Don't Let The Door Hit You In The Ass On Your Way Out

I am not sure if I have an appropriate mindset for blogging, truth be told...  I have been treating this as an online journal, which works for me.  I have told almost no one about this blog.  And I get kinda cranky when unknowns stumble across it.  Mostly because they comment by leaving SPAM.

SPAM sucks.  So, SPAMMERS... this is for you... (she says with an evil smile):

Dear Jay /Mike /Other "casual" name,


Yeah, I kinda noticed that no one reads my blog.  Do you really think I ought to use the service you used to increase your hits?  'Cause, wow, wouldn't it be awesome to get a dozen or more hits in a day!  Zowee...  Where have I been going wrong?  


Oh wait.  I know.


I don't promote my blog.  Anywhere.  Not on Faceborg, not to my friends.  Hell, most people don't even know I have a blog.  And, see, you just MIGHT have noticed that it is kinda hard to comment on my blog.  I set it up that way...so not just any jackass can leave comments, or, for example, SPAM on my on-line journal.


Huh.  Do you kinda see where this is going?  Yeah.  I don't give a shit if you think I can increase my traffic.


I haven't exactly laid out the welcome mat, have I?


Thanks ever so!


Yours truly,
Zombie Grrrl

Rejection is a four letter word

Well, I TOLD myself to be prepared.  Rejection is the way, the truth, and the light.  Just because I got a 66% acceptance rate on the query letter, that didn't mean I was home free, yet.

So, yeah, I am not home free.  Both literary agents didn't feel like my material was a good fit for them.  Keep in mind, they liked the sell I did on the project.  So, the concept appealed to them.  And that is good.  I am pleased that I wrote a good query letter.

But, after reading (or skimming) a plot synopsis and the actual manuscript, they both rejected it as "not quite right for us".  That could mean so many things, in my mind.  And of course, as an actor, I am BRILLIANT at finding all the potential meanings in any simple phrase...

Rejection:
"This isn't quite right for us."
Meanings:
1.  This is a great novel, and while I would totally buy it in the bookstore, unfortunately, this project isn't the kind of project my agency represents-- they are out there, however:  go get 'em!
2.  This is a great novel, and I might buy it in a bookstore, but I am not sure how in the world we would help you sell it.  Since we have to pay our employees, we are gonna pass.
3.  Your concept is good, the writing is good, but I don't really like your characters-- your heroine is kind of unpleasant.
4.  Your concept is good, but your material is too grim for women's literature, too girly for mainstream, and plus you use too many adverbs.
5.  Your concept is good, but your writing isn't there-- we only represent literary projects, and should this publish, it would be a paperback on a rack, next to lesbian nurse novels.
6.  Your concept is good, but your project still has a lot of work to go-- try using more chapters, for instance, and maybe explain your world better... like before the 4th chapter.
7.  Your concept is good, but your writing sucks.
8.  Your concept is good, but your writing really, really sucks.
9.  Your query letter piqued my interest, but wow, it really didn't describe your book very well.  Who wrote the query letter?
10.  Abandon hope, ye hopeless stay-at-home mother.  I am sending out the word right now on you...

Well, back to square one.  I tell you, sending the first query letter out was difficult.  Getting the first rejection on the query letter was no big deal, since I got two hits on it.  But the first rejection of your material... man, that stings.

Query Letter Out!

Well, it has been forever.  But I have been busy.  At the beginning of November, I sent out my finished (finished!) manuscript to five lovely friends, only one of whom has read any of it before.  They are busily reading, and I have already gotten some feedback!  Woohoo!

So, what the hell have I been doing in the meantime?  (Besides watching soaps, doing my nails, and eating bonbons when the nails are dry? Ha ha.)  I have been working on my query letter.  A query letter is a pitch to editors, agents, publishers, basically asking them to request my manuscript or a sample of it.  I am targeting literary agents right now.  I know from experience that trying to break into a closed world that I don't quite understand is difficult.  Hence, an agent.  I had a film agent, once upon a time, and she got me auditions I wouldn't have gotten otherwise.  Yes, assuming I get a literary agent, they will get 15% of whatever I earn, but it will be worth it.

Today, I sent out three query letters.  I have been working like a dog.... well, not like my dog, she just mostly lays around and sleeps.  But I have been working hard to perfect my query letter, even sending it to my writing coach several times for comments and suggestions.  It is my first impression, after all!  He gave me the seal of approval on Friday.  I am scared like you wouldn't believe, but the hardest one to send was the first one.  I am doing it via email (I LOVE when businesses are green!).  We will see what happens.  I fully expect some rejection, but I knew the first step would be the hardest.  I did pick three agencies who seem to represent similar types of works, I think.

I am crossing my fingers and toes and intestines.  (The latter is in knots!)

A zombie interlude from a zombie pervert

This will be quick.  I need to get back to the writing.  I have just over 30 pages to read aloud, and then I... gulp... will be sending it out to five folks for peer review.  I have consulted with my writing guru, and we compiled a short list of questions to help guide the reading.  I am scared shitless, lemme tell ya...

...which is why I so valued the zombie interlude yesterday.

Here is some quick background.  I am not a stupid person.  I may be impulsive sometimes, and incapable of making decisions at other times, but I am not stupid.  I will admit to willful ignorance on some issues.  This stems from a complete hopelessness regarding the human race.  Really.  I actually had high hopes for H1N1.  When I try to keep up with current events, the weight of my hopelessness crushes me.  And I don't honestly believe there is much to be done about changing the world that would not involve wholesale slaughter.  And, since I kinda have this thing about personally causing violence...  You see my problem?

Hence, my unending fascination with the zombie apocalypse.  How cool would it be to actually have CAUSE to take a machete to, oh, I don't know, Zombie Newt Gingrich?  Or Zombie Sarah Palin?  (She might be kept in a cage just for personal amusement-- who else could possibly have an increase in intelligence upon becoming a zombie?)

This is my profile picture on Faceborg.  Pretty, no?

So here's the story.  Yesterday, I re-posted a FB status from a friend who supports the OWS movement.  It was about the right to assemble.  A couple of friends got into a friendly debate about local ordinances versus the Bill of Rights.  Good stuff, good reading.  None of it was much of a surprise to me, but I came too late to the discussion to participate.  So, rather than saying something mind-numbingly boring like:  "Great discussion guys!  Thanks for keeping it civil and informative.  I certainly hope that this free exchange of ideas will help mankind somehow.  I kinda doubt it, but thank you for keeping hope alive."

Instead, I said:  "You guys are hawt."

Those of you who know me are not surprised.

A private message soon arrived in my FB inbox, and a marvelous exchange of zombified double entendre followed:


FRIEND:  You're pretty hawt yourself, my zombie queen. I'd eat your brains out any day... Oh my. That came out awkwardly. Ah well :)
ME: ROFLMAO!!! You are too awesome!
FRIEND:  I have it from several authorities on the topic that my skills are indeed awesome...
ME:  Oh, really? How intriguing? Would those skills involve slaying zombies or being the zombie? 'Cause it could go either way...
FRIEND:  I like it both ways... Though slaying zombies is my favorite part. I like the way they quiver at the final stroke.
ME:  Damn. Yeah, I so cannot top that comment. 


Anyhow.  It was a great laugh.  I am still giggling.  I hope you are smiling rather than thinking I am some kind of zombie pervert.  'Cause I SO am not... not really.

For the Best Friend Actress

OH MY GOD.

The show opens in three nights.  The run last night was over FOUR HOURS....  I want to just kill myself, really.  (Not really.  I exaggerate a little, every once in awhile.  Just a teensy bit.  Honestly.  Keep that in mind.)

So, I have a few scenes where I have time to just sit around doing nothing.  Rather than shovel myself into my next costume, I threw on a robe over my underwear, left the wig and makeup on, propped my feet up on a chair, and started to read.  Next thing I know, I have various people standing over me....

Crazy Actress:  So, what do you think of Clueless Actress?  Why is she sitting on the couch in the green room instead of learning her lines?
Me:  (sitting in a corset, with a loosely tied robe)  I don't know. (looking back down at my book, and pulling robe closed.)
Crazy Actress:  Because she spends more time on her phone.  Who is going to cue her?
Me:  (trying to read my book and shrugging in a non-committed way)
Crazy Actress:  And why did the Costume Lady give me this sweater?  What is the neckline supposed to look like?
Me:  (giving up and setting the book down.  Stands and arranges the cowlneck)  There you are.  (sitting down again and pointedly picking up book as the Crazy Actress wanders off, slowly reciting her lines, cuz she is PERFECT at them, of course.)
Clueless Actress:  (wanders in with phone in hand, looking bored.)  Hey.
Me:  (sighing inwardly but smiling)
Crazy Actress:  Oh, is your SCRIPT in your phone?
Clueless Actress:  (blithely unaware)  No.  It's in the green room.
Crazy Actress:  (tutting [I swear, she really did!] and sweeping out of the dressing room)
Me:  (answers a text from Hubby and then buries nose in book again.)
Clueless Actress:  (sits down in Best Friend Actress's chair after pulling it closer to me.  Looks around aimlessly.)
Me:  (noticing that she is not in costume anymore, although we have not even reached intermission yet.)  Why are you out of costume?
Clueless Actress:  Oh, the shirt doesn't fit.
Me:  Oh.  Did you tell the Costume Lady?
Clueless Actress:  Yeah.
(long pause)
Me:  Do you have something else you could wear instead of that shirt?
Clueless Actress:  (long rambling answer that goes straight out of my head, cuz I am sitting there thinking, god, are we REALLY opening on Friday, and really, she cannot at least wear the skirt?  I mean, she is wearing jeans, and a HUGE bulky cardigan over a t-shirt.  No makeup, no hair, not even shoes.*  Oh god we are so fucked.  And then I realize she stopped talking and is playing with her phone.  And I realize I hear nothing over the monitor.  Scene change... which Clueless Actress is supposed to assist with IN CHARACTER)
Me:  (interrupting)  Is this a scene change?
Monitor voices:  Where is Clueless Actress?  Where are the stage hands?
(Clueless Actress suddenly bolts from the dressing room, and I can see the two stage hands rising from their chairs in the green room, slowly beginning to follow her off.  There is the click clack of heels, and Diva Actress comes in, looks around, and crosses to her corner, which I was WARNED about by other performers when we arrived at the theatre on Monday.  She begins to pull off the adorable but clearly uncomfortable shoes.)
Diva Actress:  So, these shoes are hurting.  I am taking them off.  This is why it is tech and not dress.  (she is not in costume either, not the wig, and frankly, not even in practice clothes.)
Me:  (smiling)  I just cannot act when I am not wearing my shoes.  I have to get used to them early on. (trying really hard not to piss her off-- although quite clearly very talented, she is very sensitive, and my sense of humor doesn't always translate to those who don't know me.)
BF Actress: (entering dressing room)  Oh my god-- who is going to stay back here and cue Clueless Actress?  I mean, this is unbelievable!
Me:  (I agree, but really REALLY do NOT want to be in charge of this girl, so I smile)
Diva Actress:  (finishes removing her shoes and sweeps out of the room with her script in hand)
BF Actress:  (looks around and sees that I hung up the dress I helped her change out of several scenes ago. She smiles at me, sweetly and honestly)  You hung up my dress for me.  Thank you.
Me:  I live to serve you.

And I remember why I am doing this.  Because I love my friends.  BF Actress-- you are DA BOMB.

Break a leg, darling!  I adore you, and am happy to work with you.

*- I am a fanatic about practicing in the right shoes.  Shoes affect your walk, your posture.  I get shoes as early in the rehearsal process as possible, and always rehearse in them.  I usually also have a practice skirt as well, or some reasonable suggestion of what my character will be wearing.  You move differently in a skirt than you do in pants, and you move differently with a huge bulky cardigan than when wearing a fitted jacket.  If am wearing a corset in a show, I rehearse in one.  Anyway, rant complete.

Clerics and Divas

My life is weird.

The husband and one of my best friends play DnD, and have pulled me into it.  I mostly get it... kinda.  I am learning.  I mostly play because I enjoy the company and the wine.  The Friend is a true wine lover.  He brings amazing wines, way better than the stuff I stock my (now empty) cellar with.  He and I can put away two bottles over the course of an evening.  And so we roll dice and play DnD, and I sit there smiling with my buzz as we slay the Undead.

Yeah, that is how they piqued my interest.  I mostly thought DnD was for crazy nerd guys.  Friend corrected me in that... or rather, he confirmed that it is for crazy nerd guys, but chicks play too, and it can be fun.  Still, I was resistant and reluctant to try to decipher all the code (2d8+Int mod.).  And so they dangled zombies before my eyes.

I cannot resist zombies, apparently.  So, we are playing this crazy campaign in which we are serving the Raven Queen (goddess of death, but not the dead, an important distinction, apparently), and on a mission to eradicate that which defies nature by not remaining dead.  I am playing a battle cleric.  I heal party members but I also hurt stuff... mostly the undead.  I have been dragged kicking and screaming into playing a second character-- a warlock.  I am basing her on Hermione from the Harry Potter series, but apparently that is going to wreck havoc on the party.  Nerds...

I am a week away from opening the show I have been rehearsing.  The entire process has been a reminder about why I don't do community theatre for me.  Apparently, one of the actresses had a MAJOR blowup last night at rehearsal.  I wish I'd been there.  But she made another actress cry, and upset the director, and has set my friend (a third actress) on edge.  She also threatened to drop out of the show... the show that goes up in, oh, NINE DAYS....  My friend is convinced that I could take the role if that actress carries out her threat.  Sigh.  I just wanted to do my job-- walk on and off, deliver my character and lines with precision and attention, and support the show.

I once directed a production of Our Town here.  The week before we went up, I told the actress playing the Stage Manager to just use the script, which was part of her props anyway.... She got her knickers in a twist and dropped out of the show.  I was the one who came out badly from that-- I was difficult to work with and unreasonable and mean.  She did no damage to her reputation whatsoever.  

Community theatre kinda sucks.

The through line here, and there is one, is that DnD is better than community theatre, at least at my house.  There is more wine and less whining.  There is good company and no dysfunctional theatre companies.  And all the divas are actual characters, rather than divas PLAYING characters.

I really need to retire from acting.  Roll a d6....

The inability to focus

I should be writing.  The Boy has been in school for over two weeks now.  The Husband, although home sick, is upstairs.  I have a new phone, but I figured it out.  The dishwasher is empty.  The library books are read.  The dog isn't bugging me-- she is sprawled out on the floor, not even snoring.  The weather is kinda dreary-- not enticing me to go outside and weed at all.  The house, although in clear need of the vacuum, is not terrible, and there is no one coming to visit any time soon.

So why am I blogging instead of tearing into the book?  The book is done.  Yeah, I have lots of things I can keep working on.  But, I could edit until the end of the world.  I just need to send it out to the people who have agreed to read it.

I am feeling unfocused, kinda blurry even.  I cannot keep from daydreaming.  I have no real desire to do anything.  I am not depressed-- I know what that is.  I am just going through the motions right now.  Part of me knows I need to recharge my batteries.  I have failed MISERABLY at Plan 3-- the whole taking time for me thing.  And this last two months have been terrible for that.  The OAP festival, the wedding, the houseguests, the illnesses, the Husband being gone for ten days and now ill for the third week running.  I am getting to take two days in October for myself, but not until the fourth weekend of October.

People can live for like six minutes without oxygen.  A day with no water.  A week with no sleep.  A month with no food.

How long can a person live without a recharge?  My guess is a long time.  But is it really living, or is it just living?

Irony

I vowed here to give up acting, right? I read it here. And here. I shared how suddenly I got some offers. Granted, they were for unpaid work. But, still, there they were. But that was gonna be it, right?

And then I checked my email that afternoon.... "Blah blah blah. Hey, will you be one of the actors in the new Christmas Follies?"

And then this week. "Hi, I own a murder mystery company,and would like to bring you on board, if you are interested."

So, here, I publicly declare: I no longer want a million dollars. Nope. I will give up my dream of a million dollars.

Oh, wait. That doesn't work. I have to reluctantly give up something that I care about, like acting, in hopes that the itch of something new, like writing, will be scratched. Remember what this blog is about, remember? "Not Doing It"

I really enjoy writing, and feel great satisfaction when I am writing. I feel this low grade urge ALL THE PHUCKING TIME to dive back into The General's Heir and finish that mutherphucker. I also have this new writing idea about zombies. I know, old hat now, but the itch doesn't care. This idea is simmering just like The General's Heir did. How I want to dig in...

And yet, acting calls, if you can call the clamoring a 'call'. More like a brick of noise to the side of the head. I won't do the follies, I think. One, I don't really want to, even if I love the producer. Two, really, if I am going to get pulled out of my writing from now on, it DAMN well better be for a paycheck. I am a mercenary, if nothing else. Or maybe a whore? Ha! I can see it now....

ME: Sorry, honey, no sex tonight-- I have to write.

HIM: Write? But I just put on the camo briefs you like!

ME: Think of this as my job. Just like the acting gigs.

HIM: Nope.

ME: What?

HIM: You are gonna have to spell it out for me. If I'm not getting any tonight, you have to explain.

ME: Okay, so, when I am sitting at the computer from 8-12 tonight, I am writing my book.

HIM: I thought you were finished with it!

ME: You are right. I am trying to finish the edits!

HIM: How is this like the acting gigs? I haven't seen you depositing any checks.

ME: Think about it like the rehearsals for the acting gigs. The paycheck just comes a little later.

HIM: I can buy that, I guess. But what is your time worth?

ME: Huh?

HIM: So, you have an acting gig. How much do you get paid?

ME: A hundred, I think, usually.

HIM: Huh. And how long are you gone when doing the acting gig?

ME: Oh, the usual? Two hours for the actual gig, but add another two for travel. So, four hours?

Him: So, you get twenty-five an hour for your time. Is that right?

ME: ...Well, I guess... when you put it like that...

HIM: And that doesn't include the rehearsal time, does it?

ME: ...Not as such...

HIM: 'Cause, hell, I have a twenty in my wallet, and we can be done in half an hour.

ME: ...Uh...

HIM: And, I will throw in a big O for you! You cannot get that kind of satisfaction from your paid gigs!

ME: ...But I am an Artist!

HIM: Artists gotta eat. Or, well, you know what I mean.

ME: But-

HIM: And you won't have to travel any farther than upstairs. And when we are done, you can go back downstairs and write!

ME: But I have to be in the right frame of mind, in the zone! I cannot just get on the computer and go through the motions, and fake it....

HIM: Uh-huh? What were you about to say?

ME: ...Um, get upstairs. And I will put on the sexy shoes.

(Apologies to the Hubby. He is incredibly supportive. Oh, and Happy Birthday to me. I am officially old now.)

God (or whomever) loves to make a liar out of me

Ha ha, so remember when I said no more acting until I was done with my book? That very week, I was approached to fill out an incomplete cast in one of the One Acts... and then as soon as that was done, I got begged to fill out another incomplete cast... for the very show that made me realize I needed to get serious. Did I say no? I sure tried. Shit.

But, now to brag a bit about how successful a month as an I artist I have

had. First, the visual art, the sculpture I mentioned awhile back, SOLD!!! And apparently, there have been lots of inquiries about it, people disappointed that it sold already, and wanting to know if I make them regularly. Hilarious. Take a look at it. I LOVE how a snarky piece about women being slaves to fashion, featuring a freaking HANGING... is in demand. Oh, and that red dot? That would be the SOLD sign...

And, the OAP festival went really well for me as a director. One of my plays was awarded the Golden Cow (yeah, really!) for Best Production, my lead actress was named Best Performer, AND the other script I directed won Best Script. So, my script didn't win anything, but I am over it. The production left quite a lot to be desired-- the actors were kinda all over the place... Oh well.

Now, I am winding down from the invasion of family, and should be able to dive back into writing, especially once school begins. I am so close to being done I can TASTE it...

Nut up or Shut up

I have been writing every day for the past week. Classes are over, I am free of the arts council stuff, and my two current directing projects are soooo much less consuming than my class projects. I think I can actually see me finishing the edits this week or next.

But, 'finishing' the book is just one more step. I have a shortlist of folks to read the book (I am aiming for mid-August, my friends), and then I'll get to do another round of edits, I suspect. I am hoping it is mostly small stuff-- clarification and continuity details, and grammar/spelling issues. I am HOPING that by the time the Boy begins school in September, I will be working on the soul-killing part-- the research on publishers and agents, the solicitations, and, of course, the rejections.

Frankly, I am looking forward to that part. Once the research is completed, and I start sending stuff out, I can jump back into working on Book 2, which now has a title!! I wrote my "Long Term Story Arc" (code for very loose outline) for the five novels. Book 2 will need a LOT of work now-- some things have changed in Book 1 since I split the two, so there are some slight alterations to characters, relationships, and also some BIG shifts for characters, plot, and relationships... It will be fun, I think.

But, now for the hard choice. A show that I have ALWAYS wanted to do is going up in October. I actually auditioned for a different company's production of this show about a year ago, but they couldn't get the men they needed (ha!). I was preparing to think about auditioning for this one, and then I stopped myself. If I do that show, it would seriously cut into my ability to work on my writing....

So, I am not doing it. And, I decided that I won't be acting until I at LEAST get Book 1 out the door. And that is that. One of the things from the March writing conference I attended in March, I keep on a sticky note on my computer monitor. I can see it right now. It says, "Make this a priority or don't."

I am not giving up acting. I love acting. My abilities as an actor are part of what make my characters the way they are. However, I began writing Book 1 on December 31, 2007. In the immortal words of Tallahassee (one of my favorite films Zombieland), I need to either "nut up, or shut up."

So, I am nutting up. No more acting, no more arts council, no additional volunteering opportunities, no more art projects....

Nut up or Shut up.

Destruction and a Hard Cider

I sit here before the computer, on a rainy Tuesday evening. I have half a hard cider remaining, and I just read the fucking funniest blog in the world. Probably the most offensive too, to about 33.3% of Americans. Mostly the Morman and Muslim ones. Oh, and maybe the Southern Baptist ones. Oh, and maybe the Catholic ones. Okay, so maybe it would be offensive to more like 66.67% of Americans.

I am pretty darn close to being ready for my touring class, which begins on Monday. The Boy is sleeping sweetly in his bed (I know 'cuz I just checked), and the Dog is done with her Chicken Dog routine, since the thunder is passed. The Husband is probably sitting in front of his laptop in the Windy City, or maybe enjoying a rare evening actually watching TV on the television. (He can only watch DVDs on on the TV at home. We didn't ever get around to purchasing the whatever you have to have to get television for free now.)

My one-act plays are cast, and I have read several pages of our final issue of Newsweek. Not that it is especially newsy, now. I am considering a switch back to Time.

Again, the mellow woman speaketh. However, don't worry. Was I mellow before? Just ask the Dog Cabinet. I threw away about seventeen pounds of shit. I found an expired can of dog food, rock hard dog biscuits, several old sippy cup lids.... (Just the lids, mind you. Why?) I recycled even more. Why did I keep just one plate of a stupid set of paper plates? Why did I find three bags FULL of plastic knives? Does anyone use plastic knives? Really? Do they cut?

Calming down. More cider.

So, after I cleaned out that cabinet (WHY DO I FUCKING HAVE THREE DOG PRESCRIPTIONS THAT EXPIRED IN 2006???), I next tackled the Boy's closet. I don't know why the top of his dresser was completely covered in over a foot's worth of stacked and semi-folded clothes, but it was. I don't understand. When I fold the laundry, I put everything in the drawers. So what was this stuff? I found a pair of girl's pants, a hanger without the hanging bit, and two opened containers of baby wipes. And that was all before I tackled the mess on the floor. I found a red sweater with clowns on it... the Boy won't fit it for maybe another two years, and would probably slit his wrists before being seen in public wearing it. Clowns, I ask you... Anyway, I filled a ginormous bag with items that the Boy cannot wear anymore, and are now in the basement awaiting the looming yard sale (or moving truck to Salvation Army).

And for the coup de grace, while the Boy watched his evening videos, I tackled the master bathroom. I am not sure why I found four empty bottles in the shower, other than the maid sucks and needs to be fired.

[That is a running joke in the house. I tell the Husband that the kitchen looks like ass, and that our maid sucks, and he needs to fire her, the joke being that I am the maid. He just gives me one of his patented "That's my Gracie Lou" looks, and ignores me.]

It was kind of funny. I honestly had NO idea that the glass doors to the shower were NOT frosted glass. (giggle) And I had forgotten what how shiny the floor tiles look when not covered in a soft cushioned carpet of black dog hair.

So, yeah, I went a little nuts today. I know that many people consider cleaning to be a Useful Task and Necessary. I think of cleaning as destructive. Honestly. There is nothing better than throwing shit out. I LOVE aggressively scrubbing something. When the Husband's boss was acting like Stalin, I tackled the heavy saute pan with a scrubber, and imagined that the stained and scummy surface was her face. My pan is awful purty now.

So, I have a clean Dog Cabinet, a clean closet in the Boy's room, and a clean Master bathroom, and I am now out of cider...

Does emptying the bottle of cider count as a destructive or a constructive act?

uh... heh heh

Since no one reads this anyway, I guess I can feel free now to just go with the flow. I blame my lack of productivity on the Boy, the Dog, the Air Conditioning, and... and hurricanes.

The book is getting there. Really. School is out, the studio tour is done, and I finished my last mutherphucking board meeting last night. I do have a summer class to continue prepping for, and I am directing two shows for that one act festival. Oh, and the script I submitted is being produced. Creativity is flowing, along with the wine.

I entered an art show. I am supposed to make art out of some odds and ends from a hardware store. So far, I have constructed a female figure out of copper wire, and have built her a skirt out of window screen material. I have a metal corset top planned, and cool accessories out of nuts. But I am not having fun. Nope. Not even

a little. I always hated costume design, and sewing, and constructing stuff. And how I loathe having to be creative, and finding that I have the mental capacity for creativity.

This may be a wee bit of sarcasm, but I am not certain.

Let summer come. Nothing that a glass of sangria won't fix. And if not a glass, then a pitcher... You see, I am happy.

Shocking, I know. All I do is bitch and moan about not having time to write, or time to care for my Boy, or freedom from shitty meetings with people I loathe.

But... Plan 1. I did it. I have decided what I want to do. I have decided what I care about. And, I decided what I didn't want to do.

Now, I have moved on. I can have a glass of wine with my friends, or write, or flex my creative muscles in creating my incredibly bad art. Or, maybe, I can work on my art. Because I can now. I have the emotional energy for it. For the first time in quite a while, I might be able to practice my art, rather than just 'support' it.

Never fear. I am not descending into narcissism. I have decided that I do care about the studio tour, and will serve on that committee. And yeah, I will spending time with my friends and my family, but I will not be 'Networking' now. Rather, I will be 'Building Relationships'.

I have this sneaking feeling that some of my friends have enjoyed my company, and didn't care what I was doing on the arts council.

Here's to the more relaxed and happy me. Yeah, this was a rambling post that didn't really address a theme. Hence the dumb title.

Sangria, anyone?

Anger

The end of the school year approaches. The Boy will be home, and then I will be teaching over the summer. No more regular writing schedule.

I am terrified. I get seriously cranky when I have an appointment that interrupts my writing schedule. I don't like the routine breaking down. And the routine is going to be GONE for three months.

I want to write. I find myself secretly hoping my classes don't make, so I can just write while the Boy is off attending the summer camps I signed him up for. I entertained a thought recently about ditching the classes altogether. I am pleased as punch to be around my family, friends, hell, even walking the dog... but I would rather be writing.

And that is kinda why the blog has been neglected recently.

Sorry-- blogging cannot compete with the book. I am over halfway through my revisions. I feel the final draft coming closer. I don't know if I can get it done before the end of this month. Argh.

Progress

First thing, dear Readers. Many of you have complained about the comment verification thing. I will attempt to dislodge it. I did add an easy feature, kinda like 'liking' on Faceborg.

Well. I did it. I sent my resignation letter. Even that made me anxious. I cannot wait 'til June 13. I believe I made a good decision, but I cannot help but worry about it. What can I say? I am a worrier.

The title of this post is 'Progress'. I believe I am making progress toward Plan 1: "Figure out what you are NOT going to do, make it happen, and move on."

-I have put my acting on hold for now. I can come back to it someday, but now is my time.

-I have set an end date for my arts volunteering. I may continue to serve, but not on the board.

And, on the positive side of my plan, I have settled into a nice writing place. I have been hard at work editing, simmering ideas, and strengthening my work. I have written a short play, a few short stories, and keep on working on the novel. Additionally, I have attended a writing workshop, and am part of a newly formed writing group. We just had our first meeting on Friday, and I got some good feedback.

I will admit, I am a little worried about this summer. The Boy is done with school at the end of May, and that means my 7.5 hours writing a week will be gone. I am scheduled to teach 5 weeks this summer, and during that time, I will make little or no progress on my novel. Before the end of June, I need to re-write a short play, and create a new melodrama... from scratch. Writing it will be... but not what I want to be doing. I am torn, frankly. I want to teach this summer-- it is my best earning period-- but I also kinda find myself hoping that maybe one class won't make.

Which brings me back to the last outside activity that steals my time and mental energies. Teaching. I love the teaching-- it keeps me in the theatre world, and challenges me. But, one of the pearls of wisdom I gathered from my writing workshop was this: Make writing a priority or don't.

Should I jettison EVERYTHING to give this my hardest effort? It would not be a bad thing to get this finally off my plate, and see if it is worth my time. Hell, if I could sell it in the next year, it would certainly come at a good time. My husband and I just agreed to rent our house for one more year, and that would get the Boy through his last year of preschool. If the book sold well enough, it could help us afford to buy what we are holding out for: a modest home on 10+ acres. (10, so the Husband can hunt, and I can garden.) It would be nice to be able to buy a new car (or two) since our cars are both approaching fifteen years...

I will have to think on it. In the meantime, I need to work on the 'move on' part of shedding the arts council. I woke up at 2AM this morning, and didn't go back to sleep until after 5AM.

Move on.

What I Am Not

Today was a hard day.

Now, it is Spring Break, and that means no break from the Boy. Not the end of the world, but I do value my 7.5 hours a week without him. Truth be told, I actually was looking forward to doing some fun stuff with him-- playgrounds, maybe a museum or two, the library, and playdates.

Today, the first day of Spring Break, I had to attend a meeting for the studio tour, and so he got to go, too. It was supposed to be done within an hour or so, and there is a great playground nearby. I packed a fun snack, and promised the Boy if he was good, we could go to the park after I was done.

And the meeting slayed me. Literally. Now, it was long and drawn out as usual (described as 'soul sucking' by one of my good friends), but, I realized that my association with the arts council is slowly but surely damaging my own reputation in the arts community.

I realized as I was finishing up that people with whom I have had very strong relationships--professionally and personally-- have been pulling back from me. And this wasn't just today. I had noticed the change, but I chalked it up to schedules, and life interfering. They were friendly enough today, but the tone of our conversation and their body language changed when council business came up.

When this occurred to me, I was floored. The arts council is actually hurting me... I already knew that I spend more time defending the board than promoting it. Every conversation I have about my work on that board, I feel like I do nothing but complain. The occasions that I actually enjoy my work for the council are quite rare now.

I am barely a professional artist in theatre. I am not a professional arts administrator. I have never held a job at a NPO. I have no educational credentials to claim for my work in the arts community. However, I know my worth to this community.

I work hard, and fulfill my obligations. I put time, effort, and money into everything with which I am associated. I speak eloquently about the role of the arts in our community, at many public and private events. I have written several grants which have earned quite a lot of funding, and I have administered the granting program for the arts council. I have helped shape policy, expand the role of the arts council, and forge many valuable relationships with business, art, and government contacts. Finally, I have served on the Executive Committee for the arts council for most of my time on the board.

And now, I find myself damaging some valuable friendships. I thought at first that perhaps I am no longer as useful to know as I once was. This isn't a bad thing, I guess. I am almost finished with my final term on the board. I am not part of the inner workings of the newly focused council, and am considered part of the old guard. But, I spent time thinking about it today. These people were friendly to me before I was Little Miss President. They liked me before I even joined the arts council. And they are still friendly to me now... until I bring up something council related.

I figured this all out, this sad little epiphany, and understandably felt rather upset. I persuaded the Boy that we should just go home, and play with his friends in the neighborhood. He liked that idea.

I didn't, because I realized that once again, the arts council had dragged me down, and interfered with my family life. My poor little boy had patiently sat through that long ass meeting, and I was too upset to take him to the freaking playground. I gave up over ten hours this weekend to work on promoting the arts council at a public event, dragging both the Boy and the Husband into it, and I DON'T EVEN LIKE IT ANYMORE!!!

So. Here I am. I wrote my resignation letter today. I will finish my remaining obligations, but as of June 13, I will be off the board. I have not emailed the letter yet. I want to let it sit a few days, and make sure I have said what I need to say. I am saddened to be leaving the arts council on this note-- this experience has been such a life changer for me. I have enjoyed so much of my service and gained so much valuable experience; and to be leaving as I am now--bitter, hurt, frustrated-- makes me wince a little.

So, back to my Plan 1? What am I NOT going to do? As of June 13, I am NOT going to be a board member on the arts council anymore.

I hope tomorrow is better.

** Note about what you are about to read. At the writing workshop I attended, at one point, we were directed to look at pictures scattered on a table, pick one, and write a scene in fifteen or twenty minutes or so. I looked, and found a picture of a cloister hall, perhaps not a cloister but a Moorish palace? (not the image you see here). The beauty of the architecture struck me, as did the lighting. However, what struck me most was the sense of emptiness in the hall. I sat down to write, and here you have...

THE CLOISTER

The days had been quiet of late. Sister Marguerite had grown tired of watching from the walls of the cloister, her sanctuary. Sounds no longer echoed, and she passed her days quietly, tending the garden and praying.

The halls were not traveled, for there were no more. Father Emilio returned every day before sundown, and would shake his head sadly. Sister Marguerite would nod her head, and serve the père the meal for the day, a simple soup and fresh bread.

This afternoon, she waited as usual, watching from the walls. Father Emilio should appear on the road, and he would be alone, as always.

Today, he was not.

He hurried up the road, pulling his wagon behind, a draped human form clearly visible alongside the usual bundles of cans and packages of food and supplies.

Sister Marguerite hastily descended the narrow staircase and crossed the hall to the reinforced gate that protected the cloister.

“Open the gate, Sister, for God’s sake, open the gate!”

Sister Marguerite paused, her fingers resting on the heavy mechanism of the lock. She peered through the small pass-through and studied the père.

“Father Emilio, I ask forgiveness, but you must show me.”

“The sun is setting, Sister, please!”

Sister Marguerite’s suspicions increased.

“Father, you must show me.”

Impatiently, Father Emilio opened his robe and exposed his body. His thin frame appeared unharmed, no obvious wounds.

Sister Marguerite averted her eyes only once as he demonstrated that he was clean. She turned her eyes to the cart.

“What is there, Father?”

“Sister, I beg you, give me entrance! The sun will set any moment!”

Truly, the walls around Sister Marguerite were golden with the fading sun.

“Father, you must show me who you have brought.”

Father Emilio’s hands closed his robe, and he looked at her imploringly.

“Please let me in, and I will explain all.”

There was a small noise from the cart, and Sister Marguerite saw the bundle of rags move.

“You must abandon the body.”

“Sister—she is only a child. We can help her!”

“No. I will not open the gate until you have saved her soul.”

“Sister—please—we can help her!”

“I will not open the gate until you save her soul, Father.”

The sunlight had all but vanished, and the halls were no longer orange, but growing cooler in palettes of blues and grays. The torch she had lit in the dining hall did not provide any comfort.

Father Emilio banged on the gate, almost weeping.

“Father, do it! I will pray for you and for her.”

Sister Marguerite, neglecting to drop to her knees, crossed herself and began her prayers.

Father Emilio gave her one last imploring, desperate look before whipping the cloth from the stirring body.

The child, a young woman really, lay as if sleeping. Angelic blond hair curled gently around her face. Pale limbs shifted slightly. One detail marred her beauty: two mangled marks on her neck.

Father Emilio made the sign of the cross. From his belt, he withdrew the large wooden cross which dangled on small wooden beads. He kissed it, and then unwound the leather thong which bound the two points together. He now held a long, sharp wooden stake.

The child suddenly stretched, and her eyes opened. Blue. She turned to face the père.

Before she could smile, or speak, the Father raised his hands over his head, and thrust the stake into the child’s breast.

Her shrieks were terrible.

Sister Marguerite doubted only a moment as she continued her prayers, but then the form began to crumble, and she crossed herself as the blood drinker died.

Sister Marguerite unlocked the door, and pulled the cart inside as Father Emilio gave the crumbling corpse her Last Rites.

He brushed the ash away from his robes, and glared at the Sister.

“We can try to cure them. We must try!”

Sister Marguerite shook her head sadly.

“We can save only their souls, Father Emilio. Ashes to ashes…”

Long after Sister Marguerite had wheeled the cart down the darkened halls to the kitchen, Father Emilio remained at the gate, praying that the body could be reclaimed from the evil as easily as the soul.

[this is MY story, and if you steal it, mutherphucker, I will HUNT you down.]

Daylight Savings Blows

I got out of my routine for almost three weeks! First there was the writing workshop, which I will talk about later. Then there was the trip to Texas... which I will talk about later. And then there was the whole 'I-chose-to-travel-outside-my-time-zone-right-when-Daylight-Savings-hit,-and-now-have-no-freaking-clue-what-time-it-is-now-that-I-am-back' thing. Which I won't talk about later, because I am going to talk about it now.

Yeah, so all last week, the first week back, neither the Boy nor I had any clue what we were doing. We were sleeping ridiculously late every day, we could not quite figure out what day it was, and we dragged like a Stanley Kubrick film. It was a surreal week, lemme tell you. The Boy actually napped a few afternoons, just because he was so confused and tired. Poor us.

But the trip to Texas was the best I have ever had since moving to Yankee land. Really. I crammed in a lot-- the first full day there, I spent with my parents, but crammed in four other sets of relatives, and also traveled from San Antonio to Temple. I got to see family and friends that I hadn't seen in years. Some are college buddies that I have seen fairly recently-- one I saw in February, and another last summer, and the last a few years ago, although we have spoken on the phone. Two sets of family I had not seen since my wedding-- almost ten years ago.

And, then I managed to also see two friends that I had not seen since high school... Both knew me back in the sixth grade. I hated Temple, and Central Texas, and really cut the chords as fast as I could. But, Facebook reunited us. And so I got to have lunch with Karen in Waco, and then hit the zoo with my folks and the Boy (I saw two rhinos!). And I got to go have a grown-up evening in Austin my last night in Texas, dinner and then karaoke, and had a great time singing old show tunes with Dylan, several college buddies and the two bridesmaids from my wedding. We did every show tune we could think of and also did a lot of Queen, and the requisite 80s crap. Good times.

Before the trip, I attended the writing workshop. I loved it. Not only was one of my best friends attending as well (so we got to carpool), but it was just a great time. I have a lot of concrete steps to use in my editing process, and.... as part of a writing exercise, I wrote a short story that kinda floored the rest of the class.

Lest it appear that I am bragging, let me hasten to share something that FINALLY sank in. I have been writing constantly for years. I thought I had just done it here and there. I thought that because I didn't count the play writing I have done for my classes. But I have written TONS of scripts. Enough that I really ought to collect them, edit them, and publish a collection of children's scripts. They've all been produced, and many of them re-written. So, was I able to spit out a nice short story that didn't require much explanation? Yep.

Anyway, the workshop was a great refresher for me as a writer, in that it reminded me of the basics of writing, and all the little elements I should be thinking of and working on. I also got some really new ideas, and I am excited to be using them as I work on my book.

My next blog, I will simply share the short story I wrote. I like it, and I hope you enjoy it too.

You can never go home

This week I attend the writing workshop I signed up for. I also will (I think) receive input on the three chapters I submitted as a writing sample. I am a bit nervous, but I am mostly excited. The workshop is scheduled for Thursday through Sunday... although I am a space cadet and booked a flightfor Sunday morning. I already spoke with the instructor, who told me I would be okay missing the last day. It makes me a little cranky that I will be missing it, but I planned a trip to Texas and cashed airline miles BEFORE I looked at my calendar. Like I said, space cadet.

Texas? Oh, yeah, I am going to Texas for a week with the Boy. I have not seen my grandmother since 2007. She is about a million years old, and ornery, and really doesn't like little kids. So, why am I going? Because I need to (read: guilt). Funny thing, seeing her is the reason I have to do this trip-- I cannot take time later on this year because of work and school-- but I am only going to be seeing her for an hour or so on my first full day in Texas. Otherwise, I am cramming in lots of other relatives, friends, and sightseeing.

I have not spent any time tooling around my hometown since I was still in college. I found out, while booking this trip, that the public library building is now a branch of the local college. That building was beautiful. It had a windy staircase to the second floor (adult fiction), and a creepy little hidden stair to the basement (juvenile books). There was a creaky old elevator, and a wide open, sunlit foyer just inside the front doors. There were two entrances to the building.... Yes, that building made quite an impression on me.

There are also parks, restaurants, a train museum, and all sorts of other things. My hometown has changed a lot. I don't miss it. Trust me. I don't miss being a freak of nature-- hating football and country music, dreaming of culture and valuing education. I have no interest in seeing most of the people who are still around. I have a few friends from those times that I rediscovered on Faceborg, and I will be attempting to spend time with them.

I dreamed of nothing else in high school than escaping out of Central Texas. I studied hard, did lots of extra-curricular activities, and bugged the college counselor endlessly-- all to get the hell out of there. I now avoid all calls for class reunions, or homecoming crap. God, I hated high school.

But, sometimes, you just gotta go visit. Maybe I will find that having grown up will make me a little less antagonistic to Central Texas. Maybe I will find that both the town and I have changed. I will never be a country music loving, football game attending kind of girl, but maybe I can appreciate the opportunity to at least see what I escaped and what I miss.

Like what hell happened to the public library.

Anyway, I will be in the writing workshop all day on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and then gone March 13-19. I may or may not post during that time. Who knows.

My final news is this-- I wrote my ten minute play. It was cathartic, and not just because I managed to cram in all sorts of awful topics into ten minutes, all while avoiding any nudity, cursing, or blood on stage. Anyway, I have to re-title it. The current title is the only thing that displeases me. And then I have to finish formatting it, and then submit it. I hope to do that before the Wednesday, so I can be done with it, and move on to other projects.

Cheers!

Bad, Naughty February!

February wasn't a good month for my Plan, apparently.

I didn't walk regularly. Now, there were some weather issues, and health issues, but still. I took no recharge breaks either. And, I have gone no further in figuring out what I am NOT going to do than setting a date for either resigning from my board or going inactive (June!).

However, I am pleased to report that I did finally finish the body of the book, and even added a prologue/short story. I don't know if the short story will be able to stand alone, but I am pondering it. Is there editing to do? You bet. I am also having to figure out some formatting issues. I plan to read the whole thing aloud in my final edit, before I get copies to my peer reviewers. I think I have them all picked out.

Additionally, I have a trip planned to Texas for the middle of the month. I need to see my grandmother. It has been four years since I last saw her, and I haven't visited my folks in about as long... I will also be seeing some high school and college classmates during the trip, which will be cool. It will also be a bit weird, methinks.

Let's see, anything else to report. Oh, yes, the 10-minutes one act play festival. I was asked by my boss if I would submit a script for this festival, and of course I said yes. I found out yesterday that submitting a script would mean not acting in any of the plays; and that it all has to be 'family friendly'... whatever the hell that means.

Rant time! Yay!!! I am so FREAKING sick of 'family friendly' theatre in this county. WHY does everything have to be family geared? Are adults second class citizens? I like dark humor, and language, and 'adult situations'... but can I see that on a stage in this county? NOT BLOODY LIKELY.... And it is not just the theatres.... it is everywhere... I cannot TELL you how many times I have gone to my favorite bar, after nine PM, and found CHILDREN there with their parents!!!!

I have reviewed grants for arts funding for the last five years. There are a handful of theatre companies that apply for funding.... and in their FREAKING mission statements they state 'wholesome, family friendly entertainment.' Guess how many list 'morally suspect, adult themed entertainment'.... NONE.

Either I am so far out the norm that I am definitely going to hell, or there is an UNTAPPED market in this county. I hosted a play reading (Anti-Valentine's Day was the theme), and it was an afternoon of Christopher Durang one-acts. We all had fun.

Maybe I should just create my own theatre company, and put in the mission statement: To foster an irreverent, mildly salacious culture and entertain grownups.

Okay, rant mostly done. Now I need to look up a website for creating voodoo dolls before writing my 'family friendly' script.... with zombies....

Artistic Supporter

It has been awhile since I posted. When last I posted, Africa had only fallen partway into chaos...

I just spent DAYS helping to jury a studio tour. It is a really cool event, and I am serving my second year on the planning committee. This is one of my volunteer roles in the community. Today, I estimated my total hours spent on this committee, and I estimated around 110 hours over the course of the event. That is a lot of hours, for no pay.

My husband asked me this evening, as I prepared for an art modeling gig, why I enjoy doing it. I spent five minutes attempting to answer his question, and finally had to give up. I thought about it as I sat still and said nothing for twenty minute blocks tonight.

I think I like art modeling for the same reason I like the studio tour. I cannot be an artist, so I am an artistic supporter. Yes, I am an artist- in performing and literary arts. (Okay, maybe it is an arrogant stretch to claim literary artist yet.) But, that is not quite what I mean.

I have always loved visual art. I remember starving myself for a 24 hour period so I could go look at art the way Hemingway did in A Moveable Feast. Granted, he was starving for real when he went to the Louvre, and I was a silly 16 year old girl looking at a summer college art show. I spend birthday money on art, and acting money, and sometimes, the Husband's money.... I attend art show openings whenever I can, and freely admit to spending part of a girl's weekend away in DC... at the Freer Gallery.

I sketch. I took a costume design class in college, and learned most of the art techniques I possess in that class. I learned how to render a human figure, mix colors, and draw clothing. It was a good class. I sketch the clothing I try to describe in my writing, and I often sketch the costumes for my theatre classes. I spent a few years (pre-baby) carrying around a pad and pencils, sketching nature, people, and objects. I would love to take a drawing class.

I dabble, let's be honest. I like it, but there are only so many things a girl can tackle, and tackle well. The last several days, I spent time discussing various artists' work with two women who ARE artists. I can see a piece of pottery and know that I like it. These ladies can look at it, and understand the skill involved, the process used, how it was glazed, if mistakes were made, etc. I learned just from listening to their critiques. And I learn while art modeling for open sessions and classes. The artists discuss their work, both the artistic and the business aspects. The teachers discuss choices or mistakes their students make, and work with them to improve their craft.

I just sit there, quiet, not moving... but listening. And I love it. Even now, as I sit here with my neck stiff and sore, with cosmetics still on my face, I can honestly admit that I might do it for free. If the right artist asked, if the opportunity was interesting enough, I probably would...

...well, unless it was nude modeling. Yeah, I don't do that, even for a paycheck.

Hi. My name is General Madera.

I started writing the short story/ prologue. It could be its own novel. It could be. But, I am working to keep it manageable. Rather, I plan to mercilessly slash it down after I have it all done. It is around ten pages right now. I like editing down. I think this will be interesting. It is fun tweaking words, compressing information, and leaving what is important.

I am learning a lot of things about the world, and what happened. I actually had to take the time to write down a timeline of events. This involved flipping back and forth through a lot of material. It was worth it. I suspect the timeline for this world will become ever more detailed.

Oh, I didn't mention the really interesting part of this story. It is written in first person.... from General Madera's perspective. I started writing it in omniscient third person. Something was bothering me about it, though. It was reading as a really dry summary, in my opinion. I needed to spice it up, give it some personality. And the idea suddenly hit me. We have not met General Madera EVER. We only hear what other people think or say about him.

I rewrote it all. I am excited about this. But it made me realize something about my writing. I rarely use first person. Really. I cannot remember anything I have written in first person. I must have written in first person as part of a class, or something. I use first person in poetry, when I decide to make my sorry attempts. Rather, when I made my sorry attempts. I don't write poetry anymore. I don't really even like to read it.

Sidetrack. So anyway, I have a ten page short story written from General Madera's perspective, and we finally hear some firm information about what happened to the world, how he rose to power, and (drum roll) the Chihuahua rebellion. I am in middle of it right now.

I cannot wait to find out what happens.

Snownami? Bless you!

Okay, so the weather has been lame so far. Yeah, we had the Thundersnow, which was kinda cool. We did get like 8-10 inches of snow dumped on top of a thin sheet of ice. Yeah, the kids were out of school for four days.

But that was no Snowpocalypse.

I see from the weather forecast that there is NO snow predicted at all. You do realize that President's Day is coming, right? We always have bad snows between Valentine's Day and President's Day. You aren't going to actually pay attention to that dumb ass groundhog, right? 'Cuz, we want our pants

DROWNING in that white stuff, okay?

I want to dig a snow tunnel for the Boy. I want to have to dig snow trenches so my dog will be willing to go outside to pee. I want to be grateful that I shop in bulk, and have like five gallons of organic milk frozen in my freezer, right next to the packages of dead animal that the Husband bagged last December.

Yup. It is official. I think I may have to finally hand in my Texas birth certificate. I actually know what winter looks like, and I kinda like it.

In other news. The Boy and I went to the library today and checked out a bunch of books. Most were for him. Dang, that kids loves to read. It pleases me to see him lost in his books (it means I have longer to be lost in mine.)

My new books were all... about vampires. I shit you not. The next two Sookie Stackhouse books, and then the next two Anita Blake books (those will take no time at all, since I know how to skim LKH's books). Additionally, I requested The Strain, another vampire book.

Sensing a theme? I don't know why I read them. Well, probably the same reason I read Douglas Adams, or Stephen King. Sometimes, I want to be transported to another world, and I like being a little scared of things that aren't real. Makes reality a little easier to deal with.

Not that I ever get scared by any of this now. Stephen, you have let me down. I had to put down The Shining when I first read it. Same with Salem's Lot. Didn't get scared by The Dome. Sorry. And Doug is dead, so I cannot berate him. Although, dammit, his description of Ronald Reagan STILL gives me the creeps.

Okay, so, back to winter. I am good on reading material. I am good on writing material. (The editing is done, I think. I will be contacting a handful of special folks out there...)

...and really? I was kidding about the snow days. A five day Snowpocalypse would ruin my writing routine. So, make sure you hit on a Friday evening, okay? That way the Boy can get to school on Monday.

Thanks...

OMG

I think I just finished it. Now to finish the editing, and then the peer review begins.

I just finished it.

January Report Card

What have I accomplished in the last month, looking at my 3 Plans...

Plan 1: Okay, I think I am making some progress.

Writing- I have gotten into a routine and am writing pretty regularly... accounting for the freaking snow days. I have signed up for a writing workshop (attending in March). I also met with a nice gentleman who is going to read the first 3 chapters and (hopefully) give me suggestions, and has given me some good ideas about where to go, and what to look at in my work.

Acting- nothing... but I wrote a blog entry about it, kinda spelling out what is going on in my head. I turned down the opportunity to act in a college reunion show, since I had scheduling conflicts and also since I live in freaking Virginia, now. I think, sad as it makes me, this may just have to go on the back burner, in favor of other projects and roles (ha ha) that are further along. Just for now.

Board/ Arts Volunteer- hmmm. I wrote a blog entry about this too. I think I will be taking a LOA until March (at least, once I finish the darn minutes and get them sent off). I think it would do me good. I do need to figure out why I feel compelled to finish out my term, if it makes me miserable. Am I finishing for a good reason, or just so I can tell myself I didn't quit? 'Cause, it kinda seems like to me, that no matter how I protest, I have mentally decided to quit. So, if I am NOT going to do it, then I need to make it happen, and move on...

Art Model- I have a 4 week gig starting tomorrow.... A Tuesday night gig in February.... (smacking head)

Theatre teacher/director- Okay, lots of planning was done this last month! I am excited. I have two classes to teach this spring, and two camps over the summer. Oh, and I have to write a brand new, LoCo based melodrama. The theme will be cows! I cannot wait to share the dialogue... once I write it.

Plan 2: Okay, this one is easy. I have been going to the gym and using the treadmill, twice a week... except last week, when we had the freaking ThunderSnow. However, I think that is okay, since I shoveled approximately seven thousand, four hundred and twenty two pounds of snow. In addition to the visits to the gym, I have been dragging the Boy and the Dog out for walks every day the weather has not been unreasonable. I feel good about counting this one as successful. I have some concerns about February... February being the traditional month for the weather to go to hell in hand basket. Snowpocalypse of 2010, anyone?

Plan 3: Well, I scheduled one recharge break in January. Considering that is up 100% over previous months... I am pleased. Additionally, I took advantage of opportunities to do play dates, freeing me of the Little Prince, so I had time to write. Not precisely what I had planned, but hell, I am reasonably pleased with my progress here.

So. Report Card grade for January 2011? I am gonna give myself a B. Maybe a B-. Excellent progress on Plan 2, good start on Plans 1 and 3, but lots of room to improve.

Yay, me.

A Weird Week, With Vampires

I think I hate winter weather- three snow days this week! It interrupts my writing. I must also hate company... it also interrupts my writing. Life interrupts my writing.

But, I am reading. I have checked out several books from the library. You may wonder, if I have the time to read, why can I not write? Well, I can pick up a book and put it down. I don't have the be in the mood to read. I don't have to have silence, or a computer, no boy jumping on me. You get the picture.

The Enchantment of Lily Dahl blew big time. I kept wondering why I kept reading. I kept hoping it would get better. I kept being irritated at the writing. "Oh, I mention a burp, and a tampon! Oh, I am a serious writer! Let me add an amateurish detail about someone's past! Oh, wow, I am writing." It did make me feel better about my own chances of getting published, lemme tell ya.

I Am Legend was a revelation. This is a good writer and a good storyteller. I love a good story. This book was a collection of short stories, and the title novella. (Will Smith movie, you might remember it.) I can totally see how Stephen King (a darn good storyteller) learned from this writer. Richard Matheson. I will be reading more of his work, and have A Stir of Echoes in my bag right now. I love finding new authors... (not like that Suri Hustvedt who wrote that POS I mentioned. Gees, that author pissed me off with crappy writing... I am ranting.)

Dead Until Dark is the first of the Sookie Stackhouse series-- the books that True Blood is based upon. Nice vampire world storytelling, and not bogged down in the sex (unlike Laurel K. Hamilton, the woman who brought us a 90 paged sex scene that kinda sorta had something to do with the plot? Gawd, really, 90 pages. Cuz, we need to know each and every... sorry, ranting again, and I have learned how to skim her novels anyway.) So, the writing is light, and funny without overdoing it, and the plot skips along without feeling like you are bouncing from Important Scene to Important Scene. I like her characters so far....

The Passage is what I am reading right now. Wow. More of a vampire sci-fi tale so far, but man, can you get caught up in this. He is like a slightly more literary King. By that I mean, he tells a good story, and gets you caught up in the characters and the plot, but he also has a kind of Serious Author feel to him. This books reminds me somewhat of The Stand. I just wish he had a good editor.

Which brings me to my next rant. I come across so many fucking typos in novels!! It makes me a little insane. Now, the translations I read: Carlos Ruis Zafon, Isabel Allende, Arturo Perez Reverte... nary a typo. It makes me crazy to see typos. Laurel K. Hamilton? Typos all over the place. She even changes the spelling of character names in her series! Makes me insane!

Okay. Wow. Quite a bit of ranting going on. Lots of insanity. Maybe I need to put down the vampire books. Cuz, I just realized that the three books I mention... all have vampires. Gonna go suck down an iron pill.

Oh, and I don't recommend The Enchantment of Lily Dahl. No vampires.

Short Story and Targeted Peer Review

This will be a short post. I have company coming tonight, and if I am free early enough, I would like to do some actual writing, instead of writing about writing.

I had a great meeting last week with a guy who coaches writers, and edits, and teaches writing classes. I got many good ideas out of that meeting, but the one that has resulted in an epiphany for me is the idea of submitting a short story excerpt for publication. This would give me feedback on the world I have created (and my writing), which will help when I jump into the mess of trying to publish.

I have been thinking and thinking about some part of my book to try to pull out, and let stand on its own feet. I was even contemplating bugging the Rhino, my sounding board guy... and then I figured it out. The through-line for this story is the conflict between Elena and General Madera, which begins because of Paulson, and the Chihuahua rebellion. I know what happened, and I have revealed parts of it as particular characters learn more about it. THIS IS IT!!

So, after I finish the conclusion of this novel, I get to write a prologue, of sorts. The real story of the Chihuahuan rebellion, and what really happened between Elena and Paulson. This will work all on its own, it will sell the world I have created, and it will force me to tie up all that loose information that has been floating across TWO novels...

I am not even a little bit excited about this, yup, not at all.... (jumping up and down like a crazy woman)

For those of you who don't know what the hell I am talking about, well, let me know, and I will send you the whole damn work in a few weeks. Cuz, that is the next thing I was advised to do. Another round of peer reviews, but a targeted one. As in "Do the male characters seem realistic to you?" and several other questions. I have already done one round of peer reviews, but I need more... Volunteers?

I love writing right now. (big goofy sigh)

I took off my pants in middle of the Museum today

I have been miserably cold this winter. As in, I keep sneaking upstairs and upping the thermostat. And wearing layers. Lots and lots of layers.

Today, the Boy decided that we definitely needed to go the museum today. So, although I cannot beat this #&%$@!! head cold, I thought, hey, it is indoors. I could get some walking in, and he'd be entertained. All good.

I wore my new navy blue sweater dress. With a long sleeved t-shirt underneath. And skinny jeans. With blue tights underneath the jeans. Nice and cozy and warm, and very very cute.

We got there. The Boy was in heaven. And I was uncomfortable. At first, I thought, I am just tired. The cold is kicking my ass, and I have been up late writing too many nights. I came realize that I was not cozy warm anymore. I was pretty darn warm.

I lasted until we finished with the space hanger. We went to the restroom on the second floor. The Boy is such a big boy, he wanted his own stall, and didn't need help. Yippee. I wriggled the t-shirt out from under the sweater. I thought, wow, much better! We continued the adventure.

And I realized that I was still very warm. Like... too warm. By this time we were far away from the restrooms, almost at the spiral staircase. I thought, hell, you have tights on, just slip the jeans off. I looked around, and realized that, although no one was near us, we were on the second floor catwalk, and all eight people there would not only get to see the Concorde, but France as well... much more than they had been expecting. So, okay... wait for the elevator... the glass elevator. Never mind...

We got to the ground level. As I considered taking the Boy all the way back to the restroom, he announced that he needed a break. We sat in the chairs by the bright yellow helicopter. I looked around. No one was in sight. I stood up, reached up under my cute navy sweater dress, and started yanking my jeans down.

I had them safely stowed in the bottom of the stroller before we saw anyone.

Later, I wondered about the security cameras. Surely they exist. And, even more belatedly, I wondered why the hell I didn't just take the sweater dress off.

Oh. And check this out. Guffaw.

On the other hat

So, one of my many hats is theatre teacher. I am a certified teacher in secondary theatre and speech. I taught for 3 years at a high school in Texas, before leaving to go pursue my acting career (and fleeing my psychotic coworker in the theatre department). I did a national tour with a very respectable theatre company, and did television extra work, and got a start on my Actors Equity membership. Once I arrived here in Virginia, I substitute taught while applying for teaching jobs. I did an interview. Unfortunately, I laughed when they told me the theatre budget. I thought they were joking. They weren't.

Now, I teach theatre classes at an arts center, with the parks and recreation system. I built an amazing program starting in 2002, until the birth of the Boy. I took a few years off from teaching... and the program died. It kinda made me feel like a failure-- a program that cannot survive without its creator is a personality driven program, in my book. Oh well. I did go back, and have built it again. The scale is much smaller, and so are the number of hours I teach. Before the Boy, I would teach 8 courses over the three month session. Now, I teach one or two only.

Childcare is expensive.

Plus, I am doing lots of other things too, remember... like writing a book, acting part-time, art modeling, volunteering, and doing that whole wife/mother thing...

Anyway, I have a great summer planned. A high school melodrama class, and a touring class for elementary and middle school kids. I mention it now because I have to have all the promotional materials done long before summer... like this week. No problem? Yeah. I am good.

And I love to teach. I particularly love not teaching in the school system. I like that the kids who show up get so much more than playing theatre games and learning tongue twisters. We do the fun stuff, and then we do the real stuff-- rehearsing and performing a show. Some of my classes are more advanced than others. My touring class, if I may be permitted to brag, is fucking awesome. I rehearse the kids for 2 weeks, we perform a few times, and then hit the road. They learn load in, adapting to different spaces, load out, traveling. And they are pros by the end.

Yeah. I love this gig. I love teaching kids theatre. I have an awesome boss-- the BEST boss in the whole world. He supports me. I would not be able to be as successful as I am without him behind me. I am lucky. I am thankful. I better stop procrastinating and finish the stuff I owe him.

On the other hat (the writer one), today, I wrote down lots of notes about the scenes I have to write. I am excited to start tomorrow... and glad I took the time to write down my ideas for once. True, I remember many... but I know I have lost more than a few.

OH! And Plan 2 news! I have developed a routine! Twice a week, I am going with a girlfriend/neighbor to the rec center. The walking is going nicely, and my knee didn't stiffen up much tonight at all! Woohoo! On the downside, all this crappy 'wintery precipitation' the last few days has meant that I have not really been able to go out and walk the Dog. But, I am sticking to the Plan!

(And I really enjoyed the Plan 3 event on Sunday. Boy and Husband went to the Natural History Museum... and I stayed home and wrote!)