AAA Ain't On the Way

A million years ago, I learned to change a flat tire. The decision to acquire this knowledge was prompted by a two-week span wherein I had no less than five flat tires on the same car. (They were doing construction on my road.)

I was living at home at the time, in the same town with my dad, my brother, and my brother in law. For the first four tires, I sat patiently and waited for one of them to come and change the tire. I also watched them, saw how they did it, and tucked it deep into my brain.

By the fifth flat tire, however, I had logged quite a few hours waiting for help to arrive. The prospect of sitting in a hot car for another hour or so was just too much, and I decided to try changing the flat on my own.

The sense of accomplishment I had was awesome--never again did I have to depend on anyone else to fix it for me. I eventually got AAA, and I'm more than happy to accept their help (or anyone else who offers) when it it is available. But I feel much more secure knowing that, all else failing, I can change my own damned tire.

This morning it hit me that I've been waiting for AAA to come along and fix my writing career (or lack thereof). I'm fortunate enough to have friends who are professional writers and editors, and who are very generous with their time and advise.

But the bottom line is that nobody can change this tire except me. AAA is the back-up plan, not the full strategy.

And it's freeing. I can create the career I want, in the way I want, by writing the stories I want. I make my own life happen--not the other way around.

So I'm done waiting for AAA to bail me out. Beware publishing world. I'm going to keep trying until you give in and pay me. You've been warned.

Mr. Pain Body, Meet Your Match

Eckhart Tolle talks about something called "the pain body" in his books. This Pain Body is the essence of all your dark and negative emotions and experience, and it's sole purpose is self-perpetuation. So, like a nasty little devil on your shoulder, it whispers all these horrible things into your brain all the time, keeping you in a constant state of rage/fear/pain/sadness/panic. You know, its crack cocaine.

Anyway, today as I was angsting over the latest drama at The Day Job(TM), I decided to picture my Pain Body as a melodrama villain a la Snidely Whiplash. I saw him, with his handlebar moustache, top hat, and black cape, hovering near me, trying to whip up trouble.

Then I just started poking him, laughing at him, nyah-nyah-nyah like some brat. And rather quickly, all the paranoia I was feeling began to lift until I felt light and peaceful and energized.

It helps to depersonalize your insanity. Then you can mock it and reduce its power over you.

Oh, and I signed up for this site today. It's pretty nom-a-licious for the Compulsive List Maker.

Momentum: Succeeding at the Speed of Molasses

I got my biweekly pep-talk (via email) from Jenn this morning. Her timing is amazing--I'd just gotten back into that whole "Who am I to think I can do this?" mentality. My partner Fey, who is the Queen of All Patience, talked me down from quitting the new novel entirely last night. And Jennifer, out of the blue, reminded me that I have to PERSIST. How crazy is that?

Persist.

I work a full-time job and have a full-time relationship. I enjoy the occasional five hours of sleep a night, and even watch television sometimes. I try to carve out two full hours of writing a day, which doesn't seem like much, but I can get quite a lot done in a focused two hours.

Recently, however, I've been sleeping through my two hours--just so tired and depressed and hopeless. It started creeping back into my subconscious, those thoughts that success was for other people, that talent isn't enough, and that I just don't have what it takes to make my dreams come true.

Then, of course, I got the refill on my Prozac and things are starting to look up.

My book is not the Worst Piece of Crap Ever Committed to Paper.

I am not the Laziest Person in the Universe.

I am not Born to Be a Failure.

I can watch the occasional episode of Desperate Housewives or Eastwick (Damn you, ABC, for cancelling this show!) without being a total slacker.

I just need to PERSIST. Turn on the laptop. Write another thousand words. I can write a thousand words in my sleep--sometimes, they come out better that way. Send another query letter.

I just need to persist. And lighten the hell up.