Why do you write?

I'm almost done writing six stories in less than two weeks. Five of them weren't particularly difficult of articles, but that last one really called upon my entire being and all my brain cells. That's on top of a full-time job as a magazine editor. I know what you're thinking: Oh, the glamour. Oh, the excitement.
You're half right. I'm naturally curious, so any chance to take on an assignment I'm unfamiliar with, I can't but help but get a shiver of excitement. I was the kid who tried things just for the mere reason to know how they work and consider that itch scratched. I remember one dreadful experiment I conducted without much forethought: What do party streamers do when wet? Do they stay crinkled? How do they come in such brilliant colors? My vessel was a brand-new jewelry box. A gift, I'm sure, from said party. I can't remember exactly my mom's reaction, but the results: wet streamers are bleed their colors since they're dyed, creating a gross, fragile mess and ruining the interior of the jewelry box. Curiosity fulfilled. Hopefully the punishment was to. Also: I was five.
When I wrap up my writing assignments I take time to reflect. It's a really critical process that's best done with a glass of wine, or two. Writing is not for the sensitive of heart. Writing is not for the disorganized. Writing is not for the uninterested. Curiosity has to burn in your soul.
Why do I write? My answer has changed over the phases of my life. I discovered I loved writing my junior year of high school. My prose back then was primarily brilliant moody poetry full of teenage angst. Too bad the literary mags didn't think so. My junior year I received around 15 rejection letters, but I persevered.
In college, I toyed with continuing my literary love and becoming an english major. This was after I royally failed my first class toward becoming a speech pathologist, a career I picked out of the list of majors offered at my school. {I told you, I'm very curious. And by royally failed, I got a C. Ouch.} I hadn't heard of anyone making money with an English degree, so naturally I opted to become a journalist.
Now I write to see what I can do. I write to explore the world around me. Every phone interview is like getting on a plane all by yourself to destination unknown and trying to learn the language from the locals. This year I'm 10 years almost fluent, and sometimes I wonder that I wouldn't make a better scientist. I'd probably burn the lab down. Time for glass number two of vino.

My freelance black hole has Starbucks and a new scarf

I've been sucked down the freelance writing vortex again. The black hole of my social and blogging life. But the black hole does have a Starbucks, which I've been living off of. Have you tried the new caramel flan latte. Sounds gross, but it's pretty good. It's no caramel brûlée latte, which I really enjoyed over the holidays {in the little red cups}. Go give it a try if you want something different. I also decided to accept the Starbucks Via challenge. I bought the vanilla latte flavor. I hated it. Couldn't even stand to take more than three little sips. Jonathan, on the other hand, said he liked it, which was surprising. So I guess he'll be enjoying the three packets I still have left. I'm not sure I'll try the Caffe Mocha flavor, especially when my new make-at-home coffee routine is to use up some hot chocolate packets we received as a Christmas gift. I dump in a packet, add strong coffee, and a touch of milk for my own cafe mocha creation on the cheap.

And because I'm saving so much money making my cafe mochas, I hired a barista for days I can't make it to Starbucks. He has a steep learning curve ahead of him.

To perk myself up I splurged and bought a navy scarf at Target. I love navy. What I like about this scarf is that it has some geometric texture and little navy metallic threads running through it that make it a little bit more surprising than just a plain scarf. I've worn it almost everyday, probably breaking a million fashion rules in the meantime just because it makes me so happy—and motivated. I need motivation like I need coffee right now—all the time. I don't see the scarf on Target's website and I'm not even sure of the brand. 

When I wasn't writing this week, I was constructing snowmen for Vincent. He's obsessed with the snowman series by Caralyn Buehner. I tell people I read them for the art.

 

This has been my week. Three screens all doing different things as I climb my way out of the writing vortex. On the plus side, I'm now schooled on reshoring, which is one of the most likely economic trends in 2014 to grow. Buy American!

 

It was a week for selfies. Really I take these pictures for my sisters who I text all day every day. This was my grandmother's shirt. It's vintage Bill Blass. I don't have a hang of how to wear it yet since the cut isn't anything like the modern cut and fit of today's button-up shirts. I love the sweet delicate floral pattern. It looks so good with my riding boots—almost like I might go riding!

Vincent in his Monster Jammies. Today was jammie day at school and who else but Mike Wazowski would do? Actually Vincent seemed a little disturbed to be taking off one pair of jammies to put on another. I thought I might not be able to convince him to wear them and was even pulling out an outfit when he changed his mind. Oh, to be a toddler. So stressful. I'm glad he decided to wear them since everyone in his class was in jammies, including his teachers. I should have worn jammies.

 

I finally got around to getting a haircut. OK, it was more like a trim, but the new haircut has bangs. I'm trying to play it cool and let them hang in my face like I just don't care. No, actually, I tucked them behind my ear .02 seconds after this picture. Why was I thinking I could handle bangs in my eyes? On the plus side, Jonathan thinks they look good, so there's that.

Maternity leave to-dos

I've been thinking of things to keep me occupied when the baby is napping and I'm looking for something to do. These will probably yeah, right, but it's still fun to think I might do something other than feed, burp, and change poo everyday. A first time mom can dream.

1. Read a couple books. Not sure what yet.
2. Organize the office.
3. Knit, good woman, knit. I want to knit: Chewy a simple garter stitch blanket, cowls, fingerless gloves, and maybe this delicious sweater.
4. Go thrifting.
5. Journal.
6. Blog more. Hopefully not just of the kid.

In need of inspiration

I'm supposed to be writing. And not in this favorite little space of mine. Real writing. For work. By day, I'm a magazine editor for Sound & Video Contractor (SVC), millimeter, and Digital Content Producer. I'll have been at this job for four years in July. In that time, I'm gone from strictly an editor to writing and becoming more involved with SVC's industry. Some days, I really love my job and how far I've come in my position. Some days, I really hate my job and wonder why I even want to write in the first place. I think it comes down to the fact that if I ever want to go to another job, I have something to show for it. Most editing position require that you write, which wasn't something my current job required. Now I know why: It's hard to find the time to write! Which is why I'm writing on my days off, trying to find some motivation and inspiration to write about the video and sound systems at a casino theater. If only I could make money laying around blogging all day. If only.

Burning foot and a nugget of inspiration

MS strikes again. I had felt it coming on. The tingly numb feeling in my right foot started a week ago. I knew what was coming. It was inevitable, because so often with MS, it's slow building, progressing to something worse. Taking its sweet time til suddenly you realize you feel like shit or that something just doesn't feel normal and diminished. Take my last relapse, for example, dizziness turned into to full blown chunks. I couldn't keep anything down for a weekend straight. Of course, it subsided, and once again, I was back to normal. Or as normal as I can be. So I've been waiting for the big nasty MS monster to come trip me up.

Last night, while enjoying Twilight with Amanda and her sister Jill, I felt it: my whole foot went completely numb, as if it didn't belong to my body at all. The movie was enough to distract me, but when I got home, it was a different story. My foot felt as if it was on fire, just burning away. If you've ever come in from the freezing cold and put your hands or feet in hot water, and you've felt a tight burning sensation as if your nerves are being exposed too quickly. This is similar to what my foot feels like. So tomorrow I'm taking yet another jaunt to the neurologist to see what she can do, because it's hard to concentrate and sleep when you feel as if your foot is on a pyre.

By some stroke of luck, flames aside, writing inspiration has struck. I've been waiting, with plenty of false starts, music-jamming brainstorm sessions, and blank-screen staring, patiently for some trickle of something to write about. Who knows if my latest idea will pan out, but if not, I'm hoping it will just lead to something better. A New York Times best-seller perhaps.

I just scared myself

It's crazy, I know, but I finally think I want to do something my mom, my aunt, and everyone in between said I should do: write a book. I know, crazy, right? Stupid, moronic, degrading, and egostical of me.

Two quotes are sticking with me as I venture out on a very short, thin limb:

"You’ve got to walk up to the edge of the cliff, jump off, and build your wings on the way down.”—Ray Bradbury

and

“I want to scare myself.”—Harry McCracken

Call me a masochist.