I told Brian these goals yesterday, so I might as well make them public knowledge:
I will have an edited novel ready to send to publishers by the end of summer. I will send it out whether I think it is ready or not otherwise it will never be sent out.
I will have half of The Illuminators finished by the end of summer.
What do these goals entail? Obviously revising and editing (or hiring someone to edit) my novel. Researching query letters and guidelines for the publishing houses I wish to submit to. Researching agents and sending queries to them. Ugh,that means selling myself and my work and I so hate that. I love the writing - but the whole finding a publisher thing makes my acid reflux bubble and burn.
But it is time to get my dreams back on track. Time to remember what I want to be when I grow up (do I have to grow up?). I'm sure I'll disappoint many people who were "counting" on me to do election stuff this year (I'm starting early - I just got my board of elections summons for March 5th - let 'em find someone who cares). I'd planned on getting everything done last year and having this year free for elections. That didn't happen. It is time for new people to come forward, as we did in 2004, and carry the load. I'm not convinced any more that we can do on a local level what those on the national level fail to do. People have to be convinced by the national campaign, by the candidate him or herself to vote for them. If they aren't convincing (like Kerry was not) we can spend hundreds of hours futilely knocking on door and get nowhere. And, as I learned too well last year, we don't have that kind of time to waste in our lives. Every minute is too valuable, too fleeting to squander on things that don't really matter and people who don't care.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
It's all wrong
I've been sitting staring at InDesign for about an hour. Everything I do looks terrible to me. I remember now why I don't write in the winter. I spend hours obsessing over on paragraph, one sentence - sometimes even one word (why, oh why could I not think of the perfect word?! I must be a terrible writer!). The confidence I have in the late spring to summer is gone. I feel disgust for everything I do. And even more disgust for the things I don't end up doing. A lose/lose situation.
I was always fortunate with the paying jobs I had. Printshop work is light in the winter, and usually very easy letterheads or ad set-ups. Much of the work I did in the winter was cutting and collating and generally grunt work in the bindery helping out the pressman. By springtime the work was back and so was my confidence. The worst jobs I ever had were ones that I accepted during the winter time, and come spring, realized just what an asshole the boss was and what crappy conditions I was working in. In the winter I just felt that it was no more that I deserved - but by spring I was outraged. They thought they were getting a grateful little stray kitten - but the kitten turned into a tiger with the coming of longer days and cut off the hand that abused it.
My mild-tempered husband is often baffled by this conundrum. In the winter I become solitary, unactive - unsocial, not wanting to go out with friends or leave the house much. Springtime comes and we are evenly matched - mildly active, getting out some, quiet contemplation sitting around some. Summer comes and I'm rarely sitting still - I'm dragging him off the couch to do some activity or another. I get irritated with him for slowing me down, for not doing more, for boring me when I want to go, go, go. Then autumn comes and I'm back on his pace again. I'm not quite as bad as I used to be, age is slowing me a bit and evening things out more. But my psychologist had to point out to me that it was not wholly Mr. Ipsissimus' fault that he couldn't keep up with my changing temperaments. Yes, he needed to learn to be more flexible - but I needed to learn a bit of patience as well and understand that he is a one-gear person while I am a three-speeder.
Ugh, I've been reading through my novels and I'm just ready to trash them. Sometimes I think they're great, but right now they just seem like unpublishable pulp. I'm ready to retire as desktop publisher as well, and give everyone I ever did design for money for inflicting my work on them. I think it would be a good idea to get out the sun lamp for, oh maybe several hours, see if I can get an attitude change going. 67 days until spring. January and February are the hardest.
I was always fortunate with the paying jobs I had. Printshop work is light in the winter, and usually very easy letterheads or ad set-ups. Much of the work I did in the winter was cutting and collating and generally grunt work in the bindery helping out the pressman. By springtime the work was back and so was my confidence. The worst jobs I ever had were ones that I accepted during the winter time, and come spring, realized just what an asshole the boss was and what crappy conditions I was working in. In the winter I just felt that it was no more that I deserved - but by spring I was outraged. They thought they were getting a grateful little stray kitten - but the kitten turned into a tiger with the coming of longer days and cut off the hand that abused it.
My mild-tempered husband is often baffled by this conundrum. In the winter I become solitary, unactive - unsocial, not wanting to go out with friends or leave the house much. Springtime comes and we are evenly matched - mildly active, getting out some, quiet contemplation sitting around some. Summer comes and I'm rarely sitting still - I'm dragging him off the couch to do some activity or another. I get irritated with him for slowing me down, for not doing more, for boring me when I want to go, go, go. Then autumn comes and I'm back on his pace again. I'm not quite as bad as I used to be, age is slowing me a bit and evening things out more. But my psychologist had to point out to me that it was not wholly Mr. Ipsissimus' fault that he couldn't keep up with my changing temperaments. Yes, he needed to learn to be more flexible - but I needed to learn a bit of patience as well and understand that he is a one-gear person while I am a three-speeder.
Ugh, I've been reading through my novels and I'm just ready to trash them. Sometimes I think they're great, but right now they just seem like unpublishable pulp. I'm ready to retire as desktop publisher as well, and give everyone I ever did design for money for inflicting my work on them. I think it would be a good idea to get out the sun lamp for, oh maybe several hours, see if I can get an attitude change going. 67 days until spring. January and February are the hardest.
Monday, January 07, 2008
This year is MINE
2007 was everyone else's year. It was dedicated to family, helping those I love deal with death and dealing with death myself. It was taken by candidates I didn't really want to help and causes I didn't really care that much about. It was not for me, as circumstances were almost always out of my control and I rarely stood up for myself.
2008 is mine. I gave the rest of the world 2007. 2008 is mine. I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. What interests me, what is my calling? You know, the question of "If you could do anything you want, without worrying about failure, what would it be?" The answer is still the same: I love to write. I love to create characters. I love to plot and plan and wander the worlds of my imagining. Graphic design is interesting, as is webdesign. But I'm not particularly dedicated to it. It is something I feel like I can't fail at, or if I do fail at it I don't particularly care. I don't want to fail at writing to the point where it is intimidating to me - and that tells me a lot. That tells me writing is really, really important. That tells me what I need to be dedicating my life to.
I've given to candidates pretty unconditionally the past four years. My help this year is conditional - it is on my terms. It is on my schedule and I will not be used as a last-minute emergency. I don't give a rat's ass that it is a presidential election year. We're going to have people coming out of the woodwork to help - great, let them do the work the way we did four years ago. I dislike politics just as much now as I did five years ago - familiarity has indeed bred contempt. Especially as I've gotten to know the people who become politicians. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what a friend proposed: going into business in the campaign management, messaging type field. But I dislike the people I'd have to work with. I dislike the messages I'd have to spread. I dislike the panic and the grueling autumn push to the end. Others thrive on such things - but the more I am involved the more I want out.
So I need to claim my time and claim my space and not let myself be used dry. It is good to be needed - I know that is why the campaign stuff is so addictive to me. It feels good to be wanted. After working alone and straggling around trying to figure out what I should be doing next, without any guidance or need for my writing from anyone around me - having a direct need that I can fill quickly and easily is addictive. Instant gratification. There is none of that in writing. None. A novel is never really done. It is never perfect, it is never exactly what my audience wants or needs. I have to resist the siren's call of instant gratification and focus on my long term goal of writing many novels and getting them published.
2008 is mine. I gave the rest of the world 2007. 2008 is mine. I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. What interests me, what is my calling? You know, the question of "If you could do anything you want, without worrying about failure, what would it be?" The answer is still the same: I love to write. I love to create characters. I love to plot and plan and wander the worlds of my imagining. Graphic design is interesting, as is webdesign. But I'm not particularly dedicated to it. It is something I feel like I can't fail at, or if I do fail at it I don't particularly care. I don't want to fail at writing to the point where it is intimidating to me - and that tells me a lot. That tells me writing is really, really important. That tells me what I need to be dedicating my life to.
I've given to candidates pretty unconditionally the past four years. My help this year is conditional - it is on my terms. It is on my schedule and I will not be used as a last-minute emergency. I don't give a rat's ass that it is a presidential election year. We're going to have people coming out of the woodwork to help - great, let them do the work the way we did four years ago. I dislike politics just as much now as I did five years ago - familiarity has indeed bred contempt. Especially as I've gotten to know the people who become politicians. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what a friend proposed: going into business in the campaign management, messaging type field. But I dislike the people I'd have to work with. I dislike the messages I'd have to spread. I dislike the panic and the grueling autumn push to the end. Others thrive on such things - but the more I am involved the more I want out.
So I need to claim my time and claim my space and not let myself be used dry. It is good to be needed - I know that is why the campaign stuff is so addictive to me. It feels good to be wanted. After working alone and straggling around trying to figure out what I should be doing next, without any guidance or need for my writing from anyone around me - having a direct need that I can fill quickly and easily is addictive. Instant gratification. There is none of that in writing. None. A novel is never really done. It is never perfect, it is never exactly what my audience wants or needs. I have to resist the siren's call of instant gratification and focus on my long term goal of writing many novels and getting them published.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
A New Year
Here we are in Florida in the new year. It is 38 degrees here at 10am - starting the the coldest snap in five years. It will get down to 26 tonight. We are being accused of bringing the cold down from Ohio and I can't disagree.
It's been a bit dreadful down here. The MIL has a very set routine and it has flustered her to have us here and try to cook and converse with us. I was getting more and more irritated yesterday as it brought back memories of the summer. I helped grill dinner, but couldn't handle more than five minutes at the table with the two of them so I ate quickly and went into the bedroom. I was flopped motionless on the air mattress when Mr. Ipsissimus came in and flopped next to me. We talked for a bit, with me expressing my frustration. He started telling me how hard it was even for him and how depressed he was getting by the whole visit. He compared his mother(the snail) to mine (the perpetual motion woman) and talked about visits to my family being so dynamic, active and fun. He'd been thinking all day about how much my marriage to him has changed him - though he was never quite like his parents, he had their tendencies to let the world ebb and flow by around him without ever dipping more than a toe in. Marriage to me has pushed him more into the deeper waters and he finds he really likes it and grabs at life more. After we talked, things seemed more manageable. We were in this together finding ways of coping with his mom and that is a huge difference from three people at odds.
I think for me that is a huge thing to reflect on this new year. We've had a hellish year. No doubt about that. But Mr. Ipsissimus has become more because of it. No, he still doesn't clean regularly, or cook. But emotionally, he's grown and changed and become a true partner. He has learned the value of my emotional support and began returning that support, becoming a true partner. The little things fall away in the face of that united front. My best friend lives with me and I can hope for better years and better things with him beside me, supporting me.
It's been a bit dreadful down here. The MIL has a very set routine and it has flustered her to have us here and try to cook and converse with us. I was getting more and more irritated yesterday as it brought back memories of the summer. I helped grill dinner, but couldn't handle more than five minutes at the table with the two of them so I ate quickly and went into the bedroom. I was flopped motionless on the air mattress when Mr. Ipsissimus came in and flopped next to me. We talked for a bit, with me expressing my frustration. He started telling me how hard it was even for him and how depressed he was getting by the whole visit. He compared his mother(the snail) to mine (the perpetual motion woman) and talked about visits to my family being so dynamic, active and fun. He'd been thinking all day about how much my marriage to him has changed him - though he was never quite like his parents, he had their tendencies to let the world ebb and flow by around him without ever dipping more than a toe in. Marriage to me has pushed him more into the deeper waters and he finds he really likes it and grabs at life more. After we talked, things seemed more manageable. We were in this together finding ways of coping with his mom and that is a huge difference from three people at odds.
I think for me that is a huge thing to reflect on this new year. We've had a hellish year. No doubt about that. But Mr. Ipsissimus has become more because of it. No, he still doesn't clean regularly, or cook. But emotionally, he's grown and changed and become a true partner. He has learned the value of my emotional support and began returning that support, becoming a true partner. The little things fall away in the face of that united front. My best friend lives with me and I can hope for better years and better things with him beside me, supporting me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)