Link and unlinked

Goals for the next year (starting today; December 31 isn't the only time to make lists):

1) Embark on a full court press to
2) obtain an agent;
3) if the second doesn't pan out, I will at least know that 1) did the most that it could;
4) be established with life plans for the subsequent year (PhD or job, or both, knowing me);
5) in order to do so, apply to those entities (1 PhD in the bag, but how about the rest? And that expired GRE & damnable critical essay, taunting me when I just want to run around in fall sunshine);
6) and relax a little, maybe, sometimes.

additional notes 2 self

“INSERT THE STAKES AND THE STEAKS.”

And to all, a good night!

The 18-yard drive

It's a sunny day and I'm inside on the computer. Not so unusual from my teen years onward. But my focus is sharper than normal days, reminisce of the lock-yourself-in-the-library-and-finish-this thesis afternoons. I keep going today because I'm afraid if I don't, the wheels will slow and I'll be aimless again instead of pushing ahead.

As my emotions have calmed down in recent months, years, even, we haven't met much, Word is Bond. But I always come back for you.

notes on a novel

Summarizing scenes in my manuscript:

“Marcos is like, WTF is your deal? with Juliana joining in, and Savannah’s all, STFU, you don’t know my life.”

To your pre-dawn running and writing sessions:

We might as well accept now that for all my efforts to be a "real person who maintains the schedule of such a personage,” I will always prefer to run in the evening and write in the night. Two a.m., and this is the best I've felt all day.

rationale

The sky’s brooding over something that it’s not ready to talk about. It’s done this all week. I won’t prod, though the night is windless and I dangle one leg up into the air to keep it from sticking to the other.

“You’re good with people,” one of my gymnasts told me tonight.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You just are.”

I appreciated that, especially on a day when I felt like the sky: sometimes a crack of light, other moments eyes squinted shut.

the word & the right word

Seeking: a noun for accident, neither good or bad.

esperanza, like rain

Winter mornings spent saying, What are you doing with your life? turned to spring nights of I'm getting there. 

I've pushed the pieces into position. Some point in contradicting directions.

Now, we wait.

excerpts from the notes on my computer

• Amazing realization: I’m only 28:10 into this thunderstorm. 
• I’m afraid that if I sleep, I’ll miss Flo’s play-by-play of 50 Shades of Grey.
• my psychic stomach 

Happy Saturday!

throughways

That's the way of luck, isn't it? Sometimes the splash of water over the side and then other times you're the one leaning over, tipping the boat, looking for your reflection in the waves.

The ship rights itself.

Life advice from my father

"You could buy cheap houses and become a slumlord."

deep thoughts on campus

Student walking ahead of me: "I can't wait for the day when talking shit is going to help me resolve things."

Sing it, boy.

the georgia mud

In an ongoing extension of Bold Moves 2012, I have decided to "real"-ify my website with blog posts about writing. So if you've any interest in my writing life, you'll want to take a gander/follow me over there.

This space, up on the second shelf, will remain what it was always intended for: life, in whatever form.

many mountains moving

Victories:

• Driving through a missile range
• Frolicking in the dunes of White Sands
• Seeing a camel, a roadrunner, and a vulture
• Inadvertently running through a triathlon
• Hiking a mountain
• Visiting a beautiful gym
• Eating delicious sour cream ("Las altos mexicanos," as Tony would say)
• Finishing Game of Thrones and hovering in the local Barnes & Noble, reading Daughter of Smoke and Bone at a kiddie table hidden behind a fake tree
• Finding time for blog posts with Flo

Defeats:

• Sporting a sweet sunburn on one arm post-White Sands
• Stepping on cactus while hiking
• Falling down trail
• Breaking camera while falling

I'll take the mountains.

Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul

After a few years, I'm back in the southwest today. Incessant sun and cracking skin. Pale winter limbs that will never take on the smooth brown of Italian ancestors. So be it. Few trees, no grass. Nothing to bind me to the ground.

equinox

"That woman has brought me to dark places," she said.

Fire is catching

As Flo would say, it’s like Christmas, my birthday, and Lord of the Rings all at once.

(Yay for being at least ten years out of the target audience! Hey, haters gonna hate and all of that.)

That’s why they call it the blues

Last night, I came home from work a little cranky. In the mood to hide out. You know those nights. The query and writing blues kicked in, which of course led to, “And what am I doing with my life?”

Thanks to the power of social media, I learned that my favorite collegiate gymnastics team was streaming its competition online.

As I watched, continuing to feel glum, a girl from the opposing team fell off of beam. She was clearly rattled and climbed back up, only to straddle the beam on her next skill.

Suddenly, my night didn’t seem so bad.

the bailout

This is what we call a life post:

I know how to flip out of the boat. No, no, thanks. Sudden change of plans. Different order of operations than anticipated. So sorry. I roll into the water and swim for the shore.

I can tell when others will do it. I hear the splash before they've made a move for the side. I imagine the hasty excuses.

But lately I want to take that waterlogged vessel out farther. Sit with bare feet as water rises over my ankles, over the bench. Take my chances. 

It was a tricky day to wear a dress.

February ended up dedicated to the querying/synposing/revising/sending/crossing fingers for the YA nov. Truth be told, it was a fun ride. And there's more to be done.

In terms of new material, though, I'm stepping back to the screenplay. That old chestnut. We've made it to Act III and now the two men are in the same room, and one has murder on his mind.

I write it one line at a time, very carefully.

I know that I can go back and take out all of the stupid stuff, revise the heck out of it, make it shine. I don't have to get it right on the first try. But I want to. As close as I can. The words might change, but I want the tone and the tension to be just right.

...

Read: Kayak Morning, Roger Rosenblatt