When autumn leaves start to fall

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I was in New Orleans last week and it was hot, and I got to see some of my favorite people, and I consumed my weight in roux. The impetus for this visit was my friend Elena’s business trip there; I don’t get to see her often, and this was her first visit, and so I was happy to join. By and large I got to soak up my beloved Nola, got to share my tiny version of it with her, ate great meals, did some new things (restaurants I’d not been to, the Musée FCP, the sculpture garden at City Park), but the trip was marred by the fact that my Lou-dog took ill while I was there and so I came back early.

Louie is 15 and has a variety of age-related issues and last week was a particularly tough one for him; he spent three days at the vet getting fluids. Thank God he was in the hands of my more-than-capable co-parent, but it has been very stressful for all involved.

Of course I planned this trip not knowing this would happen, and of course I have tremendous guilt for having been away when it did. For now, we are managing symptoms, but I am aware that the week to week is unpredictable. It’s not fun, and as a friend said yesterday, accepting what is going on around us is one of the only ways to handle it all without falling apart. I do accept. I don’t like it, but I accept, and I realize that this is what I signed up for when I got a dog.

There’s an important distinction to be made between accepting and embracing. The inconvenient truth that has dominated my thoughts since I was old enough to think is the inevitability of death. I hate it, but I accept it, I’ve dealt with it, I will continue to do so. I was speaking to a friend recently and she mentioned that she lost her mother when she was 6. I said, “Wow, that must have sucked” because wow, that must have sucked. She teared up and said, “You are so emotionally accessible.” That is a huge compliment and a lifelong burden – I get it. It’s so very hard, all of it. And so many people in my life are going through challenging times right now. You have your health? you don’t have a job. You have a job? your love life is a mess. You have your health and your love life and your career? Donald Fucking Trump was elected president.

Oy. Vey.

On that note … we are coming up on one year since that, and I have a strong feeling that anyone who is reading this and who voted for him is chagrinned at best. Because, come on. You still support the guy and yet are intellectually and anthropologically curious enough to read random blogs?

I try not to talk about politics in this forum; that’s what my Resistance group is for. (If you’re on Facebook and you’d like to join, please send me a private message.) But I’m having a really tough time with it all this week. Some weeks are easier than others regardless of how awful the specifics of that week are, but this week, because things are challenging AF on a micro-level, of course what’s going on on a macro-level is hitting me harder. I feel very anxious, and that is not generally my go-to. I’m more of a depression gal. But the state of things in this country and this world is making me anxious and my dreams are reflecting this.

I don’t want to talk about it anymore. #AvoidanceIssues

I’ve applied for a writers’ residency in New Orleans. The idea of unfettered writing time in that city surrounded by other writers is a thing of beauty. However, there are a lot of people applying for a very small number of spots, so I am managing expectations.

I workshopped pages of my new book in my writing group yesterday and got very encouraging feedback, so that’s nice, and offsets the fact that, while there, I glanced at my email and got another Agent Rejection on the first book. I’m contemplating another revision—not a total one, but changing a few key details. The two projects are entirely different, so it’s conceivable that I might be able to work on both simultaneously. I mean, not simultaneously simultaneously, because that would be crazy, but at least during the same general period. This new project I’m writing is in the first person POV (have I already told you this?) and this has been fun and challenging in a different way. There is a terrifying amount of freedom that comes with writing in first person, because most of us think in a way that is not linear or plot-driven.

What else, what else … doing some freelance writing/editing, which is a relief right now because vet bills are high. But I will subsist on ramen before I will skimp on care for Louie, and so there it is. And I’ve not yet had to resort to ramen.

Oh, the challenging realities of life. Hug your loved ones and tell them you love them. Embrace your strengths and those in the people you meet and deal with every day. Forgive yourself and others (within reason), and know that brightness follows every squall.

You are wonderful. Thanks for reading.

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Just like starting over

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“Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives.” -James Joyce

Granted I’ve not tried to write much in other languages, but this book writing thing (did I mention I wrote a book?) can be maddening. Maddening! And yet so many books get written and published and a fair amount of them are really good. How do these people do it?

I’m in the mountains celebrating Father’s Day and then taking a few days to, as I keep saying for some odd reason, as it’s not an expression I’ve ever used before, “bang out my revisions.”

I saw a friend last week who comes to town a couple times a year and he said, “Wait—weren’t you working on revisions when I was here in December?”

WHY YES, I WAS!!!! And then, based on those revisions, I needed to copyedit, which led to further changes. Then I submitted my draft to my editor and my writing group and my beta readers and more revisions stemmed from that … and so on and so on and so on.

I found a metaphor for this today. I love metaphors. Not in writing per se, but in life. I took a longer walk this afternoon than I’d set out to … this is a hilly walk and is decent exercise and exercise is something I wish I loved more than I do. It’s a walk where, once you reach a certain point, it’s silly to turn back, you might as well just keep going up that road and take the long way back—you’ve gotten this far. So I kept bargaining with myself that I didn’t have to do the whole thing—I just needed to do something, which is my general approach to exercise. I would turn around once I got to the bend in the road, which I could see many steps in the distance. Only I’d never get to the bend in the road because once there I’d realize it wasn’t a bend, it was the suggestion of one. So I could never really catch up and I had to keep going. And that’s what this revision process feels like. I’ll revise until I finish this draft, only once there I realize the draft isn’t finished after all.

However, I want to move on to new projects, and so I must finish this one for the time being. In so doing I will start pitching to agents—in fact I already have begun this process, and it is a long and arduous one that uses a very different part of the brain than the writing does and a different part than the revising and maybe I should go back to school and learn a trade or follow a new pursuit?

But since I’m not going to do that, I’m going to “bang out” these revisions, continue my agent research and querying, and move on to my next writing project.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I do set goals at other times of the year. This feels like a starting point. My goals for the second half of 2017 are: to become a better writer, to read more, to spend less, to finish revisions (for now) and move on to the next thing, to purge a bunch of stuff that is cluttering my apartment and mind, to meditate and exercise regularly, and a whole bunch of stuff that I don’t want to put on record.

Happy Father’s Day, y’all.

Had we but world enough, and time

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I’m not sure why Sunday’s post garnered so much attention on FB, but I’ll take it — thanks, y’all. It was suggested to me, in the same breath, that it was because “it’s summer and no one’s got anything else going on” and “you need to write more!” … so I shall. Once I made the decision to link this thing to the Facebook and the Twitter, I realized that I was opening myself up to a much more vulnerable place, to the eyes of 919 of my closest friends. And my mom (hi, Mima!).

That’s 1838 eyeballs, and I used my calculator to figure that one out. Math has never been my forté. My grandfather, Wei Liang Chow, was a brilliant mathematician who discovered a theorem of algebraic geometry. I’m not even sure that I phrased that correctly, so basic are my math skills.

(I recently learned how to make an accent aigu, so my posts may contain disproportionate use of the words forté, cliché, and soufflé.)

There is a lot to be said for admitting what we don’t know, even if we think we should know it.I used to hide behind my ignorance of history, and I think what made me stop doing so was the revelation that without understanding history, current events have no context, and reading anything but the local news becomes an exercise in bewilderment and frustration. You wind up doing a lot of nodding at cocktail parties and hoping that the expression on your face is appropriate to the conversation at hand. As I’ve said before, it’s so easy nowadays to learn and to learn for free (or almost free) via this internet thing. I didn’t study much geography in school, and what I did learn was so long ago that much of it has changed (e.g. we learned of Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, and the Soviet Union) … my geographical IQ grew exponentially once I found Lizard Point. You’re welcome.

Speaking of travel (just go with it), a friend said earlier that she’d like to spend time with me outside of New York and my “comfort zone”. I’m beginning to think my comfort zone is  outside of New York. In terms of a place to live, safety, resources, and so on, of course I’m comfortable here, but in terms of where I don’t feel mired in too much of everything, where I can breathe and not worry that I’ve fallen behind, and so on and so forth, I think that magical place exists elsewhere. I’ve had recent conversations with two people who had lived in NYC for decades and couldn’t imagine leaving, until they did. They both expressed in different ways having found more peace elsewhere and, in so doing, having realized they might not have been as happy here as they’d convinced themselves they were.

This is in no way an anti-New York diatribe, because I love this city completely and will likely stay here for a very long time. It’s my roots, it’s where most of my friends and family are, it’s where some of the things I love most in this world can be found. But I don’t know that I’d survive it were it not for my occasional opportunity to leave. It’s all about balance, not the bass. Though I do love the bass.

I had a vivid dream of Quebec last night, a vivid and geographically correct one in which I was explaining the city to someone and giving them directions past the Citadel, down to the old city … as my darling travel companion can aver, that I was giving directions was most definitely the mark of a dream. I’m not terrible with them … I know my way around my apartment very well and I can get around Manhattan with ease. But I do so appreciate a good map elsewhere, along with someone who can read it.

I want to visit Croatia, among many, many other places. I also want to return to some of the beautiful countries and cities and tiny towns I’ve already visited.

For reasons only my iPhone knows, when I try to email myself from it (i.e. send myself a reminder or forward a note I’ve taken), my address pops up under the name “Holidays in the United States”. That, according to my phone, is my proper name.

They — the people who bring us reports of rain and the latest in nutrition news — say that we should aim to take 10,000 steps per day. My phone now has a built-in pedometer (yours probably does to), and so I am able to see how far short I’ve fallen of this goal at the end of each day. When I got home from a day of running back and forth across town yesterday I checked and saw this:

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Forty-one steps later I was at the elevator and back out with the dog. I’ve actually been walking quite a bit more in the past week, but, as this graph shows, I don’t always bring my phone along. Now I feel compelled to do so. I also feel compelled to not text and walk, to pull over to the side if I need to respond to or check something. Yesterday a young woman was walking toward me and texting furiously, as young women do. She tripped and flew forward several steps, continuing to text the whole time. The future is in the hands of unobservant multi-taskers.

The photo above is from Ireland, from a trip I took a few years ago with a group of modern-day wandering minstrels. It is, in fact, the northernmost point in Ireland and the inspiration for an impromptu song called “The Northernmost Point in Ireland (Is Not In Northern Ireland)”.

Sláinte.