Jelly Bean Epiphanies

One night last week around midnight, while I was hopped up on jelly beans and Taco Bell, it hit me. To really do this right. To actually write well, you have to immerse yourself in your story. You need to believe in it, have confidence in your ability and follow through. In other words, you have to be committed.

No, not like that, though there are some days when I believe they're coming to take me away - ha ha, they're coming to take me away. Case in point - an educated almost forty year old woman was gorging herself into a stupor at midnight with high fructose and artery clogging burritos. What the hell was that all about?

But I digress.

I always knew you had to do those things to write well. But it hit me (in the midst of my Jelly Belly induced delirium) with such certainty and clarity. I'd never experienced that knowledge with such depth and surety before. And I don't know what to do about it.

I've been held up this past year in my writing. I have several theories/excuses. But the fear of commitment hadn't been one of them until last week. And now I don't know what to do about it. I don't know if I'm able to commit to being an author. Not with the depth it really takes. And it isn't because of my limited time. It isn't because I don't think it's a worthy thing to commit to.

It's fear. Plain and simple. It's the what ifs. It's the nay saying bastard voices in my head. And the only one to blame is . . . me.

And I'm tempted. Oh, am I tempted. To stop before I start. To choose to fail under my own terms. My own power. Consciously. By not trying in the first place. To close up shop and shake my head in embarrassment at myself for that crazy time I spent thinking I could actually become an author.

So here I sit, without a jelly bean in sight. Tempted. To chuck it all.

And I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Question For You

How rude of me. When a body goes to intermission, it's proper to leave some intermission music playing. So here is some I offer up as an apology. (This is one of the songs I sent out to the parental unit for their polka intervention, so it's definitely appropriate for intermission.)



Anywho, now that I've rectified that, I have a question. What current car do you think is the quintessential chick car? Back in the day I would have answered Fiero or Cabriolet or maybe a VW Rabbit. But what contemporary car do you think is a definitive chick car?

The Merits of the Mullet

So, yeah. Things are pretty much chaos at Casa de Quinn (or chez Quinn for all my legions of loyal but silent French Canadian lurkers). Nothing life threatening, just taking a major beat down by some masked freak in spandex, jumping off the top rope wielding a metal folding chair. You know, normal chaos.

So it's got me to thinking, which with me, you never know where the hell this will go. Usually nowhere good. And here are the fruits of my ruminations - The Merits of the Mullet.

I have now determined that there are some nice benefits to be reaped by sporting a mullet. You don't even have to really get it done. They sell mullet wigs now. All you'd have to do is show up in public with one of these bad boys nailed to your noggin.

Righteous, huh?

So here, in no particular order are the merits and virtues of the mullet as I see them.

1. No one expects anything from you.
2. You can get away with any degree of laziness.
3. You are not expected to be a productive member of society.
4. Any number of carny jobs are yours for the taking. (and really, do I need to enumerate the endless amounts of perks that go along with carny work? I didn't think so.)
5. You can wear the same clothes for days and no one will look twice at you.
6. "All business up front. Party in the back."



7. You can write nothing for over a month and no one looks at you twice.
8. No one believes that a mullet wearer can actually write at all.
9. It's completely assumed that your greatest accomplishment is clearing the lint from your navel.
10. Mullet equals magnificence.



You didn't think I could come up with ten, did you? Yeah, I know. Some of those merits seem almost the same, but hey, what did you expect? I have a mullet. (You just can't see it under the pointy hat.)

Old Skool Week

So I've been in the isolation booth for the past two weeks. I haven't even opened any of my wips since retreat. "Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up." (If you know where that quote comes from, leave me a comment and I will shower you with praise and respect.)

So there's still too much to sum up. Everything's in fast forward right now, so I'm regressing back to my carefree youth. I've always wondered if I have a split personality. I drive a mini van and ride a motorcycle. I teach Sunday school and write hot romance. I listen to opera and speed metal. I love to go dancing at a club, but I've seen Slayer, Megadeth, Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Anthrax, Alice In Chains, Screaming Trees, The Who, and others in concert. I'm pretty progressive when it comes to women's issues, but there are some totally sexist songs that I just can't help but love. Some days I wish I'd just make up my mind already!

So here's a throw back to some early hip hop days. Enjoy!

Sometimes You're Marvin . . .

sometimes you're the Muppaphone.



This week I was the Muppaphone.

Looking For Balance

I was a different person yesterday morning than I was in the afternoon. Than I am this morning, for that matter. Yesterday was the final day of our annual writer's retreat. It was, of course, fantastic. Three days of all things writing. Meals are taken care of, you just have to show up at the right time. No work or chores. Just you and the computer screen.

The retreat couldn't have come at a better time for me. I'd been struggling with my writing, and even the idea of writing. Carla Kempert, a smart lady I know, told me something that really stuck with me. Lots of times, you're so busy being what everybody else needs you to be, that you don't take time to be yourself and do what needs to be done for you.

So with that in mind, I drove home from Retreat yesterday telling myself that I would try for some balance. Most of that idea crashed and burned as soon as I walked through the door. In less than twenty four hours I've dealt with seven cases of bodily functions that were not my own. There are some days I wish I could just hit an intercom switch and say, "Earl, clean up in aisle four." And a guy with a mop in a rolling bucket would come take care of it.

Maybe if I didn't have as many long distance polka interventions and minion interviews to conduct, there'd be a better balance of me versus them. I thought I'd be done with the blue hairs at the end of last year, but here they are, pulling me back in.

So I need to make some changes and seek that balance. A friend at the retreat offered me a way to start, and I really want to take her up on it. So if I don't drown in the craziness that is my everyday, I plan to call and make arrangements with her this very week.

Maybe there's a secret I don't know. How do you find balance between what you need to do and what you really want to do for yourself? I'm open to any and all suggestions. And if anyone happens to know if Earl is looking for work, let me know. STAT.

I Love Stuff Like This

Totally harmless, hilarious fun. The only thing that would've made it better is if they were actually dressed like pirates and some of them swung in on ropes.

RETREAT!!! and a polka update

No, I don't mean to turn around and run away from an advancing army or catapulted livestock.



CPRW's writing retreat is coming up fast. I leave tomorrow evening, after a full and hectic day of zoo field trips, picnicking in the rain, visits to kindergarten classrooms, and driving around like crazy. But after all that I get to drive to the retreat. I'm looking forward to it very much.

I still don't know what I'm going to be working on yet. I haven't been writing for the past month. So I'm hoping to use this time to get back in the saddle. We'll see.

As for my polka intervention, things seem to be progressing well. I've had help. My mole has gone in and removed all polka related paraphernalia from the premises and inserted easy listening records into their album collection. Helen Reddy, Muzac, Muzac, Muzac, Englebert Humperdink, etc. So I believe things are starting to go back to normal out there. Parents, I'm telling you, you have to watch them every minute.

Adding a Little Ridiculousness to Your Life

I needed some ridiculousness today. You're shocked, aren't you? (I know. Between the sea monkeys and the super villain plans and the Jehovah's Witnesses you'd think I'd be tired of ridiculous things.)

So here it is. Short and sweet.



Enjoy!

The Dangers of Polka

There was a tee shirt I found a year ago that I should have bought as a reminder of the dangers of polka. It read, "I cannot resist the demon rhythms of the polka." Now it just may be too late.

There should have been constant vigilance on my part to keep the polka demons at bay. But the overwhelming oomp pah pahs have forced their way into my family. I should have seen the signs, but being so far away, my parents slipped right under my radar.

It started out small. You know, easily dismissible signs. The quiet polka record playing in the background when I call. Dad wearing a loud shirt in a recent picture. Mom's vehement defense of the pairing of clarinet and tuba. Oh, I should have seen it sooner.

But now they're watching this tv program every night: WARNING - DO NOT WATCH THE ENTIRE PROGRAM. HIGH RISK OF POLKA INFECTION.



So now I'm going to have to have a polka intervention before something irreversible occurs. Something like this:




And that is just so wrong. I have to protect them from themselves - before it really gets out of hand. I can see where they're headed. The ultimate in vile polka.



OHH the inhumanity!!! I need to prepare a detox program stat. I'm sending liberal doses of easy listening. Gordon Lightfoot, Burt Bacharach, Lionel Richie. Anything to deaden the polka effect. Hopefully I'll be able to pull them back from the edge before they start buying matching lederhosen.

*bone wracking shudder*