Mixing it up

I have been sticking with using the computer for writing lately. I switch it up from time to time and write in long hand to find the nuggets that I’m just not able to get to on the computer. The paydirt aka gold comes when I take the time to sink back into memory and find the hurt by journaling and writing in long hand  

 

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Revisions

Wednesday morning I’m in bed with the cat on my lap waking up and drinking coffee. My head is full of clients, the day ahead and my work load for the rest of the full. 

My writing has been on the back burner. Sure I’ve made it to my weekly writing group churning out seven pages a week or completing edits and re-writes on previous  writing from the week before so the table can look at it again. 

I used to never bring my revisions back to the table. I would just bring new pages every week. It helped me move my story forward on my manuscript that was once 350 pages. Then 275 and now 195 after revision and re-writes. 

Thank god (or goddess if that’s your bag) for re-writes. On Monday I sat down with my editor at her house in SE at a table and cut, pasted, taped and stapled the story together. My manuscript that was once rewrites and revisions and story woven in and out of time: 1983, 2010, 1984, present was being put in chronological order. 

Jackie the dog asleep on the dog bed beneath my editors feet and Elvis the other dog on the couch.  

The dates: 1983, 1984, 1987, etc finally put in order. I clutched the manuscript as I headed out the door back to my clients. Careful not to drop the carefully clipped and sutured pages on the pavement. 

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Saturday 

Saturday afternoon and I’m walking down stark street to pick up my car at the mechanic. The one Doug told me was probably ripping me off. 

He always had words of wisdom for me in that way controlling people do. I should know. I am that person. 

I’ve been up since 6:45 am. Something I don’t normally so anymore. I’ve been working way too much and having a hard time unwinding from my work habits. 

After a 90 minute massage the day before, a bath in Epsom salts immediately after and take out Thai I found it hard to fall asleep. Saturday morning I bike 30 minutes to and from my 60 minute jazzercise class.  I meet with a client and thankfully the client wants to cut our meeting short. I don’t normally meet on Saturday but I’m under deadline so I do it anyway. The massage has left me energized for Saturday work. Normally it makes me tired in this way I can’t put my finger on. 

I get my outback from the mechanic, pay the $30 for the oil change and I’m on my way. 

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Saturday re-writes

  

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My work schedule has been insane

Thursday afternoon and I’m at the Laurelhurst duck pond trying to be grateful for a sunny day but the only thing that’s running through my head is deadlines and how I’m way behind on writing and my writing routine has fallen off. It used to be get up and write every day for an hour. Right now it’s more like every other day if I’m lucky. 

Things have shifted into day time appointments with clients and tours of retail stores back to back. Writing reports and billing on the weekend. 

And I’ve started to see someone but don’t want to write about them.  The only thing I’ll say is that things feel calm and slow with this person.  No running and chasing.  I chased the boyfriend/non-boyfriend to the point of him being like a drink.  

Addicted. 

The lines of communication are open with this new person and I’m practicing telling him how I feel and what’s what. It’s easy. 

At the duck pond the three ducks come ashore and nest. They tuck their beaks into their feathers and sleep. Their feet disappear and it’s zen. 

My mind is a million miles a minute following my body that never wants to stop moving. Only wants to do more and more and more. 

This morning at the naturopaths office it was a reminder to hold still. A radiology tech did an ultrasound on my carotid artery. I had to lay back on the table and be still.

Close my freaking eyes. 

The radiology tech ran a device over my neck to look at the build up on my arteries. This was my reminder to freaking relax. 

To calm the fuck down. 

A heart attack. 

Let me back up even more. Three weeks earlier the naturopath did a battery of blood tests. The results came back and my cholesterol had jumped from 199 to 276. 

“It could be a result of your thyroid,” he said. 

“Oof…” Was all I said. 

He handed me a brochure about stroke and heart attack prevention and told me I should go vegetarian. 

I left his office and made a conscious effort to calm the fuck down.  Giving up bacon was going to be hard.  So was steak and hamburgers.  

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The rains back

And so is editing another draft of The Yellow Blanket. I’ve been dragging my feet a bit since December. I carved out some time on my calendar ahead of time so I could take the day off and go out to my sisters house.  Yesterday I sat at her dining room table, manually entered dates and started moving large pieces of text around. Basically right now the writing is all done, but it’s a highly disorganized mess with a messed up timeline. I’m working to straighten out the timeline and add some connecting items to help the story flow together.  The end really is in sight. The end product will probably be around 70k words (190 typed pages).  

The manuscript looks very different from when I first started. When I originally started writing the story was about my childhood sexual abuse and my paternal families reaction.  Today, it’s still about that, but I added my ex – boyfriend who I refer to as the “boyfriend/non-boyfriend.”  I never  set out to write about him he just started showing up in my writings. I realized at a certain point that he needed to be in the story because he informed how my adult romantic relationships came together.  Being a survivor has made romantic relationships extremely challenging for me.  

I’m excited to finally, finally, FINALLY see the light at the end of the tunnel

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Saturday is

Riding my bike with the broken spoke to the bike shop to get it repaired. All the fair weather bikers there too. Looking at bikes and getting repairs in their bike that’s been in the garage all winter. 

This is not me. My bike is out in all types of weather: rain, wind, and winter.  When the streets are empty and it’s dark. I prefer it this way. Less crowded.  The bike repair guy says he can’t fit me in today. I skulk away and resent the hipster woman looking at 2k cross bikes. 

The truth is this: 8 years ago I was that person. Blasting down the street without a helmet, ear buds in and excited. I purchased my friend Almucz’s cruiser bike for $25.  She was leaving for NYC and didn’t want it.  I blasted up and down Clinton Street at night without lights. It was liberating. No helmet with the wind in my hair and spring. 

Today you wouldn’t catch me dead without my helmet, lights on in the middle of the day and yelling at cars. If you nose your car out at an intersection I may point at you. I don’t want to get hit. I don’t want to die. 

That’s reason I scream bloody murder and scowl at you while I bomb down Clinton street on my cherry red road bike. It’s nothing personal. It’s purely selfish.  I’m protecting myself. 

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