A day in the (summer) life of a wannabe writer…..

Since summer’s arrival just over a month ago, writing has alluded me like a $10,000,000 jackpot. Yes…spring has passed into a fond memory leaving me holding the reins to a teenage shuttle-you-wherever-you-want vehicle while standing in 113 degree heat. (don’t feel bad for me, I choose to live and sweat here. ) Okay, the kids actually NEED to be places, I get that. They are active and involved in life. So the story goes for another few years, at least. I’m sure when this phase of my life ends, tears will fall and so will my monthly bills.

At the close of business on May 26th, 2011, I turned into a mighty chariot (this image makes me feel better, so just go with it) and clocked in for work. It’s a job I secretly love, but don’t get paid for. It’s a job I show up for every day with little or no appreciation or acknowledgment. In the summer, my downtime is split up into tiny increments that discourage creative flow and hamper one’s ability to connect the dots, let alone to a muse.

An average summer day goes something like this: wake up, pour unhealthy amounts of coffee down throat, maybe eat/maybe not, try to work, drive Kid 1 to sports camp, try to work again, get an unexpected call to pick Kid 2 & a friend up, drive car, get a work call while in car, ask kids to talk quietly while on a phone call, almost drive into the back of a Mercedes because I have no business driving while trying to talk, one kid tells highly inappropriate joke to another and car breaks into hysterical fits of laughter, I hit mute on phone in an attempt to protect any professional image I might have left, finish call, get kids home, attempt to go back to work only to find Kid 4 on computer (doing online school so I can’t really complain), I go in search of my laptop which I find lacking any battery life what-so-ever, decide to have more coffee while charging laptop, Kids announce they are hungry and seem to lack the ability to make a sandwich, I roll my eyes, they decide eating is too difficult for now (since I’m not willing to do the manual labor) and opt for pretzels and cream cheese, I start to explain how that isn’t a meal but give up mid-sentence because I’m just repeating what they have already ignored before, laptop has 10% battery so I try to get back to work, 5 minutes later Kid 4 is leaving for sports camp (if he didn’t have his own car, this scenario would be even worse) and needs $20, I scour the house for $20 and come up with $4.32, Kid 4 is unimpressed but thanks me anyway, I try to get back to work to find Kid 3 has “borrowed” my laptop, well since Kid 4 is done with desktop–I’m in business, but NO wait–desktop is now frozen (due to glitch iTunes) and I’m unable to do anything, I sigh and consider more coffee but choose to stare out the window with my right eye twitching instead, then I think of writing and plan to set aside 1 hour later in the day, Kid 3 announces she needs make-up, conditioner, new jeans, and money for weight training class, my mind remembers buying make-up only days ago and I wonder if the Twilight Zone has taken over the supply-demand cycle in my house because it’s impossibly unbalanced to Walmart’s favor, I also wonder when Kid 3 signed up for weight training, as this is news to me, Kid 2 hears Kid 3 talking about “needs” and begins to write a long list for herself, dollar signs roll through my mind and I wonder if they have any concept of their expenses, I remember I haven’t really worked yet and walk towards my computer, forgetting all about Kid 2 & 3′s grocery “requests”, before I settle in Kid 1 calls to ask if a friend can come over, I say “sure” not realizing until 20 minutes later than he meant 3 friends, there are now 8 teenagers in my house (my own and other random friends), I contemplate getting a real job but decide against it due to possibility of house burning down while I’m gone, I look at the clock–it’s 11:37am. Kid 1 has finally decided to cook something. When he’s done, 10 of my dozen eggs are scrambled and mounded upon a paper plate. I shake my head and consider invoicing him for overuse of eggs. Instead I smile. He’s a teenage boy after all. I check the clock again. It’s 11:45am–time to pick up another kid from camp.

No work accomplished, no writing done, nary a chore has been touched. I long for a soundproof room and a laptop. Instead I steal a few moments to write a quick note about my characters, before running out the door. It’s hardly anything, but if it’s all I accomplish for the day…at least it’s something.

I step out into the hot mid-day sun again, and almost melt into a pile of goo before reaching the car. The day’s only half over, and all I can’t think about is what I “haven’t” accomplished. But then I remind myself of what I have. Amazing, well-adjusted kids are worth any cost. Even if my dreams are slowed down a bit, if they benefit–that’s all that really matters. I will get there. I will reach the top of Mt. Words. I will have my cake and eat it too.

Sunny G

Change of Venue does the trick…..

Since Sunday evening I’ve been enjoying “alone” time at a resort in Scottsdale AZ. This was a spontaneous decision and was only made possible by a kind timeshare gift from family. Also, my husband has had to step up and take on all my household responsibilities and kid-shuttling. Work is on hold. Life is on hold.

But writing is not. Writing is a go.

Between blogs, writing and editing— I’ve already logged over eight hours of writing this week and it’s only Tuesday at 11:55am (as I write this). The Evil 7 will be proud. They know what this might mean for me and my writing (which has been in perpetual constipation mode for some time). Last week’s “poo post” is a perfect example. But, I digress.

I’m writing and planning and getting excited again. I’ve started a new blog which will tie into the novel I’m editing/revising. The possibilities are bubbling under the surface and threatening to take over my life, a threat I welcome with open arms.

But, I know this isn’t real life. This perfectly clean, kid free, quiet, peaceful, 2 bedroom apartment I’m calling home this week– is a temporary haven to help me find the reset button for my sanity. It’s a place to write. A place to stare off into space if I want to. Or to sit still in the beautiful silence. For now, I’m writing every day. A miracle of sorts that I hope to weave back into my real life when this little slice of heaven is over. I will soon have to return and resume all daily duties and responsibilities. And without a regular dose of words and writing, I know I’ll slip back into poo-land, and possibly lose sight of the clarity I have now.

Getting out of my own way has been half the battle. But, I’m going to be easy on myself—because when I look back over the past year, it’s been a doozy.  Surviving it has been an accomplishment in of itself. However, staying stuck hasn’t helped anything and I’ve had a helluva time getting free. Having time away from life has made a such a difference.  It’s given me a fresh perspective and injected a desire for words back into my blood.

I’m ready.

Sunny G

Standing in my own way…..

Writing. Something I’ve done very little of, over the past year or so. I could blame the circumstances. I could blame the weather. Hell, I could even find a way to blame you. What did you do? Nothing. Except, somehow you found a way to write, to express your creativity in ways I could not. So whether it be jealousy or envy, I sometimes wish I was sitting in a different chair, in a different house—writing feverishly, writing with reckless abandon. Writing because I can’t stop. Writing because the passion inside refuses to be quieted or stopped. Writing because….”not writing” would mean certain death.

I miss this type of writing. I haven’t experienced it for some time now. And I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find it again.

My writing needs a shot of steroids, to pump it up. Ya know? My words would be bigger, my sentences longer, my plots thicker. It’s a win-win. What I don’t want is the shrinkage that inevitably follows using such a harsh chemical stimulant. There’s nothing worse than small, insignificant words and sagging sentences.

Okay, so maybe a natural, muse-wooing supplement would work better. Perhaps she’d go for a chewable, dinosaur-shaped multi-vitamin. Or a healthy shot of B-12. Does she like fresh fruit? Maybe some tea? Or is she more of a martini-straight-up, no-olive kind of girl? I just don’t know.

Blah, blah…blah. This is when I realize the real problem. This is the moment I can’t stand to look at.

Me. I’m standing in my own way, often in a pile of poo the size of a kiddie pool, surrounded by the smell of my own failures. There I am, focusing on everything that’s going wrong, unable to see what’s going right. “There’s so much shit!” I say. Well, of course there is. How can anyone see anything else if they’re standing knee-high in a bunch of crap? It requires stepping outside of the poo pool, taking a hot, soapy shower and reassessing the situation.

So, I do. Then I march back out to the pool, wet hair wrapped in a towel, and look at my creation. Guess what? The kiddie pool is full of clean water, the breeze creating small ripples on the surface. I look around, my eyes searching for poo. It’s then I realize…if I keep looking for it, I will always find it. Poo is not hard to come by. Poo is ready to make a mess of me anytime I allow it. Poo is not my friend.

I stop. I stare into the crystal water of the pool and imagine what it all means. And it hits me…an idea, born in the middle of the pool and rippling from side to side, testing its boundaries, but allowing the wind to move and change its direction. I am the rippling water. I’m clear, if I choose to be. I’m changeable and movable, if I allow it. I am full of possibilities. I can water an idea or pile it with poo—it’s really up to me.

The moment I choose water, my muse shows up like a genie appearing from an invisible lamp and says, “It’s about time.”

And I can’t help the poo-tear running down my cheek as I say, “Yes it is.”

Sunny G

Fun with Adverbs

A famous writer once said, “the road to hell is paved with adverbs”. This pronouncement sparked terror in the souls of writers everywhere. One and all scoured through pages and pages of words, searching for the evil ‘ly’, plotting adverb murder and hoping to wipe out their sub-human existence– forever.

Imagine the fear adverbs experienced in that moment—Stephen King, Lord of Words, just signed your death warrant. Go ahead…I’ll wait why you imagine this terrifyingly horrific scenario. *insert slasher-movie music here*

Here’s what I imagine. Screaming adverbs running to and fro, smacking into each other in their desperation to live. In their confusion, they cling to their trademark ‘ly’, not realizing it’s the very thing causing them to become a target. Struck with fear, they watch–helplessly–as the Red Pen of Death and Delete Key stand in judgment above them. They know not if they are worthy to stay, or if their unique contribution to a work of art is somehow contaminating all the other words in the vicinity.

Adverbs are people, too. Their feelings matter. And…might I say…a perfectly-placed adverb can enhance, even lift up, other words around them. It’s not always bad. We shouldn’t label all adverbs as unnecessary just because some rogue adverb popped out of a Stephen King rough draft and gave him the finger. Jeez. Some of them have better manners than that! Maybe that particular adverb wasn’t breastfed, or didn’t receive proper care growing up. Maybe he just needs a hug. Maybe one day he’ll be given a chance to make a woman “strikingly” sexy in a novel (disturbingly bad example, I know), and he’ll come out of his shell, realizing there is no need to fear.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit, adverbs can’t be orgasmic, but they can be heavenly. They can’t be devilish, but they can be dashingly handsome. In fact…amazingly enough, Lovely just realized he’s not the same when he removes overcoat. Without the ‘ly’, he’s just naked Love. Lovely is not comfortable being naked in public…so, he’ll brave on—wearing his ‘ly’ like a super cape, showing off his potential amp up the energy around him. Have you ever been called lovely? It’s kinda awesome and worth the possible snarky comments of all the other words at not being chosen. Besides, they’re just jealous.

So…adverbs of the world…fear not, and be proud. You may be slain, but know this…someone, somewhere will resurrect you from the ashes and place you beside another word someday. And, who knows, maybe you’ll find your adverb soulmate and live happily ever after.

Sunny G.

If I could control the universe….

If I could control the universe, everyone would be given a second chance, a helping hand, food to eat everyday, and a clear higher calling in life that would fulfill them beyond measure.

If I could control the universe, no one would feel alone, desperate or afraid. People would remember their inherent healing abilities and how truly powerful they can be.

If I could control the universe, everyone who truly desired a writing career (or any other creative, artistic endeavor) would get the opportunity to spread their wings and become Word Ninjas for the world.

If I could control the universe, life would come with an outline or Cliffnotes, an instruction book and possible guidelines—in case anyone ever wanted a gentle nudge in the right direction.

If I could control the universe, we could travel through time. Not to change anything or to learn the winning Powerball numbers, but to be able to see the truth and learn from those who came before us. Also, I’d love to ask my great, great, great, great grandfather what in the world he was thinking when he decided to have 11 wives.

If I could control the universe, the right to knowledge and education would be a birth right and not only given to those who can afford it, or who choose to go into serious debt.

If I could control the universe, everyone would have the ability to see each other through the eyes of kindness–and understand while we are not all alike…we all are the same. Human beings.

If I could control the universe, there would be more kind words than not (fiction writing would be exempt of course). More love than hate. More understanding than judgment. More compassion than indifference. For every tear someone cried, a helping hand or hug would be there to help them through.

If I could control the universe, more of our dreams would be a reality. And more of our reality, would just be a bad dream.

And lastly (for the E-7 gang). If I could control the universe…each of us would have a muse, waiting ever-so-patiently for us to arrive for our daily writing ritual. A muse that never vacationed, laughed at our blocks, teased relentlessly or refused to cooperate with the plan. Words would never cease to flow, and the creative spark would shine as bright as an exploding star each time we took to writing.

If.

Sunny G.

Critique groups – Nothing quite like ‘em

It’s impossible to say enough about the benefits of having a critique group while immersed in the world of words. They are fantastic when pointing out 6 pages of unnecessary dialogue or a too-long narrative, discovering plot holes, or even the simple task of asking, “Did you really forget the apostrophe in your “were” again?”.  Each person in the group has their unique critiquing gifts and they never fail to find what’s missing or what needs to be tweaked. It’s kind of like having slave masters, except you look forward to the push, the nudge, or the crack of the whip—as it were. People in general seem to reach higher when someone expects more of them. They try harder, they feel accountable to those who are gonna be asking about word counts or daily writing time. It’s also a safe space to explore different aspects your writing or expand into genres you may never have considered before. For example…I’ll never forget the first time Snarky decided to share some of her “spicy meatball” writing with us. It took a lot of courage for her to hand over some explicit scenes for our red pens to explore. And explore we did.

Critique groups give you more MPW (Miles Per Words) because they help you refine the art of writing, and push you to a higher place which forces you to learn, grow and expand in writing (and in life). A great critique group is really that good. Without the support of the Evil 7, I would probably be wandering in a desolate wasteland of wordlessness. They keep me focused and grounded in the beauty of words. They are a constant source of laughs and fun times, all while being professional wielders of the mighty red pen. And they help me to never forget–even when the struggles of real life almost have me convinced otherwise–that I love writing. I know for people like us…writing is life. If I ever stop writing, I have stopped living.

As long as I stay plugged in with this amazing group of people who allow me to be part of their world, I know I will reach the final destination.

“Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals.”  ~ Don Delillo, American Novelist

Sunny G

In a Wor(l)d….

In a world where writers write and words flow with the power and certainty of Niagara Falls, nothing seems impossible. No dream too big, no mountain too high. It’s a writer’s perfect dream–the muse is fully engaged and our fingers glide effortlessly over the keyboard, caressing yet another story from the invisible ether of the universe. In this beautiful space…there is only the writer and the written word. For those of us with the dream of publication percolating (im)patiently in the back of our minds, every word is a step closer to the apex of our personal nirvana–successful published author. Every single word is another brick laid upon our yellow brick road.

In a world where words seem glued to the edge of forever, unwilling to let go and enter the creative jet stream–almost everything seems impossible. Even mucking through another day, only to find very little has been accomplished other than surviving, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. This is a writer’s nightmare. A dark place no writer should ever visit, let alone camp out in. It’s a place where we can see the words, sense them even. Almost teasing from the periphery of our consciousness, alternating with evil glares and flipping us off, but refusing to give an inch. Maybe it’s a test to see if we really want to meet the great and mighty Oz after all. Or maybe it’s a personal refinement, where mind and body are purified by facing lack of courage, loss of heart, or from feeling our brains have turned to mush.

In a word, I know it’s all about perseverance. Which is the only thing we can do besides give up. Having the support of good friends and amazing writing partners is beyond invaluable. They remind you that every state of mind is temporary, every experience in life will eventually be channeled into writing. Hopefully, some damn good writing, too. Without this support, I personally would’ve succumbed to universe flipping me off long ago.

So…I owe a huge thanks to the Evil 7–for always being there. And for the friends I could never, ever live without. I know I will return to my regularly schedule writing self soon. After I’m done playing in the darkness.

 

The Zombie Excuse

I know it’s been awhile since I’ve blogged, but I was bitten by one of Eerie’s Zombies. Yes, even Eerie’s sincere attempt at controlling his Zombie population didn’t prevent one of them from sneaking up behind  me in the parking lot of our secret meeting place, the library. Yes, the library. Can you imagine being stalked by a Zombie anywhere near a library? Yeah, me neither, but apparently Eerie’s brilliant literary self seems to have rubbed off on his minions a bit. Hey, if I was into Zombies this would have been a welcome advance, but alas–I am not. Don’t get me wrong…I like men who like me for my brains–just as long as they don’t want to eat them for dinner.

Anyway…the Evil 7 concocted a last-minute antidote for me…so we’ll see. They’re pretty amazing at everything else, so I can’t imagine they won’t succeed at a Zombie Vaccine. If I suddenly begin writing about my attraction to brains and all things death–then feel free to worry. Until then, let’s just say I’m half living, half dead.

Being only half alive has proven difficult for writing. At least for me, writing is a very feeling/emotional based experience. If I’m not able to connect to my characters on an emotional level, it’s hard to write them as more than just cardboard cut-outs. In order to reconnect with them, I’ve had to reconnect with myself. Real life has been kicking my butt for well over a year, but that’s life, right?

So, here I am. Facing the negative emotions so I can experience the positive ones. Otherwise I’m just unfeeling and numb. Not so different than a Zombie after all.

Hey, wait a minute. I did eat red meat for the first time in over 13 years last Saturday. What could be next?

Sunny G

I have a special announcement!

Against all odds and real flying pigs, I have reached a mark I never before thought possible. It’s been 30 days since NanoWrimo began and I’m a winner. I hit 50,000 words on Tuesday morning, reaching my Nano goal!

Whew. I need a nap.

But, I do have to tell you….I almost gave up. When family arrived on the 24th for the Thanksgiving holiday I missed a day of writing, and then another. And boy oh boy…does the writing hill look huge when you add an additional 3334 words to the 1667 required per day to keep on track. With a little creative division I came up with a plan to get back on track. And somehow, it worked. Even though family and an out-of-town basketball tournament for the kids still stood in my path, I made it happen.

I’d like to thank my Alphasmart Neo for being so versatile and easy to use–anywhere.

I’d like to thank my writing group and Nano Writing Buddies for their support.

I’m taking a week off. Then I will start edits.

The end.

Well…isn’t this great

I woke this morning to find a zombie next to my bed. His eyes were glossed over with death and rot, but somehow his desire to cave in my skull and dine on my brains was clear in them. The stench alone could’ve killed, but my will was stronger than any threatening smell. I had shit to do. No zombie was going to throw a wrench in my plans.

(strange sidenote: said zombie looked eerily like Billy Joe Armstrong from the band Greenday. )

You know what this meant, don’t you? It meant one of Eerie’s zombies escaped from his “secure” graveyard and infiltrated my house. It’s really sad to think he has so little control over them. He is their master, after all. I’ll have to have a word with him about this.

Anyway, a pending zombie attack at 5am is highly inconvenient, especially since my days are currently filled with trying to write like a madwoman (see previous posts re: Nano), work, take care of kids, and occasionally sleep. 5am is for sleeping, doesn’t everyone know that? (okay, wow. I just checked Eerie’s blog posts, most of which are at—yep, you guessed it–5am!)

But instead, I had to pull myself out of bed and kick some zombie ass. Problem was, his backside was already missing. I assume it fell off somewhere between Gilbert and Mesa as he slowly skulked his way to my house.

Needless to say, I was still tired and moved slow. Luckily, so did the dead guy. It almost seemed like we danced the tango before we ever really considered going to blows. He was after my brains, I was after any part of him I could sever. During all the commotion, my 12 year old daughter entered the room and asked, “Why is their a zombie in your room, Mom?”

“I don’t know, he belongs to someone in my writing group. Oh, nevermind…you can go back to bed,” I told her. But, she wasn’t having any of that. Instead she assumed a karate stance (she’s a yellow belt), waited for the zombie to turn and face her, then presumed to perform “Tiger Break the Coconuts” which was designed to bring any man to his knees. What it did to the zombie guy was pretty X-rated so I’ll leave it to your imagination.

So, I’m sorry Eerie…you won’t be getting one of your zombies back. From now on may I suggest you leave out more zombie food and build a higher fence. And, oh…be sure to hide my address, would ya?

Sunny Dwarf