Keep your day job!

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I’ve noticed the phenomenon before.

If you are a studying archaeology, engineering, business, computer science or any number of fields, either nothing is mentioned about chances of getting a job, or it is said that the outlook is wonderful.

If you are studying in an artistic field, say like writing, a very different future is hammered into your brain.

Books by writers, about becoming writers, are grim. I’ve read several of them, and all say the same thing: I’ve made it. I’m able to pay my bills by doing what I love. But you, fledgling writer, will not be so fortunate. You must keep your day job, because I am unique, and you are not. I have talent, I work hard, and I have a lucky streak a mile wide. If you think you’re going to have a success like mine you are deluding yourself.

Now there is one thing I’ve learned about myself. I detest being told that there is an unsurmountable roadblock in my way. If someone, anyone, tells me I cannot do something, that I’m not capable, the old rebellious juices begin to bubble. Furiously.

In the last few months, I’ve read innumerable times that the chances of anyone becoming a writer, the kind who is actually paid for her work, is about a million to one.

The gauntlet has been tossed. I accept the challenge.

I will be the one.

Veterans’ Day 2011

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As the wife of a veteran, I appreciate what our men and women in the military do.

My husband retired from the Air Force after serving this country for more than 20 years. He did his job willingly, even though it often meant missing important milestones in the lives of our children. He missed birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, school projects, first dates, and even some driving lessons.

Missing these things was was no small sacrifice for my husband. He truly cares for his family and loves being a part of it.

But he, like most military personnel, had a calling. He was called to serve, to protect, to insure that future Americans will be able to enjoy the freedoms that those of us not in the military often take for granted.

His love for America continues and doesn’t wane, even amidst our crazy society with its bickering politicians, protesters who can’t seem to figure out what exactly they are protesting, and the wanna-be ‘funny’ people who claim the military is populated by uneducated morons who have no other options in life.

My husband is my best friend. He has partnered with me to rear 4 beautiful daughters who are all both good and strong. He possesses 2 Bachelor degrees and a Masters. He is one the the smartest men I know, has a wickedly funny sense of humor, and the soul of an artist.

He now fulfills that call to serve by teaching. His philosophy is that we are put on this world to make it a better place, and he does his part by helping the next generation learn to love learning.

The men and women who serve in our military deserve the gratitude of every citizen of this country. But more than that, they deserve the gratitude of every downtrodden nation that our military has liberated from the bonds of tyranny.

They won’t get it, and they are aware that they won’t. Because as a group, the military is made up of a pretty savvy bunch of people. I should know.

My husband is a veteran.

Emotional high gear

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Have you ever had one of those days? You know, a day when everything happens, when your life has somehow shifted into high gear?

Yesterday was one of those days. I’ll list, in order of appearance, the unusual things that happened in one measly 24 hour period. Keep in mind I’m only listing the unusual things.

  • A member of my family, on the other side of the country, had open heart surgery, which made me a basket case all day long. (I am happy to report that I have been informed that she is now resting comfortably in the ICU.)
  • It was my sister’s birthday.
  • I received an email requesting a phone interview (for a job).
  • A nearby member of my family called saying she felt very ill and wanted me to drive her to urgent care (which I gladly did).
  • I was told about a very happy upcoming event (more to come at a later date).
  • I received a phone call from a relative upset because I had not called to say I was driving above family member to urgent care.
  • I received a second upset call from a second relative for the same reason.
  • I dreamed of a solution to a tricky homework problem that had been bugging me.
So there you go. It was a very roller coaster type of day, filled with pretty much every emotion possible.
To be perfectly frank, I wouldn’t mind today being boring.  Sometimes, boring is good.

U is wrong

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I don’t want to come off as a scold, but really!

How could they? How could my alma mater be so slack in their proofreading that they actually misspell the name of a country? An entire country! On the college application, no less!

When I think of all those impressionable, wannabe students….

I think I’d better spell it, just so there is no mistake.

The correct spelling is C-O-L-O-M-B-I-A.
There is no U in the name of the country.

I’m very embarrassed for my alma mater.

Am I blushing?

Maze of mud

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Friday night a group of us got together and bravely explored a corn maze. It was a first for all of us, which might explain how bad we were at navigating the maze.

The entire maze was supposed to take 1 hour, but it took 1.5 hours for us to just make it to the middle!

Shortly after we FINALLY reached the halfway point I decided to practice my non-existent reporter talent and interview members of my group. After an hour and a half slipping and sliding through the mud in the dark, those fire pits looked extremely inviting.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHidy1n6iq4

That was 4 days ago, and my muscles are still sore!

I want to try it again, maybe next year. But next time I’ll be sure to pick a day when it has not been raining. I’m sure walking through a dry maze will be quite a different experience than the one we had Friday. And to be honest, although it was quite an adventure, I can do without the constant threat of my feet flying out from under me.

Loglines

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At the beginning of this week I didn’t even know what a logline was. Now, since the week has progressed to the ripe old age of Tuesday, I need to write 10 of them before tomorrow.

Nothing like a tight deadline to get the old creative juices flowing!

I will need all the creative juice I can get. Loglines are handy-dandy one sentence beings that tell the story of the story. The blurb that bubbles with the good stuff of a script. The short summary that satisfies the question, “what is this about?”

I need to write 10 of them by tomorrow. Ten new, fresh ideas, presented in a compact package complete with character, action, and drama. Ten little gems that will stand the test of the old red marker.

And then, I will have the pleasure of choosing one of them to write into a 5 page script. By Sunday.

Good thing I enjoy a challenge!

I wonder if they sell creative juice in the grocery store in the frozen food aisle?

Dripping with sap

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I had finished a draft of the first part of the screen play, and it was…it was…well, I really couldn’t tell what it was! I enjoyed writing it, tremendously, but something about it just wasn’t right.

And you cannot fix a problem until you can identify it. I had no clue what was wrong with my baby script, I just knew that it stunk.

So I read it aloud to family members. It was embarrassing for me (since I knew it was bad) and for them (since they could hear it was bad). But it had to be done. I needed help. Desperately!

I was very fortunate that they were honest enough with me to tell me that it was a little sappy–that it read like a bad 1940s movie. And they were perfectly right, except it wasn’t just a little sappy, it was covered with it!

I talked through the problems with them and began rewriting, then and there. I could immediately tell the difference.

As I worked to de-sappify the script I realized that my main problem was that I was trying to stick to the outline which I had turned in last week as a class assignment. I forcing the story to stay within the outline, but the story was fighting back tooth and nail.

So while I was writing from point A to point B to point C, my story had gotten bored and wanted to visit point 5 and point 12 and point 32. I had not known that those points even existed!

I’ll tell you, that script is one good fighter. I would write a line, it would throw a punch, and POW, suddenly there was sappiness all over the place. It was quite a mess.

Assignment or no assignment, I’ve decided to negotiate a truce. I’ll toss out the original outline I was trying to follow and write a new one. That way, we’ll both be happy.

With any luck, the sap will stay in the trees, where it belongs.

Writeaholism

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I wanted to use a different word, really I did. But nothing seemed to fit so well.

Okay. I admit it. Maybe writeaholism isn’t in the dictionary, but it should be. No other word describes my addiction to writing so concisely.

It was like…like…like a chocoholic deprived of chocolate for months, suddenly coming across a Dove bar hidden away in the back of the cupboard. One bite, and bam, all those old wonderful feelings of satisfaction and joy and, well, euphoria came flooding back.

That was what my morning was like.

Because today, for the first time in over a month, I wrote. Really wrote.

Not a blog. Not a note. Not random thoughts on a piece of paper intended to allow my creativity to flow.

I wrote the beginning of a screenplay. It felt wonderful! As I reached page 4 the sun burst through the clouds, energy began to course through my body, and birds in the trees outside my window broke out into song. Tweet, tweet, chirp, chirp.

You know, I’m sometimes rather stupid. I know what is good for me, and what is bad. For example, I know I should get 8 hours of sleep every night and I am allergic to milk. Yet, I often stay up too late, and sometimes I eat pizza.

To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure if it is purely stupidity or simply a bad case of stubbornness. Deep down inside I am aware of the presence of a belief that if I try really hard, I should be strong enough to overcome anything, even allergies and sleep deprivation.

So I shouldn’t be surprised to have such a strong reaction to writing after my self-imposed hiatus. I learned years ago that the creative process of writing energized me, and while depriving myself made me become somewhat depressed.

I am a writeaholic. I am addicted to writing.

It is my chocolate.

Green with anger

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It doesn’t happen very often, thank goodness. As a matter of fact, I can only remember a handful of times that it did happen.

But yesterday afternoon I turned into the Incredible Hulk.

It was all because of an email. My youngest daughter is participating in an event, but had not been given a schedule. Since the event required months of preparation and an overnight stay, I emailed the person in charge and asked if he could help fill in the details.

I was told in no uncertain terms (in a typo-filled email) that this was an event for my daughter and that I needed to step back and let her handle everything.

I love my children. If I perceive them to be in danger my claws come out and my fur ruffles up and I do turn into a mother bear. But that rarely happens since I reared strong, independent daughters who can handle most things for themselves.

But this man, this man who doesn’t know my daughter, felt he had the right to tell me to step back when all I was asking for was a schedule–well, he crossed the line. I skipped right over the mother bear stage and brought out the big guns (figuratively speaking, of course).

Because no one, and I mean no one, tells me I should step back and not be a  part of my child’s life. It brings out something in me that is rarely seen. Something primitive. Something powerful. Something hard to control that really does feel a lot like the Incredible Hulk.

I could feel it as it was happening. My pulse began to race, my breath to quicken, my muscles to swell. I looked down at my hands typing away at the keyboard and was not at all surprised to find they had turned to a deep shade of green.

It has happened before. Once when when a school librarian told me he knew better than me what my second grade daughter should read.

And again when a middle school principal told me that I should not trust what my daughter says because all children lie to their parents, all the time.

When will these people learn not to try to drive a wedge between me and one of my children. It makes me angry.

And they won’t like me when I’m angry.

Once there was a family

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Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a family.

This family, a typical American family, consisted of a mom, a dad, two boys, and a girl. They were the picture of happiness and the envy of their neighbors until one day, to the surprise of all who knew them, the mom and dad decided they couldn’t stand the sight of each other any more and filed for divorce.

It was a very nasty divorce and not something worthy of further thought. Instead, we should focus on the children, ages 2, 4, and 6.

The upheaval to their lives was immediate and confusing. Instead of the safe haven of a loving home, they had to learn how to split their loyalties between the two warring sides. Nothing good could be said about mom while with dad, and the subject of dad was taboo in mom’s presence.

Friends and relatives were horrified. Trying their best to soften the blow to the children they showered them with gifts and coddled them. They threw them fantastic birthday parties, supplied them with all the latest gadgets, and whisked every obstacle away before it could cause anguish to the poor little dears.

The parents, conscious of their guilt, also did everything in their power to lighten the heavy load of divorce they had created. The children enjoyed the most lenient style of parenting, always getting to watch their favorite shows and eat their favorite foods. Their clothing was washed and folded for them, their lunches made, and allowances provided.

All in all, it was a very cushy life and the children lacked for nothing. Or so it seemed until they grew to adulthood.

Because now that the children are all well out of their teens it is obvious that among the gigantic piles of presents that always overwhelmed the children at every gift giving event, the most precious gifts of all–independence and selflessness–were never given.

So now, because of the coddling of the past, these young adults are going to have a monumental struggle ahead of them. They must learn the hard lessons that most of us learn as a child.

The only way to succeed is to risk failure. Again, and again.
Being self-absorbed is a short road to depression and unhappiness, and the only way off that road is to think of others first.
The world does not owe anybody anything, instead, we owe our best efforts to the world.

And now that these children are no longer children but adults, the sooner they break free of those old entitlement thoughts that have them bound and gagged, the better. They are all grown up now and it is time for them to act like it.

Come on you three, you can do it! Stand on your own two feet and take that first tentative step.

If you stumble and fall, good. It is all a part of learning. Just get back up and try again. It is how we grow and learn. It will make you tough.

Besides, who’s afraid of a few bumps and bruises?