Someone had better watch their back.

This past year, through baby steps, determination and continuous forward movement, I tackled issues head-on and realized nearly all of the aspirations I set for the year.  Every single goal was a challenge.  I had to focus intensely to meet my financial goals for the year, especially as the sole provider for my daughter, but the result of being nearly debt-free once again and having breathing room is more than worth the “pain” of sticking to a strict budget.  I can’t imagine any other way to live now because, ultimately, the budget gives me freedom and very little financial stress.  

I started a new office position in May, which, to be honest, made me feel slightly nervous.  I had no idea what to expect and was so afraid of screwing up.  Well, guess what.  I screwed up a few times and the world didn’t end.  I started working with a wonderful group of people, extended my social network and made some great friends in the process.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and my world expanded.  Professionally, there are still areas in which I need to improve (ideas for this next year!), but it keeps me on my toes and striving to do better every day.  I am so grateful for the opportunity. 

My writing life grew, too.  Earlier in the year, I co-wrote a short film, which was filmed this fall.  I also wrote a screenplay, although I can’t bring myself to call it a finished project because it needs so much revision.  Although I haven’t actively worked on it recently due to kids’ birthdays and the holidays, it is high up on my list for January projects. 

I think the most important transformation has been my adjustment to raising a toddler and the process of letting go of a teenager.  With Maya, this past year has been a breeze compared to 2010.  I can usually sleep through the night, which is a godsend after 15 months of a sleep-deprived existence.  She just turned two and life with her is a blast.  It’s loud, sprinkled with toddler temper tantrums, somewhat challenging and it’s kind of messy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Every day is an adventure to her and I love it.  She is bright, funny and has a fantastic personality.  I could brag about how she knows her alphabet, sings her abc’s and knows how to spell her name, but… Oh.  I guess I just did.  She loves her big brother Joshie with all the heart a two-year old can give.  Speaking of the teenager, it’s been a challenge for me to loosen my strings on that kid.  This past year has been one of growing independence for him.  He’s eighteen, shuffling into adulthood and plans on moving to Spain in six months to be with Sonja.  Talk about leaving the nest. 

Sonja, Josh, Maya

I finally learned that despite all my best efforts for years, I can’t make an adult grow up and assume responsibility.  I can’t make someone change his priorities and I can’t make someone care.  After a certain point, you have to walk away and you don’t look back, not with the intention of hurting someone else, but with the purpose of saving yourself. 

I also learned that a toddler can stick a lot of corn kernels up her nose without you even noticing.  Like a dozen, to be exact. 

Overall, as 2011 closes its doors, I feel blessed.  I brushed the previous years’ debris off my shoulders, put on my big-girl panties and eliminated issue after issue.  In the process, I rediscovered my self-worth.

I can’t wait to see what 2012 brings.

Happy New Year

I figured something out today:  My protagonist must lose her legs.  Not as in her current fractured status, which, although painful, basically equates to misplacing keys or dropping a mint and having it roll under the sofa, just out of reach.  Her current situation is merely inconvenient, not life-transforming, and it certainly doesn’t make you care deeper for her and root for her self-salvation.  I have to raise the stakes and create a fire where there now resides coal. 

Sarah, my lovely yet boring protagonist, I’m sorry that you will go through hell, but your legs must be severed and utterly unsalvageable for there to be a deeper meaning hidden in the story you tell to your art student.  What was that you said?  You engage in the actual practice of painting, not teach it?  Tsk, tsk, tsk…  Did I detect a hint of contempt in your voice?  Don’t look down upon teaching, snooty one.  That’s like looking down upon a poor soul who needs food stamps and then losing your own job the next day, thus needing assistance.  (On a side note, I never saw this side of you a month ago.  I was in too great a hurry to get the ball rolling.)     

I’m recreating your world at this very moment, Sarah- a world in which you are safe, privileged and apparently narcissistic- and then I’m going to destroy it just so we can see the substance that spins your core.  Will the girl you once were resurface or will you deteriorate into a bitter pill of a woman?  What are you going to do when you lose it all?  When you discover your husband is a cheating liar who impregnated his young secretary?  When you realize that never again will you feel the cushion of green grass beneath your feet or grains of sand between your toes?  Will you fall apart?  Will you let resentment eat away at your soul?  Will it be possible for you to regain control and rise above all the bullshit he put you through?  Will you find a way to kick ass again, even without your legs?  If so, how?  

Now we’re having some fun.  My characters’ true natures are now beginning to emerge and the plot is becoming something I’d want to read.  Still needs more time to cook though.

I might not have met the NaNo goal of 50,000 words, but I met mine:  I wrote every single day.  My singular goal was to cultivate a solid writing habit.  I used NaNo as a tool to get my butt in the chair and write, which I believe is its intended purpose.  I also discovered that, for myself, I can’t wake up one morning and start writing just to write- just to meet a word count number.  I have to plan.  I have to let my characters swim around in my head until they grow legs and evolve out of the muck.  The plot needs to simmer for a while and thicken into a hearty mix of mishaps and delight.  I have to develop an outline of sorts so that I can feel free to delve into the details without worrying about straying too far off base.  I need the voices to shout at me and demand to be heard.  Whimpers do not push my brain into writing mode. 

At any rate, I won.  

Anyone who tells me otherwise can kiss it.

     “Glass of wine?” Rémy asked as he pulled a bottle of crimson liquid out of a brown sack.  He didn’t wait for her response and decanted the wine in one seemingly fluid movement.  “It smells divine,” he said as launched the perfunctory swirl and sniff.  He closed his eyes and let the wine rush into his mouth.  Sarah watched this ritual unfold, as she had for the past seventeen years.  On one of their first dates, she asked him why he always closed his eyes when he first tasted a wine.  He seemed so mysterious to her, this striking, brooding French man, and she wanted to unravel every secret he dangled.   He told her that he believed a wine will taste different if you allow your other senses to come into play.  If he was tracing the room with his aqua eyes and landed upon a beast of a woman, the wine, no matter how exquisite it might truly be, would taste flabby.  Void of character and perhaps even slightly bitter.  On the other hand, should his gaze fall upon a woman of beauty, a woman he wanted to seduce, the wine would exhibit an exaggerated heat and spiciness.  Combined with dark chocolate undertones, a simple wine could remind him of the taste of a woman, at which point he would be powerless.  And then what use would he be?  She found herself naked in his arms a few hours later.

**

Damn.  Now I want a glass of wine.  And man to accompany it.

I also awoke with the song “Boston” by Augustana stuck in my head.  I haven’t heard that song in years.  Is it a hint?  Unlikely.  I’m sure there’s something within the song that resonates with me on a deeper level right now, whether or not I realize it.  I’m guessing it’s due to the fact that I’m desperately craving change in my life, and although I’m actively working toward it, this great change doesn’t seem to manifesting just yet.  Patience is a virtue I am constantly striving to cultivate within. 

Back to writing for NaNoWriMo before my little stinker wakes up.  I attempted a one-sentence synopsis of the story and this is what I came up with: 

A woman who loses her job, her marriage and her self-esteem attempts to reclaim her life by making up a romantic, albeit sordid story about spending her youth as a hooker in France, which she tells in bits in order to keep her sole art student- her doctor’s snarky teenager- interested enough to come back for art lessons week after week.

It’s a synopsis-in-progress, but for now it will do. 

Speaking of NaNoWriMo, here’s a sweet story- one that gives me hope: http://blog.lettersandlight.org/post/12811994656

My family jokes that since one of my brothers married a Russian (Moldova to be exact) and the other is engaged to a lovely woman from Bosnia AND my son is in a relationship with a girl who is originally from Finland but lives in Spain, it’s my turn to find a fantastic foreigner.  Maybe NaNo will be my ticket to love, too…  One never knows, eh?

Any takers?

On the other hand, I’ve been writing every day since it started, no excuses.  Even after Maya was sick  to her stomach Thursday night and I had to spend an hour cleaning my carpet (and two more hours the next day), I still wrote for a while, despite the stench that lingered in my living area.  

However, I’m not a die-hard.  I know that some people let all sorts of things fall to the wayside during NaNo and I don’t understand that mode of thinking.  I think of this month of heavy writing as a tool to get my butt back in the chair and show myself that I can fit writing into my life as I care for my family and maintain my own healthy habits- like daily exercise and nutritious meals.  If I let everything else go and strive only to meet the 50,000 words, I’m going to feel that writing is impossible in my normal routine.  Neglecting my normal life for 50,000 of drivel (with potential, of course)?  The “prize” isn’t worth the cost.

I’ve discovered that I do have time to write- even with a 2 year old.  I just have to let go of those time wasters and push myself beyond what I think I’m capable of accomplishing.  Will I meet 50,000 words this month?  I don’t know.  If I don’t, no big thing.  If I do, I’ll be pretty damn pleased with myself, I will admit.

The question:  If you’re the first to arrive at a party, do you want to be the first sucker through the door or do you wait for other people to arrive? 

The answer:

Not the sordid kind replete with broken hearts and damaged relationships, but a lovely affair designed to shake things up and set my gait in the right direction again.  I do feel slightly guilty, given that I promised not to go down this road, however sometimes one has to take a chance on something new in order for the old to seem fresh again.

I am cheating on my screenplay.  I know I should take it through to the grand finale.  Press on until I have an impeccable manuscript.  I should present a work of art that when held high radiates light while the angels sing.  I am far from possessing such brilliance.  I am stuck and I have been stuck on the first revision for a while now.  So, I decided that although I promised not to start another project until this one was completely finished, I am tucking my script into bed to sleep for a few weeks- maybe a month- and I’m writing something else. 

We need to take a break, I said.  I had heard that line used somewhere before and thought it might be appropriate in this circumstance.  Screenplay said it understood and would patiently wait, but I don’t know.  I saw it ogling my Kindle as I walked away.   

My first thought was to return to a book I started exactly three years ago, but ultimately decided against it because that book is not an affair.  It’s too special to be a fling of any sort.  It’s a full-blown serious relationship.  Allowing myself to sink back into its plot and characters would mean the end of my screenplay for at least six months, maybe a year.  You don’t “take a break” and immediately fall into the arms of the lost love of your life.  A break implies a time-out of sorts.  A breather.  I needed something light to keep my fingers tapping and get me back into the groove of writing every single day. 

Hello, November 1^st.  What perfect timing.  I had almost forgot:  Nanowrimo.  National Novel Writing Month.  50,000 in thirty days would definitely keep my fingers tapping and would give me the opportunity to create a storyline for a title I’ve always thought was on the verge of brilliant (I know it usually works the other way- first you create the story, and then title, but there are no rules in this affair):  The Critical Eye of the Legless Hooker.  It sounds sordid, but I promise you it isn’t. 

I started yesterday, but only typed out about 500 words.  Obviously I’ll need to increase that miniscule number.  BUT, it revved up my creativity and I have a new story I’m pounding out.  And at the end of thirty days, I won’t feel guilty shelving it. 

After all, it’s just an affair. 

Right?

Determination.

And, er, a whole lot of flexibility.

I nearly shelved my screenplay.  I was stuck in the first rewrite and couldn’t figure out where I had gone wrong.  There was something off about the storyline.  Something that didn’t feel right.  Great ideas, seemingly poor execution.  I poured through my reference books, but couldn’t find anything to set me in a new direction and taser my mind.  

Then I started working through The Coffee Break Screenwriter by Pilar Alessandra.  It’s the perfect guide for me right now because the author dices the elephant into bite-sized pieces- 10-minute nibbles, to be exact.  I can’t give a full review of the book because I’ve only worked through a portion of it, but thus far Pilar Alessandra’s suggestions have been invaluable.  She takes you step-by-step through the writing process and offers advice to help lift you out of a hole.  Switching up sequences, reworking a beat-sheet in nonlinear structure, play up the “what-ifs” for all their worth.

Through one of her suggestions, I decided to work backwards through the storyline and I figured out the problem, thus now I can find a solution.  I have a remodel on my hands, but I can do it and the story will be better for it.

Someone told me the other day that I’ll be stuck in this office for life.  She knows I write and she knows I’m trying to do something more than this, but she said I was a “lifer.”  I would never get out of here.  She said it even after I reminded her that I was writing.  Her comment pissed me off, but now I thank her for saying it because it set a fire under my ass.  I thought, who in the hell does she think she is to tell me that?  She doesn’t determine my future, my existence.  Well, she said it because it appears to be true.  I am working my tiny office and I have been for quite some time.  Yes, I am thankful that I have a job in this economy.  Don’t get me wrong.  But I want more.  More, I tell you! 

I’m working toward my goals, even if it’s 10 minutes at a time.  I will succeed.  It might be a year from now, but I will get there. 

Naysayers, be damned.  I refuse to listen to you.

It bothers me that people can tweet a thousand times and post updates galore to Facebook, yet they’re “too busy” to see how their kids are doing.  Whatever.

Rewrites are a bitch. 

I would love some ice cream right now.  Preferrably something absurdly fattening and nearly too rich to eat.  The closest thing I have is an ice cube.  I have a feeling that won’t suffice.

My body keeps thinking the time is 1am and it wants to crash.  My mind wants to stay up later. 

Yawn….  Maybe not.  Mind is coming around to body’s frame of… er, mind.

I would like August to be finished.  Let’s get into September so that we’re one month closer to winter.  My body no likey this heat.