Madeleine Overwhelmed

I am feeling overwhelmed. Writing for me is all about trying to manage that feeling, trying to get control of it--though perhaps that is part of the problem, i.e., trying to control anything when I am writing. I think even this post is overwhelming me and I am not making sense.

I spent the day, yes, working on one paragraph--yes, another dreaded paragraph; dreaded paragraph #3. [Interrupted by Agnes.]

Update: I just read Agnes my notes from the day--the sentences that will eventually become dreaded paragraph #3 that I've been writing and rewriting and trying to put in some kind of order on the page all day (all week, really). I felt so much better reading them to her and talking to her about them and I feel like the paragraph--and this section--is just about finished. Thank you, Agnes! I should not need Agnes to reassure me in this way, I know, but I will write on that some other time.

Agnes is fine everyone. Her hair is long. She just made me dinner.

Madeleine Is Still Determined

...but she is also still writing Story #1.

Yes the latest deadline was yesterday, but I am not gong to dwell on that and bring myself down.

The writing is going well. I want Story #1 to be finished more than anyone, dear readers! I am sick of writing about Story #1 on this blog way more than any of you (either of you?) are (is?) of reading about it.

Perhaps I should not set deadlines anymore. I never meet them. Deadlines, though, even if they are never met, are still good for me. They make me focus. Someday I will actually meet them.

The blog is difficult to keep up when I am writing. I don't want to spend time writing on the Mildred when I should be spending time writing Story #1.

Plus, and again, it is less fun to blog without Agnes. Are you reading, Agnes? Say something!

As much as I flog myself (is that the right word?), punish myself, belittle myself, and on and on, for NOT writing on the Mildred, for dropping the blog, so to speak, at least I am doing better with it than Agnes is doing.

Yes, Agnes, that was directed at you. Does that sting, Agnes? Tell us if it stings.

Madeleine Is Writing

...or trying to write.

For me it is always about the next paragraph. As in: if I could just get this next paragraph, then everything would be great! Or: this is the hardest paragraph in the story to write! I will never finish this paragraph! This paragraph is going to kill me!

Every paragraph feels like the hardest paragraph to write.

But I am in the homestretch. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel called Story #1.

Madeleine Feels Determined

I am determined to finish Story #1 by next Monday.

I am ready to finish it and move on.  

I know you're all rolling your eyes, etc., etc., and you should.  

But I will do it.  And I did write five pages last week.

Madeleine Reads a Memoir

I read this yesterday and thought of the Mildred:

If you write things down, however compromising, then life is redeemed from the squalor of insignificance.
--Lorna Sage, Bad Blood

And, yes, I am regretting writing that compromising bit about obsessively watching the Bernadette Peters clip on youtube.

I wrote last night--and this morning! I am trying very hard to not judge the writing and just get a crappy (whoops--judgment!) draft down and get to the end of Story #1 asap.

Why, Madeleine, Why?

"Why haven't you finished Story #1 yet?" That was the question from Our Dear Reader last night (or the night before that, I can't remember). It might have been followed with something like, "I mean, come on!"

I am not calling out ODR. I always appreciate any advice, commentary, etc. etc., he has to share with me, and in fact, whenever ODR starts asking those questions, I encourage him to keep asking them, possibly because I think that eventually I will hit on the answer and then EVERYTHING will be finished! (This is much bigger than just Story #1, readers.) Anyway, I am only pointing it out, i.e., that he asked me the question, because these are the same types of questions I ask myself every day, sometimes several times per day.

I imagine that this is the same question that EVERYONE asks about me, and by EVERYONE I mean anyone who knows that I am a writer.

And, really, I know that EVERYONE is NOT asking this question about me! They don't have time to think about it or they don't care or (choose a reason). . . . But clearly I think I am being judged. That's one reason why I am not finishing it--once it is finished, people will judge it, and they will judge me, probably harshly. (That's my thinking--and it's irrational, I know, since strangers who read the first part of Story #1 LOVED it. I don't believe them! And if I did, that's another reason why I am not finishing it; they loved the first part, so they're bound to hate the second, unless I work on it and work on it and make it perfect and it will never be perfect.) Or it could be that I like to have people waiting on me--I am in control! I will produce when I want to produce! Wait!

I think, though, that the conversation with ODR the other night resonated with me in a new way. Maybe it's the new year? When he said, "I mean, come on!" (if he did say that; I might have been thinking it) I thought (two thoughts at once!), he's right! What's the big deal? Finish the story the best you can and move on!

(Incidentally, I have been obsessively watching a clip on youtube of Bernadette Peters singing "Move On" for the last two days. Agnes, reading this, is mortified.)

Anyway, some writing today at work--but a play! Doesn't count. I am going to work on Story #1 now. (I will tell you tomorrow if I actually did.)

Madeleine Sticks to Her Resolution

I was just about to wash some dishes and then read in my bed (by far the warmest place in my drafty apartment) when I remembered: the Mildred! I have to write on it today! Luckily, I have Internet service tonight. Thank you, B's MacBook Pro.

Whenever I read in bed, I think of my friend who had sleeping problems last year and her physician (psychologist?) told her that she should NOT read or watch TV in bed. Make the bed the sleeping place ONLY! I wonder if that worked. She seems well rested.

Similarly, Raymond Chandler (I believe) said that his desk was used ONLY for writing. His writing process or method was to spend four hours each day at his desk. The only activity allowed at the desk, then, during those four hours was writing; if he didn't write, then he couldn't do anything else while he sat there. Anyone in that situation will get bored, he said, and start writing.

I tried Chandler's method last year for a few weeks. Didn't work for me; I still didn't write. I probably didn't practice it the way it was supposed to be practiced, though. Actually, I know I didn't practice it the way it was supposed to be practiced. I did get bored and then angry at myself for not writing, but that didn't make me write; it just made me give up. Ert. What does that say about me?

Now I'm getting depressed. This was going to be a jolly post. The second of the new year!

But at least I'm writing it. And I did write today. Unfortunately, I wrote a play. But a new play! At least!

These new pages probably should not count towards my five pages per week. Or should they? I am undecided, or maybe cagey (cagy?).

Anyway, writing today--but not fiction. (And, yes, I still need to finish Story #1.)

Agnes update: she was all healthy today. Maybe you could say something about that, dear Agnes. We all need to be healthy, too.