The Only Way Out Is Through

Since it's the last Tuesday of November, that means we're going to talk about NaNoWriMo and how far behind I am. 

Here's a screenshot of my progress: 

This is what the graph of a busy procrastinator looks like.

I think my favorite part of the month is the four days that just go straight across the top with zero progress, not coincidentally overlapping my monthly work deadline of November 20th. Also, I took this screen shot after writing over 5,000 words today, making the graph only slightly less bleak than it was mere hours ago. 

So I should feel stressed. Yesterday I was stressed, and also super bummed because I really love NaNoWriMo, for so many reasons. 

I love that an entire virtual community comes together every year to finally attempt the dream of writing a novel. Many are successful, many not, but all of them are thousands of words closer to that goal than they were on October 31st, and many of those for the first time ever. 

And I love the camaraderie, the feeling of everyone finally chucking the perfectionism we all heap on ourselves and focusing instead on tapping in to whatever stream of consciousness inspirational mecca is out there, the thing that you can't mistake for anything but divinity when it hits you and grabs you by the lapels and pulls you wherever it wants you to go. There is a fabulous TED talk on this concept of elusive genius, by the way.

I love boycotting the constant self-editing, both literal and figurative, that populates my life and so many other people's lives, writers or no, and instead just focusing on words on page. Pen to paper. (Okay, fingers to keyboard. You know what I mean.) Even if it's just for 30 days.

Because there are so many reasons not to follow through on your plans.

photo credit

Many of them valid. 

But the thing is, even if I don't get there-- even if I don't reach my 50,000 words-- as of this moment, I have put 29,816 words toward my own goals this month. That's nearly 30,000 words slammed out toward a future of my own making, without killing myself or staying up till midnight like I did last year (yet). And that feels amazing, whether or not I make it to 50,000. 

At the same time, I haven't had to sacrifice a huge amount of family time, and I managed to please my notoriously picky client-- who was so happy with my work this month he actually sent me an email thanking me, a huge turnaround from last month. 

Oh, and this nearly 30,000 words is of course in addition to the 65,663 words I wrote for work in November. So far. Not including lengthy emails or edits or rewrites. 

My 10 minute plan is working, my back is still unhappy but not impossible to work around, and I feel like I'm through the crunch. I feel like I won. I really do. Even with 20,000 words ahead of me over the next-- oh my god, only four freaking days, I have to finish this blog IMMEDIATELY and get back to work. 

Arrgh, no. I can't leave without a conclusion. DAMMIT.

Okay, so here it is. 

Sometimes the only way out is through. And the interim is impossible and murky and ridiculous in every respect. But then once you're out the other side, inevitably you look back at all the thorny, brambly nonsense and think "Huh, that wasn't so bad. I don't know why I was such a baby about this back on the other side." 

It's not because you were wrong about it being hard and sticky and scary. You were totally right. It was all of those things. But on the way through, you change. You grow. And by the time you reach the other side, you're someone who is less scared. Who is more capable. Because you know now that things that seemed impossible from one end are, in fact, possible. You know this because you just did it. And then you start to wonder what other things are possible that you always thought were impossible. 

And if anyone would know, it's Muhammad Ali.

And then life gets real amazing, real quick. Just as soon as you push through to the other side.

After the Stretch

While contorting my body into a weird pose during a so-called "stress-relieving" yoga routine, I thought this is really the opposite of stress relief.

As if the teacher read my mind, she said: "Just to be clear, the release comes after the stretch, not during."

I am reminded of release this December, following an absolutely nuts November.

I won NaNo, something I really thought I couldn't manage this year.

I made it to 50,300 words a whopping 46 minutes before midnight on November 30. I typed so much that my finger joints actually hurt. Not just because of NaNo, but because of the other 70,547 words I wrote for Edited by a Pro in November. And this on top of the other full-time job I have. And also on top of parenting and, you know, laundry and stuff.

Yet, despite my jacked-up fingers and completely fried imagination, I came out the other end feeling-- amazing.

Released.

Getting to indulge my imagination for 50,300 words opened something up that spread into other limbs of my life. My boring articles became more creative; my days felt more fulfilled.

Sure, I was exhausted. Beyond that, though, I felt whole.

The word 'yoga' means 'yoke' in Sanskrit -- yoke as in union: the union of body and mind, or your union with a higher power.

Yoke also means burden, a thing keeping us bound, willing or no.

"We are soooo enlightened right now."

Dan is struggling right now, stuck down in Vegas while his daughter is in Reno and Miss G and I are up here. He's stressed and unhappy without his family and says this is one of his lowest points.

"No more character-building, Honey," he says to me over the phone, sounding defeated.

And I tell him, Hang in there. Just a little longer. Release comes after the stretch.

When I'm uncomfortable in a yoga pose, I remind myself to relax. When I stop resisting and remember to breathe, that's when I realize-- yeah, my body can actually do this. And when I disentangle my limbs, I feel amazing.

Released.

When life is uncomfortable, every instinct tells me to fight it tooth and nail. Untwist, realign, or flee the scene. Quit NaNo. Cut down to one job. Yet without breathing into the discomfort, without allowing yourself to learn from it, you never get to the next stage in your personal evolution.

Breathe deeply, and let it pass. Stretch deep, and wait for the release.

Source: http://kubuzetto.deviantart.com

Nearly NaNo

About a week ago I realized it was almost November. And while sane people associate that month with things like turkey, some of us think only one thing: NANO

Yep, it's that time of year again.... Write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. If that sounds fun to you, you should sign up. If it sounds nuts, probably avoid it. And those of us participating.

Although it's my third year NaNoing, it's the first year I've really gotten it.

Earlier this year, as some of you may remember, I embarked on a mission to self-pub a bunch of stuff and become officially self-supporting with my writing. Those dozen or so trashy romances I put out are still bringing in about $100/month... which isn't too terrible, considering each copy sold only nets me in the 30-cents-to-a-couple-bucks range.

Between preparing for the move up here, then actually moving, then getting here, adjusting, and nannying, I have not-- as planned-- managed to refocus on the self-pub stuff again. It's never a good time. I'm unpacking, or I'm changing diapers, or driving my kid to school or sleeping.

Then I thought back to my first NaNo. I spent the first week of November that year nursing my husband after his thyroidectomy. Year two, I squeezed in NaNo among the 30,000 odd words of online articles I wrote. And this year? Just moved, single momming it while my husband's still 800 miles away, I'm working full time at one job and part-time at a second. Plus learning how to use a Mac.

Clearly not the best time to be writing.

sheer brilliance from Inkygirl.com.

But that-- THAT-- is exactly what NaNo is all about.

It is NEVER the right time to do what you want to be doing. Never. Real life will not stop long enough for you to pursue your dreams. You have to carve out your own space and guard it ferociously. Push even the heaviest of mandatory curtains aside to make just enough room for your tiny end table and your laptop. Even if you're scribbling on cocktail napkins during happy hour, you're working toward something. You're getting there. You're doing it, doing it 100% more than if you had no scribbled-upon napkins.

NaNo is the time when I realize how much carpe I could diem in a day. Wait, that's Latin so it's probably... how much diem I could carpe. And if I find the time to write 50,000 words in November, I can surely find the time to keep writing the other 11 months.

And that's what NaNo is for. That novel you keep thinking about starting, but can never find the time. Know what? You never will. There's always something that's more practical, more necessary, more grown up.

Our lives, however, are finite. Check your excuses at the keyboard, take November and go for it.

And to all, a happy NaNo.

Guess they weren't kidding about the soul-eating.

I thought NaNo would be a background thing, just something I was doing along with many other things. Writing 1600-some words a day isn’t that much for me, not really.

I was so wrong. It’s taken over my life, and I’m not even halfway through.

Unopened mail stacked up on the front table. Kitchen floor un-mopped. Unbalanced dinners, served way past dinnertime. It's embarrassing.

The writing itself? The whole thing is a blur. I’m disorganized. I forget where I am. I’m almost positive I described a particular plot point not once, but three times now, just in different places.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not much more than I usually write in a day. It shouldn’t be so pervasive, thinking about it constantly, or so complicated to stay focused and keep track. But more than that, it shouldn’t be this fun.

So, disclaimer: there’s about a 93% chance the rest of this month’s posts will be about NaNo and very little else. I’ve become a pod person. On the upside-- it’s only for 16 more days.

That was-- unexpected.

I expect changes. I mean-- I should, seeing as I’m actually trying to change... new horizons expanding, etc and whatnot. I just didn’t expect them to be all sneaky like this. I thought I’d feel lighter as old things fell away, brighter as new things bloomed in their place. I thought I’d notice crawling out of hibernation, see a sharp division between Winter and Spring.

Nope.

Looked up the other day and was startled to find my atrophied moxie right there in the passenger seat, looking very much like her former spunky self. I didn’t put her there. I didn’t even know she was still around. She just kinda waved and grinned and fiddled with the stereo.

I must be closer to “there” than I realized, and that’s good. But there’s an uncertain fog hesitating too; I don’t know what I think about parts of me becoming unrecognizable even to myself. Or maybe I just haven’t seen them in so long, I forgot what they looked like.

I signed up for NaNoWriMo today out of nowhere. Ohhh, I briefly thought about it before today. Sort of how I briefly think about emigrating to New Zealand. And then I’d chase the whim away with logical reasons not to commit-- like, the fact that I don’t really write fiction. How I moved from dismissal to choosing a username is still a little fuzzy. When I came to, I was introducing myself on forums, trying to figure out what genre my novel is going to be.

What. The. Jiminy. Crackers.

Really? I’m really taking this on? I couldn’t have picked a worse month to find 50,000 fictional words than this November. My calendar is already crammed with long weekends, roadtrips, turkeys, and at least one surgery. But-- the timing was nuts for NaBlo too, and I’m holding steady. I like the push of it, like working for a clear, objective goal. There has been far too much murky subjectivity in my head for far too long.

Today, from somewhere, the mission-should-I-choose-to-accept-it part of me yawned and stretched, then shrugged “Bring it” over coffee. She’s a leisurely kind of defiant, but no less determined for it. I forgot how it feels to push myself, instead of being bullied by circumstances. I like it.