J. H. Authors

One Woman. Three Names. Many Books.

Random Thoughts

Stop Making Sense

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Last week was my birthday. As a gift to myself, I’ve decided to stop making sense.

See, as a Virgo, making sense is comforting to me. I am organized. I scope out situations. I push myself, but they are calculated in that I know what I am getting myself into. I have taken the road less traveled (and it has, indeed, made all the difference), but I invest in a GPS and constantly fact check in order to make the road less traveled more secure.

But I want to find more joy in my life. So here are some of the senseless things I am doing.

I am writing a second book in a mystery series. The first manuscript isn’t sold. I could keep editing it. But instead, I am writing the second one. And loving it.

I am querying agents. I read the blogs, I know my chances. But I love my book. And more importantly, I loved writing it. So I am going to try and go the traditional route (though that may not make sense).

I want to go surfing next summer. This makes NO sense, since I have never been surfing and am not even close to agile enough to do it. But I want to go surfing. Or paraglide. Or both.

And the most senseless thing I’ve done of late? I adopted a cat. I had pets as a kid, and have had two cats as an adult. Having to put them to sleep killed me, and I have been gun shy about putting my heart at risk again. But I heard about a cat who needed a home, and I decided to go for it. She is 11, which could mean that our time together is limited. Or not. Who knows? She needed a home, and it turns out I needed her. It makes no sense, but has brought me joy.

And that makes sense.

Summer Lies

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One challenge of this blog is not to repeat my writing advice (doled out at NHWN blog). Nor is it to discuss theater (my day job), which I do occasionally on the StageSource blog and also on my class blog for Emerson.  Another challenge is to write with more frequency. Goal–Monday postings from now on.

Subject? Varies. This week is on the lies of summer.

Now don’t get me wrong. I adore summer. I love being warm (not hot, but warm). I LOVE baseball. I love going to the beach. I love grilled food (though I don’t love grilling). I love not having to layer my clothes.

But I’ve caught summer out on a couple of lies, especially of late. They include:

  • Exercise. That summer is a good time for it. Now as someone who trained for the past two summers, I can say there are positives to being able to go outside and do all sorts of sports. But not mentioned is the difficulty in actually doing this. Heat is tiring. Energy gets zapped. Sleeping is challenging at times, which doesn’t help.
  • Looking good. Since tanning is out, the sunkissed glow doesn’t happen automatically. That’s one challenge. The other challenge is that you look pressed and fresh for the five minutes before you leave your house, and then it all goes to hell. Sweating. Clothes sticking to you. Being surrounded by sweating people. Running makeup isn’t a good thing.
  • Feet. This may be me, but my dogs don’t like the heat. At all. They get swollen, and sore. I walk, a lot. (Boston is a walking city, I take public transportation most of the time and I do like to get the exercise). So even if I pull of good looking from the ankles up, my shoe choices are dictated by comfort, not style. Sneakers of late.
  • Weight. Magazines exclaim over the opportunities for fresh fruits and vegetables. True enough. But there are also side salads, lots more get togethers and vacations. Never mind s’mores. And the extra exercise makes you extra hungry.

I still love the season. Just saying the love isn’t without some challenges.

Next

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I write on a couple of other blogs, most frequently a group blog. Recently I wrote a post about “great being the enemy of good”. I also wrote about jumping off the cliff, and getting my novel out for some queries. (I am working through a few issues on that other blog).

So I’m querying and getting my work out there. I’m also working on the next book. Some writers hate this part–the imagining, the plotting, the pitfalls of the work when the characters move in a different direction than the one you’ve outlined.

I love it.

I love this part. The thinking part. The walking around a block again because it is perfect for that scene. The quick sketch of the fabulous ladies’ lounge that would be a perfect place to drop a body. (Please remember I write mysteries). The ideas that are inspired by the news.

This is my process. Start to write. Write a lot. Realize I need a plan. Start an outline. Get a little stuck. Think (where I am now). Outline again. And then write. All the way through.

Goal–draft by Labor day. Possible? Only if I think less.

Time

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I went to a great workshop at Grub Street on Saturday. The leader was Hillary Rettig, and the topics were procrastination and time management. Her approach on these topics is very different. And inspiring. Inspiring for new ideas. But requiring some reframing, and some plain old hard work.

Hard work? Harder than writing? Way harder, in so many ways. You see, Hillary explains that in the course of a given week, you have 112 hours to work with (provided you sleep 8 hours a night, which you should). That needs to include working, commuting, shopping, cooking, cleaning, working out, writing (or whatever your passion/avocation is), relationships, entertainment, etc.  How you spend those 112 hours is a choice. Granted, working isn’t a choice for many of us. But decisions around working may be (ie telecommunting, flex time, etc.)

She suggests 15 minute scheduling blocks, outsourcing where possible and some tough, mindful choices. In theory, all possible. In fact? I am finding there are three layers of effort involved.

The first is the list of things that need to be included in the 112 hours. I am trying to be complete in this and doing a complete brain dump. That said, I know some things will need to be modified, or dumped off the list. I am still in this phase, and a little stuck.

The second is the schedule itself. For me, two sub layers are involved here. The actual scheduling, and then tracking it. I was/am a Franklin Covey and Planner Pad girl, but am not loving the paper right now. Need to find a schedule/task softward for androids. Suggestions welcome.

The third is assessing. What happens if I don’t get the five hours of working out I scheduled actually done? What happens if I get on an Angry Bird jag? There are no repercussions, except to myself.

And that is the point. No one is forcing me to do this. I want to do this. And so I have to crack these three layers. And do the work.

I will report back on my success.

 

Balancing Act

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Last week I was chatting with a colleague. We both work in the arts, though she is a generation younger than I am. She was explaining her devotion to her work/life balance, which includes a strict cap on the number of hours she works, and no email nights or weekends. A part of me wanted to laugh out loud. How was that even possible?

Another colleague and I were chatting about the same subject. This woman is a tad bit older than I. Her theory was that you can only handle two big things in your life. For her, her work is one of them.

As a frame of reference let me tell you that I am having a EAT/PRAY/LOVE aka mid life moment right now. Trying to figure out the work/life balance questions for myself. Also trying to reboot my writing life, get back to the gym, lose those unwanted pounds and leave some room for a social life of sorts. I know, madness.

Given all of this, and my past work/life issues, I am not accepting the two things rule. I just can’t. It would mean I only had room for one more thing (I have a job that definitely counts as one) and since I am a writer, that would mean the rest of it would be on another tier. Or that writing would move down, but that seems like an easy choice (given the current writer’s block I am experiencing) and one that would make  me very unhappy in the long run.

But keeping a cap on my work life? Why does that feel subversive to me? Obviously I need to do some work on that, if nothing else. Do I feel as though I am being a traitor to my career? Am I trying to prove something? To whom? Is this a greater challenge for women? Or for women of my generation (or older)? Does the younger generation (how I hate that phrase) have a different POV on these balance issues?

I think there are fewer answers to work/life balance then there are opportunities for conversation.  Hopefully my conscious considerations will yield some ideas. Or inspiration. If so, I’ll let you know.

Why is making good choices so hard?

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I don’t mean the big life choices.

I mean writing instead of three hours of Angry Birds.

I mean fruit instead of cookies.

I mean yoga instead of sitting.

I mean sleep instead of TV.

Why is this so hard?