Where Do We Go From Here?

 

Home: Seattle, WA

The ugliness finally came to a head in the post-Obama era: the popped zit and nasty sludge on the face of America is out in the open.  A combination of fear, anger and frustration are now front and center.

I’m not going to do an intensive deep dive analysis of everything going on; the entire world is watching our country as it implodes. If you are here, you are already aware.

The right combination of COVID, the economic fallout of a quarantine, the lack of leadership and uncertainty, sprinkled with deliberate injustice – a filmed, “snuff” video that saw a police officer in Minneapolis arresting a man using brute force, kneeling on his neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds – lit the fuse.

Enough is enough.

The Bad:

I previously spoke about COVID and its’ effect on survivors. The anxiety that it may cut closer to home, left me on edge; I was desperately praying it wouldn’t.

Iowa was one of the handful of states that resisted a full shut down.  I saw many of my former schoolhouse peers expressing concern with Gov. Reynolds COVID management or lack thereof.  

I come from a working-class background – most of my tribe would be considered “essential employees,” and either stood on the front lines or were furloughed. They don’t have the luxury of working from home.

Black people, working class and poor folk are on the battleground in the service industry and manufacturing. Stocking your shelves, checking your pulse, delivering your food items or Amazon orders. Building your tires, processing your meats, serving your food, providing you with live entertainment.

With increased exposure, I knew it was inevitable; the insidious respiratory disease found its’ way into my family. COVID has the propensity to trigger any underlying health issues – and unfortunately, it did.

As such, the past couple of weeks have been incredibly gut-wrenching, stressful, confusing and terrifying. I am 1,700 miles away in Seattle; it’s not so easy to hop on a plane given our current climate and my own health concerns.

I received the news mid-May. It is now June and my parents are in a stabilized place and doing well but I think about the subsequent effects:  what happens after they are cleared? What are the rates of re-infection?  Is my family “safe” now? Are we going to send them back into the petri dish? They are 56 and 62, respectively.

We are far from the wealth that could, at least partly, protect us and neither of them can afford to retire early. They have to work. I am frightened and rightly so. Without adequate, dependable leadership at the top, where do we go from here?

Americans are hopeless, depressed, no jobs, no money and my family, in particular is vulnerable: African American, over 50 with latent health concerns, which lead me to…

The Ugly: The World Is On Fire.

The murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis set off a storm of protests across the country, spiraling worldwide. This was not an isolated event – Black people have experienced the injustices and brutality of the police for years on end. Modern policing in this country’s southern states, manifested as a “slave patrol,” catching runaways to return to their “owners.”

We have always had a contentious relationship with law enforcement, however, this incident felt different.

What happened to George Floyd came on the heels of the death of Ahmaud Arbery, the young man shot while jogging and Breonna Taylor who was unlawfully shot in her home, as she slept.

There are countless others.

In the midst of a global pandemic, we rise, putting our lives at risk to express our fury.

Minneapolis, a city I lived in for 5 years, came through with a ‘one-two punch’ and I was proud to see it.

I heard complaints – people pushing back about the looting and rioting, concerned for buildings and things over bodies, “why can’t you do this peacefully?”

We have. It didn’t work. You are not hearing us.  Sometimes you have to do extreme shit to be seen.

A viral interview with author Kimberly Jones, breaks down the economic disparities that lead to the civil unrest. Looting and stealing are threaded throughout the fabric of America – did we conveniently forget how we got here?

The stress of being Black in a country that was not built for us to thrive.

The stress of having to fear for your life if someone erroneously calls the cops.

Job opportunities lost because of the hiring manager’s implicit bias.

Career advancement halted and given to someone with comparable or less experience.

Our ideas and bodies stolen and put on white faces because it’s more “palatable to the masses.”

Children not allowed to be children and instead viewed as adults.

High maternal mortality rates.

Food deserts. Red Lining. The list goes on. All of this is systemic racism and contributes to hypertension, heart disease and other ailments hastening an early and often death.

This is not something Black people can fix – we did not create the system.

What’s Coming:

Solidarity from the other side – I see the wave of protests filled with hundreds of White people and others. Corporations announcing their support of the Black community; I’m unsure of its’ authenticity – I sincerely hope and pray it is and that this isn’t something “trendy” people are hopping on because it’s good for their brand. Or worse: to placate.

My life is not trend. My safety is not a trend. My value is not a trend.

Yes, some of us are skeptical – we’ve had our hears broken time after time by this countries lies and quite honestly, bullshit. We’ve been in a physically, mentally, emotionally and financially abusive relationship with the United States since the moment we got here.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Amanda Seales – a cultural commentator, actor and comedian:

“We didn’t ask for solidarity, we didn’t ask for a Juneteeth holiday, we ask for legislation, we ask for you guys [white people] to make spaces in your financial realm to for actual growth. Animals evolve by learning what works and what doesn’t for their survival. In the world and its history of civilization…it has proven that it is best for Black folks’ survival to not simply just trust white words. We have seen so many times those words twisted and manipulated for the elevation of whiteness.”

Don’t just talk about it. BE about it.

Instead of mood music I’m linking a 1960 interview between James Baldwin & Nathan Cohen.

Resources For Donation:

• The Loveland Foundation for Black women and girls.

• Louisville Community Bail Fund helping to bail out arrested protesters.

Research local initiatives in your community to help defund the police.

Books To Read That Have Been Circulating [FYI - I’ve personally read them all]:

• “White Fragility” Robin DiAngelo

• “So You Want To Talk About Race”  Ijeoma Oluo

• “The New Jim Crow” Michelle Alexander

And lastly, this is a big election year – please, get out and vote.

March Madness.

 

Fresh Flours

It’s March! Can you believe it?  The onset of 2020 has been productive in terms of writing; to briefly recap:  January into mid-February, I knocked out around 15,000 words, completing Part One of my story. During the last two weeks of February, I took a break to celebrate my birthday and relax.

Sidebar: my mother advised me that I should not have stopped my momentum, ha.

A little bit of construction never hurt nobody.

The kid was drained. Writing a memoir is exhausting - I cried a lot of tears, mentally click-clacking back through 2011 and 2012.

I turned 32.

It’s not a milestone year - I’m not making a big deal of it - but yeah, I’m a little bit older and hopefully a tiny bit wiser.

The improvement I continue to make is not a total surprise: the high of the new year is often a big push, propelling me forward into karate kicking the goals I’ve set. Most people feel similarly.

It’s keeping those goals at the forefront, year-round, that seem to be the hard part.

I find it helpful to create new habits – small things that I do daily or weekly that help in moving me toward my overall goal.

I use my insomnia as launching point:  oftentimes, I wake up at 4:00am, 5:00am – instead of laying in bed, staring at the wall like I normally would, I get up to start my day. I might do a quick yoga routine via YouTube, shower, make a pot of coffee and write some before work. I will typically block out an hour and a half before signing in, and chunk up to two additional hours after work depending on what I have planned in the evening: dance class, friends, cooking etc.

(Note: this works for me because I work from home).

I manage between 500 - 1000 words per day and feel pretty damn good about it.

On Saturday mornings, I get up between 6:00 - 7:00am, start my usual pot of coffee and write until around 10:00 – 11:00am.  I stop for a lunch break or a brain rest and start my second session around 2:00pm, going for another hour or so.

Sunday’s I keep for myself as a general “catch up” day: hair wash, grocery shopping etc.

I’m super excited about the structure that I’ve been able to put into place for the story: the way I’m organizing the narrative makes it fluid to write. Everything – as is true for memoirs – is in chronological order.

I’ve divided the events into parts:

• Part 1

• Part 2

• Part 3

There are certain elements of the story that I have left to finish for the end [as in, I will finish it during the editing process]. I keep it open because a) it needs further/intensive research –

When I start getting into the particulars of my stroke [the medical minutiae involved] I have to dig through a lot of my own documentation. I want to make sure I am using the correct terms, analysis and such.

The time for digging through that is not now – there are boxes upon boxes of paperwork in my closet when I’m ready.

I want to get the story out in full and fill in those details, later.

b) whatever I’m writing may be too heavy for me to process and ultimately interrupts the flow in a way that is disruptive to my creativity.

In those instances – there aren’t many in part one – I still need to work through them.

When I say that, I mean, I have to run it past my therapist. Writing helps, but so does she.

As of now, I’m moving around in Part Two. I created chapter outlines before my two-week break and have constructed a road map to follow. Chapters 6 - 12 are gritty, so I decided to start writing some of the more lighthearted fluff that begins in chapter 8.  I’ll back it up to 6 and 7 when I’m finished, diving into relationship rigmarole thereafter.

The dating stories I have to tell are edifying, depressing, sexy, heartbreaking, interesting and fun.  I had a very robust dating experience in Minneapolis and although every involvement cannot and will not be present in the book - only the ones of true impact and relevancy, especially since the book itself is not solely focused on my dating life - I think it’s important to  discuss the challenges that come from dating with a disability in your 20’s.

Spoiler: it makes you much more vulnerable.

The end of March signals the end of first quarter: with that, I can honestly say, I am very proud of the progress I’ve made and can’t wait to rev up for quarter two!

Mood Music: Hungry - Fergie Ft. Rick Ross

My Obligatory 'New Years' Post.

 

Anchorhead Coffee

It is officially the start of a new decade.

How Does That Feel?

I’m going to be honest, the realization that an entire decade has elapsed, is surreal.

For a lot of Millennials, it was our first decade as adults – we were thrust into this new world as “contributing members of society,” only to come face-to-face with a recession.

Remember that?  I do.

In 2009, I was 21 and a junior in college. Twenty-fucking-one.

For reference, I’m edging thirty-fucking-two in 30 days.

I started undergrad at 18 with the assumption that I would:

go to college > get a good job > date> marry well > have a baby > discover life with my “new” family.

In exact that order.

Listen, the dreams of the typical Midwesterner are simple: you basically mirror what your parents did. Perhaps fall off-the beaten path for a few years, but eventually make your way back home.

A recession was not in the cards nor the proliferation of technology that would go on to complicate the dating landscape. Don’t even get me started…

I remember breaking up with my long-term boyfriend in 2012 and thinking: “how am I supposed to meet people?!”  Tinder wasn’t quite a thing yet and being social outside of an academic structure seemed unlikely for me.

I was pushed toward the pits of hell called “online dating” – OkCupid, Match.com.  Truth be told, I had been meeting people off the internet since my MySpace days, but we don’t need to talk about that…

My psychic abilities failed to tell me I would be making my way into the arctic jungle full of fake progressives known as Minneapolis, let alone the west coast.

Or have brain hemorrhage.

The universe cackles.

Obviously, this was my biggest challenge and subsequent triumph of the decade. My core was shaken: physically, mentally and emotionally. Shit got real. Radiation. Rehab. Depression. “WhAt Am I dOiNg WiTh My LiFe?!”

That whole bit.

I decided to start a blog when no one was blogging anymore.

Lol.

And now I’m writing a book about it.

---

I lived this past decade as a 20-something:

The opportune time to make mistakes without critical judgement. More often than not, people will blame your stupidity on your youth. Trust me, I’ve made a lot of mistakes and continue to fuck up every now and again.

I’d like to think I have the tools to process and navigate those situations with much more ease, these days.

The Quaffle.

Thank you, life. Shitty relationships. Aimless career moves. Precarious situations I had no business being in. Bad sex. Poorly maintained friendships. Lemon drop shots and 15 years of therapy off and on.

If you catch me in a good mood, on the right day, when I’m not ovulating and the weather’s nice…I’ll probably still be down for a lemon drop shot.

Also: when we’re talking about fuck ups, your mileage may vary.

If you did it right, you brought some major keys with you into your 30s.

If you did it wrong [and by “wrong,” I simply mean: you spent zero time in introspection and learned nothing] you will repeat those gaffes in your 30s.

If you’re like most of us, you did some half-ass introspection and self work only after an terrifying situation woke you the fuck up, somewhere between the ages 27-32. That first BIG meltdown is a doozy.

You realize how difficult putting the actual work in is and decide to “do the rest later.”

Let’s be clear: in certain areas, you will not get the same grace at 30 that you would have at 25.

My most recent ex learned this the hard way.

In 2009, I couldn’t wait for college to be over. I was one of the not-so-lucky-few that had tumultuous college experience, leaving me with little to no friends, no contacts and no network to tap into.

Next to that, the world was telling me that my financial future was bleak.

I was still hopeful and bright-eyed – yes, the economy was a big heaping pile of shit, but I just knew I could sift through it and figure it out.

I had time and naivete on my side.

You don’t know what you don’t know…until you do.

---

It is officially the start of a new year.

What Does That Look Like?

I’m sure you’ve read tons of articles hearkening in 2020, reflecting on the past year. My 2019 – as I mentioned in my Instagram stories – was subpar. Not all of it, but a lot of it.  The downward trajectory began in mid June after returning to Seattle from my trip home.

Unfortunately, things that I thought would get done, did not get done; there were a lot of fails and setbacks both personally and professionally.

It wasn’t a great year, guys.

A lot of my personal goals are heavy. Large. They take time. Energy. Effort.

My thoughts about 2020 are this: I am optimistic. I know everyone is declaring 2020 as their year, but I feel it in my spirit that I will finally bring to fruition some of the projects/goals I’ve been working toward over the past 4 years.

Honestly, it’s like being back in undergrad with a better support system, more money, slightly better sex and a bit more insight into how the world works.

I guess that’s all I can ask for.

Cheers!

Mood Music: We Are Young - Fun ft. Janelle Monae

You Show Me Yours. I'll Show You Mine.

 

Zeitgeist Coffee

Although we’re closing another summer, I would be remiss if I left out the very relevant Narrative Writing workshop I attended late July, hosted by author, Ingrid Ricks.

In-between frequenting live music events, floating down rivers, hikes and my brief dating stint [Tinder is still trash] my book project remains center focus – I had to find a way to return home.

The workshop was held at Hugo House, a creative space/resource for local writers in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I was excited and slightly nervous to be in the company of up-and-coming artists – it was a chance for me to dive further into my story, bounce ideas off of and hear feedback from my peers.

It was a held on a beautiful Sunday afternoon; I needed the fresh air, so I took the light rail transit and decided to walk to the location.

When I arrived, I was greeted by a diverse group of men and women, ready to absorb the information granted by Mrs. Ricks; eyes open, laptops wide, pads and papers waiting to be filled.

We started with a quick, round room introduction: one by one, all fifteen of us shared our names, our intention for participating in the workshop and what we hoped to gain from it.

Mrs. Ricks went on to talk more about her credentials and how she came to build the program:

Ingrid Ricks is a memoir author, with a deep background in journalism. Her NYT Bestseller, Hippie Boy, examines her life growing up in a dysfunctional Mormon family. She is now is a memoir coach and workshop instructor in the greater Seattle area. Check out Ingrid’s website, here.

Throughout the 3-hour workshop, we used various writing exercises to demonstrate our understanding of the following narrative writing principles:

• STRUCTURE

• CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

• VOICE

Before hopping into those foundational elements, we talked about Identifying Your Story which we all had completed as preliminary homework to prepare for the workshop. She lists several questions, including: what is the most emotionally difficult challenge you’ve had to deal with in life so far? to help guide the writer in finding their story.

We already know that my stroke is the focus of my book – it was and continues to be, the hardest event I’ve lived through.

Beginning with STRUCTURE, the key questions asked here are: where to you start? Where do you end? What do you put in? What do you leave out?

Using my memoir as an example: it begins in 2012, ends in 2017. Begins at age 24, ends at age 30. Begins in Minneapolis, ends in Seattle.

This is an extremely critical time in young adulthood; to put it frank: a lot of shit went down. Not everything I experienced during this period, is getting in the book. Many, many stories did not and will not make the cut – it’s impossible – well maybe not impossible, but irrelevant to the central story.

Ricks talks about starting with a key conflict, an action, so that the reader is drawn in immediately.

I’m personally using my continual drive down Highway I-35 N - a crucial element in my story - and my stay at a shady hotel for a couple of weeks, while I attempted to find a permanent place to live [via craigslist], as a jumping off point.

Boom.

The next principle we discussed was CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. We were asked to write about one of our characters and make note of sensory information to describe them: what do they look like? Smell like? What do they sound like? etc.

My story contains a number of amusing and interesting people – from my mousey, punk rock landlord I talked about here, to my old boss: the petite, nearly elder old-school Italian who wore a gold chain and sported peek-a-boo chest hair.

Whip It Good.

There was a secondary bullet point under character development worth discussing: dialogue. Quiet honestly, I’m horrible at writing lines of conversation – I try to remember certain exchanges I’ve had with people; my attempt at matching the overall basis of the conversation for recreation is dubious.

Ricks has 2 general rules for dialogue:

• It’s not what’s being said, but how it’s being said and what the character is doing while saying it.

• What are you, the narrator, thinking and feeling in response to the dialogue?

For my book, it’s difficult to pinpoint specificity in past conversations from that time frame – given what has happened to me, it certainly makes sense. I have a feeling that there will be some sort of limitation on the amount of dialogue that is written. I’m not saying, “West Seventh” [working title] won’t have dialogue, it will, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be much.

The last principle is VOICE. I found an article by the Writing Cooperative on what voice is… and what it isn’t:

“The writer’s voice doesn’t include only wording, grammar or structure: it’s much more. It’s the personal way the writer sees the world, how he translates it. We all see an orange the same way, however, when describing it, each one of us will use our own approach and perspective. I can describe its color, you, its texture, others its taste…It isn’t the writer’s writing style, it isn’t his technique, it isn’t his brand. The writer’s voice is not something you can measure, it’s subjective. But, even so, possible to be defined and identified.”

The way that I write, particularly creative non-fiction, is generally the way that I talk. Ingrid also drives home the idea of authenticity: she notes that it’s “easy to tell when a story doesn’t ring true,” and this is a fact – your readers are looking for something real; if you’re spotted as a fraud, you lose their trust.

Listening to my peers read their work during this workshop, made me a little insecure about my level of writing capabilities; some of them are very experienced.

I’ve been told that, the way to reach confidence in this area, is to keep writing.

It’s easy to spot your short comings when you’re playing the comparison game.

So don’t – their journey is not your journey; it’s likely that they may feel just as insecure as you do.

On my way back to the light rail, I felt more motivated. The fire that lay dormant inside me was lit. Since the workshop, I’ve made significant progress. I’m hopeful that, in terms of my writing, the remainder of 2019 will be just fine.

Mood Music: In Due Time - Outkast

Method to my Madness.

 

Preservation Coffee & Tea

I had an entire post whipped up for mid-February, but unfortunately, it didn’t save. I ended up having to start over so I decided to scrap the mid-month entry.

Ugh. Anyway.

This year’s birthday trip took me down the coast to visit my family in Modesto, CA - they are recent transplants from Iowa and I was their very first visitor!

I Like This Picture…Alot.

For 4 days, I was surrounded by 6 kids under 17, my adult cousin and his wife. I had a great time, but it was a not-so-subtle reminder that children are a massive undertaking that require customized attention for each individual knucklehead. The way my selfishness and lack of patience is currently set up….it’s going to be a minute, mom :)

The desire to absorbed into something familiar [and maybe a little bit warmer] came on the heels of the #seattlesnowpacalypse that caused disruption throughout the city. It was a bit unusual for this area; we don’t normally get snow like that.

Well, we did: about 4-8 inches in Seattle proper – a little more on the outskirts.

Now, for a true-blue Midwesterner, 4-6 inches? Child’s play.

From my perspective, the #snowpacalypse was a mere dusting - in Minneapolis, I would see up to 10 inches of nightly snowfall with negative degree temperatures for several weeks.

I scoffed at the PNW theatrics: a few hours prior to the first system  [there were 3] the grocery stores were packed – meat, milk, bread? Gone. Lines to the back of the store. Instagram and Twitter feeds were flooded with pictures and videos of the madness.

You would’ve thought it was Y2K all over again!

Later that night, the City of Seattle put out a press release stating that they had about 36 plows for the whole city. 36. The second system moved in shortly after the first. The last came a few days later.

36 plows.

For an entire week, Seattle Public Schools were closed and it was heavily advised to stay off the road.

A lot of folks worked from home and maintained a limited social schedule: Seattle is already full of terrible drivers, add snow to the mix and you’re asking for a death sentence.

No ma’am.

What did that mean for me? I had a lot of free space to do some writing.

About a month ago, I consulted with my therapist when I was having difficulty with the manuscript – I would come across certain points in the story and freeze or get visibly upset.

She suggested that I create distance between myself and the events by basically writing in third person.

“You’re too close to it right now”.

I found this strategy interesting: remember way at the beginning of my writing journey when I was composing my memoir as a fiction novel, “loosely based” on real events [throwback posts here & here]? Yeah. The whole reason I had chosen to do that, was specifically to create distance – I knew this sort of visceral, emotional reaction would happen.

Once you crack open Pandora’s Box….

In 2016, I wasn’t quite ready to deal.

Spotlight: On The Inside.

I took my therapist’s advice. Using “she”, “her” “them” and “they,” I have been able to punch out way more in a given space of time than normal. I find it easier to revisit certain events with this sort of separation intact.

I like this excerpt in particular:

“She was cleared by her neuro team to return back to Minneapolis - back to her former life, back to work, mid-March 2013. Her feelings were ambivalent; yes, it would be easier to stay in Iowa, live a humble life, follow the path of many of her peers. Work her way up at an insurance company surrounded by people who were unfamiliar with her current circumstance. Find a nice-enough man to marry. Have a baby. Buy a house. Be a mother. Raise some kids. Maybe take a vacation every so often.  Her family is in Iowa. A familiar existence was within reach. She had the power to choose - her mother’s words continued to echo, piercing parts of her psyche that needed confirmation: “you have to go back and finish what you started. You have to go back and live.” She thought about certain things that she wanted to accomplish. The opportunities and experiences that she would miss. At 25, she was entering a second phase, a chapter that would require her to push harder than she ever had - for healing first.  A challenging road lie ahead. Her brain did not operate in the same way it previously had: memories were shorter, comprehension was slower, words took more time to find. On March 11th 2013 - her mother’s birthday - she made the trek back to the “Minnie Apple”. “Black Betty” was loaded with her things: a couple of suitcases filled with clothes, a computer bag, books, folders full of files, notebooks and the like. Her parents asked her to call at their usual halfway point - the rest stop at the Minnesota entry. Her old friend was waiting. The road down I-95 N that had become routine, would now lead her to a strange new world.”

When I get to the editing process, I’ll have to go back and revise the narrative prospective - for now, it’ll do!

Mood Music: Walking On The Moon - Cas Haley

The Arrival.

 

Seattle Sunshine Coffee

I made it …somewhat unscathed. I’m in my second week and it has been both interesting and bizarre to say the least.  The road trip here was an adventure in and of itself; lots of time for sibling bonding. Mountainous, breathtaking scenery -  in all honesty, I didn’t know America could be so beautiful.

[A little cliche, I know].

I discovered my sister is basically a beast in the best way possible [I made her drive the U-Haul with my car attached to the back] and I most certainly cried when she left.

I dropped her off at the train station, tears welling up:

"WhatdidIjustgetmyselfinto?"

“You will be fine. Staaaaaaaaaaaph it,” she assured.

We hugged it out. 

I love my Sissyboo.

I’m here. In Seattle. Now what?

I remember listening to a podcast about adjusting to your new environment; you’re supposed to keep up with the same schedule you had prior to moving.

Inside Seattle Sunshine: Loft-y Cafeteria Style.

Go To The Gym.

Write.

Library.

Write.

Meetups.

Online/App Dating.

Write.

Bitchaboutdatinglife [because I still don’t understand why....you know what? This is not the blog for that].

Write…shit. Work, I forgot, work/career – these bills still have to get paid.

Write.

Coffee shops [i.e. blog].

Write.

Dance Class?

Write.

Read something -  a book – fithatinsomewhere.

I think this cadence is also in my intro – the fact that I’ve restated it, lets' you know that it’s getting real.

It’s evident that I have a lot of shit going on: I’ve talked about this before, but the name of the game is balance. I try to keep reminding myself of this: as single woman in a new city open to exploring in whatever capacity... don’t forget why you came here.

My First Attempt At Getting Back In The Writing Game:

The closest library is a 4 minute drive / 20 minute walk from my new home: it was a nice day [apparently, we don’t have much time left, ha] and I didn’t want to lose my street parking; I opted to pound the pavement and get in some exercise. Seattle is a walking ass city – I haven’t walked this much since middle school. I kid you not.

A Walking Ass City. And A Hilly Ass City: by the end of the summer, my legs are going to look phenomenal.

I carried 25 Ibs of equipment [exaggerating; more like 10, it felt like 25 though] slung across my right shoulder, as I trudged up a steep incline.

My forehead started to sweat.

Fuck.

I should’ve just driven.

Finally arriving, I popped a squat at the first open spot – it was roughly 5:45-ish. The library closed at 8 – I only had a few hours to do my thing.

I immediately notice the soft sounds of EDM playing nearby– I give the perpetrator a perfunctory side-eye. Like bro, turn that -ish down! This is a library, not a rave.

Ugh. Teenagers.

I open my Scrivener and it pops up where I left off –  Liz’s intro chapter.  I read it back and roll my eyes.

Nope.

I want to scrap  2/3 of it and maybe I will; I’m not sure I like the way I’m writing this character, but I wanted to fill in more – see if I could make it work.

I got away with maybe 300 words that day. Slightly disappointed.

Second Attempt:

The plan was to revisit the library. Cool. I can do that.

That day came and when it did,  I was over it – by “over it” I mean, my body was telling me no, but my mind, my mind was telling me yeeeeeeeeeeeees!

Ha. 

I had a headache and my legs were sore from all of the walking that I had been doing. I decided, instead, to kick back in my big ‘ol queen size bed and give it a go.

I got about 230-ish words out before I called it good.

My tummy was rumbling and I needed to eat – I spent a moment [or two] chatting, cooking and drinking it up with my roommate.

For the first time since I moved here, I slept like a baby.

I’m going to go ahead and blame it on the alcohol.

Mood Music: Swish, Swish - Katy Perry

New Places + New Faces And The Trouble With Fitting It All In.

 

Java Joe's Coffeehouse

It’s a slow-moving process, but I am making a little bit of headway on the book. The next few months are set to be challenging: I’m moving across the country to Seattle, WA - a terrifying adventure my stomach flips for.

I have never lived outside the comforts of the Midwest.

I keep telling myself:  put your “big girl” britches on and git-r-done!  I’m 29: I don’t want to look back and think, “Damn, I should’ve left when I had the chance!”

No regrets.  If I don’t get out now, I’m never going to go.

Thinking about it is quite overwhelming - I just want to skip to the part where I’m there and this is done.

The move comes after surviving in Minneapolis for nearly 5 years. I never wanted to secure the “Minny Apple” as a permanent place of residency; I came here in 2012 to attend Grad school and leave, once that plan went to shit, I ended up staying for a few additional years.

It's been a good ride, but now is the time to jump out of the car.  Ha. 

Why Seattle?

It is congruent with my [corporate] career goals.  Seattle is also a progressive city [so I hear] lots of artists, people and things to discover. Yes, the weather is less than desirable, but I'll take it over 10 inches of snow and below zero temps. 

I need a change of pace, new scenery, a breath of fresh air and I figured I’m not exactly cut out for the East coast.

I’ve been planning this move since January; I made the decision to go visit earlier this year. As we approach May, the reality of what I’m attempting to do is closing in.

The idea of being far away from my family and the community I’ve built, is daunting - I now have to start over, again.

A lot of folks [most folks] don’t like to do that.

I'm not...necessarily a part of said group: I’ve learned of strategic methods and have access to resources that will allow me to successfully do this.

My hope is that I finally find my tribe: a group of individuals who are like-minded and get it. That I can finally shape my career in the way that I want. That I can write and be among others who feel the same. 

I’m in a different space and crave an entirely new life experience.

I am going alone: no husband / no children / no boyfriend – completely beholden to no one.

Inside Java Joe's: In the 24 years I lived in Iowa, I have never heard of "Valley Savings Bank."  Must be something from back in the day. 

Let’s not get it twisted: as exciting as this is, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m fearful beyond belief. 

Considering the ridiculous cost of living means I will have to rewind back to into roommate situation.

Seattle is an expensive city and [unfortunately] my current job does not afford me the luxury of living alone anymore.  It’s probably a good thing –  I will be more at ease with someone else around.

I’ve come to realize how obnoxious that process can be [particularly from half cross country]. There are a ton of online platforms that I am utilizing to help me find my “perfect” match – and by perfect, I mean not crazy. It’s reminiscent of online dating [for which I am a pro, ha] except, I'm not going to get to meet the candidate in-person before I commit. 

Ugh.

There was a brief time when I thought I was moving to Phoenix last summer – that didn’t happen –  but in preparation for what potential did exist, I assembled a list of things that needed to be completed prior to the move.

Hey, hey, hey…what do you know? I still have that list!

Obviously, this must be edited to fit the perimeters of this year’s move, but that won’t be a problem.

One of the things I will do to prevent the above, is sign up for a 30-day yoga pass class; I’m hoping this will help keep me [somewhat] calm, cool and collected.

Shavashna.

At $25, it’s not a bad deal, my friend!

So, what does all of this have to do with writing?

In between not falling apart + falling into booze induce comas + yoga + packing et. al  – I’ve got to etch in time to:

• Write
• Blog
• Read a book [or 2]

This certainly isn’t a "How To" – I’m not mastermind genius [yet!] – but more of a this-is-what-I-do [and really, I have zero to no excuse – it’s not like I’m married with kids].

In all of the articles I read, the general consensus?  You have to make time to write.

I get it, life happens – I’ve got a ton of shit to do – but as writer Lizzie Davey says in, “6 Ways You Can Make Time For Writing In Your Busy Schedule,” you have to make writing a priority. Period.

Writer’s Digest guest blogger, Ashley Ream recommends a more structured approach; she uses spreadsheets to track her day-to-day activities, blocking out regular time to write. 

“When I start a new book, I sit down with my calendar and block off all the days when something out of my control will make it impossible for me to write that day. Sometimes I have to travel, sometimes it’s a big project I know will drain me, sometimes I have a family commitment. Whatever the case, I don’t kid myself. I know when I’m not going to be able to get my word count in. I also take two days a week off to have a life and do all the other things that aren’t the novel but are part of the writing business, like writing this article. So now I know how many days I really have in the next several months to work.”

This is the route  I will be taking – it’s definitely more do-able for me since I work from home:  I’ll commit to penciling in time during lunch.

Marie Farleo, multitasking aficionado, uses a couple of interesting strategies, including the online site, 750words.com, to reach her writing goals.  The online platform is used for mind dumping early morning thoughts, to make more "head space" for writing.

A fantastic listicle [truth be told, listicles annoy me, but this article contain useful content] written by Author, Jerry Jenkins, is a bit more straight forward – his advice?

"Don’t buy into your fan club. Stop listening to relatives and friends who praise your writing, unless they’re in the business and have a clue. They’re being nice, but they aren’t helping you get better and get published. Develop a thick skin and learn to take criticism from people on the inside."

Until I reach completion of my “mission,” I’ll try not to worry myself into an onset early heart attack.

Mood Music: Wings - Little Mix

In The Moment.

 

Moore Coffee Shop

I flew solo-dolo over my birthday weekend to check out the city of Seattle; I’ve never been to that part of the country in my life.

I didn't know a soul – I was literally just winging it.

I call it my “72-hour excursion” – this should be a thing.

There were moments throughout my trip where I was just taken aback - the forestry was absolutely breathtaking out that way.

The landscape is phenomenal.

[As someone from the middle of no-where, Iowa – I can appreciate the difference in terrain].

The City:

Pigeons & people flood the immediate area – all in a scramble to get where they’re going.

Lots of Color / Lots of Lights / Lots of Hills / Lots of Music / Lots of Coffee Shops / Lots of Water / Lots of Homeless People, Hipsters & Food.

Minneapolis on steroids with a twist of San Fran [or so I’ve read – I’ve never actually been to San Fran].

Seattle gives me an indie-rock-bluesy-melodic-soulful-guitar-strum vibe.

Yeah. I’m not even sure I know what that means, but yeah.

Everyone is an advocate for everything liberal or deeply embedded in the tech scene.

I feel like I could have meaningful conversations with the folks here.

The Digs:

I stayed in the downtown area at a Hostel – which is a story in and of itself – with people from all over the  world, just passin’ through.

How Do I Circle This Back To Writing?

Take a moment to observe. 

The energy of the city –  the conversations being had in front, to the back, left and right can be used to bring realism to your characters. The way people move throughout their day – their facial expressions and physical appearances. Their interactions.

My Hostel troop hosted a pub crawl the night I arrived: we took the underground lightrail to a punk club – I drank my $2 PBR and became completely enthralled by the atmosphere.

I wasn't on a set schedule, I wasn't there to see anyone. 

I was just there. 

[This is starting to read a bit abstract and pretentious].

But really, I’m going to do another post on actionable, observation writing exercises in the near future.

Until then, I’ll leave you with the short story I talk about here.

It’s a little rusty, but meh. I had a limited word count.

'Permission Slip':

---

“Just because you decide to move on, does not mean you forget. You never forget.”

The words collected in Ella’s mind, stemming from a dinner conversation with a friend, some odd months back.

She felt guilty.

“We’re still not completely clear about what happened…”

Avoiding eye contact, Ella took another sip of the cheap, house white wine.

Her words echoed into the glass.

The dismal look given from the opposite end of the table, confirmed just how ludicrous the idea was.

Instinctively, she knew: there would be no grand revival. His body is not coming back.  

Ella’s dinner host lifted her brow.

“Listen. Don’t let me pressure you; that’s not what this is. If you want to try it, do it when you’re ready,” she moved to pick up the silver flatware settled next to her plate.

“I think it’s great that you’re interested,” Jessie continued to cut into her moist, baked garlic chicken, her concentration unaffected. 

“I guess I just feel like... I don’t know. Like I should still be waiting, right?”

A tear began to formulate from the outer most corner of Ella’s right eye.

“Ella, we all miss him. Hell, he was my brother! You have been driving yourself crazy for two years. You're still very young. You need to LIVE. If you are ready…go! No one would blame you.”

The word “live” was punctuated. It slid down Jessie’s tongue and slapped Ella across the face.

There was a brief pause as she inhaled the effect and shut her eyes.

“26 is not very young,” she complained. There was a small curl of lip that revealed her flippant underbelly.

Jessie smirked at the objection.

“It’s certainly younger than 37.”

Ella still wore the engagement ring. The modest band was an alternative to traditional engagement jewelry; it had no center stone.

The details of the small encrusted diamonds, laced together in the shape of the infinity symbol. It laid flat on her finger and acted as a daily reminder of her loyalty.

The ring itself was designed by her ex-finance - indicative of his idiosyncratic and practical nature. The both of them were quite outdoorsy and did without the flash, glitz and glamour.

She loved that about him.

For 2.5 years she kept it tighten and polished on her left hand. The thought of removing it was daunting, but Ella knew it was time. There were a  million options available to finally meet another suitable partner – art shows, networking events, friends of friends, grocery shopping as often suggested by her mother.

She had heard about an app that would make the gradual introduction of dating, less frightening. Her only technical instructions were to sign up via her social media page, fill out a 500 character “essay” and swipe.

People were busy these days and with her hectic work schedule, this would be a no-hassle opportunity to meet new people.

“Keep your expectations low,” she remembered the cautious advice from Jessie.

“There will be some…lunatics out there. Block them. Serial killers, misogynist, sadist and momma’s boy’s exists outside of the internet, too. Don’t let that deter you.”

Ella scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Use active pictures – pictures of you doing something, other than crying,” she teased.

“This is supposed to be fun. You will be ok.”

The app was brightly colored with digitally enhanced rustic oranges, crisp canary yellows, magentas and crimson reds.  Her iPhone screen lit up with the sort of animation that would be tempting to a child – stars, bells, hearts, emoji’s amongst the pictures of happy couples – success stories – used to entice new users.

“I don’t know if I should be doing this,” Ella thought aloud to herself.

She sat at the kitchen table, flummoxed. The stack of dishes in the sink had been washed. Food had been ordered and ate. Text messages, answered. It was a Friday night: with nothing to do and nowhere to go, her curiosity took over.

Ella proceeded to link the app with her social media account; with promises of anonymity, she continued. There were five specific pictures she had in mind to attract a new suitor:

a) A selfie.

b) A picture of her on a horse at her parents ranch in Denver.

c) Three pictures with her two of her longtime girlfriends.

“These ought to be good enough.”

She wrote herself brief introduction – the cherry on top before her new adventure would begin.

“Left means ‘no’. Right is ‘yes’,” Jessie’s instructions were finite.

Within the first hour, Ella swiped right on 10 out of 152 pictures.

“Well this was disappointing.”

The next morning, she was alerted to app notifications from the previous night’s activities. 

Excitement stirred within her as she reached for her phone.

Two matches.

Beneath the surface, her anxiety bubbled.

“What does this mean?”

Skipping the messages, she clicked the profile of the first match.

He presented an inviting smile. The minor gap between his two front teeth was revealed in picture four.

It reminded her of Eric who was born with a crooked smile.

Eric’s parents could never afford braces; over time, he grew accustomed and confident in his dramatic overbite.

The Chemical Engineer sported thick, shoulder-length, long brown wavy hair.

The young man’s profile was limited; his age, sex, current location, occupation and height were available to digest.

30 / M / CO / Engineer / 5’10

His photos were the contrary: a collection of various activities around and about the western region.

 In the lab at his job, holding a Beeker / hiking one of the rigid Colorado terrains / lounging at pool party / snapshots of him with, who appeared to be a twin sister.

In his message, he mentioned Ella’s horse in her third profile picture.

Having been bucked off of one at a summer camp, years ago in Northern California, he found a common point of interest to launch from.

“What’s your horse’s name?”

They continued their in-app text exchange, discussing a number of hobbies which solidified their mutual interest.

His name was Greg.

Over the course of a few days, Ella matched with other suitors – all of them less intriguing by comparison.

A date was set to meet for the following weekend at a popular eatery in the downtown riverfront area; an interesting restaurant that served both contemporary and vegetarian cuisine.

On the evening of the date, Ella felt overwhelmed with butterflies.

It had occurred to her that she had never gone out with another man.

“Dating” was never a verb in her eyes.

She sensed sweat dripping from the back of her head and in between her arms.

Inundated with nervousness, she threw back a shot of vodka, touched up her makeup and popped in a mint.

Ella spoke a little prayer to no one in particular,

“If you are there, keep me safe.”

She didn’t notice when he arrived at the restaurant, shortly after her. They caught eyes; recognition was immediate.

Greg dented a smile and drifted to the front of her.

His hair was held back in a ponytail, eyes wide and colored an intense hazel.

He was dressed in a light, v-neck sweater - grey - accompanied by dark blue denim jeans.

Ella realized she had subconsciously chosen someone who looked eerily similar to lost finance.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Greg grinned.

“Let’s sit”.

The floor hostess guided them to a nearby alcove to be seated.

A soothing calmness came over the restaurant.

Something about him, made her still.

“I’ve never been here before. I’m not much a vegetarian,” Ella grabbed the menu on top of the table.

“Not a big deal. You have time. Why don’t we start with a drink?”

As if on command, the waitress appeared in her trendy haircut and stylish uniform.

“What would you like, dear?”

Maggie was the name listed on her right breast tag – her magnetism immediately connected.

“A glass of Pinot Grigio.”

“Good choice”, Greg chimed in.

There was a glowing energy around him that seemed to hover.

She drew closer and started to relax.

“Tonight is special. I want you to be curious. Are you open to that?”

Greg’s voice softened – his eyes grew wide.

“I’m not sure I follow?”

“Look at the menu – pick something you have never tried. Whatever you want. You’ll like it. I promise.”

“Oh, really. You promise?”

Their conversation continued throughout the evening.

Not once during the night was Eric discussed.

Toward the end of the date, they strolled along the riverside pathway behind the restaurant, standing for a few moments to absorb the light show in the sky. Colorful blasts of smoke filled the air – fireworks from the outside festival.

Children stumbled up and down the riverfront with sparklers.

“I really needed this night out. Thank you,” Ella looked at him and sighed.

It’s time.

---

Mood Music: Girl - The Internet Ft. KAYTRANADA