The Month Mark

Happy Monthiversary!

Honestly, I cannot think for the life of me how you could spell that. It's not a real word anyway, no matter how many over-attached girlfriends use it in Facebook. But I have managed to make it one month. No soda, a lot of editing (recently started a handwritten fantasy epic that has made me realize how many colloquialisms use modern technological references) and 3 books read so far. I have started my murder mystery, a dry wit filled book with multiple instances of 4th wall breaking written by the creator of Winnie the Pooh.

I pause to look back on one month of doing things. It takes till the 25th sit up for my abs to start feeling it and the 75th jumping jack before I start to feel truly winded. Come warmer weather I may even start running. But that's for a future Margaret who doesn't mind things jiggling in public. Driving is also a warmer weather activity that poor future Margaret will not be enjoying.

The biggest downfall coming up will be chocolate. As I am currently dating myself I may feel the pressure of buy myself chocolate to celebrate such a long lasting relationship. Including the wickedly delicious German chocolate brownies my father just had to tempt me with, I may need to be wary of my sugar intake. 

The boredom has not lessened all that much. There have been some plans with friends, including a rather fun road trip to see Star Wars in IMAX coming up (I would watch the first 6 first...but the internet already clued me in to the major plot points) and the writing. Pit rehearsals for the musical have begun, meaning I have another 6 hours a week I'm actually doing something. I was pleasantly surprised that I could fall into switching from bass to treble clef so quickly, so all green lights on that front (see what I mean about colloquialisms?) 

Here's hoping for the next "monthiversary" I will have a decent work shift and begin seeing actual differences in my physicality. Or it'll be as boring and unimpressive as any other monthiversary. I never presume to tell the future.   

If I may be permitted a digression...

The hardest challenge

...for an 11 year old to a 14 year old is admitting they still like the same silly things from their childhoods. But the hardest challenge for a twenty-something is admitting we're not the best at what we love. While the internet is filled with "adulting is hard!" posts (although this woman has a savings accounts, professional email address and regularly gets up before 9 am, thank you very much) mentally, we still have the teenage aspect of feeling like we're at the top of our game. We'll give the 30 somethings and up props for managing parenthood and bill-paying. But admitting that we're not excelling in our new job or shooting to the heights of our chosen path at breakneck speed is not our strong suit. 

Tonight, I have finally broken down and began looking at those "how to become a better writer" blogs. It can be difficult to find the better ones, as they can range from the vague "you can do it!" encouragements that give little to no actual advice to the strict "do it my way or you're no real writer" set. And true, published authors tend to have more validation in the field. But let's keep in mind that Madeleine L'Engle had to take "A Wrinkle in Time" to no less than 26 publishers before it was finally put on the shelves, where as E.L. James of "50 Shades of Gray" fame did not struggle nearly as much. Nearly every bookworm and writer alike will agree on which is the better piece of literature out of the two. 

I have also realized that amateur writers are, in general, assholes. In a field that's inherently subjective and filled with people trying to validate their own intelligence by the level of novel they read or write, you're not truly good until you're better than someone else. There is always that one writer that holds their work to be the masterpiece of their genre or knows the secret way to write the perfect story. I've often had my story summaries put down as "too formulaic". For some reason, length is always included in this assessment. But I would like to point out that Stephanie Meyer's "Twilight" had nearly 500 pages while Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" had less than 150. Ruminate on that.

Growing up, I was more or less recognized as the writer of my family. Other family members may indulge in the hobby, but I was always the one getting all of the journals for Christmas or pictures of t-shirts with the phrase "anything you say can and will be used in my next book" posted on their Facebook page. For most of my years as a minor, I didn't have a giant set of writer friends. Truth be told, I didn't really seek them out. To this day, my only true "writing person" is my friend Stephanie...who has told me that I am the only writing friend she can stand to talk to on the subject as "writers are dicks". 

Now I'm not bragging when I say I'm adept at writing. By the time I was 12, I could write a death scene capable of making my older sister cry. (Yes, Esther, I know he was only 4 years old. But if the heir to the throne didn't die of the plague there would have been no struggle for royal succession) I can make witty statements that make people laugh aloud while their reading and create realistic characters, one of which I had been told was the perfect "lovable douchebag". And this is not without effort. I have been writing poetry since I was 8 or 9 and stories since I was 10 or 11. Admitting that I may need help in the craft I have dedicated literally a decade of my life to is not an admission I make easily. I will say I felt relieved when I read over "common writing mistakes" and realized that those mistakes I did make I was already aware of and working on.

The point of my long rambling post is this: humility is key. It's never really mentioned as a key to success, but it's essential. No one wants to congratulate you on your success when your attitude makes them wish you'd never succeeded in the first place. And no one ever betters themselves by stalwartly refuses to believe there is anything they're not the top in. I'm not writing the next great American novel at 22 years old, I accept that. But knowing that now means I know what to do to shoot for a spot on NYT's bestseller list before 35.  

  

[Insert Limbo Joke Here]

I AM...

...an active person. Not in exercise, obviously, but I like going out and doing things. I'm that weird kid that looks forward to the beginning of the school year because I've been bored since July. So with the still pared back hours at work (and an exorbitant amount of no-call, no-shows, for some reason) and no classes, I am bored out of my mind. The laptop that I used to dream about getting back to when I was at work or class is holding less and less fun for me now. I have gone entire days without leaving the house once (I would try to go swinging more often, but the painfully cold weather is a bit of a drawback). There's no easy way to make plans with friends, because they're all off with busy schedules of school and work. 

I have been keeping up with everything (with one or two days missed in the workout when there was an earlier work shift) but there's not quite the same sense of accomplishment as when I first started. It's become part of the routine to do various things. I sent the revised story to half a dozen people and have not received one comment or bit of feedback. The roads are still ice covered, which makes learning to drive not really an option at this point. It's still too early in the workout, no-soda healthier lifestyle for any noticeable changes. 

Before anyone hops on to comment "keep going!" I'm not on the verge of stopping or slowing down. If I thought these things could be accomplished in a month, I wouldn't have made them as resolutions for the entire year. I'm just annoyed to be in earthly limbo, sort of just existing while I wait for things to happen. I'm not a "Netflix and chill" person. I'm not a "let's hang out" kind of person. I am a "let's take 3 right turns, 2 left turns, then 3 more right turns and see where we end up for the fun of it" person. I want a reason to get out of bed earlier. I want to see more than the inside of my house and place of employment. I want memories to write in my journal and stories to tell my grandchildren. And "I once spent a month binge watching Netflix" does not a good grandmotherly story make.

WARNING: LAZINESS APPROACHETH

Can You Feel It? 

It's coming. It's that time of January. The moment when the dedication begins to waver and the laziness and apathy sets in. It's the "do I REALLY need to do the workout today?" or "what would one soda hurt, I mean really?" It's either the beginning of the end or the moment you start pushing back. 

I will admit to not doing the complete workout some days (an unfortunate side effect of waking up with severe acid reflux) but I haven't given up on that yet. Still haven't touched soda, for which I am grateful. The story is currently in the hands of a variety of editing friends and family. Admittedly, I haven't done much reading (the author of the book I chose to do next was the first book of an academic and it shows). 

In order to make sure I don't slow down, I'm going to try a couple different tactics. Firstly, imagination. Imagining that moment when I can buy a pair of pants one size smaller. Or my reaction when I receive that magical email saying the agent loved my book and I'm going to be published. Or jamming out in a car by myself as I drive down the highway. Or casually saying in conversation "Les Mis really is better in the original French". (Learning French may not be one of my official resolutions, but really how awesome would it be to say that and mean it?) 

The second trick I'm trying are deadlines. I gave myself the deadline to reread and edit the entire story in 5 days by taking around 25 pages a day and that worked out well. The next step would be to format the story for a novel (the snobbish writing sites all say that Microsoft Word is horrible for it, but not everyone can afford some weird, little known software so pbth) and get to reading. 

Thirdly/Lastly, my trick is to put things in my daily schedule. For example, I do the workouts first thing in the morning before I do anything else (followed by a showed for obvious reasons). But I also need to get in the habit of reading for an hour or so (maybe less when my work hours are increased) to stay on top of the reading challenge. 

More than anything, the trick is to fight the apathy. I didn't get my degree (oh, did I mention I have my degree now?) through apathy. I don't keep my job through apathy. And I'm not going to accomplish anything else through it either. Relient K was right: apathy's a pathetic way to be. 

Margaret's Laws

I have discovered the trick...

...to being productive all day. And the trick is to be productive the minute you get up. Now I know that sounds stupidly simple, or even redundant, but hear me out. As opposed to a lazy morning, wherein I tell myself I'll do the things I need to do after lunch, I start right away in the morning. So rather than having spent the morning doing nothing, by lunch I've already done my workout, gotten a shower, and put away the laundry. Then at lunch comes a break and by the time an hour's gone by I'm already antsy to get up and do more stuff, hence why my room was clean, vacuumed, with windows washed (on the inside, I'm not in the mood to hang outside the house) by 2 pm. 

Whilst dwelling on the doings of the day, I have come up with a theory that I call "Margaret's Laws of Productivity".

Law 1:  The greatest obstacle to being productive is beginning. 

Law 2: Once productive habits begin, they are easier to continue 

Law 3: Leisurely activities become sweeter when performed after productive activities

I'm not quite sure why the third law is. Perhaps it's the comparison of busy and working versus not that makes doing nothing of importance feel that much nicer. Or it's the feeling of justification, like you feel you've earned the right to browse the web for an hour because you spent the last two cleaning your house. Either way, my laptop never looks nicer than it does after an 8 hour shift. 

So my advice, to anyone that cares to read it, would be to never let yourself pause for too long. Monday's only difficult because Sunday was so easy. And getting up early only becomes harder when you've been sleeping in late. A day or two of rest is nice, but there's a reason muscles atrophy when they're not in use. If you've started it, keep at it. Keeping it up now will be easier than starting it again later.

Hellish Torture, Valentines Day, and Other Synonyms

Everyone reaches that point...

..in the workout cycle. A decent amount of time has passed between the beginning and now. You've become accustomed to feeling sore. You rejoice how you feel a little less sore every time you do that last sit up or push up. A minute planking is now slightly less of a hellish torture designed to make you question your life choices. And while you know in your head that it's still too soon for any noticeable, visible change, you have to make sure to look in the mirror often...just in case. 

But the beauty of having multiple resolutions is I always have something to work on when I don't feel like I'm progressing enough in one. For example, I've already completed one of the books for the reading challenge (Ms. Austen, huge fan of your work, but I would have vastly preferred a word by word account of Henry Tilney's proclamation of love than a vague overview). My little time travel story has been fully edited once over (now I have only to do that like 5 more times before I'm satisfied). And not a drop of soda has passed my lips yet, which makes this about the longest I've gone without soda since I was first introduced to it. On a sidenote, did you know KoolAid made drink flavors without sugar, calories, or aspartame? It's beautiful. 

I will admit a bit of fear as everyone else is getting on with their new years resolutions. I've never really had one before, at least not when I was so dedicated to, so I don't know what it'll be like trying to hang on to them when other people start ditching theirs. Our culture seems to ingrain a fear of rising above the crowd. Mentions of beauty are met with a shrug, if not a loud "no, I'm not". To have high grades is to be the teacher's pet. And in everything, to laud your own accomplishments is to be arrogant. I can remember being a senior in highschool, listening to everyone discuss how "bullshit" the ACT was, talking about their "stupid" 22s or 23s. And I was sitting there awkwardly, keeping my 28 to myself. Why? Because by 17 I'd already learned that it was social suicide to admit being smarter than your friends.

But why can't we have our little London Tipton "yay me!!" moments? Why can't we clap our hands like 5 year olds and grin when we've done something well? Why can't we look in the mirror and think "bitch, I'm fabulous"?  Just because I am 22 does not mean that I do not want my goddamn gold stars (which, at the moment, come in the forms of trumpet sounds in the Duolingo language app). If you are really working toward something and you achieve it, you should be allowed a "go me!" moment. We can't focus on being so comforting to people failing that we convince others they should never try to succeed.

And I will keep telling myself that, when I'm one of the few people still talking about their resolutions after Valentines Day.   

2016

The First of the Year Has Arrived

And my abdomen despises me. Also, if I may warn you, dear reader, that I have begun my reading challenge with a beloved Jane Austen novel. It is a universal truth widely acknowledged that when Margaret begins reading one of her Regency era idol's works, she begins to take on the tenor of the text. While Catherine may be navigating the foibles of the unappealing gentleman Mr. Thorpe, Margaret will be struggling to remember what century she is in. And I ask, kind reader, that you grant me this eccentricity. 

Today there was not much working out to be done beyond swinging. Anyone who knows me will understand that I am unmarried and have little to no experience in partners dancing. But the swinging I refer to is literally on a swingset. Like I am 5. Because in my heart, I am. It's fairly active, judging by the way my already sore muscles were protesting even further and a little part of me felt like sitting down and never getting up again. Plus trudging through the snow piled on the playground was a workout in itself. Beyond that I found some yoga poses online that can alleviate soreness in your torso (turns out the activity has more to offer than just attractively tight pants) so I can go back to crunches and pushups tomorrow. May Zeus bless me with a better sports bra by then. 

I will admit some longing for soda today. I shouldn't be lamenting the lack of variety in the drink flavors I found, as I only drank one kind of soda primarily. Although in my defense, it has 23 flavors in it. But I pushed away the temptation for another day. 

I also kept up with the editing today and I realized I struggle with one major continuity error: character descriptions. At one point the horny villainess was platinum blonde when the rest of the story she's written to be a "raven-haired beauty". And apparently I don't believe in telling the reader the color of characters' eyes so I never remember what color I originally intended.  This is why I have "THE BINDER OF LITERARY AWESOMENESS" (bought at Target and decorated by yours truly) to keep these sorts of notes in. I'm just all kinds of organized. 

*hold for laughter* 

In the end, I am looking forward to this new year. Unlike the hashtag that I so stalwartly defended in the last post, I don't intend on being a "new me". But I will be a better one.