I swear they aren't in kilts...

I love my laptop computer.  it's pretty much a dinosaur, weighs a ton of bricks, and offers me second-degree burns if I use eit on my lap too long, but i really do love the thing.  Most of my attachment to it is sentimental. I'veee covered it with some of my favorite stickers (NaNoWriMo onees, a goonies stickere, and NevereWear's Scary Trouseer one) so it has a fun and whimsical look to it and it's also been with me through somee fun times. I finisheed my '08 NaNowriMo on it and so far it's serving me weell through '09. 

And in a rare break from noveling, I'm using it to compose this blog entry now too. 

Which eexplains what you may have noticed that there aree some things looking a little eodd about my writing tonight.  I have a few sticky keys on my keyboard.  Namely, the shift key which makes for some rrather difficult capitalizations, as well as the 'e' and the 'r' keys which rrepeat themselves at odd increements with rather unpredictable frequenciesee. 

Of course, these arre things that are easy to corrrect, but i thought I would write this with no corrections just to show how amusing things can look if you geet rrandomly repetitive 'r's and 'e's into normal sentences.  In my novel it's been especially funny because thee word 'the' (corrected) more often then not comees across as 'thee'.  add in that with the rrolling 'rr' and it seeeems that most of my characters are speaking with Scottish accents.

So far though, none of them are wearring kilts.

35,000 words and counting....

NaNo Halfway and Something Different

I'm just past the 26,000 mark in my novel. I'm not having quite as much fun with the story as I did last year. I think it's one of the deals where I can't force humor, though in the right mood I can come up with some pretty amusing stuff. I guess I was just in a more lighthearted mood last year. But then, so was the rest of the country it seems...

This year is teaching me how much my emotions are tied to my writing.  When my energy levels are low, in walks writer's block.  When I feel a fit of giggles sneaking up on me, that's when I'll write the funny parts.  And when I'm just peacefully content, that's when I come up with the inventive adventuresome part.

In a note of encouragement, a friend told me that "you have to write a lot of crap before you get to be good", and in a strangely negative way it makes me feel better. I might be in the stage where I'm writing 'a lot of crap' right now, and that's okay.  What matters is that I am writing.

In a slightly related note, my friend Sean (who falls into the friends-that-write-way-better-than-me category) posted a facebook note about a fiction contest over at BoingBoing.net  It sounds like the prizes are essentially awarded at random, but I entered more as a chance to take on the challenge of writing a story in just 100 words.  It made a nice contrast to NaNoWriMo in which I'm often fluffing up ideas to boost word count.  The theme was "Found in Space" and here's what I composed (in about 12 minutes on my lunch break):

They would not have landed if the computer read ‘Uninhabitable', but the weary travelers needed a reprieve from decades floating in space. The natives looked and spoke like them - an amazing coincidence considering the multitude of tongues spoken in the galaxy – which made easy the procurement of food and fuel.

Six years later, they still lived in solitude. No aliens welcomed them, learned who they were or where they came from, so eventually they left. Their stop gave new meaning to the word ‘alienation’ - the only memory they would take with them from their brief time on Earth.

Okay back to my novel.

A Conversation

I was at the Naperville train station this morning going through one of my waiting-for-the-train routines of reading the headlines through the glass of the newspaper vending machines. The Chicago Sun Times and The Naperville Sun both displayed front page pictures of the flag display at rotary hill: 2009 flags on the hill for Veteran's Day 2009. As I looked at the beautiful photos, a stranger's voice behind me spoke up.

"Have you been over to see it yet?"

I glanced up and saw a young man, probably around my age or just past thirty at the oldest. I hesitate to admit it but he looked like my typical image of a young Naperville resident. His hair was shaggy and spiked with gel in the I-meant-to-look-messy way that seems popular now and his clothes appeared a combination of Abercrombie and Gap though no conspicuous labels were shown.

"No," I replied to his question. "But some of my friends visited and I saw some great pictures."

"It's amazing," he said plainly. There was no trace of awe or inspiration in his voice, it was as though he was stating simple fact, not opinion.

"They did a great job with it," I said gesturing to the pictures on the papers in front of us. "It's a really...powerful gesture." I searched for the right word, but 'powerful' seemed to convey the imagery created best.

"You got that right," he concurred. "Five years in the marines and I was moved to tears."

In a stroke of awful timing, he conveyed this last fact to me just as he turned to walk toward the train that pulled up behind us.

"Thank you!" I called after him, but aside from a brief nod of his head he had nothing more to add to our exchange. I hope sincerity echoed in my voice; sincerity, pride, and honor.

A brief pang of shame struck me as he walked away. I never would have guessed this young commuter was a veteran. If he were in full uniform I may have saluted, applauded or even bought him a morning coffee to show my appreciation. All I could do though was call out my hurried thanks over the shrieks and hiss of the train's brakes. I had inadvertently pegged him in my mind as a Naperville yuppie, the usual guy who elbows in front of me to get on the train first or pointedly ignores the opportunity to offer his seat when I'm standing in heels after a long day: the kind of commuter that I sometimes think should be a little nicer or a little kinder, the person I think owes me something ...when in fact I owe him so many of the freedoms I take for granted every day of my life.

Thank you to all the men and women that have served and are currently serving this country. Thank you to all those who have lost loved ones in the military. Your sacrifices are worth more than I can ever say.

Communication

"And I wonder where these dreams go, when the world gets in your way.
What's the point in all this screaming no one's listening anyway."
- Goo Goo Dolls, Acoustic #3
~~~~

Communication has been frustrating me lately. A lot.

Both at work and in my NaNoWriMo project. At work it's saying the same thing multiple ways and using every ounce of energy to explain yourself, only to be entirely unheard or misunderstood. In my writing, it's my frustrations with not being able to get the right descriptions out and feeling like whatever poetry I create is just a repeat of something that's been said or done before. So I'm frustrated. Feeling like I'm speaking and shouting and still can't get my point, my thoughts, my ideas out.

And then I realize that's probably how God feels most of the time.

Because it's not there.

On the brink of October ending, I have more on my mind than just Halloween. Once again I find myself pondering - and foolishly committing to - National Novel Writing Month, better known as NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo is a writing challenge to take the month of November and, by writing around 1700 words each day, write a 50,000 word novel. I've participated and "won" for the past two years (winning involves completing 50,000 words before midnight on November 30th) but I'm hesitant to participate again.

My first reason for stalling is that I don't have too many ideas. This is the first year that I've struggled to develop a title and though I've been working through some outlining and pre-writing, I just don't know if my ideas are any good. Secondly, I feel a bit like I've already completed two 50,000+ projects that are for the most part unreadable and in desperate need of editing. I've yet to take the steps of revisiting my work and polishing it so I feel a little senseless persuing another draft when my first two have gone nowhere.

But when I think about the fun involved of seeing a story come to life... when I take a day and write a character that I never even planned to create... there's a thrill to it. Yes, there are the frustrating days when I want to dropkick my laptop out the train door. Yes, there are the writer's block moments when I seem to plug out nothing but cheesy dialog. But when each day brings me closer to a novel - even a largely unreadable first draft of a novel - it's exciting. And completion is pure elation.

Funny thing is, as much as I like to write and to write about writing, I don't like to talk about my novel. I think it's near impossible to say the words "my novel" outloud without sounding a bit pretentious. Go ahead try it, "The other day I was working on my novel..." - don't you instantly sound a bit more full of yourself? Maybe it's just me. My writer identity (I still can't use the word *author*) isn't one I'm completely comfortable with. A sure fire way to make me blush is to bring up my writing in public.

I'm giving it another go, though. I came across a quote the other day that read, "Why do writers write? Because it isn't there." For me, that's what NaNoWriMo is about. I'm not pursuing publication. I don't even write for an audience. It's just about me creating something new. Because it isn't there.

About to Break

I cannot take this anymore, I'm saying everything I've said before,
All these words they make no sense, I found bliss in ignorance,
Less I hear the less you'll say, but you'll find that out anyway!
Just like before…
Everything you say to me, takes me one step closer to the edge,
And I'm about to break!
I need a little room to breathe, 'cause I'm one step closer to the edge,
And I'm about to break!
I find the answers aren't so clear, wish I could find a way to disappear,
All these thoughts they make no sense, I found bliss in ignorance,
Nothing seems to go away, Over and over again,
Just like before…
~Linkin Park

I don't always listen to angry punk rock music, but I actually really like Linkin Park. This song got me thinking though. What do you do when you feel like you're about to break? I know we've all been there at one point or another. And if you're lucky enough to have a long enough fuse that you've never been in a spot where the powder keg of your mind was about to blow from the pressures around you, share your secrets because I'm sure the rest of us are quite curious.

For me, I just get stressed sometimes. I let little things worry me more than they should. I let expectations from others take a greater priority than God's image of me. And I get to thinking that I'm way more important than I am - that the world can't go on without me running at a frantic pace. This week has been one such stress-fest. Work would be infinitely easier if I could be in two places at once - or at least manage to grow an extra pair of arms. I started to think I could stand being the world's first octopus-human hybrid just to improve my ability to multitask. That's when I realized I needed some perspective.

I took the day off on Thursday. My awesome husband Tony was at home (he starts a new job on Monday) and I decided nothing at work was more important than spending some free time with him - and regaining my sanity with much needed rest. I cleared my schedule by working my butt off on Wednesday and spent Thursday relaxing. Seriously, I did next to nothing. I slept til nine, stayed in my pj's until noon, caught up on the previous two episodes of Top Chef, did some reading, and worked on a blanket I'm crocheting. It was awesome.

I realized I've only had three non-sick days off work this whole year so far and my longest "vacation" was July's bout with Poison Ivy. (I was on way to many drugs to actually enjoy that time off.) But overworking was not me getting more done. It was me burning myself out. Pushing myself to get more done until I was wound up so tight that the smallest things set me snapping unfairly at others. I needed rest. True rest.

I realized that this is why God created a Sabbath. It sounds corny because I know I've heard it preached in church multiple times, but I haven't seen that scary work-a-holic side of myself in a long time. It struck me though as truly awesome that He recognized, way back then, our need for rest. I don't treat my weekends as very Holy - more often they are days to catch up on dishes, laundry, groceries, and family affairs. It's something I need to change.

Before I break, I need to break - break from my routine of stress, overwork, and pressure. As I mentioned in my last post, I need to set aside times of reflection in my life.
I need times of peace.
I need breaks.

Cold Tangerines

My friend Ellen recommended a book to me called Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist. I didn't admit to her (until now) that I cringe a little at book recommendations. There's a certain amount of pressure that comes with reading a book that someone else really likes. Maybe the book spoke to them in a way that it just won't talk to you; perhaps something in a person's life resonates with the book and they only imagine that you share that sonorous quality. Whenever someone recommends a book I find myself reflecting on the quote that, "In literature, as in love, we are often astonished at what is chosen by others."

However, Ellen is someone that I trust and admire so her recommendation didn't dare go into the "perhaps, maybe before I die" pile of books on my mental shelf. Instead, Cold Tangerines showed up on my library hold queue and jumped quickly to the top. I started it this week, and (as of my train ride home today) I have just a few chapters remaining. It's the kind of book that speaks to a reader - I suppose I mean female readers - and I almost wish I could Xerox off different chapters and press them into the hands of family and friends and say "You need to read this!" or "This is SO what you are going through!"

And, of course, with a book that relevant to my loved ones, there were to be found several passages that seemed to be written directly at me. In a chapter called "Prayer and Yoga" she laments that both are decidedly good for her yet she doesn't stick to either as often as she should. (Sound like anyone you know??) I also really liked her thoughts on writing. As I contemplate another looming November with NaNoWriMo, I find myself pondering if I want to embrace - unleash - my identity as a writer once again. I've wavered and flip-flopped about taking on the chaotic novel-in-a-month challenge this year and then, this afternoon, I read this:

"Sometimes when I'm writing, if I try really hard, I can move more slowly, like a dancer or a mime, and taste things more vividly, and see not just the trees and the grass, but the individual leaves and blades. Things are richer and brighter than I thought, now that I have slowed down enough to see them."

~Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines p. 137

I don't think NaNoWriMo is quite the atmosphere for slowed down perception that Niequist is speaking of, but I understand her need for the reflective introspection that comes from times of writing. It's where I spent a lot of time in the days when I was a prolific journaler - heck, even when I was a more prolific blogger. I look with some shame on my sparse posting of this year. I see it not as sad because I missed sharing inane thoughts with friends and family but rather, sad that I was living my life without reflection.

There's a famous quote that says "We must live life forward and define it backward," but I think most of us fall into the trap of too much forward motion on that one. Not that it would be good to over-define life to the point of not spending one's time living it. When we can find the place between rushing out to live each day and poignantly reflecting on our journey as a whole, that's where a well paced life will be. Neither hurried nor bored, that will be a balanced life indeed.

Can't they just call it fancy-single-cup-of-coffe-thing-a-ma-jig?

This week at the train station they've been giving out free coffee as a promotion for Keurig coffee brewers. Well, actually they're not giving out the cups of coffee themselves, but rather they have been passing out a cup with an insert containing the thing that you put in the machine to brew the coffee and then sending commuters to the Great Hall area of Union Station where all of the fancy brew machines are set up.

It's actually something of a brilliant invention. Basically you place the coffee or tea insert (what looks like an over-sized single serve half and half container) into the machine, put your cup under the spout, press a button, and in less than a minute you have fresh brewed coffee or tea. I can see the draw of them for corporations - Tony said they had one at his previous job - but I'm not rushing out to get one in my own home any time soon. In part, because I have no clue how to pronounce the things. Even the volunteers passing out the samples varied from "Free coffee from cure-ig" to "Coffee compliments of coo-rig today" and "Brew your own cor-ig coffee". If it were me I would call it the Coffee-in-a-Minute Machine or something else equally less cool and European but simple to say.

I did like the coffee though. I tried the Caribou rainforest blend and it was really good. The strangest thing was that as I was adding cream and sugar to it there was a man next to me that put five creamers and eight packets of sugar in his drink. The cups were comparable to a small from most coffee shops and my jaw must have hit the floor when I saw him empty creamers two at a time twice into his cup; reach for the sugar, count out four packets, tear them open, dump them into his cup, and repeat; followed by a quick stir and then one more Coffeemate creamer! He didn't even taste it before adding everything! I'm all for sweet beverages (one cream, one sugar for me) but I had to wonder if his drink even resembled coffee when he was done with it.

On Science...

They wouldn't call it re-search if we found the answer the first time.
-L. J. Guerrero

Part 2 (Peanuts, M&M's, & Me...Continued)

Consider this something of a follow up to my last blog post. (This will make a bit more sense if you read the other one first.) I feel like maybe I was a bit too maudlin in my introspective ramblings so I thought I would follow my usual blog pattern and tie my thoughts to something from the literary/pop culture world.

Many of you know that Pride and Prejudice is one of my all time favorite books. I was impressed with the Keira Knightly version of the movie but I much preferred the A&E miniseries with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. I confess that as a young romantic I daydreamed myself Elizabeth Bennet (really, what girl reads the story and doesn't??). She's an ideal heroine: headstrong, determined, witty, and beautiful and she unknowingly wins the heart of Darcy who is eventually revealed as an ideal man.

The more I've read the story (and various versions of it), I find that there's another character that I resonate more with. As much as I want to be the Lizzie Bennet, I think I may have much more in common with Fitzwilliam Darcy. (Yes, his first name is Fitzwilliam. Not Mister as many seem to believe.) This is where the tie-in to my previous post arises. Darcy is unfairly labeled as proud and arrogant early on in Austen's story because he's not entirely comfortable in social settings. Bottom line: he's shy!

One of my favorite scenes in the novel, is a turning point in Lizzie and Darcy's relationship. She calls him out on his aloofness (which she has assumed is really pride) and he explains that he doesn't always feel comfortable making small talk with strangers. In response, Elizabeth confronts him with an interesting piano-playing analogy:

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault- because I would not take the trouble of practising..." (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

Later in the story, Darcy takes Lizzie's advice to heart and his efforts at "practising" lead her to fall further in love with him. I guess it's partly why I love the story so much because their relationship is not a schmaltzy love-at-first-sight but one of deepening regard over time and the betterment of two people because of their relationship with each other.

But back to my own comparison, I've seen real truth in the lesson Darcy learns. Whether my weakness is piano, social graces, or blog-writing, improvement comes only through practice.

Peanuts, M&M's, and Me

Consider this something of a riddle... What do peanuts, M&M's, and I have in common? You'll get answer by the end of the post. (How's that for a teaser to keep you reading?)

I was never a performer as a kid. I'm actually the only one of my siblings that never participated in a piano recital and though I may have been in dance under the age of 4, I have no recollections of being on stage solo as a kid. Through elementary and junior high I had a couple bit parts in chorus shows, but never took a lead; and by high school I learned that I was better with behind the scenes work than being on stage. By the time I reached college I was pretty sure that I was overall a shy person.

Yet, most people that know me now consider me to be pretty outgoing. I actually talk a lot in social settings and sometimes I might even be that person with a little too much to say. I love parties, too. (Not to be confused with "partying" - I've never been big on the bar or dance club scene, but if it's a get together with friends for games, movies, or sporting events I'm sure to enjoy myself.) But I still have an inner conflict with my shy-self. When I'm invited to social events, it's a challenge to persuade myself to go. Don't get confused, you read that right: I love social outings and I always enjoy myself, but convincing myself to go is like pulling teeth. I almost wonder if I have some borderline social anxiety or something. I really do enjoy meeting new people, I just get nervous going into situations where I know I will. There's always plenty of perks to putting myself out there; I'm still just struggling to understand why it doesn't come naturally to me.

Now comes the answer to the riddle: like peanuts and M&M's (and I suppose also Peanut M&M's), I have a shell. There's a definite game face that I wear in public and social settings and the me underneath is nowhere near as bold and confident as the mask most people see. I don't think that concept is foreign to many people, I would bet most of us have an inner self that rarely goes on display. The true challenge though is to form the mask to look as much like a true-me as I can. I want to be genuine, never fake. In recent years, I think social-game-face-lisa has come to much more closely resemble private-inner-sanctum-lisa than ever before. Or maybe that's vice versa. Or perhaps the mask has just become a little transparent. I'm still a shy-reclusive-wallflower but I'm also the bold-smiling-butterfly. I'm not even sure how that makes sense yet nonsense could be the most relevant aspect of my personality so I try not to over-analyze disparities.

It just might be incongruities that make individuals a little more interesting.

Motivation

I'm not generally a motivated person. I prefer to start rather than finish things and although I can be very reward drive, I don't always stick with things when results take a while to see. These traits become something of a hindrance to developing a good workout routine.

A while back, I tried to start a schedule. It was Tuesday and Thursday night which became just Thursday nights when twice a week was too cumbersome. But the problem with evenings is they aren't really good for "me time". There's family birthdays, friend get-togethers, volunteer meetings, dentist appointments, and so on. People always say that a good exercise schedule should be protected time: write it on your calender and schedule other things around it. Except, how do you say no a birthday party because you have to work out? And of course, compounding those dilemmas were the inevitable train delays and work conflicts that didn't get me home on time.

So now I'm going for a new approach. Mornings! I'm aiming for a 5:30 am class at Lifetime Fitness twice a week. Yes, that means I have to get my butt out of bed at 5 am (the hardest part), but it's the only way I can workout, shower, eat breakfast, and still catch a 7:40 or 8:00 train to work. Tuesdays it's Yoga Pilates Fusion to work on core muscles, balance, and flexibility; Fridays it's Barbell Strength training to work on strength and toning. Weekends are for cardio training - swimming or jogging. I'm not trying to lose weight or become a body builder, but I do want to tone up and get my metabolism levels going better. Also, I'm one of those crazy people that finds exercise really relaxing.

I'm posting this blog update as something of a self-motivation tool too. Feel free to ask me how things are going in a few weeks - this will either encourage me to keep up the good work or guilt me back into keeping up if I slip out of things. I've heard it takes ten weeks to really make something a habit so ideally I'll maintain (or add to) my twice a week goal from now until the end of October. I know this will be infinitely more challenging once winter creeps in with cold weather and a car that needs to be scraped off before whisking me off to the gym, but I'm confident that it's a pattern that will be good for me in the long run.

Wish me luck!

Distractions?

(Phone conversation)

Tony: All this construction in the parking lot is really loud and distracting.

Lisa: Why don't you take the laptop and go over to Caribou or Starbucks to work?

Tony: But then I can't watch the Cubs game....

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

Yesterday I finished a book I've been wanting to read since I first heard about it: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Here's the review I wrote:

There's no denying that zombies are trendy right now. With video games like the Resident Evil series and movies such as Dawn of the Dead, animated corpses feasting on the brains and flesh of the living have some sort of unexplainable mass appeal. Like many other readers though, the last place I expected the undead to appear was in a literary classic. But that didn't stop Seth Grahame-Smith (either a genius or seriously deranged writer) from rewriting Jane Austen's masterpiece Pride and Prejudice as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, declaring it "The classic regency romance--now with ultraviolent zombie mayhem".

If the title alone doesn't bring a wry smile to your face or elicit a slight giggle, don't bother picking up this book. Many readers will declare the work ridiculous and scoff at the apparent destruction of one of the most beloved romance stories of all time. However, I was on the right side of the fence to appreciate Grahame-Smith's bizarre humor and although I wouldn't by any means declare the work an improvement on the original, it was certainly a fun book.

Much of the text and plot are preserved from Austen's writing - with the obvious addition of zombies. Instead of country ladies, Grahame-Smith's Bennet sisters are warriors trained in the arts of combat, sworn to defend the crown from the hordes of "unmentionables" that plague England's roads and countrysides. The reader still finds Elizabeth fighting her prejudices (and zombies) to fall in love with the proud (zombie-fighter) Mr. Darcy but amusement is added (along with ninjas) by altering some of the well-known plot points such as the classic encounter between Lady Catherine and the sharp-tongued Lizzy.

Already assured to be a cult-classic, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is a great book for those that love the original but are willing not to take their literature too seriously. It could also succeed in bringing fans of the horror genre to an appreciation of classic literature, but the book is likely more enjoyable for those familiar with the primary text as long as they are ready to laugh at it.

Now it's just a matter of waiting for the September release of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters!

Where To Begin

The world of scientific research can be a tricky place to be sometimes. I've often joked, "If we knew how things would turn out, it wouldn't be called an experiment." There's two ways to go about research too: one can either seek out something that someone else has done and apply it to one's own field of study or one can embark on new uncharted territory in hopes of developing a technique that nobody else has done but that others will likely seek out and apply to their own fields of study in the future. The former has the obvious advantage in that it's simpler, more elegant, and generally produces research that gets funded. The latter though is where science can be much more interesting. And much more frustrating.

You can probably guess where my work is currently leading me.

I don't mind that the work itself is frustrating. What I find more painful is when I'm told that certain things are "impossible". I must say, I loathe that word. Yes, the tasks before me are difficult. Yes, they will take a lot of thought, a lot of rethinking, and a lot of collaboration and advice from others. Yes, I will have to synthesize a protocol out of various bits and pieces from people that are working on things far outside of my intended targets. But that doesn't in any way equate "impossible" at this stage in the game and thus, "impossible" seems like entirely the wrong place to begin.

Right now, I have options. Another word for options is possibilities. Only after every single one of them is exhausted will I succumb to declaring the path before me "impossible". That might be where I end, but there's no way that's where I plan to begin.