Oh Dear Lord, What Am I Getting Myself Into...

In my everlasting search for living and not just existing, I have decided to participate in something that every single friend of mine who knows how much I love to write has (and knows what this month-long event is) has encouraged me to do. I have always made excuses, ranging from “It’s too hard” to “It’s the beginning of the holiday season! Do you know what that means to anyone that is a manager in the retail/food industry?!” (Insert a shrill sound of panic for that last one.)

However, this year, I have decided to not only do it, but to commit to it openly and to talk about it. I usually keep what I consider to be personal commitments to myself. Partially because of my intense fear of failure, but mostly because as soon as you admit to committing to something others may not understand, all the negativity comes out. “Well why would you want to do that?” “It just sounds hard and you probably won’t finish.” “Aren’t you just adding a lot of unnecessary stress to an already incredibly stressful time?” (Again, shrill sound of panic.)

So, in the effort of not only committing to something openly and putting my possible failure out there for all to see, I am also jumping ahead of the negative people who will hear what I am doing and say: “Go share your Haterade with someone else.” (Or possibly something with some expletives, depending on the level of pessimism.)

I will not let anyone’s negativity or questioning of my ability to do this deter me from what I am going to do. If I can’t finish, then that’s ok because getting out there and trying is half the battle. Therefore, if I die in battle, at least I will have gone down with some dignity!

Ok, I know, the suspense must be killing you. What is this great thing I am doing that I am committing to so openly and vehemently?

NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH.

AKA: Novel November

AKA: Write 50,000 words of a novel from November 1 to November 30.

AKA: Write almost 2,000 words per day…

AKA: Write almost 2,000 words per day in a genre in which I am not completely comfortable nor have any idea for a plot or characters or theme or setting or…

AKA: I AM ALREADY STARTING TO FEEL THE STRESS!! (Just kidding. It’s more like excitement…I think…)

 Ok, I need to breathe.

Why, you may ask, am I going to do this?

Well, mostly because I want to do something that will push me mentally and creatively. I spend a lot of my time supporting my friends in their creative endeavors, but rarely do I ever push myself to do the same. I am always encouraging others to do the things they love and go after their dreams, but I have noticed recently that I have trouble doing the same thing for myself. This is the first big step to doing this.

I also have to say that I am making an effort to do things that are outside of my comfort zone. I am taking a Country Line Dancing class (don’t worry, there is a post forthcoming about that) and trying out some new classes at the gym, but mentally there is very little that I have done since college to push the boundaries and see what I am truly capable of.

The best part? This costs me nothing but time. It may mean that my DVR will be working on overtime (Wait? I can’t watch as much TV??? I may need to back out now…) or that I can’t spend every evening off at karaoke (Ok…now I’m really rethinking this whole bit…), but as long as I make a plan and stick to it, I know that, at the end of November, whether I hit the goal of 50,000 words or not, at least I gave it my all.

However, if How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, Two Broke Girls, Law and Order: SVU, or any other of my favorite shows gets cancelled, I’m never going out of my comfort zone again!

Now I have one month to figure out what the hell I’m going to write about for 30 days, 2,000 words a day.

It's Always Sudden

Two months ago, I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my dad before I went to the movies. It was “The Body,” the episode in which Buffy comes home to find her mom dead on the couch. The episode had always been one that brought tears to Dad’s eyes and whenever we caught it, we would watch in silence. Mom would always ruin it with commentary about how many times we must have seen it and each time, including this time, we would shush her because she didn’t understand the brilliance and realism of the episode.

Dad started watching Buffy with me during the second season. It was just the right mixture of horror, thriller, drama, violence and comedy. He eventually became even more obsessed with it than I did, even going as far as to Google certain producers because he saw their names attached to other things and wanted to make sure that it was the same producers. If you knew my dad, Googling something was a bit of an adventure, since typing a name might take an hour. He would recognize an actor who played a bit part in one episode and joke, “I have no life.” However, if anyone wanted to play “The Seven Degrees of Buffy,” he would slay any opponent.

There is one scene in this episode that always made our silence go from one of attention to one of genuine immersion and relation. The Scooby Gang is getting ready to head to the morgue. Willow keeps changing outfits, trying to figure out the most appropriate, panicking about what to wear. Tara, always the comforting and loving one, doing everything she can to help Willow. Xander is angry and trying to find anyone to exact some revenge upon, whether it’s a supernatural force or a wall. Anya, a 1,000 year old demon who has never had to deal with death on a personal level, is just trying to understand. By the end of the scene, they all calm down and realize their job is to get to the morgue and be there for Buffy. Dad always loved this scene and I always knew it had a lot to do with the different ways everyone deals with death. But, I also knew that someone, if not all of them, reminded him of himself when his parents passed away. I could relate to it somewhat, because I had lost my grandparents, whom I loved very much, but it wasn’t until later that night I truly lived it and understood why it resonated so much with him.

Because, suddenly in the middle of a movie, I got a call that my dad, the most important person in my life and the only person who could sing along with me to every song from “Once More with Feeling,” was dead.

That night and ever since then, the following speech has been stuck in my head. Joss Whedon, I just have to say thank you writing my response for every person who wonders how I’m doing.

"I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's... there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And Xander's crying and not talking. And I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever. And she'll never have eggs or yawn or brush her hair. Not ever. And no one will explain to me why."

Unfortunately, the world does not stop when something like this happens, as evidenced by my continuing to write and update this blog. I will not stop going to work, stop hanging out with my friends. I will attend the 3 weddings I am invited to this year and I will celebrate happily. I will take Meg out for her 21st birthday and make sure she has one to remember. (Or possibly not. It is her 21st afterall!) I will pay my bills and drive my car and read books and I will continue living. I will, however, never understand and I will never stop missing him. On the other hand, I will always do everything knowing that Dad is with me, especially when I am singing along to “Rest in Peace.”

And if you don’t get that last reference, look it up. You’ll like it.

Books, sunshine, writers and lectures: what more could I ask for?

It’s Saturday and a beautiful, clear 75 degrees outside. So what do I do?

Go to the LA Times Festival of Books of course!

I had planned on going for quite sometime, mainly because, well, it’s a festival of BOOKS! But then I found out that there would be a lot of great writers and publishers there, so I got even more excited.

It was held at UCLA and, even though I’ve been to UCLA more times than I can tell you, I realized today that I had never really seen it. The buildings are beautiful and, although the campus is huge, it was easy to get around and find my way. (Plus, there were no major hills, like at the better UC up north) It was the perfect venue to hold a festival like this and it made me miss school a lot.

The first panel I went to was called “Fiction: the Re-imagination of a Life.” Now, I’m not a fiction writer. I wouldn’t say that I suck at writing fiction, but I could name a few who would. But I am always curious to learn new and interesting ways to write, so this seemed like a great place to start. The panelists were people I had never heard of, but am now interested in reading. They brought up a lot of good points about character and theme and I got a few ideas for some fiction I might one day actually sit down and write.

Then I did the less intellectual part of my journey. I went to see Alyssa Milano talk about her new book. I wasn’t going to but I caught the end of the speaker before her (Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years!) and a seat opened up so I sat and listened to her. I’ve always been pretty indifferent to her, but today I realized just how cool she is. Her book is about baseball and how it helped her form a relationship with her dad, which is something I can totally relate to. She was very entertaining and interesting and, even though I considered this the less stimulating of my journeys today, I felt like maybe I should go buy her book.

The next panel I went to was a discussion with Ray Bradbury. Yes, as in Fahrenheit 451. (!!!!!) I was very excited, even though I had to choose between him and Gore Vidal. To tell the truth, it was kind of boring. It was more of an interview than a discussion and it was crowded and hot in the auditorium. Plus I had a man next to me who obviously thought that sporting sandals and socks while wearing no deodorant is an appropriate thing to do in public. But, how many people can say they got to hear Ray Bradbury speak for free? Well, probably about 500 because that’s how many the auditorium held.

The last panel I went to was called “Publishing: the Big Picture” and it was very interesting. They talked about how the problem isn’t really that Americans don’t read, it’s that they don’t buy books. They also talked about how the main reason people don’t read is because there is so much to read and people are overwhelmed by choice. It really made me think because, for me, when I walk into a bookstore and see all the choices, it exhilarates me. I love that there is so much to read and that there are endless possibilities. But, I do understand how hard it can be to have to choose when there are a million options.

I didn’t end up buying anything because I got turned off by the amount of people crammed into the little booths. I did, however, write down some presses to look up and a few authors to google. I had a great day there and am glad I went.

I also thought about how happy I am to be the kind of person that can go do something like this without needing someone to be with me. I know a lot of people who wouldn’t see it as fun or would think it was pointless, even scary.

But honestly, I do kind of wish someone would have gone with me, because there was tremendous mocking potential. I didn’t know you could still buy Hammer pants and Keds, but boy-o-boy was I wrong!

More tiring that I thought...

I've been toying with the idea of writing about my experiences in Berkeley, not for a blog, but more for a creative nonfiction project that's really more for me than for anyone else. There are so many things that I remember that I really want to write down so that when I'm old, I can read them and remember the good times I had when I was young.

I decided to write using my Facebook status updates as a kind of inspiration/break in the story. Kind of like Chapter titles. I started out by writing a rough outline of the stories I wanted to write about, like being a scream-and-run from Cloyne and being the house manager and kitchen manager, in addition to stories about my classes and my friends. My outline became three pages long so I knew I wouldn't be able to just sit down and write them out in one day.

Today, I sat down and started it. I wrote about three pages about my first day in Berkeley, where I moved into Cloyne, then out of Cloyne, and into Hoyt. The surprising thing about writing it, is that I remember things better than I thought I would. It was almost three years ago, but I still remember that day and all its traumatizing aspects. There are so many more details I could have, and probably will, write in, that I actually felt myself getting physically tired. But at the same time, exhilarated.

As tired as I feel right now, I can't wait to write more. I really want to get these stories down and re-read them and edit them and really make them into something I can keep for the rest of my life and share with my family and friends. I honestly don't think I'm a great writer or story teller, but at the same time, it feels good to get some of the stories of my life down "on paper." I know that I will probably be the only one who actually reads it, but it feels good nonetheless. Who knows, maybe I'll put them in a blog so that anyone who wants to read them, can....