribute something of worth to the world (the writers, not their butts)

The facts are, each of these stereotypes are quite real, in most senses. And, yes, all at once. Here is the key:

New friends believe stereotype #1:
New Friend: “What’cha doin’?”
Writer: “Just writing a book.”
New Friend: “What, really?? What kind of book?”
Writer: “A novel.”
New Friend: “That is SO COOL! Can I be in it?? Can I read it?? When are you going to PUBLISH IT????
Writer:
New Friend: “I’ll bet it is amazing. This is so awesome.”
Writer: “Um.”

People who don’t know any writers believe stereotype #2:
Typically, these people are afraid of me and we do not carry on conversations. I also try as hard as I possibly can to affirm their stereotype. That is the extent of our interactions.

People who are very good friends of writers believe stereotype #3 (and will not stop, much to the ego enlargement of those writers):
Old, Dear Friend: “How is your novel coming?”
Writer: “Oh, it’s coming alright. I had a pretty good writing session last night.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Did you write by candlelight?”
Writer: “What? Oh, yes, definitely. Just one, solitary candle. I wrote with my quill pen till the candle had burned down to a mere pool of wax, and even then I kept writing a bit to finish my thoughts for the night, albeit my fingers were terrifyingly cramped and frigid.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Do you not have heating? Or can you not afford coal for the fire this time of the year?”
Writer: “Yes, I am afraid that coal is just too expensive for me; I am already living off of one meal a day of bread and cheese.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Oh, my dear! Here, have my red scarf, that will at least help warm you up a bit. And, there! You look like such an inspirational writer! I wish I was you.”
Writer: “Oh, thank you, my old, dear friend. I don’t know how I will ever repay you for a kind favor for a poor soul such as myself.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Think nothing of it! You live such a tragically romantic life...”

Last, but not least, the family and/or people whom you live with believe stereotype #4:
Writer sleeps late. Writer gets up and fixes coffee. Writer returns to bedroom. Writer emerges an hour later with an empty coffee mug. Writer makes an egg and cheese sandwich and returns to room. Writer emerges with empty plate... scratch that. Writer lets plates and cups pile up on desk and then on bookshelves when the desk is full. Perhaps this is Writer’s monthly Dish Day. Writer tries to sneak out all the dishes and wash them while People of the House are distracted. Succeeds 25% of the time; the other 75%, is ridiculed by People of the House until Writer retreats back to room. Writer emerges at about 4pm to fix some canned soup, which is eaten in room. Writer comes back out half an hour later and, taking laptop, goes down to local coffee joint to eat, drink, and sit in a dark corner and write. Writer returns; People of the House are busy watching television, so do not notice. People of the House offer Writer tea later. Writer accepts absentmindedly; Writer remembers the offer of tea at about 11pm, at which time Writer eats spaghetti at the dining room table while reading a book, and actually puts dishes in the dishwasher. Writer pours cold tea and then goes and drinks it while writing into the night. Repeat.

This is performed with various levels of questions and “constructive criticism” from the People of the House. Writer wonders why the argument, “what if I were a college student??” never works and only seems to anger the People of the House further.

But what does the Writer think of the Writer?

The Writer is intimidated by the Writer who is more accomplished.
The Writer gets higher self-esteem from the Writer who can’t write as well.

But as for the opinion of the Writer: she feels a little bit of all four stereotypes at the same time as well. The Writer feels like what she is writing is frivolously about everyone she has ever met and definitely worth publishing; like she is weird and reclusive; like she is quirky and writerly; like she is a bum. This is somewhat of her own accord, for sure, but 99% influenced by the people who believe in those stereotypes.

Other than that, she doesn’t really think much of herself, actually; more only on what she is doing. Is she producing the thing she intended to? Does it sound right? Is it entertaining? Will others like to read this? When they do like reading it, she wonders, will people like the next thing I write? Can I really write something as good as what I wrote before? What if it’s better? What if it is relatively the worst thing ever? Should I keep writing in this genre? Am I really telling the truth; do I really know what I am talking about?

Why do I like writing again???

And I leave you with that.

~Jessica

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A Tip off the Natalie Goldberg Iceberg

It was a most tragic thing that I should second guess my life's purpose the day before I left.  I therefore left behind the physical manifestations of my actual life's purpose and took with me some other things that I sort of like, but aren't ever worth taking when traveling around one's country.

The day before yesterday I shipped those things back home; but I figured it was pointless to ask my family to ship to me, c/o my good friend Rachel, my books which I was originally going to take with me: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books, On the Road by Jack Kerouac, and most importantly, Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg.

These books were  meant to inspire my fiction and freewriting which I was planning on accomplishing during the month of November, 20 days of which I will be spending in the land known as "not in the comforts of my home where all of my writing resources always are no matter what."  But, in case you missed the part where I thought for a bit that I would do something a little less pleasant but a little more useful than NaNoWriMo... I don't have them with me, because it seemed silly.

And we all know the saddest part is that I am actually traveling with absolutely NO Natalie Goldberg along to inspire me.  I have to live off of my own whims.  I don't even know how I've made it this far, or how I have 8,884 words in my NaNoWriMo novel right now.  There must be some miracle at work here.  And I can't even find anything of hers online.  She needs a blog.  Just for me, a desperate woman stranded with nothing but a laptop and her own notebook full of mediocre writings.

For those of you who don't know, Natalie Goldberg is basically the coolest person alive.  She writes, and then she writes about writing.  She's a Zen Buddhist whose main focus is freewriting.  Freewriting, which Google Chrome says is not a real word, is when you just start writing and you write about whatever comes out.  Some friends thank me for slightly more illustratively renaming this process "word vomit."  I should probably patent that term, but since I am poor, I'll just hope that some kind people give me credit if they use the term themselves, and I'll leave everyone to go about their normal lives and not worry about me showing up at their back screen doors with a pick axe and a rather resentful looking snarl across my lips, distant eyes spelling out an urge to mutilate anyone who has ever done me wrong.  Don't worry.  Those same friends who praise my "word vomit" creation?  Yeah, those friends.  They will also inform you that I am much too nice to do anything even remotely close to even looking menacing and murderous.  So forget about it.... sigh...

In my desperation, I was able to find some of her quotes online... one of which just put me to shame: “Life is not orderly. No matter how we try to make life so, right in the middle of it we die, lose a leg, fall in love, drop a jar of applesauce.”  Okay, fine, Natalie Goldberg.  I get it.  Life can't be perfect and I should keep writing anyway, whether you are here to help me or not!

But NOW I am all inspired by all these Natalie Goldberg quotes about writing.

“When you are present, the world is truly alive.”

“Sometimes when you think you are done, it is just the edge of beginning. Probably that's why we decide we're done. It's getting too scary. We are touching down onto something real. It is beyond the point when you think you are done that often something strong comes out.”

“Talk when you talk, walk when you walk, and die when you die.”

“First thoughts have tremendous energy. The internal censor usually squelches them, so we live in the realm of second and third thoughts, thoughts on thought, twice and three times removed from the direct connection of the first fresh flash.”

“There is no security, no assurance that because we wrote something good two months ago, we will do it again. Actually, every time we begin, we wonder how we ever did it before.”

Quite so, Natalie Goldberg... quite so.  Please, keep being amazing - and I hope to meet you one day very soon!

Saturday, October 30, 2010

My Favorite Place in the World

Today, I discovered another floor in Powell's books.

I didn't know it was there.

It was.

I was floored.

GET IT???  I seriously didn't even mean to make that pun.  My cleverness lies solely in my unconscious.

Powell's doesn't lie - it is a "city of books" quite literally.  Right now I am sitting in the cafĂ©, thinking about how I should just start my book already, and wondering if that is allowed, and feeling inspired, having a strange urge to play Settlers of Catan, and wanting to drink coffee even though I know I've already had a couple of cups today and I probably should............... just wait till I finish my Green Machine drink before moving on.  Of course.

I already spent money here, too, on books that I probably won't be able to fit into my backpack.  But then I can just mail them to myself at home, I suppose.  I bought The Bone Man's Daughter by Ted Dekker, since I am guaranteed not to be bored while reading anything by him; a planner called "The 2011 Calendar of Bunny Suicides" (I think of myself as an animal lover... and I am, I swear!!  I just have a morbid sense of humor); and, for the sake of book research since I have officially decided to do InFoWriMo (WHATEVER), Talent is Overrated by Geoff Colvin, and 300 Best Jobs Without a Four-Year Degree.  No guarantees how helpful either of those will be, but I think they will at least provide some authoritative quotes for my book.

I was just thinking about my title I chose for this entry.  The thing is, that is NOT exactly true; I have a lot of places that I really like in this world.  BUT Powell's, and Portland in general, are one of them.  Especially in the fall.  Everything is so deliciously gloomy here I am simply overcome with delight.  And a great want of coffee.

The great thing about this place is.... well, most everything.  But mostly it just makes me want to write and read, and those are very important thing.  And it revitalizes me in general.  There is just something about being revitalized that I find absolutely wonderful.

Every time I come here I think of taking a picture of the inside so the folks back home or just anybody who hasn't ever been here can understand my infatuation with this store.  But facts are, it is just so big that no one photograph can adequately capture its vastness.  And if I took a picture of every Vantage Point of Hugeness, then everyone would look at them in sequence and think "well, that makes it look like a normal bookstore."

BUT IT'S NOT I SWEAR.

So, I have simply concluded that the only option is to shamelessly promote it without hope for reward - because it will be a reward in itself when one day someone comes up to me and says, "You know that store in Portland, Powell's?  Well, I finally went there per your seven hundred recommendations, and you are right - it is AMAZING and I want to LIVE THERE."

You're welcome.

Friday, October 29, 2010

364 Days Ago, I Was Here.

I sit at the dining room table in the Hawthorne Hostel in Portland.  Dudes in the parlor are playing French songs on the little guitar and waiting to leave for what must be an epic Halloween party - in a different way than the epic Halloween party I am going to... but we all celebrate in our own ways.  I flew in a few hours ago, having spent many long hours in airplanes sitting next to nobody, next to a professional dancer from Philly who would rather dance than go to school, and a short and stout man, who was very nice, but took up considerable room which I felt I had more right to occupy as I had longer legs.

364 days ago, I was basically doing the same thing.  Granted, I sat next to different people, got in earlier, ate dinner somewhere else, and I was here with 16 other unschoolers whom I was going to spend the next month living with on the coast.  It is coincidentally strange that I should be here so close to that same time.  Or is it?

I'm going to see some of those people on this trip, actually.

Now all I am struggling with is the fact that sleep beckons most heavily.

I have decided to turn my novel into a nonfiction information book.  That is, I am writing a nonfiction information book this November instead of a novel.  BUT ISN'T THAT SAAAAD!??!?  It's quite tragic.  I wanted to write a novel.  I have been waiting for months.  I have planned out stuff.  I roped other people on this trip into writing novels with me so we could write together and I wouldn't feel so unsociable.  And now I'm throwing all of that away.  WHAT am I thinking?  Well... I am thinking that it would be more worthwhile.  And that I could do a novel later.

Except that is so sad.  Really sad.

Maybe I will think it over once more?  I mean, after all, I signed up on the website and everything.  But... oh, gosh.  I am such a wishy-washy person.

A guy working on re-doing some bathroom here sounds just like the camp director from where I worked over the summer.  It's strange.  But they are definitely not the same person.

I think I just need sleep.  It's late on the other side of the world.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Life, the Universe, and Everything

So at this very moment in time you may be thinking something like, "Well, she said she was going to start this new blog, and look what happened!  HA!  She can't even get past post one... well except for now.  But then look at post two!  First of all, the title of post two is the title of a book by Douglas Adams which she hasn't even gotten around to reading yet, AND so far all she has done is put words in our mouths.  WHAT a FAILURE."

Well, ye olde newe readers, I will first tell you to GET OVER IT.  Secondly, I will teach you a life lesson I have learned in my short two decades upon this earth: everyone has a reason for doing something that other people interpret as stupid, rash, untimely, unjustified, etc.  And chances are, you do not know that reason... and, if you did, you wouldn't be complaining about that person who did that thing.

Case in point: I have a job.  And I am really behind on doing that job because I just went to Arizona, Utah, and Nevada for 9 days.

Case in point, part two: my friend Wesley committed suicide the other day and I have been rendered Completely Wrought with Anguish.

So there.

Now, this is no time for "poor, poor Jessica"s and "I'm so sorry, dearie"s.  I am simply stating facts.  In a while I plan on doing a post about death, life, love, etc.  But this is not that post.

The thing is, among other things, I am stuck in the Pacific Time Zone.  And my brain is all confused, because it is trying to get back into my normal schedule here on the east time, which is go to bed at 10:30pm and wake up at 6am.  EXCEPT that I've been talking to my nocturnal best friend Joanna practically every night till midnight.  And THEN I try to wake up at 6, except that then I am awake long enough to make coffee and drink a few sips before I crawl back into bed and sleep till 10, at which point I force myself to get up and drink yucky microwaved coffee.

And this is all completely and utterly pointless since I will be leaving to visit lots of people on the west coast come Friday, at which point I will just have to get re-used to PST ALL OVER AGAIN.

So, basically, this is my way of saying: "I give up!  I surrender to my absurd schedule!  I will just try and make the best of it!"

I also need to stop playing guitar all day and do useful things like getting caught up on work since I'll be doing a lot of traveling where Work Will Be Impossible.  I don't know why I capitalized those but it seemed fitting for some reason.

"Why are you going west AGAIN?"  

I am going to Portland, because that is always a nice place to be.  Also, it's a good place to fly in to.  And they have the most awesome book store in the world.  And a church I've been wanting to try out.  And my friend Bekka is going to pick me up from there and take me down to Corvallis for an epic Halloween party.

And then Bekka and I are going down to Ashland to visit my favorite Stomping Grounds of Old for a few days, and visit the hostel people and Laura and the HLR peeps and Molly and copious amounts of money-taking places such as Senior Sam's and Noble Coffee.  ASHLAND HOW I'VE MISSED YOU.

Then I am train-ing down (unless I can find a good ride) to San Jose to visit my amazing friend Rachel whom I haven't seen in a while; and finally I am flying to Tennessee to visit my nocturnal friend who lives there, before finally coming back home.  with 10 or so days left to spare in November.  Have I mentioned that I will be doing NaNoWriMo through all of this??  PRAY FOR MY SANITY.

So!  That's life for now.  I've just finished sipping on my coffee and I am ready to do something a little more useful, like working, before I go ahead and vote since I'll be out of town on election day.  MEH VOTING IS ICKY.

~Jessica  

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Dramamine is my Drug of Choice

Hello readers of my new blog!  My name is Jessica, and I will be serving as your sole entertaining/informative/hopefully inspiring being every time you come to this page.

Some of you may be well aware that I have two blogs already.  One is the home of my year-long photo blog project, 365 at 21; the other is my more professional ongoing online portfolio, Life Without College, in which I write about things relevant to living life....... without............ going to........... college.  You guessed it!

I am not abandoning my other two blogs in the slightest; in fact, one might argue that I "don't seem to have enough time already" to "work on your blogs you already have."  And this may be true.  Bear with me here.

The thing is, I feel there is something missing.  I miss the days of olde when I could blog about whatever I wanted.  Photo and anti-college blogs are confining, as much as I love them.

Thus, my non-confining blog.  The everything blog.

I'll let you know a few things about me before I officially begin, so that we are all on the same page.  I love to write, you see.  I love to write about everything.  I write a lot.  This blog may consist of me writing a lot, about whatever comes to mind.  I may write about cell phones, or when the ice cream truck came when I was three, or spend a great deal of time musing why I suddenly decided to boycott purple when I was 14 and only just remembered that I actually love the color.

Or I might post about my adventures in cookie baking, or how I handle long distance relationships with towns on the other side of the USA.

It is up to me.

Or you!  You can ask me to write about something as well, and I shall do my best to comply.

I also may showcase some artwork (or illustrate my writing) from time to time, as I am attempting to become an artistic person.

Today I flew back from Las Vegas, NV, and I am sitting here in Fuquay-Varina, NC, thinking about how I need chap stick and healthy things like sleep.  BUT I could be feeling much, much worse.  You see, ever since I turned 20 my body declared that it would NOT be functioning as a happy-go-lucky individual anymore, and I would have to learn to deal with my problems.  One of these problems (for there are many) is extreme motion sickness.  I used to be able to read in the car, in a plane, ANYWHERE.  Now I can't even ride in the car without getting sick.  Plane rides are gross.  Helicopters are unbearable.

Until my father suggested Dramamine.

Problem solved.

It's that simple!  I take half the recommended dosage and I feel nothing except happiness that I am enjoying eating my 27 snacks on this lovely bumpy cross-country airplane ride while reading a great book about genetic imprinting!

~Jessica