Red-Nose Day: rediscover childhood joys

“The most radical act anyone can commit is to be happy.”

-Robin Williams (Patch Adams)

Red Nose Day is here, a time for merry-making and frivolity! And all for a good cause. For those who don’t know, Red Nose Day is a fundraising event geared towards raising money for children living in poverty. It is a brief moment in our busy lives where we lackluster grown-ups can rediscover the giddy memories of a simpler time and strive to help those in need, so they can afford the same opportunities many take for granted. It is giving us an opportunity to help others create the same find and carefree memories to cherish when they join the adult masses of the world. Children shouldn’t be worried about finding food, or worried about their health care or education- that is our burden to bear. We can’t let them down.

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In the spirit of the event, I thought it could be fun to take a moment to reminisce about a simpler time. As a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be in charge of my own life. Now, granted, I must admit that I do occasionally imbibe in that long-coveted childhood dream of ice cream for dinner- these days it tends to feel more like defeat than the glorious victory I once thought it would be. It seems that youth is wasted on the young- oh how I crave those simple memories some days, before responsibility came pounding at my door and barged in uninvited.

Not that I don’t still find a way to ‘relive’ my childhood on occasion. I will be the first to admit that I don’t say no when the nephews want to play ‘action figures.’ Okay- full disclosure- at my last office I even had a shelf full of the little things. They were much coveted by my co-workers kids when they came to visit, but like the Grinch- I was unwilling to share my prized possessions. And sure, you can still find the sporadic Disney movie mixed in my recently watched list on Netflix. My poor fiancé has learned that Beauty and the Beast playing is usually a sure sign that I’ve had a rough day and need to immerse myself in animated comfort.

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my old toy shelf at work. poor kids cant reach, hehe.
But my biggest guilty pleasure- the one I relish and refuse to admit to the rest of the world? Re-reading my old tried-and-true favorite books growing up. Oh yes, there you will see my literary roots, the books that fed the writerly obsession that has guided my life. You can still even see the seeds of these past inspirations nestled in my most current work. So why not share my past joys with all of you?

These are some of my favorite books that filled my days as a clueless little lass (in no particular order or specified age), these are the ones the I still search for to add to my extensive book collection, and the ones I run to when I am in need of chicken soup for my soul.

  • The PhantomTollbooth
  • Bunnicula (if you haven’t read this, please, please go out and find it- it’s a hidden gem)
  •  Animorphs
  • Harriet the Spy (and yes- I did own one of those black-and-white marbled notebooks for my very own spy work)
  • Ramona
  • Ralph S. Mouse
  • Wayside School
  • Scary Stories
  • Goosebumps (especially the choose-your-own adventure books. Spoiler: I usually died the first six rounds)
  • Dear America series (bonus points if it included the Titanic, oh be still my beating heart)
  • Nancy Drew
  • Walk Two Moons (first book to ever make me cry)
  • Amelia Badelia (the adorably literal woman who open my eyes to the strangeness that colors the English language. I will never forget ‘hitting the road’ and ‘letting the bread rise’
  • Anything Dr. Seuss
  • And while I’m at it: anything Shel Silverstein (my goal: own a signed copy- very hard to find, even harder to afford)
  • And of course- Harry Potter (still obsessed, probably bordering on unhealthy. But I grew up with them. Still waiting on my letter- the owl post isn’t what it used to be)

So what about you my friends? What colored your childhood and worked your passions? Leave me a comment with your favorite works.

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Write drunk, Edit Sober: The Controversy

I can confidently say that there are people who don’t understand this blog or it’s intent- they think that I’m touting alcoholism and writing as something funny or glamorous. So it seemed like today was a good opportunity to delve into this debacle.

“Write drunk, edit sober,” four little words that seem to stir up debates no matter how you spin them. Let’s start with who said it- this quote is most commonly attributed to Hemingway, you can look at nearly any Etsy store with a literary theme to see his name plastered right beside it. Although more recently, some in the community have been contesting it, making a firm stand behind American novelist Peter De Vries as the true author. In fact, he has another quote that strikes a suspiciously similar chord:

“Sometimes I write drunk and revise sober, and sometimes I write sober and revise drunk. But you have to have both elements in creation- the Apollonian and the Dionysians, or spontaneity and restraint, emotion and discipline.”

Sounds pretty familiar, right?

How Hemingway may have been erroneously attributed these little words of wisdom that have caught fire in the writing community is no real stretch of the imagination. He was a known alcohol in an era that is somewhat romanticized for it’s creative boozers. Acting as a devil’s advocate- even if he did speak these words, they were not a practice he followed.  Hemingway was actually quite sober when he penned his famous works. He was a morning writer, up and working with the first rays of dawn, generally working from 6am through noon. He would do some editing in the afternoon, and usually didn’t start tipping the bottle until about 3pm, hours after his projects had been put to bed. It never seemed to matter how much he drank- he was always up and ready to work again the next day. He spoke of his work, not like a man who needed a drink to discover his muse, but as a man who needed one when he was not in her company. He was an innately creative soul who struggled when he wasn’t in the active pursuit of his writing.

Which brings me to the real point, the crux of my argument, if you will- regardless of who actually uttered the fateful words- what was their real intent? Now, you could take it at its fact value, following a literal word-for-word interpretation. I guess that would give you a good excuse to start taking shots like there’s no tomorrow- and who would I be to stop you? Hell, maybe you’ll manage to conjure up a vision of your muse (though you might not remember it the next day). Unless you are anything like me- then you’ll have a few drinks, laugh at your own jokes, sing a few Disney songs while doing your best impression of dancing- and fall asleep before you ever power your computer up (and if you manage to make it far enough to see the glowing backlight of your monitor- kudos to you, good luck not getting sucked into the Pinterest void).

Now, as a writer- I struggle with the literal interpretation. It could be all of these years of English classes throughout my education that force me to see symbolism in things as innocuous as the color of the drapes- but I believe this quote is more than the sum of its words. After all, the author of this quote was most likely a writer- a creative soul filled to the brim with literary tricks, so why would they do something as bland and boring as a literal translation? No, I think there’s more hidden under the surface, and it really doesn’t take a lot of scratching to see what is hidden underneath.

When they say to ‘write drunk’ it’s more of a state of mind. Any writer who carries a passion for words knows that feverish zone you occasionally find yourself in; when your mind is buzzing, your fingers cant move fast enough, you can see the flash of your story right before your very eyes, and hear the voices of your characters. You want to be brave and bold in your work, open to fresh ideas and new twists, alive with the heartbeat of the world you created thrumming through your blood. You want to be drunk on the words as the paragraphs slip from your mind onto the page. It’s about writing without inhibition, fully exposing yourself and allowing your ideas to stretch beyond your typical boundaries. Writing drunk is about the passion, that driving force that brings us to the blank page day after day because we have a story inside that must feel the light of day.

After the moment has passed, the passionate writing has run it’s course, then it’s time to be sober; to be calm and methodical about your work. It is the tedious process of editing, where you have to look past your emotions and evaluate the bones of your creation. You need to keep a wary eye on your work, view it with the appraising mindset of an outsider, someone who doesn’t intimately know and love your project simply because it is your own heart and soul bled on the page. You refine it, clean up the ‘drunken’ work and make it presentable. You correct grammar, spelling, and all of the other banalities.

As De Vries said, its about the balance. You need both to function in this little world we have created, too much of one will send you spiraling; they are the yin and yang of the writer’s world. So yes, I am a huge proponent of writing drunk and editing sober- and I can do so without a drink in my hand. So write to excess, work without inhibition- be brave and bold- you might be amazed at what you come up with.

 

Cheers to Facing Fears

Bottoms up, my friends, and welcome to my personal niche out here in the interwebs. Can I let you in on a little secret? This terrifies me. Ironic, isn’t it? A writer who is petrified to let others read her work. Always so quick to snap down the lid of the laptop or toss the ink stained page back into it’s binder anytime I think someone has attempted to sneak a peek at my work in progress. And let’s not forget the death glare and eyes shooting daggers that would send even Jamie Lanister running for his mother.  Yes, I am well aware of how ridiculous I sound. It’s like a sky-diver who’s afraid of heights, a baker who’s deathly allergic to sugar. I could go on, but I’ll save you my exhaustive list of analogies.

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Right now you are probably wondering what could have possibly possessed me to go against everything in my nature and send my words out into the ether for anyone to find? Simply put- it was time. I was sick of waiting for that illusive ‘someday.’ I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I could remember, it was a given- that was my calling in life. But the funny thing is, the rest of the world didn’t seem to get the message. When I stepped out my front door to face my future, the literary road was not laid out and waiting for me to come dancing along with a song on my lips like Dorothy and her Yellow Brick Road. No, the road outside continued to look suspiciously like ordinary asphalt. That didn’t matter, I told myself, I was still young- I could use the time to hone my skills, learn what made the greats so astounding. After all, what was a writer without a few scrapes and experiences to color their work?

So I went out into the big bad world and soaked up all that I could with my modest income. Actually, I went out into the world and found myself an adult job- one I grew to love. I work in the court system, and I have to say- I can’t make up the kinds of stories I hear there. It is something new and exciting every day. But every night I would still come home and carve out some time to invest in my passion, clickity-clacking away at my keyboard like my very soul depended on it. Any maybe it did- if I didn’t write, that fire inside would consume me.

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Naturally, when I decided that it was time to start taking my work more seriously- the research ensued. And, as it turns out (ready for a real bombshell)- if you want to stand a chance at publication in the modern world you need a blog. Feel free to swoon dramatically, I nearly did. That was when I had to ask myself a question- how far am I willing to go to chase that dusty old dream? The answer was simple- as far as I had to. Even doing something as crazy as starting the daunting blog. Here I was, staring up my at my figurative Everest, wondering how I could possibly learn to feel like I wasn’t just winging it every day.

Enter Tipsy Typer.

I’ll spare you the mundane and surprisingly frustrating story that is the search for an adequate blog name someone else hasn’t already scooped up. Curses to those who came up with my ideas a year before they ever found their way into my head. Okay, kudos for jumping out on that limb long before I found my own wings- but still- a few curses. Little ones. Okay, I’ll still read your own damnably clever blog.

This cozy little home of mine is the first step, and after all is said and done, I have to say I am exhilarated to actually be doing it. I’m not going to pretend that I have this whole writing thing figured out- in fact, this blog will mostly be about my own journey trying to navigate this complicated little ecosystem we seem to have. I’ll make mistakes- but perhaps I can stop others from repeating them. This will also be a place for those odds and ends I find in my research, it will be a testament to the daily happenings that shape my work- after all, inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places.

So cheers, my friends, here is to facing our fears. May we help each other climb many more mountains along the way. If there is anything that life has taught me, it’s that the things you are most afraid of have the most to offer you in the end. It’s time to be brave.