Giving up and Moving on

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game."

I came across this post, "15 Things You Should Give Up To Be Happy." It's a spot-on list. Thankfully, neither chocolate nor alcohol were included. If you are struggling to follow your path, to get that first novel written, to submit a first short story or wavering in whatever it is that you dream of doing, you should go read this post. Even if the last sentence doesn't describe you, go read it. Everyone can get something from it, so go on, read it now. Plus, this post won't make as much sense otherwise.

I'm going to write about the things from the post's list that spoke to me the most, as a writer, and as a person struggling to carve a place for myself in this world.

Give up your need for Control

This has been a big one for me, in accepting myself as a writer and allowing myself to pursue my dream. An artist's life is full of unknowns. Will your work be any good? Will it appeal to anyone enough for them to purchase your art? Will you be able to pay the bills?

My corporate career gave me a sense of more than a modicum of control (one might argue, an illusion of control, but that's another topic). I knew that, if I completed XYZ task, I would be paid ABC dollars. There was a career path I followed and I had constant feedback and could know, to an extent, how successful I could be.

I had to accept that pursuing writing full-time would mean giving up my financial freedom and control, perhaps for good (my kick-ass husband pays my bills, now*). A one-paycheck household is riskier, though. I also had to come to terms with the fact that I can't know how good my writing is until I spend a lot of time and effort writing and put my work out there for feedback. Even if my writing is good, there are no guarantees I'll ever sell a single story or make one thin dime. The structure and safety-nets of a more conventional career just don't exist for a writer, and I cling to my fantasy that control means escaping pain like a drowning man will clutch at straws.

Give up your self-defeating self-talk

Holy hell I am guilty of negative self-talk. Damn the cliche, I am my own worst enemy. For years, I've woven a detailed story about why I can't be a writer: I'm not that clever, I'm not that disciplined, I'll never be anything but a dreamer, I'll never measure up, and on and on and on.

When I sit down to write, I have to first do battle with that little writing demon who likes to tell me how hard it is, how crap my sentence structure is, that my stories are derivative tripe - you get the picture. I have to slay that little shit every single time.

Over the last two years, just doing, moving forward with the plans that scare me the most, seems to have quieted the voices of self-doubt slightly. Every story written, shrinks the demon. Still, I'm not very nice to myself, and that gets in the way.

Give up your limiting beliefs

This one coincides with the previous one in a way. I kept telling myself that writing was too hard, too competitive, too out-of-reach and not very sensible. Successful writing careers are as realistic as unicorns - that sort of thing. Jeez, I sound like a damned librarian.

I used to believe that I could do things, that things would happen, and usually, somehow, but not always in the way I expected, they would. Somewhere along the way, that sense of belief got beaten out of me. Not sure how to repair that damage. I've taken on board a metric ton of fears.

Give up living your life to other people's expectations

I almost want to qualify this one with a "real or imagined." I'm sure I sometimes project my fears onto other people, and decide they are judging me, if that makes any sense. For example, I assumed people would think me a lazy, delusional dreamer if I chucked it all to pursue my dream of being a writer. A lot of my fears about leaving my career had to do with feeling like I'd be letting people down by abandoning the corporate ladder. Here I was, a woman making her way in corporate America, making oodles more money than most everyone else she graduated from college with - well, wasn't that the very definition of success? Ugh, it doesn't sound so hot when I write it out like this.

But, dreams of scaling the corporate heights and smashing through glass ceilings, they weren't my dreams. I honestly don't give a shit about that stuff. I'm not going to lie, it was very hard leaving that kind of money and financial stability behind, but I had my own dreams and they were dying terrible deaths so that I could be a "success" as defined in my money-loving culture.

Then there are the very real expectations people have of me, beyond societal pressures. I've told a couple of friends about my novel writing, and it wasn't a great response. I got that look you get when you are slowly backing away from a pissed-off, soft-ball sized tarantula that you've interrupted as it goes about its morning crawl through your camp site, AKA: its former home (oh, you haven't had that experience? There's a look, trust me.) I suppose, if you're going to be an artist, you have to expect that some people will not think much of that choice, for whatever reason.

These are just a few of the 15 things to give up, and I completely agree with every item on the list. In fact, I think I'll have to print out the list and tape it to my mirror for a while.

What about you? Did you agree with the 15 things to give up? Do you struggle with any of these? Or, are you giving my post the tarantula look?


*Yes, I realize that I'm very privileged that we don't have big expenses (no kids, for example) and that we can afford to live off the husband's paycheck. I'm not suggesting that everyone can or should do this. For me, leaving my career was still about choosing to be dependent on my husband and losing my financial freedom and letting go of my identity of "successful business woman," not so much about taking on a financial hardship. I had this ideal about women paying their own way in life, but sometimes life is also about allowing others to help you. It does put all the financial pressure on my husband, which I still struggle with. I'm a terrible housewife, too!

Even cowgirls get the blues

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"

Sometimes, life is just shit. Inelegant, I know, but true. Life has handed me a bit of a turd in the last few months, and once again, I'm struggling to keep myself on course with my writing, my studies, my piles of dirty dishes and laundry, and with just about everything else, actually.

It isn't really that hard to keep on going, is it? People do maintain their lives while managing some pretty stressful situations, don't they? What is the matter with me? I think I'm depressed.

Yes, things have not worked out the way I had hoped (sorry for being vague, but I'm not quite ready to discuss this particular issue at the moment), and it is no small thing I'm faced with. The timing for this new crisis, is as always, fracking unbelievable. However, it is also not the end of the world and many people have been dealt much worse in life.

I admit it, I've been alternating between avoidance and wallowing. I've gained six pounds due to stress/grief-induced-chocolate consumption. I've fallen behind in my language and yoga studies, and even dropped my entire semester of language classes. I haven't touched my novel. The only reason I've written any short stories is that I do still make it to my writing class every week. I've logged a ridiculous number of hours on Skyrim, but I've yet to finish the damned game. I weep a lot. 

This is one of those moments where I need to break out a little tough love (or a can of whoop-ass) and use it on myself. Not-so-deep-down, I'm not at all convinced I can do it. Part of me is ready to adopt another cat, gain another twenty pounds, call it a mid-life crisis and surrender utterly to the madness and self-loathing. I didn't say this was a proud moment in my life. 

There's a fork in the road, people. I've got to make a decision, got to decide what kind of person I'm going to be. I can give in to the familiar and easy or choose something better. I could wallow in grief forever- I've had my share of it the last three years. Still, it would be a damned shame, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it?

Thankfully, I have a husband whom I don't want to disappoint. And a sister who wants a creative business partner. And friends and family. 

It is all so close...if I can just get out of bed.

Sometimes I don't brush my teeth at night...

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"

...nor wash my face. I know, you're judging me, probably thinking, "My God, the plaque!" It's okay, I judge me, too. But, there are some nights, when I am cozied-up in bed, reading a book and the room is already cold because we've turned off the radiators - and it is too easy to reach over and turn off the reading lamp and snuggle down to sleep. I don't want to throw back the duvet and brave five minutes of exposure to get clean teeth and face. Hell, I'll only clean them again in the morning. 

If only it were just my teeth I neglected.

I have this back injury due to a car accident, a dysfunctional sacroiliac joint to be precise, and it took me years of pain and ever-more-limited movement to finally get it sorted with the help of a phenomenol physiotherapist. It happened seven years ago, and I have only made progress on resolving the issue in the last year. Before the accident, I was a very fit runner. In fact, I was training for a marathon when the accident occurred. Today? I'm still battling to get back to where I was, but it took me six years of misery to even get here.

What in the name of all that is holy, is my point?

My point is, sometimes I'm a bit lax about taking care of myself. I've been throwing myself into my writing all year (all fifteen days of it), which is great, but I've gone a little overboard. I'm supposed to get in my 2 mile walk, some yoga, my physio exercises and strength training every day. I'm supposed to take a break from sitting in front of my computer every half hour.

At first I was vigilant, setting a timer on my computer to remind me to get up, walk a bit on the treadmill and stretch my upper body and arms. But, then there was the day I was so into my scene, I forgot to set the timer. A few days later and the timer was already a memory, and I've been working very long days.

My back began to ache, but I ignored it. Flash forward a week, and I was back in my PT's office, barely able to sleep because of the pain. You'd think I'd know better about office injuries. Remember the girl with tendinitis in both wrists?

It's all about moderation

My back was killing me, but I didn't get up and move. I wasn't listening to my body. It wasn't until I went to yoga class this morning that I got a clue. My teacher read a quote about having moderation in your life. Ah yes, then it hit me: my back being out-of-whack again was the symptom; I was being too extreme. I like extreme. Extreme is exhilarating, but it usually has some sort of repercussions you have to face up to.

Um...what does this have to do with writing?
 
We creative types can be a bit...obsessive, focused, determined, extreme, etc. But, we have to remember to take care of ourselves while following our passions. We can't let everything else fall apart because it will kill our creativity in the end.

I know it's not sexy. I've been seduced down the road to extreme too many times. What is less sexy than the word moderation? Extreme is a lacy black thong and moderation always seems so...granny pantie.

However, I've got to stop letting myself be seduced by the dark side. If my body falls apart, my mind follows and then where does that get me? Plus sixty pounds and depressed, that's where. Very difficult to write anything when you're back hurts so much you can't think and you're too depressed to get out of bed.
 
Time to check in with reality

I can't sit for hours on end, without a break, and expect to be able to walk when quittin' time rolls around. I know this. Plus, I've been wearing myself out with long days without breaks. I need to be more focused, get my work done earlier and take care of my body throughout the day. This means less time futzing around the forums and blogs (thanks JeffO for the reminder) and more regular breaks for activity and movement. Simple.


What about you? Anyone else out there go to extremes in pursuit of their passions (or just because it's Tuesday)? Have a good story to share? Leave a comment so I know I'm not the only crazy artist out there.


Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon. 

Writing Goals - Why bother?

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"

These guys: probably stick to goals.

No, the question isn't rhetorical, and people, I'm only kidding a little with this title. I'm having to expend extraordinary energy to keep from rolling my eyes at the idea of setting my writing goals for 2013. Call it my bad attitude or call it cynicism after a bust 2012, or maybe I'm just lazy. However, I know, and you probably have figured out, what this rolling-lurching sensation in my gut is really about, and that, my friends, is fear of failure.

You see, the first step in coming up with some reasonable professional or personal goals is to take a good, hard look at where you're at right now. (At least) one of the links below, mentions reviewing goals and progress towards goals and adjusting accordingly. Eek. This is where I'm struggling a bit. I didn't make much progress last year. I submitted ONE story out of my goal of twenty-four. One out of Twenty-four, folks.

And my novel, well, let me tell you a little story about that. I picked up the Beast Binder yesterday(that's what I've named this WIP, The Beast), and found the camera charger underneath it. We've been looking for that charger since May. The binder hasn't been moved (or dusted around - gods I'm a terrible housekeeper) since May!

How am I supposed to set goals after such a poor showing? Yes, yes - it was a trying year. But, I've got to start looking at this as my day job, and you can't take nine months off from your day job due to bereavement and stress. Without making a punching bag out of myself, I have to find some way to keep working, even when life serves me a couple of backhanded zingers (or twenty) between the eyes. I think it's called being an adult.

Then, there is the point (waving its little hand from the back of the room and begging to be noticed), that even though I didn't make great progress, I still made some progress. Look at me being all the-glass-is-half-full, it must be the yoga training.

Seriously though, I did submit one story, which is more than I've submitted since I was eighteen. And, I joined a writing class where we read out loud our stories every week, which has been a tremendous experience. Can't recommend enough the value of a writing group. I've written six new stories since September, and a couple of them received rave reviews from the readers. It is something.

So, I'm going back through my blog roll and trying to find some inspiration for Goal Setting 2013: The Wrath of The Beast. Below you will find my list of must-read blogs for goal setting 2013.

Anyone have some great articles or posts on writing goals? Link 'em up in the comments, please.


Freelancer's Survival Guide:
Kristine Katheryn Rusch's blog is a new one to me. Her "Freelancer's Survival Guide" has inspired and comforted me, and I can't recommend it enough, especially if you have left your day job to pursue writing (or whatever your passion) full-time. It is available on her blog, but you are going to want a copy of your own. I think that the tips in this guide can apply for writers, even if you haven't left that day job. There are some great sections that apply for goal setting (Goals and Dreams, Business Plan), but the guide also gives tips on how to meet your goals, too.

Taking stock and setting goals:
This series of three posts (well the whole site is fantastic) from Dean Wesley Smith, has helped me to clarify where I should be spending my time as a beginner writer. Great summary of the world of writing/publishing in 2012, and smart, sensible tips for the beginner writer planning their 2013.


Konrath's Resolutions for Writers:
Inspirational, funny, no-nonsense and practical. The "2006" resolution list covers it all, but read through them all for inspiration.

Moira Allen's Setting Effective Writing Goals:
Does just what it says on the tin. Step-by-step on how to set effective writing goals.

Goals are Worthless If..:  
Brian Jud's checklist is great for refining your goal list.

For when you're sick of blog posts on goal setting, a little comic relief from The Character Therapist.
Topical and funny cat pictures for the writer....need I say more?

Everything but the writing

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game" 

Christmas hangover = cranky writer and cranky cat

 My husband returned to work, today, leaving me home, all alone with my new writing resolutions and one very cranky cat. I've caught up on my social media for the day, read some blogs I've neglected, washed some underwear and shooed cranky-puss off the keyboard about a dozen times. I even sent a short story off to a beta reader in order to prepare it for submission in January.

But, the one thing I haven't done: add one single, solitary syllable to my daily word count. Neither have I so much as cracked open the binder that holds The Beast (aka: WIP1). So, make that two things I haven't done today.

Instead, I've been searching Dr. Google for information on "weird muscle twitches." I'm pretty sure I've got some terrible disease or something.  Then, I downloaded some self-pubbed books from Amazon, since my to-read pile isn't quite deep enough to drown in. Speaking of reading, I spent about an hour on Goodreads, 'cause it's a good place to get in touch with future readers.

Ha! Future readers. What good are future readers if you don't ever write anything for them to read?

I think I'm suffering from sort of post-Christmas hangover. I don't want to return to plain old, holiday-free winter. I guess I still have New Year's coming up, but that is not promising to be a fun holiday this year (no plans). It is dark and cold and rainy, and I just don't feel motivated to write anything. No, I'd rather pull a blanket over my head and drag the laptop underneath and play Angry Birds Star Wars. Dude! Have you seen it?

Posted by Jennifer B. at The Writing Cocoon. 

Endings

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"

The End comes for us all - ask the ancient Greeks.

I met with my therapist earlier this week. We were talking about feeling anxiety, and she mentioned that their was a general sense of unease in the world, and for some this was especially magnified as we approached the end of the Mayan calendar. What? I had no idea.

That should tell you the size of the rock I've been living under. I mean, I knew about the end of the Mayan calendar, vaguely recalled that somewhere I'd heard it mentioned some time ago and that there were some doomsday predictions around it, but I had no idea how much some people were seriously freaked out about it. When I got home after my appointment, I looked around on the Internet and found out that there is a more than a little hysteria around today's date. Apparently, as I write this, we have about 2 hours until the world ends.

Here I've been making plans for the New Year, trudging unknowingly through my daily life, with no notion that it was all for naught. Sounds about right, for me. I do tend to get trapped inside my head for long periods of time, then stumble out into the light, momentarily blind and ignorant to the world around me.

Which brings me to the title of the post: Endings. And, no, I'm not writing about story endings or novel endings. When you've had a rough go, and let's face it we all have crappy weeks, months or even years, how do you put an line under the bad period and move forward toward something new? That's what I've been thinking about these last few weeks.

I used to hate thinking about endings: the finality, the change of what was, and the uncertainty of something new beginning. After this year, I have a completely different perspective. I mean, besides it being a bit useless and all, to resist endings, I've actually been craving an ending for the last five months. It isn't that I think that a new year will begin and nothing bad will ever happen again, but it feels like it is time to transition out of this dark period I've been living through and move back to the land of the living (where people are freaking the frack out about Mayan calendars - seriously, how did I miss all this?).

So, a group of yogis on-line have been meditating with specific intentions in the days leading up to the winter solstice. This gave me an idea - I needed a ceremony. I like the ideas and imagery around the winter solstice, and what date could be more perfect for a little makeshift ceremony? It marks the time when the part of the world we live in returns to light. It is a shift in energy, a slow reawakening begun, a return to life - maybe it sounds a bit hokey to some of you, but our ancestors all over the globe have appreciated and marked the solstices going back a very long time. And, as a writer, symbols appeal to me - I appreciate their power.

The solstice will occur at 11:11am GMT, so I have a little more than an hour to prepare. It is a really simple little "ceremony" I've prepared. I've been meditating on these recent hardships, both my own and some of the more global, and thinking about how to accept what is, while letting go at the same time (not easy - I like control!).  Now, I'm going to write down the grief, anger, disappointments and fears I've experienced this past year - all the things I've been thinking on this past week and a half - then simply burn the list just as the Earth's tilt is at its farthest from the Sun. It isn't magic. Nothing will be resolved or materially different. I just needed to find a way to mark what has happened and provide a place/space to jump off from in order to let go and get on with life. And get on with writing, there's going to be loads of writing!

Back to the Beginning

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"

 I wrote a blog post, quite some time ago, entitled: “Writing Through Grief.” So, I don’t know what you would call the last year of my life, or how to define it in a blog post. Maybe the post’s title should be:  “Hiding from Grief” or “Succumbing to Grief” or “Putting your whole life on hold?” “Major Suck-age” has a certain ring to it, too.

My last blog post was a year ago, today. I didn’t even realize it until I sat down and began to type. A whole year. Where did it go? What a different place I was in this time last year, writing a post about my “plan of attack” for 2012. I have to laugh - the best laid plans, eh? I can’t beat myself up over this past year of grief and despair and depression, though. Life has flayed me enough, even to satisfy my morbid tendency toward self-loathing. 

It started back in January when a friend, who’s importance in my life I can scarcely begin to describe, fell ill and ended up in the hospital. Bad news turned to fear, which turned to waiting, and finally, the worst news of all: terminal cancer. The next month was a blur of anxiety and difficult decisions. Finally, thankfully, I pulled my head out and hopped on a plane. Thankfully because, as it turned out, I would be seeing my friend for the last time. She died the day I left.  

I don’t even know how to describe the next few months. I’ve been mourning one person or another every year for the last five. I couldn’t be alone in my house but didn’t know how to be around people, I forgot all of my lofty plans and goals for writing, and I just tread water in a foggy haze of sadness and depression.

That was just the beginning of the year. I can’t even begin to describe to you the chaos, anxiety, fear, sadness and depression that followed in the latter half. Let’s face it, you don’t want to read the gory details, and I can’t stand the thought of recounting it all here. Maybe one day, but not today. It is all too recent and my new found peace of mind too fragile to risk. I’ll just say that there was more loss, plot-twists, illnesses and despair.

Maybe someone else would have done a better job at keeping the rest of their life together, but I admit that I let things fall apart. I let go. It was all I could do to get through the day-to-day, and I wasn’t very successful in that. Just as I thought my writing life was coming together in 2011, it all slipped through my fingers in 2012.

I made a few attempts at refocusing. There’s a draft blog post from back in May that I never published. I guess I knew deep down that I wasn’t ready.

It is strange to come back to this blog and my various writing accounts, everything seems frozen in time, which is fitting, really, as I’ve definitely glimpsed a hint of Miss Havisham in the mirror at times. Everything in my office has a film of dust, my writing posters and papers hang limply from their nails on my walls, and my white board still has a crazy plot diagram I can’t begin to make sense of now.

The one bright note in my writing world is that I joined a creative writing class back in September at my local college. I didn’t know what to expect, but it has been a wonderful experience. Having that weekly deadline for writing has helped me slip gently back into a routine. Reading my stories out loud and receiving feedback has been enlightening, reassuring, and motivating. After all, I don’t write just for myself, I want my stories to be read.

Then there is the fact that writing is such a solitary venture. I think that is the number one thing that has kept me away from keyboard, paper, and pen. Joining this course has been a way to ease back into writing by sharing my love of the craft with other like-minded people. Not only has it been wonderfully healing to read my own stories out loud to an audience of writers, but I didn't know how much I would enjoy reading and critiquing the stories of others. We’re just a bunch of writers talking about the thing we love. Glorious!

I imagine I’ve lost my readers over this past year, but I hope to look you all up and catch up, soon. Maybe you’re new here, and so you can pick up with me where I left off. In any case, I’m back.

The Beast

I walked past my office yesterday, on my way to make breakfast, and tried to rush by, averting my eyes from the sight of my empty desk chair. In the kitchen, I poured my coffee and headed back up stairs. At the top, there was a decision to be made: turn right to the living room and sofa or turn left to the office and the unknown. The sofa won.

This has been going on for weeks. In order to get from one room to the next in my flat (ANY room, it seems), you have to walk past the office. One day, on my way to the loo, I peeked inside the office instead of quickly shuffling past the door. It was like a time capsule in there - everything left exactly as it was the last time I sat down to write. I did a little hopping from one foot to the other- maybe my feet wanted to cross the damned threshold at last. But, it turned out I really just needed to pee, and I turned back towards the loo.

Once I passed by with a snack in my hand and stopped and stared into my office for several minutes. My white board still had the color-coded plot diagram for my novel.  My writing “manuals” were piled precariously on the window ledge by the desk. The drapes were drawn around the writing “manuals," changing the dim sunlight to a faded yellow that reminded me of old newspaper. Everything had a light layer of grey dust. With a shudder, I moved on and away.

A few times, I tried to punch through the barrier to my office and thought I had succeeded when I wrote my previous post. For one afternoon, I was able to return to my desk chair and face the computer screen at long last. But then, after that…nothing.

I developed a faint “butterflies-in-the-gut” sensation, and it crept up on me, growing day-by-day. It’s almost constant now. Sleeping was hard to face, and often, my husband had to drag me to bed so that I didn’t stay up all night doing nothing. I lived with the constant worry that there was something I’d forgotten - something I was supposed to do or somewhere I was supposed to be. I was bored, restless, and irritable. Sometime last week, I became convinced that I could hear the soft, interminable tick-tock of the little red robin clock in the office echo throughout the flat. I started to feel nauseated. When I walked by my office, my skin would crawl.

I think it’s my novel - it’s haunting me. I left it there, abandoned and cold, suffering from neglect. In that darkness and quiet, it turned into some sort of monster, a beast I had to slay, and I was weak and a coward. I couldn’t face it. The longer I avoided it, the nastier it became.

Today I paced outside the office, wringing my hands. It’s in there, I thought, and I have to go in there and face it.  

Posted by Jennifer Baylor at The Writing Cocoon.  
Filed under "The Mental Game"