Late nights and being by myself are never a good idea.

You know, I’ve read over and over again that in order to improve your writing, you need to read a ton and write even more. And for the longest time I really believed that advice. Lately, though, for some reason, I’m beginning to doubt this whole, “I want to be a writer” thing.

Earlier this summer, I read a lot of really well-written stories, a few books and worked with a couple of new writers as a beta reader. I thought it was helping, but it was, in fact, making everything worse. The well-written stories I read? Mine are absolute rubbish by comparison. The books I read? I’d never be able to come up with a plot that tightly-constructed, with characters that well-developed. I used to think my writing was okay. Some of it would even pass my standards and could be called good. But these last few weeks I doubt every single word I write. I can’t help but look around and see all of this other amazing work, and feel mine pales in comparison. I don’t know why it started, I don’t know how it started.

And then I go and do some stupid, signing up to try and write a novel next month. Way to set yourself up for failure, Molly. Atta girl.

When I try and find a genre to write in, or try to figure out where I’m comfortable and where I belong in this writing world, I always feel like a guest. Like I’m visiting and watching the people who belong there go about their business, writing great stories, chapters and books. I no longer feel like I belong there, like I’m a writer and that breaks my heart.

A couple of weeks ago I considered going back to grad school and earning my MFA in creative writing. Luckily it’s not an option, and it wouldn’t do me any good anyway, so all I did was stare at the application and wish I had a reason to apply, instead of using it as a cop out. In order to be a writer, you have to write. And if you’re like me and doubt every single fucking word you type lately and end up deleting it, you don’t get very far.

At this stage in my life, I should have a clue as to what I want to do with it. The only thing I know right now is that writing isn’t what I should be doing. I need to leave that to the people who are good at it, not a hack like myself who gets lucky every now and then and manages to write a halfway coherent piece of (crappy) fiction.

A Night To Remember

Tomorrow I’m taking my Mom to a Bryan Adams concert in celebration of her birthday today. I’m really looking forward to it, and for several reasons. I absolutely love spending time with her, because she’s my best friend. I’m lucky to have a relationship like that with her because I know a lot of people don’t get along with their mothers as well as I do. 

Of course the other reason I’m looking forward to tomorrow is because it’s an acoustic show by Bryan Adams.

It will just be nice to have some company tomorrow, since she’s staying the night here. Things haven’t exactly been pleasant lately, and a night out with her should help.

Sometimes a girl just needs her mom, that’s all there is to it.

 

An Unavoidable Anniversary

I know I’m likely not alone on this, but I’ve been avoiding the news, the television and any video footage of 9/11 news coverage today. Not because I don’t care, or that I don’t think it’s important, but because I simply can’t handle doing it again. It destroyed me the first time, and I didn’t lose anyone, I didn’t know anyone who’d been injured. I only watched it all unfold on television. But if that’s how I felt, being an outsider and only watching what happened? I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for those who experienced it firsthand in some way.

I can’t imagine what it’s like for the friends and family members of those who died that day, to have to live without someone they love. I can’t imagine what it felt like, not knowing the fate of someone who went to work or got on a plane that day. And I certainly can’t imagine what it felt like to learn a mother, father, sibling, spouse, son, daughter or other relative wasn’t coming home that day.

I’m not going to pretend or be melodramatic about anything. I didn’t lose anyone that day. I didn’t know anyone who was injured. Above the shock, the pain and the gried I remember feeling, the thing I remember most is what that tragedy brought out in this country:

A sense of defiance, a sense of pride, and the urge to help anyone and everyone who needed it. Blood donation drives popped up everywhere. Fundraisers began. Firefighters, doctors, nurses and EMT’s from Minnesota volunteered their services and left for the East Coast as soon as they could. Once people processed the fear and the surprise, they sprung into action with a determination I’d never seen.

News coverage that day and the following days showed complete strangers hugging each other, helping each other and crying together. And while the impact the attack had on New York City, Arlington, VA and Shanksville, PA was severe, the outpouring of support and willingness to help from the rest of this country was stronger. Of the moments when I was proudest to be an American, that one nears the top of the list.

The only news coverage I watched today was the reading of a letter written by Abraham Lincoln by former President Bush and a short video about the search and rescue dogs that helped in the recovery efforts. The moment I inadvertantly watched a clip of flight AA Flight 175 slam into the tower, I closed my browser and cried.

So I hope the families of those who were lost ten years ago find solace today, whether it’s in a visit their families, going to one of the memorials, the cemetery, a park, going to church, or avoiding it all together. May they find an escape to deal with their grief, away from prying eyes and in a way that suits them best. I wish the same for anyone who’s grieving today, regardless of whether they lost someone. We all lost something that day.

And that’s why I posted Bill Withers singing “Lean On Me”. We were all telling each other that ten years ago, and I hope we continue to do so.

Before I Lose My Nerve..

I was sorting through the contents of my external hard drive the other night when I came across some things I’d written while I was in college. And enough time has passed that I no longer feel that self-conscious about sharing some of the poems I wrote. These are five or six years old and written for a form and technique in poetry course. 

The first is an untitled poem, written in the style of Shakespearean sonnets:

A world made white by newly-fallen snow
is quite the wondrous sight to behold.
The hues of autumn-past done with their show.
All color tucked away, hidden from bitter cold.
Silent flakes flutter from the heavens above;
they cover all that is dead and brown.
It falls, carried on the wings of a dove.
We look up in wonder, God looks down
and smiles. I feel my face do the same.
Winter- always my favorite season.
Others do not like the snow; they complain.
It’s cold. They shovel. Always a reason.
They don’t see, for sadness invades their hearts,
that winter is a new beginning. A fresh start.

This next one is called “His Last Lasagna”. I have no idea why I wrote about Nermal’s revenge, but it was funny at the time.

Nermal had just arrived home in a beat-up
Fed-Ex box, back from his latest trip to Abu Dhabi
courtesy of Garfield.

“Enough is enough,” Nermal said as he picked
Styrofoam packing peanuts from his now-dirty
gray coat. He’d had plenty of Garfield’s nonsense-
the taunting, battery, not to mention
22-hour flights spent in the frigid cargo hold
of a 747 with nothing to do but plot his revenge.
Nermal had a plan, but couldn’t execute it alone.

He recruited Odie.

Odie certainly identified with Nermal’s pain.
He, too, had been abused- pushed off the kitchen table,
slammed in a door, sent running into things when Garfield
threw his dingle-ball. The pair spent many nights plotting
their sweet revenge on the over-confident fat cat.

One random Thursday night, Nermal slipped a sedative
into Garfield’s beloved lasagna. He passed out in the pan.

Nermal and Odie struggled to shove Garfield
into a rather large cardboard box.
They pushed and managed to wedge him in it.
“Fat ass,” Nermal spat, panting with the effort.
He added some packing peanuts, just for spite.

Odie taped the box while Nermal addressed it-
to a restaurant in Hong Kong. They love cats.

“No need for a return address on this one, Odie.”

This last one is a bitter, moody poem I have no explanation for, other than, well, I was bitter. It has no title yet and likely won’t.

I kneeled on the floor in front of the fireplace at my Dad’s,
with a red and blue box of matches in my right hand.
A box of movie ticket stubs, concert programs,
dried flower petals and glossy photographs
sat on the floor to my left.

First, I torched the ticket stubs and programs.

I never liked Jim Brickman.

Then, the faded flower petals.

I hated those roses; I’d cut my fingers on the thorns.

I held a photograph in my fingers,
looking at two happy people.
Photographs are nice that way-
you can’t always see what’s really going on
with the people in them.

When he cancelled plans or forgot to call,
I apologized.
When he argued or said my opinion was wrong,
I apologized.
When he failed to return my feelings,
I apologized.

I’ve stopped doing that.

I was no longer the girl in the photograph,
the girl who always smiled no matter how she felt,
who did her hair perfectly and worked out five days a week
because he was concerned with his appearance.

After I burned everything, I smiled.
The smoldering ash in the fireplace was the end

of something I swore I’d never be:

A sidewalk, a treadmill, faded carpet.
Anything someone could walk on.

Now that I’ve posted these, I’m going to run away and hide.

Self-Doubt Isn’t Always A Negative

I read this article a few minutes ago.

I whole-heartedly disagree with it. While I can appreciate each of the three suggestions to help you write when you’re stuck, I disagree with all that prefaces that list.

My “Inner Editor” is the only thing that allows me to write at all. If it weren’t for my never-ending self-criticism I wouldn’t feel confident about posting anything I’ve written. Ever. Only because of that trait do I get to a point when I’m comfortable with what I’ve written. I’m so meticulous about my editing that quite often, after I write a paragraph, scene or dialogue exchange? I go back and edit, fix and tweak things before I can move on. Sometimes I write pages before I feel the need to go back and do that, sometimes it’s only a few sentences. Regardless, I edit like mad while I write and after I finish.

I understand what the author means, about the self-doubt and the perfectionism and the nit-picking at details. It can really be a block to writing and it can be toxic. But that’s not the case for everyone. It works the complete opposite way for me. Without my harsh self-criticism and the fact I nit-pick absolutely everything, I wouldn’t ever improve or tell a better story because I would think I’m okay, that I can’t get better.

I’m always asking myself questions like, ‘how can I write this scene more clearly?’ or ‘what should I have done differently on this conversation?’ or ‘why doesn’t this scene flow well?’.

My answers are often, ‘because you’re not good enough yet’, ‘you should have done a lot of it differently’, and ‘because you’re not good enough yet’.

Sounds harsh? Yeah. But is it wrong? Is it inaccurate? Not at all.

If you get to a point when you either don’t ask those questions, or you always answer them ‘you can’t’, ‘nothing’ and ‘it’s perfect the way it is’, I think you’re missing something. It’s perfectly okay to be content with something you’ve written. It’s okay to be proud of it and to want to share it. And I’m not saying you should always question yourself, but I think if you never do?

That’s the real issue.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve. And if the perfectionist in you is always telling you that? You just need to know when that instinct is correct, and when it’s not. Being able to tell the difference between genuinely having to fix something/improve/practice and simply nit-picking because you feel you should, is important.

So do yourself a favor and take a good, hard look at yourself and your style before you start following anyone’s advice, including mine. The tips in the article were great, but they most certainly don’t apply to everyone.

Hills, Thrills and Tasty Seafood

I apologize in advance for the choppy and messy nature of this entry. I’m exhausted, but I wanted to write a little before sleep takes me.

This week I’m in San Francisco for work. It’s been one amazing week so far and it’s only Tuesday. I bought a pair of bright blue heels for 70% off the original price during lunch today. (I know, like I need more shoes.)

I’m staying near Union Square, a popular, high-end shopping district. It’s a great area and I’ve found some really fun places so far. There are a few jazz clubs, Irish/British-style pubs, and a 50′s-style diner nearby, so I’m never lacking in things to do and places to explore.

Last night I wandered into Chinatown for a while. I was surprised to find it’s mostly shops, consisting of jewelry stores, novelty/touristy items, and home decor. There were a handful of food court-style eating establishments, so the first sit-down place I came across I went into. It also helped there was a woman out front shoving menus in the faces of passersby.

All in all, I bought a three-stone jade ring, a matching pair of earrings, and a wonderful dinner with an amazing glass of wine. The spicy sesame chicken, shrimp-fried rice and spring rolls were tasty.

Tonight, I had the pleasure of walking just over a mile down Market Street to the harbour/port area. I’d forgotten how at-home I am around the water. The smell of the salty sea in the air, the crowing of the seagulls and the horns on the ferries are definitely smells, sights and sounds I could get used to. There’s just something so calm and relaxing about being on or near the water.

I wandered along the piers for a while, until my feet and calves started bothering me. I walked back toward Market Street and noticed a place called Sinbad’s. Thinking it would be yet another tourist trap, I begrudgingly headed over.

I was pleasantly disappointed, if there is such a thing.

The restaurant is tucked away next to a busy pier behind a warehouse. The ceilings were low, dark and cozy. The linens on the tables were blue and white and a single candle sat in the centre of every table. There’s a distinct advantage to dining alone when you’re a woman:

You get the best tables with amazing views.

I sat next to the window with a stunning view of the Bay Bridge, looking into Oakland. The sun had started setting behind me, so I got to watch sailboats cross under the bridge and the lights come on as the sun set further. It was hard to leave after I was finished eating.

I’d ordered the lobster and shrimp ravioli and it was delicious and the Riesling I had with it was a good match, at least in my opinion. Then again, I’m not one for pairing food and wine anyway. The waiter barely twisted my arm and talked me into taking a slice of cheesecake with me.

After meandering the mile and a half back to my hotel through one breathtakingly beautiful city, my night totalled over three miles of walking.

I think I’ve earned that dessert. And I’m going to go enjoy it before I tire out completely.

Tomorrow night? I might make it to the Golden Gate Bridge area. We’ll see.

Suffering again from writer’s block, I am.

I’ve been struggling to write anything lately, and this is my (lame) attempt at jump-starting my brain to get it back into writing mode. I found this on a writing prompt website.

We’ll see how it works. *Crosses fingers*

These are 20 rules I’ve broken and will likely continue to break. I wouldn’t be me if I followed all the rules, right?

1.  Play it safe. – Whether it’s taking a chance and attending a university 250 miles from home, buying a dress I normally wouldn’t have or sending in a resume for a job I had no chance of getting, I refuse to play it safe and never take chances. Life is boring when you always take the safe route. If you give me a choice between a scenic  road less traveled and a familiar, boring highway? Guess which one I’ll choose.

2.  Learn to cook one thing really well.- Who says I only have to learn how to cook one thing well? I happen to think I cook a lot of things well. Same goes for baking.

3.  Accept everything just the way it is.- Never have, I don’t and I never will.

4.  Do not fear death. – I think most people fear things they don’t know or don’t understand. I’m terrified of dying because no one knows what happens after. I understand a lot of people don’t bother with being scared of the unknown, but me? I definitely don’t fit into that category.

5.  No wearing white after Labor Day. – I think it’s called ‘winter white’ for a reason.

6.  9-5 In An Office Cubicle Is The Only Career Answer.- No, it isn’t. Sure, right now that’s what I’m doing. But I’ve happily held jobs as a nursing assistant, a blackjack dealer and field worker. It’s not where and at what time you work. It’s how happy it makes you.

7.  You’re wasting money by renting. Buying is smarter. – Hmm. With renting an apartment, someone else shovels snow, cuts the grass, fixes/maintains the apartment and handles all of that miscellaneous stuff. Not to mention property taxes, utilities, etc that come with owning a home. I’m fine renting right now, thank you very much.

8.  The most important piece of furniture is the sofa. – Nope. For me, it’s either my desk or my bed. Currently, the desk is the focal point in the living room. And I love that idea.

9.  Tattoos and piercings are for soldiers and rock stars, not for ladies. – I have both and I think many would still call me a lady. Personally, I think it’s a matter of location and how many of each she has.

10. Be seen, not heard. – Anyone who’s attended sporting events with me knows I definitely don’t follow this one. I’m also quick to challenge an opinion or idea, or when something isn’t fair.

11. Never order drinks that are pink or come with an umbrella in them; don’t be fancy. – While I tend to prefer a pint of beer over an umbrella drink anyway, I do order “fancy” drinks from time to time. (If a martini or good glass of wine is fancy.)  If it suits your fancy, order it. If you’re in the mood for fun, go for it.

12. Have no expectations. When you enter situations with expectations, you limit your behavior and thinking. – I think people who don’t have any expectations go nowhere. And that’s just sad. Personal experience has shown me that sometimes, having certain expectations going into a situation actually helps you get what you want out of that situation.

13. You shouldn’t wear all-black to a wedding. – Been there, done that. I wore all-black to my mother’s wedding in December. I had a bright red purse, but still, all black. Even people at funerals don’t necessarily wear all-black anymore, so that idea should be tossed out the window anyway.

14. One is good, but two are better. – Sometimes, when you’re feeling down? There’s nothing better than going to see a movie by yourself. It’s a good way to recharge the batteries.

15. Short hair isn’t feminine. – Take a look at Emma Watson, Carrie Mulligan or Judy Dench and tell me that short hair isn’t feminine.

16. If you’re taller than your significant other you shouldn’t wear heels. – Says who? If he’s comfortable with it, then what’s the problem? And if he’s not comfortable with it, then he’ll have to learn to be.

17. Act your age. – While there are definite times and occasions when it’s important to be mature, more often than not there’s nothing wrong with being silly.

18. You shouldn’t be in pajamas if it’s after noon. – Unless it’s a Saturday in January when it’s bitterly cold and you’re wearing sweats, cuddled in a cozy blanket by the fire and reading a book. Or a Monday in July when it’s warm and wearing something you might wear to bed keeps you cool. Or a Wednesday in.. well, you get my point.

19. You can’t use incomplete sentences when you’re writing a story. – Yeah, okay. Pick up a book written by anyone and prove to me that absolutely everyone follows this rule. Grammar is funny that way.

20. Don’t edit your work as you write. – If you read up on editing you’ll find that editing as you write actually results in a tighter story and more finely crafted work in general. While it doesn’t work for everyone, it’s physically impossible for me not to edit as I go.

Two Thousand Miles I Roam

I know I’m incredibly lucky to have the job I do, especially after just having spent nearly two weeks in Washington, DC. I’m still in awe of that, really. I was telling my parents the other day that if I were ever offered a position out there? I would accept it in a heartbeat. It’s such a wonderful city, with beautiful architecture, warm people, and it has all four seasons, much like Minnesota.

Somehow I got lucky again and have to travel to San Francisco for a week this month and another week in August. I’ve never been to California so it will definitely be a unique experience. I visited Seattle for a week about four years ago, but that’s the only time I’ve travelled that far west. I’ve been told it’s a lovely city, but after my mistake in Washington, I’m bringing better shoes for sight-seeing. 

My family didn’t take regular vacations when I was a kid; instead we went camping nearly every weekend starting Memorial Day straight through Labor Day. I didn’t fly for the first time until I was 17 and took a trip to Costa Rica for school. The travel bug didn’t really bite me until I spent a semester in London. It was the experience of a lifetime and really opened my eyes to the wonderful opportunities you have if you can travel. Domestic or international, it doesn’t matter. Finding new places to explore is a great deal of fun.

So the fact that I’m able to do that for work is perfect. I’ll have my training sessions during the day, but the evenings are free to wander, learn, absorb and be inspired. I always manage to learn something new about myself when I travel, and I usually learn something about people in general as well. While I was in Washington, I learned there’s nothing like the feeling of wearing a pretty dress and walking into a restaurant to dine at a table for one. It’s liberating, relaxing and fun to smile at the people who stare. 

Who knows what I’ll learn in San Francisco. I know it will be a welcome break from life here, and I only hope I have as much fun there as I did on the East Coast. If I were keeping score? The East Coast would definitely win, having been to both Washington, DC and Baltimore. Seattle was okay, but Baltimore was more my style.

But regarding San Francisco, my man Otis Redding said it best:

“Sittin’ in the morning sun
I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes
Watchin’ the ships roll in
And I watch ‘em roll away again

Sittin’ on the dock of the bay
Watchin’ the tide roll away
I’m just sittin’ on the dock of the bay
Wastin’ time”

Miz Molly goes to Washington

I’ve been in Washington, DC for over a week now for work, and I have to say: I love it. I love the city. I love the sunshine. I love the landmarks, the food, the history and the cars. Oh, how I love the cars. Flashy BWM 5 series sedans. A few of the 7 series, and my former favorite, the 3 series. They’re such eye candy. Mmm. I don’t pay much attention to the Lexus, Mercedes or Lincolns. Just the BMW’s.

I also love being able to take the Metro or use the bus system to get wherever I need to go. Last weekend, I took the bus to Georgetown to watch a rugby match. The rugby was a great deal of fun, even though the temperature was near 100 and the humidity was also ridiculous. I’ve never been a huge fan of football, but after watching rugby at that level? I’m definitely hooked on rugby. You don’t have the downtime, you don’t have the attitude displays and you just have more to watch in general. It’s a lot of fun.

Georgetown, by the way, is the most beautiful neighborhood in the U.S. that I’ve seen, apart from Summit Avenue in Saint Paul. Wow. If I were insanely rich and lived out here? I’d live in Georgetown. Cobblestone sidewalks, colonial brick homes, elaborate gardens and wrought-iron gates. Do a quick internet search for photos of it. I’ll wait. Go on..

See what I mean? Beautiful.

Arlington Cemetery was, as always, an enormous highlight of this trip, with the exception of the atrocious behaviour of some of the field trip groups that were there. I honestly heard a few of them say the place is boring, they don’t want to be there, etc. The kicker? Their parents never corrected them. 

I nearly said something, but wasn’t sure I could so do tactfully. How do you explain to someone who should already know how disrespectful it is to say such a thing, or how they shouldn’t take so much for granted when the people buried around them fought for that? Somehow, I don’t think I’d be able to do that justice. So I bit my tongue and continued on my way.

My trip to the Smithsonian was incredible. The first time I was here, I visited the Natural History Museum, but this time I went to the American History Museum. They have a bit of everything, from a fedora worn by Michael Jackson, to a uniform worn by George Washington for special occasions, and of course, the flag flying over Fort McHenry in 1814 that inspired our National Anthem.

And don’t even get me started on the collection of gowns worn by the First Ladies.

I haven’t done the museum touring like this since I was in London and I’d forgotten just how much fun it is. I also would just wander around in the evenings, whether it was raining or not, and ending up getting some really impressive shots of the Capitol building on the Mall. It was so nice just to stroll up and down the Mall, listening to music and taking pictures.

Training has gone well, for the most part, anyway. The days get a little long when you’re learning about federal property lease law. Last week was easier, since the training covered things I’ve been doing already. But all in all, it will have been a lovely two weeks here, learning, exploring and relaxing. Considering it was for training, I can’t say it’s felt at all like work. It really has felt like a vacation. I just hadn’t realized how much I’d needed one until I got here.

That makes it really difficult to go back to work on Monday!

The Right-of-Way Conundrum

Yesterday, we spent the afternoon at this place: Fun in the sun!

While we had a really good time, there are always things I notice about the way people behave when they’re among vast numbers of other people. And really, there’s only one word for it:

Atrocious.

People tend to start acting like cattle or sheep rather than people. The semester I spent in London has me very well-trained now, I know, but if you didn’t stay on “your side” there, they called you out on it. And I know I’m likely expecting too much of people, but hear me out.

We drive on the right side of the road. One would think that driving, biking and typically walking on the right side of the road would translate into keeping to the right in shopping malls, grocery stores, and any other place where large numbers of people congregate.

Yeah. You’d think that, but you’d be wrong.

Is it too much to ask for common sense? When you’re the only person walking on the left side of anywhere and everyone else is walking toward you, you can’t tell me you don’t notice how awkward that is. So evidently people are clueless, stupid, or arrogant enough to think others are going to move to accommodate them.

And in rare cases? They’re a mixture of all three.

What really gets me, though, is the fact no one has decent manners anymore. I was never actually taught to give up your seat to a pregnant woman, someone disabled, carrying a child or elderly – I just knew it was the polite and right thing to do. But what I saw on the bus ride home was absolutely astonishing, and not in a positive way.

The bus was full when we got on and my brother ended up standing near the back door. Directly in front of him was a healthy young man sitting next to his backpack. Instead of tucking it beneath his seat, he kept it on the seat next to him. And when an older woman got on at the next stop? He pretended not to see her and didn’t move a muscle. The stop after that, when a woman got on with her son in her arms and her young daughter in tow? They were made to stand because no one offered them a seat.

Have that many people been reduced to selfish, unaware human beings who don’t know how to do something nice for someone else simply because? Do we really have to teach people how to be kind to others and what good manners are? When I sit and think about this for more than a few minutes, I get extremely annoyed.

Almost as annoyed as I was this morning when a man walked through a door ahead of me and let it slam in my face. He didn’t even have the common courtesy to hold it for a moment until I reached it.

Thank you, sir, for being a jackass. I don’t expect men to hold doors for me, but it would be nice when I have my hands full to at least wait until I can get my foot in there to prop it open.

I’ve actually had people thank me for being nice. And that is so incredibly disappointing. About six months ago, I held a heavy door open for two elderly couples because they had walkers and canes, and there was no way they would have been able to do it themselves. One of the ladies gave me a hug and said thank you. While as sweet as that hug was, I did it out of pure instinct, not because I expected anything in return.

I know when someone does something nice for me, just because? I don’t forget it. I walk around with a smile on my face most of the day.

So do us all a favor and spread the message by using yourself as an example. Do something kind for someone else, just because. Or do it to get some kind of a reaction. Just help someone when you can see they need help. I guarantee it would make his or her day.

I think you’ll find you’ll be walking around with a smile on your face as a result. And smiles benefit everyone.