Category Archives: I Write, Therefore, I Write

It’s What I Do, Beyond That, There Is No Definition For This Prolific Addiction

Technical Writer, Death via paper cut

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large_writeillRecently I was hired for a writing job. The hiring process went a bit like this……..

Evil: “Hey, you’re a writer, will you freelance a report for our company?”
Rebecca: “Oh, I don’t know, I write and all, but I really don’t think I’m that sort of writer.”
Evil: ” We’ll pay you XY plus Z for 50 pages.”
Rebecca: “Send over the contract, I am your gal!”

By page 5…I thought I would die. No, really….D…I…E…..
As in, take a letter opener, jab it into one eyeball, go stir crazy and paper cut my wrists until I bleed dry–Dead. Gone. DIE.

I didn’t know I would hate—no hate isn’t strong enough—despise, technical report writing when I sold my soul to the devil. I figured it might be boring and tedious, but I had no idea I would pray for a flesh eating bacterial infection or a bout of E.coli to get me off the hook. Nothing spells sympathetic job release like a call from the ICU in a hospital saying, “I’m sooo sorry, you’ll have to get someone else to do it, I’m conversing with death, no Wi-Fi, only IV’s.”

50 pages of mind numbing boredom. 50 pages of zero humor. I didn’t get to write the word ass one single time. I didn’t get to use a metaphor or crack a single snarky sentence over their corporate heads. I had to pay attention to grammar and use a spell check. I had to research the most boring information I’ve ever absorbed and despite the fact I became a lip strumming psycho by page 50, I fear I may have learned a few things about the Internet. Excuse me…… sorry, I think I just vomited a bit in the back of my throat.  

There’s a good chance I’ll carry a mental scar for the rest of my natural born writing life. It was so painful and internally traumatic that a person just doesn’t forget and move on. I fear the next person who says to me, “Hey, you’re a writer, right?” will witness me sticking my fingers in my ears and running as fast as I can the opposite direction screaming, find a happy place, find a happy fucking place………

Did I mention it was bad and that I didn’t enjoy writing a technical report?

I did learn a few things about myself during that paid writing torture. For one, I’d fall down dead before I’d admit failure or quit something even if it feels like someone is driving tiny red hot pokers into my skull every five minutes. And two, I am NOT a writer. Not that sort. Not even close. The people who write in that field must be a special breed of super patience. Personally, I’d rather exfoliate an entire elephant with a toothbrush than suffer that sort of writing job again.

Therapy ~ This is purely part of the ”healing the writer within me”, recovery program. I’m hoping it will help settle the night terrors and occasional gag reflex I’m still suffering.
Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass…..There now, I feel better already.

The Voice that Sways The Lands

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We have the long arm of the law and we have unspoken guidelines. We have the soft embrace of humanity and the harsh slap of reality. We muddle through rumors and hearsay but cling to hope and authenticity. We have politicians and ministers, news wires and gossip pages. We have the word of God, and then we have………Oprah.

Run James Run

Run James Run

Oprah, who is mighty and powerful has apologized to James Frey for publicly slaughtering him on her talk show. Well slap me silly and humble my opinions. I am impressed.

I was one of the few million who watched James first interview with Oprah when he was hailed and admired by her. I was also one of the many (many) million people who sat helplessly on my couch watching James Frey take a beating and slashing during his second interview with the Queen of Talk show. That was painful to behold.

I know he stretched his truths. I understand he ‘duped’ Miss Oprah and readers on various levels. He even blatantly lied about a few facts. I know. I get it. But honestly, I read his book long before Oprah kissed it with her golden lipstick and had my own doubts about the authenticity of many stories in the book. HOW, could someone not doubt the stories?? Seriously? How? Reading that book and believing every word is like reading the bible and believing every story written there. A bit of perspective people, really………

Stories…..key word. Memories…..Memoir……..a version of someones truth and lies. He wrote a book, a story, an interpretation of his experience, and it touched a cord with readers. His book should never have elevated him to Messiah or Prophet status, but Oprah christened it and he fell mercy to the circus.

Enter a Smoking Gun and his brutal fall from grace. When he was officially busted for his gray zone, he should have been able to live his disgrace out in blissful royalty checks and behind shuttered windows. Instead, he was called to the carpet by Mother Oprah. Through the entire second episode my mind quietly chanted, run James, run! The way I saw it, he was already ruined. He was nailed to the cross, thoroughly whipped, there really was no need for Oprah to throw the spear into his side.

I imagine some would disagree with me on this. That’s ok. To be honest, I wasn’t even routing for the guy until after Oprah smacked him around. Out the gate I didn’t appreciate his style of writing and felt it was cheating the basics of dialogue and punctuation. Some of his chapters were so outrageous, how could someone not disregard them as anything but imaginary fluff.

I think when it comes down to it, I expected more from Graceful Oprah. She put the man in the glaring spotlight in the first place. I doubt he had many choices but to go along with the ride and pray nightly his truths weren’t discovered. I know she was mad, I know she felt like she had mud on her face because of her endorsement, but the poor man didn’t commit murder, he wrote a book. Just a book……

Years ago I found her public slashing beneath her. It lacked grace, compassion and understanding. Today I find her apology admirable. What do you guys think?

On My Honor

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I have a bit of backlog acknowledgments to mention before I let loose the typing fingers on whatever topic they decide to pound out for the day, which currently, is still undecided (Rebecca, the writer, wake up!) First up~
My site was nominated for The Blogitzer!  I’m trying to stifle the shyness in me and force myself to mention all this, so here we go…*The Blogitzer* and one other nomination, that I’m truly trying to ekk up the courage to place on here. It has the letters H and O plus T followed by Mommies. If you really want to know, you’ll have to click on that badge ( if I’ve done this badge thing correct, you can click on that green box and it will be like a magical carpet ride off to the Bloggers Choice Site, but don’t click yet, I have more to say)……..I’d like to thank @Jtuwliens for this honor. Her description about my site dropped my jaw to the floor and makes me want to read me! I am very honored and extremely grateful. Thank You~ If anyone feels like going there, and voting for Provocation of Mine (d), I thank you as well!

Over the last month several people have mentioned my blog for various Honors. I know I’m quite the slacker in the department about mentioning those personal nods on my blog. To be honest, I’m currently having a heart attack about putting that nomination badge up there, it’s a me thing…..But, I assure everyone it is not because I am un-grateful or there is a lack of appreciation, just the opposite. Humble pie constricts my throat, I smile a lot, but I’m hopelessly bad at taking a compliment. I hope by adding an Honors page at the top of my blog, and always (from now on that is, and as much as I’d love to go back and include all the honors I’ve received over time, I just can’t) including them there, I’m doing right by the people who have done so………Thank you everyone!!!

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Yesterday I received an email from someone that has had me thinking a lot about the power of words. (Swallow J, don’t worry, I’m not giving details, on my honor) This email was from someone who read one of my letters to my daughters, about Death and Loss, and he was touched enough to write me an email about how it effected him.

I was moved, for many reasons. Today I see this big picture. A strand of connection that is threaded in and around the choices I make when it comes to words and writing. I’m not just talking about blog writing, although it’s a form of connection I doubt could be rivaled.

I write letters to my daughters, both here on my blog as a series (that’s been neglected), and handwritten ones. I write letters for the snail mail and send them off to friends with the hope that my words touch a persons day unexpectedly. I write short stories and novel length sagas without an ounce of expectation, but I do know someday they will connect one way or another with the universe. I give my life timeline and concrete memories via my blog. Words with purpose, sentences with connection, a paragraph that embraces or makes one laugh. I realized I do need that, I do want that for myself and I do thrive standing in the river surrounded by movement. I realized, in one form or another, words have a current and I am a better, happier, more content person when I share them. My life is also more richer when I actively seek others words and connection. Be it books, letters, blogs, a news article………….

I imagine everyone has a reason for why they write, what they write. Perhaps it’s important to them, ~the why~, perhaps it doesn’t matter in the least. I am prone to navel gazing, so to some degree, purpose for doing things is always on my radar. So today, I’m just finally uncovering the method to the madness. The ying and the yang of why I do what I do. I like knowing purpose and I believe I’m finally closing in on that definition.

~Grace note: Here’s a concept to try out~ As J did for me, write someone an email telling them how much you appreciated something they wrote. You could make their day, their week and bring an unexpected smile to their world~

 

Have Navel, will Gaze

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I don’t remember if I mentioned this earlier in the program, but I’ve forsaken my handwritten journal for the month of April. Basically, I wanted to eliminate ‘frivolous writing distractions’ from my goal of staking a flag on top of Mount Blogger in 30 days.

I’m still writing on other things, so this hasn’t overshadowed projects, but I find myself filling up inside with daily thoughts and occurrences that would normally hit the paper pages of a journal. So, for today, I’m pretending this space is pulp and I’m free to navel gaze, scribble, think through pen and keep track of life~~

t_1723Dear Rebecca, (yes, when I write in my journal, I write to myself)

Sorry I’ve neglected you for over a week now. Since this is my confessional booth, I’ll just fess up, I’ve traded in the habit of paper and pen for high tech journaling for a month. It’s been frustrating at times, other times, not so bad. I haven’t tried until today meshing the two halves, paper and online journal style of writing, together. I can say, having backspace, delete keys and a spell checker is one step above paper journaling. I appreciate that bonus and keeps things from going down the path of sloven entries which I detest. I do miss the touch and smell of leather bound delights……….

As for life over the last week, things are relatively good considering where I started the beginning of the year off at. As always, I don’t feel like there is enough time in a single day to satisfy all I want to accomplish. I’ve been going to sleep well past 1 a.m and up with the girls at 6 a.m. and it’s starting to catch up. If only I could take naps like the rest of the human population maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad.  Perpetually feeling like I’m behind or missing out on something is nagging at me. With the resurgence of Spring my desire to move and get out more is pushing at the gates as well. If I could define this internal emotion it would be…suffocation? Time to plan some out of town adventure before the feeling evolves into one of despair and panic~

I’m still working on the short story collection and haven’t thrown in the towel in disgust. Threading one cohesive piece of meaning through them all is proving to be more of a pain in the ass then the desirable challenge I bargained for.I gave one of the finished stories to Mom for input and editing. She expressed she really loved it (doesn’t she have to because she’s Mom?) and she cleaned up my typical grammar errors and sentence structure mistakes. I think it’s time to overwhelm her and give her 3 more to go over. I’ve twisted and turned, manipulated and pounded them into the ground so much that they are starting to look like blended word mud. Time to step away and leave the stories be. At this point in time it’s just sadistic to keep torturing the poor things with my compulsive obsessive behaviors.

Last night when I was driving home late from work I was half-listening to talk radio. It was some show based on ghosts? Aliens? Dream travel? Super natural I suppose. They had a guest on that evidently was an expert in all those departments because she would fall asleep, dream about Mars and wake up with red dirt on her feet. Anyway, the one thing that really caught my ear (like red dirt wasn’t enough to make me raise two eyebrows) was when she said, “Aliens, they took all my eggs. I’m 50 years old and never had a child”…….who knew! Egg stealing Aliens. Now I’ve heard it all. The strangeness in humanity continues to amaze me, shock me and perplex me. After I heard that, I turned the radio down and really let it sink in. If that woman really, and I mean truly, believes Aliens played thievery on her vital eggs. Then perhaps, I’m so far from the crazy I label myself when I’m feeling out of sorts that I need to haul out the dictionary and find a new word to define my craZy, but clearly not alien egg stealing craZy, thoughts.

Until next time~ Rebecca Anne~

One, does Not Necessarily Agree with the Other

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Several people have been surprised by my requests (I say groveling) for topic material as I set out to climb Mount Blogger for 30 days. I thought I’d explain that today, because, I’ve sensed confusion and it’s a topic! it’s an entry! it’s day 6 of 30!

Here’s the thing and be prepared for crazy writer talk now….OK, subconsciously prepared for that? All righty then, on this site, we, that’s me as well, are dealing with ‘Rebecca, the writer’…..

When I decided to embark on this endeavor I didn’t exactly consult with Rebecca, the writer. I just assumed she’d enjoy the opportunity to write to her hearts content on a daily basis. She has been in charge of our blogging experience for 5 years now and I boldly decided it was time for her to wrap a pretty bow of predictability around her efforts, daily. I see now, that was placing ambition ahead of permission and it was a brazen assumption of my ability to direct all the aspects that are me, myself and I.

Flash Back~ The first morning of my 30 day challenge: We, all that is Rebecca, sat down at the computer, hands poised over the keyboard and encouraged, “Do your thing, Rebecca who writes”

Nothing. Not a word. Blinking cursor, general panic.

To explain the battle that came next, only an imaginary visual will do. Picture a lady, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wall five feet from the computer. We shall call her, Rebecca the writer. Then picture another lady, we shall call her, overall Rebecca, sitting at her computer, hands hovering unsure over the keyboard, eye’s rounded, pleading in the direction of Rebecca the writer, waiting for instruction.

Silent. Painful. Impasse.

Conversation ensued to the tune of ”Please, give me something, anything”…..”What, am I some circus animal that does tricks on command. Am I a dog, sit, stay, fetch?”  ……” No! Of course not, but this is your thing, writing is your passion, this is your blog.” ……..”I don’t write because I have to, I write when I want to, how I want to and if I want to. You didn’t see me raising my hand for some 30 day adventure in writing. I’d’ call that a misstep in judgement considering I’m the one who writes!” …….“Look, I understand that and have always let you do things your way, but just this once, I’d like for you and I to work together with a general goal.” ………”NO, that’s not how it works”…….”what works?” ……….“I work. The creative process dictates when I’m inspired to write about something. It says when a topic has settled around my thoughts and the words are demanding release, THEN I write. Since when have I wrote anything because I  should or have too?” …..”Well, that’s sorta the point of this exercise in daily writing, you haven’t been exactly disciplined or reliable in the writing department.” ….(visual moment) Two handed Double Middle Finger, F*ck off, Flip Off……”Ouch!, Jezus, I know you can be temperamental, and fickle and lets not forget stubborn and impossibly hard to please, but your cooperation is vital now, so please,enough of your creative flow and writer mentality mumbo jumbo, I need you! “…….silence…….”Fine, be that way, I’ll figure out how to get around your tantrum, just you watch”…………….silent wicked double dare smile…….

So, that’s why I needed topics and questions, just in case she who likes to dominate 70% of my mind space, pulls a writer strike and refuses to participate out of spite. I know, I know, crazy-ish talk, but that’s how it goes down in my mind. Negotiations, nice conversations, brawls, congrats, pleasant ruminating and vicious cat fights. Feel the love, feel the love.

Here’s the good news, and she who writes is feeling pissy that I’m going to write this passage. Despite the internal battle that has been going down, when it comes down to the words that do end up on this page I can’t say who is captain of the ship everyday. Usually it is that Rebecca writer. But sometimes when I’m feeling abandoned by her and start plunking words down at random, that lady against the wall walks over, puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers “Good Hell. Writing is so not your talent, I’d write it this way”……and I thank her.