A Successful Writer

I'm freezing. I'm eavesdropping. I like to sit at the bar so I can talk to people. Or listen to them. I come here (a bustling coffee shop) to write because usually it's one of few places I can manage to get anything done. Much like any other writer, "getting something done" is completely subjective and lacks any real meaning. I have a lot of ideas; things come and go, though whether I write them down or not seems utterly arbitrary. And I have this sort of blurry understanding of the cliche, I'd like to think at most I walk the line on it, but...then I use phrases like "walk the line".

Sometimes I think I could write endlessly, and might have a million things to say, inevitably all about nothing. Then I get to wondering if I'll ever write anything of significance; anything of merit. Writing just to write, while fantastic for my sanity, isn't what any writer necessarily aspires to. That's what my journal is for. When I was really young and just thinking about the phrase "What do I want to do with my life?" for the first time, I used to think I wanted to be a writer and that meant that someday I'd write a novel. Now that scares the hell out of me; what do I possibly have to tell the world that hasn't already been told? And in a way that doesn't just fall flat.

Writing is so accessible and encouraged nowadays, it's hard to know how to approach it. I could go the route of Stephanie Myers, write some crap fan-fiction that gets adapted to film and get rich in my lifetime...but I don't want to do that either. I mean, it'd be nice to actually make a living from writing, but that's a part of the dream that when you leave your ninth grade life-planning class, you realize is a hoax. Your life's work might not equate to paying your bills and where you spend your 40 hours.

There's a part of me, too, though that's not just jaded but wise in my view of "being a writer": it's not defining. I think that's freeing. When someone asks if I'm a writer, I always say "Sort of" or "Aspiring", or my favorite "That's such a lofty word". Same with photography. There's too much pressure to take that on, but if it's not defining, no one can know what to expect from me. My answer can be translated to, "Yes, I'm a writer but I'm still learning," or "Yes, I'm a photographer but I'm still learning." There is plenty that I don't know about how to be a successful writer, and thankfully I define what "successful writer" means to me.

I think in some ways, chronicling my life in my journal and this blog, are my success. Stretching the way I think, and see, and speak, are my success. Stopping to think, then to write is my success.

All this from sitting at the bar, drinking some tea.

They Are Just Magnificent

Do you ever look at someone and find yourself thinking they are just magnificent? Lately I've been finding myself charmed by people. Though not in my job, of course, just in life in general. Maybe it's just that I'm blessed to have a circle of spectacular people, or I just happen to know a lot of really impressive people from here or there. Certainly no implication of like flocking to like.

These little glimmers from instance to instance and the magnetism of uniqueness have been restoring my faith in humanity. Not that I put my faith in humanity by any means, because I know all too well already how likely that is to fail me... But I've been noticing people; as if catching them in their element. Each time I stop and kind of relish in the moment and think, Man, that person is cool. I'd like to claim my reaction is more eloquent in my head, but believe it or not, it takes a bit of thought for me to speak eloquently. Anyone who knows me well, isn't surprised by that.

It's a mixture, too, not just the people you'd label as charismatic; it's all kinds of people! I have all these little moments of crush on all these people. Life has become a little more sparkly by being made aware of them. It really is being made aware, not just being aware. It's been people I glimpse for a moment, or people I've known for years.

I guess this has the potential to come off completely cliche, - that people are enthralling - but it's true. And I just like to write what I know. Who has time to live in fear of the cliche? Other than hipsters...

Talking With You

When I'm with you, the room hollows out; as I talk to you, it's like my words are caught just outside of my mouth, in the thick of the moment. No matter who's around, and who's listening, You adore my very thought. You value my words because you love my heart. Each one is like a sweet drop of water in your parched mouth. But it's not that you need me, but you want me. To know that is the only thing that keeps me.

I Need to Be Writing

Sitting at my desk, contemplating my utter-boredom yesterday I had this realization that was more of a revelation: I need to be writing. I have not been writing much, nothing serious anyway. This blog - though good for me and maybe interesting to the handful of people who read each post - is not what I'd think of as a serious project. It's inconsistent, it's not really centered around any sort of theme other than my brain and rants. Maybe I sell myself short, too...I don't know. But I need to be writing. Actually putting effort into developing this thing that somehow is life-giving.

I'm one of those people that is sort of good at a lot of things. I'm doing this class at church that helps you discover and study your gifts, strengths, and talents; essentially how you're wired. Particularly the strengths test is meant to be used to find areas you're good in, and develop those. In sitting at my desk, bored out of my mind, dreading my job as I sit there at it, I thought: I need to be writing.

I'm good at a few things; I connect with them and have some sort of understanding of them, but I'm not completely sure where my raw talent lies. I have a piece of the puzzle but not the whole thing. Which is fine, no one's ever fully arrived. I'm also the kind of person that won't try something if I know I'm likely to fail. Failure can be defined on several levels for me, I don't think it has to be an epic face-plant.

I didn't end up starting NaNoWriMo because I don't want to write crap. I don't want to spend a month writing crap. But I was thinking maybe I should. Maybe I need to just go for it, and trust that I need to get some out of my system, and get my system into the mode. Throw myself in the ring...gosh I'm so obsessed with metaphors.

If writing is what I need to do, I need to do it.

Theme of the day: "The Struggle Is Real"

I have been so burnt out lately by my job and how little satisfaction I get from it, on top of how little I'm being used to my strengths. The reason I wanted to work with people is because I care about them, it motivates me to serve them in whatever way necessary. The part where I get tired comes in when I am empathizing, I am right there in their feelings...and then they proceed to chew me out. I'm a peon, why does no one understand this? It's not my fault, and this is not therapy.

Empathy, and being a people-first kind of person is a tough burden to bear in such a day and age. Try and argue me, but then I'm guessing you're not a people-first person, hence I'll likely disregard your invalid opinion. It's a hard burden to bear, and - though, less the older I get - I've often found myself at the end of a day, or the exit of a situation on the verge of tears. I feel it. This is something I love about myself that I have and will likely continue to battle criticism on in my life:

When someone I love (or even have remotely connected with) has a crisis, the first feeling I get is panic that they are hurting, or distressed, or in need. I don't think about my time, or my money, or what plans I had before this catastrophe reared its head - my heart hurts instantly.

All my life I've been told I'm too sensitive, that I need to think about others, and I need to grow thicker skin - to all of which I say: bull-shit. I am throwing the flag on that. Because even when I am at my wit's end of frustration from being drained, it's hard to know where I can go to just let off the steam and say my heart feels low - without being told to just buck up. Just for another second, I want to fight for the idea that caring about people and being sensitive isn't a weakness. I am so tired of being painted or perceived as weak because I care. I think it's a weakness not to care; to be so self-focused that someone else's problem doesn't deserve your time or an ounce of your understanding.

The thing about being this way in such a world is I know it's special; I wouldn't want to live with myself any other way. Don't take this to be some sort of horn-tooting (teehee) diatribe where I say "I'm awesome"...but I need to a little. I need to partially so that I can wake up and do it again tomorrow, and partially in the hopes that if you call someone with a job as shitty as mine, you might opt to treat them with the respect of a fellow human being, in the off chance that they do actually care that you're frustrated or annoyed.

I write this in part as catharsis (which I've become increasingly interested in), and in part to draw attention to the kind of people that help make the world survive. They're around you, probably burning out and getting lectured that they need to change their focus, notice them. Don't criticize them; appreciate them. There's something really insanely beautiful about caring - not about arguing, and not about bossing, and not about doing what one "should" do - just recognizing we're all humans and we all face struggles, and we need each other.

And therein lies one of my greatest struggles: holding onto an attitude of love and a heart of grace even when it's undeserved and I'm not shown either in return. I don't like myself when I can't bring one of those two with me to an interaction; I don't like myself when I'm putting me and my feelings over them and theirs. Sometimes there's a wall to hit, and it's a struggle.

A Photo & 'a long time ago'

You know how I know what I love...

How a photograph can break your heart and make it feel alive all in a masochistic instant; nostalgia.

I think a lot about nostalgia. I've lived a lot of moments I absolutely loved, and I just lived right in them. Now being in a place I don't constantly tuck away memories every day, or any other time I just wander to reminiscences of my favorite moments, I feel that tension. And almost every time I stop to think about it, I think about how amazingly blessed I've been to have the experiences I have, seen the things I've seen, and laughed the laughs I have. Simultaneously my heart aches to go back to the places, knowing full-well I can't.

There is a tension in nostalgia; gratefulness for experiences and a sense of loss for the moment you once lived in so fully, being so far away. I try not to allow myself to compare this time to those, because in theory it will always lose, but I try to think about what beautiful things I've seen; what a beautiful life I've lived and how many years I have to follow with more beauty.

Best Laid Plans for NaNoWriMo

Sometimes it takes me a while to get around to something, even if I really want to do it. For years I've tried to start doing National Novel Writing Month, fondly referred to by participants as NaNoWriMo. I can never just bite the bullet. I never have an idea that's formulated enough to carry out. You can't just sit down and write 50,000 words - it might turn out to be crap. Not that I'm not a fan of wasting time and writing things no one may ever read. I think of the project as getting the ball rolling, but why bother if my idea isn't fleshed out.

This coming from a non-planner. I am farthest from a planner. If I even bother to develop a plan, I usually completely forget about it. As a writer, this proves a challenge. See, this time around I even have a plot idea that's a really basic outline. By really basic, I mean: written in my random ideas and blurbs notebook that I keep in my purse for moments when creativity interrupts my normal daily activity.

It's not fully fleshed out, though. Like I have the very skeleton of my story, but I have no idea how to start; what tense should I write in? Who's perspective is the story told from? (Why does this guy sitting next to me at the coffee shop keep trying to read what I'm writing as if I don't notice?) I want so badly to tell it from the first-person, but I know that's hard. It's hard but when you read it, it's kind of brilliant. So maybe, first-person it is.

The reality is, much like anything else I click with doing, I don't actually know a whole lot of technical stuff, I just know what it should look like. I know what reads well, or sounds right, or looks good. Does it mean I'm technically gifted? Not at all. In fact, for the most part I'm not, and I hate the idea that anyone might be...but I know they might be. Jealousy, I suppose.

And there you see, a picture of why I can manage to avoid starting NaNoWriMo. I think I need to just take the leap. As always, I'm already a day behind.