Becca Wilhite » losing it

Sometimes I Beat Myself Up.

becca — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 16:31:11 +0000

I just saved and closed my manuscript after writing these words:

FUNNY! CANT YOU WRITE SOMETHING FUNNY? WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? YOU’RE FUNNY, REMEMBER?

NOW PROVE IT.

—

I think here’s my problem. I’m trying to write like someone else.

Not so the book sounds like someone else wrote it. (Not that I haven’t tried that. Fail. Epic fail.) But more like, I’m trying to write the book from the beginning to the end, like so many writers can. And it’s dry as matzos. (I have a NewYear’sRes to use more Yiddish. Not really. I just love to try.)

See, I need to remember that I don’t really work that way. I’m not the orderly, outline-driven type. I’m the toddler playing with beads. “Oooh. Shiny. I like it.” Pick up a bead. Roll it around in my fingers. Sniff it. Hold it up to the light. Feel it get warm. Put it back. Pick up another one. Repeat until there’s a big, shiny, bright pile of beads. Then string them together. And find that it makes a story. (I’ve talked about this before. Several times. Like Here.)

But somehow I still have that Right Way guilt, like I need to do my story the way a Real Writer would.

Isn’t that bizarre?

So I’m going to read a few minutes’ worth of blogs, and then I’m going to try again. Not to write the next scene (the one that comes after the previous scene – which will SO LIKELY be deleted because it stinks), but to write what comes next – the next thing that my brain burps out.

I’ll be sure to let you know how that turns out.

Nothing Christmassy about it

becca — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 16:31:10 +0000

I have a small amount of inexplicable guilt that today’s post has nothing to do with writing, and nothing to do with Christmas, and nothing even to do with Kid 4, who turns 7 tomorrow (I know – we’re giddy with anticipation, too).

It’s just that I heard a song on the radio this morning, and I had to share.

Aerosmith’s “Love in an Elevator.”

I wish I were kidding. But see, there’s backstory. I have this little problem. I love Christmas. I love all of it, the commercial, the spiritual, the edible, the familyness. And I love Christmas music. Much of it. But I sort of get twitchy when I hear the same songs, sung by the same artists, over and over and over starting in the fall. So I did an on-purpose hiding of the La-La-Songs-of-the-Season radio stations. In fact, when I’m in the car longer than kid pick-up, I have my phone singing to me (“Legally Blonde the Musical” and “The Drowsy Chaperone” lately) and ignore the radio completely. I have heard more talk radio in the past 7 weeks than ever before.

So my radio is tuned to a strange station that plays just pretty much whatever song it finds. It is seriously random. Hence this morning, on the way back from the school drop-off, I hear Mr. Steven Tyler screeching about love in an elevator.

The weirdest part? I knew all the words. That’s one naughty song. And did I mention? I knew all the words.

Also, someone took time to write harmonies to the entire song. Not complex ones, you understand, but the sort we’ve come to expect from 80s metal bands.

Harmonies.

To a song about hooking up in AN ELEVATOR.

And the darn thing won’t leave my head. “Living it up when I’m going down.” Mmm-hmm.

And now I give it to you.

You’re welcome.

Merry Christmas.

“Unsecured finance such, media or sales?Are impermanent in, there This has.People are buying, reviews These will.The God-Spark within Long Lets in Javea Long term rentals in Javea Villas for Rent in Javea Letting Agents in Javea, fluctuations Then understand So even if.Vendor is my, if they breach.,”

Okay, so if I change every mis-applied capital letter to the words “awesome books” (which is clearly what the commenter had in mind) we get this:

Unsecured finance such, media or sales?Are impermanent in, there awesome books has.People are buying, reviews awesome books will.The God-Spark within Long Lets in Javea Long term rentals in awesome books in Javea awesome books in Javea, fluctuations awesome books understand awesome books even if.Vendor is my, if they breach.,

Then, if we change “Javea” to “Becca” (which, obviously…)

Unsecured finance such, media or sales?Are impermanent in, there awesome books has.People are buying, reviews awesome books will.The God-Spark within Long Lets in Becca Long term rentals in awesome books in Becca awesome books in Becca, fluctuations awesome books understand awesome books even if.Vendor is my, if they breach.,

Misused punctuation switches out to a totally realistic compliment, such as:

Unsecured finance such, media or just found your website, and I am thrilled to be here. impermanent in, there awesome books has. People are buying, reviews awesome books will.The God-Spark within Long Lets in Becca When I discovered your books, I found a place that I could escape – to laugh, cry, explore, and love. Long term rentals in awesome books in Becca awesome books in Becca, fluctuations awesome books understand awesome books even if.Vendor is my, if they breach and I will be visiting your site often, and buy your books as gifts for all my friends.

Then we take out all the totally worthless stupid parts, and voila! We have a comment to be proud of:

While I was waiting for my online donation to a worthy charity organization to go through, I just found your website, and I am thrilled to be here. I am so glad I can find a way to tell you how much I adore your awesome books. People are buying them, and leaving reviews all over the web – they’re offering reasons for conversation, as awesome books will.The God-Spark within your stories speaks to my soul, Becca. When I discovered your books, I found a place that I could escape – to laugh, cry, explore, and love. Diving in to awesome books in your style, Becca, is my greatest joy. I love to tell my friends about awesome books in Becca’s voice, awesome books we can relate to, understand even if our usual favorites contain undead boyfriends. Yours are awesome books even if we only like kleptomaniac zombie mermaids of the apocalypse.This is my point, if you keep writing such delightful words and sentences, I will be visiting your site often, and buy your books as gifts for all my friends.

See how easy it is to fool myself?

I know what they MEANT to say.

Obviously.

Patience

becca — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 14:05:10 +0000

Once I had it.

Then I lost it.

Not forever, you know.

But, temporarily lost it.

Once I listened
When they said, “Mom.mom.mom.mom.”

Once I asked, “Can you tell me that again,
so I really understand?”

Once I wanted, really wanted
to know about the day.
The friends.
The classes.
The trauma-drama.
The giggles.
The boy.
The tears.
How the mud got on the jeans.

I’ll want that again.

But maybe not today.

Once, listening to the music practice made me glad.

Not so much today.

Once the requests were met with, “Sure.”
“Help yourself.”
“No problem.”
“It’s my pleasure.”

Today? More likely, “Seriously?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“You’re killing me, Smalls.”

And it’s not just with them.
It has disappeared with myself, too.
I have no more patience for low word counts.
Slow revisions.
Missed obligations.
Belated action.
Dusty bookshelves.
Piles of clean clothes growing dirty again before they’re folded.

It’s time for a day off.
A day without the need for patience.
No patience required.

Ah. I need it.

(And I’m getting it. I think.

Details will follow.)

Possibly Losing It (or: explaining all the pastries in my kitchen)

becca — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 18:09:33 +0000

Sometimes things just pile up. We’re still on the Stupid Illness rollercoaster around here (Kid 1 might be embarrassed if I told you she passed out in school yesterday, so I just won’t tell you). And my shoulders are slumping under a whole lot of outside influence. Some of it out of my control. Other things, maybe should have been in my control at one point, but I screwed it up to the point where all I have now are consequences. And others? Just need to get done and I have to do them. And I don’t want to. Because I feel slumpy.

Maybe I need a massage. *

Or some pie. **

Or a really great cupcake. ***

Or a good book. ****

But really? I need to write something so fabulous that my own socks will be knocked completely off. That’s the answer.

I’d better get to it. The writing, and then the pie.

*I actually have, in my possession, a gift card for a massage. Why, why am I not using it? Methinks because I’m stupid.

**Lemon Meringue, in the fridge. Tempting.

***Cooling on the rack. Great frosting made (with a great deal of butter) and ready to go.

****Any suggestions?

A Heartful

becca — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 17:03:37 +0000

You know when something horrible happens to someone you love, and you’ve maybe worried that something like this might happen? You thought, maybe this is on the cards? You hoped and wondered and prayed about her being strong and courageous and true?

And then it happens, and even if (when) you’re the last one to know about it, it still breaks your heart?

Because it still breaks your heart. The heart that was not involved in this private, crushing, damaging, life-changing horror is still broken. The heart that is on the outside of the mess, the heart that deals with its own issues and traumas and dramas, that heart still feels it. Still feels pricked, pierced, punctured. And the air leaks out, and the shoulders slump and the tears come and there is nothing, nothing to do. So you bake something, and you buy flowers, you leave some phone messages. You ache to Do. You yearn to Serve. You want, want, want to Be There.

And if nothing else, you grow a little from the prick and the pierce and the puncture. You stretch. You empathise. You strengthen.

Result? Your heart is ready to feel it all over again the next time. Because to some great extent, that readiness is what it means to Love.

Face Your Fears

becca — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 19:51:17 +0000

So there are two main kinds of fears: Rational ones and Pathological ones. Rational fears are things like being afraid that the lion running toward you with his rabid spit foaming through all those sharp fangs just might, you know, want to eat you. Pathological fears are things like, well, being afraid of raisins.

The thing is, to a person with Pathological fears, all his fears are completely rational. (Have you ever seen a kid with a raisin stuck up his nose? It’s totally scary.)

Experts on this* say that a person with pathological fears should face those fears, confront them, and (theoretically) come out on top.

Becca, you ask, why are you telling us this?

Well, because I’m about to face my fear. The fear of sliding down a steep mountain slope in uncomfortable and ugly shoes while strapped to a slick board or two. That’s right, friends. I’m going skiing.

On a mountain. Wearing skis. In the snow.

Is anyone else shuddering?

Husband tries to keep his sense of humor about this. But we’re a little different, Husband and me. He grew up in Utah, skiing his winters into oblivion. He loves to ski, and it comes as naturally to him as, well, swimming in a dirty lake comes to me. And if roles were switched, and we were heading to a summer vacation at some midwestern pond, that might be a little tricky for Mr. Hand Sanitizer to handle. But we are doing it. Skiing. Tomorrow. At the world-class Deer Valley resort in Park City. (Yeah, I know. Big deal. But it IS! — think of raisins.)

My adorable friend Heidi, a fantastic ski instructor (from what she tells me), will take me to, and I quote, “Kiddieland” for a morning of lessons. She will use all her mad Teacher skills to whip me into perfect ski shape. Then after an overpriced cheeseburger and a steaming mug of what better be very good hot chocolate, I’ll hit the hill with Husband, at which point Heidi and her equally adorable husband will use all their mad Politeness skills not to laugh out loud.

Do I really have to tell you what could go wrong?

I didn’t think so. Because now it’s time to Think Positive. To Face my Fears. To strap on the skis and go out with my boots on. Wait, maybe not that last one.

(What are you afraid of?)**

*As far as I know without doing any actual research. Because research cuts into my precious blog-post writing time. So just take my word for it, m’Kay?

**Heidi is afraid of writing something someone else will read. I didn’t laugh at her. That’s a totally rational fear.

I Absolutely Almost Remember Doing That Already (I Think)

becca — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 12:50:00 +0000

I am losing my mind.

Not in the slow, graceful way of the aging woman of character. Fast and loud.

For instance: I do things, regular house-y things or different elsewhere things, only to check progress and find that I didn’t do them at all. Like? Oh, how about the laundry that should be dry by now but instead is moldering in the washing machine EVEN THOUGH I PERFECTLY WELL REMEMBER SWITCHING IT OVER. Or the bed, that I absolutely remember making this morning when I got out of it, now rumpled and messy, with all the covers on my side. Or that bread I bought at the store, because who has time to NaNo and bake bread? But where is it? Not in the cupboard. Not in the fridge. Not in the freezer. Not in the pantry. So I fervently check my receipt so I can call the market and righteously demand they return the hostage bread I bought… which is not listed on the receipt.

This works both ways with writing. One morning I wake early, check the draft from yesterday, find where I was working and look for that funny paragraph. You know, that one that made me laugh while I was typing. That one where the guy goes to the place with the thing? Lost. Can’t find it. So I read the entire manuscript, which is up to 22,000 words by now, searching for that funny paragraph.

It does not exist.

But want to know what does? A different scene, written with only slight variations, in at least three places. That scene that seemed so easy to write, so natural (maybe because I’ve written it seven times before). Ack.

Bye, Sanity. I enjoyed your stay, brief as it was.