Getting Down to Business

It's January 26 (I say this AFTER I've checked the date numerous times) and it's been over an entire month since I've last updated "A Writer's Knot." Call me unfaithful, call me a crook, just don't call me unproductive and Shirley (a little Airplane! allusion for you there). I can't give you an exact word count for this winter break, but I can truthfully say that I've written over 20,000 words since my last update and most importantly, I hit my 50k mark! I'm just over half way done with my first draft. Some one throw some confetti and bring me a cupcake cake. Red velvet preferably.

But is that a light I see at the end of the tunnel?

Possibly. Probably not, since I have a whole other epic, "One does not simply walks into Mordor" size journey of revisions to sludge through before even thinking of querying (I lied. I have thought and worked plenty enough on querying in between crippling self doubt and "I am the next Charles Dickens" syndrome). And let's not get started on the whole agent thing because, honestly, I don't want to be wriggling my hands over people's opinions on my brain child. Not yet, anyway.

If I didn't have to work a paying job, I decided I'd turn my writing into my "job." I wrote everyday. Sometimes thousands of words, others just over a hundred. What mattered was I wrote and treated it as my work. I acted as a writer should. Instead of treating it as a hobby, I treated it as a career choice. A very tasty and sometimes frustrating career choice.

But all good things must come to an end. No, I'm not talking about my writing. I'm talking about my days frolicking through the many bookshelves of Barnes and Noble and hours spent sipping coffee and huddled in a corner banging on a keyboard. I'm talking about school.

The shackles are back in place. I already feel the pressure (already I despise the Puritan's literature. Hiisssss). But again, like last semester, I hold the goal of writing what I can everyday. Even if it's simply outlining or revision. And I promise to continue to update this more frequently! Exclamation point!!

So, next time you'll hear from me, I'll either be up to here in PDF files or coffee. Maybe both.

P.S. Here's a picture of my cute kitten who is named Me-Mow because no one liked Nova. And my sister wouldn't stop called her the cat assassin's name from Adventure Time. And Indie. I would never forget my quirky beagle pup Indie (named after Indiana Jones obviously).

Okay, laters.

BUT LOOK AT THEM THEY'RE SO ADORABLE. I JUST WANT TO DIIIEEE.

The End is Near

You (all four of you) probably shed a few tears when I failed to update my blog these past two weeks. I know you struggled without your weekly dose of Caitlin Writing Complaints.

Well, I apologize for my tiny hiatus, but I plan to come back strong as ever.

WORD COUNT: 608

Okay that was a joke on my part. This is not strong. For two weeks this is a bit sad. But before you shake your heads and walk away in dismay, I have plenty of excuses to toss around! Are they valid? Well...eh. Most of them are. ]

Stress mauled me with a baseball bat these past few weeks. When I'm stressed, well, nothing good happens. My eating, writing, reading, school, everything habits sort of collapse inward and I tend to go into denial: aka I try to stuff my head with TV, food, books, things that make would usually make me happy. In the end, they don't even fill the hole I've dug due to the immense guilt I feel for putting off things that I actually need to do. In the end I'm only causing myself more stress because I'm trying to smoother the stress.

What has me thrown off is my pacing. I've been changing things around (missing a class here, getting out early there) and change screws up my schedule, screws up my eating habits. My body is already messed up (when will this so called period show its ugly head because it's been over a month already gosh darn it) and it refuses to act the way I want it to.

Basically I feel out of control. My writing has been put on the back burner for obvious reasons. It's still here--the document is always open. I'm always thinking about it, playing with it, but progress is little or close to none. It's frustrating because I want to give it the time it deserves but only four weeks of school. Four. Weeks. As much as I'm excited for a break, I'm biting my nails at the idea that I have only four weeks to get my grades in the position I want them to be in.

Grades or writing?

Grades obviously wins.

But I vow the day I get out of school, I'll immediately go home, pick up my laptop and hightail it to Starbucks and type away. My goal is to finish my first draft before Spring Semester starts.

There! See? Setting goals is progress! Right?

Literature: What is it?

Oh Mighty Google, show me what Literature is!

A year or two ago, one of my English professors on the first day of class asked a very interesting question: what is literature? Here we were, a bunch of English majors with quite a few English courses under our belts yet failed to give literature an adequate definition. Sure, you can look in the dictionary where you'll find three different meanings, each growing broader ("leaflets and other printed matter used to advertise products or give advice." Okay that is pretty much anything written for public consumption). Yet for something so slippery, we as society value this word. You are either a English major with emphasis in creative writing or in literature. When shopping at Barnes and Nobles you pass the Romance, Young Adult, Graphic Comic and the Literature section. If you're seen reading something by the Brontë sisters, Dickens, Fitzgerald, they assume you're reading something literary.

It's just, weird.

One thing I do know about literature is that literature isn't written, it's made. Readers and critics alike decide what falls under "literary" and what gets shelved under a more precise genre shelf (aka the cafeteria). Sometimes it's instantly. Others, it takes time. Harry Potter forever was under the children's section. It still is--but you can also find it with the literary fiction along with other classical stuff today. The Road which came out in 2006, was instantly in literary fiction, but more so because Cormac McCarthy already had made quite an impression in the Literary world and let's not forget that nice gold P sticker stamped on the front. "Collect 200 and pass GO" said the majority of the readers, and so that book when straight on the literary shelf.

So what the hell am I blabbering about? What is your point Caitlin!?!?

My point, dear reader, is I spend a lot of time reading what people qualify as literature and desiring what is not "literary."

Currently reading:

• Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
• The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
• Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko

What I want to read but can't because I have literally no time:

• Rebel Angels by Libba Bray.

What I feel like doing at the moment:

At least I got SOME writing done. But sadly, not as much as the previous week.

WORD COUNT: 892

Coffee Shop Conundrum

Why is that writers thrive at coffee shops? Of course not all of them, but ironically quite a few do. Is it the sugary coffee drinks? The crappy pastries? Maybe it's the free wifi. Why is this growing scenario proving more and more true?

The past five weeks I've been spending a lot of time at my Barnes and Noble Cafe (aka Starbucks). Sadly I rarely work in my draft here, but school-that's a different story.

I've written an entire paper while sippin' on my skinny iced caramel macchiato. And the best part, I wrote it in about four hours. At home I pace and pout. Distractions are impossible to dodge. Some I create to escape the enclosing pressure of the looming due date. But when I'm in the public sphere I have no choice but to behave. The only distractions are of my own fault and mostly involve a break from bashing the keyboard. Everyone around me is quietly studying, writing or reading. They too come here to escape the distractions of home. So not only is this a public sphere but a silent union. Even with the few people chatting, the expresso machine hissing, we keep doing our thang. It's become music to our ears. Comforting even.

As much as gush about my newfound companions who I've never spoken a single word to, this writer's paradise is old news. I know I've read personal diaries and letters expressing how they've spent hours watching the public traffic by looking for inspiration. What's that famous cafe in Edinburg? The one J.K. Rowling use to sit and write at? Stephen King? Yes, the public sphere is the writer's sphere. They are the one and the same. They have been since the first man to create art. The cafe makes perfect sense. It's meant for the private public. You can be alone yet be surrounded by people. You can witness, listen and taste without the trouble of interacting.

I write this now because I'm currently sitting at a window seat, staring out the window as people trot by (and pull at the door you're not suppose to use but people refuse to read the sign so they just stand there like idiots expecting me to open it for them from the inside). I just sucked the last dreads of my watered down ice coffee, with my homework in front of me (read pages 1-33 in Child-Loving: The Erotic Child and Victorian Culture), resisting the temptation to open my current self-indulging book (A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray). It's somewhat working.

(Also I wrote this all over my phone! Call me classy).

This weekend I wrote over 3,400 words. Sadly, none if it was fiction, nor was it for my draft.

I wrote two essays and a take home test, which included an essay of its own. I know this technically isn't my own writing, but I'm proud to say that I did write. That these words did come out of my brain and went onto paper. This may not be part of my 20k+ word draft, but I did put effort. I did exert myself. Thought and revision occurred here. This wasn't a last minute thing. Drafts were made.

And I'm a bit proud.

Even academic writing is a skill to take pride in.

Exhaustion.

Don't bother writing when you're exhausted. Not tired. Not sleepy. But exhausted. Everything you write ends up being crap. Even if you think you're "getting it done." You're not getting it done. You're just adding crap that is going to be cut or completely changed because it's crap. Crap is crap. Nothing you do can change that. Unless you completely get rid of it, then yes. You can change that.

Thus why I leave you short because I am exhausted. School, working out has been sucking me dry. I started walking to the local track. For a half hour I jog/walk a bit, then walk back to my house. Let me tell you. It takes me ten minutes longer to walk back. And I haven't even mentioned the sit ups I force myself to do once I get back.

My legs and stomach hate me in the morning.

Doing this five days a week is hell along with late nights with homework and early mornings with school. By Thursdays (my last day of classes of the week) I'm like a used and abused paper towel. Throw me away, let me be. I've had enough. No more. Let me pass peacefully, please and thank you. But of course this following Monday/Tuesday I have TWO papers due along with a take home test. Not to mention the regular assignments (which involves books and epic poems and W.B. Yeats and T.S. Eliot) in those classes.

A good restless night of sleep feels so far away.

And my writing is still at a standstill. It's annoying. I hate myself. I want to delete the last three paragraphs and start anew, hoping I could dive right in. But I don't. I push forward. Word for word if I must.

I honestly blame exhaustion.

But I also believe that you should force yourself to write when you're at that point of fatigue. Crap is crap. The only way to change crap is by literally getting rid of it. So what is the point of wasting energy on something that will be tossed out? Prime example to not right write when exhausted.

It's a bit hypocritical saying not to write when all you want to do is crash--I do it all the time when it comes to school. And the end results are always the same: B or B- or C+. For my own fiction, I don't even try. Don't put yourself in that position, not unless your mind is ready to suffer a bit. Currently, I've been staring at my draft, but haven't written a thing. My brain is mush, but at least my spirit wants to write. All I need to do is get my body up to speed. Back to it's same old self.

After this weekend, I can't wait to sleep. The best sleep is after not sleeping.

WORD COUNT: 0

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

The title is from Lord Alfred Tennyson's epic poem In Memoriam. We're studying it in my Victorian era Literature class. It's one of his famous lines, and I'm sure if you've seen Moulin Rouge, you've heard something similar to it.

WORD COUNT: 176

I don't know if you've noticed, but I'll be updating this blog maybe, once or twice a week instead of EVERYDAY. Mostly because

1. I don't write every day (how boring is it to see post after post about how YET AGAIN, I've failed to write--or only have written a sentence or two).
2. I've become quite the busy student
3. It's easier to post once or twice a week with a meaty meal rather than five measly servings that couldn't feed an ant.

School so far has been successful. I'm actually happy about it for once. It's been over a year since I've felt this confident. Losing 19 pounds may have something to do with the confidence department, but still. Having my family's support at every turn--actually depending on them does help a lot.

Ironically, it's not that they actually do anything materially for me. They don't hold my hand as I go to school, or help me with my papers and readings. Just talking to my mom about how my day's been, how nervous I am about some assignment or how proud I am for talking to some random person.

It feels good.

I feel good.

If only I had more time to really sit down and pound out this chapter! This weekend is going to be busy also. I'm going down to San Diego to my aunt's to help with an event. I plan to leave Friday and then get back Sunday. Maybe. The details need ironing. But this means I might go another weekend without much progress. Last weekend I spent with my family also. Damn these buggers, taking my precious writing time away!

Yes I just went from "oh I love how supporting they are!" to "God damn it, why are you everywhere!"

Now that's true love.

I have this phobia of burdening others.

No really. I like to think of myself independent, but the joke is on me. I have not a stich in my name, nor am I capable of supporting myself economically. How can I keep a stable job if I can hardly get though school?

This past year has been the most difficult year...of my life, possibly. Not because school was hard (I neglected and hid from that). Not because I suffered an illness or injury that put me through hell (I didn't do enough to cause injury or catch an illness). And certainly not because I suffered some great tragedy (unless you count getting into a car accident). No, this past year I've suffered internally. Mentally. Emotionally. I doubted myself and instead of turning outward, reaching for help, I imploded.

Since I'm dependent on others, despite how much I hate it, I ended up hurting others.

Reality scares me, so I hide from it. Ironically, when I don't hide from reality--when I take the bull by the horns--I grasp it well. But it's work and lets be honest, I hate hard work. Hard work leads to stress, and stress leads to tears, and tears lead to doubts, doubts lead to thoughts I rather avoid.

I started this blog as part of a new beginning. A new beginning for my writing and for me.

Everything is out in the open now. Instead of feeling guilt for burdening--no, not burdening, asking for help from others, I'm trying to feel relief. That I'm not alone. That someone can put an arm around me or rub my back as I fail or succeed.

So what does this have to do with writing? Writing has always been my outlet. It's always been the one hobby, no matter how depressed I've become, that I continue to do (though at times I look at writing more as a "thing" rather than a "need"). But writing is a private thing (see!?). Blogs are not. Having a writing blog is putting my private thoughts and insecurities out there. Yes, I said private. Yes, I'm aware that no one actually reads this. But here's the truth: it's an illusion. I'm deceiving my feelings, tricking them into thinking they're being released.

It works. It does. I still need to talk to people outside the Internet of course, but written/typed words are my forte and love. It make sense to cope with my weakness with my strengths.

Anyway, on that note. I wrote like 56 words in the past two days. Obviously writing during the school week is not working out, but it's always there in my mind. My brain is always coming up with ideas and working out characters. I'm always taking notes and thinking about updating this blog. Because I said I would. SO I am.

And So It Begins...

Homework. Oh glorious, mounds of homework.

It has officially begun.

I've stacked all my required novels for school on the floor. For five minutes we had a stare off before I stormed away in defeat. How am I suppose to read any of these let alone all of them? Daunting doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about these "literary works." Give me YA and I'll eat that sucker right up. But serious literature? Yea, sure. Let me wallow in self pity as I yet again swap the text for SparkNotes.

Currently my homework includes:

• The Comedy of Errors by Shakespeare
• Dracula by Bram Stroker
• The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
• And a bunch of poems from my Victorian Lit anthology.

Oh how I've missed forcefully reading multiple things at once.

I guess I'll start my night with a comedy. Seriously, it's going to be hilarious drilling through Shakespeare's language.

Things are starting to settle down, but I'm still quite a bit away from "relaxed." It's frustrating. All I want is for my class schedule to be set in stone. I don't want to attend any classes I will not end up taking for credit. I don't want to read a book when I won't even be involved in the discussion for it later on.

I'm tired of juggling.

Oddly enough, I was able to write today. And not just a little bit, but quite a lot. For four days I'd been holding this up and thankfully it came out well.

WORD COUNT: 1,003

That's right folks. That's 1k. Usually, 1k would be the ideal daily goal, but with school and such, I find it extremely difficult. Luckily, I can sleep in tomorrow, allowing me to stay up a bit later than usual tonight. Thus allowing me to write.

Now time to crash.

Oh man!

I apologize!

I'm sorry!

Yesterday, I forgot to update my word count. More like, I never got the chance to update it.

WORD COUNT: 0

And then of course I didn't type anything at all. At the moment, I'm stressed to the max. Last night, I got home around 10:30 (because my class ends at like 10) and cracked open my textbook and began to study. Then for some reason I woke up at midnight with my face sticking to the thin pages.

I'm exhausted. I didn't even finish the reading. School is nuts right now.

My schedule is nuts.

Hopefully something will give today.

Sometimes it's Okay.

Classes started today.

Woke up at 6:30 am. Sat in about an hour of traffic (though it shouldn't have taken me nearly an hour. Damn you LA with your sporadic congestion). Spent all day at school. Got home around four. Did some e-mailing via professors and councilor. Worked out. Watched Hell on Wheels. Ate. Worked on Victorian Lit homework. Sighed for about ten minutes in self pity. Played on Photoshop for about five. Worked on blog.

And now I'm here.

What's missing from that paragraph?

If you guessed writing, then you've won a brand new metaphorical car! It will be sitting on your front lawn in about a week, give or take. Now go have fun! Be safe you crazy kids.

WORD COUNT: 0

But yea. As you can see, again, I failed to write. Honestly, I'm not too miffed over it. Things needed to be straightened out desperately before I could even sit down and play around with the Internet. Writing was not the priority here and that's okay.

It's okay.

Currently, my job--my career is school. Writing isn't the bread and butter of my life. At the moment it acts as an hobby, and in the event that I do get published (knock on wood) then I can panic about not writing my daily 1k. As of now, I must keep a calm head about it. And even if this entire week that big fat, yellow zero fills up the entire page, then so be it. But this weekend, I'll make up for it.

So help me God, I will make up for it.

And that's all that matters, right?

Those Things in Our Way

School's about to start. Am I ready? No. But I've never been entirely ready for school. Even if I had answered that question with a "yes" deep down it will always be a "no." A few days ago, my heart was singing "yes" pretty loud. Today, after I spoke with my academic advisor and finished buying the rest of my books, my heart ended up singing an entire different tune. It was more of a scream, really.

Besides the fact that school is such a drag, it's also a top priority. School comes before writing. No matter how much I try to deceive myself, school always outweighs everything else. Even my small tiny job. For the past few years I've stuck to this rule and in the end get either two results:

1. My draft gathers dust and cobwebs.
2. or I end up writing half a book while during the summer I could hardly get past two chapters.

It's strange how that works. Only the extremes respond to school. In general, when there's another upper priority we tend to either let things completely go or holdfast. We rather overdue it then face the loss. I don't know about you, but when I write 50k within two months things never go the way I want. In the end, I usually I run out of steam or track and the things I neglect catch up. All the time and effort I spent seems to go to waste after it sits there for a month or two after. By the time I pick it up again, all that excitement is lost. Along with the motivation.

Point is: rushing can be just as harmful as not doing anything.

That is why this semester I plan to write everyday. One sentence. One paragraph. Even jotting down character arcs or adjustments. As long as I'm progressing, I'll be happy. But I won't rush. Rushing has failed me numerous times. I'm aware that some days I won't be able to write, but as long as I'm aware and plan to write on the weekend or vacation. I'll be okay.

And then there's the whole school priority thing.

Which leads perfectly into my word count update. I had another top priority to take care of, besides school: work.

WORD COUNT: 148

There's still a possibility I'll pick it up later tonight, but my desire to read and finish The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer before I have to dive into three books simultaneously for school is very tempting.