Yesterday I met with Dave, the guy who runs the agency handling my proposed emigration to the US. Before my one-on-one meet with him, he had a general info session for prospective emigrants and he revisited all the reasons one might have for deciding to emigrate. These, he reminded us, are what you hang on to when the process gets tough.
I am so glad he did that. I’d lost sight of a lot of them, of all those things that first persuaded me to start this process.
Education:
He referred mainly to the school his own kids (11 and 17) attend in Irvine, CA, which is an upmarket area. Kids get an astounding education compared to here. In school, a lot of work is project-based, meaning own research and submission of paper / model / etc. His kids come home, log onto the school website, find the homework the teacher has posted for them, complete it and return it via the net. It is assumed that everyone has high-speed internet at home …Travel opportunities for all disciplines – study Spanish and you could find yourself on a trip to Spain. Travel with the school choir to festivals nationwide. The drama dept has a fully-equipped theatre, not just a school hall shared with sports activities. Backstage crew has a room full of power tools and equipment to build sets, etc. Community sport facilities are in abundance and are well-maintained - tax payers money being put to good use!
Work:
Who you are doesn’t limit what work you can do. Grannies serve you at McDonalds, for e.g. White women clean houses. Nothing is considered a demeaning job if it earns you a good wage. Jobs are not given on the basis of your age, race, sex or similar. Kids work summer jobs and earn good money – minimum wage is $7.00 ph. Babysitters get between $7 – 10.00 ph and more after midnight.
Security: This is a BIGGIE for South Africans!!
The houses have no fences, no security doors, no burglar bars, no alarm systems.
Post gets dropped in unlocked mailboxes, both delivery and to go.
Parcel deliveries are left on your doorstep if there is no one home and they don’t get stolen.
Kids can walk all over the neighborhood in safety and with freedom. (Here, I used to escort my child just to go next door, make sure she was safely inside with the gate locked before I’d go!)
Cars get left on the street, unlocked and no one worries ..
Houses get left unlocked, and no one worries …
If you are a pedestrian, the motorists stop instantly if you step into the road …
All this I know to be true, btw, from my last two visits to the US. Even in NY, when people cross the road, the traffic waits.
Cars:
A big fancy car which costs around R250 000.00 here sells for maybe $25 000.00 there – monthly repayments are around $500.00 max.
Salaries:
Most nurses earn around $30.00 average, not including benefits and overtime. Nurses are well-paid compared with the general population and live good lifestyles. Obviously, if you work in Podunk, Arkansas, you won’t earn as well, but then your cost of living is going to be much lower!
All in all, I was reminded of a million good reasons why I want to do this.
In our meeting thereafter, he told me that the INS processing time, which used to be around a year, is now down to 2 - 3 months. The paperwork for the VisaScreen credentialing goes forward simultaneously, taking also 2 – 3 months. Then, with the INS paperwork and the VisaScreen certificate in place, you request a green card interview with the US Consulate in Johannesburg. This can take 3 - 6 months to get done, depends on them. An estimated min of 6 months, max of 9 months once the paperwork is done. Yikes!!!
Hospitals are not taking on new RNs so far in advance anymore, like FRHG did. So what he is doing is sending out resumes once you are 4 - 5 months from the completion of the process, so that by the time you have your green card, you also have a good job offer with a good relocation allowance etc.
If I elect to go with the present flow, meaning we'd be there within the next 6 - 9 months, his agency will sponsor me and carry initial costs, recouping these from the sponsoring hospital later on. If I wait and go at say the end of next year, I have the option of temporarily halting the process, but that could lead to a longer wait as there is a strong possibility that with all the new emigration stuff and amnesties and whatnot, if those Bills are passed, the INS is going to be snowed under and things could get looooong and drawn out again. Or, I could elect to fund it myself, go ahead now and then make the actual move when we are ready to do so - you get six months from the time you get your green card to make the actual move.
I pitched to him the possibility of finding a position in LTC - long-term care as opposed to acute care hospitals - as I do have a lot more recent experience in this field and it is one I am comfortable working in. A good idea and viable, as this is also an area where staff are needed. I needed to revamp my resume and send it to him – he can then market me closer to D-Day.
Lots of decisions to be made … and I need to move on this soon.
Sunday, July 23
Wednesday, July 19
More about the ambivalence
One of the hardest parts of being a single parent is making life-changing decisions alone. Hence my real need to look to God for help and guidance, and the real anguish I experience when I ‘think’ I hear from Him and then it all goes wrong, or doesn’t happen.
How do you trust when God seems to be either absent, or not interested, or simply doesn’t do what you thought He said he was going to do? How do you know the difference between God’s guidance and things in life just happening?
I blogged about this in relation to singleness and remarriage earlier on. The other area of huge concern to me right now is our proposed emigration plan.
Moving to the US is a dream I have had for about five years now. Where do our dreams come from, how do our desires take root in our hearts? If the Bible is to be believed, God says: “Seek the Lord in all that you do and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I thought I was being pretty smart when I interpreted that to mean if you put God first in life, then HE will place within your heart those desires that are within His will and plan for your life, and not that it meant: Love God and He’ll give you everything you want.
Earlier this year, I had a dream. I was high up in the mountains of California and there was an earthquake warning. Cars were pulling off the roads, so I stopped and expressed my fear to a woman, telling her my kids were down in the Valley, we hadn’t been in CA very long. She reassured me, and showed me where people were taking shelter in specially-built earthquake shelters in the mountainside. Huge bunkers with thick concrete and dense glass windows, they were literally earthquake proof. We all survived. I wondered if it wasn’t maybe God’s way of saying – take the plunge, I’ll take care of you even if everything seems to be going wrong around you. Take a chance.
Considering and praying further, I asked for prayer at church and a trusted friend and church leader who prayed with me shared a ‘word’ that seemed to confirm that stepping forward while trusting God to carry me was indeed the way to go. Other things fell into place as previously discussed in Life Choices and Changes Part Two. And the process got underway.
I’m battling with ambivalence right now. While my father supports this move intellectually, I can see and hear that neither he nor my dear mom are happy about us living so far away, and of course I can understand that. These are two of their precious grandchildren I’m proposing to remove from their lives. My folks are in their seventies, health is an issue and we’ll be very far away. My best friend in SA is very, very unhappy about it and is doing her best to find ways of keeping us here. My kids’ dad is now starting to express his sadness at losing regular contact with them and of course, I understand and empathize with that too! On the other side, my freelance writing and editing business seems to be taking off after two plus years of struggle. But the likelihood is that in order to secure a new contract position in the US, I’m going to have to go back into nursing fulltime here, to get current experience, either now or next year. Honestly? I have no desire to do that. Nursing is a means to an end, not an end in itself.
I’ll be meeting with the agency director this coming Saturday, and will find out where I stand in terms of jobs, process and financial commitments. Much depends on that too.
Oh, groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Elleann
How do you trust when God seems to be either absent, or not interested, or simply doesn’t do what you thought He said he was going to do? How do you know the difference between God’s guidance and things in life just happening?
I blogged about this in relation to singleness and remarriage earlier on. The other area of huge concern to me right now is our proposed emigration plan.
Moving to the US is a dream I have had for about five years now. Where do our dreams come from, how do our desires take root in our hearts? If the Bible is to be believed, God says: “Seek the Lord in all that you do and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I thought I was being pretty smart when I interpreted that to mean if you put God first in life, then HE will place within your heart those desires that are within His will and plan for your life, and not that it meant: Love God and He’ll give you everything you want.
Earlier this year, I had a dream. I was high up in the mountains of California and there was an earthquake warning. Cars were pulling off the roads, so I stopped and expressed my fear to a woman, telling her my kids were down in the Valley, we hadn’t been in CA very long. She reassured me, and showed me where people were taking shelter in specially-built earthquake shelters in the mountainside. Huge bunkers with thick concrete and dense glass windows, they were literally earthquake proof. We all survived. I wondered if it wasn’t maybe God’s way of saying – take the plunge, I’ll take care of you even if everything seems to be going wrong around you. Take a chance.
Considering and praying further, I asked for prayer at church and a trusted friend and church leader who prayed with me shared a ‘word’ that seemed to confirm that stepping forward while trusting God to carry me was indeed the way to go. Other things fell into place as previously discussed in Life Choices and Changes Part Two. And the process got underway.
I’m battling with ambivalence right now. While my father supports this move intellectually, I can see and hear that neither he nor my dear mom are happy about us living so far away, and of course I can understand that. These are two of their precious grandchildren I’m proposing to remove from their lives. My folks are in their seventies, health is an issue and we’ll be very far away. My best friend in SA is very, very unhappy about it and is doing her best to find ways of keeping us here. My kids’ dad is now starting to express his sadness at losing regular contact with them and of course, I understand and empathize with that too! On the other side, my freelance writing and editing business seems to be taking off after two plus years of struggle. But the likelihood is that in order to secure a new contract position in the US, I’m going to have to go back into nursing fulltime here, to get current experience, either now or next year. Honestly? I have no desire to do that. Nursing is a means to an end, not an end in itself.
I’ll be meeting with the agency director this coming Saturday, and will find out where I stand in terms of jobs, process and financial commitments. Much depends on that too.
Oh, groan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Elleann
Open letter to God.
I can lose myself in writing, or in reading, or in watching a DVD, in emailing with friends, or in endless, fascinating web-surfing … I can talk about moving to America or not moving, I can talk about great new job opportunities, I can talk about my wonderful kids and my hopes for them, but none of this addresses the real questions that are buried deep in my heart at the moment.
Is God really real?
Does He actually care about us individually?
And if so, is there anyway to really, really, REALLY hear from him?
I have such skepticism about this right now, such doubt, and such a need to KNOW!
I had an experience several years ago (Oct 2003, to be exact) where I ‘thought’ I heard God speak to me. Now, I’m definitely not given to mystical experiences. I don’t hear voices or see visions. I have, like many others, done my time on my knees with the Bible open before, seeking guidance or at least a ‘word’ from God. I’ve even opened the Bible at random and stuck a finger in! What a joke!
Once before, I believed I ‘heard’ God speaking to me. Back in 1984, I was a shy, unconfident twenty-something, with a track record of few romantic relationships. I’d made a recommitment to Christianity and found my way to a nice church. I met a nice enough guy, we went out a few times, he seemed interested, but I didn’t really know … then in church one Sunday night, this ‘voice’ sounds in my head: “You have met your future husband and he is XXXX.” Zing!
I married that guy within 6 months and divorced him ten years later. Now, did I marry him because I was madly in love, or because I saw a good father for my future children, or because I couldn’t live without him? No, no and no. More like I was afraid of never marrying at all, several of my friends were also getting married, here was someone who was interested enough to propose (albeit not very romantically), and I believed God had told me he was to be my husband.
So, jump forward to 2003. Single again, I’d just read a brilliant, brilliant book by Larry Crabb called Shattered Dreams and had walked thru an experience of truly accepting that if God intended for me to stay alone forever more, that was fine with me. I would look to Him to meet all my needs for love, nurturing, provision, and so. After all, doesn’t He promise in the Bible to care for widows and orphans (and presumably divorcees too)? In fact, it was a time in my life when I was deeply, deeply in love with God
So, I’m driving my daughter somewhere and we see a procession of wedding cars go by, festooned with ribbons and whatnot. My usual, cynical, knee-jerk reaction kicked in:
Poor things! Such optimism, such hope, such fools to believe it can work out!
Next thing, I ‘hear’ somewhere inside me: “By this time next year, you will be married again.” Zing! Just like that, a promise, I thought, from God. I was a turbulent mix of emotions, but above all, my response was “ … only if this is Your will for me, Lord.”
I diarized the date, recorded the experience, sought confirmation in a sign, was given that sign the same day—and then I waited, with the prayer continually on my lips that God would enable me to continue looking to Him first, not to some guy I had yet to meet. I really focused on keeping God first, in seeking Him in all things. I even shared it with my minister’s wife, who said that God had told her that he was answering my prayer for remarriage in the affirmative.
Well, the year came and went, and another one, and another one … and I’m not married. At this point, I don’t even know any eligible, available men that I’d want to marry.
So, what do I make of that? Was it God? If so, did He change his mind? Was it a test of my faith to see if I will still trust in God even if He appears to be breaking His promise to me? Or did He answer my prayer by NOT letting it happen because it wasn’t His will and he wanted to see if I meant what I said by “… only if its Your will? Was it not God at all, but the Devil, attempting to deceive me? Or was it just me, indulging in some heavy wishful thinking and God had absolutely nothing to do with it?
How the heck can I ever know? All I DO know, for an absolute fact, is that nowadays I am deeply mistrustful of ‘words from God’, whether they come into my head or thru someone else’s lips.
Tbc
Elleann
Is God really real?
Does He actually care about us individually?
And if so, is there anyway to really, really, REALLY hear from him?
I have such skepticism about this right now, such doubt, and such a need to KNOW!
I had an experience several years ago (Oct 2003, to be exact) where I ‘thought’ I heard God speak to me. Now, I’m definitely not given to mystical experiences. I don’t hear voices or see visions. I have, like many others, done my time on my knees with the Bible open before, seeking guidance or at least a ‘word’ from God. I’ve even opened the Bible at random and stuck a finger in! What a joke!
Once before, I believed I ‘heard’ God speaking to me. Back in 1984, I was a shy, unconfident twenty-something, with a track record of few romantic relationships. I’d made a recommitment to Christianity and found my way to a nice church. I met a nice enough guy, we went out a few times, he seemed interested, but I didn’t really know … then in church one Sunday night, this ‘voice’ sounds in my head: “You have met your future husband and he is XXXX.” Zing!
I married that guy within 6 months and divorced him ten years later. Now, did I marry him because I was madly in love, or because I saw a good father for my future children, or because I couldn’t live without him? No, no and no. More like I was afraid of never marrying at all, several of my friends were also getting married, here was someone who was interested enough to propose (albeit not very romantically), and I believed God had told me he was to be my husband.
So, jump forward to 2003. Single again, I’d just read a brilliant, brilliant book by Larry Crabb called Shattered Dreams and had walked thru an experience of truly accepting that if God intended for me to stay alone forever more, that was fine with me. I would look to Him to meet all my needs for love, nurturing, provision, and so. After all, doesn’t He promise in the Bible to care for widows and orphans (and presumably divorcees too)? In fact, it was a time in my life when I was deeply, deeply in love with God
So, I’m driving my daughter somewhere and we see a procession of wedding cars go by, festooned with ribbons and whatnot. My usual, cynical, knee-jerk reaction kicked in:
Poor things! Such optimism, such hope, such fools to believe it can work out!
Next thing, I ‘hear’ somewhere inside me: “By this time next year, you will be married again.” Zing! Just like that, a promise, I thought, from God. I was a turbulent mix of emotions, but above all, my response was “ … only if this is Your will for me, Lord.”
I diarized the date, recorded the experience, sought confirmation in a sign, was given that sign the same day—and then I waited, with the prayer continually on my lips that God would enable me to continue looking to Him first, not to some guy I had yet to meet. I really focused on keeping God first, in seeking Him in all things. I even shared it with my minister’s wife, who said that God had told her that he was answering my prayer for remarriage in the affirmative.
Well, the year came and went, and another one, and another one … and I’m not married. At this point, I don’t even know any eligible, available men that I’d want to marry.
So, what do I make of that? Was it God? If so, did He change his mind? Was it a test of my faith to see if I will still trust in God even if He appears to be breaking His promise to me? Or did He answer my prayer by NOT letting it happen because it wasn’t His will and he wanted to see if I meant what I said by “… only if its Your will? Was it not God at all, but the Devil, attempting to deceive me? Or was it just me, indulging in some heavy wishful thinking and God had absolutely nothing to do with it?
How the heck can I ever know? All I DO know, for an absolute fact, is that nowadays I am deeply mistrustful of ‘words from God’, whether they come into my head or thru someone else’s lips.
Tbc
Elleann
Monday, July 17
Ambivalence
Today I got what felt like a real kick in the stomach.
My ex sent me an email in which he first complained about how much money all the kids' stuff is costing him. Now in fairness, not once in twelve years has he ever defaulted on paying anything for the kids. He is very, very committed to them, is as involved in their lives as he can be, and loves them dearly. Ten out of ten for being a good dad!
But actually, the money thing wasn’t the kick in the stomach. He went on to say:
I am feeling quite sore about the kids right now. The holiday was a very sad one for me, looking at them each day, thinking this is probably the last time we'll go on such a holiday and that soon I'll only be seeing them once a year, if that, depending on their timetables. Whatever, it is just rather emotional and the possibility of either of them ever living in my home for a while slips away as the plans for moving to the USA fall into place and the day draws closer. It has cost me a lot to stay in touch with them over the years, emotionally and financially but progressively they have been moved further and further away and it requires more and more to keep up the contact!!!
I can empathize with the emotional pain he feels. I really can. And the last few blog entries have revealed my ambivalence re the whole moving to America thing from my side. But the last part (in bold) was a real kicker. He makes it sound as if I have deliberately kept moving them further and further away from him, which is totally untrue.
After we separated back in 1994, we lived round the corner from him for three and a half years. Then, after discussing it with him, the kids and I moved away from that upmarket suburban area to a more rural environment. As a single working mom, I didn’t think I could keep up with the lifestyles they would see around them in that part of town, and I didn’t want them to grow up feel deprived, or less-than just because we couldn’t afford all the latest gadgets and cars and stuff. And it was the right choice to make for them, I think. They have happy lives and good friends, are well-adjusted, have both committed their lives to God, and they are both doing pretty well in school too. Financially it has been nip-and-tuck, but on the whole, we are doing well – on the pro side: I bought the house we live in five years ago. On the con side: I drive a crappy old clunky car.
But moving here was a bad choice for me, in terms of my staying single, though. This area is full of happy little families and retirees – eligible singles can be counted on one hand. Now, if this were a movie, there’d be someone like Viggo Mortensen running the local bookshop – sorry, Vig – artshop! and after some ups and downs, we’d fall madly in love and live happily ever after. But my life is more like one of those dark, dreary art movies where nothing is ever resolved and you come out of the movie house going “Huh? What the f--- was that all about?!!?”
I digress. I’ve responded to his email, expressed my hurt and acknowledged the pain he feels. Leave it at that.
Update: He responded to my mail, said sorry for "passing on my upheaval over money and all that stuff onto you. It's how I feel, not a statement of fact."
I figured as much, but I guess my ambivalence and worries got to me as well, hence my overreaction. Back to my art movie life ...
My ex sent me an email in which he first complained about how much money all the kids' stuff is costing him. Now in fairness, not once in twelve years has he ever defaulted on paying anything for the kids. He is very, very committed to them, is as involved in their lives as he can be, and loves them dearly. Ten out of ten for being a good dad!
But actually, the money thing wasn’t the kick in the stomach. He went on to say:
I am feeling quite sore about the kids right now. The holiday was a very sad one for me, looking at them each day, thinking this is probably the last time we'll go on such a holiday and that soon I'll only be seeing them once a year, if that, depending on their timetables. Whatever, it is just rather emotional and the possibility of either of them ever living in my home for a while slips away as the plans for moving to the USA fall into place and the day draws closer. It has cost me a lot to stay in touch with them over the years, emotionally and financially but progressively they have been moved further and further away and it requires more and more to keep up the contact!!!
I can empathize with the emotional pain he feels. I really can. And the last few blog entries have revealed my ambivalence re the whole moving to America thing from my side. But the last part (in bold) was a real kicker. He makes it sound as if I have deliberately kept moving them further and further away from him, which is totally untrue.
After we separated back in 1994, we lived round the corner from him for three and a half years. Then, after discussing it with him, the kids and I moved away from that upmarket suburban area to a more rural environment. As a single working mom, I didn’t think I could keep up with the lifestyles they would see around them in that part of town, and I didn’t want them to grow up feel deprived, or less-than just because we couldn’t afford all the latest gadgets and cars and stuff. And it was the right choice to make for them, I think. They have happy lives and good friends, are well-adjusted, have both committed their lives to God, and they are both doing pretty well in school too. Financially it has been nip-and-tuck, but on the whole, we are doing well – on the pro side: I bought the house we live in five years ago. On the con side: I drive a crappy old clunky car.
But moving here was a bad choice for me, in terms of my staying single, though. This area is full of happy little families and retirees – eligible singles can be counted on one hand. Now, if this were a movie, there’d be someone like Viggo Mortensen running the local bookshop – sorry, Vig – artshop! and after some ups and downs, we’d fall madly in love and live happily ever after. But my life is more like one of those dark, dreary art movies where nothing is ever resolved and you come out of the movie house going “Huh? What the f--- was that all about?!!?”
I digress. I’ve responded to his email, expressed my hurt and acknowledged the pain he feels. Leave it at that.
Update: He responded to my mail, said sorry for "passing on my upheaval over money and all that stuff onto you. It's how I feel, not a statement of fact."
I figured as much, but I guess my ambivalence and worries got to me as well, hence my overreaction. Back to my art movie life ...
Sunday, July 16
Writer's Paralysis ...
… is what I think I've got.
Writer’s Paralysis worse than Writer’s Block, ‘cos WB usually means you don’t quite know where to go next in your story, but WP means you can’t even get that story going because you don’t know what the story is about; you don’t know what you want it to be about; you don’t know what genre it’s supposed to be; you don’t know who the characters are, or where they live, or why they may or may not do any or all or none of the things you might ask them to do. You have serious doubts, and I mean really serious doubts, about whether you will ever be able to be the writer you always dreamed of being.
Writer’s Paralysis is hell.
Throughout the last six to nine months I’ve dreamed of the moment when my exam would be behind me and I would be free to write again. That time is here and thank you very much, I now have Writer’s Paralysis!! I sit and gaze at the bright, blank screen of my lovely new notebook computer and feel nothing but weakness and despair. I lie in a steaming hot bath, a place which usually unleashes ideas, connections, insights and understanding, and all I get is hot and sweaty and prune-textured finger tips. Instead of walking along the beach getting invigorated and inspired, I moulder away the hours in aimless net-surfing and dvd-watching and food cupboard-visiting.
This morning, searching for inspiration, I read an excerpt from an article that appeared in the NY Times online edition of Book News, about author Kim Edwards (48) and her debut novel ‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ which is apparently zooming up the trade paperback best seller charts. “With the ethical dilemma and family drama at its heart, “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” is appealing to readers who want a literary page turner…” Ah! A new novelist my age, writing the kind of book I’d most like to write! So I went and checked her out, hoping to maybe uncover a secret or two, a trick to breaking out of WP, and breaking into good writing (not to mention bestsellerdom!). The excerpt from the novel on Amazon looked really, really good – beautiful word flow, characterization, everything … so on to her bio:
Kim Edwards is the author of a short story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was an alternate for the 1998 PEN/Hemingway Award, and has won both a Whiting Award and the Nelson Algren Award. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she currently teaches writing at the University of Kentucky.
Despair. How can a South African-born and raised woman with no education in literature or writing ever hope to write that way? I just don’t have the grounding, the education, the understanding, or the way with words that people like Kim Edwards, Sue Monk Kidder, Marilynne Robinson and Ann Patchett have. I don’t have the flow of ideas and gift for dialogue and characterization that my talented and prolific writing friend Pat has. All I have right now is the fear that if I don’t get past this, I may never, ever become a writer of any description at all. And if I am not a writer, then what am I?
Nothing?
Maybe this is part of the paralysis – the fear that if I don’t succeed as a writer, then my life will have been meaningless. After all, as a divorcee in her late forties with a minor weight problem and braces, as a freelancer who lives from job to job, as a single who has had no ‘relationship’ for nearly ten years, there’s a large part of me that feels like a hideous failure. Yes, I have wonderful kids and yes, I have a few dear friends, and yes, I am relatively healthy, and yes, for the moment I’m surviving financially. But is that enough for me to call my life ‘successful’? If so, why do I feel this pressing need to move to the US? Why do I feel that if I don’t get writing again very soon, I’ll be sinking into some kind of pit of mediocrity and loss from which I may never emerge?
There are other factors that contribute to this paralysis, I know, that I need to face up to and smash down, if I am to move past this. It feels very much like the fight I sometimes have to keep hold of my faith in God, the fight I sometimes have to keep depression at bay, the fight I often have to not give in to the feelings of loneliness that being single generates. When it feels like there’s a rock in my gut, and all I can see is mud and slime and darkness, and all I feel like doing is crying. And therein lies a clue …
Because I have come to see that crying is a safe place for me. When I cry, I’m giving in to the feelings. I’m giving up, I’m saying ‘I can’t do anything about this, whatever it may be’. I can be passive, and bitter, and feel sorry for myself. And while that’s uncomfortable, it’s also safe. No scary changing-of-attitude needed. No scary ‘I’m going to get past this’ decision.
And that is why I’m back in Lord of the Rings territory (my all-time favorite movies). Partly Frodo making his decision to carry the ring at the Council of Elrond, partly Frodo staring up at the fires of Mount Doom, but mainly Aragorn at the entrance to Dimholt Road after Elrond says to him: “Put aside the ranger. Become who you were born to be.” Frodo had Sam by his side, but Aragorn stepped out alone, not even knowing whether he would survive but prepared to risk all to try and become who he was born to be.
The way to go? I think so…
Elleann.
Writer’s Paralysis worse than Writer’s Block, ‘cos WB usually means you don’t quite know where to go next in your story, but WP means you can’t even get that story going because you don’t know what the story is about; you don’t know what you want it to be about; you don’t know what genre it’s supposed to be; you don’t know who the characters are, or where they live, or why they may or may not do any or all or none of the things you might ask them to do. You have serious doubts, and I mean really serious doubts, about whether you will ever be able to be the writer you always dreamed of being.
Writer’s Paralysis is hell.
Throughout the last six to nine months I’ve dreamed of the moment when my exam would be behind me and I would be free to write again. That time is here and thank you very much, I now have Writer’s Paralysis!! I sit and gaze at the bright, blank screen of my lovely new notebook computer and feel nothing but weakness and despair. I lie in a steaming hot bath, a place which usually unleashes ideas, connections, insights and understanding, and all I get is hot and sweaty and prune-textured finger tips. Instead of walking along the beach getting invigorated and inspired, I moulder away the hours in aimless net-surfing and dvd-watching and food cupboard-visiting.
This morning, searching for inspiration, I read an excerpt from an article that appeared in the NY Times online edition of Book News, about author Kim Edwards (48) and her debut novel ‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ which is apparently zooming up the trade paperback best seller charts. “With the ethical dilemma and family drama at its heart, “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” is appealing to readers who want a literary page turner…” Ah! A new novelist my age, writing the kind of book I’d most like to write! So I went and checked her out, hoping to maybe uncover a secret or two, a trick to breaking out of WP, and breaking into good writing (not to mention bestsellerdom!). The excerpt from the novel on Amazon looked really, really good – beautiful word flow, characterization, everything … so on to her bio:
Kim Edwards is the author of a short story collection, The Secrets of a Fire King, which was an alternate for the 1998 PEN/Hemingway Award, and has won both a Whiting Award and the Nelson Algren Award. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, she currently teaches writing at the University of Kentucky.
Despair. How can a South African-born and raised woman with no education in literature or writing ever hope to write that way? I just don’t have the grounding, the education, the understanding, or the way with words that people like Kim Edwards, Sue Monk Kidder, Marilynne Robinson and Ann Patchett have. I don’t have the flow of ideas and gift for dialogue and characterization that my talented and prolific writing friend Pat has. All I have right now is the fear that if I don’t get past this, I may never, ever become a writer of any description at all. And if I am not a writer, then what am I?
Nothing?
Maybe this is part of the paralysis – the fear that if I don’t succeed as a writer, then my life will have been meaningless. After all, as a divorcee in her late forties with a minor weight problem and braces, as a freelancer who lives from job to job, as a single who has had no ‘relationship’ for nearly ten years, there’s a large part of me that feels like a hideous failure. Yes, I have wonderful kids and yes, I have a few dear friends, and yes, I am relatively healthy, and yes, for the moment I’m surviving financially. But is that enough for me to call my life ‘successful’? If so, why do I feel this pressing need to move to the US? Why do I feel that if I don’t get writing again very soon, I’ll be sinking into some kind of pit of mediocrity and loss from which I may never emerge?
There are other factors that contribute to this paralysis, I know, that I need to face up to and smash down, if I am to move past this. It feels very much like the fight I sometimes have to keep hold of my faith in God, the fight I sometimes have to keep depression at bay, the fight I often have to not give in to the feelings of loneliness that being single generates. When it feels like there’s a rock in my gut, and all I can see is mud and slime and darkness, and all I feel like doing is crying. And therein lies a clue …
Because I have come to see that crying is a safe place for me. When I cry, I’m giving in to the feelings. I’m giving up, I’m saying ‘I can’t do anything about this, whatever it may be’. I can be passive, and bitter, and feel sorry for myself. And while that’s uncomfortable, it’s also safe. No scary changing-of-attitude needed. No scary ‘I’m going to get past this’ decision.
And that is why I’m back in Lord of the Rings territory (my all-time favorite movies). Partly Frodo making his decision to carry the ring at the Council of Elrond, partly Frodo staring up at the fires of Mount Doom, but mainly Aragorn at the entrance to Dimholt Road after Elrond says to him: “Put aside the ranger. Become who you were born to be.” Frodo had Sam by his side, but Aragorn stepped out alone, not even knowing whether he would survive but prepared to risk all to try and become who he was born to be.
The way to go? I think so…
Elleann.
Thursday, July 13
Happy Birthday to Me!
A week late, maybe, but today I gave myself a present that will (hopefully) be around for a long time. At the ripe old age of … pick a number … I was fitted with orthodontic braces. The bottom row is normal metallic-looking, but the top row includes what they call clear braces, the almost-not-there kind of braces. They’re going to be on for at least 16 months.
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
A dear friend who is my age had her bottom teeth done about a year ago. Her husband, who is a couple of years younger than both of us, wanted to know why we were bothering with teeth straightening. He didn’t actually come out and say ‘… at your age’, but you could kind of hear it echoing there anyway. She told him it’s because we can’t afford to go for facelifts. He looked blank. I guess it’s a girl thing ….
I asked the orthodontist how old his oldest patient ever was and he said: ‘A man in his eighties.’ Next oldest, he added, was a retired professor in his sixties. I quickly changed the subject before he could go on to say ‘…and then there’s you.’
My mouth feels truly weird, all tight and constrained and odd. 16 months of this? I can’t even chew yet – soup for lunch, soup for supper – even the bit of bread I made all soggy and squashed up felt impossible to eat.
Dear God, maybe I’ll end up skinny after all! Skinny with glasses and braces? Hurrah, I’ve always felt like I missed out on being a real teenager, maybe I’m getting a chance to relive those years after all. So, bring on the hot boys! But come to think of it, these braces probably mean death to any dreams of romance for this single. Who’d want to kiss a forty-something with a mouth full of metal?
What was I thinking?!?!
Happy birthday to me!
Tuesday, July 11
I haven't been there in the longest time ...
Back in my youth, I was a Billy Joel fan. (Yeah, my kids laugh at me too … ) But lately, I’ve been listening to him again, after I downloaded some of his music to my laptop. And I mean really listening, to the point of going to websites to read the lyrics. And today, I was listening to yet another old, familiar favorite song when suddenly I started really listening. And this song stirred all those nameless longings in me again …
The Longest Time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest
I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Maybe this won't last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I've been hoping too hard
But I've gone this far
And it's more than I hoped for
Who knows how much further we'll go on
Maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone
I'll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven't been there for the longest time
I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You're wonderful so far
And it's more than I hoped for
I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time
(Thanks to Matt's Music Page for the lyrics. )
Elleann.
The Longest Time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's where you found me
When you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest time
Oh, oh, oh
For the longest
I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you
And how you needed me too
That hasn't happened for the longest time
Maybe this won't last very long
But you feel so right
And I could be wrong
Maybe I've been hoping too hard
But I've gone this far
And it's more than I hoped for
Who knows how much further we'll go on
Maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone
I'll take my chances
I forgot how nice romance is
I haven't been there for the longest time
I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself
Hold on to your heart
Now I know the woman that you are
You're wonderful so far
And it's more than I hoped for
I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time
(Thanks to Matt's Music Page for the lyrics. )
Elleann.
Life changes and choices - Part Two
“More tomorrow” should have read “More Next Month!” Ha!
Back in the mid-1990s, I became aware that more and more companies were recruiting SA nurses for positions in the UK, Saudi, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US. Now, in my heart of hearts, I’ve never been ‘Proudly South African’! Yes, this country is beautiful and yes, my family all live here. But still I yearned to move somewhere – anywhere, really – that wasn’t crime-ridden, corrupt, full of white guilt and black anger, where jobs weren’t handed out on the basis of skin color, where my kids would have real opportunities to follow their dreams and live in relative peace and safety.
I wanted out.
But my kids were still young and needed their dad, and he needed them. So I put it to one side, all the time thinking – I could leave anytime, if I really wanted to. Until, in early 2005, I realized that time was ticking by and the possibility for me to emigrate wouldn’t be around forever. I did my research and honed in on a small company that specialized in placing nurses in the US – a girl I knew had made the move through them and she was very happy. I called them, and learned that the US director was in CT – a twice-yearly occurrence. I met with him the next day and within a week, things were underway.
The big plus of going with him was that he recruited for a hospital group that, unlike just about every other agency and group, did not require the prospective nurse-emigrant to be currently fulltime employed as a nurse. My part-time relief work was regarded as sufficient in the light of my CV. In July, I received an excellent job offer. The deal included a generous relocation allowance, plus the hospital would cover all the expenses related to licensing fees, visas, INS services, most of the flight costs etc, for my two kids and I. So I went for the medicals, and started studying for the NCLEX – the US nursing board exam which you have to pass to be licensed as an RN in the States.
Then, at the end of the year, the blow fell. The US hospital underwent an internal reshuffle and recruitment of foreign nurses got axed. I now had no guarantee of work or of financial support for the move. But I couldn’t give up. There had been so many ‘clear signs’ – a dream I’d had, words from a minister I respected, the timing of my meeting with the agency and so on. So I studied like crazy for the next six months and in June 2006, I flew to the UK, took the NCLEX exam in London—and passed it first time. So I am now officially licensed to practice in the USA!
So, now I stand at the door of my future. I’ll be meeting with my US agent in about ten days time and hope to learn from him what the job situation is, how the whole thing could play out. There are so many factors here, though. I’m not a specialist nurse, even though I have previous experience in ICU. So I’d probably need to find a basic med-surg position somewhere. Somewhere, of course, is a whole other story in itself.
But back here at home, my freelance writing and editing career is going from strength to strength. I just landed a contract position with an ad agency to write web copy for a major restaurant group, which has several websites that need weekly updating. Articles, stories, event coverage, educational stuff… interesting work and great experience for me as a freelance. I’m also part of a team pitching on a big tender project, which, if won, could mean several months’ steady work at a really good rate!
However, if current employment as an RN is an issue for a future employer in the US, this may mean I need to go back to nursing here and now, in SA, at miserable rates of pay.
What I’d really like, of course, is to find a job in the US that uses my writing and editing skills against a background of healthcare or nursing, meaning I don’t need to go into hospital work now. Best of both worlds, see?
It’s a dream. A dream I can only leave in God’s hands, cos He’s the one who made me the way I am, gave me the skills, talents, yearnings and desires that I have. So, it’s over to Him.
Elleann.
Back in the mid-1990s, I became aware that more and more companies were recruiting SA nurses for positions in the UK, Saudi, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US. Now, in my heart of hearts, I’ve never been ‘Proudly South African’! Yes, this country is beautiful and yes, my family all live here. But still I yearned to move somewhere – anywhere, really – that wasn’t crime-ridden, corrupt, full of white guilt and black anger, where jobs weren’t handed out on the basis of skin color, where my kids would have real opportunities to follow their dreams and live in relative peace and safety.
I wanted out.
But my kids were still young and needed their dad, and he needed them. So I put it to one side, all the time thinking – I could leave anytime, if I really wanted to. Until, in early 2005, I realized that time was ticking by and the possibility for me to emigrate wouldn’t be around forever. I did my research and honed in on a small company that specialized in placing nurses in the US – a girl I knew had made the move through them and she was very happy. I called them, and learned that the US director was in CT – a twice-yearly occurrence. I met with him the next day and within a week, things were underway.
The big plus of going with him was that he recruited for a hospital group that, unlike just about every other agency and group, did not require the prospective nurse-emigrant to be currently fulltime employed as a nurse. My part-time relief work was regarded as sufficient in the light of my CV. In July, I received an excellent job offer. The deal included a generous relocation allowance, plus the hospital would cover all the expenses related to licensing fees, visas, INS services, most of the flight costs etc, for my two kids and I. So I went for the medicals, and started studying for the NCLEX – the US nursing board exam which you have to pass to be licensed as an RN in the States.
Then, at the end of the year, the blow fell. The US hospital underwent an internal reshuffle and recruitment of foreign nurses got axed. I now had no guarantee of work or of financial support for the move. But I couldn’t give up. There had been so many ‘clear signs’ – a dream I’d had, words from a minister I respected, the timing of my meeting with the agency and so on. So I studied like crazy for the next six months and in June 2006, I flew to the UK, took the NCLEX exam in London—and passed it first time. So I am now officially licensed to practice in the USA!
So, now I stand at the door of my future. I’ll be meeting with my US agent in about ten days time and hope to learn from him what the job situation is, how the whole thing could play out. There are so many factors here, though. I’m not a specialist nurse, even though I have previous experience in ICU. So I’d probably need to find a basic med-surg position somewhere. Somewhere, of course, is a whole other story in itself.
But back here at home, my freelance writing and editing career is going from strength to strength. I just landed a contract position with an ad agency to write web copy for a major restaurant group, which has several websites that need weekly updating. Articles, stories, event coverage, educational stuff… interesting work and great experience for me as a freelance. I’m also part of a team pitching on a big tender project, which, if won, could mean several months’ steady work at a really good rate!
However, if current employment as an RN is an issue for a future employer in the US, this may mean I need to go back to nursing here and now, in SA, at miserable rates of pay.
What I’d really like, of course, is to find a job in the US that uses my writing and editing skills against a background of healthcare or nursing, meaning I don’t need to go into hospital work now. Best of both worlds, see?
It’s a dream. A dream I can only leave in God’s hands, cos He’s the one who made me the way I am, gave me the skills, talents, yearnings and desires that I have. So, it’s over to Him.
Elleann.
Saturday, June 3
Life changes and choices - Part One
One of my all-time favorite sci-fi novels is Robert Heinlein’s The Number of the Beast, published in 1980. (This wonderful book parodies the pulp fiction novels of the 30s, as well as paying homage to the Martian novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs.) In this story however, the biblical “number of the beast” turns out to be, not 666, but 6 to the power of 6 to the power of 6 or 10314424798490535546171949056, which equals the number of parallel universes that Zeb, Deety, Jake and Hilda could have visited if they’d had the time…
Parallel universes fascinate me… all those what-if worlds of the past, present and future – I’ve often wished I had a way of finding out what might-have-been in my life, if only I’d chosen a different path to the one I did…
When I was 17, way back in the Dark Ages, there was no such thing as career guidance. I was the oldest child, first of four, and I hadn’t a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I liked literature, writing, film, drama, English – but somehow, choosing a career that started with a university education just never came up for discussion. Maybe my parents couldn’t afford it? Maybe we thought I didn’t have the brains for it? I can’t remember. What I do remember is that in the middle of my matric year, my grandmother got sick. I visited her in the state hospital and I remember light, bright airy wards, where the sun shone in through big windows and the gardens outside were dominated by oak trees, squirrels, lilies and agapanthus. The nurses were sweet-smiling, calm, moving round the wards in their starched white uniforms with starched white caps and shiny laced-up shoes. It felt magical to me.
I applied, got accepted and six months later, started my training at that same hospital. My ‘A’ for English, my love for literature and words, my interest in drama—ended up submerged in the nursing world for the next twenty years. The closest I got to literature was reading books like The Magus (John Fowles), The World according to Garp (John Irving) and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the fabulous and late-lamented Douglas Adams). The closest I got to writing was documenting the bowel actions, aches, pains and pills of my patient’s in the nursing Kardex. The closest I got to drama was seeing Saturday Night Fever and Grease at the flicks!
I’ve worked in nursing almost non-stop since then. Sometimes fulltime, sometimes part time, sometimes day, sometimes night, through singleness and marriage, though my ex-husband’s three years at bible college, through two pregnancies when we subsisted on my income and the good graces of his parents, through the drawn-out months of the divorce, through the two and a half years of my post-divorce health breakdown, through croup and bronchitis, through temper tantrums, childhood depressions and tonsillectomies, through the good and the bad times … I worked.
I have to say, though, that there were times when I really, really liked being a nurse. I like caring for people, relieving pain, advising, helping, counseling, supporting … I liked my years in psychiatry, I liked understanding what makes people tick, I liked learning … but I didn’t like the boring, repetitive nature of most days on the wards. I didn’t like getting up at 5.30 to be at work by 6:45am, I didn’t like leaving my babies with the nanny or the day mother or the crèche.
And during that time, I forgot that I used to like to write. I forgot that I had a vivid imagination. I forgot the joy of the printed word. Movies were for the weekends when the kids went to their dad, books were limited to Danielle Steele . I was in survival mode. Creativity showed up now and then in dreams about starting a business that would earn millions, in dreams of winning the Lotto, in dreams of meeting the real Mr. Right-for-me …
But in 2000, God put me through a bit of spiritual surgery, removing from my heart a dream that I’d clung to for several years. And in the aftermath, as I contemplated the aridity of my life-minus-the-fantasy, I started fiddling around with writing again. Puerile, imperfect scribblings littered my hard drive, words filled my mind, dreams fired up my imagination. I started a writers group, went to a couple of Christian writing conferences in the States (huge, unlooked-for blessings, both!) and moved out of the clinical field into working as a case manager / report writer and editor for a managed healthcare company. Retrenchment followed in early 2004 and I lived on UIF and a small redundancy package for six months before deciding to pursue a freelance writing / editing career.
Two and a half years later, we’re still living from hand to mouth, as I mix freelance work with occasional nursing shifts. Most of the work comes via a friend who runs a very successful graphic design studio, so I write and edit ads, brochures, folder inserts, directories and so on. When the work is there, the pay is great. When there’s no work, I do transcription (long hours, low pay but it’s at home) or nursing (long hours, mediocre pay, away from home). With some serious marketing, (not my strongest point), I reckon I could make a go of this, and still keep on writing fiction on my own time.
BUT … isn’t there always a ‘but’? BUT, there’s another dream in the pipeline. A good dream, a wonderful dream, a life-changing dream. A dream that will upset my current career applecart completely.
More tomorrow …
Parallel universes fascinate me… all those what-if worlds of the past, present and future – I’ve often wished I had a way of finding out what might-have-been in my life, if only I’d chosen a different path to the one I did…
When I was 17, way back in the Dark Ages, there was no such thing as career guidance. I was the oldest child, first of four, and I hadn’t a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I liked literature, writing, film, drama, English – but somehow, choosing a career that started with a university education just never came up for discussion. Maybe my parents couldn’t afford it? Maybe we thought I didn’t have the brains for it? I can’t remember. What I do remember is that in the middle of my matric year, my grandmother got sick. I visited her in the state hospital and I remember light, bright airy wards, where the sun shone in through big windows and the gardens outside were dominated by oak trees, squirrels, lilies and agapanthus. The nurses were sweet-smiling, calm, moving round the wards in their starched white uniforms with starched white caps and shiny laced-up shoes. It felt magical to me.
I applied, got accepted and six months later, started my training at that same hospital. My ‘A’ for English, my love for literature and words, my interest in drama—ended up submerged in the nursing world for the next twenty years. The closest I got to literature was reading books like The Magus (John Fowles), The World according to Garp (John Irving) and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the fabulous and late-lamented Douglas Adams). The closest I got to writing was documenting the bowel actions, aches, pains and pills of my patient’s in the nursing Kardex. The closest I got to drama was seeing Saturday Night Fever and Grease at the flicks!
I’ve worked in nursing almost non-stop since then. Sometimes fulltime, sometimes part time, sometimes day, sometimes night, through singleness and marriage, though my ex-husband’s three years at bible college, through two pregnancies when we subsisted on my income and the good graces of his parents, through the drawn-out months of the divorce, through the two and a half years of my post-divorce health breakdown, through croup and bronchitis, through temper tantrums, childhood depressions and tonsillectomies, through the good and the bad times … I worked.
I have to say, though, that there were times when I really, really liked being a nurse. I like caring for people, relieving pain, advising, helping, counseling, supporting … I liked my years in psychiatry, I liked understanding what makes people tick, I liked learning … but I didn’t like the boring, repetitive nature of most days on the wards. I didn’t like getting up at 5.30 to be at work by 6:45am, I didn’t like leaving my babies with the nanny or the day mother or the crèche.
And during that time, I forgot that I used to like to write. I forgot that I had a vivid imagination. I forgot the joy of the printed word. Movies were for the weekends when the kids went to their dad, books were limited to Danielle Steele . I was in survival mode. Creativity showed up now and then in dreams about starting a business that would earn millions, in dreams of winning the Lotto, in dreams of meeting the real Mr. Right-for-me …
But in 2000, God put me through a bit of spiritual surgery, removing from my heart a dream that I’d clung to for several years. And in the aftermath, as I contemplated the aridity of my life-minus-the-fantasy, I started fiddling around with writing again. Puerile, imperfect scribblings littered my hard drive, words filled my mind, dreams fired up my imagination. I started a writers group, went to a couple of Christian writing conferences in the States (huge, unlooked-for blessings, both!) and moved out of the clinical field into working as a case manager / report writer and editor for a managed healthcare company. Retrenchment followed in early 2004 and I lived on UIF and a small redundancy package for six months before deciding to pursue a freelance writing / editing career.
Two and a half years later, we’re still living from hand to mouth, as I mix freelance work with occasional nursing shifts. Most of the work comes via a friend who runs a very successful graphic design studio, so I write and edit ads, brochures, folder inserts, directories and so on. When the work is there, the pay is great. When there’s no work, I do transcription (long hours, low pay but it’s at home) or nursing (long hours, mediocre pay, away from home). With some serious marketing, (not my strongest point), I reckon I could make a go of this, and still keep on writing fiction on my own time.
BUT … isn’t there always a ‘but’? BUT, there’s another dream in the pipeline. A good dream, a wonderful dream, a life-changing dream. A dream that will upset my current career applecart completely.
More tomorrow …
Friday, June 2
Anna Quindlen said ...
“… I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.”
This quote intrigues me. As a Christian, I learned that I need to let go, abandon my life to God, to leave all my hopes and dreams and desires in his hands. I also learned that no man could ever be that ‘wonderful person’ for me, because men are just as human and needy and imperfect as women—as I am--and no one man can ever meet my every need. So all I can do is leave my needs in God's hands, look to him for fulfilment, contentment, and love.
Reading Anna Q gives me pause for thought, though… and it's not a comfortable pause, either.
This quote intrigues me. As a Christian, I learned that I need to let go, abandon my life to God, to leave all my hopes and dreams and desires in his hands. I also learned that no man could ever be that ‘wonderful person’ for me, because men are just as human and needy and imperfect as women—as I am--and no one man can ever meet my every need. So all I can do is leave my needs in God's hands, look to him for fulfilment, contentment, and love.
Reading Anna Q gives me pause for thought, though… and it's not a comfortable pause, either.
Wednesday, May 31
Unravelling my life
I started reading Richard Foster’s book on prayer a few days ago, hoping to find my way back to the time when to breathe was to pray, and to pray was to know with unshakeable knowing that God IS and IS GOOD. Chapter One was Simple Prayer. ‘Dear God, help me! Bless me! Feed me!’ and so on. Prayer 101, so to speak. But Chapter Two is called The Prayer of the Forsaken and when I read it, something clicked deep inside.
"We know theologically that God is always with us, but theological niceties are little help when we enter the Sahara of the heart, when we experience real spiritual desolation ... we feel abandoned by God. Every hope evaporates the moment we reach for it. Every dream dies the moment we try to realize it. We question, we doubt, we struggle. We pray and the words seem empty... etc."
He goes on to explain what a blessing the dark night can be, as God uses it to strip us of dependence on outward things, like church and liturgy and control - and also strips us of dependence on inward things, like our superficial drives and human strivings and needs. I groaned in recognition of some of the things he said, like: "...we become tentative and unsure of ourselves. The nagging questions become relentless 'Is prayer only a psychological trick? Is there any real meaning in the universe? Does God really exist and if he does, is he good and intent on our goodness, or not?'” Yes and amen! Those are my questions! And yet, I feel so afraid and so guilty when they come spilling out of me, swooshing out on tides of tears and bitterness and desperation.
I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. The wasteland is familiar, full of pain and doubt and yearning. Two years ago, I spent nearly nine months in this place, and when I left it, I hoped it was for good. But it seems that for some reason, I’m back here again. Am I just depressed? It doesn’t feel that way. Am I stressed out? Maybe – but then, as a good Christian, shouldn’t I be clinging to God to get thru the stress, not standing here wondering if He’s real, or if He cares. But that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling of late.
Richard Foster goes on to say that through our barrenness of soul, God is producing detachment, humility, patience and perseverance. And he concludes this particular chapter with the words quoted above, spoken first by Bernard of Clairvaux: O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.
There are several areas that trouble me at present and that are so interwoven in my mind that it’s going to take a while to unravel them all. Things like our proposed emigration and related issues of what kind of work am I going to do for the next twenty years and where will I be doing it. Will I be spending the rest of my life alone, unloved and undesired by a man? Will I ever find contentment in God alone?
One thing at a time. Starting tomorrow….
Elleann.
Skating warily over thin ice.
"We know theologically that God is always with us, but theological niceties are little help when we enter the Sahara of the heart, when we experience real spiritual desolation ... we feel abandoned by God. Every hope evaporates the moment we reach for it. Every dream dies the moment we try to realize it. We question, we doubt, we struggle. We pray and the words seem empty... etc."
He goes on to explain what a blessing the dark night can be, as God uses it to strip us of dependence on outward things, like church and liturgy and control - and also strips us of dependence on inward things, like our superficial drives and human strivings and needs. I groaned in recognition of some of the things he said, like: "...we become tentative and unsure of ourselves. The nagging questions become relentless 'Is prayer only a psychological trick? Is there any real meaning in the universe? Does God really exist and if he does, is he good and intent on our goodness, or not?'” Yes and amen! Those are my questions! And yet, I feel so afraid and so guilty when they come spilling out of me, swooshing out on tides of tears and bitterness and desperation.
I recognize this place. I’ve been here before. The wasteland is familiar, full of pain and doubt and yearning. Two years ago, I spent nearly nine months in this place, and when I left it, I hoped it was for good. But it seems that for some reason, I’m back here again. Am I just depressed? It doesn’t feel that way. Am I stressed out? Maybe – but then, as a good Christian, shouldn’t I be clinging to God to get thru the stress, not standing here wondering if He’s real, or if He cares. But that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling of late.
Richard Foster goes on to say that through our barrenness of soul, God is producing detachment, humility, patience and perseverance. And he concludes this particular chapter with the words quoted above, spoken first by Bernard of Clairvaux: O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.
There are several areas that trouble me at present and that are so interwoven in my mind that it’s going to take a while to unravel them all. Things like our proposed emigration and related issues of what kind of work am I going to do for the next twenty years and where will I be doing it. Will I be spending the rest of my life alone, unloved and undesired by a man? Will I ever find contentment in God alone?
One thing at a time. Starting tomorrow….
Elleann.
Skating warily over thin ice.
God? Where are you?
“O my God, deep calls unto deep. The deep of my profound misery calls to the deep of your infinite mercy.” Bernard of Clairvaux
“God, where are you!?
What have I done to make you hide from me? Are you playing cat and mouse with me or are your purposes larger than my perceptions? I feel alone, lost, forsaken.
You are the God who specializes in revealing yourself. You showed yourself to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. When Moses wanted to know what you looked like, you obliged him. Why them—and not me?
I am tired of praying.
I am tired of asking.
I am tired of waiting.
But I will keep on praying and asking and waiting because I have nowhere else to go.”
Taken from Richard Foster’s book Prayer – finding the heart’s true home
I’m walking in a fog at present, living somewhere between hope and despair. There is too much in life for me to cope with right now, and God seems absent. Stone cold, granite-faced, not-there … and the only way I know to deal with it is to try and write it down. I barely have the energy to do even this, so when I read the above this morning, I thought it would at least be a place to start.
“God, where are you!?
What have I done to make you hide from me? Are you playing cat and mouse with me or are your purposes larger than my perceptions? I feel alone, lost, forsaken.
You are the God who specializes in revealing yourself. You showed yourself to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. When Moses wanted to know what you looked like, you obliged him. Why them—and not me?
I am tired of praying.
I am tired of asking.
I am tired of waiting.
But I will keep on praying and asking and waiting because I have nowhere else to go.”
Taken from Richard Foster’s book Prayer – finding the heart’s true home
I’m walking in a fog at present, living somewhere between hope and despair. There is too much in life for me to cope with right now, and God seems absent. Stone cold, granite-faced, not-there … and the only way I know to deal with it is to try and write it down. I barely have the energy to do even this, so when I read the above this morning, I thought it would at least be a place to start.
Thursday, March 23
Caitlin
My sister's niece Caitlin (12) was involved in a near-drowning last Saturday morning. Read the story here. Prayers from around the world are being offered up for her and her family. For those of who joining with us in prayer support, here is a picture of the little girl you are praying for - taken about a year ago.
Caitlin is still comatose and on life support, but her physical condition is stabilizing. We continue to trust God for her emotional, mental and spiritual healing.
Thanks to all for love, support and prayers.
Elleann
Sunday, November 13
Tell me a Story!
My contribution to the November 'Writers Craft Fair' edition of the Celebration of New Christian Fiction blog carnival. To visit other stalls, call in at Violet Nesdoly's blog for directions!
When I flew back to Cape Town after attending the Mt Hermon Christian Writers Conference in California last year, I ended up bent double beneath a backpack crammed with books! The darn thing even set off the sensors at LAX and I had to unpack it, ending up with a bunch of novels and inspirational books, and a collossal pile of 'how-to-write' tomes strewn across the counter. The bemused security person stared at the books and then at me, before saying: ‘You expecting a boring ride, lady?’
In South Africa, good books on writing are often hard to find (and even more expensive to import) hence my toting home multiple orders for friends, fresh fodder for the book club, as well as a selection of new books on writing techniques for myself, which included Self Editing for Fiction Writers (Browne and King), Getting into Character (Brandilyn Collins) and The First Five Pages (Noah Lukeman).
But oddly enough, the book that has since become my personal writing bible wasn’t even in that backpack, despite that fact that it was on one editor’s 'Most Recommended' list at Mt Hermon! I’d looked at it in the bookshop, scanned the first few hard-to-read pages, checked out the price, performed the dollars to rands conversion, let out a silent screech—and returned it to the shelf.
But as the months went by and my critique partners started raving about it, quoting from it, and writing better as a result of reading it, I realized I had to get hold of the thing. None of our local bookshops carried it, so I turned to the library and after an eternity of a wait, I received the one and only copy in the whole provincial library system.
I devoured it. Breathed it, ate it, slept it and dreamt it until I reached the end, then started all over again. I was completely and utterly hooked. I learned about …
But that was just the start. This author took me deep into the world of storytelling. He taught me about the elements of story—the structure spectrum and its relationship to setting, genre, character and meaning. About story design—from the inciting incident to resolution. About the principles of antagonism, exposition, characters, problems and solutions.
By now, however, the library was petulantly wanting to know when they could get their copy back—didn’t I think four months was a little long to keep a book? With extreme reluctance I returned it. And then (bless his heart!) my brother in the UK sourced a paperback edition and mailed it to me as a belated birthday present!
Happy, happy, happy birthday to me!
So this, now, is the book on writing I will recommend first and foremost to anyone who wants to dive in deep and really get to grips with the craft of storytelling.
STORY – Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting by Robert McKee.
This book arose, btw, from McKee's highly respected Story Seminars - and his graduate list includes such luminaries as the writers of the movies LOTR, A Beautiful Mind, Shrek, Phantom of the Opera, Law & Order, CSI plus a whole ream of Emmy, Academy, DGA and WGA award winners. Don't be put off by the 'screenwriting' aspect - the input applies equally well to novelists!
In his introduction, McKee says (see, now even I’m quoting him!) that his book Story is about …
It’s a winner!
Elleann.
Unraveling life … one word at a time.
When I flew back to Cape Town after attending the Mt Hermon Christian Writers Conference in California last year, I ended up bent double beneath a backpack crammed with books! The darn thing even set off the sensors at LAX and I had to unpack it, ending up with a bunch of novels and inspirational books, and a collossal pile of 'how-to-write' tomes strewn across the counter. The bemused security person stared at the books and then at me, before saying: ‘You expecting a boring ride, lady?’
In South Africa, good books on writing are often hard to find (and even more expensive to import) hence my toting home multiple orders for friends, fresh fodder for the book club, as well as a selection of new books on writing techniques for myself, which included Self Editing for Fiction Writers (Browne and King), Getting into Character (Brandilyn Collins) and The First Five Pages (Noah Lukeman).
But oddly enough, the book that has since become my personal writing bible wasn’t even in that backpack, despite that fact that it was on one editor’s 'Most Recommended' list at Mt Hermon! I’d looked at it in the bookshop, scanned the first few hard-to-read pages, checked out the price, performed the dollars to rands conversion, let out a silent screech—and returned it to the shelf.
But as the months went by and my critique partners started raving about it, quoting from it, and writing better as a result of reading it, I realized I had to get hold of the thing. None of our local bookshops carried it, so I turned to the library and after an eternity of a wait, I received the one and only copy in the whole provincial library system.
I devoured it. Breathed it, ate it, slept it and dreamt it until I reached the end, then started all over again. I was completely and utterly hooked. I learned about …
… The love of story—the belief that your vision can be expressed only through story, that characters can be more real than people, that the fictional world can be more profound than the concrete.
… The love of truth—the belief that lies cripple the artist, that every truth in life must be questioned, down to one’s own secret motive
... The love of humanity—a willingness to empathize with suffering souls, to crawl inside their skins and see the world through their eyes.
… The love of dreaming—the pleasure in taking leisurely rides on your imagination just to see where it leads.
… The love of language—the delight in sound and sense, syntax and semantics.
… The love of duality—a feel for life’s hidden contradictions, a healthy suspicion that things are not what they seem.
… The love of perfection—the passion to write and rewrite in pursuit of the perfect moment.
… And finally, the love of self—a strength that doesn’t need to be constantly reassured, than never doubts that you are indeed a writer …
But that was just the start. This author took me deep into the world of storytelling. He taught me about the elements of story—the structure spectrum and its relationship to setting, genre, character and meaning. About story design—from the inciting incident to resolution. About the principles of antagonism, exposition, characters, problems and solutions.
By now, however, the library was petulantly wanting to know when they could get their copy back—didn’t I think four months was a little long to keep a book? With extreme reluctance I returned it. And then (bless his heart!) my brother in the UK sourced a paperback edition and mailed it to me as a belated birthday present!
Happy, happy, happy birthday to me!
So this, now, is the book on writing I will recommend first and foremost to anyone who wants to dive in deep and really get to grips with the craft of storytelling.
STORY – Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting by Robert McKee.
This book arose, btw, from McKee's highly respected Story Seminars - and his graduate list includes such luminaries as the writers of the movies LOTR, A Beautiful Mind, Shrek, Phantom of the Opera, Law & Order, CSI plus a whole ream of Emmy, Academy, DGA and WGA award winners. Don't be put off by the 'screenwriting' aspect - the input applies equally well to novelists!
In his introduction, McKee says (see, now even I’m quoting him!) that his book Story is about …
'... principles, not rules; about eternal, universal forms, not formulas; about archetypes, not stereotypes; about thoroughness, not shortcuts, about the realities not the mysteries of writing; about mastering the art, not second-guessing the marketplace; about respect, not disdain, for the audience; and about originality, not duplication.’
It’s a winner!
Elleann.
Unraveling life … one word at a time.
Tuesday, November 8
Embracing the mystery
It's become something of a catch phrase, hasn't it?
"Embrace the Mystery ... "
I made a comment on a friend's blog a few days ago, about what it is like being a post-modern, emergent and often confused Christian these day and how part of our growth as followers of Jesus includes "an increasing ability to tolerate uncertainty, to live with mystery - embrace it, in fact."
Today, as I drove across the beautiful mountains that separate our small, rural community from the big city of Cape Town, I found myself talking to God, as I often do when driving. And I wondered what on earth He sees in us miserable, mixed-up, weak, messy humans that makes Him want to love us? I mean, here's a Being who created universes and atoms and angels and thought and light and sunrises - with all His power and creative ability, why did He bother with us?
I don't get it, God.
But as I considered the unfathomable nature of the Almighty, I realized anew that I am never, ever going to get my logical mind around concepts like eternity. Or infinity. Or omniscience and omnipresence. None of those things, ever! They are beyond my ability to understand in the same way that concepts like 'how is soil was formed, where does rain come from and what do dark and light mean?" are beyond the understanding of an earthworm who otherwise tunnels happily through lovely, loamy, moist soil. That worm will never know what it feels like to fall in love or why human males have a need to engage in battles!
But right now, that worm doesn't need to know. All it needs to do is to embrace the mystery of the magnificent world it lives in, and trust that the Creator will take care of it. But I'm not going to take the analogy any further- we are not defenseless worms, nor is a careless gardener with a sharp spade the equivalent of our Heavenly Father!
But thinking this way made me realize again that "not knowing" the answers to the questions about God gives me, oddly enough, an enormous amount of HOPE. Hope that there IS a God who is far greater than me, who has His finger on the pulse of the world, and even better than that, knows the end from the beginnning. (Or however it is He constructed that whole eternity thing ... )
Having grown up as a evangelical protestant with black-and-white religious rules, I find it a wee bit scary these days to be embracing the mystery, not only of the BIG questions, but also to be considering issues like - maybe it's not a sin to be gay? Maybe the Bible isn't the 'inerrant' Word of God? Maybe the Church isn't all it's cracked up to be?
I don't have many of the answers yet. It's all part of the mystery. As a follower of Jesus, all I can do is embrace the unfathomable mystery of His astonishing love for me.
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one word at a time.
"Embrace the Mystery ... "
I made a comment on a friend's blog a few days ago, about what it is like being a post-modern, emergent and often confused Christian these day and how part of our growth as followers of Jesus includes "an increasing ability to tolerate uncertainty, to live with mystery - embrace it, in fact."
Today, as I drove across the beautiful mountains that separate our small, rural community from the big city of Cape Town, I found myself talking to God, as I often do when driving. And I wondered what on earth He sees in us miserable, mixed-up, weak, messy humans that makes Him want to love us? I mean, here's a Being who created universes and atoms and angels and thought and light and sunrises - with all His power and creative ability, why did He bother with us?
I don't get it, God.
But as I considered the unfathomable nature of the Almighty, I realized anew that I am never, ever going to get my logical mind around concepts like eternity. Or infinity. Or omniscience and omnipresence. None of those things, ever! They are beyond my ability to understand in the same way that concepts like 'how is soil was formed, where does rain come from and what do dark and light mean?" are beyond the understanding of an earthworm who otherwise tunnels happily through lovely, loamy, moist soil. That worm will never know what it feels like to fall in love or why human males have a need to engage in battles!
But right now, that worm doesn't need to know. All it needs to do is to embrace the mystery of the magnificent world it lives in, and trust that the Creator will take care of it. But I'm not going to take the analogy any further- we are not defenseless worms, nor is a careless gardener with a sharp spade the equivalent of our Heavenly Father!
But thinking this way made me realize again that "not knowing" the answers to the questions about God gives me, oddly enough, an enormous amount of HOPE. Hope that there IS a God who is far greater than me, who has His finger on the pulse of the world, and even better than that, knows the end from the beginnning. (Or however it is He constructed that whole eternity thing ... )
Having grown up as a evangelical protestant with black-and-white religious rules, I find it a wee bit scary these days to be embracing the mystery, not only of the BIG questions, but also to be considering issues like - maybe it's not a sin to be gay? Maybe the Bible isn't the 'inerrant' Word of God? Maybe the Church isn't all it's cracked up to be?
I don't have many of the answers yet. It's all part of the mystery. As a follower of Jesus, all I can do is embrace the unfathomable mystery of His astonishing love for me.
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one word at a time.
Sunday, November 6
The second reason ...
It's official. I am now a NaNoWriMo 2005 dropout.
Although I feel relieved to have made the decision, I hate the feeling that comes with having started something and then not completed it. My inner tape player starts spooling the same old tunes I've played time and time again over the years - no-good loser, weakling, drop-out ... failure. But having examined my reasons - second one coming up now - I can actually turn that tape off this time - woo hoo! And that's progress, big personal inner progress. I must also admit that I feel some regret, but that regret had nothing to do with my not writing! It's purely regret at not being a part of the 'team' any more, of not going every day to see how my word counts stacks up against my writing buddies' word counts - in other words, I'm missing not being in the competition anymore! So down, vile competitive spirit! Begone!
So, the other reason.
And maybe this is an even more important reason in terms of life. I gave up NaNo because I had to make a choice about my present priorities. I'm in the middle of a life-changing process right now. Having been born, bred and lived the last forty-plus years in South Africa, I'm attempting at last to fulfil a long-held dream of emigrating to the US!! Woo hoo again!!
It's quite a long process and can take two to two and a half years in total. I received a job offer from a hospital group in Northern California. But the next step is that I have to take an exam called the NCLEX , which will enable me to practice as an RN in the US. This is not an easy exam to pass - current stats reveal that only 75% of first timers pass the test, and only 42% of repeat takers get through. There is also a financial outlay as the test gets taken in the US and airfares are pricy. IF I pass, I will be reimbursed from my relocation allowance. If I fail, I will be deep in debt and my hopes and dreams will be in tatters and shreds.
So, with the exam looming in Feb next year, I have to study a lot more than I am doing right now. And at my 'advanced' age, it also takes more mental effort than it used to.
So, tied to my feeling discussed in yesterday's post, and that my evaluation test scores are only showing up at round 60% (you have to be hitting a regular 75% to be ready for the NCLEX), I don't feel bad anymore about being a NaNo dropout.
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one word at a time.
Although I feel relieved to have made the decision, I hate the feeling that comes with having started something and then not completed it. My inner tape player starts spooling the same old tunes I've played time and time again over the years - no-good loser, weakling, drop-out ... failure. But having examined my reasons - second one coming up now - I can actually turn that tape off this time - woo hoo! And that's progress, big personal inner progress. I must also admit that I feel some regret, but that regret had nothing to do with my not writing! It's purely regret at not being a part of the 'team' any more, of not going every day to see how my word counts stacks up against my writing buddies' word counts - in other words, I'm missing not being in the competition anymore! So down, vile competitive spirit! Begone!
So, the other reason.
And maybe this is an even more important reason in terms of life. I gave up NaNo because I had to make a choice about my present priorities. I'm in the middle of a life-changing process right now. Having been born, bred and lived the last forty-plus years in South Africa, I'm attempting at last to fulfil a long-held dream of emigrating to the US!! Woo hoo again!!
It's quite a long process and can take two to two and a half years in total. I received a job offer from a hospital group in Northern California. But the next step is that I have to take an exam called the NCLEX , which will enable me to practice as an RN in the US. This is not an easy exam to pass - current stats reveal that only 75% of first timers pass the test, and only 42% of repeat takers get through. There is also a financial outlay as the test gets taken in the US and airfares are pricy. IF I pass, I will be reimbursed from my relocation allowance. If I fail, I will be deep in debt and my hopes and dreams will be in tatters and shreds.
So, with the exam looming in Feb next year, I have to study a lot more than I am doing right now. And at my 'advanced' age, it also takes more mental effort than it used to.
So, tied to my feeling discussed in yesterday's post, and that my evaluation test scores are only showing up at round 60% (you have to be hitting a regular 75% to be ready for the NCLEX), I don't feel bad anymore about being a NaNo dropout.
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one word at a time.
Saturday, November 5
Not this time ...
Well. I just learned my short story for the FiF contest didn't make the final cut. Sad, sad, sad ... then I found a link to one of the finalist's stories in the comments section of Dave Long's blog. I read the story, to see what the 'competition' was like, why my story didn't make it. All I can say is - awesome writing! Congratulations, Mike!! If this a measure of the calibre of the entrants, then it's no wonder I'm not among them.
That set me thinking about the writing I am doing now, however. The NaNo stuff. As mentioned below, I got going - and then I got stuck! I have the outline, I have the characters, I know the conflicts, but still I got stuck. And so I've been stressed out for the last couple days, knowing I was falling way behind the daily word count. (By now I should be up at somewhere round 6680 words, and I'm only at about 1500!)
Why? Because I don't like what I'm writing and I don't like the way the characters are behaving. Under the pressure of just churning out masses of words, I'm losing sight of the nuances of the characters - their attitudes, their accents, their hearts - the small things that make them really real. They're starting to walk and talk like cardboard cutouts instead of real people. I find I'm writing scenes just to 'tell what happens' and I'm forgetting about things like 'the turn' (McKee), the scene and sequel structure (Dwight Swain), pacing and so much more. All the things I've spent such a long time learning.
So why am I pulverizing myself just to turn out a badly-written 50 K novel, when what I really want to do is learn how to write the way Mike does, to write prose that sings and stirs the heart?
So I guess I should thank Dave for not choosing my short story for the final cut! If something I labored long and hard over isn't good enough yet, then a 50K novel written under pressure is certainly not going to be something I will feel proud of. I already have 2 other unfinished, unpublished novels gathering moss on my hard drive - do I really want another?
Maybe not.
Elleann.
Just unravelling today ...
That set me thinking about the writing I am doing now, however. The NaNo stuff. As mentioned below, I got going - and then I got stuck! I have the outline, I have the characters, I know the conflicts, but still I got stuck. And so I've been stressed out for the last couple days, knowing I was falling way behind the daily word count. (By now I should be up at somewhere round 6680 words, and I'm only at about 1500!)
Why? Because I don't like what I'm writing and I don't like the way the characters are behaving. Under the pressure of just churning out masses of words, I'm losing sight of the nuances of the characters - their attitudes, their accents, their hearts - the small things that make them really real. They're starting to walk and talk like cardboard cutouts instead of real people. I find I'm writing scenes just to 'tell what happens' and I'm forgetting about things like 'the turn' (McKee), the scene and sequel structure (Dwight Swain), pacing and so much more. All the things I've spent such a long time learning.
So why am I pulverizing myself just to turn out a badly-written 50 K novel, when what I really want to do is learn how to write the way Mike does, to write prose that sings and stirs the heart?
So I guess I should thank Dave for not choosing my short story for the final cut! If something I labored long and hard over isn't good enough yet, then a 50K novel written under pressure is certainly not going to be something I will feel proud of. I already have 2 other unfinished, unpublished novels gathering moss on my hard drive - do I really want another?
Maybe not.
Elleann.
Just unravelling today ...
Wednesday, November 2
Day Two begins
The first day of NaNoWriMo is over and I survived! But only just ...
After not having written anything for the last while, it was kinda scary to be faced with a crispy clean screen, but nevertheless I sat down, ready to go. I'd had a few ideas for a story, but hadn't done any serious preparation. So, guess what happened? I wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted .. and then it was nearly 10.30 pm and I had nothing to post to my word count.
The problem was I'd had this fantasy about 'just writing'. I'd sit down, pen in hand (so to speak!) and effortlessly pour out reams of deathless prose. I'd see this amazing, moving, award-winning novel take shape by itself, solely because I was 'doing NaNo'. Ha ha ha! So much for that fantasy! I realized that I was going to have to do something and do it pretty damn quick cos my NaNo writing buddies had already posted their first word counts - 1300 and 408 words respectively. What to do, what to do? I paced and thought and paced some more.
And I remembered that when I signed up, my esteemed writing partner and dear friend suggested I write the novel I'd just finished outlining, The Devil's Dust. I'd hesitated, then said no, because I like to write slowly, carefully, crafting every word, phrase and sentence. I like to take my time and write 'properly', and isn't NaNo all about writing with abandon, and daring, and carelessness? Yes, all of that, but it's also about writing with freedom--the freedom to make mistakes and make discoveries and make a mess and make it up and have fun! So could I write a book I really cared about that way? Wouldn't it 'ruin' it if I wrote it in 30 days, at top speed?
Did I have a choice?
If I wanted to do NaNo, I'd have to get going with something. In Devil's Dust, I have a story, I have characters, I have conflict, I have love and anguish and death and - I have a novel I could write!
So I sat down and started. And at 11:55 I posted my first word count - 862 words.
OKAY!!
Elleann.
If you're going to skate on thin ice ... you may as well dance!
After not having written anything for the last while, it was kinda scary to be faced with a crispy clean screen, but nevertheless I sat down, ready to go. I'd had a few ideas for a story, but hadn't done any serious preparation. So, guess what happened? I wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted, wrote and deleted .. and then it was nearly 10.30 pm and I had nothing to post to my word count.
The problem was I'd had this fantasy about 'just writing'. I'd sit down, pen in hand (so to speak!) and effortlessly pour out reams of deathless prose. I'd see this amazing, moving, award-winning novel take shape by itself, solely because I was 'doing NaNo'. Ha ha ha! So much for that fantasy! I realized that I was going to have to do something and do it pretty damn quick cos my NaNo writing buddies had already posted their first word counts - 1300 and 408 words respectively. What to do, what to do? I paced and thought and paced some more.
And I remembered that when I signed up, my esteemed writing partner and dear friend suggested I write the novel I'd just finished outlining, The Devil's Dust. I'd hesitated, then said no, because I like to write slowly, carefully, crafting every word, phrase and sentence. I like to take my time and write 'properly', and isn't NaNo all about writing with abandon, and daring, and carelessness? Yes, all of that, but it's also about writing with freedom--the freedom to make mistakes and make discoveries and make a mess and make it up and have fun! So could I write a book I really cared about that way? Wouldn't it 'ruin' it if I wrote it in 30 days, at top speed?
Did I have a choice?
If I wanted to do NaNo, I'd have to get going with something. In Devil's Dust, I have a story, I have characters, I have conflict, I have love and anguish and death and - I have a novel I could write!
So I sat down and started. And at 11:55 I posted my first word count - 862 words.
OKAY!!
Elleann.
If you're going to skate on thin ice ... you may as well dance!
Tuesday, November 1
NaNoWriMo
Along with umpteen thousand other wannabe novelists, I signed up for NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month. The shortest cut to a nervous breakdown that I know of! Simply reset your priority clock and push novel writing to the top of the list, and then churn out 50K words within 30 days. Easy, ain't it?
The other things I'm pushing down the priority list are studying for the NCLEX, maintaining an income, keeping the kids and me fed, clothed, clean and sane ... just the usual stuff!
So wish me luck!
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one day at a time.
The other things I'm pushing down the priority list are studying for the NCLEX, maintaining an income, keeping the kids and me fed, clothed, clean and sane ... just the usual stuff!
So wish me luck!
Elleann.
Unravelling life ... one day at a time.
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