Conversations: Bad Dietary Habits, Progress, Adulthood, and Basket Cases

LORI: Hiya, Pete.

What’s your plan for today? Do you have any housework you need to accomplish? I don’t have Zach’s routine down yet. Do you think you’ll be able to write 250 words before noon?

PETE: Captain’s Log: Nothing done so far today, except some tea, some headache pills, and a baby who will not sleep and will not stop shouting. Neither cleaning nor writing done so far. REALLY don’t feel like doing either. Would quite like to sit on the couch and stare at the TV.

This is not helped by the fact that I’m dissatisfied with the idea of the scene that comes next, in Nondescript. But, on further thought, I think I know how to make it work. Or at least, to function. So if Zach ever shuts down…

And that’s the first half of MY day. And I would ask how you two are, but you’re both off and having lives and have abandoned me to the currents of the InterWebbie!

LORI: Truthfully, I haven’t accomplished a lot today yet, either. I haven’t showered. I had chocolate and Diet Coke for breakfast. I have researched markets and am just finishing the cover letters for the two submissions I want to send out today. The rest of the packets are ready. I’m getting ready to put my gi pants and t-shirt into the washer for tonight’s practice.

My lack of accomplishment is no excuse for you. (Zach, however, is.) When the baby’s fussing, I’m only asking for 250-500 words. You can sneak them in after Wyfe gets home.

What dissatisfies you about the scene that comes next? How do you think you can make it work? Talk it out at us.

PETE: You had chocolate and diet coke? For breakfast?

The next time ANYONE complains about me having Jambalaya, or fried chicken, for breakfast, I am going to point at you as my justification.

(I haven’t showered either. Bad me. Naughty me. No cookie.)

…My problem with the next scene — at least, the next major plot-moving scene, is that it’s another conversation-with-Dillinger scene. And it has to be that way, because it has to be overheard, and people are going to talk to Dillinger. He’s in charge. I just recently had a Sheriff Peyton-talks-to-Dillinger scene, and a Joanna-talks-to-Dillinger scene. I was originally going to have a “Joanna and Johnny” scene, except that there would be nothing for them to say but mushy stuff (Maybe. I don’t know. Hmmm). And I was going to have the “Persephone wakes up” scene, but can’t think of a point for it, other than her saying thank you to Casey, who is sulking some more.

It’s knotty. I don’t want another Dillinger scene right this split second. I have other secondary plot-lines (Johnny’s mom, Johnny’s dad), but I’ve ignored that plot through the whole novel, because I didn’t know how it fit, and I’ll add those scenes in during second draft.

(Maybe that’s the solution: write the Dillinger scene, be aware that the rhythm might be a tiny bit awkward, add in a scene later in second draft.)

The problem with the Johnny and Joanna scene that I realized when I sat down to write it is, there’s no real drama. The problem is that Johnny is a sane, level-headed young man. The BIGGER problem is that his girlfriend is even MORE sane and smart and cool and sharp and therefore, she’s not going to be weepy and going “Why? Whyyyyyy?” She’s going to chide Johnny once and say “You should have told me,” and he’s going to say “Sorry,” and…..short scene.

I dunno. I’m stewing on it. (This wouldn’t be a huge problem, but this is one of those days where I’m unconvinced that the Nondescript is anything but a plodding, plodding mess with no drama). I’ve got my big sloppy notebook open and I would have been writing notes to myself, except I just wrote them in an e-mail to you. I should do that more often.

(You would never speak to me again).

You had your whole day listed out, Lori. Get moving! The world won’t know what to do with itself if you start slacking off wildly. This is all because the three of us chatted last night. It made you want to just chill and hang, dude.

LORI: In your wildest dreams I’d never talk to you again. That just won’t happen, Pete. You’re stuck, forever and ever. You mean printing out synopses, the appropriate pages for two different agents, creating mailing labels, trying to figure out where my stamps ended up, and going through my market newsletters isn’t enough for a Monday morning? Geez. And you accuse me of being a slave driver. (Oh, I also read some of the next book I’m reviewing and looked through industry news.) I forgot to mention all of that stuff in my last e-mail, didn’t I? It’s because I didn’t think of it. I was just thinking I really need to get a shower and dressed and think about lunch before my haircut, which I’m always late for.

You can type out notes or thoughts that you need to at me anytime, Pete. I’m betting Kristine won’t mind either.

What’s wrong with a really short Johnny and Joanna scene? Just to satisfy the readers? Also, nothing wrong with another Dillinger scene, even if you know the rhythm might have to be fixed in rewrite. This is all draft. It’s okay to write crap. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to move forward.

250-500 words by the end of the day – screaming baby or no.

KRISTINE: I love reading as you hammer out your thoughts, Pete.  Think of us as a sounding board.  It makes you seem more sane than ranting at the walls

PETE: I can’t write crap knowing its crap. Not even first draft. It’s gotta work for me. And in second draft, maybe I can make it work better. But I can’t just say “I’ll slop out a scene here, fix it into something useful later.” That’s why a whole sub-plot has been left out so far, even though it’s important. I couldn’t get the rhythm right, until the rest of the story was done up.

If *I* did all that stuff that you just listed, it would be stellar accomplishment. For YOU, that’s a slow day. The world expects more of you. They just expect me to maybe shower once in awhile, or flatten my hair a bit.

I think I know how to do the Johnny and Joanna scene, but it’s got to come AFTER the Dillinger conversation. Because it’s a short scene (Johnny’s,) I’ll mix it up with the next important scene and have it be interrupted. That way, I can say the three sentences I need to, and then get on with it. Well, maybe I can do a….

Oh…..SWEET. Haha! Figured it out! HAHA! EXCUSE ME, I MUST GO WRITE!

LORI: I expect more of you than just the occasional shower and flattening your hair a bit.

PETE: That’s good. You should. It’s important for our reach to extend our grasp, or else what is heaven for?

(The problem with showering, I have found — and I can’t imagine you want to hear this at all — is that I have a very, VERY limited time frame in which to do it throughout the week. Because I can’t do it when Zach’s awake. He freaks out, because for whatever reason, he can tell I’m out of the room and not going to come at the slightest sound. So I have to wait until he’s asleep. But! When he’s asleep, I also am able to do: dishes, cleaning, writing, e-mail, eating some food that I haven’t eaten all day, taking my daily ibuprofens, etc, etc, etc, and somehow, showering usually falls behind the “eating” bit. And shaving? Right. Out.)

***

Progress! I got the halfway scene that I had no direction for (which, if I ever write a sequel Nondescript novel, this scene will suddenly be much more relevant) and then I used it to segue into the important Dillinger scene, and now it’ll be understandably important when the reader sees what Dillinger’s talking about. Har! Talking things out DOES work!

887 words. Progress.

LORI: Good work, Pete.

KRISTINE: Excellent!

PETE: Thank yew. And now, I reward myself by scooping the kitty litter. Oh, the pampering! And what have you done?

[No one responds.]

I’m GLAD neither of you talk to me. It’s so dreary. So much work. I much prefer these long periods (sixty minutes! SIXTY!) of endless silence during which I can do fun things, like eat cake and ice cream and have friends and a million billion dollars and a pony by MYSELF.

[Still no response.]

*witters on all by himself*

So, there’s a Super 8 which is, like, some damn place around here, Myne Wyfe is not very specific, and the woman she works with, her daughter, she runs it, and there’s an opening for a thingie, at the thing, from 11pm to 7am, and it’s a desk job but it’s got maintenance – and a little known fact about me is how very mechanical I am, it’s little known because it isn’t true — and the job is mine if I want it. Hooray! But they won’t let me write ON THE CLOCK, which is oppressive of them. Boo! So depending on what I find out, I will join the working force at exactly the hours that YOU are sleeping!

Or something.

KRISTINE: But would those hours work out with Zach and the wyfe’s schedule and all the writing and stuff?

PETE: AGAIN WITH THE QUESTIONS!

I have no idea. Myne Wyfe works days, so I’d be getting home as she’d be going in. And with Zach, no idea. No point in working a job just to cover the cost of daycare, you know? On the other hand, I don’t know about working overnight AND tending to a screaming attack baby. But it’s full time, and … stuff….

*and he’s off!*

LORI: I had to get a haircut and find food and clean the dojo, because I now clean the dojo instead of paying for my lessons because my sensei, who owns the dojo, is now in a doctorate program.

KRISTINE: I had to . . .  who am I kidding, I didn’t have to do anything today.  Except boil water to wash in!  Never underestimate the joy of HOT running water.

PETE: Here is your guys’s’s’s’s motivation for tomorrow:

http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/02/18/funny-pictures-voices-tell-me-things/

And after it motivates you, stay away from me!

KRISTINE: I liked this one. [lolcat attached.]

PETE: A final 143 words for tonight, which brings me to 1,030 for the day, which isn’t as high over my 1,000 mark as previous days, but I don’t care. It’s late, I’m really tired. So I hit a thousand. Tomorrow and Wednesday, Myne Wyfe’s off, so now I have to figure out how to work in my thousand-word schedule into her days off. I haven’t done this previously. It isn’t taking me that long to write 1,000 words, so I think I’ll swing it.

KRISTINE: It’s progress, and that’s all that matters.

Not just that, but good progress.  Slow and steady wins the race

PETE: What’s surprising me — and it’s probably a no-brainer to you guys– is how steadily the word count is going up, and how just-fine it works for me, mentally, to manage 1,000 words a day. Some days, I think I’m picking up steam again and can easily manage 2 or 3 (although I’ve yet to see if I can do more than 1k in a session with the stone keyboard). But knowing that I just have the 1k mark to clear, and then clearing it, is very useful.

So, between that, and learning to take meandering notes (and occasionaly meandering e-mails at you lot), and shutting down my blogging, I’m getting my pieces together. God forbid anything ELSE changes my status quo, because I can’t put all this together again…

LORI: Well, you’re going to have to put it together again. And again. And again. Over and over again until the day that you’re planted.

The only way the “status quo” remains the same, unchanged, is if you and your life stagnate or if you die. The first isn’t likely to happen and the latter probably won’t happen for a good long time. Even if you do die tomorrow, or next week, or next month, there’s no guarantee that there’s not continued evolution and change and shifting balances in the next realm, too, so you can’t even count on achieving permanent balance then.

The true trick is developing the ability to recognize when what you’re currently doing, or attempting to do, is no longer working for you. At that point, you must step back and say, “What changed? How did it change? How do I need to adapt to meet this new situation and still be able to achieve my goals? How can I balance everything?” This involves being able to recognize what is immutable, what your true priorities are, and your own limits, how much you can truly juggle at one time.

My mother is, by nature, a very organized person. The one thing she taught me is that you can never change the person that you are. To be an organized individual, you must recognize your own true habits, even when they are far from the ideal, and change your corner of the world to match your own personal flow and lifestyle. For example, I collect papers. I always have. Things that I think are neat. Little stories. Things I might like to turn into an article. This is not likely to change. My own nature, the person that I truly am, is also not likely to open a file cabinet drawer and file them neatly away every time I come home either. Just not going to happen. However, I do tend to lay or drop them in the same place each time. So, what’s the solution to keep my living space from looking cluttered and filled with paper? Baskets. Big, open baskets and bins set right where the paper lands anyway. It keeps it contained, looks far neater than cascading papers, and they’re there, right where I put them, when I’m ready for them.

This is all you’ve been doing this week, Pete. You’ve been examining your own personal habits and lifestyle and figuring out what works for you, how to achieve a balance and flow that fits your current, personal dynamic. When something changes to mess with the flow – when you get a job or Zach starts walking – when what you’re currently doing stops working, it will be time to step back, reassess, and figure out the new dynamic, the new pattern, the new flow, so you can shift your center and continue forward in the most balanced way possible. It will never be perfect. It will never be ideal. You will never be finished adjusting and adapting. That’s not a bad thing.

PETE: Lori, I love you.

Baskets! THAT might be the solution to the cascading glacial formations of paper that Myne Wyfe forms all over the dining room table, the kitchen bar, the FLOOR, etc, etc. The house would be perfectly tidy,thanks to my efforts, except for her papers which I am not allowed to throw away…!

As for all the rest, you are, as always entirely accurate. All of it is part of “being an adult,” (or, failing that, being a human being who continues to function) neither of which I’m terribly good at.

KRISTINE: Exactly that.  I had to learn, through trial and error, that my corner of the kitchen is just where I plop my stuff – there’s no two ways about it, no matter how many times I tried to get creative and make a place elsewhere in the house to put my “stuff”.  So, realizing that, I put a basket in that corner of the kitchen, and now place all my daily detritus in that basket.

It keeps things looking neater and cleaner, and keeps my crap in one spot.  Then every weekend I can go through it and weed it all out to start the week clean and uncluttered again.

Although you realize, this is where the term “Basket Case” probably comes from

LORI: In this case, love my mother. It was her solution to the cascading, glacial formations of paper that littered my bedroom floor as a teenager.

As for the adult thing, it rather sucks at times, I know, but it’s not really half bad once you get used to it and has more benefits than negatives. Promise.

KRISTINE: The best part about being an adult is that you can eat anything you want.

The worst part about being an adult is that you have to buy it.