aaarrrggghhhh!

One of the downsides of teaching students about writing is that teachers sometimes fall into the very traps they help their students emerge from. Consider it an exercise in the Law of Attraction. By attending to so many problems in student writing (despite my attempts to turn their attention to their strengths), those same problems show up in my own writing. If I come across a lot of wordiness in student drafts, my own drafts start to suffer from wordiness. If the student writing veers off the track, so does my own prose. And so on.

It seems that just about every possible weakness is showing up in this manuscript, the biggest of which is an overinflated audience awareness. I'm thinking too much about them. I'm overexplaining. I've overanticipating objections. I'm answering questions that aren't likely to be asked. My prose is veering too far off the topic. It lacks suspense or depth. It's plain uninteresting. The lessons I'm trying to teach lack substance and evidence.

It needs so much revision. It needs so much attention, so much tender loving care.

I tend to write well when I'm reading writing that really inspires, or reading styles I admire. I have a self-help book beside my bed to inspire content, but stylistically it's a bust. Other than that, it's been almost all student writing for the last month or more. How in the world am I going to be able to devote my time and attention when the next four weeks are going to be spent trying to help students write well-developed academic papers(no doubt riddled w/ problems during their drafting stages)? At least I can co-miserate w/ them. Right now I feel like a fish out of water. I feel like a sucky writer, like I can't do it at all and the manuscript is a pile of shit. I have visions of it being published and getting deserved horrid reviews. Right now I'm wondering how I ever taught memoir when my own stink on ice. So much for Yes I can. No, I can't.

I worked for ninety minutes on four pages and it still sucks.

How am I ever going to get it done? What made me think I could write a book like this in the first place? Could it be that somewhere deep down I never thought it would actually get published? The kicker is that I used to pride myself as a nonfiction writer. It's predominantly what I teach (in the context of academic argument, of course. Maybe that's the friggin' problem). but man, I can't tell you how much I miss my fiction right about now.

I think I'm ready to start praying. There must be a patron saint for writers. I suppose St. Jude also works: patron saint of the hopeless and those in despair.

Sunday lazy Sunday

I'm longing to go back to my May productivity. The sun and warmth and foliage certainly give me the mood aspect, but the demands of school take over my time and energy. I may just be making excuses, but I prefer to look forward to the day when I'm complaining that my time is consumed by writing. If only I could be in the classroom w/out all the prepwork and grading. It's the one-on-one interaction I thrive on. It's the conversation I love.

Meanwhile, I spent most of today riveted by the special Newsweek edition that basically told the entire story of the McCain-Obama (and Clinton) campaigns from start to finish. I don't know how much of it was accurate-- I mean, I rarely trust the corporately-owned media, and I noticed that Newsweek has moved a little to the left. But it was a great story for story's sake. It was like reading a West Wing drama, but w/out Aaron Sorkin's wit or characters as likable. It was fascinating, though, and I just couldn't tear myself away from it. And even though it took away from my writing time, I always think reading time is time well spent. I'm a thinker as much as I'm a writer, and sometimes it's just instinctive to know when it's time to start physically writing. Other times it's massive fright. I'm actually looking forward to turning to my manuscript just as soon as I finish this post. (Now that the Patriots game is over, I can focus...)

Yes I can! Yes I can! Yes I can!

Yes I can!

I went to Caribou Coffee at 9:30 this morning and didn't leave until approximately four hours (and the first draft of the book's introduction) later. It'll need work, of course, but I felt good about what I had written, and it came fairly easy to me--it should have, given how long I've been thinking about it. I actually wound up borrowing from my "riding the wave" post, being that the introduction was all about shifts in consciousness. I suppose the time had finally come to write about it because the shift had actually happened.

Maybe I don't suck after all.

I just hope I can keep the momentum going, not to mention the discipline. It's a lot easier when I don't have papers to grade, when I'm not having trouble sleeping, when my car is in working order, when I have a chance to crack jokes w/ my twin brother, and when I tell myself to quit stalling and write, dammit.

And seriously, the affirmation helped.
Yes I can.
I am.
And I will.
Because I love being a writer.

fears of failure

My optimism for my manuscript went out the window when my twin brother sent the rest of his feedback to me and I saw the overall tonnage of work ahead of me. I'm scared of it. Really, I am. I'm scared of the amount of work that needs to be done. I'm scared that I don't know what I'm talking about, that I'm really a fraud regarding the subject I'm writing about. I'm scared that I'll finish it and it'll suck to high hell and won't even sell to my family and close friends.

Fear is a sucky emotion.

I've got to get a grip. I've got a choice, here. I've got a choice to practice what I preach, or give in to the fear and thus fulfill my fears of losing credibility. I've got to outpsyche myself and get back on the stick and remind myself that the only thing standing in my way at this point is me and my damn irrational fears.

The irony is that more than ever, I think the message of my book is quite timely. And yet, it's that very realization that upped the ante even more, and makes me that much more frightened of falling on my face. But of course, if I keep it up, I'll jip myself out of that possibility as much as the possiblity for monumental success.

Maybe I should start saying Yes I can! Yes I can! Yes I can! I heard that that phrase is available for use now that the election is over...

riding the wave

This will probably be the last time (for a long time to come) that I use this blog as a forum to forego conversations about writing and voice my political views; however, something moved me so much that I couldn't even sleep, and I needed to express myself. I'd like to tell you what I witnessed, and why it has moved me so.

As I write these words, it is 4:45am, and my heart is full by what I have witnessed as the clock turned into morning. I wasn't living on Long Island in 2001, but, like so many of you, I watched in horor as the towers in my beloved birthplace came tumbling down. I had spent that day dreading and preparing myself for the likely news that one of my oldest, dearest friends, along w/ her husband, who worked in the building next door to the WTC, had not survived. I am still overcome by emotion when I recall the subject line of the email I received from her that evening: We're ok. I wept for joy, yet also wept for all those who would continue to wait for such an email and never receive it.

The images from New York in the days that followed were those of people of all races, creeds, and colors walking in a daze, clinging to each other in grief. Strangers who had never given their neighbors a second glance embraced each other and wept. It was a time of startling presence, of unity, of oneness in the midst of that grief.

Late last night, I watched images of crowds gathered in the streets of Times Square, Harlem, and all over the city -- one would think it was New Year's Eve at first glance, only there were no bouts of drunken displays -- and I saw people of all races, creeds, and colors, strangers, embracing each other, some of them weeping. Only this time, they were weeping for joy. And, just like seven years ago, the crowds had not only gathered in New York City, but in Washington DC, Pennsylvania, and all over the country. Tonight and this morning, the world celebrated with us.

What I saw was not only celebration of an election -- I witnessed something far more powerful. Last night/this morning, something inside of us that had been torn open seven years ago healed. I can't explain how or why I believe and feel this, but I did and do. And I can't tell you how much we needed to heal.

For those readers who voted for Senator McCain and are feeling disappointed, I hope you will ride the wave of this vibration of love, peace, and healing that has taken to the streets, and be open to whatever it brings in the following months and years. And to President-Elect Obama, I hope you, too, ride this wave, and let it guide you to a presidency of peace -- peace on terror, peace on poverty, peace on drugs, peace on AIDS, peace on earth.

To my readers, thank you for allowing me to use my blog as a forum to voice my feelings at this hour. Perhaps this was actually the right forum -- one can argue that I witnessed a moment of kairos.

And now, back to all things writing (and sleeping, eventually).

nano nano?

It's November, which means it's time for NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. For those unfamiliar w/ the words or think I've got peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth (metaphorically speaking, since I'm typing the words), let me translate. The first stands for National Novel Writing Month. The second is National Blog Posting Month. In the case of the first, the goal is to write 50,000 words of a novel in one month. The second is to do a post every day (I assume -- I've actually never done it before!).

My last NaNoWriMo was in 2006-- it was my second consecutive year. And I "won," too--I did the 50K (with a couple hundred to spare) and produced the first draft of what eventually became Ordinary World, the sequel to Faking It. The year before that, I didn't fare as well--made it to about 35,000 words, and that manuscript is still sitting in a drawer. It's not that I didn't like the concept (actually, I love it -- it was my homage to Richard Russo's Straight Man), and I've tried several times to revive it since then, but I just can't seem to get the action going on it, not to mention that I would probably be sued for libel if I did because the characters are based on real people, and I think it's a little too obvious (then again, maybe I'm the only one who knows). Still, I hope one day I can actually finish it.

There were some really fun things about doing it. The first was the challenge and the competitive spirit of it to actually finish, like running the New York or Boston Marathon (had to get both of my homes in there!). There's also a sense of community, even though you write on your own. You can post your pages and daily word counts, and there are support groups and forums and such things. A good friend of mine used to send me a daily cartoon. And some days I really got into what I was writing and enjoyed myself. And when my students got wind of it, they started asking me about my word counts each day. I think they were both fascinated and bewildered by the process -- who writes 1700 words a day for fun???

So why not do it again?
Given my current schedule and the fact that I'm already working on a book, I plain don't have time to try NaNoWriMo, or even NaBloPoMo. But in the case of the former, even if I did, I wouldn't do it anyway. Why? Because for me, it causes me to write really crappy. Like my students who get so hung up on the page requirement (which is why I stress, "4 pages is a guideline"), I get so obsessive w/ the word count that I write passive, wordy, very poorly constructed sentences and useless descriptions. Ordinary World turned out pretty good by the final draft, but man, the stylistic clean-up I had to do... it also seemed to take longer to iron out some of the plot and character problems in revision because I had plowed through them when I got stuck, in the interest of making the word count goal. And then, on top of that, the stylistic crap got in the way. I concluded that it was more trouble than it was worth, and decided not to go for a hat trick NaNoWriMo.

As for NaBloPoMo, I suppose I could take a crack at it (I've already got two!). As Mit wrote (and thanks, Mit, for the inspiration for this post, btw!), it helps to form some kind of discipline about writing/posting every day, and I suppose it's a great way to either establish or maintain a readership because you do this as part of a community. But, I'd be worried about posting meaningless bits of writing just so I can say I posted *something* (not like I've never done that before, on this or my private blog). Besides, I already have too many distractions from getting my book done. I can see myself using this as one more.

Given my poor turnout of posts last month, and given the aspirations to better market my upcoming books anyway, I've been considering reinventing Kairos Calling to include a wider audience (like moving it to my website, removing the Purple Panda pseudonym, and coming all the way out, haha) and to maintain a momentum of writing regularly, even when I'm slammin' busy. We'll see.

In the meantime, for all you bloggers and novels writers up for the challenge, Go for it, and have fun!

a new hope

No, I don't mean Barack Obama. I'm talking about my book, thanks to additional feedback from my wombmate. I sent him the rest of the manuscript, and he's been replying one chapter at a time. Tonight, however, he called me and we chatted for at least an hour (if not longer) about it. It's the talking that's made the difference for me. I've hardly talked about this book--especially in terms of content-- w/ anyone, and I've been needing to. Badly. I didn't realize how badly until tonight.

For the first time, I voiced what's been really troubling me about this book, and why it's been so difficult to write (or break through the writer's block): I'm trying way too hard.

He noticed it, too. I didn't even flinch when he told me that my narrative sections were "weak." And most of the criticisms were the typical things I respond to when I'm reading someone's nonfiction prose: too much telling, not enough showing; expounding on unnecessary details while bypassing the necessary ones; and losing one's own authority w/in the body of both the narratives and the lessons. And it's not that I hadn't noticed them myself. I'd been aware of them all along. And yet, I couldn't revise my way out of it. I had no idea how to fix it. I couldn't see past what was on the page.

But he could. So we talked about it. We talked about the writing. We talked about the genres of narrative and memoir and spiritual/inspirational books (even tossed in a little science fiction, too). We talked about the subject matter, and a little bit about metaphysics. We talked about the reader. We talked about rhetorical situation and the appeals (although we never used those terms). I tried jotting a few things down as we talked, trying not to forget the gems. And I got off the phone feeling so optimistic about the project, wanting to get back to work now that I finally had a new, clearer vision. I think I finally know where to go w/ it, how to approach it, how and when to think of my reader, and when to not think of her, too.

I think he may have singlehandedly saved this book from becoming bird cage liners.

My twin brother and I are obviously not identical--physically, we're opposites: he's tall, I'm short; he's got brown eyes, I've got blue; his hair is straight, mine's curly (well, naturally, anyway); he's right-handed, I'm left-handed; he's smart, I'm beautiful... ok, I'm smart too... ;) Actually, I think we're more like complements. We used to call ourselves the Yin and Yang twins (one time we even showed up to a dinner party w/ him dressed in all black and me in all white, unplanned!). He's more on the pessimistic side, while I'm the eternal optimist. His writing is much more elegant, literary prose, while mine is more "popular," and when it comes to drawing, he's much better at cartoon, or caricature, while I'm better at portraits. What I love so much about this kinship (in regards to writing) is the respect we have for each other as writers as well as readers. He has the ability to see writing in literary form, while I see it in rhetorical form. Thus, when we respond to each other's writing, we exchange these perspectives that result in a more balanced piece once it's finished. What a wonderful gift for us to give each other!!

Besides, he's funny as hell, which is the icing on the cake. And he laughs at my jokes, too.

Obviously, I'm pleased when people tell me how much they like my writing. But when my twin brother tells me it's good, then I know I have arrived. Ultimately, it is his approval, his enjoyment, his laughter that I aim for, despite the fact that we have such different styles. I don't know if he aims for these things from me (if he does, for some reason I don't think he aims quite as high), but I know he values my feedback. It's just as good a feeling when he compliments the quality of my feedback.

So tonight I will go to bed, using the extra hour to process his written comments and everything we talked about. And then tomorrow I'm gonna write. I look forward to it.