Well, the Writers Guild of America strike has finally started to take its toll on TV-philes. Favorite shows are segueing into reruns and promised programming will be delayed. What's a body to do? Surprisingly, a lot.
Here's my list of 13 things to do during this unrequested, but ultimately highly beneficial, TV hiatus:
1) Read a book.
2) Have a conversation with someone about something other than what happened last night on TV.
3) Get on the web and research the presidential candidates. Decide for yourself who to vote for.
4) Use an hour of your daily TV time to cook good, healthful meals.
5) Go outdoors.
6) Exercise.
7) Talk with your children, your parents, your siblings, your neighbors -- anyone you like. After all, you now have the time!
8) Teach your old dog a new trick. If you have a cat, try to teach it a trick... then experience American hospitals' ER system firsthand.
9) Spend a half hour of your daily TV time listening to a foreign language lesson. (There are oodles on iTunes, including several free language lesson podcasts.)
10) Start a hobby. (Want to learn to play a musical instrument? Guess what? There are dozens of free lessons on YouTube.)
11) Volunteer. (Yes, having no TV is a bummer. Guess what? It could be a lot worse. Don't believe me? Visit a cancer ward or volunteer with hospice. That's an eye-opener.)
12) Pick one of the things on your Gee, I wish I'd done that list -- and do it!
13) Most importantly, don't automatically make room for TV when new programs start to appear. If TV fits in with your new schedule, great. If not, it's probably not a huge loss.
That's my list. Any ideas from anyone else?
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A new perspective...
First of all, note to self: Either memorize The Merry Peri password or come up with something easier. Something like, oh I don't know, Why do I keep losing the slip of paper with my password written on it???
Okay, moving on...
Years ago, baseball hero Yogi Berra was quoted as saying, "It's deja vu all over again." Do you remember that? (To be honest, I never actually heard him say that, but I read it once. Somewhere.) Anyway, I always found that comment to be funny. Until recently, though, I had no idea what it meant and no sense of how profound it really was. Then, one day in October, in a fit of organizational zeal, I started cleaning the dumping ground known as our library and found a list of annual goals I'd created in 1993.
Guess what? It was exactly the same as my List of Things To Do Before I'm 50. Sure, I'd accomplished a lot in 14 years, but the big things -- the things I wouldn't want to die without doing -- were still undone.
That was scary.
So, in late October, I made a decision to tackle the biggest To Do: Write a novel. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and committed to writing a minimum of 50,000 words in November.
I figured this was a good idea because, during the summer, I'd finally accepted that, while I really, really wanted to write a novel, I didn't have a clue of how it was done. My work in progress had a nice first chapter but the rest was a thinly disguised therapy session in which all of the "good" characters were a lot like me and all of the "bad" characters were a lot like, well, everybody else. It had been hard, but I'd dumped the story and read everything about story and structure that I could find. Then I'd written character profiles and done some hard research.
With all that under my belt, I decided to complete a real first draft -- of the whole book -- in November.
But something happened. After 14 years of putting this same desire into the world, the universe wasn't so willing to make things easy. I'll be honest. When I set the goal of completing the first draft in November, I truly felt as though a voice replied, "Yeah, well. Heard that before. If you want it this time, prove it."
I assumed I might have a little writer's block or a few other delays. I had absolutely no idea what was in store.
First, after several years of procrastinating, I got a mammogram on Oct. 29. On Oct. 30, a rather breathless receptionist called and said, "There are some, um, abnormalities. We'd like you to come back. Soon."
The earliest they could see me was Nov. 6. As you can imagine, I didn't get a lot of writing done in the interim. What I did do was agonize about all of the things I wanted to do and all of the chances I'd squandered. I did a lot of bargaining and I made a lot of promises ~~ and I swear, I continued to hear a voice in my head saying, "Prove it. Prove it."
The good news is that on Nov. 6, after another mammogram and two ultrasounds, I was told that I was fine! Yea!!! I figured I'd go home and write. Right?
Well, no.
Here's a brief list of some of the other things that happened in November:
* Someone broke into my car and stole my radio. (Good news: I only paid $69 for it at Car Toys!)
* My dad had a health crisis during cataract surgery.
* My mother, for reasons known only to her, began to dabble in selective anorexia.
* My computer hard drive had a stroke.
* An organization I'd offered to do some volunteer writing for in June decided they needed my help...in November.
There were other things too. I'd guess an average of one calamity every other day.
Prove it. Prove it.
Yeah, right.
Actually, Yeah! Right!
Here's what I learned last month:
1) It is deja vu all over again...until one day it's not.
2) Life is either going to be full of I Wish I Hads or I'm Glad I Dids.
3) A really bad first draft can be edited into a fantastic book. An excellent first chapter means nothing if that's all there is.
This is turning into a very long post, so here's the short story: That first draft? Done! I mean, totally, completely, thoroughly DONE!!! 50,000 words? Yep...and more!
Second draft? Underway...and set to be finished early next month.
Am I glad to have experienced all that happened in November? Uh, no. Not really.
Am I glad that, in the midst of everything, I heard the words, "Prove it! Prove it!"
For sure.
Okay, moving on...
Years ago, baseball hero Yogi Berra was quoted as saying, "It's deja vu all over again." Do you remember that? (To be honest, I never actually heard him say that, but I read it once. Somewhere.) Anyway, I always found that comment to be funny. Until recently, though, I had no idea what it meant and no sense of how profound it really was. Then, one day in October, in a fit of organizational zeal, I started cleaning the dumping ground known as our library and found a list of annual goals I'd created in 1993.
Guess what? It was exactly the same as my List of Things To Do Before I'm 50. Sure, I'd accomplished a lot in 14 years, but the big things -- the things I wouldn't want to die without doing -- were still undone.
That was scary.
So, in late October, I made a decision to tackle the biggest To Do: Write a novel. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and committed to writing a minimum of 50,000 words in November.
I figured this was a good idea because, during the summer, I'd finally accepted that, while I really, really wanted to write a novel, I didn't have a clue of how it was done. My work in progress had a nice first chapter but the rest was a thinly disguised therapy session in which all of the "good" characters were a lot like me and all of the "bad" characters were a lot like, well, everybody else. It had been hard, but I'd dumped the story and read everything about story and structure that I could find. Then I'd written character profiles and done some hard research.
With all that under my belt, I decided to complete a real first draft -- of the whole book -- in November.
But something happened. After 14 years of putting this same desire into the world, the universe wasn't so willing to make things easy. I'll be honest. When I set the goal of completing the first draft in November, I truly felt as though a voice replied, "Yeah, well. Heard that before. If you want it this time, prove it."
I assumed I might have a little writer's block or a few other delays. I had absolutely no idea what was in store.
First, after several years of procrastinating, I got a mammogram on Oct. 29. On Oct. 30, a rather breathless receptionist called and said, "There are some, um, abnormalities. We'd like you to come back. Soon."
The earliest they could see me was Nov. 6. As you can imagine, I didn't get a lot of writing done in the interim. What I did do was agonize about all of the things I wanted to do and all of the chances I'd squandered. I did a lot of bargaining and I made a lot of promises ~~ and I swear, I continued to hear a voice in my head saying, "Prove it. Prove it."
The good news is that on Nov. 6, after another mammogram and two ultrasounds, I was told that I was fine! Yea!!! I figured I'd go home and write. Right?
Well, no.
Here's a brief list of some of the other things that happened in November:
* Someone broke into my car and stole my radio. (Good news: I only paid $69 for it at Car Toys!)
* My dad had a health crisis during cataract surgery.
* My mother, for reasons known only to her, began to dabble in selective anorexia.
* My computer hard drive had a stroke.
* An organization I'd offered to do some volunteer writing for in June decided they needed my help...in November.
There were other things too. I'd guess an average of one calamity every other day.
Prove it. Prove it.
Yeah, right.
Actually, Yeah! Right!
Here's what I learned last month:
1) It is deja vu all over again...until one day it's not.
2) Life is either going to be full of I Wish I Hads or I'm Glad I Dids.
3) A really bad first draft can be edited into a fantastic book. An excellent first chapter means nothing if that's all there is.
This is turning into a very long post, so here's the short story: That first draft? Done! I mean, totally, completely, thoroughly DONE!!! 50,000 words? Yep...and more!
Second draft? Underway...and set to be finished early next month.
Am I glad to have experienced all that happened in November? Uh, no. Not really.
Am I glad that, in the midst of everything, I heard the words, "Prove it! Prove it!"
For sure.
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