writer – Page 2 – Tipsy Typer

Marching On (new month, new goals)

I can’t believe it is already March! This month my puppy will be turning 4, which perhaps means he isn’t much of a puppy anymore. A week after that I will be reigning in my 28th birthday. It seems the older I get, the faster time goes. Last year I spent it in Las Vegas- I had never been before. It was phenomenal! If you get a chance to spend a little bit of time there, I highly recommend The Titanic exhibit, and if you are willing to drop a bit of money, zip-lining down Fremont Street will not disappoint you. Unfortunately, due to my work schedule, there will be no extravagant travel destinations this year- though a quick jaunt up to Seattle may be a nice compromise.

Last night I got to try my hand at some super-secret ninja-stealth style techy salvaging, all in an attempt to rescue some projects I’ve been working on that, unbeknownst to me, haven’t been backing up properly. I am a stickler for backing up my work, so when I realized that my systems were malfunctioning it sent me into a bit of panic mode (as I discovered, they have been pretty sporadic since November). But alas- the mission was a success, and now my projects are all safely ensconced in my old laptop (plus a few other locations, for safety’s sake). So that right there got my new month stepping out on the right foot.

That leaves me with one big question to answer: what now? What path am I hopping down this March? I’ve decided that it’s important to try something a bit different this time around. Instead of setting an ambitious word count goal, I am going to focus on building consistent routines instead. I will not confine myself to a set number of words each day, instead I will simply cultivate the routine of sitting down every day to write. This is a basic, and it’s one I used to follow religiously. I have fallen off that wagon in the recent past, but it’s time to dust myself off and climb back into the driver’s seat. I’ve got plenty to do, so that won’t be the problem. My hope is that I will be able to tie up some loose ends in my novels this month, and perhaps dedicate a portion of my time towards editing.

Of course, we cannot forget that Camp Nano is literally just around the corner- we have one month to prepare until the April session commences. I am so excited! They opened up the website today for anyone who wishes to register their novel already and start hunting for a cabin. Honestly, Camp was always my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, I love the reulgar November event, but the Camp sessions always had such a different atmosphere to them. I’ve met some amazing people this way, and I hope this April will be no exception.

As of right now, I haven’t registered yet- mainly because the prospect of picking out my project is a daunting one and Ihaven’t really put much thought into it yet. Truthfully, it feels like we just finished the big Nano, how is it possible that we are nearly at the next session already? I will put some deep thought into this over the next couple of days. When I’ve finally made that laborious decision, you will all be the first to know. March will be full of prep work- so be warned, you will probably be getting another front row seat to my process.

Cheers my friends, and happy Marching.

February Foibles or Learned Lessons

The path to success is not a linear one. This road will be different for any why dare to cross it. It will be full of cliffs, valleys and peaks. You will find yourself running on ahead, stopping for a rest, or even backtracking over ground you already covered. Contrary to what all of the self-help and productivity books try to tell us, there is no right or wrong path to follow. It’s a matter of grit and determination, of knowing when it is
time for you to surge ahead and when it is a time to fall back. We all have struggles to overcome, we all have strengths to uphold; we all walk different paths, even if our anticipated destination is the same.
February was a month of learning and re-evaluating for me. Perhaps some would call it a failure- and if you look at the bare-bone numbers, perhaps they would be right. After all, I didn’t hit the well-defined goals that I set for myself at the beginning of the month. I told myself that I would try to publish four new posts to this blog every week, and as you can all certainly attest to, I came nowhere near that number. I also decided to set a 50,000 word goal for the month, and I only managed to get to about 22,000. For the first time in a semi-Nano event, I missed my mark and fell short. Like I said, if you look at the quantifiable data for my February- you could call this past month a failure. But I, in good conscience, cannot.

You see, I have always been the type of person who likes to learn my lessons the hard way. I tend to take the long way around to come to the same conclusion that others may quickly arrive at. I have always been the type to go for the experience to learn my little bits of worldly wisdom. And in some ways, I think I am better for it. I am no different when it comes to my writing- I have to try all of the wrong ways before I can settle on the right one.

What this past month really boiled down to was a lack of preparation. I went into February expecting one thing and receiving something completely different. February was anticipated to be a relatively relaxing month- I was going to have plenty of time to get everything done. But the month itself quickly proved that it would not settle for basic expectations. Instead of a slow plodding, it turned into 28 days filled to the brim with last-minute plans and engagements, emergency problems and issues that required additional time and effort. To put it bluntly, things just went sideways and got a bit crazy. And my big problem was that I didn’t prepare myself for these contingencies. I am a firm believer in Murphy’s Law- if something can go wrong, then it probably will. Which is why it was rather silly of me to expect to get by on a hope and a prayer; it wasn’t a sustainable plan, in fact, I don’t think I can really call it much of a plan at all. I tripped and I fell; and in the hustle and bustle of life, I just couldn’t quite get back to my feet.

The beautiful thing about these kinds of ‘failures’ boils down to the lessons that you learn from them; you have to be prepared and ready for whatever may be tossed at you. Because of the issues I encountered in February, I’m changing the game plan, and I will be charging into March with a much stronger footing. The key to my success is going to come down to my planning. I was starting to get a bit lazy, a tad sloppy with my work. I wasn’t giving the words time to breath, I was pushing through to publishing posts before they had a chance to ruminate and be properly edited. I didn’t give them a chance to live up to their potential. And that is my fault as their creator; they were only granted as much life as I was willing to give them. Which is why I have a whole new process in place, going back to my regimented days that I used when I first started this blog; and you know what, it’s actually a bit liberating. I always felt like the strict schedules were stifling, but in truth, they gave me the freedom to really focus on one thing at a time instead of scrambling at the last minute. I have a weekly schedule in
place with the different topics I want to cover each week. I’ve given myself a bit of room for flexibility, after all, you never know when the passion will strike for a particular topic, and I feel it is important to give myself a touch of creative license. But at least for the moment, I have a backbone, a plan in place when I feel like I just don’t know what direction to take next. I can get ahead of the pack, so to speak, and start getting some ideas down in advance- give them the proper amount of time for editing before
they get thrust out into the world for anyone to see.

This planning will also help me find more time to work on my actual novels; I wont be scrambling for blog posts as often, so I can focus on the bigger project. Not only that, but I am scheduling specific writing time- and my intent is to stick with it. Even if I wind up needing to cut the time short just because of life- at least I can get in a bit of work time. I’m taking into account which days I can invest more time than others, and giving myself enough room to enjoy some of those little ‘extras,’ like my reading or crafty projects. It’s all about the balance.

Not only that, but I was finally able to figure out a work-around for my chronic technological issues that have left me at a near-standstill with my writing. I’ve been having intermittent issues with my
laptop since Nano; I’ve been forced to write virtually all of my blog posts on my phone (which I am not a big fan of), and I’ve been occasionally blocked from my word processor- which effectively blocks me from doing anything with my current WIPs. I wont get into the boring details on what is wrong with it, but suffice it to say that my document back-ups have been intermittent at best. But this past week I have figured out a temporary patch for my system- something that, theoretically, should work long enough for me to upload my WIPs to my different back-up avenues. I’ve pulled my old laptop out of storage and, while it has its own issues, it will at least allow me to type and back-up my work- the bare essentials of my programs still function just fine (though I have to buy a new charger because my current one has exposed wires that are in constant danger of potentially catching something on fire). But it will do in a pinch until I can save up the money to invest in something new. In the meantime, as a back-up to my Plan B, I am setting up my tablet, just in case my old laptop decides that it preferred retirement. The tablet isn’t particularly convenient, mainly because of formatting differences that turn editing into a bit of a tedious headache, but I will at least be able to get some work done. So now I have continugency plans; I wont just be stuck, all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Yes, it is true, some may say that February was an epic failure. But I am not one of those people. I have learned a lot, I am still figuring out my new routines and plans that will be best for me; and yes, I
still need to figure out how to add some fitness goals in here. But I’m trying. I’m getting organized so that I will be able to more easily take this one day at a time. I am setting myself up for success in March. I’ll get there eventually, I’m just going to take the scenic route along the way.

Technology: Friend or Foe?

Oh technology, my strongest ally and my fiercest foe. Why do you constantly deem it necessary to torment me? My dearest laptop, after all of the time I have invested with you; all of those hours we logged together clickity clacking away on that keyboard, scanning page after page of research, bonding with faraway strangers at the speed of light, creating worlds and galaxies with nothing more than twenty-six letters constructed into infinite possible words. I’ve been good to you, haven’t I? I’ll admit, I’ve been a tad clingy in the past, especially during the frazzling Nano months; but we had a good time, didn’t we? And I’m sorry I spilled my coffee on you once- but your lid was closed, I cleaned you properly- will you ever forgive me for that accident?

You see, I hate to admit it, but I’ve come to depend on you. A lot. And yet lately it just doesn’t seem like you care as much as you did once upon a time. You are distant, you keep locking me out of my word documents- documents we created together, I can now only look at them through Microsoft Windows, but I cannot touch. I cannot even copy them to a new word processor. I can simply stare at that spelling error mocking me without the tools to correct it. It’s because you’ve disconnnected- from me and the worldwide web. You don’t like your old friend, the router. And so you just arbitrarily decided that you were done with it. But now I can’t even back up my work to the cloud, and my word processor locked me out because it can’t verify my ongoing subscription if it can’t connect to the internet. It’s a sad day when your best technical ally becomes your enemy, hiding your written secrets even from yourself.

I don’t want to move on, I don’t want a new laptop- and truthfully, I can’t afford one. I just don’t know why we can’t work together anymore. I always tried to do right by you. I’m not perfect; I didn’t always put you where you belonged, I let the baby type on you (with supervision), and yes, I have spilled my treats on you. But I’ve always tried my best, I’ve always ensured you got your updates and were protected from outside viruses. I thought we were close.

And yet, here I am, having to pull my old laptop out of storage- you know, the one that is slow and clunky, the one that just got worn out and tired- the one with the exposed wires for a charging cable. It was supposed to be resting, enjoying its technical retirement- but it’s having to join the workforce again- my workforce. Because you left me. Because modern computers now need an internet connection for even the most mundane of tasks. Because the world has evolved and my dependence on your abilities is so much stronger than it used to be.

Please, I hope we can work this out. I dream of a day when I log in and see those little bars that mean you’ve decided to reconnect to the outside world. I won’t give up on you, my friend, even if it feels like you gave up on me. Because at the end of the day- we need each other. We are peanut butter and jelly, popcorn and butter- sure you could get by with one of us, but it is the combination that knocks it out of the park. Until then, I will miss you my friend. And I hope the old laptop is okay with coming out of retirement. I am so glad I held on to it.

Impromptu Weekend Write-In

I have a confession to make- I have been really struggling with my writing lately- especially these last few months. I’m sure that’s probably not a huge revelation for anyone, considering the drop in the frequency of posts lately. I will have little bouts of energy, I’ll write feverishly for a day or two- and then it’s crickets the rest of the week. I could give you excuse after excuse; I could tell you that it’s because my laptop has decided to lock me out of editing documents due to a complicated technical issue I’ve been unable to fix. I could tell you it’s because I got sick again (seriously, this has been the year from hell in terms of health for me). I could tell you that life has just been too damn busy and I haven’t been able to squeeze in a few extra minutes to put some words down on the page. Or I could mention that everytime I sit down to earnestly start writing, that seems to trigger my dog to demand attention by singing me the song of his people and being a general booger. And while there is a trace of merit to these arguments, deep down I know that they are all a bit disingenuous. The bottom line is that I have been floundering and lacking motivation. I could have made time. I could have stayed up late an extra ten minutes to write just one paragraph. I could have pulled out my old trusty notebook when my laptop decided to toy with my emotions. I could have shoved tissues up my nose and medicated myself enough to type just a couple of sentences. I could ‘down’ the dog when he decided to be crazy (this may sound scary- but it’s really just a trick he learned at puppy boot-camp where he has to lay down and relax for about an hour. Think of it like doggy meditation, I promise, it’s actually quite good for them). But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of these things, not on a regular basis at least. My motivation was gone, and sitting down reading a book or catching up on a show just sounded like the easier option.

But then I realized that this is the last weekend in February, and I have goals I want to accomplish, I have this shell of inactivity I’ve been hiding in, and it’s time to smash right through it. At the beginning of February I told a friend that I would do a little Nano-event with her this month. And it sounds like she is kicking ass and taking names, she is owning the page! I am so proud of her and all that she’s accomplishing. And me- I don’t think I’ve even hit 10% completion on my goal so far. And to be honest, it feels kind of bad, I am a goal oriented person, and I am highly competitive with myself. I know I can do better. But I’ve procrastinated. And there is only one weekend left, plus two work days that are already expected to be very busy. I’m sitting here in panic mode.

Lucky for me, I know how to rally when I start to see myself getting close to the wire. So you know what this means? It’s time for a weekend write-in! I haven’t done one in ages, and I am actually excited. Zach left early this morning to go skiing with some friends, so it will just be the fur babies and myself for most of the day- so much quality writing time right here at my fingertips. I have a mountain of ideas for this blog and a laundry list of my novel projects that need a touch of tlc. So in spite of my cranky computer, I am going to sit down and get to work.

I have always been a sucker for a good write-in. The trick is to set yourself up for success. Fist step for me is usually a quick trip to the store. I am a highly food-motivated person, so a little treat like Hershey’s kisses are a perfect reward after I’ve hit certain goals through the day. Not to mention the drinks: tea and coffee are top on that list, although I do occasionally splurge on a Monster (don’t judge me too harshly, I know they are terrible for me, but I’ve really decreased my consumption, and dang it, I like them). It’s also imperative to have some simple meals and snacks ready to go, otherwise you will find the excuse to go out and pick something up far too easy.

Next step: organize your area (if only just a little). I personally like a touch of chaos, but when my area is just a pure mess- I can’t handle it and wind up getting distracted along the way. Straightening up really fast before you start will typically save a world of frustration. One tip: dusting. I never notice how dirty my shelves get until I’m trying to write.

I only occasionally write with music, so at this point I may decide to pick out a playlist. I have to keep my kindle and my phone out of reach until my break times because I lack all sense of self-control (at least I can admit it). I might pull up a few little writing games- the nano message boards are usually perfect for this. Every now and then I’ll pull up the timer on my laptop and start running time-trials as I go to keep myself motivated. Like I said- I get very competitive with myself.

But in the end, these are just my own little tricks to stay on task and get the work done. The words won’t be perfect, and I will probably feel mentally exhausted by the end of the day. But I’ll have one hell of a word count to show for it if I did it right. So here goes nothing, my friends.

If anyone feels like joining in, if only for 30 minutes, let me know. It’s always nice to have others to commiserate and bounce ideas off of. Cheers to the weekend write-in, may the odds be ever in our favor. May the words come smoothly and the goals get scratched as quickly as I do when I try putting the cat in his dreaded carrier. Happy weekend my friends, with luck we will meet again much sooner than last time.

Dreaming in Stories (unconscious me is one odd little duck)

Last night I dreamt that I was a witch who also happened to work in a science lab. We were studying some kind of small ancient tree; I was rocking the white lab coat and oversized glasses while serreptitiously casting spells on the unusual object to figure out why it was so different from other bark-entombed entities. As it turns out, I must not have been a very good witch, because I accidentally cast a spell on it so that anyone who touched it would also turn into a tree. And of course, I touched it. My co-workers found a woman-shaped tree laying mossy-face down in the lab the next morning clutching a notecard in its hand-er-branch with a simple warning scrawled on it: do not touch the tree. One of my co-workers, apparently understanding what had happened, then hid tree-me in a closet when the evil boss came to check on our progress. And that’s when I woke up to the cat yowling for food because I had been so insensitive as to allow his dish to get to the dreaded halfway point. I know, will the horrors never cease? Looks like I’ll be getting a visit from kitty-protective-services soon.

You may be asking yourself what the point was to that odd recitation. I mean, who really cares about a strange dream where I turned myself into a tree? The answer: we all should. The creative process is one that has no rules or regulations, and the body has an innate sense of what we truly need; the process of storytelling has created bonds and built bridges since Homo sapiens first came into existence. Humanity itself was build on story-telling; you can find paintings on cave walls in France that tell tales about hunting, sharing their knowledge with distant ancenstors they could not have ever pictured. Stories were the building blocks of our societies, creating lasting bonds and sharing knowledge to help those that came after them. We told stories to explain the world, to understand why life was the way that it was, to understand ourselves a little better, to share hopes for an unknown future, to bond, to tear apart. We have told our tales over flickering campfires, drawn them on cave walls, scrawled them on papyrus, and infinitely more have been coded onto computer screens and sent out into virtual existence. Our venue of storytelling has changed, but the innate nature of it within our souls has not. The telling of tales is in our very DNA, it is the cornerstone of our continued existence.

The brain can do amazing things. It codes, catalogues, interprets, directs, and creates every single moment of our lives. If you stop to truly appreciate the beauty that is the mind, it is deeply moving on a fundamental level, though difficult to fully comprehend. Our brains keep track of our stories; the ones we live, the ones we see or hear, the ones we personally create. Even when we are too tired to tell our own stories, it sings us to sleep with one of its own. We live in stories, we always have. Even when we are not conscious enough to fully appreciate them (or notice that it is perhaps a bit odd that when you start turning into a tree you decide to scrawl a warning instead of- oh, I don’t know- maybe the counter-spell that will turn you back into a human?). But this right here is the art of a good writer- to make something fantastical seem perfectly plausible in the world that you have created. A witch scientist? Why not.

Many of my dreams are bizarre and disjointed. They make perfect sense when I am enmeshed in them, but once I regain the world of the conscious, I begin to realize the flaws. And yet, there is still usually a kernel of something special left behind. Some of my best ideas have come from my unconscious self (and these are just the ones I remember the next morning). They send my into a tizzy of creative efforts, my mind lingers on them as I get ready for my day, scrawling a few quick notes before I completely forget about the magic I had been immersed in. Some of these stories stick with me for days, weeks, even years. Others are as fleeting as the gentle flitting of a bird’s wing.

They say that a person is most creative when they first wake up; right in that moment when you have your rational mind in control, but there is still a dusting of that unconscious magic about you. I don’t know if this true, I may try to find out this week if I can get myself up early enough. But it wouldn’t surprise me. The dream world can be a curious place; but it can bring out the best in any creator, no matter your medium. Your unconscious mind will make connections that the wakeful version of yourself might miss. It’s like a dear friend on the other side of the veil whispering secrets and answers to you. If you slow down long enough to listen, you just might find something worthwhile. And just for the record- yes, I may have to see what kind of trouble this witchy-scientist can get herself into. And how on earth will she ever get out of that tree?

One Word Trailing Another (The Motivation Mambo)

When that beautiful mistress, the muse, is showering you with attention and sincere affection, writing is simple, the words rage from your pen like a river during flood season (apologies, my local area is currently under flood watch, so apparently these types of analogies have climbed excitedly to the top of my brain). This was me last week; like a snake who has been charmed, I could not look away from that lovely beauty, could not ignore the words that desperately wished to find solace in the blank page before me.

But then this week came. And can I just start off by saying that I am exhausted? You see, that balance between the literary life I crave and the real world that demands my attention- it is a hard line to walk. Some weeks I am a boss; I kick ass, I take names, I dance backwards in high heels while juggling legal briefs and homemade cupcakes. Some weeks I am a superhero; I can do it all and still manage to have enough time for date night on Wednesday, happy hour on Friday and meal prep for Sunday (did I mention homemade cupcakes- with pacman fondant?) Yes, some weeks I rule my own little corner of the world.

But other weeks I scrape myself out of bed after my second alarm. I grab my cardigan and I run out the door- only to discover when I get to work that it is not, in fact, my cardigan, but instead it is my fiance’s dirty t-shirt from the night before (true story). I go to sip my coffee only to realize I forgot to rinse all of the soap out. I hit the dreaded ‘reply all’ when I only meant to reply to one (that button really should come with a pop-up warning that asks you if you are really sure you want to send your message to the ENTIRE contact list). I guzzle immunity-boosting tea to fight off the cold that is once again nipping at my heels. I get yelled at by sweet old ladies who are deceptively mean when they don’t get their way. I dodge camera crews that are planted outside my office trying to get a sight of the defendant in our most recent media case. I burn the chicken at dinner and trip on the dog when I try to carry the plate to the table. I smile all day long, and crumple onto my bed when I get home.

Some days I’m the windshield, and some days I’m the bug. I used to just cave into these moments, chalk it up to a bad week and drop my writing goals at the door. I needed a break, I would reason (and occasionally still do). But the thing is, if you constantly push aside what you really love, what you deeply want in life- just because it gets hard sometimes- you aren’t going to get anywhere. You can drown yourself in your own pity, but it won’t help you float.

Trying to maintain a successful job/career, relationships and relatively clean household while simultaneously chasing that dream of writing; it’s not easy. It wasn’t meant to be. Chasing your true passion never is. It’s something you have to fight for, even when there’s nothing left inside to fight with.

So how do you do it? How do you sit down in front of your keyboard when your body and soul are drained, when you want nothing more than a strong drink and a soft bed? I’ve searched for the secret, climbed figurative mountains, read all of the articles the internet has to offer; but really, the answer is quite simple. You just do. You sit down. You put your fingers to the keyboard (or hand to the page) and you string one word after another until you reach the end of the sentence. And then you do it again. And again. Until you reach the end of the paragraph. And then you do it again. And again. Until you reach the end of the page. There is no mystical solution, there is no get-rich-quick scheme, I can’t spin this straw into gold. There’s just hard work in the face of adversity. Sometimes the frustration will make you want to cry- so you do. And then you string together one word behind another. Even if you only manage to fight through one sentence- you still took a step, you still did it. You are still a badass fighter, a hopeless dreamer, a dedicated writer.

Tonight the last thing that I wanted to do was write. I am exhausted, this week has been one to try my patience and seriously make me wish I had the kind of job where I could just call in sick and hide under my covers all day. But alas, life waits for no one (and neither does my boss). I got to work an hour early, pushed through the day, stayed late, and picked up a salad on the way home. And while right now I would love nothing more than to find the comfort of watching Netflix until I’m comatose, I know that tomorrow morning I will regret that decision. So here I am, typing away, stringing one word behind another. And the funny thing is, once I started typing, I found myself enjoying it, finding comfort in the mere act of writing. Words breathe life back into my soul, no matter how hard I try to fight them sometimes. You must persist. You won’t regret it. Even if you hate every word that makes its way to the page; at least there is more than yesterday. Prove it to yourself- that you deserve this, that you were meant for this. Fight for it, even when the fight is hard. That’s what passion is all about. You are a badass, a fighter, the superhero to your own story- even if you don’t feel like it. You can do this. I promise (and have I ever lied to you?)

A Writer: Socially Acceptable Version of Insanity

Every writer contains within their soul a world of stories desperately fighting for attention. Their desire is to drive their creator so mad with the very thought of them that the author will have no choice but to bleed the words onto page after page until the fevered passion dissipates. Every story clings to the hope that it will see the light of day and be sent off into the world to open minds and inspire the passions of other creative souls.

There is a stage amidst the roiling waves of the creative process where the passion of the story becomes all-consuming. You can call it inspiration, the work of the muse, or simply the art of the craft- your terminology doesn’t truly matter, all writers know this feverish stage. All creatives are dreamers by nature, it is written into our very existence, coded into our DNA. It is at the heart of who we are as people.

Lately I have found myself lost in the possibilities of another world, another person, another untold story. When this happens I can’t help but blindly and unequivocally obsess like a fifteen year old girl who has fallen for the guitar-strumming ‘misunderstood bad boy’ she sits next to in science class and who has only spoken the words ‘can I borrow a pen’ to her. There is no rhyme or reason to this newfound mania, no matter how many reasons she may be presented with on the subject. It simply exists and must run its course. My writing is no different than this obsessive compulsion.

The stories and characters take up nearly every ounce of useable brain space. I run through dialog as I wash my hair in the shower, finally giving an audible voice to see how the words taste- while maintaining the dignity of a private setting where no one can judge me speaking randomly into open air for no discernible reason. I have to turn off my audiobook as I commute to and from work because I can’t concentrate on the words of their story, given the preoccupation of my own. I politely decline lunch offers because ‘I’m trying to get a few things done on my break,’ without mentioning those ‘few things’ run heavy on the daydreaming with a slight peppering of frazzled note-taking I won’t be able to decipher later. I’m constantly having to put actual effort into concentrating on my tasks at work without letting my mind wander at the slightest provocation of a spare minute. I’m struggling to stay focused on polite conversations as I go about my daily business, my mind is consistently meandering it’s way back to the same consuming thoughts. I stay awake with plot lines darting through my mind and dream about this world that does not yet exist, not even on paper.

The passion propels me, redirecting my gaze back every time I try to look away. This is what we mean when we say that a writer writes because we must, that we need words like we need to breathe, that our stories are our souls. If I don’t write I become consumed by it, embers burning from the inside until I burst into flame. I can’t put my feel back on solid ground until my story finds the sanctuary of the page. I do not write because I merely like it, because it is a hobby I find pleasing. I write because I would suffocate if I didn’t. I would go insane and finally start talking loudly to those pesky characters that live in my brain. As writers, we walk a fine line between passion and insanity; ignoring the words will only send us over the edge faster.

So please, if you see a wandering, dreamy look in my eyes while you’re speaking, or you wave and I don’t seem to notice- please be kind to me, I sincerely apologize. It’s just that some days I cannot escape the myriad of worlds I carry in my head. Perhaps in a few weeks you will ask how the story is going. I will invariably turn bright red and stumble over my words as I try to instantaneously craft my response (which will probably contain a lot of meaningless hand gestures and a few disjointed sentences). But inside I will breathe a sigh of relief because you understand this one thing about me. I dive into my passion because I have no choice. I have lived my stories a thousand times before their words have ever met the page. Perhaps I am a bit crazy as I stare glassy-eyed at my screen mouthing dialog by nonexistent people, complete with facial expressions I don’t notice I’m doing until someone else mentions it. Perhaps my preoccupation with imaginary worlds means I am a tad unhinged. But then again, if you take a peek at literature through the ages, the best of their creators always were- so at least I will keep good company.

The voice of a writer (or: that one where I compare all writers to fish)

It’s a universal desire to be good at what we do, to excel within the parameters of our passions. As writers, this is no exception. We are all in search of that spark- the little flicker of a flame that will light our way to those we hope to reach. We hold ourselves to the highest of standards and stare in defeat at the work we continue to denounce as ‘not good enough.’ We are writers, our existence by its very nature is mired in self-doubt.

And yet…and yet…the more I immerse myself in this world, the more I realize- I’m chasing a rainbow that has no damn end. You see, becoming a ‘good’ writer is subjective. I adore Victorian classics, while my friends thinks they are only good for putting you to sleep after a long day. I have found certain books that I could not for the life of me get past the third chapter; and yet literally thousands of other people proclaim that same title to be their all-time favorite; their own copies battered, well-worn, and (gasp) dog eared. Oh yes, my friends, the dog-ear epidemic is a true horror story. And buying the afflicted readers their own bookmarks does not seem to cure their ails. Once infested, they must never borrow another book ever again. I know- Harsh punishments for harsh crimes.

I have a slew of writers I wish I could emulate. I am deeply envious of J.K Rowling’s eye for detail. I turn green with jealousy at the easy way J.R.R Tolkien created a world almost more elaborate than our own. I lust after the idea of creating a nerdy-science-action thriller like James Rollins. And yes, I have been known to swoon for the adorable play-on-words you will discover in the lines of Norton Juster. And no, my dear friends, do not get me started on the creative concepts and thoughtful breath of life that Neil Gaiman and Patrick Rothfuss give their creations; they are deliciously diabolical in the best possible ways.

And yet, to some of you, these names will mean nothing. Perhaps you may find them a tad overrated, or not all that enjoyable. And why is that? Because what I find to be good is subjective. We do not have to agree to both be right.

Which brings me to my main point (believe it or not, I did have one, though I only discovered it somewhere amidst the third paragraph). Why are we constantly judging our work by other writer’s standards? We can be good and not be like them. I will never be J.K Rowling, sad fact. I will never weave elegant phrases or silly quips quite like some of the masters I adore. But does that mean that my work does not have credence, does not do me justice? No. It means that if I keep judging my fishy self by my ability to climb a tree, then I will forever live my life feeling like I am not good enough. I’m a fish. And damn it, I can swim with the whales if I want to (okay, not realistic because I’m actually afraid of deep water, but let’s get temporary amnesia and roll with the analogy).

The craft of writing is mired in the pits of self-doubt. We would not be creators if we were confident in every little bookish-beast we kissed on the head and sent out into the world. And yes, some of our work may soar, and some of it may sink deep below the roiling waves. But guess what, my friends: to someone out there- you are J.K Rowling, or Neil Gaiman, or whoever it is you love and feel inspired by. You do that for someone else. Because you love your craft and you have a distinct voice that someone out there is desperate to hear, a voice that cannot be mimicked or emulated. You are a writer because you love it, and you love it because, when all is said and done, you were meant to do it. The passion burns inside you for a reason. And you, my friend, will someday be the rainbow that another writer is chasing.

Yes, I know that I am not J.K. Rowling, I am not any of my favorite authors. But I am no longer trying to be. Because I am me: I am Kaitlynn Knable (good luck pronouncing that last name, heroes have attempted and fallen at the weighty task). These authors I wish I could be; their skills sets are not mine, and by that same token, the skills that I bring to the table are not theirs. I can do what they cannot just as easily as they can do what I cannot. We have different voices, we are singing different songs, and they are meant for different people who all need them just the same.

For at least one night, I am going to convince myself that being this writer right here is good enough. No, not good enough. Just good. And you know what, my friends, you are too. You are inspiring. And you deserve to measure yourself by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. Because the stories that you have to share with the world are completely and wholly you. Your words will lose their power if you try to speak them in someone else’s voice. Yes- even if it is a voice you really, really like. Your words will lose their power if they don’t come from you, spoken in the only way you know how. That is what gives them meaning, that is what makes a writer inspiring.

We are writers. And we are good at it. We are fish. We do not climb trees, we swim with the whales. And that’s pretty damn cool. (Also, that fin looks really good on you. And those bubbles- they bring out the color in your eyes).

Too Much of a Good Thing (remembering who I have become)

Have you ever watched the movie ‘Matilda,’ you know, 90s classic that was a staple for me growing up. Oh how I always wanted to be like her; reading the entire library, able to move things with my mind and bubbling over with adorable charm. Yes, that was the dream- minus the horrors of Ms. Trunchbull. We could all do without that little gem in our lives.

As it turns out, lately I have been a lot more like Bruce Bogtrotter than Matilda. He was the infamous cholocate cake boy (who incidentally grew into a pretty handsome man, only proving my theory that cake is a the most amazing human invention and can fix anything in your life).

Now- what do I mean when I say that I’ve been Bruce Bogtrotter? Well, remember how all he really wanted was some chocolate cake, and he just couldn’t resist so he stole a piece from the grinchy principal? His punishment after that sounded amazing: to eat an entire chocolate cake all on his own. Yes, it was a dream come true- until it wasn’t. As it turns out, too much of a good thing (even with something as glorious as chocolate), can still hurt you. The key has always been balance; something I am continually working on. After Nano ended I decided that I was going to give myself a little break, I reasoned that I had earned it- I hit my crazy big goal in November, and honestly, I was a bit tired. I craved the free time I never had, I desired that freedom the same way Bruce craved that cake. I simply couldn’t resist, though I knew the dangers of falling back into my old ways. So I opted to take time and relax, read my books, ease off of my writing projects and just give myself a bit of a break. Which was wonderful. Until it wasn’t.

All work and no play makes Katie a dull girl, and conversely, all play and no work makes Katie fall asleep far too early and lose her pizzazz. I loved the first week or so, well, actually, I still love it- it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit and read my books guilt-free without the constant nagging in the back of my mind on what I should be doing. So I read, and when I got burnt out on my current paperback, I started poking around online. A lot. And, as usual, the holiday season is a busy one for me- with ugly sweater parties, Christmas tree train rides, holiday plays, gingerbread houses, a first attempt at a wine tasting, family frivolity and friendly festivities. But as it turns out, a lot of other things fell by the wayside as I spent more and more time indulging myself. This blog even- it started to fade into a late night afterthought, a tinge of guilt, but no real desire to sit down and work. One of my projects has been languishing, neglected and alone on my laptop. Even my laundry has been a mountain that has flooded over the top of its hamper, continually threatening to topple on the unsuspecting cat who only wants to play with the dangling sleeves of my sweaters.

And you know what happened? It stopped being fun. All of this extra time I had on my hands- it was a waste. I was standing still when I have spent the past year pushing so hard to inch forward, one toe at a time. It felt like I was losing all of the ground I had fought for. To suddenly find yourself languishing, and knowing it was all your own doing- it kind of sucks. It’s like sitting in the bathtub until the bubbles are gone and the water is cold, you’ve overstayed your welcome and the relaxation turns into anxiety. I found myself killing time that was once such a precious commodity to me- by mindlessly scrolling through the interwebs, checking my Facebook way more than I should, and even finding myself so bored at night that I was falling asleep early, kindle still propped on my lap. There was no stimulation, no motivation, no fire burning me up from the inside and sparking life into my soul. I had become dull and faded without my inspiration to guide me. I had become the girl I was once upon a time when I would dream without doing and wonder why my life wasn’t changing.

Much like the chocolate cake; when you eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, it loses its appeal and pretty soon you find yourself craving an apple. You have to indulge yourself occasionally with a piece, but knowing it is a special treat makes it all the sweeter. That’s the balance I have to remember, I need to learn to teeter when I want to totter.

I don’t know who I am when I’m not writing, I lose my focus and start to feel like my very identity is slipping, I feel like a shadow of the myself. I have spent so much time this year working my tail feathers to the bare nubbins. And in spite of the dedication and laser focus it has required- it’s felt amazing knowing that I am doing something for myself, that I am taking steps towards a dream I have always had. So treading water- it doesn’t feel as good anymore. When I know what I am capable of, it hurts to do anything less. I feel like I’m wilting.

And so, here I am, frustrated with complacency and ready to strike back. It’s been fun, but I am sick of my holding pattern. So here we are my friends- Tipsy is back and ready to take a shot (I meant that in the dukes up, fight for myself kind of way- you know- hit me with your best shot; not shot of alcohol way, though technically that probably works too).

It’s time to come back to my new life, the one I fought so hard for. And now I can find comfort in knowing that I don’t think I am capable of slipping back into that girl I had once been- the one so full of unrealized dreams. Because I just tried, and though I did wilt for a time, I find myself blooming again. I can emphatically say: I am not that girl anymore. I am stronger than her, and damn it, I will keep on fighting for what I want. Because it’s the only thing that leaves me fulfilled and satisfied at the end of the day. Cheers, my friends, it feels good to be back. I’ve missed you. And perhaps I’ve missed me a bit too.

Nano Adventure Comes to a Close (raise your glass)

It seems strange to think that we set out on our daring adventure just 30 days ago. And yet here we are, standing at the final stage on our figurative journey. The foes have been met and the dragons slain (or tamed, if you hold pro-dragon beliefs). We are battered and weary as allegories and alliterations dance through our tired minds, sped on by the hyperboles of our rhetoric. Whether you reached that goal or not- we have done this crazy thing, and come out on the other side. We are haggard, but we still stand.

This past month has been a whirlwind. And yet, after the dust has settled, and all has been said or done; I must admit, it has been a truly beautiful chaos we have found ourselves in. Life does not wait for us to finish that last paragraph or discover that awaiting plot bunny, no, it goes on no matter what crazy goals we have set for ourselves. Thanksgiving brought with it family fun and visits with old friends who have moved farther away than I’d like. There have been roadblocks and pitfalls (and I am still not over the horribly-awful-no-good-very-bad defeat of my Cougars at the Apple Cup this year. Luckily, my Husky friends were kind and didn’t run it in too bad.) And I am also a tad disappointed with my loss during our Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. Next year I will bring bribes for all voting participants. I’m just saying- I brought out Carlton! You know- ‘now this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down…’ (you know you sang that to the tune- and probably finished the next few lines). Who would have known that I would get Trumped in the end? (Pun very much intended: I lost to Trump and a reindeer yard ornament that was safety pinned to a sweater- they tied. I can only hope that my step-dad was truthful when his shirt promised to make Christmas great again).

My computer problems persisted (it still does not like the internet), however, it did miraculously decide to reconnect to the internet right after I managed to hit my goal- so I swooped in and validated: thank you computer gods who had mercy on me. I owe you some peppermint hot chocolate…or whatever it is you enjoy- perhaps some 001010110 scarves.

So, this Nano I decided to try AGAIN at doing something completely and totally insane. I made a goal that I have attempted to reach every year (and every time, I have failed miserably). My goal: 100,000 words in one month. That’s right, I was one of those masochistic psychos that decided to attempt a double Nano this holiday season. I know what you are thinking, why put yourself through that writerly agony when you could instead be eating mounds of pumpkin pie completey ensconced in entire containers of whipped cream? Well let me tell you something: I am nothing if not a multi-tasker. Type with one hand and hold the fork in the other. Boom! Problem solved. (Word of advice, do not forget about the fork unless you think your laptop would look good with a pumpkin coat).

I don’t know what was different this year; I was just as busy as I typically am, life was filled with the normal drama and surprises. But I was determined. I jump in head first and just hoped that I could learn to fly. Sometimes all you really need is blind and reckless faith to force you out on that ledge. But you know what? All of the best stories start right there, with your toes poking over the edge.

This year it just felt right. I was hell bent, I was frazzled, but I was finding my muse and the motivation to dance with her. And so I clickity clacked well past my bedtime. When I wanted to watch my show, I waited to hit my daily goal before turning it on. I jumped way ahead of the curve, I fell behind, and ultimately, I rallied.

And you know what happened? I did it. That’s right, I actually met my crazy goal, not only that: I surpassed it. It was reach for the stars, over the moon World Series kind of stuff. I will proclaim it proudly: I wrote over 100,000 words in 30 days.

But you know what? It took me years to get to that point. It took a perfect aligning of inspiration and circumstances to allow me to even have a shot. And I honestly don’t know if I will ever be able to do it again. I can’t tell you that what I wrote was gold- because I was a tad delirious through half of it, and I am sure that the editing gods will smite me with their well-worded wrath. But for me, this year, that was not the point. This year I wanted to prove to myself that I could push past all logical endurance and achieve something that felt impossible. I wanted to remind myself that these crazy dreams of mine might not be as far-fetched as they have always felt. If I could accomplish this, well then, perhaps I can take another step and reach for something else. Maybe I’ll finally start sharing my work with my loved ones, or find the internal validation that I need to finish editing a project and step out in search of an agent. This year I was searching for my grit. And I found it.

We have fought a hard battle my friends, and I am so incredibly proud of all of us- I have been keeping up with the nano blogs, the message boards, the Facebook groups. Look at all we managed to accomplish- whether we hit our goals or not, we stepped out there, pen raised in the air and screamed our challenge to the blank page. Having the courage to even take that step is inspiring. And knowing that so many other people joined me on that front line makes me feel a little bit less alone in this wide world of ours.

So tonight, I raise my glass to you: cheers, my friends, there is no one I would have rather shared this adventure with. Thank you for keeping me inspired. Thank you for giving me the reason to keep on pushing and hit my goals. Because this year, that was the real difference: having this blog and all of you to keep me responsible. Thank you for helping my make my little dream a possibility.
And so, without any further ado, and for the last time this Nano season, let’s take a look at the final numbers:

Word Count: 113,269 out of 100,000

Percentage of Goal Complete: 113%

Current Mood on Project: you know how on Fridays your are happy and exhausted all at the same time? That’s how I feel. So happy I did this, and yet also simultaneously thrilled that I am done and can bury my nose in a few neglected books for the next week or two