Last day of Chanukah

Today, the last day of Chanukah, I finally received the candles I ordered. I felt bittersweet as I said the prayer over them. This Chanukah has gone by so quickly, as everything goes by so quickly...

Anyway, when I lit the shamus (the candle in the middle of the menorah), it didn't seem to be lit up very much. The flame was very small, almost like turning on a laser pointer. I picked up the shamus and lit the rest of the candles. When I put it back, the flame seemed much bigger, as if it had gathered strength from feeding all the other candles with itself.

This Chanukah week has been an eventful week in many ways. I've recommitted myself to my writing... I just came to the point when I realized that I know I'm going to be a writer. It's not a matter of if I get published, it's a matter of when. (Although I am breaking one of the rules in my editing book with all these italics! Oh, and with the exclamation point too. Damn.)

So if I'm going to be a writer, why worry about what else I'm doing? I'm doing the best I can to concentrate on my writing. I've been investigating doing some grant writing, too... grants are hard to get because you have to write out your whole budget and write a statement of purpose and all that, but I'm steadily working on it. I want to get a grant to finish, publish, and promote my first novel. In the meantime, I started working on my second.

A writing book I read suggested giving yoruself a page quota and sticking to it every day. I made myself write 5 pages today. The problem is, I don't think they were nearly as good as what I've written in the past, and it became a chore to sit there and get the five pages done. I understand that you need to have discipline to become a writer, but I'm not quite sure this is the way to go.

In the mean time, I got fitted for contact lenses today! I tried this once before, but Dave and I were so disorganized I managed to lose the lenses after spending a fortune on them :( This time I intend for things to be different. I have such nice eyes... how can I hide them behind glasses?

It's hard to get used to wearing these lenses. I see better in them than I do in the old glasses I was wearing. But my brain is used to not seeing properly so it keeps thinking I'm not seeing right because I am seeing right, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, here's a picture of me in my contacts. (I've lost some more weight, too... more about that in a minute)

I had trouble taking a picture of myself...the camera was way too close and kept making me look strange. This is the best I can do.

Anyway, like I said, I lost another 3 pounds, for a total of 21 pounds thus far. I hit my 10% goal last week, which means that I have now lost 10% of my original body weight. It took me 3 months... I'm hoping to lose another 20 lbs over the next 3 months, and then 20 lbs more... six months from now I should have reached my weight goal.

The 10% goal is important because when you lose 10% of your overweight, you greatly reduce the risk of heart disease, cancer, stroke, diabetes, etc. I bought myself a really nice dress at JC Penney's as a reward. Some other time I'll take a picture of myself in it.

Oh yeah, and tonight I'm going to make macaroni and cheese. This is a good Chanukah.

Climbing out of the hole

I just spent the last two days being very depressed :( I was in a fairly good mood on Thursday night, having just gotten the Mighty Mitsubishi, Mark II. (Dave always called our car the Mighty Mitsubishi, so the new one is now christened as Mark II of the same). Here it is:

















(It isn't a great picture since I took it at night... I'll take better ones sometime)

Anyway, so I was in a decent mood, like I said. Then I got a very lecture-y e-mail from my brother.

My relationship with my brother is complicated at best... as kids we did not get along at all, mostly because adults were always comparing us and therefore we both tried to prove that we were "better" than the other. My brother pounced on every one of my mistakes and made fun of me. I, for my part, irritated him by not giving him any space whatsoever.

So my whole life I've seen my brother be very close with my little sister while wondering why I couldn't have that kind of relationship with him. Recently, we've begun writing e-mails back and forth. For the first time, we're beginning to have a decent brother-sister relationship.

But I made the mistake in my last e-mail of telling him of my plans to pursue writing 100%. In his return e-mail, I heard all about how it's so much better to earn your own living than to live off help from your parents. He considers student loans and grants to be the same as living off someone else. In his opinion, I'm not fully an adult unless I'm earning my own living. Therefore, he encouraged me to find a job--any job--and consider writing as a second career that I do in the evenings after work.

Immediately after I read his e-mail, I felt my mood go way down. At first I thought I was just angry because he wrote as if he thought I didn't know what it felt like to earn my own living. I thought about the absolute poverty that me and Dave lived in because I didn't want to be dependent on my parents. I thought about how unfair it is that Dave never got to come out here and experience life absent the constant struggle to stay above water. I missed him terribly because I knew he would understand in a way that my brother did not, and I felt alone.

So I turned off my computer and watched Scrubs and had a long imaginary talk with JD (who is my favourite character and who I have a crush on) because he's my age and is constantly struggling to grow up. And I told him what I couldn't tell anyone else: while my brother's advice is practical and sound, it's wrong. It's all well and good to say, "Have a job to fall back on," but the problem is that all my adult life I've done that, and in my case, having a fall back job means not really trying to be a writer. It's time for me to approach my calling with confidence, not with fear of failure. And choosing to focus 100% on my writing right now doesn't make me less of an adult. In fact, it's the most adult decision I've ever made.

I felt a little better after that. I had imaginary sex with my imaginary friend, which I guess is good because it's the first time I've had any sexual feelings at all since Dave's death, and in any event it calmed me down.

The next morning I had a long real talk with my mom. She didn't want me to be mad at my brother and she's afraid I'm giving up on teaching. She also thinks I should just get any job (as long as it's not working at Kinko's) so that I'll get out of the house more.

I wandered around all day in a daze. My head ached and I couldn't concentrate on anything. There was a candle lighting ceremony at a local temple to commemorate the first night of Chanukah, but I couldn't bring myself to go. Somewhere along the way, I lit a candle myself for Chanukah and suddenly found myself remembering how last Chanukah Dave made me potato pancakes and prayed with me over the candles. I thought maybe the real reason I was having a hard time was because I was missing him. I tried to forget about everything. I tried to edit some of my novel but I couldn't read more than two pages because my head ached too badly. I watched Scrubs and had another long imaginary talk with JD. He "told" me I wasn't sleeping enough. I resolved to do better.

Yesterday was kind of more of the same... the morning was a little bit better, I guess, because I dreamed I had become a tutor rather than a teacher. When I woke up that stuck with me. A little later, I looked in the classified ads and found an ad for a special-needs tutor. Needless to say, I applied right away.

Shortly after that my giant headache came back, worse than the day before. I couldn't do anything but lie in bed... everytime I sat up my head started aching awfully and I felt really sick.

This morning, though, I finally broke through the depression or whatever it was. I checked out a new church with my neighbor. As soon as I walked in, it felt right, the same way my new car felt right the second I sat down in it. The way this church was set up just reminded me of The Quest... I felt strongly that if Dave were here he would love this church too. The service started with some Christian rock--there wasn't a live band like at the Quest, but the words were on a slide projected onto a screen just like I'm used to.

This was the best service I've been to since I moved out here. they had a guest pastor who was visitng from Poland. He spoke about the importance of reading the Bible so that you know what God is trying to tell you. He talked about some of his truly horrific experiences, trying to be a religious leader in a totalitarian country... he spoke about being arrested and beaten and almost shot for the crime of spreading religion. He takled about n ot being able to find an entire Bible because the Bible had been banned from Poland. He talked about having signed a contract to be a sculptor in Sweden, only to have the Polish border closed two days later, causing him to lose the life savings he had invested in his new business.

It was truly an amazing sermon, and I was so glad I went. Afterwards, they had refreshments just like they always had at the Quest. I half-broke my diet and ate a few small brownie pieces.

My head is starting to clear up now, and I'm wondering why I let my brother's letter get to me. I guess in my heart I was only 99% committed to the idea of being 100% committed to being a writer... there was a part of me that was afraind, that felt I should do the traditional thing I've always done. I realized that it's not a matter of if I'm going to be a published writer... it's a matter of when, and therefore I just need to keep pursuing it.

I'm going to approach writing as if it's a job this week. I meant to start this last week, but I got thrown off by the whole situation with my car. I'm going to get up early tomorrow and get all my morning routine stuff out of the way before 9 AM--exercising, showering, eating breakfast. Then from 9 to 12 I'm going to research writing grants and contests, and start applying for them. 12-12:30 is lunch. After lunch I'm going to spend a couple of hours planning my new novel, Chasing Ghosts. Then I'm going to work on revising my previous novel until 5 PM, which is closing time. That'll give me half an hour to prepare my Toastmasters speech for tomorrow's meeting, but that'll be enough time, because I know already what I'm talking about: the importance of following your dreams.

This excites me. Oh, I know I have practical things to do... things like paying bills and calling the insurance company and so on, and I plan to work them in between my writing tasks, just as I would if I were at a full-time job. And I know I need money of my own, which is why I'm investigating grants. Unlike my brother, I don't see grants as an "allowance" that interferes with me being an adult. I see getting grants as me taking steps towards realizing my dream.

There's this episode of Scrubs where at the end Dr. Cox says to JD, "You love being a doctor, don't you? Don't forget that." I feel it's the same for me. I truly love writing. It's truly my calling. And I must not forget, because the world will try to wear me down.

I intend to climb out of this hole and stay out, this time.

My car's probably gone...

Tonight is a sad night for me. Not as sad as when Dave passed away, of course, b ut sad nevertheless.

Originalyl I had planned on going to the chess club but I didn't feel like going out, tonight. So, around 8:30 I sat down to watch the extras on the Scrubs Season 4 DVD. (I'm totally in love with J.D. on Scrubs, but that's another post altogether)

As I was about to start watching a discussion of who the Janitor really is, I heard a tremendous crash outside. I looked out the window to see what had happened. That's when I saw it. My car. In the middle of the street. The front smashed in.

So I ran outside without even putting on shoes. This guy was sitting in a black car wher emy car used to be. "Am I on fire?" he said.

"Your car's smoking. What happened?"

"I looked away for a minute. Damn it... I just stopped paying attention for one minute... I didn't know there was anything there."

Now, my car was parked right in front of my house until this guy hit it. He must have been going really fast and been way too close to the curb because it had spun out just as bad as when Dave and I got hit on the freeway that time.

Anyway, so he called the cops so they could come down and take a report. Which they did. They wanted to push my car out of the middle of the road, but it wouldn't start and wouldn't even go into neutral--the gear was totally jammed.

Which means my car is pretty much toast. It's totaled. Again. Fortunately, I wasn't in it, and fortunately the guy had enough decency to stick around.

None of that is really the point though... the thing is that this car was the symbol of my relationship with Dave... it was him, me and the car... and exactly four months after his death, the car gets destroyed.

I feel terrible. The last thing Dave did on this earth was send me my car. And for what? So it can be destroyed four months later?

It's so weird... in LA things like this are bound to happen. But here I'm parked in front of my house on a quiet little street where there's never any traffic, and the car gets totaled. I just don't get it.

I'm having weird thoughts like, Dave died and then four months later the car's gone, so I'm the only one left... four months from now I could be destroyed too... I haven't done enough with my life... I hope I have more than four months.

Anyway, my dad thinks i should just get a new car. He'll pay the loan on it. Damn it, I didn't want to do that. Besides being the symbol of our relationship, the car was... well, Dave was so proud of me for fighting the system and getting it out of salvage because it meant it was mine, free and clear. I didn't want to get into a new loan...

This sucks. This really sucks.

They say God can work miracles, so I guess the only thing to do right now is pray...

Decision time

I've been thinking a lot about my future career plans. I came out here to become a teacher. That's not really happening... it seems as if it's as hard to get a teaching job here as it is in LA.

Well, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I really want to become a teacher. I mean, I like the idea of working with autistic kids. And I know that teaching would be a meaningful career... I wouldn't feel like I felt at Kinko's, like my brain was underutilized and my work ethic and talents unappreciated.

But do I really want to be a teacher, or was it jsut that i couldn't stand something as meaningless as Kinko's?

I've been working a little bit on my writing, and remembering how much I want to be a writer. Over the past 9 years, I've had the same thoughts from time to time: why do I have to fit into the normal world? Why can't I just write?

In the past, the answer was obvious: You're not published, you're not disciplined enough, you're not even trying, really... who are you kidding? Besides, everyone knows that you can't support yourself as a writer. Deal with reality: almost all writers have a day job. You might as well get one you like.

But now I'm not so sure.

Since I moved to North Carolina, I've done the following with my writing:

* Submitted my story, Disillusionment, to 25 magazines while keeping a list of 25 others in reserve in case I don't get published.

* Written and submitted a story to the local newspaper's Christmas contest

* Rewritten about 85% of my novel.

* Bought the Writer's Market and begun seriously thinking about getting an agent for the novel.

* Joined the North Carolina Writers Network

And so I can no longer say that I'm not trying to become a published writer.

Thinking it over a little more, I wonder how much of my decision not to actively pursue writing has been based on fear rather than practicality... that nagging voice that says, Who are you kidding? YOU a successful writer? Ha! For many years I've wanted to be a professional writer... and for many years I've thought it was impossible and so I haven't tried.

In LA it was impossible, even though supposedly I was in the land of writers (screenwriters, at least). There was no money... I couldn't afford lofty dreams.

But now I have $10,000 in the bank thanks to my student loan. If I'm going to pursue writing whole-heartedly, the time is now.

I'm not sure yet what that means. I'm not going to do anything rash--I'll finish out my classes, get my teaching license, etc. But I'm going to give up my fear of failure and do everything I can to make it as a writer.

I'm really excited to be part of the North Carolina Writers' Network. They have conferences twice a year where I'll be able to meet other writers, agents, and editors. I can advertise through their newsletter to get side jobs as a writing tutor, a proofreader, an editor... maybe even start a small business to help writers get their work submitted. In the meantime, I'll finish revising my novel and get it ready for editors and agents at the Spring conference this May.

I feel strong as I think this through, as if I've at last solved something that was confusing and bothering me.

Dave would have been so proud of me. I remember he once told me that people can see and be proud from Heaven. I hope he was right.

Exercise night

I just spent two hours roller skating... I feel so good now. I need to find a way to exercise like this more often.

I lost 3 lbs this week too... this is a vast improvement over the past two weeks. I gained a pound last week because of overeating at Thanksgiving :( Well, actually, I was fine on Thanksgiving itself. The next day, there was this get-together at my grandmother's. My grandma is quite a controlling person, which always makes get-togethers with her uncomfortable to begin with. I went with my mom to pick out the bagels and side dishes we would be having, but somehow that didn't help. I think part of it was that my grandma was staring at me when I put food on my plate, which led me to take more food than I really needed.

Anyway, so this week I lost the pound I had gained plus two more!!! I will have lost 10% of my original body mass when I lose another pound.

I'm so proud of me...

Just checking in

I've become very busy lately, which is a good thing... although whenever I work towards the life I mean to ilve, I feel the emptiness of Dave not being there to share it with.

Anyway, what I've been busy with mostly is literature. Literature and writing. I'm celebrating tonight because I entered a story in the Fayetteville Observer's annual Christmas contest. It took me two weeks to write, although most of that two weeks was spent realizing that what I was writing wasn't getting anywhere. Then yesterday I woke up knowing where to start my story. I sat down and wrote it.

The story had to be 1000 words or less (the hard part for me, since I'm used to writing stories that go on for at least ten pages. Also, my training at USC was in very literary stories, where "stage directions" are primary--having characters take small but character-revealing actions is considered more important than dialogue or even plot. Most of the two weeks I spent not writing the story were spent excising unnecessary actions.) and be holiday related.

My story is, essentially, a Christmas dinner in a hosue where the father has just died. (Give you three guesses what my inspiration for that was.) At said dinner, the mother reveals she is pregnant with her late husband's child, to the delight of everyone except her 11-year-old daughter. I am so, so tempted to post an excerpt from the ending but I'm going to wait... if it wins it'll get published in the Christmas Eve edition of the Fayetteville Observer and then I can scan it in its entirety. (Not that I've given most of it away with this description or anything.)

In between working on this story, I've been revising my novel. I've rewritten about 3/4 of it. I've made the dialogue tighter, cut irrelevant action (again), and played with my sentence structure. It began as a literary novel... I'm trying to retain some elements of literariness (for lack of a better word), while making it more traditional. My goal is to have it be truthful, have it say what I want it to say, but be a novel rather than a longish "portrait" of a family in crisis. I'm fairly happy with what I'm achieving thus far, although I'm dreading working on the final chapters... towards the end I got tired of writing, I think, and rushed to finish the damn thing. I'd been writing about a year, and I wanted it to be finished so Dave could read it. Well, he never got to read it, but now it's dedicated to his memory... and so I have to make the effot I didn't make then and get those final chapters right.

Yesterday I bought the Writer's Market from amazon.com so I can actually go ahead and work towards getting it published once it's ready. I've got the ghost of an idea for a second novel, too, waiting to be put to paper once I finish this one. (And of course, it would be nice if I finished Elsie Worthing one of these days)

While I've been writing, I've also gone back to reading. I spent the last couple of weeks rereading Crime and Punishment. I read this when I was 10 years old. I doubt I understood most of it, but I liked it. I had borrowed a video adapation from the library. In addition to being the very first borrowed tape that actually played in my VCR (woo-hoo!), it was a fairly well-done movie, and it got me curious about the novel. So I took it out of the library.

I have some thoughts about it that I'll put into an essay version sometime... in the meantime, suffice it to say that it was good for waking my brain up.

I also reread My Name is Asher Lev this week (another book that I read as a young child and loved). Asher Lev is the story of a gifted artist who is born into a Hasidic Jewish family. It traces his childhood and adolescence, growing up with a religious father who wants his son to be a "normal" boy who can carry on the missionary tradition he has dedicated his life to and a loving but sometimes depressed mother, who never quite recovered from her brother's sudden death in a car crash during a mission.

There were so many interesting and sad things about this book... but one thing that struck me was the notion of "incompleteness". Asher's mother goes back to school to become a Russian teacher so that she can complete the work her brother left behind. His father returns to being a missionary so he can complete the work his own father left undone.

It made me think... perhaps lives intersect in a kind of relay race, where one person starts something but leaves it undone... another person, a person he or she was close to, is supposed to pick up the mantle and keep going with it.

I know that Dave sparked so many things in me... he taught me to drum, to cook, to play basketball, to pray, to be part of a team. I think it is for me to pick up where he left off with so many things.

I've been practicing the drums daily as always, and for the first time today I was able to play a five stroke roll (the first rudiment). I want to play in a church band someday... I just feel as if that's part of what I'm supposed to complete.

I've been feeling Dave's spirit nearby a lot lately. He's near me... he's with me... I know it.

Just as I know that I'm going to be a published writer soon, one way or the other.