Ramping up to NaNoWriMo

I am excited about something. Actually, I am thrilled about something. For the past three years, I have intended to actually take vacation days (beyond one week at Christmastime when Samantha is home) on days that I am not sick. However, each year that has gone by, this intention has been smashed to pieces by the number of days I have been compelled to take off due to illness. But this year, I have hoarded my vacation days like a squirrel protectively gathering food for the winter. I have worked every single day (save for three when the constant vomiting and pain just wouldn’t give me a damn inch) no matter how crappy I have felt. And as a result…

I am taking two weeks of vacation in October in order to work on my novels! WOOOOOOO!

In downtown Minneapolis, there is a fabulous literary center referred to as “The Loft.” The Loft houses the Minnesota Center for Book Arts, Milkweed Editions, a café and the literary center itself. This center hosts numerous writing classes, readings, literary groups and other events. In addition, there are little writing studios tucked away on the second floor that can be rented on a per-month basis by Loft members like myself. And can you guess who is renting a studio for the month of October? This girl!

Books were my first true love. There is literally no time I can remember that I didn’t know how to read and write. And yet, it is my writing that is neglected first and most completely when I am sick, when I am overworked and when I am overwhelmed. In an effort to begin righting this wrong, (Ha! No pun intended…) I will be spending my incredibly precious days off in a little Loft studio, writing, writing and writing some more.

Several of you have heard me describe the inside of “Iris Fine Yarns” in Appleton as my version of what some corners of heaven must look like. I must say… the bare and yet inviting little Loft writing studios are currently rivaling my very favorite knitting store as a glimpse into pure joy.

This is not to say that I anticipate that my weeks at The Loft will be carefree. On the contrary, drafting creative work can be one of the most maddening voluntary pursuits one can choose to undertake. However, writing my own work (as opposed to the 35 pieces per week that I create on behalf of my employer) is the kind of activity that leaves me tired in the best ways. And instead of weathering insomnia inspired by unfinished to-do lists, lupus-related pain and stress, I tend to be gripped by character development and plot-related insomnia when I am writing regularly. I much, much prefer the latter.

November is National Novel Writing Month, also known as NaNoWriMo. During this month, aspiring novelists from all over the world commit to writing 50,000 word drafts. Those of us who choose to also support each other in NaNo’s forums and at community events. My past few Novembers have not been NaNo-focused because I have been as sick as a dog. However, this November looks promising. And I’ll be ramping up for its promises during October as I inhabit a tiny writing studio downtown and happily stay up far later than I should thinking about where my pen would like to take my pieces next.

My Current Running Playlist

When I was young, I was convinced that my life was a movie that the angels watched for entertainment. As a result, the idea that a soundtrack for my life existed came naturally to me. I don’t think I’ve ever fully let go of this soundtrack idea. Perhaps it is because music has a transformative, inspirational and memory-laden power that few other things possess. When certain songs or albums play, I can be instantly transported back to a certain moment, age or relationship in my life. In addition, I know without a doubt that the songs I play regularly now will be forever associated with this time, this age and my current relationships.

My running playlist is something that gives me strength, kicks my ass and inspires me to dig in. It moves me forward and helps to remind me why I’m doing what I’m doing. There will be other running playlists in the future… and I am sure that I will love and treasure them. But this is my “Gonna Conquer a Race Post-Diagnosis, Dammit!” playlist and it will likely always be uniquely special to me.

“What is on your playlist?” you ask. Well, I will tell you. And you can feel free to check some of these songs out if you’re looking to add some pieces to your own running playlist and please feel free to suggest additions for mine. The only criteria I have for this current playlist are that it does not contain any woman-hating songs (I will not listen to this crap… I just will not do it) and that it motivates me to get up and move. Inspirational lyrics are a plus. *Note that otherwise cheesy music does not bother me as such when I am running my booty off. If it makes me want to keep going, it is welcome on my playlist.

My current running playlist is…. (drumroll please…):
- Dog Days are Over – Florence + The Machine
- Control – Janet Jackson (although the Glee version is on my list right now)
- Something that I Want – Grace Potter (from Tangled)
- Some Nights – Fun
- Who Says – Selena Gomez (courtesy of Samantha)
- Stronger – Britney Spears (no judging!)
- It’s Time – Imagine Dragons
- The Fighter – Gym Class Heroes
- Titanium – David Guetta feat. Sia
- This is How We Do It – Montell Jordan (13-year-old me is very happy about this)
- Raise Your Glass – Pink
- Am I Wrong – Nico & Vinz
- Best Day of My Life – American Authors
- Can’t Hold Us – Macklemore & Lewis
- Happy – Pharrell Williams
- Lose Yourself – Eminem
- Pompeii – Bastille
- Jump – Madonna
- Wanna Be Starting Something – Michael Jackson
- Wake Me Up – Avicii
- Brave – Sara Bareilles
- Maps – Maroon 5
- Domino – Jesse J
- Comeback Kid – Brett Dennen
- Catch My Breath – Kelly Clarkson
- Freedom! ’90 – George Michael
- Hall of Fame – The Script
- Tonight Tonight – Hot Chelle Rae
- More (RedOne Remix) – Usher
- Land of Confusion – Genesis
- Burn – Ellie Goulding
- Alone – Armin van Buuren

Why You Gotta Be So Rude?

Woah.

This superficial word is the first semi-concrete thought I remember being able to piece together after I was struck by harsh words uttered by strangers. Even now, it is difficult to write about this experience if only because it was so stunning that my thoughts about it have yet to fully express themselves in a straightforward fashion.

I was shopping for a scarf for my daughter at a cute and hip shop at the Mall of America yesterday after hitting up the Minneapolis farmers market on Lyndale. I was in an excellent mood, having gotten to the market early enough that it wasn’t crowded and I could take my time conversing with the vendors. I then sat at a Starbucks in the MOA until the rest of the shops opened and enjoyed my tea and my book in this oddly quiet space that is usually so bustling with activity.

As I was envisioning my daughter in a number of different scarves and fingering their fabric, I overheard two young women discussing their recent decisions to diet differently and work out differently than they had before. These women were almost certainly in their early 20s. I remember thinking that they didn’t seem to realize how loudly they were conversing, as they were many feet away from me and yet I could hear every word they were saying. And then one of them noted, “I refuse to get fat. I refuse. I mean, look at that fat-ass woman over there holding the pink infinity scarf. She looks like she could be really pretty if she stopped being so god-damn lazy.”

There were no other women in the store holding scarves, let alone another holding a pink infinity scarf. This woman was unquestionably talking about me.

I don’t know exactly how long I stood there before I conjured up the profound thought of “Whoa.” But once I did, I knew that I wouldn’t be confronting these young women. Because if I could not piece together a response, how on earth would I express one? Instead, I put down the scarf and went to splash cold water on my face. Once I had, my mind flooded with dozens of thoughts that were both connected and seemingly divergent. Some examples:

- “I wear small tops and fit into size 10 jeans. Is that really that fat?”
- “How does a person become that callous and rude? Does that girl’s mother know that her daughter speaks like that?”
- “I’m not lazy. Lupus is not laziness. (Pauses) Am I lazy?”
- “It is a good thing that Sarah/Amanda/Samantha wasn’t here. (She) would have lost it on that girl.”
- “She’s wrong!”
- “Is she right?”
- “Are people really that mean?”
- “Have I ever made anyone else feel the way she is inspiring me to feel right now?”
- “I’m embarrassed.”
- “Being embarrassed about this is stupid.”
- “I am really, really embarrassed.”

The social, political, cultural and personal influences that both led this young woman to say what she said and me to respond the way I responded are so complex and layered that it almost seems futile to dissect them… at least for the purposes of a single blog post. What has struck me most about the situation beyond this complexity, however, is that it happened in the first place. A cruel thing was said and I was left reeling.

It was human of me to reel in the wake of this comment. Just as it was human of me to feel insecure in my own skin in the wake of the comment. And just as it was human of me to feel insecure in my own skin while dressing that morning because I don’t resemble my usual reflection now that medication and circumstance have helped me to put this weight on.

I don’t judge myself for reeling or for feeling insecure either before or after the comment was uttered. But my response to the comment helped to clarify for me that I am indeed feeling very uncomfortable in my skin and that this reality is not doing me any favors. When I am feeling comfortable in my skin, I tend to react purposefully to situations as they arise. I tend to know my own mind and I am not easily shaken. I also tend to bounce back very quickly when I am shaken.

I sincerely hope that the young woman who uttered that cruel and thoughtless comment yesterday learns to treat other people and herself with greater care and respect. But I also thank her (in a way) for her thoughtless comment, given that it clarified for me that I am not currently walking with my head held high. I am therefore not treating myself with the kind of care and self-respect that I deserve. Sometimes lessons are learned the hard way. And I have righted the height of my head upon my shoulders as a result of this rough yet ultimately helpful encounter.

Yes, I DO Need a Sixth Bookcase!

The other day, Mark and I were browsing the “back to school” section at Target and we stumbled upon a decent-sized bookcase for $17.00. The conversation then went a little something like this:

Me: (Literally jumping up and down) I need this!
Mark: Really?
Me: (Incredulous… given that there are books stacked on top of all five of my existing bookcases, books lined up on the shelves in two closets and inhabiting three giant rubbermade tubs in storage) YES!
Mark: This is a problem.
Me: (Tapping my head in mock “thinking” stance ala: Winnie-the-Pooh) Yes. It is. Someone keeps buying books.
Mark: I’m serious, Kassie. There is literally nowhere left in the house to put another bookcase.

He had me there. I currently have five large bookcases in the house. One holds kid lit, one holds YA lit, one has non-fiction, one has fiction and one is a fiction/non-fiction split. In addition, all books having to do with cooking, vegan lifestyle, food criticism and food industry criticism are housed in these cute cubby blocks we use as end tables in the living room. There are books everywhere in the house. But I really NEED another bookcase.

I understand that this is an absurd problem. But hear me out. I have been stupidly financially strapped since I was 15-years-old. And many of those years I am talking POOR. Samantha could always fit all of her toys in our house on either her converted changing table (in our college apartment) or in a large blue bucket (in our law school apartment). Until a few months ago, Samantha and I shared a bedroom for 8 years. We have never had space or money. But I made a rule early on that we would always have money for books. I buy 90 percent of those books used (which I hope to change for the authors’ sake once I have the means to do so) and roughly 75 percent of my books have been purchased at Half.com for less than $2. They do take up space, but they are necessary.

As Meg Ryan’s character notes in “You’ve Got Mail,” “When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.” Books are literally one of the ways I parent my child when she is so far away from me. I empower her and transfer my values to her through stories of bold, brave, curious and loving girls. The books on Samantha’s shelves serve as both a bonding experience (because I read them too) and as a reminder of what I have taught her.

My book shelves serve as a reminder of who I want to be and what I want to write. Oftentimes, I read books from the library (free!!!) but purchase a copy when they become absurdly cheap. Not only are these copies great for lending and for re-reading, they serve as a reference of the kind of writer I want to become and the kind of woman I aspire to be. Every single copy that I have chosen to keep (because I do donate a lot of books to portable lending libraries, the hospital and Goodwill) has a purpose. Name any book on my shelves and I can tell you why I’ve kept it. Some examples:

- Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald – How to write a book that is structured like a Paul Simon song… One or two lines change the entire scope of the piece
- Do They Hear You When You Cry by Fauziya Kassindja – The book that inspired me to go to law school and still reminds me that by advocating for a single person’s human rights, the entire legal system can be forever affected
- The Girls Who Went Away by Ann Fessler – There is not one day that goes by that I am not blessed to have had my daughter in the time and place that I did. Even 45 years earlier, my experience as a teenage mother could have led to having her taken from me as a matter of course

Books are ultimately possessions and therefore it is unwise to get too attached to them as physical objects. However, my books and Samantha’s books serve as star maps in the metaphorical universes of our personalities, our relationship, our values, our aspirations and our thoughts about life. I know that there is nowhere to put another bookcase in the house. And I know that it is a problem that I can’t stop buying books. But… I really need another bookcase.