Free time, free writing, and the life of the unwillingly unemployed

Let's get this out of the way: I still don't have a job. I have tried, and I'm still trying. But, this nasty ol' job market has successfully kept me down and out of the paying, working world.

That said: I have officially completed all of my assignments from the fall semester classes! I'm ecstatic for the free space in my thoughts, not to mention my time, a precious interval I must not waste before the spring semester begins in January. So, today is a "do whatever I want" day, which really just means I email my advisor about details for my internship next semester, I clean the kitchen, and I sit on the couch and stare at the dreary rain that's held on for a third day straight. But, at least I can enjoy my Christmas decorations, and plug in the lights because it's so dark in my house.

Whether you like it or not, the lack of a job to get up for in the morning, and to serve as a grounding structure for your day, can test the self-discipline of even the most driven person. I, for instance, wrote in a post not too long ago about trying to give myself a list or schedule, but being unwilling because I feel tied down on a schedule. But, now that my semester is over I have whole, yawning days I must fill. Now, I say all of this to preface: I actually have a plan.

Lately, I've been trying to reinstate writing in my life. It's been two years now since I left the MFA creative writing program I was in for a couple semesters. I left that program because I felt I wasn't mature enough as a human or as a writer to produce the massive amount of life work an MFA requires of a writer. Shortly after I left, I began a stint as a temp Technical Writer for a large company, during which I started this blog. Although I had just left the creative program, I saw myself bloom as a writer, and I was conceptualizing and writing every day. During this time, however, I was also accepted into the Masters in Library and Information Science program at USC, and when I began to prepare for that program I put my writing life on hold. Now, I realize, that was a mistake. Thankfully, not much time has passed and I believe I won't have too long to be back where I was when I started this blog. Writing was breathing for me, and when I wasn't writing, I was reading new fiction and peeling my eyes to see and synthesize everything I could.

I am planning, and in the process, of working writing back into my life. The plan I spoke of is simple, but has not been easy at first. I am remembering, as I begin again, that trying to write after a too-long hiatus is akin to your first run after a season of little or no running. Here's what I have planned so I can get myself fit again:

1. Write, write, write...write...write...and write some more. Most things count. I have started keeping a freewriting journal in a Word doc. There are many websites that offer writing prompts and exercises, and they are just as good as anything else. Yesterday I was using some free (no cost) writing prompts at a site called The Journal. 
2. Remember that everything is practice, and don't try to expect everything you write to be perfect. Just write. In time, you will see your writing get better, but it can't do anything if you don't write.
3. Read a lot, and widely. Don't just read the kind of thing you want to write, but read in other genres, and read nonfiction, too. 

You will hear those pieces of advice from anyone who knows what the writing life is all about. I'm simply retweeting it. 

Blogging is included in writing, and I'm sure you've noticed the increasing number of my posts lately. But, it's only a component of the writing life, a type up stretch for that run I was talking about. 

So, I apologize in advance for clogging up your RSS feed in the next few weeks. (I flatter myself that someone actually has my blog on RSS feed). 

Now to put a hurting on that dirty kitchen...

Buffing a shine into the old Holiday - some real-life pre-Christmas thoughts

What a grey day. The trees, the only things I can see out my bedroom window, are now fully leafless, jutty and brittle under a lint-colored sky. I have just finished wrapping what presents I've been able to come up with yet, and my husband's asleep on the couch after wrapping one of them. One of them.

We are curious creatures this season, expected to be ready to drive out to anywhere my mother wants, to look at Christmas lights - a little town in the mountains has the cutest, the best decorations and luminaries - because it's the holidays. When during the rest of the year would any friend or family member hold you to these standards of gathering and being joyful about it?

One could call me a Scrooge. Bah, humbug.

No, it's not true. I bought the claymation Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer this afternoon, and played it as I taped and cut (quite irregularly and badly). The movie used to be longer, I thought, their journey to the Island of Misfit Toys more rigorous. At moments, the music smudged and skipped, due to the deterioration of the old original from which it was copied. And I had thought, when I was a kid, that happened because we had recorded our tape on the VCR from a TV special, sponsored by 7UP.

Last week my mother gave me a shoebox taped shut, full of ornaments she had given me each Christmas as I grew older. We expected our ornaments on that wonderful morning of Gameboys and colorful sweaters, my sister and I, but the tradition was of my mother's making, not wanted enough to appreciate among our other gifts. So, when my mom tried to hand me the shoebox, I even told her to, "keep them, they belong on the tree at your house. More at home here."

After Daniel and I got our Frasier Fir home last night, I sawed off the bottom stems and nestled it into the tree stand in the living room. Somehow, I managed to get the odorous, sticky sap on my hands, my jacket and, miraculously, in my hair. We then began to attach the ornaments we bought for our first Christmas tree together in 2009, and I opened the shoebox full of childhood ornaments from my mother.

With many things, the older I get, the more they lose their shine. My parents, I will admit, change character in my perception over time, and become more human and less omnipotent than they once seemed. I feel, at moments, that I have learned everything about them that I can, having lived most of my life with them. But, as I emptied the box I realized, for the first time, the care and love my mom had stored up for me in it among the ornaments. I found myself telling Daniel a little story from out of my kidhood as I pulled out each one, a physical twinkle of a memory I'd forgot I had.

And I have made a new memory, putting them on the tree in Daniel's and my home for the first time.

I'm amazed the gifts made it under our tree. If the cat wasn't bedding down on the wrapping paper, the dogs were chewing on the ribbons and playing dangerously close to the boxes. I even had to yell at the greyhound because she had her stinky mouth all over one of my new slippers. Seriously, I don't have children but, really, I do have children.

I'll continue to push Christmas to myself. I've neglected it a couple of years, and the time just shoots right by, depressing and unmarked. I can even try to ignore those irritating commercials that replace the words to Christmas songs with advertising slogans. Even if, somewhere in the back of my mind I think, "Why am I putting a tree inside my house that probably has spiders in it?" I know it's because I believe in the tradition, too.

I was raised on the culture of Christmas, and in an effort to not be a sad, nihilistic human creature, I say, "Let's buy some shit no one needs, give it to each other, eat some candy cane cookies and sausage balls and sing along to the Carpenters!"