Assignment

I would like to try and experiment. You need to help.

I was just reading through a journal I forgot about. One summer The Child and I did a little thing where each day we'd pick a topic and write a little essay. It was a good exercise, for me at least. There is something excellent about having to come up with a few paragraphs on a set topic; stretched the old noodle and all that. Then it occurred to me that it might be fun if you gave me some essay themes. (Oh, man, remember that? Having to write "themes" in grade school?) I'm not looking for big, lofty things like "Sean Hannity is a disgrace to all thinking people" or "Was Elizabeth I really a man?" I'm going for your one or two word idea, here. Things like "pie" or "bees". It might be fun.

Please leave your ideas in the comment section. If I come up with anything decent I'll post it here.

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This is going to be a wild week. MAB is at a conference in SF so I'm on my own. Last week was veryvery quiet. We were only a little over half full and went for days without any check ins. I got all my new additions up on the web site; that's how quiet it was. (Most weeks I'm lucky to update the wish list). I don't think it will be that quiet this week, more's the pity. On the plus side, I'll likely be logging some overtime, which I can spend for some days off over the summer. Because even if you totally love everything about your job you sometimes need a break.

I'm sneaking this in because it's Sunday night and hardly anyone reads my blog on Sunday night and also, by the time the people who normally read my blog show up on Monday, all full of coffee and ready for a break, this will be buried under the blog post that is scheduled to post tomorrow morning. (Which, btw, is a really swell little feature and I should take advantage of that more often).

Point is, sometimes I think that maybe it's time to stop this nonsense and only because I don't have the time I used to have and the whole point of doing this in the first place was to create some sort of creative obligation, if you will. Blogging was about making a commitment to write.

Amazing things came out of that. Friends, for one thing. Some of them downright irreplaceable. And writing stuff came out of it, too. But now...I dunno. I've got this job, see? And it's superfantastic and I adore it but between it and managing the rest of my life (which I sooooo do not feel like I'm doing very well, btw) I don't know if blogging makes the same sort of sense.

(This is probably the point where I mention that this is a genuine musing and not some sort of bid for a big ol' "OH NO! RAINEY! DON'T STOP BLOGGING OR I'LL DIE! I JUST KNOW I WILL!" crapola).

The thing I'm trying to figure out is this: am I blogging because I still need/want/desire the creative outlet or am I blogging because I said I'd blog? Because I've been looking at the stuff I've posted since I went back to work and I think it's safe to say that the preponderance of schtuff is pretty much not so much.

OR do I continue to blog but just realize/accept that the parameters must necessarily change...that maybe now it's not about the frequency (Kenneth) so much as focusing on making what I write worth the drop by of whoever is dropping by?

Know what's really funny about all this? I think of the bloggy ones who've disappeared for similar (or not so) reasons and how when they did I was always (at least secretly) all "Oh, please...why are you making such a big deal about this?" but now I think I might get it a little.

Shameless Self-Promotion or Putting it Out There and Why I Usually Don't

There seems to be a little theme emerging in the life of some blog buddies these days, to do with creativity and putting it out there and such like that. People far more talented and creative that moi, like my beloved Hat, have opined about it. And people, like she and Iwanski, are even actually doing something about it, accompanied by a chorus of "Go for it!" from this supportive little group.

As a rule, I find that the vast majority of us are very creative people, living our regular lives but dreaming about our creative self being more "out there", possibly even earning the occasional ducat from something we love. I fantasize from time to time about the fascinating conversation Oprah and I have about my moving and funny new book or the way in which my syndicated column has the power to change the world. Sure I do. Not that I've actually done anything that would remotely get me a call from Oprah's people, but I think about it.

I think that blogging is wonderful, of course. But I persist in the fantasy that Graydon Carter is just gonna stumble across my blog and insist that I become a staff writer for "Vanity Fair"...that my writing is going to become a career without me doing anything more than sitting in front of my laptop in my jammies and writing crap. Which, you see, is not how it is done.

Since the Unbound Press, one year ago, I haven't submitted anything for publication. Partly it's the classic "fear of rejection". Sure it is. Hell, I'm more protective of my writing than I was of my heart. Back in the day I was putting it out there all the time, only to have it lied to and tossed around like a Frisbee and kicked into the gutter until The Spouse came along and saw the battered, bruised little bugger and said, "Oh, poor little heart, I will love you".

But my writing? That's another monkey altogether.

"But you put it out there every day on your blog," says you.

"Sure", says me, "because it doesn't feel like a risk". Only twice, in nearly 3 years, have I ever received a negative comment from some anonymous bastid who unkindly told me that he/she thought what I wrote was twaddle. (That was a real word someone used. Hee. I write twaddle). But fundamentally this is a very supportive community who are always saying things to each other like "this is brilliant...I loved this...you should be published" (and really, we should all listen to each other more because we are quite right about that). But getting writing out there where assorted editors and publishers can see it and say, "Meh"? That's scary.

Oh, but it's even more than that, I just realized. I wasn't raised to say "Hey, looky me!" Which is what submitting feels like. Isn't there something kinda pushy about sending in an unsolicited piece to someone? Something that smacks of a little girl in a new party dress twirling around the middle of a cocktail party saying "Aren't I pretty? Don't you just love me?" Because in my experience that is the sort of behavior that gets one sent to one's room.

Consequently, I realized that it fundamentally goes against my nature to ask for attention, to promote myself. Which might make me fit for polite society but isn't going to do a lick toward lengthening my CV or getting me clients. (Because that whole marketing/self-promotion thing is required for that, too, and I haven't been comfortable doing it. Which is problematic).

Then I was thinking about Buck. A month or so ago I sent him a link I'd found to a magazine in Chicago that was looking for local writers. He sent in a piece. They loved it. Not only are they going to publish it - and pay him for it - but they want him to write more. I'm super proud of the fact that he's going to be published. But when he was here I told him that I was even more proud of the fact that he had submitted something in the first place. And in his quiet and self-deprecating way he admitted that he almost hadn't...that it had come right down to the wire and then he decided "what the heck". Maybe it didn't feel like a risk to him. But the point is that he did it.

I have a dream for my life. It has me helping people organize their homes - for money - which is something that I find to be a very affirming task, something which brings me delight and energy. And at my age, I really want to be able to work at something that feeds me rather than sapping me. In fact, at my age, I think I deserve that. I've been in soul-deadening-gig-just-to-pay-the-rent land. I don't think I have to go there now. And part of what I like about this scenario that I've envisioned for myself is that it still leaves me time and energy to write. Which is the other thing I really, really want to do. Granted, if some things don't break pretty soon I may have to abandon part of that dream because high school tuition ain't gonna pay for itself. (In fact, I'm going to start temping after the first of the year for a bit. I was going to start earlier but soon everyone else in the family will be on Christmas break and I selfishly want to play, too). Point is, I want to make my business work and I want to publish and I am going to have to take concrete steps before saying that it isn't going to work.

Fine, so here's the thing. Those concrete steps go against my nature and make me feel uncomfortable. Duly noted. But my dreams aren't going to come true unless I'm willing to stop thinking about how hard it is for me and be willing to twirl at the cocktail party in my pretty pink dress even if it means the grownups are disapproving and send me to bed.

I took a little risk last week. I was reading Blogging Project Runway and they have a feature called "Recapalooza" where they share other bloggers recaps of the show. There was a call to send them links. So I did. What the hell, right? And yesterday I learned that they had linked me! On top of that, my hits yesterday were more than twice what they normally are. And you know where all that traffic came from? That's right. Now granted, "Here's the Thing" isn't a commercial site and all that traffic doesn't mean anything in the way of income or potential fame or a syndicated column. In fact, there's a very good chance that most of those readers will only come around if I'm doing Project Runway stuff. Which is fine. The point is that I did, in a very small and totally uncharacteristic way, put myself out there by sending that link and it didn't kill me. So maybe, just maybe, I can find the wherewithal to do it again, only this time to a press or magazine. Because truly, at this point, I have absolutely nothing to lose. Greater writers than I have been rejected, for crying out loud. It's part of the territory. So what?

Here's some more shameless self-promotion: I'm trying an experiment with my business. I'm offering on-line services. I don't know that anyone else is doing something like this or if it's going to work but I'm giving it a whirl. The way it works is that a client sends me pictures of a trouble spot, I ask some questions and then come up with a strategy for them. The service then includes a month of electronic hand-holding whereby I email them to see how it's going, offering additional advice and encouragement as they work through the challenge. It may work. It may not. But it's worth a shot, right?

And then it occurred to me (here's the shameless self-promotion part) that I should tell all y'all about it. Because maybe some of you would just love to have a virtual organizer. Maybe you know someone who would. Which led to an even crazier thought, along the lines of "Hey, you know what would make a superfantastic Christmas gift? Moi!"

That's right. You can now purchase my virtual organizer services as a gift for that hard-to-buy-for someone. Perhaps you know someone who lives in the Seattle area; in that case you could consider buying an hour of in-home consulting for someone you love. Wouldn't that be better than a Wii or an iPod? 'K, maybe not, but it certainly would be different. Anygoo, think about it. There are very nifty PayPal buttons on the site and if you decide that this is just the last-minute-holiday gift you need for someone, simply purchase the service you're interested in and then email me (the business email is on the site), with the name of the lucky recipient and I'll send you a gift certificate for them.

Ok, that took a lot out of me. We can pretend it didn't happen. (Unless you were thinking, "Damn, that is a swell idea! I am so getting that for Auntie Mame!" In which case, I'm super glad I told you so you could finish your holiday shopping early.)

Now I'm going to go enjoy my really super clean house for a bit. And then I've got some articles to work on.

Resigning from Things

I got an email yesterday from Seattle Coffee Girl, which apropos of nothing, asked where I was on the liturgy book I finished writing a whole way long time ago. Hi. That would be one of the more classic examples of how out of whack my priorities have gotten. I haven't done a lick on it, even though there are only about 3 chapters left to edit. I haven't even thought about presses that might be interested in such a thing. (SCG, in her inimitable style, sent me links to about half a dozen this morning, including submission guidelines).

The point is, that things like book projects and building my business and general attentiveness to my family have all been swamped by meetings and fundraising and other obligations that have absolutely no bearing, at all, on anything to which I am truly committed. I've hinted at all this recently and was working my way out of it but this weekend it all came to a head.

I'll spare you the details because, well, frankly I know how you are. You'll get all outraged on my behalf and pledge to form arse kicking squads and all that. Which is always nice but I'm over the anger and don't need to feed into it anymore. Suffice to say that the frickety frakkety rummage sale was an even bigger waste of time and emotional energy than expected. Also, for the record, sometimes other people are soooooo stoopid.

By the time it was all over I sat, looked at my life and said, "Whoa, Nelly".

My poor, bedraggled little priorities are sitting huddled in a corner, begging for a crust of bread. They kinda look like the waif children that the Ghost of Christmas Future pulls out of his cloak when he's messing with Ebenezer Scrooge's weak mind. My priorities need to be given a nice hot bath, pulled up to the table and fed a warm, nutritious meal. I think fried okra and applesauce cake should be involved.

I'm usually the sort of person who is very clear about my limits and not afraid to say "no". I'm also usually pretty good at listening to my instincts. But once in a while I'll talk myself out of or into something because the instinct itself doesn't make immediate sense. Let me tell you, in the course of my life, there has never been a time when my gut feeling about something was wrong. Nev. Er. It doesn't matter if it doesn't compute at the time, I should trust it.

After this weekend I was more sure than ever that the rut I was in owed in large part to being over committed to things outside my passion and enough was enough. So.

A) I resigned from the PTA board. I loved working with the other board members and feel really good about what we accomplished. But I was beginning to get sucked into the inevitable politics of being in a leadership role. When the nitpicking starts to matter (and I should stress that the nitpicking was coming from outside the group), when I find myself getting stressed about things I can't do anything about, that's a good sign that I've been at something too long. I wanted to get out before I burned out because I love love love The Child's school and want to be able to continue being a booster.

2) We decided that The Child is not going to go to DC in the spring. There are a ton of reasons, any one of which is cause enough. But primarily, the fundraising is taking way way way too much time...time that she needs to be spending on the tours/exams/application process involved with high school. And, because of the way the fundraising is going, I've become really concerned that after all this time and effort the parents are still going to be on the hook for a portion of the costs. Her trip to France this summer is far more important than spending a week in DC with a bunch of princesses and little kings in the company of their over-protective and insular parents. (Did I say that out loud? Oops). I love the east coast and would like her first trip back there to be full of fun and adventure...like mine was. That trustworthy gut of mine tells me that this particular trip would be anything but.

And how's she doing with all this? At first she was hesitant about the finality of the decision. (We had discussed the possibility but that's not the same). Golly, she is such a game kid...up for anything, even if it means that she's going to be surrounded by poo-heads. She had good questions and offered suggestions, though never actually pleading to still go on the trip. Then I suggested that perhaps we can arrange for The Godmom to schedule their trip to southern California (read, Disneyland) during that week. Or that maybe she and P can do something special while the other kids are gone.

Who is P, you ask?

That would be the other kid in the class whose family has decided that the Bravo Sierra around this trip wasn't worth it and pulled out earlier than we did.

Anyway, as soon as she realized that there were other opportunities for adventure besides DC she was downright jiggy with it. It was never about the specifics for her and all about the thrill of going and doing.

And moi? I am so lighthearted today that I've had to lash myself to my chair in order to write this post. In fact, I feel a song coming on:




Jimmy Cliff "I Can See Clearly Now"

15 Minutes of Accomplishment

Assuming, well, assuming all sorts of things, today might actually be "normal". It's been a long time.

"Normal" means getting up early for coffee and prayer (check), unloading the dishwasher (check), getting The Child off to school without incident (check). So far so good.

Now what it means is getting something accomplished. There's a lot that hasn't been normal lately, with the weather changing routines and all that. This has only compounded the struggle with my own little devil, the one named "Procrastination". Here's an example of how it gets me. Say I need to pungle some bills (which I do). That usually also requires entering stuff into Quicken, possibly reconciling the checkbook, adjusting my cash flow projections...all of which take time. Usually too much time, because I procrastinate. I procrastinate even when I know there is money to pay the bills, although I know part of this is a hold-over from the days when I didn't have money and every bill paying session was accompanied by a clenched stomach, dry mouth and shaking hands. The other part of it is just that because I put it off there is always a ton to do and I feel overwhelmed so I just don't do it at all. Which means that there is even more on the pile the next time I think to tackle it.

Or take editing that liturgy book. I finished the manuscript last January. I've done very little on the editing. Because it's a big job. It's going to involve some re-writing. I don't enjoy that so much. So I put it off. And I also put it off because I think that if I can't devote a couple of hours to it then I shouldn't bother at all. Which is why the job isn't close to being completed.

I've mentioned Flylady before. I've adopted a lot of her common sense principles to good effect but one of the things I haven't heeded as much is her "15 minute" rule, to whit "You can do anything for 15 minutes". More than that, she emphasizes that once you've logged your 15 minutes, you're done. She encourages people to not stress if the whole project isn't completed right away. Which makes particular sense when you're talking about something like paperwork or ironing or some other quotidian task that's still going to be there tomorrow no matter what.

So I'm going to focus on that 15 minute thing...dedicating little chunks of time to projects that don't necessarily thrill me to the marrow but can't be ignored forever. Doing certain things every day for 15 minutes (like book-keeping) will necessarily result in having less to do over time. As for bigger projects, well, yes, the first thing my little devil voice said was, "You can't get a book done by only editing for 15 minutes a day". To which I replied, "15 minutes is a damn sight more time than I'm spending right now". What's the old joke...how do you eat a whale...one bite at a time. (Hopefully cream sauce is involved).

For additional incentive, The Neighbor and I have adopted a new ritual of sharing our daily accomplishments when we have our evening glass o' wine. Because we both have a tendency to focus on what we didn't do. This way, we celebrate what we have done, however small or insignificant it may be. And because we know we are going to be sharing it with someone else, it prods both of us to make sure we actually have something to share. Yay us.

So as long as a blizzard doesn't start or The Child isn't suddenly taken ill or The Dog doesn't run away from home, I may be able to have a "normal" day. And get something done.

Something I've Figured Out

I love writing on a computer. I type very quickly (about 70 wpm with 96% accuracy) and my mind moves almost too fast so it's a very good combination.

But I have a problem.

Hi. My name is Lorraine.

(Y'all: Hi, Lorraine).

And I'm an addict.

I'm addicted to email. I check it constantly. I'm depressed when the only new email is from Spurlington J. Megasparks selling me pharmacy drugs at rock bottom prices and elated when there's message from a real person. I'm also constantly checking for the emails that alert me to new comments on the blog. And, because I'm compulsive that way, I usually stop to answer those emails or comments the second I receive them. Which takes a lot of time.

So what I've figured out is that when I'm done blogging and ready to work on the book I have to do it the old-fashioned way. I have to turn off the laptop (thus eliminating the distraction of the "you've got mail" ping), sit down with a notebook and a good pen (one of the heavy ones - not a Bic) and start writing.

Before the advent of the personal computer the middle finger of my right hand had a flat, hard callus, shaped and polished by the weight and pressure of holding a pen to write. WWJAD. What would Jane Austen do? That's my motto. Betcha Jane had a callus*.

*Usage note: The adjective callous, as in "her life on the streets had made her callous to the suffering of others" - meaning hard, indifferent - is not to be confused with the noun callus as in, "I get a callus on my finger when I write a lot. " I did not know that.

Turns Out this is a I Don't Have to Run Day

I'm in the mood to play a Bangles video but it would be misleading. The fact is, they never recorded a song titled "So Completely the Opposite of Manic Monday".

The Child is home today with a cold. She's not even remotely close to having pneumonia or anything. More, the weekend wore her out and so the symptoms she does have seem more pronounced. Or she's just a malingerer and I'm an idiot. But both The Spouse and I were also feeling less than 100%, especially yesterday, so I figure she can stay home one day. What the hey. Although, because she isn't nearly sick enough, she is also not being allowed to watch television. It's my little way of making today just boring enough that the alternative seems more attractive.

The other night, between eating sushi and going to the theatah, we wandered around a Barnes and Noble to kill a little time. I saw 2 things there that seemed very odd to me. One was Bill O' Reilly's Culture Warrior in the Philosophy section. I didn't have time to talk to the manager, which I really wanted to do, but I can only assume they put the book there because the Blowhard section was full of Ann Coulter books.

Then I noticed a very interesting looking book entitled How I Write: Secrets of a Best-Selling Author. What I found intriguing about this volume was twofold. A) I had never heard of the author before in my life and 2) under the title it said "Name of Best-selling Author of Whom I've Never Heard with Name of Other Equally Unknown Person". And I couldn't help but think, could the secret of her success as a writer owe to the fact that she doesn't do her own writing? I mean, really, if you are claiming to be a best-selling author and you are selling a book about your "secrets" for success aren't you sort of outting yourself as maybe not that talented because you clearly have to have help? Maybe that was how the book began: Chapter One: Get Someone Else to Write for You. I never found out because that was the moment The Spouse came up withThe Pop-Up Book of Celebrity Meltdowns and said, "You should so get this for JP for Christmas".

Remember last week when I wasn't feeling very creative? Well, the adorable and ever-talented Amy came up with a superfantastically brilliant project idea that has me very excited and inspired. I have every intention of spending at least an hour today getting started. (Technically, I started. I have the first 2 lines). I am so grateful to Amy, truly, because once she came up with this idea all my malaise lifted. Not only am I very undiscipined when it comes to my writing, I also have a tendancy to work project to project. When I have something to sink my teeth into the motivation is easier to find. Between projects, not so much. And in a very odd way, when I have a writing project to be disciplined about I'm actually even more disciplined about the rest of my life because I want to make sure everything is under control so there's plenty of freedom to write. It's all very mysterious. Point is, Amy is a doll. Although, it is safe to say that this book will not be a best seller for the simple reason that I am insisting on writing it myself without the assistance of Amy or anyone else. Also, if it ever does become an actual book you will not find it in the Philosophy section of your bookstore. Unless your bookstore is very, very small.

Oh, and speaking of books, holy moly, I almost forgot. One of my dearest friends in the world has a book coming out. I even found it on line today, which made it all seem very real and exciting. (Although I'm not going to buy it on line because she is having a book signing next weekend and I'm going to go buy it in person). Here's the book, which will be of particular interest to those of you who garden. And you'll notice that there are 2 authors listed (Lorene is my friend) and that's because she was bequeathed the project by the other author, who was struggling with and eventually died from cancer. It was a labor of love for Lorene and I can assure you that she has a very fine writing style and did, I'm sure, a breathtaking job with the subject matter.

I'm going to admit to something now. The announcement of the book-signing followed on the heels of learning that my college room-mate, the one with whom I reconnected last week, has, in addition to raising 3 beautiful children, managed to do rather well for herself in the world of music. Like, she's sung at Carnegie Hall and the Kennedy Center and oh, yeah, made a record with Dave Brubeck. And as much as I feel enormous pride in the accomplishments of my friends, I admit to a moment or two of "Well, what the frak have I to show for my bad self, eh?"

I don't think of myself as a slacker but geez.

You know what kept me from seething and generally being stupid about it? I kept thinking about Shelley's success and the old joke, "How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practise, practise, practise".

There is, I believe, a blessing that comes with using one's gifts, whatever they may be, and also that it isn't for us to necessarily figure out how that blessing is going to manifest. I mean, the blessing may simply be in the doing of it. But the fact remains that nothing comes to you if you just sit around hoping it will fall in your lap (which is, sadly, my tendancy).

So I'm gonna go write.