Posts Tagged 'writing'

this is what you’ve been missing

the picky eater vs the foodie

The keeping room

I am *that* mom

missed the turn, he did

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don’t aim to please. aim to write

I saw something the other day about how you (proverbial you) need to stop writing for likes or views or stats or whatever. Write to a person. Write for yourself. Don’t aim to please. Aim to write (I just made that last part up actually…).

I used to write for comments. The horror! I mean, let’s be honest. Comments are fun. They make you feel like someone else is actually listening.

And then, one day, I decided to stop obsessing. I decided I didn’t really care about comments. Or blog views. I really just wanted to write, so that’s what I do, now. Write when I feel like it. Or when I really want to share something. Or express myself.

It makes writing more fun and less stressful because I’m not wondering if someone I don’t even know will like what I am saying. *I* like what I’m saying, and that is enough for me, now. If you can also identify with me, that’s an awesome, added bonus.

For whatever reason, I have never been *that person* who seems to attract a lot of readers/followers/attention/likes/friends. This used to really bother me, because I felt like I was just as good a writer – if not better, to be honest – than X blogger or Y instagrammer. Why wasn’t I interesting? Follow worthy?

Then I decided that maybe I am more like a cult following kind of person. A few diehard, loyal fans, versus a watered down, mainstream person with wishy-washy readers.

And after thinking about that, do you know what I realized?

I preferred the loyalty – YOUR loyalty -over the masses.

Fun news for you – I still want to write a book. I have so much to say….that I have never said here….there is so much you don’t know…and I want to say it all at one time. In a different format than a blog post, obviously.

One day…I hope. It’s a long term goal. Even if no one ever reads it. Even if I am never officially published, at least I can say I did it; I completed my goal.

i was famous. for a second.

So, last Friday, this happened.

20130709-161202.jpg
Thaaaat’s right. That is Kellan and me. On AOL. Front page. Complete with a link to my article on What to Expect.

Shameless plug: here it is if you haven’t read it, yet)

It’s actually fitting, my first semi-big-deal (not really) experience in the published writing world, considering my first introduction with “the Internet” was good old dial-up AOL. The sound of it “connecting” was so exciting to me. The CDs with free minutes (!!!!), the chat rooms, the IMing, and who could forget A/S/L?

Those? Those were the glory days of the Internet.

Now…it’s…I wish it would all just go away, sometimes. Too much. Too distracting.

Anyhow, I was (am?) proud of myself for writing something that was “good enough” for a much larger stage.

I write, though not as often as I would like (and much of the time, on my phone, which makes it hard to get a flow going). It’s what I do. Well, I *do* a variety of things, but writing is one of the few things that I enjoy and will do, regardless. Recognition or not. I will write.

I know I am among millions who consider themselves “a writer,” and I feel lucky to write for a community like What to Expect. I like being heard…no, I WANT to be heard. I want people to read what I write. I do not write things that are not meant to be read. I love sharing my thoughts, my experiences, my life, through writing.

Thank you for sticking around even though I am beyond sporadic in my posts.

Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to read what I write.

Thank you for believing in me and my ability to evoke a rainbow of emotions in you.

All of those things…they make me smile.

PS: completely inappropriate and unrelated (and true) – I am *that person* who puts a smiley face on my pee cup for the OBGYN.

You’re welcome.

20130709-162949.jpg

a breakout? one day.

I have these moments every so often…if you’ve been reading for a few months, I’m sure you’re used to them by now.

If you’re new, don’t worry. It almost comes out like a pep talk or something?

Blame it on the rain and the gray skies…

Except this time, my little ramblings are coming with a pseudo-question.

Tim and I have had a conversation about who we’re supposed to become probably a million times. Yes, I’m serious. It happens almost daily.

And it always ends the same way. A way that I’ve mentioned before: I feel like I’m meant to be someone. Not just like, Teacher of the Year or anything. I mean, Teacher of the Year is awesome but first, I’m not a teacher and second, what I’m talking about is on a much grander scale…a “someone” who will affect lives across the globe and not just in a single city or town or state.

Something keeps pulling at me, tugging in the dark recesses of my brain…it’s like *that* person is trapped inside and is desperately trying to find a way out. I used to be afraid to talk about this. I was ashamed and felt others would look at me and roll their eyes all, “pipe dreams, little girl. Pipe dreams.”

But it’s not.

I know it.

DAMMIT!

It’s more than just thinking it’s your mother’s voice in the back of your head saying, “You can be anything you want to be…” It’s like an insatiable desire…a wanting that will not be quashed until I become this person, this someone.

It’s completely frustrating when you see it…you want it so badly…and it just ISN’T HAPPENING YET.

Tim is convinced it is centered around writing…my book…and I am inclined to agree. I’ve always been able to paint a picture and get my point across through writing more so than any other form of communication. Truth be told, I’d much rather that “talent” be through singing, but whatever. I’ll take it.

The book I’m writing…yes, I’m being all secretive and hush-hush…but it’s not because I’m being mean on purpose…it’s because it is developing and changing and morphing on a daily basis. Each day I write, something new pops out that I hadn’t even thought about before that moment.

That’s how it works. It just flows. I don’t struggle with ideas and pull my hair out for a plot line…it just comes out. Whether that’s good or bad..well, only time will tell, I suppose.

My pseudo-question? Yes, I think it’s about time for that. I’m done rambling.

Do you – or did you – feel that way? Is there  something you just knew you were supposed to do?

And what are you doing about it?

So, that was like, three questions…but it’s only the last one that matters.

To me, anyway.

Every day I try to find that damn key to unlock the door. I still haven’t found it but I won’t give up, because I’m a self-proclaimed stubborn asshole.

(that’s “asshole” in fabbit, i think)

First, just to clear up any *potential* rumors from yesterday’s post: No bun in the oven. I mean, really… baby + marathon = bad idea. You’ll have to guess again at my little secret that doesn’t involve a baby. I mean, if you want. It’s not like a requirement. More like something better to do when work has decided to beat you over the head with a frying pan.

Anyway…on to more pressing matters: No one told me that writing a book completely removes you from reality. I had to call Tim yesterday to try and bring me back into the here-and-now.

I was all, “Hi. It’s me.”

Tim: Annnnd?….

Me: Just needed to talk to a human who spoke English. Rabbit’s apparently don’t speak English. They speak rabbit.

Tim: You’re writing, aren’t you?

Me: No, actually, I think I was in a forest with lots of snow…talking to a rabbit or rabbit-fox…a fabbit…or a rox…something furry.

Tim: Yes, definitely writing. Well, by the way, today is Wednesday. And it isn’t cold enough to be snowing.

Me: WEDNESDAY? Shit! Wednesday is when it explodes! And temperature doesn’t matter. Snow shoots out of the tree limbs whenever it feels like it.

You see? There is no hope for me…until December 1.

I’m lost somewhere between I have no fucking clue and I have no fucking clue. Wherever the fabbits are…that’s where you can find me. And when you do, call me Secka and lead me by hand to the nearest bus station. I’ve got an emergency 8.5″x11″ laminated (thanks, honey!) poster with my address and an elastic band in my pocket. Find Gus the bus driver. He knows what to do.

I’ve decided to post pictures. To remind me that I am actually a human.

This was a sunset from the other week…from the backyard…I think.

sunsetpic 

I’m very sad I will not be here for Thanksgiving this year.

Paris 1

I will be somewhere else.

Actually, I’ll still be helplessly lost if someone doesn’t get their lazy ass up and come find me.

That’d be the right thing to do, you know.

I know Tim would probably appreciate it.

He might even send you a picture from his gallery.

Depending on my state of return, though. Cause if I come back speaking fabbit, well, then we’re all fucked.

i’ll be in my dungeon for 30 days

***Update*** My nanowrimo username is booshy2. Someone already stole “booshy.” Damn them. So, if you ask “booshy” to be your writing buddy, I accept zero responsibility for their actions…or rejection of your buddy request…since I already told you it wasn’t me.

The good news? The dungeon has internet access.

I know, it’s totally generous of the dungeon so I don’t fall off the face of the planet. Because that’s probably what would happen.

I’ve been toying with this whole write-some-semblance-of-a-novel-in-30-days thing. Otherwise known as NaNoWriMo. If I don’t set myself some crazy deadline, it’ll drag on for decades. And I’m not a patient person, so decades don’t exactly work within my plans for total domination. Soon, you’ll all say “I knew her when…she wasn’t living in a dungeon.”

I work well under pressure. The pressure is what makes my ideas awesome. It’s probably why this blog is totally lame…there’s no pressure. I mean, who’s gonna yell at me all, “YOU’RE LOSING MY MONEY!”

No one.

So, basically, I’m saying I need someone to yell at me.

Anyhow, I have no idea HOW I’m going to do this…I know a lot of you are participating in the self-inflicted torture…but it’s not like we get to sit down together and compare our battle wounds over chocolate. No. That would be entirely non-productive…we’d be too engrossed in trying not to get the bits of flesh and dried-out scabs mixed with the chocolate. No one likes a slightly crunchy, slightly chewy surprise (If you’ve never tried a scab, well, then you’re in denial. And you’re welcome for the trip down memory lane to that time you fell off your bike because you didn’t know how to navigate the curb, which resulted in a massive scab on your knee you gleefully peeled off a few weeks later. I actually just had an egg-burp after writing that…which is the universal precursor to emptying the contents of your stomach).

Instead, we sit in silence…locked away from the world…because you have to get into character…which typically isn’t very in-line with reality.

And this tends to create an uncomfortable tension when your husband is all, “What do you want for dinner?” And you answer, “She’s locked away in the closet. Gagged and bound. With a unicorn. And a giant cupcake.”

Exactly.

And no, I will not be writing anything relating to horror. It’s too gory for me to even think about. I’d probably barf on myself before I even finished killing off my first victim. And then it’d ruin the manuscript…or the keyboard. Either would be really unfortunate.

I’m still not completely decided on what story to write. I know – I’m sure you’re all, “Humor. That’s where this road ends.”

Maybe…but I’d like to think I’m capable of not only making someone laugh…but also cry…or get really anxious…or really pissed…or barf on their pillow.

Well, maybe not that last one.

Though that’d be a huge resume builder: My story was so awesome, I made someone ruin their pillowcase.

Damn.

If that doesn’t sell your credibility…nothing will.


this is where you ask those burning questions

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