Witchiness

I last wrote about my idea for a witch story. Well, I’m excited to report that I’ve stuck with it since then!

I spent a considerable amount of time developing characters and an actual storyline/outline! I wish I could work on it more regularly, like every day, but due to my job, I’m left with weekends. And that’s been working well.

I have so much planned out that I can see myself writing everything in between. After so many failed attempts and not-even-started ideas, it’s kind of surreal to have something remotely viable.

In addition, I’ve re-embraced my own witchiness. Not like Wicca or anything because I’m firmly non-religious. But crystals and candles and herbs and oils. It’s called cottage witchery, which is new to me. I don’t remember that term being around before, but I wasn’t able to research as much as I can now. It’s all very natural & earthy. One of my bffs is very into it as well.

I’ve worked some of that into my characters’ lives too, which is helping me learn more for myself. I’ve always been interested in all of this, and I’m finally able to be myself about it. Relatively. My boyfriend is so supportive of it. I expect it to bother people or come across as crazy, but he was totally accepting.

Side note: That’s the kind of relationship I recommend. One where your partner doesn’t try to change you or belittle your interests/hobbies/passions. One where your partner accepts you and only wants you to be happy and safe. And vice-versa of course. That’s love.

I’m happy to report that I’ve been pretty busy these last few weeks.

I had a few leads on jobs, but none have worked out.

One in particular was disappointing; it took me a couple days to get over it. And even now when I think about it, I feel a twinge of sadness. But, as people in my life have said, there will be other jobs!

I’m trying to stay positive. It obviously wasn’t meant to be.

I’ve been reading more. I forget if I mentioned that last time. I was reading Lolita, which I didn’t finish. The main character guy started to bore me with his whining on that 500-year-long road trip, so I gave it up. Now, I’m reading The Witches of New York by Ami McKay, and I am quite enjoying it. It is much more my style. Witches are by far my most favorite supernatural being, and I love stories about magic. So much so that I have an idea to write my own witch story. I fear though that the topic is overdone, like the vampire thing.

Over the last two days, I’ve been brainstorming the whos, whats, whens, wheres, whys, and hows of it, and I keep thinking, Oh, that’s been done before. I feel slightly discouraged, but I also remembered the saying:

Write what you know.

So, my own perspective on a supernatural story may be worth it.

And who knows, it may be the “job” I’m looking for!

Alright, it’s time to get serious.

It’s time to figure out what I’m doing with this writing degree that I’ll be spending the next three decades paying for.

What is a legitimate obstacle for me though is I work full-time. Some weeks, more than full-time. So, by the time I get home, I’m too tired to think. I don’ t know how to get around this. The only time that I’m creatively productive is when I’m on vacation from work, which is a few weeks each year.

I am desperate to not waste what I worked so hard for the last three years. But I feel like I have zero time or energy. As I write this, I’m yawning every other minute; my eyes are watering; and I’m pretty much ready to go to bed at any time.

I have to figure out something. I don’t want to waste this. I don’t want to waste this. I don’t want to waste this! You got that, Me?? You’re officially on the clock.

I also don’t read as much as I’d like to for the same reason. So, something has to change.

I wrote a poem yesterday, which makes me feel a little better. But it’s only the tiny beginning of what I really want.

Summer, Sunshine, and Perpetual Self-Discovery

Well, I graduated. What a load off my back (and mind) that is.

My college career came to an end on May 10, 2019, assuming I don’t go for a graduate degree. The very idea turns my stomach, but I did find out that Masters degrees in creative writing are real, so who knows what the future holds.

My degree title is as follows:

Bachelor of Arts, University Without Walls, Journalism and Writing Studies

Yeah- *fist in the air, à la John Bender, minus the long coat because it’s too hot out for that*

Now, if I could just receive that stupid piece of paper in the mail.

My advisor confirmed that I graduated. My grades and degree completion checklist told me that I graduated. But the “3-4 weeks” that it would take to receive my diploma have passed. I can’t help feeling a little afraid, like it was all a joke or a lie.

I want to hang it in a smart, classy frame and stare at it while I pay back the loans I owe so that I can be reminded of why I did this in the first place.

Back when I first contemplated giving college another go, I had a lot of worries to sort through, but where I always ended up was, if I had already started, instead of continued to worry, I could be like a year into it by then.

So, finally, I decided to do it. And three years later, here I am. Done.

It’s pretty surreal.

At first, I was like, I have all my free time back! I can do what I want! I can write! I can read! I can travel!

But you know what? For this last month, I mostly just binged on Netflix. I did a little reading (finished The Great Gatsby; started Lolita) and a little traveling (bookstores; beach) and a little creative thinking (random stuff). But mostly, I was a total bum.

And it was fantastic!

Eventually, instead of being annoyed with myself for not being more creatively productive, I embraced the bumminess and let myself ENJOY it! I realized that I needed time to detach from thinking like a part-time student. I needed to get to know myself again, who I am without “student” as a descriptor.

At this point, the Netflix binge has ended, thankfully. There’s been an uptick in social media activity though. I would like to quash that, but I’m also getting into the mindset of using it for creative purposes, so I’m putting a pin in that one. Happy to report, however, that I’ve been reading more. Still on Lolita, which is an entirely different topic, but I bought a bunch of new books and am very excited to get into them!

Here’s to summer, sunshine, and perpetual self-discovery! 🍹☀️

The “winter blues” got the best of me this year.

More so than ever before.

I’d never felt it this strongly. I spent about a month having ZERO motivation to do anything, and what sucks the most about the timing of it was that it started around the same time as the new semester. So, I did a few initial assignments and then got very behind. I’ve mostly caught up in one class, but the other… I’m still struggling. Luckily, it’s currently spring break, which means no new assignments to add on.

I think it started with the indecision about my financial aid, which I found out about a week before classes were to begin. And it wasn’t fully resolved until after they began. The week before classes, I usually read over the syllabi, get my textbooks, and get myself in the mindset of the assignments and subject matter. I didn’t have that this time.

Also, I was sort of forced into the classes I’m in. It’s my last semester, and I needed two 300- or 400-level courses. All that was offered for Journalism was Opinion Writing, and, out of the English creative writing courses, I chose TV Pilot Script Writing. Well, much to my dismay, that pilot script class was eventually cancelled due to low enrollment. The other options were Creative Writing, Writing the Graphic Novel, and Writing for a Living. I have no interest in graphic novels, but I considered it because it would mean focused creative work. The regular creative writing course wasn’t too appealing because I’d already taken that type of course the previous semester and a couple of times back in high school. I wanted something more specific, hence choosing the pilot script course. And as for Writing for a Living, it seemed more like the utilitarian class of writing curriculums. There would be no creative projects or soul-feeding writing. It would simply be about writing queries to publishers and agents. Ultimately, it’s what I chose because it seemed to be the most useful, and it’s been alright. It’s had interesting assignments that do make you think and figure things out.

As for opinion writing, I am less than excited by it. I think part of it is I don’t think my “voice” jives with the opinion style. Plus, I’ve learned that I’m not as interested in journalism as I once thought I might be. So, that adds to the lack of motivation.

But that’s why I went to school in the first place- to figure out which types of writing I would like most. And that’s what is happening.

I just have to get through this last part, and it will be in my rearview.

I already am considering taking a one-off screenwriting course at some point. NYU’s Tisch School offers one online, so maybe that’s in my future!

Well, I didn’t keep to the writing schedule I had hoped to maintain during school.

At some point, I realized that I couldn’t commit to it, so I let myself let it go. Temporarily, of course.

The good news about school is that I can graduate this spring instead of next spring! A whole year sooner! When I first found out, I was really surprised and only somewhat excited. I hadn’t planned for this news. What about the other courses I wanted to take and would now miss out on? What about the student loans I would now have to pay back a year earlier? Miss Advisor Lady, are you sure that I can graduate this year? Maybe you should check again. I panicked a little. I felt like I would soon be at the edge of a cliff and expected to jump.

I’ve over that now. For the most part. The student loan thing still scares me, but I’m doing what I can to prepare for it. And as far as jumping from the figurative cliff, I have a full-time job that I don’t hate, so staying in that while I figure out my next steps is fine with me. Not ideal, but acceptable for a bit.

The great part is that I will have a degree and be done with formal schooling for, presumably, the rest of my life. I’m truly not a fan of “school,” so it will be a relief to close this chapter up tight and throw away the key. And I’ll my free time back! I have several hobbies and interests that I’ve had to set aside during the last 2 1/2 years. It will be wonderful to connect with them again.

 

I have always loved New Year’s.

Both Eve and Day.

I’ve loved it when I’ve spent it with family, when I’ve spent it with friends, when I’ve spent it alone, when my dog was my midnight kiss, and as I’ve spent it with my Love for a few years now.

That moment when we move from the end of one period of time to the beginning of another… it’s a fully emotional experience for me. It makes me happy. It makes me hopeful and awakens my spirit. They say that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest at Halloween. Well, I think there’s a thin veil on New Year’s Eve and Day too. A veil between contentment/complacency and wanting more, making changes and decisions. All you have to do is be open to it.

Happy New Year! 🖤🥂🖤🥂🖤

I might want to be a sports writer.

I started introducing sports into my journalism course assignments this week.

I think that may be the direction I’d like to go in, much more so than current events and politics or, like, “hard news.” As much as I like to stay aware and pass along important information about the world and government(s), if that were my job, I’m pretty sure I’d hate it. And that’s not what this college thing is about. It’s about doing what I want to do–what I’d love to do–every day.

I’m already hugely into sports. Mainly hockey. But I find it fairly easy to catch on to other sports. (They don’t call me the “sports guru” on my trivia team for nothing!) And I think I would be good at reporting on the results of games/matches and the goings-on in the various leagues and with players/athletes. My only concern is that I’m definitely emotional about the players and am not at all someone who brushes off disappointing trades or other deals with a shrug and “It’s just business.” I’m not one to complain about losses like they’re ruining my life. I’m a celebrater, if that’s even a word, of everything good and a consoler, same thing here, of everything sad. And that makes me doubt if I’d make it in the sports journalism world.

But maybe when I’m thinking of “sports journalism,” I’m mixing it up with sports commentary and analysis, two things I can enjoy listening to and weighing in on with my brother and our friends, but I wouldn’t be interested in officially participating in for the aforementioned reasons.

I’m not even sure that journalism is exactly the route I want to go in, but the sports area is the most appealing.

I saw my loves last Friday.

My loves being Hanson.

It’s kind of surreal thinking back over the last two decades that I’ve been a fan. It feels more like we’re friends, even though we truly aren’t. But there is a relationship there. They’ll even tell you.

The fans who have been with them since the beginning are everything to them. How often they thank us and how often they create special experiences makes it evident. I mean, they could simply not create special experiences, like the annual vacation to the Caribbean or the annual fan weekend (neither of which I’ve been to myself because, one, money and, two, the obligatory overly-obsessed and literally crazed fans that I don’t feel like encountering), and we would still be around. I am absolutely sure of that. It is about the music after all. Plus, we stuck around from 2000 to 2003 when there was that bureaucratically-induced music and touring drought. That was a long three years, let me tell you.

They do love us and appreciate us. And we—I—can’t get enough of them.

That weekend, their youngest sister got married. I remember the day they announced her birth! It’s things like that that remind me how long they’ve been a huge part of my life. My friend (and fellow fan) and I were talking about how it’s not just the three guys. It’s their whole family whom we’ve seen grow and change and whom we care about.

I tried to figure out how many times I’ve seen them live, and I’m at 15, unless I’m forgetting any. I have ticket stubs saved in a photo album, but at a certain point, ticket stubs became “print-at-home” pages or QR codes, which is a bummer because they’re harder to save. At least, for me they are. Anyway, tangent.

The show on Friday was at The Big E fair, and it was one of the best ever. I think it’s because there was seating. I didn’t sit at all, but it was nice to have the option in case you needed it. And the benches gave everybody their own space. Whereas, at general admissions, you’re all standing and crowded together. There’s no room to move around or dance really. Even no elbow room at times. But at this one, you had personal space. If only all the shows were like that. I think that’s a major gripe these days- we’re not 18 anymore. We need chairs! Hahaha

In November, we get to see them again. And it will be part of their String Theory tour, which involves them playing shows with symphonies! I’ve seen/heard a couple of clips, and it is beautiful. Some old songs, some new songs, and symphonies. I can’t wait. I’ll have to remember to bring a few tissues—I’m certain that I’ll cry.

The Story of the Roman Family

I’ve always wanted to tell this story. I’ve only told a few people, and even they don’t know more than that the family exists and minimally about why.

I am reluctant to share this because I feel like it makes me sound crazy. If you’re a writer too, I am going to trust that you understand where I’m coming from with this post. If you’re not a writer, please know that I do not have any sort of personality disorder.

So, the Roman family. They have existed, to me, in my imagination, for 20 years now. I realized that recently–Twenty Years. Such a wonderful milestone.

The main person in the family is a version of myself that, at the time, when I was 13/14 years old, I wished could be the real me. I made her have traits, both physical & character, that I wished I had, and I made her be a part of a large family. She is the 6th out of 10 kids. The part that I, of course, didn’t wish to be my life–she just had to have some sort of tragic back story–was that her parents had died. I think it was symbolic for me because that year was when I was moving and having to switch schools and, therefore, make new friends. I felt very alone and lacked self-confidence. I think this version of myself and her siblings was a coping mechanism. And they remained that for several years.

I wrote many a story, both short and long, chroncling her life. I have Word documents detailing each sibling’s individual family as everyone grew up. I have education information figured out. I have photos that I searched for online as a way to put a face to a name. A few celebrities are in there, which is funny to me, but they’re sort of-kind of what the character looks like in my mind.

About five years ago or so, I started working on the first story, the one that starts them off, the one that defines them. The one about the night their parents died. I know how each sibling reacted in the short-term and in the long-term and what it meant to them as a whole.

It feels like I know them and like they’re real. So much so that, when I considered the possibility of writing their initial story and self-publishing it, I had to change all of their names. It felt like I was divulging personal information by using all their original names. I felt protective of them.

Now that I’m in a writing course for which I have to write creative non-fiction and fiction, I wish I could use their story as non-fiction because it’s not fiction to me. I have to remind myself that it actually is.

Hopefully one day, I’ll see their story through. I think it would mean a lot to those who might read it.

I used to be the queen of used book sales.

I’m sure there are folks who frequent them much more than I ever did, but, in my social circle, it was something I was known for. I was good-naturedly teased because of it.

If there was a book sale in my general area, I knew about it and was probably going to it. I would schedule time in my day, like an entire morning or afternoon, and, upon arrival, latte in hand, I would strategize based on the setup of the sale and genres. I sometimes brought friends with me too. And in the end, I’d come out with a bag or two full of tomes on travel, cooking, geography, history, poetry, and, of course, lots of fiction, both more modern and classic. Book shopping was my favorite. If I saw a book section at a yard sale, a discount store, or a thrift store, I would have to peruse it and see if anything piqued my interest. Most of the time, I would find something to take home. And I felt that I balanced out all the purchasing by selling and donating what I could stand to part with post-reading. It was heaven.

A few years ago though, my desire to go slowed down until it dropped off altogether. I started noticing just how full my large  bookcase was and how I was having to double stack my collection. I could hear my mother’s words, “You have enough/too many books.” I hung my head when I saw what she saw. I do have enough/too many books. So, I stopped going to sales and stores. The good stuff was always gone at the “early bird” days anyway. And they didn’t generally have a whole lot of variety, what with about 20 copies of The Help and The Notebook, hoping to be snagged by the last 2% of the population who didn’t already own them. (Truly, no offense to those books, their authors, or their fans. Just trying to make a point.) My mind kept going back to where I could possibly store any more. In fact, a couple of months ago, when I cleaned out my closet, I found two shopping bags of books that I had FORGOTTEN ABOUT for at least a year. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Nowadays, I still go to used book stores, but a lot less frequently. Maybe once a year I allow myself to indulge in my version of retail therapy, and you know what? It’s quite satisfying. Going less often makes the trip and experience that much more special. I see much more variety in the selection, and I get to check in with the building. To me, it’s a wise old man with little glasses, keeping watch over all the wisdom and knowledge. And shockingly, I don’t haul a giant bag of loot out to my car like Santa Clause going down the chimney on Christmas night.

One day, when I have more space, like an entire room to consider as a library and writing room, I’ll go crazy again. But until then, I will have to keep it simple.

Here we are. The last week of summer break before the new semester starts.

At one point, it seemed really far off, and now it’s like oh crap.

I crossed off a pretty good amount of things on my summer bucket list, plus some that weren’t on the list:

I got my nose re-pierced; that was number one. I tried to learn the Time Warp, the main dance from Rocky Horror. I read a lot during the first couple of months, not so much in the second. I watched new TV shows and a handful of good movies, including ones I’ve seen a million times already. But sometimes I just need to witness that story again. I finally went on a research trip for a project I’ve been working on for years. I met Holly Marie Combs (my twin, according to many of my friends) at ComiConn. I joined a writing group, a dream of mine for quite a long time. And I got to watch one of my best friends become a mother for the first time. Well, I didn’t see her give birth, but I saw her throughout her pregnancy, and then I met her precious little baby. Pretty wonderful stuff right there. My goal was to make the absolute most of my time off from school, to make it feel like a true break, and I think I accomplished that.

This week, I hope to wring out those last drops of freedom, which shouldn’t be too hard since I don’t have much going on. I’m thinking I’ll go to the beach if the weather cooperates. And of course, I want to spend some time reading. I feel like choosing a shorter novel and trying to read it by next week. Everything I’ve been reading for the last two months or so has been non-fiction, and honestly, that’s not my favorite genre, which is probably a big part of why I’ve slacked. And now that I’ve said that, I understand more why I hate reading for assignments—it’s all non-fiction.

Currently, all my books are boxed up due to a small renovation project going on at my house, but I’ll have to dig through everything tonight and see what looks good.