Stuff that keeps me up at night

I'm all full of pride and satisfaction this week after nailing a tough assignment and getting some awesome kudos at Cardboard Box Factory. But I can't talk about that so you'll just have to use your imagination and know that the end of the story involved me exhaling a deep sigh of relief and then shaking my head in sheer amazement at how I managed to pull this feat off.

I had weird dreams last night.

I stayed up a little later than usual because I wanted to watch the figure skating. When I did finally get to bed though I couldn't fall asleep right away. I'd had a bowl of Oreo ice cream while watching the women's hockey game so I wondered if that was causing my insomnia. I did fall asleep eventually though and woke up in the morning with memories of two surprising visions. I first dreamed that I was getting married. Most of the details are fuzzy but I did see my engagement ring. It was white and yellow gold with a white gold rose on top. I Googled Rose Ring and found this, which is similar to what I saw on my left hand, but not really as spectacular. My ring also had diamonds on the petals.

It was my wedding day so I didn't get to see my groom because that would be bad luck, since I woke up before the ceremony. The focus of the dream seemed more on my parents, who were buzzing around with last minute wedding stuff. It felt like it was a surprise wedding, like I came in the door and suddenly I was pleasantly surprised that I was going to be getting hitched that day. I was truly happy though. This was definitely a good and happy thing. Fast forward to the next dream where I was with child. (I can't even type the P word here, the idea is just so bizarre and alarming to me). I was outside with my mom and my aunt in a rural setting and I put my hand on my stomach and I FELT THE BABY. Super weird. I can't get that image and feeling out of my head. Where was my loving and doting husband though? I don't know. But really, what the hey bob was going on in my head last night? I of course blame the ice cream. It's like a hallucinogenic drug to me. That, and perhaps it's because a lot of the blogs I've been reading lately feature pregnant ladies and I've gotten all caught up in reading their stories about the appointments and the showers and the hormones and the cravings.

Let me assure you that this was not some "wish upon a star" dream that comes from a deep desire and longing to become a Mama. In case you haven't met me before, I am the girl who has to send herself text messages from her laptop to her cell phone that she has misplaced in her linen closet. Yes, that's right, I can't even keep track of my phone, never mind be responsible for a small human. My sister got all the maternal instincts and I got the ability to tell stories and write speeches on topics I know very little about. Maybe one day the biology will kick in and I will find my desire to coo at a baby who has my eyes and his or her father's nose. I mean, it has to happen, right? I want to want to have babies. I feel like I'm odd because I don't have that craving. Am I a defective woman? Why can't I hear that clock ticking that other women my age hear? What if I finally hear it and it's way too late to do anything about it?

I do have a date tomorrow with someone who asked me, "Ideally, how many kids would you like to have?"

I sat there for a day and a half contemplating how to answer this question. Ideally? Ideally? Well ideally I'd have to get married, like, tomorrow so my partner and I could spend a good two years just enjoying life together as a duo. Then, ideally, my mothering instincts would finally arrive while vacationing in Bali around my 30th birthday. Ideally we would conceive before I changed my mind and nine months later the stork would deliver a healthy child (after some of the things I've read about pregnancy and child birth I am really hoping this is actually where babies come from). Ideally the stork would bring us another little one a year or so later so that the first kid wouldn't have to go through life never knowing the joys, challenges and socialization benefits of having a sibling. Ideally, we'd be financially well off enough that I could have the option of staying home with the kids, maybe working a few days a week to keep my mind sane. My mom stayed home with me and my sister so that we wouldn't have to go to daycare and I think I'd have a hard time not doing the same, so ideally I would be at a place in my life where I could say good bye to my full-time working career for a while and not wonder what I could have been. With these ideal conditions met I could have a whole baseball team of kids, really. So I responded to Saturday Afternoon Date's question with, "Ideally, I would want at least two."

Baby steps. I just cannot fathom babies in my future without first feeling confident that there will be a lovely man in my future. Maybe when he shows up and I have that rose on my finger the rest will fall into place and I can get some sleep.

Hot potatoes and Valentine's Day 2010

Yesterday I was without hot water for a few hours, set off the smoke alarm repeatedly while roasting lemon potatoes, couldn't put together an outfit and lost my cell phone, twice, before having to venture to the far east side of the city to celebrate Valentine's day with three other single women. I was not exactly a bucket full of cheer.
Lisa invited me to join her for dinner with one of her running buddies on Sunday night. I hesitated about going, first because I wasn't sure if I was going to be working on my novel still that night, and secondly because I wanted to ignore V-day this year in favour of watching the Olympics, washing my hair, scrubbing the bathtub and alphabetizing my soup cans. I've done the single girls' support session thing and I've done the sweetheart thing. The only things I really love about Love Day in February are the pink and red hearts. I used to decorate my cubicle at work with them but I've heard this is forbidden in the place I'm at now, so grey padded walls, 365 it is. But some other force won out against my hesitation and I found myself assigned to bring roasted lemon potatoes for the Greek dinner.

My dad came over in the afternoon to flush out my hot water tank. It's been rather unreliable lately so we thought we'd try to get the crud out of it in hopes of improving its performance. Sunday really didn't seem like a good day for him to do this--Dad was watching the Daytona 500 and I needed to be showered and out the door at a specific time to make it to dinner. But he came anyway, showing up as I was reorganizing my linen closet. While he did his thing I worked on laundry and the pucker up potatoes.

I had asked my dad if I was going to have hot water by five, when I would need to be in the shower. Yes, he said. I had some concern when after the first flushing he ran the water and decided it needed more work. He went back to the basement while I folded clothes and watched speed skating.

Just before five I took the potatoes out. I had lined my glass baking dish with foil to make the clean up easier. I was foiled alright, the roasting juices bubbled over and got in-between the foil and the glass and burned black. The potatoes were fine, great actually, but the burning lemon juice and olive oil was what kept setting the smoke alarm off and resulted in a black mess in the pan. I transferred the potatoes to another dish for transport and quickly put the glass pan in the sink. I squeezed in some dish soap and cranked on the hot water to let the pan soak. The water felt barely warm.

"This is ridiculous!" I yelled. "I need to have a shower now and there is no hot water!" I knew it wasn't my dad's fault, I knew there was nothing he could really do. I was just mad. He left and I said I would be following close behind to shower and change at his place. I grabbed, and stuffed into a duffle bag, every pink or black top I had that, in combination with my new black skirt, might form an outfit that was pretty yet not overly formal. I figured that likely the other girls would be in their jeans but if I was going to be going out and celebrating this day, damn it, I was going to feel like a million bucks. I was running late and went to grab my cell phone to let Lisa know. I couldn't find it. I looked all over the house, tore apart my bed, searched through my purse, my gym bag and my work bag but couldn't find it. So I pulled out Mac and went online to send myself a text message.

I heard the phone vibrate and chime. It sounded to be coming from the kitchen so I went back there and sent another message to myself. It wasn't coming from my purse (though I checked it, again) and it didn't seem to be coming from the counter or the table. I went back to my bedroom, sent another message and listened. It still couldn't place it but then the bell went off in my head and I flung open the linen closet. There it was, on the shelf, with the towels. One of these days it will end up in the freezer. Remind me to make a donation to the Alzheimer's society, for me it would be an investment.

I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and noticed that the water felt a little warmer now. I decided to try the tap in the shower. Hot, steamy water droplets soon rained down and started to wash away the afternoon's frustration.

I happily accepted a glass of white wine when I arrived at the hostess's apartment. I apologized for being so late that she and Lisa were probably ready to eat the curtains, but they assured me all was good and we nibbled on appetizers while dinner heated up.

"Did you finish your novel?" Lisa asked me.

"Yeah, I finished on Friday night," I said.

"Congratulations!" She said and then told her friend, Joanne about my project, who also offered her congratulations. They were genuinely excited for me and this caught me off guard. I had finished the project two days ago and didn't have anyone around to celebrate it with me so I put the moment away and turned my thinking toward the next steps, namely how I was going to print off this 168-page manuscript to start editing it. Joanne asked me about the subject of the novel but I wasn't ready to talk about it yet, so maybe I'm not ready to celebrate it yet either. Is 50,000 words really such a big deal? I thought so once. Lisa and Joanne think so. My Valentine would think so.

I confessed at dinner that I'd had some reservations about accepting the dinner invitation and explained how I didn't want to celebrate V-day this year. Joanne, divorced with a 10-year-old son said she celebrates her old wedding anniversary every year with a steak dinner and wanted to do something similar for Valentine's. We drank pomegranate martinis with red heart ice cubes floating in the glasses--melting hearts, Lisa said. It made me think of my own cryogenically frozen muscle of affection and laugh.

The conversation turned to love and lack-there-of. Another one of Joanne's single friends joined us for dessert and more drinks. As I spoke and listened, I thought about how it felt like a moment you'd see on TV or in a movie. There was the woman who felt she had come to terms with her situation, the woman who had be hurt but still had hope, the one who had wisdom and faith but still some fear, and the one who felt all of those things and was perhaps one miracle or broken heart away from getting off the fence.

"Maybe it all happened so we could end up together, here tonight," Lisa said. There was something right feeling about it all. I don't know what my story will end up being, but this scene seemed to have its place.

50,177

The pirate was not at Starbucks last night. I got my latte in a mug and sat down in the big purple arm chair that I've been lucky enough to get a couple of times in the past few weeks. I was late getting to work so I only had an hour to get in my word count if I wanted to finish. I did it though. I got to 50,177 words last night by ten. I met the first draft challenge. What a journey.

Hello long weekend, I may enjoy you now.

B, L, E and not a Triple Word Score in sight

This afternoon I touched the collar of my cowl-neck sweater and pressed it to my chest. I felt something scratchy against my collarbone and looked down to see the tag of the sweater. I'd had a busy day filled with meetings, including one with two people I had never met before. But with half an hour left to go I realized that I was wearing my sweater, with two front pockets, backwards.

My word count is at 48,572. It feels like when you're playing scrabble and all the letters have been drawn and you are left with L, B and E, which you have to try to add to whatever is already on the board but really you just want to call it a game already because you've been playing for two hours now and have realized you completely missed the sunny day and your favourite TV show. Yeah, being 1,428 words from the goal feels just like that. I'm trying to add in pieces here and there but it only ends up being one hundred words at a time or so. I read in the No Stress No Problem book that talking about the weather is a good way to up the word count so now I'm trying to add in sunny or rainy days where appropriate. This is what quality stuff is made of, for sure.

I am going to be so glad when this thing is done. Please let me dream of a new, 1,400 word scene to add.

That makes sense actually

On Friday night I made my pilgramage to the Starbucks on Academy Road. I had meant to rotate the places I visited, but when I thought about the other locations they didn't seem as appealing as this one. I liked the idea of having an easy place to park, a place that was busy but not too busy that I wouldn't get a spot to sit, preferably in a comfy chair or a tucked away table in the corner. This place had all that so I stuck with it.

Last week I noticed a pirate sitting on the other side of the store from me. He had a beard and a laptop and wore a rather stylish looking black eye patch. I wasn't very focused last week so I messaged OAF to tell him about what I was looking at.

me: I am in Starbucks and on the opposite side of the shop is a pirate.


OAF: Male or female?

me: male.

OAF: Talk to him! Just for five minutes. He's single and (even though you're not attracted to him) he'll say some hilarious stuff.

I sat there for the longest time trying to figure out what I could say in order to play out this scene that OAF had made up. One of the baristas came around and offered me a sample of tea and a chocolate oat bar. I watched her approach the pirate and saw him turn down the offer. Who would turn down the offer of a sample of tea and the infamous Starbucks chocolate oat bar? On top of that, now if I found myself wandering over there it wasn't like I could say something casual like, "hey, sample night!" I turned back to my novel project. I was stuck. I thought about how I could write the pirate into the story but couldn't come up with anything. I ended up adding in some teenage girls who walked in later. I sludged my way through maybe 1,000 words that night. I noticed when the pirate got up and headed out that he had a gold ring on his left hand. OAF had been wrong, although I suspect he was just trying to give me something to do other than chat with him.

The guy was there again this week. I wondered if he noticed me too. I was kind of loud when I was ordering my tea. I don't know why but my voice just seemed to project itself when I said, "Tall Vanilla Rooibos tea, please" and then later when I said, "Is this just the tea, or the tea latte?" because the kid got my order wrong. I was dressed in mostly black because I decided I wanted to look "gothic" that night, just on a whim, or well, more likely inspired by my love of Vampire Diaries. I don't know if it is possible really, for a blonde girl to look gothic. Even though I put on my skinny black jeans and my bat wing black sweater I still had that shock of blonde hair and bright blue eyes that looked anything but angry or emo or whatever. I painted my nails with Vamp It Up, a dark blood red color I got from Avon. I didn't go through the goth phase when I was a teen. I had a beige and blue plaid shirt with a matching hair scrunchie from Smart Set in the mall. That was the closest I got to the grunge look. One of the teachers told me I would never get a date if I kept dressing like a boy. My idol around that time was the Sarah Michelle Gellar Buffy The Vampire Slayer. She was blonde and she got the attention of David Boreanaz's Angel, unfortunately their having sex opened up a portal to hell. Anyway, the attractive pirate was married.

I started out this novel project with a bang. I knocked off the first 10,000 words easily. The next fifteen weren't much of a struggle either and I celebrated being halfway to my target days ahead of schedule. The next ten were a little harder to get down, but by 35,000 I was actually convinced that I would finish the feat. I had an idea as to what I wanted to happen in the end at this point, but I wasn't sure how I was going to get there exactly, and how I needed to pace myself so that I would start my ending in the right place to cruise into 50,000 words for the finish. This is where I started really over thinking things. Up until then, I was just filling up pages with words and letting the journey take its own course, but now I actually had a destination in mind. My daily quotas were a struggle. Interesting things would happen though when I would shut down for the day. My brain would figure out solutions to my blocks. It would inevitably come up with something every time. My favourite math teacher in high school used to tell us that when we got stuck on a math problem sometimes the best thing to do was to put it aside and let our subconscious work on it. I completely believe in this idea.
 
Today I procrastinated a bit on getting down to work. There was a song in my Yoga/Pilates/Tai Chi class that I loved but didn't know the name of or the name of the artist who sang it. It had a John Mayer sound to it. I kept meaning to Google the one line of lyrics that I had but I always forgot. This weekend when I was thinking of it again I realized that I couldn't remember the lyrics anymore. So then I did a mad search of "Goodlife Fittness Music" and "Goodlife BodyFlow Music", which didn't give me what I wanted at all. I hoped that I would find a Blogger or a Tweet or a Facebook page or something that had listed the track for the last choreography release but no. I was playing around with my searches again this morning some more and finally got some results. I found a blog with the names and artists of the songs, but I didn't have a clue which song was the one I was looking for. I randomly started plugging things into YouTube to sample the songs but still hadn't found what I was looking for. All of a sudden though I could remember the lyric and I could hear the song in my head again. I Googled the line "I'll be right beside you dear" and found it! Snow Patrol's song Run was the one I was looking for!
 

Light up, light up

As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear

Snow Patrol, Run (Leona Lewis also sings this song, I don't know who did it first)

I threw my head back on the chair and exhaled once I confirmed that this was in fact the song I was looking for. I remember doing hamstring stretches to this song, balanced on one foot and trying to touch my nose to my knee (I can come close, you know) and how that one line, "Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear" just got inside of me and helped me push forward. Songs like that go on my personal soundtrack.
 
So with the song mystery solved I could finally get to work. On Friday night I left off with one of my characters saying to another, "That makes sense, actually." I sat and stared at the screen for the longest time trying to figure out where to go from there. I could feel the characters looking at me going, "Okay, now what?" And I was kind of looking at them going, "sorry guys, I'm not sure. I wasn't really expecting this. I didn't know A was going to be so smart or that D was going to turn out not to be a total jerk." So it seems that whenever I get stuck like that I change scenes and move on to something else. I eventually had to face the stuck situation and do something with it though. When I did, another strange and unexpected thing happened. I got tears in my eyes.  My own freakin story was making me cry? That's not supposed to happen! I don't cry for movies or books! What's the deal? Well I had to push my character to do something scary and I think I was worried too about the same things she was. I mean, I wanted everything to work out for this person, I wanted them to get what they wanted (but at the same time too, as a writer, I did NOT want to write a fairytale all wrapped up in a pretty pink ribbon). I really got stuck again and then all of a sudden this other character started talking, and I still don't know who this character is, but they started talking to the one who was scared, and they offered some wisdom and reassurance and things started moving again. Do I sound crazy yet? Good. Writers usually are a bit "off" aren't they? Sometimes they wear a lot of black too.
 
I could see a resolution to everything that satisfied me and satisfied the character so I worked my way to that, all the while keeping one eye on the word count. I got to the second last scene and again, the waterworks kicked in. Oye. I think I understand why it was touching me so deeply, and I don't really want to get into it here because I've already said too much, but it was an interesting experience. It's my hope that it means that what I wrote was from such an emotional, honest and real place that it will have resonance with an audience too.
 
I am about 3,000 words shy of the 50,000 goal. I believe I have written the ending today though. The story is done. I don't want to stop though because the official challenge was 50,000 words in one month and I feel that if I don't meet that challenge it would be like skipping out of the last 200 meters of a marathon just because I personally felt that I was done enough. So I'm going to try to go back and fill in some thin spots, which will be hard to do without being tempted to edit.
 
Editing is the next step. After I have put in the full word count in the alloted number of days I plan to leave the story alone for about a week and try to remember what it was I did before I locked myself in a room with a keyboard and my headphones. After the week-long vaction I will go back and clean the thing up a bit. There are places where I forgot a character's name and instead of searching back for it I just gave them a new one, or where I decided suddenly that they didn't come from Vancouver but actually it was Calgary. There are places where I know I got bogged down in making the plot progress on a daily basis so the story is full of "and the next day..." and "by Friday...". Stuff like that. Once I am satisfied that those details have been taken care of and that all the pieces of the plot at least make sense, I will contact the coordinator at the Manitoba Writers' Guild and employ the use of her matchmaking skills. No, not for a date, (although doesn't "I wrote a novel in 30 days" sound extremely attractive?) but rather for a writing group. Based on what you are looking to get out of the group, the Writers' Guild will put you in touch with other writers. It is my hope that I can go to a group or a single person and say, okay, I know this thing is still rough, but I think there is something good in here and I just need some help working out the kinks and shining it up.
 
So that's where things are at right now. This is me, being a writer. It might just work.