Christmas can make you crazy. Frantic. Maybe you buy a bunch of stuff you don’t need, spend too much money then freak out so much you can’t actually enjoy yourself. So, don’t do that. Maybe family makes you nuts but you travel across the country during the busiest travel time of the year anyway, only to have a panic attack at the dinner table on Christmas eve — try to avoid this. Perhaps you enjoy every minute, stress and all. Bless you if you do.
I’m middle of the road and leaning towards just enjoying all of it. Kids make it so fun. They love Christmas and all it has to offer. It’s tough not to smile when they come down and spaz out over what the magical old man from the North Pole has delivered.
It does get crazy with obligations and the amount of actual time one has in a day. Still, I won’t complain. Nope. Hopefully we get to play in the snow as well.
Enjoy the days off, if you have them. Watch the show unfold if you don’t. It comes once a year, and the robots are coming regardless.
I’m predisposed to having a scattered brain. Things seem like they are all over the floor every day and I have to pick them up and put them where they need to go. At the end of the day, most of the time, this works and the pieces fit. Sometimes they don’t and accepting that is learning how to be an adult.
The holidays make the mess seem bigger than it is. Holiday season knocks me off of a routine that I have cultivated, a routine that helps me with my scattered mind. I do embrace the holiday season, have fun and enjoy the moments. When the time off and the family time ebbs, the mess on the floor of my scattered brain looks bigger and more chaotic. My diet has gone off the rails — not a diet in the traditional sense, but my usual lifestyle of eating healthy — my weekly goals are blown out (some of you might have noticed that I didn’t post last week.) and inevitably something new is in the works. On top of that, the kids’ routine is shot, the family routine is shot and Monday hits with the momentum of a freight train that wasn’t planning to make a stop. As the adult and the parent, I have to get up, be even keeled and keep the ship tight and moving along.
My writing suffers too. During the holiday season, I find it difficult to work with steady vigilance because the money-making ventures and the accountability work gets done first. I don’t know why this is, but it is. I always end up figuring it out, we all do for the most part.
So, don’t let the holiday season get you down. Roll with it. If emotions are running high, let them. If chaos reigns supreme, let it. Stand back and watch the show. No one will get hurt, too badly. The dust will inevitably settle and life with course correct. ‘Tis the season.
Being caught inside is a term surfers use when stuck in the white water while trying to get to the wave they want to surf. A lot of beginners experience it, paddling out through the white water to get to the spot where you can actually catch the wave. Expert surfers get caught inside too — you’ll notice them diving under the white water of waves that have already broken, but usually they are just paddling out (A broken wave is the white part of the wave). Experts aren’t usually caught inside for long. They know how to read the current, find the channel or the rip tide quickly because they surf a lot and are in much better paddling shape than I am (Channels and rip tides help surfers get past the white water). Intermediate surfers like me can suffer on the inside.
I was in Nicaragua recently and the waves were big. I don’t usually surf big waves these days, but the water was warm and I was ready to surf. So, I was caught inside a lot. Knowing those nice warm waves were out there gave me the mental strength to paddle through the white water, eventually find the channel and get out. Catching one of those liquid freight trains made all the hard work, the suffering to get past the inside, worth it. Some surfers call it “paying the rent.” You don’t get a sweet wave without mother nature noticing, and she’ll make you pay. I probably like surfing so much because it’s such hard work, which makes the payoff amazing. It might also be the reason why I decided to commit to writing and publishing a novel. I can’t imagine the payoff won’t be amazing.
I’m nearing the middle of my fourth rewrite of this novel. Rejected many times before but encouraged to keep pushing, I’ve heard things like, “It’s good. Just fix this.” Or “I like it but it feels like a rough draft or an outline.” Little do they know I worked my ass off on each draft and thought it was a finished product each time. I’m a beginner in this novel writing endeavor, in the white water getting smashed and pushed around by the current, but I can see the wave, the book I want to see on the shelf, so I keep paddling. I keep writing. I sit at the desk and push on the keys to make the words, the sentence, the paragraph, the chapters and eventually the book. I’ll succeed. It’s just a matter of time.
Happy turkey day, if you’re into that.
Halloween might just be the start of it all.
Holidays are fun, don’t get me wrong or peg me as a humbugger. I love the festivities. My son takes Halloween to another level. His costume ideas begin Oct 1. By Oct 31, he’s gone through seven costume idea changes, at least four costume changes, each with their own subtle iteration of changes. The enthusiasm is contagious. Don’t get me started on Christmas, not to mention November; we have two birthdays, an anniversary and Thanksgiving in that month. It’s a little busy. I’m also going surfing in Nicaragua next week, so no post. I’m sure you’ll miss me.
To be clear on the work of writing: 1,500 words a day are hitting the page, minimum. Momentum is important.
Turn up the good, keep your holiday cool and don’t eat too much of your kids’ candy.
Sometimes you are fighting you.
I like to think we all strive to be better. I do. But there are days, weeks and even months where I’m stuck in a rut. Everyone gets stuck — if you say you don’t, go do 90 minutes of hot yoga. Your perseverance will be questioned in that class, and if you get through it, even with breaks and a lie-down or two, you have persevered.
Writing a novel is a mind game for me, a hot yoga class of creativity and work. Negativity flutters around the room like little winged demons as I begin to write. Inspiration is the trickster, the coyote tempting me toward the dark path of YouTube videos, Facebook memes and true crime stories. The real work is in front of me, words waiting to be written, to come from my mind to the page. I sit and I begin — it’s that simple. I turn on music, sometimes, and zero in on the partially written scene that was left for me the day before. When I begin, the demons’ screams fade, the coyote runs away, and if all goes well the muse arrives. I have persevered.
I had another story rejected recently. It stings, but I don’t let it sting for long. It becomes a scar, another slice from a sword in a battle that I fight every day. Some battles I win and some I lose, but my focus, my through-line is the big picture — The Novel. I will persevere.
Yes or no?
I’ve asked a lot of writers this question, many accomplished and many not.
It’s a fifty-fifty split, roughly. The writers who use the outline tend to need it. The writers who don’t outline tend to despise the idea.
I was of the latter ilk until recently. I’ve rewritten my book three times. No outline. I don’t think the “no outline” is working for me. I’m not getting crazy with bullet points or roman numerals. I’m paraphrasing what happens in each chapter. This has helped me flush out the story, which is what I struggle with. I can write pretty sentences and compelling scenes, but they never go anywhere. The outline helps me figure out how to move the story forward, find plot holes, character flaws, keep track of characters and make sure that all the moving pieces are where I want them. It’s a helpful tool and I think it will give me more freedom to write the story without worrying if the story is working. I’m sure an editor will eviscerate it someday, but at least I’ll feel good about handing to and editor.
It’s not fun for me to write an outline. That’s a problem. I like things that are fun and I don’t like to do things that are not fun. Christ, I rewrote my novel three times instead of tackling the outline. The word, “outline” makes me cringe. It’s simplistic, I know. It’s a difficult truth that I must face. Learning how to do the not-so-fun stuff is what separates the hobbyist from the professional. I’m learning, and I like to learn.
I need it, thrive off of it. It might be a sickness, but it works.
It’s fuel. With writing comes rejection. A friend of mine actually said something a couple of weeks ago that has stuck with me, “Managing expectations is important.” There are very few truer words.
It’s important to remember that with rejection comes acceptance. It make take one hundred rejections, but when that acceptance comes knocking there is no better feeling. I read the letter/email (only email really), dance the jig on top of my roof, smile and think nothing in life can go wrong. It’s Glorious. This lasts about a day, and then I fall into managing my expectations again.
I expect to win, be successful and take the literary world by storm… someday. Right now, I manage my expectations, take rejection on the chin like a champ and push forward. Another friend called me a mensch. I’ll take it.
Rejection is just an obstacle on the course of life. I put it to writing because that is the path I have chosen, but whenever we put ourselves out there we are open to the demon of rejection. Either live with it and push forward or fear it and do nothing. In the end, you’ll know what worked for you and what didn’t.
Go out there and get rejected. You’ll survive and feel stronger for it.
With time, the seed of envy can grow into a weed. Maybe this metaphor is the impetus for the saying, “green with envy.” Not likely.
I used to get it bad. When I had to work and my friends would head to the mountain without me on a fresh powder day, or the waves were good and my buddies went for a surf and I had to work. I’m shallow, or maybe simple. But I’m not simple when that weed of envy grows into resentment and disdain for responsibility. I get complicated and grumpy, and regress into adolescence.
Not to mention Social media — the envy machine. It used to get me bad when I’d see videos of professional surfers and snowboarders flying through waist deep fresh snow or catching perfect waves in some far off tropical climate. It would hit me in the gut when my feed populated with friends and family having fun in Europe, Asia, Mexico, Nicaragua or Colorado. I’ve deleted Instagram, Facebook and Twitter from my phone about four times in the past two years. Then, at some point this year, I finally decided that I was being silly. I’m an adult and I need it for work. So, self-discipline. It’s tough. Some days are easier than others, but for the most part I can manage my social media time.
Nowadays, I catch envy before those damn seeds take root. But It’s also important for me to recognize the social media monster for what it is. Not real. In fact, a contrived reality. How many people stop fighting to pose in front of the perfect backdrop or pause an argument to take a selfie? How many professionals suffered through terrible conditions to get the one two-minute take to post on their feed? I don’t know. But I do know what I’m seeing on social media are moments in a day, a full day with a spectrum of situations and moments. I’m glad people can stop arguing for a smile at the camera. I respect the professionals who go out there and suck it up on terrible conditions for a solid shot so they can get a bit of a payday from their sponsor. It doesn’t always work, this positive spin, but I’m trying.
I occasionally remind myself that I live in one of the few places in the world where I can go snowboarding in the summer and drive to the beach for a surf all in one day — if I want. I just need to make time to do it. So goes the dance.
In the Pacific Northwest it just stopped raining. Actually, it drizzled today, and there were thunderstorms. But the real rain, the cold, constant wet stopped on June 16th. Three days later it was 100 degrees. That’s how it works here. One day it’s spring, A.K.A raining, the next, it’s summer. That’s not what this is about; I can’t just complain about the weather. Yuck.
Summer is freedom, relaxation and time for reflection… oh wait, that was before kids. Summer is another kind of chaos. It’s good, fun, happy chaos, but it’s chaos. The routine is upended, the schedule is new and the kids are feeling restless. On top of that, I still have to work. As you can tell, those of you who read my blog regularly, I haven’t posted in two weeks.
I’m good with it though. I’ve allowed myself to set the restraints of expectation to the side and let life happen, I’ve also been fly fishing a lot—I need some summer fun too. I try to keep the kids away from the electronic nanny—iPad. My son caught his first fish on Sunday and my daughter caught two last Thursday. So, instead of “my work” I have been working as a parent, getting the kids out there and having a good time. It’s summer after all.
You know who I’m talking about. There is one in everybody’s life. For the most part, these people were bullied as kids. They are angry, sad people. So, in part I feel bad for them — but that’s as far as it goes. I waste no calories with concern for their wellbeing.
Hating this person, attacking this person or trying to help this person is more than a waste of time, it will hurt you, take time from your precious day. This person is an emotional vampire who wants nothing more than to rule the roost. They make everyone who they interact with miserable and afraid.
They abuse authority, contribute nothing of importance to society and create struggle for everyone else. Life is already full of struggle, so the adult bully can go extinct for all I care. Which I think can happen. With the access to information we have now, I think that people will evolve out of being like this. Regardless, these are fools we must suffer sometimes. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. There are just awful people in the world. Maybe they just need a hug — I probably won’t be the one to give it to them.