Don’t go outside. Those Christmas Bows only beckon you to your doom.
News reports were released earlier this month stating that scientists had officially identified the coldest place on Earth. In fact, a new record has been established identifying the lowest earthly temperature on the planet via satellites. -136 degrees sure seems cold, right?
I can state, using my own unimpeachable scientific method (i.e. walking outside. Very academic.), that these so called “satellite scientists” are wrong. The coldest place on the planet is not in Antarctica. Just another lie scientists tell people – like dinosaurs and electric cars.
The coldest place on the planet is Ohio.
Sure, during the day it was a sunny high of 20 degrees. But, as the sun slunk its hazy ass behind the horizon, the temps began to drop last night. I don’t think there are any metal surfaces in this place that don’t have a frost patina on them. Gas is turning into slush up here! Dry ice is just randomly forming all over the town. Very weird.
Ok, so maybe that is a slight exaggeration. But, only slightly. Why do people live in Ohio!!? Climate change is going to make Ohioans extinct. Much like the people of the Roanoke Colony (see how I just solved that mystery? Scienced, Boom. You are welcome). One day, all of these people will just spontaneously combust into snow flakes and for hundreds of generations, anthropologists will be trying to piece it together.
What I am sayin’ is that it is cold here.
Note: People I do NOT want to hear from about this post:
Anyone living in colder places than Ohio (Because those places don’t exist. Don’t even try it.)
Technical writing gets a bum rap sometimes. I mean, by me. I bitch about my day job a lot. Of course I’d rather devote my life and time to writing creatively.
Of course.
I’d also really like it if I could eat Oreos all day and not have to run 5 miles just to work off 5 of those little bastards.
But, the truth is that I like living in a house with a roof. I like being able to afford Milk and Oreos. I’m even crazy enough to think about things like 401K plans and interest rates. I guess I became an adult somewhere along the line because I also really care about doing my day job well and succeeding at it.
Call me a sell out.
Call me crazy.
But, the point is this: the reason you can call me at all is because I have a job that pays my cell phone bill.
So, as much as I complain about my J-O-B, I’m also very lucky to have it. And, I would encourage any strong writer to consider pursuing a career in technical writing because not only does it pay the bills, it is a career that is suited to your strengths. It has given me the freedom to write fiction which is incredibly important to me.
I want to sit on my ass on the couch and re-watch all the Black Mirror episodes in one afternoon.
I want to sleep for a week and get my hair done and go for a walk in the woods because the weather ain’t too bad here.
Ok, so those last three might be difficult to accomplish at the same time but this is my fantasy so just let me have it, ok?
Know what I don’t want to do?
I don’t want to be a writer today.
I don’t want feel that constant nag along my spine that tells me that I’m not doing enough.
I don’t want to have to track my submissions and send query letters out to remind editors that I exist.
I don’t even want to look at the hot mess I wrote during NaNoWriMo because it is long and it is ugly and it needs about ten years of revisions before I’d even consider showing it to another living soul.
I don’t want to have to try to figure out twitter because internetting is hard, man. And, I don’t get it.
I don’t want to face a blank Word document or that stupid blinking cursor. I can’t bear up to the task of creating something someone might want to read from the fractured thoughts in my own head. Not today.
I’m sneezing a lot. And, I have a migraine. In all honesty, I am really very physically unwell. I am not sleeping at night lately. Listless, if you will. There is a funk in the air. I’ve got this terminal case of snarkiness building up in my bones and I don’t know why or how to get rid of it.
And, oh boy, I really can’t stand my own whining.
When I started this web site, I told myself I wanted to use it to showcase my work, to build my “author platform” (whatever the hell THAT is. Would I know it if I saw it??) and to make some attempt to remain positive about the whole experience. Cynicism is way too easy and I’ve been a victim of my own pessimism for far too long. But, I also said I wanted to be honest about the whole process – so today is my official Poo Pants Blog Post.
I got poo in my pants, people. I don’t like it.
Maybe it is post-NaNo let down? Maybe I’m feeling impatient for my reality to catch up with my ambition? I have been told by those that know me best that I’m never satisfied. I like to push things because I like to make things happen. And, when I can’t control that outcome, I begin to display those kinds of personality traits that are really only socially acceptable in toddlers. I have the Terrible Thirty….mmm…blarghs.
Some times, I lose the thread on all the really wonderful things that are present and accounted for in my life. I have eyes in the front of my head and I can see clear to the horizon. But, I can also let myself be blinded to everything but that horizon. That kind of yearning breeds the exact dissatisfaction I am feeling right now.
Why is it that artistic ennui feels so much like plain old depression?
Giving in to this kind of negativity always breeds more regret. Time lost and wasted. Opportunities missed because my vision narrowed, even for a moment. It is a sick twist of self defeatism. But, I have things to get done. Two short story contests have caught my eye. I have my writer’s group meeting on Wednesday. Class – and homework in the form of new short fiction due – on Thursday. I have ten stories out for submission currently, and duotrope is telling me several pending responses are overdue. I have a 159 page NaNoWriMo manuscript that is in desperate need of a weed whacker.
So, I’m open to suggestion, at this point. I find it helpful to hear what other writers do to clear away the blues and get back to work. What do YOU – yes, I’m talking to you – do? No suggestion too obvious or ridiculous for the likes of me. In the meantime, I’ll just be sitting here, watching the horizon. Fighting off a nap.
My Pushcart Prize-nominated story Burn, Baby, Burn is featured in the depths of some pretty outstanding literary fiction – all compiled into one fantastic anthology. I’m honored to be amongst them.
If you are looking for a Christmas present for someone….or, if you really love great fiction….or, if you are one of my family members who have a biological imperative to support my artistic endeavors then I proudly suggest purchasing a copy!
I’d like to also send out a special shout out to Crack The Spine’s editor, Kerri Farrell Foley – perhaps the hardest working and most dedicated editor I’ve worked with to date. It has been an absolute pleasure working with her. Her support has been invaluable!
If you find yourself reading through the pages and thinking, “Wow. These writers DO.NOT.SUCK” please consider leaving feedback on amazon’s page. So often, I’ve found myself loving something I’ve read and keeping those thoughts to myself. But, the success of these kinds of publications rely on reader’s feedback. Writers supporting other writers is a great way to increase your publishing karma (says me) and to support an industry we all want to see succeed.
And, if you read it and think, “Wow. These writers SURE.DO.SUCK” then you could maybe go ahead and keep that to yourself. I won’t mind.
Amazon Description: Crack the Spine. Bend a fresh book until your hands meet beneath its stressed strings. Feel the weight of words snap free. This anthology includes the best poetry and prose from Crack the Spine Literary Magazine’s weekly publications. Authors: Glen Armstrong, Sally Burnette, Jay Carson, Tobi Cogswell, Daniel DiFranco, Megan Dobkin, Melanie Faith, Janelle Fine, Christina Marie Glessner, Matt Hall, Brian Hobbs, Tim Kahl, Brianne M. Kohl, Priscilla Mainardi, Robert Marshall, David McAleavey, Sean Padraic McCarthy, Shaun Anthony McMichael, Greg Moglia, Annelle Neel, Jos O’Connell, Jeffrey Park, Eliot Parker, Laura Pendell, Jim Richards, Marilyn Ringer, Jason Ryberg, Carla Sarett, Rochelle Jewel Shapiro, Michael Dwayne Smith, Angela Maria Williams, Kirby Wright
When I was in grade school, we had a guidance counselor that would come around to each classroom and give self esteem presentations. She would talk to us with the help of a little blue whale hand puppet. We called the whale “Stanley” because she was Mrs. Stanley and because grade school kids are not always witty.
“Don’t blow my candle out to make yours burn brighter,” Stanley would say anytime one of us would pipe up in a nasty way. He said it a lot, I remember. Because, grade school kids are basically just sociopaths confined in a room together.
I like to toss this old chestnut out when I hear adults being nasty with one another because it is folksy and cute and because if a blue stuffed whale hand puppet can get away with that kind of condescension, I feel like I can do it, too.
I thought about it tonight while I was reading another blog post from another writer who felt the need to tell the world why NaNoWriMo was a bad thing. I try to keep an open mind about things and I am very genuinely curious about what writers have to say about their process. I’m not talking about those writers who stand up and say, “Hey, NaNo: Not my bag.”
I get that perfectly. It isn’t for everyone. Writers – artists in general – all follow their own path to creation. That is the sheer beauty of being an artist. We each go alone into the cave and whatever thing we walk out with is the product of our own mind and effort and inspiration. Sometimes, telling the world what doesn’t work for us is as helpful as telling the world what does work. I have no beef with you, non-NaNo writer.
The people I do have a beef with? The nay-sayers. The poo pants. The people that ridicule others because they are excited about something that sponsors creativity, literature, reading and community. I’m lookin’ at you, established (sometimes) writer who wants to talk about all the hacks out there with the balls to attempt something so hallowed and revered as writing a novel. Who are those people to try? What gives them the right?
It’s a bit like climbing Everest, isn’t it? Or, running a marathon. It gets popular and then all these people come out, thinking they are just as good as the folks who’ve dedicated their lives to the craft. The craft, I say! Who will protect the craft! It takes practice, people! It isn’t for the weak. Those of us that write for a living, do it with hard work and dedication! We learn, we practice, we fail! We are the worthy ones. You get off my mountain!
Except, of course, NaNoWriMo isn’t anything like climbing Everest or running a marathon. No one is going to die attempting to put 50,000 words down in November (unless you forget to eat. Don’t forget to eat, NaNo’ers! Water is important, too!). I’m not putting anyone’s life in danger by dedicating an entire month to writing (except, maybe my family that may or may not be waiting for dinner at just this moment).
Writing is a huge mountain and yes, it is true, the best always make it to the top. But, nothing is gained by putting others down for trying. The Office of Letters and Light, the non-profit organization that is dedicated to helping writers write is not some nefarious organization that is hell bent on world domination or the destruction of literature. If you are really such a great writer, stop putting other writers down and publish something people want to read.
Truthfully, most people who attempt NaNo will end up doing nothing with the novels they write in November. I know this is true because this is my fourth year doing it and none of my previous novels were ever published. Until this year, when I dumbly posted excerpts, no one had even seen a word I’d written. I did it because it motivated me. It made me dedicate time and effort to a craft that was important to me. It made me think in a different way – and as a consequence, I made it further in long form story telling than I ever could before.
At first, I did it quietly – I didn’t know a single other person attempting it. Over the years, I’ve gained writing friends and built a whole community of writers and artists from whom I draw a considerable amount of strength and inspiration. If nothing ever comes from it, if I never publish another story or write another word, it was still worth it. Because, I put words down on the page and it made me a better person for the effort. That is what art does.
Paradise awaits the writer that supports other artists. Likewise, people that can only build themselves up by putting others down are always doomed to fail.
Don’t blow my candle out to make yours burn brighter, asshole.
Brianne M. Kohl 