Rescue Misson

You gotta have a dream. Cuz if you don't gotta dream, how you gonna make that dream come true?

Breakfast at Roland's, my first novel which was tossed into the slush pile because it received 2 rejection letters, is getting a total make-over. I went into it thinking I'd just make some minor adjustments and repolish it. It's become more work than I thought it would be, but I gotta believe it's worth it. There were so many hokey plot devices in this thing. Stuff's being taken out. And since it's now from Marlo's point of view and I want to spend some time in Marlo's head, there's been a lot of new material generated. For a while there, it was feeling like I was starting from scratch. BUT- As I said, it's gonna be worth it.

We had some more motivational talks this week. How're we gonna have that fabulous cabin if I don't get off my ass and WRITE and SEND THEM IN!(I can do all the writing I want, but it won't do me a damned bit of good if I don't send it in.) And what about my idea that once I get signed by a major publishing house I could pull some strings and get Jim a book deal for his photography. Hot couple. The writer and the photographer. Maybe even "The best selling author and acclaimed photographer have a tattoo shop near their woodland home in Wyoming." Cuz I still wouldn't mind learning to tattoo-- And I think it would be too cool if Jim and I worked together as tattoo artists. Doesn't cost a thing to dream.

But this woodland(lakeside? maybe) cabin won't build itself. No sir. I've got to rescue us. Rescue us with my writing. And I gotta believe I can do it.

Ageless, Still I Am (And other favorites)

My grandmother had the most gorgeous kitchen. It was the right amount of worn and faded. White and off-yellow surfaces glowing in the afternoon sun. A faint smell of gas in the air hiding somewhere under the cigarette smoke and coffee. A nice, tight smell that was more comforting in the sense that it was so different from my kitchen at home and it just 'felt good'. Summer's spent making a pitcher of kool-aid and have it gone by the time it was divided up amongst us kids. And we used small cups, mind you! A quart of kool-aid. Gone! We did our part in making Kool-Aid the multimullion powerhouse it is today. For sure, for sure.

But-- So right now I'm at home. Remembering and forgetting. But if I've forgotten I'll never know because if I knew, that'd mean I remembered. It made sense the first time. Trust me.

I feel soft, like a kidney bean. My screen's sliding sideways on me, it would seem. But I can snap it back into line. I think maybe it's the music. Morbid Angel's so gritty. Lot of minor chords. Very abrasive. Definately not wearing any underwear.

Shit Lady! You better be!

I feel like I should be doing something literary. Either reading or writing. I've got a whole new reading project for myself, though. I'm revising 'Breakfast at Roland's', which is fastly becoming a MAJOR make-over. We're telling it now from Marlo's point of view and it touches base on her previous luck with relationships...Roland's name made me want to look to The Song of Roland for hints, references, etc. and then it struck me--
syphillis?
NO! The story's major theme so far is how far we'd come from the simplicities of childhood and how we wish things could've stayed simple. So the 3 friends are discussing what they grew up with and-- How bout Marlo grew up with Arthurian Romances? And she herself is in an allegorical/metaphorical search for her 'Prince Charming'. Right on. It's okay if you don't get it. The important thing is that I'm getting familiar with Aruthurian Legend by reading Le Morte D'Arthru, Tristan, Song of Roland, and others. What's even the point of telling you that? I guess suffice to say, the book has a more solid theme/plot now than when I'd started. But if this is the case, then how come I'm procastinating here and not hard at work?

Details, details.

Come on up to the House

"This world is not my home, I'm just passing through." -- Tom Waits

I've been listening to a lot of Tom Waits lately. Good Medicine, I reckon. Paired with a nice green tea.
I wonder if I should be washing down cold medicine with Cherry Coke. It's not like I can't get water. I take my asprin with pop, though and it still works. Such things I worry about. Then there's the bigger worries.
Like my Jimmy.
We're both broke, but his debts are considerably larger than mine.(House payment, truck payment, bike payment, fuel oil which has gotten exceptionally expensive, vehicle insurance, health insurance, house insurance...) He's looking into loan consolidation but the numbers are still way too intimidating. And still he insists on paying me back for the money I gave to help with his bills last April. Oh Jim. He called me tonight & just missed me as I was out with the dog.(The one time I don't take it with me) The message sounded so sad. "Hey. It's just me. I guess I'll talk to you later." I called him back and he still sounded sad. I worry about him a lot. He's been so depressed lately. But he's also been really cheerful. They come in spurts, alternating. It's his cheerfulness that helps sustain hope and helps me believe that he's doing okay--Like he's fighting the depression and winning. Or, I could be a bit concieted and say it was my bubbly, loving, and supportive personality that helps him fight the depression. A bit concieted? Oh, that's a LOT concieted, isn't it? Listen to me. Feh. How I go on.

In other news, I ran across my good friend and fellow writer, N, who had relocated to Madison after graduation via Yahoo Messenger. She's totally in love and I'm so happy for her.

Jim was struck with a cold and by no small coincidence, I've caught it. When he first came down with it, he sounded so miserable. I told him I'd take the cold from him if I could. "If I'd let you," he answered, meaning he wouldn't. Today, as my nose drains & dribbles he says: "Well, you wanted it, you got it." The good news of it right now is now that we're both sick, we can kiss. I mean, REALLY kiss. Oh, I love those tender pecks on the cheek, but there were many times when just Jim was sick that we nearly touched lips purely subconsciously and we'd catch ourselves in the nick of time. If you could call it that. It didn't take long before I missed those full kisses so badly.
Jim tells me that by Monday I'll be head-to-toe miserable with this cold, unable to get out of bed. Just as he was. I don't know if I'm supposed to endeavor to disprove him or if I'm to expect it and let it happen? He must've caught the look because he then said: "I'm not saying this to chew your ass. I'm just making a prediction." And he warned me that he'll be keeping an exceptional distance once he's well again and I'm still sick. "I learned from Bud," he said, referring to the late Bud Wall who would spray you with Lysol if you emitted so much as a sneeze. If you were sneaky enough to borrow his phone(If you asked politely and were sniffly, you didn't touch it) he'd spray the phone with Lysol. Sickly students were kicked out of class & sent home. Mind you, Bud was rarely sick...

We got talking about parental approval and how I need to recognize the fact that my mother will never give me any seal of approval. Jim was very up front and adamant about how I need to stop going after it.-->
The last time I talked to mom, I mentioned the desire to go back to school honestly believing she'd give me an 'attagirl' and be pleased with me. Especially the Ph.D. Wouldn't that impress her?/Make her proud? She later talks to my sister -- "I know why Karen wants to go back to school," she'd said. Why? Because I wanted to take out another student loan so I don't have to pay for the one I've got. WhAT?? o.0
I was HOT. To say the least. And haven't talked to her since. Jim shook his head, basically telling me that was a stupid move(telling my mom about going back to school). He wonders if it's a sign that I have a big mouth. But I tell him why I told her. Again, he shook his head reminding me that getting my mother's approval is liking getting to the end of a rainbow. No matter how close it might feel, you won't actually get it.
"Besides," he adds, "You don't need anyone's approval." I told him about how Grandma told us she was proud of us. And she'd called us to her to tell us.(She was sick with cancer at the time)
"She said, 'I'm really proud of you kids'," I said, feeling my voice crack. It's still on my mind a little while later and Jim can see my gears are turning.
"What?"
"I miss her."
"You'll see her again someday," he said.
Get some more Tom Waits going.

"The good in world you can put inside a thimble and still have room for you and me." --Tom Waits, Misery is the River of the World

Call Me "Crazy"

Hey Crazy, I hear you're thinking about school again.

Yes. It's true.
I've been contemplating my English Major which has been stuck in limbo for close to 2 years now. I haven't finished it because my writing emphasis asks that I do an internship in order to graduate. Admittedly, the search wasn't as dedicatedly intense as it could have or should have been. But I wonder if this has to do with whether or not I'd chosen the right emphasis. The only reason I chose the writing emphasis was because dummy me thought: "Well, if I want to write books I ought to major in writing, huh?" But I've since learned(from the dept chair, no less) that a writer doesn't need a degree to sell a novel. Which makes sense, really. And the fact that you have one isn't going to guarantee that a publishing house would sign you.
It's been told to me by several teachers (my advisor, especially) that what truly makes a good writer is someone who reads. You have to read to be able to write. Reading feeds it. My advisor had said he would've liked to have gotten me in on more lit classes. So my thought today was: Wouldn't a literature emphasis serve me better in that area? PLUS there'd be no internship. I looked up the lit major check list and I only need like 2 classes and I'm graduated.

The other thought with this was:
Would I like to go on to grad school and get my Ph.D. so I could teach at the college level.(I'd decided that if I would teach it would be college. Not high school or grade school) If I want to do this, do I need the teaching emphasis? Or can I do it with a lit emphasis?
Then I'd have a career. English Professor who spends her spare time trying to get published. I'm told it happens a lot with would-be writers. Stephen King was an English teacher before his big break. I'd be like Professor Tripp in Wonder Boys. I don't know if I'd be banging the chancellor, mind you. But I think you get what I mean.

Jim says it sounds good. Like I've got a direction at least. I'm not flailing around in the dark. The only bumps in the road would be choosing a school for my graduate studies.(Location, feesability, affordability-- How'm I gonna get there and How'm I gonna pay for it?-- Shit like that) But if I can get that figured out, I could be "Dr. Karen" in a few years(however long grad school takes). It does sound like a plan, doesn't it?
What's wierd about it, was what spurred me to consider going on to grad school and becoming a teacher-- I found myself missing the books. Like I said, call me "Crazy".
I won't lie. The prestige of having a Ph.D. is acceptionally inviting. I usually find "Einstien" to be a complement lest the person's being sarcastic. When it comes to what I'd like people to say about me, I'd like "She's really smart" to be at the top of that list.

ANYway
We also talked about my writing today. That roll I had where I was writing 10pgs a day, and how I need to get that momentum back. If this is my final career destination(aside from this teaching shit) I need to learn how to keep the momentum from stopping at all. Period.
Like Jack London said:
"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."
We can't have that fabulous reclusive cabin in the woods if I haven't the money to build it, right?
So back to work!