Discipline!

In June, my *boyfriend and I began a training programs to reach two hundred consecutive sit-ups.  After an initial test (I could do ten; he, twenty-five), we slowly increased the number of sit-ups we attempted according to a very regimented plan.  Week one, day one, I did five sets of 3, 4, 3, 3, and 5 sit-ups, resting for 60 seconds between each set.  Week one, day two, I did 5, 6, 3, 5, and 6.  By the end of the third week, I was doing sets of 17, 20, 14, 14, and 20 push ups.

I'm repeating week 6 (the final week) for the third time.  I'd previously repeated weeks 4 and 5 because I was still struggling quite a bit by the final set, taking frequent rests.  Andrew, on the other hand, has conquered the final test -- two hundred consecutive sit-ups -- many times.  It isn't easy: I sit on his feet, counting, as he pushes through pain and exhaustion to get to 200 before collapsing.

We added another training program in late August, this one to get to one hundred consecutive push ups.  You should have seen me that first day, performing the initial test: I could barely do two push ups.  Week one, day one, I did five sets of 2, 3, 2, 2, and 3 push ups, resting for 60 seconds between each set.  By the end of that first week, 3 push ups weren't a struggle for me.  I'm repeating week 4, now, as its third day requires me to do 16, 18, 13, 13, and 20 push ups, with 120 seconds of rest between sets.  It's hard!  Between sets I curl up in the fetal position on the floor, asking why I put myself through such torture!

But more than reaching a specific goal--200 sit-ups, 100 push ups, 10,000 words, 1 chapter--I'm practicing discipline.  I'm making myself do something I might rather skip or put off to another day.  I'm taking another step or two in that proverbial journey of a thousand miles.  And anyway, my triceps are looking awesome!

* Was boyfriend in June, fiancé in August.

Another Excuse

I've started listing to an audiobook, "The End of Your Life Bookclub," by Will Schwalbe.  It's the author's account of his mother's last two years of life, as she battles pancreatic cancer (caught too late) and the two share and discuss books.  Just as Schwalbe's mom always read the last chapter in a book first, the author starts at the end and then goes back to her diagnosis and the beginning of their bookclub. Reading together helps change them from a sick person and a well person back into a mother and a son.  I've only listened to the first couple chapters, but I already love and am sad for these real people.

I'm a bit tearie, lately, and I mostly blame the season.  I always seem to get a little sad and tearie (you know, not actually crying, but tears hang out in the corners of my eyes) this time of year, even if life is otherwise pretty good.  Sundays I go to my grandma's house, and lately I've been thinking about how lucky I am to have been able to spend this time with her.  Usually it's just me and her--sometimes my brothers are there, sometimes my fiancé comes, sometimes my dad is home--but mostly it's just me and her.  We talk about sports, politics and religion (the latter two subjects, I mostly listen).  In small pieces, she's told me about her childhood and her marriage.  I've come to understand and admire her so much more through these quiet Sunday afternoons where we mostly sit and watch the Reds or Bengals, and she asks me to wait to fold my laundry until after she returns from the bathroom because she likes to see what I've worn throughout the week.  I think about how much this time has meant to me.  And thinking about that makes me cry harder, because I don't know how many more Sundays we'll have together because a) she's ninety, and b) I'm getting married.  It won't make sense for me to go there every week and do laundry as a married woman.  I'll have to find another excuse.

* * *

This evening I had a great meeting with my writing/critique partner.  Not only do I get detailed and helpful feedback on my own work, but tonight I also got to read the start of a new project of hers.  I'm impressed and inspired by her ability to create new stories and characters.  These meetings help me refocus on myself as a writer--most days, lately, I haven't thought of myself as one.  I have to stop waiting for inspiration and just do it.  Push through the tedious hard stuff of fixing my manuscript.

I love my job

A young man came into the library today, soon after we opened, and asked for his card number in order to use one of our computers.  While I was looking up his number, he pumped out a gigantic glob of hand sanitizer (which we keep it on our desk) and smeared it all over his hands.  It was dripping.  He then proceeded to smear the clear goo all over his face as well as the top, sides, and back of his head.

Later, I helped him change his Facebook profile picture.

People are fascinating.

My Vote Counts

If you live in California, New York, or Oregon, you can vote for Jill Stein or Gary Johnson, and not worry about throwing a vote away.  But as an Ohio resident, I can tell you in all seriousness, my vote is VERY IMPORTANT.  According to Nate Silver's 538 forecast, Ohio has a 50% chance of being the tipping point state; that is, it is as likely as not to be the state that gives Obama (or Romney) the needed electoral votes to remain (or become) president.

I've got to admit, all this attention has been nice.  Every other day, one of the candidates or his running mate has visited my state, from Cincinnati and Dayton to Columbus and Cleveland.  Even in the third debate last night, which supposedly focused on foreign policy, the candidates were wooing Ohio.  That talk about "getting tough on China"?  It was actually about Ohio.

The race has certainly tightened over the past three weeks.  But I'm confident Ohio will do you proud, President Obama.

Cutting and Pasting

My manuscript, upwards of 80,000 words, was a decent first draft.  It was a full story with complex, mostly well-defined characters, and a plot with only a few holes.

I've been working on my revision for a few months, though it's really picked up momentum the past few weeks.  This is for a multitude of reasons.  My progress had slowed because, I think, I began to equate the completion of a first draft as some kind of accomplishment.  It didn't matter that it was flawed, that it wasn't published.   The bound manuscript sat on my desk like a trophy.  I was going for a promotion at the library, and so I focused on the possibility of a shorter commute and increased responsibilities, not on my "side project."

But I didn't get the job.  It was a disappointment, but also a relief.  I like my current location and my coworkers.  As an introvert, it takes me a long time to become comfortable somewhere, and I'm finally comfortable where I am.  It was a disappointment, a relief, and a kick in the pants telling me, You've got to DO the things you want to DO!  I want to write, so I must write.  It's as simple as that.  If I'm not going to fix my manuscript, then I need to start something new; and I'm not ready to dismiss this story and these characters I've nurtured for over the past two years!

Second, I gave my full manuscript to six beta readers: My mom, my fiancé, my best friend, an English professor (and good friend), a former coworker/friend/writer, and my friend/writing partner.  Each provided me with different kinds of feedback that's been invaluable as I move forward.  I'm going back through the manuscript, starting on page 1, and making some of their suggested changes.  This involves adding and removing commas, finding synonyms for words I had unintentionally repeated, and restructuring the timeline.  Most of this I can do on the computer, with two documents open.  I edit as I go, then paste the fixed sections into a new document.  But sometimes there just isn't enough room on the computer screen.

Hence, sitting on the floor, tearing pages out of the spiral-bound manuscript, cutting my precious sentences, rearranging them, and taping them back together.  Anyway, I'm about 1/3 of the way through my editing process.  I hope to be finished by the end of 2012... Wish me luck!  If I'm not posting here, it's because I'm working to achieve that goal.

Thinking of Others

Sorry for the absence of posts. I'm at a mall, overhearing a teenage girl whine and complain to her parents that they won't buy her an iPhone. Yay parents for standing strong. She has enough money to buy herself a smartphone, just not a top of the line phone. She's pretty upset. Parents walked away, she's still pouting.

Anyway, things are good. Picked a date, picked a dress, picked a venue. Got a guy. A challenge, for me, is learning to think of the other person, his wants, his interests, as much as my own. I'm good at thinking about myself. Just like that annoying teenager sometimes.

Dad just came back. Explaining to her why she needs to wait; she's still upset but listening.

A Couple Things

Lately, when I think about how little I've been writing, I feel sick.  Like I'm not living up to my potential.  Like I'm not figuring things out.

This week I plan to start a new routine--one that involves early mornings (when I'm most alert and when my head isn't clouded by unshelved books, late fees, and traffic jams).

But in the mean time, I'd like to share a couple things.  Yesterday, I saw a beautiful movie shot with 70mm film.  Samsara had no dialogue or discernible plot.  Its filmmakers traveled to 25 countries over five years filming prisoners in the Philippines, dancers in Thailand, and tribesman and women in Namibia among scores of other people.  Check out this preview:


Second, I've been closely following the presidential race.  While I'm excited that Obama seems to be the frontrunner, I become more scared at the prospect of a Romney presidency.  He hasn't stood up once to the zaniest wing of his party, and I can't imagine how he would govern.  He acts like he would run head first into a war with Iran!  His comments following the recent tragedy in Libya seem all the more flippant after reading about Obama's sober deliberations prior to American involvement in the conflict.  To write this Vanity Fair piece, Michael Lewis spent six months with the president, gaining almost unfettered access to him, from Air Force One to the basketball court.  It's worth reading from beginning to end,