I am taking a writing class focused on narrative. The class has 10 women and an instructor. We get together for a couple hours a week to discuss writing technique and to review each other’s work. This process of “workshopping” my writing is entirely new; the only time I’ve given a chapter of work to group to edit was in an undergraduate creative writing course more than 10 years ago.

The experience has been multi-layered. There is the emotional — is there anything as vulnerable as handing off something you consider “art” to a group of strangers for critique? There is the practical — I have to be incredibly disciplined to stay on top of my writing assignments and editing others’ work in the evenings after working the day job. There is the also the intellectual — there have been nights I can’t sleep because my brain won’t shut off. I’m trying to learn so much in a brief period of time and apply it to this novel without letting the Negative Nancies get me off track.

I’d be remiss not to mention the balance once must muster when reviewing edits. I submitted my first chapter and received in return 11 sets of corrections, opinions, and thoughts. Most of these were subjective. Of course those objective — typos, spelling errors, etc — are to be fixed with gratitude for the editor. Then there are those long, red ink, cursive notes down the page suggesting how you should have written it. And the details you should have included. And what would make it more believable.

The balance is in reading those edits and deciding what holds merit vs. what is nonsense. Writing is a subjective art form. As the author, you’ve got to believe in what you are creating, and stay firm to the elements of your story that are non-negotiable.

Also, it is helpful to pick up your suit of thick skin from the dry cleaner the week before you workshop so you can have every button and zipper fastened and armored. My suit is the Insecure Writer Deluxe 2.1 version. It whispers in my ear every 10 minutes “You can do it! Keep writing! You won’t please everyone, and that is more than okay. It’s ideal.” And if it gets wet with salty tears it kicks into hyper-protective mode, available only with this version: “Fuck them.* You are a good writer. Keep writing.”

Keep writing, friends,

K

*I know! Profanity on the craft blog! Don’t blame Finny. Sometimes you have to call a spade a spade.

A new friend, who has been staying with me for a few months, is a professional runner. Yes, I realize I’m setting myself up for a very odd pattern of having professional athletes live with me. But, then again, it is nice to have company and someone else to take Nelson for walks.

Fine. Sarah takes him for distance runs. I take him for easy walks.

Having someone in my home who monitors every single bite that goes in her mouth as part of her job has been, well…. let’s say interesting. It’s made me take a much closer look at my fridge, plate, and scale.

I once dreamed of swimming collegiately after spending the majority of my childhood in a Speedo, but it didn’t pan out. Come to find out I am not fast. I’m not a quick swimmer, runner, cyclist, tooth brusher, etc. I can, however, go the distance. The mile was always my event swimming. The half marathon became my event as an adult runner. I loved the one half Ironman I completed. These events take as much mental discipline as they do strength; I love the dual challenge.

Thankfully, I’ve got exercise-loving genes. My parents were both incredibly active when I was growing up and continue to exercise today. My brother was on the  path to being a world class swimmer once upon a time, and today can climb mountains like a monkey. Our family vacations were planned around beach time, where we’d swim and run and goof off with the paddle ball set until we’d barely be able to lift fish tacos to our tired mouths.

Living with a professional female runner has stirred up emotion I didn’t anticipate, nor considered once when hosting Matty for three years. Come to find out, I deeply wish I’d made strides athletically then, and could run more than 3 miles today without my body failing today. This buried emotion emerged recently at the end of yoga classes, bubbling up unexpectedly. It’s strange to recognize a disappointment that lay dormant for 15 years, waiting for just the inopportune time to be mined into daylight.

What can you do? I wish I’d been fast. I’m not. Boo-freaking-hoo. That doesn’t mean I can’t be a great athlete (yogi, hiker, cyclist, bowler, driving range golf ball destroyer) today.

Cooking with Sarah has been an education in dietary diversity and odd supplements. I now regularly eat brewer’s yeast. There is fish oil in my fridge. There are hemp hearts in a canister on the counter. I’m eating a ridiculous, Costco-amount of spinach each week and have started carrying a water bottle wherever I go. Sometimes an old dog can learn new tricks.

Frankly, it is more fun to be challenged to those things I can change — headstands in yoga, a healthy diet, cycling up Lookout Mountain — than spending any more time pouting about the history I cannot. I thank a regular yoga practice for both digging up what I didn’t want to address, and for learning to let it go.

Namaste, y’all.

~K

An update to my 2012 goal of reading 50 books: 47 to go.

1. Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress: Fluff. 2 out of 5 bananas. It was a mindless read and nothing I’d strongly recommend.

2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: I am, what, a decade late to this party? That said, I’m 100% enthralled and now understand all the hype. No review necessary. You’ve heard of the series. They are incredibly entertaining and JK Rowling’s creativity blows my mind. 4 of 5 bananas.

3. How to be a Rainmaker: I have a stack of business books to read for work and they make me wonder if monkeys are running this industry. So far I’ve learned to: be polite, return calls, make the customer feel respected and treat others the way I want to be treated. If you don’t know these things before investing in these useless books, you shouldn’t be in business in the first place. Zero bananas. Go find some good fiction instead and remember what they taught us all in kinder — liars never prosper, be nice to others and humility goes a long way.

Very much enjoying this newest read, and I think it’s got great recommendation potential: In the Garden of Beasts.  I also very much enjoyed your many book suggestions on the first 2012 books post. I’ve added a bunch of them to my wish list and am now on GoodReads, if you want to be pals.

~K

Of all my 2012 goals, reading 50 books this year is likely my most ambitious. I’ve gotten in the lazy habit of watching far too much television on my laptop and not paying enough attention to the growing stacks of books around the house. I miss my bookclub.

These were given to me during the holidays. Some professional, some fluff, several on dogs.

To be a great writer, I should be reading great books. And lots of them. Is there anything you’ve read lately that tickled your fancy?

~K

 

Yesterday, I spent two glorious hours in an auditorium with the author Mary Karr. The event, sponsored by Lighthouse Writer’s Studio, was an interview of the author. Karr is best known for her memoirs and poetry. She is currently writing a TV series based on her life for HBO. (And revealed last night she briefly dated David Foster Wallace. Always fascinating when famous people knew each other when.)

I fell head over heels in love with the profane Texan after her rant on “decorative writing” —  that which is fancy to be fancy. She called out specific authors and said The New Yorker is largely to blame. Poems that have secret meanings, for example, are “bullshit.” She took the art of writing and put it in each person’s hands to take home with them, reassuring us that we — as folks who can read and love words — are just as capable of greatness as anyone else. In fact, we might be more likely to produce good work because we aren’t surrounded by fake intellectuals. And when comforting herself during a moment of publishing anxiety, she remembered, “Everyone writes a shitty book.”

To someone who once called her names in a letter, she told of writing the person back and saying, “You are right! I am those things. And guess what? You can’t hurt my feelings. You aren’t the first who has called me that and you won’t be the last.” Oh, the chutzpah!

It was her straight talk. Her basic clothing. Her love of swear words that would embarrass sailors. Her nonchalant aire describing turning down six figure offers for more memoirs because she “just didn’t feel like it right now.” It was her story of growing up in a poor Texan family at the intersection of crazy and drunk.

Her lack of pedigree never slowed her. In truth, it gave her the best material.

Last night I slept 10 hours straight.

~K

The last six weeks or so have been a steady stream of visitors and fun. And while I have had a summer to remember, I haven’t been able to shake the type A guilt from countless projects left incomplete in my office. That knitting project. A sewing project long since cut out. A couple writing assignments for various magazines and a friend’s website. Even my reading — I’ve been slogging through the final book in the Dragon Tattoo series. And oh, that book I’m writing. It hasn’t been nurtured much lately either.

I’m preparing for a quick turn around trip to Phoenix later this week. Professionally, my life is busy and exciting and waking me up at night with ideas I need to jot down right this minute. Rather than accept an invitation this weekend for a road trip to Breckenridge, or join friends at Wash Park this afternoon for a bbq and hijinks, I dug in my heels and kept my agenda closed.

I needed time with the mountains, my yoga mat, Willie Nelson Mandela and a lengthy list of podcasts in the queue. I needed to catch up on sleep — as boring as it sounds. I needed to spend time in silence with God.

I’m reading a book Mini gave me on her recent visit: The War of Art. I spent less than an hour with this book today and felt a rejuvenated spirit for my many creative pursuits. If you are a creative person, or simply someone who sets goals and needs a bit of encouragement to see the finish line, I recommend it highly. It was exactly what I needed this morning for a final push to see several of those nagging loose ends tied in a bow.

It feels especially good to have a new energy here; I’ve gone from posting daily to grinding to push out something slightly different a couple times a week. A bit of downtime and my creative coffers are full again. I had a “zone” run this weekend, followed by a hike that left me dizzy with thin, crisp, sweet mountain air. There was even a bit of namaste and craft store’s worth of finish line ribbons.

I might be a bit punch-drunk on a productivity high.

BOO-hells yes-YAH.

~K

There is much writing and reading to be done, but I am confident novel #2 will see the shelves of this great shop.

~K

I am a writer. There are days — months even — I forget. I let my mind and heart wander. I take on odd jobs. I help friends with complicated favors. I travel. I read. I watch Mad Men seasons on repeat. I take long, luxurious tours of museums.

On occasion, I even sew.

Today, I’m a writer. Tomorrow, I will be a writer with a few more pages under her belt, and the first day of a new writing routine in place. There is nothing like, “butt-in-chair” time to make a person with an idea just that — a writer.

I have a great friend who has mentored me for several years. When I told Alaina I was moving to Colorado, she made me promise it was for the writing. She regularly encourages me by sending copies of my first novel to her friends and family, returning with reviews. I don’t want to write to make her happy; but, it certainly doesn’t hurt to know there are so many like her cheering me along. To get these stories out of my head, on to the page and into the hands of those I love does make me happy. If the last year has taught me anything, it is that I can write a solid story when I put my energy and focus in the right place.

Today that means reviewing the first 17,000 words of novel #2 and rethinking the story’s organization. By the end of the weekend, I’ll have a new outline and plan. I’m focusing my creative energies for the remainder of 2011 (and however long it takes) on novel #2. If I get off track — say, by taking on a ludicrously exhausting second job that requires me to clean public toilets — I hope you’ll remind me of my goal: WRITE NOVEL #2.

{And pray that editor of mine is working on the final transformation of Under the Same Moon into an e-book format. It’s about time Donley Publishing hits the iPad, Nook, Kindle market.}

Onward!

~K

I am an organization freak. I always have been. I can’t get out of a bed without making it (sometimes even at hotels). I wipe down the bathroom counter every single time. I have a google doc that tracks car repair and maintenance. (I once got two transmission flushes in a six month period because I didn’t have such a system.) My spices might be alphabetized.

Yeah. I’m nuts. For a long time I hid this, or attempted to, as to not have my OCD nature yet another point of critique. But recently I’ve come to the conclusion that we are all nuts. And life is just so much more interesting and fun when you let your freak flag fly. So, guess what? I love to clean. I love to organize. The Container Store? Better than a trip to Tiffany’s. Seriously. (No mining guilt!)

I have pipe dreams of having a side business organizing other’s spaces. There are some very specific tools and habits to keeping an organized home or workplace. And once these become routine, you are set. Plus, I look at these small daily changes in behavior as prevention.

• Put in two minutes today to sort through mail, recycling every single bit of paper you don’t need, canceling catalogs, paying bills — you don’t end up with a pile the size of Everest on a Saturday afternoon with late fees and precious, sunny weekend hours wasted inside sorting.
• Keep a “Goodwill” bag in your closet. Every time you add a new piece of clothing, you agree to donate. No one was infinite closet space. This limits shopping too; you only have so many hangers.
• Make those hangers the same brand and color. Face your clothing all the same direction. You’ll be shocked how many new combinations you are able to create with the same materials.
• Google docs and calendars are ideal for tracking birthdays and other important events. Make a plan on the 25th of each month to write out cards for the next month — with stamps and addresses handy. Then mail in two batches. Send thank you cards at this time too. I keep a running list. People don’t care when the card arrives; they want to know you thought of them. And a handwritten note might was well come licked by T-Rex, they are so rare.
• Burn your CDs. Buy a backup hard drive. Buy another one. Get rid of your CDs.
• Use the library. Clear your shelves of books you don’t plan on ever using again. Donate generously.
• Clean out your wallet at least once a week. Face bills. Sort receipts. Keep a supply of stamps.
• Minimize your cleaning supplies. Bleach, vinegar, coarse salt, lemon juice, a couple good rags and Magic Erasers. You don’t need much more.
• Keep a trash bag in your car; empty it regularly. Keep a towel in the trunk. Wipe down your dash when things get hairy. This towel is also particularly great for the occasional $2 car wash. I run through these quarter car washes about once a month.

When a friend recently asked me for some tips on how to be more organized, I started with an especially tricky space. Organizing a small space is even more of a fun challenge. A pantry under the stairs? One with deep shelves? Bring it.

I started by pulling everything out and grouping like items. I spent $15 on two shelves (one long, to hold baby food and formula) and the other for canned goods, and one basket — for granola bars. Because in Colorado, one cannot have too many granola bars.

Some 20 minutes later — voila. Because the shelves are long, I organized like items deep. In other words, they are stacked behind each other to the very back of the shelf. Use one, pull the next one forward. But here is the trick about organizing: this will only work if the behavior changes too. You have to learn to work with a new system to make it a system.

If this were my pantry — I’d paint the inside of the door with chalkboard paint and keep a running grocery list.

And yes, I know. It’s nuts I took so much pleasure from this project. And yet? Better. Much, much better. Organization, cleanliness and frugality are the trinity of a smart home.

(Freak flag at full mast. )

~K

My current moving alert isn’t red. Or orange. It’s beige. I’m surrounded by beige. Boxes, boxes everywhere. It’s mayhem.

My happy spin on the current homeland Code Beige!: packing is a lot of fun for a girl who loves to organize. I currently own only socks with pairs. Only towels, pillow cases and white T-shirts without that random mascara stain. Only earrings that I’ll actually wear. Only shoes I really love. Only dishes, books, fabric, yarn, plants, and furniture that I plan on using for a very, very long time.

T-minus 56 hours left in Phoenix. Time to write a new story!

May the movers be gentle,

K

God bless the Germans for their command of language. Want romance? See French. Spiciness? Spanish. The language of literature — Shakespeare’s English. Poetry? Persian. But German? Like their cars, their shoes and their way of life — it is efficient. I admire such precision (and often lament, “Why isn’t there a word for this?”)

I subscribe to AWAD. Have you heard of this? An ex-boyfriend was a word junkie. He regularly kicked my chagrined butt at Scrabble. To cheer me up after yet another defeat one sad evening, he quietly subscribed me to AWAD. I couldn’t have been given a more thoughtful gift.

My favorite email of the week arrives Sunday when the word dorks around the world come together for the week’s compendium email. Each week has a theme. The Sunday review includes the craziest and wittiest emails Anu Garg — the creator — has received. At times there is a challenge or prize associated, but the real reward is the quirky multilingual views and opinions people about have about language.

In other words — word nerd heaven.

I’ve shared these compendium email several times with other friends to note the strange and interesting comments only to receive “what a bunch of pretentious asshats!” as a response.

Needless to say, these pretentious wordie asshats are my people.

A few weeks ago, the theme of AWAD was German words. This was yet another reminder of the fluidity of language — how English has been modified with time by the influence of other cultures. The words included lebensraum and:

• Sitzfleisch noun: 1. The ability to sit through or tolerate something boring.2. The ability to endure or persist in a task.
• ersatz adjective:  Serving as a substitute, especially of inferior quality; artificial.  noun: A substitute or imitation.
• diktat  noun: 1. An order or decree imposed without popular consent. 2. A harsh settlement imposed upon a defeated party.
• schwarmerei noun:  1. Extravagant enthusiasm.2. Excessive sentimentality.

With quite a bit of characteristic schwarmerei tucked in my pocket this weekend, I continued packing for my move. This included a giant shoe box of letters I’d stashed in the back of the hall closet. Not necessarily forgotten, but certainly years since being opened, I decided it was time to do something with the countless sentiments mailed around the world when I was in the Peace Corps.

The tiny bits of ephemera I saved was unbelievable. I had handwritten love letters from my Peace Corps boyfriend, my notice of early termination and plane tickets receipt, emails printed out from the one house in my training community that had Internet access (still a miracle, now that I think about it) and more.  Even more, I found letter after letter from family, my closest girlfriends, ministers and others who wanted to know I was supported and loved.

(Also mailed to Cameroon: the People magazine spread on Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston’s wedding; the notice of Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid’s divorce; gobs of photos of baby Bennett who will soon be 11!; and the hilarious and wickedly entertaining tomes of my closest girlfriends’ college romances. I was laughing as hard as I was crying while organizing.)

With time, I’ll scan these and make them into a book to be saved forever. For now, they are behind plastic sleeves and still very much cherished.

The greatest gift is that of lebensraum: noun: Space required for living, growth, and development.

~K

This weekend I ran the inaugural Mountain to Fountain 15k with a team of friends, aptly named “Natalie Merchant and the 15k Maniacs.”  The race started in the McDowell Mountain State Park and finished at the giant fountain in Fountain Hills. While it was a “net” downhill run, there are several considerable hills and it was one heck of a run.

I had more fun with this race than I’d have had running in a long time. It renewed my love for the sport; I can’t wait to get through a cortisone shot this week in my heel so I can get back to distance running. (Add that to the list of sentences I never thought I’d say.) Everything about this race reminded me why I like distance running: the variety of participants, the glorious scenery, the repetitive one foot after another, the battle of your mind vs. the pain, the powerful surge for the last half mile showing you can run farther and faster than you ever thought you could. There is nothing as sweet as being stronger — both mentally and physically — than you thought.

I finished smiling knowing I couldn’t have run it one bit faster or smarter than I did. That in itself was a complete victory.

And who doesn’t need the occasional win?

Thanks to my compadres, the Maniacs: Juliann, Adam, Dave and Octavio. And the mystery member of our team who signed herself up obviously because of the rad name. Whomever you are, we salute you — random Maniac. Also, many thanks to Kilimadog for photographing and driving.

~K

P.S. Lookie who surprised me at the finish — Finny! Such a good supportive friend of crazy athletic endeavors she is.

“Hey! Maybe you’ll wake up with a bit of bravery tucked in your pocket tomorrow.”

I spoke those words this week. Bravery doesn’t come easily.

I recently failed at being courageous when I woke up in the middle of the night in Malawi to an animal being attacked nearby. My heart raced as I lay under the mosquito net, the piercing cries of the house cat echoing in the otherwise quiet night. Was it a snake? A rabid dog? I thought the noise was coming from the veranda — pitch black in the African night. I threw back the net, and raced in my pajamas to help. Adrenaline fueled, I threw open the bedroom door to alert someone — Matt, his family, anyone asleep on the other side of the house — when I realized, in fact, the attack was not happening outside, but in the room I just entered.

The dark room.

The dark room with a very peculiar smell and an eeriness that made every inch of my body lurch. I spun back into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. As soon as I was safely back within the light, with the door closed, the fight continued. The poor cat was fighting for her life in the adjoining dining room — but I didn’t know where the light switch was or how to get anyone’s attention on the other side of the house.

How did the attacker get into the dining room? Could it get in my bedroom?

And I knew one thing for certain — I was not brave enough to go into that dark room and save the cat.

I tucked my yellow belly back into bed,  shaking with fear and nerves — my terror of snakes running rampant. By the time the sun rose, I’d fallen back to sleep. I’d meant to stay awake until the moment I could rush to the other side of the house for help, but I crashed. By the time I got up and found Matt’s mom — she was entirely confused at my worry. She’d woken to an open kitchen window and a couple animal “accidents” on the dining room floor, but no blood.

And no cat.

It took a while for the house kitty to return, but she did. With tufts of her fur matted, she sauntered back into the living room one afternoon. I nearly cried with relief. I was convinced she’d gone into the jungle to die after I’d failed to save her from the mysterious boogieman. The little warrior had survived again, more than likely an attack from a village cat that had climbed in the kitchen window looking for a snack. Once I realized she was fine, it was me who left the room with my tail between my legs.

I always eye dare devils with suspicion, wondering if they actually like life. It must be easier to take sweeping risks when what you have isn’t so precious. My move to Colorado in April is about as brave as I’ve been in the last 10 years. It isn’t like moving to Cameroon to live in a village hut, but it is fully challenging my routine and comfort. I hope becoming a bit braver is just the first of many great changes.

~k

Juliann and I ran the Women’s Half Marathon together this morning. The course was hilly by Arizona standards, but also quite lovely. We started in south Scottsdale, wound around the Papago Mountains, over the Mill Avenue Bridge and around Tempe Town Lake to finish at the park. While my time was far from a personal best, it was a great dive back into the pool of running.

I’m now looking for a couple more halves this winter. Even though today was slow, it felt great. In so many ways, it filled my sails. I can’t wait to get back out there and race again!

~K

I’ve had a sinking feeling for the last few months that I was going to have to wave the white flag of defeat and by bigger jeans. I’ve always crammed into my jeans as soon as I could on the weekends. Paired with flip flops and a t-shirt, they are my comfort clothing. But, not surprisingly after having canceled my gym membership about a year ago, they aren’t fitting so comfortably today.

My friend Adam tells me regularly I’m good with accountability and discipline. My waistline these days says otherwise. I’m by no means fat, or even technically overweight. But I am not happy. I have an entire section of my closet that I’d really like to wear without sucking in, shimmying and having a stomach ache all day from the tightness.

I haven’t become sedentary; in fact, I think the extra cush is in part because of being more social. I’ve spent much less time in the last six months cooking for myself, or just being at home. The after work happy hours, weekends with bowling and bar food and that taco festival? Well. You can do the math.

I weighed myself yesterday for the first time in a few months and I am about the same as I was 10 years ago when I left for the Peace Corps. Granted, prior to leaving, I spent the better part of  a couple months curled up in the fetal position on the floor of a Cold Stone Creamery, mainlining mint chocolate chip. I was worried I’d never see anything cold in Africa. I was not worried about my jiggle.

Today is another story. So, I have a plan! Rather than waiting until January with all the other lemmings, I’m taking this pants vs. my waist circumference challenge by the horns today. And because I tackle few projects without waxing poetic, I figured I’d share the details and progress. You know. Just in case anyone else may have a few extra pounds to lose?

1. I’ve downloaded a calorie counting app on my phone. Every bit of research I’ve read lately says writing down what you eat makes you more accountable and keeps things in check. You see what you are really doing to yourself with those after work nachos and margaritas. (Oh, those calorie numbers hurt.)
2. I joined a gym. As much as I hate the gym rat routine anymore, it is just too dark outside this time of year for the hours I have available to work out alone. A gorgeous trainer named Natalie is scheduled to start shaping up my flab tomorrow afternoon.
3. I’m cooking. It is a lot harder for me to be disciplined about this than ever before because my work schedule is nuts. Yet the sodium content on a lot of the foods I’ve been eating — both brought back to life from the depths of the frozen food section and “healthy” eating out — is off the charts. My heart needs a break.
4. Specifically, I am cooking with more vegetables. I’m also going to try to eat less meat. I know the hype with protein is “eat more! lose weight!” but in my mind, that more often than not translates to “have sausage on your morning bagel! the meat will be good for you!” Wrong.
5. And, of course, I’m going to be a lot more selective about what I’m drinking. Far more water, far less wine. I’m unwilling to cut it out entirely. But for the time being, there will be fewer cocktail parties and more Netflix and knitting.

The goal is 30 pounds by April 1. Yes, it is a lot of weight. Yes it is completely possible. Yes, I can do this.

Each week, look for a new recipe, new weight loss tool and weight update. There is nothing as motivating as public shame.

Blog, keep me accountable.

~K