#amwriting

Ever since I got back from New York, I've been writing almost every day. Although I know that a lot of people prefer to work on one story at a time (and I can totally understand why since they can get it done faster), my workaholic nature has caused me to "multi-task" when it comes to my writing. That is, I'm currently working on three different stories: a novel that I drafted years ago but never revised, a creative nonfiction piece about teaching that I plan to submit to literary magazines that publish creative nonfiction, and a book-length creative nonfiction story: Obsessions of a Workaholic. I thought about just focusing on one of the stories, but I've been so excited about getting the words down on paper that I'm afraid I'll lose or forget them somehow if I put it off.

I've found that it's easier to write regularly when I incorporate it into my regular routine, like I did with exercise. Most days, I'd rather listen to Kylie Jenner talk about her lip fillers for an hour than spend that same hour working out, but because I'm now so used to working out at least 4-5 times a week, I feel worse if I don't go. And it's paid off, too, because I lost twenty pounds this summer. Although I still have more weight that I want to lose, the fact that I exceeded my weight-loss goal this summer has me dancing like this:
 
via GIPHY
By a similar token, by making a point of working on my writing at least 4-5 days a week, even just for half an hour a day, it's gotten much easier to motivate myself to sit at my desk or go to a coffee shop and write, instead of lie on my bed and watch YouTube videos on my phone.

It's easier for me to write out my first drafts in longhand in notebooks at coffee shops (the baristas like me because I always tip them, and I do that so that they won't mind if I occupy one of their tables for an hour or two) or in my office at school.

Then when I write the second draft, I type it out onto my laptop at home and start making changes at that point. But if I try to write out the first draft on my laptop, my mind wanders and I start Googling random things, like "what does it mean when Millennials say 'That's so lit'? Is that a drug reference?" Or I start watching YouTube music videos of bands from the '90s, like Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and then of course I start Googling "whatever happened to the OTHER members of Nirvana?" which leads to too much wasted time on Wikipedia.

I've also joined writing groups: one for my creative writing, which is a Meetup group that meets at a coffee shop near my apartment every week, and one for my scholarly writing (in academia, the prevailing attitude towards scholarly writing is "publish or perish"), which has monthly meetings on campus at the college where I teach.

Since Creative Nonfiction is one of the literary magazines I plan to submit to (actually, I already submitted a story about my life in Small Town to them earlier this summer, which probably won't get published, but it felt good just to put my writing out there), I paid $22 for a package that included an issue of their magazine, several issues of their "mini-magazine", True Story, and an anthology of stories that have been published in their magazines. They say that you should read the magazines that you want to write for, so that you get a better sense of what they're looking for. The package also included cool writer's swag, like a tote bag, a pen, and a small notebook.

Thus, I've managed to be very productive in the last weeks of summer, and after all the emotional turmoil I went through earlier this summer, it feels good to have a renewed sense of energy and focus on my work again. I've especially enjoyed working on my memoir, Obsessions of a Workaholic. All these years that I spent blogging about my life as a workaholic, I didn't realize that I was in a sense writing the first draft of this book. When I originally started blogging, I was just doing it for fun and so I could take a break from the scholarly writing that I'd been immersed in during grad school. But I've realized that there is a lot of stuff from this blog that I could use for the book, and I've also been fleshing it out and reorganizing it into a more linear narrative. It will take months to finish that book, but once I finally do, I will go back to work on another memoir: one about my experiences as a member of seven different online dating sites over the course of a decade. Even though it will be tough to make time for writing during the school year, I try to remember what I heard a successful writer say once: that even if you only write one page a day, in a year's time you'll have more than enough pages for a book.

What about you? How's your writing going, and what are you working on? What's your writing process like?

I Think Karma Is Broken

Recently, I was walking past a doctor's office when I found a debit card on the ground. For a moment, visions of paid bills and Prada bags danced through my head. But I didn't use the card, of course. I made sure that the bank listed on the card was alerted that the card had been found. After all, if I had tried to use the card, it could have gotten traced back to me. Then there would have been visions of me in a prison jumpsuit dancing through my head, only they wouldn't just be visions; they'd be reality.

Once I found a Kindle. This was before I had the money to buy my own e-reader. I could have kept it, and it wouldn't necessarily have gotten traced back to me. But the owner of the Kindle had put his name and e-mail address on the back, probably so that if he ever lost it, the e-reader could be returned to him. So I contacted him, and he was grateful to get it back. And I felt good that I had done the right thing.

The other day I was studying in a coffee shop, and I accidentally left my cell phone on the sink in the bathroom. When I realized my mistake and went back to get it less than half an hour later, my phone was gone. The baristas said no one turned it in.

I was at the coffee shop that day because I had a coupon for a free cup of coffee. Ironically, that free cup ended up costing me more than a hundred dollars, because I had to pay for a replacement phone (fortunately, I had insurance on my old phone, so I didn't have to pay full price), a memory card, and a new case. I spent more than an hour at the phone store, learning about how to remotely wipe the data from my old phone so the thief couldn't access it, lock my new phone, and back up the data on my new phone. I foolishly did not back up most of the data on my old one, so I lost all the pictures I'd taken, including the ones from my trip to New York.)

I also had to keep running down to the mailboxes of my building to check for the delivery of my new phone, because my loser neighbors have a bad habit of not only stealing my magazines (I actually had to cancel all my subscriptions) but also my packages. I once put up a note asking for the return of my mail, and the losers put up their own note mocking me for their theft and saying they would do it again if they found more of my mail (the postal workers keep putting the wrong mail in the mailboxes. I tried to file more than one complaint about it, and the post office retaliated by giving my number to one of those workers, who called me to scream at me and blame ME for getting the wrong mail, as if it was my fault she kept doing a bad job). Fortunately, I got to my new phone before those leeches did, so they couldn't steal it.

The theft of my cell phone really pissed me off. I always try to do the right thing (though admittedly I don't always succeed). I don't keep things that don't belong to me. The one exception is when I find coins on the ground, because who's going to run back and search for a quarter or a couple of pennies, right?

But unfortunately, some people aren't honest. Some people are selfish thieves and just immoral. This isn't the first time I've gotten robbed, because this is Chicago, after all. I've gotten mugged and pickpocketed on more than one occasion, which is why I never carry a lot of cash or major credit cards with me. Once I accidentally left my coin purse in a bathroom at one of the schools where I teach. I went back less than five minutes later, to find the purse still there but all the coins missing. And I don't think it's a coincidence that not long after some of my mail went missing, someone tried to open up a bunch of credit cards with my information; fortunately, my credit card company stopped them and alerted me to what was going on.

It's times like those that make me wonder why I even bother trying to be considerate and honest. I know it's the right thing to do, but it doesn't always pay off. Even when I try to help people, it occasionally ends up backfiring.

For example, once I saw an old woman struggling with a shopping bag as she went down the stairs of an El station. The bag split open, and all the things inside fell out. Other people walked by, some of them trampling over her things without a second glance. I said, "Here, let me help you with that," and I tried to pick up what she had dropped. She screamed at me to keep my hands off her stuff and accused me of trying to steal it. I quickly backed away and let the old witch take care of it herself.

In spite of creeps like that, I will continue to try to do the right thing. If I find something valuable again, I won't keep it; I'll make sure it gets returned. I have enough Catholic guilt in me to motivate me, after all. But it still discourages me and makes me mad that no matter how nice I try to be to people, I still end up getting screwed again and again. It bothers me that some of the worst people in the world end up rich, successful, and getting everything else that they want, like karma isn't real after all. It's not like I help people with the expectation of being repaid every time, but it would be nice if people would show me the same consideration and at the very least return my possessions. But maybe that's expecting too much.

What about you? Have you ever gotten robbed? Have you ever tried to help someone, only for your efforts to end up backfiring? How do you deal with people like that?

When I Have Writer's Block

1. I think of whatever's annoying me at the moment (as I stated on Twitter, my brain is basically one eternal Seinfeld marathon, because I obsess over everything), and then I write about it. For example, I've filled up more than one page about the people who blast music and videos from their cell phones in cafes, so that it gets to the point that I want to hurl headphones at them.

2. I take advantage of the free-admission days at museums like the Art Institute, where I look at my favorite pieces of art, like the Miniature Rooms and the Impressionists' paintings. I sit on a bench and stare up at the beautiful art, thinking about the artists at work in their studios and how they didn't give up until they created something beautiful. A trip to the museum is enough to make me take out my journal and start writing, so that I can keep writing until I write something that is (hopefully) beautiful.

3. I eavesdrop on people's conversations at cafes, on the subway, at bus stops, in the grocery store, or in the laundry room, and then I write down what they say so that I can practice writing dialogue (and maybe even create interesting characters partly based on the people I listen to). For example, my journal is filled with lines I've overheard, like, "I can't believe he liked more of her selfies than mine. I thought it meant something when he followed me on Instagram," or "No, you can't sit there. My friend is sitting there, and he has every right to keep sitting there. It doesn't MATTER if he finished drinking his coffee an hour ago." and "I can't believe I had to sit through that whole movie. There were hardly any scenes with boobs in them." (I swear I'm not making any of these lines up. Chicagoans are weird.)

4. I reread my favorite books, like A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway or Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. Reading a good book is like one of those rare days in Chicago where the weather is perfect and everyone stays outside to soak up every minute of it, because they know that it will be freezing cold or windy by the next day. Truly good books that make you think and feel things that no post on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook will EVER make you feel in the same way motivate me to get back to work on my own stories.

5. I buy a cheap ticket to a play at one of the tiny theaters in Chicago, where more often than not the actors are ten times more talented than many of the A-list celebrities starring on the big screen. Sometimes I'll see a play that I know little about and ends up making me angry, like the one that spewed a bunch of distorted, bigoted crap about Catholics and made me want to stand up in the audience and shriek, "You're all going to HELL, you HEATHENS!" (I didn't, though I definitely felt tempted.) Sometimes I'll watch a play that is almost as good as one of my favorite books or paintings, so that it makes me marvel at how people utilize the talents that they were given and created something original and amazing. Either way, after immersing myself in the playwrights' world for a couple hours, it makes me want to get back to my own world that I created in my writing.

What about you? What kinds of things do you do when you have writer's block? Is there anything about your hometown in particular that helps you deal with writer's block?

P.S. Have a safe and happy New Year!

When It's Hard to Be Polite

Today I went to a cafe to write. I like writing in cafes, partly because of the good food and coffee, and partly because I like the atmosphere. It's also because if I have to listen to my wannabe musician neighbor play the same chord for hours at a time, I just might plaster his door with One Direction posters for all our other neighbors to see.

While I was writing, I noticed an old man with a cane hovering over my table. It made me uncomfortable, but I kept writing. Then a barista loudly asked if anyone would be willing to share or give up their table for the old man. Two men sitting nearby offered to share their table; they were very friendly and nice about it. But the old man just stood there; he was adamant about getting his own table. The barista kept loudly asking for someone to give up their table again and again. Finally I reluctantly said that he could have my table.

I told the barista and the manager that I had a right to sit there and I didn't appreciate being pressured to give up my table. Don't get me wrong; I know he couldn't sit at one of the high stools near the window. When I'm on the bus or train, I always give up my seat to elderly passengers. I try to help older people in other ways. Once I helped an old woman carry her groceries in the pouring rain. There's another elderly homeless woman who hangs out at a cafe near my apartment, so sometimes I put a few bucks on a gift card and give it to her so that she can buy food and coffee.

So it's not like I'm completely indifferent to the elderly. But I think if I buy something at a cafe, I have the right to sit down. I would never do what that old man did; that is, I would never stand over someone's table and insist that someone else give up their seat. In fact, I went to that cafe because the first one I went to was too crowded.

The manager and barista defended the customer, saying he was a regular. I'm a cafe regular too; I drink so much coffee that sometimes I start running around like Speedy Gonzalez. I don't think that regulars have the right to demand their own tables; I never do that at the other cafes I frequent. The whole situation made me angry.

I try to be nice to people, whether it's opening a door for someone with their hands full or helping someone in a wheelchair cross the street. I don't expect people to go out of their way for me, but it bothers me when people are rude, like the driver who screamed at me when I crossed the street (the sign said walk, so I thought it was okay) and then drove up beside me and kept screaming. It bothered me when some kid was running down the sidewalk so fast that he knocked me into the street, in the face of oncoming traffic. Instead of apologizing or helping me get back up, he and his friends pointed and laughed at me lying there in the street.

It bothers me when jerks shove me out of the way to get on the bus first, or when my neighbor refuses to be quiet at 3 A.M. (I asked) and then acts like I'm the one with the problem because apparently he's a vampire who doesn't sleep at night.

I try not to let it bother me, but it's hard to be polite when I encounter rudeness almost every day. I know that I should be mature and grownup, even when others are not. But sometimes I want to respond to their rudeness by giving them a taste of their own medicine. I don't, though.

What about you? How do you deal with it when people are rude to you?

Where I write

I mostly blog at home because even though I have a laptop, I worry that if I take it out of my apartment it'll get stolen by some thieves who will knock me over the head and run off with it. And then they'll read my writing and possibly steal it and publish it as their own, or maybe hate it so much that they'll post it on some website that showcases bad writing. I also worry about dropping my laptop, because I'm extremely accident prone. Then if that happens and my laptop breaks into a million pieces on the street, a bunch of strangers will see me kneeling over it, weeping and rending my garments in grief because I can't afford to buy a new one. So it's safer just to blog at home or to discreetly blog on the computer in the office I share with a bunch of other people at school.
But when it comes to writing fiction, I like going to coffee houses. There's something about the cafe atmosphere that just relaxes me, even though I'm usually drinking a very large cup of coffee. I'm always interested in where other writers go when they write; which places do you like best and why?
Today as I was walking to Caribou for my weekly coffee break, I was so happy about the thought of writing fiction for an hour that I bought a Streetwise paper (the paper that homeless people sell for $2 each; they're allowed to keep $1.25 of every $2) from a vendor even though I already bought the same copy from a different vendor yesterday. I also put my change that I got from my coffee purchase in the tip jar for the baristas, just because I was feeling so good that I was going to get to work on my manuscript. Also, I've found that if you give the baristas a tip, they're less likely to mind if you hang out at your table for a little longer and they won't keep sweeping around you for nonexistent crumbs every five minutes.
I've been working on the manuscript for my first novel for more than a year now. It's taken me a while to finish it because after I read through the first draft, I realized it needed at least two new characters; once I put them in, they changed the whole flow of the story. I didn't mind, though, because it's fun to start writing and find out what the characters are going to do next. Sometimes they'll say or do things that I hadn't even been thinking about before, and that's how they become real to me. Now that I'm nearing the end of my second draft, I feel reluctant to end the story, because I've grown attached to the characters. Maybe I'll write a sequel, but I guess I should just focus on finishing this first book first.
Here's a link to a Youtube video by Angel Taylor; I love it not just because the dancing in the video is cute (cheesy, but cute) and the song is good, but because at the beginning of the video Angel is writing in a notebook in a cafe, like I do every week. But unlike her and the people in the video, I would never get up and sing or dance in front of everyone. That would probably take a lot more caffeine before I'd be willing to do that. And possibly alcohol.

Coffee break

Everybody needs a way to relax. Some people do retail therapy and go shopping on Michigan Avenue. Some people knit sweaters for their dogs, who often either look really happy to wear them or really annoyed.
Some people go to ball games; lately I've been seeing several Cubs fans filling up the trains as they head for Wrigley Field. Even though I've lived in Chicago for several years, I've only ever been to one Cubs game, and that was before I even moved to the city. I went to a Cubs game in high school, during my senior trip. Maybe it's because I'm not interested in sports, but going to a ball game wasn't that relaxing for me because there were some drunk guys behind me who kept yelling at the players. I've never really understood why people yell insults at the players, especially since the ones with the bats could easily go after them, or perhaps use their excellent pitching skills to knock one of the hecklers out. But on the other hand, I admired the players for ignoring them and just focusing on playing the game.

How do I relax? Once a week I go to a coffeehouse, order a flavored frozen coffee and a cookie, and sit in a comfortable chair. Then I usually spend about an hour writing in my journal. It's always a relief to write something that's not for school or work, because when I write in my journal it's my chance to escape from everything else and just focus on writing my own stories.

Before I go to the coffeehouse, I always think of all the work I still have to do. The sensible thing would be to just stay home and keep working; that way no hour would go wasted. But I don't view my weekly "escape" as a waste of time. I need to have even just one hour a week that's just for me or I wouldn't be able to handle everything else. Even though I am a workaholic, I recognize that it's important to take time off every now and then and do something fun.

I learned my lesson the hard way several years ago. Before iTunes became popular, I used to listen to CDs at Borders in order to learn about new artists and decide whose music I wanted to buy. I remember being at Borders one day and listening to Norah Jones' new CD. I'd never heard of her before but really liked her music. It turned out that she was going to be performing at that Borders and signing copies of her album. I was tempted to go. I was working all the time, as usual, and I thought it'd be fun to take time off, listen to a new artist, and get her autograph. But I was sensible and stayed home instead to get some work done. Soon after that, Norah Jones won a bunch of Grammys for her album and became a superstar. And I wanted to kick myself for giving up the opportunity to see her, because now it would probably cost a lot of money to watch her perform when I could have seen her at Borders for free.

So now I write in coffeehouses every week. Because everybody needs a break, even me.