I love book sales. I live for book sales. Last weekend I went to the local public library sale. I got out with only 5 books and they were all ones I was already going to read. I know, I can hardly believe it myself.
I’ve been meaning to post photos on here so here we go, this is my hull from last week:
As of this Sunday, I will have completed my second time through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. Once again I feel my creative blocks falling away. I believe it is much easier to write than to not write. I have realized the amount of time and energy I put into not writing becomes productive and fulfilling when I use it to write.
It sounds simple when I write it out but aren’t the simplest ideas often the most profound? Mind blown.
If you want to know more about The Artist’s Way, here’s the link to Julia Cameron’s website: http://juliacameronlive.com
Let’s begin deconstructing the stigmas and stereotypes about artists. Here’s one – not all artists write all night. Many sleep instead.
Nor are most people able to write a novel while on their lunch break at their 9-5 job. In fact, most artists are better off working hours that are not 9-5.
To back me up I direct your attention to the article below, “Why Creative People Shouldn’t Work 9 to 5”
http://www.mnn.com/money/green-workplace/blogs/why-creative-people-shouldnt-work-9-to-5
*Please note, I do not agree with this article’s use of the term ‘creative people’. I firmly believe that everyone is creative. This article, however, is talking about the artist, a specific kind of creative person.*
I haven’t been on my schedule lately because, as with most people, a holiday, even one you only sorta celebrate, brings a whole lot. A whole lot of people, food, board games, social outings, talking, hiking, and drinking.
This is just a pop in to say that when the internet seems unhelpful or unfriendly or full of terrible comments and ads, I like to read the Chicago Writer’s Conference Facebook page. Whoever they have running it is a beautiful curator of writing and reading related information. I am so glad I found their conference by chance and continue to be apart of their goings on.
I was talking with some people recently about being a beginner. I have always been a champion of the idea that you can start anything at any age. There’s a quote I love that says:
Question: Do you know how old I’ll be by the time I learn to play the piano?
Answer: The same age you will be if you don’t.
However, I do believe the single hardest thing to be a beginner at is running. Every time I begin running (once every six months or so), it is the most uncomfortable and physically painful experience of my life. Inevitably I pick the wrong clothes – my shirt rides up, my pants fall down. My lungs feel like they’re about to give out at any moment and I think my heart may explode. I feel like everyone who drives by is gawking at me like “whoa, check out that chick with the bright red face who’s somehow tangled her headphones in her ponytail.” I can never breath when I done and I always develop a week long, hacking cough. Yet I still keep trying, every six months, because I really do want to be a runner. So despite the horrendous wardrobe malfunctions and physical trauma, I am a proud beginner.
When it comes to weather, we Michiganders are notoriously stubborn.
A few days ago, it snowed. A lot. However, at the beginning of the month when we were having a serious thaw and the thermometers hit 50, I shed my winter coat and boots with a sigh and vowed not to wear them again until at least October. On the day of the snowfall I had woken up, excited to wear my new orange flats and a skirt. Think my plans were deterred by a bit of snow and 7 degree temps? Hell no! I’m a Michigander. When I declare winter is over, it’s over, whether or not the weather agrees to co-opperate.
I’m not alone in this. For the past few weeks I’ve seen people out in shorts and tank tops with scarcely a winter coat in sight. All around me people are packing away winter clothes and turning off their heat. Yesterday in a cafe the woman at the next table proudly announced, “I’m declaring it spring. I’ve got my flip flops on and everything.”
Tomorrow I fully intend to wear sandals, whether it’s 55 degrees or negative 10.
Last night I had a dream that my friends wouldn’t be my friends anymore. I told them I really needed them and they just shrugged and disappeared. I try not to read too much into dreams since the majority of mine are about dinosaurs who are about to eat me. No doubt it’s all metaphorical but I’m always just happy to wake up and realize it wasn’t real.
On another note, I need to start a writing group. There are some groups in town already but I’d like to have one that focuses on romance writing. Then I don’t have to explain to every new person why I’m choosing to write romance, they’ll already be kindred spirits. Any suggestions?
I spent the weekend without wifi. Is this even possible you ask? Well I was house sitting and had forgotten to get the password. Rather then be a pest, calling to ask for the wifi password, I decided to go without, thinking it might help me write. Which it did, sort of. What I really did was:
There are these things where you go and do something for around 8 hours at a time and someone pays you. We artists like to call them “day jobs” so as not to confuse the perpetual drudgery with our real work, the writing.
Sometimes, I hear, the day job doesn’t have to be drudgery. It can be fun in and of its self. It can be interesting and fulfilling and creative, just like the writing. What? I shriek. What dark magic is this? Where have these horrid lies stemmed from?
I wonder if there is some truth behind this ludicrous nonsense. Could there be a job out there that I would find interesting and fulfilling and creative AND they would pay me? It seems like a quest worth pursuing.
I’ve been working on this being-a-serious-writer thing for a few months now. I tell everyone to leave me alone! I have to get some serious writing done! (Serious meaning committed here. I write comedy). Only I haven’t actually been writing, apart from blog posts, journaling, and an occasional book review. My novel languishes, the first chapter written to death and the rest in desolate neglect.
What I need is a kick in the pants. Something to jump start this whole novel. CPR for half finished books. And, while zoning out on the internet (“working”) I found just that thing! A writing convention.
Of course! It’s so simple. Every conference I go to leaves me rejuvenated, refreshed, and ready to churn out some pages. Only this isn’t a two day conference near my hometown. Oh no, this is the big time. The Romantic Times Booklovers Convention in Dallas – almost a full week of workshops, parties, pitches, and more parties, some with costumes.
I gleefully took the first step and registered. Apparently I am super late and the main hotel is sold out and the backup hotel only had one option left but I am staying positive that it’ll all work out somehow! My writing won’t know what hit it.
