Or, I Could Include a Mouse Who’s an Inspector

Spring semester officially starts today, so as a warm-up for what’s likely to be four months of briefer blog posts, here’s a website recommendation:

“Curious Pages: Recommended Inappropriate Books for Kids” (Thanks to Very Short List for the tip.)

The commentary is hilarious – the labels are particularly brilliant – and it makes me think I should switch from memoir to children’s books. That would be more fun, don’t you think? Because if the books on this website are any indication, I could still get away with talking about sexuality and bad dads, as long as there were cartoon pigs.

Enjoy the weekend, everyone.

Also comforting? Flannel Sheets and Arrested Development Reruns, But Those Will Have To Wait

This weekend I finished the penultimate chapter of the memoir. (I’m a writer. I’m allowed to use words that don’t sound like what they mean.) It was such a satisfying moment that I immediately ate a bunch of dried mango and danced around my apartment, and after hooting my joy to the walls for probably longer than my neighbors thought appropriate, I poured myself a celebratory glass of Chardonnay.

(You can only imagine the celebrating that will happen when I finish the whole book. I’m wearing a helmet from here on out, just in case.)

Finishing that chapter was far more satisfying than I expected, considering it wasn’t the chapter from hell, nor was it the final chapter. That one I need to start today. Which presents its own special challenges, since I don’t actually know how the book ends.

Ha ha! I mean, I know how it could end – it is my life, after all, and I’ve been awake for most of it – but I’m not sure what the best ending is for this particular telling of my life. I have an idea, but I’m not sure how to get there.

No matter. I’m going to make some tea, open the Word doc, and see what happens. I remind myself: Motion → direction. And that’s comforting.

In Other Words, The “Shut Up and Shop” Magnet on My Fridge Is Meant to Be Ironic

Regular readers know I’m a big fan of living below your means. Earn more than you spend, bank some then leave it alone, don’t go crazy with housing, and quit buying stuff you don’t really need. (Yes, fellow Americans, this includes 3G phones, Kindles, and, gasp, even TVs. Want, sure. Need? Come on.)

So I was interested in Philip Brewer’s review of Daniel Brook’s The Trap: Selling Out to Stay Afloat in Winner-Take-All America on Wisebread.com.

Read the whole review, which gets into Brook’s more controversial ideas, but here’s what most interested me:

Brook talks a good bit about the limits of frugality as a way to do whatever work calls you. Many of the examples Brook uses are people whose work requires that they live in a big city:

- Activists who need to live where there's a critical mass of others with the same vision.
- Social workers or community organizers who need to live in the community that they serve.
- Creative types of the sort who can't just do their work by themselves the way a writer can — filmmakers, dancers, actors.

It's possible to live frugally even in a big city, but living very frugally requires not only luck and flexibility but also a level of constant attention that makes it hard to focus on the work that was the whole point.

I just landed another part-time job as the Advising and Tutoring Coordinator for the English Department at Queens College. (Witness my checkbook doing cartwheels of joy through the living room.) The job starts in two weeks, which means that if you pile my three part-time jobs together, I’ll be working full-time while I’m finishing grad school and writing the book.

I’m certainly not the only one with this kind of schedule, and am so, so grateful for the work. Really. But I’m sure I’ll soon be pining for my slower, simpler Taos life, where I was able to pay all my bills as a freelance writer. No stress required.

But then I wouldn’t be in New York, meeting new people, learning new skills, and practicing what I’ve learned, all of which are making me a better writer and teacher.

But then with all these opportunities, I’ll have far less time to devote to the writing, which is why I came here in the first place.

Also, none of this is forever. Part of me thinks I may keep up this crazy pace for a few years, then head back to Taos. But another part of me thinks I could be here for good, and both seem like great options. I also know it’s too soon to decide, but the conundrum interests me.

Which is more important to you: Opportunity or time?

Not an Option: The Ghost or the Ship

Confession time: I got no writing done this weekend. None. Because really, who has time when there’s serious frolicking to be done? And if there were any post-frolic time left, who could possibly get any writing done when that time was needed to recover from said frolicking?

I used to be a disciplined person. Really. But I’ve been in party mode since early December, and I don’t know if you’ve looked at a calendar lately, but we’re now more than halfway through January. Meaning my “I owe myself a celebration/frolicfest/slack day, because I worked hard last semester, and it’s the holidays!” excuse is long past its use-by date.

This morning, between bouts of self-loathing, I’m thinking about reader Destiny Kinal’s ass-kicking from last week. Specifically these words:

What have you sacrificed to write? What DIDN'T happen? What do you owe and to whom for the privilege or writing seriously? A child you didn’t have, a career you forfeited, time with a beloved?

Despite the persistence of the Having It All myth, it just isn’t possible. I don’t get to party all the time (unless I looked as good as this) and still expect to get the book written, much less have it be any good. Because good work requires sacrifice, and frankly, all I’ve been sacrificing lately are brain cells.

Since I’m all about the baby step I’ve decided to make small sacrifices first, so I actually have a chance for success. Here are two changes I’m making, starting now:

- No movies or reading until I’ve done my work for the day. No more “just this once” bullshit. Writing first, entertainment second.
- No more going out during the week; save socializing for the weekend. I’ve got to tone down the partying in general, so no more late nights. Period. Sleep and a clear head are critical for the work I’m trying to do. And I can’t worry about what I’m missing – my friends will still be there on the weekend.

That’s it for the moment. Nothing huge, nothing ultra-taxing, though I think those two changes will go a long way in getting me back on track.

What about you? Is there something you should give up?

Also, Moppet Moussaka, Stir-Fried Small Fry, or Toddler Tetrazzini

Remember when you were a kid and you were sure the boogeyman was about to burst from your closet to carry you off to some crazy monster’s potluck, where the entrée du jour was Small Child Stroganoff? And you were so scared that you pulled the covers up over your head and held your breath, in the hope that the fanged, hairy, wild-eyed boogeyman wouldn’t notice you and you’d avoid an untimely, and likely painful, death?

That’s what I’ve been doing with the memoir.

In my case, the boogeyman was what might be the most painful event of my life, and you know, fine, we all have painful events in our pasts, but in my case, it’s central to the book I’m trying to write. And not only was I not sure I’d be capable of writing the event well, I didn’t want to write it at all because it meant I’d have to relive said painful event, and in my case, even revisit the email that sealed it. Because I have the email taped into a journal, and I knew that looking at those words in Courier font would surely bring up a flood of emotions I’d been content to keep locked up in my own personal boogeyman closet.

But then I thought, Get over it and look at the damn email. Because really, how bad could it be?

Turns out, pretty f*ing bad. I haven’t cried in a long time, but I cried then. For myself and my family, for how many years I’ve spent caring what one selfish, cold-hearted man thinks.

(Doesn’t this make you want to run right out and start your own memoir? Whee!)

Once the tears stopped, I retyped that email verbatim into my manuscript. Then I finished drafting that section, and told myself it was okay to not read it again until I was ready to revise. And even though I feel like a big baby because of all this – especially in light of what’s happened in Haiti, for example – it felt good to cry, and even better to know that the remaining chapters won’t be as hard.

Which I’m starting today. The boogeyman is banished for now.

A Real Kick in the Ass Might Also Be Effective, But Since I Sit to Write It Might Just Be Counter-Productive

I just found out I was accepted into Sarah Manguso’s memoir master class at the Taos Summer Writers Conference. Manguso wrote a fantastic book called The Two Kinds of Decay, and this July, along with five other students, I’ll hopefully soak up at least a microcosm of her brilliance. She’ll also read our manuscripts and offer feedback, and I’m thrilled for all of it.

If you add that to my other hard deadlines – first draft due to my thesis advisor February 5, first revision due mid-April – you’d think I’d be racing to the computer every day to crank out the remaining chapters. I was a freelance writer for years and do well with deadlines like these, so you’d think I’d be on track, piling up the pages toward my goals.

You might also think that since I only work three days a week at the Feminist Press and the semester doesn’t start for another month, that I’d be sailing through the days, focused on the work but feeling relaxed and open.

You can see where this is going.

Because of course, that isn’t what’s happening at all. Sure, I got some writing done in Taos, although toward the end of my stay writing had fallen in priority below hanging out with friends, watching movies, naps, and uh, more naps.

I’m sure one of you kind readers will chime in and say, But, Deonne! You had an exhausting semester, and you needed the rest! Don’t be so hard on yourself!

To which I’d reply, that’s very sweet, thank you. Now, would you mind finishing my damn memoir? Because apparently I can’t be bothered. I’ll be over here, toasting a bagel and checking for new episodes of Glee.

It struck me that it’s one thing to write detailed lists of goals for the coming year (see any of my recent blog posts), and another thing entirely to move toward them. Which is my point. (And you thought today’s post was just me whining! Ha, ha!)

I guess what I’m looking for is commiseration, inspiration, or even a virtual kick in the ass. Tell me, tell us: How do you deal with procrastination?

And When I Say Culture, I Don’t Mean the Kind in a Petri Dish

Time for one last year-end wrap-up post, then we’ll move on to other important subjects, like Tiger Woods’ sex life.

On that note, I’m thinking about fun. As in – did I get enough? (Easy.) Did I turn that frown upside down more often than not in 2009?

One thing that feels dramatically different is that finally, FINALLY, limbo is on the wane. My last couple years have been all about change, but now it feels like I’m settling down and that makes me very, very smiley.

I’ve decided to stay in New York, I’m not selling (or renting) my house in Taos, and grad school is winding down. And here’s the kicker, something that’s highly unusual for me: After I graduate in May I don’t plan to start anything new. I’ll likely have the same jobs, live in the same apartment, be working on the same writing project, and know the same people as I do now.

Halle-f*ing-lujah.

What went well, fun-wise:

- Travel: six trips to Taos, plus AWP in Chicago
- Readings, museums, lectures, shows, and many, many good times with friends (and Mom)
- A general sense of happiness, because I know I’m exactly where I need to be

What didn’t go well:

- Nothing. Despite suffering from schedule insanity the entire year, I wasn’t deprived. (Wait, I forgot about the extremely un-fun run-up to the Great Kahler Mother/Daughter Moving Adventure 2009. So okay, one thing.)

What I want in 2010:

- More time to explore my neighborhood and the City in general. Take more long walks and photos.
- Even more culture and time with friends
- More trips to Taos (a few are already in the works), as well as AWP in Denver this April
- Make my Taos home and NY apartment even more comfortable. Settle in.

In terms of play time, what went well this year, what didn’t, and what do you want more (or less) of in 2010?

Points If Your Comment Includes the Word Hitachi

Since this is the first post of 2010, I thought I’d continue the year-end roundup with that evergreen topic of post-holiday conversation, health and fitness. You may be asking yourself: Does consuming only egg nog and candy canes increase my risk of diabetes? Also, does lifting a wine glass to my mouth – repeatedly – count as exercise? I mean, you know, because it’s a really big glass?

Here’s what went well health-wise for me:

- Revamped my diet to high-fiber whole foods, mostly vegan, most of the time
- Kept to a 4x/week workout schedule, despite my busiest year ever
- Adjusted my weight set-point down a few pounds because of both

What didn’t go well:

- 2008’s problem and subsequent surgery came back with a vengeance. Not fun. (Though it did result in the diet revamping mentioned above. How’s that for glass-is-half-full thinking?)
- Too much stress-induced drinking and eating (though the fear of this experience kept that second one in check much of the time)

What I want in 2010:

- Keep up my good eating and exercise habits
- Find ways to handle stress that don’t involve Malbec or Ruffles. (Have at it in the comments, readers. The bawdier the better.)

In terms of your health, what went well this year, what didn’t, and what do you want more (or less) of in 2010?

P.S. Don’t miss this hilarious take on common mistakes, “10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling.” (Thanks to Ayana for the link.)