Resolutions

Is there such a thing as a writer who doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions?  I’m sure there are a few who claim not to, but are they telling the truth?  I’m pretty sure there is a little voice in the back of their head saying, “1) edit novel, 2) submit work to journals, 3) meditate, 4) write something (anything) every day, 5) write at least 50,000 words on unnamed novel…” even if they choose to not tell anyone about it.  Voices in heads are considered socially perverse anyway, right?

I make writing resolutions every year.  I never meet them, even though I make sure they aren’t too ambitious or heady.  Come January, I’m usually pretty disappointed in my laziness throughout the year and spend a week or so beating the shit out myself (figuratively speaking, of course) for being a useless clod of a writer.  What I should be doing instead is asking myself why I am pretending to be such a useless clod of a writer.

I truly believe laziness is a personality trait.  It is something I have struggled with my entire life, to the point where having to work hard (or even not so hard at times) can give me a full-on panic attack.  Of course, I fear failure.  I might even fear success.  I’m certainly not the first.  When fear and laziness gets in the way of what you want to do, something needs to happen.  I think I have a good idea of what that something is for me.

I say mean things to myself.  I tell myself over and over again that I must do such and such by a certain time.  Then, I degrade myself mentally the entire time I’m trying to do it.  I think about how I really need to get published and decide that being published is the only way to prove my self-worth.  Then, I feel bad because it hasn’t happened yet.  How could it, if I haven’t really tried?  I don’t get much writing done in the course of a year and the whiny imp inside of me equates that to being an incompetent, stupid, and worthless human being.  The truth is, saying these things to myself is wholly debilitating.  I need to stop.  Laziness is who I am.  The true Me doesn’t give two shits when and if I sit down to write or even if it’s any good.  That particular Me writes because it’s what she must do, like taking in water while drowning.  You can’t drown without inhaling, not that I’ve tried.

When it comes right down to it, you just can’t write the next great American novel if you don’t write the next great American novel.  My resolution is not to write it.

Not now, not ever.

Some thoughts on propaganda

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about propaganda.  Little “p” propaganda as opposed to the big “P” variety, the kind that sort of creeps into everything around us.  It’s a whole new game now from what it was in the days of the atomic family.  It’s not posters and documentaries (although those are still prevalent.  See articles 1 and 2).  And I’m afraid that no one is safe from it.  Well, a monk might be so long as he abstains from the world, but for the rest of us…

If you don’t watch tv, you are lucky.  You haven’t seen the countless advertisements from the gold buyers.  Funny how those things became more prevalent as our economy went down the drain.  While I firmly believe that things only have value because we attach a value to it, gold is more intrinsically valuable than a piece of paper that only represents wealth.  That is only because there is only so much gold…while money can be and is printed at will by the powers that be.  In the case of the United States, this power is the Federal Reserve Bank.

I won’t go all Ron Paul on you, because we diverge sharply on a few very important issues/solutions, but yikes.  I can’t think or speak of the FED without doing the spooky fingers and widening my eyes for dramatic effect.  Am I saying the gold buyers are more than private businesses out for financial gain and are in cahoots with federal conspirators?  No, silly-head.  That would make me a crazy person.  What I’m saying is “think about it.”  Oooooooooooooooh….

I guess I am a crazy person, but at least I’m charming.

Even though I know should be focusing on my thrilling library science education, I am seriously considering an in-depth study of propaganda in the United States.  I guess I should pick up a few classics on the subject.  Edward Bernays and the like, even though I know it will make me sick to read it.  I would also like to say that I do not believe this is in any way a partisan issue, despite linking to examples of propaganda in the current administration.  Republicans and Democrats are equally despicable in their usage of propaganda while in office and campaigning.  Honestly, I don’t think that many of the problems in this country are truly partisan in nature.  It’s all behind the scenes regardless of party lines, ensuring its longevity.

Any suggestions for further reading?  And please don’t link me to your favorite conspiracy theorist on youtube.  Well, I guess you can do that because I like watching that kind of stuff too.

It’s all about the shits and giggles, folks.

Food for thought on legalization

While farting about on the intar-webs yesterday (namely, sites like reddit and digg), I couldn’t help but notice there were more articles on the legalization of marijuana than is typical.  Good.

I’ve never smoked a blunt in my life.  I’m not sure if I would were it legal.  I mean, let’s be realistic here.  I don’t do a lot of things that are legal…like pop prescription pills, smoke cigarettes, or take out life insurance claims on my employees…not that I have any.  Still, I say “Good.”  Talk about it.  Keep talking.  Prohibition doesn’t work.  Make it legal.  Tax it.  Regulate it.  Make it safer, for gosh sake (do the same for cigarettes and other substances while you’re at it, bozos…additives usually=health problems).  Put an age limit on it, like cigarettes and alcohol.  Better, put it behind the prescription counter at the pharmacy, not behind the counter of a corner store.  Of course, people will get a hold of it anyway…but most of us have been to a drunken high school party.  They can get it whether it’s legal or not.  Make it really difficult for drug dealers to do their jobs, not by policing them and wasting our tax dollars on imprisonment, but by making their roles obsolete.

The problem is that “They” don’t want them to be obsolete.  As long as there are as many “criminals” as possible, there is reason for us to fear.  When there is reason to fear, there is reason to follow.  The powers that be do not want fewer criminals.  What they actually want are more criminals, so we will ask them to protect us by gradually removing our freedoms.  It’s for our own good, isn’t it?

I’m not saying that drug dealers don’t do horrible things.  Drug deals go horribly wrong.  People are hurt in the process (often in tragic ways).  If dealers are obsolete, however, those shady deals going on outside on your sidewalk where your children play will slowly go away.  Yes, “other” crime will still be happening.  Gangs will still be there.  Husbands and boyfriends on power trips (usually drunk, not “high”) will still be beating their wives, girlfriends, and children into comas.  There will still be dumb-fucks drunk off their asses acting belligerent and getting into violent trouble.  The previous two sentences are describing situations typically caused by a legal substance much more damaging to your brain and body than pot, by the way.  Although, I doubt I really need to mention it.  Again, we’ve all been to parties.  The drunks are falling down stairs, hitting on women who aren’t interested, getting in fights, and having the cops called on them by irate neighbors.  The pot heads are in the basement pretending they know who the hell Aristotle is and giggling to themselves about lord knows what.

What about addiction, you may ask?  I ask, what are we really doing to solve issues of addiction by putting addicts in prison?  Most people come out of prison worse off than when they went in.  It hardens you.  A few find God, and I’m happy for those people.  Most make new “friends” and create more enemies.  I say, write them a controlled prescription and give them real help.  Take those tax dollars away from the prisons and put it into health care facilities and rehabilitation programs.

If I had to define in one sentence the problem with the way things are done in this country (not regarding legalization specifically, but in general), it would be this:  We put too much money into what doesn’t work.

Soon, it will be here

November 1st marks the beginning of NANOWRIMO.  I did it in 2007 and managed to finish!  In 2008, I didn’t make it two weeks before giving up.  In my defense, it was my first year of graduate school and I didn’t have the whole “time-management” thing going for me yet.

Do I have it going for me now?  Probably not.  Ok.  Definitely not.  I’m full of crazy, though.  So, there’s that.  Crazy really does help…with more than just writing.  Just ask a dictator.

In 2007, the year I wrote a novel in a month, I had already come up with a plan by this point in the game.  I’ve got nothing.  Being a library student limits my real-world story inspirations to pulling staples, replacing said staples with plastic paper clips, and reading asinine articles from the Harvard Business Review on how to continue to be a corporate asshole without so much looking like one.

To be honest, I do have a few ideas.  They aren’t new ones.  I have been working on this rather ambitious story that spans a huge amount of time.  I seriously intend for this baby to be 1,000 pages long and take my entire life to finish.  What I am thinking of doing is taking an unwritten piece of that story and turning it into 50,000 words.  It wouldn’t be a complete novel in and of itself, but it would be a better use of my time than spending 30 days writing 50,000 words I have no passion for.

Or maybe I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.  It’s only October 22, after all.

It feels good to like what you’re writing

Yesterday, I made it my mission to do some writing.  I packed up my life, as it were, into a tote bag and headed to a coffee shop.   I managed to eke out a measly paragraph on the novella I am working on.  Let’s just say that I was less than thrilled with this progress.  I am at that exciting point in the story where everything is supposed to start coming together…only it isn’t.  It’s my favorite part of writing fiction, but it is certainly the most challenging.

Which means that I had to set some time aside this afternoon to do some brainstorming and outlining.  I don’t usually make a lot of outlines for my personal writing.  I prefer to let the spirit lead me and just deal with disasters as they come.  Outlines happen if and only if I am stuck, usually near the end of a story.  It really helps you step away from whatever your road blocks are and focus on the piece as a whole.  I now have a basic skeleton of the plot points in the final chapter, a bit of dialogue, and a few ideas on how to tie in some of the loose ends in the story.  I like where it’s heading.  I feel rejuvenated!  Alive!

This leads me to another topic:  It feels good to like what you’re writing.  I have a difficult time sticking with a story that I’m writing “just because.”  If I don’t feel that society will benefit from hearing my message (and I usually have some kind of “message”), I find it difficult to stick with it.  Part of this comes from being an idealist.  The rest comes from arrogance, I’m sure.  Come on fellow writers, you know it’s true!  We think our ideas are the shit and deserve to be read by the public at large.

Of course, we can’t all be right about that…

A Nobel Prize?

Face, meet Palm.

I know I am of the unpopular opinion here, and that’s fine, but what a joke.  Strengthening diplomacy?  Sure.  It’s not hard to do after our long love affair with “Dubya.”

But diplomacy with whom?  I’m pretty sure the same “sides” have been taken with Obama as have been with Bush, Clinton, and Bush.  Not to mention Reagan.  The same nations feel alienated.  What’s the difference?  A smile?  Dubya had that and more.  He even had a few tactless jokes.  Good pronunciation?  That must be it.  Obama can pronounce the names of world leaders.

That must be it.

For the record, I’m not a Republican.  It’s part of the reason I didn’t vote for the man who is now our “pride and joy.”  Chew on that for a minute.

Looking at things from the window

I try not to do it too often, but sometimes I can’t help myself.  There will be some flicker in the distance, some kind of odd shape forming, and I have to look at it.  I have to.  If I looked anywhere else, I would miss it.  I don’t inspect it further.  I don’t chase after it.  I usually regret that last part.

I guess it isn’t really the time or place (when and where would that be, anyway?) to bring it up, but I am a looker.  I like looking.  I like comparing.  I like wishing.  It’s what I do when I’m not doing other things.  What I am not, is a do-er.  That is, unless I don’t have much choice in the matter.

The “problem” with this is, I observe and reflect more than I come to conclusions.  Some would say that is a good thing, but when it comes to living (in the modern sense) conclusions and understandings are where it’s at.  You’re expected to know a thing or two…to have decided on things.  Correct me if I’m wrong (wait, don’t), but it sort of seems like that has become our definition of a grown-up.  If you aren’t sure what you’re doing with your life, why, you must be immature and lazy.  There could be no other explanation.

Or could there?

Truth is, if you aren’t sure what you’re doing with your life, the problem might not be with you.  There are people out there (me) who would go so far as to say that this A-type atmosphere (much like a chronic societal illness) is simply insufficient in creating happiness.  What’s more, it bores me.  There, I’ve said it.  I don’t want to work hard to “get ahead” because it’s really quite boring.  This is a world in which it is all about what you are doing to improve on what you’ve already achieved.  I’m trying to live the life of the mind and spirit here, folks!  Perhaps in the process I’ll learn a thing or two, but that really isn’t the point.

And yet…and yet…

Despite how much we all agree with the above (I’m assuming at least a few people out there do), we tend to feel bad for it.  We still work our butts off for meaningless degrees.  We fret over job interviews and creating strong social networks.  We make sure we aren’t sitting still so as to not arouse suspicion that we aren’t as outgoing as we claim to be.  It’s a form of torture.  Masochism, really.  Meanwhile, our minds and spirits scratch at the door, begging for attention.

Give it to them.

When this is all over, this current mentality of work-work-win!, your mind and spirit will be the things that matter.  I mean honestly, do you really think a zombie is going to give a flying fuck about your “personal property rights?”

I rest my case.

What on earth is she doing?

There’s nothing like a fresh blog.  In this day and age, everyone’s got one.  Some have two (I fit into that category).  Some have more.  My other blog is about knitting and sewing.  This blog is not about those things.

It’s about other stuff.  Stuff I feel the need to share.  Stuff I may or may not care deeply about.  Indeed, I reserve the right to hold varying levels of “care” for any topic I pursue  here.  I reserve the right to rant, complain, and contradict myself.

I am a contrary kind of girl.

I will use a lot of run-on sentences.  I know what they are and I know when I’m using them, thank you.  I will use a lot of parentheses and ellipses.  I know some take issue with that sort of thing, but I’m going to have to tell those sorts to get over it.  I may from time to time make up words and use antiquated slang (“whack,” “bee’s knees,” and “straight poop” are but a few of my personal favorites).  I might not capitalize when I’m supposed to and there is a chance that at some point I will misuse a colon or two.

No apologies for any of that.

I’ll probably be blogging about how I’m trying to “find myself” as a writer.  It will most likely be very boring, touchy-feely, and at times overly angst-ridden.  Don’t be surprised to see the words “why do I bother?” or “I quit!” popping up here and there. Writers can be emotional children sometimes (all the time).

I might blog about my strong opinions on popular culture, politics, literature, religion, philosophy, and emotion-stirring things I see throughout the day.

My name is Jessica.  I’m a quarter of a century old, which is pretty cool.  I write poetry and fiction while working on my master’s in library science.  No credentials to speak of.  Nice to meet you.