Caution, Navel Gazing Ahead: NaNoWriMo Reflections

So I won.

For the second November in a row, I got achy muscles from dragging my laptop everywhere, spent way too much money at Starbucks and Borders (the latter's spinach omelet sandwiches are like crack.  Delicious, eggy crack), listened to sixties and seventies rock almost exclusively, and cranked out prose that was, more often than not, total and utter shit.

And 65,000 words later, I emerged with a first draft.

If you've read this blog in the past month, you know about my involvement in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and my NaNoWriRant against certain Salon.com writers who think people such as I are deluded chumps.

However, when I started writing, I WAS, in fact, somewhat of a deluded chump.  I really, really wondered why the manuscript I rewrote TWO WHOLE TIMES wasn't, in fact, getting me an agent.  I totally thought I was better than most YA writers out there, more original, funnier.

Then I started taking classes and going to workshops and applying for residencies.  In doing all this, I learned that not only are there a plethora of highly gifted folks out there, most of them worked way harder than I to perfect their craft.

I learned to identify my own issues with plotting, character development, just plain ideas.  I learned to listen to critiques--even if I didn't always agree, there was usually something in there that was helpful.  I learned that in classroom exercises, I should stop trying to impress everyone and just. freaking. WRITE.

It was during one of these freewriting prompts that I got an idea.  An idea that became last year's NaNo.  My third full manuscript, and the first one that I honestly believe has potential (and before you call me "deluded chump," I've had other non-family members say it too).  One year, one writing residency, and a gazillion revisions later, I'm STILL working on the damn thing.  My inner editor is a total bitch now.  And she's not letting me send it out till it shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

But a few months ago, things shifted.

I went through a dark period.  I was constantly sad, angry and stressed.  Things I used to really enjoy--like dance class--started losing their meaning to me, and consequently I stopped going as often.  My writing slipped by the wayside, too.  I felt like I had no capacity for creativity left, not to mention I was bereft of energy.  And when I wasn't writing, I was beating myself up for not writing.

In fact, despite the fact that I had a story I'd been jotting notes for since February (when I wasn't revising my latest project), I almost didn't do NaNo this year.

Then I thought about it.  I needed to get back in the habit of just sitting down and writing.  And this story was calling to me.  Even if I never, ever visited the project again, I had two protagonists talking to me and I wanted to get all of it down on paper.

And I did.

Mind you, November was a big month.  I signed up for another burlesque class, started going to yoga more often.  I have a full-time-plus job.  Mid-month, my best friend Bob moved back from L.A.--a wonderful, emotional experience for me--and crashed on my couch for a couple of weeks while getting his Chicago life together.  I even found time to blog and write film reviews once in a while.

But every day (almost, I think I took a break on Thanksgiving), I sat down and wrote.  And most of it's awful.  There are plot holes, characters who disappear, and inconsistencies galore.  In fact, if and when I revise this thing, I already have a list of stuff that needs to be fixed, which I'm positive is just scratching the surface.

I sat down and wrote.  I got back in the habit, refreshing me for the long process of edits ahead as I rewrite my work in progress for the umpteenth time.

I remembered that writing makes me happy.  Yes, I want to get published.  It scares me how much I want it.  But it's not about that.  It can't be.  I have friends who are published authors struggling to sell their next book.  And brilliant agented YA writers like Natalie Whipple struggle with submission as well.  I can't write to publish.  If it happens, great.  But most of all, writing makes me happy and that's why I do it.  Simplistic?  Yeah.  But totally true.

Now I have two stories I believe in.  And the two manuscripts I wrote before--though I'll never show them to anyone probably--are special to me, because they helped teach me how to write.

My astute and tough-lovey pal Xander Bennett of Screenwriting Tips . . . You Hack said once that the point of a first draft is to exist.  And now my first draft of Satellite exists.  Yay.  Awesome.

But while I'm celebrating, I'm thinking about how to tweak my work in progress, The Kids Don't Stand a Chance, so it's infinitely more readable and doesn't suck.  After spending November telling a completely different story, I'm refreshed and psyched to revise, revise, revise.

Hi, writing!

It's good to be back in the saddle again.

Burlesque 101, or How I Found Empowerment By Shaking My Ass

"It's like this," I told my friend Bob, as I shook my chest in the booth at the gay bar.


I've come a long way since June.


Several months ago, I was at a crossroads.  I loved modern and musical theatre dance classes, but I felt in a bit of a rut.  Plus, I was frustrated with my writing and with other parts of my life.


I needed a new hobby.  Preferably one that got me up and moving and feeling good.


At the same time, a friend of mine was getting into burlesque dancing, and her Facebook was full of stories of women with awesome names like Jeez Loueez and comments about something called "shimmying."  Despite having danced for nearly twenty-six years of my life, I was a little unsure about what burlesque entailed.  Even the word "striptease" was opaque to me.


Understood or not, I was patently aware that I didn't think I could do it myself.


As a former theatre major, I was well-informed of Gypsy Rose Lee. Not to mention I've been dancing (other, more clothed forms) for 26 years. But I couldn't do that. Sure, it was a far cry from licking the pole a la Nomi Malone, but still . . . baring it all in public? No way!


Plus, the non-body snarking feminist in me was hesitant.  Could I really get behind an art form consisting of bumping, grinding, and clothing removal?  Was that copasetic with the sisterhood?


There was only one way to find out.


I went to a burlesque show.  Specifically, a showcase of advanced students at the studio where my friend took classes.  I naively stepped into the bar that Sunday night, unsure of what to expect.


What I got?  The dirtiest dance recital known to (wo)man.


At first, it was a little weird.  I tried to muffle my nervous giggles as the first girl did her thing, shaking her tail and shucking it all off.  But then something happened: I got into it.  The ladies of all shapes and sizes.  The silly puns and dirty jokes between dances.  The fun, creative choices of music: everything from Bobby Darin to James Brown.  The feathers and adorable shoes.


Then the head of the studio--Miss Exotic World 2005, and a finalist on the first America's Got Talent--did a fan dance like you wouldn't believe.  She was wearing next to nothing, but it was downright elegant.


I wanted to do THAT.


So I signed up for a basic class at Studio L'Amour in Chicago.  It's a friendly, funky little place (and no, they are not paying me to talk about them) where all girls who want to learn to shake it are welcomed with open (bare) arms.  I went in person to sign up because I wanted to check out the vibe.


"Um, is it okay if I wear workout clothes?" I shyly asked the studio owner/head teacher.


"Sure, I'm wearing this for class," she replied, indicating her own workout clothes.


Five months later, I'm demonstrating my shimmy for my friends. 


Mind you, I haven't shown any real skin: the studio emphasizes being comfortable with yourself, and you don't take anything off until the performance class, if you choose to go that far.  But what I've learned is this: burlesque isn't just about skin.  It's about having a sense of humor.  Embracing those silly puns while bumping the hips your mama gave you.  Getting your dance on while thinking, "damn, I look hot!"  It's not about the boys.  It's about the girls (innuendo intended).


Now if you'll excuse me, I have to practice tying a tie.  So I can remove it from my person at next week's class.


Oh, and true burlesque or no, I am excited as hay-ell for this movie:

Don't Worry, Be Happy: Top 5 Video Pick-Me-Ups

So I've been a little sad of late.

This is hard for me to admit.  I mean, most aspects of my life are fabulous, and a vast improvement over several years ago, when I was in law school and battling depression and anxiety.  And with the vast amount of suffering going on in the world, I always feel guilty whining about myself.

Still, some personal things in the last few weeks have me feeling down.  And I don't like it at all.

Besides the usual coping mechanisms--exercise, healthy food, reading, talking to friends--I've found some sanctuary in silly TV and videos.  Whatever works, right?  Below are five visual stimulants that can make me laugh, even when I feel like crying.

1.  Hellcats
Even if the words "CW" and "Bring It On goes to college" didn't sell me, the involvement of Ashley Tisdale (whose Sharpay in the High School Musical films reminded me a bit too much of teenage Unpro) and Aly Michalka (who was excellent in the cute-teen-movie-that-nobody-saw Bandslam) would get me to watch in a heartbeat.  And true, it's not a completely flawless show: at times the heroine, a prelaw student who reluctantly joins her school's competitive cheer squad to replace her lost scholarship, comes off a little TOO snarky.  Also, the "adult" plots are completely boring: more locker room and pom pom shenanigans, please.  That said, there's a lot of things I like: I like how the show's set in Memphis and not L.A.  I like the diverse cast, and how the potential love interest for the blonde white girl is African American.  (Yes, you see that more than you used to.  Still not a lot.)  And I'm a sucker for a good dance number.  Hellcats is mind candy at its sweetest.  I can't complain when Sharpay is gracing my TV.



2.  Joel McHale and a surprise guest on Countdown With Keith Olbermann
You thought my pick-me-up list wouldn't include my #1 celeb crush?  Think again.  When I commented on a Jezebel post regarding celeb fidelity a while back, a fellow Jez alerted me to what is possibly the most adorable video ever.  Anyone who's heard Joel's stand-up comedy knows all about his older son Eddie, but second child Isaac doesn't get as much spotlight (then again, Isaac's only two).  Not the case in this clip from Keith Olbermann's Countdown, filmed shortly after President Obama's election in 2008.  In what was probably a last-minute decision, Joel rattles off political commentary and banters with Keith, while simultaneously wrangling his giraffe sleeper-clad younger son.  Yeah, I don't even want kids and this clip had my ovaries in overdrive.  Four letters: D.I.L.F.



3.  "Two Worlds Collide" (Saturday Night Live)
From the category of Comedy Shorts That Shouldn't Work But Inexplicably Do comes this little gem, in which the adorable Andy Samberg raps about his love for "America's Sweetheart" Reba McEntire (Kenan Thompson).  Yes, Kenan Thompson plays Reba McEntire.  I remember when the short first aired, as part of the Saturday Night Live hosted by Joseph Gordon-Levitt (celeb crush #3).  I spent the first half shaking my head in confusion, and the second half cracking up.  And it holds up on near-daily repeat viewings.  Just trust me and click Play. I'm Reba!



4.  "New Senator" (Saturday Night Live)
As you've probably guessed, I'm not one of those SNL purists who constantly goes on about how the show's sucked since Joe Piscopo left to concentrate on his burgeoning movie career.  Yes, some sketches are better than others.  But if you've got a genuinely funny host who really commits to the material, there are belly laughs to be had.  Case in point: Jon Hamm (celeb crush #2), whose two hosting gigs in as many years have yielded some new classics.  In this sketch, Hamm dons a pretty impressive Massachusetts accent to play Senator Scott Brown, who goes from party enemy to object of lust for the Democratic contingent.  Oh, and he's in skimpy outfits.  YES.



5.  Burlesque trailer
Recently, my best friend Bob announced his decision to move back to Chicago.  I can't lie: the fact that I won't have to travel 2,000 miles to hang out with him come November is part of what's getting me through the day.  Upon seeing the trailer for Burlesque, I immediately informed Bob that he will be my date to what is sure to be a glittery train wreck.  Cher advising Christina Aguilera on make-up application!  Kristen Bell goes from Veronica Mars to dance club diva!  Stanley Tucci with his hot bald head and requisite one-liners!  Vocal riffs!  Costumes!  Did I mention CHER?  Oh yes.  There will be cocktails.  And then there will be Burlesque.



Hope you enjoyed my rundown of tele-giggles.  What are your favorite pick-me-ups?  Leave a comment!