Procrastabaking

Procrastabaking | pro-KRAST-a-bak-ing |
(v) : To delay or postpone doing what one knows they should do by baking and/or cooking.

I wish I was clever enough to have coined that term, but alas, I was not. I stole it and I'm adopting it.
Why, you ask, would I resort to thievery of someone else's intellectual property? It's simple. I like it and it fits.

It is, in fact, what I seem to do on Sundays when I know I could be writing. I may need to lower my expectation of writing on Sundays. The problem is, it seems like such a perfect day for it. The only chore I'm likely doing is laundry, which requires little or no attention from me. Most fun stuff happens on Saturday if it happens at all. I don't have work. It should be perfect.

Except for the small fact that lately I've felt like not doing ANYTHING on Sundays. And maybe I should listen to that and not fret so much. After all, I am a Mom and a Wife, I work a job that requires my brain to be alert and smart all day, I try to exercise and take care of myself and my family. Maybe it's not the worst thing in the world if I don't write on Sundays. Or at least not get bummed when I'm not and I just want to lay around and surf the internet or watch cheesy TV.

But then there's this little thing: this desire to write, to complete a novel. It's not something someone else can do for me. I can't ask someone to finish this chapter or this scene, like I can ask someone to switch over the laundry for me. It's something that I have to do. My fingers. My keyboard. My deal. I'm not going to lie. I'm tired.

Hense today's Procrastabaking. I frittered away the entire morning and at some point past noon I decided I simply wasn't going to write. I just didn't have it in me. What I wanted to do was cook. I love a good dinner on Sunday evenings. Last Sunday's Procrastabaking resulted in Pasticcio for dinner and for desert a Ginger cake topped with Raspberry glaze and fresh whipped cream. Today, I felt like stew and bread. So, I spent the next three to four hours chopping, braising beef, seasoning broth. While that sat on the stove, simmering and getting more delicious by the minute, my son and I made a couple loaves of bread together. And it was immensely satisfying. Dinner was good. And eaten and cleaned up by 6:30.

Time to write.

And I did. A little more than a 1,000 words. Where has my 2-3,000 word days gone? I swear it's all I can do to eek out a good 600 words. I feel like I've lost my muse - if ever in fact I had one. Or my mojo. And I feel like a spoiled brat. I did, in fact, write over 1,000 words today. I moved the story a little further. Threw a small monkey in the wrench of my character's progress - which is good. I think I just still have this underlying fear that I'm writing crap. I'm going to need to figure out what I need to do to get inspired again. Is this normal?

I wish I had an author's ear to bend. I would totally buy him or her a cup of coffee - hell, I would make them a Thanksgiving dinner - and ask them if I'm delusional or if I have something. Or maybe I would ask them if it really even matters anyway. Maybe, by their very nature, writers are in fact delusional. Maybe you have to be to even try to write so many words that make up an idea, a scene, people's lives - or their deaths, as luck may have it.

I don't know. I guess I can't figure it out tonight. Which means I'll just try again tomorrow. And keep trying until I'm done.

I've got to say though, that was a good dinner!

Total Word Count: 72,144
(Divided by the average 350 words per paperback page) 206 pages

Plot-Stuck

So, here's the deal. I've taken these kids, my characters, on a journey and now they have arrived and I don't know where to take them next. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a conundrum.

Part of the problem is that from the beginning, there were several ways this story could have gone. The beginning and the middle were basically the same - introduce characters and problem, have characters discover themselves/issues in the face of this problem. Then what was to come next could be open to many, many things. Much like getting your butt through high school or college. You do it because you have to, you learn a lot along the way, then once you graduate the big question mark comes and it's up to you what you do with it.

At first, my idea was that they would have a fairly peaceful and productive existence, probably because that's what I personally prefer. However, that doesn't always make for an interesting read. So, the next idea was to throw some conspiracy and conflict their way, raise the stakes and make it about a bigger picture they were going to have to solve. Which was great. Had the idea, knew about how to handle it. On my way. And so were my characters.

Until they decided that wasn't what was in store for them and the plot veered off to the left. Now I've got them on this side road, full of potholes and intersections, and no road map or GPS to know where the heck they are going. Never in my planning were they supposed to end up in Olympia. Uh-uh. And much like my characters, I've never even been to Olympia. Dang it. Why did they decide that's the place to go? In a world of politics and back handed dealings - which I admittedly have no interest in. So, to this I say, "Thanks a lot, Marcus. I despise you right now just as much as those kids."

My earlier inspiration has run it's course, and I am very grateful because there was some good stuff in there, tie-ins and imagery. I liked it! Now, at this very moment, three kids are in a car that smells of arthritis cream and pickles, stuck listening to disco with a wall-flower of a woman, and on their way to the state capital. They have no idea what's in store for them, only that they have to get there by morning. And, I find myself in the same boat. Minus the arthritis cream and pickles.

Not sure how I'm going to get us out of this mess, but I'm sure it'll come to me. Good grief.

Today, I am a Writer!

Ok, super quick:
Today, I took the day off from work - because I could - and was hoping that I could get some respectable writing done. I was a little concerned about this because I'm at this really tough part of the story. See, it's taken an unexpected turn and I didn't know how the heck I was going to take it from there. All of the plans I had made for my characters were now pushed off the table. Something new was going to have to happen, something different and I had no idea what that was supposed to be.

So, after the family went off to work and school, I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to do my Morning Pages. The temptation to bitch and moan was really strong, but instead I posed the question that was on my mind: "How am I going to move my story forward?"

And then it happened.

The answer came, it made perfect sense and I was excited again. Pieces were coming together, links attached, things made sense. Hallelujah Sister! Amen and Shazbot! I knew where I was going.

For the next several hours, I sat at the table. I wrote through breakfast, wrote some more, transferred to the kitchen counter and wrote through lunch. It wasn't until 2:00 that I realized I hadn't brushed my teeth, let alone take a shower.

I've picked at it a bit since then, but it's time to set it aside and get some dinner. Time to sit with my husband, enjoying a meal and a Redbox.

Thank you Morning Pages for the inspiration! It was a Writer's Day!

Today's Page Count: 8.75 - or 3,085 words to you and me.
Totals: 157 pages - or 63,891words.

It's Good To Be Back!

I have to say, it feels like things are going right again. The world is spinning in the right direction and peanut butter is friends with jelly again. Doesn't make sense? Doesn't matter. I feel like life is returning to normal, and for that, I am incredibly grateful!

I am writing again. Perhaps not as many words per day, but doing it still. And really, after you hit the goal of 50,000 words and you realize that is not, in fact, the size of a novel, word count feels almost silly. I can't stop from seeing it tick up and realize what is a respectable amount to write today and what is on the puny side, but it almost seems like I need to look at estimated page count now. Which might also be silly, but we have to mark things somehow, right? If I can't have specific measure sticks, I feel lost and warbled, and I don't enjoy that sensation. So, page count it is.

In case you're wondering about word count though, since I up and changed the rules on the game, it's currently up to 58,818. Translated to the current game, that is approximately 144 paper back pages. Not too shabby, I think. Never mind that I have no idea how I'm going to end this story, or proceed for that matter, but I'm not fretting about that. After all, these characters are smart and they know what to do. And when there are times that I can't figure out how the heck something that needs to happen happen, more often than not, they let me know. And then it's obvious and I have no idea why I didn't think of it first.

So, new goal: Finish this novel by my birthday. Preferably Mom's birthday, which is February 1st. That would be cool. But, I'm giving myself a week leeway and February 7th will be just fine. Old game rules? That's about 1,350 words per day, in my estimation. Give or take. New game rules? That's right around 4 paper back pages a day. Eh, why not?

So here's to it! If I had a tasty adult beverage at the ready, I would raise a glass to worlds that have been righted and favorite childhood lunch mates being reunited again. However, the only drink I have handy is the swallow or two left of my Magnesium supplement, which I fondly call my "Crap". I don't ever mean disrespect to this lovely mineral, but it makes me laugh, so I do it. Anyway, I'll raise my blue plastic tumbler of Crap and say cheers to a New World Order.

Here, Here!

Found My Tracks

If I were a more uninhibited soul, I'd dance around the back yard in my robe with my hair blowing in the January night sky. Or, maybe not. I don't feel much like dancing outside in the 18 degree weather, but I have to say, it would be nice to let yourself be crazy once in a while. It has to feel pretty good, don't you think?

You wanna know what does feel good? A massage. Thanks to my brilliant husband, who guessed exactly right that what I really needed for Christmas wasn't things, but to be cared for and pampered, I feel more at home in my skin. I no longer feel like I'm rattling around in here, echoes bouncing off my inner walls. I booked Christmas present number 1 last night after work (Oh yes. There are 4 in total) and preceded to have a good 90 percent of my body's surface worked over. Knots were mashed, back was exfoliated, sore quads were kneaded to jello. Hell, even my toes were massaged! I honestly had a moment where I thought that this is what movie stars must feel like. It was a crazy thought, but then, crazy felt good.

So, not incredibly surprising, guess what I did today? I wrote. Not a few strangled words, but a scene. It's been since November 25th that I wrote a scene. Well, in honestly, it's not quite a whole scene, but it's nearly 1,300 words. I had moments where I felt like I was reading, which is so much nicer than pulling the baby out sideways. And this didn't feel crazy. It felt exactly right.

Because of that moment of feeling exactly right, I kind of want to do something crazy, like dance around a bonfire or do handstands on the beach. Lucky for me, bonfire burning in Spokane city limits is a no-no and the beach is a good 6 hour drive from here, because I'm also just plain tired. It's 9:04 on a Friday night and I'm excited to go to bed. I've had a good day. And tomorrow, I can sleep in - or at least not wake up to an alarm. And perhaps, I will write some more. After all, I have to find out how my characters are going to get out of this mess they're in!

It's good to find my tracks.

New Year's

I can't deny it and I can't sugar coat it. I am bummed. I feel my life has gone off it's rails. Mom's death is still weighing on me. And it's to be expected, I'm sure. It's only been a little over a month. I don't think about it all the time, not even every day. But sometimes it feels like such a heavy blanket to live under.

I am bummed. And lately, it feels like the bummed is winning over the moments that I feel fine. Where I laugh, where I make food, where I put on make up to look and feel normal. I know I'm not going to be bummed forever. But today is apparently not that day. I was doing pretty good for a while, then another thing pops up and it feels like the shoes just keep dropping. I don't want anymore shoes to drop.

I need some good in my days. Lord, it is hard to pull through this, but I know I am going to. I will get back to me, though it will likely be a newer version of me. One that knows what it's like to face her fears and move through them to the other side. One who doesn't give up, even when she's tired. That new version of me? The new and improved one? It's in the making as we speak. Every time that I move forward, or even take a step back to let myself feel, that's the time that I sprout a little more. Growing pains are tough, aren't they?

I've been through this before, you know. Not this exactly, but such a thing that rocks you to your core, flips you off your rails and makes you claw your way back to good. I've done it before. I will do it now. So, if you happen to read this, please do not worry or fret. It's just me being honest. And if I can't be honest, what's the point of it all anyway.

I honestly thought that today I would feel better, that I would have a good day. Christmas time is over, house has been cleaned and the season of getting back on track should have wrapped up with going to bed last night. Weirdly enough, I woke up and it was the same. No inclination to write, just the damn heavy blanket. I'm not sure why I thought this symbolic day would feel that much different, but I did. And as shitty as all that disappointment is, I am here, at my computer. I am writing. It's not a fun read, nor is it likely funny or inspiring. But I am here, and I am doing it. This post may ramble and have crap for structure, but at this very moment, at 9:06 pm on January 1st of 2013, I don't give a damn.

I'm here. I'm writing. I'm sprouting. And yes, I am clawing my way back to good.
Good night.