tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89326287887084427512024-03-05T00:26:09.317-05:00 Nicole NevermoreNicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-53216265469105162942016-11-07T09:14:00.001-05:002016-11-07T14:14:55.616-05:00The real American leaders<br />
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I've been quite honest that this election has really worn me down. No one asked, but I'll freely admit my vote is going to Hillary Clinton. This is not an enthusiastic vote, but I am confident that I'm making the right choice in choosing the candidate who professes to hold similar values to my own. I know that in Ohio I'm truly just a blue drop in a red bucket, and that just reinforces my sense that, no matter how much I love this state, I don't really belong here. Yet, here I am. These people are my friends, my family, and my neighbors. This is what I have to work with. <br />
<br />
The lesson to be learned from SNL's cold open is that we all feel gross about this election. People ARE hurt, and people ARE lashing out. No matter how much this appears to be a sick re-enactment of Hitler's rise to power in Nazi Germany, the decisions by our government have put the American people in this position to begin with. People are thinking with the clarity of a wounded animal, and the fact that Donald Trump is being hailed as some kind of savior is evidence that many are willing to gnaw off their arm if it means some kind of change. While I can be certain the change Trump will bring is going to be disastrous, I can sympathize with some of those voting for him. While I am looking at them saying "No, no, no, please don't do this to us," they're looking at me with my little oval colored in beside Hillary Clinton's name saying "No, no, no, please don't do this to us."<br />
<br />
What we need to understand about this election is that this has been one huge cry for help from the American people. While the wounds may be different, we're all united in this moment--the morning before this historic for all the wrong reasons presidential election--by our incredible pain. No matter which way the votes fall, half of this county is going to be left hopeless and afraid. And that's where we, as a people, need to come together and take care of each other.<br />
<br />
We got here because we let our government divide us, and it's clear with this election our government isn't going to be the thing that unites us. If we want to have our country collectively stop weeping, it's the people who are going to have to do it. Tomorrow, the message is going to be sent to slightly less than half of America that our votes, our constitutionally secured voices, don't matter, but our actions <i>always </i>do. I challenge you to use your resources, whether it be money or time, to help ease the burdens of those around you. Can you carve out one Saturday a month to volunteer at the local food bank or homeless shelter? Can you actually send a donation back to that veteran's group that keeps sending you address labels? Instead of sitting around and waiting for our government to start making America better, YOU start making it better. Fear and cynicism of our fellow Americans only perpetuate the situation. All that can heal America now is compassion, love, and a little elbow grease.<br />
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We looked to our leaders to do the right thing and our government has failed us. We are our own last hope. No matter who wins the presidency, it's time for America to realize that we have the power to be our own savior. We are the real leaders, and it's time we get to work on our country.Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-85069902369531503422016-11-05T21:39:00.000-04:002016-11-05T21:39:01.474-04:00Always carry an emergency jet pack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know how sometimes you're driving along in your imaginary convertible, with the top down, your hair wrapped in a billowy silk scarf, eyes tucked safely behind gigantic sunglasses, when all of a sudden, a bunny wanders into the road, and you slam on the breaks, only to go into a massive skid and your convertible plummets off the side of a cliff and bursts into flames?<br />
<br />
I have two current bunnies. One being my newly acquired shoulder injury. Hooray! I'm thinking it's either a fresh case of tendonitis, bursitis, or even maybe a minor rotator cuff tear. Whatever it is, I stink to high heaven of Icy Hot and have blown through a small bottle of Motrin. It's possible this may require a visit to Herr Doktor, but for now, I'm just going to see what I can do myself. This clearly throws all exercise out the window until it heals, which we all know it <i>my favorite thing ever.</i><br />
<br />
Second bunny is my ever-mounting disappointment with my school, as a whole. The last straw for me this week was the very poor handling of a clear Title IX violation that involved my friend from the LGBTQ group on campus. She followed all of the necessary steps and was told she was being overly sensitive. I can't keep giving my money to a school like this, especially when I have options. My studies have been put on pause until I can research the process of transferring back to Kent State. <i> </i><br />
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Lucky for me, I never go for drives in my imaginary convertible without my emergency jet pack, so I'm going to be fine. I'll be feeling the inertia that comes with two brakes being thrown on at 60 mph, but a week or so of readjusting and I'll be back in my stride. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-53149375370492007542016-11-02T08:56:00.000-04:002016-11-02T08:56:56.908-04:00You damn kids get your blogs off my lawn! (Repost)I've been considering a sort of "Year in review" post towards the end of December, which led to a trip down Blog Memory Lane. This post was originally written on December 23, 2015, and I think it is highly relevant to what has been on my mind recently. <br />
<br />
<i>I remember the night in 2002, sitting at my brand new Gateway
computer that was delivered weeks before in cow-printed cardboard boxes,
when I sat patiently through the dial-up cacophony before typing into
the search bar on my AOL homepage “online diary.” The internet, still in
its infancy, was a world I wasn’t familiar with, but trusted in my
naiveté that there was a website for everything. What I wanted was a
place to put my thoughts. What I ended up with was Diaryland. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I
had no idea that those simple steps that night by a starry-eyed n00b
would, in less than a decade, become dubbed weblogging, or as we know it
today, “blogging.” I was a part of the first group of people to sit
down to a blinking cursor and start putting my thoughts and activities
on a page where people could type in my chosen URL and reach, well, me. I
was a blogger before blogging was a word. But let me back up a bit. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Diaryland
wasn’t the only online diary site at the time. There were also sites
like Livejournal, Deadjournal, and for a blink-and-you-missed-it time
period, Scribble Journal. As the majority of my experience took place at
Diaryland, I can only speak to the community I witnessed there, but I
can say with absolute certainty that what the blogging pioneers did then
isn’t even close to what bloggers do now. Early bloggers wrote for
connections. We often wrote anonymously, prior to fancy things like
image hosting, rarely using our real names, but relying on that
invisibility to be our freedom to write the things that people just
don’t say in real life. In fact, I think that’s the shortest explanation
I can use to highlight the difference between then and now: people were
real. And in that brief voyeurism that reading other diaries allowed us to
see that, no matter how dark or how warped things were in our own
lives, we were never alone. It was that connection that allowed real
camaraderie to blossom in the early days of Diaryland, and I can
honestly say the people who read my diary knew me--the real me--better
than anyone in my day-to-day life.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The problem with
having experienced the halcyon days of blogging (in my most humble and
ancient of opinions) is that I know how good it can be. I know the way
that allowing yourself to become vulnerable to strangers can lead to
some of the most touching acts of human kindness. I know how satisfying
it was to write and connect in those days, and when I stand back and
look over these last 13 years I have been a blogger, I see that those
days, like Hammer pants and disco, are over.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Blogging
today seems more like an agenda than a form of catharsis. It’s a way for
people to further brands, sell products, promote their businesses, or
even worse, put up a façade that their lives are something other than
what they are. Blogging used to be about seeing to the heart of what was real
in people. Now it has become nothing more than a means to an end, and
that end is money. The connection with people has been severed and when I
read what is considered a blog today, I can’t escape the suspicion that
I’m nothing more than a "page view", or even worse, expected to buy
into the saccharine bullshit lines being fed to me. If I read the word
“curated” one more time… </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Look, times change. I don't
begrudge people the right to be paid for something they create
for another person's consumption, but I am allowed to be a little
disappointed with the way this usage of the platform has bastardized
something I used to love dearly. I know things can’t stay the same way
forever, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. As the tide of
blogging shifted over the years, I tried to keep up. I tried to change
with the scene to stay a part of a hobby that I loved. I tested the
waters at Tumblr, and here at Blogger, writing like the bloggers do
now--talking less about my personal thoughts and experiences and more
about what I could "teach" people. I even went back to Diaryland for a
while a few years back, but it has become a ghost town, where all the
residents have abandoned their posts in favor of the dopamine avalanche
that is Facebook. I don’t fit in anywhere anymore, and the one place I
did fit in, everyone else has moved on. For years now I have been trying
to shave the sides off of my square peg to fit into the increasingly
rounder holes and all I got from it was frustration and loneliness. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Diaryland, for as cheesy as the name was (Andrew, darling, what were
you thinking?) was a place where magic happened. People would walk in 3
feet of snow, uphill, both ways, to reach through the screen and touch
the soul of someone else, and it was powerful. It was real. And it was
fun. This that passes for blogging today… It’s crap. It’s a cardboard
cut-out of what the early pioneers of online diarists built. It’s hollow
and empty compared to what I have experienced blogging could be. But
the pull of the almighty dollar is strong, and the fear that you could
be found out as a real human with hurts and failures, secrets and
dreams, well it’s a lot stronger than the need to have someone see you
for who you really are. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As I sit here at my computer,
my 7 year old HP desktop that works when it feels like it and flips me
the finger when it doesn't, on my ridiculously fast internet that
doesn’t make a peep when I click on the Firefox logo, I think back to
Diaryland and the early days. Blogging as I loved it is dead now, but
I'm not ready for the retirement home just yet. I can't relate to what
passes for blogs today, and I truly don't belong in this club anymore. I
have no need to create something with the intention of selling it, and I
don't believe that I have the writing skills or life wisdom that makes
putting up ads anything more than pick-pocketing. I just want to write
about my life, for my own catharsis, good and bad, and if I reach
people, I want it to be because they can relate, not because I'm trying
to build a brand. I can't see myself in what blogging has become, but I
can stick to what I know, and that's being myself for my own sake.</i>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-88762488199075788612016-11-01T07:12:00.000-04:002016-11-01T07:12:09.652-04:00Bird by bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">("Nicole, can you come around front? Now can you scoot down? What's a group picture without someone looking like they're twerking? Perfect!")</span></div>
<br />
I left Friday to attend Writing in the Woods, a retreat offered by one of my favorite people on Earth, <a href="http://www.kimberlywilson.com/" target="_blank">Kimberly Wilson</a>. I intentionally refused to think too hard about the weekend in advance, because I didn't want any sort of preconceived notions of how the weekend "should" go to get in the way of how it went, organically. When I arrived at the retreat house Friday afternoon, I was a complete blank slate. All I knew was that I was in for a weekend of vegetarianism, yoga, writing, and meeting other writers. With that said, I think the best way I can write about this experience is to do so under each of those topics individually.<br />
<br />
<u>Food</u><br />
Kimberly is an outspoken animal rights activist, so it was understandable to have the weekend full of vegetarian food. Her partner, Tim, was our chef all weekend and toiled in the kitchen while we twisted our bodies and minds into unnatural positions. He joked at one point about having "world famous guacamole" and I can now attest, it should be world famous if it isn't already. There were no tomatoes or onions, and it was somehow still the most flavorful guac I have ever had. The bowl emptied within minutes of hitting the table every time. Two other retreaters brought a bottle of wine with them, and I somehow managed to go the entire weekend without a single glass! Saturday night we had s'mores around a bonfire, and I managed not to eat one of those, too. Bypassing alcohol AND chocolate? I know, who am I? What this reinforced for me is that it is possible to eat a vegetarian diet and not come away feeling deprived of the fun of eating. I've spent a substantial amount of time as both a vegetarian and a vegan, but it's never been as enjoyable as this weekend was for me. I'm thinking perhaps Tim needs to open a restaurant. In Cleveland.<br />
<br />
<u>Yoga</u><br />
I avoid writing about it here to not repeat myself to the point of being annoying, but I am a certified personal trainer. To be clear, I do not work as a CPT, but I am certified by the American Council on Exercise (one of the "Big Three" in certifications) to train people. I have the knowledge and skill, but choose to offer that knowledge freely rather than sell it. Through my time exploring exercise and what our bodies can do, I've done a lot of movement. I personally find enjoyment in weight training and running, but I've taken enough yoga classes to understand the allure of pretzeling yourself in a such a way as to be able to lick the back of your knee. It's just not for me. Given this, I have to admit that yoga was easily the aspect of this retreat I was looking forward to the least. I kept an open mind, though, and was pleased with the experience. In the interest of full disclosure, I currently feel like I was hit by a bus, but in the moment and immediately afterwards, I felt very blissed out. I was also pleased to know that I'm a lot bendier than I thought, as long as we're not considering hamstrings into the equation. I suffer from perpetually tight hammies and calves from being a runner, and there were some poses that were just not happening. Like, forward folds, heh. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I rocked the shit out of some corpse pose.<br />
<br />
<u>Writing</u><br />
Picture a very tall ladder. Taller. Now picture me several feet up the ladder. Now picture seven other women below me at various points, including some standing on the ground looking at the ladder, deciding whether or not to climb up. That was my experience with writing this weekend. Aside from Kimberly, I was the only somewhat established writer of the group, which put me in a position I didn't anticipated being in on this retreat. I spent the weekend encouraging the others to climb the ladder, too, reaching back to grab their hands and help pull them up with me. I was honest that being a writer is at times overwhelming and terrifying, but also completely worth the effort needed to overcome the negative to get here. I worked hard to listen to their experiences, fears, and hopes and figure out what could be said to help them up the next rung without sugar-coating or bullshitting the experience. I only completed a small amount of my own writing this weekend, but I spent a good amount of time considering how I got here, where I need to go from here, and establishing that it's very important to me to keep helping these great women I met up the ladder with me, as well as to never stop reaching for the hands on the rungs above me to help me get further up. We each have to climb for ourselves, but we always need to help others when we can.<br />
<br />
<u>Camaraderie</u><br />
This was an interesting situation for me. In many ways, I felt like an outsider looking in. I was the only person there not from the Washington, D. C. area, which meant I was completely left out of any local discussions, and there were many. Every other woman was very high-profile career-oriented, whereas I'm...not. I'm a creative-type and more than a little bit of a hippie, so the idea of "The Man" keeping me from my art and my trees makes me break out in hives. I just could not relate to 80% of what the other women spoke about. Given this, it would have been very easy for me, as an introvert, to blend in with the background, opting instead to read a book or study contents of shelves while everyone else socialized. I forced myself to not do that, and I think that it paid off. While I still feel very different from everyone else at the retreat, I made it a point to focus on the 20% I could relate to. By the end of the weekend, I feel like I was able to form a unique, yet tenuous, bond with the women, and I hope that we can all continue to strengthen that. It takes a lot longer than a weekend to get to know people. I just hope that I put myself out there enough to encourage them to try to see what I, from way out here in Ohio, have to offer. <br />
<br />
<u>Bird By Bird</u><br />
On the first night, an offhanded mention of <i>Bird By Bird</i> by Anne Lamott became an unspoken theme that ran through the entire retreat. In the book, Anne tells the story of her father's advice to her brother when he became overwhelmed with a project in school, in which he was assigned many different birds to classify and describe. When he pleaded to his father for help, begging "How am I supposed to describe them all?" her father responded "Bird by bird." Many times throughout this weekend, we were all faced with needing to proceed bird by bird. Step by step. One lesson at a time. One experience, one hurdle, one leap, one empty guacamole bowl. We don't need to write an entire novel in one sitting. We don't need to tell our entire life story in one blog post. We don't need to reach enlightenment in one meditation. We are allowed to take everything slowly, building a lifetime one moment at a time by allowing those experiences to accumulate into one life, well lived. There were times when I was supposed to be doing something with the group that I found myself watching the birds fly around the woods. I wasn't trying to be belligerent, I just love birds and felt pulled to observe them. I watched titmice, nuthatches, and one particularly audible red-bellied woodpecker fly around while each retreater completed another step in their own journey (sometimes literally, during a walking meditation.) My take-away from this experience is the importance of focusing on everything in our lives step by step, bird by bird, appreciating each one for what it has to offer before we move on to the next. This is a weekend I will carry with me for the rest of my life as an experience that shaped who I am to become. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-91872044214432886432016-10-31T10:36:00.000-04:002016-11-01T07:36:39.555-04:00Happy Halloween!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And a blessed Samhain, too! This spooktacular Monday Morning Musing is coming to you from my comfy reading chair in my office. I've got my cauldron coffee mug beside me with a steaming hot cup o' Joe, and there's swing music playing softly in the background. I've got all of the elements in place to write a completely fantastic musing!<br />
<br />
...and my brain is fuzzing out on me. There's way too much bouncing around in my head to grab onto something to muse on. How about a wee recap of a recent adventure, then? <br />
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On October 22nd, Kyle and I attended the Cleveland Witches Ball held at the Ohio City Masonic Temple. All pictures from this night are dark and grainy because the venue itself was dark and grainy. The Witches Ball was themed "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytpqcJ1IfoA" target="_blank">Danse Macabre</a>" and we were surrounded by both witches and skeletons! The dress was strictly formal, so I was able to dance with a tuxedo-clad Kyle, who was simultaneously rocking some hecka sexy smoky eyeliner. I was in my gigantic black tulle skirt that is filled with glitter, so I left a sparkly trail everywhere I went around the temple, which ended up being quite far, but I'm getting ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
The music was unorthodox in that it was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKRJfIPiJGY" target="_blank">nearly impossible</a> to dance to. "What's a ball without dancing?" you may be asking. Indeed. We realized early into the night that if we were going to have fun, we were going to have to go rogue. I stuffed as many packages of mini Gobstoppers as I could find down my shirt (for emergencies) and we stormed the vacant dance floor, determined to dance to whatever music they sent our way. This resulted in slow dancing to many songs that probably shouldn't have been slow danced to, while I pulled a constant supply of sugar from my cleavage. We managed that for about an hour until we finally just gave up in search of something else interesting to do.<br />
<br />
So, we explored the Masonic Temple. If we found an unlocked door we went into it, which in hindsight, is how people get killed in horror movies, but it paid off. We found the Grand Ballroom and proceeded to dance there, alone, in the dark. If we weren't trespassing and asking to get stabbed and stuffed in a well, it would have been very romantic. I had also run out of Gobstoppers by this point, so that was a bummer.<br />
<br />
Eventually we met the owner, who was interestingly NOT a Freemason, and I asked him for an official tour because, you know, I'm a writer and I love a good story to feed my own stories. He was very happy to oblige and gave me a card to contact him to set that up, so I look forward to that adventure in the future.<br />
<br />
That's all I've got this morning! I'm off to go refill my long-empty coffee cauldron and enjoy this frightfully glorious Halloween by putting Thriller on the record player and reading some Poe. Eat something sweet for me!<br />
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Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-38790837697067302782016-10-17T09:59:00.000-04:002016-10-17T10:09:30.187-04:00The triumphant return of my office<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is currently my view, as I'm writing this post from my newly re-established office. When we kicked around the idea of buying this house, I asked to have the spare bedroom for my own sacred space. My intention was to turn it into an office, but I also had all of my craft supplies, a reading chair, a space heater, and a Christmas tree during the holidays. This was to be MY space. In return, I promised Kyle the garage, the other garage, and the basement to be his to do anything at all he wanted with. A few years back, we decided my room would be better used as a walk-in closet. I hadn't exactly given up my sacred space, I had just traded it in for a smaller, cozier office space built into our previous closet, in the bedroom. I liked the idea of having it be smaller (while the former office/former closet/new office is a small room, it's sometimes too big to feel cozy) but there was something about the space that didn't work for me. I had half of the closet, while Kyle had the other half, and if I'm being honest, I think having to share it made it feel slightly less sacred. Whatever the rub was, we both spent a few years not being in love with the new tiny offices, and frankly, not being in love with the new closet, either.<br />
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Last week, I declared that I wanted my sacred space back. Kyle, who was getting twitchy about needing a new project, was on board. We first decided that changing the areas around (which would mean removing our built-in shelves, reinstalling the closet shelves, and then a massive "patch and paint" job in the office) as our winter project. When we get stuck indoors during the cold, we need something to do to break up the boredom, and renovating something is usually our go-to activity. Turns out, though, that we were both too excited for the change to put it off. We spent the last week switching the offices into a closet and the closet back into an office, and I could not be happier. <br />
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I mentioned a while back that I heard about this Danish concept called "hygge" that is <a href="http://nicolenevermore.blogspot.com/2016/09/how-to-hygge-alleged-hipsters-guide.html" target="_blank">absurdly hard to describe. </a>Since then, I seem to have acquired a new fascination with Denmark, itself, and have spent a surprising amount of time learning everything I could about the country, including where it is on a map. (It's above Germany, FYI.) As Denmark is consistently rated as the happiest country on the entire dang planet, there's certainly a lot to learn. Thankfully, I have a compatriot in my sudden love of Denmark! My tape-pal (that's a pen-pal but with cassette tapes), Lara, was recently in Denmark because she's a big fan, too. I've been listening to her talk about Denmark for years, but it wasn't until my run-in with hygge that it all started coming together for me in a personal way. [This reminds me--Lara! I still have the tape. I'm working on it. Expect talk of Denmark.] I know that there's no such thing as a Utopian society, and that somewhere along the lines, someone is getting screwed in the system. But I don't want to go in search of Denmark's flaws. During this ridiculous time to be an American, I would like to just immerse myself in some Earthly happiness for a while. Some people mentally escape to Paris. I'm mentally escaping to Copenhagen.<br />
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So, I've been making sure my office is very hyggelig. The view out of the windows is of a fantastic autumnal wonderland, and I've brought in two bookshelves, the faux-leather recliner, the space heater, and this super cute horn thing I bought at Target that is a phone speaker amplifier, but also makes everything sound old-timey. We call it the "phonophone." I've been listening to swing, jazz, and ragtime through it all day. There are fairy lights temporarily placed about the room, with the intention of making them more permanent once the "patch and paint" portion of the renovation has arrived. As an added bonus, this is now the room where all of the cats seem to want to congregate, so there's that extra bit of fuzzy warmth. Essentially, I've created a new sacred space that is not only conducive to hygge, it's set my muse a-buzz with ideas. My creativity thrives in a hyggelig environment, and I'm excited to see what kind of new writing comes out of this shift. <br />
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Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-57728730166509612022016-10-09T13:39:00.000-04:002016-10-09T13:39:17.203-04:00Retreat, in both meanings of the word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm clearly a fan of Halloween, but even I have to admit that this October is too scary for me. Friday's political implosion pushed me over the edge and I am officially declaring that, as soon as I finish writing this post, I am going on a mental health vacation. I'm so disgusted with the state of our country. How did it come to this, America? Are these two monsters seriously the best we can do?<br />
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Intermittent digital detoxes are kind of my jam, so it's not a big deal to take the week off. I know that I'll come out of this a much happier and healthier person once I've taken time away from internet input, so I'm really looking forward to this time away. I've worked hard this weekend to tackle all of my school work due from here to next Sunday, so I'm in the clear to unplug and reset my brain and emotions.<br />
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Before I go, I believe I owe you all some links!<br />
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<ul>
<li>Pumpkin Spice Latte <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEPjBsp0ZgQ" target="_blank">Gangster Rap</a>: "Straight outta pumpkin" (NSFW, a lot)</li>
<li>The <a href="http://www.marieclaire.com/culture/a22189/i-regret-having-kids/" target="_blank">confessions</a> of women who wish they'd never had kids. Try to hold your knee jerk reaction at bay and consider the greater truth of what is being said.</li>
<li>"I used to be a human being": <a href="http://nymag.com/selectall/2016/09/andrew-sullivan-technology-almost-killed-me.html" target="_blank">Distraction Sickness</a></li>
<li>Don't know if your views put you under the Liberal or Conservative umbrella? How about a <a href="http://www.people-press.org/quiz/political-typology/" target="_blank">quiz</a> from Pew Research Center?</li>
<li>I filmed another podcast episode with my friend Mat, and we talked briefly about this documentary: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uaWekLrilY" target="_blank">That Sugar Film</a>. I highly recommend it, and I don't mind admitting that I'm donning my tinfoil conspiracy hat regarding sugar. We're being drugged to keep us dumb, and I feel like this post has now come full circle.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-7268740231829728382016-10-05T22:22:00.002-04:002016-10-05T22:22:46.568-04:00Broccoli is responsible for my weight gain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had to write a paper on runaway slaves for history. I felt like I did a fairly good job, considering that I am a writer, but the grade came back today as a 72%. I don't feel it was a low-C caliber paper, so I went to read comments from my professor to see what went so wrong. Well. There weren't any comments. Yes, I got a nearly failing grade and my professor didn't feel like it was necessary to tell me why. I fired off a polite email requesting the information, but in the interim, I've had a lot of time to think about this.<br />
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I'm really angry about my classes. That is to say, I'm really pissed off that I'm currently a student. That may be a dumb thing to be mad about, considering I got myself in this predicament, but I think what makes me most angry is that I'm angry at all.When I quit college the first time around, I did so because I was sick of the bullshit of college bureaucracy. I just wanted to build my family and get on with life, and every week that passed was a giant blinking sign that I was just wasting my time.<br />
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So I quit.<br />
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Now that I'm back to school for the second time, I've made it three semesters and I'm back to feeling the same way. Kyle and I have spent the day talking about it and agreed that going back to school, has really messed up our family. I went back to college to continue <a href="http://nicolenevermore.blogspot.com/2016/07/narrow-it-down.html" target="_blank">educating myself</a>, but I realized over the summer that the education I was getting wasn't worth the effort I was putting into it. I hoped that having a normal 16 week semester, with a reduced course load would help ease some of the tension my studies were putting on <a href="http://nicolenevermore.blogspot.com/2016/08/mea-culpa.html" target="_blank">me and the family</a>, but I'm sitting here, nearly at the halfway point, and all I can feel is an increasing resentment.<br />
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I'm very unhappy with college. I started off great, but after that first semester, everything has just rocketed downhill. I'm not learning anything, and what used to be an eager anticipation to complete assignments has become a daily root canal. It's not the workload or subject matter that's putting the stress on my shoulders, it's once again the bureaucratic bullshit. It's professors who will dish out 72% grades without taking the time to explain why such a huge chunk of points have been docked. I did it wrong? Okay, tell me what I did wrong! <br />
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I think it's fair to assume that the problem is that I don't have the right mentality for college. I don't view this as an extension of high school. I don't believe that professors have some almighty power. On the contrary, I've been in the outside world enough to know that this is a business transaction. I am paying the school to pay the instructors to teach me what I want to know. The fact that I come out of these classes feeling dumber than I went in is a sure sign I'm not getting what I am paying for. I'm not after some stupid piece of paper that says I can get a job now. I'm looking for actual knowledge, for the sake of knowledge. The only thing I've gained since returning to college is 20 pounds. Not exactly the sort of accomplishment I was going for.<br />
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But I'm not going to quit.<br />
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Kyle made a great analogy tonight that sums up who I am. I'm a taste-tester. I like to take little bites of everything so that I have the experience of knowing what everything tastes like. If I don't like the first few bites, I don't waste time eating the rest of the plate. There are quite a few people who believe you should eat the whole thing, and that's great for them. I'd rather move on to another dish in hopes that I'll maybe find something worth eating.<br />
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College, for me, is like a plate of broccoli. It tastes awful, especially the longer I'm eating it, but the reality is that it's full of nutrition that my body needs. My first plan of attack was to hurry, cram as much as I could into my mouth, chew, and swallow, to be done with it as fast as possible. When I found more broccoli hidden behind another broccoli, I accepted that I might need to take smaller bites, and maybe mix them in with some mashed potatoes.<br />
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I'm flexible enough to understand now that, if I'm to finish college, I'm going to need to take even smaller bites, and bury it in a giant pile of cheese so that I don't even really notice it's there. I'm backing it down to one class per semester starting in the spring. This is a huge departure from my original plan, but I can't stress enough that, if I don't drastically change something, there's no way I'm going to graduate. I'm so blinkin' miserable, and I miss my family and friends, and I miss reading books for fun, and watching movies! I miss going to sleep without writing papers or doing math problems in my head all night. I miss living my life, and I want to stop torturing myself with all the damn broccoli! <br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-41513404626083697842016-10-03T21:50:00.001-04:002016-10-17T10:01:51.574-04:00What day is it, even?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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See, here's what we're going to do. We're going to squint our eyes a little bit, have mercy on me, and pretend like this Monday Morning Musing wasn't written at 9:30 at night. In exchange, I'm going to tell you a little story about my day.<br />
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I had the most fantastic day!<br />
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I concurrently feel like I've been hit by a truck.<br />
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I woke up to find that the podcast I had recorded with my friend, Mat<span style="font-size: xx-small;">t<span style="font-size: small;">, had gone live. He's been working to get his podcast up and running (I personally think he's doing a stellar job, but I'm biased because I'm certain he hung the moon) and he asked me to be a guest. I think I erroneously referred to myself as a co-host, but I still had a good time talking to him. Maybe two hours is a bit of a stretch for a podcast, but we were having fun so we just went with it. I'm putting a link to the podcast page >><a href="http://crashofthetitanium.podomatic.com/entry/2016-10-03T03_24_33-07_00" target="_blank">here</a><< but I'm warning you that it will start playing as soon as you click that link. Maybe don't click it at work. Or in front of small children. Or barnyard animals.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Later this morning, I was surprised to learn that my flash fiction story, <a href="https://sicklitmagazine.com/2016/10/03/vinyl-by-nicole-thomas/" target="_blank">Vinyl</a>, had been published by Sick Lit Magazine. I was expecting it to go up on Thursday, but I was equally pleased to see it ahead of schedule. The feedback has been blissfully positive, and even new comments rolled in on Forgotten God. I'm very happy with my experience publishing with Sick Lit Magazine. Along with having the new story up, I've been contacted on Twitter by so many wonderful writers who have been messaging to talk about my work. I think that any imposter syndrome I had left is fading away. I'm feeling very welcomed into the community and meeting some great people along the way.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">This has obviously been a good day, right? What in the world could possibly be making me feel so crappy? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well it's because I'm a gall-dern introvert. Even with all of that fun and excitement, and the really great connections with people I have loved for years AND people I've just met, I'm energy-exhausted. This whole thing has left me so overstimulated that I cannot calm down. I know I should be in bed sleeping, but if I didn't get this out, I would just lay in bed for hours writing and rewriting this post in my head. Typically, online interaction doesn't have this much of an effect on me, but tonight I feel so low that I know my smartest option is to take a few days to rest my monkey mind. Not giving myself the rest I need as an introvert inevitably leads to a messy crash that usually involves many tissues for one reason or another, and I just don't have time for that. Yes. A break is in order. </span></span><br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-23590731824695245132016-09-30T19:37:00.002-04:002016-09-30T19:37:56.499-04:00Friday Five, or so<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dN-EDXj7IRRfuruQ1NzGrYPC2IqG9GPh_vG4ZdXtfPLSoCEeGyGz6GFMlOBWMZ9th0GMZmiMhbjOt5HWPbbcT8sqBHGHQ_7B0rpUCCFUROitCKC5f2jLgkxHggmgkF0sIM7lRsizixfK/s1600/hallownook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dN-EDXj7IRRfuruQ1NzGrYPC2IqG9GPh_vG4ZdXtfPLSoCEeGyGz6GFMlOBWMZ9th0GMZmiMhbjOt5HWPbbcT8sqBHGHQ_7B0rpUCCFUROitCKC5f2jLgkxHggmgkF0sIM7lRsizixfK/s320/hallownook.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
Well this week has flown past. How about some links?!<br />
<ul>
<li>The <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/a-harvard-linguist-reveals-the-most-misused-words-in-english-2015-12?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=%40ddaviesharju&utm_campaign=Article" target="_blank">most misused words</a> in the English Language, according to someone who knows these sorts of things.</li>
<li>Consider this your invitation to <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxRiP4GNiyM" target="_blank">Edgar Allan Poe's</a> Murder Mystery Dinner Party/Gala For Friends Potluck!</b></li>
<li>Everything you could possibly want to know about happiness from <a href="http://www.happinessresearchinstitute.com/publications/4579836749" target="_blank">The Happiness Research Institute.</a></li>
<li>Why <a href="http://www.thereviewreview.net/publishing-tips/60000-retweet-why-i-won%E2%80%99t-give-credit-my-mfa" target="_blank">degrees aren't necessary</a> to be a great writer, especially MFAs. </li>
<li>Forgotten God, the <a href="https://sicklitmagazine.com/2016/09/30/forgotten-god-by-nicole-nevermore/" target="_blank">REAL version</a>, is now published on Sick Lit Magazine. Stop by and read it. Maybe consider leaving a comment! Early reviews say "A great story that leaves the right number of unanswered questions." -<a href="https://twitter.com/CalebEchterling" target="_blank">Caleb Echterling</a>, "Fantastic story, read it twice already." -<a href="https://twitter.com/carolrosalind" target="_blank">CR Smith</a>, and "That was damn good." -<a href="https://twitter.com/fredrock715" target="_blank">Fred Rock</a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://twitter.com/fredrock715" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy32tr7XOevi31NAAnzFlNd0DGz6R5pZXfOqBNJKMLv-Wep0_NN843dRHc8womYXQExX8cgKGGtdkAIe33zbOdQV2LE4BrEK4DCaRPV_378rWlf1yIPGQrZx8p4KdCwugJrdAiZat3WNUE/s1600/tumblr_o52tiuuxGz1u831kro1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy32tr7XOevi31NAAnzFlNd0DGz6R5pZXfOqBNJKMLv-Wep0_NN843dRHc8womYXQExX8cgKGGtdkAIe33zbOdQV2LE4BrEK4DCaRPV_378rWlf1yIPGQrZx8p4KdCwugJrdAiZat3WNUE/s1600/tumblr_o52tiuuxGz1u831kro1_400.gif" /></a></div>
</li>
</ul>
Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-56248657720227901272016-09-29T16:37:00.000-04:002016-09-29T16:42:03.454-04:00Spirits, slackers, and silent sororities<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXD8gKr59J5ACy2G9F42Xa8j8gwVF4E9o1ZoLxwXxeV9lBPuZZUhnq4usAqIBKXEgY3tJddOzEy_d3Hrliw7Y97bHPJGRxL9q4dagg1FAKOpVvuur-Mu-f_vGatXF3jsj9iPdTmH_bwJwm/s1600/halloweentree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXD8gKr59J5ACy2G9F42Xa8j8gwVF4E9o1ZoLxwXxeV9lBPuZZUhnq4usAqIBKXEgY3tJddOzEy_d3Hrliw7Y97bHPJGRxL9q4dagg1FAKOpVvuur-Mu-f_vGatXF3jsj9iPdTmH_bwJwm/s320/halloweentree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
As of last night, it is now Halloween around our humble abode. We put away the fall decorations and put the Halloween decorations in their place, and it's hecka spoopy, man. The Halloween tree is up and glowing brightly! It just so happens that right after we put up the last bat, a big thunderstorm rolled up, and it has been raining ever since. We're having a fantastic transition from the warmth and comfort of September into the bleak and miserable of October, and if you know me at all, you know I mean that with a great deal of affection. I'm fairly sure I was an Addams in a past life. Halloween is my jam. <br />
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An email came in from my Ocean Studies professor this afternoon, alerting me to my grade on an assignment. I have not enjoyed in this class, but I'm still busting my butt to do as well as I can. The email was letting me know that I missed something major in the assignment, and as such, only get a low B. Before your eyes roll out of your head, please understand that I have been a C- student all of my life, so with the return to college, I wanted to make sure I did it to the best of my ability, rather than the least necessary to pass. I'm on my third semester and have a 4.0. Getting straight As has been a personal goal and I have succeeded this far. I fully expected to be crushed as I read the email, but was surprised to find that I really don't give a crap. I passed, and that's good enough. Did I do the best I could? No, because my best would have been not to do the assignment wrong, but I did what I felt the class was worth in the moment, and decided to spend time with my family instead.<br />
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This just brings a train into view that I've heard blowing its whistle in the distance. I'm already over school. I'm over being an overachiever, and frankly, I'm over this whole education nonsense completely. I was looking forward to this Ocean Studies class and to have it end up being so crappy just knocked a ton of wind out of my sails. Next semester is my creative writing course, and I'm still jazzed for that, but I think I've officially reached the point in my degree where I'm done enjoying the classes, and instead just enduring them. I'm willing to let go of my drive for a 4.0 if it means I'm spending more time plugged in at home. I've been down this road before, and it took me a year of college when I first graduated high school to decide I'd rather be with my family than sitting in a dumb classroom learning about shit I'll never--and I can say this with some certainty now that I've had nearly 20 years of adult life experience--use. The shine has worn off. I'll keep it up because I want that damn degree, damn it. But I think I'm done throwing myself into it to be the best.<br />
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I picked up a new memoir a few days ago, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Love-Warrior-Oprahs-Book-Club/dp/1250128544" target="_blank">Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton</a>. It's one of those Oprah books that I usually don't give much attention to but I got a good deal on it and it's a short enough read. What I did NOT expect was to see so much of myself in this book. There's a great deal of Glennon's mentality as a wife and as a mother (and even as a woman, to be honest) that I identify with, even if my situations aren't the same as hers. There's a comfort in knowing someone else is thinking these things, because we sure as hell aren't allowed to talk about them. There's this sick gag-order on what it really feels like to be a woman, a mother, and a wife and if we dare try to talk about it, the backlash is fierce. Not only from The Patriarchy but from other women who tell us to stop being whiny. (True story.) Glennon has the ovaries to say the things we know we're not allowed to say, and I find myself greatly appreciating that she did. She gets my applause.<br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-53562699481453818972016-09-27T19:55:00.003-04:002016-09-27T20:10:29.094-04:00How to hygge, an alleged hipster's guide<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixa-Q4MD_RLicMZ90CsGxppaBu-NTrFcCNnGXLnBd6BoF9Y5tgCFpharBV794dVYhBS6KqZ1AJb7kwBD3HwUoLQ42h45CKiZ8Iayo-rSHk3d7CkPNxDrVuvZDQY9fAnFHOEYA5N2sYf-6E/s1600/hygge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixa-Q4MD_RLicMZ90CsGxppaBu-NTrFcCNnGXLnBd6BoF9Y5tgCFpharBV794dVYhBS6KqZ1AJb7kwBD3HwUoLQ42h45CKiZ8Iayo-rSHk3d7CkPNxDrVuvZDQY9fAnFHOEYA5N2sYf-6E/s320/hygge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Over the last few months, I've had several people label me as a hipster. I definitely don't think I'm a hipster, but it's my understanding that that's just what a hipster would say. Perhaps I'm just not aware that I'm a hipster. Last week I admonished this label to my friend Bryan, who quickly set me straight. "Oh, you're a total hipster. You know about everything awesome before anyone else does." Whuuuuuh? Is this the definition of hipster? Maybe I shouldn't be getting my culture cues from Titus Andromedon? <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIiQYwh9OplkF4oD4mf_T64_H3g5-56OkU3ajLJxGa6EUJdw7ZodjM3c_zeWw0PXu9rpzz9BkzeL6Su-wG-8IQFN0o3utCOXYu0WCL77V4z104g-oAv3dz4bXeW1VIvl2Tm47wF-LKZPQ/s1600/hipstertitus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIiQYwh9OplkF4oD4mf_T64_H3g5-56OkU3ajLJxGa6EUJdw7ZodjM3c_zeWw0PXu9rpzz9BkzeL6Su-wG-8IQFN0o3utCOXYu0WCL77V4z104g-oAv3dz4bXeW1VIvl2Tm47wF-LKZPQ/s320/hipstertitus.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Do you guys have a rezzie?"</td></tr>
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If we're talking about loving things retro before they become cool again, then I am definitely a hipster. I point to my Instax camera, my film camera, my record player, my vintage records, and my extensive pen pal collection as proof. That's less about figuring out what's cool before everyone else does, and more about being unwilling to let go of the things that used to be cool for so long that they suddenly become cool again. Like flannel.<br />
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With this new awareness that I tend to like things before they go mainstream *insert hair flip* I thought it would be cool to clue you guys in on something I think is about to blow up big time. It's called <a href="http://www.visitdenmark.com/danish-meaning-hygge" target="_blank">hygge</a> and it's not pronounced "High-Gee" because that's not an English word. Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure how to properly say it, as I don't speak Danish. One website says "HOO-gah" while another says "HYOO-gah." However you say hygge, I kind of love it.<br />
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...and I have no idea how to explain to you what it is.<br />
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Hygge, it seems, is not something you do or make. It's something you feel, and we all know emotions are the hardest thing to cram into words. The closest English has been able to come to translating hygge is "cozy" or "contentment" but the truth is that hygge is an experience, a state of being, inspired by indulging your senses. Let me show you what I mean.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNRU4KGZXu9U9hwWUf9LCXqQ7IatWScfiG33bkdWrrMvP7HXXozmCyo1xwyUskc_Eq79Vtp5eDItwLBiVsqaMyxR4yqp3UmF98lHtYkfCPosy2qnBWHYdWsiSj74VAo9jfKw0NtlGN2ZK/s1600/hooga1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNRU4KGZXu9U9hwWUf9LCXqQ7IatWScfiG33bkdWrrMvP7HXXozmCyo1xwyUskc_Eq79Vtp5eDItwLBiVsqaMyxR4yqp3UmF98lHtYkfCPosy2qnBWHYdWsiSj74VAo9jfKw0NtlGN2ZK/s400/hooga1.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj067MoCxYKv03uuaZwj9BTTg4YkBGNbvxtmDxrJWsYTtuZsjX5GkWfKcrg3R0QoNaQUHyijxuaXMfteLFKA8Of0k4SlJZZB1KFwRCHzDQKmlPKxMHsYW7ce8Qc9vceNHQ5F516bGp90Hfo/s1600/hooga2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj067MoCxYKv03uuaZwj9BTTg4YkBGNbvxtmDxrJWsYTtuZsjX5GkWfKcrg3R0QoNaQUHyijxuaXMfteLFKA8Of0k4SlJZZB1KFwRCHzDQKmlPKxMHsYW7ce8Qc9vceNHQ5F516bGp90Hfo/s320/hooga2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOMbJFBR8eROAUrlKeomPvT2mU57dqGonn9o2luPDeyPTTDZWli0fUthIQOIILTqH7nr8w1Gz5JFhCK9L_NNnriBF0mK76Jx23Eo8PYYqfOxX-GvXziAe7p38M9tFZwxfTEwacR2ezWop/s1600/hooga3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOMbJFBR8eROAUrlKeomPvT2mU57dqGonn9o2luPDeyPTTDZWli0fUthIQOIILTqH7nr8w1Gz5JFhCK9L_NNnriBF0mK76Jx23Eo8PYYqfOxX-GvXziAe7p38M9tFZwxfTEwacR2ezWop/s320/hooga3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Does that help at all? Hygge is candlelight and fluffy sweaters. It's books and blankets and baked goods. It's coffee and twinklelights. It's warmth and camaraderie.<br />
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Since buying our house, I have worked to instill some sort of <i>je ne sais quoi </i>in our home. I have always had a hard time explaining our design aesthetic because "cozy" didn't really explain what I was trying to accomplish. It just figures that the word that does, hygge, is from another language. But this is me, this is the peace and tranquility that I have spent years striving for. Comfort and joy. To know that the culture of an entire country feels the way I do helps me to feel like less of a <strike>hipster</strike> misfit about my drive to create a feeling, an atmosphere, not only in my home but everywhere I go. Ambiance is everything to me, and hygge is exactly what my heart strives for.<br />
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The good news is that hygge seems to be spreading. I don't think it has quite made it to the US yet, but there are a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=hygge" target="_blank">few new books</a> out this year that are making a big splash the UK. Hygge is being touted as the "new" way of getting back to a simpler life of cozy pleasures, and even a way of helping combat the Winter Blahs as the warmth of fall fades away. I don't know about all of that, but I do know that hygge is how this alleged hipster wants to spend her life well past the point of it being cool.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">***Aside from the very first picture, none of these pictures are mine. The Titus picture came from a Google Search and the last four were found on <a href="http://nicolenevermore.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Tumblr</a>, where I have been hygge'n it up all season long.</span>Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-8375435106890705072016-09-26T11:34:00.001-04:002016-09-26T11:37:15.398-04:00On swallowing someone else's poison<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEYiH3YcpZ23FMnrvU7rhexOzCDbuyU3N1xp-ehIElbtaY6pzRECsrNuw9ncuRgNVfPn4PHX8PYNucRKAekP8X6KRIOOaA7yJPzg5hhexv71eNf8msem43TFnb6sv487P1qVWtRW1YnjF/s1600/leef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEYiH3YcpZ23FMnrvU7rhexOzCDbuyU3N1xp-ehIElbtaY6pzRECsrNuw9ncuRgNVfPn4PHX8PYNucRKAekP8X6KRIOOaA7yJPzg5hhexv71eNf8msem43TFnb6sv487P1qVWtRW1YnjF/s320/leef.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
While I'm in a good place now, I spent a fair amount of last week being angry, to the point of being unable to do much else but fume. I nearly typed "irrationally angry, " but I'm fairly sure anyone in my situation would have been angry. It was a completely rational anger. The specific situation isn't necessary, but the lesson that was reinforced for me is that you never have to put up with someone else's bad behavior. I have far too many people in my life who are holding their breath, waiting to see me fall. These same people have no problem tripping me if they think I'm getting too close to the finish line. To these people, I offer my sincerest middle finger, and a hearty "Fuuuuck you." It would be manageable if there was just one--you cut them loose, you go merrily about your business--but I am dealing with more than one and they're impossible to escape.<br />
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I'm irritated with myself that I allowed someone rob me of an entire week of peace and happiness. I'm done trying to get these people to see me as anything other than what fits within their tiny narrative. Willfully obtuse people who <i>want</i> to see the worst will only ever see the worst because they <i>need you to be that "thing."</i> They will protect it fiercely, always looking for the worst part of every good thing that happens, because if they have to admit that they were wrong about you, and that would lead to considering what else they might be wrong about, which in turn might lead to recognizing they willingly lead a sad, empty existence because they are too lazy or too afraid to take chances and become something more than the lump of cells they are. You're content to let life happen around you? To be a victim of circumstance and everyone else's poor decisions? Fine. But get the hell out of the way of the people who want to make life happen. And get your negative, critical, wolf-in-supporter's clothing voice out of my head while you're at it.<br />
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I refuse to keep wearing a coat made from everyone else's hang-ups. It's heavy and it smells bad. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-6692253971133582312016-09-23T10:24:00.002-04:002016-09-23T12:50:38.360-04:00Introducing Friday Five!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Friday, gang! And a hearty welcome to fall! Thanks for finally getting here (late, but we love you anyway.) I am currently buried under two papers that need completed this weekend, but that's no reason everyone else should eschew all things intarwebby! I'm introducing a new weekly feature here on my blog: Friday Five, wherein I share with you how I have had minutes of my life sucked away by the computer box! Here are five cool things I found on the internet this week.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>What's your <a href="https://www.pottermore.com/news/discover-your-patronus-on-pottermore" target="_blank">Patronus</a>? I think everyone has taken this by now, but in the event you're dragging your feet, here's a link! (I'm a greyhound, sleek and...gray.)</li>
<li>Set a goal of <a href="http://lithub.com/why-you-should-aim-for-100-rejections-a-year/" target="_blank">100 rejections a year</a>. I'm a big fan of my rejections, and you should be, too. </li>
<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHkhIjG0DKc" target="_blank">Dancing in the Street</a>, without music. I can't stop laughing.</li>
<li>In Defense of <a href="https://litreactor.com/columns/in-defense-of-short-fiction-not-that-i-need-to-defend-it-because-its-awesome" target="_blank">Short Fiction</a>. "But this is what I have to say to the folks who say you absolutely have to write a novel to be taken seriously as a writer: <i><b>*FART NOISE*</b></i>."</li>
<li><a href="http://hyggehouse.com/hygge" target="_blank">Hygge</a>! There's some discrepancy as to how to pronounce it (HOO-ga versus HUE-ga) but however it's said, it seems like a good idea. </li>
<li><b>BONUS!</b> My story, <a href="https://darkrunreview.org/2016/09/23/forgotten-god-nicole-nevermore/" target="_blank">Forgotten God</a>, is up at Darkrun Review. I'm officially published and the nay-sayers can go suck a butt. </li>
</ul>
<br />
That's it from me. Have a great weekend and stay cool out there! Crisp mornings are on the way!<br />
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Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-73500864016428219472016-09-20T07:52:00.000-04:002016-09-20T07:52:14.810-04:00Rousing A game of laurel sportsball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wrote a few days ago that it was time to start aiming a little higher with my writing, and only realized last night how that could be interpreted as me thinking I'm better than the magazines I'm being published at. Great Jumping Jack Flash, no. Every day I read the offerings at each magazine in absolute awe of what talent there is in the world, and it inspires me to keep writing, to get better, and to keep growing. That's what I meant by aiming higher. I need to appreciate what I've written, trust that it's good, but also be self-aware enough to know that, even if it's good, it can always get better. I can't rest on my laurels (I don't even have laurels, and truthfully, I don't know what they are. They don't sound terribly relaxing to begin with, like something I would want to rest on, so perhaps it would be better to say "I can't rest on my beanbag chair" because those are fairly comfortable, and at least make it difficult to get back up again once you've sat down. But then again, I don't have a beanbag chair, either.) I need to keep setting the bar for myself a little higher each time I write, each time I edit, and that means being brave enough to go outside of my comfort zone.<br />
<br />
That's where the romantic short story is coming in. My husband will tell you that I am probably the least romantic person on earth, which is why writing romance is definitely raising the bar. Can I do it in a believable way? Will I be able to nail the dialogue? I trust that I'll be able to handle the setting, the plot, the characters, but there has to be a level of vulnerability and emotions that I'm not used to writing. Knowing that the site I'm submitting it to is a paying site means that other writers will be bringing their A game (I don't know what that means. Is the A game where one gets the laurels? I shouldn't use sports analogies.) because this is their job, this is how they pay their bills. I have to really stretch my skills if I'm going to make this one.<br />
<br />
And if I don't, that's okay, too. As long as I can honestly tell myself that I did the best I could for where I am now, I will cherish that rejection letter with all of my heart. Rejection letters aren't evidence of failure. They're proof of our grit, as writers. It shows that we're trying.<br />
<br />
I'm definitely trying. Yesterday's Monday Morning Musing was terrible, but I posted it anyway as a reminder that not every day of writing will be literary genius. Some days getting a complete sentence out is like herding cats. What's important is that we never get comfortable with squishy A game laurels and always reach a little bit farther than where we are now.<br />
<br />
I'm going to publish this post without proofreading (as usual) but then I'm pouring myself another cup of coffee, knocking out a bunch of school work so that my brain is clear, and then I'm going out on the deck to sit in the sun and write this flippin' romance thing. Summer is the time for loving with reckless abandon, right? (Fall is the time for spooky-spookness!) so I'm going to use these last few warm days of summer to write an inspired love story full of sass, and carpeted walls, and chocolate! Okay, here I go! Right now! I'm going! To write! I got this! A game!<br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-51609159164902147512016-09-19T09:19:00.000-04:002016-09-19T09:19:06.722-04:00I tried<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been trying to write this post for over an hour now. My brain should not be hurting this much at 8:20 in the morning. I just need to get this out of the way so I can move on.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Dear Person Who Did That Really Shitty Thing To Me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">You suck. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Moving on now,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Nicole</span></blockquote>
<br />
I'm not quite ready to move on yet. I still feel really angry. This is a sure sign I need more coffee...<br />
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News came in last night that <i>Forgotten God</i> will be up on <a href="https://darkrunreview.org/" target="_blank">Darkrun Review</a> "in the next couple of days." I suppose that means I need to start behaving like a real person with social skills. I made a Twitter account, which is what all the cool writer-kids are doing these days for the purpose of networking and exposure and...whatever else it is people are social for. I'm holding firm, though: No Facebook.<br />
<br />
In all honesty, though, I'm really looking forward to finally being a part of a writing community. Having support is necessary, but there's something equally essential about being in the company of people who know what it's like to be in the trenches. I've been contemplating reaching out to the writer's group on campus to see about joining up, but being a part of another group would take away from the already limited amount of time I have to actually write. But you know who would understand that struggle? Other writers!<br />
<br />
Okay, it has officially been two hours. I quit. This musing is miserable, but it's an accurate representation of what it's like inside of my head right now. Grossness.<br />
Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-39864058744170413702016-09-18T09:38:00.003-04:002016-09-18T09:38:50.305-04:00Back at it!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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...and exhale.<br />
<br />
The <i>falling apart</i> and <i>subsequent rearranging into a new configuration</i> that comes on the heels of a death has finished. While there will likely be more work to do over the next few months, it's finally okay to start back into regular life.<br />
<br />
<br />I was able to finish a final draft on <i>Forgotten God</i> so it could be submitted to the online review. The cut off date was the 15th and I had it ready to go on the 13th. On the morning of the 14th, the review emailed me back, saying no, they didn't want to publish <i>Vinyl</i>, but they definitely wanted <i>Forgotten God</i>. Can this be considered my first rejection? I submitted Vinyl before they had begun to publish anything at all, but now that I have read a few of the published short stories, I have to agree, it wouldn't fit with their vibe. But I'm very excited that they're taking <i>Forgotten God</i>. I'm proud of it.<br />
<br />
<i>Vinyl</i> has also received a publication date. On October 3rd, it will go live at <a href="https://sicklitmagazine.com/" target="_blank">Sick Lit Magazine</a>, which has been described as "the literary equivalent of the Island of Misfit Toys." This clearly means that I have found my people. Give me the Broken, the Warped, and the Strange over the Beautiful People any day. <br />
<br />
With two stories, two publications, two Yeses, under my belt, it's time to start reaching a bit higher. I'm challenging myself by writing a romance-y short story to be submitted at another new online publication. The difference between this and the previous two publications is that these people pay for the stories they print, which means my story is going to need to be pristine because the competition will be fierce. I have a fantastic romance-y story bouncing around in my brain, though, because I lived it, and currently fall asleep at night beside the antagonist. The challenge will be to write the story in a way that simultaneously preserves our rights to <b>our</b> story (if they pay me, it becomes theirs) and lets the charm of our true story still shine through into fiction. Like with Forgotten God, this story will be based on a true story, but will be written to remove me (and my beloved antagonist) from the story entirely. The working title is <i>Bet You a Kiss</i> (BYAK), and the submissions open on November 1st. I would like to have it written, fine-tuned, and polished to send as soon as the gate opens, so it's a good thing I'll be spending the weekend before on a writing retreat. This has to really pack a punch, and it'll be nice to be surrounded by other writers for support. <br />
<br />
You may be wondering why I haven't mentioned <i>Headstone</i>. I'll admit that there has been no progress. My notebook and my index cards have been sitting on my desk all week untouched. I'd start the next sentence by saying "In my defense," but I don't need to defend myself with this, and anyone who would use this as an opportunity to point and cackle about what a flake I am is an asshole. In the words of Elbert Hubbard, "Never explain--your friends don't need it and your enemies won't believe you anyway." Progress on <i>Headstone</i> will happen when it happens. I'm still writing.<br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-81044363723322012442016-09-13T09:07:00.000-04:002016-09-13T09:07:15.836-04:00Monday Morning Musing: Tuesday Edition<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovingly filched from my sister's IG.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I had a post written here that went into detail about my weekend, including my grandmother's death and everything that goes along with it, but it got heavy, quickly, and I just don't want to put that out in the ether. I deleted it.<br />
<br />
Instead I'm going to summarize it like this: My grandmother died. Yesterday was her funeral. My family is in mourning.<br />
<br />
Also, I was in a car accident. On the way to the church my grandmother was a member of, my car was rear-ended by a taxi. It's still drive-able, but it will need some work, which means we'll be in a rental for a while.<br />
<br />
The one-two punch unsettled my already precariously balanced mental well-being. As an introvert, of course I'm drained from the funeral and the calling hours, on top of my own mourning, but added to the mental maelstrom is the fallout from the accident. I'm a chaotic bag of mess right now, which translates into getting nothing at all accomplished until I have the space to sort this all out and deal with it.<br />
<br />
There's work that needs done everywhere I look. I'm two days out from the deadline to submit Forgotten God to the online journal I wanted to. I have school assignments that opened yesterday and are due this week. Let's not talk about the condition of my house or the state of my laundry. I have a lot of work to do on top of it already being a busy, stressful week. All I want to do is curl up in bed and alternate sleep with reading. In times like this, I try to remind myself of the valuable life lesson that's given before a plane takes off. <b>You must put on your own oxygen mask before you help anyone else with theirs. </b>I have a lot of responsibilities that I put on hold over the weekend that are now flying at me, but I'm not going to be good to anyone, or truly accomplish anything if I don't stop what I'm doing and take care of myself first. Once I've put myself in a better state, I'll be able to accomplish so much more than if I just tried to do it now in the condition I'm in. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-68286512796662539282016-09-09T18:13:00.003-04:002016-09-10T11:53:32.126-04:00Waxing poetic on brevity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My last couple of days have been spectacularly trying on many levels, one of which being the very emotionally complex death of a family member. After picking up the girls from school this afternoon, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up something "not pizza" for dinner and laughed when I saw this sight in the parking lot. I ran over a piece of very melted gum. That image is the best way I could describe what state I'm in, emotionally. It couldn't be more apropos.<br />
<br />
I haven't written anything at all new in my novel. Nothing. Of course, with death, I think it's understandable to put your best laid plans aside to deal with the fallout. The space, however, is giving me time to think about how in the world I can be less than a thousand words into a project I'm so excited for, and I believe so strongly in, and also feel so completely lost. I think many established writers would say "That's just how it goes some days." And that's true, but it's early enough in my process to still adjust my sails.<br />
<br />
I'm sure I've stumbled upon the problem. I don't like the answer, and it's one that has been whispering in the back of my mind for months now that I have dismissed as being an Inner Critic, but if I have any hope of writing this novel, I have to tackle this problem head-on and fix it. I, um, <i>don't like writing novels</i>. I'm a short story writer. I do not have the patience or the stamina to write 100k words of one story, dealing with weeks of building an arch, character development, and all that other such-and-such that takes forever to drag out. I'm not an endurance writer; I'm a sprinter. I want to do all of those things, the arch and development stuff, but once I start telling a story, I want the whole thing out of me and ready to be polished in a week or two.<br />
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I think it's 40% impatience, 60% excitement. Once I'm inspired, I want to stop everything I'm doing and get that beauty out of my head and ready to share with the world. Short stories are clearly my best suited length of writing, and if I'm being honest here, they're my favorite to read, as well. There's something so brilliant about telling an entire narrative in as few words as possible. Maybe a percentage of that can also be attributed to being an INTJ. I greatly value efficiency, and as a writer, I prefer to treat words like currency--only to be spent if absolutely necessary. ("Purple prose? Humbug!")<br />
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Let's be clear, though. I'm in no way trying to suggest that it's easier to write short stories than it is novels. To be able to be frugal with words and still telepathically deliver the images in the writer's head to the reader's head is practically an art in itself. It's probably easier to ramble on for page after page describing everything down to the hue of the veins on the underside of the leaves, just to make sure there's no question in the reader's mind that the leaves were crimson. Not magenta. Not carmine. Not sanguine. Crimson. I, as a writer, just have no need to exert that sort of control over my reader. There's a tree. You've seen a tree, haven't you? If I write "the protagonist sat under the shade of the tree, fall leaves cascading around her," I trust my readers are intelligent enough to envision a tree. And maybe their tree is more grand and elaborate than the one I had envisioned, or maybe it's a tree from their childhood that used to have a tire swing they loved to play on. And now this tree that the protagonist is under carries an added meaning to the reader I couldn't have possibly written. To write short stories, to use the light hand with description, is to put so much power in the hands of your reader, and that, as a creator, is not easy to do. This doesn't even scratch the surface of the skill it takes to set up characters that are both easy to relate to and also put them in situations where they've gone from one person to someone else entirely in the course of a thousand words.<br />
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(Can we take a minute to appreciate the hypocrisy that I'm droning on about how important to me it is to be succinct?)<br />
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There's the rub, though. Length. That's what's tripping me up and is showing itself to be my big mental roadblock that I have to get past to finish this novel. I need to break it up into a series of short stories. In order to do that, I am going to have to give myself permission to segment the life and experiences of my protagonist, Elizabeth, into bite sized chunks that may or may not connect seamlessly once the whole story is assembled. Once all of the short stories are written, the revision process will begin and I can work to "superglue" the short stories into a coherent novel. Or I might not. Who knows? I may decide to shop the book around as a collection of short stories that individually outline the life of Elizabeth. Heh, it would certainly be unique! I just know that if I have to look at writing this novel as a marathon, I'm going to burn out quickly. I need sprints. I need shorts burst that could all be standalone stories if necessary, because that's how I write. That's my skill, my craft, and my passion. This approach may be unorthodox, but I again think established writers would agree "Do whatever it takes to get the story out." So I am. And in between the individual shorts stories that will eventually comprise my novel, I'm also going to work on my other shorts stories (currently three: Forgotten God, which has now had its first revision, Port Starboard, and Bet You a Kiss) to continue submitting work to other literary journals or magazines.<br />
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It's a relief to figure out what wasn't quite working for me, and be confident enough in my ability as a writer to shift gears into a method that will produce writing that is more Nicole and less Everyone Else With A Typewriter. My motivation is refreshed and I'm looking forward to making progress again.<br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-41801832928006628622016-09-05T09:03:00.003-04:002016-09-05T09:08:02.178-04:00Shoveling Sand<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0OfjcrIBzmau5L4O9us_jtTfMOGkjFYQ-fFxYo1X0QnJ3EX1AXQJTyYm3gbvOxsZHribznfM8YUv9Yn8TF3vIpgIah26FUif8MoLX6yTdSk366QO6hoxgdM1Irj5q7Rgfn9dfS8YSWQ8/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0OfjcrIBzmau5L4O9us_jtTfMOGkjFYQ-fFxYo1X0QnJ3EX1AXQJTyYm3gbvOxsZHribznfM8YUv9Yn8TF3vIpgIah26FUif8MoLX6yTdSk366QO6hoxgdM1Irj5q7Rgfn9dfS8YSWQ8/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a>Another Monday is upon us! Writers don't have a lot of reason to lament the Moon Day*, because there's no such thing as a weekend from writing. Every day is a writing day. <br />
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Although I sort of did take a weekend from writing. The novel is beginning to take shape faster than I expected, and it has meant that I have to adjust the sails a little to keep writing it. I'm well behind on my word count goals, but the story itself is fleshing out nicely in my head. The weekend was spent shifting from being a Pantser to a Plotter, and I have been getting my proverbial ducks in a row. With this week, my intention is to get these ideas down on paper, get the time line solidified, and start getting specific scenes down on index cards. I have no doubt that, once I have all of that wrangled, the words will flow smoothly and I'll catch up in no time. (<<<Positive thinking!)<br />
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I wasn't in my head for the whole weekend, though. I did manage to finish the rough draft of Forgotten God, my story about Osiris. It's obvious to me that it was written in two different sessions, and I can easily pick out where I stopped on the first day and started again on the second. The quality of the writing shifts dramatically, and not for the better. The important part was that I got it all out. I read a quote that said writing a first draft is akin to shoveling sand into a bucket with the intention of using it to build a sand castle later. That idea of shoveling sand is going to get me through some rough times.<br />
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My new schedule goes into effect today. In order to juggle writing, school, family, fitness, housework, and a social life, I needed to overhaul my summer schedule to make room for everything in the day. My schedule is definitely packed, with writing happening early in the morning, school happening mid-morning, housework and fitness happening in the afternoon, and social life being squished into one hour every day. That is, all emails, non-essential texts, blog reading, networking, Instagramming, everything that has to do with people now happens between 3 and 4 in the afternoon. The evening is reserved for family time.<br />
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I recently had a conversation with my friend-of-indeterminate-magnitude, Heather, about whether or not people can "have it all." I was emphatic that, no, we cannot have it all. There simply isn't enough time in the day to do and be everything we want. However, we can do a lot if we use our time wisely. My days are busy for the foreseeable future because I'm willing to put in the work to get where I want to be. I'm clear on my goals, and I'm willing to fight to protect them from my own self-sabotage. But in order to do this, I have to be tough on myself, and disciplined. And really, really organized.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Not to be confused with THEE Moon Day, which is July 20th</span>.Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-59333591422918719242016-09-02T20:30:00.000-04:002016-09-03T12:32:12.508-04:00To blurt, or not to blurt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The honeymoon phase of writing is in full swing. I came in just under my word count, but what I did manage to get out was knock-my-socks-off great writing! That is, of course, in my humble opinion, which is surely colored by the novelty of novel writing. So, there's the good news.<br />
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The slightly less-good news is that I'm constantly fighting the urge to edit. I wrote in one sentence that a character was giggling. Then a few sentences later, she was completely quiet. So which is it? Is she giggling or is she being quiet, because she can't be both. She was quiet, I finally decided, and went to re-write that sentence. While I was trying to figure out how to reword it, it occurred to me that this was time spent editing when I should have been writing. Little bits that don't make sense in the moment can't slow me down from getting the words onto the paper, so instead I made good use of the <strike>strikethrough</strike> option, crossed out the words "She giggled" to remind me when I start revising that this section needs to go, and I carried on. After waking up to that issue, I caught myself doing it nearly every other sentence. The result was that I wrote something really great, but the downside was that it took so much time to get those words out that it put me in a time crunch elsewhere.<br />
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I'm going to have to find some kind of balance between editing as I write (which is evidently my natural setting) and the carefree word-vomit of NaNoWriMo. There has to be some middle ground between sculpting every sentence right out of the gate, and blurting out every rambling thought that springs to mind. <br />
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Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-37536040819953548232016-09-01T19:00:00.000-04:002016-09-01T19:00:36.691-04:00Gods and pumpkins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy First of <strike>Halloween</strike> September! Today is the day when all reservations about celebrating "too early" go out the window and I throw open the doors and windows to everything gloriously fall!<br />
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As mentioned in my previous post, today is also the day I began writing my novel. The working title is <i>Headstone</i>--catchy, right?--because editors and publishers change those sorts of things anyway, so as long as I give it a crappy name, I won't be butthurt when someone comes behind me and changes it. So from here out, when I say <i>Headstone</i>, you know I mean the novel about Elizabeth. Maybe something better will come to me down the road, but for now, I'm focusing on the important stuff, like, actually writing the book.<br />
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The first day of writing went well, but after so much build-up, I expected things to run somewhat smoothly. My experience with NaNoWriMo is that the first week is always the easiest, but the second week is when the real trouble starts. For now, I'm just taking things one day at a time. My goal is 500 words a day, which looks like a tiny amount compared to NaNo's 1667, but my motivation makes all the difference. NaNo was something silly to do to pass the time, to be a part of a world-wide community of people doing the same thing at the same time, suffering all of the same trials and tribulations. This novel, though, is meant to be something bigger. I actually hope to do something with this once all of the words are written and for that reason, I want to make sure I'm taking my time and paying close attention to what I am writing.<br />
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My designated writing time is as early in the morning as I can make it, before anything else happens with my day. If that fails, my new writing time will be later at night when everyone has gone to sleep. I am naturally a night owl who has been parading as a morning lark for a year or so, but I know that if I'm struggling in the morning to get my words written, the night will welcome me with open arms.<br />
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Stephen King, possibly one of the world's most famous <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Pantser" target="_blank">Pantsers</a>, wrote in his memoir/writing book, <i>On Writing</i>, that all of his books start with a question. Keeping that question in mind, he writes a novel that answers it. <i>What happens if? What will a woman do if? What if? </i>I'm doing something similar out of the gate, answering the question "Why is Elizabeth Markham buried in Southgate Park?" I will likely be moving towards a more structured outline as ideas start to solidify, but for now, I'm relying on my notes about her life and my imagination to get this rolling. I'm looking at 500 words a day, approximately 100,000 words in the novel, which means just under 7 months of work. I can take a few months off before having a whole year to revise and edit before shopping the book around. I will be fully astonished if everything actually goes according to that plan, but at least I have one, and that's a solid step in the right direction.<br />
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Speaking of my highly-active imagination, after months of nothing, just as I'm gearing up to start writing <i>Headstone</i>, my brain decided to throw several new ideas at me. Granted, they're ideas that started out as actual real life scenarios (like the time I stalked the Egyptian god Osiris into the parking lot of an IHOP) but in order to make them more than just interesting campfire stories, I need to put a writer's spin on them. To make matters worse, these ideas are coming to me with destinations. "I bet this literary magazine would LOVE your story about Osiris!" and "That new romance-y literary journal would probably enjoy the story about how you met Kyle." These destinations both have due dates, which means in order to get the short stories written in time, I will need to work on those alongside working on <i>Headstone</i>. There's just not that much time in the day, but I do want to continue putting short stories out while I'm writing the longer novel. I'm just going to have to find a way to make time, or at least manage the time I have available better.<br />
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With all of this technical talk out of the way, my day went well. The fresh carrot juice this morning was a nice way to start the day, but back home, I kept the coffee flowing. My secret Starbucks connection had given me the heads up that Pumpkin Spice Lattes would be back today, although they wouldn't be advertised for another week, so at lunchtime, Kyle and I took a break and picked up our annual PSL. It was like getting a high-five from fall.<br />
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I invite you to join me as I blog through the process of writing a novel, as well as continuing to live a creative life, be a mother, wife, and student, as well as keep my sanity. What little I had to begin with, anyway. There are some great things coming up over the next few months, including a writer's retreat in the woods, OcPOEber, and a heck of a lot of hiking, baking, and pumpkins. I'm off to write more about Osiris, but I leave you in the able hands of my favorite god, Vincent Price.<br />
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<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-4544832721788898342016-09-01T09:01:00.001-04:002016-09-01T09:01:15.534-04:00A hope and a headstone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here it is, September 1st. I prepped this morning by going out for fresh-squeezed juice at sunrise, coming home to tidy the house, and I am currently sitting in the arm chair sipping cinnamon coffee and waiting for 9:01 to begin writing. This is not procrastination; this is creating a tradition. My entire day is cleared of any further activity so there is nothing happening today but me and Elizabeth having a little chat.<br />
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Before I start, I wanted to take a minute and introduce my blog to Elizabeth, wife of A. H. Markham. She was 27 when she died in the mid-1800s, and was buried in what is today known as Southgate Park beside one Mr. Jonathan Grable. I've passed her grave hundreds of times on walks through the park, and always wondered about the life of the woman buried in this tiny cemetery. Who was she? If she was wife of A. H. Markham, who is Jonathan Grable? What did she die from? Above all else, the biggest question that has been bouncing around my head all of these years is the one I hope to answer with my novel:<br />
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<b>Why is Elizabeth Markham buried in Southgate Park?</b><br />
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This spring, I resolved to finding out more about Elizabeth's life, and hit many dead-ends. Despite having a headstone, she may as well not have existed. I tried contacting the local historical society, as well as the parks and recreation department of my town, and no one seemed to know anything about the tiny cemetery or its inhabitants. I was just about to pack the whole thing away and resolve myself to not knowing Elizabeth past what her headstone could tell me, when the whole thing broke wide open.<br />
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My cousin Rachel offered to look around to see if she could find anything on Elizabeth. Not only does Rachel have an inhuman amount of Google-Fu, her mother is also our family historian, giving Rachel access to some other avenues to explore than I had. I passed on the meager information about Elizabeth that I had and hoped really, really hard she would uncover something. Unfortunately, she hit all of the same roadblocks I did. But then she asked the right question: Who is Jonathan Grable? Through trying to learn more about him, Rachel cracked the case on Elizabeth Markham. Prior to marrying ol' A. H., Elizabeth was wife of Moses Grable. Jonathan Grable was her father-in-law.<br />
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With this new lead, Rachel turned up an amazing amount of information on Elizabeth, and with that information came a slew of new questions. It was through the sorting of her life that I realized there was a story to be told here, and I agreed with The Universe to be the one to tell it.<br />
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That leads us up to right now. It's 9 am. I'm going to publish this blog and then make good on my word. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-70464885833698496562016-08-29T09:50:00.003-04:002016-08-29T09:56:04.311-04:00Don't eat the Forbidden Apple<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey, hey, it's Monday! This past week has flown, thanks to a flurry of last-minute, early-bird seasonal shopping here. Stores are beginning to roll out their fall/Halloween items and we've spent this last week driving around to all of our favorite stores during our free time and seeing what's new for the season. It's definitely early this year, but I'm glad to have all of this running around taken care of for the season. I've said before that I don't experience FOMO, but holiday shopping is the one exception. From all the times early in our marriage when we were broke and had to save up to buy something fun for Halloween, only to find that it was gone by the time we could afford it, I'm a bit traumatized. I learned that you have to buy it when you see it or you can kiss it goodbye. Old age and a bit of financial maturity helped me to get to a point where I can see things I'd love to own, appreciate them for a few minutes, and then leave them in the store, but that FOMO still has a hold on me. I have to be the first one out of the gate, ready with a coffee in hand to look around at what the stores have to offer, even though I'm likely not buying much. I suppose I just need to see what I'm not buying.<br />
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Saturday morning, Kyle and I were up early (with coffee in hand) to stand in line for the Halloween launch party that is held every year by Yankee Candle. Now, I love candles, and Yankee Candle is great, but I'm honestly not a huge fan of anything they put out at Halloween. It's very cute and knick-knack-y, and that's just not my style. I've got no interest in the collectibles that everyone else was in the line for: The Boney Bunch. I went this year because I saw in the catalog that there was a new candle called "Forbidden Apple." FOMO flared up, and I knew I had to smell that candle before everyone bought them. So, we stood in line for about half an hour before the doors were opened. I gunned straight for the display where the candles were, popped open a jar, and inhaled deeply. It was a slightly spicier version of my absolute favorite Yankee Candle scent, MacIntosh. So, it came home with me. Technically, two of them came home with me, thanks to Buy One, Get One Free coupons. While Forbidden Apple has not beaten out my favorite fall candle scent (Pumpkin Pecan Waffles from Bath and Body Works) it's a close second.<br />
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That was the highlight of my weekend, to be sure. Shortly after the candle extravaganza, everything went down hill. To make a long and gruesome story short, I came down with a stomach plague which still hasn't moved on. All hope I had for productivity went out the window, as I was mostly stuck in bed or on the couch. I made a feeble attempt at some family time last night, as we all sat around the table painting. I felt like crap, and the extent of painting I got done was covering my ceramic haunted coffee shop in black paint. Voila.<br />
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I really hoped to feel better when I woke up this morning. Aren't stomach plagues only supposed to last 24 hours? Isn't that a law or something? Alas, I'm still a mess, which really, really sucks because today is also the first day of the new semester. All I can do is curl up in bed with some broth, some kittehs, and my new stack of text books and get cracking. Nothing else will be happening until the old priest and the young priest arrive. <br />
<br />Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8932628788708442751.post-50387872845984359572016-08-22T09:15:00.001-04:002016-08-22T09:15:35.215-04:00Welcome Fall!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This Monday Morning Musing is coming to you from inside of this fantastic reading nook in my living room. All of this fall finery is a sure sign that we have waved goodbye to summer and are ready to bring on the pumpkins. Last night was our annual "Fall Changeover." All of the decor that stays up in our house from March to August has been lovingly packed away (eh, we threw it in totes and tossed them into the darkest corner of the basement, honestly) and all of those gorgeous shades of orange and creams have exploded across our house. I love it. Some people believe the "holiday season" starts with Thanksgiving, but in our house, it starts with the first day of school and goes straight on to New Year's Day.<br />
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Ah, speaking of school, my daughters started back up last week. I am proud to say that everything went smoothly, which makes it almost a non-topic to muse over, but this is a kind of exciting situation for me. I'm back to having large chunks of time alone in the house, which is going to do wonders for my writing. Even if Kyle or the girls are perfectly quiet, I struggle to get creative work done while they're in the house. I'm not entirely sure what that blockage is, but I know it's mine, and it's absurd, so I'm hoping that having this time alone will be what I need to get some momentum going with my writing to help me carry it forward into the times when they are here (and are perfectly quiet.) As an introvert, alone time is essential to my well-being, and I'm excited to see what creative things happen when I'm fully charged.<br />
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I've been working on a short story over the last week that is about a mermaid working as a bartender in a seaside town called Port Starboard. It was intended to be funny, an opportunity for me to inject some humor into my writing, but as writing is prone to do, it has taken on a life of its own. My lighthearted story has turned into a serious commentary on what we give up to live our dreams. I loved the silliness of the name Port Starboard, but it has sort of morphed into the metaphorical fork in the road. Left or right? Which way do you go? Which life do you choose? As writers, we're wise to let our characters speak for themselves rather than try to bend them to our idea of who they should be. But dang, I was hoping to write something humorous for a change. Nothing is wasted with writers, so I'm jotting down notes on what I would be writing if the story was going my way, and maybe one of these days I'll go back and rewrite it in a way that makes people laugh rather than stare off into the distance, pondering the complexities of life. In the meantime, I'm just going to do my job and keep writing down what the voices in my head whisper to me and see where this one goes.<br />
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My coffee cup is empty once again, which means it's time for me to get moving with my day. This time next week I'll be back in class myself, so I'm taking this opportunity to just drink in the quiet until it's time to hit the ground running again. Yoga, meditation, good books, and good food are all in my near future and it feels heavenly. Welcome back, Fall. I missed you. Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05155630307853545753noreply@blogger.com