When I was in school- I will admit- I was a bit of a scatterbrain. I went into a major I really didn’t have much clue how to deal with. There was endless amounts of paperwork and disks and systems and different class times for different labs- let’s just say it was a hard transition for a girl who came from a small place and felt safe with the same old same old.

 

It was winter; ice had fallen hard over the night. I drove my blazer to class. My fingers gripped the steering wheel until the circulation was cut off. I was running late. I knew I would be. When I pulled into the parking lot, I parked in the first spot available and grabbed my stuff. I jumped out of the blazer almost before it was even in park and ran inside.

 

I swear, my heart had never beat so hard as it did while I was taking that test. My fingers were frozen even though the heat was on full blast in class. It was hard to wrap my head around that final.

 

But I pushed through it.

 

After the test was over, all I could think about was getting back home. The day hadn’t improved much while I sat in the classroom lab for two hours. I pushed open the door and a blast of cold air hit me like a ton of bricks. I thought about retreating back inside; but I also thought about how great my pajamas were going to feel once I got back home.

 

So I slipped and I slide out to the blazer. I reached into my bag to get my keys.

 

And they weren’t there.

 

I dropped my bag to the ground and I tore through it. I turned and looked behind me. I ran back inside and scoured the classroom. Nothing.

 

I walked back outside, dejected. I slumped back to my blazer just to double check the doors were locked.

They were. I saw something silver out of the corner of my eye. I braced my hands on either side of my eyes and there they were, hanging in my ignition. My *#&#@* keys.

 

I sighed. It was the third time that month.

 

I ran back into the commons and saddled up to the payphone. I popped the money in and waited. With each ring my heart sunk a little further into that cold pit of despair. Finally he answered.

 

The conversation was short. He wasn’t happy. He was over an hour away- south- and would make his way up there when he could.

I hung up on the verge of tears. I was a loser. I was lower than a loser. I shuffled back to the computer lab and played a game until I heard the door opened to the commons. I ran out of the computer lab and he stood at the door with my keys in hand. A black bungee cord had been added to the key ring as my new fashion accessory.

 

“I expect this to stay on your key ring. I’m not driving up here again. Ever.”

 

I nodded my head and mumbled my thanks. I was a thoroughly chastised kid. I felt terrible that on the worst of weather days, I made him drop what he was doing at work to come to my rescue. There was no white knight in those days to rescue me. There was only my dad – the ninja.

 

“Don’t lock the doors unless this damn thing is wrapped around your wrist.” He dropped the keys into my hand and walked out the door. I shuffled back out to my blazer, thinking about my new black key ring. I hated it. It was hideous. I instantly thought of ways to get rid of it at the first possible moment.

 

Yet I never took it off.

 

I often think about that day. It was as if the black bungee cord was a constant reminder of how scatterbrained I once was and how I needed to walk away from that life and get more focused. When I get frustrated and can’t focus my mind enough to get one thing done, let alone the millions of things on my to-do and multi-task list; I will pull out the black bungee cord.

 

Last Friday, after years and years with the black bungee cord, it broke. I haven’t felt right ever since. I feel very disoriented. Very unorganized. I even shed a damn tear for it (I blame the beginning of the month on that) and my best friend found this very distressing. She knows the story of the black bungee. She’s often made fun of me because of this black bungee cord.

 

On Saturday, she came over to my house. She sounded really excited on the phone. She showed up at the door and said, “Close your eyes.”

 

I left one open. You can’t trust these people.

 

There in the palm of my hand was a new bungee cord. She was prouder than punch, smiling ear to ear. Matt had no idea what was going on. The black bungee was before his time. He didn’t understand the story or what it meant; but she did. I launched myself into her arms (and trust me, this is quite hilarious when you realize she’s about a foot shorter than me) and we jumped up and down and laughed and cried.

 

She put it on my key ring and handed it to me with the honorary dad speech, “Alright girls, that’s about enough.” And then she turned very serious.

 

“I know it’s not the black bungee, and I know it’s a smaller version; but you are my version of the black bungee and I love you. Now when you look at the new bungee there will always be a story behind it as well.”

 

The moral of the story-  there is always a bright side no matter what happens.

 

Do you have a safety blanket? Stories to tell? Do the characters you write about have these quirks? Have you noticed any of these quirks in any movies or books you love?

 

There has been a lot of hullabaloo recently that romantic chick flicks are undermining women’s ability to date and have real relationships, since women are clearly stupid and can’t separate real life from fiction. Romance novels get the same bad rap. All that spectacular sex, and no real life man could ever live up to it. Men and therapists fear our discontent. We’ll become unhappy and start questioning the quality of our lives. We may start leaving our mediocre husbands in order to be readily available for when Brad Pitt shows up in a tux; or worse, we’ll start having affairs with our gardeners. I mean, look how well that’s working for the housewives on Wisteria Lane.  

 

I get great enjoyment from watching chick flicks. They make me happy. And call me crazy, but in this stressed-out, hurry-up, tech-saturated world where if you’re not multi-tasking six things at one time, you’re not living up to your full potential, I need happy. I need the pure escapism that $8.75 can buy me. I love books, but much of the time, it’s so much easier to get lost in a romantic comedy. I need to know that there is an Everywoman heroine who also feels invisible, underappreciated and also not living up to her full potential. Only in two hours, I see how she managed to do something about it.

 

Who is this killing anyway? Why is it so wrong to want to watch something that makes me feel happy, a little more in fellow-feeling with the human race, and heck, maybe even a little more generous to the male species? 99% of the time when I’m watching a romantic comedy, I’m not thinking, “Gosh, my life isn’t like that. I’m unhappy. Where’s my gardener?” Nor am I bitterly thinking, “No man would ever say something like that.”

 

Okay, part of me thinks “No man would ever say something like that.” Because it is awful rare you get a speech like that. But think about it: how many speeches is this romantic heroine actually getting anyway? One. She’s getting the great speech. Now tell me, is that really too much to ask?

 

I don’t think One Great Speech is too much to ask from a guy; and movies certainly don’t imply he’s going to be making these speeches every other week. He gets kissed, then the cameras pull out for us to see they’re now married and living in an unwitty everyday sort of life. No more speeches needed. He’s already done the Great Speech.

 

The Great Speech is the summary, the summation of what everyone learned. And let’s be honest, it’s usually the guy who has to learn something. I can count on one hand the movies where the woman is giving the Great Speech: 27 Dresses, Bridget Jones’ Diary…yeah, those are the only ones I can think of. There’s a snarkism that can be made there, but I’ll save it.

 

I’m a fan of the One Great Speech because it makes the whole book. Just like how one line can make a whole movie. One great speech from a guy, and you’ll remain married to him for the next fifty years. He’s leaving his dirty socks six inches from the hamper and you’re thinking, “I could bury him between the gardenias” but then you remember the Great Speech, and you remember why you love the guy. He snores in complete oblivion.

 

I watched the remake of Sabrina Friday night. Absolutely painful to watch, mainly because I think Ormond and Ford have zero chemistry. But I do love that line at the end, when Sabrina’s father tells Linus “you don’t deserve her”, and Linus says: “I don’t, I know. But I need her and I don’t need anything.” There you go: it’s a Great Speech and the theme of the story all in thirteen words. That’s his best line. Hell, when he gives his actual Great Speech to her, it’s far more stilted and pathetic. I mean, I haven’t heard a more real-life Great Speech, it was so pathetic. I’m convinced to this day she just took him back out of pity, not because his speech was any good.

 

So sue me for wanting to escape into a movie for two hours, in which the ending invariably turns out that the man figures out he’d rather be with her than without her and he apologizes for being a schmuck. Even if he doesn’t really think he did anything wrong. Love is not never having to say you’re sorry (right); love is not rubbing your lover’s nose in it when he realizes he’s wrong, but graciously accepting his stilted Great Speech and giving him a big old Welcome Back kiss.

 

So CNN and NBC and KOMU, stop telling me I’m a big delusional spinster and saying men aren’t capable of doing any of those things that happen in romantic comedies. They might not be capable of doing them all at the same time, in a mere two hour period, but they are capable of it. Believe me, men love to give Great Speeches. (Usually about football, but they can give them about other things too.) Stop underestimating men. Give them a little credit. They may surprise you with a Great Speech. Or a few garbled pathetic words. Whatever. We love them anyway.

 

So what is your favorite Great Speech from either cinema or novels? And do you have any real life Great Speeches to make us all swoon with envy? Anyone else a huge fan of the Great Speech as I am?

 

Best wishes this year to all of you from us here no the pirate ship!

Happy Birthday Bo’sun!

 

 

Yup Yup! It is the Bo’sun’s birthday today and a special day it is! The last day of the year is currently upon us and it’s time to celebrate another year past and rush in the new one to make more great memories and lasting friendships.

 

And for every New Year celebration, you need a little chocolate to

bring love and happiness into full circle. Not to mention a little eye candy to get the blood flowing. Good for creativity and he certain inspires a little creativity in me. I got him special just for you Bo'sun. Remember moderation makes for a good time, overindulgance gets you into trouble.

 

Nevermind, you're a pirate. The more the merrier I say!

 

What are your New Year's plans (if any)? Do you enjoy writing or reading party scenes?

 

 

 

PS. BTW, Ter, in case you missed it above- HAPPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I hope it's a great one!

Around June, I felt a twinge of guilt, but I tamped it down, being I’m a practiced rationalizer when it comes to nebulous things like “shame” and “slacker.” The fact it had been a year since I technically finished Girl on a Grecian Urn, and I had neither finished the revisions nor completed a new manuscript didn’t pang me too long. At a time.

 

I mean, it panged me every day. I’d go to bed, thinking, you haven’t written. If you had done this or so, I bet you could have written two pages at least. I thought about writing; but that never manifests itself into words on the page like you think it would. I reassured myself that I still had six months to get it in gear. I would surely have the revisions done by November so I could send the revised manuscript to the Golden Heart.

 

Between planning to write and non-writing, I sent out queries. I believed if someone asked for the book, then that would inspire me to finish the revisions for the last four chapters. I was fishing for motivation (in myself and my characters) like I was Ishmael after a freaking whale. Neither of us found any.

 

In September, my procrastination took a new tact. I would work on other aspects of my life instead. The Virginia Woolf procrastination epiphany. I wasn’t writing my magnum opus because I didn’t have a room to write in. All by myself. Away from awful, awful distractions like handsome men who wanted to lure me to bed with hot sex…and the internet. Call me Odysseus, stuck on this pain-staking journey of writing: shoals, hurricanes, doldrums, hot sex, you name it—I had a writer’s equivalent for it. I was in a leaky boat, sailing nowhere fast.

 

I consoled myself that the sex and the internet were research. I had three months to get it all done; plus I could totally do that NaNo thing.

 

So after three months of researching, I’m now staring at my calendar in stark disbelief. Holy hell, it’s December 30^th and I still haven’t finished the revisions on that blasted novel. Nor have I finished a new manuscript! Hell, I couldn’t even tell you the idea for the new manuscript. I keep coming up with new ideas, but none of them want to stick to the wall. They’re all…blech.  

 

I’m beginning to feel like one of those locusts who only mates every seven years. Well, I used to feel that way about my sex life too, but now I think it only applies to my writing. I haven’t found a locust I’m willing to crawl out of the woodwork for. In the meantime, I’d rather sleep until something brilliant comes to me. (Napping is my number one favorite pastime. Sometimes it’s number two, but…well, never mind.)

 

So what’s a sleepy, uninspired, unmotivated, and undone pirate to do? Well, lucky for me, this is the time of year for resolutions. Which is to say, I’ve found another way to procrastinate. (And I need to add: generally speaking, we all know resolutions don’t usually stick for long. There are one-night stands that last longer than most.) So how do I word my resolution in such a way that it doesn’t dissolve faster than a Britney Spears’ marriage? What do you do to put your words into actions? You know, besides the obvious action of: butt in chair, hands on keyboard? No, no, too obvious.

 

Then Janga did it for me. We were discussing Resolutions yesterday; and Janga listed out what resolutions she was going to implement in the next year. But she didn’t leave it at just the resolution: she broke the resolution into two or three smaller attainable goals or solutions. Simple things anyone could do to accomplish the Herculean task of overcoming procrastination.  Then she capped the whole thing with a theme mantra: DISCIPLINE. All it takes to accomplish any of the small attainable tasks is discipline. Which clearly is the antithesis of procrastination.

 

Besides a good mantra clears your mind as you set into action into one of those smaller, clear goals. So my resolution this year is to adopt Janga’s resolutions (and concrete actions to attain resolutions and her mantra) as my own so as to not find myself on December 30, 2009, going “Holy sh*t, have I literally screwed around all year again?” (Okay, that might not be a totally wasted year in my opinion, but…I should vary it a little.) Besides, isn't stealing from your friends the highest form of flattery? Or laziness? I'm unsure which. Maybe both.

 

Until I figure it out (this head cold is the pits), I will add: Janga's got this figured out. I'm going to try to be a bit more like Janga this year. (And if she doesn't conform strictly to her new disciplined regime, then I'll go with the "do as I say, not as I do" approach. Whether she follows her own advice or not, it's still brilliant.)

 

Who do you admire and wish to emulate more this year—and why? What small, concrete ways will you do to accomplish your resolutions? What’s your favorite mantra/motto?

With the New Year right around the corner, it’s that time of year when we all start taking a look at what we’re glad we did, what we wish we could have done, what we wish we hadn’t done, and what we plan on doing next year.

I prefer dwelling on the good and hopeful than bemoaning the unattained and disappointing, so in my true Pollyanna fashion, I figured I’d say what I’m particularly thankful for and what I’m hoping to accomplish this coming year.

In case anyone in the free world hadn’t heard, I managed to finish my first MS.  But I’m not just happy about the finishing.  I learned so much about how I write, about my process and my voice, about the ups and downs on the journey, that I don’t even care anymore what happens to my first MS.  I’m just thrilled with the entire experience.

This coming year I’d like to finish two stories.   Now that I know more about myself and my process, I think that’s possible, if I just buckle down.   And I could stand to lose 10-15 lbs (damn holiday baking).

As far as personal stuff, my baby turned two, my hubby got promoted, and I managed to remain sane the entire year through, with only a few meltdowns and fits of hysteria on record.  (I am a stay at home mom so I’m alone a lot, therefore there are probably many more meltdowns and fits of hysteria that occurred that no one witnessed but if no one sees it happen, it remains conjecture and speculation, I say.)

I hope this year brings another year of health and prosperity for those I adore and for you too, gentle readers, er, pirates.  May you seize your booty and plunder where you may.

What events are you proud of this past year and what do you hope to accomplish?  Any new years resolutions you wanna share?   I hear public shame is a good motivator.

 

From all of us here at RWR, we wish you the very best this Christmas.  Hope your day is filled with family, friends, food, and fun!