I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
I write on a computer with Internet access. Even Jonathan Franzen struggles with this. He said, “It’s doubtful that anyone with an Internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction.”
I can eliminate it, but then I might miss out on some breaking tweets and shoes sales.
Seriously, though, the Internet and I need to spend more time apart. Absence makes the art go stronger.
One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
There are many synonyms for the general feeling I’ve had in 2010. But turmoil is a bit strong. Upheaval is putting it lightly. Some choice phrases are too long.
So I choose trial.
This weekend I was going to enter the Hey, Hot Shot! 2010 photography contest, until I found out there was an $80 entry fee. I don’t really think any of my photos would have much of a chance of winning such a big contest. I’m not being negative, just realistic.
When you put money into the equation, the limit on submissions starts getting more daunting, too. You pay $80 for five chances to show that the way you’ve captured someone or something is superior to the ways thousands of other people captured someone or something. Maybe even the same someones and somethings.
I’m a bad editor. It’s hard for me to delete a photo. Sure, I know when one’s bad. But it’s hard to get rid of a flower that blew in the wind right as I snapped the picture. Beauty’s in the blur.
I’ve been trying to read Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book, What the Dog Saw: And Other Adventures, with little success. I find it to be a collection of some of Gladwell’s least interesting articles.
Also, I cleverly worked the public library system by requesting a large print edition that wouldn’t be in much demand.
The result?
A 661-page would-be tome. In hardcover.
It’s not only painful to lug around. I feel special, err differently-abled when I try to read the thing on the subway.
In 2009, I gained independence, confidence, experience, and possibly other -ences. Oh, and a snazzier blog!
I lost TBID. Really, I lost a lot of things having to do with him.
I stopped drinking Coke.
I started writing fiction.
Last night, a blizzard hit NYC.
Growing up in Texas, I could only imagine what “blizzard” meant. Snow falling cold and hard as bullets. Dagger-like icicles. Winds that cowed pipes and power lines.
Then I moved here with a down coat and a few sweaters, bought long underwear, and waited for snow.
When the first blizzard hit, I was wearing pointy-toed boots with three-inch stiletto heels. I hadn’t been tuned in to the news enough to hear the b-word, or else I’d have stayed in and kept a snow vigil.
There are fiction class exercises, and then there’s the marathon - the up to 25 pages of material for everyone in class to read and critique.
My first workshop experience was thought provoking and encouraging. Everyone thought the writing was funny, the dialogue strong, the characters interesting.
Then my instructor said soberly, “But I think Amanda’s holding back.”
1. The first big winter snowfall
2. Cider donuts
3. Opening up a new bottle of shampoo
I’ve been thinking of things worth waiting for.
I have front burner goals for my life, but they’re nebulous. I guess they’re more like stuff in the kitchen cabinets that flows onto the counter. Then on the floor, down the hall…
They don’t fit in one place.
My comedy class instructor Dave walked up to me and whispered, “Are all your people here? I’m thinking you’re next.” Someone was onstage talking about cooking shows or something, and I shook my head.
I wasn’t ready to go up. A few hours ago, I was. Even 15 minutes ago. But now I was starting to feel like maybe I’m not funny. For whatever reason, this wasn’t a concern in front of strangers at an open mic two weeks earlier.
This time, people who know me were there. And people who ostensibly know me, blog readers who ventured out from behind the computer monitor to support me in real life. I felt so appreciated and excited and forgetful.
