Recently in Reasons Category
July 4, 2010
When did I start caring if I offended someone?
I know exactly when it was. When I realized that by speaking out, I had been black-balled.
I'm not going to change any of that here. It's been done. I'm not moving up here, no matter HOW much I achieve and I've accepted that. Those that have put me here will have to deal with the repercussions someday just as I have had to deal with them every single day of my life.
Karmageddon, bay-bee. Good luck with that.
Anywhooo ... I'm back. I think. Still trying to figure out where and how I fit. Still trying to raise my kids. Still having to remind myself to breathe. SSDD.
March 20, 2009
1) My son finishing his rough draft for his Junior paper that he was convinced he couldn't do.
2) Sitting in a dark auditorium listening to the High School orchestra make incredible music.
3) Seeing my son in a tux. Heh.
4) Sweettart Jellybeans.
5) My new sheets. 400 thread count, purple, yummm.
March 9, 2009
1. The smell of his t-shirt on my pillow. God, I miss him.
2. Coming home. There is nothing like unlocking the door to my house, walking through it and locking it behind me. I feel safe inside.
3. Cold water when I've got a sore throat.
4. Walking into my library in the morning before the kids are there.
5. The way the sun shines in the library first thing and makes even the dust motes look like gold.
6. Haiku. I can't emphasize enough how much I adore counting out, writing and reading poetry, especially haiku. Small bundles of joy.
November 5, 2007
Sorry, lemme see if I can rest a bit and elaborate. It was really an overwhelming day.
Thanks for understanding.
November 3, 2007
April 1, 2007
Thinking about why I'm unable to write has had a peculiar effect on my writing ... it has become a self-fulfilling prophesy. Gone are the days when I thought of myself as a good writer, when I would revel in the absolute abandonment of conventions, pouring words out on the page like so much water without a thought of how I would wrap it all up in one cohesive piece. Was I a good writer then? Probably not, but I was prolific and I enjoyed it.
The day I learned about form, about how to write well, was the day I stopped just writing and began to feel the self-induced pressure to produce polished pieces. The day I felt overwhelmed by that pressure was the day I lost my freedom to just write. Knowing I have a limited emotional wellspring from which to draw has made me stingy with my words. While writing was my emancipation years ago, expecting myself to be good at it has slapped on a new type of fetter, one whose key I have not yet found.
This is where I blame my OCD tendencies coupled with an insistence on perfection, my all-purpose excuse ... but I do feel that I have transferred them to my writing, where each word must be the perfect choice for the moment. Each word must be precise, not be repetitive, mundane, or, God forbid, average. If I'm not careful, I'll begin counting my words, sorting them into neat little piles of nouns, verbs and dangling participles and storing them in jars in my closet.
Beyond this increasingly disturbing resemblance to Melvin Udall, I've also found that the harder I strive to make my thoughts clear, to try to explain my thought process to others that don't know me, the harder it has become for me to actually make a point. Because I am so afraid that I will face scrutiny and be found lacking, I am not able to write anything indisputable enough.
Are these just old insecurities rearing their ugly heads (my personal emotional Chimaera) or have I, accustomed to being argued with and constantly frustrated by my own inadequacies, grown an entirely new, all-purpose one? Am I over-analyzing again or is this a necessary (read normal) thought process? Is it just the mechanical efficiency expert in me wishing I could parse my thought process down to a concrete algorithm, one that could be applied to anything I am trying to say? If only I could use it as a litmus test before even trying so that I don't feel like I have to try so damn hard to explain myself to people that will never get it and don't really give a rat's ass?
As usual, I end with more questions than I began with. All I really was trying to do was to explain myself and I end up creating a little job security for my inner shrink.
August 3, 2006
Just questioning/wondering aloud about my writing has helped me break through something. Talk about your lightbulb moment.
What have I been doing for the last 3 weeks? Data manipulation.
What part of my brain have I been using lately? The precise librarian/cataloger/computer geek left half.
Why can't I write? Anyone? Anyone? Beuller???
Well, DUH, the kind of writing I try to do uses the OTHER HALF OF MY BRAIN! Maybe I need to write some code or, oh, I don't know, an analytical review of a video game *cough*Darwinia*cough* to restore order.
Ok, I needed to be off of work for a day to figure that out. Thanks to Tim for letting me talk that one through.
February 10, 2005
As the subtitle of this blog suggests, Prosemonkey was born so that I could blog my novel for NaNoWriMo. From the start, this place held a special place in my heart. For one thing, it was a gift from Bobo, my favorite (very cute) monkey. He did everything for me, from creating the subdomain to installing Movable Type, a publishing platform that I had never actually taken the plunge into, even though I had wanted to for years.
My first (short lived) blog was a Manila blog, then I tried Blogspot and, once I had my own domain, I decided to stay with Blogger for ease of use. I was there in the old days, the days of the Ev cam and hands on personal service. I have always been fiercely loyal to Blogger because I watched it grow as those guys poured their hearts and their wallets into it for little or no compensation. When they sold (their souls) to Google, I was filled with trepidation ... and with good reason. Can you say 'Google toolbar'? After all, Blogger had always been 'as flaky as pie crust' so how was being owned by Google going to make it any better?