Maintaining my various blogs and writing projects has been tough lately. I wish I had a good excuse. Really, I'm not ignoring you. I've just been busy, baby.
I've just finished an internship with a prominent magazine (yay!). My job was to support the editorial team - pretty much working on the projects they didn't have time for. And... I LOVED every minute of it! My colleagues were hip, relaxed and hilarious. Working with a group of women my age was great. In fact, even though it was all-female and one-third pregnant, we suffered zero moodiness or snippiness... unlike my previously all-male office. Take THAT, gender stereotype!
The writing and editing work was fun and challenging. Finding ways to relay serious health and lifestyle information with a conversational tone and a splash of witty flair was a great exercise in creativity. The best part was finding endless euphemisms for words like "breast," "constipation" and "swollen."
Oh, and I will actually have a published byline in the May 2012 issue!
And now I'm putting the fiction on the back burner and turning to print and digital media. In a way it feels like coming out of a snail shell, from a thoughtful, pondering, Ent-like process to a go-go-go, information-dumping, extroverted industry. Pretty exciting, and more than a little daunting.
Once I get home from a short West Coast book signing tour (kidding... I've spent my vacation wandering aimlessly, stuffing my face with baked goods and java), I will give you my full attention. I promise. That's not just pillow talk.
Love,
Brooke
December 14, 2011
April 19, 2011
Subduing the Procrastination Demons
Arriba! Arriba! Epa! Let's get started!
After falling off the horse for a few weeks, I have started writing again. Temporary distraction in the form of frustration at work left me edgy and paralyzed by writer's block for pretty much the whole month of March. As it turns out, the happy result of the turmoil is that I am now free and open to focus on the writing.
Soooo now I need to stop getting in my own way by filling up my time with clutter projects. You know the ones I'm referring to; the activities we make up for ourselves that cause us less stress than doing what truly needs to be done. My favorite example: scrubbing the shower tiles instead of studying. I admit it, I deeply dislike cleaning. But damn, did my apartment sparkle during finals! We all play these mind games with ourselves. Some of us more than others. Ahem.
I am reading a little supplement magazine to the February edition of The Writer called Get Organized, Get Writing. It has several very helpful articles about getting yourself organized to better fight the demons that sabotage self-discipline. The little tips and tricks the authors encourage are great for motivating yourself. However, I've noticed that time management always comes down to a few steps:
Another tip that stood out in this leaflet is to keep a log of your work. Author Gregory Martin swears by this tactic. In "A Way to Hold Off Your Evasion Strategies," he breaks the process down into small, but significant elements: every time you write, track the date and time, how long you will work and what you plan to work on, followed by an honest assessment of how it went and a plan for the next day. Personally, I tend to have great intentions with these logs, but never seem to follow up (like when I briefly tried a calorie-tracker food diary - ugh, boring!). But if you stick with it, I'm sure it's a great tool to keep yourself accountable.
Finally, I leave you with a quote @advicetowriters tweeted last week that sums up the rest of my problems:
- Realize you do have time. Think of how many hours you actually spend on time fillers like TV, Facebook, grooming the dogs, staring into space dreaming up what you would do if you won the Megamillions... All things that should not come between you and your goals.
- Set small blocks of time to write, only write, do nothing but write.
- Make these blocks of time during your peak energy hours and/or at points in the day when you are less likely to be interrupted. Feed and burp your family members and walk the dogs before you start.
- Commit yourself. Do it 5-7 days a week and make it part of your routine.
Work on a computer that is disconnected from the Internet. - ZADIE SMITH
April 4, 2011
You Are Your Own Sensei
Need help figuring out what to do with the rest of your life? Looking for someone to enlighten you?
A couple of years ago I decided I needed professional career help. I scoured a list of local psychologists and counselors who might suit my needs (and slim budget). When I finally decided on one, a middle-aged counselor with "career counseling" on her list of "specializations," I took a deep breath and gave her a call.
"Hi there, I'm interested in career counseling and found your name in a local database - "
"That's great. I can do that. What is your Myers Briggs personality type?" Whoa, dude, slow your roll. This woman didn't even know my name, and she was already trying to squeeze me into a box?
"INFP," I replied. "I mean, that's what the results of that test were, but - "
That day, I discovered that no one can tell me who I am.
No one can give me the advice I want to hear. Not Myers or Briggs. Not my mother, not my friends, not my cousin's-uncle's-girlfriend's-roommate. None of them has shed tears over self-help books or begged Google for answers with me at 2 a.m. No one is inside my head or my heart to know what I want out of life. No one knows me as well as I do.
You have all the answers. The hard part is sifting through the garbage of other people's opinions and boxes to find them.
You can go to your family. After all, they want what's best for you, right? Well, they want what they perceive as being best for you, which may not be good for you at all. (I'm pretty sure I would have hated being a dermatologist.)
You can ask your friends. But really, do they know any more about life than you do?
You can even pay for advice. But if you had a pot o' gold sitting around, I bet you wouldn't need a career counselor.
Inevitably, your search will come back to you.
 |
| Only you can choose your path, grasshopper. |
"Hi there, I'm interested in career counseling and found your name in a local database - "
"That's great. I can do that. What is your Myers Briggs personality type?" Whoa, dude, slow your roll. This woman didn't even know my name, and she was already trying to squeeze me into a box?
"INFP," I replied. "I mean, that's what the results of that test were, but - "
"Hmm, as an INFP, your profile is yadda yadda recitingtextbookjargon blah blah. Sure, I think I can help you."
"I don't think this is for me," I said, and bid her adieu.
That conversation taught me something crucial. I realized that what I had been yearning for was a wise man, a cunning sensei to guide me on the path to glory. A quick and easy answer to all my problems.
No one can give me the advice I want to hear. Not Myers or Briggs. Not my mother, not my friends, not my cousin's-uncle's-girlfriend's-roommate. None of them has shed tears over self-help books or begged Google for answers with me at 2 a.m. No one is inside my head or my heart to know what I want out of life. No one knows me as well as I do.
You have all the answers. The hard part is sifting through the garbage of other people's opinions and boxes to find them.
March 21, 2011
Exploiting Your Dreams
I've been applying some dream elements to my story ideas lately. When I give myself some time in the morning to lounge in bed, dipping in and out of consciousness, I have the most vivid dreams and remember them well enough to jot a few notes down, if I feel they make any sense.
I remember reading a quote by Neil Gaiman on turning dreams into stories. His take is that dreams make very poor stories, because they only make sense to the dreamer. It's obviously very difficult to describe a dream to someone because the most absurd things happen in very mystical ways. You know how it goes: "So, I was in a car with my friend, and we fell off a bridge, and then we died, and then we were in a submarine house with no doors, trying to get out, and that's when Seth Green showed up..." Usually the reaction I get when I try to tell a dream is a raised eyebrow and a series of "alrighty thens." But, guys, some of them are wacky and action-packed and totally bestseller material! Like the one where I was caught on an urban battlefield, trying to escape the war between humans and robot-Nazis. I'm thinking of pitching that one to Steven Spielberg.
Seriously, though, I think dreams are great idea generators. Why not take dream elements and play with them to see how they could work in a story? Stephenie Meyer has said she got her inspiration for Twilight from a dream image of two lovers deep in conversation in a forest glade. (I know, this is the second time I bring Mrs. Meyer up in my posts. The truth is, I can rip on her as much as I want, but her books have, after all, made her a gazillionaire. She's clearly doing something right.)
You just have to be careful that the way you write the story makes sense. Unless you're the reincarnation of Lewis Carroll, avoid writing your story like a dream. It seems people don't like to suspend disbelief for novels as much as they do for movies. (Note: I like Steven James' comments on making your narrative world believable in this article.) We are used to the modern writing of commercial novels based on a certain formula, and anything outside the norm is considered "experimental." Sadly, I'm learning that if your goal is to be published, you've got to stick to what sells.
Related reading:
When I was a teenager, I was very interested in metaphysical art and the occult in writing. On a whim I picked up a copy of Aleister Crowley's Moonchild, written in 1917. As I found out later, the book is possibly his most well-known work and is a must-read for anyone studying all things "magick." And it is quite a mindfuck. Though I approached it with an open mind, the book really turned me off with its disjointed storyline and an anticlimactic ending. I remember wondering if it was based on a dream, or if Crowley was on drugs (most likely), or if I was missing some hidden meanings behind the metaphysical musings (most definitely). I have talked myself out of more than one nonsensical story idea, remembering Crowley's demented writing. I wonder if I would be able to see it more for what it was meant now, as an adult. I have the feeling I wouldn't have the patience to get through it these days.
Another unconventional novel I've read that centers on dreams is The Blue Flowers (Les fleurs bleues) by French novelist Raymond Queneau, written in 1965. Even though it was assigned reading for French class in high school, I loved reading this amusing, gentle tale. The Blue Flowers is the story of two protagonists, one from modern times and the other from the Middle Ages, and how they dream of one another. At least, it appears they do - we cannot be sure they aren't the same person, or that either is actually "real" at all. Queneau's inspiration for the story was the Chinese saying: "I dream that I am a butterfly and pray there is a butterfly dreaming of me." Lovely food for thought.
I remember reading a quote by Neil Gaiman on turning dreams into stories. His take is that dreams make very poor stories, because they only make sense to the dreamer. It's obviously very difficult to describe a dream to someone because the most absurd things happen in very mystical ways. You know how it goes: "So, I was in a car with my friend, and we fell off a bridge, and then we died, and then we were in a submarine house with no doors, trying to get out, and that's when Seth Green showed up..." Usually the reaction I get when I try to tell a dream is a raised eyebrow and a series of "alrighty thens." But, guys, some of them are wacky and action-packed and totally bestseller material! Like the one where I was caught on an urban battlefield, trying to escape the war between humans and robot-Nazis. I'm thinking of pitching that one to Steven Spielberg.
Seriously, though, I think dreams are great idea generators. Why not take dream elements and play with them to see how they could work in a story? Stephenie Meyer has said she got her inspiration for Twilight from a dream image of two lovers deep in conversation in a forest glade. (I know, this is the second time I bring Mrs. Meyer up in my posts. The truth is, I can rip on her as much as I want, but her books have, after all, made her a gazillionaire. She's clearly doing something right.)
You just have to be careful that the way you write the story makes sense. Unless you're the reincarnation of Lewis Carroll, avoid writing your story like a dream. It seems people don't like to suspend disbelief for novels as much as they do for movies. (Note: I like Steven James' comments on making your narrative world believable in this article.) We are used to the modern writing of commercial novels based on a certain formula, and anything outside the norm is considered "experimental." Sadly, I'm learning that if your goal is to be published, you've got to stick to what sells.
Related reading:
When I was a teenager, I was very interested in metaphysical art and the occult in writing. On a whim I picked up a copy of Aleister Crowley's Moonchild, written in 1917. As I found out later, the book is possibly his most well-known work and is a must-read for anyone studying all things "magick." And it is quite a mindfuck. Though I approached it with an open mind, the book really turned me off with its disjointed storyline and an anticlimactic ending. I remember wondering if it was based on a dream, or if Crowley was on drugs (most likely), or if I was missing some hidden meanings behind the metaphysical musings (most definitely). I have talked myself out of more than one nonsensical story idea, remembering Crowley's demented writing. I wonder if I would be able to see it more for what it was meant now, as an adult. I have the feeling I wouldn't have the patience to get through it these days.
Another unconventional novel I've read that centers on dreams is The Blue Flowers (Les fleurs bleues) by French novelist Raymond Queneau, written in 1965. Even though it was assigned reading for French class in high school, I loved reading this amusing, gentle tale. The Blue Flowers is the story of two protagonists, one from modern times and the other from the Middle Ages, and how they dream of one another. At least, it appears they do - we cannot be sure they aren't the same person, or that either is actually "real" at all. Queneau's inspiration for the story was the Chinese saying: "I dream that I am a butterfly and pray there is a butterfly dreaming of me." Lovely food for thought.
March 15, 2011
What's In a Name?
...A lot, when you read a book.
In real life, the name your parents give you means about as much as your zodiac sign (unless you cite the Freakonomics study of race and names, but I won't go there). Let's take mine, for instance. When I think of an archetypal Brooke, I imagine an all-American blonde, upper-middle class child of the 80s who plays soccer and loves her sorority sisters. Which is about as me as a hairy-nosed wombat.
Of course, names are subjective. We usually associate them with people we've known for a long time, or with people who have made an impact on our lives. Brooke could evoke a totally different type of person for you. We've all known dozens of Michaels who each have very distinct personalities from the others. My point: a birth name doesn't make a person.
In fiction, however, characters are exaggerated. Everything about them is meticulously architected by the author, including their names. The meaningful choice of name is an obvious manipulation tactic, but it is one the reader expects.
In my opinion, the best and most obvious example of an author using names to enhance storytelling is J.K. Rowling (duh!). I love that her choices are unusual and diverse, but what's most interesting is how she plays with sounds. Most noticeably, her use of alliteration, especially with double letters, creates fantastic characters and adds to the stories' subtle splashes of humor. Quirinus Quirrel is a brilliant example. My personal favorite sound plays include the letters f and g, such as Helga Hufflepuff or Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Can you really keep yourself from smiling at those creative gems? Using hilarious names such as these along with other humorous details, Rowling adds light to an otherwise very serious plot.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I usually build my stories around characters. Whether this is recommended, I'm not sure (given how much trouble I have with plot resolution, perhaps it is not the best method), but that's just my natural tendency. Characters and their personalities, and thus their names, are crucial. If this element in a novel is weak, how can you get into the story?
Anyway, my question is this: if names make a persona, should you look for a name first, and then follow with crafting the character? Or will this result in two-dimensional stereotypes instead of original characters? I wonder if there is a "best" formula for assigning names and personalities. I suppose it is really up to the individual to add the magic dust that gives life to memorable characters.
There is so much material here that full dissertations could be written (and probably have been) on character names in fiction. In fact, maybe I should do a little more research on the topic. Today I spent way too much time thinking about names and trying them on like hats. I should probably focus on putting the pieces of my story together to make a cohesive whole, instead of letting loose ideas float around in my various notes.
Or I could sit around and dream up pen names.
In real life, the name your parents give you means about as much as your zodiac sign (unless you cite the Freakonomics study of race and names, but I won't go there). Let's take mine, for instance. When I think of an archetypal Brooke, I imagine an all-American blonde, upper-middle class child of the 80s who plays soccer and loves her sorority sisters. Which is about as me as a hairy-nosed wombat.
Of course, names are subjective. We usually associate them with people we've known for a long time, or with people who have made an impact on our lives. Brooke could evoke a totally different type of person for you. We've all known dozens of Michaels who each have very distinct personalities from the others. My point: a birth name doesn't make a person.
In fiction, however, characters are exaggerated. Everything about them is meticulously architected by the author, including their names. The meaningful choice of name is an obvious manipulation tactic, but it is one the reader expects.
In my opinion, the best and most obvious example of an author using names to enhance storytelling is J.K. Rowling (duh!). I love that her choices are unusual and diverse, but what's most interesting is how she plays with sounds. Most noticeably, her use of alliteration, especially with double letters, creates fantastic characters and adds to the stories' subtle splashes of humor. Quirinus Quirrel is a brilliant example. My personal favorite sound plays include the letters f and g, such as Helga Hufflepuff or Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Can you really keep yourself from smiling at those creative gems? Using hilarious names such as these along with other humorous details, Rowling adds light to an otherwise very serious plot.
 |
| Peter Pettigrew was picked on by his peers. What a pernicious person he was! |
As I mentioned in my previous post, I usually build my stories around characters. Whether this is recommended, I'm not sure (given how much trouble I have with plot resolution, perhaps it is not the best method), but that's just my natural tendency. Characters and their personalities, and thus their names, are crucial. If this element in a novel is weak, how can you get into the story?
Anyway, my question is this: if names make a persona, should you look for a name first, and then follow with crafting the character? Or will this result in two-dimensional stereotypes instead of original characters? I wonder if there is a "best" formula for assigning names and personalities. I suppose it is really up to the individual to add the magic dust that gives life to memorable characters.
There is so much material here that full dissertations could be written (and probably have been) on character names in fiction. In fact, maybe I should do a little more research on the topic. Today I spent way too much time thinking about names and trying them on like hats. I should probably focus on putting the pieces of my story together to make a cohesive whole, instead of letting loose ideas float around in my various notes.
Or I could sit around and dream up pen names.
March 11, 2011
I (heart) Character Development
I really have always had a passion for developing characters. When I was a wee lass, I wanted to write stories, but more often than not came up with character profile pages. And instead of writing, I would draw these imaginary friends for hours on end, until my interest in them was spent.
In more recent years, my fascination with characters was transferred to my love of MMORPGs. My boyfriends always chuckled at the time and care I would give to my video game heroes' appearance - and at the impracticality of having 7 different characters that I could never possibly get to the end game. [It's true, the closest I ever got was within 8 levels of maxing out the character before I ran out of steam and switched to another.]
Come to think of it, I haven't played any MMOs in quite a while. What's interesting is how addictive they are. Every few days I still feel a slight tug to pick up World of Warcraft. And pretty soon The Old Republic is coming out, which means Jamie and I will be spending less snuggle time, more kicking virtual ass time.
Yet I'm starting to think that this time away from the instant gratification of MMOs is doing me some good. The more time I spend daydreaming and putting story lines together, the closer I am getting to having a fully developed fiction story! Without the constant red-eyed-zombie "MUST...KILL...HORDE" fog to keep my creative side occupied, I've been able to massage and coax my atrophied imagination back from limbo. I just know I have years of tidbits stored in there somewhere.
...Old Republic...This means I have mere weeks to write my novel before I revert back into a hunchbacked, sleepless, Ramen-eating, Dr. Pepper-guzzling adolescent gamer. Wish me luck!
February 27, 2011
Random Thoughts
Doing some minimal research this morning, I found http://www.problogger.net, a site with some potentially crucial information for bloggers. Geez, every time I dig in a little, I find the hole goes deeper and deeper! I have a lot to learn and a lot of work ahead of me. Sooo I guess it IS true that nothing in life is easy.
This afternoon I'm meeting with A.J. Sweatt, a personal writing hero of mine. The man just bubbles up with humor, something I'm always striving to cultivate (I wonder if one is just born with the ability to turn a witty phrase?). I'm excited to discuss his writing with him, and to glean some tips for striking out on one's own.
While I enjoy the nonfiction work and hope to eventually publish articles, at heart I'm a fiction writer. At times (like today) I can physically feel the force of images and ideas pushing at my sternum, trying to escape. This feeling is the inspiration, now the next step is to simmer down and communicate the kaleidoscope images to others. Isn't that always the hardest part?
This afternoon I'm meeting with A.J. Sweatt, a personal writing hero of mine. The man just bubbles up with humor, something I'm always striving to cultivate (I wonder if one is just born with the ability to turn a witty phrase?). I'm excited to discuss his writing with him, and to glean some tips for striking out on one's own.
While I enjoy the nonfiction work and hope to eventually publish articles, at heart I'm a fiction writer. At times (like today) I can physically feel the force of images and ideas pushing at my sternum, trying to escape. This feeling is the inspiration, now the next step is to simmer down and communicate the kaleidoscope images to others. Isn't that always the hardest part?
February 25, 2011
Not-So-Super Spy
So I've definitely been slacking on the writing, blog or no blog. I just haven't felt very inspired, and those evil self-doubt demons always seem to track me down. Even now, surrounded by inspiration at Barnes & Noble, I'm finding it difficult to focus. It might be that I can't take my eyes off the man reading a magazine in front of me... the reverse-moobs sagging from his shoulder blades are mesemerizing... So maybe getting out of the house is not necessarily the quick fix I need?
Maybe I would benefit from a little caffeine. Aren't all writers chain smoking caffeine guzzlers? The problem with coffee is it makes me chattier, thus more social, thus more likely to pick up my phone and call someone (anyone who is willing to entertain me for as long as possible.)
Perhaps what I need is to develop a persona. Last week I was sitting at Starbucks, going through the same internal battle trying to get some work done, when a woman approached me to share my electrical outlet (isn't it amazing what brings people together these days?). She was a posh South Asian woman with a smooth British accent. "I do hope you don't mind my using this outlet," she purred. "So sorry to be a bother." *Polite tinkling laughter.* She was so British, she may as well have been offering me tea and crumpets.
She sat down, began typing away on her laptop, answered the phone and spoke to several other Starbucks customers in that delightful lilt. I was wondering what such a sophisticated European woman was doing in the Atlanta suburbs, when her friend walked in and sat down next to her... and she went all Jersey on me. It took me a few minutes of eavesdropping to finally confirm that, indeed, she had switched from Princess Di to Real Housewives in an instant.
The theories are: she must be an actress, practicing her trade / she must be a spy. I say, if she is indeed a spy, she's not a very discreet one.
To get back to my point, maybe I need to be in a role to convince myself to write. Something appropriately bookish, no?
Mmm, I'm thinking less Arnold, more argyle sweater, newsboy hat, curled moustache.
Alright, costumes aside, I seriously think I need to be in a certain mode to sit down and focus. So from now on, my persona-slash-pen name shall be... Esmeralda Von Grunewald. Maybe.
February 2, 2011
Baby, You Are the Wind in My... Pants?
I had a weird day.
First, teaching my morning French class was like pulling teeth. It was one of those difficult lessons where I was a little in over my head, plus I had to dance for my students to keep them engaged every time their eyes glazed over or they started checking their email. Those are the toughest students: the ones who have studied the language before, think they know more than they really do, and are extremely clever to boot.
Between that class and my afternoon lesson I stopped in at Chipotle for a quick lunch. The hispanic guy at the register (as Jamie later quipped, "Pedro or Alfresco or whatever") started mildly flirting with me in Spanish, until he found out I'm not actually Latina and promptly lost interest. Relieved, thinking I finally had a half-hour to myself to relax and catch up on some emails, I sat down with my burrito... only to be ambushed by a huge guy (I mean, this man definitely played football at some point in his life), who proceeded to make himself comfortable at my table. He was extraordinarily persistent in trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend for him, and in getting my number - which he ultimately stole by grabbing my phone and calling himself from it. In the end I abandoned my burrito and extricated myself from his hounding. Dude, here's some free dating advice: white girls don't go out with annoying guys who invade their space. Relentless. And he has my number. Well, damn.
The rest of my afternoon went as planned. The second class was child's play compared to the first, and I met a few people at a blogger meetup after work. I learned a little about using video and streaming in a blog, but mostly I realized how much I have to learn. It did get me fired up to start my website, though.
And finally, when I got home, the crowning moment of my day. I knelt down to pick up the dog's leash... and my pants split straight down the middle.
This has never happened to me before. My favorite booty-hugging pinstripe pants! The only article of clothing I own that's professional AND attractive! Now they look more like something you might surprise your boyfriend with at the office after-hours.
...Hmm. Well, at least they're not totally useless.
First, teaching my morning French class was like pulling teeth. It was one of those difficult lessons where I was a little in over my head, plus I had to dance for my students to keep them engaged every time their eyes glazed over or they started checking their email. Those are the toughest students: the ones who have studied the language before, think they know more than they really do, and are extremely clever to boot.
Between that class and my afternoon lesson I stopped in at Chipotle for a quick lunch. The hispanic guy at the register (as Jamie later quipped, "Pedro or Alfresco or whatever") started mildly flirting with me in Spanish, until he found out I'm not actually Latina and promptly lost interest. Relieved, thinking I finally had a half-hour to myself to relax and catch up on some emails, I sat down with my burrito... only to be ambushed by a huge guy (I mean, this man definitely played football at some point in his life), who proceeded to make himself comfortable at my table. He was extraordinarily persistent in trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend for him, and in getting my number - which he ultimately stole by grabbing my phone and calling himself from it. In the end I abandoned my burrito and extricated myself from his hounding. Dude, here's some free dating advice: white girls don't go out with annoying guys who invade their space. Relentless. And he has my number. Well, damn.
The rest of my afternoon went as planned. The second class was child's play compared to the first, and I met a few people at a blogger meetup after work. I learned a little about using video and streaming in a blog, but mostly I realized how much I have to learn. It did get me fired up to start my website, though.
And finally, when I got home, the crowning moment of my day. I knelt down to pick up the dog's leash... and my pants split straight down the middle.
 |
| HHHiiiiYAAAAH! Something tells me I should lay off the burritos. |
...Hmm. Well, at least they're not totally useless.
February 1, 2011
Some are Silver, the Others Gold
I don't care what anyone says. I love Facebook.
When I first created my FB account, the site was intended for a growing network of university students who wanted to a) keep in touch with their high school friends, and b) show off how cool they were by posting pictures of themselves getting hammered at spring break. Of course, now FB is massive and worldwide, with all the benefits and consequences that go along with it. You know things have changed when your grandparents are tagging pictures of you flinging your feces around like a monkey circa 1984.
Yet the appeal of FB hasn't changed. We still want to connect with old friends (and we still want to show off how well we've aged). When I was growing up, every 3 or 4 years my stepfather would be posted to a different embassy or diplomatic organization. It was always hard to leave friends, knowing that long-distance friendships don't hold up so well. Every kid eventually loses interest in sending pen pal letters and moves on. In cometh FB to change everything! I have managed to reconnect with almost every person I've had a relationship with in my life, just by adding them to my list of FB friends. The site makes it so easy to maintain friendships over distances. Just a comment here and there, or even just a "like" on others' status every once in awhile - these tiny gestures take only a second, but show others that we still think about them and care for them.
Amongst all the many (315) friends I have in the world, there are those who are especially dear to me. I miss these people all the time. You know, the friends who make your heart sing. They are my very own therapists, bringing me out of my bouts of loneliness and depression just by a quick chat on the phone or Skype. I am quite certain that I would not be in touch with these people if it weren't for the Internets. How sad that would be!
[Anyway, that's my long-winded soliloquy touting the wonders of social networking. Thank you, Mark Zuckerburg and your anonymous college roommates.]
When I first created my FB account, the site was intended for a growing network of university students who wanted to a) keep in touch with their high school friends, and b) show off how cool they were by posting pictures of themselves getting hammered at spring break. Of course, now FB is massive and worldwide, with all the benefits and consequences that go along with it. You know things have changed when your grandparents are tagging pictures of you flinging your feces around like a monkey circa 1984.
Yet the appeal of FB hasn't changed. We still want to connect with old friends (and we still want to show off how well we've aged). When I was growing up, every 3 or 4 years my stepfather would be posted to a different embassy or diplomatic organization. It was always hard to leave friends, knowing that long-distance friendships don't hold up so well. Every kid eventually loses interest in sending pen pal letters and moves on. In cometh FB to change everything! I have managed to reconnect with almost every person I've had a relationship with in my life, just by adding them to my list of FB friends. The site makes it so easy to maintain friendships over distances. Just a comment here and there, or even just a "like" on others' status every once in awhile - these tiny gestures take only a second, but show others that we still think about them and care for them.
Amongst all the many (315) friends I have in the world, there are those who are especially dear to me. I miss these people all the time. You know, the friends who make your heart sing. They are my very own therapists, bringing me out of my bouts of loneliness and depression just by a quick chat on the phone or Skype. I am quite certain that I would not be in touch with these people if it weren't for the Internets. How sad that would be!
[Anyway, that's my long-winded soliloquy touting the wonders of social networking. Thank you, Mark Zuckerburg and your anonymous college roommates.]
January 31, 2011
Getting Started
I recently read somewhere that the closest we ever are to our "true selves" is when we are ten years old. At this age, we are supposedly old enough to know who we are without becoming addled by the hormones of puberty, the pressures of real life and the self-destructive forces of ego.
If you had asked my shy and geeky eight, nine or ten-year old self what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have asserted "Author-illustrator!" with no hesitation. I didn't want to just read the books, I wanted to create them! With the focus of a child who doesn't waste time dwelling, but just acts on impulses, I would write, paint and draw whatever I felt like. Writing was not so much a hobby, more something I just did; it flowed through me like chi.
Of course, then I grew up, spent my energy carving a social life out of nothing and getting good grades... and learned to think too much.
The most interesting part is how good I was, once, when I didn't think about it. When I find those old notebooks I used to jot and doodle in when I was a nerdy kid, I feel as though I've struck gold. How sad that I was a better writer when I didn't even know what a "transition" was! Of course, this has everything to do with passion. Real life can beat that out of you, if you let it happen.
And so, after years of mulling over which ultimately unsatisfying adult occupation to devote my life to, I have decided to give my old dreams a chance. Yet this adult self merely smiles fondly at the inner child, gently chuckling at her naivete. "How exactly do you plan to support yourself?" she chides. "And what will your family think if you fail?"
What happens next? Nothing.
******
I have considered the arguments of my procrastination demons:
"You need to seriously think about how to achieve your goals."
"You have no skills. You have so much to learn."
"Tomorrow is another day."
"But this bed is sooo comfy!"
...and have decided to reject them.
I have spent the last couple of years of my life wonderfully organized, proactive and professional in the workplace and so extraordinarily disorganized, passive and lazy in my personal agenda. If I don't adopt some kind of policing method to teach myself discipline, I stand to lose not only time, but dreams, as well.
This blog will serve as my sounding board and my controller. I am its bitch, if you will.
I'll start by defining my long-term goals:
* Write fiction.
* Submit non-fiction for publication.
* Create my website.
* Find a full-time or part-time job worthy of my talents and education.
* Work on creative hobbies I usually ignore.
Next, a few short-term tasks to move in the right direction:
1) First, focus on writing some articles for publications. This will help me improve my writing skills, boost my confidence and build my portfolio all at the same time! For this, write whatever interests me / peruse publications for submissions / research the best practices for freelance writers / network.
2) Blog.
3) Keep jotting down ideas for novels and short stories. In February, begin working on the worksheets I acquired on how to write a novel in 30 days. This will at least give me some drive and direction!
Now, action!
If you had asked my shy and geeky eight, nine or ten-year old self what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have asserted "Author-illustrator!" with no hesitation. I didn't want to just read the books, I wanted to create them! With the focus of a child who doesn't waste time dwelling, but just acts on impulses, I would write, paint and draw whatever I felt like. Writing was not so much a hobby, more something I just did; it flowed through me like chi.
Of course, then I grew up, spent my energy carving a social life out of nothing and getting good grades... and learned to think too much.
The most interesting part is how good I was, once, when I didn't think about it. When I find those old notebooks I used to jot and doodle in when I was a nerdy kid, I feel as though I've struck gold. How sad that I was a better writer when I didn't even know what a "transition" was! Of course, this has everything to do with passion. Real life can beat that out of you, if you let it happen.
And so, after years of mulling over which ultimately unsatisfying adult occupation to devote my life to, I have decided to give my old dreams a chance. Yet this adult self merely smiles fondly at the inner child, gently chuckling at her naivete. "How exactly do you plan to support yourself?" she chides. "And what will your family think if you fail?"
What happens next? Nothing.
******
I have considered the arguments of my procrastination demons:
"You need to seriously think about how to achieve your goals."
"You have no skills. You have so much to learn."
"Tomorrow is another day."
"But this bed is sooo comfy!"
...and have decided to reject them.
I have spent the last couple of years of my life wonderfully organized, proactive and professional in the workplace and so extraordinarily disorganized, passive and lazy in my personal agenda. If I don't adopt some kind of policing method to teach myself discipline, I stand to lose not only time, but dreams, as well.
This blog will serve as my sounding board and my controller. I am its bitch, if you will.
I'll start by defining my long-term goals:
* Write fiction.
* Submit non-fiction for publication.
* Create my website.
* Find a full-time or part-time job worthy of my talents and education.
* Work on creative hobbies I usually ignore.
Next, a few short-term tasks to move in the right direction:
1) First, focus on writing some articles for publications. This will help me improve my writing skills, boost my confidence and build my portfolio all at the same time! For this, write whatever interests me / peruse publications for submissions / research the best practices for freelance writers / network.
2) Blog.
3) Keep jotting down ideas for novels and short stories. In February, begin working on the worksheets I acquired on how to write a novel in 30 days. This will at least give me some drive and direction!
Now, action!
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