P. S.

OK, here's a post-script to what I was talking about yesterday: the "hate phase" of writing.  Karen Russell, author of the Pultizer-nominated novel Swamplandia! has a wonderful take on this phase (and a little less negative than mine), as seen in her interview by BookBrowse.  In this interview, Karen is asked how it was to write her first novel.  She answers:

"It's such hard work and it also feels ridiculous to me sometimes, all the effort that it takes - like, why can't you get some imaginary people to do something interesting? You invented these fools, why can't you make them behave?"

I just think that's wonderful.  That's all.  Also, I need to learn more about alligators.

On Writing: A Comparison to the Marathon Part 2 of 3

Over-training

My marathon is this coming Saturday.  Like, in 5 days.  I'm freaking out.  Just thought you'd like an update.

Me. Right now.

But, to continue the thread from last post, I'd like to further compare marathon training to writing.  There is a concept in long distance running called over-training.  Over-training happens when an athlete doesn't allow enough recovery time between running days.  The body responds in insidious ways, such as decreased performance, constant muscle fatigue, crabbiness, and even athletic regression.  Curiously enough, different people experience over-training in different ways and there's not one good field test to confirm that yes, you're suffering from over-training. 

I started to experience over-training about a month and a half ago.  We were about 7 weeks out from race date (March 16, by the way) and I couldn't keep up with the group.  Then I couldn't make it up the hills.  Then my legs were on fire.  Constantly.  And I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

After entering the mandatory internet search to self-diagnose my problems, article after article listed my symptoms as over-training. Turns out the best thing to do for over-training is to NOT TRAIN.  So I took a week off. 

I dare to compare some parts of the writing process to the concept of over-training.  Not that you could ever write too much and drain your ability to produce verbiage (as if we were all giant metal tanks of words that, when empty, well, you were empty), but that when mired deep in a particular project, you may feel yourself losing your way or unable to keep up with your previous creative fire.  

When I write anything really over 2,000 words, I go through a love-hate-love cycle.  At first, I LOVE the idea - I am a writing genius!  Every word is pure gold!  Then, I get stuck in the drudgery of actually finishing the piece, and editing.  And I HATE it.  It's crap.  All of it.  This part doesn't make sense, a 5 year old could write that paragraph better - hell, my dog could write it better.  This part of the process, to me, is sometimes like over-training.  This part makes me crabby and makes me feel like I've regressed as a writer.  It's about being too critical of a first draft and sometimes even too negative when it comes to the purity of the creative process.  It's a dangerous place and like over-training, if not recognized and dealt with properly, can lead to serious damage. 

If you're an athlete and ignore the signs of over-training, a few things could happen.  You could get injured.  Also, you could burn out.  Most cataclysmic of all, both of these things could happen at the same time.  If you're a writer in this hate phase, you could listen to your inner demons and quit. And quitting is the worst thing a writer can do.  Well, except for plagiarism.  That's probably worse. 

But, like getting out of over-training, finding your way out of the hate phase comes down to taking some time away, at least for me.  Even a day's break from a project to let it "set" helps me come back with fresh eyes, eyes that aren't so critical as they were the day before.  And what's nice is that after that hate phase, there's another love phase.  After a break, I sometimes come back to a project and think: wow!  That's not too bad! Or at least not as bad as I first thought!  And that's a much better place to be. 

Cheesy ending, folks. Deal with it.

So, what I'm trying to say, and remind myself of, is that writing, like running, can be hard, but working through the tough bits to the finish is rewarding in the end.  I'll be trying to remember these very words on Saturday, as I'm around Mile 19 of the marathon.  I'll let you know how it goes.


PS: don't despair.  After this stupid marathon, it's back to more vet stuff, I promise.

On Writing: A Comparison to the Marathon

Hi folks.  I'm dangerously close to already failing one of my New Year's resolutions, which was to blog at least four times a month.  As such, I'm scrambling to write three posts within this last week of February.  Additionally, I'm deep in the struggle of training for my very first marathon, a feat much much more difficult than I ever imagined.  Since this is taking most of my time and energy, and provides me long training runs in which I can come up with blog topics, the next three posts will be running-heavy and animal-light.  As an attempt at amends for all my dear readers who visit for the veterinary side of things, here's a picture of a patient of mine in vet school:

I forgot his name, but doesn't he look like a Mr. Bigglesworth?

The next three posts here will be on a theme of comparing writing, in particular the long commitment of writing a novel, to training for a marathon. 

Blog 1 of 3:

Writing is so much like training for a marathon, it's not even funny.  Not in the slightest.  Especially when the going gets tough.  I know.  Because right now, the going is VERY tough for my marathon training. 

With a 26.2 mile challenge breathing down my neck in four weeks, I am stressed, I am tired, I am working hard.  Anyone with a writing deadline ever feel the same way?  I am suffering from over-training (more on that in an up-coming post), which I am likening to writer's block.  Worst of all, I am tempted to quit.  So very tempted. 

And yet..... so many people talk about running a marathon.  Just like so many people talk about writing a book.  I prefer to live, or at least try to live, my life according to the Elvis song: "A Little Less Conversation" (a little more action, please).  Anyone can TALK about doing something.  How about we actually DO IT?

I believe in order to complete either a book or a marathon, one must exemplify three traits: perseverance, self-discipline, and ambition.  Please note I have not mentioned talent.  There is no secret to writing a book - you have an idea and you write it down.  There is no secret to running a marathon - you put feet to pavement and start moving.  You don't need to be the next Hemingway, or the next Usain Bolt.  A popular writer's quote goes something like, "Writing is 3% inspiration and 97% avoiding distractions on the Internet", which means to me: just freaking do it.  A nose to the grindstone sort of thing.

I'm writing today because I'm angry and frustrated and I want to quit.  A few weeks ago, just as I really started to feel the effects of extra miles in my training, I got a rejection letter in the mail from a writing query I sent a month earlier.  Talk about getting kicked when you're down.  Struggling both in writing and running, it's so tempting to wallow in self-pity and have a convenient excuse to eat an entire bag of M&Ms.

Me, for the past month.

And yet.... there are people who believe in me.  One thing about bragging that you're training for a marathon (in the euphoria of the first week of training) is that the people you tell keep you accountable.  They ask how things are going and offer words of encouragement.  And it's a funny thing about encouragement - after you keep hearing it, you start to believe in yourself again.  It can be the same thing with writing.

So, here we are four weeks from race day.  One last long run tomorrow morning, then it's down to tapering.  You could liken this to finishing the last third of a novel: the plot is winding up for the climax, but there are loose ends and plot holes you need to repair.  It's overwhelming, but the end is in sight.  And we can do this.

Literary Art

It always seems that in the dead of winter, when I'm trapped inside the confines of my house daydreaming myself away to a tropical paradise or just somewhere above 30 degrees, I get a little artsy-fartsy.  Years ago during my senior year of vet school, on a fairly quiet rotation called "ancillary" where we fine-tuned our histopathology skills in the mornings and spent the afternoons slipping on blood on the necropsy floor, and therefore had no patients to care for and were finished by 4:30 every afternoon, I had some time on my hands.  This rotation was in February and being cooped up in my one-bedroom apartment in bone-chilling Lafayette, Indiana, I revived a passion of the art work of Edward Hopper.  

Months prior to this, I visited the Indianapolis Museum of Art, where I encountered my first Hopper painting: Hotel Lobby.

Hotel Lobby, Edward Hopper (1943)

At the time I was completely unfamiliar with Hopper's work but I recall being drawn to this painting.  I loved it.  I found it had the simplistic power of suggesting a million different stories of what was going on in the scene.  I remember standing in front of it for minutes, just staring and getting lost in the possibilities.  This painting was like the opening of a novel, laid out visually right before my eyes. Researching more of Hopper's work, I discovered he painted one of my favorite paintings of all time, Nighthawks. 

Nighthawks, Edward Hopper (1942)

I read this painting was on display at the Art Institute of Chicago, which is where I set out on a bitterly cold Saturday during my ancillary rotation.  Ironically, the exhibit showcasing Hopper's masterpiece was closed for renovation during my visit, but I did see a few of his other works and of course bought a few goodies at the gift shop.  One of my prize possessions from this trip was a book called The Poetry of Solitude: A Tribute to Edward Hopper by Gail Levin.  A small collection of poems inspired by Hopper's works, this book contains the culmination of all things wonderful in my world: a poem written my one of my favorite authors (Joyce Carol Oates) about my favorite piece of art, Nighthawks.

EDWARD HOPPER’S NIGHTHAWKS, 1942

The three men are fully clothed, long sleeves,
even hats, though it’s indoors, and brightly lit,
and there’s a woman. The woman is wearing
a short-sleeved red dress cut to expose her arms,
a curve of her creamy chest; she’s contemplating
a cigarette in her right hand, thinking that
her companion has finally left his wife but
can she trust him? Her heavy-lidded eyes,
pouty lipsticked mouth, she has the redhead’s
true pallor like skim milk, damned good-looking
and she guesses she knows it, but what exactly
has it gotten her so far, and where? — he’ll start
to feel guilty in a few days, she knows
the signs, an actual smell, sweaty, rancid, like
dirty socks; he’ll slip away to make telephone calls
and she swears she isn’t going to go through that
again, isn’t going to break down crying or begging
nor is she going to scream at him, she’s finished
with all that. And he’s silent beside her,
not the kind to talk much but he’s thinking
thank God he made the right move at last,
he’s a little dazed like a man in a dream —
is this a dream? — so much that’s wide, still,
mute, horizontal, and the counterman in white,
stooped as he is and unmoving, and the man
on the other stool unmoving except to sip
his coffee; but he’s feeling pretty good,
it’s primarily relief, this time he’s sure
as hell going to make it work, he owes it to her
and to himself. . . . And she’s thinking
the light in this place is too bright, probably
not very flattering, she hates it when her lipstick
wears off and her makeup gets caked, she’d like
to use a ladies’ room but there isn’t one here
and . . . how long before a gas station opens? —
it’s the middle of the night and she has a feeling
time is never going to budge. This time
though she isn’t going to demean herself —
he starts in about his wife, his kids, how
he let them down, they trusted him and he let
them down, she’ll slam out of the goddamned room
and if he calls her Sugar or Baby in that voice,
running his hands over her like he has the right,
she’ll slap his face hard, You know I hate that: STOP!
And he’ll stop. He’d better. The angrier
she gets the stiller she is, hasn’t said a word
for the past ten minutes, not a strand
of her hair stirs, and it smells a little like ashes
or like the henna she uses to brighten it, but
the smell is faint or anyway, crazy for her
like he is, he doesn’t notice, or mind —
burying his hot face in her neck. . . . She’s still contemplating
the cigarette burning in her hand,
the counterman is still stooped gaping
at her, and he doesn’t mind that, why not,
as long as she doesn’t look back, in fact
he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world
so why isn’t he happier?

~ Joyce Carol Oates, born 1938, American poet, novelist, and essayist

Now, if only one of my other favorite authors, Margaret Atwood, would write a poem inspired by Dogs Playing Poker, by C.M. Coolidge, I will have found my nirvana.

Writer Shaming

The concept of dog shaming, or the act of photographing your dog after she has done something terrible with a sign around her neck explaining what she did, is now the current 15 minutes of fame deal on the Internet.  Not only does this result in hilarious dog photos, but it's also something we can all relate to - if we don't have a dog that's done something similar, chances are we know someone who does. Here are some of my favorite examples:

However, it occurred to me that us writers have some dirty little secrets we ought to fess up to as well.  So, here's to Writer Shaming.  I've started with a few of my own.  Please feel free to submit your public shaming as well :)

Pet Owner's Bingo

Yesterday, I came across this Huffington Post Books blurb about Reading Bingo for 2013.  Originally from Random House Canada, this nifty little Bingo board is a little something different - I've never seen such a thing before.  Here it is, for your printing and Bingo-playing pleasure:

Now, after seeing this, I thought surely us pet owners should join in the fun, too.  So, while sitting in traffic yesterday, I've made you all a lovely Pet Owners Bingo board:

So, have fun, kids! Have a great weekend!

The Yellow Dog Project

A few weeks ago, I visited my parents in Connecticut.  My parents share their home with an 11 year old yellow Lab named Phoenix.  As a Labrador, Phoenix has a heart of gold.  As a geriatric Lab, Phoenix has a plethora of health problems: extensive osteoarthritis, some suspect degenerative neuropathy, lipomas, a locally invasive connective tissue sarcoma, and laryngeal paralysis.  This last issue resulted in a permanent tracheostomy just before Christmas (we lovingly call it her "blow hole"). 

Phoenix before her permanent tracheostomy

Phoenix after

I accompanied Mom to one of Phoenix's re-check appointments during my visit.  While standing in line waiting to pay the bill, an ad on the bulletin board near the checkout desk caught my attention: The Yellow Dog Project. 

Checking out their website when we got home, I came upon a brilliant grassroots movement amongst knowledgeable, compassionate, and proactive dog owners.  This project tackles the challenge of owning a, as the website puts it, "dog who needs some space".  This relatively broad category is somewhat vague for a reason: it encompasses many different types of dog situations and personalities. 

"Dogs who need some space" can include dogs recovering from a medical procedure, handicapped dogs, dogs undergoing rehabilitation or training, and dogs that just, you know, don't really want strangers all up in their business.  Owners of such dogs know exactly what I'm talking about.  My dog Shadow falls into this last category.

My girl Shadow

Shadow, a 10 year old black Lab mix is from a whole different personality universe than Phoenix.  Whereas the Pheener Beaner has a smile to share with the world, Shadow can be fear-aggressive.  When we walk in the woods and her unleashed canine counterparts bound down the trail to greet us, well, Shadow doesn't want to especially say "hi" and join in the fun.  A common conversation that then follows goes something like this:

Other dog owner: "Don't worry, she's friendly!"
Me: "Well, mine's not!"

This usually results in the other dog owner scrambling to gather his/her companion on the leash and out of our way and, I will note, occasionally give us a dirty look.

Enter the Yellow Dog Project.  The idea is simple: if you have a dog like Shadow, or a dog that fits into the broad category of "dog who needs some space", tie a yellow ribbon (NOT around the ol' oak tree) around the dog's leash in plain sight, giving a visual clue to other dog owners that your dog doesn't want to or can't play or otherwise interact with strangers.  Pretty neat, right?

Not quite what I'm talking about here. Unless this tree "needs some space".

The only problem here is this project requires a two-way street.  If I tie a ribbon on Shadow's leash but no one knows what this ribbon means, then it's a pointless exercise.  Hence, today's blog.  I'm here to shout from the rooftops about this awesome idea and strongly encourage everyone to pass it along.  The website has tear sheets to download and print off at your convenience - please do so and hang them up in your vet clinics, at the groomers, at the kennel, at dog shows, at your stable, even on your refrigerator.  I wish they made bumper stickers for this. 

My only question is: if I start also wearing a yellow ribbon myself, will people get the same message?