At Long Last Madeleine

I had a dream last night that I was at a restaurant or café or someplace like that—there was no food on the table, but we were in public somewhere—for a meeting with three other fiction writers, one woman and two men, and we were going to write a collection of stories together. Actually, we were going to pair up and write stories together and then all of the stories would be put into a collection. We would be working with similar characters and themes and styles; in the end, the collection would seem as if one person had written it. I think, perhaps, the plan was to have a pen name for the group—one made-up author. (Perhaps Madeleine Moorhead? That’s an aside, Readers, not part of the dream.)

I was familiar with these other writers; we had been brought together by friends that we had in common. The other three writers were published writers, more well-known than I was, but they thought I was talented and were treating me as an equal partner in the scheme. Perhaps “scheme” is not the right word, perhaps “project” is better, though the purpose of this arrangement was so that we could write this collection very quickly, certainly quicker than we would have been able to write a complete collection of stories on our own. (Yes, this sounds like a dream I would have, doesn’t it, Readers?)

The other writers started talking about prose that they admired; they were all in agreement. They liked beautiful descriptive phrases, long sentences with many, many words—in essence, they all liked the kinds of writing that I despise. I stayed silent. I feared that if I disagreed with them, I would reveal myself as a fraud and get kicked off the project. And this would be a very public humiliation; I would be rightfully ridiculed and then tossed out of the diner.

That’s all I remember….

But not much mystery there, right, Readers, as to what it all means…

January Madeleine

It's January...

You know what? I'll do this later...

Episode 100 of The Mildred: Drinks with a Friend

This is the 100th post on the Mildred. If this were a TV show, it would mean syndication and lots of money for me--and for Agnes, too, I guess, even though she has abandoned the project. Maybe that's an idea: turn each post into the episode of a TV series called The Mildred...

No, Madeleine, focus on the stories!

We had someone over for drinks last night, and she was talking about a visual artist she knows who has not been as successful yet as she could have been, because she has not focused on one medium, her interests are too diverse, etc. etc. Draw whatever conclusion you can, Readers, from that little anecdote...

So where am I now in this project? What has happened since I last posted?

I am applying for another residency. I am writing the application at the office so as not to take time away from writing my stories. I did write some of Story #3 yesterday--I think it's Story #3, I am still confused about that--and I am going to write more of it today.

I am going to work only one day a week at my office in January--did I altready mention this, Readers? It is slow at work right now, and I want to get away from there a little and have more time to think only about my stories. (Last night, our drinks friend also made the point--but not in a mean or deliberate way, by which I mean that I drew this conclusion from what she was saying, so I made this point, she was not talking about me, etc. etc.--that working only three days per week leaves a lot of time to write. That is true, I said, from the outside, but when you're working there every week, even three days seems like a lot.)

I am not liking this post at all.

If this were episode 100 of a TV series, I feel like it would be a turning point, a psychological cliffhanger. The friend comes over for drinks and makes Madeleine feel bad or at least like she was not living up to her potential--Agnes would insist that that's NOT what the drinks friend was saying at all, that "Madeleine, everything isn't always about you!"--and so Madeleine decides, that's it! She is fed up and she is going to focus and she is going to change everything and she is going to shock everyone with her productivity next season!

Madeleine Makes an Early Resolution

I will write on the Mildred at least once a week from now on until my project is done. So forever, then. Ha ha.

Our Dear Reader complained recently that I am not writing on the Mildred enough amd she is right. But it--I mean, keeping up with the Mildred--takes time and energy and given the choice between writing on the Mildred and writing my stories, I will choose my stories every time. Actually lately I have chosen to do neither, which is making me feel bad--and making me re-commit to the Mildred once again.

I can't believe there is only one entry for November. I remember writing at least four.

But I have a schedule which I wanted to share: finish one story by the end of December (2010), rewrite another story and complete that by end of January, and have a third story finished by the end of March. I can do it. And if I miss the first two deadlines (i.e., Dec., Jan)--well, the point is that I want to have these three stories finished by end of March 2011.

That's my plan. And now it's on the Mildred so, I don't know, I'm feeling nervous all of a sudden.

Madeleine: Neither Upbeat Nor Downbeat But Perhaps a Bit Full of Herself, or Candid Madeleine

Here I am again.

I felt like I should write on here today, though I don't really have anything to say.

I am thinking about the stories I am writing, i.e., Story #2 and Story #4 (I think--I am starting to confuse myself), and have been thinking about stories I've been reading lately, i.e., published stories that are not my own. In short, what I 've been thinking is: my stories are better.

I am wondering re: my long headline today: should the comma have gone after "or" or is my placement correct? I should know this.... I guess I'm not so great after all.

It is November. November! I just ordered our turkey today. In two months time, I will have finished Story #4 and Story #2 (or is it #3?).

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.