Have Some Fun, Madeleine or Madeleine, Lighten Up

Two posts in one day!

I've been thinking about that last post since I wrote it--specifically that I need to enjoy myself, to lighten up a little.

The post was pretty lighthearted, I thought, until the last line.

Anyway, don't make writing such a chore.

I'm excited and happy to be writing these stories, to have these other people to think about, to figure out what's going to happen to them and put the stories together like a puzzle. It's thrilling!

I don't think I say that enough.

Bad Madeleine or Madeleine Makes Herself Sick or Madeleine Wonders

I am at home and I suddenly have Internet, so I think it's time for me to post again.

I don't know what to say, though; or, I do know what to say, but I am embarrassed to say it.

No writing today. Or very little, anyway.

There I said it. Ert.

The day is not over yet though, etc., etc.

Plus I just ate a whole thing of grapenut pudding. I was not going to do that but then I did. I bought a lot of vegetables at the market today, because I was going to eat healthy this weekend, especially tonight since I planned to be home, but then I ate the grapenut pudding instead. The thing is when I start eating grapenut pudding, I can't stop.

And I can't stop reading about the health care bill, either. This is whenever I have Internet. Not the bill itself just all of the politicking around it. It makes me sick. I read about the Tiger Woods scandal, too, which is even more ridiculous.

Also, I have been reading novels. I read a Sarah Waters book which was not as good as Fingersmith, but still I couldn't put it down. Sometimes I read as a way not to write; reading seems virtuous when compared to sitting around and watching TV (I don't have a TV anymore) but in the end both activities achieve the same result, i.e., not writing.

I did dust my furniture today--my apartment generates a lot of dust, which is a metaphor for something--but, again, this virtuous activity was in service of bad habits, bad behavior, procrastination, and the rest.

Now I am questioning whether I am using the word "virtuous" correctly. I am certainly using it too much. Perhaps I am losing my mind.

This quote from actress Jennifer Jones really struck me this morning when I was reading her obituary: "When you're young, you're full of hope and dreams. Later you begin to wonder."

I'm wondering.

Madeleine Thinks Everything Will Be Different in 2010

I read an article yesterday about an author/screenwriter—I was killing time at work and don’t remember how I came across this article in particular, and I have never read this author's work—but in it the writer talked about writing his first (never published) novel in graduate school. His advisor made him write ten pages each week and he finished a first draft of the novel in one semester.

I can do that!, I thought, as if the pages-per-week method was a revelation.

(Actually I thought that I could do five pages per week, which seemed more reasonable, because that allows for less than one page per day, or five days at one page per day and two days off, etc., etc. I need my days off.)

I did the math, too: there are 22 weeks between Christmas and the end of May, 2010, so 22 weeks X 5 pages per week = 110 pages = 4 stories (more or less).

This is totally doable in 2010! Everything will be different in 2010!

No writing last night. Still on Story #1.

Madeleine Returns Again, This Time for Good

I can't believe I let another week pass without writing on the Mildred after rededicating myself to this project in one of my last posts--and especially because of the lovely comments i received from our dear readers. (I am thrilled whenever I see that there is a new comment.)

I have lots of excuses, but I won't list them here, and, really, i think it comes down to (again) the fact that I have still not finished Story #1. I continue to be mortified by this.

So why is it not finished, especially since--and this is the truth, readers--I have been working on it diligently?

Some possible reasons or perhaps variations of the same reason, I am not sure:

1.) I have fallen into my old, bad habits. When I sit down to work on Story #1, I tell myself that I will NOT reread the story from the beginning, that I will write new parts of the story ONLY, because I know that rereading will trap me in rewriting, and if I continue rewriting then I will never finish Story #1. But I can't work that way, i.e., I find that each time I sit down to write I HAVE to reread the story from the beginning. Clearly this is not yet an "old" habit and it might be a habit that I will never be able to change. One solution I am going to try this week: not writing on my computer. If I write in longhand, it's more difficult to rewrite. We'll see.

2.) The first half of Story #1 was (over)praised in class. Praise is wonderful, of course; it is always nice to hear that people like your writing. It was also a relief, too, because I have been working on this story and the others for a long time; the fact that random people got it and even enjoyed it was satisfying. But I have to write the end of the story, and perhaps the over-the-top praise made me feel like whatever I write, however I end the story, will not measure up. I am going to disappoint everyone! I have learned that I should not show my work too early. Of course, I knew this before and did it anyway. Perhaps I wanted praise? (Of course I wanted praise....)

3.) I am tired of writing Story #1. I am! I've gotten to the point where when I reread the story (see #1) I can only see what's wrong with it. More than usual, I mean. And I'm way behind schedule and then this leads to thoughts of wasting my time (despite point #2), that the stories are dumb and outdated and really i should be writing something new, something brand new, something not having to do with these stories--a novel or a play or even Story #2, which I have begun thinking about. Anything but this! I would love to write a play, especially that play I have been trying to write for six years! Now is the time to write that play! (I sort of got lost in the middle of point #3. Agnes interrupted me. Yes, Agnes is still around, even if she is not writing on this blog. Plus, the fact that I have been trying to write a play for six years is depressing and embarrassing and gave me pause.)

4.) I have to write Story #2. Right, I know--you just said, Madeleine, in point #3, that you want to start writing Story #2, anything but Story #1, etc.etc. But, readers, that is way different from actually having to write it. Once Story #1 is finished, and all of the drama of writing it is behind me, I have to begin Story #2, which is daunting. And I need to finish it in less time that it took me (is taking me) to finish Story #1, because otherwise I won't even finish two stories by end of May, 2010.

There are more reasons, I am sure. If you can think of any, readers, please comment!

Madeleine Plans a Lovely Day, but Then...

I am not at the office today. I was supposed to be there, but they asked me not to come in, because there isn't much work at the moment. I had mixed feelings about this. I need the money, and I don't want a precedent to be set where the company feels like they can ask me not to come in when there isn't much work, especially since there's never much work and we agreed when my schedule was set that I would always work at least three days per week. But on the other hand, I am always happy not to go into work. A free day! I don't need the money that badly! And, most importantly, I can use this day to do what I really want to do which is work on Story #1 so that I can finish it by my new deadline!

(You can see where this is going....)

What a wonderful day I had planned! And it was so beautiful and warm outside! I was going to get up early to go to the post office and have a coffee then come home mid-morning and write for a few hours, before going into the city to visit some galleries on my way to Brooklyn this evening for dinner and a play.

I did go to the post office; I did have coffee; but then I went to the bookstore and read some magazines and had another coffee. I got home at noon. Lunch! Plus email to check, and then I had to check the news for a minute, and I thought I'd call Agnes, see what she's up to (maybe she'll come back and tell you sometime) then more emails and more websites and finally, around 2 p.m., writing.

And, like always, I was excited to write, this time more excited than usual. My last class was Wednesday, and the teacher got a bit drunk on last-class wine, and he opened up about his life as a writer, which sounded a bit dismal, frankly, especially for such a successful writer (i.e., money struggles, no sales, worries about never managing to write enough), but i find it so reassuring when "real" writers talk about their frustrations, difficulties, etc. etc. They can't always meet deadlines, either! They have blocks and bad days and disappointments, too! Obvious, I know, but it makes me feel less like a freak and even a little hopeful. Perhaps this is a bit perverse, I don't know, but the point is it got me in the mood to write Story #1 again. My struggles with Story #1, I realized, are not uncommon; they're part of the writing process, perhaps the most vital part of the writing process.

So that was Wednesday night. Thursday I worked and felt great as I reflected on the above. Then Thursday night I got the email at my office saying please don't come in tomorrow. Frustration quickly replaced by joy and planning a lovely, busy day.

2 p.m. and ready to write. That's when I convinced myself that it would be a good idea to write in my bed. I once read an interview with Daniel Mendelson (spelling?) and he said that he always writes in his bed. I've heard of other writers who do that, too. Maybe this would work for me! I went to my bed--and discovered that the bed is not a good place for me to write. The bed is a good place for me to sleep (and check my email, of course).

So no writing today. I am trying not to feel bad about this. Or maybe I should feel bad about this? I'm sure I will feel bad about this if I miss my new deadline, even though I am really trying not to think about the deadline all that much. Or maybe I don't think about the deadlines enough? More on all this later.

The Return of Madeleine

I am coming back to the Mildred. I didn’t post much in the month of November and I feel bad about that now. I also think I need to stick to my original plans re: the Mildred.

This project isn’t only about finishing these five stories. That is a large part of it, and I really will be disappointed if I don’t finish a bunch of stories—five would be amazing, but so would three—but the Mildred is about everything that happens as I write these stories, a forum for me to examine my writing process and figure out what my writing problems are, i.e., why don’t I finish things, why does it take me a long time to write a story, what can I do differently, why do I swing from feeling great about my writing to hating it and doubting myself and how can I learn to approach writing with more balance, etc. Also, how can I best use the Mildred--not to punish myself but as a tool to learn about all of the above?

I am not liking this post—bit preachy or humorless or both—but you get the idea.

Anyway, the whole way I dealt with the Mildred in November is instructive. Basically I avoided it. I didn’t want to post anything until I finished Story #1 and so I didn’t post anything. And I still haven’t finished Story #1.

This is totally embarrassing to me. Why am I still writing this story? Why can’t I finish it? And what makes me think I’ll be able to finish any of these stories or any story ever again? I fancy myself a writer, so I should be able to write and finish things. I feel like I have let myself down, I have let Agnes down, I have let Our Dear Reader down, and I have let Our Other Dear Reader down as well.

Clearly I am putting too much pressure on myself. Not just the above—that’s nothing compared to the pressure I feel when I start thinking that these stories are my SALVATION. They will prove that all of my life choices were right, and everyone who ever doubted me was WRONG! Etc. etc. etc.

So, yes, that’s where I stand today. Story #1 is still not finished and today is my last class. You’ll remember that when the class started, even before the class started, I planned on writing two stories over the course of my class. Didn’t happen. In fact I didn't even finish one. Disappointment--again.

But the story is coming along and I am going to finish it. I have yet another deadline in my mind—do you think I will meet it? You’d be foolish to think yes but I believe I can….

Madeleine Still on Story #1

I'm still writing Story #1. I think I figured out the ending today.

Even though I haven't been writing it, I have been thinking about it all the time.

I don't think I have been writing on the Mildred, because I want to finish Story #1. Or I should say that I don't feel like I have much to say on here until I finish Story #1.

I have a new deadline for myself which I will not write here because I am feeling superstitious.

But it is not so far away and I will tell you, readers, if I miss it. I promise. I don't think I wil miss it. I so do not want to miss it! Perhaps you could guess what date it is? That should give you something to think about until you hear from me again.

Some mixed news: I am already thinking about Story #2. Mixed news because, good, I am thinking about Story #2 and preparing to write it, etc., etc., bad, because I am thinking about Story #2 before I have finished Story #1.

(Though, re: above, you might hear from me again before I finish Story #1. I am working at the office the next few days, and hopefully I won't be so busy, so maybe I can write something.)

This is not the most interesting post, I know. I felt like I had to write something, so I did. That's exactly how this post reads--like something that had to be written.

Madeleine Freaks Out

I have to turn in Story #1 to my class tomorrow morning. I am NOT going to finish it.

I am trying to change the way I go about writing a story, my process, etc., but it can't be changed. Before I can move on and write new parts of a story, I have to go back and revise the parts that I have written. Only when I am happy with them can I move on and write new sections.

I don't want it (i.e., my writing process) to be this way, but it is. If I act against it, I get blocked.

I have revised the parts that I wanted to revise, and I am so happy with them now. But that took some time. As I said I was very happy to take that time because I feel like the writing that I got done was good. Now, though, it's impossible for me to finish this story by tomorrow AM.

Also, I feel like the reaction I got from the class when I showed the first half of the story, while it felt good, is NOT helping. Whatever I do in this second half, especially whatever I do now as I rush to finish something, is going to disappoint.

It shouldn't matter, I know. But my point is that I don't want to talk about it if I have to rush to turn it in, because I already know what the problems are going to be.

Agnes just tried to calm me down, soothe my nerves, and that's nice, I appreciate it, but still the story will not be finished in time. I am very disappointed.

Maybe I should turn in a different story? I don't want to.

I guess all I can do is keep working on the story tonight and do what I can do. I can't think about finishing the story; I can only think about finishing the next part of the story.

Having said all this, I am very happy with the story and with my progress. Really. I was going to type something else but now I've forgotten what it was.

LATER: That was all a bit dramatic, wasn't it?

I am writing the story again. It will not be finished by tomorrow, yes, but it's okay.

This, too, is progress. Normally, or before, I would have paralyzed myself.

Madeleine Feels Guilty Again

On my way home from work tonight I suddenly thought of the Mildred. Why have I not been writing on it? When did I write on it last? Have I lost all of my readers? To have left the readers hanging like that—I feel so guilty. I abandoned them at the most crucial moment. Perhaps they are worried about me. Perhaps they think I have given up on the Mildred altogether or even that I have given up on writing altogether! Am I really such a thoughtless person? (Don’t answer, Agnes.) Well, there’s that—there’s always Agnes. At least Agnes has been writing on the Mildred. Agnes will pick up the slack and give the readers something to read. Perhaps she’s even been writing about me. She’s a great girl that Agnes, you can always count on her….

I was planning to post something today at work, but I got busy and work is always a problem. I feel so self-conscious there and the thought of anyone from the office seeing my blog and then reading my blog is totally horrifying. Anyway I decided that I had to post something tonight—it’s been too long—so now I’m at a café down the street from my apartment, taking the time while my sweet potato bakes in the oven. (That is not a euphemism. I mean that literally.)

So let’s get to it. The down and dirty. (That doesn’t sound right.) But the details—maybe in the form of a Q&A.

Reader A: What’s happened to Story #1? Is it finished? It must be finished. Then how about Story #2? Or are you on Story #3 already?

Madeleine: Whoa, Reader A, you have not been reading the Mildred very carefully AT ALL. I suggest you review some of the more tragic posts from October or September, really any of the posts, and you will realize how outrageous, how unlikely it would be for me to have completed Story #1 by now. It is only November 10. I have only been working on Story #1 since July or August. I need a little more time.

Reader A: A little more time? A little more time? You said you were going to be done with Story #1 before your class started. Isn’t your class almost over by now?

Madeleine: My deadlines, Reader A, are always flexible. The important thing is that I finish the story…

Reader A: So when are you going to finish it?

Madeleine: This weekend, hopefully Friday night. Probably early Saturday morning.

Reader A: Your waffling again, Madeleine! And why should we believe you now?

Madeleine: Because you’re right. My class is almost over, and my second workshop is coming up, and I have to turn in the second half of Story #1.

Reader A: I thought you were going to turn in Story #2 for your second workshop.

Madeleine: I was going to but I got bogged down in Dreaded Paragraph 2 in Story #1, and I couldn’t manage to finish a complete draft in time.

Reader A: More excuses.

Madeleine: Not excuses—no—why are you attacking me, Reader A? This post started out so, I don’t know, hopeful and good. My triumphant return to the Mildred. I was going to talk about my progress, how I managed to work through Dreaded Paragraph 2, how Story #1 is almost finished, how the people in my class LOVED the first half of Story #1, and…. Didn’t you see that I wrote five new pages last Monday? You should read that post again. And then read it again.

Reader A: How many pages did you write after that?

Madeleine: (Silence.)

Reader A: None, right? Right?

Madeleine: I revised!

Reader A: But you have to keep the momentum going, Madeleine. You have to learn to keep the momentum going. I thought that’s what the Mildred was all about.

Madeleine: I am building momentum, Reader A. As long as you seem to think it has taken me to write Story #1, in the history of my career as an emerging writer, I’ve hardly worked on it at all. The last story I wrote took me 14 months or so to complete, and the story before that took 18 months AT LEAST. So I am making progress.

Reader A: But you’re never going to finish five stories by the end of May 2010.

Madeleine: I think I will, Reader A.

Reader A: Madeleine! You’re living in a dream world!

Madeleine: I’m not. I’m not. Reader B, what do you have to say about this.

Reader A: There is no Reader B.

Madeleine: Then Agnes? Agnes…?

Madeleine Writes Five New Pages

…in one night! Actually in 3.5 hours.

That is not a typo, readers, or a lie. This is my personal record, I think.

And this morning when I read these new pages, I liked them!

Let’s leave it at that for this momentous day.

But I am in a good mood, readers, so, rest assured, the weekend didn’t turn out as badly as I feared it would. I even learned some things!

But I’ll save that for another post.

One last thing: even though last week I rued the day the Mildred was conceived, I do think that it helped me while writing Story #1, which, alas, is still not complete….

(It can’t be all good news. That would make me very nervous.)

Also, Agnes, come back! Say something! Say SOMEthing!

Agnes Saves Madeleine from Despair

Yesterday I was feeling pretty low.

I was feeling ill; I was tired; my job was making me very angry; I had not written Story #1 the night before, and the deadline was looming; I was stuck in the middle of a paragraph that I could not finish; I could not look at Story #1 anymore, because the more I looked at it, the more confused I was getting; I had hoped to write at work, but that was, of course, impossible; the deadline was looming; I looked up an older story that I sort-of finished in August and thought that I would be forced to workshop that one in my class even though I did not want to; I did not like the older story, when I read it, as much as I thought I did; I started wondering, again, why I always find myself in this position, i.e., working on a story but never finishing it; the deadline was LOOMING; (ASIDE: My boss, as I write this entry, is in the middle of a fight with her 21-year-old son on the telephone. This happens ALL THE TIME. I have already spoken to her about it. She likes to call him Shithead.); I started wondering, again, if I would ever finish anything EVER; I was late to my class because of a work snafu—by work snafu I mean that my incompetent boss (see above) made careless mistakes AGAIN, which is not surprising since she does not know basic grammar and is unable to write a sentence (this is not a joke, unfortunately); when I got to class, they were discussing a Leonard Michaels story that I forgot to read; when we workshopped the stories, I was completely out of sync with my classmates and our leader, i.e., they simply loved a story that I could barely get through; this led me to think: these people are going to HATE my story—and it’s not even going to be finished.

I dragged myself home.

On the way home, I called Agnes. She was in a good mood and happy to hear from me. When I got to the subway entrance, I said I would call her if she wanted me to when I got home. She said, cheerfully, that she didn’t want me to.

(ASIDE #2: 98% of Madeleine’s and Agnes’s fights are about the phone. Agnes doesn’t like to talk on the phone EVER. She didn’t like to talk on the phone when they lived in the same apartment, and she doesn’t like to talk on the phone now that they spend most of their time apart. She doesn’t like to talk on the phone to ANYONE. Madeleine, on the other hand, likes to talk to Agnes on the phone 30 times a day. Sometimes Madeleine will call Agnes because she has something important to tell her (i.e., developments in the lawsuit, train schedules, etc.), and sometimes Madeleine will call Agnes for no reason at all (i.e., she is bored, she wants to hear Agnes’s voice, something happened and she wants to share it with Agnes), and sometimes Madeleine will call Agnes to complain about something or even to take out her frustrations on Agnes. Sorry, Agnes! Madeleine understands why Agnes doesn’t like to talk to other people on the phone—afterall, Madeleine only enjoys talking to one other person on the phone, i.e., our Dear Reader—but why Agnes doesn’t like to talk to Madeleine on the phone—that is much harder for Madeleine to understand, though she is trying. Sometimes Agnes will be doing something, focusing on work or some project, and she will simply forget to call Madeleine. Madeleine admires these feats of concentration; she wishes she could stay focused on projects the way that Agnes does, but Madeleine simply doesn’t understand how Agnes could forget to call her, especially only once a day—especially since Madeleine feels like she thinks about Agnes all the time—and sometimes Madeleine takes this personally, which is when Madeleine and Agnes fight.)

I had to wait a long time for the subway. This gave me more time to think bad thoughts about myself—and also to wonder why Agnes didn’t want me to call her. (See above.) I didn’t get too upset with Agnes this time, though, because I was trying to focus all of my anger on myself.

When I got home, I told myself not to call Agnes, and then I called Agnes. She answered! I told her I was feeling low, that I felt lost, that I simply couldn’t get through the new dreaded paragraph. She asked me what I meant by that. I said that I had sentences, I had details, I knew what was supposed to happen, but I couldn’t get all that information into the correct order, i.e., an order that made sense to me, and onto the page. She said, talk me through it. I said, no. She said, maybe if you talk through it, it will be clearer in your own head. I said, no. She said, try it. I talked it through with Agnes, several times, and Agnes said, see, it’s not so bad. You can do it! You can do it, Madeleine, she said, I know you can.

And I believed her. And I STILL believe her this afternoon, even though I am at work and I am still in the middle of the dreaded paragraph.

So thank you, Agnes. You should use your phone skills more often.

Madeleine Even MORE Frightened

I am stuck on one paragraph again. Now THIS is the most important paragraph in Story #1. I thought the dreaded paragraph of a month ago was the most important paragraph in the story--and by most important I mean most difficult paragraph to write--but no, it's this one, the one I am in the middle of right now.

If I could just write this one paragraph, then the whole section and thus the whole story would fall into place.

Why didn't I finish this story last week? Why aren't I revising now?

(I don't work that way, obviously.)

My first impulse is to call it a night--I'm too tired, I'm not thinking clearly enough, I'm in the middle of it and I need to step back--but that's what I did last night, and here I am again.

I'm not panicking, but I am very uncomfortable. Ert.

Story #2 looks like paradise right now, heaven. I can't wait until I'm writing Story #2. It is going to be so much easier to write than Story #1, and, anyway, I won't let it come to this...

Prepare for disappointment, readers!

Inside Madeleine's Head, a Play

Last night in bed, or it might have been this morning, I started rethinking what would be acceptable for me to turn in to my class on Friday as Story #1.

I present to you: Inside Madeleine's Head, a play in agonized silence

MADELEINE on bed, awake. AGNES is next to her, blissfully asleep, completely unaware of the turmoil going on inside her beloved's head, which is only ten inches from her own.

MADELEINE does not speak, but from her anxious expression and clenched jaw, it is clear that she is thinking about something unpleasant--for example: bad choices she has made, promises she has failed to keep, expectations she never manages to meet, etc. She is under a lot of pressure! Perhaps her back is aching again; she went to the chiropractor twice this week for neck pain. (Note to actress portraying MADELEINE: This pain is unusual; prior to this week, MADELEINE had not been to a chiropractor in four years.)

MADELEINE (thinking)
I really want to finish Story #1, but time is running out and perhaps it would be okay for me to hand in only the first two sections of it, as long as I make those first two sections as good as they can possibly be. That would be pretty amazing, actually! The first two sections are really difficult to write, so if I finish them and am happy with them, etc., then turning them in on Friday and finishing the complete draft shortly thereafter would certainly be ok, even admirable. And, really, the first two sections don't need to be the best that they can be--they just need to be finished. As long as I finish the first two sections by Friday evening and turn them into the class then I will have no reason to feel ashamed of myself and my efforts, especially since if I finish the first two sections by Friday, then I will certainly be able to finish the rest of the story in no time, probably in only a few days--at the most a few days--because I know that once I am finished with the first two sections, I am going to feel like, wow, the story is basically done, all I have left is the silly third section, and the silly third section won't be so difficult to write compared to the first two sections, which were extremely difficult to write.

When Agnes is awake, I have to tell her again about how very difficult the first two sections of my story are to write. Because if Agnes knows how difficult they are to write she will judge me less harshly on Friday when I don't finish Story #1.

MADELEINE looks at AGNES. AGNES sleeps.

Dear Agnes understands me and she will still love me if I hand in only the first two sections of Story #1 on Friday, so...

MADELEINE realizes she has pulled all of the covers to her side of the bed. She replaces them over AGNES, carefully so as not to wake her. Note to actress portraying AGNES: You remain completely still during the play, but at this moment, it is clear that you feel very lucky to have MADELEINE in your life, despite all of her craziness and the frenzy which you sense is fast approaching.

Suddenly, MADELEINE sits up. She looks frightened. She has just remembered something awful.

But those blog readers! They are counting on you! They are invested in your success! They are waiting and reading to see if you will finish Story #1 by Friday--and in fact they expect you NOT to finish it! They will judge you harshly! They will stop reading if you don't finish Story #1 on Friday. Why would they keep reading after you had betrayed them? Unless they are readers who like to watch a car crash. Who doesn't like to watch a car crash? Perhaps you will have MORE readers if you fail to finish a complete draft of Story #1 by Friday. No one will read this blog if I meet my goal. What's so interesting about someone who meets all her goals? What's so interesting about a successful, happy person? Where's the drama in that?

Perhaps, Madeleine, you are invested in failure? Perhaps, Madeleine, you are more comfortable when you do NOT meet your goals?

MADELEINE lies down on the bed.

Is it "lies" down on the bed or is it "lays" down on the bed? How can I NOT know such a simple thing? I'll choose "lies" but no doubt I have chosen wrong. I always make bad choices. I never get anything right. I must avoid this verb, this saying, in the future. I must...

MADELEINE's thoughts become too confusing, even to her, as all the things she must avoid start pressing down on her from above and the unseen deadline presses up on her from below. She is frightened. Very frightened.

END OF PLAY

Madeleine Looks Around

...and compares herself to other people--other writers, mostly--and feels like a loser.

Stop looking around, Madeleine, and stop comparing yourself to other people! (I know this, but sometimes I can't help myself.)

Maybe I am preparing myself for disappointment next week when I don't meet the deadline and I don't finish Story #1?

If I don't finish it, one reason will be so that I can wallow around in my misery and feel bad about myself, a comfortable position for me.

No writing last night.

Madeleine Equivocates No More

As I noted in my last post regarding Story #1, I had entered the phase in my writing process when I start thinking that I should not be writing a short story at all and that I should be writing a play instead.

One of the reasons I do this is because it is scary for me (and, probably, for most people) to commit to any piece of writing. By "commit" I mean finish, of course, but I also mean make the decisions/artistic choices that are going to form/define that story. It's sort of the there's-no-going-back-now moment; after this point, that story is what it is going to be.

I feel like I am explaining this both too much and not enough at the same time.

The point is I am not equivocating anymore. I'm writing the story and I'm ready to finish it.

I had a very good writing day on Friday after writing my last post. Perhaps writing that post helped me to move on and stop equivocating.

I don't really have anything else to say. I am relaxed and feeling good after a nice weekend with Agnes. More evidence that happiness does not provide much material for me to write about...

I wrote last night (and Saturday and Friday).

Madeleine Avoids, Evades, Equivocates

I couldn't decide on the best, most appropriate word to describe what I am doing now--avoiding, evading, equivocating--so I used all three. They all mean the same thing, I know, but not quite.

Anyway that's what I am doing now.

This is a familiar phase in my process, especially when I have a definite deadline.

My definite deadline (for the class) is October 29.

As soon as I have a deadline, I go from thinking I need to finish this story NOW, ASAP, etc., to oh, I have so much time before the deadline! That deadline is so far away! I have so much time to finish this story! I don't need to do it now, I can do it later; I'll think about it now, but I'll write it later, because I have plenty of time before the deadline.

Why do I do this? If anyone has an answer--or a solution--please comment.

Then, a few days after the deadline has been set, and luxuriating in all of the time that I have before the deadline, I decide that I should write something else first. Another story, maybe, a short one that I can just toss off. (I have never "tossed off" any piece of writing in my life. These blog entries are the closest I've ever come to "tossing" something off, but I often go back and edit them later. I have to go back and edit my last post, actually, because, according to Tricia, Mies van der Rohe said "turn a corner" not "turn the corner". Agnes confirmed it last night.) More likely, though, I decide that it is time to write a play. Writing a play would be so much fun right now in this long time before my deadline. Writing plays is easy compared to writing stories. I want to use my playwriting muscles. Actually, I really want to write plays. I should be writing plays. I ALWAYS like writing plays. Why am I writing stories again? Plays are the thing.

Time passes. NOTHING is written. No plays, no stories, though I think about writing them all the time. I read through old story ideas to find the one that I will finally "toss off." I read through dialogue I have written and try to imagine the play it could become.

So that's where I am. Next comes frenzy (next weekend, i.e., the weekend before the deadline) then guilt and finally disappointment.

I am going to try to preempt, head off, thwart those last three phases this time. (Though I'm pretty sure I said that the last time, too.)

No writing last night.

Also, Agnes's last post was lovely I thought. As lovely as Agnes.

Agnes Electronic Picaresque

As what follows will be distinctly biographical, I thought I would begin on an abstract note. The time contained in a blog is extraordinarily contingent, in part because it appears to have such a transparent structure. I leave out very significant parts of my life here; there are things which happen which are germane, which would probably be interesting to the reader, and which I do not write about. There is also a lot of boring things I leave out, best for everybody. Sometimes things aren't in the correct order. Sometimes things are heightened. If my readers are writers I am sure this will seem to be something of a non-observation, but it is something that has always irritated me in biographies: the narrative arc that inscribes itself onto an (unwilling?) life. Ouisa Kittredge would insist that our lives are more than just a collection of anecdotes, but I'm not so sure.

Last night I smoked. I had had a long day of doing things like look for papers. Are the papers in my bag? No, but there are some bills and a bank statement in there which need to be filed, and there is also an extra handout from class which hasn't been hole-punched and put into a binder. Are the papers in my desk drawer? No, but there are a bunch of receipts in there which need to be flattened out and organized roughly by size and then filed into the Receipts folder in my file drawer—not forgetting to tear off the little coupons at the bottom of the IKEA receipts which are as good as free money and which can go toward the purchase of the handsoap which is one of the things that I need to get next time I go there and which I made a note of on my shopping list on my iphone.

So there was that. Then we had our usual, tedious, departmental meeting at which we were scolded. This was on top of the lecture (part of a series) put on by our Dean, a well-known figure in the art world who does not have a graduate degree. That in itself is no bad thing, but every time he addresses us MFA candidates, everyone gets the feeling that we are being chastised. Not nice. Maybe a nun would be happy with this compounded emotional moment, but I was not. Then we have a critique that runs overtime. In between the meeting and the crit I had somehow managed to make an appointment to have a studio visit with a painter in between the crit and the movie screening series which I am organizing. (As an aside, I feel like all of this paints an inaccurate picture of me as someone who is ambitious and full of action. I want to be clear that it is the no-smoking talking here.)

I go to the painting building, and suddenly everything is really relaxed. My friend is hanging out in the common area chatting with some of the new kids, and we introduce ourselves and joke around. Eventually we wander over to her studio and chat some more and decide we need to have a drink. I tell her I've quit smoking. She says that it is “way too hard to quit in grad school.” And I think to myself—you know, woman, you're right, and as we walk to the bar I bum one. It's an ultra-light. I think I might like it, but I'm not quite sure. We have a beer and then I run off to the liquor store to get a six pack for the screening and then jog across the street to buy a pack of real cigarettes for myself. This I like. It makes me feel like I don't have to be nervous around other people if I can be drinking and thinking about cigarettes and also smoking them.

After the screening (Juliet of the Spirits and Maxi Cohen's Anger,) we are having a discussion with one of the faculty members who stays over on Wednesday nights, and all I can think of is when can I leave to have a cigarette, and how I will need to go out and buy more cigarettes because I had handed so may of them out already. Madeleine calls, and I use this as an excuse to leave. I head out to buy cigarettes, and Madeleine says, “I thought you were going to tell me you were going to the gas station.” To which I replied: I am going to the gas station. Madeleine: very disappointed. Conversation ends diffidently (on my part). Madeleine calls an hour later to say that she doesn't want to pressure me, and that perhaps my friend was right after all: perhaps it is too difficult to quit in grad school. I was happy with this call. All's well that ends well etc., etc.

I felt rather differently about the whole thing this morning. What I did not feel was bad. This is very unusual for me: one of the things that I tell myself to help me through cravings is that later I am always glad when I don't smoke. More immediately are the niggling feelings of guilt and disgust that follow a “fall”. What I realized this time, however, was that most of the times when I start smoking again, I do it for no better reason than that I'm bored. This seems like a big thing to know, esepecially because it is such a small thing that mostly goes completely under my radar. I can't remember ever saying to myself: I am bored now. I think I usually classify it as “restlessness,” but it is clearly not the same thing. I'm not quite sure why it is that smoking itself doesn't get boring—maybe it's because it so effectively turns off my awareness.

Anyhow, I've decided to continue the quit, and I have some new projects. First, I need to develop a more intimate connection with my own boredom. Second, I need to figure out some way to get some kind of repose from my non-smoking-induced mania. And finally, I need to work on understanding that smoking does not help me in social situations; I feel anxious in social situations and that anxiety is independent of smoking which only distracts me from the anxiety.

I said that this post was going to be very biographical, and it has been. I am annoyed that my part of this blog is the “recovering from substance abuse” part—a part that I loathe. It is a narrative that absolutely everybody already knows, and there are only three predetermined outcomes: substance is overcome enabling new-found joy in living, substance is not overcome thus despair, substance continues to exert an on-again, off-again pull dragging out the cycle of triumph, stolidity, indulgence and ashen regret. Oh how one wishes one could be above it!

Can Madeleine Turn the Corner?

A few weeks ago, we went to see Philip Johnson's Glass House. Actually I took Agnes for her birthday. We took a tour of the house(s) and the property. The glass house and the property were pretty amazing, but the rest of it not so much. The other buildings were not buildings that I wanted to be inside--that is to say that the minute I stepped inside them I wanted to be outside them. And the way he displayed his art... But all of that is for some other blog.

I want to talk about our tour guide, Tricia, sometimes Trish, who was wonderful and knowledgeable and clearly did not have such a high opinion of Philip Johnson. Agnes and I spent the tour and after wondering about Tricia's life: She's British; what is she doing here in the middle of Connecticut? She is SO brilliant and enjoyable; why is she giving tours at the Philip Johnson house, especially since she doesn't seem to like the man? Is she married? Kids? Lesbian? Isabelle Huppert could play her in the movie, no, Jane Lynch.

Anyway, at some point she told a story about Mies van der Rohe visiting Philip Johnson in the Glass House for the first time. The evening was going fine but ended badly when Mies looked at the corner of the house and said to PJ, "You never could turn the corner." (And it's true; the corners of the Glass House ain't pretty.)

I have been thinking about this quote a lot lately in terms of my writing. (Agnes is sick of hearing about it, I'm sure. And maybe it's a dumb analogy, but I'm going with it.) For me and maybe for most people the difficulty in writing a story is getting it to feel seamless and unexpected at the same time. And, specifically, right now with Story #1, which is a long story that starts in one place and ends up somewhere completely different, I find that I'm always trying to turn the corner, trying to make it from one section to the next without having the entire story fall apart. If i miss a turn...okay, I need to turn the corner on THIS...

I was with it for awhile there but now I've lost whatever it is that I was trying to say. Maybe that's the best illustration of what I was trying to say.

My point is that after being so convinced of the movement of this story, the plot, the path, whatever, for a very long time, last night I suddenly had lots of doubts. Maybe because I have to finish it soon, I don't know, but the whole thing seems so improbable and dumb.

I don't know... Was this a silly entry? Was Agnes's better today? Probably. (FYI: those are doubts, readers. Another illustration.)

But I'm so glad Agnes is back if only to give you all something decent to read. To give ME something decent to read. And for another way to communicate with her. Call me, Agnes.

I wrote last night. And tonight, too, I hope.

Agnes' Novelty Veneer: Wearing Thin

I suppose I should now respond to reader comments; it is a pleasure I never expected to have. (Perhaps one day I shall win the Nobel Peace Prize.) Thank you for posting, SS. It was a very nice surprise to have such a thoughtful and flattering response (the Prettiest Girl of All Time? Moi?) I suspect Vinegar Tom might say that you would have better spent the time it took you to write cleaning your place. I would disagree.

I seem to be disagreeable in general, lately. This has been day 5. That means that all of the nicotine has left my body, and I am technically beyond the process of physical withdrawal. Obviously, physical withdrawal is not the hard part. I told a friend of mine that I had quit smoking via email, and he sent me a joking reply that I could use all of that extra money to buy junk food. Ha ha. I have consumed an entire bag of Gardetto's Snak-Ens as well as the better part of a halloween bag of miniature Kit-Kats over the course of the past two days, however, and I can't say that it's all that becoming of me to do it.

I've been feeling restless. I've been feeling afflicted with ADHD. I can't stop writing in short sentences (maybe I am the one who's aphasic.) This is one of the things that happens to me: I start to feel really stupid. I was in class today, and I thought: I am completely out of my league right now, I have no idea what everyone is talking about. Granted, the topic was Spinoza, but still.

Agnes: Killer Robot

No smoking yesterday. Or the day before. Had some close calls. Now I am just intensely aggressive and irritated by everything. The good news is that I did my laundry. Then I made my bed. Then I cleaned my kitchen at home. Then I came to the studio and swept the floor. Then I tidied up. Then I washed the floor. Then I cleaned the kitchen in my studio. Then I did my filing. Then I 3-hole punched all of the papers I've gotten for my two classes this semester and put them into 3-ring binders. Then I rode my bike home and got into bed, where, unable to sleep, I skimmed through an advance copy of New York Times writer Benoit Denizet-Lewis' book American Voyeur. It is surprisingly bad. The good news is that he looks really butch so nobody thinks he's a homo (apparently).

Happy to be away from Madeleine; she does not deserve to be directly subjected to the powerhosing my life tends to get whenever I quit. Also, the lack of affect. We'll get to that eventually. I did force her to walk from Brooklyn to Grand Central Station, though. She probably needed the exercise anyway. I haven't had the heart to read her post yet. Perhaps it is filled with recrimination? We can only hope...

My best to everyone.

Madeleine Gets Motivated (Again)

I can't believe it has been seven days since I posted on the Mildred. But last week was not the best week for me--I felt crazy, useless, trapped, etc. etc., for various reasons: tensions between Agnes and me (she alluded to this in her post); noise in the middle of the night from the apartment below (I think video games hooked up to massive speakers positioned underneath my bed); hatred of work and each and every one of my colleagues; and as always my unresolved lawsuit (over our apartment) hovering behind all of it. And, yes, no writing accomplished and, hence, FAILURE!

Are there people who can separate what is going on in their lives from their writing? I think there are, and there are certainly people who can funnel their daily struggles, feelings, fights, and the rest of it into their writing--writers who can "use" all of it and get things done. Why aren't I one of these writers? I always conclude that I am not trying hard enough, but maybe that's NOT the reason. (I know that's not the reason). Or maybe all those writers who say they can do that are lying.

But this week will be different! I made lists of things I need to do--lists always help me focus--and I am out early this morning and writing this post. I had a wonderful weekend with Agnes, and I am so pleased that she has quit smoking again and has returned to the Mildred. It motivates me in so many ways. (And if anyone out there needs Agnes to clean an apartment or workspace or organize anything, ask her now. She loves to clean things when she quits smoking.) My first class was last week and I enjoyed it and more importantly I have a definite deadline now: October 28th. Story #1 must be completed by then; of course, I plan on finishing it sooner than that. I was thinking about Story #1 last night and getting excited about it again. (By Friday, after wallowing in all of the above for several days, needless to say, I HATED Story #1.) And I must say that I was so happy to read a comment on the Mildred last week from someone NOT our dear reader. Nothing against our dear reader, mind you, he's wonderful, but it was a thoughtful, inspiring comment from a reader I don't know, and it made me feel not so alone in my struggles, which is always a nice thing.

No writing last night, though, as I said, I did think about Story #1.

The Return of Agnes: Agnes vs. King Kong

I am beginning the struggle again. It's rather early, for me, on Saturday October 10. Madeleine is still in bed. I had unkindly not told her that I wasn't smoking yesterday, and she took my resulting lack of affect personally. This was unreasonable as she knew that I'd lost all my linens to the wind the previous night—theater people invaded my studio, capered around, broke things, and sang blaxploitation songs while drinking from a bottle of Jameson's. One tends not to have much affect left the day following such a night, smoking or no.

I am beginning the struggle again. It is a real struggle. I wish it wasn't. Especially as it is the kind of thing that makes me feel extraordinarily self-indulgent—as in starving children in Africa. This is the worst post ever. I am going to have to cut out coffee, too, which makes the morning very, very fuzzy, as you can see. So much of what happens when I quit is physical: the giant Q-tip head effect I am experiencing right now, the severe muscle tension, the headaches, the gastro-intestinal irregularities, this stuff is a problem. But worse is the feeling that I am somehow too close to the world. Smoking is a very effective barrier—sometimes literally—between the self and the outside. Whenever I remove it I feel raw and a bit emotionally enflamed. Which is disgusting. Also, my brain gets completely scattered and I become even yet still more stupider than I actually am.

Georges Braque: “When someone appeals to talent, it is because his zeal is wanting.” I wish I had a talent for this. And by “this” I mean actually stopping smoking rather than “quitting,” for which I have a zealous history. My shrink told me to remember that this cannot be a passive process. Not bad advice. He also quoted Alcoholics Anonymous: “Move a muscle, change a feeling.” Which means that I should get off my ass; very good advice. I may subject you all to the rather dull litany of my daily life—I have found in the past that keeping an obsessive record of what I eat, when I go to bed and get up, if/how I exercise, the money I spend, is very helpful to me. I'm not sure why this is. I may or may not do this, and I may or may not post it.

Sleepy but determined. For now. Later I will write about the “affect issue” which probably makes sense to no one except M.

No Smokes Last Night. I guess that makes this Day 2.

Dark Clouds Over Madeleine

I don't usually work on Mondays, but I'm working today, and it's been very busy.

People keep walking up behind me and asking for help. I don't want them to see that I am writing a blog--more importantly, I don't want them to see the name of my blog for fear that they will go back to their desks and read it. I already imagine that the IT guy at the office is monitoring my Internet activity and knows somehow that I am writing this blog and is reading the Mildred. If you are reading the Mildred, IT guy, stop!

(Interesting that I fantasize about people reading this blog and imagine that others would be interested in this blog. On second thought, maybe not so interesting.)

Anyway, I need to work on my story tonight, but I am exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night--noise from the apartment below--and the work that I do (proofreading/editing/copywriting) can be draining.

So I feel like I won't be able to write tonight and this makes me feel really, really guilty, lazy, unproductive, etc., etc., etc. And now I feel even worse for complaining about this on my blog of all things. A blog!?! Why am I writing a blog?!?

That's it for today.

But I can report that I wrote yesterday and was feeling very good and positive about the writing and the story last night. Why the sudden change in attitude? The job? The approaching first class (Wednesday)? Bad lunch (pizza)?

I want to be the best writer in the class and I want the instructor to love my work. That also depresses me.

Scary Writing Stats for Madeleine from Our Dear Reader

NOTE: I started this post on October 1st and posted it on October 3rd.

Our dear reader asked me Wednesday night during dinner if I had finished my story yet.

He must have known the answer to the question--NO--because he has been reading the Mildred faithfully and anyone who has been reading the Mildred knows that I haven't finished story #1 yet.

I told him, no, I haven't finished it yet, but it is going well and I am enjoying it.

How many pages do you have left to write?, he asked.

Um, that's difficult to say, because I have long sections already written...

He interrupted me.  How many pages?

Six, I said, though I'm pretty sure that was an underestimation.

Then he proceeded to try to figure out, based on my past performance, i.e., how many pages I had written in the past 18 months, how long it would take me to write the six pages and finish the story.

The end of October, he said.  You will not finish that story before the end of October.

No way, I said, indignant.  I'm finishing it October 7th.

But, unfortunately, I think he may be right.

October 7th is Wednesday and I haven't written anything new since our dinner.  (I have revised a paragraph, though.  I must stop revising.)  October 7th is also the first meeting of my class, and I had wanted to have Story #1 finished by then.  Oh, well... But it's still possible!  I have five days--six, including tonight. I believe!  I believe!

The whole conversation made me uncomfortable, but it is interesting to think about page counts, etc., because it is unreasonable for me to think that I can change the way I write, the speed at which I write, my process, etc. etc., whenever I need to.  I will say, though, that the time it takes me to write a story from beginning to end decreases with each story that I write.  Story #1 is much easier for me to work on than my previous story, and Story #2 will be easier to finish than Story #1 (I hope, anyway).

No writing last night.

When Madeleine Works She Doesn't Write

Not a big realization--or a new realization--but something I was thinking about today.

On days that I work, or, I should say, the nights before the days that I work, I plan on writing in the morning before I go to work. But this never happens. I make my lunch or I read or I listen to the radio. As I am doing these other things I am telling myself that I will write for a bit after I make my lunch or read or listen to the radio--or that I should be writing instead of making my lunch or reading or listening to the radio. Then I feel guilty and can't even enjoy making lunch or reading or listening, etc. etc. This makes for a sad morning.

Then when I don't write in the morning--and as I said, I never write in the morning--I plan on writing after work. This rarely happens. I was going to say that it never happens, but I think it has happened once or twice, so "rarely" is more accurate. But even though experience tells me that this rarely happens, I still expect to write every night.

In the same way--I think I've mentioned this before--I set deadlines (for finishing a story) and I fully expect to meet them but I never do. Actually, again, "rarely do" instead of "never do". So the deadline for story #1 was the end of august, then Labor Day, then the end of September, i.e., today. The story is not finished. Now my deadline is October 7th. Will I meet it? I expect to...

Also, I am taking a class beginning on October 7th. It's with a writer I like. Most of all, though, I am taking the class to help with deadlines. I think I'll be showing two stories in class, so I should have two stories finished by the end of it.

Anyway, I should definitely have two stories finished by then--the beginning of December, I think--if I want to meet my Mildred deadline. And I will DEFINITELY meet my Mildred deadline!!!

Madeleine Is Nervous

Or maybe intimidated is a better word for it.

The story I'm working on--story #1--is very complicated, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull it off.

That's all I'll say for now. I'm tired.

I wrote today.

A Positive Post from Madeleine

After my last post, and then Agnes's post yesterday--welcome back, Agnes!--I was determined to post something more positive today, because I was not pleased with the picture that was being painted of the two of us. That is to say, dear readers, I was prepared to LIE. I was prepared to say--no matter how the day went--that I had a GREAT day, that I felt GREAT about my writing, that the story was coming along very, very nicely.

But, in fact, I did have a great day. I did get a lot of writing done. And the story IS coming along nicely.

I spent three hours this afternoon at a cafe working on the next part of the story. I read the first four pages once and then I moved on, and I feel so much better this evening having written today than I do on days when I don't write at all.

I am hating this post, though. (That doesn't sound very positive, does it?)

I guess it's no fun for me when I succeed. Hmm...

I wrote today.

Why Agnes Worries

I am back for a moment but only just as have class in 15 minutes. Sometimes I think the fact that Madeleine and I are together is total magic, other times, as when I read her post for yesterday, I think that we are an unholy, Satanic union created by the Gods of inertia. The flattering simile: Angkor Wat, as in there is something good down there, once you cut through the vines that have grown up around it. The unflattering simile: that garbage continent in the Pacific. Something is there, true, but it's not a good thing. It's a thing that kills wildlife.

The difference between Madeleine and me is that I think I am lazy, and Madeleine thinks she is crazy. I need to stop watching documentaries about fashion: how is it that these people are so driven to create something so utterly ridiculous? Maybe even morally flawed? How can I get some of that?

Smoked today.

Madeleine Wastes the Day

I don't know what happened today. I guess the same thing that happened all those other days when I wanted to write when I woke up in the morning, I was actually looking forward to it, but then I did not write. There are still a few hours left tonight, so maybe I will write, though that is doubtful.

So I wanted to write. I planned on writing. I didn't write.

More specifically...

I woke up early. I had to do some work from home (for my job) so I went to the cafe down the street first thing and did it. Then I finished my last Mildred post--finally--in which I said that I needed to go home and start writing. I was home by 10AM and feeling pretty good. I had accomplished a lot by 10AM and I had the whole day ahead of me. Then, instead of writing, I finished a New Yorker article I had started last night on the subway. Mistake #1. I should have started writing immediately upon my return. Then I made coffee and turned on the radio; I wanted to hear about Ted Kennedy's replacement. Mistake #2. Once the radio is on, it never goes off. I kept reading. All this time, I was telling myself, I've got plenty of time--I'll finish this and then I'll start writing.

But first I'll balance my check book and pay some bills. Why do I do this when I'm going to write? There is some deep psychological reason... Any guesses, Agnes? Readers?

Lunch time. Or nearly lunch time, but I had finished the article, and it would be easier and more practical and time-saving to make my lunch before starting to write; otherwise I would have to stop writing in an hour to make my lunch. Mistake #3 or #4. I'm losing count of my mistakes because there have already been so many. I make lunch and listen to the NPR news summary. Then the interviews on the radio show begin--I can't remember who but I listen and eat my lunch. My lunch makes me tired! I think I'll take a nap, just 15 minutes, then I'll be ready to write.

30 Minutes later, I'm up. I wish I could check my email. I try to find an open Internet connection. There aren't any. This is NOT a surprise. There are NEVER any open lines during the day and rarely any at night. But I spent time looking, anyway. Are you counting the mistakes, readers? Then it's the afternoon. I had planned on going to Chelsea to visit some galleries in the late afternoon to reward myself for my day of writing. Maybe I should go now and write when I get home... I think on this for some time, then decide that, yes, I'll go into the city now and write later. That seems like the most practical idea.

(This summary of my day, I find, is totally humiliating.)

It's now 3PM and I am on the subway going into the city. I bring my writing! I thought I would read it on the subway so that when I got home after going to galleries and before dinner, I would be ready to write. Maybe I'll even write some on the train. (An acquaintance does all of his writing on the train; he rides the subway from end-of-line to end-of-line for hours and writes until he is done for the day. I admire this dedication and discipline and wish I was the same way.) Anyway, then galleries. Two hours later, I call a friend to see if he wants to meet me for coffee. He does! We have a lovely coffee date.

6:30 I'm on my way home. I am ready and excited to write. I organized the day perfectly! Pat on the back for me. In fact, why don't I stop at the Strand on the way home, look at books. I haven't been to the Strand in a long time. And there's still so many hours left in the day.

8PM. Home. Hungry. Eggplant must be cooked tonight or it will turn in the morning. Recipe takes one hour. Delicious! Lots of cleanup. While I eat, I check my computer to see if I have Internet access. I do! Thank you B's MacBook Pro! Let me check the news...

So that was my day. It is 10:30. I just spoke to Agnes. She didn't get anything done today, either. I tell her not to worry. She worries.

I am mortified. Will this depressing summary--out there for everyone to see--make me change my wasteful ways? I hope so. I think so.

There are still a few hours left in the day--certainly enough time to finish my next paragraph, otherwise: No writing today.

Madeleine Feels the Daily Pressure...

to post on the Mildred! I am letting down our dear reader--he told me so--and I am beginning to feel bad about myself. I can't manage to do this one simple thing...

I would feel less pressure if Agnes was/were posting something on here every so often, but she isn't. No pressure, Agnes! Really. I know you are busy with more important things, but I am eager and excited for you to come back and say something as soon as you can--a hello; a quick smoking update, i.e., I smoked last night, or even better, I did NOT smoke last night; a bit of something that you forgot to tell me on the phone or in an email or that could be shared with the devoted reader(s) of this blog (see my mention of the new sugar bowl of a few days ago); in short, anything that would fill up some space on this blog and give us all something new to read.

Plus you're such a good writer and I like the counterpoint. (Did I use that word correctly?)

Anyway, I started this entry TWO DAYS AGO with the intention of finishing it and posting it that night, then I added some things yesterday and was going to post it last night, but same old story--no Internet access, no B's MacBook Pro, work was very busy. I am going to try going to the nearby cafe in the mornings before work to get back to posting every day (if I ever did). Or I could quit my job and post every day; that would really be the best and happiest solution...

But going back to the first paragraph of this post... This is the same conversation that goes on inside my head every day of my life (that's a bit melodramatic, i know)--I need to write today; I need to write today; I still have a few hours left in the day to get some writing done today; I NEED TO WRITE TODAY!!!; I didn't write today!; why didn't I write today???; everybody else wrote today--even people with little children wrote today--what is wrong with me???; writers write every day! why don't I write every day? am I really a writer?

And on and on and on...

And going back to the paragraph before the last one--if I quit my job, would I write every day? I think not. I might feel more pressure to write and thus write less often.

I often have those romantic ideas (everybody has them, I guess)--quit my job and write, move someplace exotic and write, go into isolation and write--but I know none of those fantasy plans would work...

There's always some date in the future--after some life-altering event--when everything will change and I'll sudeenly be a real writer...

Anyhow, enough of that. And everyone wants to hear more about the dreaded paragraph, I'm sure. Did he go back to it? Did he change it? Is it really finished?

I can report, readers, that I have not changed the paragraph in the days since I finished it. I consider this a huge victory. I have read it many times and am very pleased with it. This is a different type of problem, though, that is also very familiar. I am fetishizing the paragraph! I read it and read it--out loud and to myself--instead of moving on and writing the next paragraph. In fact, by reading and re-reading it I begin to feel like I am actually writing--but of course I'm not actually writing. Is this clear? Now I feel like I have to stop writing this blog post and go write my story.

I plan on working on the next paragraph today. I don't think it's going to be as hard as the last paragraph. I can already see where I am going to run into problems (like the last paragraph) again later in the story. Perhaps that is why I am putting off moving on, etc. Obviously that is why...

Note the language I use in the last paragraph--"working on," "problems". Our dear reader would say that THIS is the problem. I treat my writing as if it is a chore, something to be DONE instead of something to be enjoyed. Right, dear reader? Agnes? Please comment on this. I will investigate this further some other time.

No writing last night--0r any night since Monday.

Madeleine Rewrites the Paragraph

Yes, readers, I rewrote the paragraph AGAIN--the same paragraph I said I was finally finished with a few days ago. I didn't want to rewrite it, but I couldn't stop myself, and I certainly couldn't write the next paragraph or any other part of the story until I was satisfied. So I worked on it for several hours this afternoon at Agnes's apartment.

Then I biked over to Agnes's studio and read the first four pages of the story to Agnes, including the newest version of the perturbing paragraph, and she liked them--and I did, too.

Now I think I really am finished with it and ready to move on.

Really.

Madeleine Is Frustrated...

...with so many things! ERT!

I don't have Internet at home anymore--or sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, but I can't count on it; B's MacBook Pro is letting me down!--and that makes it very difficult for me to post on the Mildred every day. I thought I would be able to post at my office, and usually I can, but this is my employer's busiest season, and I have a lot of work to do all the time (we're understaffed, of course; we can't hire anyone because of the bad economy, and also, no raises!) and coworkers are always walking behind me to go to meetings--I sit next to a conference room--and stealing glances at my computer screen as they go by. (I know they do this, because I do this as I wander in the company, moving work around. Mostly I don't recognize what they are reading all day on the Internet, which always surprises me, because I thought that everyone read the same things, or at least the same things as I read.) And I am fearful, I guess, of someone catching me--though not fearful of someone catching me not working as you might expect; everyone spends the whole day, it seems, trying not to work. I am fearful of someone catching me writing a blog. They might see the name of the blog and start reading it and tell/sneer to my colleagues about it and they would certainly wonder what I was writing a blog about, though not in a nice way. I still wonder what I am writing a blog about--and am I doing it right? Is the voice consistent? Is it interesting? Does the absence of Agnes hurt the blog?

And, yes, readers, I see it--these are all of the same questions, the same frustrations I have with my writing. In some ways, I still feel like I need permission to write fiction, just as I feel like I need permission to write this blog. (I was going to say this "stupid" blog, but I stopped myself.) I need to know that people think the blog is worth reading before I write it. And I need to know that my stories are worth reading before I write them. (This is a problem! A big problem! And sad. And it brings up so many questions that I can't answer/ponder in this post.) It comes down to the fact that I think writing a blog is self-indulgent--what makes a person think that they are SO interesting, that their experiences, their thoughts, etc., etc., are SO worthwhile and relevant that they need to be put out into the world and shared with strangers? Do I bring this attitude to my fiction? Clearly, and sadly, yes.

I will explore this further later on. Now I have to go to work. I am going to be late--again.

But first I have to judge my post: it started off well and was funny and lighthearted, I think, but by the end it's sort of depressing. I'm worried about what you think of me, readers...

And I know there is only one reader, really, and Agnes, of course. I hope it stays this way forever, that no one ever reads this blog! (That's what I say, anyway; secretly I want everyone to read it. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't want everyone to read it. I think it's funny and fantastic and sad. Same way with my stories, etc., etc. And now it's on the blog so it's not secret anymore--I'm trying not to censor myself--except for the parentheses, which make it sort of secret, anyway; not everyone reads inside the parentheses. That's what my teachers told me in first grade: Don't cross out your mistakes--just put parentheses around them; we won't read them! Anyway, this post proves that the most interesting bits of this blog are in parentheses. If you get bored, readers, just read what's in parentheses.)

Am I making any sense, readers? Can you follow my thoughts? Are you frightened for me? Now I feel bad about myself.

By the way, Agnes, if you're reading: I'm using the new sugar bowl! It looks lovely. Also, Agnes, please don't smoke while you are reading this blog. And, Agnes, our reader misses you, as do I.

No writing last night.

A Short Note from Madeleine

I did manage to write type the paragraph into the draft of my story.

It took longer than I expected it to--I put off looking at it until yesterday evening, and didn't type it up until this morning--but it's done. Tomorrow I move on. My goal is to complete the next paragraph and move on to the next section of the story.

This blog is helping me, I think.

So: I wrote last night.

Madeleine Writes the Dreaded Paragraph

Yesterday, while visiting Agnes, I spent the afternoon writing my new story.

I worked on the paragraph on page 4 that has been giving me trouble.

I worked on the paragraph for three hours, probably, writing and rewriting it.

As soon as I am done with this post, I am going to type the final version into the draft on my computer--by final version I mean the version of the paragraph that will allow me to move on to the next paragraph in the story. (The next paragraph is a problem for me, too...)

Will I actually be able to type in the paragraph as is and move on? Or will I spend the next several hours fixing the same paragraph over and over again?

Tune in tomorrow...

And finally: I wrote yesterday.

Madeleine Misses a Day--and What Has Happened to Agnes?

Readers all over the world, I am sure, are wondering: Did Madeleine write yesterday? Did she finally write that paragraph on the fourth page and move on? Did she NOT post precisely because she was writing her new story?

Unfortunately, readers, no, I did not write yesterday.

(Now readers all over the world are shaking their heads--as am I.)

I didn't post, because I was at home and my Internet was not working. (I think that B's MacBook Pro has finally secured his line.)

I didn't write, because...

I will get to that in a minute.

First I want to tell you what's happened to Agnes as we haven't heard from her in several days.

I am with Agnes right now--she is sitting next to me on the couch--and she is smoking.

That is all I will say. I think I should let Agnes speak for herself.

As for why I didn't write yesterday...

I was excited to have the day off, and I was excited to work on my story. The blog has spurred me on, I think, and helped me realize that writing and completing these stories is not an impossible task--that, in fact, I make it impossible. I was feeling hopeful and really thought that I could finish that paragraph on the fourth page AT LEAST. I thought I would be able to write SOMETHING and move on knowing that I could go back and edit whatever I wrote after I had written a complete draft of the story.

But before I started writing, I decided to balance my check book. I often do this just before I sit down to write and I don't know why. Clearly it's a delaying tactic, procrastination, etc., but why checkbook balancing every time? Then I paid bills. I got paid yesterday so I had money and I wanted to pay bills, sure, but I could have done it later in the day, or at some time when I was not supposed to be writing. When that was finished, I checked my email on Agnes's iPhone. (Agnes had been in town the night before for a friend's art opening and when she went back to school that morning she left her phone.) Then, since I was already online, I read a few political blogs to save time later, I suppose. Then it was lunch time. What was I going to eat for lunch? While I thought about that I turned on the radio to hear the NPR news summary. After the news, the first guest on the Lenny Lopate Show intrigued me and so I listened--just one guest, I told myself, and then I'll write--and while the guest was talking about whatever book they were hocking, I started to think that actually I didn't have SEVEN months to complete this project (i.e., five stories by the end of May 2010), I had NINE months, including most of September and all of May, and so actually I'm way ahead of myself, five stories in nine months is really easy. I can do that...

That's how the day went--a familiar course of events, frankly, and the result was (as always) that I did not write. I MUST change this. I would like to finish the five stories sooner than May 2010, maybe have more than five--I mean, I would like to exceed my goal for once instead of rushing at the end to complete it.

Anyway...

No writing yesterday or last night.

Madeleine Overthinks It

I don't like my post from yesterday. I realized this almost as soon as I posted it and thought about it all the way home on the subway. I would have changed it as soon as I got back to my apartment, or at least amended it, but my Internet was not working.

(By "my Internet" I mean the current open line in the building; I don't have Internet at home. When I do have it--usually for a brief period of time after a new person arrives in the building and before they secure their connection--it is a huge distraction for me. I have been very distracted lately thanks to "B's MacBook Pro," whoever that is.)

I thought about the post some more this morning: I hate it! I want to change it! People are going to read it and be bored! I don't want to bore people! Agnes's posts are SO much more fun and interesting and better than mine! (You're nodding your head, dear reader, I know it! So are you, Agnes!) I should take it down and pretend it never happened! Why did I say those inane things about writing description???

Now I'm starting to hate this post, too.

But this is my point and this is what I learned: sometimes my posts are going to be boring, badly written, stupid, etc., and sometimes they're going to be funny, intelligent, stunning, etc. Yet another lesson about my writing process! Some days will be good, some days will be bad--and perhaps in a month I will look back at yesterday's post and love it or at least see it in the context of the blog.

And also I don't have to love it or hate it; I just have to do it--and try to enjoy it.

So it was a good thing that my Internet was down yesterday, because I would have changed that post and I might still be writing it now. That's what I do. That's why I can't get past page four in that new story--I keep writing and rewriting the same paragraph over and over again when I should just write something and move on.

Anyway, I'm at the office and trying to get out of here and getting confused.

So that's a new rule: no changing a post once it has been posted. Maybe this is the fundamental rule of any blog.

No new writing last night.

(Agnes will say that this post is earnest.)

NOTE: I broke the new rule already: I have edited this post several times since it was first posted. But I won't go back tomorrow and change it. That's the rule, I guess. (Until tomorrow...)

A Wonderful Morning

After a restless night--I dreamed of bugs, swarms of grasshoppers mostly, and actual bugs were biting me in my bed--I woke up early this morning and wrote for several hours before going to work. In fact I was an hour late to work, because I was writing.

I finished the revision I have talked about in the last few posts--and it felt good. I even enjoyed it. I made some new discoveries and added some description(!)--I really don't like reading or writing description, and this makes me feel bad, i.e., less of a writer--and I managed to fix several paragraphs in the story that have always bothered me.

Now I have no excuses, though; I have to return to my new work tonight or in the morning. Frightening!

I love the beginning of this new story I am writing--I always love the beginnings of my stories--but I'm stuck in a paragraph on page four. I have been laboring over this paragraph for many weeks. I wish I could skip over it and move on--in fact I have many pages after page four that I could be editing, adding to, etc.--but as much as I want and try to change my process, I always end up writing everything in order. More on this later. I am at the office and I want to go home.

No new writing last night. But my revision is done! (For now, anyway...)

Madeleine Breaks Her Rule

We have a reader. Hooray. And said reader is actually reading the blog; he called me first thing this morning to tell me that I need to do my writing. Yes, dear reader, I know. Thank you for reminding me.

So per my title, yes, I did break a rule that I set yesterday, i.e., day one of the Mildred: this morning I read Agnes's latest post before writing my own. I had no intention of doing this, but after telling me that I had to do my writing, our reader went on to tell me how much he enjoyed Agnes's post this morning--and then Agnes mentioned in an email that her post was all about me. Add to that the fact that I was sitting at my desk in my dumb office and I knew I wouldn't be able to post anything for several hours because I actually had work to do--so how could I resist?

But that's the point, I guess. I made the rule and I should have stuck to it; I should have resisted the urge to read Agnes's lovely post. Or, on second thought, is the point that I make too many rules--and can't resist breaking them? Am I constantly setting myself up--even in these very small ways--to fail? I am thinking about my writing process now, of course. And--yikes--this blog.

I often give myself deadlines that I know I am not going to meet. Then when I don't meet them, I get upset with and/or punish myself. Sometimes I draw outlandish conclusions based on this most recent failure about my writing abilities, my bleak future, my worth as a human being. And then, perhaps, I indulge in some paranoid fantasies: people aren't telling me what they REALLY think of me; somebody in my family is bound to fail--and it's going to be me; Agnes, eventually, will have no choice but to leave me because I am such a loser.

(That last bit was supposed to be funny and entertaining, but I fear that it was a bit too, I don't know, raw or something. I want to delete it but I won't, if only for the enjoyment of our dear reader.)

But this episode did give me a little insight into Agnes's struggle. One little peek at the blog before I post--i.e., one cigarette--won't hurt.

It is interesting, too, that both Agnes and I broke rules on the first day of the Mildred.

Anyway, I have lost my train of thought. I am still at work and am constantly interrupted!

So finally:

No writing yet today. Tonight, hopefully, I will write. I do need to wrap up that story revision I was working on yesterday.

When Agnes is good she is very, very good, but when she is bad she is Horrid

The funny thing is that I am certain it isn't even any kind of record to fail on the very first day. Maybe that would be some kind of recompense? Agnes smoked last night. And I feel horrible this morning. Not because of the smoking or drinking (there was some of that, too) but because I'm overwhelmed by a feeling of dread and helplessness. School has just started up again, and there are a lot of social gatherings at night which include alcohol and awkwardness--two of my "triggers". But it isn't like everyone was smoking, and I didn't really have all that much to drink. In fact, I had a cigarette before I even took a drink.

So how do we break it down? This summer has been comprised of a series of crap-ass attempts to quit for me, nothing all that serious. In retrospect, I always started smoking again the night that Madeleine went back home after visiting me, or I came back home after visiting her. Loathe as I am to admit it, I think part of it is that I am really growing weary of our enforced separation. We aren't even that far apart! And we see each other all of the time. But I really miss her when she's not around and it is harder, I think, for me to have the "willpower" that I need.

It's strange the difference in projects between Madeleine and myself: hers being sort of additive and mine being sort of subtractive. There's not a lot of drama implicit in not doing something, is there? I know that there has always been something appealing to me about being heroically good and then having a fall. Oh Eve, you bitch. I remember thinking last night about this blog, and how it would be impossible for me to smoke because I had started this blog and made an agreement with Madeleine. In fact it was very easy, but it's gotten to the point where it isn't even really any fun anymore. It has turned into something that feels almost outside of myself: an externalized force that fills me with resentment when I resist it and shame when I give in.

Madeleine's First Post

I have been putting this off. ERT! I'm ALREADY putting this off.

My first post was supposed to be yesterday. Agnes wanted me to post first since this blog was my idea but of course she beat me to it.

I haven't read her post yet. (Is she smoking? I don't think so...) She sent me a text message saying that she had posted. One of the rules I've set for myself is that I won't allow myself to enjoy Agnes' posts each day until I have posted myself. That is supposed to provide more motivation for me to post every day and stick to the blog--and hopefully, by sticking to the blog, I will stick to my writing and fulfill my stated goal of writing five stories by the end of May 2010.

(This deny-myself-X-until-I-do-X motivational strategy is very familiar to me. It's not always successful, however. Anyway...)

Why five stories? Because that seems to be a possible goal for me if I stretch myself and work hard and stop putting things off.

Why a blog? The public shame of not holding up my end of the bargain--i.e., finishing five stories by May 2010--would be too much to bear, especially since I so want Agnes to quit smoking. Plus, perhaps--hopefully--by writing about my tortured writing process, etc., it won't be as ever-present when I sit down each day to write my stories.

I feel very self-conscious and uncomfortable writing this post even though nobody is reading this now and possibly nobody will ever read this ever, except Agnes. Plus Agnes told me NOT to edit my posts and that freaked me out and possibly paralyzed me for 24 hours. Agnes is that powerful.

Truthfully, Agnes, if you are reading, I have edited this a bit, but not as much as I wanted to. I will try not to edit in the future, because I do think that would be good for me.

Now I'm worried that Agnes' first post is better than mine. Remember, Agnes, this is NOT a competition.

So that's all for today. This did not go how I expected it to go AT ALL. I was going to write about how I never read blogs--personal blogs, anyway; I read political blogs--and how I feel really silly writing a blog, and I don't know how a blog should read, etc., etc. How I don't want anyone to know that I am writing a blog. (Hence the pseudonym.) Maybe this is a lesson, I don't know.

It is interesting how I didn't write about my writing process at all in this post and yet this post is all about my writing process.

And finally:

No writing today, though I thought about my story while riding on the train. I did revise an old story.

Madeleine: bad influence; Agnes struggles

This is the first big day. Madeleine and I were to get an early start. We both have a lot of work to do. We were going to be magnificent and glorious (before actually typing that in was thinking about the relative probability that there is an existing search engine that you can type in something like 'magnificent' and 'Dylan Thomas' and out pops something blog-ready, smart-sounding, and properly attributed--now I'm thinking about what it means that I have no ready, internal access to poetry, and a just-demonstrated lack of respect for it (or at least for its affect on my soul as opposed to non-existent readers.))

Alarm 1: set for 6:45 am
This was when I was to arise, dewy-eyed and clean-smelling. The alarm went off, and Madeleine wove her soporific spells. I claim no responsibility, she is too strong for me.

Alarm 2: my watch alarm, set for 7:30 (though that was only a left-over; I had no intention of being in bed at 7:30). More spells.

We did finally get up out of bed at around 8:40. Then, instead of having a light and healthful fast-breaking of hot oatmeal and fresh strawberries we ate one and a half bratwurst apiece on a toasted wonderbread-style bun with peppers and fontina. Agnes had some salad, too. No smoking for Agnes!

Welcome to the Mildred

Agnes Dix is trying to quit smoking. Madeleine Moorhead is trying to finish writing five stories by the end of May, 2010. We are starting on September 6, 2009. This is our story...