How Can You Know What You Want 'Til You Get What You Want and You See If You Like It?

I am rarely affected by the Libran disease of indecision. Ask my husband: my decisiveness about just about everything occasionally goes so far as to irritate him. (Not often; my husband is sooooo laid back with me that I could probably murder someone, and he would find a way to justify it: "Well, they needed killin'." )

Just now, however, I find myself deadlocked on the question of graduate school. Do I invest the money (somewhere in the neighborhood of $40,000) and the time (1 year classroom work, 1 year practicum, graduation followed by another 1000 of supervision -- about 2 years -- before I can sit for my license)?

Fortunately, there is only one degree in which I am interested: U of R's M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy. It's an incredible program that focuses hard on preparing its graduates to become good family therapists. It is the only graduate program I have been excited about -- with the possible exception of Univ. of Iowa's Writer's Workshop, but I was never going to live in Iowa, so I never applied.

But there are so many variables. If I get in -- and I'm aiming for Fall 2011 so that I can get things in order at home before matriculating -- I have way too many questions floating around in my head to make this an easy decision:

Is it fair to my family to burden us with more student loans?

What will it mean to my household to commit that kind of time to school, studying, working, etc.?

What will going back to school mean for our writing?

How will pursuing this degree affect my marriage?

What happens if my dad gets sick?

What if I don't like it?

Some of these questions seem silly to me even as I write them, but they keep coming up, so I know I have to answer them for myself somehow.

As for the writing... well, it's not going so well right now. I have hardly written anything in more than a month. Oh, I 've gotten a couple of paragraphs in Bride that I will likely keep, and I've been re-reading Veil and making minor tweaks to it. And I started something new called Max, but it's only 3 pages right now; I won't know if it will be viable until it's around 50 pages. So this grand dream of being paid for what I write is not working out all that great at the moment.

It's not that becoming a therapist would stop me from writing, not at all -- I cannot say it's an all-or-nothing proposition. If I could do that, I would know I shouldn't be a therapist because it is a distant second to my first love. But am I up to the challenge of trying for both?

I keep coming back to the question: Is it worth it?

I just don't know.

On Cooking and Writing

A misleading title, no doubt, though I am both writing and cooking at the moment.

Impossible! you say.

Improbable is perhaps a better word choice, I answer.

To be precise: the crockpot is cooking what I put into it. I am writing this blog.

Huh, you say. Who cares?

And then:

Whatcha cookin'?

Which just goes to show that people would rather know what you're cooking than what you're writing.

(My husband absolutely loves these kinds of leaps in logic.)

UPDATE: 210 pages after ripping out 2.5 that weren't working. A short week this week and next. Off to the big City this weekend. Should be fun.

White Noise

I hesitate to write about the anguish of writing because there is so much more important anguish in the world. Seriously, if we never publish a thing, it's not going to be the end of the universe; it won't even mean the collapse of our little universe. Dreams die hard, but their death is generally survivable.

Yet these doubts and fears are part of the process, and if I want to hold myself accountable on this journey, I suppose I need to acknowledge them. Of course, since I just had to rip out 2.5 pages, and I'm feeling kind of stuck, this may be the only writing I'm doing tonight, so there's that to account for too.

Sometimes the anxiety overwhelms the work. Sometimes the work overwhelms the anxiety. For me, the balancing act is constant, and the least upset to my state of mind can create a buzz that obscures the words. I am forever trying to find that inner peace that allows the ideas to rise through me and onto the page of their own accord. If I try to force it, it shows.

I'm not too thrilled with myself, either, when the writing doesn't go well. It tends to make me a little... snappish. Add to that ongoing and never-ending computer issues, and I often feel as if my head might explode. No matter how often I remind myself of the foolishness of getting upset over little things, I can never quite control my temper. And while the phrase "artistic temperament" has been used (by others) to excuse my outbursts, I don't want to be an arschloch to the people I care about in order to get creative. At this point, the trade-off is definitely NOT worth it.

Well... offer me a couple million for the book & movie rights, and then we'll see. :)

One Big World Full of "No"

The title on this one says it all -- not a successful week contacting people in the publishing world. But there's always this week.

Progress: The Pirate's Bride is up to page 203, which means I wrote about 8 pages last week (the average). Meet You on the Other Side is up 0 pages. That's about average too.

Not feeling all that productive this week, so far, either. Le sigh... better get my backside in some kind of gear soon.

Seriously thinking about going back to school...

The (Publishing) Empire Strikes Back

Well, no, not really... just another rejection letter. This was more of a form than usual, so that was kind of depressing. And really, the whole process is just depressing. 'Tis the season, I suppose.

Last week was a short one, with appointments & other pressures that prevented a full-out writing schedule. Even so, Bride is coming along; 195 pages now (13 pp over 2 weeks) and Meet You on the Other Side now stands at a total of 6 pages. Really struggling with that one... I hope that we can breakthrough to the next level soon where it will take off with a life of its own. It's not the story's fault; we just have to get our heads in the game.

Here's to a better week, with happier outcomes.

Monday, Monday

Really, it's Tuesday very early in the morning, but for me, since I haven't been to bed yet, it's Monday still and will be until I retire around 7 AM. We're on Bobbi-time! (Which is nothing like Hammertime, I promise.)

Monday seems to have become my administrative day. I write the blog, print copies of things, email agents, and generally TCB. What's the importance of this disclosure, you ask? None, I answer. Just sayin'.

So, last week's counts are up from the week before -- always a good sign. Bride is up to 182 pages (that's 8 additional) and Meet You on the Other Side is up about 2.5 pages for a grand total of 5.25 pp. (Total writing for the week: 10.5 pages.) Wahoo! Well... it's progress, anyway.

Sent out a few more queries but no responses just yet. Got word that the 2010 Nicholl Fellowship apps have opened should we choose to enter. The organizers of the competition write the nicest emails -- informative, encouraging, well-worded. They put a good thing into the world.

Hmmm, anything else? Superbowl Sunday was great. As you might guess, my interest in football generally registers in the negative numbers, but the Saints are dear to friends of mine, so they're dear to me by extension. And some of my dearest friends came to watch with us, which made the evening better than I could have expected.

It's all good, baby. It's all good.

Pounding the (Electronic) Pavement

Quick update on The Pirate's Bride: wrote about 10 pages last week, ripped up 2 last night & today, so the page count is up to 174. Having a bit of trouble going forward, mostly because we have too much to say. This is not a bad thing; just have to get my mind organized.

Other news: had two "thanks-but-no-thanks" replies from agents since last week. At least they're quick and generally polite about responding, although one form letter/email left a lot to be desired in terms of both warmth (and more disturbingly) grammar. I think we're glad that agency wasn't interested...

Bless the Internet; it makes this process much easier. In one of our early forays in seeking representation for our screenplays, we created a form letter & inserts, including a response card. We got a lot of (no thanks) responses (not to mention one interested response that in the end we had to pass on because of the problem of retaining the book rights), but it took forever.

Now we can get kicked in the teeth daily, whenever we decide to check our email. Wahoo!

Nah, I don't mean it, not really... We wrote a good book that's worth reading. If you build it, they will come, right?

There's a Refrigerator Full of Food... Challenge Yourself!

My longtime friend Alex may recall the title of this post from some witless movie we watched one evening in the early nineties. It made us laugh then, and it makes me laugh now, but it got me thinking tonight when I sat down to write.

The Pirate's Bride is coming along, adding another 11 pages this past week -- again, not bad considering I only had 4 nights instead of 5 to work within. It's pretty good stuff, though some of it could use a massage. That will come, as will the key into the next section that is currently eluding me. Thank goodness, so far, I can count on it to work itself out in my head.

The screenplay, on the other hand, has gone nowhere. I can't quite kick myself hard enough to get to work on it, and that's troublesome since we're A) writing from scratch and B) hoping to submit for the 2010 Nicholl Fellowship competition, with a May 1st deadline.

So... do I challenge us (Jeannine and me) to buckle down, write the screenplay, edit it, workshop it in a group and complete the additional edits in only 4 months? Or do we decide not to send an entry this year? We don't want to send a rough piece -- what would be the point? But should we set the goal and do whatever it takes to achieve it, knowing that pressure sometimes produces a great piece?

It would be a serious time commitment. It would take away from Bride for sure, and no doubt from other projects. Yet it's only a few months, and we have the idea mostly fleshed out.

Decisions, decisions.

(Just Like) Starting Over

The midnight to morning shift seems to be working, although I do have to take weekends off -- it pleases my husband. Since my husband is a truly wonderful, tolerant, encouraging man who never asks for much and probably deserves much more than I give to him, I am happy to oblige him on this point. Someday I hope to keep him in the style to which he should become accustomed.

So, counting last week Sunday through Thursday, and subtracting last night (long weekend in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King), I wrote 11 pages last week for The Pirate's Bride and 3 pages for our new screenplay, See You on the Other Side. And those page counts don't include editing for both pieces. Considering that I was hoping at one point to manage 8.33 pages a month, I am happy with the bottom line. Could always be better, of course, but for right now, good enough.

On to the agents' queries... I did send one earlier this morning; first one to a book agent since, wait, lemme look it up--holy frijoles!--last April! Wow. Well, that's one good reason we haven't gotten much response; if we don't contact them, I'm pretty sure they won't contact us.

Yikes. I know we got caught up in the Nicholl Fellowship and then moving house, not to mention moving my dad up here, followed by the responses generated by the fellowship, but still... Time for me to fix my lips and get my shit together. (That's what we tell the dog when his flappy lips get rolled up against his gums...)

All right, 3:30AM break is over, time to get to work.

Once There Was a Way to Get Back Homeward

It's been awhile, with no good excuse to offer for my absence. I posted last at the end of September, then went on the combined birthday/anniversary surprise trip to Toronto that my dear husband orchestrated... and then I seemingly fell off the face of the earth. Ah, well -- one of the joys of blogging is that if you fall off the blogspot, you can always climb on again.

New year, new decade, hopefully a new attitude. Had it from a not-so-credible but I'll take it source that this could be the year to get The Long Black Veil sold. But first I have to get it back out there, preferably by the end of this month, as opportunity rarely knocks for long. So that's the plan: start contacting agents again and make the push. We'll see what happens.

Still getting trickles about our screenplay Slide, although the interest has not progressed beyond the "Can we read it?" part. It was a nice diversion through the autumn, even if nothing comes of it. Good to know that making the quarterfinals of such a prestigious competition as the Nicholl Fellowships yields some results. Yea us.

And I am back in the writing game, having traded my days for nights. I get the most done on the midnight to six a.m. shift -- in just three days, I've written 7 pages. I know, still doesn't sound like much, but 7 is more than zero. I've finished the first section, which runs about 145 pages, and begun the interlude that will tie sections one and two together. I would love to write faster, but on the plus side, I generally only have to tinker with the finished product, not rip up and start over. I appreciate any favors bestowed upon me!

So... broken arm, world tragedies, and other bad mojo aside, I am hopeful for my personal progress in 2010, and as part of that progress, I intend to contribute something beautiful to the world that was not there before.

A little belated, but still heartfelt: happy new year!

A Century of Pages

Finally passed the hundred-page mark for The Pirate's Bride; 108 pages to be exact. This milestone actually occurred a few days ago, but I wanted to make sure I planned to keep what I'd written. (It doesn't happen often, but I do sometimes scrap whole scenes, and that would have taken me back into the nineties.)

Frankly, it doesn't seem like much for ten months' work -- only about 58 pages, 'cuz I had 50 when I started. I try to take into account, however, that I also completed a major and a minor rewrite to Slide in those ten months, as well as moved 1.5 households, provided serious emotional support to my dad as he coped with his wife's terminal illness and eventual death, and laid the groundwork for several other projects.

I would really love to knock out 50 more pages before November 6. That would still only bring my average up to about 8.3 pages per month... but who's counting?

Light the Sky and Hold on Tight

Ever feel like setting things on fire?

Not literally, of course. I am not an arsonist. But figuratively dropping the match on the pile of tinderwood you've been dancing around for months, even years.

I broke a friendship awhile ago -- shattered it, actually -- for a whole bunch of reasons, not the least of which is that it was time to let it go. Yet I keep a sort of minimal tabs online of the narcissitic personality in question. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Maybe it's the veiled references he is still making to/about me. Maybe I just can't let go of my anger.

I almost responded today. I almost poured on the gasoline and got out my flamethrower. Some nasty, dark part of myself kept whispering, "Burn it all!"

I wrote this instead.

Messing About in the Garden

As I write this, I should be working on The Pirate's Bride, for which I have managed to write about six pages in the past ten days, and a whole paragraph (okay, two) today. Chalk it up to the dental hygeniest appointment this morning, and then the errands I had to run, as well as the lunch I had with my dad to celebrate his birthday. (A larger celebration is planned tomorrow; though today is the actual date, we're celebrating tomorrow night.)

Those aren't much of an excuse, though, especially when I took the time to score 237,100 on Bejewled Blitz and look at my email umpteen times this afternoon. If I could play that game professionally, I think I would --I'd at least be getting a return on my addiction. But I digress...

And that's the problem. I'm digressing a lot these days, and regressing, and procrastinating, and all kinds of other "ing"s. Perhaps the problem with being self-motivated is that when you're not, there's no one to kick you up the backside and tell you to move along.

So I'm telling myself:

MOVE ALONG!

Bended, But Unbroken

Received the email I expected last night: we did not advance to the Semi-Finals for the Nicholl Fellowship.

Je suis desolee.

But I -- we -- will survive. It hurts, no doubt about it. I don't think we ever realize how much we are invested in something until it doesn't come to pass. I wanted this, and I try not to want very much... Except to have faith in the writing, to believe that we are good enough to do this professionally.

My faith is shaken but not lost.

Happy little planner that I am, I do not know what to do next. No doubt, however, something will come along.

Just More Questions; Different Kind

I'm not officially Catholic--or likely to become so--although as I told my husband the other day, I think I am genetically. The Irish is strong in this one, to paraphrase Darth Vader, and the long-suffering guilt of Catholicism steeps my DNA like a warm, insistent, soul-crushing lavage. Not that I'm complaining.

Or maybe I am. The phrase bucking for sainthood keeps coming to mind as I contemplate my current situation. From spontaneously agreeing to watch the neighbor's dog for the weekend to doing laundry for four adults (I volunteered) to redoing the dishes (not voluntary but necessary) to keeping the details of four lives in my head in order to organize a smoother existence (as much for me as for anyone), I sometimes wonder why I'm doing any of it. What if I didn't? What if I stopped?

I suspect it wouldn't make much difference, other than that the ensuing, low-level chaos would drive me crazy. So how can I be a saint to do it all if I'm really doing it for myself?

I'm not a saint. And I don't want to be a domestic engineer, either. I'm not even good at it--just have a look at the pile of cat hair collecting by the bookcase.

And I am tired of being called defensive; I am tired, too, of being the nag who insists people do what they know they ought to do. There are no children in my house.

I think I need to adjust my attitude... Trouble is, I don't know what sort of adjustment to make.

It's Raining in Baltimore

We got back from North Carolina Friday night after a 13 1/2-hour car ride with my dad's two cats. It would have been nice if we could have made the same time going down (just under 11 hours, with an hour of stop-time for food & bathroom breaks) as we did coming back, but Dad did more of the driving. Guess I didn't get my need for speed from him. :) More important, however: the cats were well-behaved, and so were the people. Dad and I had some good talks, which made the time go a lot faster.

Spent the weekend putting life back into some semblance of order. Shopped for a mattress set for Dad; tried to find a dress for an upcoming wedding; did laundry; planned the 2 week menu and grocery list; grocery shopped; deflated the air mattress; installed the new bed; played with the dog; settled in the cats. Busy, busy.

Still trying to get used to the new house myself. Can't find anything. Always tripping over something. Frequently trying to help someone else find/do something. Not much time to think, let alone write.

Perhaps -- to quote Adam Duritz -- I need a raincoat.

Guess Who's Back? Back Again...

Long time, no write... To tie up some loose ends: the house deal worked out. We ended up taking it, and we got the seller to pay for the carpet removal. Then we shelled out a bundle to have the floors redone (they really really needed it). Near as I can tell so far, it's all been worth it. We have a nice place, and we all (people and animals) seem to like it.

News: After a two-and-a-half year fight, my father's second wife died from complications created by larangeal cancer. William and I attended the funeral in North Carolina in late July, and Dad has begun the slow process of moving up here with us. We are enjoying his company, but we are so sorry for his loss.

Other News: We made the first cut in the Nicholl Fellowship. Out of a record-breaking 6380 entries, 321 screenplays advanced to the quarter-finals. Slide is one of them. We are very excited, and of course, hopeful that we might make it to the semi-finals. (Between 110 and 120 entries will advance)

Travel: Tomorrow I head back to North Carlina with Dad to start wrapping up the selling of his house and the moving of his stuff, not to mention bringing his 2 beautiful cats home to Rochester. I will have limited Web access for a while, but I plan to pick up this blog upon my return. I even plan to start writing again soon -- with luck, when I get back, or maybe even a little before.

Stay tuned.

A Plague on All Their Houses (Redux)

This is not a writing entry...

I will admit I have a temper, and that I have my unreasonable moments. That said, I'm assessing the ridiculous situation with our real estate agent and the seller's agent as worthy of anger and desire for satisfaction.

We had a closing date. Because, in the words of the seller's lawyer, the seller was "not ready to vacate" because he "had other closings" he was dealing with, the seller's lawyer did not hurry to respond to our attorney or get the necessary paperwork to our lawyer. (As an aside, we also know that the seller just closed a sale on May 15 -- 1 day after we were supposed to close.)This delayed the bank, but the bank put through its approval in short order, because we were already pre-qualified and ably demonstrated our financial commitment and ability. At that point, we were 2 days past the original closing date.

Now, the seller's lawyer says there is some title problem that still needs to be cleared up. We won't be closing this week either. Monday is a holiday, so the earliest we can close will be next Tuesday -- and that's not guaranteed yet; we still don't have a closing date.

Because the delay has all been on the other party's side, we requested an additional concession, and not a huge one -- we want the carpets removed from the house, which is something we wanted to include as a contingency in our original offer, but our agent said that was an unreasonable request. So we made arrangements to have the carpets removed after we moved in -- and now those arrangements have fallen through because of the delay.

Our agent acts like we're asking for a pound of flesh. His agent won't even present the request to the seller. We're thinking of getting out of the deal all together.

We upheld our end of the deal; the seller and his side are dragging their feet. The house has soured for us considerably. If we don't end up walking away all together, I am looking for some solution to this issue that does not leave us feeling hard done by.

So -- I'm calling on all of the powers of the universe. Help us to resolve this dispute in a way that no one is hurt or upset, but that justice is served.

Let karma be served, too, to our agent, who has failed repeatedly to advocate on our behalf; to his agent, who behaves as if he's more important than the other people in the deal, and who has intimidated our agent; and to the seller, who seems to be up to something that is at least questionable (more than mentioned here). As for the seller's lawyer, well... he's a lawyer. I think karma's already been served there.

Oh, and if you're local -- think twice before dealing with Nothnagle Realtors.

Cue the Theme Music from "Rocky"

I am not giving up.

Got the latest rejection from an agent today. Boy, they're so nice. I wish they would read the book, but at least they're nice.

I am not giving up.

I read so many books that are truly crap. We have not written the great American novel, but it's entertaining, and it's as good as so much of the stuff that's out there.

I am not giving up.

We will find someone to read this book. They will find someone to publish it. The public will enjoy it. Hollywood will snap it up. The movie will earn everyone money and maybe a few Oscar nominations. We'll keep writing more and let success breed success. We'll help other people be successful.

I am not giving up.

Tomorrow, I will send out the next query letter.

I am not giving up.

"P" Is for Pertussis

So... I've been coughing for over four weeks now, and from my Internet research and a friend's husband (who happens to be a professional), we've deduced I have pertussis, otherwise known as whooping cough. I didn't realize that despite being immunized against it as a kid, it's still possible to get a milder form of the illness, and anyway, after 10 years or so, the immunization kinda wears off. (Makes you wonder about the other immunizations we received, doesn't it?)

It's very little comfort to know what it is, as there's really nothing I can do about it but cough until I stop coughing. Fabulous. I should be writing, getting back to The Pirate's Bride or storyboarding the next screenplay.

Or barring writing, I should be packing for the move. So far, I've packed one box. One. And that's one more than anyone else I live with. We're a motivated group, I'll tell you what.

Oh, well... it will get done. Or it won't. And this cough will go away. Or it won't.

Everything's eventual.