That Man's Got My Gun!

I need a good kick in the pants. Well, maybe not an actual kick in the pants, because that could lead to damage, and for the most part, I like my pants. No, I need a figurative kick in the pants. And I need it in several areas of my life.

So, I quit my job. You know, the one that gave me money for the hours I thought about the novels I wasn't writing. Now that I'm home with hours to spare, I'm not writing. Do I have a good excuse?

No.

Okay, well, I was just in a car accident (several weeks ago) and I got sick (a couple of weeks ago) and it turned into bronchitis (last week), but up until this point, coughing hasn't made me incapable of using my fingers. I'm just being lazy. Or difficult. Or difficult in a lazy fashion. I don't know. Whichever way you look at it, I'm not writing and I should be.

What gives?

It's not that I can't write. I just don't want to. I can sit here and make myself write, but it doesn't end well. You could argue that anything is better than nothing, but I have high standards. I can't write crap. I won't stand for it. And while people have told me that what I think is "crap" is actually better than some final drafts, to me, it's crap. And I just can't have that.

I also want to go back to Colorado. But now that I don't have a job, I'm afraid that if I go, I won't come back. That's a little awkward. I mean, I came back once because I had a job and stuff waiting for me here. But now I don't. And my family has told me multiple times that if Colorado will make me happy, go to Colorado. So, why the hell am I not going?

I have no idea.

And I don't want to write.

Ugh.



-Liz

Journey to a Standstill

So, I have decided that I have no idea what I’m doing. Not that I decided to get to this point, though, I suppose in a sense, I have. In four days I will be voluntarily unemployed, living at home with my parents for an undetermined amount of time, without a car. And as pathetic as that all sounds, it might be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

In the last two months, I have taken steps to gain control of my life. And it’s not that someone else was in the driver’s seat. I was. I just wasn’t in my right mind. And when you’re not in your right mind, you do stupid things. Some people drink. Some people do drugs. Some people self-injure or stop eating or eat too much. I’ve done most of these things (minus the drugs- as my life is a little too trippy on its own) and none of it has gotten me any closer to that inner peace people talk about. They’re shortcuts through the forest that get you stuck in a swamp. And once you’re stuck, it takes a hell of a lot of effort to get yourself out again.

At some point in the last two months, I realized I was losing myself; losing myself to depression, to stress, to illness. I didn’t want to write. And even when I did want to write, I didn’t have the energy. Writing has gotten me through a lot of bad things in my life. It got me through an abusive childhood and abusive boyfriends. It got me through back-stabbing friends and cheaters. It even got me through a particularly dark time after my sophomore year of high school when I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house. So, when I can’t write, there’s something really wrong. And when I stop caring I can’t write; something needs to be done.

Going to Colorado was one of the best things I’ve ever done. It was a decision that put me first, even though I knew what it would cost me. And it didn’t fix everything. I came back home and things were still the same. I went back to work and it still depressed and stressed me. It didn’t take long for me to settle back in to the familiar monotony. But just when it looked like things were going to be the same as they were before, I got in a car accident. It was a jarring experience, in more than one way.

Physical pain and an inability to do much about it really gives you a different perspective. Suddenly you’re staring into the eyes of a cold hard truth: no one is going to take care of you, so you might as well take care of yourself. And it didn’t hit me like that Chrysler Town and Country. My family was actually very accommodating. Helpful, even. But when I was forced to go back to work after just one day at home in bed because I didn’t have the PTO to stay home because I’d just returned from medical leave, the reality of the situation started to sink in. And when I got pulled into a meeting and threatened with corrective action because of something I had done while on the medication prescribed to me so I could actually be at work, it hit me. I don’t need this. I need food, I need water, I need air, but I don’t need this. Not when this is killing me. And it was. Slowly.

So, I handed in my resignation. I don’t have another job. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know when I’ll be able to drive my car again. But you know what? I’m writing. And to me, that makes all the difference.


-Liz

Crickets Dig the Friction

So, if any of you have seen Jiminy Cricket around, please send him my way. I need to find a star and dial up the Blue Fairy pronto.

My NaNo project is in critical condition. I have accepted that there is NO way I'm going to make 50k by the end of the month, but now I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to get to 25k. This doesn't depress me nearly as much as I thought it would. I guess the fact that it doesn't depress me, depresses me more. Not that that's dysfunctional or anything.

Truthfully, I haven't been putting a whole lot of effort into it. I know I'm capable of cranking out 2k a day, I just don't. Most days I have good excuses. The rest of the time I wonder if I'm fooling myself about writing as a profession. I keep thinking that I have more time. I'm only 22. There's no rush. I have years to try and get my books published. But I won't always be 22. And the years will probably sneak up on me (much like all of my excuses for not writing) and before I know it, I'll be middle aged and sitting on a pile of unread manuscripts. I can't let that happen.

It probably doesn't help that I've had a lot of excitement (and I don't mean the good kind) this year. Maybe once I figure out where I'm living and working and whether or not my body is falling apart, I'll have more energy to write.

In the meantime, there's always Netflix ;)


-Liz

Click Your Heels

I clicked my heels and what would you know? It made me trip on the moving sidewalk at the airport. Has anyone ever realized how fast those things go? You just start walking along and before you know it, you're at the end and threatening to kiss the carpet. I must master those in my next life. Or possibly this one, once I've gotten rid of the bruises.

I am home! I wanted to come home because I missed my kitties (you know, and the family, sort of) but apparently they have moved on. They are now sleeping with my mother. Mutiny, I say! I go away for three weeks....

Okay, well, I did go away for three weeks. And they are babies (six months old) so I suppose I can't blame them for seeking a little motherly love. But come on. If you're gonna go to someone for a snuggle, don't go to the mother. Mothers poke injuries to see if they've stopped bleeding before they slap a band-aid on it and tell you to stop crying. Mothers aren't for cuddling. At least, mine never was.

I'm not sure what I was hoping for when I came home. Maybe a warm welcome. Instead I got a shrug of indifference and everyone went about their business. Then again, their business was sleep, and it's sort of nearing 2am.

Damn. That's two arguments I've talked myself out of.

Anyway, I'm back in Cleveland and I miss Colorado already. If any of you are looking for a fantastic place to vacation (or hide from reality like I did) I HIGHLY recommend Sundance Trail Guest Ranch in Red Feather Lakes, Colorado. Here is their website. They are all things wonderful. I mean, they put up with me for almost three weeks, so that's about as saintly as you can get without ascending to another plane of existence.

I am now going to try and remember what time on the eastern coast feels like.

Night all!


-Liz

Real Cowboys Don't Bruise

Yes, I was actually told this by the owner of the ranch I'm staying at. He was joking of course, but it's a common mentality up here. Cowboys are rough, tough, and sometimes flamboyantly gay, creatures that can cook, clean, and generally keep themselves pretty for whatever cowgirls (or boys) happen to be wandering by.

I love Colorado.

I've been here a little over two weeks. I've already changed my flight once to extend my stay, but I will be coming home on Sunday. Sooner or later I have to bite the bullet and merge back into the lane to Crazy Town, right?

I've gotten a lot of writing done in the last two weeks, and even though I'm still WAY behind on NaNo, I feel a lot better. It's been such a long time since I've had the energy and motivation to write. I know that a huge part of writing is discipline, but when you're so stressed that you can't see straight (or your heart puts you in the hospital for a couple of days) there just isn't much left to pour into your characters.

During this little break from reality, I've had the opportunity to 1) Calm the f*ck down, 2) Realize that not everything has to be perfect, and 3) Accept the fact that being miserable and making money are counterproductive, because I've spend most of that money (and all of my time off) on doctors. It's not a great way to live.

I have also noticed that I really don't appreciate people telling me to learn to deal with the stress, because stress is everywhere. Am I crazy for wanting an existence that doesn't land me in the ER? I don't think so. And, yes, I do realize that stress comes with any job, but it doesn't have to be so much stress that your body is literally breaking down, even if you're consciously telling yourself you can handle it. That's not me flaking out. That's a serious problem.

I'll get down off my soapbox now and let you all go back to your daily lives. To all those doing NaNo this year, right on! To those not doing NaNo this year, you're a far smarter person than I am.

Hugs from Colorado.


-Liz

They're Coming to Take Me Away

Not to the funny farm, but to a ranch in Colorado.

Okay, well, I'm flying to them and then they're coming to get me, but still. You get the idea.

That's right, I'm headed for two weeks in the quiet solitude of the Rocky Mountains. Home cooked meals, horseback riding, and long days of pondering my existence await me. The reason I'm going is kind of depressing, but at this point I'll take what I can get. And who wouldn't take a medical leave of absence and use it for a little R&R when given the opportunity?

Internet access will be limited (as well as any and all contact with the outside world) so chances are that you guys won't hear from me for a while. The upside is that I'll be there for the start of NaNo. I'm hoping that this year it will do some good (both for me and my unfinished projects) and I'll crank out those fifty thousands words like they're going to evaporate if I don't get them down on paper. And who knows? Maybe they will.

Wish me luck :)


-Liz

Going off the Rails on a Crazy Train

It's shameful how little I've been blogging lately. I would like to say that I've been off somewhere, spending hours upon hours writing a great masterpiece. Unfortunately, if there's a masterpiece in me, it's going to need a little coercing to come out.

It's not that I'm incapable of writing. On the contrary, I started book four of my fantasy series recently. And while that series has brought me years of entertainment (and annoyance) to date, and I've been very careful to find the perfect one-word title for each book, it was the title of this book that seems to have been a turning point for me. I know it's cliche (and as a novelist, who isn't bound to use one sooner or later?), but I decided to call it Changes. Upon discovering that this was the title, and the only title that would work, my life began to deteriorate. I can't say that my life wasn't in a serious state of disrepair before now, but there's something about that title (or maybe it's just the fact that I'm creating something) that signaled a change.

Because of that, or perhaps in spite of it, I've been running around for the last week like a chicken with my head cut off. And not in a good way (though I'm sure that for a chicken, it's never good). But I'm hopeful that something good will come of it. It's very possible that in the near future, my day job will be no more, and I'll have days, weeks, and possibly months to figure out a better way of living while I look for another. It may lead to writing being my main source of income. It will more than likely lead to a career change and very possibly to relocation.

But what a story it's going to make.



-Liz