Strolling Along

Is there such a thing as writer’s fatigue? I’m not at all sure I knew what I was getting myself into when I started this project. I was pretty sure that writing short stories wouldn’t take much more effort than my daily 365 writing (and I’ve gotten exceedingly good at that). I just sort of figured that once I got a couple of stories written and built my self confidence that it would start to come pretty easily and whittling out the time to write these stories would just work itself out.

Yeah. I am pretty sure I was wrong. Because every week it’s a struggle. It’s primarily a struggle to simply find the time to sit down, focus and write the story that is unfolding in my head. But it is also a struggle to focus that story. I’m still having a bit of trouble with the whole “starting a novel” thing which causes me to second guess myself. And I’m still not brimming with the confidence I had hoped I might at least have an inkling of at this point in the project. I’m sure the three friends that I keep turning to for help when I get stuck dread seeing the green dot beside my name denoting my presence on line these days; finding themselves fervently hoping that I’d just figure it all out already.

The odd thing is that even though I wrestle with this every week, it’s a wrestling match that I actually enjoy. I love engaging my brain in a new way to see the world in a different way. Working to draw stories out of people that exist only in my dreams or imagination doing everyday things that suddenly seem interesting because of the people doing them. It’s fun and it’s sort of like taking my brain out for a walk in one of those new neighborhoods full of cookie cutter houses and winding roads that all lead back to each other. It’s pretty but I have no idea how the hell to find my way home.

So, I’m going to enjoy the scenery, leave a trail of breadcrumbs, learn some new wrestling moves and just keep writing.

Writing Road Blocks

So apparently my problem is not that I don’t know how to write fiction. The problem is actually that I don’t know how to write short stories. I’ve been focusing so completely on finding inspiring characters and then letting those characters tell their own stories that I end up opening these gigantic cans of worms, or in dearest S’s words “Why do you keep starting novels?!?” Yeah. Point taken. And that is indeed my problem right now.

Since I’ve spent the last year keeping what writing I was doing to a mere 365 words per day, I was worried that I’d have a hard time coming up with enough to say. And that’s not been a problem either. Once I get going, the story just unfolds and unfolds. Until I sit back and think, hmmmm, I’m going to have to step in here and either figure out how to just end it or else I’m going to have to just go ahead and write a novel and post it in chapters. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but I’d really like to get more comfortable with the whole process before I commit to such a thing.

S recommended that I Google “minute fiction” and/or “flash fiction.” The former are entire fiction stories in 300-500 words, the latter are fiction stories in 1000 words or less. I’m totally comfortable writing within word restraint, obviously, but I’m not entirely comfortable writing fiction within a word constraint, if that makes any sense. I’m struggling with cutting off a character’s voice before they’ve had their right say.

Maybe I could go ahead and write them out and then pick the most interesting piece of their story to polish and post?

I know I’m over thinking this. It’s doubt in my ability. Even though S tells me I’m doing good and should keep going (and if anyone was going to tell me to pack it in, it would be him, in the most caring way possible of course), I’m second-guessing myself to the point of writing paralysis.

I need to put my brain down and walk away. Just focus on the writing and the deadline. Which is fast approaching.

Date Night

I am showered and shaved with my hair done, make-up on, perfect outfit picked out (including the Mojo Boots) and jewelry chosen. I am more put together, arranged and polished than I have been in months. Why you ask? Because I have a raucous mama’s night out planned? With dancing and cocktails and fancy food? Not so much.

I have a date night with my husband planned. Since I’m home for a few days sans the children we figured we should try to make the most of the time we have. Typically our “dates” consist of sneaking out for a movie at about 11am then hurrying back to the house. They are hurried, low in the conversation department, in the blinding daylight kind of affairs. Neither of us try all that hard to elevate our appearances beyond the effort we put in on a day to day basis.

But tonight is different. Tonight I am going all out. Why you ask? Because I can. And because I deserve to look pretty and my husband deserves the effort. I actually kind of like getting all gussied up. I know I look like a totally different person with makeup and my hair really done. And the transforming power of the Mojo Boots has been well documented already. I like to wear gorgeous, huge earrings which show off my neck because I have short hair. I like the confidence that the extra effort lends; that due to the effort I can walk across a parking lot with my head held high, not caring what size my clothes are or what how old I am. Plus, I like to give my husband something nice to look at every once in a while. Not to mention the fact that he does a little mental happy dance every time I take the time to shave my legs.

So we’re off to dinner at a local BBQ joint that just relocated to downtown and has burnt ends and fried okra to die for. And then to see Up in the Air.

It should be a lovely, slow paced evening and I cannot wait to just spend some quality time with my husband.

12/17/09 - Ice

The only time I like better than winter is early spring, when the trees and flowers are just barely coming back to life. When the sharp little buds are forming on the trees and tentative bunches of grass start peeping through the crispy, freeze dried lawn. When the tightly curled purple fingers of the hyacinths start stretching into bloom after their long winter hibernation. I love the anticipation that spring brings with it.

But I also really love winter. I don’t mind being cold. I love to bake bread and cookies. I love to make the old standby comfort food dinners. I love the holidays. I love snuggling on the couch under blankets watching movies. I don’t even mind shoveling snow.

But today I was reminded of what I really, really don’t like about winter. Ice. The driveway at my parents’ house gets enough sun to turn the buildup of ice to slush, but not enough to actually make it go away. So it slushifies then freezes solid again every day slowly turning itself into a super smooth skating rink. A slick death trap that The Girl and I have to walk across to get to my car.

The Girl went down on the ice a couple of days ago and sliced her hand open. And since then we’ve been moving very slowly across the slippery expanse between the door and my car. But today as I was closing her door after having shepherded her to safe ground, the force required to shove the door closed knocked me off balance and down I went. I can’t remember the last time I slipped on ice and went all the way down. It happens so fast!

I reached out to catch myself and seriously jammed my wrist and bruised the heel of my hand and then landed on my ass. And I immediately burst into tears. Sitting there, in pain, my butt getting soaked, sobbing. Pitiful. But I managed to haul myself up and get the groceries in without further incident.

Don’t you just love those momentary reminders that even when you’re brimming with confidence you can still end up flat on your ass in a heartbeat?

Proof of Power

Becoming a mother was a top to bottom change of state for me. Pretty much everything I thought was true changed the moment I got knocked up. Most of it for the better, some of it I lost myself to, and although the road back has been long I’m still not sure it wasn’t worth it.

Even on my most frustrated, at the end of my rope, want to duct tape the children’s mouths shut and put them in the closet days, being a mother resonates in a very deep part of my soul. Even when I’m not at all sure that my mothering techniques are up to snuff, I always have complete confidence in being a mother.

But one of the most tangible parts of becoming a mother for me has been getting comfortable in my own skin again. I have always been at war with my body image. Even when I was thin and healthy and gorgeous, I just couldn’t see myself very clearly. Since the stretch marks have marathoned across the length of my stomach and my hips (and feet) have widened and my boobs have gravitated towards my belly button in an attempt to commune with the depths that reside there, I’ve mostly just tried to ignore my body image. And my body. It serves its purpose well and I’m grateful for that, but I’d rather just pretend that I’m always wearing an invisibility cloak.

The journey undertaken this past year however has brought some much needed perspective when it comes to my appearance (thanks to the Mojo Boots for bringing me back my sass). And even though it makes me sick (in the best possible way) when all of my friends look as if they’ve never been pregnant 2.7 minutes after birthing their children, there is a part of me that has become deeply grateful for the fact that there is physical evidence of having my two babies.

I’d gladly trade my jeans for a new pair a few sizes smaller any day of the week, but I wouldn’t ever hand over the tangible corroboration of what my body is capable of. That’s empowerment that Mojo Boots just can’t touch.

The Chicken and The Egg

I’ve been thinking about confidence quite a bit lately. Wondering how important it really is to overall success in life. What’s the balance, if there is one, between pure talent and confidence in that talent. Which comes first? I know it’s a chicken and egg sort of question which after much debate you realize it doesn’t really matter which came first as long as they’re both there. But equally as important is that you cannot have one without the other.

I wonder if that dependence plays a bigger part than most realize. I really wish that I knew whether Charles Dickens or Gustav Klimt or David Sedaris or Margaret Atwood had the kind of overwhelming confidence that kept them going through rejection or writer’s block or running out of paint. I wonder if they had the utmost confidence in their abilities or if they just kept going because it was all they could do. That their need to create was completely outside the realm of caring whether or not they were appreciated or noticed or judged as good.

Because I have always been my worst critic. Because I’ve always been the one to hold myself back when it comes to pretty much everything. I pigeon-holed my writing into research based forms because they are widely accepted (and marketable) and I knew that I was good at it. Plus it’s pretty easy not to take it personally when you don’t get a grant because while the writing is important, mostly it’s all about the foundation and the proposed project.

Sometimes I think I might have epic stories in me, vast adventures swirling with romance and intrigue. But then I sit down to write, trying to put down any preconceptions or assumptions and just give myself the freedom to write what’s there. And the wisps of characters and distant vistas start to fade in the face of confrontation. And I wish I had the balls to demand that they line back up front and center. To forbid them from scattering like mice when a light flips on.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to let the possibility of my talent share the room with the whisper of confidence.

9/12/09 - Wanna be my friend?

**Sorry this is late - I was totally wiped yesterday after Garage Sale Day 2 and went to bed without posting.**

I’m really not very good at developing friendships. Once I am in them, I’m a pretty good friend. I do a pretty good job of keeping in touch and letting the people I love know that I’m thinking about them. But when I get into new friendships, I’m not so good. Mostly I think because I lack confidence. I always end up feeling like I’m imposing in some way or another. So I often find myself taking a back seat in the friendship and waiting for them to come to me. Which, I’m fairly sure, ends up sending mixed signals to those with whom I’m trying to strike up a friendship. They probably find themselves thinking I’m unreliable or finicky or some other inconsistent sort of personality trait. But really it’s just that I can’t quite fully bring myself to believe that they would want me around.

Yes. I’m fully aware how silly I sound. How juvenile and ridiculous. But it’s the truth nonetheless.

There are a few women in this mom’s group I’ve been a part of for years that I would love to know better and I’m sure they think I’m flaky as hell because I always tell them how much I enjoy hanging out with them and then I never call or email or follow through with setting up further play dates. They just seem so much cooler than I am.

It’s a strange thing. That I can be so confident in my skills as a mother and professional. As a person in general and then all of that confidence just fails me in new friendships. I suppose I could look at it as I value the people in my life so greatly, that I think so much of them that I try to hold myself to that same standard. That how much I love and appreciate them, makes me want to be a better friend to them.

And that is true. I just sort of wish I could take the confidence component out of it altogether. That I could just be with people as well as I can just be with myself and my family. It would be so much easier.

8/7/09 - I Day

Today was the day. The day that started off quietly with me drinking coffee and watching the campus wake up. The day that I was so worried about. The day where I would interview with 29 people (literally) over the course of an entire day for a position I really want. And it went by so quickly it left my head spinning. Pretty literally. Driving away from campus I almost had to pull over. I felt drunk; my head spinning and totally overwhelmed. But in the best possible way. I had so much fun. And that’s an outcome that never once crossed my mind. But that is exactly what happened.

My time interviewing with the administration big whigs had me working in the vision of the position. Plans for what is to come and strategy. My time spent with the search committee and other staff members was much more focused on the concrete and nitty gritty of the day to day job responsibilities. So it was fun to go back and forth from ethereal strategic planning to specifics of how the infrastructure works. And meeting (or re-meeting) all of these people was all at the same time intimidating, engaging, lovely and left me feeling totally amped up and completely ready to start the job tomorrow. It was, without a doubt and quite surprisingly, the best interview I’ve ever had.

I was utterly me through the whole thing. I tried to strike a balance between my professional side and my family. Because both sides are extremely important to me, so I tried to leave them with that impression of me. That my life is about balance, or at the very least that is what I struggle to make it. I let myself be funny and smart. I was grateful and humble while at the same time leaving no doubt that I know exactly what I’m talking about.

I felt powerful and so completely rooted in my own strength that I didn’t really want the whole thing to end. But end it did. And they said they’d be in touch in the next two weeks. Do you think I can keep my fingers crossed for that long?

Silliness

I have spent the last week or so driving everyone around me completely crazy with the whole interview with my alma mater thing. Sending out entirely too many emails asking too many silly questions, full of too many silly concerns and being way too self-doubting. I’m sure they’re all ready to just write me off and be done with me after this. And I can’t say that I blame them. I’ve learned over the last several years that one of the primary qualities that people attach to me is confidence. So to see me strip myself almost entirely of confidence drives them nuts. Because I’m totally doing it to myself and it’s needless.

I find myself worrying about what purse I’m going to bring, even though the only purse I have is my every day, brown, canvas bag. Should I even bring a purse? Maybe just my briefcase? I made the mistake of looking at the weather channel to see what the forecast is looking like only to discover that it’s going to be 99 degrees on Friday and I’ll be walking all over campus. Sweltering. Sweating like a pig, looking all shiny and matted and anything but prim and professional. I have a tattoo on my upper right arm that, in the name of being prim and professional, needs to be hidden. So I have to wear a jacket over my sleeveless silk sheath. I mean my (one and only) interview outfit is seriously fierce. But I am going to have heat stroke by the end of the day. I’m pretty sure I’m latching onto all of these silly things in an effort to have something to control in all of this. Because, as I rambled on to one of my very patient friends today, at the end of the day, there is only me. And I am terrified that I will just not be good enough.

I am used to being well within my comfort zone at interviews. Talking about subjects that I know inside and out. And with this interview, I have no real idea what I’m walking into.

And I can’t remember the last time I wanted a job this badly.

7/30/09 - Freaking Out

***Sorry this is late - I'm blaming this one on Mojitos.***

So I got the interview schedule with my alma mater next week. I scoffed at first at the idea of a “schedule” for my interview as I thought I’d only be meeting with a handful of people. So I thought maybe a couple of hours at most, if they included a campus tour. I was really, really wrong. They have me scheduled back to back, starting at 8:30am straight through until 3pm. I am fairly sure I’m meeting with just about every single person in the non-faculty administration, including the president of the college. Yep. You guessed it. I’m totally freaking out.

Here’s why I’m freaking out. Because I have not been in this big of an interview for a job I wanted this badly in probably my whole life. Because I have been trying to break into higher education professionally for a while now and can’t quite seem to make the jump from nonprofit to higher ed. Because of this, the only experience I have in higher ed is when I was a student. And because I have been not working long enough that my confidence in my ability to tackle anything they could throw at me and prevail has dwindled. I’ve only had one client in the last year, almost completely by choice, so I feel like I’m rusty. And I desperately do not want them to see that.

So. I am giving myself through the weekend to just go ahead and freak out. Get it out of my system. And then I am going to throw myself into research and prep next week in the hopes that it will get me focused and centered enough to remember that I can do anything I set my mind to. Everyone else is already pretty sure I have this job in the bag; I just need to believe it myself. And if it’s meant to be, it will be.

I am really excited at the core of all of this freaking out. And that is definitely a good sign. That my well of confidence really is full, there under the surface. I just have to slough off this silly skin of fear and embrace it.

Jobs and Jobs

So I heard on the job. The big job that I interviewed for more than a month ago now and wanted so badly I was already decorating my office? Yeah, that one. I got an email first thing this morning saying that “although I was extraordinarily qualified, they had chosen a candidate that more closely matched the qualifications.” Yes. I am bitter. And you would be too! I have 9 solid years in my field, have great references and have an incredible success record given the plethora of organizations (each with a fantastically ambitious mission statement) with which I’ve worked. I know. I know! It’s a tough job market and employers are able to cherry pick on whatever little tiny elements of qualification or requirement they want. I get that. I guess I just thought I’d make it at least to the interview stage more than I have. Although, granted, if I had made it to the interview stage and then still not gotten a job by now I’m pretty sure I’d be taking it much more personally.

Essentially? I’m whining.

But I also got a call from my alma mater today. I missed the call of course because they chose to call my cell for some reason and my cell lives in my car and we went almost no where today, so I never heard the sucker ring. When I did get it, my heart took off racing to who knows where and my head started swimming with “should I call them back now even though I know they’ve all gone home for the day?” “Are they calling because I screwed something else up in my application and they’re calling because they want verification that I actually went to their college?” I don’t know. But I did call them back and left a ridiculously nervous message on the voicemail and hopefully they’ll call me back tomorrow morning. And then hopefully? They will schedule a phone interview which I will breeze through sounding intelligent and competent. Then they will ask me to come there for an interview and they will woo me and give me the job on the spot.

A girl can hope right?

Kickin' Ass and Takin' Names

I had the biggest interview of my life thus far today.

I have interviewed with panels of people ranging in numbers from 1 or 2 all the way up to about 15. Huge panels of highly accomplished and immensely educated people. I have fielded questions from people twice my age and thrice my IQ. I have navigated through academic, human services, public health and grassroots vernacular. I have already held the highest post in the nonprofit realm; and before I was 30 years old.

All of that, in the context of today, was nothing. Not because I interviewed with 20 people or because they were all Nobel Laureates.

Today was so huge because this job, this particular position, is such a tremendous opportunity and would be so much fun that I’m not entirely sure something like this will come along more than once. This job would give me the opportunity to build a position from the ground up. To grow a department with an incredibly important (not to mention one that has given The Boy countless hours of joy) piece of city government.

After asking the interview committee what their vision was for this brand spanking new position, I sat and listened to them tell me all about an incredibly amorphous vision that wasn’t really a vision at all, but more like an outline for something they didn’t really know anything about but was incredibly important to them. And the fact that it is so important to them, that they are willing to take a risk and think outside the box in an effort to find new solutions to very, very old problems, really got my blood pumping.

And I gotta say that I kicked some serious ass in the interview. I answered all of their questions. I asked questions that got them thinking. I was upbeat and inventive. I was funny and smart. I kicked some serious ass. I walked out of there feeling great (other than the fact that my feet were killing me after walking the 6+ blocks from my finally found parking spot to the interview in new shoes).

Now it’s up to the fates, but I kicked some serious ass.

I am a Writer

I am a writer.

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, I taught myself how to read when I was four. I started writing short stories in kindergarten. I don’t remember illustrating those stories; I’ve never been much of an artist. But I have been a writer. For as long as I can remember. It’s not really something I do per say. It’s just an integral piece of who I am. Who I’ve always been.

When I am sad, ecstatic, frustrated, irate or just about anything else, the first thing I do is write. I constantly have pieces of stories and dialogue running through my head. I am constantly figuring out how to put into words anything I may be experiencing at any given moment. Not being able to stop long enough to transcribe those parts and pieces of stories begging to be written is why I started this blog. But I’m finding, lately especially, that there is less story writing and more journaling happening here.

Which is fine I suppose, although I cannot imagine that it’s all that interesting to read. Not to mention, I’m sure that I’ve given you whiplash the last couple of months. What with the not so very subtle glow swinging to the utmost defeat of motherhood and the bubbling joy of discovery to feeling like I’m having my feet pulled out from under me by sickness or bad days or whatever. I know I’ve been feeling whiplashed, so I can’t even imagine how your head must be swimming.

But even though I am so relatively sure that my posts for the past 4-6 weeks don’t make a lick of sense, I’m still a writer. Even though I think the majority of my posts for most of the time I’ve been engaged in this project have been silly and self indulgent, I’m still a writer. Even though I have the tiniest handful of readers, very few of which are moved to leave comments on my daily blathering, I am still a writer.

Through the up, down, good, bad and in between there will always be a piece of me that knows exactly who and what I am.

I am a writer.

Interview Questions

I have the tiniest nibble on a job. I applied for a Grant Writing position (which I’ve been doing for 9 years) with a very young, but also very cool and successful organization. They are doing a lot of the community development/empowerment work that is so near and dear to my heart but with a green/technological focus, which is also very cool. The only problem is that I’m really pretty much a newbie when it comes to the green marketplace. I mean it’s a priority in my life to be sure and I’m trying to learn more all the time, but I just haven’t had the time to really research the whole wind/solar/nuclear/biofuel debates or how those debates are affecting our economy as a nation. I’m much more on the ground level with all of this. Figuring out first what we can do as a family to leave less of a foot print than I am well-versed in it as a social action issue.

So there is part of me saying I’ve no business pursuing this job. Then the other part of me, that knows how good I am and how quickly I learn, tells me to leave that bullshit thought process at the curb and just be who I am.

They sent me a first interview via an email questionnaire they’d like for me to fill out this morning. So that’s what I’ve been working on. And I’m taking a break because I’m stuck. Stuck on the first question – Please, tell us a bit about yourself. I hate that fucking question. I mean seriously, how am I supposed to answer it?! Do I tell them about myself on a personal level? Professional level only? A bit of both? How I came to be where I am today? My goals and aspirations? At least in a face to face interview I can clarify with them what they’re looking for before I open my big mouth, but with this I just have to take a swing for the fences and hope that they aren’t going to roll their eyes when they read it.

I think I’ll start with the last question and work my way up.

The Mojo Boots Strike Again

I learned the other day that Mojo Boots can even make Mormon boys blush. I took The Boy and The Girl out for lunch after school and sitting a few booths away were four Mormon boys with their name tags, ties and innocent smiles. I had to walk past them to get napkins at one point and saw one, the cutest one I might add, blush and look away as I passed.

And it made me giggle. Because even though I am sure he was blushing at thinking about how quickly I’ll be heading straight to hell upon my passing, I chose to take it as a compliment. Because I cannot even tell you how long it’s been since I’ve made anyone blush simply by walking by. And I know I’ve been talking about my Mojo Boots a lot the past few days, but you should see these suckers and what they do to my walk and attitude. It’s worthy of the capitalization and publicity I’ve been lavishing upon them.

I tried to look at myself objectively as the giggles were settling. I probably looked like a relatively hip, youngish (humor me here) mom of two gorgeous and mostly well-behaved kiddos. A woman who made the time to do her hair and who even got up early enough to put on a bit of lipstick. A woman who was pretty put together, had some style and knew it.

I thought about how that image was so radically different from even a couple of months ago. When I was hiding under baseball caps and way too baggy sweaters. When I actually spent time figuring out how to wear my pj’s to the grocery store. When it was just too much.

Now, here I was, pretty confidently taking an unsaid compliment from a boy in a restaurant. And not even really questioning that it was meant for me. I didn’t dissect it. I didn’t try to ignore it on the grounds of someone much prettier was over my shoulder. It just made me giggle. Although, I’m fairly sure that he wouldn’t have been blushing nearly as much if he had known about the hole in my sock.