So far, I'm really digging NaNoWriMo. I've written just over 9,500 words of my novel as of last night, and it's coming together. Albeit slowly. I wouldn't go far as to say that I like my work, because it's not my best writing, but it'll get there. I mean, I have plenty of time to improve -- 40,500 words more. Um, cool. My heroine, who is partly autobiographical, is pretty awesome (much like me, right?), and the other characters are significantly less developed at this point but I hope to make them equally awesome. I still need a lovable geek, though.
What I'm loving most about this whole NaNoWriMo experience so far is making time for myself and doing something that I love to do. Thanks to the influence of my mother, I generally like to handle things myself -- I volunteer to do a lot for other people, or I take on a project or chore that someone else could just as easily do and get annoyed if someone else says they will handle it. Because my name is Ashley and I am an overly accommodating person. But, this month, I have an excuse not to volunteer to clean the bathroom and I'm using it. And I'm enjoying it. I'm taking a step back and focusing on something I really care about, something that fulfills me. I'm actually pretty proud of myself.
But, I am writing Chick Lit. Geez.
But, there's still a long way to go -- 20 days left to write 40,500 words (at least), and finish this damn thing. Then, I win! I am a novelist! So leave me encouraging comments!!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Man, I feel like a woman
I was always wondering when this time would come... the time when I finally stopped feeling like a woman-in-training and started to feel like an actual woman. The answer to my question was, apparently, 27 and 3/4 years old.
While, legally, I've been a woman and not a girl since I was 18-ish, I never felt like one. Not in college. Not when I lost my virginity. Not when I moved into my first apartment. Not when I made my first solo grocery shopping trip. It happened just a few months ago on, like, a Wednesday.
When I bought fall clothes this year, I really thought about what I was buying -- what outfits could I piece together. An outfit? Huh? What's that? I thank mostly Rachel for that influence. Step one into feeling like a woman. I've found a style and I'm sticking with it; its urban chic-ish meets comfort meets flattering for curvy girls? In any case, it feels like me. I'm over buying one or two pieces of clothing each season because its trendy, and then letting them sit in my closet because they're not comfortable nor really me. So, style goes in the win column.
I've also started to notice my womanhood in the way that I walk. I've developed a bit of a hip-booty sway, and I stand a bit taller (even at 5'2"). The best part is that it happened naturally, not like when I had a crush on this girl I used to work with and I tried to emulate her walk. That didn't really last.
Thirdly (but not finally), its in my attitude. I feel more confident in my body and in my mind. I have a strong sense of what I like about me and in others. And, more importantly, I'm working on ridding my life of what isn't positive for me, whether that be a friendship, a DVD or a hobby.
Roar!
While, legally, I've been a woman and not a girl since I was 18-ish, I never felt like one. Not in college. Not when I lost my virginity. Not when I moved into my first apartment. Not when I made my first solo grocery shopping trip. It happened just a few months ago on, like, a Wednesday.
When I bought fall clothes this year, I really thought about what I was buying -- what outfits could I piece together. An outfit? Huh? What's that? I thank mostly Rachel for that influence. Step one into feeling like a woman. I've found a style and I'm sticking with it; its urban chic-ish meets comfort meets flattering for curvy girls? In any case, it feels like me. I'm over buying one or two pieces of clothing each season because its trendy, and then letting them sit in my closet because they're not comfortable nor really me. So, style goes in the win column.
I've also started to notice my womanhood in the way that I walk. I've developed a bit of a hip-booty sway, and I stand a bit taller (even at 5'2"). The best part is that it happened naturally, not like when I had a crush on this girl I used to work with and I tried to emulate her walk. That didn't really last.
Thirdly (but not finally), its in my attitude. I feel more confident in my body and in my mind. I have a strong sense of what I like about me and in others. And, more importantly, I'm working on ridding my life of what isn't positive for me, whether that be a friendship, a DVD or a hobby.
Roar!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
NaNoWriMo
Twice in two days?! Say, whaaa?
Thanks to some encouragement from first Lauren, and then Rachel, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. It begins tomorrow and runs through November, and at the end of what is certain to be the longest damn month of my life, I will have a completed first draft of my very first 50,000 word/175-ish page novel. And I will be known as Your Literary Highness and you will bow to me. And there's a button! I get a button! It says NOVELIST on it and I will wear it. It will be a good time for all. You can check up on my progress here.
Aside from not having a plot decision yet, I'm pretty jazzed about this whole thing. Rachel bought me a book/kit called No Plot? No Problem! and I'll be finishing that this evening, with, hopefully, a plot. And, at the end, a book. A book that I've been claiming to want to write for, oh, I don't know, ever? I will make this happen! The Great American Novel will rise from my soul and flow onto the MacBook screen. That's how I envision this next month going.
Ahem.
Sadly, this will probably not be the case, right? Because I will have about 1,667 words to write a day. And there's, you know, the internet and TV and DVDs and finished novels by legitimate writers to distract me.
The biggest obstacle I face in this next month, other than making time to write, is stopping myself from editing as I write. I take that back, my biggest obstacle is finishing. Then self-editing. But they say that's what December is for. That, and my birthday, of course.
Stay tuned!
Thanks to some encouragement from first Lauren, and then Rachel, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. It begins tomorrow and runs through November, and at the end of what is certain to be the longest damn month of my life, I will have a completed first draft of my very first 50,000 word/175-ish page novel. And I will be known as Your Literary Highness and you will bow to me. And there's a button! I get a button! It says NOVELIST on it and I will wear it. It will be a good time for all. You can check up on my progress here.
Aside from not having a plot decision yet, I'm pretty jazzed about this whole thing. Rachel bought me a book/kit called No Plot? No Problem! and I'll be finishing that this evening, with, hopefully, a plot. And, at the end, a book. A book that I've been claiming to want to write for, oh, I don't know, ever? I will make this happen! The Great American Novel will rise from my soul and flow onto the MacBook screen. That's how I envision this next month going.
Ahem.
Sadly, this will probably not be the case, right? Because I will have about 1,667 words to write a day. And there's, you know, the internet and TV and DVDs and finished novels by legitimate writers to distract me.
The biggest obstacle I face in this next month, other than making time to write, is stopping myself from editing as I write. I take that back, my biggest obstacle is finishing. Then self-editing. But they say that's what December is for. That, and my birthday, of course.
Stay tuned!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Baby Talk
I'm back. There's that.
A few weeks ago, Rachel received the fabulous news that she is soon to be an aunt. I was over the moon for her and her brother and sister-in-law. And for me, too. Because, I don't know if you know this, but I really love babies. They're cute and squishy and you can mold them to like cool music. I want one, too.
Earlier this week, Rachel and I visited the expectant parents in Orlando. Our first vacation together, complete with much MUCH (too much?) discussion of babies. Naturally, of the baby due into her family in April, but also of a now-fictional child born to myself and my girlfriend. Had we discussed a family? Who would carry the baby? Would we adopt? Would we decorate the nursery in green or yellow?
It's certainly not that I hadn't thought about this on my own. I have often. Having and raising a child is high on my list of priorities in the next few years, as it has been for a few now. But talking about it - out loud - with other people - made it real. I may make the choice to have a child with another woman (albeit with some help). Because, for me it would be a choice. I go back and forth between feeling lucky that I do feel like I have a choice and feeling burdened that I can make such a choice. I am also grateful that I am open to exploring what is best for me. I could have gone about my heterosexual life and probably have been happy enough, but I made a choice to look deeper at myself and what I wanted in my life. Or, perhaps more accurately, who I wanted in my life. I'm equally grateful to have a relatively supportive core family who has not judged me for the choices I've made over the last year. I'm not really sure how my extended family feels, though, mostly because I haven't heard from them. Facebook outted me and it seems to have ended there (although, probably not for the questions my mother has to answer).
Anyway... I'm well-into prime baby-making age, and I have a choice. Today, I am in love with a beautiful, smart, caring woman who loves me, too. That's pretty cool. To raise a child with her, could be, I'm almost certain, a wonderful experience. But, it would, by society's standards, the more challenging path for me, and, potentially, for the child.
Wanda Sykes and her wife just had twins, you know.
Funny, but the 'what do I want' has never changed. Five years ago I wanted a family (see Hetero-Ashley), and I still do (see Bi-Ashley). Sometimes I just wish getting there was easier.
A few weeks ago, Rachel received the fabulous news that she is soon to be an aunt. I was over the moon for her and her brother and sister-in-law. And for me, too. Because, I don't know if you know this, but I really love babies. They're cute and squishy and you can mold them to like cool music. I want one, too.
Earlier this week, Rachel and I visited the expectant parents in Orlando. Our first vacation together, complete with much MUCH (too much?) discussion of babies. Naturally, of the baby due into her family in April, but also of a now-fictional child born to myself and my girlfriend. Had we discussed a family? Who would carry the baby? Would we adopt? Would we decorate the nursery in green or yellow?
It's certainly not that I hadn't thought about this on my own. I have often. Having and raising a child is high on my list of priorities in the next few years, as it has been for a few now. But talking about it - out loud - with other people - made it real. I may make the choice to have a child with another woman (albeit with some help). Because, for me it would be a choice. I go back and forth between feeling lucky that I do feel like I have a choice and feeling burdened that I can make such a choice. I am also grateful that I am open to exploring what is best for me. I could have gone about my heterosexual life and probably have been happy enough, but I made a choice to look deeper at myself and what I wanted in my life. Or, perhaps more accurately, who I wanted in my life. I'm equally grateful to have a relatively supportive core family who has not judged me for the choices I've made over the last year. I'm not really sure how my extended family feels, though, mostly because I haven't heard from them. Facebook outted me and it seems to have ended there (although, probably not for the questions my mother has to answer).
Anyway... I'm well-into prime baby-making age, and I have a choice. Today, I am in love with a beautiful, smart, caring woman who loves me, too. That's pretty cool. To raise a child with her, could be, I'm almost certain, a wonderful experience. But, it would, by society's standards, the more challenging path for me, and, potentially, for the child.
Wanda Sykes and her wife just had twins, you know.
Funny, but the 'what do I want' has never changed. Five years ago I wanted a family (see Hetero-Ashley), and I still do (see Bi-Ashley). Sometimes I just wish getting there was easier.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Anxious, much?
I could probably sit for hours, staring blankly at my computer screen, waiting for my heart to stop feeling like it will beat out of my chest. I don't, because there's work to be done. Mom blog product requests to reply to. Fact sheets to write. Journalists to be pitched.
Staring at the same screen, I feel like I can't breathe when I open my budget in Excel. The end is always the same, I know. Red number upon red number. Equals negative balance. Even if the only thing that I actually bought for myself this month was a pair of glasses. You know, so I can SEE. Because without I am almost legally blind. I am beyond zero and I have cut my expenses. It doesn't make sense. Very few things do.
This is all before I contemplate curling up in a ball under my desk because the anxiety about where I am in my life hits me like a truck. I'm much closer to 30 than to 20, and where am I with my goals? Do I HAVE goals?
For weeks I've fallen into this same routine of letting my anxiety take over. I let it consume me, but only for a few minutes. On the subway. At my desk. Before I fall asleep. Then I try to steady my breathing and forget that I feel like I've been punched in the chest. Push it away. I have to move on. I'll get by saying an mocking "vom" after every sentence instead.
I'd like pancakes now, please. And an increase in medication.
Staring at the same screen, I feel like I can't breathe when I open my budget in Excel. The end is always the same, I know. Red number upon red number. Equals negative balance. Even if the only thing that I actually bought for myself this month was a pair of glasses. You know, so I can SEE. Because without I am almost legally blind. I am beyond zero and I have cut my expenses. It doesn't make sense. Very few things do.
This is all before I contemplate curling up in a ball under my desk because the anxiety about where I am in my life hits me like a truck. I'm much closer to 30 than to 20, and where am I with my goals? Do I HAVE goals?
For weeks I've fallen into this same routine of letting my anxiety take over. I let it consume me, but only for a few minutes. On the subway. At my desk. Before I fall asleep. Then I try to steady my breathing and forget that I feel like I've been punched in the chest. Push it away. I have to move on. I'll get by saying an mocking "vom" after every sentence instead.
I'd like pancakes now, please. And an increase in medication.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Re-Intro to the WW
Wednesday, August 12, 2009: 3:12pm
I've been on Weight Watchers before. The second time, in early 2008, I lost 25 pounds in just over four months. I was elated. Even more elated that, a year and a half later, I've kept off almost 20 of those pounds.
The first time, we don't talk about. It involved starving myself, while unemployed, and then GAINING a pound the first week. I GAINED WEIGHT BY EATING GRAPES. "Your body is just adjusting to eating less..." Blah, blah, blah. I sobbed on my bed and told my then-boyfriend I was never, ever going back. I did, but it still didn't work for me. Perhaps because I lived down the street from a Coldstone? I don't know.
But now, here I am: still 20 pounds lighter than I was in early 2008, but also still a fat-ass. Contrary to popular belief, once you go les and settle down, you do not have to put on forty pounds eating ice cream in bed while watching chick flicks. I refuse to get too comfortable. Not just for my girlfriend - although I'm certain, even if she wouldn't say it, she would find me sexier minus the gigantic thighs - but for me. I can choose not to be a fat-ass. So I am.
Today marks my second full, no-more-practicing day on the WW. I pee constantly. If you don't want to hear me say things like that, then it's probably best you just pass by this blog. Again, the peeing. So, yes, I spent about one-quarter of my day in the bathroom. And, honestly, our office bathrooms aren't really nice enough to spend so much time there. My rubbermaid water bottle and I will be BFF for the duration of this endeavor.
And, needless to say (but I will anyway), I'm rather hungry. The taco salad I brought for lunch, while only being three points, was filling for about three minutes. Then I moved onto my grapes. Nom nom nom.
About ten minutes ago, I went to the vending machine and bought some pretzels because they seemed like the most reasonable option. And, they probably were. But THREE points?! Gimme a break. I got, like, A pretzel. I know, I know... must plan ahead. Must drink more water (and pee more).
I'd like my gigantic plate of pasta now, please!
I've been on Weight Watchers before. The second time, in early 2008, I lost 25 pounds in just over four months. I was elated. Even more elated that, a year and a half later, I've kept off almost 20 of those pounds.
The first time, we don't talk about. It involved starving myself, while unemployed, and then GAINING a pound the first week. I GAINED WEIGHT BY EATING GRAPES. "Your body is just adjusting to eating less..." Blah, blah, blah. I sobbed on my bed and told my then-boyfriend I was never, ever going back. I did, but it still didn't work for me. Perhaps because I lived down the street from a Coldstone? I don't know.
But now, here I am: still 20 pounds lighter than I was in early 2008, but also still a fat-ass. Contrary to popular belief, once you go les and settle down, you do not have to put on forty pounds eating ice cream in bed while watching chick flicks. I refuse to get too comfortable. Not just for my girlfriend - although I'm certain, even if she wouldn't say it, she would find me sexier minus the gigantic thighs - but for me. I can choose not to be a fat-ass. So I am.
Today marks my second full, no-more-practicing day on the WW. I pee constantly. If you don't want to hear me say things like that, then it's probably best you just pass by this blog. Again, the peeing. So, yes, I spent about one-quarter of my day in the bathroom. And, honestly, our office bathrooms aren't really nice enough to spend so much time there. My rubbermaid water bottle and I will be BFF for the duration of this endeavor.
And, needless to say (but I will anyway), I'm rather hungry. The taco salad I brought for lunch, while only being three points, was filling for about three minutes. Then I moved onto my grapes. Nom nom nom.
About ten minutes ago, I went to the vending machine and bought some pretzels because they seemed like the most reasonable option. And, they probably were. But THREE points?! Gimme a break. I got, like, A pretzel. I know, I know... must plan ahead. Must drink more water (and pee more).
I'd like my gigantic plate of pasta now, please!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
It'll take you YEARS to get over this...
In an email from my father on Thursday, after telling him that I was planning on seeing my college roommate this weekend: "IS LAUREN YOUR LAST ROOM-MATE AT COLLEGE? ISN'T SHE THE ONE THAT STIFF YOU OUT OF MONEY ?"
First, please note that my father always types all in caps. It's very annoying, but I have gotten used to it.
Secondly, no, the unpleasant ending to our four-year friendship had nothing to do with Lauren owing me money. She doesn't.
So the other night, for the first time in more than five years, I had dinner with my college roommate. The one I described on numerous occasions as having "ruined my life." We hugged. We shared a meal. We talked for almost five hours. I had an excellent time.
I had a fair bit of anxiety before we met. Would we have nothing to talk about? Would the previous animosity between us be apparent? I purposely told Rachel very little about our relationship throughout college, in hopes that I would not fall into the same old trap of simply complaining about the last semester of college.
We didn't. We caught up on one another's lives and reminisced a bit about good times in college. It was an amazing experience to see her again and to laugh like we used to.
First, please note that my father always types all in caps. It's very annoying, but I have gotten used to it.
Secondly, no, the unpleasant ending to our four-year friendship had nothing to do with Lauren owing me money. She doesn't.
So the other night, for the first time in more than five years, I had dinner with my college roommate. The one I described on numerous occasions as having "ruined my life." We hugged. We shared a meal. We talked for almost five hours. I had an excellent time.
I had a fair bit of anxiety before we met. Would we have nothing to talk about? Would the previous animosity between us be apparent? I purposely told Rachel very little about our relationship throughout college, in hopes that I would not fall into the same old trap of simply complaining about the last semester of college.
We didn't. We caught up on one another's lives and reminisced a bit about good times in college. It was an amazing experience to see her again and to laugh like we used to.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Where the story ends
I suppose I should apologize to the scads of people who regularly read this blog for being so light on the content. Steve, please accept my apologies. There, done.
The truth is, my life is ridiculously boring to write about. I was a much more interesting person when I was grossly unhappy. Being content does not agree with my creativity. Also, some of the things I've thought about lately - things that would like cause some much subconsciously desired commotion - will never, ever see the light of my computer screen. Someday, I will learn to not seek out drama. I will grow and learn as an adult person. Someday.
Having said that, I have grown. I've grown in directions I could have never imagined. But I'm conflicted about where/how/if to utilize these experiences to write. This blog is partly responsible for that growth, and now it sort of seems obsolete. I was writing the story of a girl who was miserable in her life and playing the part she thought she should (and knew how to play). I knew how to be miserable at my job, I knew how to stretch the $4.86 in my checking account, I knew how to stay in a relationship where I wasn't wanted, I knew how to sit my fat ass on my couch and wallow in loneliness. Wow, good times. So since I'm not really that person anymore, so does that story end? If I was simply chronicling my life during a few difficult years, does this blog, along with that story, end? I'm inclined to think that it should. Close the book. Start a new one.
On the flip side, should this space that has helped me cope with x, y and z, evolve as I evolve? I certainly hope that I still have more to say as a writer, even if my life has changed dramatically and I am finding little muse in being happy. Happy is awesome. I wish I could do more with it.
I'm not sure what I will decide. Writing is extremely therapeutic for me and I don't plan to give it up now that I have far fewer "problems" than I once did.
I could write about how many people have died in my life over the past few months and how I'm constantly anxious about getting more bad news. But that would be depressing in a much different way than what I used to ramble about.
For now, I will marvel at how I just wrote an entire post about whether or not to discontinue this blog. I really am boring. But, ya know, good boring.
The truth is, my life is ridiculously boring to write about. I was a much more interesting person when I was grossly unhappy. Being content does not agree with my creativity. Also, some of the things I've thought about lately - things that would like cause some much subconsciously desired commotion - will never, ever see the light of my computer screen. Someday, I will learn to not seek out drama. I will grow and learn as an adult person. Someday.
Having said that, I have grown. I've grown in directions I could have never imagined. But I'm conflicted about where/how/if to utilize these experiences to write. This blog is partly responsible for that growth, and now it sort of seems obsolete. I was writing the story of a girl who was miserable in her life and playing the part she thought she should (and knew how to play). I knew how to be miserable at my job, I knew how to stretch the $4.86 in my checking account, I knew how to stay in a relationship where I wasn't wanted, I knew how to sit my fat ass on my couch and wallow in loneliness. Wow, good times. So since I'm not really that person anymore, so does that story end? If I was simply chronicling my life during a few difficult years, does this blog, along with that story, end? I'm inclined to think that it should. Close the book. Start a new one.
On the flip side, should this space that has helped me cope with x, y and z, evolve as I evolve? I certainly hope that I still have more to say as a writer, even if my life has changed dramatically and I am finding little muse in being happy. Happy is awesome. I wish I could do more with it.
I'm not sure what I will decide. Writing is extremely therapeutic for me and I don't plan to give it up now that I have far fewer "problems" than I once did.
I could write about how many people have died in my life over the past few months and how I'm constantly anxious about getting more bad news. But that would be depressing in a much different way than what I used to ramble about.
For now, I will marvel at how I just wrote an entire post about whether or not to discontinue this blog. I really am boring. But, ya know, good boring.
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