Thursday, December 10, 2009

Random Thoughts

I've been busy with cousins in for the holidays early, and the Small One has the school Christmas pageant tomorrow so I'm not working on the WIP but I did get a few minutes to read a few blogs this afternoon. Very interesting stuff. Like the title for this post.

It started me thinking where I would be today if I had started writing when I wanted to, when I should have, say around 1983. (Honest to God I am that old.) I could be Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, Kasey Michaels.

I like old movies. I love old movie stars. Especially the men. When men were men.
Well, sort of. When women thought men were supposed to be that way. And it was all together too true when they found out they weren't. Men had faults and vices and disappointments. Remember Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront? His heart broken, defeated, remembering, he says, "I could'a been a contenda." God!

That's how I feel today. I could'a been a contenda'. I could have been famous. I mean with dedication to the art form of course. I have the thoughts, it just takes me a little while to get them to come out to be perfect sentences. With the right editor, I could have been a contender.

My cousin and I talked at great length about Tiger Woods and his *ahem* troubles. I mean c'mon who would have ever thought a guy like him would have done something so hurtful to his wife. One or two somewhere along the line of his career would have been devastating enough but 10! Twelve! Granted some of them are just looking for their 15 minutes of fame but imagine if these women are all legit. Shame, shame on you Tiger Woods. You have just fallen to #1 ScumBag of the Earth. You could have been a contender.

I saw my cousin tonight. He was really sick in October and his wife told me tonight she had to tell the doctor, "Do not resuscitate, do not ventilate," before she left the hospital the first night. My cousin nearly died. I'd tell you what kind of a man he is but it would take too many pages so let me quote from Jane Austen, "He is the truest and best of men." He IS a contender. He is a winner.

I have been learning alot from lurking about on different blogs. I feel like I'm back in college. People out there are really smart and creative and funny and wear most of the heart on their sleeves when they talk about their writing. I find that interesting. I mean really, truly I do. Because it's such a singular occupation.

I guess that's because they're so PASSIONATE about what they do, who they are, what they are trying to say. Eloquently or not. And I really shouldn't talk because I know I do the same thing.

I am completely filled with angst. I feel like a two-bit player in a B movie. You know, the one who used to be sort of famous but really isn't anymore and she's just hoping for one last big break to at least give her a shot at grabbing the spotlight one last time instead of doing commercials and making appearrances on game shows.

I think all this stems from seeing my cousins for the first time in two years. I've seen Dee a few times but not just one on one time. It was nice and familiar, I love my cousins dearly, and it brought back so many memories of us all together at other houses, other parties, other Christmases. It was so nice to sit and relax and talk. No alcohol involved.

It also brought back some very random thoughts about what would be so different now if I had been a contender back then.

5 comments:

Lady Glamis said...

Wow, such honest thoughts! I get sad reading the end of this, feeling your angst and frustration about the past. The thing is, you can't live in the past. If I were you I'd use your angst to get done what you want done and see where that gets you.

I'm discovering that the more I hang out in the blogosphere the more frustrated and upset I get. I need to stop reading everyone's blogs and cut it all down to just a few. Yours would be one that I keep. :)

Piedmont Writer said...

Thanks Michelle, I've kept yours too hoping/praying the holidays come early so you'll start writing more. I think I've read all your posts to date.

I hear what you say about hanging out in the blogosphere. I lose all track of time and don't get hardly anything done. I try to read everything either at night or first thing in the morning and then work from 9-12 and then again from 1-4. It's not the greatest schedule and it mostly never works out the way I want it to, but it's what I've got right now.

Please don't be sad. I've gotten over what I've lost, the past, and I do try and look forward to the future as much as I can, it's just really hard for me at this time of year. I LOATHE Christmas and the holiday cheer. I always have, even when I was a little kid. If I could go away from the middle of November to the beginning of January every year, I would be quite content. Especially if it were 85 degrees and coconuts hanging from the trees instead of tinsle. It's hard now with my daughter, I have to try and put aside all my crappy feelings and try and allow her to have the magic. It's just that I've grown EXTREMELY cynical over the years and the holidays are like men to me; once they're over and done with I never want to see them again.

But don't worry, everything will be fine and once I get back to writing I won't be so full of angst. Or maybe I will, I'll just try and curb it a little.

And really, truly, thanks for stopping by and reading me as much as you do. It's a really nice thing to know that someone wants to hear what I have to say. I'm really grateful.

Lady Glamis said...

Wow, another grinch like me! I though I'd NEVER EVER find one, seriously. I like Christmas, sort of. There's certain things I like about it, but I really don't enjoy the shopping and the cold and the snow and decorating and all that. I just don't. I've just BARELY started listening to Christmas music, but only because my hubby loves it. I've never admitted this to anyone - how I really feel.

Phew.

That feels good.

I'm a grinch. So I said it. I try to hide it though. I really try to love the holidays.

Have you really read ALL my posts on my blog, really? Really? There's a lot on there! And the newer ones on there are kind of embarrassing about my first novel. Ugh.

Piedmont Writer said...

Whenever I find something I like to read I generally read it from cover to cover. Books mostly, but now that I've found blogs it's like, well, it's actually like Christmas to me. I open a blog and start reading and I'm fascinated how people view their own creative process. Not to mention the agent/publishing blogs. I'm never one to do anything half-assed and when I decided to write I knew I needed to gain as much information as I could.

Querying too soon, has shown me the error of my ways, and now that I have a better handle on how to write/revise/query a book, I feel a little better about my new career choice.

Reading what other people have struggled through helps me look at my own mistakes and try and fix them. It's like when I went to college. It was a hippie college in Montpelier Vermont and we would gather in groups and discuss all kinds of "stuff". And then how to write about it. The basis of the college was founded by great writers. Oh my God were these professors BRILLIANT. Being around minds like that made me cry. I thought I was stupid and it took me a while to figure out I wasn't stupid, I just thought differently. And wrote differently. Truly did take me four years to find my voice.

And that's what I do when I find a blog I like. I can't really 'talk' to that person, I just read what they've written and it shows me their insight, their truth, their story. Like becoming friends with someone you've never met.

And don't sweat being a grinch. It's not so bad. You just can't be vocal about it. Other people might not like it. You know the "Christmas-y" types I mean. And then they won't invite you to their parties where you get to eat. and drink.

Lady Glamis said...

That makes total sense, then! I wish I had time to read everyone's blogs cover to cover, but I follow way too many. Once again, I really should cut them down. Sigh. There's just so many great people out there.