Mulling In A Mowhawk

It's just before 9 in the morning and I've put a cheesecake in the oven (which set off the fire alarm halfway through writing this post, only to have me find the cord of dearest one's nearly new electric skillet heating itself up by being caught in the oven door!)and the makings of chicken stock in the crock pot. I'm also still in my pjs with my mowhawk morning hair waving to and fro. I can tell how much I toss and turn in the night by how big my mowhawk is in the morning. People who can get out of bed and comb their hair and be ready for the day - I envy them.

I've been awake for several hours in the night for 10 days in a row now. It's nigh impossible to wake up rested, no?

Today is youngest son's birthday. You can read about how his birth changed my life here and here. However old he turns is the forerunner of my sobriety birthday 3 months later. Sometimes I forget how long it's been since I had a drink only to think about how old he is and then I remember.

I've been mulling. That's the best way to put it. I can't seem to think of a darn thing to write about and neither do I have the urge to mull out loud here. I sent several of my blog posts to an old friend a few years ago. She told me that some of them sounded like they were written in persona and some sounded like my authentic voice. I used to spend 2 or 3 hours crafting a post. Now I dash them off and go on about my day. There is part of me that thinks not having anything to say is a good thing. But I miss the writing.

Sometime in this past week I clicked on this link which felt like playing Russian Roulette. The last time I wanted a saint for the year it hit way too close to the mark.

This year I got this guy. The original little blurb said he was the patron saint against drowning. Fitting considering the previous day I'd told my sponsor that I am scared in water over my head. The immediate thought that came to me when I read about his patronage was that I needed help not getting in over my head in the coming year. There are lots of ways to drown other than water. Such as the pile of papers on my desk.

Although if I feel myself going down hopefully it will be after a night of major tossing and turning. That way my mowhawk will be the last thing to disappear below the surface and you'll know it's me.



Photo Credit

At The Crack Of Dawn

It looks like morning at 4 AM here now.
We've had two yearling deer meandering around the yard in the early morning.
They step tentatively, ready to flee at any moment.
It must take a lot of energy to live in such a state.

I am not at all ready for work this morning.
We're into the home stretch before summer holidays start.
It's difficult to get motivated
when you're counting the days to an 8 week break.
I know, oh poor me.
Suck it up already.
What a gift to get such a long time off.
Even without a paycheck.
I know that.

I've been plugging along at my novel,
rewriting it in First Person.
Every time I submit an assignment I receive
increasing hope that I really can do this.
I've let go of having a manuscript ready for
the end of August to send to a publishing house
that still takes complete manuscripts.
I have hopes that mine won't end up in the slush pile.
I have a 35 year old bet with my younger brother
to have a book published by the time I hit the
big 5-0. I have two years to see my name on the cover of a book.
I have mulled over big time how I will feel
if I lose the bet.
Dearest one tells me it will be an exercise
in wishing I had started earlier.
Yep.

I have spent much of my life stepping tentatively
just like those yearling deer do in my yard every morning.
Somewhere along the way I lost my need to do that
and I am grateful.

A Bystander In My Own Life

"I think....I feel....I believe..."

He'd pause between each phrase, drawing it out as if trying to teach a child to speak. I could feel the anger rising in me when he'd interrupt me mid sentence, coaching me on how to own what I was saying. The instant I started any sentence with they, you, whoever, that person over there he'd interrupt me again. He didn't want me speaking for him or anyone else. Had he been the counselor it wouldn't have been so bad but we were both clients in a government run treatment centre. His interruptions would remind me again that I couldn't speak for anyone except myself.It was pretty hard on my ego to shrink my sentences down to I statements. I would have told him to go fuck himself except I'd already heard his story and his journey of learning how to use "I" statements for himself had a way of invoking stunned speechlessness on the part of those listening. He was a gentle, humble man without a hint of malicousness in his coaching. He wanted me to own my life.

If you'd read through the past 15 years of my journals you'd notice pages and pages of writing without the word "I" anywhere. You might even wonder if I was observing someone else instead of recording my own life. The first time this struck me as not quite right I felt unnerved, like a crack had started in my armour without permission. Eventually I realized that writing in the third person was a way of distancing myself from my heart. I'd catch myself writing sentences something like this

"One really needs to think about what they want out of life from time to time."

No way was I going to write

"I really need to think about what I want out of life."

I did it in letters to friends, too. One day a friend commented that I wrote as if I was putting on a persona. Persona? I had to look that word up before I could even consider that she may be right:

"per·sona (pər sō′nə)

noun pl. personae -·nae (-nē), personas -·nas

1.the characters of a drama, novel, etc.
2.Psychol. the outer personality or facade presented to others by an individual" (emphasis mine)

It was uncomfortable when I realized that even in my journals and letters, never mind my day to day speech, I was distancing myself from my very life. After a few weeks of my new friend reminding me to use a pronoun I started to use the word "I" more than "you" or "they".

Scared the shit out of me to do so.
Freed me, too.
From being a victim.

Since then, whenever I catch myself writing or speaking in third person a little warning bell rings in my head. That warning asks me to double check to see if I am trying to be a bystander in my own life instead of a participant. Sometimes it is still hard to face the fear in owning my life. It takes all the power out of pointing fingers and blaming others for my reality.

All this to say that my writing instructor suggested to me today to rewrite my novel in first person instead of keeping the reader at a distance by writing in the safety of a third person point of view. When I read his note I said to myself, "Oh, shit. Here we go again." because that very thought had crossed my mind a few weeks ago, too but I'd dismissed it as too much work (all 50K words considered) and besides, I have no idea what's going to come out of my character's mouth if I give her that kind of leeway.

I wrote him back and told him that I was scared to get inside my character's head but if he really thought it would make the story better then I would rewrite the whole thing. I wrote that my head said no way but my heart said yep, you're right.

Something tells me that the character in my book wants to be more than a bystander in her own life, too.

900

I suddenly feel like singing "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer..."
Thank God you can't hear me sing because it would hurt your ears. I like to remind myself that the Good Book says make a joyful noise unto the Lord. It says nothing about being in key. When there are only 5 of us at Mass I always feel sorry for whoever is closest to me because there is no way to camouflage my voice.

This is my 900th post. Which is what prompted the song above.
One nine went looking for another and well,
that song popped into my head.
I feel pretty good about
still being here in blogland (without any beer!).

I originally started this blog to see if I could actually write.
It's been one of the best decisions I've ever made.
Despite my periodic angst about
what's the point of honing my navel gazing skills.
But here I am.
And here you are.

I just went and read the post I linked to above.
I wish I could remember who said these words to me:

"You are the closest thing to 'Jesus with skin on' in my life. But I know you aren't perfect cause you say words like 'fuck'."

I took that as a huge compliment back then.
I try to limit my use of swear words these days.
I used to think that swearing was some sort of defence
against being one of "them religious types".
These days I know there is no virtue in "us and them" thinking.
As for swearing. Some times nothing else will do.

At any rate we're all in this together as the Archbishop of Canterbury put it so well:

"The person sitting next to me, praying next to me is someone in whom Jesus is praying. I try to listen to the voice of Jesus at prayer in them. I try to see the force and energy of Jesus's life in them," he said.

"And when I try to dismiss them or make little of them, when I speak harshly to them or about them, I am in danger of destroying that place which is a place where Jesus is."
~ht

Lord have mercy.

A Little Doohickey

As you can see I DID IT! 50,071 words and I am done. That little sign is the official doohickey you can upload once you paste in your words and get them verified that you really did more than type randomly for the past month. (Although at times it felt as if I was simply typing randomly.)

First I spent an hour online avoiding writing the last few thousand words.
Then I cried as I was writing the final scene.
I was mourning being done the damn thing plus the scene was heart wrenching, too.

Today has been an exceptionally good day all around.
It was birthday meeting day at AA.
I was privileged to see one of our home group get his one year cake.
We are a very small group but today we were nearly triple in size.
Every day one of us is sober feels like a miracle.
I am very thankful though, that drinking is not one of the ways I need to celebrate being done the book!

The Home Stretch

As BP is fond of teasing/encouraging me - I really am on the home stretch of the novel, first shitty draft and all. I worked hard yesterday on other stuff and as a result by the time I sat down to write last night I was weary. But I churned out over 4,000 words so that between today and tomorrow I have 2800 words left to type. I can do this. I will do this. I even know where the story is going in its remaining pages so that's a bonus.

This afternoon I'm having tea with a writer friend who is one of my biggest cheerleaders in this life. Yesterday as we were talking about the novel and I was telling her how I could just delete sections that were crap, she told me that nothing of it was wasted, that I had put in the time and discipline and that the characters, all of them who showed up, were a gift. So last night when the story took yet another detour I simply kept typing and waited to see what would happen next. Whenever I discuss the plot line and all the possible 'what ifs' with Youngest Son he tells me that I am a mean person.....mean to my characters and a little deranged to boot. Which just makes me smile. But then, you all knew I was a little deranged already didn't you?

Racing Towards The Finish Line

I reached the 40K mark in my novel last night
by sheer grit and determination.
The more I try and hit these milestones the more
convinced I am that the whole book is crap.
I won't be doing this next November.

I may write another book.
I do have another one that I've carried
around in my head for nearly 10 years.
And a children's book for nearly that long, too.
But never again on such a short deadline.
It takes the enjoyment out of it.

I know now that a detailed outline works for me.
It doesn't detract from the actual writing of the book.
Too bad I only had that done for part of this book.
I'm making things up as I go now.
Dearest one gave me an idea last night
and that netted me several thousand words.
Then I remembered something I'd written on a scrap piece of paper,
a two word term,
and that gained me several thousand more.
I put a little sticky note over the word count calculator
so I can't obsess about every word as I type.
I only peeked every so often
and either groaned that I was 200 words further on
or felt quite pleased with myself when I'd added 2,000.
Okay, in all honesty, I never waited between peeks that long at all.
I pulled the sticky note away for night when I reached 40,044.

I have 5 days left to write the last 9,956 words.
I told dearest one last night that I would much rather be
editing the book right now than adding to the word count.
He said that at the rate I was going I could have the book done
in two more nights and then start editing.
I told him that once I'd reached the 50K mark
I was going to stick the book in a drawer
and forget about it for a while.

I've never been great at finishing things I start.
I love coming up with new ideas or projects.
I have unfinished cross stitch and crocheting projects
stuffed in drawers.
There are places in my home that are half organized
and half danger zone.
The cupboards have ingredients I thought would make a great new recipe
only to find that I still don't like curry.

How can you tell that not following through is one of my character defects?
So while I may continue to bitch and moan for the next 5 days
or until I reach 50K,
secretly (shhh, don't tell anyone)
I am pleased to be racing towards the finish line.
This story has been my companion for 25 years.
How strange to be writing a young adult novel
only to find myself growing up somewhat in the process.

A Size Smaller

I'm playing Scramble on Facebook as an avoidance tactic for writing on my novel. I have 6500 words due today and I feel lost. I know where I'm going with the story but I don't know how to get from here to there. Thankfully it's just the book that feels like that today.

Yesterday during Mass I felt very small. Some people would term it "cut down to size." I don't mean that in any bad, negative self talk kind of way. Rather, in a I'm not God and I've just remembered that again kind of way. I need reminding. It's far too easy for me to think I am God and then to act like I am and to put out vibes to the world that I think I am, too.

Let There Be Light

A new day.
I laid in bed this morning for a while and prayed.
I feel really calm.
And full of hope.
Whatever life throws my way today
I don't have to handle all on my own.
It's good to know that.

I'm headed to town for my AA meeting.
The roads are in decent condition.
I have no inkling to go into the mall.
For some reason all the holiday decorations are driving me batty.
They're disorientating.
Is that even a word?
All the decorations and hype in the stores make me feel dizzy.

I am however, looking forward to the beginning of Advent.
I'm really glad that the first day of Advent is the last day of NaNoWriMo.

Pages Of Life

"Writing fiction is like being an alcoholic. You create a crisis and immerse yourself in what happens next."

There was collective laughter yesterday when I shared that piece of information before the AA meeting started. My home group is being incredibly supportive as I slog my way through NaNoWriMo. When someone added that fiction couldn't hold a candle to the real life experiences of active alcoholics more laughter followed.

Being able to laugh with others about what fuck ups we've all been is precious to me. We've all been there, same story, different description. You know how uncomfortable it can be when you're in a group of people where someone is not embracing their humanity? (I'm talking about myself here). In recovery the key word is all. Our sanity depends on us not pretending we're unique, not set apart as other than human. What a blessed relief.

Letting go of creating a crisis in real life, not being a drama queen, looking at situations as they really are without minimizing or inflating their impact; that all takes practice and intention in recovery. As my recovery progresses I find it easier to accept the every day, revolving nature of life. It's a sign of health for me to not go looking for the drama, to accept life on life's terms, and to be content with what is. Of course I do all of that imperfectly but as I said later on in the day with my family doctor, there is no going back to that place where denial trumps awareness. Sure, some days I wish it would, and some days it does, but thank God it's only momentarily.

Take yesterday. I'd had my shower, was cleaning out my ears with a Q tip, when instead of seeing the normal wax build up there was dried blood on the end of the cotton swab. I went from oh, that's weird to OMG my ear drum must have burst and I didn't even notice it(as if that is possible) in a nanosecond. Then rational mind kicked in and I realized it really was no big deal, I'd had no ear pain at all, at the worst a tiny bug got squished in my ear, and I went on with my day. When I related the whole thing to my doctor he smiled and humoured me with looking in that ear only to reiterate what I'd come to earlier. It was no big deal. My ear drum was fine.

Writing a book is, in part, about keeping the "what ifs" coming. Today, when I try to add a few thousand more words to my novel, I'll dream up a crisis or two, wonder about the impending what ifs, and write down what happens next. I'm just grateful that it's work to dream it up, that drama is slowly finding its rightful place in my life, between the pages of a book, not the pages of my life.

Prevailing

I have 45 minutes before my doctor's appointment so here I am, typing as fast as I can. It was a shock to the system to have the alarm go at 5 AM so that I could come into town with dearest one. I am not, never will be, a morning person.

Last night I churned out the words and reached the 30,000 word mark in NaNoWriMo. As I wrote only daughter yesterday:

We will prevail, we will prevail, we will prevail.

It's sunny, there's no snow falling and that makes the day wonderful. Time with dearest one on the way to town was great, too.

Have a great day.

Slogging It

There's still 3,000 more words to write tonight.
What, oh what will my main character do next
to warrant such a word count?
God only knows.
Slog, slog, slog.
What a puny problem to have
in the whole scope of life.

Bit By Bit

It's early.
Too early.
I was so determined to sleep in today.
C'est la vie.
I'm listening to goldie oldies on the radio as I type.
Charley Pride and Merle Haggard's singing is comforting to me.

Yesterday I went to my AA meeting and then to a book launch for an author who passed away before her final novel was published. I sat in a room of 100 people realizing how rarely I put myself into a situation where most of the people are strangers to me. This particular author had been very encouraging to me about my writing over the years. She headed up the local writers group and although I haven't been to a meeting in a very long time she continued to call and remind me of the meeting every month. In fact she called just a few days before her unexpected passing. I'd never been to a book launch before so that was a new experience for me (thought of you BP!). Lord willing, I'll have one of my own one day.

Thank you for all your comments yesterday.
I often feel whiny when I ask anything of you.
Like I should just be able to suck it up and get over it.
But it's good to be vulnerable and human
instead of thinking I can do this all on my own.
I can't.
Pretending I never have needs is a lonely place to live.

Yesterday at my AA meeting I was able to share honestly
about the funk I'm in.
One person told me after the meeting to basically get over it.
I thought to myself, "It's way more important that I am honest about the funk I am in than pretending I'm fine." I've spent far too much time pretending in this life and it's never been worth it. I know the funk won't last forever and I just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the meantime. I look at all I have to be grateful for. I try to keep the bigger picture in focus.

There are people around the table who I want to put on a pedestal. They consistently walk the talk. I learn much from their experience, strength and hope. However, the sharing that touches me the most is when they are human and struggling just like the rest of us. It doesn't take away from their journey. It means I can trust them with my stuff.

The main character in my book is trusting that I will tell her story with integrity.
Last night the NaNoWriMo word count was 25,014. It feels like pulling teeth. Sheer grit and determination is what is getting my butt in the chair lately. I suck at commitments. Always have. I resist showing up for anything on a regular basis. I've been working on that character defect for a while now. Show up Hope. Do what you said you would. Expect more of yourself. And bit by bit what I commit to, I follow through on. I don't think I like it any better but it's one area I can grow up in.

Lately the journey has been a combination of knowing when to be gentle with myself and when to kick my own butt. I'm determined to hit the 50K word limit by the end of the month if for no other reason than to prove to myself I can follow through and finish something I started. This past June I told myself I was going to post something on the blog daily. I had a feeling then that I was following through on that commitment in preparation for something bigger. Now that November is here and the book is taking shape, I realize I was training myself to show up for that. In the whole scope of life it's really a small thing but I can feel a shift happening within as I continue to show up and write. Thanks be to God.

In High Demand

Butt glue was in high demand today as I churned out enough words to hit the 20,000 word mark in NaNoWriMo. Ugh. I sat and wrote out a synopsis on note cards first to see if what I had written so far made any sense. I was pleasantly surprised to find out it did. So then I wrote out some more cards as to stuff that needed filling in and a few more cards so I know where I'm going. Anyway, I am still amazed I am doing this. It is fun and it is so not fun.

Butt Glue

I wrote just over one thousand words for NaNoWriMo at a hotel on Friday night. I haven't touched it since. That means today is a catch up day and I will be using what author Elizabeth George calls butt glue to get those missing words caught up to date. Wish me luck.

Predictably Soothing

There's frost on the windows this morning. Looks like winter is doing her best to take up residence. C'est la vie. Yesterday morning I tried venturing to town but only drove 2 miles, then turned around and came home. The thought of driving on a snow and ice packed highway for the next hour didn't thrill me so I decided I really didn't need to go to town that bad. When I called to rebook my appointment I found out I had the days mixed up. That made me doubly glad to have turned around and come home. The thought of arriving at my appointment only to be told "I'm sorry your appointment is tomorrow afternoon at 1:30." made me cringe. At which point I would have pulled my hair out and cried. Or not.

So I spent some time yesterday writing some more on my book. Nearly 9,000 words now. I don't want to talk about it much but it's loosely set on an account my great aunt wrote about the family's journey from Norway to Canada. She wrote the account 40 years ago and I have a copy. I pulled it out yesterday for some inspiration. My character is veering off the planned trail quite a bit so I wanted to read and figure out some plot stuff. I have no idea how it works for other people but I write what I see in my head (oh, now that is scary). Main character goes to barn to milk the cow and I picture it in my head and dutifully write it down. Except I didn't plan for her to go around the barn and find a stray dog who was hurt, growling at her. But hey, it's not my story. I am still a little amazed I'm actually doing the writing. I've let youngest son and dearest one read the first 8 pages and last night I was telling youngest son about the what ifs to come and he said I was mean. When he read the first few pages and I asked him what he thought of the Pa in the story, he replied, "He's a dick." I knew I'd conveyed the Pa exactly how I'd envisioned him.

Dearest one brought home nearly 800 envelopes and such to do a mail out yesterday. I took on the responsibility of mailing out these thingamajigs for something I'm involved in, 4 times a year, and this week is the week to do it. 375 envelopes later I went to bed. I sat and put address labels and postage stamps on the envelopes while youngest son stuffed and sealed them. He found it boring although he talked a mile a minute while he sat there and I enjoyed that immensely. I told him I found the repetitive nature of it to be very soothing because it was predictable. I like predictable. And there isn't too much of that in this life, is there? He found it interesting that predictable to him meant boring and to me it meant soothing. Anyway, only 400 or so more envelopes to do today and then it's back to unpredictability.

Playing Hookey

There's a blanket of snow out there this morning.
It makes it feel like I woke up to a whole new world.
A clean slate.

My NaNoWriMo word count is over 7000 words.
As I write I keep Anne Lamott's "shitty first draft" in mind.
It helps me just write and not edit as I go.

Some days blog posting is like that, too.
Hitting the publish post button before I edit,
feels like I'm playing hookey or something.
Methinks I take it all too seriously.
Especially for being a kid.

And You?

I really want to sit here and whine this morning but am choosing to stuff a sock in it and write a gratitude list instead. I am grateful to know that I have the power of choice today. I remember sitting outside a DQ restaurant the summer before last, talking with another AA member about how to reply when asked, "How are you?" If I was crabby, well, then I was crabby through and through. She helped me see that I could say, "Well, today I'm feeling a bit crabby but otherwise life is good." It's that kind of thing I need help navigating. Yesterday at church a young mom who I hadn't seen in a while, asked me how I was. When I told her I'd been in a funk for what felt like weeks already, we ended up having a really good chat about how the encroaching darkness outside affects our moods and the ongoing effort it is to put one foot in front of the other day after day. Just before Mass started I said to her, "Anyway, that's the real answer to how I am, I could have just told you I was fine."

Today I'm grateful for

• my sobriety
• a God of my own understanding who loves on me 24/7
• the power of choice
• faithful readers who journey with me
• the lack of snow on the ground!
• the gift of writing - NaNoWriMo word count yesterday was 3500+
• my parents - it's their 52nd wedding anniversary today

Showing Up

Tears are close to the surface tonight.
It's been that kind of day.
Biotchy I think it's called.
Thankfully these days are few and far between.
It used to be that I didn't know any other way to deal with my emotions
or the actions of others.
I'm writing this Saturday night to post Sunday morning.
Maybe in the morning I'll have something else to say.
Or not.

I vented at my AA meeting today. Gained some perspective in the feedback I got from my sharing. I love my homegroup. These people know and love me as I am. They also kick me in the butt when needed. They're about the only people in the world I'll welcome a butt kick from. I can't do this journey alone. Yesterday someone in the fellowship told me I was trying too hard.

Today I was reminded how far being grateful goes when a person feels down. How much thinking of other people helps one quit taking life so seriously. And I got reminded that there are much worse things to have my panties in a knot over than my mountain of a molehill.

It was a day.

I wrote 1738 words when I got home for NaNoWriMo. I'd written about 600 of those a few years ago and had forgotten just how much detail I'd done in outlining about 6 chapters of this book. Who knows if it will make sense at the end of the month but, one day at a time, I will hopefully make the 50,000 word count. I wrote in the space of about an hour today so I can churn the words out if I have to. I'd forgotten I'd learned how to do that eons ago. Dearest one told me I could write all the papers he has due for the rest of his courses if I wanted to. Hah.

The editor in me is chomping at the bit, wanting to go back and edit in between, but that will drive me batty before too long so I'll just keep going. I'd been posting here daily since the beginning of July to simply learn how to show up to the page whether I felt like it or not. That's helped me gain courage to try the NaNoWriMo thingamajig.

Well, I am so tired I am not going to be coherent much longer.
Have yourself a great turning the clock back kind of Sunday.
As my dad says, "Every day above ground is a good day."

Counting The Words

The craziness of NaNoWriMo starts today. Last year I entertained the idea and even signed up, but didn't follow through. This year I'm going to give it a shot. It's time to get the main character, whose been riding around in my head for 25 years, out of my head and onto the page. She deserves a place to call home.

Not sure how I'm going to find the time to write today but I'm doing it anyway. Today I have to go to town and when I come home we're off to a community supper. Tomorrow there's a potluck after church so there's cooking to do for that yet today, too. And then there's the every day stuff. Yet if people who leave their house every day to go to work can write a novel in a month then all my hemming and hawing are just excuses.

Part of the motivation to write the book comes from when I went on holidays last month. I spent some time in the classroom of a friend. His students were reading a book set in my province and had lots of questions for me. My friend had them peer editing each other's work and at the end of the day I told him I was very tempted to get the book written and sent to his class chapter by chapter so they could peer edit it for me. Getting their feedback would be fun.

Anyway, that's what's on my mind for today. We made it through Halloween without a snowflake in sight so that is a bonus. Last year at this time we had snow for good and the long winter trek had begun. Every day without snow feels like a mini miracle. It's enough that my mood takes a yearly dive every October/November and the only thing that's kept me off anti depressants is a healthy dose of vitamin D. Living this far north means the hours of daylight are shrinking fast. Thankfully one's own inner light can still flicker and light up the world.