9/11

September 11th, 2001 is one of those days where you remember where you were, what you were doing, who you were with. Or I should say, most people remember. I don't.

September 11th, 2001 fell into the period of recuperation after my psychotic break. I was still transitioning back into reality, and I was going through a period where I was sleeping all the time. My parents got me out of bed, I went and looked at the television, but I couldn't process what had happened. I went back to bed. It was just another day in an interminable chain of days. I'm normally a very compassionate and sensitive person, so the fact that I had no reaction to the tragedy really speaks to how "not myself" I was.

In the play that I'm working on right now, my main character, Sophie, is wrestling with the question of whether or not to take her pills for her bipolar disorder. She's an artist, and she feels that the pills dull her reality and creativity. They make her "not herself." Her brother, Jack, argues that when she doesn't take her pills, she's also not herself. There's no solution.

I've come so far from where I was nine years ago. I'm finally starting the after-school arts program I've been dreaming of for years. I have a house. I have a job (and sometimes three or four). I'm responsible for two animals. There was a moment that I remember from that period after my psychotic break when the therapist said it was most likely that I'd never live on my own, never be able to hold down a job, never be able to fend for myself. I remember hearing that and saying "No. That's not true. Not me."

As a writer, sometimes, yes, I feel like I could be more creative, and in fact was more creative before I was diagnosed and had to start taking medication. But I was also a loose cannon. It's not always easy. There's not always a great option. But when I think back to my emotional numbness in the face of a national tragedy, I know which choice I've made for myself.

Hot Link Wednesday

It's been a while. I've been busy writing...doing...being. The after-school program is a go, and that'll be starting up on September 14th. I'm in the last 20 or so pages of the play (and rewriting the same 7 over and over). And my improv troupe just had our second sketch show, for which I was one of the writers. So that's my life in a nutshell lately. And without further adieu, here are some links:

Rent Food Broke - "resources for the unemployed and under-employed in LA." Articles on being frugal and notifications about cheap/free goings-on in Los Angeles.

Advice from Brandon - the premise is that he doesn't always know what he's talking about, but so far he's been pretty right on.

I read an article somewhere (New York Times? Maybe?) about simplifying one's life, and I followed it to a bunch of blogs. I'm not pretending I'm going to whittle my belongings down to 100 items (my snowglobe collection alone outnumbers that), but I do like the idea of simplification.

Rowdy Kittens - "a blog for people interested in simple, minimalist living."

Becoming Minimalist - about a family of four living a minimalistic lifestyle.

So there you go! Hope to see you more often around these parts.

It's Not All Pillowfights and Pedicures

I used to be a guy's girl. Most of my friends were male, I didn't have many close girlfriends, I didn't particularly like girls. I thought they were mostly catty and gossipy and mean.

I'm not sure when that changed, but when I look at the names in my "favorites" list on my phone, or think about my plans last weekend, or need to talk to a friend, the girls on the list far outnumber the boys.

I was having a rough night last night, and I called my best friend just to talk. I think she could hear something in my voice ('cause chicks are in tune like that) and she said she was coming over. I protested a little bit, because I didn't want her to have to drive all the way over from downtown, but ultimately I said yes, please, come over. And it helped enormously - in fact, sitting in my backyard with a beer, my dog and my friend, I was so appreciative of my life that it became really difficult to remember why I was upset in the first place.

Maybe it used to be a badge of honor for me, being a tomboy. Maybe I just had less emotions. Maybe I didn't have as many boy problems, and therefore didn't need girlfriends to share them with. Whatever the case may be, I really couldn't be happier to have such an amazing group of strong, wise, wonderful women in my life.

A Novel Idea

I just finished one of the best books I've read in my short existence - "This Is Where I Leave You," by Jonathan Tropper. It's rare that a book makes me laugh and cry, but this one did it. I also dramatically gasped and covered my mouth at one point. Seriously.

For the past year or so I've been following a number of writing-related blogs and websites. I'm not in the process of writing a novel, I don't know that I'll ever be in the process of writing a novel, but I find the world of publishing to be fascinating. Query letters, slush pile, form rejections...I've just been collecting information for a pursuit that I may or may not actually, ahem, pursue. For now I have my plate full with playwriting and sketch writing. It occurs that there are probably blogs and websites about playwriting. I should find them. But for today - here are a bunch of links from my files.

SlushPile Hell - Excerpts from awful query letters, with hilarious commentary. File under "people are dumb."

Janet Reid, Literary Agent - Self-explanatory. She gives really good advice and shares fun links.

Query Shark - Ms. Reid runs this blog also, where she critiques query letters and allows the writers to re-submit them based on her notes. Extremely informative.

Nathan Bransford, Literary Agent - Another agent blog. He also does a weekly critique of a writer's first page, selected at random and open to comments from his readers.

Editorial Ass - An anonymous former editorial assistant who is now an editor.

So for any of you out there who actually are writing a novel, and aren't following these blogs, enjoy! I fully expect to be thanked in your acknowledgements.

Fault

I was with a friend last night talking about my car accident (he didn't know that I had crashed my car), and I said something that I remembered I had wanted to write about here. It's basically that things are a lot easier to accept when they're your fault.

When my car broke down last year on the way up to Mammoth, I was outraged. In the carless couple of weeks that ensued, I was frustrated and annoyed. How dare my car just decide to stop working? The bastard. Even though I was still going to get it back, it was an inconvenience and I was pissed.

Then I totaled my car. Which was completely and totally my fault. Of course I was upset, but I got over it a lot faster. Is it that it's easier to be angry at the world than at ourselves? I tend to think that I'm harder on myself than I am on anyone else, so I would think that would extend to fault, as well. But I guess not.

I'm trying to figure out if there's a way to channel that quick recovery time to things that are the fault of the universe, or other people, or gravity. I guess I could just assume that everything that goes wrong is probably, in some way, my fault.

I don't think that'll cause any issues at all.

Hot Link Wednesday

The only reason I watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey is for the Gawker update.

And lately, I've been watching Top Chef for the same reason. And because I have a giant crush on Tom Colicchio.

Speaking of bad movies/television, I still have not seen Sex and the City 2 or Eclipse. But I feel that the "lolcat repertory players" versions that I linked to will suffice for now.

And in the opposite of "pop culture will rot your brain" news, I don't think I've touted my friend Steph's blog, two years on an island, in my links yet. So there it is. She's a fantastic writer and days away from being a new mom.

(the picture? just because.)

Stop & Breathe Light

There's a stoplight at the intersection of the Chandlers (north and south) and Tujunga that I call the "stop & breathe" light. It may have something to do with the orange line, but I swear at some point, traffic in every direction and all walkers are commanded to stop at the same time. It's like a safety meeting - nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.

Even if I'm running late, this light doesn't piss me off. It's not a particularly long signal, and it amuses me to catch the other drivers looking around, as if wondering "who exactly does get to go right now?" The answer is no one. We all get to sit here for a moment and collect ourselves. Breathe. And go.

The opposite of this calm, meditative sort of signal is the crosswalk by the metro station on Lankershim, just one block east. It goes from red to blinking red, which means you have to treat it as a stop sign, but the pedestrian signal is still in its countdown. So every time I think I'm okay to go, some human comes running out in front of my car. And if I wait too long, some cranky driver will honk from behind.

I guess if it's between "stop and breathe" and "go (if you dare)," I prefer the former.