1. I began two other posts. One was about my last A1c (5.4, which could be better than yours!) and the other one was about Kurt Vonnegut. But I’m going to write this post instead, dammit. I started writing a story about 15 months ago. I let it freak me out a little for a while because there were some eerie parallels to my life that weren’t predictable. I started admitting it was probably a novel about 7 months ago. Since then I’ve been building it up and tearing it down. I like to think the current version, which has been knocking around for the last couple of weeks, is the keeper. It doesn’t feel like a moving target anymore, which is huge. Current word count: about 4500. Total words in service to this: I don’t want to think about it. I really don’t. It’s a lot.

2. I’m not writing a novel because I think I should write a novel or because someone else thinks I should write a novel or because novels sell better or because I’m at a certain point of professional whatever. I never do anything because it’s good for me, or because I ought to do it. I do things because they keep me from feeling like crap. Not having a project makes me feel like crap. I’m writing a novel because that is what in my head, and nothing else has come along that has made me want to set it aside.

3. I wrote almost nothing but flash and short stories for almost ten years. There are many reasons for that. Parenthood is one of the easy blames. So is being a product of the music video era. As I’ve said endlessly, I think in units that are like songs. I hear songs, and I want what I write to do what they do. One example: Yes, we all hate Coldplay, but someday, I want to write something that does what this song (not this video, close your eyes) does at 2:33. For a while, I listened to the thirty seconds before and after obsessively. It’s not fun, hiding an obsession with Coldplay.

Another example: The “ewww” at 1:52 in this video (which you can watch):

I am discovering that thinking like this for a novel is…problematic. I refuse to believe it’s impossible to put it into service for a novel. But I am definitely starting to realize I have to cut it off sometimes, and that is so much more difficult than I thought it would be.

4. The other day, I was reading a chapter in a novel. The chapter was in third person. For the first time since I started mine, I thought “Hey, what if you tried writing in third person?” So I did. And everything worked so much better. This is where I remind you I have one of those MFAs everyone gets worked up about. It seriously is a miracle that I don’t drown in the shower.

5. I love getting to stay in one world, with one group of people, none of whom are me, for a long time. I think about them constantly. I think about where they go, what they do, what they wish for, what they regret. Everything, all of it. That took a lot of effort, getting to that place. The part that I didn’t see coming: I’ve walked away from the real world a little bit. One of the things I have always loved about the flash fiction community is that in some ways, it provides ongoing dialogue. I’m not doing as much in it right now, and I can’t. Sometimes, that makes this trip stupid-lonely. Still haven’t figured out what in the hell to do about that. Any suggestions?

I realize it’s not the most efficient use of Pinterest, but I pin things I liked reading. Sometimes I want to pin things and Pinterest can’t find a graphic, so I can’t pin them. It sucks when that happens. For non-online reading, I use Goodreads. Just realized I’ve got nothing under ‘Currently Reading’ right now. That will change very soon.

“I understand that cancer is terrifying, and that we lean on this battle metaphor as a way of telling ourselves that if we get it, we can survive if only we “fight” hard enough.  Which is total self-serving delusional bullshit that is incredibly disrespectful to the people who die of this awful disease.”

“No, no.  We hunt for our food, or fight to the death and one of us eats the other.  That’s the natural way.“

“That’s how adolescence works. It’s a place of tremendous pain and recklessness, a place where you have to pretend not to care about anyone or anything too much because to do so would release the chaos of your actual self into the world.”

I think it’s a good idea sometimes to say, “This thing we do, it’s pretty great and we’re pretty lucky to be able to do it.” Because it is. And we are.

“Because of the result of the Ginsberg-Whitman match, the Kafka-Hemingway match becomes the championship bout.”

“One more and we might just have a niche on our hands.”

“I was excited, obviously, and I was anxious, but mostly I was cocky and I was delusional.”

“Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row.”

“It is wise to begin planning several months before the day of the parade.”

“If you literally HAVE to write, you can’t be a pro.” (scroll down to comments)

“So of course, when I inquired about them, I asked the sales associate where we could find the “Mandels…uh, sorry, I mean the Man Candles.”

And finally: I’m totally making this (though probably with a flaxseed pita) sometime soon.

So the other day I was in the car and I was thinking about both of my jobs and some errands and coffee and what the future is likely to hold for my family, stuff like that. But under all of that I was thinking about The Project, and how I knew there was a hole in it.  And all I wanted to hear was Iggy Pop, because I knew there was an answer in there somewhere, and fortunately I keep my iPod in my car for that very reason.

The answer came right here:

Lots of writers put together elaborate playlists for their stories, or even for their characters. I don’t. I fumble from place to place in my work, looking for the next piece of music that’s going to help me out somehow. The next clue. My writer-playlists are nothing but old, current and future clues.

I’m making this sound a lot better than it actually is. When people ask for music recommendations, I cringe. I want to tell them a song because I just spent a lot of time listening to it and it helped me out. But I know what music recommendation requests usually are. Show me something cool.

When I’m writing, I’m not looking for cool. I’m looking for help, and I want it fast. Sometimes I get lucky, and it’s cool. But most of the time, I don’t get lucky.

I’m writing about two people who are in real danger of becoming agoraphobic. I have to write about how they got there, but I also have to make sure they get out. None of us would ever be called an Enrique Iglesias fan. But there he is, saving the day.

One character isn’t sure how to treat someone else. It’s really awkward. Hey, you know who was very good at awkward?

And sometimes, you just have to turn a corner.

Often I hear songs, and I think: I want to write a story that is like that song. Not about the song’s lyrics. I want to create the mood, the atmosphere. This, too, is rarely about cool. Sigh.

Most of the time, it’s just the songs. But this is my go-to video for when I’m taking things too seriously. It is important to note that there is a 20 minute version, and I have had to use it.

A Letter to My Parents’ Health Insurance.

Something about being a hybrid writer, after years of realism.

The culture of answering stupid questions.

A note to the MFA prof who inadvertently coined this blog’s tagline.

Caryn Rose and Tod Goldberg on Adam Yauch.

Dune fanfiction.

“Am I a writer?”

A list of all the stuff I wish I was good at. #1: Singing. (Related: Songs for Sinead O’Connor. I’m not a songwriter at all, but maybe I could pull that off?)

Publishing explained, using Star Wars figures.

Endless comments below totally random articles in the online version of my local newspaper. But really, who doesn’t?

On Pregnancy and Privacy and Fear.

A recreation of a long thing I wrote, and subsequently lost, about why I can’t stand Jason Mraz that’s really about why I still can’t stand someone I haven’t spoken to in 24 years. (When Jason Mraz was 10, apparently.)

Myfanwy Collins on Steve Himmer’s The Bee-Loud Glade.

Did I mention Dune fanfiction?

Amber Sparks’ May We Shed These Human Bodies is available for preorder.

One or two of the five or six postapocalyptic dystopian novels I have started and abandoned.

How to Introduce an Author. Slightly related: In Real Life.

Sales letters.

The MFA Sweet Sixteen!

Adaptations of The Firm and Jude the Obscure.

What do the red lines on the Marriott ballpoint pen mean?

Some of Brian Kiteley’s writing exercises.

Scott Wrobel interview.

Poetry, because for years I have envied poets who write amazing prose. There HAS to be a way to reverse engineer that whole thing.

And finally, another one: Lack toast and tolerant.

It’s that time of year again!

Flash fiction doesn’t have to be an unfinished story, a poem in paragraph form, a joke with a punchline, a stunt, or a gimmick. I love how the w50 proves this without a shadow of doubt, year after year.

Obviously, this is by no means a complete list. Links will take you directly to evidence.

Karl Urban
Karl was Eomer in LOTR, McCoy in Star Trek, and Caesar in Xena. Xena! There is no way in hell he was going to not make this list. (Also: No official website? Really?)

Gillian Anderson
I think we’re all over David Duchovny at this point. Gillian seems extremely cool and takes the whole X-Files thing in good stride, and is insanely beautiful. You’re just mad you didn’t think of her first.

Ronald D. Moore
Ron’s got a whole A Little Pretentious But Still Slightly Scruffy thing going on that I appreciate. And then there’s the creative output. Cylons can get annoying, but the Battlestar Galactica episode “Unfinished Business” is so heartbreaking that I still get teary even though I’ve seen it a ton of times. Judging from that website, Ron’s HTML skills are…eh. But if he can cook and write some new episodes of Caprica, we’re fine.

James Hetfield, circa Garage, Inc.
I’m getting too old for the younger versions, and anything after Garage, Inc. is just kinda…no, thanks. But that small window…yes.

Kelendria Rowland
I like Kelly. No constant scrutiny from the rest of the world, no heavy burden of raising the pop culture Kwisatz Haderach. She does her thing and has a good time. I’m tempted to put David Guetta in the same cage because they work well together, but he strikes me as a pretty crafty guy who’d free everyone within a day or two.

Tom Hardy
When I saw Tom in that first little scene in Inception, I forgot all about how we were sitting in the front row because all of the other seats were full, and that my neck really hurt. I thought “That guy looks shorter than Tom Cruise, and it doesn’t bother me.” I thought “I am not usually that big on guys being sweaty but he looks a little sweaty here and I’m okay with that.” After I went home, I looked him up online and watched him interviewed in some British TV clips and I thought “I can’t usually sit through celebrity interviews without getting twitchy, but I’m fine with this.” If they made a Tom Hardy GPS voice, I’d buy the hell out of it and get lost all the time anyway.

And really…watch the man cry. With a dog. (If you write about this video for The Northville Review’s summer issue, I will love you forever.)

Tomorrow, in 2011.

1. Just to confirm: Unlike Colton Burpo and several of my near-death experiencing family members, I had no visions at any point in the whole adventure. I know when my appendix blew up, and I was watching Judge Judy.

2. The final bill for everything came to about $60,000. The rest of my life, however long that ends up being, has a price tag.

3. I did not pick up most of the tab. I can’t go into why because that is not really my story to tell, but there was some true karmic justice in how that all played out.

4. My incision scar is now about 7″. Parts of it are a white hairline, parts are still red and deep. Every once in a while, I get a weird little twinge along the line. My abscess drainage scars — I have two of them, below the incision — are about the size of dimes. They’re shadows, more than anything.

5. There’s at least one person who I’m fairly sure thinks I really just had gastric bypass surgery.

6. I didn’t get serenity. Things like traffic and 11 items in the express lane still piss me off just fine.

7. I have now heard many freaky appendicitis stories. I’m glad I don’t have an appendix anymore because now I’d be running to the ER every time anything happened in that general area of my body.

8. Number of health care professionals who have shrieked at me YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE! YOU ALMOST DIED! in the course of a routine exam (so far): 1

9. Things I would not have done if I’d died last year: Read a lot of books, taught some great students, watched beyond about the fifth episode of Game of Thrones, started a novel, told my daughter about the Socially Awkward Penguin meme and watched her write a few, fallen in love a few million times over.

10. I had always imagined that death would be like what CS Lewis describes in The Screwtape Letters. There would be pain, and I’d push through the pain to find truths I knew all along on the other side. Now, when I imagine death, I remember that operating room that looked more like a basement workshop. I remember that no one said I should say goodbye, but no one was meeting me in the eye, either. I remember the eyeblink going under. And I imagine death as a lot more like life now. That is comforting. It’s also terrifying. But all I can really do about any of it is be here, until I’m not.

Cul de Sac, Scott Wrobel.

Cliff Garstang on Junot Diaz’s “Miss Lora.”

Magic Hours, Tom Bissell.

Mensah Demary on the Pulitzer.

Grease Stains, Kismet, and Eternal Wisdom, Mel Bosworth. 

David Rees, the Proust of pencil sharpeners.

The Weather Stations, Ryan Call.

When people leave (and return) to Connecticut.

NowTrends, Karl Taro Greenfield.

Tom Bissell, part 1.

Threats, Amelia Gray. 

Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.

Ten Thousand Saints, Eleanor Henderson. 

I love literary roundups.

A couple of 30 year old movie magazines with The Empire Strikes Back in them SHUT UP

And finally: WANT.

I have an essay in The Rumpus today about being a type 2 diabetic who is conflicted about Paula Deen.

As always when I have something new out there in the world, here are some fun facts:

• I don’t write about myself very often. Apparently I have to get really pissed off in order to do that.
• I’ve lost about fifty pounds since my diagnosis. I didn’t mention it in the essay because that wasn’t the point.
• I try not to get evangelical. One thing I have learned from all of this is that there is no one right way for everyone.
• For a fuller Erin Is A Diabetic Experience, you can also read this story at FRiGG.

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