Constantly Growing, Constantly Learning

I finished! Woo! I just finished my first large scale, professional editing project. I've done a bunch of little stuff up to this point but this is the first time I've finished editing an entire book.

Of course, no project is without obstacles and this one seemed to be plagued with them. Between a hardware failure that basically took out my primary computer, an illness that should have been spent in the hospital and a new computer that kept showing the Blue Screen of Death, it just seemed like I couldn't catch a break. Add to that a distinct lack of focus and I learned a lot about how I worked.

I have no problem focusing in short sprints. November, for me, was full of short sprints. This last project had a couple 12-14 hour days where I was doing nothing but editing. That's not a sprint, that's a marathon.

I used to be great at writing marathons. I did them in college all the time. I couldn't figure out this time why I was having so much trouble focusing on the project at hand.

I spent a couple hours thinking about it after I'd turned in the manuscript because it was really bothering me. I came to a very startling conclusion that made me very happy I'd made some changes several years ago.

As people, we can train ourselves to do certain things. One of the reasons I write with music is to get myself into the mood of the piece. If I put on a type of music, it brings to mind a specific type of writing and I can get into it a lot faster. I found that I did this with food, too.

I kept craving sugar as I was editing. Not terribly surprising, since I'd stopped really eating most sugars as part of my health journey, I'd had sugar cravings occasionally. I could usually get past them and move on to something else . . . until I started the editing marathons. The sugar cravings would absolutely wreck my concentration and I couldn't figure out why. I didn't really eat a lot of chocolate while I was writing and I could usually get past a block by getting up and moving around.

It finally occurred to me that the last time I was doing a sustained amount of writing or editing, I had been on the verge of a drinking problem.

I'd sit down with my laptop and a cup of Bailey's on ice and I'd write. If I had a big project coming up, I'd chill the Bailey's in the freezer, pop in a straw and just suck on it for hours while I wrote. I turned in papers that I'd written more than a little drunk and gotten some of the best grades in the class. It wasn't until I was working another job and going out with some of my coworkers that I realized the amount of drinking I was doing was not terribly healthy and I stopped.

Unfortunately, by that time I'd programmed myself to write with a drink in my hand and didn't take the time to reprogram. That has turned out to be a problem that I'm going to have to work on.

Honestly, I'm not sure how to go about doing that. I've started by keeping a full glass of ice water on my desk at all times so I'll have something to drink when I get the urge. The sugar addiction, though, is going to be harder to break. Of course, the first step is recognizing that there is a problem and the second is understanding what the problem actually is. Now, I have to go and do some research.

Happy writing!

The Things We Leave

Running errands over the past few days, I keep coming across signs for Estate Sales. These always make me think of helping clean out the homes of some of the people in my life who have passed away and what happens to the detritus of a life well lived. Some things get taken in by loved ones, some passed on to charity, some sold to the highest bidder.

I always get caught up in the pictures. Photos of my grandfather as a young man, where he looks like my brother's doppleganger. School pictures of my dad in first grade where he's wearing the exact same bow tie my son wore for his school pictures. My grandmother in a poodle skirt. My mom with a really awful haircut. Sepia toned pictures of Korea and Japan.

Korea courtesy of Team Frosick

The scrapbook my grandmother made of my grandfather's tour of Korea is one of my favorite finds. Silver ink on black paper, black and white photos and letters back and forth give me a glimpse into the lives of people who I only knew for a very short time. What they chose to create, to write down, gives a glimpse of what was important to them day to day.

Packing and moving makes me realize that I've left very little of myself behind. My children will have stories with few pictures and very little hand-written from me. I plan to be a published author but I also feel the need to leave something personal behind. Maybe I should start hand-writing letters again.

Why Don't I Dance?

I used to love to dance. I took tap and ballet lessons when I was a munchkin. I loved going out dancing with my friends. I signed up for all of the ballroom dancing lessons in high school that I could. I've bought multiple DVD's of Bellydancing for beginners.

Sadly, I never went anywhere with the lessons and the DVD's remain unopened. Why?

I've been in a mental space of blocked creativity for the last 2 years. The only outlet I've felt comfortable using was fabric. Now, I've made some very beautiful things with that fabric but they're unsatisfying. I don't feel like I've been designing to my full potential, either.

Being told I was an artist several months ago shocked me. I've always wanted to be an artist but considered it either too flaky or too presumptuous to label myself as such. I'm just the girl who sews some, writes some, sketches some and feels drawn to oil paints and canvas. Maybe, surrounded by a family that has doctors, lawyers, engineers, animal trainers, mechanics and managers of various sorts, I didn't think being an artist, working for myself doing something I love, was very professional.

Whatever the reason, my lack of creative action over the past 2 years has become a source of great anxiety for me. I started reading The Artist's Way and found myself unable to do the exercises. I didn't feel like I deserved to do it even though I occasionally had the urge to paint a tree on a hill in oil paints on my dining room wall.

I have 2 novels started, one of which will very likely be published if I can ever finish it. Why can't I seem to write?

Starting The Writing Diet, I found myself writing more, painting more and wanting to dance. Oh, yes, dancing. Maybe it's time to re-start The Artist's Way and break out one of those DVD's.