This is the Part Where I Annoyingly Feel Sorry for Myself
Haven't mentioned this yet, but congratulations to all of you who made it through NaNoWriMo and have your nice shiny winner badges up. You'll notice I don't have one. That's because NaNo didn't offer up any GINORMOUS LOSER badges.
I've had fun inspiring others to write. More than fun. It makes me happy to know that I blundered into creating a little corner of the internets where Word-Nerds can come together. But I've really got to start being my own best cheerleader and coach and task-master because I let everything else get in the way of my writing. Work, kids, house, errands, other people...and I don't have enough hours in the day for those things as it is.
Also, it should be said that I "write" all the time. It's part of my job and my independent work. And sometimes I wonder if my personal writing voice is just getting buried under all the writing I do for work? Because I used to write all the time for me, even if it was just in my head. I often needed to write because otherwise the words would just clank around in my brain and keep me up all night. Now, at the end of the day, there's barely a whisper up there, and I'm too exhausted to try to make anything of it. Writing suddenly feels like work.
Anyway, I don't really have a point. I just wanted to say "YAY YOU", and "BOO ME". There, done.
I knew as soon as I read it that my pick this week would be Innocents and Accidents' piece, and I suppose now that I think about it...does seem awfully similar to how I'm feeling about my writing.
It's Not About the Anchovies
"Why are you getting so mad about anchovies?," he asked. He was watching a basketball game, tall men in white trying to defend a metal rim against other tall men wearing green.
"It's not about the anchovies, Steven," she said. It was about being ignored. Being slighted. Having your needs come last, if at all. It was about having another baby because you needed a boy. It was about your career ruined so that his could soar, it was about your dreams allowed to die like worms on the sidewalk.
"It's not about the anchovies," she repeated softly.
Despite whatever unconscious associations drew me to this piece, I think we can all agree that Michael nailed the imbalanced relationship dynamic.
New word. Again from Hemingway's The Garden of Eden, because yes I'm still reading it even though it's a short book. I make it through 3, maybe 4 paragraphs a night before falling into a exhausted coma. Is that the second time I said "exhausted" in one post? I need a vacation, obviously.
Chapter 10, last paragraph:
In the night he woke and heard the wind high and wild and turned and pulled the sheet over his shoulder and shut his eyes again. He felt her breathing and shut his eyes again. He felt her breathing softly and regularly and then he went back to sleep.