On Fiction Writing and Beauty in Middle Age

I can't believe I'm once again over here staring at the tail end of another month. I genuinely don't understand where the time goes or why it goes so quickly. Maybe it really is just something that comes along with being older. This hasn't been my most productive month for various reasons, but I'm hanging in there regardless. 

Luckily, I haven't wholly spaced Camp NaNoWriMo after deciding on a whim to give it a try at the end of last month. I really enjoyed my little journey back into the wide, wonderful world of creative writing back in November. Still, I'd been feeling pretty guilty about not having gotten around to editing any of my work yet. Camp NaNo's been great for that, though, so I'm super glad I went ahead and participated. 

Say what you will about any of the NaNo events, but I've learned not to knock them at this point in my growth as a writer. Not only are they fun and challenging, but they help you cut right through your usual collection of excuses as to why you're not making time for writing projects you say you want to complete. They've shown me what's possible when I put my mind to making it happen, even if I'm genuinely busy.

On that note, I can't seem to stop thinking of even more ideas for wonderful stories I'm sure would be a blast to write. Like NaNo, I thought creative writing was something I'd outgrown over the years and no longer truly enjoyed. This is quite simply not true, and I can tell I'm going to want to start doing it more regularly. I just wish I had somewhere to publish some of these where I could be sure they'd be read and enjoyed. 

At present, I'm playing with the idea of floating a couple out there on Medium here and there just to see how they do. I know P.S. I Love You has a Fiction Friday thing they do, so there must be someone over there who enjoys reading the occasional story along with their daily dose of self-help articles and personal essays. I'm just very excited about rediscovering this side of myself as a writer, and I'm dying to share it with the tiny handful of people who like my things. I suppose it can't hurt. You never know when something will unexpectedly find a larger audience.

Not Just Another Bloody Mary

"Sea of Thoughts" -- Lindsay Rapp

Why do I do this -- forget about regularly hashing out my thoughts and recording my life in a format more substantial than a tweet or a Facebook status update? It's my knee-jerk reaction to say I've just gotten too lazy about my personal writing, but there are other times where I'm aware that maybe I just don't "need" journaling to the same extent I used to. I may finally be growing up in a way I once thought I never could or would. A possibility that is both wonderful and sad all at the same time.

Since I last updated this past March, my life has continued along the same path for better or worse. Things are still very much the same with my mother, her health, and her apparent lack of desire to regain her independence. That depresses me deeply, if I'm going to be very honest. So many people would have loved to receive the second chance she got, but will never get it. Meanwhile, she's just wasting hers. Growing fatter, lazier, and more complacent by the day. No effort made to repair anything in her life, including all of her broken relationships.

I'm still working very hard to be different from that. When I was a little girl, I used to look forward to summer vacations just like every other kid. However, I loved spending mine improving myself for some reason. Summers were a time for me to see how many books I could read, draw all the pictures I could, learn new symphonies on the piano, and undertake all sorts of fun little personal writing projects. Lately, I feel like I'm that little girl again, only all of the time, as opposed to just over the summers. I'm voraciously hungry for self-improvement again, and I am loving every second of it. Especially since I can finally tackle all these little challenges I set for myself with the focus of a 40-something. It's a really interesting combination of energies and one that is very new to me.

"I'll See You Again in 25 Years..."

Romy and Michelle were my spirit animals back then.

My 25-year high school reunion is apparently coming up. How that could be, I don't know. On the one hand, high school really does feel like a lifetime ago, but on the other, I truly don't feel like it's a literal quarter-century in the past. Part of me wishes I could say that I'm going, but I'm pretty realistic with myself and with others these days as far as what can be expected of me socially.

Years ago, after I'd graduated but while high school was still really fresh in my mind, I used to fantasize about going to one of these damned things at some point and just blowing everyone right the fuck away. (Think Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion, but without the best friend.) But then my 10-year rolled around at a point where, much like Romy or Michelle, I was really worried about how my life might look from the outside looking in. I looked really good and I wasn't saddled with a million kids the way so many other people from my graduating class were, but I was still working retail -- something I was very ashamed of at the time, especially considering how smart I was always considered to be. Plus I was still married to Greg, not to mention profoundly unhappy with the marriage by 2004 or so. The person that he was embarrassed me deeply, and I was ashamed of myself for settling for a relationship that didn't meet a single one of my personal needs.

I didn't want to have to face these people and tell them that. That the smart, creative "whiz kid" everyone thought was going places ultimately wound up selling shoes at Macy's and was married to some weird, boring man who was old enough to be her father. Not only did I skip the reunion entirely because of those things, but I remember living in constant fear of running into people I used to know around town, because I didn't want them to see how my life had turned out.

The Good and the Bad of Being 40-Something

I don't know if this is just part of what comes with being in my 40's now or what, but I'm morphing into one hell of a fucking grouch as I age. I've never been much of a social animal, but I'm becoming ever more reclusive and antisocial by the day, it seems. I really fucking hate people anymore, and I don't feel like I have the emotional bandwidth to deal with anyone else's bullshit at this phase in my life. It's showing in some of the decisions I've been making about my social media presence lately.

To name just one example, I just got done fiddling with my settings here to reflect my increasingly shitty attitude toward humanity in general and discarded people from my past in particular. Although I still am allowing this blog to be listed in Blogger's databases, I've decided I no longer wish to allow the search engines to index it. I've also locked down the Facebook settings on my link section -- the only place online I even list this blog -- so only non-family acquaintances and friends can even access it in the first place. 

It just occurs to me that the only people out there actively Googling for blogs I might be writing these days are people that already know damn well I want nothing to do with them. I still don't care to go back to keeping a completely locked blog like I used to on LiveJournal, as I like having something personal that Facebook friends can check out if they're interested in getting to know me better. I still don't ultimately care if any of the sad-ass stalkers I have actually find or read any of my writings here, but I figure there's no need to make it easy on them. 

Things That Make Me Squint

There are two types of occurrences that pretty much never fail to remind me that a Mercury retrograde period is imminent. The first is the collection of technical snafus and miscommunications that most people associate with Mercury retrograde. The other has to do with people from my past getting it into their heads to reach out to me for whatever reason.

This time around it's the latter -- honestly the more irritating of those two phenomena. I can prepare for technical foul-ups or miscommunications and often prevent them from happening in the first place. However, there's little to nothing I can do to stop exes, estranged family members, or old friends I've outgrown from tracking my ass down and contacting me if they're really determined to get back in touch. I absolutely hate how intrusive stuff like that feels when it actually happens.

Contrary to popular belief, ending a relationship with another person is never something I do lightly. There is literally always a good reason why I did it, and I'm not the sort of person that will get over whatever that reason was given enough time. It's almost always a choice I'd been thinking of making for some time as well, even if it appears to be a snap decision on the surface. My handing you your walking papers means I never want to see or hear from you again. Not in a few weeks. Not in a year. Not in twenty years. I will do what I can to learn from the mistake I made by letting you into my life in the first place, but that is what I will forever consider my relationship with you going forward  -- a mistake that I want to avoid repeating in the future. I won't miss you. I won't think back fondly on "the good times". I'll just be glad you're gone along with whatever brand of toxicity you were bringing into my life while you were still part of it.

On Transformations, Pride, and Self-Love

It looks like Blogger finally got around to purging the old, extraneous blogs I deleted a few months ago. I certainly wasn't planning on reviving them or anything, but it still feels a little bittersweet to actually see that they're really and truly gone. With them go the fractured little pieces of me that they contained back when I was still not really sure who I was or what I wanted to be going forward.

To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure, but I do know I no longer have the time or energy to try to be all things to all people. I like that there is really only one of me these days. I'm still the reader, and the writer, and the lover, and the passionate home cook, and the closet spiritualist. I'm just all of those things at the same time now. It feels like a right proper place to be. Grounded, stable, and lots of other words I never would have used to describe myself a few years ago.

My phone's image gallery is full of selfies these days. I don't even share most of them with anyone else, but I consider it a very good sign that I've felt moved to take them at all. Historically speaking, I photograph things I'm proud of or pleased by. If I'm taking pictures of myself, that must mean I've reached a place where I feel proud of how I look again. I'm certainly proud of how well I've been taking care myself so far this year. My fit body and my beauty were things I never fully appreciated the last time I actually had them, so it's nice to feel the way I imagine other people would feel about those things. I love the ways I've been changing and I get excited every time I realize that things will only get better from here.

Apocalypse Orange

When there are forest fires in the area, it's not uncommon for the smoke to migrate into the surrounding cities, even those that aren't but so close by. Right now, there are fires in Big Sur. That's definitely close enough to have made our skies apocalypse orange for the past couple of days. That photo there is what the view outside our window is like right now. It's not edited or doctored in any way. Everything really does look like it's in sepia tone right now. The colors are all wrong. You can't smell anything but smoke.

I think it's giving me anxiety or something. The orange sky thing was in full effect when I woke up yesterday and wouldn't stop reminding me of Mad Max. (I wound up with an unexpected day off yesterday, as I was waiting for a client to get back to me with details on an assignment. We actually watched Mad Max: Fury Road on HBO.)

I didn't sleep well last night either. Lots of really weird dreams about the end of the world, messed up weather, and so forth -- definitely phobias of mine. I feel really off today as a result, as I do every so often for no real reason. I never know if feelings like that are actually coming from me or if I'm picking them up somehow from other people I know, either offline or online. I wish I had a better understanding of where my emotions actually come from, but I've gotten really used to drawing a blank by now.

I Am

I really find myself wondering sometimes where the people of substance are online these days, especially those of a creative nature. I know way too many writers, artists, filmmakers, and so forth that seem to care more about creating a facade to hide behind than they do about creating really good art. I don't get that. When I think of professions that lead to tons of admirers and money to wipe your ass with, I don't think of any of the arts. It really does feel like "I want to be an artist" is becoming code for "I have no marketable skills, nor do I want to work for a living, but I don't want to admit to either of those things". 

Whenever that realization occurs to me, I become aware of how rare it is to have accomplished the things that I have. Not only do I have real skills and real ideas, but I've actually found a way to make those things marketable. And I'm not even close to being done yet. There are so many places I can see myself taking my creativity in the future and I actually have a good idea of how to make successes of those endeavors as well. So many of these sham artists have no idea how to do the same. No wonder I have haters. 

The Disconnect

Earlier, a LiveJournal friend of mine posted a positively gorgeous photo of herself, a sample from a professional photo shoot she'd had done recently. Honestly, I was taken aback by how lovely she looked -- very refined features, wonderful skin, and the most gorgeous long violet hair.

Up until that point, I'm not sure I'd seen a picture of this particular person that really allowed me a clear look at her. Once I had, I immediately began to wonder why she doesn't post pictures all the time. She is stunning. Her looks are very close to the type of looks I've always wished I had. "If I looked like her, the entire Internet would be so fucking sick of my selfie spam by now," I thought.

Then I actually read the words she wrote. Among other things, she mentioned having a disconnect between the way she sees herself and the fact that she likes the way she looks in the picture. She mentioned having gained weight and being able to see it in her face and a couple of other things. I really didn't see any of that myself. I just saw a stunningly beautiful girl that is very blessed with what I consider to be an incredible dose of beauty. To me, she looked absolutely flawless.

I can relate though. More than I probably really care to admit. Truth be told, I don't usually think of myself as a beautiful woman. I'm well aware that others consider me to be not just pretty, but exceptionally attractive. I'm also aware that many people feel the same way about my looks that I felt about my friend's. However, I do not see that in myself.

Writing Lab: On Legacies

Prompt: "A line from the play Hamilton asks: 'Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.' What do you want your legacy to be?"

This is a hard question for me. As I've touched on here before, I've never wanted to become much or accomplish anything in particular, so I can't really say I've ever truly been interested in leaving a legacy as most people would define the term. I'm 40 years old. I'm growing more tired and jaded by the day. I may never manage to create anything earth-shattering or change the world in any notable way. And to be totally honest, it's OK with me if I don't.

That said, I think what I'd like most is to know I might have inspired other people to approach life differently while I was still here. I am a firm believer in the notion that human beings are taught to swallow bullshit their entire lives from the moment they're born. They're told that there is this one right way to be a child of God, to be a women, to be a man. One right way to look and one list of right ways to earn a living or exist in this world. There's not. There are as many possibilities as far as who you can be and how you can choose to live as can be -- too many to ever count.

On Getting Organized for Spring and Contemplating Feminism

I don't know if it's because I sometimes get inspired to organize in the spring or what, but I finally got Google Calendar set up a few days ago. I'm not using Elance, or Upwork, or anything to deal with any of my main clients anymore. Unfortunately, that also means I no longer have a preexisting organization system that keeps me in check as far as deadlines. Instead of continuing to try to hold onto everything by memory, I thought I'd take the opportunity to actually figure out a proper system for keeping work stuff organized instead. You know... the way someone that isn't a child disguised as a 40-year-old would do. 

Now I see why respectable people do maintain day planners and appointment calendars. It's a hell of a lot easier to remember something's coming up when you have a visual representation of your life to look at than it is to just try to store it all up in your head someplace. I even created other calendars in addition to the main one I have for deadlines -- one each for deliveries, astrological events I want to remember, personal occasions, and a couple of other things. I even set up sharing on the ones that are actually relevant to Seth's life so that he can also take advantage. It's great. I feel so fucking together. Like I actually accomplished something useful for a change!

A Zebra in a Sea of Horses

Everyone knows that I'm sort of... unique. What everyone doesn't know is that it's not something I've ever actually wanted to be. No matter how hard I've ever tried to fit in at various points in my life, I've always stuck right out like a sore thumb. Sometimes that's a good thing, but most of the time, it's not. Or at least it isn't to me.

Part of that has to do with being mixed race. The rest of it has to do with being neuroatypical. Even at my best, I was never conventionally beautiful, nor have I ever had what you call a winning personality. I'm witty, smart, and have a good sense of humor, so I've always been able to attract people or attention if I really wanted to. But I've also always been painfully aware that I'm not what any man -- Seth probably included -- had in mind when he pictured his dream woman as a young man just getting started in life and deciding what he wants for the first time. Especially not physically speaking. That hurts sometimes.

I wonder all the time what it would be like to know you're actually what your partner always wanted and not just some aging, second-rate alternative that probably had to grow on them over time. I wonder what it's like to meet your partner's parents and have them instantly like you and see you as someone they'd actually like to have as part of their family. I wonder what it's like for your parents to ever have seen you as something other than a huge disappointment. I wonder what it's like for people not to have to "learn" to like you or accept you. I wonder what it's like to know that you've always been everyone's first choice. -- exactly what everyone always wanted and had in mind.

On Relationships and Reflection

I feel like I've been conversing with a lot of friends about the topic of relationships lately. I've been in my own relationship for nearly 11 years at this point, so I tend to forget how tough things can be when you're still in the process of looking for your person. In particular, I forget how bad a relationship with the wrong person can make you start to feel about yourself.

I have an acquaintance I follow via what's left of my LiveJournal friends list and the situation she's in reminds me so much of how things were with Shawn. Shawn was probably one of the first men I felt really, truly passionately about in my life. He also turned out to be one of the most horrible, abusive human beings I've met to date. When I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that after my relationship with him, I wasn't ever the same open, giving, trusting person I used to be again, even after many years. That's probably for the best considering how many selfish individuals I tend to attract into my life, but still. It's hard not to regret the loss of a part of you that was innocent, and generous, and trusting.

Lots of people can make you feel self-conscious about your hobbies, your goals, or your personal habits. Shawn somehow made me feel self-conscious about who I was on a core level. He hated that I was introverted and thought quality was more important than quantity when it came to friends. He hated that I read and liked to learn. He hated that I wasn't more driven and success-oriented. He hated that I was still trying to figure out what I believed spiritually and socially even though I was only 21 or 22 at the time. He really hated that I was a sensitive person that felt things deeply. Being steeped in that environment for even one of my most impressionable years of my life changed me forever.

On Faces

The interesting thing about faces is that they always tell you the truth of a given person, especially as that person ages. When a person smiles or laughs a lot, you can see it in the way their face has wrinkled, settled, or changed over the years. The same thing happens when a person does nothing but pout, and frown, and complain. The effect is most obvious in older people, but you can see it in young people as well.

I've known a lot of people that claim to be super positive, happy beings but aren't really that way in practice. If you didn't know any better from actually observing the realities of the person's life, you could look at the permanent pout burned into their face and see the truth. Same thing goes for people that may appear sour and depressive on the surface, but have faces that give away the fact that they actually laugh and smile a lot.

I'm realizing that I might be the second sort. Outwardly, I complain and bitch a lot. I would even say I see and describe myself as a brooding, pensive person for the most part. But when I step back and really admit how much I laugh and how often I smile -- how often I ultimately wind up seeing the best in something -- I realize that isn't actually accurate. And my face gives me away. I have the face of a happy, pleasant, inquisitive person even if I don't always feel like one.

The Best Things in Life

Goldie Hawn with Hamburger  in 1964

Sometimes I legitimately forget that I have blogs I can type in when I have thoughts I'd like to share or little tidbits of what I'd like to think of as wisdom to pass on to anyone that happens to be listening at the time. I still have lots of thoughts. I still share them. I guess I just did the thing and started doing most of my everyday sharing on Facebook like everyone else.

My thoughts tend to come to me spontaneously, usually while I'm busy absorbing someone else's content. Watching a movie, reading, catching up on the news, or looking at images that roll through my Facebook feed. If I have more to say on a topic, It doesn't occur to me to use them as jumping off points for longer posts somewhere else. I'll just add a two-sentence comment of my own and share it on Facebook.

But since today found me reading part of something brilliant penned by an extremely talented friend and immediately thinking "why doesn't he share this someplace other people can actually read it", I thought I might try practicing what I preach for a change. So here I am. Today, anyway.

........

This picture of a young Goldie Hawn rolled through my Facebook feed a little earlier today and I liked it, of course. I always seem to like photos of people enjoying good food. Especially vintage photos. Especially vintage photos of beautiful, vivacious people enjoying what I like to think of as "real food". Most get a share from me without a second thought. It's more for personal reasons and less because I'm a connoisseur of great photography though (although I do appreciate that too).

On Emotional Honesty, Priorities, and Being True to One's Self

It always seems that the more I have on the agenda for work on a given day, the more I actually feel like writing something of my own instead. A blog entry, usually, or a bunch of shorter social media updates... but occasionally a snippet of a longer story, a piece of flash fiction, or a poem. Usually, I react to those thoughts the way I was taught to -- by telling myself I need to get "the important stuff" out of the way first and then if I have time later on, I can spend what's left of my energy doing things I actually want to do.

The trouble with that approach to writing is that nothing expressive or passionate ever actually gets written. There's always something else to do that "needs" to get done or that society would label as more important. By the time I get to the point in my day when I'm out of things to do, it's the wee hours of the morning and I'm exhausted, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. The last thing I want to do at that point is write some more.

In fact, I'm constantly wondering if maybe that "work first, play later" is actually the wrong approach. For me, anyway. It certainly feels like the wrong one. One of these days, maybe I'll learn that it's OK to be someone that makes decisions based on how they feel and not how good they look on paper or how many of the right people sign off on them. When I just allow myself to give the first hour or two of my writing day to something that I'd actually like to write, I don't resent having to work as much as I normally do. I resent the need to earn money less, since it no longer encroaches upon my self expression.

Body, Mind, Spirit

I'm beginning to realize that I've been on a real self-improvement kick lately. In many ways, I'm probably just normalizing a bit after what in hindsight has been several years worth of soul-searching and reevaluating when it comes to what's truly important in my life. As I've alluded to in the past, a lot of that process has involved eliminating relationships, mindsets, and habits that really no longer serve me. 

Now I'm working on rebuilding what's left and figuring out how I can get the most out of it. I want to become the best possible version of me. Better, happier, and healthier than I've ever been in my life. So far, I'm making excellent progress and that has me really excited.

Body

Like a lot of people, I realized I could stand to be a lot sounder physically. Years of working at home behind a computer while simultaneously eating and drinking pretty much whatever I want has meant I'm not anywhere near as thin or healthy as I could be. Plus, I've just let a lot of little grooming things that were once important to me kind of fall by the wayside because I've had other things to worry about.

I just gave myself a fresh dye job and a new haircut. I kept my cartoon red because it made me happy. I ditched the ultra-long length because it didn't. I'm also working on taking better care of my skin and such. Plus, I've been using the S Health app my new Galaxy S5 came with to get on top of my calorie intake and whatnot. Seth and I have been doing that for a little over two weeks now and it's already paying off. I've lost 13 pounds so far. 

On Thankfulness

Some of my favorite days are the ones where I find myself going back over old posts in some of my blogs or at web accounts like DeviantART. This is probably going to come out totally wrong as far as the impression I'm giving, but I don't have the same problem I see that a lot of other creative people have. I never, ever go back over my old stuff and think: "Holy fuck, I need to just never pick up a drawing pencil or write another word again, because I suck compared to everyone else. I'm embarrassing myself." It's always: "You know what? I'm really good at this. One of the best things I could do for myself is make more time for my personal stuff."

Like a lot of creative people, I'm hard on myself when I actually sit down to create something. I'm pretty lenient and supportive when it comes to other people, but I hold myself to very high standards. I was raised to be that way, even though I am quite sure that my parents don't actually see any evidence that those teachings actually sunk in. I'm not competitive or the sort of person who wants to be better than other people. However, I do very much want to feel like I'm perpetually besting myself as the years go by and I put more and more out there into the world. When I look at all that I'm doing and all that I've done, I have to admit that I'm really pleased with my progress. I'm not where I ultimately want to be by any means, but I do feel like I'm getting there.

........

I  feel like I complain a lot about life and about work, especially offline. However, I have my reasons for it. I don't know of a way to express this without sounding like a whiny little princess, but life has always been hard for me -- harder than it is for some people. At 36 years of age, I now realize that I've struggled with bipolarism that is characterized by potentially dangerous, depressive lows. I've also come to a place where I strongly suspect I may have Asperger's syndrome (and Seth pretty much agrees, as his eldest son has a pretty pronounced case of it himself and he knows what it looks like). 

Riding the Medium Chill

Contemplating crab shells on the beach...

A friend on my LiveJournal list posted an article yesterday that addressed a concept called "medium chill". I'd never heard this term before, but it intrigued me. In a nutshell, people who might describe themselves as medium chill are people who have taken it upon themselves to question the whole concept so many of us are sold as children -- that life is and should be all about constant and ceaseless striving to achieve on a career level. They eventually come to the conclusion that they are happier with fewer things and less disposable income, but more time to spend with family, doing things that truly make them happy. Once they have "enough", they're satisfied and don't particularly feel the need to continue trying to get "more".

The older I get, and the more questions I personally ask myself about my own values, the more I'm discovering that there are quite a few things that I thought I believed, but that really aren't coming from me at all. They were ideals that belonged to my parents and wound up getting drummed into my head as a young person. They were empty concepts sold to me by society and the rest of the world in general. They weren't my real values and that being the case, they didn't lead me to happiness or prosperity when I tried to live by them.

Thoughts on Candidness, Self Esteem, and Pride in One's Self

I am realizing that I actually know a disproportionate number of folks who live their lives in a state of shame about one thing or another. However, this wasn't something that became clear to me until relatively recently.

I grew up knowing more than a few people who had this sort of attitude. Also, I'm a bit of a late bloomer who is so introverted, I make actual recluses look social. This means that my span of experience with other people was relatively limited for most of my life. Therefore, if I grew up around it, it seemed normal to me until I had one of the many "oh shit" light bulb moments that have characterized my 30's so far.

I've always been a pretty staunch champion of honesty and openness for the most part. Yes, I can be very private. However, I will almost always simply decline to expound upon parts of my life I don't care to have people knowing about. I won't lie or make up stories instead. I won't "technically" tell the truth, but knowingly try to give someone the impression that I'm someone I'm not or that my life is something that it isn't either. If other people don't like something about my personality or my choices in life, then I consider that to be their problem, not mine. If I myself am ashamed of something about myself or my life, then I change it... so I can look my own self in the eye every day, not because I want other people to like me more or something.

If someone gives me credit for something I didn't do, I correct them and tell them who they should be giving credit to. If someone has what I consider to be an unrealistically grandiose impression of what I do for a living or of something specific about my life, I put things in perspective for them. If someone takes one look at my baby face and assumes I'm still 25 or something, I tell them my real age.. or at least mention that I'm a lot older than I look if I don't feel like giving a number. It makes me really uncomfortable not to for whatever reason. If there's one thing that life has taught me though, it's that this is not something enough people I know actually do. I don't know if it's just too difficult for them or what, but they just let people think they're younger than they are... or more successful than they really are. In some cases, they allow people to go on for years with a completely false impression of who they are as people.