NaNoWriMo 2022

 

Dark Matter Coffee: Osmium | Chicago, IL

My official first year in Chicago has come and gone. From personal experience, the first 12 months is almost always a little disorienting – particularly if you have very little to no network in your new homebase.

I am the queen of starting over; I understood what I was up against and knew there would be an adjustment period ahead.

Unfortunately, I was unable to participate in last year’s NaNo. At the time, there were other things that took precedent, however, I did manage to punch out a few really good interviews over the spring and summer months.

Something With A Little Ginger.

Between the excitement, the discomfort, and the isolation of being in a new, more diverse environment, my book project fell from top of mind. As I become more settled and familiar with the city [neighborhood and transit navigation, developing friendships etc], I have started to re-center myself.

This relocation has been emotionally challenging, but I’m back to give you an update and wrap up 2022 strong. The idea here is to become more aligned with this project while throwing some consistency in the bowl, ha. This is a one woman show – I do the best I can.

Cleary 2022 was meant to be a “growth” year for me.  My limits have been tested in multiple areas of life, siphoning my attention and draining my spirit. Through it all, I still managed to passively put in work, consuming audio versions of various memoirs and a lot of Brene Brown. I love Brene Brown. And self-help-y material that, although unrelated to the book project, has been helpful in prompting my return.

There was a point that I thought about taking a writer’s workshop through the University of Iowa to help get me back on track. That didn’t pan out – I was pressed for time [I found out about it, late] and processing [2] breakups. And looking for a new job. And dealing with housing issues. And acclimating to Chicago. And attempting to create community as a single, 30+ year old woman. And dealing with family.  And half-ass dating in a pool with pee in it.

But I’m glad you’ve decided stick around.

I always come back. Always. This is a passion project for me – I may set it down for a bit, live my life, explore, but I return with renewed perspective on how to interpret the set of events leading up to and the aftermath of, my brain bleed.

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Here’s What I’m Thinking For This Years’ Go-Round:

I have to finish my proposal. I’ve been working on it since late 2019, then Covid happened and threw everything off. It’s essentially a 20+ page document detailing the book chapters and summary, attached to a marketing plan. Included in the document is a research portion I’m high-key dreading – a deep dive into the book audience: who am I doing this for? Why? Where are they? How do I reach them?

[Funny enough, I’m assisting with a research-based marketing project in my day job – I don’t normally do market research. The best practices, techniques, resources and tools are eye-opening].

But the spotlight is on the proposal. I really want to get this buttoned up.

The good part: I’m halfway there.

Good luck everyone!

Mood Music: It’s Givin’ - Latto

She's a Dancing Machine.

 

El Diablo Coffee

I never write, in detail, about the coffee shops I visit – to be fair, there’s never much to say about these particular spaces. For the most part, they are designed in a standard and quite uniform manner. But this one is interesting.

I’m posted up in Queen Anne – El Diablo – inside a two story Victorian style house, embellished in gaudy trim. The name itself reminds me of something out of the “Addam’s Family,” but less macabre; the home is painted in salmon and white. It doesn’t exactly help, though, that a devilish painting greets you at the entrance.  

Sitting in the open space on the second floor, the slanted ceilings house intermittent windows that shimmer God’s light.

 I try to guess what this area used to be; I’m not well versed in Victorian architecture. I literally have no fucking idea.  A make shift wall separates a group of well-coordinated tables and chairs from a bar. Just beyond the bar is a door leading to an outside deck. Freedom.

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My dance recital is around the corner and to be completely honest, I’m kind of nervous. That shouldn’t come as much of a shock - most people, particularly those who are not trained in performance art - would feel the same. To be in front of a crowd, hundreds of people - to bare your soul on stage - takes a certain amount of courage. It’s been something I’ve wanted to explore since moving to Seattle. The last time I performed for an audience, was an Improv class I took in Minneapolis about a year or so after my stroke. The Arts have played a significant role in my overall healing process.

 Dance.

Devil in a Pink Skirt.

Movement and music were my alternative versions of rehab: the dance instructor puts together choreographed routine that is repeated with each rehearsal – stag leaps, staggered movements, ronde de jambes in my case. Over and over again; it’s muscle memory. We breathe in unison. She calls our piece, “Rush”. It starts slow and is drawn out - there’s a sense of urgency that billow with each turn. Eventually the music flattens to a plateau and descends toward the end.

I watch the videos back and notice I look stiff. I don’t like this - it tells me I’m holding back somewhere. Loosen up. Trust your body. Feel the music. I get scared to make a mistake – I’ve done it before in rehearsal and roll my eyes, “ooooh my GOD!” I say under my breath and try to catch up where I’ve lost.

 Write.

In terms of my continued writing, I’ve spent some time recounting life in my small apartment in Hopkins, MN. The memory is a strong one; it was the first time in my adult life, that I lived alone. I stayed in that tiny abode for about 3 years before relocating to Seattle. It was my place of refuge when I desperately needed it. I went back to the website of the property management company for research - it seems some things have changed, including the price. Yikes!

 I made a point to remember some of the ups and downs in this [very] short passage below:

 “She coined this phase: “Sex and the City” single. Ages 26-29; the broker, blacker version of Carrie in all of her flaws. Knollwood Towers: the ambit of much pain and great pleasure. Isolated nights, she sunk deep within her blankets to muffle her screams as her anxiety and depression bubbled to the surface. Chain smoking on the balcony in times of distress. Make out sessions, movie nights, I love you’s, I hate you’s. The antiquated vanilla cement-brick building was built in 1969 - each unit had a balcony attached either front facing or to the back. She paid a monthly rent of $650 that would later hop to $700 - utilities baked in, with one parking space in the garage. A flat fee of $100 gave her ample coverage during the harsh Minnesota winters and extra storage space for overflow of her belongings.”

Never forget. I’m interested to see what else I remember.

Mood Music:  Gymnopédie No.1 - Erik Satie