Writing on Writing: More Writing!

I have been inspired by Hightouch to try to blog...at least a little bit.....
But, alas, what to say?
Firstly I have to say that this semester is a motherfucker. (Pardon my swearing! I like to swear!). What is the nature of this M-Fness? Hard to say.
Mother Fucker Nature, let me list you:

1. Teaching a New Class: This is not as hard as it sounds, but harder than it should be. For some reason, I have these little over achievers submitting writing to me constantly. CON-STANT-fucking-LY. Whose idea was this? Mine, apparently.
2. Working on Committees. If there is a BANE to any existence it is the creation and subsequent meeting of this and or that committee. One may actually love some of their compatriots on this committee but that does nothing to dull the mind-numbingness of just the sheer fucking actuality of BEING on a committee. Enough said.
3. Writing. Am I writing? Hells no. But I have forced myself to write for fifteen minutes each night for say the last week. So I have done _some_ writing. (If I could make the font of the word "writing" smaller so as to indicate how little I do, I would). 
4. Anxiety. This, friends, is the hobgoblin of little minds. Namely, mine. I worry the shit out of everything. This, however, does not prevent me from watching more TV than is perhaps advisable, and, somehow I manage NOT to worry while actually watching TV (and maybe drinking wine, I won't lie...) but watching TV does not make the anxiety go away. It just distracts it for a bit. What is this anxiety about? Not working on my novel. But, hey, whatever.
5. TV: I watch some/bit/a lot of TV. To wit: Brooklyn 99 (Andy Samberg, what what?); New Girl (not as good as it used to be, but Schmidt! He does Crossfit!); The Mindy Project (um, hello?? hilarious, also Morgan!); Modern Family (tight suit!); Parks and Rec (please don't talk to me about the small number of episodes before I have to wait until January....); Continuum (netflix). I think that's it....

And so, friends, my fifteen minutes comes to a close. If you want to know what else I am up to, re: thinking, I will just say sonnets, earthquakes, Pangaea. You're going to have to do the rest of the work yourself. 

(Did I mention my neck is fucked up? My neck is fucked up! Tomorrow: massage!!)

I Wish I Had Something To Blog About

...but instead I have grading. And laundry. Oh yeah, that. And so much of it. Also, there are dishes.
I know, here I am on the interwebs, writing for god's sake, when the house is being overrun by piles of paper that seem so much more organized than I am.
So what it is that blocks the hyper-productivity that I imagine for myself in some far off otherworldly place where women write and, oh, I don't know, someone else scrubs the bathroom sink, does the grocery shopping and makes dinner?
What ever could it be?

1. The interwebs
2. Facebook
3. Working out (okay, we all know that's #1)
4. Grading
5.  Life in general
6. Self-doubt
7. Reading
8. Crossfit videos
9. Thinking about why I'm not writing
10. Liking to do other things

Middlebrow's Anti-Anxiety Campaign

For many years, (how many? unknown) Middlebrow has been trying to get me to just fucking relax about the whole writer/writing thing.
This campaign was revived this morning when, packing up a box of manuscripts that I had, somehow, misguidedly, agreed to judge, I told him, "I'm going to think of myself as someone who likes to writer, rather than as a writer."
I believe he sighed heavily before saying, "You have a book out for fuck's sake." (I may have invented his use of the F word). "In any case, you should just relax and write when you want to write. Don't stress out about it."
This also brings to mind a conversation about a friend who became an EMT. We agreed that he would be a good caretaker in the time of emergency because he seems so even keeled and calm. Like Middlebrow. Though we agreed that neither of us could be EMTs because we couldn't do the simplest tasks, like insert an IV.
It seems to me I know people who are stress cases (me) and people who are chill (MB, our friend the EMT). We also have another friend, a writer whose writing we admire, and we recently talked about her ability to write, have children, be productive, make dinner, basically rule the world (Yes, Nik, it's you). I'm not sure how she does it, but it seems to involve not stressing out about any one thing.
So I need some of this non-stress mojo. Or does one have to care more than I do? Yes, I want to finish this novel, but I also want to hang out, go to the pool, see movies, and surf the internets.
But then I think about the novel, I think about writing the novel, or another book or whatever and my heart starts to palpitate.
What's a girl who likes writing to do?

On Writing and Exercise Addiction

So the problem with Facebook...okay, you're right, ONE of the problems with Facebook...is that everybody knows what you're doing. So say, if you, meaning me, if I am working out a lot every body knows it. Nothing wrong there, right? It keeps me connected to my Crossfit buddies, keeps me honest.

However. Right. However...

Then, when one goes out, meaning me...one gets asked, "How's your writing going?" And then if one says, well, you know...it's not great. I don't really have time to write..you know, the grading. Then. Then my friends, you know, the asker, the asker says, "Well, you have time to work out. You're always lifting weights and running." To which one says what? What, I ask, does one say?

Well. What I did say was, "Well, working out is social! It's fun! And writing...." I trailed off.

And then today, after working out (note: not writing) I felt great. I felt high. I felt amazing. And I thought, how often does writing make me feel great? I've felt great after writing maybe two times, maybe three times that I can remember. Most of the time writing makes me feel inadequate and sub par. Less than. Terrible. Affirmation that I am, in fact, not a very good writer. I would say 9 out of 10 writing sessions make me feel adequate or less than.

But Crossfit. Well. The opposite. I would say 9 out of 10 workouts make me feel great. I say after each workout, Wow! I lifted that! I did 35 deadlifts and 35 hang cleans and 35 front squats and 32 push jerks. That's amazing. I kick ass. And I feel good all day.

So today, I did find an hour. And I wrote in a coffee shop. I wrote about 1,500 words. Not bad. I went back over the stuff I had written and it wasn't bad. But did I feel adrenaline coursing through my veins? No. Did I feel like I had just accomplished great things? Sort of.

Writing my friends, is a lonely, lonely business. It's not social, and it has very few (if any) immediate rewards.

The key, I guess, to repeat myself, is balance. Can't I do both? Can't I Crossfit and write? And can't I keep updating my FB status with workout stats? Please?

Recent Obsessions

1. Robyn: Swedish pop star. Why? Unknown. I heard about her on Fresh Air, and then I downloaded her music for running. My favorite is "Be Mine!" She swears a lot. As in "I should have seen it comin'/ I should have F*@%in' known." But somehow it's more powerful when I'm sitting on the couch, drinking white wine, surfing the net while Son plays with the neighbors.
2. Bald Men: Is it just me getting older or are bald men getting sexier? Or is that sexy men are getting balder? Witness one Michael Chiklis, who has been sexy for awhile. Bruce Willis is sexy when bald. But isn't he just sexy? (Don't think about his politics! which may be suspect!) I know there are others, but mind has just gone blank. I'll get back to you on this one.
   
3. Wasatch Back Relay: Why the fuck am I doing this? Okay, I know why. Because one agrees to be part of a team, and then one has to. I haven't been training enough and I've been drinking too much wine and eating too much, but what the hell. I'll finish. I know I will, because I have to, and, if nothing else, I have a strong sense of obligation. And also, I have learned in the years I have been me, I'm mentally strong even if I am weak of the flesh.
   
4. My unwritten novel: I think I'll write a book called The Novel I'm Not Writing. Then at least I'd be writing. But Sleepy E is in town, and he of the hypographia gave me a bit of a pep talk (spurred on by Middlebrow). I also got some inspiration from Walter Mosley's book This Year You Write Your Novel. In general, I just need someone to tell me, with infuriating regularity, You can do it. Just do it, you stupid fuckhead. But maybe in a nicer way.
   
5. Chris Noth: this picture. Enough said.
6. Plot: I like mysteries. I want to write a lyrical novel. Who the fuck am I? And why am I swearing so much?
   
7. Other people's sex lives: Do other people have more sex than me? Probably. Do they also have house cleaners and no children or at least nannies and are they having sex with the nanny? Maybe. Are they less neurotic about their non-wage earning "work"? Definitely. Let the dust bunnies reproduce. I'm in the basement "writing."
8. Writing: is the same as number 4? Yes. See number 7 under neurotic.
   
9. Not deserving all the wonderful great fantastic awesome gifts of the universe: do I need to go to therapy again? I haven't got time! See number 7.
   
10. Summer: hiking. going to the pool. not writing. Whatever. It's summer!