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| This kitten has absolutely nothing to do with this blog. He's just here to be adorable. Good job, Wulfie. |
It’s Saturday.
I woke up at 7am with the knowledge that I had a ton of
stuff to get done before a birthday party I’m going to this afternoon.
Naturally, this means I have been finding every excuse I can
to procrastinate doing what actually needs done.
Thus the revised blog.
As you know (or don’t
know, if this is your first time here), I’m writing a book. I came to terms with the idea about three or
four months ago and set myself a target deadline for having it written.
I will have my book written by May.
But as it turns out, writing a book is more than just merely
thinking up random situations and hijinks to throw your characters into. It seems that writing a book, especially a
sci-fi space-travel book, means creating not just a world, but an entire
universe. And I don’t’ know about the
rest of you, but if God created the heavens and the earth in only seven days,
he must’ve been mainlining coffee-laced crack-cocaine to get the job done so
quickly.
How will the physics of this world work? Are the planets
that my hero visits inhabited by human settlers, or different humanoid-ish
species, or something in between? Does everything I write only seem to be derivative of one of the
hundreds of sci-fi/fantasy stories I’ve heard before or am I straight up
plagiarizing my favorites? Do I need to worry about the fact that at this point
in all of my characters seem to be speaking with the same voice – namely, my voice?
And most of all, it’s no wonder that I find the character
and place names in Dune to be so
laborious to read. (Tlielaxu,
indeed. WTF, Frank Herbert?) How does a person create differentiated and
memorable names for alien lands and species when one only has the mildest
understanding of how our modern Earth languages are formed? At times it feels like I should just free
fall into the English alphabet and pull out letters at random in order to name
places. They can’t all be called New
Iowa, right?
Needless to say, although I’m over 100 pages into my
writing, I’ve decided to start over. Relax;
I’m saving what was written so I can use it again in the future. I just need to get to know my universe better
before I can send my hero on an epic quest to save it.
But still, I have four and a half months to get at least a
shitty first draft of my book written. I
think I can handle that.
In other news –
It’s surprising what a difference sleeping on a level
surface can make in a person’s life.
(How’s that for segues?)
Over a year ago, when I was still living at the Barpartment,
I realized that one of the casters attached to my bed frame was bent. After ten-years of drunken sleepovers and
countless hamster-piles, I guess the sonovabitch decided it needed a
reprieve. It was only slightly bent, so
using the carpeting in my bedroom at the Barpartment I was able to keep the caster
held in place and I didn’t think of it again until moving into my current
apartment.
My bedroom now has polished concrete floors,which means that
not only was there nothing to aide with holding the bent caster in place but my
bed was also extremely prone to rolling around in the middle of the night. It was not uncommon for me to awaken to my
alarm and find that my bed had rolled three feet from the nightstand the alarm
sat upon. This motion surely helped in
worsening the bend in the caster, but hindsight is hindsight.
Shortly after moving into my apartment last April, I began
to wake up every day with a sore back, barely able to move. By July, my morning routine would include
vain attempts at stretching, shedding tears as I shampooed my hair, and
eventually popping a couple Aleve to get me through the day.
“My body is aging before its time,” I emphatically told myself
with the depressing clarity that comes only when one is sure that they have
reached the end of their lifecycle.
(*ahem*…You may or may
not know that I often like to ignore the rational part of my brain that tells
me when I’m overreacting about things.
This was definitely one of those times.
Just like when I was five-years old and screamed and cried as a chipmunk
tried to befriend me.)
It took until October for me to figure out that what was
really happening was that I had been sleeping on an incline. Apparently facing my imminent demise was more
exciting than taking a moment to follow the logical thought process from “Hmm, I
wonder if I should investigate what’s causing this problem?” to “Oh, duh. My feet
are a good four inches lower than my head each night. I bet my spine hates that.”
No, I lived for six months considering how I would tell my
parents that they would soon be caring for their invalid daughter. Some part of me even spent the time rejoicing
at how much writing I’d get done when luxuries like walking and sitting were no
longer an option for me. It was all very
romantic, in that depressingly pitiful sort of way.
Until one day when I snapped out of whatever stupor I was in
and realized that there is a hell of a lot more life left in these rattling old
bones. I could put up with my situation,
or find a way out of it. Luckily, the
remedy was as simple as removing my bed frame and moving the fuck on with my
life.
The whole debacle has made me aware of how easy it can be to
accept what seems to be the worst-case scenario (I’m dying) instead of looking
for a simple solution (take the frame off the damn bed) to improve everything.
So why the hell did I feel the need to share this sad little
tale with you all?
Well, I think a lot of us tend to put up with shittiness
like this from time to time without considering the ways that we can improve
our situation. In my case, it probably had
a lot to do with fear.
If I always kept the “maybe my bed’s just fucked up” thought
in the very back of my mind, I could ignore the possibility that maybe I had a
back issue I needed to deal with.
Because if I fixed the problem with my bed frame and the back problems
persisted, I had a much scarier process of figuring out what was actually wrong
with my body to face. That thought alone
was scary enough to keep me sleeping on a slant for six months.
Taking such a simple action required little actual physical effort
(although, do try removing a bed frame while
balancing a queen-size box spring and mattress on your back and then tell me
how easy it was for you) but I had to cross some mental hurdles to get myself
there.
What shittiness are you putting up with out of fear? Maybe it’s as simple as removing a bed
frame. But maybe it’s something
more. Either way, fear is never the
reason to put up with less than what you deserve.
And in case you’re wondering – you deserve awesomeness.
Much Love,
Annie Jay
PS – I find it really creepy that as soon as I got done
writing this post I went on Facebook and saw a link to this TED-Talk in my
newsfeed. I guess the NSA really is watching what I do online. At least they’re being helpful about it. http://ed.ted.com/lessons/how-to-build-a-fictional-world-kate-messner
