FEAR

Fear sucks.

Do I really want to do this?

Okay, I'll try to say more than that. Because fear is this thing that we all feel at times. Some people are all about confronting their fears. I know times when I've confronted a fear, face to face, and the fear ceased. And sometimes I've confronted a fear face to face and it has been awful and the face-off created new fears to arise and caused a lot of havoc in my life. So is it helpful to confront your fears, or is it dangerous and prone to backfire? I don't know. But some people are all about confronting their fears.

And some people are all about avoiding the situations and things that cause them fear. I've dealt with fears this way lots of times. Like I wanted to move in with a boyfriend once. And I'd asked him before and he said he wasn't ready yet. So I didn't ask him again. I was afraid of being rejected so I just avoided that topic for years and got very comfortable living alone until he was ready, I guess, and he needed a roommate. And then I moved in, but we never talked about how best to do it because I was afraid he'd say no and reject my ideas again. So I never brought up the fact that I didn't necessarily want to move into that place with him, but would have preferred to find a brand new place. And I rarely brought up the topic of rearranging furniture, or changing stuff on the bedroom wall, or getting rid of some of our stuff because when I tried to do this initially, I felt my suggestions were rejected because he didn't have time or he liked having all these matching but space consuming side tables and sofa set. So I stopped asking because I was afraid of another rejection-sounding answer. But sometimes, avoiding a situation that cause you fear, like driving blindfolded, is really smart. And safe. And perhaps can maintain the peace of a relationship instead of shaking things up over a minor disagreement that really doesn't have anything to do with love or commitment. You just ignore the fact that he leaves his tea bags on the kitchen counter or toss them in the compost bucket instead of letting that annoyance surface and having a big fight over a pet peeve, resulting in reinforced fear of bringing up annoyances--and those other annoyances might not be such small potatoes. So avoiding being afraid can be easy and it sure can feel like the safest option, or it can be a poisonous plant that eating a little of isn't so bad, but if you eat a lot, you're going to have to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped.

Then some people ignore a fear. Pretend it isn't there, even though it is and your stomach is all queasy. Like I am afraid of falling down skiing or hiking or wake boarding. But I still do these things, even though I'm uncomfortable when the trail is steep and dry and I'm going downhill and my hiking boots are slipping with every step. Please, please, please DON'T BIFF IT--but hey, I'm still doing it. Maybe I'll biff it and get cut up. Or break a bone. And then maybe I will acknowledge that fear more and be reluctant to go hiking on steep dusty trails. If I don't ignore it, would I still go hiking? Or would I talk about the fear constantly while doing it and say out loud all the time "Please, please, please DON'T BIFF IT"? Ignorance is bliss, but if you aren't truly ignorant, but playing make believe, and the make believe sweet unicorn turns out to be a vampire unicorn... Eek.

And then some people just let fear take over and paralyze them. Actually, if confronting fear, avoiding fear-causing situations, or ignoring the existence of your fear backfires, well, it doesn't take much for paralysis to swoop in and stiffen your limbs with fear. I guess paralyzing fear is why I am writing about fear today. Because it SUCKS. And even when you feel paralyzed by fear, fearsome stuff still happens. Then not only are you paralyzed by fear but you are surrounded by the fearsome stuff that has mounded up all around you. You are now also frozen and surrounded by fears and it feels impossible to move. And if you move, you have to go through the scariest stuff possible and there could be more fearful stuff beyond the piles--you just can't know. Which causes MORE fear.

So I am having problems with fear. I always have had issues with fear. It doesn't feel good, so not having issues with fear seems kind of unrealistic to me. But I suppose I could have fewer issues with fear if I could learn to care less. I care a lot. About EVERYTHING. Care Bears--they know nothing about caring. And I care so much about how to do this or how to talk to y, that I don't do anything because the fear of doing it wrong paralyzes me and--whether my caring is about how best to communicate with a family member going through a rough time or about cleaning out my fridge and separating the compost stuff from the recyclable stuff from the garbage and doing the dishes so I can cook dinner--I end up doing almost nothing. I don't clean the fridge. I don't call. I obsess about my concern and how I could screw it up and then it is time to eat and I haven't called that family member or dealt with the fridge at all and I'm eating blueberries and tortilla chips for dinner because they're not stale or bad yet and they require no preparation--though I should technically wash those blueberries. I can be paralyzed in fear and concern and still eat those things. Yes, this is ridiculous and wasteful and self absorbed and stupid to the max.

So ever since I moved out of my place with Tomato and into my new old apartment, I've had scores of days where I'm just wasting my time away debating whether I should do this or that and it is because I am afraid. I am afraid I will organize my files wrong so I still haven't finished unpacking my files and desk stuff. I moved in early MAY. I haven't gone through receipts and updated my expenses and then applied that data to my "budget" that I haven't created yet because I'm collecting spending and earning data still because the project totally inspires fear in my heart because it's mounded up so high. When I was in Costa Rica, I didn't feel paralyzing fear. I did things. I dealt with the fear one way or another and if it backfired, I dealt with that. When I am out and about, I don't feel paralyzed by every decision. When I was on vacation with my family, I felt fear, but I wasn't paralyzed and not doing things. I did things. Being back here in this apartment now, after living somewhere else with someone else and having fears about us or the place or our time or how I said x or y pop up in my face all the time and having to deal with them whether they went away or not, being back here has had a somewhat paralyzing effect on me. I am afraid. I fear starting anything here or finishing anything in this space. And this doesn't bode well for my immediate future. And that doesn't bode well for my future further along. So I have to get out of the fear or get out of this apartment. This apartment used to be my sanctuary! What happened?

When I ask myself this--why am I so paralyzed with petty fears and wasting my time and sleeping hours away in a place where I used to be so industrious?--it doesn't take long for me to figure it out. I am afraid to embrace this place as my own again because that would be fully acknowledging that I live in a place on my own again and that I can't go back to that apartment I didn't want to move into necessarily in the first place because the person I wanted to move in with who wasn't ready when I first asked isn't living there anymore and I only moved in there because I wanted to live with him. And I can't go live with him because he and I don't share our lives anymore, and I hear his place is even smaller than my old new place anyway--I don't fit there, just like he didn't fit here. I am afraid to embrace this place as my own again because that would be fully accepting that I am not in a relationship where I can lean over and kiss my partner on the cheek good night anymore, fully accepting that I don't have a relationship with him at all these days, fully accepting that I am single, fully accepting that I am alone. Fully accepting that I can not entertain the idea that we can brush this under the rug and get back together for a second because it isn't going to happen, even if I don't know that 100%, another idea I can't entertain for a second because if I entertain these ideas, I will stay frozen in this apartment, I will never fully accept that I am single, that I am alone, and that I can live my life however I want to right now and that this fact alone has the potential to be exciting, productive, beautiful, and fulfilling, even if it IS going to be scary often. But being with someone was scary too. I can't escape fear. But I can avoid fearful situations if I want, or not. And I can ignore the feeling if I want, or not. And I can confront it face to face if I want, or not. But I can't let it paralyze me anymore in the place that I refer to home, even though I don't feel at home here like I did before, at least I don't yet.

Fear sucks. But it isn't going anywhere, and if I want to go anywhere or do anything in this place, I have to deal with it one way or another, and then I have to move on. Scary, but maybe it can be scary and fun at the same time. Like this...

Pages and word counts

I keep meaning to write. A blog, I mean. Because the book keeps going and going and going.
Here's my word count (accord. to Microsoft Word, not standard publisher equation): 168,409.
And page count (double-spaced, Justified, Times New Roman, size 12 Font): 563.
Let me I just tell you all that, for first novels in the literary fiction genre, publishers like the word count down around 100,000--maybe 120,000 if it's really worth it. Page count? Somewhere around 300 is nice.
And I'm going to need to write at least four more chapters to fulfill the climax and the outcome of my story. The end gets closer to my reach, yet it moves further away at the same time.
So come that day, when I write the last sentence to the last paragraph for the first full draft, I already know one thing for sure: I will need to cut out about 50% of my novel. 50-f*#king percent. Editing hell. And of course, I'll need to back up every single version, every single revision so if I cut something out that I change my mind on and want to reinstate later, it still will exist somewhere and I can find it. Just thinking about this process exhausts me. Maybe I am subconsciously preventing myself from reaching "The End" because I am so intimidated about the revision process.
Then there's the part where I've re-envisioned the format of my novel somewhat. My anticipated changes will allow me to cut some sections, even a few chapters perhaps. But they also will require extra attention to make sure that vital story information in the cut sections is conveyed fully in the new format. A lot of these changes revolve around the family characters' background and development, and stuff about Mormonism relevant to the plot. I tell you, DOOZY A COMING.
But it is exciting. It is possible. Completion is at hand, somewhere. So my blogging will continue to be highly inconsistent, because I'm frying a big fish. And then there is all the extra stuff in the frying pan: summer travels; maintaining healthy relationships with my lover, friends, and family; my gardening, knitting, and reading obsessions; self-care; doing household crap.... You get the picture. And with a little luck, and the power of Grayskull, I'll be de-boning the big fish next time I blog, getting it ready to serve up on platter with some extra nice garnish.

March 31

*I learned the difference between concertos and sonatas, fugues and preludes, and what "una corda" means.
* I enjoyed a piece by my accomplice in UW's newspaper, the Daily.
* I read, analyzed, critiqued, and enjoyed a story by a writing group colleague.
* I wrote five pages, by hand, on my novel.
* I attended the Mariners' season opening day game against Texas, and was snowed on in the fifth inning (photo by Philip Smith).


* I learned that Yuniesky Betancourt's favorite web page is MySpace.
* I spent time with writing peers and felt happy that I write.
* I found out about another writing colleague's new Internet start-up.
* I came home tired but content.

Birthing

Okay. The title is for dramatics. I am not pregnant nor expecting to be in the very near future. But sheesh! Just about every single person in my peer group has either given birth in the past year and change, is about to give birth, or has plans to get birthy in the near future. Let me give you the tally and names (last names excluded for privacy of course) of the babes born in the last year and a half.
Boys:
1. Oliver Atticus--December 2006
2. Oliver Lewis--January 2007
*note that neither Oliver is my dog nephew, born in April 2007, who often goes by Shitbrains
3 & 4. Sam and Ben (technically born in May 2006 but adopted and brought home officially in January 2007).
5. Another Ben--June or July 2007
6. William IV--July 23 (my birthday!), 2007
7. Miles--October 31, 2007
8. "Banjo" (can NOT remember his real name)--January 2008
And most recently, 9. Kieran--March 2008
Please note that I can not remember the names of at least three baby boys of acquaintances that must have come out of the womb by now too. Boy crazy year.

On the girl side:
1. Sanika--Early April or Late March 2007
2. Yuki--April 2007
3. Serai--May 2007
Yup. Just three. BUT there's a baby girl due in May....
Then there's plans for a sibling for Oliver L. to be conceived this summer. And I know I am forgetting more babies. They're all over the place.

So while my friends, and Wes' friends too, birth actual humans, I am in the process of birthing other things. Broccoli starts. Peas. Potatoes. Oh, yeah, and the novel.
The novel, the novel, the novel...
Here's the good news: I am writing like a mad woman.
Here's the bad news: this is one big, fat, unhealthy sized baby.

And the four year pregnancy, ugh. Don't get me started. I don't have trimesters, see. I have year-mesters. But I'm tired of carrying around this bulge of notes and computer documents and files and books on psychiatric evaluation techniques and suicide survivors and code-cracking, and Utah, and Mormons and the Bible. I'm tired of listening to Mozart piano concertos and late 90s music to inspire my characters. I'm ready to go into labor.

So friends that are expecting--please expect a delay in receiving your infant's hand-knit booties or hat or ugly sweater or leg warmers. I am preoccupied with my own epidermal, c-section, induced labor, you name it. And forgive me if I keep running away to Idaho and pitch my cell phone into the river--if this helps me finish it, then that's the way it's going to be. And then, my friends, I will be kissing your asses and knitting goodies for all the babes like there is no tomorrow--and maybe a few of you will read the massive manuscript and help me potty train it or ween it, or whatever!

And now I must decide whether to sleep, type up a hand-written chapter, or start a new section in the book. It's 2:30 in the morning. I'm leaning towards sleep, but typing may win. Or those books on my bedside table I've been meaning to read: Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth," highly recommended by my friend Mary and the cult of Oprah, or "The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan (I've actually started this one, but then I got derailed by P.D. James. How have I never read P.D. James, what with my obsession with Agatha Christie who-done-its and PBS Mystery! However, I did come up with an idea for a new novel from one of those early Pollan chapters. Which is why I stopped reading--I had to write the concept down!). 2:30 in the morning! Why do I do this to myself--does anyone even read this thing? I read all of yours, even though I rarely comment, and I must confess, my own blogging habits are highly irregular.

It's official. Sleep is winning. But first, five things I am grateful for today:
1. Fresh snow on the fir and cedar trees and everywhere. There is so much snow here, it boggles my mind. Look at the pictures in my littl' Flickr side badge, and you'll see what I mean. I feel like I'm in a time warp, back to Sun Valley when I was really small and the snow piled up in huge heaps twice my height (then) along the sides of the road.
2. Girl Scouts and Campfire for teaching me to build a fire for a cold morning.
3. My father for not dying like he did in my dream last night (I am knocking on wood as I type) and for letting me use this awesome place.
4. The two deer who allowed me to stare at them for quite a while before prancing away in the snow today.
5. Words. They just won't stop coming out of my fingers, my mind, my mouth. God, how could I be anything other than a writer? Thank you, words, for making me eager to work, most days.

And that is all she wrote.

Oh my, oh my, it is a blog.

So I have been silent for awhile, and after attending the Whidbey Island Writers Conference this weekend, I've nudged myself to blog again.
You may be wondering: How's that novel going? Weren't you trying to finish it by New Year's Day? Are you writing ANYTHING?
Well, here are the answers: the novel is going. I was trying to finish it by New Year's, but life does sometimes get in the way. I've been writing in my journal some, and writing on the book some, and scrawling notes to myself daily since the commencement of '08. But I have not written one single word for Amazon.com since July 31st. Coincidentally, I received my last true pay check sometime in mid-August.
The Amazon drop-off was intentional, though I didn't necessarily plan for it to go on for so long. In fact, at this point, it may be permanent vacation. I am blessed that, on both the paternal and maternal sides of my family, I've had family who thrived in the accounting and banking worlds, and who worked long years for profitable companies on the NYSE, and chose to give me stock or a saving bond for my birthday in lieu of the ever-desired Power Wheel, or say a pony. Thus I've been ransacking the savings as I try to finish "the book."
My new "full draft, damn it" due date is April 1st. I have a "massive revision/slaughter your word count" due date too: June 30th. Then, Buddha, God, Allah, Goddess of the Moons, and Satan willing, I will begin to send out the oh-so-tedious and daunting query letters to agents in hopes of finding someone awesome and energetic who thinks my book is the most engaging thing since breastfeeding (either as an infant or with her own infant). And this awesome, energetic agent (Indulge me for awhile, okay?) and I will then do some more revision, I'd imagine under some ridiculously short time constraint. Then she/he will shop my book to the editors and publishers of the world until they're salivating over my book, prompting an exciting bidding war, that will end in a book contract at a mid- to large- sized, but respectable, publishing house. Said contract will offer me a decent first sales check, and publishing house will have design, promotional, editorial teams that are so excited about my book that they're piddling all over themselves. And then the pre-sale copies and upcoming release catalogs will go out to the major book distributors (B&N, Ingrams, Borders, Amazon, etc.), and they'll ear mark the page with my book's details and consult their staff and estimate that they'll need to pre-order copious amounts of the book. This will get the publishing house pr peeps really in a frenzy, pitching me to the Today Show and to Oprah's Book Club and the notable book review papers and magazines.... and then, well, I'll be the hottest thing since Jonathon Safran Foer or Zadie Smith or Jhumpa Lahiri.... AND well, won't I be full of myself at this time next year....
Okay, so maybe not that's not feasible, but let me say this: I NEED to finish this novel. Then I NEED to revise like there is no tomorrow. Perhaps 15 times. And then I will be begging anyone for proof reads and feedback, etc. It could be you. If not you, I encourage you to please, please, please throw tons of encouragement and love my way this spring. Because this has been the darkest winter of my soul during my life thus far, and it is time for everything to come to fruition. Let the blooming begin.

Summer's end....

I've been on the road a lot this summer. The warm weather took me to New York for a week in late May-early June, Pullman, WA-Grangeville, ID for a week in early July, Lake Coeur d'Alene, ID-Priest Lake, ID for two weeks in August, and, most recently, the Tri-Cities, WA for the annual Tumbleweed Music Festival.

Priest Lake is BEAUTIFUL

As Fall approaches, we're traveling to Illinois/Michigan for a week in mid-September, and have tentative camping plans for later in the month. In addition to these travels, we also have hosted many visitors, and managed to squeeze in a big hike last weekend in the Cascades.

Check out all the huckleberries we picked!

My summer also has been full of vegetables. I'm reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver currently and my awareness of the repercussions of the global food market (already fairly informed) has been heightened. This coincides with a summer wherein I've grown and consumed more local produce than ever before. For the past few years, my friend Mary and I share a vegetable box from a Community Sponsored Agriculture(CSA) program with Helsing Junction Farm of Rochester, WA, about 100 miles south of Seattle. If you are unfamiliar with CSAs, they work kind of like corporate stock or bonds--you buy a share of the farm, provide the funds to enable them to plant the seeds. In return, you receive boxes of bounty for 4 months. If the climate is fertile that year, the vegetable return may be greater than expected; however, if there's excess rain or too much sun, the yield may be lesser than desired. It's a risky investment in some ways, but it pales in comparison to the risk that the farmer takes. By extending the fruits of one's labor to the community, the farmer doesn't have to stand completely alone to shoulder the fiscal brunt of a tomato blight or drought.

In addition to bringing home a box of produce every other week this year, Mary challenged me to take my love of local produce to a new level by growing our own. Mary owns a rental property with a big plot of fertile dirt in the back. This May, Wes, Mary and I turned over the dirt, yanked weeds, and ultimately planted a nice-sized garden for ourselves. We planted tons of tomatoes, potatoes, cabbage, snap peas, green beans, squash, tomatillos, peppers, carrots, arugula, onions, basil, and cilantro. The beans were the big disappointment--hardly any popped up and we had to replant them. Likewise, I think the peas didn't yield as much as I hoped. It wasn't the hottest summer in Seattle, with the big rains in July--so the squash also has been less than prolific and the tomatoes slower to ripen. But the tomatoes sure are ripening up now! I've been trying to find use for all these great veggies--cooking lots, gifting to friends, and speculating about canning and pickling options.

Yes, I grew these tomatoes.

The downside of all these fun adventures=my writing productivity has suffered. And that knowledge really bums me out and makes these adventures and experiences less awesome in my mind. I NEED to finish this book. I NEED to move into a new stage with my writing. I NEED to see what lies beyond this story--what other stories am I sitting on? I do have ideas about next projects, but until I finish this project, I'm not allowing myself to mull them over much. Must finish book. Next time you see me, bother me about finishing my book. I may glare at you and groan, but I need as many kicks in the ass as possible.

And now, I am off to finish cleaning up my office in hopes of writing there again! Happy end of summer!

I am a bad blogger.

Truly.
Perhaps you wonder what I've been up to since my last post almost 2 months ago....
Here is the brief summary, in photos:

Amazon.
Gordon Ramsay cookware anyone?



Met my first nephew, Oliver at his home in NY.

Spent a week with W, J, & T at the Priest Lake cabin.

W's family tradition:


And that's about it. My final 826 Seattle field trip of the school year is this Wednesday. I'm writing about mattresses and gardening and receiving visitors. I hope to write more on the blog, but I especially want to write more on the book as the summer commences. Think productive thoughts!

p.s. I have updated my synopsis. If you are interested, the link is in the sidebar....

Life is short

Today I received an e-mail from a very good friend, telling me that her father had been struck and killed by a car. He was crossing the street to pick up a paper. Simple task and suddenly his life was over. I'd only met him once, at my friend's wedding, where he patiently hosed the country club patio after one of his nephews puked up his dinner after too much good cheer. My friend's father was so cheerful, even as he dealt with puke, because he was so happy for his daughter on her wedding day. And that alone made me think he was delightful.

Of late, many people around me have lost someone. My stepmother's father passed away in mid-August after a brief illness related to lymphoma and a weak heart. Don was in his mid-80's, and he'd lived a full life, with a devoted, loving wife of 60 years (their anniversary was just two days before he passed), five good-looking and kind children, a baker's dozen of grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. When he went, the family felt a mixture of relief and sadness: relief because Don's suffering had ceased and he had gone to another place, and sadness because he was gone. In the month since his passing, my father and stepmother have often commented on his widow Esther's remarkable resilience, how she's been a rock. After seeing her last weekend, I can attest to that. She's 85 years old and she still has some fire in her belly. Even so, my stepmom still finds herself crying each time she drives her mother home, worried sick about her mom being there alone and sad about her father's departure. But Esther wants to stay there, with his things and hers, like always.

Don's time had clearly come, but it is more difficult to say that about my stepfather Tim's sister Robin. Robin passed away two weeks ago after complications related to a last-ditch effort surgery to save her life after a long battle with cancer. She turned 54 on the 7th of September and died early on the 8th. Her oldest son turned 18 years old on the 9th. He started his senior year two days before her death and Robin's younger son, almost 15, started his freshman year in high school. Now their father, divorced from Robin since the youngest was two, has suddenly decided the boys should move from the Pacific NW to Cleveland where he's a surgeon. He's never had time for them before and the boys want to stay with their stepfather. So that's ugly. It's hard not to feel angry at the fates that be for taking Robin away at this important juncture of her children's lives. She was so confident too, that it would be okay. She thought she might be able to go home that night after the surgery until the doctor told her she'd definitely need some time to recuperate. Was that naive or a tremendous show of strength? I don't know. But I definitely learned some things at the memorial--about Robin, about her family (MY family), about the boys she raised. She left too soon, but she did her job--of all the people who spoke about Robin that day, only her boys really acknowledged her greatness and her challenges on earth. Only they could paint her with complete honesty and understanding. They're amazing boys with tremendous futures. I wish Robin could see it. Who knows, maybe she can.

There's been other untimely passings this year. A friend's mother in her mid-50s--cancer. A community musician who frequented one of our concert series--sudden heart attack, age 44. A family friend of Wes, in his 90's, is expected to pass any day. I wish they wouldn't go, but there's nothing I can do about it. This is all I can do or say: We are here today. Let yourself love and be loved. Open yourself to the full possibility of each day and minute and live it. Unload your secrets and unsaid words. Feel and watch and listen. Do the things you dream of doing. Take time to savor your family and friends, the essential relationships that tie one person to another. Care and Laugh and Share. DON'T HOLD YOURSELF BACK.