I get a ton of music from a friend who has better taste than me, and always has something new to share.  Hello Bishop Allen.  I’ve always been drawn to bands with smart lyrics.  If you can’t string a sentence together, it matters not to me how good the background noise is.  Whoever these nerds are, I love the lyricist.  My favorite song so far: 

The News From Your Bed

You were saving the date
But you woke up too late
Pulled the covers down over your head
You haven’t left your front door
For a week maybe more
Tell me, hey, what’s the news from your bed
You know your face is all covered with your birthday cake
That you’re eating in the kitchen at home
Another banner year, a splendid day
Another inch or two that you’ve grown
But it’s hard to celebrate on your own

There’s a mouse in cupboard that nibbles your crumbs
And you talk to him every night
You say, “Hey, Mr. Whiskers, I’m bored and I’m numb
You can stay if you just treat me right.”
Just last year you were fortunate baby
And your friends circled around you in droves
Are they thinking of you? Maybe just maybe
But not a one has bothered to phone
Tell me where oh where did they go

Called a car an hour ago
You’re gonna take yourself out
Despite the cold and snow
Did they forget about you
Are they in on it too?
You’re sitting looking in the mirror
At your dancing shoes

When your family calls you make nice to them all
And assure them you’re fine and you’re great
Then you cry in the bath, cry so hard that you laugh
Then you watch television til late
Who do you need? Nobody.
You’re lucky nobody’s around
I can pour my own drinks
No thanks, Mister. Go on, and get out of town
And you’re gorgeous in your evening gown.

This song sums up the last few months of my life, only I don’t have the luxury of hiding under the covers nor will Weight Watchers condone birthday cake in the middle of the night (or really, anytime).  It’s a quirky song, not depressing in the slightest, and as I listened to it while sweating profusely on the elliptical, I started laughing.  My life is pretty funny right now, and my humor is the backbone of everything I do.  Laughter gets me through it.  Laughing at myself makes me fly over the obstacles.  It’s also flat out good for the soul.

Writing is also good for my soul.  During NaNoWriMo, I wrote about some things I haven’t dared think about, let alone write about, in many years.  While NaNoWriMo was going on, I was primarily focused on reaching 50,000 words.  I’m very competitive when it comes to writing, but only against myself.  I have many things to catch up on, but before I forget, or it becomes completely worthless, here are my thoughts on being a NaNoWriMo virgin and reaching the goal.

1.  Follow the bars.  Nano’s site gives a helpful day-to-day breakdown of words.  If you aren’t sticking with the goal (around 1667 words per day, though I always rounded up to 2000), you’re going to get behind and it may be impossible to catch up.

2.  Utilize writing buddies, if it works for you.  I had a few people consistently writing with me.  We would take breaks every once in a while, or exchange humorous stories.  It was helpful to have people around me doing the same thing, and listening to their fingers on their respective keyboards.  The only exception was weeding out the NaNos who really had no intention of finishing, and were not motivated.  Making a social club out of writing is fine, but I was in a totally different place with NaNo.  Breaks were fine; long conversations were not.

3.  Schedule, schedule, schedule.  I’m a pretty busy person, although Bradley likes to say that I just sit around all day, being awesome.  Between the online businesses, therapy, job searching, child-chauffeuring and general life stresses, I absolutely had to schedule my writing.  It required a lot of self-discipline, headphones and an area that was conducive to writing, but the only reason I hit my goal was sticking to the schedule.  Friends can attest to being kicked out of my house at a specific hour because I “had to write”. 

4. Speaking of music, find whatever you need to help you write.  In my case, it’s music, but it has to be a specific kind of music.  It needs to be very familiar so I don’t try to listen to it intently; no dirge and depression, but no sugar pop either.  Some need complete silence; some need white noise.  For me, I cannot write without music.  Well, I can, but the words are worse than usual. 

5.  Outline.  All my nerds from WriteClubRVAwill tell you that I bitched and moaned about outlines for at least two weeks.  It was harder to write the outline than the novel.  I hated every minute of outlining.  Even though I did finally do something you could call an outline, it was half-assed at best.  My writing mentors shook their long fingers at me and told me I needed to do this since all I’ve ever written in the past were short stories.  I also write from the gut - planning is something murder mystery writers do.  My characters aren’t all that complex.  However, they were right.  Without the outline, I would have never made it.  I never had to think about what was next in the novel because it was planned for me.  I simply finished one chapter, looked at my outline, and went merrily on. 

6.  Write without editing or looking back.  This was a tough one for me because I’m a narcissist and love looking at what I’ve written right after I’ve written it.  Then the love turns to despair and I begin chopping and rewriting.  There is no time in 30 days and 50,000 words to start editing.  December, January . . .the rest of your life - that’s when you edit.  During NaNo you write.  Period.  I threatened one of my writing buddies:  “If you can’t stop editing, write one page, email it to me, and delete it.  At the end of the month, I’ll give you your pages back.”  This was after she deleted a huge chunk of her novel because she was frustrated.  Thou shalt not delete or edit. 

7.  Get support.  Write Club was invaluable to me.  Writing buddies are good, but having writers better than me (and much more prolific) proved invaluable.  Just like the insistence that I write an outline, advice was given and I was open enough to take most of it.  I am by my very nature a hyper-critical analyzer of myself.  My writing is one area of exception.  I keep reminding myself that simply because I love to write doesn’t mean I’m good or that many millions of others aren’t better.  There are some amazing writers in Write Club; I’m fortunate to have them around me. 

That’s about it.  Now, I just need to finish my novel (one chapter left), edit the hell out of it (and the crap), then allow specific others to read it (scary!). 

(non-sequitur)

I know most of you could give two burps about my writing stuff, but it’s easier than talking about, you know, the big elephant in the room. 

Mike’s been riding the roller coaster with me.  As much as many have judged me about not taking my vows seriously or working hard enough, I actually have 50% of that equation in the bag.  Marriage for me was not something I entered into lightly.  I took it very seriously.  I got married later in life.  It wasn’t a rash judgment.  We dated for 2 years.  I’d had plenty of experience with both “good” and “bad” relationships.  (note:  classifying relationships as good and bad is something I’m trying not to do anymore.  Every relationship I had, or every man I loved, had good and bad within.  Even in my most destructive relationships, there were things I learned or things about the other person that were truly fantastic.)

The part about “not working hard enough” may be somewhat true.  However, unless you have walked in my shoes, you can’t really understand what it feels like to be completely detached from someone yet told to act like everything is fine.  Honestly, there were things I thought about my marriage that didn’t seem fixable in any universe, so I felt that flogging Mike with a list of perceived shortcomings was both unnecessary and cruel.  I say “perceived shortcomings” because though they are things that I’m not sure I can deal with, they may be things that another woman or wife would have no issue with. 

I have been very upfront with my therapist, the marriage counselor, and Mike about how I feel.  I also knew that if there was a chance of saving the marriage, I had to get over my detachment and do what Laura used to say back when I first started my business.  I had to act “as if”.  Sometimes the simple act of “as if” can make things real again.  Staying upstairs and pretending to be separated wasn’t working.  Signing a lease on an apartment and not getting the job I thought I would was not working.  I had to attempt “as if”, and I had to actually work.  This means doing things that are uncomfortable to me.  Things like having dinner as a family are so familiar that I don’t think twice about them.  Other things, like setting up a date night, seem as extreme as a hike in the arctic circle.  I have shared more in the last week of marriage counseling than I have in months.  I am doing my part.  I am trying very hard.

I’m also incredibly lucky to have the therapist I do.  She sees right through my bullshit and calls me on it almost as quickly as it leaves my mouth.  She does it in a very nice way - but she still does it.  I trust her implicitly and I know that she will tell me when she thinks I’m making unhealthy or rash decisions. 

So, we’re working on things.  The apartment is on hold until we can dig out the financial hole we are in or until I get a job or both.  It’s hard to accept that I have to wait for a real separation, but that’s the reality of the situation and I need to face it.  Some days are better than others. 

One amazing thing that has come out of the last two months:  I am finally on medication that, for the moment, is working wonders.  Even though I have ups and downs, they are nothing compared to the crippling lows and frightening highs I used to have.  I admit to missing the fantastic beautiful colors of my soaring days.  I’m willing to give them up when I realize I’ve been “fine” for more than a month now.  I feel normal, or at least what I think normal should be.  I don’t freak out, I’m not mad or irritated all the time, I’m more patient, I don’t think about dying or erasing my existence.  I have remorse but it no longer consumes me.  I still have my humor and occasionally I am still fun to be around.  I still go out, interact with others, have conversations. 

If I’m grateful for anything, it’s that this whole thing has brought me to my knees.  The view from down there was frightening but because I survived, my payback is stability.  It’s never felt so good, even against the backdrop of a very bleak present.