Tempus Fugit: On Taking A Break

So it's August 18th, and the last post here was July 11th.

A three-week cross-country road trip with The Teenager is my excuse.

I have found it difficult to start up again, not because I have nothing to say or note or write down.

This happened:

The Corn Palace, home of the best corn-shaped caramel corn EVAR.

And this:

Feeding prairie dogs outside the entrance to the Badlands. Yes, we touched them. Yes, it was AWESOME.

And this:

Me and ALL OF THE BOURBON at Buffalo Trace in Frankfort, KY.

And in between, many numbers of things, some of which are documented in photography, and some of which floated past with car windows the only frame.

In the week since we have been back, I have earned my RYT-200 (yoga teacher) designation, and we have done school shopping. I got another lovely writing assignment and have coerced two people into testing my gluten-free pizza crust recipe.

In other words, life has intervened. I suppose I should be writing things down, but sometimes a break from recording every moment in words (and pictures) is necessary and good.

My brain is making space to process all of the things that are happening right now (or have happened in the past few weeks), and that is occurring as we settle back into a routine and focus on practical things, like guests coming to town, back to school, and finding patio furniture.

The cup is full, the time is flying. A break from the electronic tether was necessary and good, but I think I am back. I think. There never seems to be enough time, yet we all have exactly the same 24 hours as Einstein and da Vinci. #NotAGoodExcuse

How was your summer? Did you take a break?

8 Reasons Why Naps Are Good For You

(no mammal naps as well as a cat)

I took a nap today. Not the kind where you accidentally fall asleep on the couch and wake up 45 minutes later, stiff in the neck and crusty in the temperament, unrested and more tired than you were when you started.

I planned this nap.

I took off my bra. It was pantsless. I went to bed. There may have been drooling, and there was absolutely dreaming. This nap was no accident, and it was glorious.

I recognize that even writing this may perpetuate the notion of the lazy freelance writer, but exactly the opposite. I had been up since six, meeting deadlines, working on my food blog, researching gluten-free bread, and editing seven blogs for submission. Then I walked the dogs, cleaned out the 'fridge, and did the dishes by hand. Right around one I went to bed with a book and let nature take its course.

I earned my nap. And even if I hadn't, guess what? Turns out, naps are actually good for you. Here are 8 reasons why.

1. Naps can counteract a bad night's sleep. Researchers found that even a 30-minute nap can mediate the stress hormones activated by a poor night of sleep.

2. Naps make you smarter. A brief nap after a lesson can help students retain the information they have just learned. Thousands of adolescents can definitely get behind this research.

3. Naps make you more alert. NASA studies prove this to be true, and who wants a sleepy astronaut?

4. Naps make you less of an asshole. Let's face it: when you're tired, you're cranky. A short nap can refresh you just enough to keep it together until cocktail hour, when you can allow alcohol to work its magic. There's no research for this. It's just true.

5. Naps are our biological imperative. Eight-five percent of mammals are polyphasic sleepers. This means that it is downright unnatural to sleep all at once. Nap like our other hairy animal friends (or Spaniards, who typically rise early, have a huge lunch, nap or rest for several hours in the afternoon, then stay up late).

6. Naps make you more creative. This may explain why so many of the artists in the American Visionary Art Museum's current exhibit are fond of naps, and also why Einstein favored an afternoon snooze. As a writer, I am merely recharging my creative batteries.

7. Naps increase productivity. Seriously. If they are good enough for Google, who invests in napping rooms and strange-looking pods that can be closed so you can ostensibly nap in the middle of a crowded room, then it's good enough for me.

8. Naps release stress. Even if you don't actually sleep, the simple act of escaping to rest relieves stress. Ask parents of toddlers; if you can get them into the bed, even without sleeping, that's a huge relief!

So maybe my nap was a little excessive today, but all you really need is 20-30 minutes. Drinking a cup of coffee before you nap can actually boost the positive effects of napping; called a "coffee nap," this is to the second decade of the 21st century what the power nap was to the 1980s. Sometimes a guided meditation or session of yoga nidra can help you to relax, even if you cannot actually sleep.

What say you? When is the last time you gave in to your baser urges and napped gloriously?

Write Like A Motherfucker And Other Writing Advice

(the tyranny of the keyboard)

I love my "job." It's in quotes not because I don't get paid for it (I do) and not because it isn't work (it is) but because for as long as I can remember I thought I would be a writer.

And technically, mostly by accident and circumstance, and also because I get paid to do it, I am a writer, and it is actually how I make my living, so it qualifies as a job. There are two things I do as a writer:

1. Mercenary writing work: This is usually referred to as freelance writing, but in my head I see myself as a mercenary sailing the seas of the internet, loyal to no one country but getting the job done for all. In a less glamorous view, this is where people pay me to write blog posts, articles, and snippets of content, or they give me ducats to read their work and polish it. Sometimes I get credit, sometimes I don't (but I still post some of it to my Pinterest writing page). This is how the lights stay on and the bills get paid.

2. My own writing: This is the writing that I put off and generally procrastinate about but which gives me tremendous joy (when done well) and inconsolable heartache (when the words don't come).

It is to this heartache that I address this blog. The heartache of the lazy, the lost-for-words, the plain old what-the-hell-should-I-say days. There are, fortunately, thousands who have come before me, much more famous and skilled than I will ever be (let's be honest with ourselves), who can address the very issue of how to work when the work won't come.

I get a tremendous amount of solace from the knowledge that every writer in history has struggled to write. From just planting their hind end in the chair to actually putting words on paper or computer screen to people thinking that you don't have a real job because all you do is "dink around online," everything about writing is challenging. It is a beautiful thing that in this land of struggle there are kindred spirits, brilliant writers and artists, many of whom even in the midst of a crisis of writer's block proportions come to the same conclusion.

Write like a motherfucker.

While I am actually not a huge fan of Cheryl Strayed's, how can one argue with this?

“Writing is hard for every last one of us… Coal mining is harder. Do you think miners stand around all day talking about how hard it is to mine for coal? They do not. They simply dig.”

Another person I turn to frequently when the rock echoes at the bottom of the well is Chuck Close. He is an artist whose work has stayed with me, in large part because of the workman-like manner in which he constructs his pieces. He takes photographs of faces, and then, in an art-school-type way, enlarges them to huge proportions using a grid drawn on an enormous canvas (think 10'x10' portraits). The grid lines remain on the work; he doesn't erase them or attempt to cover them. This workman's dedication to The Job rings through one of the most profound pieces of advice on creativity that I have ever heard (or followed):

"Inspiration is for amateurs — the rest of us just show up and get to work."

Show up, get to work: that is how the creation happens.

Write the crappy piece of writing. Take the horrible picture.

Feel bad about your awful work? Good. Filled with self-doubt? Even better.

"But the problem is that bad writers tend to have the self-confidence, while the good ones tend to have self-doubt." 

Charles Bukowski knows a thing about self-doubt (and a good bit of self-loathing, I'll warrant). If you can somehow manage to show up anyway, to go to work, to dig the mine, then the work is its own reward. And if the vein goes away or the levy runs dry?

Back to Chuck Close:

"...the most interesting thing is to back yourself into your own corner where no one else’s answers will fit. You will somehow have to come up with your own personal solutions to this problem that you have set for yourself because no one else’s answers are applicable."

Back yourself into a corner and figure that shit out. Be honest in your writing in a way that is true to your own voice and where you come from and things will happen. If it feels fake, it is. If it feels true, it is (for you).

But above all, sit down, every day, and write.

Write like a motherfucker.

I share this advice when I most need to hear it, when my work is taking a turn for the better or the worse, when it is time for rubber and road to become acquainted and the mind is willing but the flesh is weak.

I share it because writing is lonely work that millions of people do (to the tune of a white-noisy two million blog posts a day) but no one really talks much about in person (kind of like masturbating, only way more than two million of us doing it at once).

I share it in hopes that you will add your own advice to the comments: what is your writing routine, and what do you do when the words don't come?

Changes Are Coming

This t-shirt popped up on my Facebook page the other day, and it felt so appropriate I had to share. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this t-shirt is how I have been feeling for awhile. Scattered, pulled in eleventy million directions, days slipping by like water through a sieve with nothing done at the end of the day. And it's really only natural; we have been on the move quite literally since June of last year. Now that we are getting settled, it's time to make some changes.

For starters, I am dividing my personal and professional writing. This blog will no longer be a part of my professional portfolio unless potential employers choose to seek it out. I needed it to process so many of the feelings that I couldn't say out loud as Sicily and I grieved for Dane, but I have realized in the past few weeks that A) this type of writing is unsustainable as the focus for a blog, and B) some of you people may be offended/hurt/upset about some of the things I have wanted to write about. I have been censoring myself, and that does not work for me as a writer. 

So. This blog will still talk about life. Still talk about The Teenager. Still talk about parenting. It will still be personal.

It just may not be quite so wretched. 

There may not be quite as much cursing. Or maybe there will be. As with the image above, I am not quite sure what the focus is going to be, but it's important to note that it will be something. Maybe writing. Probably yoga, too. Potentially, eventually, maybe, there may be a boy involved (but I am not holding my breath).

I am also in the process of designing a food blog to support the cookbook I am writing.

There. I said it. "The cookbook I am writing." I said it again.

The food blog may take a while to launch, as I am very interested in A) not being the type of douche who just plagiarizes someone else's recipe, and B) making delicious things or learning how to do something and sharing it. I am also working on food photography in the hopes that whatever I make (or screw up) will be beautiful. 

And you should know that there will be ads, but  they will not be overwhelming. I am also patently against those boxes that pop up and try to guilt you into subscribing, so those won't be around. If I am being completely honest (which I always try to be), it's time to think about earning some ducats. So ads will happen. Click them, or don't. I will try to make them as relevant as possible, but not obtrusive.

But it's not something for nothing here, friends. As I get ready to re-launch each of these blogs, it's only fair that I give something away to those of you who have followed in the past and continue to ride along with me on this journey. So stay tuned for that on each blog in the coming weeks (food blog will take longer. Life happens, and two people can only eat so much food. Seriously. If you want to be a recipe tester, comment below. We are stuffed.).

If you have been with me from the very first blog entry, thank you. Thank you for your love, your support, your comments, the private notes. If you have not done so already, subscribe with your email to get new blogs when they arrive. No newsletters or spam, I promise. I hate that, too.

If you are new to Bitter/Sweet, welcome. Please subscribe via email, comment, and share whatever moves you. 

Re-booting, re-focusing. Moving towards the light. As the Soul Train says...come on along....

Why Don't We Do What We Should?

As a former educator I have been thinking about persistence and motivation for twenty years. As a human, I suppose in some form or another I have been beating myself up with this topic my entire life.

Why don't we do what we should?

Take this blog, for instance. I haven't written a single entry in three weeks. It's not that I have nothing to say; what's in my head could fill an editorial calendar with daily blogs for months. So why don't I write?

And yoga. As I twist myself into pretzel-y shapes at yoga this morning, a class that I love but still had to drag myself to, I was even considering why it is so hard to push ourselves to do even the most basic of things we know we should do. Some of them, like folding laundry and putting away the clean dishes, are just mundane tasks that are no fun, but even those simple things take no time and yield small pleasures like clean clothes and eating utensils. In our house, we will sometimes nearly empty out the clean dishwasher by using the cups, plates, and spoons (always spoons), piling dishes in the sink until we can't take it anymore (which is a long time if you are a teenager, less long if you are her parent).

I don't think I will ever fully embrace folding laundry or emptying the dishwasher, but there are important things I am not doing. Knowing that yoga makes me feel better and writing is deeply satisfying, why is it still so hard to do it?

For me at least, this goes way beyond laziness or lack of motivation.

Reflecting on myself, The Teenager, other people around me, and the literally thousands of students I have taught, I have come to believe that it is a complicated mixture of fear and insecurity that keeps us from doing the things we love.

Fear

There has long been a theory that human behavior is motivated by two things: fear and love. Fear is a powerful block to pretty much anything in the world, just as love is a powerful motivator. When I don't write, or I don't throw myself fully into yoga teacher training, it's not love that is holding me back. It's fear. What if it doesn't work? Or *gasp* what if it actually does? What if all of my wildest dreams come true? Then what?

I can't turn this blog into a motivational speech. All I can do is speak for myself. If I actually do all of the things I say I want to do, the world will open up in ways both frightening and powerful. There are days when I am just not ready for that; I am not ready for the responsibility of living up to the life I say I want. Then there are days when I look around at the routine I have built for myself and shudder to think of me doing the same thing, 20 years from now. Both imaginings are rooted in fear, one of not living up to my own expectations and the other of  living up to my own expectations.

See how I did that?

Insecurity

Fear's bastard cousin is insecurity. This is the anti-cheerleader in my head, that bitch who follows me around chanting about how I can't possibly think that my writing is good enough and who do I think I am? It's the one that looks in the mirror and judges things others miss. It makes commentary on my walk, my voice, my face, my writing, my progress in yoga. It's judgmental and loud.

Insecurity is rooted in instability, in the idea that at any moment the world could change and things could be different. It's why we have bedtime routines for kids and take our dogs for walks at the same time every day; the routine is reassuring. But what happens when the routine is suddenly, violently changed and everything you knew to be true and planned for is swept away?

Get over it, right? It has been two years since Dane died. Move on, yeah?

Unless you have experienced a similar death, it is hard to understand what it feels like to have everything you planned for change in an instant. As to the stages of grief, I am still struggling with acceptance in that it is still very difficult to reconcile the life we had planned and the life we have now, especially as we are still not 100% settled and are still moving around a bit. Even becoming a mother was easier to adapt to; yes, I became a different person in many ways with different priorities, but at least there was planning and time to adapt. Even two years After The Crash the idea that everything could be gone is still ever-present.

Insecurity is also deeply tied to fear. As I get ready to send The Teenager to Paris for a week, I have had to work hard to not give in to every awful fear I have about what could happen.

So insecurity makes me clinging and grasping in some ways, holding on to what stability I have. It's like all of the balancing poses in yoga. First you have to hug into the center of yourself, and then when you feel stable you can expand outward. Like a turtle, I am not sure how stable I feel yet, and because of this it is very difficult to expand outward.

It has taken me three weeks to write this, which speaks to how hard it is to admit and to also put into words. Hello, everyone: I am a raging ball of fear and insecurity. Not necessarily a confident introduction.

But the first step is to admit you have a problem. Hi, my name is Suzannah, and I am deathly afraid of both success and failure and deeply worried about losing the tenuous grasp on reality that I have worked really hard to cultivate in the last two years, one month and 11 days.

Hi, Suzannah. Keep coming back.

I guess the plan is to keep coming back. The key is to feel the fear and insecurity and do it anyway (like sending The Teenager to Paris or writing this down). I spent the first year after Dane's death saying "yes," and that has changed; these days I have to force myself to go out of the house, to explore, to engage, to say "yes" when I just want to go home and take a nap. I am getting bogged down in the minutiae of daily living and find myself thinking if this is really it for the next ____ years until I am dead.

That, as they say in the parlance of the 12 Steps, is stinkin' thinkin'.

Still working on steps two through 12 on this path. Thoughts and suggestions? What works for you to move past whatever holds you back?

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Love Yourself. And Get Back To Work.

So Elizabeth Gilbert is maybe a bit of my guru. Maybe that makes you throw up in your mouth a little. Maybe you saw Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love and then wrote Gilbert off forever. Maybe you think it's cheesy that she went off on a quest around the world and then made a bajillion dollars.

Maybe you're just a teeny bit jealous that she came home and made a mint.

Whyever you don't like her (and yes, I made up that word), I don't care. She is a fabulous writer, an in-depth researcher, a crafter of tales, a believer in telling the truth as she sees it, and a tireless supporter of flying one's own freak flag.

So it makes me thrilled to no end to read today her advice on writing. Specifically, this part:

"As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck, I’m such a failure. I’m washed-up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love)."

This speaks to my soul, as both a somewhat undisciplined writer and a person who really needs to say nicer things to herself in her head. Every week I send out anywhere between five and ten queries for writing jobs, either in response to a job posting or just out of the blue. Usually that generates one or two writing opportunities a week, most paid, but some just because I like the assignment, I support the mission of the publication I am submitting to, or I want to get more exposure. Do the math, though: if I send out ten queries, that means I get, every week, eight instances, minimum, of radio silence. Sometimes all ten.

But that's not even when my inner anti-cheerleader kicks in. She fires up when I am working on my personal writing, the stuff I do for me. She asks me why I think I'm so special, or what I think I can add to the already overflowing cup of information. She is the reason why it is so hard to sit down and write my own work. She is the reason why the above statement is so profound: writing is a process, not a product. It teaches me just as much about myself as I offer up to other people (and often way more of the former). The learning curve is steep, and I need to allow myself the grace of the climb.

She continues to address the other part of the equation, though: discipline.

"I repeat those words back to myself whenever I start to feel resentful, entitled, competitive or unappreciated with regard to my writing: 'It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work.'  Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work. This is a path for the courageous and the faithful."

The world owes us nothing. When bad things happen, we ask, "Why me?" When good things happen we say, "Oh, I deserve this." I deserve nothing but what I am willing to work for. After basic human rights that should be afforded all on earth (don't get me started; that's another post entirely), anything I can earn for myself is what I deserve. I could have moved to Maryland and been a teacher. I could have gotten a nine-to-five shuffling papers or tended bar or some other such job. I chose instead to write.

I don't for a minute fail to recognize how much I have to be grateful for. This is a path for the courageous and faithful. And a big part of that rests in gratitude for how many advantages I have started with. When things get hairy and procrastination and doubt and resentment creep in, the only way to beat it back is to get back to work. Even if that work is writing lists about all the things I should be doing or outlining a chapter AGAIN. Even if it's cutting and pasting an introduction the old-timey way, with scissors and black duct tape because that's all I have.

Gilbert reminds me to stay on the path. Her work is a testament to her advice. What courageous path are you on, and who helps you to stay on it?

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Should You Bother With A Backup Plan?

This week Sicily and I managed to get ourselves out of the house after dark THREE TIMES. This is huge. Even though darkness comes obscenely early these days, once The Child is home and dinner is done, all I want to do is curl up on the couch and go to sleep.

However, I bought a Living Social deal for a restaurant in Fell's Point back in August, and it was about to expire, plus The Child had a painting in an art exhibit at UMBC, so we went to dinner before the show and then to UMBC.

The Child's piece of art (photographed poorly by me, see above) was based on the work of Tom Scott, and the curator of the Tom Scott exhibit spoke to the assembled group to talk a little about Scott and to give some life advice. Namely, that artists shouldn't plan on making a living from their art and that they need to have a Plan B, and "probably a Plan C."

As he spoke, I got more irritated.

He talked about how it's not possible to live simply these days, but it was easier to live simply back in the 50s and 60s, so artists didn't need as much money to survive. He said that art can be a profitable hobby, and parents should support their kids and let them go to art school if they want to but to make sure that they are prepared to do something else and leave art to the weekends and evenings.

I will concede: very few artists of any stripe will achieve international fame and exorbitant monetary success. An artist who subsists off the proceeds from his or her art (and here I mean painting, writing, music, etc) will generally not live in a mansion and drive a fancy car.

And to this I ask: so what?

So what if you don't have a mansion? So what if your car isn't fancy?

This obsession with gadgetry and new everything and what things look like on the outside (brand-name clothing, etc) are cyanide to anyone with artistic inclinations. The message being delivered by the curator and people of his ilk is this: you have to choose between eating and art. Which is patently untrue.

One of my favorite quotes that I will butcher here and not attribute to anyone because I cannot remember who wrote it (but it's not plagiarism if you make sure to say you didn't write it, yes?): Don't be so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.

If you are an artist, ART. Paint. Write. Make music. Sing your song. Having a Plan B, or god help you, a Plan C, makes it too easy to fall back on that plan. If you are hungry and you are working on it you will succeed. How you measure success is up to you. If you measure it by the size of your house, then perhaps art isn't the right place for you. Maybe you like the IDEA of being an artist, the trappings, more than the act of art.

But if you measure it in terms of granting yourself the freedom to find your voice and express it, or by dedicating yourself to getting better at your art and doing it every day, then toss out the Plan B, and just ART.

This panic over money and the Plan B cushion is why I didn't become a writer when that's what I wanted to be from a very young age. I drank the middle-class Kool-Aid that said I had to have a career and go to college, so I did, and I became a teacher, which I loved, but in the back of my mind was this idea of writing. I am 100% sure that the reason my school got off the ground at all is because a donor backed out at the last minute and I had no money to work with. I had to make it successful because for a time, that was all the money we had coming in. So I put in the work and ended up with a fully accredited, non-profit private school that I built myself from nothing. Had I fallen back on the cushion that a donor would have provided, I am not sure that I would have worked as hard. If I am being honest (which I always try to be).

When Dane died I decided that life is too uncertain to put off doing what I wanted to do. As much as I loved the school, and even though it was beginning to turn a profit in the sense that I could actually give myself a paycheck, it was time to put that work into something for me. Teaching and education is my heart, but writing is my soul. Or vice versa, depending on the day.

There is definitely a certain level of anxiety surrounding the money I am bringing in (or not). But if I am being honest, which I always try to be, there has always been a certain level of anxiety surrounding money for me. So much so that I can remember coming up with a mantra in my mid-twenties self-help period that clearly reflected this anxiety: I have everything I need.

So if I am going to be anxious about money, why not be anxious while doing something I love? Why not finally throw myself into learning more about who I am as a writer? Why not prioritize time over money?

Thankfully, The Child was just as irritated as I was by the curator's speech. She felt like he was saying that art was good, but be okay with spreading yourself thin with a day job. Some would argue that I am handicapping her by encouraging her to throw herself into what she does with no thought of the practical, but to that I will simply say this: she built a house and has given two TEDTalks. She can certainly be as unmotivated as any adolescent, but when she is determined, she is persistent. Persistence is a better Plan B than any day job, and she is working hard to cultivate that (with some "motivational help" from me, I'll warrant).

Final thought is this: if you are prepared to throw yourself into learning and doing and creating, if you are determined and persistent, if you have focused on what's important to you and not followed the sheeple who preach material goods and the almighty dollar, if you have a path that you believe in an are willing to do what it takes to make it work, then a backup plan is unnecessary. Go out and ART.

What do you think? Should you have a backup plan?

Edited to add: I should also say that, after reading this blog again, some might interpret this post as being judgmental of those who take day jobs. This couldn't be farther from the truth; I was one of those people, too. We do what we have to do based on where we are and what we think we can do. There is no shame in providing for yourself and your family. I just hated to hear this guy telling a group of enthusiastic students that they can't be artists as a job. He was killing the dream before they could even dream it. The point is to think differently about what really matters in this life and act on that.

Procrastinate Productively

Snow is starting to mix in with the rain, as promised by the weather forecasters, but I don't believe we will get any interesting accumulation, which is just as well because no one likes three inches of grey slush.

Snow or don't, in my opinion. And certainly don't just be cold.

Today is cookie baking and writing and yoga reading and procrastinating to some extent but with one caveat: procrastinate productively. This may be my mantra for 2015. If I must avoid something, avoid it productively. Eventually, my house will be so spotless or my random paper will be so organized that I will have to address whatever I am avoiding.

For today's avoidance, because snow flurries and movies and peanut butter hot chocolate, I will be watching this. Who Owns Yoga? floated across my Tumblr this morning. Yoga is a hot commodity in the west, competitive and fancy now, far removed from its origins 5,000 years ago. Since I have already written 2,000 words, it's time to take a break.

If you don't have time for the video, or your boss frowns on you doing something other than working at work, check out The Onion's article from 1996 "Monk Gloats Over Yoga Championship." #Classic

Enjoy your day!

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10 Ways To Waste Time So You Almost Miss Your Daily #NaBloPoMo

1. Get published on Elite Daily and spend a couple hours refreshing your feed to see if anyone else has read the article yet (sidebar: the picture is not mine, and the title is definitely not mine).

2. Watch the first episode of season 2 of Dream School. Uh-mazing. Mind-blowing.

3. Watch and share the episode of Good Mythical Morning that has a picture of Sicily's tiny house.

4. Go to yoga, the overly-gentle class because you hurt your stupid wrist in two back-to-back classes last week that were too intense for you at this point and can now only do intermediate classes every other day until the carpal tendon in your wrist stops tingling and then being numb. #TheDumb

5. Walk the dogs. Realize that even though it's sunny and gorgeous outside there is some weird polar vortex of swirling death happening that makes it about 15 degrees colder than it ought to be and that you should have brought your coat. Suffer because you're stubborn and the dogs need a walk.

6. Finish the work that actually pays you money. Try to get more work that actually pays you money. Research ways to do that very thing. Get distracted by chickens in sweaters. Damn you, NerdyBaby!!

7. Share the hell out of an IndieGoGo that helps inner city kids get to college and stay there. Give more money than you can afford.

8. Buy milk. Finally.

9. Download and read summaries of Laurie Colwin's books. Don't buy them because you are saving pennies for New York. Break down and go to the bookstore and when you don't find them, go buy Dark Places by Gillian Flynn because you can never have too many books and your stupid books are packed in the basement in boxes that the cat may or may not be peeing on because you've noticed that the litter box isn't nearly as dirty as it should be for an indoor cat, and it's either that or the dog is helping out. #GoodBoy

10. Finally sit down to write the damn thing and end up submitting more writing that you have already done to be featured on another blog that promotes blogs. See #6

BLAMMO. I knocked you OUT NaBloPoMo. Just 18 more days to go.

(Image. Get it? Under the wire?)

Swim Ten Strokes

The dog did not get the "fall back" memo, so he poked his cold nose under my hand at 7 a.m. on a day when The Child has no school. Normally this dog will sleep until I am good and ready to rise, but not this day.

Two hours later, there is a cup of coffee in my belly and two pots simmering on the stove, one of homemade meat stock (steak bones and chicken) and another of curry. The Child is sleepy-surfing the interwebs with her own coffee as I sit down to write.

Mondays are list-making days, the time of the week when I sit the week down firmly and tell it how things are going to go. This does not often work, but I persist at any rate, attempting to ignore the siren call of anything other than what I am supposed to be doing. There are corners of the city that have gone as yet unexplored, and although it is blustery and not so nice outside I feel like putting on my boots and walking for miles.

I often write about motivation and persistence. For me, the key has always been to get into a routine: you get up and do certain things because that's just what you do. It's the routine. In Georgia, I did yoga every day because that was the routine: get up, write for an hour and a half, go to yoga, come home, eat lunch and write some more, all done.

Here, we are so uprooted and cattywampus that there is no routine beyond delivering The Child to school every morning at 7:45. At that hour my brain is fusty with poor sleep and I am not ready to write, and there is no yoga to go to, and sometimes I am meeting a contractor or going to a museum training or Something Else Very Important, and then it is 2:45 and time to pick up The Child.

I have not ever been very good at self-discipline.

My father told me the story once of an English Channel swimmer, this old dude whom they interviewed as soon as he hauled his scrawny, exhausted, hypothermic self from the water. They asked him, of course, how he did it. What he said is the thing that got my father through chemo therapy (among other things).

"I told myself," (says he, the swimmer), "that I would just swim ten more strokes. Then after that if I had to, I would quit. So every ten strokes, I would keep saying, well, I guess I can swim ten more. And I strung together ten strokes at a time and got all the way across."

So it's entirely possible that my dad made this up, but its lesson is important. Today, I will swim ten strokes.

What are your ten strokes today?

NaBloPoMo

It is that time of year...

Thirty days of blogs whether I (or you) like it or not. Some people write  a novel in November; some people grow their beard. I am going to blog.

They won't all be long because...well, just because sometimes I just don't want to.

Like today. The day after Halloween. An hour before The Child and I are supposed to go to a bar mitzvah, and it is a blustery, stay-in-be-all-day-and-watch-movies kind of day. Plus Dia de los Muertos, which in America means 50% all Halloween candy.

So. Here is my favorite time-wasting video from the interwebs to celebrate.

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLt5rBfNucc[/embed]

Writing A Book, Or How To Make Yourself Do Stuff

I love writing, and I think I am pretty good at it. I am efficient and know how to use words, and I can write in a variety of styles. This makes me an awesome mercenary writer because I never miss a deadline and I love a happy client.

So what is the deal with my own stuff?

It is incredibly hard to make myself sit down to write this next book, and it's not because I don't have any ideas or material. The whole book is outlined, and I am into the first part of it already. It is a compelling idea whose time has come, and I think it will be popular.

That is, if I can get past the difficulty I am having sitting down to write. It's not like I am cramming writing time in my hectic schedule (although I did just become a docent for the American Visionary Art Museum and am starting a work-study program at Baltimore Yoga Village Friday). It is pure-dee laziness.

It's loving the idea of having written the second book without having to write it. Jeez.

Apparently, along with fart jokes and rope licorice that you tie into knots over and over again before you pop it into your mouth, I will never outgrow my wicked streak of I-don't-wanna.

Crap.

*I am doing it anyway because I am a grown-up, but it's slow going, and being a grown-up is overrated IMVHO because even though you can drive and eat Pop-tarts for dinner if you want you have to pay bills, worry about eating vegetables and getting enough calcium, and think all the time about people other than yourself. But I digress.

**Oh, and also for the record, this blog was written as an active avoidance tactic in which I write a blog to convince myself that yes, I am writing my own stuff, even if it's not the book. So here's a paragraph of the book. All rights reserved. So don't steal.

"Rome wasn't built in a day, and it certainly wasn't built without tools. You could use any old tool at hand for most jobs, and some folks create beautiful things with nary a power tool in sight. Both approaches work, but in reality, the proper tool for the job makes everything go much more easily. The work is more efficient and generally easier to accomplish, and when you are learning all the other skills related to building a house or taking on another large project, if you can make it easier on yourself, more’s the better."

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Pulling The Trigger, Or My Year Of Grieving Dangerously

A gun metaphor seems appropriate for Charm City, even though the murder total is down from last year.

This morning while I was avoiding doing any sort of work, I came across the opportunity to train to be a volunteer docent at the American Visionary Art Museum (AVAM). AVAM is my newest most favorite museum. It is filled with untrained artists, lots of local color, and the quirkiest, best, most non-museum-y gift shop ever. You would think I would jump at that opportunity, as I am sure it comes with free stuff, like memberships, etc, and I am all about trading.

But I am having a hard time pulling the trigger.

There are other things I haven't done that I could have, a few opportunities here and there that I have passed on by doing nothing.

It's hard not to beat myself up about this a little, but I recognize that is ridiculous.

The second year of grief, which is over halfway finished, has been marked by constant motion. CONSTANT. From finishing the tiny house to showing it at the White House to moving it to Delaware to packing the townhouse to moving the bulk of our stuff to storage in Baltimore to cleaning and fixing the townhouse to rent to finally moving to Baltimore (take that, grammar check). CONSTANT MOTION.

Now we find ourselves in a purgatory of moving, staying with friends and looking for a house, settling into routines that will be upended and re-established when we finally move into our own space. When I am alone, I have been melting into a well-loved reclining rocking chair by the window, working periodically but mostly watching the world outside the windows and listening to the dogs snore (and bark wildly whenever someone walks by).

It's not relaxing, necessarily, so much as it is just stopping. Not moving. No motion.

So when it's time to move again, the laws of physics kick in. Inertia. It's hard to get the object in motion.

Even for things I know I will enjoy, it is hard to get up out of the chair to make them happen.

I think this is part of my Year of Grieving Dangerously. Now that we have made a huge move and instituted changes, the real work begins. I am writing, which is immensely satisfying, and I am in a state and a city I love, which I have waited for years to come home to, but the interior work that requires simultaneous action and reflection is still in progress. I think the key is to do it whether or not I want to. To make plans and go into the world.

Very complex. Very difficult. Feels impossible.

It is every part of the first two and nothing of the last, but still. It's that part of nothing to look forward to and every possibility in front of me at the same time. It's the part of grief that isn't wailing and weeping and woe-is-me-ing but is just as potent and powerful and capable of sitting you on your ass. In a well-loved reclining rocking chair by a window. Waiting for snow.

Trying to pull the trigger.

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Start At The Beginning, Or How To Eat The Elephant

"There I stood, on a ladder six feet off the ground, barely able to breathe. It was blustery outside, and everything froze and crystallized in the cold as I fought to catch my breath. I had just smashed my thumb with the whacker-tacker while tacking up a vapor barrier by myself. Yesterday’s insulation was still under my skin, literally, and tears welled up in my eyes in that moment as my thumb expanded, got hot, and began to throb."

This is the first paragraph of the first draft of the book I mentioned yesterday.

By the time I am finished with this book, it may not remain the first paragraph, but for now, here it is.

One bite at a time, or, as Anne Lamott would say, bird by bird...

(and writers out there will recognize this blog post as a blatant avoidance tactic, but we won't talk too much about that...)

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On Writing And Inspiration

So I recently published an e-book I wrote three years ago. I designed a non-fiction writing challenge for one particular student at HoneyFern; the goal was 40-50,000 words of non-fiction in 30 days, just like its namesake contest held every November (National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo). I called it NaNoFiWriMo and decided to write along with her. We both finished, and, three years later, voila.

It is on sale right now. Go buy it. I have made approximately $50 so far, which fills the tank of the Cube and gets us a couple coffees and a muffin. Or a really nice bottle of bourbon. But I digress.

Writing is a dream for me, or a nightmare, depending on what day it is. I think this is pretty standard for writers, and I feel all of my worst traits come forth in my writing habits: procrastination, arrogance, self-doubt, etc. I am writing this blog right now to avoid writing another long-form article on the difference between osteoarthritis and osteoporosis. Which I guess is better than what I have been doing, which is surfing food blogs and pinning recipes to make in the fall. And thinking about a fried egg sandwich and maybe hitting the farmer's market later.

But, again, I digress.

I have written ever since I could hold a writing implement. I love fine ink pens and new pads of paper.

I have discovered that as much as I would like to be a novelist, I am not a good storyteller on paper.

I am a passable poet and a good writer of non-fiction. Thankfully, I enjoy non-fiction and poetry and am happy to leave the novel writing to those people who do it so very well (and I am always looking for suggestions for new authors, so please leave some in the comments).

I am a terrible writing worker. My writing work ethic is awful. I have never missed a deadline, and I never will because my work ethic in general is very strong, but the pressure and stress of waiting until the last minute could be easily eliminated with just a little bit of discipline. I convince myself that I am not really undisciplined because isn't everything part of writing? The reading, the daydreaming?

Yes. But still.

It is time to re-visit one of my favorite artists, Chuck Close, and his words on inspiration. He is such an amazing worker that he lets the proof stand out in his paintings. The grid lines are clearly visible in his portraits as a testimony to his process. So for this Sunday, for after I make breakfast, here are today's guiding principles:

“The advice I like to give young artists, or really anybody who'll listen to me, is not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself. Things occur to you. If you're sitting around trying to dream up a great art idea, you can sit there a long time before anything happens. But if you just get to work, something will occur to you and something else will occur to you and something else that you reject will push you in another direction. Inspiration is absolutely unnecessary and somehow deceptive. You feel like you need this great idea before you can get down to work, and I find that's almost never the case.”

Have an inspiring and work-filled day!

Image by Andrew Moore