Back with a bang.

Good morning ladies and gents! I am so happy to be back.

I am also very happy to announce that I got through the week without much of a hiccup. The only tiny problem was my Carb withdrawals that gave me terrible headaches and nausea for about two days, but by Wednesday I was forging ahead with my work.

I finished my project just on time and managed to get through (and in depth) all of my prescribed work by Friday night. The test went quite well, but it's one of those where I have to wait for the results. Prediction is never accurate.

And.... I lost seven pounds (three kg for the metrically inclined) last week! It was just what the doctor ordered to keep me going to my dream weight of 147 pounds (66.5 kg). I might even lose a bit more this week (fingers crossed) since I have time to do some exercise.

Writing wise, I haven't gotten round to any of my Works in Progress in about three weeks, so I have a muse screaming in my ear all the time. I am planning to get writing again some time today.

Then, I have a questions for the pansters out there. How do you keep your story lines together without planning them ahead of time? I've been thinking about what I want to bring out in my book and I'm feeling a tad overwhelmed by the amount of story that is still unwritten... There's just so much that has to be interwoven that I look ahead and feel a little... well... scared. I sometimes think that I bit off much more than I can chew with this book, but I love it too much to let it go.

Anyone have any advice?

My life at the moment...

I am officially on a diet. I don't particularly enjoy it, but I know that I will when I weigh myself in. But it's quite daunting to think that I have about 36 pounds to shake off. So far I am sticking to it quite well, despite the effects of cutting out 'bad' foods.

I'm going cold turkey on high carb foods, and it's driving me nuts. So much so that I can't study or read anything that requires too much concentration. So... I know that I will have to crunch in my university work until Saturday. So if I don't post, no, I wasn't called back to my mother planet. I might be busy bawling my eyes out, though. This time is roughly the first anniversary of my WHY THE HELL AM I STUDYING THIS!!!! semi-break-down.

I'm in a better place though, but I can't predict the effect of sugar and sleep deprivation, mixed with a strategic management project and an Investment management test.

Point is, I might post in the next few days, but I might not. So please check for new posts, or, some of my newer followers, feel free to catch up on my archive. It isn't big yet and might give you some insights into the convoluted twists of my mind. Then again, it might not. I am that insane.

Since I know that I can't study tonight, I'm just going to spend my time doing something relaxing like... say... writing. And drinking lots of water.

Oh... I'm also contemplating the idea of signing up to become an air hostess. Why? Because it sounds like an adventure. Why else?

I will keep you posted on my progress on all fronts.

Finally, I've been thinking... Something new and different for the blog. I know that we are few, but I really would love to see more interaction.

My idea involves picking a day once a week and everyone interested nominating and voting for a topic, and everyone discussing it in comments. What do you think? Any suggestions?

Standing on the edge... Where do I go next?

So... I'm nervous. So very incredibly, sickeningly nervous.

My graduation day looms closer every day, bringing with it the next phase of my life. Brilliant!

Not brilliant when you have been forced to realize that what you wanted and planned to do, might not be a reality any more.

Due to the fact that my navy application form has in all likelihood vanished already, I am forced to accept that I'm going to have to find something else to do. Sometimes it feels like I'm cursed with constant career uncertainty during my exam times.

You think I'm kidding? Lets look back on pertinent thoughts that occurred during relevant times. Note that this is a summery and by no means fully descriptive....

1st year 1st semester: Am I doing the right course?

1st year 2nd semester: Why the hell am I doing Actuarial Sciences?

2nd year 1st semester: I don't want to do Actuarial Sciences. What do I do? (Wanted to do drama, but was convinced to stay in commerce)

2nd year 2nd semester: OK... Survived the year. What now? (Wanted to do drama, but was forced by ultimatum to continue with my degree)

3rd year 1st semester: Who the hell am I and what do I want to do with my life? I'll join the navy. I apply at this time and if I get called up, I will stop studying.  Anguish waiting to get the reply. Answer no due to functional illiteracy of state doctors...

3rd year 2nd semester: I know with certainty that I will throw myself out the most conveniently located window within ten years if I am forced to stay behind an office desk with nine to five hours. I am studying something that is going to launch me into a career of office desks and 9 to 5 hours. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS *&^$%&$ DEGREE!!!! I want to do drama... no wait... do I even want to do drama? Or is the thought of avoiding regular hours the real attraction here? Oh and HOW IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY do I pass my exams after spending most of my semester in bed with H1N1?  

4th year 1st semester: everything except for swine flu still apply. Once again have no idea what I want to do. So... finish degree and join navy to decide.

4th year 2nd semester: Navy application process debacle. Most likely will not be recruited. Now what? I still have no idea about what I want to do. I want to have some sort of adventure. And my means of doing both is most likely not an option. What do I do now?

You can't imagine how tired I am of all this. I spent my entire university time in limbo. Sure I had fun times, but some times things just weren't good for me. I think you gathered that I was over studying more than a year ago, but I realize that finishing my degree (despite the fact that I will spend my life avoiding its usage) is an important step in my life.

But, as the title implies, it feels like I'm standing on the edge of something while someone is standing behind me ready to push me over. Where will I go? Down? Or will I know how to fly? I hope it's the latter. Scratch that I know it is. The most important thing in my life that I know about myself is this: I was NOT born to be mediocre. So even if I have to grow little wings, fly I will.

In the mean time, the only place for me to go is to my Father's arms. I know that He will lead me to make the right decisions, even if my options are dark and murky, so I just have to wait... But patience is a virtue I have never possessed...

What about you ladies and gents? Anyone else standing on the edge? How do you deal with it? Any advice? Also, any suggestions into what options I could consider will be most appreciated.

What we have here is... failure to communicate.

Before I get into the post, I just want to say sorry for being so quiet lately. I don't really have a reliable Internet connection at home, which is why I haven't been blogging that much. Also thank you  to all of  the new ladies and gents for clicking follow. Hope you enjoy it here.

I've been thinking I might have something to say about an aspect of being a writer - being misunderstood.

Is it only me or do we function on a completely different wavelengths to other people? Sometimes I just shake my head at the fact that a person just completely missed the point of what I said.

It's a bad habit, but when I speak, I speak the same way that I write. There are multiple implications in my words. And I assume that my audience will grasp those implications and run forth with it and take the idea to it's fully understood glory. Who said I can't be an optimist? Half the arguments and disagreements that I have had with people are due to the fact that they aren't paying attention to everything. They pick up on the literal and the literal alone before coming to a conclusion (read, judgment).

Worst of all, they will then stick to their guns and argue with me, while I am arguing exactly the same side. All I want is to help the person to realize what the argument is lacking, but sadly, most people lack the ability to see past the obvious to the... well... really obvious. Do I sound patronizing? If I do it is completely unintentional, but I'm sure that I am not the only one in contact with this blog that has come up with an idea, verbalize it, have it shot down, only to have the shooter change the wording and verbalize the exact same thing a few minutes later. Luckily my happy place is quite spacious, so I can just smile and walk away. 

And that's just our thinking patterns. Here are some of my favorite assumption based niggles:

Mention that you write, and the run of the mill person tilts their head with absolute amazement and exclaim:
"Really! I want a signed copy of your book please." Cringe. The assumption seems to be that the only writers that are real writers are those that are published. If you aren't, and you explain as such, you tend to get the following: "Tisk aw... what a pity. I thought that I knew someone famous." Simmer simmer boil boil.

That's the second big assumption. We authors write to be famous, so if we are published, that automatically means that we have tea with the Albert Camus.

Forgive this obscure reference, but as far as I recall, he's the only Nobel prize winner for Literature that I have in fact read. I might be wrong, since I don't keep track of the Nobel and Pulitzer and best romance writer of the year etc. winners that sneak into my reading list. This point, as well as the valid point that he is in fact quite dead, is actually... well... besides the point. But I felt the need to point this out to prevent people from thinking I lost it entirely by drinking tea with Monsieur Camus. Back to the main train of thought...

Another thing is that non-writers absolutely don't understand how we can have multiple voices in our heads and still be considered somewhat sane. How is that difficult to get? Normal insane people have voices telling them what to do. Writers have voices that tell them what they are doing in a story. Huge and vital difference people.

Most gratingly, non-writers talk about the writing lifestyle as if they know exactly what they are talking about. No? Ever heard: "A writer's block is all in the mind and easily overcome..."? No.... I'm just sitting there pulling my hair out for months because I feel like it. Or... "It can't be that hard to get an agent..." hmm... Generally I just smile sweetly and have an internal dialogue about the pros and cons of a character's now imminent and violent death. Did I mention my happy place? I speed there as fast as I can.

I'm not going to go into the others, since that can take up a book on it's own.

But really, we're human, they're human (I hope) so where does the communication gap originate? I think it's because we see and consider things differently. I'd like to think that writers, as the scribes to humanity, should be at least a little bit wiser than your garden variety human being. Maybe it's arrogance, but where they look at me with horror and perplexity, I look at them with pity.

They don't understand, and so won't try to write. They will never get to experience one of the most gratifying ways of life that can be found, but they will always look at us and wonder what the hell we are. I find that sad.

What about you all? Is this yet another rambling from a truly convoluted mind? Or do you experience the same or similar problems and/or niggles? How do you deal with them? 

Serenity

It's amazing how important being serene and somewhat happy can be when it comes to my writing.

Sure, I'm not really happy about recent turn of events, but I'm no longer furious. Still... I'm not calm enough to write.

It feels as if something else is screaming in my head, drowning out my muse's whispers. I can't hear my characters at all today. Most people would think: Great! She's no longer an insane person! But since most of you are busy writing, I'm sure that you know why roaring silence bothers me.

Aah... how neatly this brings me to the point. Anyone agree with me when I say that it's a vicious circle? I'm not happy enough to write, so I can't, which makes me unhappier and makes the problem worse.

But... I have no idea how to solve the problem. I know that I have to keep writing, but I have nothing to write. And when I do manage to pen something down, I'm unhappy with that, making the problem even worse. So if anyone can give some advice, I'll thank you and love you for eternity. Promise.

Why I now have to think of something else to do next year.

I must say that I was somewhat in a bad mood when I logged in, but I'm still deciding whether you want to hear about it. Anyway, I was met by the brilliant surprise of some comments!

Sorry. I'm somewhat excitable now that I finally came out of the doldrums. It was just great to think that out there are people like me that not only have to deal with writing the story that rules their minds, but with their lives as well. I realized that I'm not the only one struggling with something that unexpectedly feels very very wrong.

For that I thank you, Lua, Serena and Jen.

OK... I give up. I'm just going to have to get this out there. However, because I am now out of the doldrums, my temper that I spent the entire day reining in is now pacing in its cage waiting for me to type, so I include the following:

WARNING!!! MAJOR RANT TO FOLLOW. DON'T FEEL OBLIGED TO READ BEYOND THIS POINT UNLESS YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I MIGHT NOT GO TO THE NAVY AFTER ALL...
I tried not to come over as screaming, but as I wrote this I became progressively annoyed, especially when it comes to my having to limit my wording due to the general perception, the perception that certain people advertise... and reality. Because of this, the ending of the post is somewhat vague, but if you know what I am talking about and or want me to explain what I am talking about, feel free to drop me a comment or e-mail. I just really wanted to this off my chest.  

Anyone ever walk into a place where you have to fill in an application to something that you REALLY want to do? Any of you got looked at for the merest of moments by the dragon presiding over the forms, before the beast tries to make use of every single weak excuse in his arsenal to ensure that you don't get access to the forms?

That's where I am now. And as much as I try to at least maintain a veneer of optimism, I'm contemplating to apply for something else in stead next year. Because if I get accepted to the interviews for the navy this year, I'll eat my seven-subjects-in-one-sitting Cambridge International Examinations A-levels certificate for starters before tucking into my university results for mains (suffice it to say I took about forty or more modules. I never bothered to count them) and enjoying my degree for dessert.

Why the pessimism? On reporting for basic training, I will be one of the few people with degrees willing to sign up. I have two years' worth of university calculus and linear algebra among my many modules. (It's a bonus that they don't have to pay for) I want to sign up for combat officers training. I had to limit my leadership skills to a page. Yes... limit.

And the recruitment officer wanted to send me home because I have a foreign high school diploma. That's one thing, but anyone would think that he could have asked about how it compares to the South African version (Answer: vastly superior) Or... even better... He could have turned the page and noticed that I am at a South African University (arguably one of the best). 

I pointed this out along with the fact that they put me through to the interviews without a quibble last year. He smugly used that to point out the validity of his point, by asking why I was there.  

I (nicely, but with considerable effort) stated that it was due to medication I was taking at that stage. I am not even going to launch into that story now, but anyway, he then did this "I'm sorry my hands are tied" thing. 

I was still debating with him when his superior chose to walk in. He took one look at my documents, asked when my degree is done, why I took four years to finish and if I am a South African citizen. When I didn't give him an answer that could prompt him to send me home just like that, he gave me the application form. 

I filled it in, so why then, the somewhat softened rant? 

Remember that old post about analysing what someone says and what someone says? 

They were fishing for reasons to avoid handing out the application form. The same kind of thing happened with my brother, except that they could get away without being blatant about it. 

Paranoia?
Oh, no, my darlings. I'm just a child of my generation.

Why would they do this?
Because of this little commonality shared between me and my brother demography-wise. 

And so... here I stop, toeing that line that most South Africans sharing that commonality toe... 

But like I said. I wouldn't be surprised at all if I don't get called for an interview, let alone recruited. I just get so upset about things like this, where years are spent crying about something, but that same thing is then used with impunity in the years after. 

Smacks of hypocrisy, no?   

Welcome to my blog! (psst... I see yooou...)

Firstly, I just want to say hello to the wonderful people following my blog. Your support means a lot to me. You can't begin to imagine how much it sucked when you weren't here.

Secondly, I want to say hello to my lurkers. Yes... I know you are out there. It's kind or hard to miss when the number of page hits per day are twice the amount of people that follow me. Unless my followers want to make me feel better by checking what I wrote more than once. 

Working on the assumption that that is not the case, I just want to say that I hope my blog makes you guys feel welcome enough to a) comment b) follow c) both. This also includes my facebook friends that keep following the links I leave.

How do I know it's you? Because the amount of South African hits are second only to the U.S. ones. Also, these two number at least three times the hits compared to the third largest number of hits.

So anyway... I want to thank you all for coming to check out my blog. I really hope that some of you are coming back to check out what I wrote. If you have come back at least three times, I think you might want to use the follow widget, or sign up for a free subscription. That way you can get e-mails of every blog post I write. Personally, I would suggest that you opt for following, since I pretty much post every day. At this point I will mention that I might be a bit more scarce next week - hey! stop jumping for joy! - due to my spring break, but I will try to be back as often as possible.  

Anyway. Since you guys and girls have potentially missed around twenty or more posts, I've added labels and a search function for your convenience. The search function should also connect you to any of the thirty plus blogs that I'm following. So the odds of you finding what you are looking for are pretty high. The labels might send you in unexpected directions, due to the twisted nature of my mind. But go on. Use them. It's an adventure...

I hope you all enjoy it here. And please, I wasn't kidding about the commenting. I hate when it feels like I'm talking to myself. Also, I'm still finding my voice, since I'm pretty new to blogging, so if any of you have suggestions, requests or questions, please drop me a line. Be as upbeat or blunt as you like, but please please please keep it clean. If you absolutely can't, be cleanish. No abuse or unnecessary nastiness, please.

Hope to hear from you soon.

With lots of love,
Misha

One person... three tragedies (and no, I'm not talking about me)

Why do people do things like this to themselves?

My flat mate and I were having a loooong and wide-ranging discussion about emotions and guys and everything in between yesterday. You might think that I'm stretching the word long a bit, so I will have to explain that we can sit down and talk for hours... and not about fluff.

So during yesterday's four hour discussion, she mentioned that she knew she wasn't a practical person, and that she felt she was supposed to be creative, but just wasn't. For the purpose of showing rather than telling, I will now paraphrase that segment of conversation. I'm sure that you're dying to know about the rest of it, but as  said, a lot of words flowed... And... A lot of words were pretty out there. Any way, back to the story. (I think you might now understand why  never use a narrator.)

"You are creative," I introduced gently, "I actually think you'd make a good writer."
"No... I don't think I will... I'm not as good with words as you are." It took a lot of restraint for my mouth not to hang open. Sure I'm good with words, but to lower her belief in herself due to my skill?
"Honey, I've had years of practice. I've been writing since I could spell out words." Truth, if somewhat exaggerated. I see myself as seriously having started at the age of twelve. But I was trying to get the point across. "You have a way with words."
"No I don't," she insisted. "I tried it once and it was rubbish." She ducked under her office table and took out a box that had been shoved right against the far corner. She opened it and dug right to the bottom. She took out some pages and handed them to me. "Don't you think?"

On the pages were three poems. When I read them, no amount of self restrained could have kept my jaw from dropping.
"No I think this is good. Very good."

Brilliant even. Her words carried every ounce of feeling she had while she had written them. How many people have you met that can do that? Translating feelings to writing is one of the most difficult aspects of writing. She had it down.

And I'm not kidding. I was partially raised by a woman that writes poetry and books for a living. I like to think that I know what I'm talking about when I say a poem is damn good.

So that's the first tragedy. Marg just can't see how good she is.

The second is that I told her how good she is... and she refused to believe me. I even went on to show her one of my more recent poems (due to the fact that she said she's not as good as me) to show that her work wasn't far from mine. That she just needs practice. She didn't see it.

The third is that she showed me those poems because she trusts me (good taste. not tragic), but she'll never let the world see her talent, because she doesn't believe that she's good at it.

It really saddens me to think how many good writers out there are lost to us just because they refuse to believe they are good. But what can I do to help my friend find her writing voice?

Black half week. (and what it reminded me of...)

I swear that someone up there is either out to get me or has a perverse sense of humour. Because almost anything mechanical or technological has decided to conspire against me.


My car. My car's radiator. My blackberry. My toaster (I discovered that it hadn't popped when I started to smell burning.)


Part of me is seriously wondering what's going to happen next.


Still, there are upsides to all of these events. My car overheated in the parking lot of the student center, where my friend Theresa could call her brother to fix the car. Rather than being stranded in the middle of nowhere.


The radiator apparently now decides on its own when it wants to start and I can't get it to work like it should. Luckily I was able to hear the deafening silence while I was still in front of my flat, instead of just before I see steam rising from the bonnet.


My blackberry refuses to charge and has now died on me. But... at least that didn't happen during an emergency. Like, say, while calling fire fighters because my flat was burning to the ground due to a malfunctioning toaster. Also, it kept itself alive long enough to wake me up in time to prepare for class. Of course, my car did let me down on getting me there, but that isn't the point.


And the toaster? I managed to hear the toast crackle on time for me to realize that there was a huge problem going down. Luckily I hadn't left the kitchen as was my initial intention.


So... in the midst of all this crap that happened, at least I had luck that went along with it.


I guess that's important when you tell a story, too. Put your characters through as much bad stuff as you like, but at least try to give what happens some meaning. I HATE when a writer tortures and maims a character, kills his family, has a dog pee against his leg and ends up having a bus running over him, just to add depth to his character and with no significance to the story. I HATE that authors like that even get published at all when they write like that. (Personal preference)


After all, most of us have killed a character. Usually I cry while typing those scenes, but I know that that character's death means something to the story. That it has to be done. But seriously, even if it's subtle and difficult to see, there has to be some bright side to the bitterness. For example character growth, or to get the story to the point when something has to give. Or to give the usually nice character a justifiable reason to be less than nice.


Just be sensitive. Killing the main character's best friend and then not having the MC mourning said friend's demise, is not sensitive. I find that I tend to take an instant dislike to main characters like that. But then I take just as much of a dislike to characters that moan and moan and moan about what happens to them without actively trying to do something about it.


It's a fine balance, but really, if you can't have your character roll with your punches, please please please just lighten the load on his shoulders? I'm sure that I won't be the only reader that will love you for it.