This will be a quick post, because I’m at Broadway Cafe in KC doing a mini writing retreat. Also because my keyboard is having trouble with the Space key, which I have to mash to get working. It’s going to be a rough day writing, I can tell.
This trip is going to include some rare steak eating — both in terms of “I seldom eat steak at a fancy steakhouse” and “I’m ordering this black and blue”. I apologize to all the vegetarians out there.
We shall see.
The book is going slowly; I’m writing an average of 1000 words a day, rather than my typical 2000. It’s a stubborn book; it doesn’t know if it wants to be written. I’m writing it mainly because my husband suggested I should when I told him I had no more books to write.
Writing is no longer the fever it was when I started writing. I have gone through all the obsessions, all the stories that clamored to be written. Writing now is not exactly a trudge, but it’s no longer the force it was when I started. I suspect this is natural, a consequence of time or age. Or of the change in medication I went through about a year ago, and then it’s a matter of finding my equilibrium again.
I miss the writing obsession. It gave me a sense of purpose, a feeling that I labored for something bigger than myself. Maybe it was delusional; maybe it’s a good thing to lose the fever. I miss it, however.
I competed in the Voice of Democracy contest held by the Veterans of Foreign Wars Auxiliary, which was held in the high schools. I had to write an essay about the topic “What Does Freedom Mean to Me”. I was born in a rather conservative town to rather liberal parents, and I turned out more liberal than they did.
When I got the assignment to write the essay, I included a popular topic of the day, Selective Service Registration. Or more to the point, protesting Selective Service Registration. At about this time, all males turning 18 were required to sign up for Selective Service, from which they would be drafted for military service if the country ever had a draft. Some males were not signing up, and of course the country was enraged. I, as a child during the Vietnam War era, thought I would stand up for their right to protest. In an essay to the VFW. I finally settled on “Freedom is the right to stand up for what one believes in, even if it’s not popular, and accept the consequences.”
When I read the essay to my mother in the kitchen, she said, “Good luck with the ladies at the VFW.”
And then I won the local contest. “They must not have read it,” my mother deadpanned.
I had to compete at the district level, which consisted of reading the essay on radio. I got to read my protest piece over the airwaves by invitation of the women of the VFW. My mother was still laughing. We figured at that level, I would lose to the unctuous young man who compared the country to a family and didn’t even mention freedom, and we were right. But that was okay with me; I made my point on the air and that was enough.
I have promised myself I will write 365 days in my blog without a break. So far I’m at 277 days. Right now, I’m at the point where I wonder why I’m doing this. Some days, I have no ideas and the prompts aren’t to my liking. Today is one of those days.
I’m all about Big Audacious Goals. But writing daily for a year is not a Big Audacious Goal. A BAG is more like writing a novel or getting it published, and even that was only true for the first time I’d done it. It’s a goal; I’m sticking with it.
I need a Big Audacious Goal soon. I’ve been through writing a book, getting it published, doing a book fair (locally), publishing the book that was my problem child for a while … I can’t think of anything that represents a new challenge in the way that determines a BAG. The current book is a challenge, but not in the barrier-crossing BAG way.
So I’ll have to stick with my small goal for now, and hopefully get to 365 days of blogging. And then take a break, of course.
I’ve been making progress with the book. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
If I haven’t mentioned, I am working on a book called Hiding in Plain Sight, which is an origin story of Hearts are Mountains, the Archetype commune in Whose Hearts are Mountains. The origin story is not a small thing, because Archetypes are supposed to be solitary beings, so how do they get into a commune together?
The solitary tendency (an inborn taboo) is breaking down among the Earthbound Archetypes, who are exiled from InterSpace by their unsanctioned birth. But Archetypes in gathering are dangerous, in part because they could draw attention to themselves. As practically immortal beings who are stronger than humans, Archetypes’ discovery could end in a war against them. The Council also fears the commune’s numbers because they could go up against the Council of the Oldest. The book is building to a showdown between the commune and the Council of the Oldest.
But first, the main character, anthropologist and Archetype Dr. MariJo Ettner, has been discovered by a human, her research assistant, Alice Johnson. She is in the position of answering Alice’s questions while impressing upon her that she should not tell a soul about Archetypes’ existence. This works great until Alice wants a child by Mari’s adopted son, William. A half-human offspring, born fully adult, may break the secret.
The book is about hiding a culture, a culture that would shake Earth’s foundations were it discovered. And the culture itself, made up of so many ingrained taboos it hardly exists. It’s writing slowly, as I’m largely pantsing it. Wish me luck.
I’m 62 years old, an associate professor, and five years from retirement. This is the time where people with careers coast until retirement rather than thinking about promotion-type ventures.
What is my career plan? For the most part, doing the best job I can until I retire. This means teaching, a bit of research, revamping classes, and possibly writing up a new class. There’s going to be a little bit of helping with curriculum revision, and always summer interns. Nothing new or surprising on that front.
I don’t want to go up for full professor because of the stressors of paperwork and worthy research — I have tenure; that was what I needed. I need life balance.
As far as the writing goes (I guess that’s a hobby rather than a career, but I’m going to talk about it anyhow) I am going to keep writing. When I retire, I will have more time to write and will have to write to keep my sanity in retirement. I don’t do nothing well. Maybe I will find the secret to promoting my work. Maybe I will write a best-seller. I don’t foresee anything else unless I turn a hobby into a more considerable operation, such as going professional with my moulage. I haven’t gotten to that quality; it would be fun if I had.
That’s my career in a nutshell. At my age, it’s not exciting.
First, it’s not really a summer vacation. Although I’m on a 10-month appointment as a faculty member, I also work over the summer doing internships. It’s not a big deal, though, doing internships — it’s mostly monitoring the students through assignments and touching base with them, and going on site visits. I don’t get a lot of money for internships, because this year I only have ten or eleven interns.
Other than internships, I hope to write. A lot. I have a book that wants to be written, and it’s starting to get interesting. I will have to edit it good so that I think it’s interesting from the start, but I’m in the ‘getting things down on paper’ stage. I wonder if I have more books left in me, and I realize I’m sitting on at least two ideas. So we will see.
I’m also gardening the best I can. I have a tangle of seedlings in the grow room that I have to put out to harden off soon. I would say most of what I’m planting is herbs, because my sister gave me a ton of herb seeds for Christmas. And I like fresh herbs. There will be a few vegetables because they are nice to eat. I’m hoping I can motivate to weed like I’ve had trouble with just about every year I’ve put in a garden.
I hope to do a writing retreat in KC sometime. Ideally (a hint to my husband) a trip to The Elms, a massage, and some grotto time. I would settle for a trip to 21c, some Broadway Cafe time, and a quick visit to see some kittens at Whiskers Cat Cafe. Or someplace totally new, as long as there’s a coffeehouse nearby and some decent places to eat.
Nothing fancy on the plans here. I just hope to have a good summer.
I wrote 1200 words yesterday on the latest novel, which is more than I had been writing for a while. I still don’t know what I think of this novel — it seems like a lot of conversations right now. I don’t know if it has enough action yet. The good news is that the story is setting up future situations and complications as it should. I have to remind myself to just keep writing — I can edit later.
I have this theory that I write better when writing is distracting me from other things I need to do. Right now I have papers to grade, but suddenly I have this hankering to write. I’ve scheduled part of today to write and part to rest. Tomorrow I have a concert to go to in the afternoon; I may grade during the morning. Or Monday; Monday will be soon enough.
I will get through this semester. I will write this book.
What gives me direction in life? This is a harder question than it seems, because there isn’t one succinct answer.
On work issues, what gives me direction is what needs to be done. There is a cycle of grading, classes to be taught, topics to cover, research to be done, etc. That determines the direction of my work.
With leisure time, several things influence the sense of direction. One big thing is goals. I have small goals and Big Audacious Goals. I have not had a Big Audacious Goal in a while, which is part of why writing has been so hard. Another is my energy level — if I have little energy, my sense of direction points toward rest above anything. Finally, there’s a tug between established routine and emergent wants — do I go to Starbucks to write or start working in the garden?
I wish I could say some divine force gives me direction. I don’t know if I believe in God, although lately I have been praying. I pray that I get done the things I need to get done. But it still doesn’t help me get to the garden tasks.
If I get through the next two weeks, I tell myself, I’ll be scot-free.
It’s that time of the semester. The last week before finals, and I have two major assignments coming in on Friday. And two essay exams the week after. And then summer and internships.
Summer and internships are a lot easier, because my time is more my own. I have paperwork, grading, and internship visits, but I have more freedom to schedule them. And I have time on my own.
Maybe I’ll get something written.
Words Like Me 