Month: March 2012

I woke up to a carless driveway. Where was Waldo (car)? The give away were the recycling papers scattered all over the back lane and the garbage can knocked over in a way that spelled bloody murder. No raccoons and no wind last night made for a good riddle. What happened then? The car was driven out during the night by someone too impatient to remove the said items. Because it was stealing and driving, which calls for a quick getaway. So they did.

I called the police – I will philosophically declare that we’re all due a call like that sooner or later – then called the insurance company. Then waited. Wait is what you do. So I did. With some coffee and writing in a coffee shop between. I walked home. And then it happened: I bumped into my car in a back lane as I was walking. Straight from a Dr. Seuss book, one would say, my empty car – poor empty car with nobody inside it – and I stared at each other knowing there will be no touching until the police shows up to inspect it.
So I called them up and they said wait by the car. If the meanies showed up to drive away I was supposed to call 911 instead of engaging them. Ha. Like I would. Perhaps to tell them not to smoke while using my car, it really stinks. It’s bad, even for car thieves.

I sat on a cement fence for an hour and a half reading Hemingway’s “A moveable feast.” At some point the police called to let me know they’ll be there soon. Good enough. An elderly gentleman drove by me twice. The second time he rolled down the window “It must be a good book, never seen anyone sit for so long on our fence to read.” I said it is but I was also guarding my car and waiting for the police. Fair enough. It would be safe to assume he’s seen a few things during his lifetime.

When the policemen showed up they apologized profusely for the wait. I told them not to worry, this has been the only hour and a half I had in the last month or so to sit down and read without interruptions. Really. So they inspected the car, mildly scolded me for not believing in locking doors (I know, I know, I should not assume that a neighborhood is safe just because). Then we said our goodbyes and I drove home. Car in the driveway, meanies begone.

All is well when it ends well. Given that life is way more complicated at the moment than car or no car, I will say I wish everything was as simple as recovering or not recovering a car.

I’m almost half way into the book. It really is a good one.

‘Tis the starting point. Yes, I’ve been writing for a while but not exclusively. As per my last post, this is the chosen path and it’ll be what I’ll write about from now on. The struggle and joy. Making myself accountable that is. To you, to myself, to my boys. Writing for a living. The thought makes me feel so at peace it almost worries me. At the same time, various uncertainties throw punches at my resolution like a bunch of unruly drunken sailors. What’s uncertain, you’ll ask – aside from the obvious of course – when one commits to writing almost exclusively?
Well, to keep with the title of my post, I’ll say it as it is. Real then.

First, I am not exactly what you’d call disciplined. I am an intermittent writer. Bubbling with too much energy at times makes me get up continuously  during the writing of an article or a story. When I’m done preying on all that’s munchable in the cupboards and drinking enough green tea and coffee to keep me up for the next five days, I sit down and write. I’ve never missed a deadline but I have stories to tell about the bumps in the road I had to hop around to make the deadline. While I’m working to improve the discipline, although I am not sure if that Holy Grail is my cup of tea – no pun intended – I know for sure that I am committed to never missing a deadline. Feels good to know that.

Next, I am not one of those writers who can write in solitude. I don’t have an actual office, nor do I wish for one – case of sour grapes, you’d say, but I know I’m not meant to have one even for the fact that I can’t keep myself glued to a chair. I am, most times, in the lively company of my beloved boys. It means loud and it means interrupted. For a while I did entertain the idea that writing in an office facing green horizons and sunny skies would be conducive to earth-shattering pieces of wisdom, but somehow that’s not me. I write at my kitchen table, I write in the living room and I write in coffee shops when I feel like taking it outside. But quietness has never been my ally. If I’m desperate I buy my writing time with pizza dinners (albeit the clean, organic ones given my health/environmental freak side) and yes, screen time. My boys know it’s serious when I say “Do whatever you want, just let me finish this.” They love it. It’s free-for-all day.

I do not have a hidden box of money just in case the projects don’t show up in time or there’s some derelict payers out there who could not care less about my missing groceries. It’s beyond stressful at times. Yet not stressful enough to make me run for the first 9-to-5 job. Or maybe I’m way past that point. Either way, I know it’ll be like this and if you’d wake me up in the middle of the night I’d still say “yes, please, I’ll have that.”

I have severe writer’s block at times and if you ever had it you know it’s the equivalent of a long lasting chill down the spine. Days when I would rip my business cards to pieces in disgust. If I had them, that is. Maybe it’s good that I don’t. I know, I know, I have to repeat the mantra “this too shall pass” but I tend to not finish the thought when the money tap is the also called the idea tap in my case. Still, there is no giving up.

Yes I am scared but here’s the highlights of such endeavors: I feel good inside when I do it, so good in fact I am always looking forward to another day of writing and admit to getting rather crabby when things I don’t care much for get in the way. I am blessed to be surrounded by amazing people who encourage me with more than words, friends who tell me how that post I wrote made their day. I write for magazines I once flipped through and thought “Maybe one day…” Well, the day came, again, and again. My boys often ask about my writing. I read stories to Sasha and he says “again” in a way that tickles me pink. Tony reads my blog and says “I like it, Mom” and he looks at me with such pride it makes me forget all about the rejection emails that I got over the last month. And then there are those times when I open my inbox and find yet another confirmation that things will work out. Then I set to work and put second-guessing my choice in the back seat (for a while). If the dishes pile high in the sink for a whole afternoon or an entire day and the boys munch on whatever they find in the fridge so be it. There is no complaining. All I’m hoping for is that they’ll be inspired to choose their paths according to what makes them wake up eager and willing. Inspired to stay true to themselves knowing that the color of real is not one but a whole rainbow.

PS: During the writing of this post I sewed a cape for Sasha’s fox fur which he affectionately calls Ferret, I helped him make a house for that odd but lovely buddy, I honored more than a few dozens “Look, Mom” and I got dinner started. Keeping it real, I am.

The basement looks a lot better now. I did a major purging of papers and old magazines, threw out old things that cannot be recycled or reused in any way. Next was the kitchen and some leftover chores from a while ago. I do that when my mind abounds with thoughts. The nagging kind, the “time to deal with it” set of thoughts. When that happens, I get busy with cleaning up, purging through things, reorganizing my living quarters yet again, anything to give myself time to think. I think a lot better when my hands are busy.

Today was such a day. My thoughts were about where to put the next step. Career-wise that is. Told you it was big. Felt like that too, the whole time.
I’ve been growing into my skin as a writer for quite a while now, writing enough to keep it exciting, yet wanting to write more and struggling with lack of time and the frustration that sticks to it like fleas on a monkey. Time is sometimes short for many reasons. Some are discipline-related (yes, procrastination, yes anxiety caused by procrastination, yes the occasional “oh what’s the point there’s not much time anyway”), some are of a different nature (not feeling confident enough, forgetting all accomplishments because of a rejection letter), you know what I’m talking about.

Other time guzzlers include other professional commitments which often prove to be less satisfying than I care to admit yet I am still obliging and that creates a few ripples of frustration every now and then. Sure there is frustration in everything, writing included, but it’s a different kind. There’s no wondering if it’s worth it afterwards.

So today I looked closer at what’s worth keeping and what I should say goodbye to. The thought distilled itself crisp and clear like a first morning of spring: I want to write. Occasional meaningful projects aside (will write more in a future post about this big one soon to happen), I want to write. I enjoy talking to people, reaching out to them but I have to be honest and admit that repetitiveness that is often associated with long-term teaching of the same material can make me question my reasons to do it. A comfort issue for some, a bit of an uphill ride for those like me. I thrive on being challenged, it’s what inspires me to take the next step. I’m scared at times, of course, but the exhilaration that comes from being challenged and the gulp that echoes in my head as I look into how to tackle it, even those occasional bittersweet moments when all I can think is “Now what??”… It’s all part of it, part of staying true to myself and alive in what I like to do. Today my intense thought-churning process put words to feelings. I am ready to pursue writing and opt out of other commitments for now. The way I see it if I happen to lose my footing every now and then it’d better happen while I’m trekking down the road of my choice. I don’t necessarily want to know what my next step is but I want to know that I chose to make it that way not that it simply happens to me. I want my soul to giggle while flying high. Silly, I know. Honest truth though.