Little effort, little publishing

Got another Twitter Fiction published: http://www.onefortyfiction.com/archives/at-the-playground#comments. Writing these is about all I can do with the energy I have left these days. Hopefully I'll get my vertigo solved and I'll be more productive.

Long, pointless stories...with a point

One of my favorite types of story is the Shaggy Dog story. They aren't about dogs, necessarily, nor are they about shagginess. Shaggy Dog stories are generally long, drawn out yarns that either end with a surprising twist on an old saying/cliche, or end with a pointless, "Oh." My faves are usually the first, but my father would tell the second a lot! Here are some good examples.

http://www.wordiq.com/definition/Shaggy_dog_story

Shaggy Dog stories with the twist on a cliche ending are fun for me because as I'm listening, I'm trying to figure out what the end saying is going to be. It's a puzzle. A challenge. Sometimes I'm a little right, sometimes I have no guess or am totally wrong, but the fun is in the attempt, not necessarily being right. Although, being right is a lot of fun.

Some people don't like them because of their long, drawn out qualities or the pointlessness of the ending on some of them, but isn't that life sometimes? You think there's meaning in everything and sometimes there's none!

I guess my biggest reason for liking them is I grew up with my father telling them, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. He enjoyed the humor and the anticipation, and now so do I.

Wallowing in Freakish Misery...

For the last few weeks I've felt pretty miserable. Nothing has been particularly wrong, and in fact, I can say I'm one of the most blessed people I know. My malaise is biologically based, I realize this, but sometimes it's hard to see the foam at the end of the roller coaster when the cotton candy has been smeared all over your glasses. And how do you fight your own body?

So when I got up today, I grudgingly went to go workout, then with much internal whining went to work, fully expecting to need a nap after 30 minutes. Only planned on staying a few hours. Didn't want to go hungry for my little time there, so packed a post-workout drink and a snack.

Ended up staying all day, only briefly stopping to eat, and came home feeling GOOD. Really good. As in I wanted to clean and make supper good. Sigh.

Structure and work. Solves the biological spiral. I think I'm going to puke. Could I be turning into an adult?

Wasting Time

Have you ever had a project you looked forward to completing, got everything together to work on it, rubbed your hands in in anticipation, then spent the next two hours in frustration because it JUST WILL NOT WORK?

I hate wasting time. The older I get the more I realize I probably have less time left than I've spent on this planet. Scary thought! And to spend time and get nothing out of it irks me more than many things. Including burnt toast, which only wastes a few minutes of time and a cheap piece of bread.

Then I get all philosophical about what wasting time teaches me. All the positives. Yeah, right. Wasting time is pointless, fruitless, and boring. All it teaches me is that I should have planned my project better. Done more research. Left open other possibilities instead of burning bridges so at the end I'm not left with nothing.

Oh.

Driven: Why DON'T I get out of the car?

A friend of mine was listening to my schedule (workouts, workshops, committee meetings, family obligations, church obligations, writing projects, etc.) and asked me why. Why did I keep pushing myself? Why did I continue to say "yes" when I could very easily coast through the next few 5k runs, let administration do their evil work without me, and forget publishing the novel that haunts my dreams?

He has a point. I could have a generally stress-free life if I chose to. But I don't. In fact, I often make trouble for myself to the point I'm toeing deadlines to the second and having panic attacks. Why don't I just get out of the driven car and relax?

I guess because I was brought up with the attitude that if I have a talent, I need to use it to its fullest, not sit around and waste it. There's a balance I've yet to achieve between pushing the limits of my capabilities and taking on just enough to be efficient. There's a goal in there somewhere!

But I think more to the point, I like the challenge. In a weird, self-depreciating way I enjoy criticism and stress and struggle because when I DO achieve my goals, it makes them that much more enjoyable. It proves to the nay-sayers that I am more than they think. I'm worth more than what they think. And even better, proves to MYSELF I'm worth more than I think.

That last one, folks, is an achievement.

Rhetorical Questions in Queries

You know how people are always advising you to use rhetorical questions in your blurbs, query letters, and any such "attention getting" materials to make your writing pop? Here's one agent who says otherwise and gives great reasons why not to ask, "What if...?"

http://bigglasscases.blogspot.com/2012/06/your-rhetorical-questions-answered.html

Why does pain have to hurt so much?

You really don't understand a situation until you go through it. As a writer, I understand this. So it behooves the good writer to try to experience as much as possible so he or she can write credible stories.

Pain wasn't on my list, but I got it anyway.

In two days I went from stiff neck to weeping in my car because I couldn't bend my neck enough to get out. Or in. Or look behind to back up. I'm not sure what the cause is, but my body doesn't seem to need a cause to do weird things.

So it occurred to me, as a writer, to analyze why pain has such a negative connotation. I mean, come on, pain is the body's way of slowing you down when you are going too fast, telling you something is wrong and you need to take care of it, and an indicator (if you do it right) that your workouts are actually making your body stronger.

First of all, pain in a body is rarely a localized phenomenon. Even if it's only your shoulder that hurts, you can't bend your neck, you can't lean over, you can't kneel down, you can't grab/hold/carry things because you use that muscle unconsciously with every action. You can't even breathe or sneeze or cough properly because your head is stabilized using the shoulder.

Second, pain inhibits clear thinking. Seems silly, I know, but if it hurts so much that every other thought is pushed to the back, it's nearly impossible to REASON let alone problem solve. Memory of where you put things is fogged by the shuffling haze of focusing on getting from one location to another without falling over in agony.

I think the worst part, though, is it's hard to see an end when the pain is so bad. Losing my perspective of knowing one day soon I will wake up without having to scream when I literally roll out of bed is debilitating. All I can see is pain and none of the recovery calm. We all need hope, and hope smeared with the mud of pain is sometimes too camouflaged to perceive.

After three trips to the chiropractor and a couple heavy doses of ibuprofen, I'm definitely better, but trying to take my lesson seriously: Characters in pain don't think straight, cannot fight as well as they usually would, and often have a more pessimistic outlook on life. And if my characters could talk to me now, they'd be screaming at me to stop the torture, but it's too late.