Category: writing

In The Great Room

It is a mild and sunny Monday afternoon and I am happy and healthy here in New York City.

At the moment I’m working on my NaNoWriMo trying to increase a word count that currently sits at just past 45,000 words. I gotta get 5,000 more written by Friday to make it past the goal line.

I think I can I think I can.

In order to inspire myself, I’m sitting in the great room at the New York City Public library tapping away at the keys to my MacBook.

It really is a great room:




Copyright 2010, Karen Fayeth. Taken with an iPhone5 using the onboard app and the panorama function


Downstairs there is a free exhibition of some artifacts from Charles Dickens. Among these treasures is the late Mr. Dickens pen and inkwell. Now that really is inspiring.




Copyright 2012, Karen Fayeth. Taken with an iPhone5 and the Camera+ app.


Here I lament tapping away at the keys, trying to make the words accumulate into something good while our man Charles scribbled them all out longhand, dipping pen into ink every so often.

I suppose one might be a bit more thoughtful about the words if one had to write them out one by one in pen and ink, eh?

For me, I can’t imagine going back to even writing on a typewriter. I remember having to type up papers for school on my mom’s old manual typewriter and being so head bangingly frustrated at having to type each page perfectly with no mistakes. Argh!

No, I’ll take my beat up old MacBook, words slopping out from the edges of my Word document like water in an overfilled and somewhat leaky bucket.

I can veritably shower in the words here as they fly free and easy from my fingertips.

Then again, he was Dickens. I have yet to fully be Karen Fayeth.

Back to tip tapping away in the great room.

Many words and many miles yet to go….



What I Don’t Have

On Sunday, driving home from a late breakfast with a dear friend where we had talked at length about a lot of deep and powerful topics, I flicked on the radio in my car to find distraction. Something a little more cheery.

The last time I had been in the car was Friday night as I drove home from work, and I had listed to NPR. So when I turned on the radio on Sunday, what I found waiting for me was the unmistakable voice of Garrison Keillor and his show “A Prairie Home Companion“.

Oh lord, really? That show gives me the hives. To be honest, NPR kind of does too. I do like All Things Considered on an evening commute, though.

That said, the sonorous voice of Mr. Keillor managed to lure me in and I listened to him tell a long, drawn out story (can he tell any other kind?) the point of which is that a penny given by a poor man has more value than a dollar given by a rich man because the penny means so much more. The poor man is giving what he doesn’t have.

Which then lead to a life lesson of giving what you don’t have to the world.

A short Google search led me to discover this is all a riff on a Wayne Dyer speech, which lead me to break out in even more hives. Lots and lots of itchy hives.

So for as much as I wanted to forget this little parable, somehow I have not been able to.

This idea of digging deep and giving what you don’t have, not just in terms of money, but of yourself, has somehow found a home inside of me.

Today as I contemplated the blank page and watched the cursor blink at me, awaiting my command, I went inside my head and asked what I wanted to write about. What am I feeling? What’s on my mind?

What’s on my mind are very dark, angry thoughts. I thought of writing about these dark blotches on my psyche, spewing my venom out onto the page, which, truly, can be very uplifting and releasing.

But is that good fodder to publish to the world on a blog page?

Maybe not.

That’s when the phrase came to me again. Give what you don’t have.

What I don’t have right now is peace, joy, happiness, calm and ease within my own skin.

How possibly can I give what I really don’t have? What about the old phrase “you can’t feed someone from an empty vessel”?

Hmph. Determined to see this through, I set out to write a blog post giving cheer and optimism to the world because both are in rather short supply for me right now.

Um. Yeah.

Where to start?

Google, of course.

And so here’s what I found. I share it because it made me smile. Gave me a little hope. Brought the light back on in my eyes, if only for a moment.

Now I give that to you.

The gift of optimism:








Image from Babble.com



Wind Sprints

If today is Halloween, that must mean tomorrow is November 1. The first day of November is not only Dia de Los Muertos, but also ushers in the annual National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo.

Eight times I have successfully completed a 50,000 word story in the span of just 30 days. Last year was the first time I attempted and failed NaNo. And even in my failure, I learned a lot.

In the spirit of try, try again, I’m going to take a run at it again this year. This despite the fact that I have no story ideas and a lot of anxiety about it.

And so as an athlete stretches and runs wind sprints in order to get ready for the big game, I am going to run some wordy sprints.

With that, I turn again to Unconscious Mutterings for some random word prompts. I love this warm up.

So here we go!

  1. Crying ::

    What I will not be doing on November 30th if all goes well. That said, a good cry is cathartic and good for the soul. It might take a heavy bout of crying mid-month in the throes of writer’s block in order to break through and make it to that 50,000th word.

    It remains to be seen.


  2. Reluctant ::

    I am, truly, rather reluctant to have another go at this crazy month of writing. It’s always awesome and I’m amazed at what I can produce in so short a time. It’s also quite taxing on The Muse. I get creatively wiped out by the end of the marathon. Blisters on the brain pan or something. But it’s also quite satisfying. That mind numbing creative exhaustion means I have created something and that is the coolest feeling in the world.


  3. Decade ::

    My first go at this crazy NaNo game was back in 2004. I’m closing in on a decade of this wordy abuse. Lots of words and time well spent. By writing this blog I know my writing has improved vastly and my ability to write on the fly has grown strong. So hey, rock on.


  4. Mustache ::

    So what’s the deal with mustaches these days? They are not just facial hair anymore. Now a mustache is a meme. I mean, there are accessories, baseball logos and many Tumblrs.

    Plus, let’s just settle this right now. Rollie Fingers. Greatest mustache of all time. Boo-yah.


  5. Water ::

    Well now, not to bring down the language and mustache party, but water sure has been a topic of conversation lately, hasn’t it? Water, so life giving, so essential, so gosh darn powerful. The photos of subway stations and buildings and streets filled with water in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy are so profoundly scary and overwhelming. I know that New York and New Jersey are incredibly resilient and will bounce back. But as of today, it’s just overwhelming to witness the power and destruction of simple H2O.


  6. March ::

    Let’s see…the 2012 baseball season ended Monday. The celebration parade up Market Street in San Francisco was today. Baseball is officially over.

    World Baseball Classic begins March 2.

    *sigh*


  7. Stripes ::

    As I’m writing this, “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” is on the telly. Right now Linus is sitting in the pumpkin patch, wearing a red shirt with stripes, explaining to Sally about the Great Pumpkin.

    Then he uttered something that seemed a little meaningful here in on the last day of October and six days before the end of election season.

    “I don’t see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there’s not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.”

    Oh how I wish I could find a place, even a small pumpkin patch, where there is not a sign of hypocrisy and sincerity as far as the eye can see.

    Sadly that’s not the view from where I’m sitting. Maybe I’ll check again next week.


  8. Friendship ::

    Recently I got to spend three days with my best friend of over twenty years. She is family and brilliant and each year of our friendship means everything to me. We may live miles apart but she lives right here in my heart every day. Being with her for a few days made me actually miss her MORE than I already did.

    Time is the scarcest commodity of them all.


  9. Weirdo ::

    It’s a testament to the kind of woman she is that for over twenty years she’s put up with a weirdo like me.

    Tomorrow also brings the anniversary of the day I met The Good Man. It’s a testament to the kind of man he is that he puts up with my special brand of weird every day.

    I’m very lucky and that’s said with nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.


  10. Contacts ::

    As this Halloween night wanes on, time to pluck the contacts from my eyes and bid adieu the season of orange and black. An ABC TV interstitial just announced it is now officially the “holiday season.”

    This makes me sad. And scared. And reluctant.

    Ok, for now, I must focus on NaNo. Freak out over the holiday season can wait until later.


Well there you have it. Whew. I’m winded and warmed up and ready to write!








Image from Soccer Skills and Training.



Tweets From My Beloved

Yesterday on my lunchtime walk with Worm Girl she had a story she was so excited to tell me.

She lives in the same house where she grew up and when both her folks passed, she inherited it. Over the past year she has been renovating the place and updating the furniture. She’s making it her own home.

Part of that process has been uncomfortable for her. She’s been pulling everything down from overhead storage in the garage, including boxes that haven’t been opened for decades. It’s been a sad but fulfilling process to go through things that belonged to her folks along with family memories.

Over the weekend, she found a box that she thought had been long missing. It contained much of their family’s photo collection, her parents wedding photos, and a big stack of letters.

Her parents were married quite young. Her mom had moved to the US from Australia and was something like 18. Her dad was a couple years older and was in the military. After they married, he was deployed overseas and so for the first years of their marriage, their relationship existed solely via written letters back and forth.

She said, “They were so cute!” as her dad fretted about her mom learning to drive a car and the fact that “That ol’ Plymouth” kept having to be taken into the shop.

He told her the events of his days in details, almost boring minutiae, then would end with a shy proclamation of love.

At one point he was rather bold. It seems that the young wife was quite thin, too thin, and was trying to put on some weight. “I hope you’ve gained a little weight. I want you to be hale and healthy for my return, if you know what I mean.”

This part made me laugh right out loud. I said “You dad was a bold one, wasn’t he!” and she laughed too.

Then I told her I have some of my parents’ letters too. It was a lot along the same lines. Several pages of “what I did today” and wrapping up with a few love words. They are fun to read.

Which got me thinking about how great the art of letter writing used to be. It was such a valid and important means of communication and staying in touch. But it also provided a written history of the lives of these people. Something tangible to hang onto which helps the reader feel a little closer to to the past. I have letters from my Great Grandfather to my Grandfather. I never met my Great Grandfather but I sure know a lot about him by reading his stern words.

I also have one of the most beautifully written love letters I’ve ever seen that was written by my paternal Grandfather to my Grandmother. In his words I know he truly, deeply loved her.

Not that I have any kids who will pull my mementos out of storage one day, but I got to thinking about the early days of my own beautiful romance and marriage. We have a few notes and cards that are very dear to me, but I have to be honest, in those first blushing days of our relationship, we exchanged most of our correspondence over email, text message and chat.

I guess you can’t really clutch an iChat log close to your chest and cherish the memories of simpler times, can you? My godaughters won’t be able to learn about the love of Nina Karen and Uncle Good Man the way I did, by exploring old scrap books.

Time marches on, but I can’t help but feel that over time we all will have lost something of our personal and enduring history by losing the art of handwritten letters sent in an envelope with a stamp. Just not the same as a click on a screen.








Comic found on People I Know.



To The Thesaurus and Straight On To Dawn, Daybreak, Morn, Sunrise, Sunup

It’s that time of year again. A manager’s most favoritest season.

That’s right, performance review time.





Oh yes. Oh yes, yes, yessity yes.

There is a bright side here. I have a fairly small team (which is usually a BAD thing given how hard we work) and a couple folks are new, so I only have to write four appraisals this year. Four is not bad, right?

Right?

Oh gad, then why can’t I bring myself to get them done? I am the very last manager under my Boss to get them done. Everyone else finished in August or early September. It’s, um, the third week of September and I have until September 30 to finish, so technically I am not late.

But EVERYONE else is done and my minions are starting to ask questions.

“Mommy? How ‘come little Johnny already got *his* performance review?”

“Bring Mommy a beer, son, and you might get a raise this year.”

Ok, I hearken back to the year where I had to write fifteen of the buggers. I think I had a fire up my tushie that year because I got them all done in record time.

These piddling little four reviews? I just can’t seem to finish.

Today I put the nose to the grindstone and knocked out two. I felt like I’d just endured a root canal with no novocaine. I needed a martini and a cigarette and I am not even done yet.

My brain hurts. And, as with every year, I have made liberal use of the the thesaurus.

There are only so many ways you can say the same thing. “You did a fine job this year. You didn’t piss me off. You also didn’t knock me out of my seat. You showed up to work most days. You didn’t make me have to have the “stinky, take a shower” talk with you. You are nice to your coworkers. You don’t eat odorous food in your cubicle. You wear shoes. Hell, I’m even kind of fond of you, but sorry kiddo, once again this year you landed on the fat part of the bell curve. Here’s your average rating and thanks for putting up with me as a manager.”

Hey, that’s pretty good. I should use that. It’s quite complimentary, really.

Meanwhile my UK Boss will look at the stats tomorrow and he’ll see I made progress but I’m not done yet. He will harass me again.

It’s a good thing he already finished my appraisal back in August, huh?

*snicker, snort*







Nooo image found on Sodahead.com.

Comic found on the Peter Anthony site.