Writing Every Day is Hard

Well, here we are almost three full weeks into this blogapalooza and I think that I am hitting the wall. It says a great deal about how scarce good post ideas are when I am sitting here on my couch, examining my toes, and thinking about sermonizing on the need for a quality pedicure. (I really need one, for your information.) The creative process involved in spitting out thirty posts in thirty days is incredibly draining, and I believe it has me acting a bit wacky.  Yesterday I willingly surfed through Buzzfeed and Reddit, searching for any kernel of an idea that could be fittingly converted into a post. When that happens, I know I'm desperate.

I have learned a few things about this writing stuff during this incredibly arduous process however, both about myself and about others who have taken up the challenge. So in no particular order.....

• Writing every day is HARD! Writing well every day is next to impossible. Yesterday I was watching an interview with the brilliant and pithy Aaron Sorkin, writer and creator of the West Wing, The American President, The Newsroom and so much more. (Oh why can't I be brilliant and pithy?) To me, he is the gold standard of superstar scribes. Sorkin described his bad writing days as his "resting pulse", meaning that on most days his work just bites the big one. Now I think most of us would open a vein to experience just one of Aaron Sorkin's worst writing days, but the message is loud and clear. Most writing is crap and should never be shared with the world. (This blogpost notwithstanding of course, because I need it to fill a day for NaBloPoMo.)
• A writer's best and worst friend can be a thesaurus. I have read far too many items this month where it was so blatantly obvious the author had his/her face buried in Roget's. Mr. Wall, my high school English teacher was right all those years ago when he said "Just keep it simple." The best pieces are the easiest to read. 
• I get my best ideas in the shower. Truth. That is my alone time with no distractions. It is weird how thoughts just clarify while the hot water is cascading down. The problem is I have spent far too much time in the shower this month. My fingers are in a perpetual state of prunage. 
• When Edmund Kean allegedly uttered "Tragedy is easy; comedy is hard" all those years ago, I believe that he may have been foreshadowing a blogging extravaganza like NaBloPoMo. I desperately want to write fun and droll pieces that will entertain. The problem is, is that I am not Nora Ephron nor am I Tina Fey. Finding one's own voice and sometimes making it humorous is perhaps the most difficult thing that I continue to struggle with throughout this process. Bear with me. I am learning.
• The best posts are those that are true. My blog is a non-fiction chronicle. I am not attempting a fictitious account of life's aggravating moments. Maybe someday I will get to that point, but for now, what you see is what you get. The readers can tell if I am bullshitting them and they love to call me out on it, so telling the stories in a straightforward and honest manner is always the most prudent path. 
• Here are my apologies for the month. We Jews call them the Al Cheyts. (It's a Yom Kippur thing.) I'm sorry if my grammar has been less than stellar. I'm sorry if I haven't been diligent enough in my proofreading. I'm sorry if I have been pedantic or worse yet, boring. I'm sorry if I have relied too heavily on pop culture or internet memes for my posts. (I really do hate that stuff, but I've been desperate for ideas.) I'm sorry if I've sounded preachy. (I'm working on that.) I'm sorry if I have repeated myself. (I honestly can't remember many of the posts I wrote for NaBloPoMos of years past.) I'm sorry if I have flooded your Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or Instagram feeds with notices of my posts. It's coming to an end, I promise.

So here we are. I'm still standing and hacking away after twenty-one days. If you are one of my three to five diligent followers, I thank you. I will try and keep it interesting for the final week. Or....you might get an up close and personal look at my new toenail colour.

Welcome Back November...You Are a Cruel Month

November Night

Adelaide Crapsey (1922)

Listen. . .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees
And fall.

November can be a cruel month here in the north. The days grow shorter, darker and colder. November doesn't have the flashy beauty of October nor does it carry the festivity of December. It is the middle child of autumn, with a goal of simple survival for many. Seasonal Affective Disorder abounds as cranky citizens strive for a sense of balance. Some exercise. Some load up on vitamins. Some binge eat. Me? I vent. Loudly and openly.

It is why I use November as my annual foray into National Blog Post Month. The discipline of having to crank out thirty posts in thirty days is a welcome distraction from the grey that can be the eleventh month. This is my third consecutive November journey into blogapalooza and once again I dive in with a mix of fear, trepidation, and maybe just a bit of apathy. I will do my best to fill this space on a daily basis, but I should warn all readers that as I have aged I have discovered a hard truth about myself....I no longer feel the overwhelming need to impress. Therefore there will be some cop-out posts such as a return to my Meatless Monday recipes and my absolutely necessary Shabbat Music Breaks on Saturdays. Even NaBloPoMo participants deserve a sabbath. I will also be adding an Almost Wordless Wednesday feature. (I know myself far too well to even pretend that it can be entirely wordless.) A photograph can convey so much that simple words cannot, but mostly I am adding it because I am fundamentally lazy and this feature will eat up at least four more days. 

And so...we begin. May this November pass with distinction and may all participants in NaBloPoMo find creativity in the everyday. Oh...and may God have mercy on all of our souls. Too much??

Take That NaBloPoMo!

Completed! Finished, ended, concluded, finalized, accomplished, achieved, discharged, settled, done! Wrapped up, sewn up, polished off!

Thirty blog posts in thirty days. I met the challenge and made it my bitch!! (I think that's Shakespeare or maybe my Polish grandfather. I often confuse the two and their words of wisdom.) I must tell you all that I seriously considered leaving today's post totally blank-a tangible symbol of my conquering the beast and a statement of total independence. But could you imagine running the twenty-six miles and quitting with 385 yards left? Neither could I, so here I am today just like the previous twenty-nine. The Husband thought that I should extend the challenge to include the first day of December just to prove that I could go to infinity and beyond. A symbolic gesture if you will, to my new commitment of writing. I dismissed that idea out of hand if only because I really want to maintain control of this exercise and I wasn't going to let anybody dictate terms to me, not even The Husband. Besides that-I really need a break, at least for a day or two.

I already have given you a detailed post as to what I have learned from this daily blogging extravaganza, so I won't rehash. Just a few added tidbits leftover from the month have been percolating and need to be shared.

1. I read a great deal of really bad writing over the last thirty days. Really bad!  I don't mean amateur bloggers or would-be writers, either. I mean supposed professionals who do this daily and are compensated for their efforts. Journalists, freelancers, speechwriters, and their ilk all caught my attention this month simply because I was on the hunt for post ideas. The grammatical errors in our printed materials are abundant and spelling errors are common. Look, I don't profess to be perfect nor am I the grammar police, but I do know the correct usage for there, their, and they're. You would be shocked at how many out there do not.
2. I was pleasantly surprised at how many people in my real life wanted to "help" me with post ideas. I truly appreciated each and every comment, email, and conversation, but it became almost impossible to explain that the process for my writing is organic and builds upon other kernels; a process that only I understand. While some of those helpful hints found their way into a post or two, more often than not the essence of the ideas were amalgamated into something totally unrecognizable to the original offering. Please don't stop offering suggestions. I love and appreciate the help more than you all will ever know. Just don't get bent out of shape when I don't use each and every one.
3. I was unbelievably flattered when Blogher asked to syndicate one of my posts. Thousands of bloggers had registered for NaBloPoMo during the month of November and to have one of mine selected for highlighting on their main page was incredibly exciting. That particular post had a couple of thousand reads on their site and a couple of hundred more on mine. It was the first time that I personally felt the power of the interweb and all of its connectedness. Thank you to the people at Blogher for allowing me to participate in this manner and for believing that my scribblings were worth sharing. 
4. I loved discovering what my readers love. The recipe blogs were extraordinarily popular which stunned me. Our vegetarian lifestyle has been the butt of many jokes with family and friends. To discover that others actually liked our way of eating or at least were willing to try some of the foods we eat, was tremendously satisfying. I also enjoyed sharing some of my favourite female musicians with you all. I always knew that I was partial to the female voice in my music choices (Take that kol isha!) and I loved finding out that many of you were as well. Those Shabbat Music Breaks were amongst my favourite posts of the month, not just because they allowed for a pause in the daily writing grind, but rather because they allowed Shabbat to feel different from the rest of the week. I know that other bloggers fully refrained from posting on Shabbat, but for me that would have felt dishonest to my observance of the day. Those music breaks were a wonderful compromise. 
5. Finally, I am thrilled that I was able to see this challenge through from start to finish. There wasn't one day neglected and there wasn't even one day when I posted late. I haven't always finished what I started, but today I state categorically that I whupped NaBloPoMo's ass!

Thanks to all of you who have read, tolerated, offered help, and basically just supported my ridiculous little endeavour. I am not giving up blogging, actually far from it. I just need a couple of days to recoup and recover and then I will be back at it as the spirit moves. I hope that you all enjoy your Decembers whatever holidays you observe or don't.

Writing Prompts: From the Ridiculous to the Sublime

During the course of this month-long blog extravaganza, I have been rather fortunate. Ideas, stories, and anecdotes have magically presented themselves to me. I have lived in abject terror of the well running dry, of hitting the proverbial wall, but so far so good. Many online sites including Blogher have been offering helpful writing prompts designed to stir the creative juices, but so far (thanks to the deity!) I have found them unnecessary. I was kind of curious about other writing sites and what they might be offering, so I decided to float around the interweb and do a quick and dirty search to see what nuggets of ideas they might be offering to those of us in the final laps.

One site actually suggested that I imagine my life as a coffee maker. Seriously! A coffee maker. How could one possibly get creative about a coffee maker? I kept imaging the sexually satisfying properties of Folgers versus Maxwell House. Which brand really was the best part of waking up or did I really need it to be good to the last drop? Twisted and perverse, I know. Never a true fan of pornography, I decided to move on.

Several sites wanted me to recall a painful breakup or to describe an incident when a supposed friend had wronged me. Gothic images of Inquisition-like torture devices invaded my sleep. Bloody tableaus with dismembered limbs littering dark forests (why do these things always take place in dark forests?) crept into my waking thoughts. Messy crime scenes worse than any imagined or depicted in the most grotesque slasher film pervaded my subconscious. Revenge may be sweet, but it is definitely not clean. After several fitful and sleepless nights, I decided that these kinds of stories were better left up the experts-serial killers and Stephen King.

Several prompts asked me to imagine that I was a princess searching for Prince Charming. Look-I have been married for more than twenty-six years to the same man and have been with him for over thirty. That number encompasses almost 2/3 of my entire life span. I love him dearly and respect him tremendously. How many men do you know who would allow his wife to continually bash him in her blog? He is a wonderful husband, father, and son, but my delusions about Prince Charming disappeared the first time I saw the holes in his socks. No partner is flawless and no marriage is a fairytale. Relationships take work-real involved and tough work-and frankly selling that "princess living happily ever after" bullshit just isn't my style. I prefer the "warts and all" view of life. Sometimes when the princess kisses the frog, he is just a frog. And sometimes he is a brilliant, kind, decent, sort of geeky, but still tremendously sexy man who just happens to love me. I will take that over Prince Charming any day.

Yesterday's prompt on Blogher asked about passion projects and try as I might, for the life of me I couldn't think of a single thing that I am currently passionate about. This little realization just about had me running for the Zoloft. My kids? Always, but they are off on their own life's journeys. My guy? Well, he got his own paragraph one up. My work? I love it and still find satisfaction in it, but passionate? Not so much anymore. Chalk that one up to middle-age. Politics? Puh-leeze! And then it hit me. Sometimes our passions are hidden and out of sight. Sometimes we don't know we are passionate about something until we start to do it and realize that it has become the best part of the day. That is what this little writing exercise has become for me. A true passion. I need to do it or else my day seems incredibly wasted. Am I any good? Who cares! I do it because I truly love it. Look-I may never be able to imagine myself climbing Everest or know what it feels like to be an Italian sports car, (both prompts from other sites!) but I do understand passion and the grip it has on my psyche. Finally, a writing prompt that I could use.

What Have You Learned, Dorothy?

Note: This Post has been syndicated on Blogher

Well here we are folks. At the halfway point. Fifteen posts down, fifteen more to go. It certainly hasn't been a piece of cake, but I honestly didn't expect that it would be. And while I might not always subscribe to the notion that the best things in life are borne out of struggle and pain, there is certainly some merit to the philosophy that the more challenging the task, the more pride experienced when that task is completed. That certainly has been the case for me with this writing/blogging exercise. While I definitely do not want to dig deep into my psyche just yet-I need to save that introspection just in case I get stuck for an idea around day twenty-I have learned a few lessons about the commitment and discipline that are necessary for a daily dose of scribbling.

Everything is now a potential idea. I scour the internet, the newspapers, magazines, and television for small kernels that might develop into full-blown posts. I have been people watching at the mall and at regular haunts. What might be considered mundane everyday behaviour like standing in line at the grocery store has become fodder for this blog. So, if you see me out and about over the next two weeks and I am either staring at you or am deeply lost in thought, the chances are that you have done something that might make my highlight reel. My advice to you-run far and fast. We can reconnect privately in December.

I have become a walking writer's cliche. A pad of paper and a pen is always at the ready. I have virtual post-it notes on my computer just in case an idea strikes. I have taken to carrying my laptop around the house with me-even into the bathroom (too much information?)-in the event of a bolt of lightning. My iPhone is filled with reminder notes and dumbs pictures in case I might convert them into blog postings. I never realized until just now how seriously I had committed myself to this task. Are these signs that writing has become an increasingly important part of my day or are they just an early signals of insanity?

My best notions arrive while I am exercising. Years ago I used to write song parodies for parties. Sometimes I actually made a few bucks in the process. While doing that bit of nonsense, I discovered that my best ideas came to me in the shower. It occurred to me then that this happened because I was totally alone with my thoughts while bathing. This burst of creativity on the treadmill is just an extension of that experience. About a month before I committed to National Blog Post Month, I recommitted to my exercise regimen. It is true what they say about physical fitness clearing one's mind. I can be doing my miles, rocking out to Melissa Etheridge, and formulating blog posts all at the same time. Amazing!

It was never my intention that anybody would actually read my blog except for my mother. Long time readers of this space will recall that I started this experience on Facebook as a method of sharing our kitchen renovations with my snowbird parents. (Those initial postings are in the 2007 archives.) I had no idea others were tuning in until I started receiving comments. It was The Husband who suggested moving it over to Blogger so that it was more accessible. Over the years, I have thought of it as more of an online journal than a blog, a place where I can express my thoughts and feelings. And while I do tag certain people (mostly friends and family who I know will forgive me because they have to love me!) hoping they might read my incoherent rantings, I have never had any expectation that anyone actually does. (with the exception of The Husband. He is without choice!) I have to admit that there is a certain sense of satisfaction when somebody approaches me either in the real or virtual worlds and expresses opinions on what I have written. There are a few trolls out there of whom I would like to ask "Why bother with me?" "Don't you have real writers to annoy?" But by and large the reception has been positive. You don't have to like what I have written and you certainly don't have to agree, but it is nice to know that I am not writing in the ether. Just knowing that you all are out there actually makes this process flow better.  

Somebody asked me yesterday if I have too much time on my hands. While it is true that the month of November is typically a quieter time in my professional life, I did not start this project as a way to kill time. Actually quite the opposite is true. I have found that I have to actively make the time to sit and write, and on a selfish note,  I genuinely wanted to see if I could do it. What I have discovered is how important a part of my day this writing has become. I love the creative process and I love the discipline it is providing. 

I am certain that more bullshit self awareness will follow over the coming two weeks. These are just a few random thoughts at the halfway point. I apologize if anything has sucked so bad it was painful to read, and I apologize in advance for what I know will be a few duds to come. Thanks for reading.