Get Ugly. Get Great.

Do you know Alex Clare's song "Too Close"?  The first time I heard it, the video was playing on a television in a room I couldn't see.  My brow furrowed.  I stopped what I was doing, stared into space, and listened with perked ears.  To me, it is kind of acoustic singer-songwriter-y which I tend to like, but it is hard too which I also like.  Then there are these unexpected techno sounds around the refrain.  I felt his breaking through what bound him, his giving voice to his torment, his freedom.  My adrenaline rushed.  It got me.  Or I got it.  I don't know.  We intertwined.  

Each year I make a playlist of my favorite songs from that year and put it on cd's for my friends.  Too Close was a given inclusion.  On the way here this morning I was listening to it.  As I sang it, my chin lifted, my eyes squinted, and my face twisted.  "...I'm just too close to love you...."  I was feeling it.  When I pulled up next to a truck at a traffic light and the driver glanced over at me, I realized that there is no way to sing that song without getting ugly.  

That got me thinking.

Megan Rapinoe is my favorite soccer player. She is amazing on the field.  The first time I saw her play I was struck by how she was EVERYWHERE.  As a woman who wears many hats myself, I related.  I have two Rapinoe tee's.  I love her.  But, Abby Wambach is my hero (and FIFA Women's World Player of the Year, may I add).  I don't relate to her, I look UP to her.  She is the leader I'll never be but always strive to.  As a player, she never stops pressing, pushing, digging deeper, no matter what.  Before the 2012 Olympics she is quoted as saying that she would leave her "human being-ness" on the field.

When she plays, she is ugly.  Understand this:  I think Abby Wambach is beautiful.  What I am trying to put a name to is the complete absence of vanity she has when she is playing.  Look at her - wild-eyes, sweaty, strained ligaments in her neck.  No self-consciousness.  She is a vessel for greatness.  

(It absolutely kills me to remove Abby's photo but search engines were using it as my blog's cover photo.  Can we say, "Confusing to the reader"?  Imagine her majesty here.  :))

I've seen Dave Matthews roll his eyes back in his head.  Sometimes, I swear, that man speaks in tongues.  Check out this photo of gumby-faced John Mayer.

These are not ugly men.  My very attractive husband is actually Dave's goofy doppelganger.  John Mayer once dated the gorgeous Jennifer Aniston.  

Pulling from the depths of our honesty, using every sinuous fiber - it looks ugly.   

It is anything but.

Get ugly.  Get great.

~MM Finck
http://www.facebook.com/mmfinck
@MMFinck on twitter

Sometimes I Read Something I Just Have To Share...

I love this:

"Are you done?  You can't honestly believe any of this nonsense.  People like you must create.  If you don't create, Bernadette, you will become a menace to society.          Paul"
- Maria Semple, "Where'd You Go, Bernadette"

I become a menace to myself when I don't create.  I get all itchy and irritable.  Depressed.  It's not pretty.  No wonder my husband bought me a laptop.  :)

Happily worshiping at the feet of the goddess of MS Word,
~MM Finck

Bok or Cluck, It's Still A Chicken

A woman at my nephew's birthday party last fall said that she knew I was the "writer-sister" because I looked the part.  "The part," according to her, being my wild hair and appliqued dress.  The glasses and the laptop, also sure signs.  I tried to tell her that a writer is not all I am.  She couldn't believe it.  I'm not sure if you will either, but, in my past life, I was a numbers geek.  Finance and accounting all the way, baby.  I loved it.  Still do.  To my writer friends this always inspires a chuckle.  

Before the short appliqued dresses, dark tights, and high boots came business suits, a brief case, and trunks of client files (remember paper files?) that weighed more than I did.  I had fulfilling jobs at exciting organizations.  There was so much to learn.  The harder it was, the higher I felt.  I worked with brilliant people.  I made great money (particularly when compared to the poor writer's salary I pull in now! :)), and traveled all over the country.   I lived on both coasts.  I met one of my best friends in San Diego (home of the best produce and frozen  yogurt) where we worked all day and danced all night.  The campus of Georgetown University provided a lovely working environment, to say the least.  But, my favorite C.V. bullet point was my role as the Assistant Controller for Special Projects at The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

I'll be honest with you here:  it was better than you'll believe.  I was surrounded by creative, passionate people, the best of the best.  Can you imagine the Kennedy Center on Halloween?  You've never seen such costumes.  Christmas?  So much beauty.  On any normal day, if I didn't eat lunch at an amazing restaurant on the Georgetown Waterfront, I ate in the back of one of the theater houses and watched rehearsals.  It was a phenomenal experience.  I loved every bit of it.

And then... dun, dun, dunnn... I moved.  Now, beyond talking through really gnarly (read: cool) finance or accounting conundrums that my husband is dealing with at work or straightening out my dad's Elks' books, I don't do much of that stuff anymore.  

I am an all-in writer and, even in light of the Kennedy Center glory, I have never been happier.  I've also never been such a CHICKEN.

I did some pretty high-level stuff before.  But still this is scarier.  How can that be, right?

With numbers, I was building something, translating something, solving for something.  Was it stressful?  Absolutely.  I worked ridiculous hours under tremendous pressure and the work was hard.  But scared?  I wasn't ever scared.

With writing?  I am Chicken Little's shaky cousin who hides at her sewing machine.  Obviously, publishing is scary because of fear of rejection, criticism, failure, bad reviews, and so on.  But why does writing itself put the jelly in my fish?  I work my own hours.  I'm my own boss.  I love it more than any job, even hobby, I've ever had.   What gives?

Here it is:  I give my heart and soul and bit of my flesh to CREATE something REAL out of thin air, which is no small task.   Like taffy, I push, pull, and stretch my imagination to its limits.  And then when my creation is as tight, exciting, and evocative as I can get it - I BREAK IT.

Into bits.

Every bridge beyond repair.

It's like I DIE.   

And when I am reborn, I am someone new who is only acquainted with the old me and I have to assess the pieces of my story and BUILD IT INTO SOMETHING ELSE, something satisfying.  This is difficult and the fear that I won't be able to do it, makes me manic.  Meals are skipped, telephone rings are ignored.

Then I finish .  There is nothing like it.  Pure joy.  I usually go shopping to celebrate.  Maybe an appliqued dress or a to-die-for scarf.  Or both.  Just kidding, honey!  (He knows I'm not. :))

Then come the reviews.  Fear peeks around the corner, looking for an opportunity to come on in.  I can usually stave it off though because I actually want criticism.  Can't get better without it, right?  I pick different reviewers for the different things they are good at.

Then the revisions.  Here is where all the lights go out.  Heart racing, hands shaking.  I don't mind the work.  But... What if in fixing it, I break it again?  

And that fear - what if in fixing it, I break it again? - tortures me.  People track word counts while they write.  I personally use a handy-dandy excel spreadsheet (You can't take the numbers out of a numbers person. :)), but I don't really need it.  In the writing phase, the story seizes and enslaves me.  I have no choice but to write and breathe, breathe and write.  All else wanes.  It's in the editing phase that I have to push through my fear.  Bok or cluck, I'm still a chicken.

But I'm a writer too.  And that gives me superpowers (see previous post "How Writing Is Like Dog-grooming and Characters Tantrum Like Two-Year-Olds").  I am terrified, but I do it anyway.  Today, after an extended writing break due to the holidays and flu, I sat my poultry self at my laptop and closed my internet browser.  One point at a time, one word at a time, I worked through my list.  Guess what?  I didn't break my story.  I love the fixes.  They made my manuscript shine.  I am filled with gratitude and relief.

Am I cured?  No way.  Am I scared to go at it again tomorrow when my alarm screams at 4:33 am?  You betcha. 

Because do you know what's next?  What's scarier than revising?  Finishing.  That's when I say officially that this is the best I can do.  THAT vulnerability is terrifying.  But I'll do it anyway.  Because it is also the most rewarding thing in the world.  The first time I saw a manuscript I'd written printed, even though it was a simple bound copy from Kinko's with a nothing but a clear plastic cover, I lost my breath.  Aside from my newborn children, it was honestly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I'll never forget it.

The reason I decided to write this post is to tell you that I am "in it" too.  I am Chicken Numero Uno.  If you want to do something you're afraid of, find your courage.  Statistically, even some chickens must be brave.  Be a brave one.  It's the only way to "have done it" and there's nothing better.  Trust me.  I'll be the shaking one right next to you.

I hope you are well!  Take care!  Thanks for stopping over today!  :)

~MM Finck
http://www.facebook.com/mmfinck
@MMFinck on twitter  

Good Day, Flu Day

My brother-in-law referred to me the other day as a "high-energy person."  He said it without preamble or pause as though it was a given fact.  Not long ago an old friend of mine described us (friend and I) "as basically the same person" and used the word "frenetic."  I was intrigued by both observations.  I don't refute them.  I've just never thought about myself that way.  I'm don't have a hyper or tumultuous personality.  I like peace, quiet, and solitude.  But I do talk fast and I walk very very fast, and, more to the point, I do like to get a lot of things done each day.  You can see why I don't refute it.  :)  Being productive makes me happy.  Opposite, unproductive=>unhappy, holds true as well.

So being sick?  That's about the worst thing that I can happen to me.  Not only do I feel badly physically, I feel bad mentally, emotionally, spiritually.  I can't get anything done.  Curses on the germ gods!

This week I have the flu.  I never nap yet I am napping all day and sleeping all night.  Who is this sleepy demon possessing my body?  Even when I am awake, my eyelids are hanging half-mast.  Fever, chills, etc.  You know the picture I'm drawing.  I'll leave it there.  In short, the flu.  You probably have it too if the Tylenol shelf at my local grocer is any indication.

Bad for certain parts of my life - this blog, facebook, email, getting together with friends, photographing Christmas morning (not to mention being in photographs Christmas morning), twitter probably thinks I've died, I haven't updated goodreads in forever...  The one thing the flu has been GREAT for is the pile of books on my night stand!  Yesterday I finished a book, started and finished a book, started another book, and watched a movie I loved (Moonrise Kingdom.  Focus Features has me down.  It rocks harder than the Good Housekeeping seal.).  I've read countless picture books to my children. I truly listened to and inspected everything they've told and shown me because I wasn't busy with five other things at the same time.  

I'm starting to think this flu is a gift.  :)

As 2012 wraps up I want to list a few books and authors I liked, including the ones I read yesterday.  I'm not even going to number it because it is not in any way comprehensive.  It is just a few recent ones off my fever-addled, fuzzy brain.  I hope you like them.

• Malinda Lo - Ash - fairy tale retelling with a lesbian twist - very cool person too as far as I can tell
• Brad Parks - Faces of the Gone - mystery in voice of Carter Ross investigative reporter, not my usual genre but entertaining, award-winning author and very nice guy
• David Levithan - every day - co-author of Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist and a million other best sellers.  He's brilliant, I LOVE his writing style, and his storylines blow me away.
• Lisa Scottoline - Save Me - very fast pace as we have come to love from her (Did you know, by the way, that "Scottoline" is pronounced like "fettucine", not Scott-o-LINE?  I learned that this year.  Same with Jody Picoult -  "Pee-co" not Pi-COLT.  Feel badly I've been murdering their names for years.)
• Manhunt and Chasing Lincoln's Killer - James L. Swanson 
• Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky - in process but I generally love epistolary novels
• In the Shadow of the Banyan - Vaddey Ratner - not my most enjoyable read but one of the ones that has stuck with me, inspiring a lot of thought and wonder.
• ADDED - The Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda - I almost forgot this one because I read it in January.  
• Most excited about in 2013 - The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan

Merry Christmas, friends!  Happy Holidays!  Have a happy New Year!  If you like snow, I hope you get it.  If you like warmth, I hope you keep it.  :)

~M.M. Finck

http://www.facebook.com/mmfinck

@mmfinck on twitter

Musical Muses

I recently heard a popular recording artist say that she doesn't listen to much music when she is writing a new album.  This makes sense to me.  

If I am writing a murder mystery from the perspective of an investigative reporter, say, I wouldn't read a book about the same.  (I've never actually written that.  It happens to be what I'm reading now.  Check out "Faces of the Gone" by Brad Parks.  Nice guy; good, award-winning book.) However, I would read other mysteries.  Keeping myself suspended in tension (or romance, literary fiction, etc.) 24/7 even when I am away from my laptop helps keep my writing on spot.  That's the mood part - both mine and my novel's.  The craft part is that the novels I read make for great study. If I like a device used by the author, I might try it.  Opposite is true, of course, for things I don't, like long prologues.  Unsurprisingly, the more unfamiliar what I'm writing is to me, the more I want to immerse myself in it.  

But at some point, the study goes from tutor and catalyst to distraction.  A time comes when I am so deep in my own head and my story is rolling, that I become deaf to the rest of the world.  I don't even read that much at night.  There is no room in my head anymore for anyone else's voice.  I give everything I've got to my story.  Everything else is suffers, but I am manic.  I have no choice.  I close the laptop in the wee hours and pass out for a few more until I wake up, take care of the absolute minimum of my other responsibilities and then become deaf again.

Music is different.  Music is my muse, not my study.  Music never messes with me.  It freely and always gives me what I need.  It helps me unlock safes and translate foreign languages.  You would not believe how many of my gnarly plot/dialogue/character knots have loosened and slipped into solved in my car with the stereo blaring.  Here are some of the artists to whom I owe pockets of my sanity:

• Mumford & Sons, possibly my favorite band ever
• Lumineers
• Ed Sheeran
• Taylor Swift
• Florence + the Machine
• Fun. (don't sleep on the first album, very diff from 2nd, but great; sound can be misleading, have to listen to lyrics - an attribute I love)
• Brett Dennen- an incredible poet
• Amos Lee - soul, baby, soul
• Hunter Hayes
• Joshua James - another poet
• Augustana - too much talent
• Matt Nathanson
• and always, always The Killers

I would never describe myself as hip on music.  But I love knowing people who are.  I suppose I owe some of my sanity (and word count!) to them as well.  :)

Happy Holidays, my friends!  For those brave NaNoWriMo souls, great job!  Be proud.  Keep it up.

~M.M. Finck
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@mmfinck on Twitter

Grateful for Gratitude

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast..."

- Melody Beattie

A month or so ago I got some very bad news.  The kind of bad that left me ghostly-mute for a couple days.  For some reason I started to digging through my mental garbage to find pieces I should be interpreting differently, even be grateful for.  I was shocked by how much there was to choose from.  The more I focused on them, the more I started to see meaning and a bigger picture.  It changed the direction of my thoughts and the rhythm of my heart.  The healing, bonding power of gratitude is why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.  Today I'm particularly grateful for my disorderly nieces and nephews who are reeking wonderful chaos in my house as I type this.  :)  I hope you all have a great 'feast'!  

~M.M. Finck

Pledge to Veterans

"On the battlefield, the military pledges to leave no soldier behind. As a nation, let it be our pledge that when they return home, we leave no veteran behind."

-Dan Lipinski 

I extend a heartfelt thanks to all veterans.


~M.M. Finck