Upbeat Madeleine

I am feeling energized and upbeat! And yes, readers, I read Agnes's lovely post. While I am sad that she is leaving, she is right to do it. She met her obligation, after all. If I had met mine I would have stopped writing on the Mildred a long time ago...

I do hope, however, that Agnes will continue to post from time to time, or at least comment on my posts. It's sort of exciting, actually; this new development could boost my readership to three.

But let me say again--and it's true, readers: I am feeling energized and upbeat!

What happened, you ask?

I don't know for sure. Perhaps it's just the excitement that comes when one starts writing again after a period of NOT writing. It also has to do with my writing what I want to write and not punishing myself (by not writing at all) for not writing what I should be writing, i.e., the stories.

Anyway, I feel like something is loosening in me, does that makes sense? Perhaps I'm not trying to control everything like I usually do? (Surely Agnes would not agree.)

Why Agnes Worries: The End of an Era?

It has been a very long time since I have posted, but there has not actually been that much going on in my life. I have been sick. Sick, off and on, for six weeks which is far to long a time to be sick. Especially for someone like myself who has sworn off la vida loca for, like, la vida conventina and doesn't deserve to be sick. And there is something about illness that puts things into strange perspective and a false consciousness arises.

Being unemployed and unwell is not the best combination (though I did, during a brief lifting of the veil of utter exhaustion, manage to find myself a couple of jobs neither of which has started yet.) It brings out an amazing voluptuousness that sees nothing wrong with lying in bed all day long—though the final effect was marred by our rather conspicuous lack of servants. I thought about making a list of received Proustian revelations for the delectation of our readers, but upon actually getting out of bed these realizations fell off like crumbs and I now realize that being sick only makes me stupider and ornrier and more bourgeois. It exacerbates my fears of the outside world and makes me feel simultaneously pressed for time and completely unable to accomplish anything, indeed even to figure out what exactly it is that needs accomplishing. It is a kind of being drunk—one is able to postpone responsibility. This feels amazing for three of four days. After three or four weeks, however, it begins to burn. Bed sores, I suppose.

With the above preamble in mind, it is time for me to rethink my relationship to The Mildred. Madeleine has been on my case to post for some time (remember, dear readers, that our home does not have internet access which makes posting from bed impossible not to mention Netflix on demand) and it has become more and more apparent to me that this is, after all, her party. I have not smoked now for over four and a half months and though I do have the odd smoking dream, I haven't slipped even once since I quit. New York City's continued program of health fascism combined with my own stinginess means that $12 for a packet of cigarettes is probably enough to stop me late night at the bodega even at my most drunkest. I'm not out of the woods forever—I will always be addicted to cigarettes whether I am smoking them or not—but I've definitely reached a plateau plot-wise. There are things that I do want to write about, however, and it is important for me to focus on those things. I am certain that writing is going to play a larger part in my art practice than it has up to this point; I have always written but I have never published any writing relating to my own work.

As a present for my graduation Madeleine gave me a gift certificate for a psychic reading (the psychic was a recommendation of Our Dear Reader.) One of the things that she said to me was that I didn't like to talk about my own work. This is true. I hate talking about my own work. I get mealy mouthed and want to change the subject. This is a problem and she said to me “THAT IS A PROBLEM.” The point is that I don't think that I want to spend time writing for the Mildred anymore because I am not sure what exactly I should be writing about and I'm not sure exactly how I should be writing about whatever it is. It is clearly important to Madeleine that our identities be somewhat obscured here. I can understand that from her perspective, but I guess it leaves me wondering a little bit what exactly my “hidden perspective” is supposed to be. I started writing on this blog in a show of support to M and because I really was struggling with smoking. Ironically I think it made for a much better blog when I just kept falling off the wagon every other week. Now that I am doing better I feel very constrained by the format of The Mildred and by its low profile. Maybe Madeleine and I can have a come to Jesus session and figure out what the future holds—but until then I think that I will be on hiatus. I will still be around, just very, very quiet.

Where Art Thou, Agnes?

Agnes has not posted on the Mildred since August--and things have gotten so much better for Agnes since then! When Agnes is doing well, I guess, she doesn't post--just like me.

I am going to talk to Agnes about this. We need to hear from you, Agnes.

Madeleine Posts for the Second Time This Week

I woke up this morning, early this morning, with dialogue from three different plays running through my head. It was all very confusing but I think it's a legacy (if I am using that word correctly in this instance) from NOT having finished these plays in the past. A teaching moment, readers!

And that's why I am writing plays right now, readers, if there are any readers left.

Still I feel guilty about it. I should not be writing plays, I should be writing my stories. But then stopping myself from writing plays right now would mean no writing at all.

Then of course I start thinking that I am writing the WRONG play. I should be writing this play, not that play, and on and on, and then I think that all these plays are stupid. And then I think that all the new plays I've seen this season are stupid, so maybe I'm onto something.

Then: with this attitude, i.e., everything is stupid, how will anything ever get done? (This is always my struggle.)

And let's not forget, readers, my penchant for unreasonable expectations, as I answer that question above, i.e., how will anything ever get done?, by thinking, I'll just finish all those plays this week and feel so much better! Then back to the stories!

Anyway, back to work. I just thought of an ending for one of the plays!

Incidentally, when I went to find the Mildred just now to post on it, I typed the Mildred into my browser and a google search ensued. We are on page 10 of the google search, so on the one hand we are not so popular, I guess, but on the other, page 10! I can't believe it! There are so many other entries for the Mildred on google that come after page 10!

This Is What Madeleine Sounds Like When She Is in Her Office

It is 7 p.m. and I am still at the office, but it is a Thursday so that is all right. I have decided that it is okay for me to work as many hours as they need me on the days that I work at the office--i.e., Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday--because those days I don't get much writing done anyway. But then I refuse to work in the office anymore on Friday or Monday (or the weekends), though I occasionally will do some work from home. Boundaries! Plus having office days and writing days means less guilt, i.e., guilt that I am not working more hours and making more money to pay my lawsuit debts and guilt that I am working in the office too much and not writing, which is really what matters most to me.

It strikes me that this entry is sounding like one of those dumb Poets and Writers essays that I hate so much (and eat right up!). Something about how to make it as a writer, how to divide your time and not feel guilty, etc., which always translates into "this is how I do it, so this is how you should do it, too." As I said, I love to rail against those essays and note how they're always written by writers I've never heard of (snark!).

This whole entry is sounding like my office: dry, hemmed in, dull. I never write on the Mildred in the office for fear of someone catching me writing on it (i've talked about this in the past). I am also paranoid that someone somewhere in this office is monitoring my Internet usage. But it is late and most of my coworkers have left for the evening so no fear, though still there are holds barred. (Did that make sense? Is holds barred the opposite of "no holds barred?" Again, this entry sounds so stiff.)

I meant to say, too, when I wrote that "I never write on the Mildred in the office," Readers, that yes, I know what you are thinking: she never writes on the Mildred PERIOD. That is fair and I am trying.

As for my writing, I am still working on plays and Story #4. The plays are crazy, no structure, freeing. I am writing them the way that I want to write fiction (and occasionally do write fiction): I sit down at my desk and start typing dialogue. It's so enjoyable! And when I wake up in the morning I find that I am thinking about my writing again which makes me feel good; during that month or so in August/September when I was working in the office all the time, all I thought about was the office. Now I don't.

Also, going back to my statement that I refuse to work in the office on Mondays and Fridays, I am working in here tomorrow (Friday) morning from 9 a.m. - noon. But after I am going straight to my studio.

Madeleine Back on Track

Well, here it is October and two weeks (or more?) since my last post. It was not supposed to be this way... And I thought Agnes was writing on the Mildred! Where have you been, Agnes? What's your excuse?

Okay, let's move on.

I was in a holding pattern for awhile, sliding back into my old, bad patterns of: not focusing on one thing (i.e., the stories); wanting to write plays when I shouldn't ever be writing plays because writing a play is just a way NOT to write what I should be writing (i.e., the stories); getting caught up in having something to show to people (i.e., that I've published a story); fretting about my career or lack thereof which is a complete waste of time for many, many reasons but primarily because I shouldn't be thinking about that until I finish my stories; looking for the satisfaction that I wasn't getting from writing my stories by earning money and working at my office too much and getting involved in the intra-departmental fights there so as to allow them to suck out all my creative energy.

Let me back up for a moment. In my last post--and I haven't reread it, by the way--I recall saying something about the upset I would cause Our Dear Reader by saying that I was thinking about writing plays again. Sure enough, at a lunch date with Our Dear Reader shortly after that post, ODR did comment on that, saying, basically, that I was foolish, foolish, foolish to even consider writing plays again and especially at this juncture and especially given the Mildred project.

But later I was telling Agnes about said desire to write a play and my struggles not to and how the two (i.e., desire and struggles) canceled each other out and made me not write anything, and Agnes said, well, you should write what you want to write. You are making everything worse by fighting it.

Well, readers, they were both right, I think.

So I have been writing a play--secretly, quietly, freely (i.e., with no plot outline or schedule or career-building motivation)--and this has allowed me to get back to writing Story #4. I am doing both and thus not fretting about not doing either. It keeps me writing and gets me out of the dreaded holding pattern. (I keep getting an error message as I am writing this post. I don't know why. Maybe a metaphor? Maybe a message from someone, somewhere? Anyway...) So, yes, I am writing again and enjoying it.

The holding pattern also coincided with a month or so of too much time at the office, as I have described, and some minor family emergencies. (Everyone is fine.)

Also, I have always found fall to be a good time for writing.

My point is, all of these things should be considered when thinking about why I am writing again. (Error message again! What am I doing wrong?)

My goals re: stories for the rest of the year: finish Story #4, hopefully before a short, very-excited-about trip at the end of October with ODR, then edit the quick, long draft of Story #2 before the end of the year and be well into Story #3 as 2011 begins. That should set me up to write and finish Story #5--and meet my Mildred goal (only) one year late--in the late winter/early spring of 2011.