Buddy.

So, back in November I talked about how I had given Dan a copy of my WIP and wish I hadn't because he'd eventually rip it to pieces.  I still sort of feel that way, even though we still haven't talked about it (which I am fine with) but we have done a lot of talking about writing in general, which I must say is quite nice. It's great to have someone local to chat with about these things that are really only important to certain people. Even close friends and family - there are a lot of them who would do a read-through and say "Yay, it's great!" but I share most of my writing challenge pieces with Dan before submission and he is able to give me an extra eye when it comes to grammar and usage and overall theme of stories. And remember, the one he helped me with most won the Editor's Choice Award. 

Anyway, a few days ago Dan finally sent me a copy of the story he has been working on since November(ish), and I read it last night. And, oh my. Oh, my.

He said that he wrote a lot in high school but hasn't really done much writing since then, and that he wanted to write this story "to see if he could still do it."

Well, he definitely can still do it. 

I read through the first three quarters of it with a pen in hand, fixing grammatical errors, writing little smiley faces where it was good and writing "lazy" where it was bad. Then I got to this point where I said to myself "Holy shit. Dan's a WRITER." 

And he might just be better than me.

So, what was good just got better for the both of us, I think. He understands that I don't want him to talk to me about my story because I don't want someone else's thoughts, ideas and opinions influencing the story. He, on the other hand, is eager to have feedback and suggestions, which I can barely stop myself from doling out anyway.  

It is totally awesome. I have a writing buddy. 

Baby Bean

Alisha called me tonight and I followed her to the hospital because she was having some bleeding. I tried to stay calm for her,  which is ironic since Alisha's house could be on fire and she would just shrug and say "Eh, we'll deal with it later," and I was doing a great job until we got into the ultrasound room. Her husband Dan was still at work and couldn't be there, so I went in to hold her hand and be her moral support, as best friends are wont to do.

The ultrasound technician lowered the lights in the room and began roaming around on her belly, looking at things. I've been party to a few baby ultrasounds, and when he stopped his routine and I hadn't seen that little white bean floating in a sea of black like I knew I SHOULD be seeing, I panicked. But see, Alisha couldn't see the screen like I had seen it, and I couldn't be the one to tell her what I had seen, or in this case, NOT seen. The technician said he was going to come back in a few minutes and do an internal ultrasound, and then he turned the lights back up and left the room.

"Cheney, your face is on fire," Alisha said, and I realized that in those few minutes my blood pressure had probably skyrocketed as it tends to do when I am really stressed out. My mouth was dry, my head was pounding, and yes, it felt like blood was just going to seep through the pores of my face. I could see my reflection in the metal paper towel holder on the wall, and I am surprised that no one admitted me to the ER at that point. 

"I'm freaking out," I admitted. "Someone needs to panic!" 

She asked me if I had seen anything, and I just, well, lied. "I don't know what I'm looking at," I told her, and shrugged. But inside I was panicking.

The technician came back and began the internal ultrasound, and again Alisha couldn't see what I was seeing on the screen. I just held her hand and tried to stay calm as I reported to her what I was seeing, since the tech didn't have much in the way of a bedside manner.

"You have a right ovary," I told her. "Oh, look, you have a left ovary, too."

Then there it was. A little white blob in its little sea of black. "Yolk sac" the tech typed onto the screen as he took measurements. "Gestational sac," he continued, and then he focused on the white, spidery looking baby bean, and I held my breath until I saw what I needed to see. The rapid flickering of it's itty bitty little heart.

 

It took a while for my blood pressure to drop, for my head to stop pounding. But we needed to see that, and I felt much better when I was able to walk out into the waiting room and retrieve Dan, and then the three of us waited together.

I can't remember the technical term for things, but apparently there is a small hemmorage between the placenta and the uterus. It COULD heal, the doctor said. But, she COULD miscarry. They told her to call her doctor first thing in the morning and to come back if things got worse. 

I guess, no matter what, the future is totally uncertain for us all, and sometimes you just have to let the worry go and hold on to the love. 

Tomorrow is another day. But tonight, there's still that two centimeter long baby bean, its heart beating furiously in the belly of my best friend, and I am so totally in love with it already. 

Excuse Me, I'm Nerding.

Since Elise was born, her dad, Mike, has taken her every Tuesday and Wednesday night without fail, because that is just the way our schedules worked out best when she was born, and for a long time there was no reason to change the status quo. Then, a couple of years ago I decided that since I was single and didn't have the kind of job where I meet new people, I wanted more free time on the weekends to try to have a life and branch out from the norm. I was shot down. Mike said it was impossible for him to change his schedule and to basically just drop it because it would never happen. I would never have child-free weekends. 

It took me a while to come to terms with that, but eventually I did. I found that even if I DID have the free time on weekends, I probably wouldn't have done anything special with it. I wasn't in the right mindframe to date back then and I am not quite sure I am now, but regardless. My life doesn't change much, it doesn't change very often. I write, I read, and I hang out with a VERY small group of friends on Tuesdays and Wednesdays if I feel like it. But then....

Three of my best boy-friends, Brian, Dan, and Brad, play a game of Dungeons & Dragons every Monday night. I have been making fun of them for it for years and years, calling them nerds and laughing at their nerdiness. I get annoyed sometimes when I want Brian to come over and hang out on a Monday and I forget that he is "Nerding" on that day, as I have always called it. They play at Dan & Alisha's house, so sometimes, on weird fluke days where Mike or Linda take Elise overnight, I would hang out with Alisha while the boys do their nerding up in the attic. 

One of those nights, Alisha just went and passed out on me while we were watching a movie, but I wasn't really tired, and since all of my best friends were under the same roof, I ventured upstairs to see what the D&D was all about. I sat at the table with them, listened to what they were talking about, laughing along with them as Dan, as the DM (Dungeon Master, how nerdalicious) directed the game in sometimes hiliarious ways. And that night I realized something - D&D seems pretty fucking awesome.

At it's core, D&D is about storytelling. It's choose your own adventure with little figurines and cards to tell you whether, based on your points, you are able to take a swing at that ogre or use a lightning whip on that mummy. Yes, there is (whack) math involved. The cards and point system is unbelievably detailed and hard to understand at first, but seems like it might be manageable after a while. Bottom line, though - it's storytelling. It's storytelling WITH FRIENDS. And man, it's fun.

I played my first real game two weeks ago. Brad made me a character named Naiv, she's some sort of high magical elf, she's a very powerful magical being, and although I didn't know much as far as how I was supposed to take my turns, where my points fit into it all, and what the whole POINT OF IT ALL is (fun, apparently), I had a blast, and not only did I have a blast, I kicked major mummy ass in that encounter, and the guys were eating it up. Girls, we are rare jewels in the world of Dungeons & Dragons.

I wanted to play more, and regularly, but there was no way the boys were going to come to me, so I sucked it up and asked Mike - can he switch days so that he has Elise Monday & Tuesday instead? And he said yes. He said yes, and it didn't even take a court order let alone an act of Congress. 

So tonight, I am playing my second game of D&D with the nerdiest boys on the block. A part of me feels like this isn't the sort of thing I want to tell people about myself in casual conversation. The other part of me? The other part of me kicks so much major mummy ass, and loves it.

You Win Some, You Lose Some

I am not going to finish NaNoWriMo this year. I knew it tonight before I even sat down to write, I think, because all I was doing as I popped my can of Monster at 11pm was dreading the task before me. I could barely bring myself to open the file that contains the second installment of The Eternals story that I began in April, the one that I thought might have the chance of someday seeing the light. And maybe it will, maybe. Maybe with a lot of close looks and fine tuning and all around hard work it might be able to be salvaged into something that someone might want to read someday. Maybe. But taking it on as my NaNo project after I had already abandoned my first (and completely laid out) idea, was just asinine. I guess I went into this with too much confidence and not enough determination to finish, to just write with no plot and no problem. Because, see, I have a plot, and a problem.

Months ago, I gave a stack of papers to Dan and asked him to read what I had been working on for almost two years. It was the story that I had started two NaNoWriMos ago, and technically I won that NaNo because the manuscript, though no where close to being finished, was over 50,000 words. Before giving it to Dan I had re-written a lot of it, fine tuned it and made it better, but the bare bones were there and it was something I was proud of.

Now, I don't know why I gave it to Dan. I guess because he is the first person in a long time who has ever seemed genuinely interested in reading something I have worked on, and not just because he wanted to read it, but because he could offer opinions and insight that went deeper than a casual reader. I had faith then, that in giving him the beginnings of that first draft, I would be given back a wealth of feedback that would do wonders for me. 

I don't know what I was thinking.

Dan understood that he wasn't, under any circumstances, allowed to talk to me about it until December. I didn't want to get distracted by thoughts of the story where my heart is and be led astray from NaNo, but that's just what happened anyway. When I was writing about the teenagers in the haunted house, and again when I was revisiting Leila and her band of Givers who'd escaped from the vampires that were exploiting them, my mind was with Nora on Spring Street the entire time. (I know this won't make sense to anyone now, but hopefully someday it will.) 

And then, a couple of days ago, I was literally struck dumb with fear. I was afraid that December would come, and Dan would start talking to me about Nora and Spring Street, and that his words would influence me in ways I couldn't control. I know for a fact that that is exactly what will happen. I know for a fact now that giving him that stack of papers was like giving him my heart and asking him to rip it to shreds, and now all I want to do is turn back time and snatch it away from him and take back my words. 

But I can't take it back. I can't make him un-read what he's already read and made notes on. The only thing I can do is tell him not to talk to me about it - and keep writing.

So that's what I did tonight, once I'd diagnosed the thing that had been keeping me from JUST WRITING for NaNoWriMo. I went back to Spring Street, and I had a fucking blast.

It's been probably two months since I've written about Nora, and picking up where I left off, at the edge of the cliff where I had left my heroine, felt literally like coming home to a warm house after being locked out in the cold. I don't think I have any choice now but to see this story through to its bitter end, writing challenges be damned. 

I'm not going to lie. I'm disappointed in myself, much more disappointed in myself than anyone else will be with me for not finishing NaNo this year when I was so psyched up and confident that I could do it again - that makes it two wins and two losses in a row. But really, is this a loss? I got almost 13,000 words into a brand new story that totally has potential, and over 10,000 words into a sequel that might not make it past Google Docs, but is certainly an indication that the Eternals have some life in them yet. That is not a total loss, not at all. But what have I gained? Well, let's see what I've learned so far this month:

• I am a pantser, not a plotter. Plotting the Brigham House story, though it seemed like a wonderful idea at the time, killed it before it was out of the gate. I was bored writing it, because I already knew what was going to happen - or rather, I wasn't letting myself find out what could happen when my fingers take over for my brain.
• There's a time and a place for everything. Eventually I WILL finish the Eternals series. Although the first book was utter crap, I was passionate about it while I was writing it, I had an absolute blast writing it, and I know that underneath all the crap there is the skeleton of a great story and even greater characters that just need a little more tender loving care to make mommy proud of them. But this wasn't the time to revisit them, not under pressure. I couldn't do Leila and the Givers justice during NaNo, and I'm pretty sorry that I tried.
• Write with the door closed. It's Stephen King's advice. I should know, I'm finishing up his memoir, On Writing, just tonight between writing breaks. Write with the door closed and edit with the door open, that's what he says, and it's what I DIDN'T do when I gave Dan the beginning of my manuscript. I was opening my door to him, when I know now I should have checked my ego on the right side of the closed door and kept the damn thing to myself until it was finished. Pride does me no good when things are left open ended. 
• You have to trust yourself, and then forgive yourself. I went into this November with way too much confidence. I 'trusted myself' to the point of being cocky, I see that now, but I had good intentions. Regardless of the message boards, the forums, the Facebook groups and the precious few friends who act as cheerleaders, writing is a lonely fucking business, and if you can't trust yourself and have faith in yourself that you aren't doing it all for nothing, well, I can't imagine where I would be. But then, you fail. You fail and you fail and keep failing, and then there is no choice but to forgive yourself, or else you might not go on. You might not pick up that pen again, or open up that document again. You might open the door and walk out and never look back. But I'm not that girl. 

NaNo '11 was a total bust for me, but I can't say I'm all THAT surprised or disappointed. You win some, you lose some, and then, with time's unflagging forward stride, November comes again. But look at this, where are we? Day 19??? I have eleven days left, and then I will have done something I've NEVER done before and always wanted to - I'll have blogged every day for a month. I never quite understood how I could write a novel in a month THREE TIMES and never manage to post once a day, but this.. not only do I think I can finish NaBloPoMo, I don't think I want to stop there. On my Mighty Life List, blogging every day for a year is #68. I'm already nineteen days in, it's the longest stretch I've ever had, so why stop now? 

Meh.

I always get sick in November. It's something I can actually count on, just like death or taxes. November comes, and then comes the head and chest congestion, the sleepless nights, the hacking cough and sore muscles. It sucks. Usually it happens later in the month, and I'd say at least one out of every three Thanksgivings sees me laid up on the couch at my parents house, not even able to eat the amazing turkey dinner.

I got really far in the new rendition of NaNo yesterday, but today I am just not feeling it. The pressure that I will be under in the next few weeks to get it done will be extreme, but totally worth it if I can actually finish this time. I've been talking up my confidence to friends, family, and Facebook, so I am in it for the long haul now. I have to finish. I can't let myself down by having to tell people that I didn't do it, that I couldn't do it. 

But tonight? 

Tonight I am going to have some vodka on ice with lime and hopefully drown some of the sick aches in drunkenness - I'm going to watch The Walking Dead and Hell on Wheels with Dan and just keep drinking until I forget what I've watched and it's suddenly morning. 

Also, I got Stephen King's new book yesterday, 11/22/63, and it is already great. I'm going to read that until I can't see the words any more, I am going to cover my mouth, and in the morning, hopefully, I will be better.

Around These Parts

I've been doing a lot of writing lately. 

A LOT of writing.

On Sunday, I delivered a copy of the story I've been working on for years to Dan and Alisha - I am not sure that Alisha has been reading it yet, but Dan has, and I handed him another chapter yesterday. Unfortunately, I have to wait for feedback. Or is that such a bad thing? The only "feedback" I have ever gotten before on this particular WIP is 'Oh, it was great, I really enjoyed it.' Obviously not what a writer needs, am I right? So I am hoping that Dan will offer me some constructive criticism, as he has done some writing in the past and he reads more than most people in my group of friends. 

One great thing about having that WIP out there, even if "out there" is just in the hands of my two best friends, it puts pressure on me to produce more. To write more, to do better, to keep my ass in the chair and get it done, because now I have an audience.

Anyway, I wanted to just write a short post to let any readers know that there is a new section on the site here - you can click the "Writing" link at the top of this page and it will take you to another journal page where more of my writing can be found. I am going to post some flash fiction there, as well as responses to writing prompts that catch my eye, and anything else that falls under that category. Also,

There is a new post up at Vampire Zombies From Space! - You can go read it there, or you can click the VZFS! link at the top of this site to read it as well.

Here is the first prompt I have responded to, and the first entry to the new writing blog - it's about an Unusual Anniversary.

Writing prompt from Writer's Digest:  

A special anniversary is coming up and you’ve decided to go all-out to celebrate. The only thing is, this is an anniversary of something unusual and there’s only one other person who knows what it’s about—and he’s uncomfortable celebrating. Write this scene.

I put out the crystal stemware for the dinner, and Roger looked on, not approving.

“Someone could break a glass. You know how much those mean to me. They were my mother’s.”

“Don’t you think that of all people, your mother would appreciate that we are using her fine china to celebrate this?”

“Celebrate!” Roger spat. “I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I slunk over to Roger, put a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. I knew that he still loved me and that deep down he had appreciated what I’d done, but he drew away from me, a look of disgust on his face.

A seed of hatred bubbled up inside of me, and I pushed Roger away. 

“I knew you would be ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful? You killed my father!”

“I freed us from your father. I freed your mother from your father. It’s not my fault she didn’t make it out of the car in time. She knew the plan.”

“She was too old,” Roger shook his head. “Why did you have to do it this way?”

“Because driving the car into the lake was the best way to make it look like an accident. And it did, didn’t it? It’s been a year, and no one has a clue that it was us. So let’s celebrate.”

“You’re celebrating my parent’s death?”

“No, sweetie, that would be morbid. I’m celebrating getting away with murder.”

Honesty is the Path to Authenticity

There are lots of things I've wanted to write lately about blogging, writing, and living in general. Living my life with my friends and family, living my life online with my writing buddies who see me more real than those close to me often do - it's a hard balance that I am still trying to figure out over here.

And everywhere I look lately I am seeing these workshops put on by people who just seem to have it all together and going right for them. What makes these people think they are qualified to teach me how to live an authentic life, what makes these women think that they can help me find the beauty in my life better than I could hash it out on my own? It annoys me, seeing these workshops advertised, seeing people flock to bloggers like they have all the answers - and it annoys me that there is a big part of me that just wants to see what it is all about, and wants to see if I really can figure out how to be more authentic in life, but I just can't afford it.

Honesty, obviously, is the first step to authenticity. 

I am honestly broke. More broke than I have been so far in my adult life. The rent and insurance is paid (but the electric bill, the phone bill, and the cable bills aren't), there is food in the kitchen for me and Elise (although none of it would make it onto a list that said 'healthy' on the top), there is gas in the car (as long as I don't go far) and twenty-nine dollars in my pocket to see me through until Friday (because my checking account was overdrawn when the car insurance was automatically charged.) The savings account, you may ask? It's been empty for months. 

I know that I am on a dangerous road. I'm twenty-nine. It's time to start building up that fabled nestegg, right? It's time to start thinking about retirement, or at least thinking about the time in my life that is coming sooner than I can imagine when I am old and tired and maybe not able to work as much or as effienciently for the money as I am now. The fact is, now, I have no future. I have no chance. I have no light at the end of the tunnel that is keeping my head above water, because I know that when Friday comes and two weeks of my pay is directly deposited into my bank, there will be nothing to smile about, because that money is already spent. 

There was a time that I didn't want to blog about my real life. I didn't want to blog about the things that bothered me, the things that scared me, the things that hurt me. I didn't want to bring anyone down to the down low where I've been at, hiding inside, for quite a bit too long.

But honesty is the path to authenticity, or so I've been told. So honestly: I am struggling. Thankfully there are things to be happy about and look forward to, and my next list of grace should be a good one.

To beat back the blues, Elise and I are going to dinner at Alisha and Dan's tonight. We're going to have American Chop Suey, I am going to do our laundry, and at some point we are going over Daryl Justin Finzio's house to pick up lawn signs for his mayoral campaign. 

See, that is something I haven't been writing about for one reason or another - the part that I've gotten to be quite active lately in local politics, being that I've finally found someone who inspires me to work hard for change in a town I fled from and flee to on a regular basis. 

All this goodness, all of these great things that I have been doing lately, like campaigning for Daryl with my best friend, like writing more lately than I have in months, like the fact that today I am going to place a folder filled with my words and pages into Dan's hands and pretty much give him my heart - these things have been paled by my inability to open up and be honest and authentic with myself, with you.

But I'm working on it. See?