I don’t know who just up and gave me a baby. BUT now that I’m approaching a year (a-whole-entire-year, GUYS) of being a mama and having a wee one around, I’ve come to some life lessons and realizations about the miracle of life. And being the sharer that I am (and
Good people, hear my editing updates – As of this Tuesday I have successfully edited 100/208 pages. Now, please note this is not a thorough, kill-your-darlings type of editing; it’s more of a fill-in-the-gaps, continuity, make-sure-the-gun-used-on-page-five-matches-the-one-used-on-page-55 type of thang. So far, it’s not as bad as I thought. I will be
Lately I’ve been accosted by numerous co-workers trying to entice me into reading the latest crazy “50 Shades of Grey”. They look at me with glazed eyes, talking about some person named Christian as I slowly back away. And no. No, I will not read this book. I will never ever
(It’s helpful to have the John Lennon soundtrack of Starting Over while reading this intro. If you don’t, well that’s fine too). My book From the Umberplatzen was published this month, December, one year ago. I had big plans. Lots of readings had been set up. I was psyched because I love
The guest blogger for the month of December is Berit Ellingsen, a writer I’m very fond of and lucky to know. Berit Ellingsen is a Korean-Norwegian writer and science journalist whose work has appeared in various literary journals and anthologies, most recently or forthcoming in Thunderclap, Pure Slush, SmokeLong, Metazen and decomP.
Many memories wrapped up in this year. To each their own.
But to me…it’s the year I got published. Sound the alarms, send in the clowns, pop the champagne cork!
After five long years of writing and re-writing, scribbling and scratching out ideas, editing and sending out shit, crap and then something passable, I got my first acceptance from the fab lit pub Metazen. And then the Glass Coin. And then Negative Suck….
From there…it snowballed.
2010: Write ‘Em Up!
I did things I never thought I’d do – and stuck with them. Which, if you know me, is a big deal. I’m the girl who starts P90X and after two months flops on the couch declaring it a bust, remote control in one hand, big gulp in the other.
I started this blog.
I joined Fictionaut.
I made good writing friends in good (and possibly bad and much more fun) places.
I grabbed up an editor.
I participated in writing contests.
I wrote. A lot. Made it my goddamn job even though I don’t get paid for it.
I love it. It’s my warm fuzzy happy spot. Especially because my office is under the heating vent.
When I look back on what I used to write it’s easy for me to weep in disgust at my Hallmark card nonsense. Cover my eyes in horror and bash the computer screen. Yet, for the sake of my poor HP, I don’t. I like to remember just how bad I used to be and how far I have come.
Now, this isn’t to say I’m a good writer. In fact, I even hesitate to call myself a writer because that’s agreeing to something, saying that I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. And if you know anything about writers, it’s that their goals are never done. There’s always one more thing to tackle after finishing the last.
But I’ll always keep writing. No matter what kind of drivel I start spitting out as I get older and wine worn.
2010: The Write Ones
Writerly folk are bastards.
Because there are so many out there who make my jaw drop in wonder. The drool oozes from my mouth as I am in awe of their words. I want to claim their skill as my own. But I cannot. I can only read.
I have met some amazing writers/friends/contacts (whatever floats your boat) and all of them have inspired me in some way. Few have even done guest spots on this here blog.
Let’s pretend we’re on my favorite daytime talk show Maury, complete with tranny’s throwing punches.
I’ll be honest. I fall prey to the envy of writers. That’s when doubt sets in. With so many eclectic and talented writers out there it’s easy to compare yourself to them, to doubt what you write, your style, your subjects…sometimes even the font you choose. Who uses goddamn Comic Sans anyway?
Then I pop a squat and knock it the hell off.
There are better writers out there. Each one better than the next. And good for them. It’s amazing work they’re sharing and I’m the lucky one for getting to read it. For getting the inspiration needed to plow forward. The community I’ve met has been so supportive that there’s hardly a chance to fall into the snake-pit of writer despair. In the real world, it’s not always this way but so far, I’ve been fortunate.
2010: Method Me
Do you write because you’re you, or are you you because you write?
Odd question but I think about this when I’m trimming my leg hair or stuffing my face with Baked Cheetos (shout out, Chester!).
Over the last few years, as I’ve really sunk into my writing style, I feel as if my truer self has emerged. Much to my chagrin, she is not more attractive nor can carry a tune comparable to Taylor Swift. But in the morning, sometimes my voice does resemble a grizzled Tom Waits.
But I digress.
Maybe it’s like therapy? Getting out the words, a story, gives you a new insight into yourself, into ideas, into something that wasn’t there before. I like myself much better now than five years ago. Maybe my husband doesn’t, but hey, that’s his own deal.
Writing’s good for the soul. Bad too. But if you use it the right way and understand it, what comes out may just rock your world.