Odd Practices

While we lived in Chicago, Nate and I noticed that people did some strange things. Strange to us, anyway. For example, digging your car out of the snow and then "claiming" the spot with junk. Seemed pretty juvenile to us, but our landlord said that most people respected the "dibs" because people had been shot for taking another individual's spot. On a public street. Crazy, man. That's why I don't do winter. The cold makes people nutty.

Somehow that got Nate and I onto a conversation about the El. One of our friends saw a man defecating on a platform, which I think is pretty much the worst story I heard. Nate and I both had the experience of trying to get on an extremely crowded train, finding a section of a car that was miraculously empty, then seeing the vomit or urine or whatever it was that made people give it some space. On my way to work one day, I sat on a seat that was wet. As I stood up, I prayed someone had just spilled their drink and not lost control of their bladder. I also saw people on the trains putting on makeup (the whole routine, not just lipstick or touching up), plucking eyebrows, and clipping nails. I don't know why, but the nail clipping bothered me the most. I think it was the sound, that insistent metallic clip, clip, clip and the fact that someone was leaving DROPPINGS from his body on a public train. Please don't do that, sir. I don't want to sit on your discarded nails.

Update

I asked a couple of fountain pen people who are much more experienced than I am and with their instructions I figured out how to switch the converter to cartridges!!!! Very excited about this. I also got links to forums and other pen resources and advice on other pens to buy. (Fountain pens, they're addictive. At least for geeks like me.) I tend to like bottled ink more than cartridges but the carts are good for traveling. Also, I just heard about Noodler's ink, which is waterproof ink. I was told at the store where I bought my pen that they didn't know of any waterproof bottled inks. Now I know.

Maybe I have a chance with Santa this year after all.

In TV-land, Nate and I have gotten hooked on Lost a season late. We've been watching episodes with Netflix, but one of our friends very kindly lent us the boxed set and now we are turbo-chargine our way through season one. The hope is we'll catch up enough to watch season two. I go back and forth on my favorite character. Right now I heart Hurley. He reminds me of two people I know. His sense of humor, his laidback attitude, but with a strong sense of determination reserved for only important things.

Why I'm not getting anything good from Santa this year


Last Friday, Nate and I were picking up a few gifts and gift certificates at a local mall. As we were leaving, I took a sample of Sarah Jessica Parker's perfume Lovely. I read a profile about it in the New York Times Magazine a few weeks back and the creation of the perfume sounded interesting and the scent sounded like one I would like. I sniffed the sample as we walked through the store.

Lovely confused me. I really liked the first bouquet (or note or whatever you call the first sniff of a perfume) but it had a strange after-scent/undertone I didn't like. As Nate held the door for me to walk into the parking lot, I figured out why I didn't like it.

"It smells like old lady," I told Nate.

A couple of details.

1. Nate had no idea what I was talking about, since we had no conversation about the perfume prior to me blurting out, "It smells like old lady."

and

2. There was an elderly woman near the door who gave me the stink eye. Apparently she thought I was talking about her as I blurted out, "It smells like old lady."

But that's not why I'm not going to get anything good from Santa.

Instead of apologzing or telling the woman I was talking about the perfume, all I could think about is how often I put my foot in it unintentionally, and I started laughing. I'm sure the woman thought I was laughing at her.

That's why I'm not going to get anything good from Santa. For the record, yes, I'm an idiot. And yes, I'm prone to uncontrollable fits of giggles sometimes.

Here is another story to demonstrate my foolishness.

Last summer I bought myself a birthday present, a Namiki Vanishing Point pen. I have four fountain pens. I'm a newbie to the pen collecting world. I started with cartridges and progressed to bottled inks and converters. Until I got my Vanishing Point.

All of my other converters have clear barrels so you can see how much ink you've drawn in. Namikis (or maybe just vanishing points) have a silver barrel converter. So you can't see how much ink you've pulled in. So I would think I'd filled the converter, start writing, and run out of ink a few lines later. Annoying. So I decided to switch to cartridges for just this pen. A few days ago I placed an order for several colors of ink cartridges.

Now I can't figure out how to remove the nib from the converter. All of my other pens have a very obvious point where the nib connects to the converter and you just pull them apart. With the vanishing point I think I know where they connect, but I've tried twisting and pulling and haven't been able to get them separated. Annoying. Especially since my ink cartridges should arrive on Friday.

The store where I bought my pen is now, sadly, out of business so I can't call to ask. I'm going to examine my pen again tonight and see if a little holiday magic will help me figure out how to solve this probably obvious (to everyone else) solution.

I know I'm lucky that my "problem" right now is trying to figure out how in the hell to use my expensive (for me) pen. But remember: I'm not getting anything good from Santa this year.

Immigration is Complicated

But this is just stupid.

From the article:

"So I went to the principal and said, 'My son, he's not suspended for fighting, right? He's not suspended for disrespecting anyone. He's suspended for speaking Spanish in the hall?' So I asked her to show me the written policy about that. But they didn't have" one.

The Complications of Immigration

I recognize that undocumented immigration is a complicated issue.

"The change in Owen is the change on the border. She used to work out on the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge and would run into groups of two or three or four men. They'd introduce themselves and say what ranch they were going to work on, chat for a few minutes, and go. Not so much anymore."

Here's an article about some of those complications.

What's Next?

Some people put cream and sugar in their coffee. Others drink it blak.

When to Let Go

Friday night I enjoyed a few drinks with Mr. Nate, his co-worker, and some freelancers. Nate told the co-worker about my novel (perhaps even at last year's holiday party) and he wanted to know if it was published yet.

Hahahahaha.

Imagine Stewie from the Family Guy.

Stewie: "How you uh, how you comin' on that novel you're working on? Huh? Gotta a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Gotta, gotta nice litte story you're working on there? Your big novel you've been working on for 3 years? Huh? Gotta, gotta compelling protaganist? Yeah? Gotta obstacle for him to overcome? Huh? Gotta story brewing there? Working on, working on that for quite some time? Huh? (voice getting higher pitched) Yeah, talking about that 3 years ago. Been working on that the whole time? Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? At the end your main character is richer from the experience? Yeah? Yeah? (voice returns to normal) No, no, you deserve some time off."

Anyway, Nate's co-worker thinks maybe I'm actually done. That maybe I'm having a hard time letting the novel go.

Here's the truth: I'm not done. Right now I still have continuity issues. Places where I read something and think: this sounds like bad television. Or places where things just plain don't make sense. I'm fixing all that. I do not expect perfection (I'm an atheist) but I do expect not to read my own book and groan at something I've written. When that magical day comes, I'll have no problem drop-kicking this novel to the curb. Because I'm anxious to move on and work on other projects.

Miss Snark says:

...

"Finish your novel.

Then, as you let it sit and percolate (cause you DO NOT SEND IT OUT before you've let it sit and percolate) you can work on short stories. Then when you've done all ten drafts of the novel that you need to do (no, I'm not kidding), you query."

...

"And I'm not kidding about drafts. The biggest mistake writers make is sending their work out too soon. It's how you miss the stupid typos, it's how you miss the forest cause you have your nose up a tree...yadda yadda yadda."

I'm on draft number 3. Will I have to do 10? Maybe not. I say that because parts of the novel have been revised more than others, so some sections are probably on something more like draft 15. But the book as a whole still needs a few more passes.

Nice little narrative? Beginning, middle, and end?

Stewie haunts my dreams.

The Hall, the Novel, the Agony

If you want to check out our new hall colors, Nate has posted a new gallery on his site. It's the Dec. 2 entry.

In novel news, I'm still revising. Revising, revising, revising. I'm as tired of writing it as you are of reading it. When I'm done, I plan to send the book out to three friends who are careful readers for feedback. One of them is a short story writer, one is a newspaper reporter, and one is a novelist. All three are published. (And I plan to let three family members read it, although I don't expect feedback from them, necessarily. They just want to read the novel after hearing me talk about it so much.)

The draft I'm working on now has been to fix all the plot and clarity problems. I think that's going pretty well. And I thought I should do one more draft focusing on voice before sending it out to readers . You see, a friend of mine who works in publishing (he's a designer but he has read tons of books in manuscript and has also written two or three books and several plays himself) said his concern was that my narrator sounded too much like the characters. Since the narrator is pretty much the same throughout the book, I started worrying that they all sounded the same.

Should I do a voice draft? I wasn't sure. So I asked Maria, one of the future readers, to look at the first two chapters. In her opinion, they sound distinct. So now I'm not sure about that extra draft or not. Oh well. I'm sure I'll figure it out.

Maria, by the way, is the same person who is about to have her story "Red" published. I met her at Bread Loaf in 2004. She and I were placed in the same dorm and had lots of great chats about writing. We've stayed in touch through e-mail, giving each other feedback on stories, chapters, and whatnot. And commiserating about writing.

One of the things that we bonded over: we were both in fiction workshops (different ones) and were both told our work was the strongest in the group. Being the doubting Thomas I am, I, of course thought my workshop leader said that to everyone. I was so doubtful (but also so excited it might be true) that I confided what my workshop leader said to Maria. She told me her workshop leader had said the same thing to her! And I absolutely agreed with that assessment. But then, doubting writers that we are, we wondered if workshop leaders told everyone that.

In retrospect, that is one of the dumbest ideas I've ever had (now knowing our workshops leaders a little better, they are not the kind of people to give false encouragement). But it makes sense to me that I doubted. Maria and I have also talked about the weird mix of arrogance and doubt all writers have.

For me, I feel the arrogance during the heat of writing. While I'm writing I think I am great. Talented. You better step back, bitches, ' cause there ain't no shame in my game. When I'm revising, I think it the book really and truly sucks. Stanks to high heaven, oh lord!

Welcome to writing. And revising.

Go, Illinois!

Here's an idea. If you're morally opposed to dispensing certain medications, perhaps you shouldn't be a pharmacist.

Do you think these pharmacists have a moral opposition to filling Viagra perscriptions?

Overheard in Highland Park

I was having lunch yesterday when I heard two women talking about marriage. One was saying that now she's turned 30, she's feeling more pressure to get married.

"Well, don't rush into anything," her friend advised. "You have plenty of time."

The first woman went on to talk about her boyfriend of ten months. She wasn't sure if they should take the next step, well, because, "he's kind of a loser."

[Note: if you're referring to your boyfriend as a "loser" either you're settling or you don't truly love him. Either way, probably not a good idea to marry this person.]

"What do you mean?"

"Well he doesn't have a graduate degree and he's reluctant to get one. I keep telling him he should go back to school to get an M.B.A."

From "Jews and the Christian right: Is the honeymoon over?"
...

"'We are particularly offended by the suggestion that the opposite of the religious right is the voice of atheism,' he told his audience. 'We are appalled when 'people of faith' is used in such a way that it excludes us, as well as most Jews, Catholics and Muslims. What could be more bigoted than to claim that you have a monopoly on God and that anyone who disagrees with you is not a person of faith?'

"Much of Yoffie's sermon argued that for many Jews, liberalism is the result of religious values, not their antithesis. Being a liberal believer, he said, 'means believing that religion involves concern for the poor and the needy, and giving a fair shake to all. When people talk about God and yet ignore justice, it just feels downright wrong to us. When they cloak themselves in religion and forget mercy, it strikes us as blasphemy.'

...

"Speaking of those who caution him not to disturb the Jewish-evangelical alliance, Foxman says, 'If we cannot disagree, what kind of a friendship is it?'"

Read the rest at Salon.

Over the weekend, I read a great line in a review of Harold Bloom's latest book. "This notion was given bolder expression in a lecture I heard Bloom deliver about how the New Testament was a 'weak misreading' of the Hebrew Bible. I never thought I would hear a professor publicly proclaim - at Yale, no less - the great, private Jewish gripe that in layman's terms might be expressed: Christianity stole our watch and has spent 2,000 years telling us what time it is."

...

"Christ, for Bloom, is a betrayal of Jesus the man, Yeshua, who clearly lived inside a Jewish world, trusted in the covenant with Yahweh, did not think the Law was death, and would be appalled at, or at least entirely baffled by, the religion created in his name. Jesus belongs on one side of the Judeo-Christian divide, Christ on the other. Bloom is persuasively aware that the Judeo-Christian tradition is a convenient myth that joins two deeply incompatible religions."

Read the rest of "So Who Is King of the Jews?"

To my disappointment, many of the Christians I've met here, including the wife of a future pastor, are unkind, judgemental, materialistic, and do not accept the beliefs of others. If you're going to claim to be a Christian, try to act like one. Let me give you a few hints: Christ suggested you forgive, not judge others, turn the other cheek, and love your neighbor. Unless they're gay, I suppose. Or they don't agree with you. Then you can persecute them.

Just Wanted to Say

If you're looking for a good read, pick up the Jan./Feb. issue of Pindeldyboz. My friend Maria's short story "Red" is in that issue and it's excellent. Congrats to Maria!

The Way a Story Begins

Last night and this morning I kept finding myself repeating the words, "100 degrees." I have no idea why. But I began a rough idea for a story with those words. Writing works in a mysterious ways.

A Strange Dream (and a Bad Case of Poison Ivy)

In my dream last night, it was the spring semester of my senior year in high school. I was friends with someone I no longer speak to. (The weird thing is in real life I didn’t meet this person until college.) So in my dream it seemed as though we shared some kind of temporary dorm room because we knew we were both attending a particular college in the fall. It wasn’t going to be our dorm room once we actually enrolled in school; rather, it was a temporary room we could come and stay at while we took care of our college preparations. (In the dream these preparations were extensive and required several visits over the spring semester.)

So we shared a room but we were rarely there at the same time. And in my dream we were having some of the problems our later friendship would face. Here’s the weird part. During one of my dream visits to the dorm I saw some of her belongings, which meant she was in town at the same time I was. Somehow I could tell by what she had left in the room that she had gone on a date. She left a notebook on her bed (not expecting I would be there the same weekend) that was filled with letters and pictures of her boyfriend. Some of those pictures were x-rated in nature.

In the dream I found myself reading all of the notes and looking at the pictures even though I knew it was wrong. Of course, she came home while I was reading and we ended up having a discussion about it all and clearing up a few things.

In real life, nothing like this ever happened. But what I think the dream means is that I perhaps I feel like I knew too many personal things about her, perhaps things I shouldn’t have known (in real life I didn’t discover these things through snooping, but in day-to-day life). I equated these things in my sleeping mind with sex/x-rated photos/very personal letters, etc. which, again, does not directly correspond to real life but I understand why those things came to mind.

This is going to sound a little strange, but sometimes I think you learn things about people that you don’t necessarily want to know. And they don’t want to tell you. But, like in poker, there are “tells.” There are some things you just can’t hide. And I’m not saying you should, but that once the knowledge is out there, knowing something can change a relationship.

I also find it interesting that the dream took place during my last semester of high school as I was preparing for a new phase. Because in real life, our friendship ended as I was going through a transition from one part of my life to another.

To me the dream means some things should remain private. Any other theories out there?

***
OK, this is more important than my dream but if you can’t tell, my dream really freaked me out. Nate has a serious case of poison ivy on his face, neck and arm. We think our cat is going into a neighbor’s yard that is seriously overgrown. We’ve seen a large poison ivy plant in the back. Our theory is the cat is going over there, rubbing against the ivy, and coming home and Nate is getting it on his hands. He’s had three serious outbreaks within the past year and he seems to have above-average sensitivity to poison ivy. So I think I’m going to go over to her house and volunteer to bring some roundup.

Austin Civil Rights Activist Dies

"Whenever Volma Overton tested the boundaries of segregation at Austin restaurants and other 'whites only' gathering spots during the Sixties and Seventies, he was usually accompanied by a small army of unlikely soldiers – his four children."

Read the rest on the AusChron site.

From "Gulf Coast Slaves"

"Halliburton and its subcontractors hired hundreds of undocumented Latino workers to clean up after Katrina -- only to mistreat them and throw them out without pay.

...
Still, tracing the line from unpaid undocumented workers to their multibillion-dollar employers is a daunting task. A shadowy labyrinth of contractors, subcontractors and job brokers, overseen by no single agency, have created a no man's land where nobody seems to be accountable for the hiring -- and abuse -- of these workers.

...
I was with Cintra when she received phone calls from several Latino workers who complained they were denied, under threat of deportation, the right to leave the base at Belle Chasse. Cintra also took me along on visits to squalid trailer parks -- like the one at Arlington Heights in Gulfport -- where up to 19 unpaid, unfed and undocumented KBR site workers inhabited a single trailer for $70 per person, per week. Workers there and on the bases complained of suffering from diarrhea, sprained ankles, cuts and bruises, and other injuries sustained on the KBR sites -- where they received no medical assistance, despite being close to medical facilities on the same bases they were cleaning and helping rebuild."

Read the rest on Salon.

Changing the Subject

I just wanted to tell you I am very tired. For the past three days, we've been painting the hallway. Ceiling, two wall colors, and last night we started the trim. One more day of painting and then clean up. Our house was a rental house and we find evidence of this all the time. All of the rooms used to be different colors and whoever painted the walls white (was it the tenants? the landlords who then sold the house to us?) did such a craptastic job that you can usually see the previous color through the white. They did only one coat and that coat might have been primer. So sometimes when I'm exhausted and looking at a can of paint, I remind myself why we're doing this. Which is, this is our house, something we waited for a long time, and we are now painting walls because we can. And, oh yeah, if we don't paint you can see some other color through the white.

The hallways is sort of divided into two sections. The regular long part that leads to all the rooms, and this one sort of small section that connects the entry way to the den. So we painted the long part a mellow yellow. Right away as the color was going on the wall, we agreed we liked it. In the small entry way section, I picked indigo. You've got to wonder what Nate is thinking when he agrees with my harebrained ideas. As the first coat went on, we kept saying, "I don't know." But I hadn't mixed the paint well enough (so it was going on sort of streaky) and now that the second coat is on, it looks better. It's very dark (I knew it would be) but I think I like it. I want to see how it looks when everything is done and the art is back on the walls. Worst case scenario: we paint over the indigo. But right now I think it could work.

I'm wondering how crazy I'm going to continue to be with these colors. My office is a turquoise. Nate's office is very chill. A grey and a blue grey. Then we have the yellow/indigo hall. I've thought about painting our dining room red and kahki. Too much? Maybe. Maybe I should be more sedate with two softer colors divided by crown molding. So much more soothing, right? Then I start thinking about my bright colors ...

Love is in the air

Sometimes, you just know. You have that feeling. All you have to do is read the signs.

Just when I think

that maybe I'm being overly sensitive, and that everyone has difficulties in their lives, and maybe I should move on to another topic, I read this.

Racism

This is a heavy topic. I bring it up because today I read this and it got me to thinking.

"Something I don't think most white people understand is how much black folks hate having to be black. Not that we hate our culture and all of that--though many civilians and one Supreme Court justice do--but how much we hate that we have to be black. We hate having to deal with all this nonsense. We hate being assumed to be stupid. We hate being assumed to be hoodlums. We hate being the stereotypical portrait of nearly everything bad in this society.

And we really hate that when we mention something that should be self-evident--that racism exists and that we all continue to suffer from it--that we are instantly told that we are playing some bogus notion of a race card.

Race is not the card, folks. It is the table on which all games are played. We wish it was just a card, something that could be easily flipped, discarded, and dealt again. It's not that. It's an albatross around our necks that we have no power to eliminate. If anything gives me an ulcer in my life, it will be that. Trust.

...

But why don't white writers talk about this stuff? It's more about why don't white people talk about this stuff more. Part of it is that I don't think white folks ever have to think of how intricate and nuanced expressions of racism are in this era. Now that it's out of style to be overtly racist, racism manifests itself insidiously and systemically. It lurks on the low, but in a way that you don't really see unless you have to deal with it. Kind of like how I'm looking outside of my window and it looks sunny. Only when I go to my car will I realize it's forty-five degrees.

I say that to say this--a lot of white people really don't get it until someone else tells them. And how should they? Ask most white people you know who many black people they know. I know for a fact that I'm a lot of people's only black friend. They just don't know any black people. If they knew more, they'd know more.

But from their windows, it looks sunny. I frequently am forced to be the one to tell 'em the temperature."

Read more here:
http://www.bomanijones.com/2005/11/03/08.26.03/index.html#more

I found Mr. Jones' site recently. I don't remember exactly how but it probably has something to do with me reading his sister's book, The Untelling. That's the book I was referrring to, by the way, on October 21 when I said sometimes I read other books and groan because I know I'm not that good yet.

Sorry for quoting such a long passage but the post really nailed a lot of things I've been thinking about. I've heard a lot of Anglos say they don't think racism is a problem. These are good people who are honestly shocked that others have to deal with this shit every day. The reason they are shocked is that they are white. And they mostly deal with other white people.



I know that I haven't suffered the same kind of racism my parents or grandparents have. My grandmother (who is at least a fifth-generation Texan) was once loaded up into an immigration truck to be taken to Mexico. Why? La migra had decided to raid a lake and my grandmother happened to be in a bathing suit and didn't have her ID on her. Because she looked and sounded Mexican, she got loaded up too. Didn't matter that she said she was a citizen. My grandfather eventually cleared things up, but this is the kind of thing that I'm sure could still happen if you're brown enough and speak with an accent.

My mother and grandparents regularly had to eat in the kitchens of restaurants in West Texas. They were not allowed to eat in the dining room. My mother is not old.

I always found it strange that my parents like to travel at night. Because we lived in the desert, they said it was to avoid the heat of the day. So when taking a long road trip, they would often start the drive at midnight and rest during the day. I thought it was quirky but whatever. I figured they'd picked it up from their parents. Recently, I was reading about black musicians who traveled at night. It was easier to avoid problems with restaurants and hotels that didn't want to serve you. I don’t know if this has influenced my parents or not. I think it has.

I have a lighter complexion than some of my family members and my last name doesn't sound Spanish. I assume that is why I've been told: "Are you sure you're not South American? You seem so educated for a Mexican."

My neighbor and I were discussing our trees and how they were close to the power lines. She had recently had her trees trimmed and recommended the man who had done the work. "He was Mexican, but he did a good job."

When Nate and I were engaged, we lived in Chicago. We wanted to get married in Austin. We asked our moms to scout a couple of locations for us, to help narrow down our choices, and then Nate and I planned to go visit their recommendations. Nate's mother (who is white) arrived and was greeted. She was shown various rooms and told about the different arrangements that could be made. My mother and sister showed up and were immediately asked if they were there to help serve for the wedding that afternoon.

Before Nate, I dated a Puerto Rican who had a dark complexion. I noticed that he got pulled over at least once a week for things like not signaling when he switched lanes. When he walked into stores, he was always asked to check his bags. When he presented his check card, he was always asked to show his ID. Once I asked him why he was so concerned with his appearance (shaving, keeping his hair cut religiously, etc.). He said that when he looked clean cut, he got treated better. He still got hassled, just less.

I could keep going but this subject just makes me tired. There is still racism. It's just different nowadays. The darker you are, the more you talk with an accent, the more you seem “different,” the more problems you have. Period.

Tired

Last night and this morning, the power went out 2-3 times (that I know of). The first time, I was just on the edge of dreaming and waking when all the power went off. There was the sound of everything powering down and all the street lights and what not going off. Then the dogs freaked out. I think it happened two more times (I would wake hearing the beeps of various appliances coming back on) and the dogs would come to the bed to check on me/get comforted.

Walker (the husky/shepherd combo) wasn't afraid. I think he was more curious, putting his nose on the bed to ask what's going on? But Sophi gets nervous about things like that. With Nate gone, they are hovering around me all the time. I think it's a combination of things. They seem both more protective and needing more attention because their normal daily buddy is gone for a couple of days. Where is he? Where did he go? When is he coming back?

I've been walking them both simultaneously. This is not an easy thing, necessarily. Sophi is about 55 pounds and Walker (last time we checked ) is 66. I keep Walker on my right hand, though he has been behaving well. They do like to play with other dogs' poop and no one seems to scoop in Dallas so I have to pay attention.

I really like our neighborhood but there's one thing that sort of drives me crazy. Several of our neighbors just let their dogs out into the front yards without leashes or supervision. At least seven that I see regularly. Two have jumped out at my car either as I'm going to or from work. And naturally, it can make for some aggressive scenes if you're walking by with two dogs. That's my least favorite part of taking the dogs around the 'hood. The most annoying part of this non-leash thing is that two of the dogs come over in the morning to our house or the neighbor's house regularly and poop on our front yards. Did I mention no one scoops? I'm trying to figure out a neighborly way to deal with this. But it seems like an accepted thing in the neighborhood, so I don't know what the best course of action (if any) is.

And of course, my Mr. Nate is gone for a couple of days for work reasons. The house is quiet and it's hard to sleep anyway. Power pops and annoying dogs aren't helping.

You know your husband loves you when


You wake up on a cold night to find your husband has turned on the fan (he is always hot while he sleeps; you are always cold). He has also pulled the down comforter out of the linen closet and covered you with it while you slept.

You mention in passing that you miss all the soups and stews you used to make during the winter in Chicago and the weather is finally getting cool enough for soup in Texas. You come home from work and he has made stew for dinner.

Every time you say you need to work on your book, he makes plans with friends or finds something to entertain himself. He has never made you feel guilty for writing or taking time for the book, no matter how many nights this involves, even when it included going to an 11-day conference out of state.

He helps support you financially (and in every other way) while you are in grad school.

He is leaving to go somewhere and you say, “Bye,” and he says, “Don’t say that. It sounds too permanent.”

Neither of you leaves the house without kissing each other goodbye.

He puts your iPod in your purse so you'll have it for work.

You are so sentimental it makes other people disgusted, but it makes him smile.

More Blather About Writing

I’ve finished taking notes on draft #2 before I begin draft #3. I am removed enough from the book (to a degree) to recognize some of the strengths and flaws. If you aren’t interested in the blahblahblah of writing and revising, you may want to skip this entry.

The good

There are the obvious things. I don’t tell the story in chronological order all the time, so there are some continuity elements that need to be moved. Either a character mentions an event before it’s happened or maybe another character is running around living her life and I realize, hey wait. In that other chapter, I said this major thing has happened to this person right about now. The continuity problems (compared to some of the other issues with the book) are easy to fix.

I can tell which chapters were written in the beginning and which are more recent, based on the strength of the writing. The more recent chapters are better, without a doubt. And I have a harder time fixing the earlier chapters, which might mean that the elements of the scenes can remain the same, but I may have to rework those sections to make the writing better.

I am no longer attached to pages. When I first began writing the book, if I found a chapter or section that wasn’t working, I would read and re-read it, try to figure out how to make it work, and agonize over cutting pages. Now I just mark them out. Plenty where those came from. While making notes this last go-around, I realized one chapter was unnecessary. I kept only one sentence, which captured the essence of the whole section, and am moving it to another chapter.

There are three or four chapters in the book that contain some of the best writing I’ve done so far. They are not perfect, but they are strong. When I rewrite, I will make them better.

Some chapters could go in several different places in the book. In other words, it doesn’t matter so much for continuity when they happen (usually because they’re told in the distant past). Depending on where I place them in the novel though, different elements are emphasized because of the chapters that are placed before and/or after that distant-past chapter. It’s like a puzzle with pieces that could go in different places and still make a pretty picture. But their placement is a little more difficult. It comes down to what nuances I want to emphasize. And there is no right or wrong answer to that.

The knowledge transfers. I’ve started another project that I want to work on next. Already I can see I’ve absorbed some of the lessons I’ve learned from writing the first novel. The next project moves much more quickly, has a stronger voice, and gets you from the first sentence. I’m sure it will develop its own challenges later, however.

The bad

One of my flaws is a serious love of exposition. While some chapters have a good mix of dialogue, action, and expo, some are all expo all the time. Sometimes I go off on a tangent, and then another, and pages later I am trying to remember what in the hell the point of the first tangent was. I have no problem cutting things if they go too far off track, but first I have to figure out if the tangents are important, or if they add something to the story.

I overuse the words “simply,” “just,” “answered,” and “it.” Those are the ones I’ve noticed so far.

I have six point of view characters. I may not have developed enough as a writer to pull off these six viewpoints and their voices. They may seem too similar. This is one of the biggest flaws of the book, one I’m not sure I’m enough of a writer to fix.

I read an interview (Somewhere, maybe on the Emerging Writers Network? Maybe somewhere else.) with several agents who were giving advice to aspiring writers. One of the agents said one of the biggest problems he sees in first novels is that the writers don’t set up a real conflict. He used the example that a novel starts out with a couple struggling to decide where to go on a vacation, they pick a place, and then they go. There’s not enough juice in the story.

I think I've set up enough initial conflict for each individual character. However, I’m worried that not enough happens in the end, that readers will lose interest. To vary the agent’s example, all of my people are trying to go on vacation, but with conflicting feelings, exes or children causing problems, and self-doubt about motives or past actions that the vacation is now bringing to the fore. But maybe my problems aren’t dangerous enough. Maybe I protect the people too much. Maybe the readers will say, “Eh, they went on vacation, who cares?” And maybe I wrap up everything too tightly and neatly in the end.


The ugly

I can spend weeks revising (what’s a few more weeks, give or take, after four freakin’ years), but it’s possible that all this work will still not make the novel strong enough to sell. This book may not be good enough to publish.

I read an interview with Salman Rushdie in a recent issue of the Paris Review. The interviewer made a comment about how most novelists seem to have a first lousy novel tucked away in a drawer. Rushdie said, “I have three.”

This might be my throwaway novel. Knowing that makes it hard for me to sit my butt in a chair and keep working.

Sometimes I read a novel, close my eyes, and groan because the writing is so good. And I know I'm nowhere near that league. And I may never be.

The indifferent

Even if only a few of my friends read this novel, I’ve learned a lot. Revision is an excellent teacher. And I’m going to keep writing. If I have to have three lousy novels stuck in a drawer before my first gets published, at least I’ll be in good company.

Maybe I'll never be great, but I can get better.

I knew a woman who:

Had divorced and remarried.

Had an STD that made it difficult for her to conceive.

Said she didn’t like sex.

Said she would prefer her husband to have sex with a prostitute than to step foot inside a Hooter’s restaurant.

When I asked her what she thought about gay marriage, she said she didn’t think it should be allowed because she felt that the love she and her husband shared was “holy.”

People are so very strange.

I have an idea

Since we're trying to protect the sanctity of marriage and all with a constitutional ammendment I think we ought to make a new rule about voting. To vote for this ammendment, you can't be divorced. And you can't have broken your marriage vows.

If we're going to be sanctimonious, let's go all out.

Catching Up

I had a very unproductive seven days. All last week I kept feeling like I was coming down with something. I think I went to bed early every night. Thursday I left work at midday, stayed in bed all day Friday, and most of Saturday. I got Nate sick, too. On Sunday, going to the grocery store was a major enterprise. Good news is, aside from a massive coughing fit in the middle of the office, I'm feeling a lot better today. Things that are still on my to-do list:

1. Make notes on edits for my third draft. I've gone through approximately 5-6 chapters leaving 54 or so. I have 60 chapters in this novel. Yes, I am insane. And possibly have serious problems with structure. But we'll see. Sometimes I think it's great, other times I think readers will be confused as hell. After this draft I'm giving the book to a few readers so I'll see what they tell me.

2. Paint the hallway. We ran out of ceiling paint and need to get more.

3. Start thinking about my Halloween costume. We're going to a costume party and I still have no idea what I want to be.

Too many other things to list or I'll get depressed. One thing at a time ...

Dreams

I've been having very detailed, plot-driven dreams lately. They are often morbid. I dream about assaults, kidnappings, or weird dysfunctional relationships. The dreams are like movies or television shows, but I've never actually seen them. They make sense, and I often think they might make either good screenplays or TV shows. They aren't deep but they are violent, action packed, and sort of interesting. Sometimes I've woken up and thought that I was somehow dreaming about real people going through real things.

I could just be going through a crazy dream cycle or maybe this is the influence of The Shield, a cop show Nate and I have watched. I think we're one season behind (we've been catching up with DVDs of past seasons) but that show ... man. It makes me anxious. There are all sort of messed-up events going on. People getting their feet cut off, big heists, bending and breaking the rules, assaults of all kinds, I don't know. I think it's a good show. Well written and many of the actors are excellent. But it does make me anxious, especially because I know that many of the crimes they show are real. I'm not saying they happen every day or every where but they are realistic enough that you realize that those kinds of things could happen to you, your neighbors, or your family. So maybe that's why I'm having these dreams.

I've started a notebook where I list down ideas and dialogue. Maybe someday I'll get around to some of those snippets.

Random things I've thought about today

1. Crazy people. When I was younger, I often had friends who were high-maintenance, overly dramatic, and sometimes downright crazy. I even dated some of them. As I've gotten older, I've tried to limit the crazies to family members. (If you're family, I'll put up with your crazy ass. If you' are not related by blood or marriage, all my crazy slots are full.) There's only so much time and energy I have. And I got tired of wasting that energy on people who always had problems of their own making, who asked for advice and never took it, and who rinsed and repeated the process over and over again. I've been pretty successful with this goal or strategy or whatever you want to call it. Sometimes I miss the good stories that always resulted from the crazy-people antics, but I rarely miss the crazy people themselves.

2. Why have I been so itchy lately? For the past week or so, I have been itching like crazy. The itching gets worse at night, for some reason. I've looked at my skin and I don't have bug bites or a rash. I'm not using new soap or new lotion or anything. My only thought at this point is that maybe I'm dehydrated and my skin is dry. I'm still trying to figure this one out.

3. Sometimes I think I married a man who is my opposite in small, but critical ways. He wants to plan; I want to let things unfold by themselves. He wants to know spoilers before we go see a movie; I want to know as little as possible before walking in the theater. He has a penis; I have a vagina. Stuff like that. For the past week or two, I've been trying to plan a surprise birthday party for Nate in Austin with some of his old friends. As our trip approaches, Nate has been getting on me to make plans with people because he was worried we wouldn't have time to see everyone, and then he started arranging things himself when I seemed to be dragging my feet. Only, these plans were going to interfere with my party! So I had to tell him what I was doing because all of my lame excuses about why we couldn't schedule this or that were starting to annoy him.

"Why do you want to leave everything up in the air?" he wondered.

Well, now he knows.

4. Why do I love coffee so much? Should I drink something else? Is coffee/dehydration why my skin is so itchy?

5. When Nate and I both lived in Austin, we lived south in the Barton Hills neighborhood. We rarely went north of downtown for dinner, drinks, or to friends' houses. For example, we didn't go to Hyde Park, even though I had lived there before and liked the 'hood and some of the restaurants in the area. Even UT/West Campus was a stretch. When friends who lived north of 15th street or so invited us to visit them in north Austin, we'd usually talk them into coming down south. And because almost all of our friends lived south, this was usually easy to do. Whenever people talked about living in north Austin, we always said, “You might as well live in Dallas.” The karmic justice is, of course, that we now live in Dallas.

The impending birthday gathering, which is naturally to be held in north Austin, has made me realize several things. I don’t know any of the restaurants up there because I wouldn’t drive north of downtown if I could help it. I’ve never been to Trudy’s North (I always went to Trudy’s South and Central). Also, I’m going to have to try to convince south Austinites (the majority of our friends) to drive north.

6. Despite my possibly seemingly cranky self, I am trying to be more kind and patient with people. This is, paradoxically, one of the reasons I try not to spend too much time with people who drive me crazy. Because I think its kinder to all of us to let each person follow his or her own strange path, no matter how odd it might seem to other people, with as little interference as possible. And then we can each face karmic justice in our own ways. Like planning a “surprise” birthday party in north Austin while living in Dallas.

God's Truth

"Our country's fundamentalism is no prettier than anyone else's," she says. "It's really peculiar that the super-fundamentalists in this country talk about fundamentalists in other countries as extremists. They're all alike, whether they're Jewish or Muslim or Christian. God has told them they're right and nobody else is right. It's so laughable, so pitiful."

From a profile of the poet Naomi Shihab Nye.

Home Improvement

Even though I was hoping to get started on my revision this week, I may have to push that goal back a bit. Last night we started painting Nate's office. After we finish, we'll paint the hall. The schedule this week will be: working from 8:30 - 5, painting until 8 or 9, dinner, and then bed. Not much time or energy for revising.

We'll see. I haven't given up all hope on revising yet, but I'm trying to be realistic and also not kill myself.

Once we finish the room, I'll share some pictures.

Coincidence?

Right now I am doing a repetitive, fairly mindless piece of proofreading. Since it is so mindless, I am listening to my iPod while I work. I’m listening to David Gray, and his music always reminds me of Nate.

About five years ago, Nate and I went to a David Gray concert with a mutual friend. We didn’t know each other very well and I think it was the first time we hung out socially. I thought he was funny. We stood and listened to David Gray at La Zona Rosa (I think that was the venue). At the time I had long hair, so I kept pulling it up and holding it away from my neck. He was standing behind me slightly and it felt like he was staring at me. I kept telling myself it was my imagination, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was staring.

Months later when we started dating, Nate told me that he was, in fact, staring at the back of my neck.

When we were picking songs for our wedding, David Gray seemed like the right choice. Our first dance was to “Sail Away.” I’m listening to that song now.

There were so many coincidences that brought about our relationship. Enough that I’ve started thinking there are no coincidences. Nate got hired to replace me at an old job, which is how we met. I moved away from Austin for the job and when I moved back I ended up moving into a house a block up the street from him. A few of our friends invited us to the same events and we gradually got to know each other. One Halloween night in particular (five years ago), I got into an argument with a friend, changed my plans at the last moment, and ended up spending that night on Nate’s lap because the place was packed and there were four of us and three chairs. We became friends after that night. Good friends. We hung out more often, talked on the phone and over IM. Then came the night when Nate asked for my advice. He’d been dating a girl who told him he went out too much with his friends and she couldn’t imagine the father of her children behaving this way. (For the record, they’d been dating a month and he was 26 years old at the time.) My advice: Dump her. Then things really got interesting …

How long does it take to write a novel?

I dunno. How much time you got?

I was telling Nate about writing and revising my novel and he found my timeline interesting so I thought I’d share it with all you aspiring writers out there.

Summer 2001: I get a glimmer of an idea for a novel. I think about the idea after work, during my daily walk/run.
Fall 2001: I start trying to write the novel. I write 30-40 pages and use this as a sample for my MFA application. At about page 50, I stop writing because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing.
Spring 2002: During my first semester in an MFA program, I do a lot of writing exercises to try to learn more about my characters. Much of this material is useful as background but does not find its way into the novel. A small bit is still in the book, in a much-revised form.
Summer 2002: Reach150 pages or so.
Fall 2002/Spring 2003: Get to about 300 pages and cut at least half of them.
Summer 2003: Get some writing done, but also get married--planning a wedding out of state--so summer is not a very productive writing time.
Fall 2003: Reach about 200-250 pages.
Spring 2004: Revise first 100 pages or so to use as my thesis. Graduate with my MFA. Know exactly what needs to happen in the novel but am working full time, taking classes, and don’t have as much time as I would like to write.
Summer 2004: Nate is transferred to Dallas. Since I quit a job I really liked, and because we will be able to afford it, we come to an agreement that I will take some time off. From July to mid-August, I write about 200 pages. In mid-August, I go to Bread Loaf.
September 2004: After Bread Loaf, I start looking for a job and almost immediately find one. Although very excited at first, I soon come to regret taking the position.
October 2004: Finish the first draft of the novel, which is approximately 450 pages.
November 2004-May 2005: Work so many 10-to-12 hour days I have little time to write. Also buy a house and get a new puppy. During this period, I revise about 75 pages. Not much.
May 2005: Blessedly, my sucky job ends. I had begun looking for a job in the spring and had had two interviews at a local university. I keep looking for a job in case I don’t get an offer.
June 2005: Revise approximately 300 pages.
July 2005: Right after I get the university job offer, I am offered a teaching fellowship but know it will leave absolutely no time for writing (5 composition classes each semester), and am offered interviews for two other positions. Decide to stick with the university job for the regular schedule and awesome benefits. Adjust to a new job.
August 2005: Start revising again. Revise the last sections of the novel, completing draft #2. Manuscript is now at 510 pages.
September 2005: Plan is to work on draft #3, trying to iron out any remaining issues with character, plot, and continuity. Then I plan on doing two more drafts. Draft #4 will focus on the characters, trying to make each voice sound distinct. Draft #5 will be the tightening and cutting draft. Stay tuned …

Last Night

When I got home from work early yesterday evening, our street was in an uproar. One of our neighbors owns and operates a moving company from his home. He usually has a large moving truck parked in front of his house. This bothers some of the neighbors. They don’t like the big moving truck in the street. They say it makes the block crowded. He’s about two doors down from us and while it has never bothered me, I understand why the truck might bother other people.

Last night, something happened with the moving truck. I don’t know if the brakes failed or what, but the truck rolled down the hill, almost hit a woman just as she crossed the intersection where the truck was heading, and then the truck drove into a neighbor’s yard. The truck hit a big tree in the yard. In my opinion, this was lucky. Those neighbors lost the tree, sure, but the tree stopped the truck from hitting their house.

But people in our ‘hood (many of whom are elderly) freaked out and called the police. I understand, I do. But accidents happen. They are an unfortunate part of life. I keep thinking: No one got hurt, thank God, and the main damage (other than the truck’s front end) was to the tree. Which sucks, granted, but things could have been so much worse.

In other, not so tragic news
I finished my second draft last night. Current manuscript clocks in at 510 pages. I'm taking Labor Day Weekend off (fittingly) and then I'll start on the next one.

Three drafts to go, I think.

Third draft: resolve outstanding plot, character, and continuity issues.
Fourth draft: work on the voice for individual characters so each sounds distinct.
Fifth draft: Clean up. Tighten as much as possible.

Welcome to Big D

Many Katrina evacuees are heading to Dallas and Houston. One place to check for volunteer and donation opportunities is D Magazine's FrontBurner.

Payday

I get paid the last day of every month. (It's a university thing.) Today, when I looked at my paycheck, I realized the following things.

* I really like my job. I enjoy the work and the assignments.
* I get along well with my co-workers.
* My commute is good. No freeways and I get to drive past White Rock Lake and pretty neighborhoods.
* There are lots of great benefits, including free yoga, which I have been trying to take advantage of three days a week.
* I am making almost $600 more per month than my last job, after making the maximum contribution to retirement. (I couldn't afford to make contributions to retirement at my last position.)
* My talents are appreciated. No one acts defensive or threatened when I ask a question or make a suggestion (unlike a previous situation).
* I have a regular schedule and rarely have to stay late, which means I've been able to work out, make revisions on the novel, and cook dinner almost every night.
* Nate says he's happy to see me happy. I used to wake up every morning with a stomachache because the thought of going to work made me want to literally throw up.

I am very grateful for these changes.

Some Developments

1. This weekend Nate and I will meet our new niece Maya, newly arrived from China. We can't wait.

2. Plans for the Casa Linda Theater. Nate and I both miss the Alamo Drafthouse and have talked about how cool it would be to have one nearby. We had even mentioned the Casa Linda Theater as a good potential location. If this all comes about, we will be happy campers. We aleady like our neighborhood, but this would be icing. Now if only we could manage an independent bookstore ...

3. If we have enough hurricanes to get to the letter "N" this year, that hurricane will be named ... Nate.
Beautiful.

Just a guess

My guess is that, other than the woman your ex-husband recently left you for, the second-to-last woman you'd want to hear advice from would be your ex's ex.

Two Cool Things

1. Earlier this week, Nate and I checked out Ten Times Cellars. TTC is a wine tasting/selling establishment in Lakewood. They've planted a vineyard in West Texas outside of Alpine. One of the owners gave us and two other customers an impromptu tour. Great atmosphere and good wine. If you're in Dallas, definitely check them out. I can't wait to test their Syrah, which is currently "rebuilding." Apparently, all wine undergoes "bottle shock" after it is poured into bottles and needs time to "rebuild."

2. I went to a presentation about Hatch Show Print, a letterpress that's been in business since 1879. They've done ad posters for vaudeville and minstrel shows, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, the Rolling Stones, R.E.M., Medeski, Martin & Wood, and too many others to mention. Their work is distinctive and labor intensive.

The cool thing about both of these places were the people. They were so passionate about and engaged in their work. I aspire to that.

One of the problems with reading

is getting too involved in the author's style, the way they see the world, so much that it begins to affect your own writing, observations, and sentences. Perhaps this is a good thing some of the time. Shake things up, don't get too attached to one style, imitation while you improve, all that. Perhaps it's not a good thing if you're already 75% finished with a book? I dunno. But I like Jean Rhys, even though my writing and hers are nothing alike. That's why I like her, I think. Because she can get straight to the heart of a matter, while I go off into pages of exposition. And she can move from one character's mind to another on the same page effortlessly, while I give the reader vertigo when I try to do that.

I heart Jean Rhys, that's all.

Two Years

Yesterday, we celebrated our two-year anniversary. The female bartender kept staring at my cleavage (I was wearing an extremely low-cut shirt). We had really good red wine, a nice meal, and an intense conversation which included family, fidelity, a friend who probably shouldn’t have gotten married, death, change, and Nate’s tendency to hit on me while he's sleeping. Like I said, some really good red wine.

How do you like them apples?

I’m working on not letting things bug me. (Don’t laugh, Nathan.) But here’s a thing that still does. Bug me, that is. You know when people ask your opinion on something. Let’s say for example, someone says: “I can’t decide between eating this apple or this orange. What do you think?” And then you say, “Well, I’m sure they’d both be fine, but if I were you I’d eat the spectacular apple of goodness because it looks like it’s perfectly ripe while the orange only looks slightly ripe.”

Then that person goes around and asks five other people what they think. And each person gives their opinion on apples or oranges and the asker comes back and asks you again. At this point, you’re kinda like, “I already told you what I think and who cares anyway? It’s fruity goodness. Just pick one already!” Mumblegrumblegoddamnfruit.

And then the person goes and eats a banana.

I’m not talking about big issues, like divorce or quitting one’s job, or deciding what color to dye one’s hair, which of course are issues of utmost importance and require lots of debate and multiple opinions. (I’m not heartless, people.) But when someone is asking your opinion on a pretty trivial matter, like whether to eat an apple or an orange, or whether they should wear pants or a skirt, or if they should read this book next or that one, I mean, c’mon. I’m going to lose patience. You’ve been warned is all I’m saying.

Humans are my species

I love to watch people. I love to think about why they do things. For instance, the father of a friend of mine has a weekly routine. On Saturday mornings when he takes the dog for a walk, he puts an old dishtowel around his forehead to be his “sweat band,” finds his cigarettes and rolls them up in his T-shirt sleeve ’50s style, and fills his water bottle with his “Bloody Maria,” which is a bloody Mary made with tequila instead of vodka.

Now, c’mon. How can you not love that guy already? I’m not sure where I’m using him, but that father is going in a story or a novel of mine somewhere.

Last night, Nate and I watched “Harold and Maude,” a great character movie. H&M reminds me of what I love about my favorite films and books. There’s something about the people that makes me want to keep watching what they do. Like Maude stealing cars and explaining, “Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I’m merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don’t get attached to things.” Some of my other favorites in the movie: Harold’s constant fake suicide attempts; Maude: “Get the shovel, Harold.”; the hearse; the funerals; the nude modeling. And, finally, “Oh, Harold ... that's wonderful. Go and love some more.”

Kids

Nate and I do not have children, but today he told me, “I think one of our babies is going to be red.” How do I explain this contradiction?

You see, we have some guppy reproduction going on in our tank. We haven’t gone all out and bought the nets, dividers, and the assorted paraphernalia you buy when you really want to breed the fishies. All we’ve done is buy this floating grass that the babies can hide in. I know this sounds bad, but we don’t really care if the baby guppies survive. We’ve got plenty of fish and usually the adults eat the eggs before they even hatch. BUT, we have seen little guys from time to time and we felt bad because they always got eaten. To assuage our guilt, we bought them the grass to hide in. Right now we appear to have two survivors, two teeny fish, and one of them appears to be red.

Even though we have a pretty lackadaisical attitude toward their survival, we still refer to them as our babies. Weird, I know. We sort of hope they’ll survive, but it’s a very cautious hope because we know it’s likely they won’t make it in the long run.

Then I started thinking about how I used to call Roscoe my baby all the time and treat him like one, holding him and squeezing him and just generally tormenting the poor cat. But now that we have Walker, who is a bona fide puppy at 10 months, I’m calling him the baby and squeezing him and bothering him instead. Roscoe will be four in December so he doesn’t qualify as a baby anymore. (I can’t believe he’s almost four. Next month, Sophie—the rott mix—will be 10.)

Even though we don’t have children, we feel like we do. We’re constantly cleaning up someone’s poo or puke and sometimes both. Walker likes to eat his own poo and will then often throw it up afterwards. Nice. And let me tell you, he’s lucky he’s cute because that poo-puke is a foul-smelling concoction.

Nate’s brother Travis thinks Walker might eat his own poo because he was a stray for a while and still seems slightly unsure that food will always be available. We feed both Walker and Sophi regularly, but if you are a little late and God forbid sleep in, then Walker will eat his poo when you let him outside. Oh ye, of little faith. The food bowl will not run empty!

So we clean up after three animals and their bodily functions, watch the circle of life in the tank, and psychoanalyze our pets. I sort of feel like we’re parents already.

Midland

As I get closer to finishing the novel, I’ll share more with you about the premise, the characters, the synopsis, etc. Really. I swear. But I’ll share this with you now.

I set the novel in Midland, my hometown, for several reasons. Primarily because the name itself “Mid-land,” was too perfect to pass up. The novel is about six members of a Mexican-American family in West Texas who are dealing with generational and cultural shifts.

Today, I’m revising a chapter that takes place during Lee’s annual homecoming game. I was googling for the high school football schedule. I think my search was “homecoming + midland + lee” or something like that. Somehow an excerpt from a book about Laura Bush came up in the search results. The book is called The Perfect Wife and the author is Ann Gerhart.

A few paragraphs caught my eye, but this is the one that really stood out:

“The black population of Midland is and was small. During the 1960s, when the town had a population of about fifty thousand, perhaps five thousand blacks lived in the neighborhoods south of Florida Avenue. When I called to set up an appointment with Dr. Viola Coleman, a proud and determined physician still practicing in her eighties, who led the fight to desegregate the schools, she told me wryly: ‘Now, I'm black, so you know I live on the other side of the tracks.’ As I talked with other people around Midland, who were unfailingly helpful with questions about Laura, they always would ask where else I had been. And when I told them I had been over on Florida Avenue, their eyes would widen, and they would wonder what in heaven's name I could have been doing over there. Or they would look at me quizzically when I mentioned the spanking new Supermercado, with its tortilleria baking fresh tortillas daily on the premises and its shelves studded with calabaza and mangoes. It was a huge place, with bright purple and yellow walls, over past Big Spring Highway, but many in Midland seemed to have never noticed it, let alone gone inside. When I mentioned this to Dr. Coleman, she just smiled. ‘Even today, there are people who don't know there is anything past Big Spring,’ she said of the neighborhoods west of the highway, where the youngster George Bush once lived with his parents, that are now primarily Hispanic. ‘It is a community that remains invisible.’"

http://www.usatoday.com/life/books/excerpts/2003-12-23-perfect-wife_x.htm

The father in my story owns two grocery stores very much like the Supermercado. This paragraph reminds me exactly why I’m writing this book. For some reason, this community, the one I grew up in, still somehow manages to remain “invisible” to a large percentage of Midland’s residents, even as Mexicans and Mexican Americans grow closer to becoming the largest minority (an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one) in the U.S.

There are other disturbing passages in the excerpt. Including this one:

“When Laura and George Bush hosted her high school class reunion at the Governor's Mansion in Austin in 1997, they threw open their doors to Laura's fellow graduates of Lee High School as well as to the members of the 1964 class of Midland High. Some five hundred people ate barbecue and drank Lone Star beer and twisted the night away, marveling how far the pretty girl with the twinkly smile had come. Nobody even thought to invite the members of the class of 1964 of Midland's third high school, all-black George Washington Carver. ‘Nobody even remembered,’ said someone who attended. ‘Isn't that incredible? Isn't that awful?’”


I don’t expect my book to change the world. I don’t even expect to change anyone’s opinion. I just hope to inspire people to look beyond their own preconceptions. No group is invisible or forgotten unless others let their ignorance blind them.

Keeping the Faith

One of the things I like the most about my new job is that I’m writing and editing at work again. I’m using the skills I’ve spent years acquiring. Plus, I enjoy these kinds of tasks. Proofreading a graduate catalogue may bore some people to tears, but I like it. The writing is fun, too, and there are so many different projects it’s hard to get bored. I’ll proof a graduate catalogue then write photo captions for the web site, then work on a brochure for a new academic program.

Did I mention I’m working for a local university? I don’t think I’ve said anything. I’m doing marketing writing. I’m also making 25 percent more than I made at my last job. Funny, isn’t it? I have a regular schedule, a private working space (no more sitting in a hallway), more money, more benefits (including free tuition), and nice co-workers. I'm now working in a creative environment where people are open minded. I really missed that. I don’t think I realized how miserable I was before. Well, maybe I did. I knew I was miserable. But now that I’m in a better place, all I can say is: thank you, God!

I talked to my friend Cristina last night. She’s finishing up her MFA in writing this summer. A couple of weeks ago she went to Mexico for a family reunion. While she was there, she kept worrying because she doesn’t have a full-time job, and she’d applied to various programs and gotten only rejections. She was worrying. What am I going to do with my life kind of worrying.

She just found out she got accepted into her top-choice program. In less than a month, she’s moving to Spain, somewhere in Andalusia, to be a teacher’s aide.

The moral of the story is: kept the faith. Life usually works out.

More Changes

Where to begin? As my husband says, I don't update very often anymore. I'm going to try to change that, but we'll have to see how it goes. Since the end of May, the following things have happened:

o My previous job ended. Thank God. (When you know your job is over and all you feel is an enormous sense of relief, then you know you were not in the right place.)

o I started a new job that, after only two weeks, seems like a much better fit. (I interviewed for this position back in May. I had mentioned this in an earlier entry about a potential meeting that could bring changes. Obviously, it did.)

o I am about 4/6 finished with another draft of the book. This fact is a little frustrating as I try to get used to my new schedule, work out, and finish this damn novel already. We'll see how I do with these three elements.

o An editor read a sample chapter and was “intrigued.” She wants to see the book when it's finished. (This was one of the two editors I contacted in May after the agent told me she was looking for work like mine. Still haven't heard back from the other one.)

o I've found that when I'm working full time, I can maintain a workout schedule or work on the novel but so far I've had a hard time doing both.

o I've been to Austin and Alabama.

o I've done a lot of reading.

o I'm happy to be back to my old self.

Updates

I've been trying to update some of the sections on the site, with Nate's generous help. I think there were places where I talked about living in Chicago, and we haven't lived there for almost a year now. I've been busy for the last few months, but now find myself with a lot of free time, so a little house cleaning was in order.

I've read quite a bit lately. Bag of Bones, by Stephen King (one of his better books, I would argue) and Night of the Radishes by Sandra Benitez.

Now that I have all this time, I've been trying to revise the novel. Not sure why, but I'm having a tough time getting into it. One of my writing profs warned me while I was in school not to let a book lie fallow for too long or you could lose it. I don't think that's happened here but I feel like a motor that won't rev. I think I just need a little jolt or something.

But I have my notes and a plan and I'm hoping that my little engine will be one of the ones that can.

Changes

Nate and I hadn't been dating very long, maybe two months, when we knew he was going to be transferred from Austin to Chicago. Because our relationship was so new, we were hesitant to totally expose our feelings, especially because they seemed too strong for such a short period of time. We started referring to all of the deep feelings we didn't talk about as "the unsaid." We'd start talking about the future, realize we didn't know what might happen being so far apart so early in our relationship, think heavy thoughts, then shrug and say, "the unsaid."

During the five or six months we dated long distance, we also started using the phrase, "we'll see what the tide brings us." We didn't really make plans, we were just going with the flow and enjoying each other. Things developed, we finally admitted how we felt, and we decided I should move to Chicago to be with him.

Was I anxious? Was I full of doubts? Of course. I was moving across the country to live with someone I'd been dating less than a year and been in the same town with and dating for two or three months. How crazy is that? But we decided to see what the tide would bring, even though I didn't have a job, Nate knew he'd have to support me, and I wouldn't know if I'd gotten into grad school until two months after I'd moved to Chicago. But we took the risk.

We lived together for about six or seven months before we got engaged. We saw what the tide had brought us: each other.

When Nate heard about the job transfer to Dallas, we had our doubts. First of all, it was Dallas. (Any Austinite or Houstonian will know what I mean.) I had a great job I enjoyed, a nice circle of friends, a great writing community, we had just moved into a really nice apartment, and we had finally set up the kind of life we wanted in Chicago (after a couple of years of adjusting to the northern life). But we took our chances again. I still don't think that was a mistake, although I'm still waiting to see what the tide brings in Dallas.

But there are more changes coming, for me this time. I think they're all good ones. These changes feel right, like moving to Chicago, like getting married. The tide is shifting.

I've started working on my novel again. I'll let you know how the book goes.

Shizzam!

OK, I've probably had too much coffee. I stayed up late last night, until almost two a.m., pushing words across the page. Man, that felt awesome. Last night, I realized that my depression could be alleviated if I just sat down and got some writing done. I think not writing is why I GET depressed. I realize that every couple of months, it seems. Maybe this time the realization will stick.

A friend of mine from Chicago finished a novel last summer and sent it out to various agents. She got rejection after rejection, although they were the "positive" kinds saying things like the writing was excellent but the idea/tone would be difficult to sell. Some of the agents even called her, sort of agonizing over the fact that her book was really good but they just didn't think they could place it. She got discouraged and decided to set aside the novel for a while, work on another project, and then come back to the book with fresh eyes to see if she thought it needed rewriting or scrapping. She's sending it out again now and was kind enough to share her query letter with me.

Damn! That's why I started this entry with Shizzam! Her query letter is short, punchy, gets your attention, and doesn't bore you. My letter is easily twice as long. I'm going to have to rethink things and trim the fat. Luckily, I've sent out only three letters so far but I'm feeling a little silly. There's always something to learn about the business of writing. And improve.

Two unrelated, but perplexing, things

1. Our dog Walker has the most odious case of gas I've experienced with a dog. We used to feed him Iams but his gas got really bad. We've switched to Nutro Max and that has seemed to improve gaseous matters somewhat, but Walker still can clear a room. Sometimes, we will walk through a room where Walker has been and will experience a smell so odious all we can do is grab our noses, say "Oh, God," and wipe our watering eyes. We call this walking through a "Walker pocket."

2. The low-rise cut. When low rise jeans first came out, I bought them. I have a pair. I even have a low-cut pair of kakhis. Here is the problem with the plumber's butt cut: everyone sitting behind you gets way too much information. Last summer when we went to a movie in the park in Chicago, a woman sat in front of us with low-rise jeans. We saw her entire ass. I can tell you the brand of her underwear (Victoria's Secret), the color (pink) and the style (thong, natch). During classes at SAIC last year, I saw more thongs and asses than I care to remember. I've got nothing against asses. Just don't want to be mooned everytime I go somewhere you have to sit on the ground. And crack is addictive. Once you start looking, you can't look away.

This weekend, I went shopping for some spring/summer work clothes. I couldn't find pants that weren't low rise, or extreme low rise, or XXX low rise. I was looking at dress pants, too, not jeans. I do not want to show my crack at work, so I bought skirts. I'm still searching for my elusive pants ...

Interesting News

My mom got worried when she read the previous post and another friend seemed concerned as well. Figure I might as well tell you guys: I'm still kickin'. When 90% of your life is going well, you can't really complain too much. I would say the 10% that isn't going is well has much to do with my work hours, which are about to change with the end of the season, and that will pretty much put me back on an even keel. So just hang with me, it's not too long now. Two weeks exactly until our last event!

Last Thursday, I heard a lot of news. Some of it I can share now, some of it I might share later if things do end up panning out. But it definitely seemed like an unusual day, like there had been a jam in the universal pipe and all of a sudden things got cleared up and flowed out. Some examples:

I'd sent a couple of chapters to an agent back in January. I knew of him through some mutual friends. A couple of weeks after I sent the packet to him, he sent me an email saying something like, "You're at the top of my to-read pile and I'll get back to you next week." Well, I didn't hear from him. And I just sort of figured, either he got busy or he wasn't interested, and I was so busy myself I didn't pursue it.

He called me on Thursday and said he'd been meaning to get back to me for a while. He said the writing was "very good, smooth, disciplined, and easy to read." But that he wasn't the right person for it because he tends to like dense, more complicated writing that he then has to "work like hell to sell." We talked for a while and I got the impression that he likes to work with edgier material and that my stuff is perhaps too mainstream for him. Then he gave me the name of three editors who are actively looking for work like mine, which I greatly appreciate. And he said he would write them a note telling them he had recommended I send them my chapters. I'm working on query letters this week.

I also got my hair cut on Thursday. I chopped off about 7 inches of hair. I love it.

I've been on a waiting list for a weaving class since January. On Thursday I got a call that there is finally an opening and I started class on Saturday.

I have two meetings this week, which, if they go well, I will tell you about in the next few days. Those also got set up on Thursday.

While I was getting my hair cut, my car got hit in the parking lot of the salon, but no one left a note. My car is now in a body shop, getting an estimate on the damage and I have a rental. (The damage isn't too horrible and the car is driveable. These kinds of things are what insurance is for, right?)

So that was last Thursday. A very busy, news-filled day.

In home news, we've almost finished my office. We are still waiting on some custom blinds we ordered and we have little paint touch ups here and there. Also, we're looking for a rug. But Nate put all the new hardware on the doors and I think my new office looks really snazzy. Perfect environment for my creative goals.

So, life is sweet, and change is on the horizon. The wind is about to change ...

Almost There

I think I've been a very boring person lately. All I've done is work, complain about working so much, or sleep to try to recover from work. Not too much fun. But, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. We have only four more events in the next three weeks and then we are done for the season. One of those events is tonight.

The events themselves are almost always interesting or funny or both, but the hours are hard. About two weeks ago, I was really tired from all the late hours. I woke up on Saturday morning and didn't get to sleep in because Walker keeps puppy hours and he usually wakes up between 7 and 7:30 a.m. I got up because Nate had some family in town and we needed to clean the house, go shopping, and get ready for the dinner we were having for them. So we ran errands and cleaned and all day I had a headache that got steadily worse and I felt pretty dizzy. By the time dinner rolled around, I could feel my body sort of saying: That's it for you, lady. You keep treating us like this and we will shut you down. We served dinner and I think I had two or three bites before I couldn't eat anymore. My stomach couldn't take it. Then I had to go lie down because I felt sick. I excused myself, made my apologies, and felt like a horse's ass. But then I had to get out of bed to puke, so I know I did the right thing instead of staying with the party and getting sick at the table (imagine the dinner conversation!). Still, I've never been so exhaused that I threw up before. Luckily, those hours are behind me. I'm still very busy at work, but not vomiting busy.

This past weekend we painted my office. It's a very bright turquoise sort of blue. Nate says it "glows" but that it's also soft "like birthday cake." I don't know if that's good or bad but I love that color. I have three windows in my room but they're all in the shade of an enormous oak tree so I don't actually get much natural light. This glowing color makes it seem bright in there even if it's not.

So other than painting my office, I'm sort of waiting for my life to return to "normal." Or, at least, normal working hours. Then I think I'll be able to have a regular writing and workout schedule again. Wish me luck.

Edited to tell you that Nate has a picture of my office-in-progress on his site. Also, you can see how Walker, at 8 months, is now bigger than Sophie. Look at the May 3, 2005 entry.

I Forgot to Mention

I got my first rejection letter for one of the chapters/stories I sent out. I got a handwritten note, which I've been told is a good thing. The note said something like, "this is very fine work but not quite right for us." And I was encouraged to submit again. A few friends have read that chapter and the other that I've sent out as stories and I've heard similar feedback which is: "they're great! But I want to know what happens." This makes sense since they are really chapters rather than self-contained stories so I'm going to have to figure out if I want to invest the time to revise and make them really stand alone or just focus on the novel revision.

The feedback has been very positive (and includes one reader who has written two novels and is working on a novella) and gives me hope that I haven't been wasting my time. I try to remember that when I get impatient with my slow progress.

Been Busy

I talked to my mother the other day and she complained that I never write here anymore. Can't do much about that. My job is very cyclical in nature. Our author events take place January through May and they require long hours, both for the planning and the events themselves. April is the busiest month of the season, I think I've mentioned, in which we seem to have an event, rehearsal, or something else every other night. So I can't say I'll be writing much for a while, although I'll try.

I'm not writing much here, and I'm not working much on the novel. But I do have the next week or so without events so I am trying to get some things done during this short break. One funny thing I've noticed as I'm revising: I was always told you should cut more than you add when you revise. I'm adding as much as I cut, sometimes more. My manuscript is getting longer, rather than shorter. I'm not sure what that means. My theory is that I'm filling in the gaps that I left while writing and maybe during the second revision I'll be able to cut more. But your guess is as good as mine. I can only hope the MS doesn't continue to grow. Please.

The good news is that our season ends in late May so I should be able to revise more during the summer. Having more time is critical. During one three-day weekend in February, when I was able to catch up with life in two days, I had one day totally free to revise. In that one day I revised almost 40 pages. While I'm trying to work, spend time with my husband and our pets, and just live, I get one or two pages done at a time. So that's why this revision goes so slowly. Sad, but true.

Out of Balance

Nate and I find ourselves at an interesting point in our lives. I have a job that requires long hours, surrounded by people. He works at home, alone. I come home and want to decompress and relax. He wants to talk and go out and socialize (after I've spent most of my day doing that). The irony in all this is that if we could switch places, we'd both be happy. I'd love to be at home all by my lonesome. And he would get energized by all the socializing.

So you gotta wonder, why? Why and how did we end up in this situation? I almost wonder if it's a lesson to teach us more about each other. That's my only theory for the moment.

Sometimes I re-read my old journals and I'll see that in almost each one, I have sort of an obsession du jour (or du journal). Pages and pages written about a boring job, a horrible boyfriend (or lack of one), a bad roommate. In all cases, those problems passed. I'm trying to remind myself of that now. This lack of balance in our lives isn't going to ruin us. It will inconvenience and make us a little unhappy for a while, but this will also pass. I'm curious to see what comes next.

Amazing Weekend

I love three-day weekends, especially when I don't have any events. I did have a work event on Friday night and we have another tonight, but I still got three full days off. The temperature was in the 70s or 80s most of the weekend. We invited a few people over for a barbecue on Saturday. Very relaxed and pleasant. On Sunday and Monday, we did a few household chores and yard work and took advantage of the great weather. We went to Matt's and sat on the patio, drinking margaritas and eating queso. We walked the dogs frequently and sat outside in our yard drinking beer. I love "spring" in Texas. I know we'll have a couple of cold fronts between now and April. But they won't last long and will be followed by beautiful weather.

I wouldn't change much in my life. I'm lucky to have a great husband, a nice house, a fun neighborhood, and a houseful of entertaining pets. I would love to make a couple of career adjustments, but those are the only changes I would ask for. After being here seven months, I can say I'm happy to be back in Texas. (Even if it is a red state.)

Doh!

I've been waking up early again to try to finish revising my novel. I swear, every time I say "my novel," I feel like I've been saying the same thing for years. Which, at this point, I have. "So just finish the damn thing already!" I say to myself, which is why I've been getting up at 5 a.m. when I'm most clearly not a morning person.

My non-morningness was clearly demonstrated to me today. As I have revised chapters, I've found two (so far) that I thought could stand alone as stories. Which I have submitted to a couple of literary magazines. I don't know what my chances of publication are; I've never submitted any fiction before. (Actually, I may have submitted one story when I was 21 or something, but that's it.) I can write a pretty decent cover letter when applying for a job, but my fiction cover letters suck and I know it. They are essentially, "Here is my story called X. Please consider it for your (insert publication name.)" Then I do a short bio, including my non-fiction publications and that's about it.

This morning I was glancing at these previously submitted stories and I realized that one of them has a typo. In the FIRST SENTENCE. Like I said, not a morning person. I think I'm going to have to re-read everything at night, when I can think like a human.

Something I've noticed

as I revise my manuscript: I have it-itis. I use the word "it" constantly. As I rewrite, I try to change it every time it appears.

A Little Happiness

I've been a little sad lately. My job has been very busy and I've been working long hours which means I have little time for myself, my husband, my workout routine, or revising my novel. Thus, the sadness. I know this sounds whiny. A lot of people have worse problems. I'm just tired. Our busy season runs from January through May and that's just the way things are. April is going to be a bitch. We have three and sometimes four events per week. That means late night or weekend hours, unfortunately.

But the sun is shining. Today I noticed green grass poking its way through all the yellow dead lawns in my neighborhood. Spring is on the way and that makes me happy. Because if I still lived in Chicago, I would be cold. February is a horrible month in the Midwest. I would still be cold in June. So no matter how tired or cranky I am, at least I'm warm and the sun is shining.

Also, I think we're getting a puppy tonight.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Expurgated Entry

For economic self-preservation.