It's OK to Dance

Christ, No Mas

Expensive gifts and cards.  Family gatherings with estranged relatives.  Irritating cold.  Irritating people.  Moldy mistletoe and awkward exchanges.  Dead turkeys.  Dead hopes.  Commercialism and competitiveness.  24 hours of A Christmas Story.  Oh yeah, And Jesus is thrown in there somewhere, too.

This, my dears, is Christmas.

The worst time of the year.

Work
For me, Christmas hasn't been nice in years.  A big part of that happened when I started working.  Retail not only reveals the true evil of humanity but it really rears its fugly head during Christmas.  Tensions are high with the expectation to deliver nice gifts to friends/family/baby mamas coupled with the proclivity to procrastination.  They come in at the last minute and expect every article of clothing in every size waiting for them, perfectly folded and eighty percent off the suggested retail price.  Then, they expect coupons at the register because they were too irresponsible to remember to bring in their own.  And when we don't have those coupons or those shirts or the size they need, they get pissed and take it out on us.

In my town, there are really only two places to shop.  Where I work and Wal-Mart.  All I heard this season was, "Well, all I have to go is go to Wal-Mart and I'll be done with my Christmas shopping," or "I just came from Wal-Mart and it was a nightmare!"  Of course, the ones who just came from there are the ones who come up to me.  They are the most worked up because they've been waiting in long lines (out of the twenty or so registers they have, only four are open, which is better than their usual two).  They've just come from a fistfight with three other middle aged moms with cigarette breath and gray mullets over the last Hannah Montana poster/Salvia laced lip gloss combo pack.  And now they're coming into our store, tired and angry and expecting to be waited on like their aren't five hundred other people scrambling to purchase the last ill-fitting shirt on the table.  The sad part is it's not much different from any other time of the year.

And there is no Christmas cheer.  This year alone, I've had old women get nasty with me, yell at me, tell me I was lazy and call me fat.  There has been no "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Holidays!"  It's only been, "This isn't ringing up on sale like the sign says!" or "What do you mean you don't have this in stock?  Why  not?!"  It doesn't help that it's our store's policy to not only allow the customer to abuse us, but to stand there and smile and take it.  I can't tell you how much it pains me to let people get away with such rude behavior when really they need a nice swift kick in the butt and to be told off one good time.

Family
I don't even know these people.  Every year, it's another uncomfortable visit with family that I only see specifically for Christmas and no other time.  I have no connection to them other than name and a little bit of blood.  Other than that, I don't have anything in common with them nor do I care to.  They are all in different stages of life than I am.  For one, there's a large age gap.  Everyone close to my age has kids now so any commonalities we once shared have been negated by the kids and the kids are too young for me to tolerate.  Everyone else is older than I am so there's no common ground there.

The only people I like other than my nuclear family is my grandmothers.  But, as the years pass by, it's getting harder to ignore the decline in their health.  It's always sad to see the toll the year has taken on them.  One is becoming senile while the other is becoming frail.

It's also a shame to see everyone else being such typical white trash.  I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth.  They all drink and smoke and have low wage jobs that are barely getting them by.  None of them went to college, if they graduated from high school at all, partly because they couldn't afford it and partly because they probably just didn't have that drive to become better than where they came from.  They shack up with other white trash families in the neighborhood and before you know it, we have another unexpected pregnancy and the cycle continues.  And because neither parent is educated and/or has a good-paying job nor is out of their late teens, the child will essentially be raised by children.  All the money will go toward beer, cigarettes and scrappy dogs that they can't take care of.

Of course, I'm not much better off than these people.  I went to college but I also had to take out exorbitant loans to pay for it and it's slowly coming back to bite me in the butt because I also have a low wage job and those loans are coming due.  But, at least I like to think that I often dream of better things for myself.  I suppose it's presumptuous of me to assume they don't but if they did, why would they then go out and knock up some dumb slut, thus cementing their skank status?

Judging?  Of course I'm judging.  It's what I do.  But don't think I don't judge myself just as harsh.  I'm overweight and balding and at twenty-five I'm working in a low-class retail clothing store where I have to put up with people's crap every single day and I'm not exceptionally talented or particularly smart.  I just happen to take hygiene a bit more serious than the rest of my relatives.

The Reason for the Season
I suppose I'm not the only one who wasn't exactly thrilled for Christmas this year.  In fact, I haven't been for several years now.  I guess it's almost a given as you grow older.  You stop believing in Santa and as you make your own money, you buy whatever you want whenever you want instead of having to wait until the end of the year.  It was almost nice, that excruciating anticipation and near nirvana-esque moment of tearing off that wrapping paper and finding yourself in possession of the item(s) you've been coveting for months, spending the day drunk on turkey and toys.

But, the older you get, the less fun it becomes.  Suspense is slacked.  Surprises are scarce.  Because, let's be honest, Christmas is about presents.

Of course, that's not what Christmas should be about.  For Christians, it should be all about Jesus.  Although the date is wrong, it's a commemoration of his birth.  I mean, he's kind of a big deal.  Without Him, we'd all be belly flopping into the lake of fire.  And if you're not a Christian, then the time should be about family.  It's one of the only times of year when you can get together with all of your relatives, especially those who have been fortunate enough to scatter and find a life somewhere else.   That is, if you like your relatives.

But, as for me, Christmas really never had to do with any of those things.

I think it's hard to be all about Jesus when you didn't grow up with Jesus being the center of your life.  My parents aren't particularly religious and never were.  They believe in God but I think that's about the extent of it.  We never went to church or prayed before a meal.  I don't even know if they are saved.  I don't even know if they know how to be saved.  And while I'm down with Jesus, He's usually far from my mind while I'm clutching my new XBox or other highly sought after electronic device.

I hate when people use the expression "remember the reason for the season."  I think people just say that to feel better about themselves as they go for that pair of jeans or purse.  As long as we have Jesus in the back (way, way back) of our minds as we max out our credit cards, then it's all good!  If we really remember the reason for the season, then all this gift-giving wouldn't be as big of a deal as it is.

I feel bad because I don't know what Christmas means to me anymore.  I've had a falling out with my faith this year and I've never been about family so where does this leave me?  How can Christmas be special without gifts or God or grandmothers?  How can I find that spark of excitement that seemed to have fizzled out so long ago?  It seems every year I become more jaded, more numb to the festivities, to family, to my self.  I guess I'll need to make some changes.  Calm down, slim down, appreciate what I have, get a better job, confidence, a nice wardrobe, tolerance for obnoxious people and love.  Love for God, for others and for myself.  And someone to love me.  And I'll need a heart to make all of this possible.

Man, Santa's got a tall order to fill for next year.

Birthday Bulge

"If you don't eat yourself, you will explode instead..."
-Goldfrapp, Eat Yourself

So, yes, my birthday was this past Saturday.  And it sucked.  That's pretty much all there is to it.  I had to work and working in that hellhole always ruins my day.  I'm not going to get into it because it seems like every year I always bemoan my birthday and it's just tired now.  I know I'm slowly (or not so slowly) turning into one of those people who always has to criticize Thanksgivings and Christmases, who has to be a buzz kill and take a steamy dump on everyone's holiday spirit and I don't wanna be that douche.

And the most annoying part?  I had to fight to get some time off to do some kind of holiday shopping.  You'd think, working in retail, that getting my Christmas shopping done wouldn't be a big deal but when you're in that kind of environment all day and you finally get off work, the last thing you want to do is to jump back in that environment in a different location.  So, since my supervisor wouldn't give me my birthday off, I asked for two days during the prior week.  She wouldn't give that to me, either, so I had to give her my pimp hand until she finally relented.

So, after having to claw and scratch to get some time off, I went out of town with my mom to finally get started on my Christmas shopping.  I bought some things for family and bought some stuff for myself as well.  Let me say, it was incredibly depressing trying on clothes.  First of all, those harsh lights are terrible.  I saw every pore, every pimple, every wrinkle all over my face.  I was hideous.  And then, I tried on shirt after shirt, coat after coat, sweater after sweater and none of them fit.

I've gained so much weight since I've graduated.  I've talked about this before but let's rehash it, shall we?  While I've pretty much gained weight everywhere, it has mostly concentrated to my stomach.  So, when I'm trying on these articles of clothing, if I go to an extra large, the shoulder seams hang off my shoulders and the torso pretty much swallows me.  Go to a large (and sometimes medium) and it fits great in the shoulders but it's too tight around my midsection.  So, I can't win.  And my mom doesn't help because she thinks everything should be big and baggy.  She says all my shirts are too short and too tight if they aren't hanging down to my knees so she obviously can't be trusted with fashion advice.

I just wish I could go into a store and be able to pick out anything and leave.  I wish I could be a shirt and jeans guy.  I layer a lot.  It's not because that's how I like to dress.  Imagine being a fatty wearing two to three shirts (and/or a jacket when it's cold) at any given time.  It's not comfortable.  But, I have to so I can cover up all my fat.  Shirts are made so thin these days that if I were to just wear a shirt, the flimsy material would cling to all my fat rolls.  So, I have to layer so try to provide some decent coverage/camouflage.  Plus, I'm hot-natured so all those layers don't help that whole "fat sweaty guy" stereotype.

Everything looks good hanging on the racks but when I put it over my lumpy body, it looks skewed and warped like an acid trip on my body.  And as I slowly button the shirt, once it gets to my belly and the fabric starts to stretch and I have to suck in to button the jeans and my thighs are screaming, I get depressed.  I want to give up on put on some elastic pajama bottoms and call it a day.  And eat a whole pizza.  Which makes me fatter.  And worsens everything.

It's funny because I know how to lose weight.  I've done it off an on my entire teen years and two separate times I lost a major amount of weight.  And yet, here I am, almost as big as I ever was, starting over, back to zero.  And I can do it again but it just sucks because once I lose all this weight, I'll only be getting back to where I was before I started gaining.  It'll be an accomplishment but I just think of how it won't amount to much because I still won't be where I want to be and I'll have to push myself even harder and be even more disciplined to push past my thinnest and get even thinner.

Bottom line is I will probably always struggle.  I will never be satisfied.  I will gain and lose and gain and lose until I die.  I am too vacant inside and so I fill up on food and that will never change until something else comes along and occupies that void.  I just don't know what that thing will be.  I certainly can't imagine anything taking the place of pasta.

Happy birthday, chunky.  Go have another slice of cake to make yourself feel better and deal with it some other day.  For now, let the food soothe you.  You know it's wrong and it's only temporary but when you're in pain, you don't care about the consequences.  You need that reprieve, that quick fix, that numbness.  You require it to make it through the day.  You need it so bad it becomes all you are.

You consume so much until you're the one being consumed. 

You're eating your problems, eating your fears and insecurities, slowly eating yourself into nothing.  Oh, you'll expand all right but you're just withering inside, smothering everything good, thinning up and drying out until you're brittle and break into thousands of shards.  But, it's all you know.  You're comfortable in your gluttony because it works, however temporary.  And what's the alternative?  If you don't bury it down, it'll erupt within you, take over your body and mind and mouth and you'll simply explode all over everyone and bring them down with your anger, fear and hatred.  They'll see you for who you really are.  And you can't have that.  No, not just yet.

Writing My First Novel

Well, National Novel Writing Month is now over and I am happy to say that I not only met the goal of writing 50,000 words in thirty days, but surpassed it.  You can take a look to the right side of your screen to see my total word count.  It feels good to have pumped out so much material in such a short amount of time.  I'm exhausted, relieved, happy, and nervous about what I've done and the future of this story I've written.  Actually, I'm still writing it.  I haven't quite finished, although I am pretty close. 

It feels weird to come home from work and not have a deadline to meet.  For the past month, I've literally come home from work, taken a nap, pooped, and then wrote until bed time.  And in some ways, I've gotten used to it.  Now, things feel slower, calmer.  And now, it's going to take some time to get used to that as well.

Thoughts on National Novel Writing Month
I first heard about National Novel Writing Month a year or so ago.  I thought it was a pretty interesting idea but I was pretty busy with school so I didn't have the time or energy to dedicate to the project.  Jumping to last month, I realized I wanted to take on the challenge.  Because I've been working on my memoir for the past 3+ years, I figured I needed a literary kick in the behind to kick start my writing again.  So, I decided to write a novel in thirty days, not only to see if I could do it, but to really get my writing juices flowing.

The only problem was I remembered about the project a good week before it began.  And I had no concept.

I had a short story brewing in my head for a while and I wondered if I could expand it into a novel.  I realized I would have to because that short story was the only story I had going on.  So, on November first, I took my concept and began to write.  I wasn't necessarily concerned about it being great because it was, after all, an experiment, just to see if I could do it.

And the argument that most, if not all, of the novels written during National Novel Writing Month are not going to be great is what a lot of people use to criticize the project.  Some people say it's just more unpublishable trash thrown into the world and a big waste of time.  I disagree.  The website tells you straight out that the goal of the project is not to create something wonderful or life-changing.  They tell you the novel will probably be crap.  And you know what?  It's okay.  The goal is not to have this polished piece of literary ambrosia.  The goal is to write.  And, if you're a writer, I think you can understand how hard it is just to write sometimes.  Writers often worry about creating a good story, sure, but I think a lot of writers also worry about just sitting down and pounding something out.  Writer's block sucks and probably affects every writer at some point.

Plus, writers, and people in general, always tend to say, "I'd like to write a novel but I don't have the time, resources, energy, etc..."  I think people tend to forget they lack the motivation as well.  Writing a novel just isn't as important as getting to work/school/rehab on time.  Writing a novel isn't as big of a priority as paying the bills or waxing your car and/or bush.  Writing a novel isn't as important as putting food on the table. 

So, for a writer who suffers from writer's block or that regular person who doesn't necessarily write all the time but wants to explore that inner novelist, National Novel Writing Month is the perfect excuse to sit down and just write.  There are no prizes except for a few small goodies and the feeling of actually having written a novel.  There are no penalties for not winning.  Basically, there is no pressure.  There is a goal and there is encouragement and then there is you.  Even if you don't make it to 50,000 words, the fact that you started is a step in the right direction.  The fact that you sat down and wrote every day in a step in the right direction.

So, yes, my novel is not good.  But, that's okay because this is only the first draft and it can become something good.  And if it does become good, who knows, it might start a nice career for me as a writer.  But, I never would have written this if it weren't for National Novel Writing Month.  It just goes to show that you never know what could happen, what something can turn into, if you just give it a shot.  Plus, I now feel like I can finish my memoir faster than I would normally.  If I can pull a novel out of thin air in thirty days, I should be more than able to complete my memoir (that I already have plenty of source material for) fairly quickly.

And that is why I don't think National Novel Writing Month is a waste.  It is merely a tool to get writers to write.  They say everyone has one good novel in them, even people who don't write.  Maybe this is that opportunity for non-writers to get that novel out and for writers to explore something different or just get motivated to create something at all.

The Process of Writing My Novel
As I said, my novel is a short story concept that I came up with a long time ago.  Because I am not very creative, I couldn't really think of another idea for the project so I just said, "What the heck," and sat down and starting writing with that idea in my head.  The first few days were pretty hard for me because I really had to get into the rhythm of writing again.  Then, I had to get into the rhythm of writing from someone else's perspective.  From two people's perspective, to be more exact.  Not only did I have to get back into the swing of things writing wise, but I had to somehow come up with a way to stretch my already thin concept into a flippin' novel.  The anxiety of having to do that pretty much clogged up my creativity and I almost abandoned the project the first week in.

But, I decided to press on.  As stated, the fact that bad writing is in some ways encouraged reassured me that I could go on, that whatever I pulled out of my butt would be satisfactory for now because all the project is focused on is quantity.  Just get those words out, even if they are crazy.  So, I did.  I wrote and really tried to let the story tell itself.

Every time I've written a piece of fiction, I've always had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen throughout the story.  Details get muddled in the overall arc but I pretty much know what's going to happen in the beginning, middle and end.  I try not to let these ideas become concrete in my head, however, because when I begin to write, I want to do it organically.  I don't want the story to have to bend to the will of the events I have already conceived but rather use those events to steer the story in a decent direction.  Basically, I try to keep the story from swerving off the road but I don't try to dictate every turn.  I want these characters to be real enough that they'll begin making their own decisions, plotting their own path in the lives that I've conveniently provided for them.

Side note:  This is where I get messed up when writing.  A part of me wants to be very planned out and meticulous.  This is how you can provide excellent foreshadowing and tight pacing.  Yet, I don't want it to feel calculated.  If I remember correctly, Stephen King says in his book On Writing, "…knowing the story wasn’t necessary for me to begin work. I had located the fossil. The rest, I knew, would consist of careful excavation."  I like the idea of stories being there and writers just happening to be the lucky people who get to find them and put them on paper.  It makes it feel more real, like they were meant to be and meant to be heard.  Yet, as I said, without careful planning, writing a story could lead to a lot of getting sidetracked and pacing problems.  So, I suppose I'll have to continue finding a middle ground of letting the story tell itself while simultaneously having some hand in how it unfolds.

And as I wrote my novel, I started to see that, yes, these people were beginning to take shape, form their own opinions and take their own direction.  And as one thing led to another, I realized that the skimpy story was beginning to flesh itself out without much help from me.  And the fear that I would run out of material way before I hit 50,000 words began to fade away.  And here I am at 51,000+ words and I still have quite a bit more to write before I finish.

The novel is about zombies.  I know this comes as a huge shock to many people who know me.  Well, as it's my first foray in novel writing, I thought I would try to make it easy on myself and write something I know well and write something I thought I would have fun with.  I know zombies.  Zombies are fun.  But, as I was writing, I wondered, "What else am I trying to say?" I think if a story doesn't connect with people on a deeper level than just surface level zombie stuff, no one is really going to enjoy it.  Even if they do, it will be easily forgettable.  It needs to resonate somehow.  And I think that's a big part of what makes the  novel weak. 

Another side note:  First of all, there's very little action.  Secondly, it almost reads like my blog.  There's a whole lot of introspection and psychological mumbo jumbo.  I guess that just goes back to writing about what I know.  I almost feel like people would be surprised, and possibly disappointed, to find out it's more of a drama or psychological portrait of two people rather than some gut munching blood fest.  Yes, there's blood.  Yes, there's gore.  But it's not on every other page.

When I began to write, I didn't really know what I was trying to convey other than the initial premise.  I realize now that I can inject all sorts of my own personal pain and social commentary into it but what do I choose?  Where do I go?  What statement am I trying to make?  That will be the biggest question I'll have to answer once I finish up the story and then jump back in for the second draft.

I'm very hard on myself.  I don't think the novel is very good yet there's a drive to finish, that well-you've-come-this-far attitude that makes me want to complete it.  Plus, just because I don't particularly like it doesn't mean others won't.  Plus, this is the first draft.  Of course it won't be good!  That doesn't mean it can't be great later.  I suppose I'm just worried that because I don't like it much now, I don't see how I will like it later, ya know?  It's not a case of turning something good into something great.  It's a case of trying to polish a turd, in my humble opinion.  I'm not sure I can do it.  But, the drive I have to get something published is very strong in me and I really want to get this book out there just so I can have an actual physical book written by me in my hand.  And that seems a little dangerous.  I definitely don't want to ruin my reputation as a writer before it even begins.  I don't want to hand people a crap book and then expect them to throw money at me when I write ten more books.  No, I feel a lot of pressure because if this book isn't good, no one will want to read anything else I write.  And because I don't even like this book, how do I expect others to?  I wonder if it's even worth the multiple revisions it will have to go through to see the light of day or if I should just shelve it and move on to something else.

I read somewhere once where someone said you should write a novel and then throw it in the trash.  Then, write a second novel.  That second novel will be the one that counts.  It makes sense to me because when you do anything for the first time, it's more of a learning experience than anything.  And learning experiences often aren't pretty.

I guess I have some choices to make.  I have to finish the novel and then decide if it's worth my time to revise.  I'm scared because I don't consider myself to really be a fiction writer.  I barely consider myself a writer at all.  But, if I were to call myself a writer, I'm more of a nonfiction writer or an essayist.  I feel my strengths come from writing about real-life situations and my feelings about them.  It's an entirely different world when you have to make up situations and trying to figure out other people's feelings about them.  Plus, I have to recognize that my own crippling insecurities are at work here.  I've never been confident in my writing abilities, fiction or nonfiction.  I get a good bit of support and it means the world to me and it's only then that I feel I'm actually decent (that is not me fishing for compliments, I promise, so don't compliment me on my writing abilities, please!)  But, it goes beyond writing.  I'm insecure about everything involving me so I guess I should just get over it and show me stuff to someone. 

I just have this thing about other people's expectations of me.  For some reason, I always feel there's this hype about my abilities.  I'll draw a picture for someone and then suddenly they tell people and everyone thinks I'm this great artist and they want me to do stuff for them and I feel like their expectations are so high that I can never meet those expectations and then I'll disappoint them and they'll think badly of me.  Same with writing.  I show something I've written and suddenly everyone thinks I'm this wonderful writer (all because of hype, of course, not from the actual material itself) and then people expect me to write these epics that I honestly don't think I'm capable of.  I'm quite a mess.

If I've learned nothing else, I've learned that one shouldn't underestimate novelists.  It is a freaking hard job.  It's so much more complicated than you'd think.  You never just sit there and write for a few hours and you have a story worth selling (well, it probably doesn't happen too often).  There's a lot that goes into it and I have found that out the hard way.  And I'm not even in the thick of it yet.  I don't know what the future holds for this novel but I'd like to think I'm going to continue working on it until I feel it's good enough or I'll continue working on it until I think it can't be saved.  Either way, I've got a lot more work to do.