No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness. -Aristotle

You should never doubt what nobody is sure of. -Willy Wonka

In the end, we all become stories. -Margaret Atwood

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning. -Virginia Woolf, "Mrs. Dalloway"

Friday, July 6, 2012

Hello, It's Me!

I am mainly an over-analyzer and because of the craziness that creates I tend to procrastinate because there is only so much I can do at one time. I love, love, love to write and to sew little things - the writing refreshes me and releases my imagination and the sewing keeps my hands busy while I'm thinking about my writing. Sewing is also great for instant gratification because I need to know immediately whether I love what I created or not.  I am also an extreme introvert. Other than work, family,  Barnes & Noble, the fabric and grocery stores, my social interaction is virtually virtual.
I read license plates. I notice how many cars are like mine. I remember phone numbers from 40 years ago but have to think really hard about the years my kids were born. I'm so busy in my head but my body is twice as tired. I don't really like chocolate but sometimes forget that.
I've been a single parent for 20 years with a sprinkling of boyfriends and still haven't figured out if it's me or them. I usually think it's them, or maybe I just don't want a boyfriend. Or maybe I tell myself that because I don't have one. Whichever it is it isn't worth the energy to decide.
I've been writing my entire life. It started because of Jack, freshman year, who was in love with someone who didn't deserve him so I read a lot of Sylvia Plath and "My Darling, My Hamburger" type books and wrote really bad poetry. By the time I was a high school senior I realized that Jack was an idiot and it was probably a good thing I didn't tell him I loved him because it would have just added one more "stupid" link to my life chain making it longer to figure things out.
Years later I met the guy I would marry only to later divorce and raise our kids alone, so during this time to preserve my sanity because I was still an introvert and a newly declared nerd, and to keep from hanging "free" signs around my precious children's necks and having them stand like statues out by the mailbox, I wrote fantasy stories - combinations of Mother Goose, Grimm, Disney, and mythology, and they loved them. When they entered their teen years I started diary-writing because although Valium would have been a better alternative, it probably wouldn't have allowed me to be 14 steps ahead of them as they were no longer impressed with beds made of marshmallows and birds that painted trees.
Fast-forward to 2006 and bored out of my mind, when out of somewhere (nothing actually comes out of nowhere)came the epiphany that now was the perfect time to Write My Book. So I went and bought my first laptop, an abundance of writing books, purple pens and pretty notebooks and wrote merrily away. Until I met the next Wrong Guy.
Off and on for three years until I finally realized admitted that he was definitely not the guy and maybe, just maybe, I didn't want a boyfriend after all. Coupled with the fact my astrological sign states Pisces is legendary - legendary - for picking the wrong men, I decided I am apparently doomed relationship-wise. Fabulous.
So I continued with my writing. One day on a writing forum I frequent, the question was posed "Who Are You? What Do You Want"? Simple question, yes? Eh, not so much. And  is what came out:
~~~~~
Hi Everyone, my name is Nancy. I'm 52 and have been writing off and on for 40 years. I started with bad poetry over a high school crush who of course, was in love with someone else. The poetry spiraled downward from there.

Fast forward, met Prince Charming, had two kids, wrote kids stories to preserve my sanity when the kids were little and PC turned into a toad and was banished. My kids, their friends and the little nieces and nephews loved them. hmm...

Fast forward to 49, dyed my hair its new natural shade of silvery white, got ink, and started to write a kids fantasy novel as I wanted to meet 50, newer. Met a man, well, knew him and we decided to date, 3 off/on years later definitely not the right man.

Am now trying to get back to Isabel, she's pissed but getting closer. I've grown / changed since I started her story but I like the new direction better. I'm going to enroll in ICL as I want to finish this book. I'm also sending out two kids stories out for publication - the kids favorite and a rhymer that is hilarious. Really.

What do I want? To be published. More? To make enough money so I can live where I want and not depend on Big Company to pay my wages. More? To live in a cottage on the beach. That is my dream. To have a long, wide, simple light oak writing desk that when I look up, I look through my window walls to the ocean, and when I get up I open my balcony doors and smell that invigorating sea air, and when I walk downstairs and out the patio door, the first thing my feet touch are sand.

And maybe a hot cabana man.
~~~~~
It's funny (<-- sarcasm) that in a previous post I wrote that you reach a point in your life where the dots connect and you finally come head-on with what you are supposed to do with your life which is the very thing you have been running from.  Guess what? I didn't enroll in that writing class ($800!) and I didn't submit those stories (edited!) and I'm still working for Big Company and still single so the aforementioned procrastination and legendary doom still stands.

But, even before I wrote this piece, which was only supposed to be for a bio ... I'm a pro at rambling, by the way ... I knew that I needed to face myself and finish one damn book. And I will.

Overanalyzing is a wonderful virtue in all aspects of storytelling but doesn't lend itself well to real life. I am now 54 (!) and need to stop running and move forward with my writing, which is why I am here. 

And that is pretty much, me.

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