Reading About Writing

"If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that."

-- Stephen King

My Words Roar

Sometimes, every word that is written means something. It is dripping in your own personal sweat and tears, it knows where you've been and what you've been through. These words, when strung together, create personal stories that are often powerful to read, but sometimes, they GIVE power as they are written. These are the words that are yearning to break out of your mind, to be written or typed, to breathe life into a story that has been holding its breath inside of you for a long time.

These words have been bubbling up inside of me for the past week or so and I've been trying my best not to stifle them. They roll around in my head for a while before I spit them out and because they are so personal, they are so strong, at least to me. Because I have been writing a lot about what is going on in my life right now, I feel a connection to my writing unlike much I've written before. And that feeling is invigorating and positive and makes me want to keep going.

NaNoWriMo Success!

Whew. Just in the nick of time, as the clock counted down til the beginning of December, I finished my novel. Well, I got to 50,000 words and made it end there. 

I can't believe that I actually wrote that many words in 30 days. I am ridiculously proud of myself. It's been a few days since the end of NaNoWriMo, but I still haven't gone back to read my whole story from the beginning. I think I need a little breathing room to let it all sink in - I'll go back when my eyes are fresh and I'll wear my editing hat at that point.

In the meantime, here's a little excerpt from the story - I would love to hear what you think.

As he comes upon the factory, it feels out of place among the kitchy tourist shops, the dim sum restaurants and the high-end jewelers that seem to sell everything from jade to diamonds to rubies.  The nondescript front is made even more nondescript by one-way glass windows, like the ones in Jeremy's office.  When Mr. Sung first bought the building in 1979, he had all of the window panes replaced with the one-way glass.  It's not as if he had any secrets; the business of fortune cookie making had only changed a few times, like when a machine had replaced the workers who had once folded the cookies by hand as they came out of the oven.  And even that machine had been standardized and purchased by all of the companies that manufactured the cookies.  He had no secrets.

The only thing that gives a hint as to what goes on inside the factory is the small, handwritten sign next to the door buzzer that, if translated from Chinese to English says, "For Mr. Sung, fortune cookie master, ring bell."  Fortune cookie master.  He should write that on his business cards, Jeremy once joked with Min Li, a short, stocky, emasculate baker.  His joke fell flat, and her accusing eyes made him feel like a child again, caught drawing a mustache on the yearbook picture of a teacher.

Mid-NaNoWriMo

I'm 17 days in to National Novel Writing Month, more than halfway to the finish line of 50,000 words.

I can't believe how quickly this month has flown by. I wanted to post a short bit to let everyone know how the writing has been going.

The story is moving along really well, actually. I was a bit nervous that I wouldn't be able to sustain the (very) vague storyline that I started with, but with each passing evening, I find more ways to describe the situation, develop and get to know the characters and slowly build on the basic plot. Let's get things clear - by no means is this a Pulitzer-winner. But honestly, just sitting down at the dining room table every night and willing myself to 1,600 words is making me a better writer.

Thanks to all of those who have been understanding of my lack of phone calls and other general keep-in-touch methods. My story thanks you, too.

NaNoWriMo

It officially starts tonight at midnight - National Novel Writing Month. I've signed up to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. Fiction is not really my forte and although I have a glimmer of a concept of the novel's storyline, I have no idea how I am going to flesh it out for that many words.

To get to 50k words in 30 days, I have to write about 1,600 words every night (I'll most likely write at night during the week and tackle the weekends however they may come). I've never had to do a sustained, daily writing project like this. I am a bit nervous that I'm going to have writer's block or not have enough to sustain the novel til the very end.

But I think having a set goal, with a place to log my words in at the end of each night, will be a motivating factor. It's now or never, right?

I'm letting you all know this as my blog postings will probably be sporadic, if not non-existent, during the month of November. I really want to focus my energy and attention to this book (crazy).

So here goes nothin'...

An Educational Shift

I am a nerd, therefore I like NPR.  My favorite part of public radio, though, is the once-weekly show, This American Life.  It is a long-form radio show that touches upon a wide array of topics.  The most recent show, entitled "Back to School" was mind-blowing.

This is the synopsis of the show that is posted on This American Life's website: As kids and teachers head back to school, we wanted to turn away from questions about politics and unions and money and all of the regular stuff people argue about, and turn to something more optimistic - an emerging theory about what to teach kids, from Paul Tough's new book, "How Children Succeed". 

I would hope that everyone reading this would listen to the show because it is hard to write a really good synopsis that includes ALL of the topics they touch upon.  But I will point out a few highlights that I found extremely interesting.

* When telling middle school girls "scientists have found that you can improve your intelligence" on a regular basis, studies show that those girls, who have often "fallen apart" when it comes to math, catch up to their boy counterparts in that subject.  They close the gap and perform at the same level as boys; the girl's average math test scores were the same as the boy's average math test scores.  Telling students they can improve their intelligence changes the mindset of these kids.  They are learning resilience and optimism.  That alone can change test scores. Holy cow!

* Kids who have "attached parents" - those parents who empathize with their children and comfort them during stressful situations - are more socially confident and successful later in their lives.  They're better at dealing with other people and picking themselves up after setbacks.  It seems like common sense.  But for those kids who don't have attached parents, they don't have those non-cognitive skills and therefore don't do well in school (focusing on non-cognitive skills is the premise of most of the show).  Teaching parents how to be empathetic and connect with their children can help those children later on in school.  Studies show that having an empathetic parent who can be supportive during stressful times (poverty-stricken childhoods, domestic abuse situations, etc.) can reverse the effects that those stressful situations create.  Potentially changing a child's life is as simple as teaching his or her parent how to be empathetic and supportive, something that can help even the poorest of the poor. Again, holy cow!

I truly believe that education is one of THE MOST important things in a person's life.  But here's where I often stray from other's beliefs.  I believe that money doesn't have to buy education.  My sister and I went to public schools from kindergarten to the day we got our high school diplomas.  She went on to get a bachelor's degree from Stanford University and I received a bachelor's degree from Colorado State University and a master's from Stanford University. We didn't go to some fancy pants boarding school and my parents didn't splurge on overpriced tutors.  Instead of those things, we had them, our parents.

I know that our parents were the driving force behind our successes academically.  From practically the beginning, they read to us every single night.  They asked us questions. They encouraged us to ask questions (my mom would always send us off to school saying, "Ask good questions").  They took us places.  They let us experience things.  They expanded our minds.  They talked to us like adults.  They pushed us (but not too hard). They built our confidence.

We went to rural public schools that didn't have the highest achievement records in the state and we could have drifted through. While I can't give all of the credit to my parents (my sister and I took upper-level high school classes and were involved in a lot of activities), without them, who knows where we would have been.  

I'm not saying teachers aren't important.  And I'm not saying that parents can do it all on their own.  But what I am saying, and what the This American Life show describes, is it is clear that outside forces beyond what we learn in the classrooms affect how we learn and how we succeed. 

My Worst Habit

I've said it so many times before.  I need to write more.  I need to study Spanish more.  And just like most New Year's resolutions, these actions become inaction.

I'm still trying to figure out what is going to motivate me to do both of these things regularly (hopefully, daily). Today I was overcome by the need to have a calendar that I could write my to-do list in (to-do: write, Spanish).  I stopped at CVS because I couldn't wait and picked up a cute little calendar planner that goes all the way through 2013.  And now, on every single day (except weekends, maybe), I'm writing down how long I study Spanish and what I write about.  Keeping tabs of what I'm doing on a daily basis and the progress that I'm making will hopefully keep me accountable.

Another tool that I'm going to try to use, which I've referenced before, is "The Writer's Block - 786 Ideas to Jump-Start Your Imagination."  I never thought of my imagination needing a jump start, but it totally makes sense.  I often feel like I need to be motivated by a song or an event or something in order to write.  But if I end up letting that happen, I will just be waiting around.  I need to be proactive, which is why, although prompts and fiction aren't usually my thing, I'm going to use the book.

So...let's not waste time.

The first randomly-picked prompt: Write about your worst habit.

I lie.  Sure, everyone does it.  And the reasons that we do it vary just like us.  Maybe we're trying to spare someone's feelings.  Maybe we don't want to get in trouble.  Maybe we're scared of what the other person is going to think of us if we don't answer the way they expect us to.  I fall into that last category.  I lie because I don't want to lose face.

The small lies began in college.  During my freshman year, I found myself at a crossroads that questioned everything I had ever believed to be my calling since I was five - did I want to be a veterinarian or not?  The answer was no and I had to move on to life calling number two.  I might as well have stuck my hand in a hat and drawn out a random profession.  My odds of becoming an engineer were practically the same as becoming a journalist or a clown in the circus.  The journalist slip got pulled from the hat and I had to figure out where I fit in in  a world of beats - the sports beat, the crime beat, the city beat? So I did what any good college student would do; I tried to fit the mold.  I became a sports reporter because it was what I had the most interest in.  I watched baseball with my grandpa.  My dad had taught me the (general) rules of football. I was hired.

And there was where lying came in.  I couldn't hack it like the other sports reporters.  These were guys, for the most part, who thought the first regular season NFL game was equivalent to Christmas on the excitement scale.  They talked in stats.  The words that came out of their mouths only had to do with sports.  I wasn't like them.  I liked the human feature side of sports.  What made athletes tick?  Why did they do what they did?  How did they start doing what they were doing? Weren't they scared?

But people expected me to know what Chris Johnson's 40 time was.  And all of the intricate rules of football.  And which team had won the 1972 World Series.  I didn't know those things.  And honestly, I didn't have any desire to ever know those things.  What good is it to know who won the 1972 World Series - that answer only comes in handy on Jeopardy.  At this point, I started to lie and fudge the information I did know.  When surrounded by a bunch of sports reporters, I would keep quiet and listen A LOT.  I would interject when I did have a tidbit of information, but not until then.  I would hope that they wouldn't see the fear that they might expect me to answer some obscure question.

Now, as a college graduate in the working world, I've found I have carried this habit over to my regular life, and in particular, my job.  I can't lose face - I can't let my co-workers see me as anything less than an extremely knowledgeable person.  I say I know what a specific term means even when I've never even heard the word.  Or I lie and say I totally know what site they're talking about when I clearly don't have a single clue.    

It's a bad habit.  And I'm trying really hard to make myself realize that it's totally acceptable to not know everything.

Finding the Balance

Life is all about getting to the sweet spot between careening out of control and sitting still.

Lately, I've felt both the insane feeling of having your hands off the wheel and the quiet solitude that can sometimes drive you crazy.

On one hand, my boyfriend and I have been taking a lot of fun trips here and there and have a lot of weekend plans for USC football -- these things keep us busy and going, going, going.  We get to people-watch, dine at hole-in-the-wall places and stroll hand in hand down the windy streets of San Francisco.  It's perfect. And perfectly draining.

On the other hand, when I am home, I've been doing a lot of reading.  I'm deep in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, which requires concentration and a tenacity for keeping names straight.  When I'm not reading that on my iPad, I'm trying to keep up on all of the latest long reads that get mentioned by people on the Internet.  And then there are the regular blogs to keep up with.  (On an aside - it can get overwhelming to think that that there are millions upon billions of words on the Internet, and while many of them are superb and yearn for readers, I will most likely not get to a large fraction of them.)

Which brings me to the third hand (third hand?).  I haven't been doing the thing that I believe hits that sweet spot - writing.  For me, since I am mostly a non-fiction writer, this requires me to step out and away from my normal life and experience ... things.  But it also must be done in a quiet, singular place.  What's unfortunate is that I haven't willed myself into that sweet spot lately (if at all in the past few months).  I'm either careening or sitting still.  I'm either busy or not busy.  I'm never writing.

Maybe I'm not meant to write.  Maybe I'm meant to be a professional reader (no, but seriously, do those exist?).  Maybe instead of creating more words that go into the ether of the Internet, I should try to figure out how to give more attention to the words that are already out there (and get paid for it).

Or maybe...just maybe...I need to write.  To will myself to write.  To do it.  To make myself find the balance and not wait for the balance to find me.

The Second Installment of Fiction

Note: This is the second part of my first-ever fiction story.  You can read the first installment here.

Andrew would undoubtedly live until he was 100.  He would be "that guy" who, although he wasn't a strict diet-follower, ate well (and often), ran on a daily basis and made everyone around him jealous and somewhat annoyed at his dedication to being healthy.  It'd be cliche to say, but Andrew looked and felt like any late 20-something would aspire to.  And Andrew was pushing 53.

And yet ... he had indeed spent the night with his cheek pressed against the warm tile-floor, a product of the radiant floor heating, which Andrew had wanted to turn off, but Molly insisted on keeping on for a few more weeks.

Throughout the night, Andrew had prayed his body would remain motionless.  He had lay on the floor to ground himself, to say to his brain, "This is what I need.  I need for the movement to stop."  But the dingy still rolled and the constant, irritating and mind-numbing ringing in his ears (worse in the left than the right) couldn't be shaken.  In fact, it hurt to even move his head a few degrees one way or the other.  His life, the one that others wished they could have, had become hell.

The Beginning of the Story

Note: Typically, I'm a non-fiction writer - I write about my life and about things I know.  I have never dabbled in fiction, but a few months ago, I had a sudden urge (aren't all urges sudden?) to write a fiction story.  I scribbled it down feverishly in my journal before the urge evaded me.  The story is by no means finished, but I thought I would start to post some of it here, piece by piece. This is the beginning.


This bath rug is dirty, he realized.

In his 4:30 a.m. must-get-out-the-door-before-the-dog-wakes-Molly haze, he never would have noticed how the dirt clings to the rubber corners of the sage green mat.  Nor, how if you really looked at it, the sage color had dissipated into a desert brownish - a dying cactus color, if you will.

But he now finds himself face-to-face with the mat.  He can't remember the last time he lay on the bathroom floor.  He wasn't a boozer in college.  He hung out with the library crowd, and if he drank, it was never to extremes.  The fetal position was one he only reserved for the flu or a really cold night when Molly insisted on sticking her icicle-like feet under his legs.  And yet ... here he was.  We need a new bath rug, he thought.

He cracks his right eye, instinctively cringing, as his ears start to ring and his mind makes his body think that he's on a four-star cruise ship minus all of the stars.  A dingy, perhaps.  Through all of the stimuli, he sees Molly's red fleece pajama pants, the ones with the snowflake design that should have been put away long ago, as it was April and the tulips were starting to say hello to the world.

Out of the bottom of her pants peek Molly's feet.  Why am I staring at her feet, he thought.  Did we have wild sex last night and that's why we ended up in different positions on the bed?  He smiled, hoping, and the act made him wince.  There was the rocking boat again.  Must have been one hell of a night, he mused.  And then it dawned on him that he was on the bathroom floor.  And it all made sense.

Well, Hello Again

Sometimes, you just have to take a break from it all.  Unplug.  Recharge.  Feel the grass between your toes before you can jump right back into the crazy.

Apparently that's what I've been doing lately.  But I think I'm getting back into the groove again.  I have a new roommate (hey, Lauren!), a handsome man by my side and a dog who loves to give kisses.  I am setting goals for myself and trying to stay away from the T.V. as much as possible (The Bachelorette aside, of course).  Here's the plan:

• Read during dinner instead of watching mindless crap.
• Jump on Rosetta Stone to learn Spanish at least 30 minutes every day.
• Exercise at least five days a week (did I mention that my sister and I are registered for the Tinker Bell Half Marathon in January?!).  Back in the saddle again.
• Write more, whether that's here on the blog, in my journal (encouraged by this couple) or for other outlets.
• Get back into Twitter.  It was inevitable ... no one can quit Twitter.
• Listen more.
• Be understanding and positive.

The summer is going brilliantly and hopefully making these things happen will add even more awesomeness to my life!  Have you guys ever taken a break to wind down and recharge?

My ID

I had seen the ads for Road ID in the Runner's World magazines that my dad would send me once he was done reading them (recycle, people).  I was intrigued.

For those of you who aren't in the know, Road ID is a bracelet that has some identifying info on it in the horrible case that you can't speak for yourself (see: being hit by a car).  You can put whatever you want on it - your birth date, contact info for next of kin, any allergies you may have, etc.

My gears started turning (the ones in my head) and I realized that no one would know who I was if I was lying on the side of the road unconscious.  Sure, Austin's tags say who I am, but what good would that be if A). he ran away when I got hit or 2). they called the number on his tag (my cell phone)...duh, I wouldn't answer cuz I'm lying on the side of the road!

So, I went ahead and bought a bracelet, thinking of my future unborn children who would need someone to birth them.

I have to say, I was a little skeptical about the size when I first got it - it looked like it could barely fit over Austin's paw.  And yes, it does require a little finagling when I put it on.  But, it fits securely when it's on and I barely feel it.  I make sure to always put it on when I take Austin out for a walk or when I go for a run or ride. 

When I was on the Road ID website and it prompted me to put in the information I wanted on the bracelet, my mind started wandering.  How do I identify myself?  In no particular order, this is what I came up with:

• I'm a woman.  Everything I am stems from the fact that my sex has been told no you can't, when really, anything you can do I can do better.
• I'm half Hispanic, a quarter Swiss and a quarter Chinese.  Each part of my background helps to shape how I view the world.
• I'm a romantic. I can't say hopeless anymore, because I've found my prince charming.
• I'm educated and believe that each and every child here in the United States, however they arrived, deserves an education.  Each of us should be given the basic tools that can help us become better people.
• I'm a Colorado girl in the deepest part of my soul.  There is almost nothing more perfect than the golden aspens in the fall.  Well, that and a good New Belgium brew with friends.  That's pretty perfect, too.
• I'm definitely a dog person. Cat's make me sneeze. And puppies are God's gift to man, so how can you argue with that?
• I believe that family is the most important thing in any person's life and that with a strong, loving, forgiving family, a person can be content in whatever they do.  I am in my family and my family is in me.
• I'm a voracious reader.  If it has words, I'm gonna read it.  Except maybe the creepy classified ads.  I don't read those. 

 

• I really, really, really want to be a writer.  I don't know if that will happen now, or later, or if ever, but I am going to strive to be a good wordsmith.  
• I'm a really good eater.  I'm not afraid of food, so I'll probably eat whatever you put down in front of me.  My aunt used to say, "I'd rather clothe her than feed her," in reference to a time in my life when I could eat a foot-long Subway sandwhich by myself.  When I was 13.
• I know that we should all be proud of our bodies (and most of the time I am), but there are certain glances in the mirror that make me want to do a few more sit-ups and run a few minutes longer.  
• I'm a lover. 
• I'm not ashamed to say I own a library card. And use it.
• I'm a homebody who is happy in her normal routines.
• I'm a runner who happens to run barefoot. Ok, ok...in Vibrams.
• I'm a worrier.  If I care about you, it's inevitable that I'll toss up a prayer about you every now and again.
• I'm a sister to an incredibly smart, funny, gorgeous woman who the world is open to...she just needs to figure out exactly how to conquer it. 

• Sometimes, I overcompensate and try to sound more knowledgeable or cultured than I am.
• I have been told that I have no taste in movies and that I've missed all of the "good" ones.  But I am also one who won't watch a stupid movie even if everyone else is watching it.  So there.
• Yes, I need validation that I am smart, beautiful, talented, fast, etc.  Maybe that's why I check Facebook several times a day - just to see if people have commented on my posts or photos.

Too bad all of this couldn't fit on my ID bracelet - those EMT's wouldn't know what hit them!

I Miss the Ink

There was one point in my life when I was going to dedicate myself to journalism - I was all in.  So in, in fact, that  I went to get a master's in journalism and believed that, armed with the knowledge Stanford professors tried to shove into my brain, I could handle any city council meeting or football practice.  I was hoping to eventually end up as a long-form journalist, following in the footsteps of Buzz Bissinger & Joe Posnanski.  I was going to embed myself in some town to report on a story that was going to make waves and my Stanford profs would smile and nod when they read my byline..."We did that," they'd say.

Oh, the dreams of a young journalist.

Almost immediately after I graduated with a master's, the journalism industry started to crumble.  Papers weren't hiring and in fact, a good many of them were letting people go.  For a girl who just wanted to write long-form, off-the-beaten-path-sports stories, I was out of luck.  It was either move to Wisconsin to cover local politics or find something else to do with my excellent grammar skills.

Nowadays, most of the writing I'm doing is in clipped, email form.  Sure, I always put the comma in the right spot and try to make my sentences exciting, even if they are just explaining the intricacies of a specific project.  And I yes, I'm doing my darndest to try to post on this blog regularly.  And I've even started to write for some of our content packages at work, so I guess I can say I'm doing some reporting.  But believe me, writing about video games and cooking for one isn't exactly mind-blowing stuff.

There have been moments lately when I crave a good interview.  I reflect on that one time when I interviewed Billy Beane.  Or when I met with a climber who had fallen 100 feet off a cliff wall, which disintegrated his vertebrate and left his right leg a tangled mess (he'd later decide to amputate it so that he could continue living an active lifestyle).  I miss seeing the pain, the joy and enthusiasm, the defeat and success of people.  I want to hear people's stories, what makes them tick, why the did what they did and how it turned out.  A good story will always prevail, but sometimes I feel like those good stories are passing me by.  I want to be writing them, not reading them.

I've made myself a life goal of writing a book.  And I'm hoping that one day, that will happen.  But between work and the puppy and running and going out with the boy...

Until I get to the point when I can fully dedicate myself to researching and reporting and writing a book, I'm going to continue to write as much I can, whenever I can.  I'm going to continue to read the bests, and learn from their sentence structure and writing prowess.  That way, when that perfect story comes my way, I'll be ready.