Huh. June 9, 2011
It’s been… A week. I can honestly say that in every area of my life, I have felt entirely unmotivated, lazy, sluggish and… gross.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t gone to the gym in two weeks.
Maybe it’s because I have been unmotivated, sluggish, lazy, and gross all week.
I realized that I’m reviewing more than writing on Writing.Com right now. I didn’t ‘realize’ this, per say. I knew it all along. Reviewing motivates me to create; however, this is getting crazy. To try to solve this, I signed up for some ‘classes’ on Writing.Com. I know that the classes helped motivate me before. Seeing others create, wanting to create something worth showing off in class…
I reconnected with a dear friend on WdC, but since he is in England, it’s been hard getting to talk like we used to. The fact that I don’t stay up until 3am anymore probably also makes that more difficult.
I’m headed up north after my cousin’s wedding on Friday. My plan is to get up and jog Saturday and Sunday. We’ll see if I do that.
Also… my BABY cousin is getting married. She’s 22 and was certain she was past her prime. Don’t I feel like the old maid?
The answer is yes. Yes I do.
Lazybones. June 7, 2011
I am plagued with something that real-world folk call “laziness”. I know what I should do. I know what I want to do… but more often than not, I end up half asleep on the couch, buried in a blanket watching Food Network while Carl catches up on MMA news web sites and reads about martial arts. You’d think that I would want to be productive, too, right? I do – but sleep and warmth and laziness feel soooo good.
I could knit. I could read. I could write. I could play guitar. I could clean. I could do fifteen thousand things that I want to do that I claim I ‘never have time’ for… but instead, I nestle into Carl and do nothing.
I want to say that I never have been this lazy before, but I think I was in college.
I know that my want to just be near Carl has a lot to do with it. I could write… but my computer is in the other room and I want to spend time with Carl, even if we aren’t talking. I don’t feel like putting the brain power into a technical knitting pattern… and reading… I usually just forget to do that.
I sometimes have to actively tell myself ‘don’t be lazy’ to get myself motivated to not just take the easy way out. I feel like being lazy is just a habit; a bad habit. I also feel that laziness often ties into depression, which I have struggled with my entire life. When I start to notice that I’m not doing any activity after work, I start to worry that the depression is creeping back.
I feel better when I am productive. When I lived alone, I would write nearly every night. I would read for an hour or two before bed. I would go for walks around Lake Calhoun. I’d play guitar and make jewelry and update my Etsy site… and now… I just have no motivation to do any of it.
I have idea after idea bubbling in my head, but not enough bubbling in my veins to get me to actually do it.
I wonder if other people struggle like this? I wonder how the deal with it…
Worry. June 6, 2011
My thoughts have been pretty preoccupied these last few days, so I have found it very hard to write… anything. My father was diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation on Wednesday and all I’ve been able to do is worry about him ever since. His evaluation appointment is tomorrow, and I am anxiously awaiting my mother’s explanations after the appointment. Dad would never talk about it. He’s a man, you know. Plus, my mother has already said he is terrified. Dad’s been overly kind lately. I’m certain it’s because the doctors told him that his risk of stroke or a cardiac event are very high. We had a major wind storm up at the cabin, and mom was worried about the stress of him cleaning up the mess on his own, so Carl went up north with them this weekend to clean it up. The less physical stress on Dad’s heart, the better… at least until his full evaluation is done. I have had this fear of my father dying since I was a little girl. I know that all children fear their parent’s death, but I feel like I have always been especially afraid of losing my dad because I feel like I know so little about him. He’s my dad, and I love him. Even if he has had some awful moments and has some less than stellar traits… he’s still my daddy. There are treatments for his condition, since this is rather common… but he will be on blood thinner the rest of his life to reduce the risk of stroke. I’m just distracted thinking about this and worrying about him… And I know I tend to worry too much, especially about family. But again… he’s my dad.
I’m also worried about my mom’s surgery in fall. She needs to have shoulder surgery to repair a tendon tear and remove a bone spur in her shoulder. Mom’s never had surgery before, so I find myself hypersensitive about it. Dad had the same surgery two years ago, and it was terrible to see him in that kind of pain. My mom is like my best friend, so my heart breaks to see her hurt so much. She started talking about making sure everyone knows she loves them, and getting her ‘life in order, just in case’ and I didn’t sleep at all that night. It isn’t anything I want to think about, much less be told out loud. Saying it out loud makes it real.
So all in all, I am worried about both of my parents and my thoughts have been wandering to sad, dark places as I process these changes occurring in our lives. I bet the best distraction I could favor myself with would be to write, but I just can’t focus right now.
Head, shoulders, knees and toes… June 2, 2011
I received a copy of my neighbor’s ‘book’ yesterday. I don’t say ‘book’ sarcastically… I say it to emphasize how much work this is going to be. I think she is on a good start, but hopefully I can offer her not only proofreading and basic mechanic correction, but some good comments and ideas to help her expand on areas and grow her writing.
It might be challenging for me, as it is written as a very ‘stream-of-consciousness’ piece. So far, it is like having one long conversation with my neighbor. I think it has potential — even if she chooses to self-publish her book.
In other news, I’m headed to the doctor tomorrow. I reached my two week pain threshold with my knees, and I am starting to worry I am damaging them more by not going in.
About two weeks ago, during a typical gym day, I felt the start to ache a little halfway through my 3 mile walk/run. The next day, I could hardly walk. I sort of just brushed it off as workout soreness since I had upped some of my weights and was running more than walking now. The next time I ran it hurt most of the way through. The next… I couldn’t even finish my run.
My co-worker’s husband thinks I have a meniscus sprain, but thinks it’s weird that both knees are hurting the same way. My Sherlock Holmes side has figured out that I most likely over did it on the leg extension machine, or that the machine wasn’t set right when I used it. Since I had run before without pain, this machine was the only difference between my first run and my next.
Hopefully Doc has some suggestions, as I would love to keep running. I hadn’t run since middle school, and I was quite happy to start again, especially with the Warrior Dash coming up. I sort of need to keep training for that… Like a lot… So I am hoping this is a quick recovery… But the fact that the pain hasn’t gone away isn’t making me feel good about that.
Also, I found out some really scary news about my Dad and his health last night. I’ll elaborate on that more when I know more.
All in all… a fitful night of sleep. *sigh* And to top it off, I have Adam Lambert stuck in my head.
Back at it. June 1, 2011
And yet again, I am back at it. I’m trying once more to motivate myself to write.
I rejoined Writing.Com (you can find me, here) and have been slowly adding old writing to it. Have I written anything new? Nah. Just two or three flash pieces.
So what have I been doing, then, you may ask. Reviewing others. Lurking around the site, trying to reconnect with friends from 3 years ago who don’t remember me. You know… Not writing. *sigh*
On another note, my neighbor at the cabin wrote a book. My first thought was “God damnit! Everyone can find the time to write but me!”. Then, she asked me to edit it. I know what you’re thinking… My command of the English language is so superb and my handle on grammar is flawless! Ha!! To revert to my old 13-year-old self… As if!
I did, however, take 3/4 of a copyediting program. I quit because I got hotheaded about an argument with one of my teachers over a final… but the three basic courses are done and with a solid set of B’s.
But, Kat! you say. Your writing is ripe with grammatical error! Fear not, gentle reader. I don’t take myself and my writing as seriously as I take reviewing others. I know what others expect and I try to provide. I don’t hold myself to the same standards… which I should… because, you know, practice what you preach… But wev. Sue me.
‘Sides. Nan only wants someone to really proofread and offer suggestions and I am BAMF at that.
Mom told her that I didn’t need anything more than editing credit if her book got published. I shot her a glare. I don’t know if she realizes how much money a freelance editor makes for the average novel… But I do. And I’m poor. So. You know. Don’t speak for me.
Not that I think this memoir will be the next Million Little Pieces, but it has a shot at a minor publication, at least.
*Sigh* At least it’s motivating me to start one of four novels in my head. My own somewhat memoir piece.
Oh. And did I mention? The novel Nan wrote? Written in WordPad. Not Word. WordPad. This will be fun.
Little Bee April 9, 2010
So I’m reading this book… Little Bee, or The Other Hand if you’re English, by Chris Cleave.
Since I fully intend to rip into this book at my book club at the end of the month, I won’t get into a ton of detail here.
First of all, I’m ashamed I fell for a marketing ploy, especially with a book. Kudos to Cleave’s marketing people. They really sucker you in to buying the book in the first place with the vague and leading ‘description’ on back and the bright arty cover…
The characters of major importance being Little Bee and Sarah. A Nigerian escapee and an English magazine writer. What ties these two together? Nothing special. They ran into each other one day on a beach in Nigeria where Sarah cut her finger off to save Little Bee’s life from a group of men hunting her down for ‘knowing too much’ about the oil fields in Nigeria… Sarah’s husband can’t do the same to save Little Bee’s sister and the guilt of knowing but not know that this killed her drives Andrew to suicide when he finds out Little Bee is alive and in the UK.
Sounds dramatic, right? Well, it is. But all the circumstance, all the emotion is forged and forced. I really don’t care at all about Sarah. Not in the slightest. And without giving anything away, I can’t say why. She’s just a shallow, self-centered character… and as for Little Bee… this book should have followed the lives of her and her detention center mate, Yvette. That would have made for a far more interesting story.
Enough venting. The point is okay, the way Cleave tricks and forces the reader into it is not okay. I’m sure I’ll say more on this after book club…
Wandering thoughts… April 8, 2010
I don’t know where to start. There are words boiling over inside of me and I am starting to have trouble venting the lid properly so that they don’t boil over. Why am I stopping myself from writing? Why do I insist that I’m not good enough? Why do I tell myself I’ll write it down tomorrow and then never do? Why do I let me defeat myself before I even try?
Talking to Serg last night I said something out loud that I don’t think I really knew about myself outwardly. I’ve thought it before, but never spoken it or acknowledged it as a personality flaw or characteristic. Here it is: generally, I just assume people hate me. I don’t know why. My first thought after meeting someone is never “oh they seemed nice and I bet they like me and will want to hang out again”. It’s typically “that was awkward, I think. I’m sure I came on too strong. They probably think I’m a total nut job. Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut and agree sometimes? I bet they’re laughing about this to their real friend right now. Why do I even try to be social? I wish I were more likeable”.
And it’s true. Even at my most secure and independent, I still feel like everyone is just nice to my face with some real hidden agenda – not that they are out to get me… but that they are just being nice because they have to. Because I looked lonely. Because they are the friend of a friend. Because they are a friend’s significant other. Because they had the misfortune of having to sit next to me because all the other seats were taken and they want to be polite.
Is that insecurity or neurosis?
It’s funny to me. I don’t think about this a lot… but lately since I have been trying to be more social and say ‘yes’ more, even if the opportunity isn’t something I would ideally like, just so I can get out of the house and have a life… Now I’m thinking of it more. Did they invite me because they wanted to see me or did they invite me because they needed a fourth person to fill the table and split the bill?
I can’t explain it… But I’m an introverted extrovert with anxiety issues, so these things pop up in my mind once in awhile. I wish I could convince myself to live in an “If A, then B” type of world… but there is too much grey area in the equation for me.
I think this is why I talk myself out of writing all the time. The thought process usually goes:
Me: That would make a good story… I’ll jot the idea down and see if I can form some kind of plot around that.
Brain: It could work. We’ll see. Sounds good on paper right now.
Me: I can see the type of characters… where should this happen? What else do I want to develop here..?
Brain: I don’t know… Looks complicated. You’ll probably get three or so pages in and quit anyway. Don’t waste your time.
Me: Even if I just write to write…
Brain: What’s the point of no one is going to ever see it?
Me: They may see it someday… After revisions.
Brian: You’d need to write something for there to ever be revisions. And when it came to revising, you’d probably scrap the whole thing anyway.
Me: But… what about-
Brain: Nope. Put the pen down, put the lap top away, close the typewriter case. Your original idea isn’t feasible anyway.
Me: But… how do you know?
Brain: Because even if you do write it, it will never be thought of twice by anyone other than your computer’s antivirus scanner.
Me: Oh. When you put it that way…
In this case, the equations is “If (A) you write, then (B) you will fail, unless (C) there is some off chance that you come up with something genius or at the best worthwhile (because if you don’t what’s the point of writing), then (D) you’d feel good about yourself, then (E) you’d keep writing, then (F) the well will dry up like it always does, eventually”.
I’d like the equation to be “If (A) you write, then (B) you will feel good because you started writing again, no matter what comes out.”
Alas, I’m too wrought with anxiety, self-deprecation, and insecurity to overcome this hurdle. How do I jump over it? Would it be better to walk around it? Can I crawl under it? Can it be moved out of my way? Can I just walk straight through it?
The answer is yes. No matter what I try, the point is to try in the first place. I can say that out loud… but why can I mimic it outwardly?
Slowly… March 30, 2010
Slowly starting to write again. I was inspired by a boy on the airplane to Boston. Perhaps I’ll post the page or two I wrote last night, perhaps I won’t. I like to be ambiguous. I would love to start slow and create flash fiction first. Really get that down again before writing shorts and then attacking my novel — but writing is not like exercise. Sometimes you have to risk the heart attack and just jump right in.
I decided to format the main ‘project’ into a collection of essays to start. Maybe that is how they will stay and how I will present them some day. Maybe I will mold them into a smooth flowing book with a solid plot. Not certain. Haven’t really started yet.
It’s too early… I should get to work.
Book Club Book 2: Eva Luna March 28, 2010
The plot of this book was so slow to come about. I was really disappointed in how slow the purpose of the book moved, but really enjoyed the poetic narration. This book was vivid and very inciting to the senses, but lacked in substantial plot until the very end. I was a love story and a political piece, but neither were apparent at all until the last 80 pages or so. In our book club, we talked about how each character didn’t really have much depth. The character was what their personality flaws made them out to be, and nothing more. The Turk was a nice man who was constantly making up for his harelip by being overly generous and self-pardoning. The only character that seemed to be able to have any real personality despite their characteristic flaw was Mimi. The strings of the bits of life that Eva gathered through the first 150 pages of the book finally wove together for the finale, but a lot of the back story could have been shortened to heighten the depth and drama of the really center of the book. This being said I did really enjoy the book as beautiful words strung together in a very memoir-esque novel. I’d give it 2.5 stars. It picked up a lot very late in the book and I became very interested in Eva as a person, eager to see how these chance meetings and various characters would shape her life. Not what I was expecting, but still an interesting book.
