Checking in

Just so you know, an entire bag of JollyTime 94% fat free kettle corn popcorn is 2 points. 2!!!

On the other hand, eight large marshmallows are 4 points.

It's all about priorities, folks. Wants, desires, priorities and goals. Rewards, too. 

Mom and I rejoined Weight Watchers this week. Started new books and weighed in for our beginning weights and everything. I have completed 10 days of my 100 day workout challenge and though I haven't really been able to see/feel/tell much of a change myself, but bias and non-bias persons alike have mentioned noticing a change. Perhaps it will take a few more weeks for me to see it myself.

How are you all doing? Weight losses? Successes?

P.S. Still totally working on the novel and will be posting a few more chapters soon. Life kind of got in the way there for a few weeks, but I'm back and it will be again soon too. 

I'm barely holding onto you

I spoke of you last night, while having dinner with my friend Kate. Reflected on the fact that when they put you on morphine, I knew then it was the end. And I'd been looking at the calendar, knowing this day, yet again, was coming. That's the funny thing about calendars and anniversaries . . . good or bad, they keep coming. The years pass and yet, you aren't here to enjoy them.

I was explaining to a co-worker today about these letters I write each year to you, how hard I've taken your death in the past few years. What resonates with me, bothers me most is the fact that I really saw your moving to Washington as finally an opportunity to get to know you as a person and not just my grandmother. To be able to build the kind of friendships I have with my mother and her mother. But that opportunity was short and limited; I didn't know how little time we had left.

This past summer, our family traveled across the country and attended a family reunion for Mom's family. All the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids of my maternal grandmother, gathered in one spot for a long weekend of fun and games. And when we got the pictures taken, it was almost magical to see all the lives that were created or touched because of this one woman. I cannot help but try to envision the picture we would have taken with you.

Accepting that you are gone comes easier with time, but there are moments, like today, when its almost too painful to even fully think about. How you were fine and then you were under the weather and then you were in the hospital and gone. I know it was stretched out for a number of weeks, but looking back, it feels like it went by so fast. Too fast to ever fully say the things that should have been said.

You were an amazing woman. You raised two incredible boys to become incredible men. You had a spark and a spirit and a sense of humor that still resound in me. I don't see many hereditary traits that I got from you, but I still know you are as much a part of me.

I just wish you were here so I could tell you this in person.

I miss you so. Love you even more. That will never change.

Always and forever

Your granddaughter

Elizabeth June

Growling doesn't get words on the page

For the most part in writing this novel, I haven't hit much writer's block. Even when I couldn't find the inspiration to piece together a chapter, I'd work on backstory or even write a journal entry as the character, to better flesh out who they are and what they are thinking/feeling/wanting. Since starting this book in October, there hasn't been much writer's block and I am eternally grateful for that.

Slowly and after revision and editing, I have been posting the chapters for friends to read. (So far, the feedback has been kind, but if anyone wants to throw some criticism my way too, I can take it. As long as it's constructive, of course.) And for the most part, I have been spacing them out just so I didn't find myself literally writing the following chapter in order to get it up on the blog. That was how I used to write fac fiction and while having a deadline can be helpful, I have felt that this time around, I have to write this entirely for me.

The next chapter to be posted has been agonized and scrutinized over. I have written it FIVE different ways now, not sure how to go about the semi-pivotal scene. Each way had elements that I liked and elements that I didn't care so much for. None of them felt perfect. I have to wonder if there are chapters in books of other authors that they are never entirely pleased with. There has to be, right?

Version one was written awhile ago. Version two was written about a month later. Version three is really just a combination of one and two, but I still wasn't happy with it. Version four I wrote out last night and this morning but still felt it was missing something. So in the end, I have taken all the parts of the four preceding versions to make one ginormous chapter that hopefully captures what I am trying to create.

You get attached to these characters as you write them. You want to do justice by them, to show them in the correct light and give them all the respect they deserve. It's crazy, really. I haven't started talking about them to other people as if they are really in my life, but I think about them just as much as real people.

So after spending nearly the last eight hours on ONE CHAPTER, I am taking a break and going to have dinner with a friend. I'll probably post it later tonight.

Much love to all of you who are patiently waiting for the posting of each chapter and not laughing at me for even attempting this. It doesn't feel as ridiculous to say "I'm writing a novel." as I worried it would feel, but maybe that is because I am not sitting at a Starbucks all day and banking on this novel to actually get published. There are so many steps leading to even attempting to get published and right now, I just want to see the end of the novel.

And, you know, start the next one.

Addicted

Sorry I haven't been blogging much. Been too busy working on the book. Yeah, I know, it's only exciting to me. But it is exciting. More than exciting, it's exhilarating. Kind of like a drug. Most nights, I am up until 2:30 or 3 am, putting things down in my notebook before typing it up in the laptop.

I know it seems kind of archaic, but I actually hand write a good chunk of each chapter before I type it up and edit the shit out of it. I am not sure what spurs me to do that, whether it be that I like not always being tethered to the laptop or that I feel a bit more involved, closer to the story by writing it out in long hand. But since I started laying out ideas for this book in the last weeks of October, I have been using the same notebook. I filled the very last page of it last night.





Most pages look like this. Most often, I have ink smudges on my ring finger (where my pen rests) and a dent above the first knuckle, as holding a pen for two to three to four hours seems to do that.

I've done rewrites. I've taken the story in different directions. I have had new ideas come to me, things to enrich the story or to string along and tie up in the second book. Yes, I have already decided that there will be a second book. This, what I am writing now, is actually the precursor to the dream that actually started it all.

And once I reach a point that I am done "writing" then I start transcribing, typing the sucker into Microsoft word and begin the never ending task of editing it. I can read and reread and reread again and still find something to take out or something to add in. It's a never ending project. Even what I am posting for friends to read can only be considered a first draft.

Still, printing it out into book format definitely makes it look and feel that much more real.



There are about fifty pages there, folks. With two pages on every sheet. And that is probably only about 1/3 of the book. The rest is still in my head . . . waiting to get out.

I hope you are reading it and if you are, enjoying it. And don't be afraid to leave feedback - I need it all. Good, bad and WTF?s too.

I'm having a blast writing it.

Allow me to introduce

I have been so consumed in the past weeks with getting ready for, executing and passing my boards, that my novel has fallen a bit to the wayside. And while I keep it as close to the front of my head (its far more present in my mind than Christmas), I have become a bit distanced from it too, which saddens me.

Wanting to jump back in, with a tighter grasp on the entire story, not to mention the characters I am creating, I went back to the classes I took in college, and the text books I kept after selling all the useless ones back. I know there are writing exercises out there for character development and I plan to scour the Internet for them (like here, here, here and here). But also, in one of the books I had in my writer's stash, was a book with a prototype for Character profile cards. And for the first time, I made them.

You have look as these fictional characters as real people. You have to see their fatal flaws, their saving graces, and their striking features. It helps to have pictures to base them off of (at least, it does for me).



The stack of papers in the back of the shot is my story so far, printed out for editing.

You cannot even imagine how much I am loving this.

I am beautiful on an empty page

There are moments of self-doubt. There are days where nothing I write sounds or feels right. I question the character, the plot, the dialogue. Should I really be attempting this from first person narration? Third person is so much safer. I wonder if I am crazy to even attempt this.

And then there are moments where quick line changes take a messy paragraph and transforms it into near perfection. When another piece to the story comes to me while I brush my teeth or sit at a traffic light. Where I start to see these characters as real people, with faults and flaws and details that just make you want to love them. I love them all, even the villains. You have to, to write like this.

These are the parts to writing that thrill me. Some dreams you chase, some dreams, you have to wait for them to come to you, to choose you. This is my dream. I cannot wait to see where it takes me. For now, I write this for myself and the ones who have shown interest in reading it. But who knows where it will go.

18,000 words written so far. There is still so much to put down, but I will hopefully be posting part of it soon.

Whatever happened to FictionLyn?

In Spring of 2000, my friend Aja sent me an email with a link to a website. It was my introduction to fan fiction and more specifically N'SYNC fan fiction. I began to read a chapter of a story about an ordinary girl who somehow met the group and one fo the guys fell for her and she for him and things happened. Drama and hilarity and romance ensued. Initally, I wasn't impressed. It seemed so contrived, so formulamatic, so ridiculous. I can remember sitting my/Garry's bedroom in Moraga, writing Aja a resonse that somewhat expressed that. And then I promptly forgot about FictionLyn.

About a month later, Aja came to visit me in CA and "No Strings Attached" dropped and we both went from N'SYNC fans to some form of fanatics, as did a large chunk of the 12-24 year old women of America. We bought tickets to their tour stop mid-June in Portland and by summer, I'd moved back to Vancouver and we were reunited. The summer of 2000 (Summer of N'SYNC Lovin' as I will forever think of it as) began. Aja met this girl online named Lauren and soon she became our third leg in our pop music loving tripod. When I asked Aja how she'd met Lauren online, she told me again about FictionLyn and this entire discussion forum linked from her website. All of these N'SYNC/fan fiction people hung out there and chatted about stories, pop culture, shared pictures of the guys and other various pop/celebutants, as well as their own personal lives and such. It was there that Aja and Lauren had connected and made plans to meet offline. Lauren was awesome, so I was quick to log on, sign up and discover that the world of fan fiction wasn't just this one chick who called herself FictionLyn. There were so many websites with all these people trying their hand at writing and living out a fantasy on paper - or rather, on the computer screen.

Of course, I had to try my own hand at it. I mean, I was in college to become a novelist. It was so up my alley. Yes, I had a website. Yes, it is still online (why, I don't know. I'm lazy.) No, I will not link it. And while it may not have had the following that FictionLyn did, where hundreds of girls waited with baited breath for the next chapter to be posted, I'd say my stories were pretty damn good. And at least five people were on my update email list.

The thing about FictionLyn was that she hid behind her pseudonym. Sure, she'd post on the forum, she'd respond to people's questions and comments, she'd even got as fas as to personally email you and if you struck her right, she'd even name a (minor) character after you (ME), but no one really knew her. Lauren not only was a fan and a phenominal writer herself, but she was also a moderator on the FictionLyn forum. She knew FL better than anyone that I knew and she still didn't know all that much. You have to remember that this was 2000. It was before 9/11, before Facebook, Myspace, Twitter, before camera phones, iTunes and iPods and everyone having their own digital camera. It was a time for avatars and homemade graphics, Napster was in it's hayday, and a whole lot of Photoshop love. We all hid, to a certain extent, behind our screen names, mostly because we didn't have the courage or the means to post pictures of ourselves. But she was FictionLyn. If anyone I knew should be posting at least one picture of herself on her page, it was her. And she did, occasionally, but they were generally pictures from her childhood - brown and faded and fuzzy - just how I imagine the 1970's were.

She was a mystery, which definitely added to her allure, but also made it easy for her to walk away when she was done. It also helped to support the fantastical world that her sagas (because, truly, that was what they were) created. Her stories, like all the really good ff stories, took these unobtainable, unreachable celebrities that we drooled over, dreamt of and dedicated hours of ourselves to and made them a bit more tangible. Well-built imagery could put you in that room with JC as he leaned it for that ever-so-sweet first kiss and make nearly grown women swoon.

FictionLyn wrote four or five stories. Painstakingly perfected sagas that she wrote drafts of and edited and typed up herself and posted. And then, she was done. She tried to move from fan fiction stories that included our beloved boyband to stories based entirely on the fictional characters she'd created to support her stories. I don't know if she ever finished that story. Her stories remained online for awhile, but they were taken down. FictionLyn faded away, as did the group of N'SYNC and the FictionLyn forum turned into a community sounding board for the diehards that never left and the newbies who caught on at the tailend of it all. I personally was sucked into my sophomore year of college and my relationship with Z and drifted away myself. I can't even remember how to find the forum.

I started reading Twilight this week and though I am only a handful of chapters in so far, I am enthralled. The feelings the author stirs up with her imagery and first person narration already has me twitterpatted and last night, as lounged in my bubble bath, I was there. I could feel what Bella was feeling and blush at the idea of a devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful boy staring at me. Rescuing me. Suddenly making an unbearable place interesting and somewhat worthwhile. Three chapters in and I am already sad there are only four books.

I feel that an amazing author is someone who can create a world that I would want to live in. And my favorites have all done that. I tried to explain this sensation once to Aja, but she didn't grasp what I was trying to tell her. And though I fancy myself a writer, I still to this day, have yet to be able to describe it. But between the imagery and the storyline and the setting itself, my favorites are the ones that make me want move in. Envelope myself inside it's world - regardless of what sorts my personal life is in. Lisa Carey does this nearly every novel of her's she's written. Judy Blume did it in Summer Sisters. And Stephenie Meyer is totally doing it with her Twilight series.

I never knew FL's full name. For all I know, she has a Facebook or a Myspace page. She could be married now, with kids and a dog or she could still be living with her cats, teaching school and hopefully looking for "Mr. Right". Does anyone know whatever happened to FictionLyn?

Handwritten Journal Excerpt

August 29th, 2008

It definitely is a drug - losing weight. I can see where eating disorderists get their buzz from. Being strong and not giving into cravings and then seeing the number on the scale get smaller is so validating. Yes, it was hard to turn down the Krispy Kreme doughnuts everyone was passing around this morning, but how many of those people will be a size smaller on Columbus day? Oh yeah . . . . I go to bed each night looking forward to weighing in the next morning. I love all the little places I am tracking this daily process - each day writing the numbers down. I am understanding why eating all those points is so important and I feel I am getting a more even, consistent loss because of it. Combined with regular workouts (something too terribly new to act like any kind of a veteran over.) I know reaching and maintaining my goal is reasonable and a reality to reach for me.

I was hardly ever a person to compare my body shape and size to friends of entirely different proportions. I never expect to be a 4 or 2, a small. An A cup. Able to shop in tween sections for myself. I'll never see specific bones sticking out and that's okay. I'm okay with that. I just want to look like a leaner, more toned and radiant me. I want to try on and wear clothes that have been too tight or small for too long.

I have come to grips with a number of aspects of my life - how much money I'll ultimately make, how few of my friends will ever envy my life or desire its generic simplicity. How much of a let down my not finishing my English degree was. But one of the grew things about myself I ever allow myself to feel inferior about is how slendor or thick I am and how poorly I look in my clothing in comparison to others.If I could just reach my personal weight goal (which to be honest I have not done since I was 15) I know that insecurity woul be muted.

Looking at my mother, my aunt, my grandmother ( and honestly, a huge number of the women in today's society) I know my weight is a possible battle I'll fight a large chunk of my life. I coul definitely curb that battle if I keep the portion control up as well as the exercise.

She's Miss America and I'm Just the Girl Next Door

You said if I really worked at losing the weight, I could be skinny and hot like Julia DeMato. Every week you would grumble as "American Idol" started but your eyes never left the television screen when she was performing. I would look at her and see perfect makeup, perfect nails, perfect skin and a perfect size 4 body and those images would flicker back into my head as I stood bare and naked in front of the mirror before showering. I was no Julia DeMato.

You said I have a face much similar to Debra Messing of "Will and Grace". If I got skinnier, my red hair would make me look just like her. Though it would be sad to lose my boobs, because she has none. You even had hoped if we broke up that we would stay close like Grace and Will did on the show, except you wouldn't have to be gay. Gays were not your thing - though maybe I could find a girl to bring home for a threesome?

Sometimes, if I stared long enough at my face in the mirror, it would grow to be grotesque and unfamiliar. Trying to smile would only add to the awkwardness of this shield that was my face. But I had the nails of Julia DeMato thanks to weekly fill ins with Patti. And I had access, daily, to a makeup counter. For my face, much like Debra Messing's. And I tried. I so, so tried. For you. If you had your American Idol/sitcom star look-alike girlfriend, maybe we'd go out more? Maybe you would want to show me off? I loved you, you were attracted to her, maybe if I looked like her, you'd still love me.

Nevertheless, I would search those celebrity magazines for my body models, my ideals and glue them into my journal. Being very visual, I figured if I could see it, I could be it. I could be thin and striking, I could be desired.

It was in the shower that I found my solace, my comfort. the hot water and the enrapturing steam would fold over me like a blanket, hug every curve, every inch, non-judging. Your comments, though short and sparse, were sharp and clung to me. And soon I found myself fearful in my own home that I wasn't living up to the Hollywood standards you bestowed upon me. As things grew more and more sour between us, I'd spend more time with my lover, the steam. It didn't care if I cried. It loved it when I'd dye my hair every week trying to capture that signature Debra Messing red.

Long after we were over, I still couldn't smell the shampoo I used back then. It reminded me of how ordinary and fragile I really am.

I did sort of look like Debra right after we broke up. I couldn't eat and if I did, my body didn't want it but my clothes hung loose and my hair was long and red. Julia DeMato was still another 30-40 pounds away but since she'd long ago been voted off the show, my daily comparison with her had ceased.

I asked if could you believe that Ruben won, since I thought surely it would be Clay. Months had pass from our breakup and I was slowly putting a little weight back on but we were still talking on the phone. Our conversations were rarely enjoyable, more often catty and uncomfortable. Not at all like "Will and Grace". You said hadn't watched the show since I left, nor did you care who won. You'd never like anything about the show and only watched because I had made you. You didn't give a damn about "American Idol".

Even Julia DeMato? I asked.

Even Julia DeMato.