It's all about Attitude

I've been feeling a little overwhelmed this week. We changed the schedule at the studio, so Mondays and Tuesdays have become pretty crazy (Tuesday I was at the studio for 13 hours). I spent Wednesday making up for everything I missed the first two days. Today I spent the entire morning at Sam's house wrapping up our final revisions and polishes to the manuscript. It went out this afternoon to our first round of beta readers.

Needless to say, when I arrived at the studio this afternoon, I was pretty overloaded. I did not eat well, so I was feeling a bit off anyway. I started considering skipping Black Belt class. I began to create excuses.

Something happened, though. I can't really pinpoint where it occurred, whether it was a comment someone made, whether it was one of my students, or if it was just me. But somewhere in this hectic afternoon, I realized that it's all about attitude.

I taught three classes this afternoon, and all three of them went great. I had a parent tell me that I am the best teacher she's ever seen. I nailed a difficult kick in Black Belt class. But it really came home during sparring class at the end of the night.

We're prepping for a tournament next week, so we had the full scoring system out and we were doing competitive matches. I was one of the last to fight, and I got to pick my opponent. I looked around the room. I could have picked a lot of different people. But when it came down to it, I knew that I needed to push myself. I picked a black belt of my same rank, a younger guy who weighs probably 50 pounds less than me. He's fast, and he's powerful. Of everyone there, he pushes me the most. He was also on fire tonight.

I got my butt handed to me. He nailed me left and right. Oh, sure, I got some good kicks in, and I worked on my spinning kicks the way I've been training. He's so fast, these don't really work on him. I ended up on the ground at least four times. But each time I popped up, ready to go again. The fight ended when he accidentally kicked me in the small of the back and knocked the wind out of me. But once I got my breath back, I popped right back up, ready to cheer for him for a really great fight.

I was on fire tonight. It didn't display physically--my game was definitely not on tonight. But tonight I had indomitable spirit. I pressed on through hard things, and I was happy about it. It wasn't fake or forced. Each time I fell, each time it was hard, I smiled and pressed on. By the end of the night, I was brimming with triumph. Not because of a fight won or lost, but because I had triumphed a mental game.

Taekwondo is only one part of my life. We all have things that are challenging that we have to work through. We all have things that get us down. But friends, it's all about attitude. That is how we triumph.

I'm going to kick butt next week. ;)

The Muse has Descended once again

Easter weekend was fun--I spent most of it at a friend's house watching LDS General Conference. We ate yummy food and dyed Easter eggs, which is something I have not done nearly enough in my life. I also went to my birth grandparents house for Easter dinner and the Easter egg hunt. Everyone has a certain number of eggs with their name on, and the eggs are hidden according to the age of the finder. So, the little kids' are just lying around in the grass. It gets progressively harder as you get older. My aunts are somewhat diabolical in the egg-hiding. Everyone has a good time with it.

In other news, I've been writing some pretty awesome stuff lately. Forgive me if I pontificate too verbosely. ;)

My best friend Sam and I have been working on this novel since last summer, though its roots are based in a story we worked on in the summer of 2007. At any rate, we pushed through and wrote 3/4 of this book last year. But in December as you may recall, I hit a terrible awful loathsome case of writer's block. Now, normally I don't give credence to writer's block. I have a quote from a writer named Peter Carey that I really love that basically says you have to keep writing no matter what, no matter if "you're sick or sad or dull. Nothing must stop you." Sam though it would be wise for us to take a break from the story, maybe work on other things, but come back to it when the inspiration was there. I didn't much care for this idea. I know myself. I'm a Discovery-style writer (term courtesy of writer Brandon Sanderson). I write and write and write, push through to the end. Any story I've stopped in the middle of, I've never finished. It's just not how I work. So, reluctantly, I agreed to take a "break" from this novel.

Three months passed. I didn't write a thing. It was awful. This is the longest I've EVER gone without writing. Like...EVER, as in, since the age of 7 when I started writing. I am always writing SOMEthing. Three months with no words was seriously traumatic.

There came a day when I told Sam we needed to brainstorm a new story because I couldn't stand it anymore. We brainstormed...and then his wife Ashley and I had an idea. Poor Sam got left in the cold that day, as Ashley and I took this idea and ran with it. In the space of two days, I had the entire plot of a novel planned out and I was ready to write.

I wrote a little. The first chapter or so, though it took me far longer than that quantity of words normally takes me. I felt rusty. I scrapped the first chapter and re-wrote it. Still wasn't quite satisfied...I found myself thinking about other characters, of a plot that I had left unfinished three months prior... Characters wouldn't leave me alone. I found that instead of wanting to write my new novel, I more desired to finally return to the unfinished manuscript.

Setting aside my new novel, I decided to do a re-read. Now, you have to understand a little how I work as a writer. Revision is one of my weakest points. As a Discovery-style writer, it is my instinct to push through, write a story, and then move forward. This has strong points and weak points. The strong points are that I finish stories that I write, and I finish them fast. I've cranked out an entire novel in a month before. The weak points are that I often have plot holes or weak plot lines, because I rarely plan things out in depth, I just push through and write to the end. And revisions are minimal. I rarely have the patience or the desire to do an in-depth revision. More often, I'll just abandon the manuscript and move on to write what I hope will be an even better story.

Thus coming back to this manuscript was a big step for me. It really marked a change in my process as a writer. Because it wasn't just a re-read (and Sam and Ashley were reading thru at the same time). As I went, I made revisions or marked them to do later. Sam and I were able to make a MAJOR plot change--we have five protagonists, and we decided to completely change one character's thread. So we ripped out a fifth of the novel and re-wrote that character's plot line. I added chapters, I re-arranged the order of several chapters. I added flavor and culture to many sections. I can't tell you how many small but detailed changes I made through this re-read. I've never done anything like it before.

As it turns out, I needed the time and space from the manuscript. When I came back to it after a three-month break, my eye was fresh and ready to see the things I wouldn't have cared about, ensconced in the writing as I had been before. In December, I was getting tired of the story. Most likely, if I had pressed through and finished, the end would have been rushed and the writing would not have been engaging...and then, I would have abandoned the manuscript and never returned to it. Now, I am excited about the story. After a month's worth of re-reading, revising, and re-writing, we are ready to push forward. Sam and I spent Friday night plotting out the climactic fight scene where we left off in December. I am finally ready to finish this story.

You know what the best part is? This story is awesome. I am so excited to finish it...and share it.

Work: Some new developments

You know I love Taekwondo, right? Well, I do. Lots. I've especially come to enjoy teaching Taekwondo, which came as a surprise to me at first. I love spending time with my students.

So when the opportunity was presented to work at the studio part-time, you may understand why I jumped at it.

Here's the story. A while back, I was talking to Whitnee (a co-owner and program director at the studio, and one of my very best friends) about some of the challenges the studio has been facing. Part of the problem was a lack of manpower--but also a lack of funds to pay for additional manpower.

I guess they made an executive decision that the manpower was necessary for further growth, because they approached me and offered me 15 hours a week of work at the studio--7 hours teaching and 8 hours in the office. Needless to say, I accepted. It means pulling my current job from full-time hours to part-time, which means losing my full-time benefits. But the sanity benefits are well worth the sacrifice to me.

I love Taekwondo. I love teaching Taekwondo. I love organizing things, I love maintaining order--which is what I'll be doing in the office. Compared to my job now--dull, mind-numbing monotony day after day--this is bliss.

I'll be starting in the office next week, and then we'll start introducing me to my new classes in the new year. Whitnee doesn't want me to get too overwhelmed before black belt testing--which is three weeks away, yikes!!--so I'll probably be hitting it hard mid-January and into February. I'll be continuing to teach my mixed children's class, in addition to a teens class (which is the most alarming--teens are harder to impress than kids) and possibly an advanced or intermediate childrens class. I'll also start assisting the childrens' sparring program, and I'm really excited about that. Sparring and I are tight. ;)

This, my friends, while crazy and somewhat irresponsible, this...is passion. Living it. And nothing makes me happier. Wish me luck!

TEDxSUU

If you don't know what TED is, stop right now and go here. Take some time, explore. Watch this one, it's my favorite. Pure brilliance.

Okay, now that you are familiar with TED, I want to familiarize you with their new brain-child, TEDx. These are independently organized events that are now recognized by TED. Check this out. See yours truly?

Yesterday, my friend Whitnee and I drove down to Cedar City to attend TEDxSUU. This is like our brain-child, growing up. We were in the first class to produce this conference (see the Fall 2007 video on the aforementioned page). And last night, I was invited down as an alumna speaker.

The theme of TED is "Ideas Worth Spreading" and this was an idea shared by TEDxSUU. A handful of students from the class were selected to present a shortened version of the presentation. There were also videos played from TED. Check out this one--so good. The students shared ideas about wildlife preservation, the societal concepts of maturity, and the use of color in our perceptions of language, mathematice, and the world at large. There were artistic performances, which were a new addition that I particularly liked.

But at the end of the student speakers, it was my turn. I only had a few minutes--not nearly long enough to give true scope to what I wanted to say. But the point I wanted to make to these fledgling Honors students was about passion. We live in a society of sheep. There is a flock, and everybody wants to be part of the flock, and the flock wants everybody to be part of it. You might want to be a pretty sheep, or a smart sheep, but you are still a sheep. If you venture too far, the flock says no, don't go there, its dangerous. It's not cool. It's lonely. We are discouraged from venturing out from the norm--set by our arbitrary society. People who live outside those bounds are criticized, stigmatized. But the flock remains caught in nothing greater than mediocrity.

The Honors program was always about passion to me. So many people go to college for the degree. They do just enough to get by, to endure until they get handed that paper that tells them they accomplished something. But there is so much potential for more. And not just in school--I want to have an Honors life. It's not just about skating by, doing just enough. There is a deeper, more fulfilling experience to be had.

Too often we are limited by expectations put upon us. In college, you have expectations set by teachers. To pass this class, you must do these things. And so we do those things. In life, we are set expectations by peers, by family, by religion or politics, by employers. All these expectations that we are set to meet. But those expectations actually limit our capacity. If the bar is set here, then we only try to reach here.

We can reset the expectations. We can set our own expectations, and set them far higher than what anybody else can set for us. It might not be cool. People might not accept it--how many times are we told to lower our expectations, because we can't possibly achieve our dreams? But we CAN! By raising the expectations we have for ourselves, we raise our capacity to achieve them. And we never know what new interests and passions and dreams we will discover along the way.

Let's try not to be sheep. Let's try to leave the flock of others' expectations. Let's venture out into this great big world with our eyes and minds open for new ideas. And we can share our own--ideas worth spreading.

When God keeps poking you, you'd better start listening!

I don't mean that statement to be sacreligious or in any way disrespectful. But I honestly believe that God uses other people to 'poke' you, to give you hints and nudges and a bit of a wake up call. Welcome to my life.

In the space of 12 hours, four people asked me when/if I was going back to school. It had been on my mind anyway, with school starting and a bunch of my friends starting classes. But then in less than a day, I got asked again and again about me going back.

Little pokes. Little nudges.

If you know me at all, you know about my impulsiveness. This is how it works--I start thinking about doing something. I stew about it for a looooooooong time. I might bounce the idea off a few select people, or I might keep it to myself. But when I finally make the decision, I take action immediately. I make it happen. Right. Now.

I started thinking about going to grad school last year. Do any of you remember that? I decided that I wanted to study social work. But as I was looking at the application for the program I was interested in, A) I was too late for this year's deadline, and B) of equal importance to education on the application was volunteer work in the field. At the time, I had none. So though school wasn't an option at the time, I still got interested in volunteer work. I contacted my caseworker down in Cedar City, who recommended me up north, I pursued it, got in touch with some key people at family services...and now I have nine solid months of volunteer work behind me, and my passion for the field has multiplied far beyond what my original interest led me to believe.

At this point, I'm just going to apply. Applying hurts me nothing, and could gain me a great deal. I have found something that I love to do, something worthwhile, and something I can make a career of. The chances of getting the kind of position that I want increase significantly with a degree--particularly a master's degree--in the field. And what is there to hold me back?

Profound thoughts of a profoundly profound nature

Or something like that...

The other day, I was talking to my friend Jameson about workplace satisfaction. He's in a business class, and they were talking about the factors that influence job satisfaction. Of course I don't know all of the details. But some of the things were pay scale and benefits, coworkers, and fulfillment from the work itself (among many other things).

Jameson found my situation interesting. I find my job itself to be tedious, indicating one factor of dissatisfaction. I like my workplace itself, I enjoy my coworkers, and my pay/benefits are acceptable. However, I am allowed to write in my spare time once my work is done, which influences my overall satisfaction with my job. While it's not the work itself, I do find satisfaction while at work.

I've been reconsidering some pretty major decisions lately--particularly my decision to go back to school. My major drive to go back to college is in that search for fulfillment. Because I'm not pursuing my original passion/major (theatre) for personal reasons, I thought that I thereby could not find satisfaction in a job that I could obtain without a degree in something else. Thus, I would go back to school to obtain that degree.

However, I'm finding that I can be fulfilled in other ways besides my job. I don't mind my job--I like the people, it's steady and consistent, and while there I can write, which is an enormous passion that I will always pursue. I've discovered that I can find a lot of fulfillment in my ward and callings there, and I'm getting involved in volunteer work that is like nothing else I've ever done before--and which brings me immense satisfaction.

So I don't know that I really want to uproot yet again. I really want to stay in my ward, I want to have some consistency there. And if I'm not unhappy, if I can find that fulfillment that I was looking for in the first place, I'm not sure I'd go back to school except for my obsessive love of school itself. At this point, I don't feel like I'm missing anything that could be gained by going back. So, while I haven't made a firm decision, I'm leaning toward staying right where I'm at.

Behold!

(I would recommend clicking on it and watching in the Facebook window, then you don't have the funny blog background.)

The Value of Hard Work

Today is Friday. Normally I am a great lover of Fridays. There's just something about them that makes them seem infinitely brighter than the rest of the week. Maybe it's the imminent freedom of the approaching weekend. Or maybe the sun just shines more on Fridays (not that it seems that way on this rainy day!!) Today's Friday seems particularly bright, however, because I am pretending the roadshow does not exist. That's right. Today there is no roadshow. It will come back tomorrow in full force, but for today I am blissfully ignoring its existence.

What I really wanted to write about today is the somewhat abstract concept of hard work. It's been on my mind as I watch people and society around me. Our society has grown remarkably lazy, as no one will hesitate to point out. People (I use the term in its most vague and general terms) seem to expect rewards to simply be handed to them. Jobs. Diplomas. Money. I see this at work a lot--people who call in wanting refunds, because times are hard, and expecting to get money just for the asking. Well, friends--times are hard for us, too.

Hard work is not a concept I have appreciated in every part of my life. I have had my lazier periods--still do, in fact. There are a lot of nasty or difficult tasks that come through a persons' life.

However, I am coming to appreciate just how beautiful and important hard work really is.

There are plenty of platitudes out there about hard work; I will try to spare you. But with utmost sincerity I can tell you that when you really work for something, when you work so hard you think you'll explode with the stress of it, when you've given everything you have and still you are asked to give more...well, I believe that's when you really find the value in it, whether it's a job, education or church, a relationship or a friendship. Putting in the effort gives these things value.

I look at my college experience, particularly in the theatre. My last show there, Henry V, was immensely challenging. It required hours upon hours of effort, and every last drop of ingenuity I had. I gave it my all, everything and more that I had to give. There were other shows like that too, but Henry V truly stands out as the crowning jewel of my experience there. I loved that show. And it's because I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to be happy, working as hard as I was. And amazingly enough, it worked.

I look now at my singles' ward experience. Through college, I never had a ward that I really cared about. I always wanted cool callings, and was regularly disappointed by the things I was asked to do. My efforts therefore were lackluster--I went to church, I played the piano in Sacrament meeting or whatever my calling was, but that was the extent of my efforts. But my current ward...I went in with the desire and intention to challenge myself. I asked for a challenging calling--not a glory-filled one like I had always imagined that I 'deserved', but something that would stretch me and my skills, something that would take effort and preparation. I was called as a gospel doctrine teacher. Since that calling, nearly everyone I have told of it has sympathized, bemoaned my fate. And yet...I don't find myself complaining. It's difficult. It's a lot of work. It scares the crap out of me every single time. But...I wouldn't give it up for the world.

I look at this roadshow. I have been commended for taking it on, but honestly, I didn't think about it twice when I was asked. And it has been so rewarding--challenging, certainly. Frustrating at times. Chaotic and maddening. But I've gotten to know more people, I've gotten to write and direct, to teach a little and to enjoy these wonderful people who have sacrificed of their time to participate. Throughout the entire experience, I have not begrudged the work and the time and the effort, because it is so worth it!

I don't mean to be self-righteous, and I don't mean to preach. This is more a self-exploration of these things anyhow--realizing that when I have given of my efforts as selflessly as possible, I have enjoyed the experience more. I want to explore the things that I have realized are important.

My point here is that the joys of hard work apply everywhere, to everything. Nothing in this life is going to be easy, and if it is you're probably doing it wrong. The Gospel of Jesus Christ was not meant to be easy--we have to work for it, every moment of every day we have to restore our faith and our desire to follow the direction we have been given. Our daily life was not meant to be easy--we should find ways to challenge ourselves, to force ourselves to grow and improve. Whether its through work or hobbies or friendships, we will be happier if we are active and involved and seeking to challenge ourselves. And when the trials come--hardships through family or finances, through personal challenges or deep questions, my response to you is the same: just keep trying, and have faith. The same goes for relationships, whether with spouses or siblings or children or aunts or cousins or friends, close or the barest acquaintence. Relationships are not easy. They take work, hard and something grueling effort, whether to overcome anger or to overcome apathy, to fight the little annoyances, or to win their heart each and every day. Nothing worthwhile is easy, and if you stop working to keep the things that are important to you, you will lose them, more often than not simply through your own indifference.

Healthy terror: a possible career move

On Tuesday night I went to a 'write-in' (a less productive variant of a write-a-thon) hosted by the local chapter of NaNoWriMo. I will admit that a big part of the draw was the attendance of local celebrity author Brandon Sanderson, author of Elantris and the Mistborn trilogy. He spoke for about an hour and a half, about writing and publishing and the like. It was informative to a certain degree, and far more entertaining and honest than similar talks/discussions I've attended previously. In particular, Brandon shed light on the possibility of authorship as a career. Before in my mind, it's always been a hobby at which you can make no money whatsoever, or a one-in-a-thousand chance of making it big and making the big bucks. All luck, and not a realistic career path. But B.Sanderson shed light on the actual numbers: selling a book every 1-2 years, a person can, in fact, make a decent living as a writer. And that's just if a book does moderately well--selling 10,000 copies. More than that, and you're making a more-than-modest living.

This makes me come to a full-brakes-stop, with whiplash and everything. This is real. Writing as a career, a possibility. One that I had wished for, but never truly considered as something practical.

I looked around the room several times that evening, and later when the writing started. Most of the people there aren't people I would consider as having potential for real success in this field. That may be exceptionally judgmental of me, I'll admit, as I was basing this judgment almost entirely upon social interaction and discussion of their work, not actual text, which is the important thing in this field. But I looked around, and I wondered if I was any better than anyone in the room, let alone the world, if I could possibly possess some skill or idea that would surpass what all these others might have to offer.

I doubt it. After all, ideas are cheap. Skill is a little harder to come by, but there are plenty of people in the world who can write better than I can, who can stick to an idea and concept better than I can, who are more creative and original than I am. No doubt.

However, maybe I will have something that they won't? The right idea, at the right time and seen by the right eyes in the right place?

Basically, this means that for the first time in over four years (and another five before that!) I'm going to start submitting manuscripts to publishers and agents. I have to tell you that this is about the most terrifying thing in my existence. Every time I freak out (which is almost every time I think about it), I just have to repeat to myself, "What's the worst they can do? Send me a rejection letter--again and again." Sounds bad, but in all reality, that letter is better than no letter at all, because it means that somebody besides me has looked at my words. That is definitely better than nothing.

If I seem a little wild around the eyes when you see me, this may be why. Or it might be some other part of my insanity. With me, you never know.

Today, a writer.

For those of you who haven't heard of NaNoWriMo, basically several hundred thousand people across the world get together every November and try to write a novel--or rather, 50,000 words--from 12:01am November 1st until 11:59pm November 30th. For most people, 50k is a challenging but achievable goal over the course of thirty days, and though much silliness often abounds, there is nevertheless a supportive community who very seriously aim for this goal.

In light of this project, and also in light of my own aspiring-author-community struggling to find time to write, this morning I sponsored a write-a-thon for my immediate friends.

I served french toast (and later quesadillas), and we had a massive brainstorming/writing session, though admittedly there was more of the former than of the latter. Mostly, it was just the idea of getting together to write that I personally enjoyed, even though I didn't actually get much done. We talked about ideas, about books, and about physics and mathematical theories, about the nature of matter and energy and void. We discussed different systems of magic, and different writing approaches.

There is a certain amount of excitement associated with writing. It's very like creating. It's art, and there is nothing else quite like it for me. It's a wonderful and beautiful thing, and it makes me exceptionally happy.

A certain familiar aspect of my life, restated

I was reading the blog of Brandon Sanderson, LDS author of some of my new favorite books. He recently wrote a blog about his life as an unpublished author--the period in which he was writing before his first book was published. He describes the descent of his writing as he tried to write for the market, as he tried to write what editors were telling him people wanted to read, and how it made his writing worse. He wrote a full dozen novels before one was published. He also writes about a point at which he firmly decided that he wanted to write novels for a living, and his determination to do whatever it took to do it. Further on, he writes about his decision to go to a Master's program for creative writing, to surround himself with a community of aspiring writers. And then he writes about his first success--one of the very first novels he had written.

I guess it got me thinking, which I tend to do too much of anyway. Right now, I'm still planning to go back to school, at least part time, and I'm planning to study social work. I see this as a viable option, because it is a career I think I could invest in--if not passionately, then at least enjoyably. It's something I think I could find satisfaction in doing.

However, I've never given up on my desire to be a novelist. This one thing has never wavered--I have been a writer since I was a child, and I have never stopped for any real length of time. Sometimes I am embarrassed to admit this, and often I try to hide my work from those around me who take note of it. After all, novel-writing is hardly a lucrative business. And besides, there are thousands of people who claim to be writers, who either never finish a single full-length work, or whose writing is childish and unimaginative. I have known many such people, and these are what cause my embarrassment when professionals around me take note of the inordiante amount of time I spend with a notebook or a Word file open.

I fully recognize the flaws in my own writing. I am not a published novelist (though I do have some claim with a few short stories) and there is good reason for it. I recognize that I have potential that I have not yet reached.

I also recognize that I want to be a professional novelist.

Here is my issue with this declaration: only the very very lucky and the exceptionally talented writers ever get published. It's an enormous market, awash with mediocre manuscripts from aspiring artists who want to make the big bucks. And, as affirmed to me by Mr. Sanderson, one cannot write for the market. This was the biggest problem with my most recently completed project--I was trying, honestly attempting to write the next Harry Potter saga. And it failed, miserably. It's terribly childish. And I realized--even if I could not express it so eloquently as Mr. Sanderson--that I can't write FOR something, that I can't make myself write something that I don't have in me. Certainly, I finished the novel. It's a goodly length, with a handful of noteworthy ideas. But it is poorly written and even more poorly plotted. It's boring. As I have been told time and again by writers and writing instructors, I must write for myself first. If a writer does not enjoy writing something, why would a reader enjoy reading it?

And so I move forward with my life. I have escaped the dry, monotonous spell that my muse left me in for a number of weeks. I am adjusting to real life. I am becoming accustomed to the day-in day-out nature of a full time job. And in the midst of this mediocrity, I write. The words spill from my fingertips as they often have, until I cannot believe how many pages have been filled that day, and then again the next. And perhaps they are not the prettiest words, and perhaps it is not the most interesting plot, but the next one will be better, as this one shall be better than the last. And perhaps one day, it all shall be worth it. That, my friends, is what we call hope.

A longing for Academia

I've pretty much decided to go back to school, though many of the details have yet to be worked out. I'm certainly one of those people who would be a perpetual student with the opportunity, but much too realistic to actually do so. However, I have almost--practically--decided to go back to school to pursue a second Bachelor's degree. I am certainly going to take a few classes and try it out. I am definitely going to take some sociology/social work classes, and test out that field. It appeals to me greatly, and I think I could find great fulfillment in a social work career, as long as I got the right job(s). I have great hope for it.

I have a great longing for academia in my life. I love the challenge, the passion, the expansion of my thoughts and critical thinking. I am very happy with who I am (if not with what I am doing) and I can give most of the credit to my formative college years. My opinions and my thought processes have developed extensively over the past four (and counting) years, and I long for continuing education in all aspects of my life. I feel that education is the only hope for a productive and fruitful society, and I will always be a proponent of higher education, as long as I live. Not least for myself!

Monotony vs Creativity

I had some down time at work today, and I opened a new document, fully intending to write SOMEthing, I didn't care what. I wanted to write, I had a bit of time to write, and I had every intention in the world of writing. I have two or three projects open right now that I could have worked on, or I could have randomly started something entirely new. Didn't matter to me.

Nothing would come.

Throughout most of my life, I wrote everywhere and anywhere. I have written during classes, during church, in cars (riding AND driving), on planes, in the morning, afternoon, evening and the dead of night. Sure, sometimes I have a little writer's block, every writer does. But today was different. Today, there just was...nothing. I couldn't think of a single thing to write. I was absolutely dry. I didn't much care for the feeling.

I think it's my life right now, especially my job. There is nothing, and I mean nothing whatsoever challenging about my life right now. I'm having some emotional and relationship challenges, but I don't consider that challenging, but interesting. I am at a level of monotony that frightens me. I need to bring some spice back in, or I am going to go totally dry, in more ways than just my writing.

On to the next challenge. On to greater passion.

Artist colonies...when is it my turn?

I can't even begin to express my cravings.

The MacDowell Colony.

If only, if only. But I think I will apply for next summer (even though they say summer's busiest and hardest to get in). In the meantime, I shall work on writing beautiful, artistic things that will get me in.

Descent of the muse

The strangest things sometimes can be the muse.

In almost every episode of House, he has a moment in which somebody says or does something which he somehow connects to the mystery of the case he's working on, somehow delivers his brilliant--and usually bizarre--solution. I call those moments his Muse. It's often Wilson, but it can be anything.

I've been in a strange mood all morning. I've been contemplating the lack of passion in my life. I watched our old TED video, from a time when I thought I could honestly conquer the world, anything I set my mind to. It really made me want to go back to college, to have my mind stretched that way again.

In the midst of my morning, I got onto the TED website and started exploring. I haven't been there for awhile, so there are plenty of new TED Talks to explore. I watched one by Clifford Stoll, I think his name was. Very entertaining. But then I stumbled upon a talk entitled "Where does creativity hide?" by novelist Amy Tan. I haven't felt the artistic stirrings so strongly in a long, long time. With the rain, some music, and TED, I have found my muse today. I'm ready for anything, and it's a great feeling.

I hope it keeps raining.

Staring real life in the face...yet again

I promise that the Arches blog IS coming, there is much to write about, many fun stories to pass on to posterity. I just haven't had it in me the last few days, but believe me, it will come.

Tonight I finished a really good book. Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson, a professor at BYU, actually. It's the first really good new fantasy book I've read in awhile--I've continually turned back to my old favorites, disappointed or bored by newer stuff. But this one was a pleasant surprise, a recommendation from my Sam. Interestingly, Sanderson is the one asked by Robert Jordan's widow to finish The Wheel of Time series--ergo, I had heard his name before reading his book, but only made the connection afterward. After reading Mistborn, I have some hope for the conclusion of Jordan's epic--don't get me wrong, I fanatically read Wheel of Time at one point in my life, but as it got stringed out and the books got more and more involved and covered less and less time, I lost some of my fervor for the books. But hopefully we will see a good--and conclusive--end to it. At any rate and either way, I really enjoyed Mistborn, can't wait to get my hands on the second book.

Getting onto Sanderson's website somehow led me to BYU's--I'm not sure what the connection is there, except that I've been meaning to check out BYU's undergraduate catalog for awhile. Do not mistake me--I have very little intention of ever attending BYU. However, I did hope to find some inspiration there, as far as my future goes.

I'm very seriously--almost certainly--considering going back to school for a second undergraduate degree. Hear me out.

I went to college the first time, absolutely certain of what I wanted to study. Theatre and English sometimes struggled for control over my soul--theatre eventually winning out--but it was always those two things. Sometimes I was one major, sometimes the other, for a long time both, but it was always those two. I never strayed, I never considered other options. I knew what I wanted to do, and I did it.

I've come--long before I graduated--to regret that singlemindedness. I certainly regret my decision to graduate early, missing the chance to take a few extra classes, to spend a little more time preparing for real life. But that is neither here nor there.

I want to take more classes. I hope always to be furthering my education, if not formally, but while I have the opportunities to do so, I would like to stay in school. I want to study things I have never studied before. I want to find and develop new passions--maybe even ones I would never find otherwise.

Thus, my search of the BYU (and UVU) catalog, hunting for ideas. Classes I could take. It appeals to me greatly to simply enroll--without declaring a major, with no set plans, just to explore, to learn. I want to take classes for the sake of increasing my knowledge, without worrying about graduation, without worrying about GPA, without any other pressures. I've come to learn how little those things actually matter, and I want the chance to do it over again.

I want the chance to be involved in things. I loved being a theatre major, I loved doing the shows--but that's all I did. I was involved in Honors, but I could only participate up to a point, because the theatre always came first. I didn't join other clubs, I forfeited my involvement in those I did join, because the shows consumed so much of my time and energy. Without the shows, I can only imagine the possibilities.

Melissa and I had a long discussion in the car on the way to Moab, about the current generation, and about why people in this day and age jump from job to job, from career to passion to addiction, without truly dedicating their lives to anything. I don't really want to become that, I don't want to be dissatisfied with my life. I have experienced passion, I know the hold it can have. I wouldn't say that I have lost my passion, it's still there, but I believe--I must believe--that I have a capacity for other passions. I want to find those. They may not be as glorious or as invigorating as the theatre, but I hope to find new passions that are a little more stable, in more ways than one.

Driving

I love to drive. I really love to drive my car, in particular. Other cars are cool too, but my car and I have a special bond.

My parents and I just finished driving to San Diego from Cedar City--it took us about eight hours, give or take, and part of it was getting stuck behind an accident just south of Las Vegas. All in all, it wasn't too bad. I think I drove about half of the way--I would have driven more, but we didn't stop in Vegas like I thought we were going to, so I didn't take over until a bit later.

It's funny, because I know a lot of people--my mother included--who really don't like driving. Neither of my parents particularly enjoy driving, but my dad doesn't mind it as much as my mom. I have a friend whose parents would rather pay the extra money to fly whenever possible--even if its just a hundred miles. No joke.

Driving for me equates freedom. To this day I remember the first time I drove by myself--it was about three in the morning, I was driving myself home from school after my team got back from HS Shakespeare comp. It was so exhilarating. I drove down State Street in Orem, alone on the road, with nothing between me and the moon to slow me down. Freedom.

I used to equate the sensation with driving fast...which ended up in me getting a lot of speeding tickets and my license on probation. I've learned--it's been three years since I last got a ticket, with no intention to add more to my record. Now my freedom is in the drive itself--the potential to just go on forever. Driving takes me to new places, new opportunities, and it's all under my own control. That's why I prefer driving over flying anyday--I'm in control. I decide how fast to go, what music to play and how loud, whether to roll down the window and let the wind play with my hair, whether to call someone I haven't talked to in awhile and catch up, because I have all the time in the world.

Driving is my infinite possibility. Driving is my magic carpet ride.

Oh, and by the way--California is beautiful. Pictures to come. :)

Springtime Intoxication

Maybe we just have days when chaos touches us, like little eddies in the river of worldly sanity.

There is something about this time of year that does something to me. It's moving time. Every year for the last four years, in the last weeks of April and beginning of May, I have prepared to move--sometimes it was home to my parents, sometimes it was just to a different apartment across town. But its definitely getting to be a habit. I think my body can sense the move coming, and it triggers a real, emotional response.

Last year at this time, I was half-packed, the windows were flung open in my upstairs bedroom, and together with my roommate Emily, I was rapidly devouring the Twilight series for the first time. There was--absolute freedom. Of course I had finals, but that semester I didn't have any that I was particularly worried about. I was free to enjoy the springtime air, which is intoxicating in and of itself.

This year the freedom isn't so heady. I'm moving back to my parents house, with no job prospects in the offing, and no real idea of how I will occupy myself (and my checkbook) for the next two months. But that springtime air still does something to me. It makes me want to sleep with all the windows open, if not outside entirely. It stirs my creative juices, and makes me want to delve into a delicious new book. Though, I don't think anything will stir me the way Twilight did. I think I read it at the absolutely perfect time.

It makes me want to go to Red Cliffs with the gang, or down to St. George to enjoy the roses at the temple, with a trip to Larsens after. And most of all, it makes me want to hop in my car and drive forever--just keep on driving with the sun behind me and the wind in my hair. This is the power the season holds on me--and I don't mind one bit.

The Nature of my Passion for Theatre

This spawns from a conversation I had with my mother Monday night. We were talking about why it wasn't entirely a bad thing that I didn't get into grad school--but that is not the point here. Let me explain.

My passion for theatre is not just about doing shows. If that were the case, I would have attached myself to a community theatre four months ago, and would be perfectly happy wiling away the hours for no money, but plenty of enjoyment. But that's not it. My passion for theatre (and I'm sure many of my theatre friends would agree with me) stems from the challenge.

Sure, we could do Seussical and The Importance of Being Earnest until our hair falls out, but there's very little challenge in many shows. I felt that in high school--once a year, my drama teacher would do a big musical with every student she could cast, and very little effort on anybody's part. Sure, it was a lot of work, a lot of time, but it didn't take soul. That's what I'm talking about.

These little community theaters don't often have it. They are trying to make a profit, trying to stay on their feet, so they do fun family shows that bring in the audiences. Around here, anyway--but that's Utah for you. They're not pushing artistic boundaries in any way, they're just trying to do a show with what little money and talent they have available to them. Now, this is no offense meant to community theatre--I practically grew up in one, and I would not love theatre the way I do without that experience. But I'm an adult now, and I've learned what I want.

Theatre is meant to push boundaries. It is meant to make people think. That's why it's there. If you just want entertainment, you might as well go to the movies. Live theatre, in its nature pushes boundaries simply by nature of having real people right in front of you. Theatre is supposed to cause the audience to reflect, to take what they see and apply it in some small way to their own lives. And as is very frequently the case, they often do so by affecting your sensibilities.

I'm a good Mormon girl. I try not to swear, I try not to be vulgar, I try to leave certain things, certain topics alone. But some of the most profound theatrical experiences I have had, have come from watching or working on shows that offend my sensibilities--Sticks and Bones or The Pillowman. Sometimes it's not even a matter of sensibilities, but rather shows that challenge artistically, like Henry V or Shooting Stars. Anybody in those shows will attest that they were an entirely different experience from How to Succeed or Lend Me a Tenor. All shows have the capacity to be good. Most shows have the capacity to be challenging. But only some shows have soul.

Okay, now that I've insulted half of you by dissing your favorite shows, hear me out. I liked those shows too. But there is something different that I am trying to achieve. It's not enough for me just to do shows. I--like many of you--give every show I work on everything I have to offer, heart and soul and blood. It is only rewarding when I get something back, when I feel like I have truly achieved something at the end. Otherwise, you just end up feeling drained and resentful. Haven't you ever felt that way at the end of a show? If not, I think you must be on something. It happens that way all the time, because not every show can be so rewarding, or the world would explode.

Nevertheless, this is what I seek. The challenge.

Just doing theatre isn't it. Just getting a job at some theatre somewhere isn't it. Sure, I could do that. I could live out of my suitcase for five years, jumping from theatre to theatre, and at the end of it, feeling pretty much the same as I do now. That's not the life for me. I applaud those of you for whom nothing appeals more. I thought it would, too, but I've gotten a few months under my belt and I have a better picture of 'real life' than I ever did before I graduated. I have a better picture of what I want out of my life.

I've talked to a few people about possibly going back to school to get my teaching license, and teaching high school drama. Generally, my theatre friends don't seem to like this idea--they seem to think I'm settling, that I'm not reaching for my dreams the way they want me to. But I can see the potential in teaching--the potential challenge.

It's not going to be for me, personally. I would never reach my artistic potential. That's not the point. But do you realize, that rather than just direct The Music Man every year, I could help those kids find their challenge, find the soul in those shows--every year! Every year its a new journey, a new challenge, and new experiment to find what means soul to those kids. That's what my drama teacher did for me. God bless Syd Riggs, who showed hundreds of kids at Orem High what it meant to produce art, rather than just having a good time! So many people tell me, "Oh yeah, I did drama in high school," but in the end it didn't mean anything more than being a part of something, having friends. That's good too, but there is something more that can be achieved, if the teacher will only try.

I'm not sure I'll go back to school for that, I'm not sure I'm up to being a teacher. I haven't made that decision yet. But that's why it appeals to me. I'm not settling--I'm striving to find potential in a life that will give me what I want out of my life. But that's another story.

Got Passion?

Just totally had a nostalgic moment for the SUU Honors Program.

There's something about those people, that place that absolutely inspires me. The Honors Program taught me that I could do anything I put my mind to, and that anything I chose to do was totally cool. What else really can do that?

Find your passions. Note the plural.