Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Notes from a year named Thrive: September II

I took my first vacation this year to return to BC for the week of my birthday.

I spent the last of 34 walking along a beach that is often underwater, my toes in sandbar pools and the edge of the river, with my family's dog chasing sticks and a ball. It was perfectly quiet aside from us, except for a raven croaking as we climbed the banks to return to the car. A throaty, consistent sound that might have meant home, home; a moment held when I wondered why I had moved away and then passed when I remembered it was because there aren't jobs in my field here.

The family came over to my parents' house for cake, and I went to sleep feeling if not accomplished then at least at peace. Renewed and restored in a way that only time among mountains, and trees, and so much sky manages. (It was good to stay in western Toronto; it was smart to find somewhere more residential with old trees and quiet streets.)

My actual birthday was spent in the car with my mom, heading out of town to go shopping. Shopping I could do in Toronto, but the point was the time with my mom in the car. Mountains and trees passing outside the window as we talked about everything and nothing. We ended up way past where we needed to be, but found a Mink Chocolates and had one of the best mochas ever. Eventually we got back to High Street, which is the closest Sephora and H&M.

The day was also sprinkled with greetings and well-wishes from friends coming via text and social media; it was a good day. A reminder of all the people waiting to celebrate some more when I returned.

I was worried that I hadn't accomplished what I set out to do last year, so I went back and read the post I'd written last year to see what goals I'd set.

"I'm going to get a new job." And I did—it's not the job I thought I'd get, and I'm not sure it's the job that I'll have this time next year, but I got it.

"I'm going to finish a writing project." I didn't—the one I applied for grants for, and completed it even without receiving them. Last week I got feedback from a reader, which validated that there's work to be done but it wasn't a waste of my life to stubbornly keep at the draft.

"I'm going to travel outside of the country before my passport needs renewing." This ended up being to Florida—a state I'd never been to—for work instead of to Tennesee for a writer's retreat, but it happened.

"I'm going to learn to make tortillas and be unstoppable." Making tortillas is actually the only goal I didn't accomplish, but there's nothing stopping me from learning to make them this year.

"I'm going to be brave. And I'm going to grow. And I'm going to keep conserving my damns for myself and the people who deserve them." Well, the people who deserve them didn't turn out to be who I thought they would be and being brave and growing meant having to leave things behind.

Despite the challenges and things not being set up to be easy, I have done well. I have grown. I live in my own place now, on my own, and that is something I'm looking forward to getting the hang of. Most of the time I really enjoy it.

I asked about my birthday, and the Tarot cards gave me the Two of Wands—a card of setting goals. That is traditionally what I do, so here we go. Before I turn 36, I will return to Los Angeles—whether it's for YALLwest or not—and travel to Iceland. I am going to get this manuscript ready for querying and successfully get an agent. I'll finish drafting another writing project.

I'm going to get to know the other people who live in the house that I do. I'm going to spend more time with my friends. I'm going to attend more book clubs and book events. I'm going to live my life and do things despite that I sometimes work long hours and have the weirdest job ever. I'm going to thrive and do magic and make the impossible happen—because it's what I've always done. There's no point stopping now.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Notes from a Year named Thrive: September Part I

Back in August—two weeks before the biggest show our team does—my manager gave her notice. She's gone at the end of November or sooner if she finds another job. And, oh, didn't my heart whisper "not this again." Because I have been in this situation before—hello, 2013—and I had no desire to rinse and repeat.

As even as I thought but if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all, I realized it didn't. Everything had changed. People I counted on for support last time, whether they realized they were offering it or not, weren't there anymore. I had a warning this was coming and time for the company to do something about it. It wasn't going to fall all on my shoulders. Most importantly, I knew that I could go get another job if that's what I wanted to do.

So we pushed on, and the team finished the show. It went really smoothly, which did not mean it was easy by any means, as it was still the first I'd done. It went smoothly, but it did not go without an emotional cost to me, and I was grateful for the lieu days I had afterwards.

On Friday, I went out to visit a friend who rents a 100 year old farmhouse with a spectacular view of Mulmur county and the most sky in all of Ontario. On Saturday, I got my brain back to the point that I started writing something new. I also smugly thought I'd escaped catching the dreaded conflu, but on the way home on Sunday I started to get sick.

Everything is the worst when I'm sick, and I'm full of fight because I'm trying to keep going when thinking is that much harder. Tuesday night, I had insomnia. I haven't had insomnia in months—and I don't remember the last time I had it so bad that I could not actually sleep. Wednesday morning, I got out of bed and I went to work. The true disappointment of being older is now when I don't get any sleep and then manage to complete a work day, I don't even feel proud of myself. I only feel a weary longing for it to be the last time I have to do it.

In this sleepless haze, my manager informed me that my old specialist job at Indigo had been posted and she had applied for it. Yesterday I looked and it wasn't all of my old job—it was a few of the things I'd done with a bit of new added. But in it was IndigoTeen. The thing I built. The thing I stayed way too long for. The only thing I ever miss. And it took every bit of my magnificent restraint not to apply for it.

Even when sick my anxiety is very specific—it's concerned about being late for things. It's insistent that if anything goes wrong or someone is unhappy then I must have done something to cause it. It's very certain that when I do eventually do the thing that makes someone unhappy, they'll just vanish without ever telling me.

But sometimes, when it feels particularly cruel, it leans in with a low whisper of "you'll never want anything as much as you wanted IndigoTeen." A sword right between my ribs; one side edged with I don't want anything enough to make it happen and the other edged with my best work—my dream job—is done and behind me.

Last night for a moment, maybe an hour, I considered that it might be right. I might not ever want anything as much as I wanted IndigoTeen. There may not be anything that I feel as fulfilled by doing as that. I left almost two years ago, because—among other reasons—there was nothing left at Indigo I wanted to build. And it was never, ever going to be my job to only do IndigoTeen. There was no more onwards for me there. Not in a direction that I honestly wanted to go.

I'm building something at my current job, but it's not what I wanted to be doing. It's what needed doing. So I did it. And I know how millennial it sounds to say I left to do better things than this, but it's how I felt with less than a week remaining in my 34th year and sick enough that something like my old job being posted could lay me low.

Until I remembered that I do have something: I want the time I spent getting a draft ready for other people to be able to read to not be a waste. If that's the only tangible, lasting thing I built these past two years, then I want to do the work to get that manuscript into an editor's hands. Because it may not sell, but I worked too fucking hard on it and me to not even try.

Friday, September 09, 2016

Bastille's Wild World

What a glorious day when we now live in a future with a second Bastille album. That's not hyperbole, as it's been three years since Bad Blood was released and my life was changed forever.

Here's the secret to a Bastille album—because they're so wonderfully dedicated to being whatever genre they want for that song only, the albums grow with each listening. It's usually the second or third time through that it all clicks and you can hear the flow.

The standard version of Wild World is 14 tracks and they're all great. The Complete version—because who are we kidding, there's no way I wasn't going to get every song—is 19 tracks, and the two songs I feel lukewarm about on among those five bonus tracks. Oil on Water and Campus aren't bad songs, but they're not as strong as the others that made the 14 track cut. Way Beyond, Shame, and The Anchor are great and worth getting individually to round out the experience.

Strangely missing from the album is Hangin', which was officially released from the band last year. I had also heard several of the new songs via concert footage or terrible quality audio shares that were floating around Tumblr/YouTube. (Thanks, Stormers!) Snakes has been pre-album release favourite, and I was waiting for it (im)patiently. But at the end of the day, it's Send Them Off! with its badass brass and utterly unapologetic mashup of Othello and The Exorcist that's the one I love the way I love Pompeii.

Wild World is a wild ride through genres, interplay with movie and literary inspirations from Weird Science to a legit true crime tale. It's melancholic joy and gleeful sorrow, political and escapist, a well-crafted balance that was absolutely worth the wait.

I did a lot of living and writing with Bad Blood as a soundtrack, and I am incredibly excited for the stories that will have Wild World as part of theirs.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Notes from a year named Thrive: August

More than a decade ago, when I moved to LA someone told me the people I met in my first year there were going to be the people who introduced me to the people who would really be my friends. As a young thing, I found this rather distressing because I was having enough trouble making the first round of friends.

Also, as a young thing, I'd misunderstood that no one was telling me to invest the time and energy into making friends for the purpose of them being temporary or stops on the way to someone better. They were talking about growing social circles and how you're widening the net you can cast to find your people. Lasting friendships—not merely acquaintanceships formed because you're new somewhere and having someone to be new-in-town with makes it all less lonely.

I also didn't understand that just because you know someone doesn't mean you're friends. Culturally-speaking, we've been carving away at the idea of acquaintances for years. (Thanks, Facebook.) Having acquaintances was something I also had to learn. To understand they're the people who I know and enjoy interacting with, but I don't routinely seek them out or make a point to check in on them.

The people I stretch for—dig down deep to find those extra damns—are also the people I trust with things that matter. My friends are far less than the number of people I know. It's a longer list than it used to be or I thought it was, because I've got some casual friends that have consented to offer support when it's needed. But people who I want to spend a lot of time with is not a high number.

Earlier this year I had to forcibly subtract from it, because a couple people I felt very close to proved themselves to be dramatically not good for me. In the months since this went down, it hasn't been easy. I really felt the absence and the loss of those pillars of my support network.

Also, I fretted about any potential encounters. What would they say. What would I say. It was inevitable that we were going to cross paths again even in a city the size of Toronto. For example, there was a wedding coming up that we were all going to attend.

Yesterday I went to the ceremony, and when I finally saw these former friends... I realized I had nothing to say to them. I didn't want a reconciliation; I wanted them to stay away from me. I was there to celebrate, and I had no reason to interact with people who no longer had a place in my life.

Thankfully, we were purposefully seated at different ends of the restaurant. When I settled in, I put my efforts into socializing with the people at my table. Eventually my worries faded, and when I happened to see these former friends across the room it felt like nothing more than seeing someone who looks familiar—someone I used to know, but haven't seen in years and maybe can't quite place how I knew them.

I came to Toronto five years ago. One of these former friends was among the first people I knew; she introduced me to a lot of other people. Including the two who got married yesterday. I guess what I was told about LA might apply to any city. Or any life, really.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Notes from a year named Thrive: June Part 2

It has been three-ish weeks since moving in, and things are starting to feel settled. It's still weirdly quiet sometimes, but after working in the office all day, it's nice to come home and have the space to myself. To make a little dinner and watch a couple episodes of Brooklyn 99, then put on headphones and write for an hour or two.

That may not sound exciting, but after months of not being able to get any writing done because either I was slammed at work or there was yet another thing that needed my attention or it was more fun to spend time with the people I was staying with, a little break from excitement is welcome. Or rather getting to rediscover the excitement of words on a screen and the building of worlds.

Work is ticking along. I've had a couple weeks of relative quiet, but focus is shifting to the big show in September. Big as in the-biggest-the-team-I-work-on-handles and also big as within the top three pop culture shows in North America. Big as in a big, slightly impossible task. But I love me some dopamine, and I'm kind of happiest when I'm accomplishing things that are slightly impossible.

That's the key that I've worked out so far this year: I don't thrive on challenge. I thrive on accomplishment, which comes from challenges. But not challenges that keep reoccurring or refusing to ever be accomplished.

It's been not quite six months, but we've done four shows now—two I was on site, two I was remote support—and I'm getting the ground beneath my feet. It is a lot of work spread between not a lot of people, and during show weeks it's a high volume of input and high demand of output. It's intense, and there's not a lot of room for other things during those 3-4 days. But we don't do a show every weekend, and not every show is as demanding as the one on Florida was.

All of that said, it's entirely possible this job will turn out to be a challenge that refuses to ever be accomplished. I'll deal with it should that happen, and in the meantime, I keep remembering that the goal of this is to learn everything I can.

Work aside, this was also the week I started making plans with friends and having them over. Although when they do come over, I mostly want to show off the great neighbourhood that I live in. Every view of adulthood looks different, and for now, I'm happy to have mine be a little peace in a space I enjoy.

Wednesday, June 08, 2016

Maggie Stiefvater's The Raven King

With The Raven King, Maggie Stiefvater brings The Raven Cycle to a triumphant close. While imperfect, the concluding volume is magnificent. It completes the story set out to be told in The Raven Boys, twisting and turning and ultimately reaching a satisfying conclusion. Maybe more importantly, it signals that while the quest for Glendower and the matter of Gansey's impending death have been resolved, there is still so much questing and living left for these characters.

Along with Gansey, Blue, Adam, Ronan, and Noah, the reader has sought Glendower throughout the Virginian countryside. We've witnessed terrors and wonders. Victories and defeats. That might be my favourite part: Knowing that we've participated in a moment of these fictional lives; they existed before the first line of The Raven Boys and they'll continue on after the final line of The Raven King.

The Raven Cycle is a passionate, sprawling narrative. It's messy and tangled around its characters, who are in turn messy and tangled around each other. Stiefvater has written one of the best examples of complex friendships, and the inescapable way that people are drawn into each other's lives. The quest for Glendower is the unifying purpose of the group, but it's not what the books are about. Not only is this honest, but it's valuable. Groups come together then shift, evolve, and change in life, and it is refreshing to see them do so in fiction not because of conflict or drama, but because that's how it is. Within this final volume, there is definitely a marked shift of the larger group into smaller ones.

The Raven King is also perhaps the strongest of the series when it comes to the delicate balance of light and dark, illustrating how both exist in all the characters and in life. It's always seemed to me that the first book was about Adam, the second about Ronan, and the third about Blue. The Raven King is Gansey's book—fraught with anxiety and horrors, but so eager to be wondrous and filled with hope. It's a valiant book; one that prizes honesty, compassion, and competence. Things go well in this series because people ask for help, they accept when it's offered, and doing so works magic. While the narrative doesn't pretend that's effortless or without compromise, it constantly seeks and finds a balance.

It is impossible not to discuss Henry Cheng, who is not only vital to The Raven King but who may be the character whom I love the most. I was not expecting that. Henry crashed into Blue Lily, Lily Blue and read like he was mainly a foil for Gansey. That continues somewhat in The Raven King, because mirrors/mirroring/balance are very important to the overreaching narrative, but Henry steps up and becomes his own character. A joyfully terrified new member of the group who can offer Gansey a view of what he could be, and in turn, grows along with him. As a result, I loved every scene with Henry in it. Also, I want to live at Litchfield House, because they throw the best parties.

I would've liked to see Henry introduced much sooner—say book one or two—because it would have made him feel more organically included. That said, I've experienced the kind of friendship that Henry and Gansey have: A sudden and situational one that grows into something bigger and better. Sometimes you just click with someone and neither of you are really certain why. It's not to say that won't take work to continue to be a functioning friendship, but it's also incorrect to believe it never happens.

If you've never had someone appear in your life and offer remarkable kindness when you needed it, then I wish that for you. Because it's a rather splendid magic to have the privilege of experiencing. It's also a rather splendid kind of magic to work for someone else.

But in the interest of honesty, maybe why I like Henry the most is because I needed to hear what he had to say. When I read The Raven King, I needed the reminder that "If you can't be unafraid—then be afraid and happy."

Having anxiety is like living with a nightmare tree in your head. Anxiety constantly wants to tell you everything will break, and no one wants you around, and you will die alone in a hole. (For some of us, it's very specific about the hole and which animals will gnaw on our forgotten bones.) If you let it, it can be there 24/7 to provide a plethora of fears.

"Safe as life" is a loaded statement when you have anxiety. But we don't have to live like that—limited by fear—and it is the constant choice of people in The Raven King not to. This book rewards everyone who chooses to live. This book celebrates the choice to live and grow and go on adventures—whatever one decides qualifies for one as an adventure. Because this book understands living and growing look different to different people. I am so proud of all these fictional people—how they've grown and the places they earned for themselves.

Maybe that's my point. The Raven King is not magnificent because it is perfect, and expertly crafted, and never misses a narrative beat. (That has never been what I've asked The Raven Cycle to be. Because it's not. Each book has pacing issues. Blue Lily, Lily Blue is as close to structurally perfect as they get.) The Raven King falters; it wanders off down dead ends, and it forgets about one of its antagonists for most of the book, and it doesn't tie everything up neatly. But. But. It is magnificent, because I recognize all of its flaws and none of them matter to me as a reader.

Would I like to finally get the answer about the fucking hubcap? YES. I WOULD. But I understand it turned out not to be essential to this story. I really do enjoy knowing there are stories left to tell, and I'll be all right even if they never get told. That's not the expectation or experience of every reader, but it's mine and I'm cool with it.

In the end, The Raven King is about growing bigger, growing out and into the world. It is about being joyfully terrified. About being regular-kind terrified, too, but doing the difficult or just difficult-for-you thing anyway. And everyone who does that, does well. If one wanted to make oneself a king, then that's a way one could go about doing so. It's also a good way to live. Out there in the world. Safe as life.

Monday, June 06, 2016

Notes from a year named Thrive: June

A lot has happened since April. Things got weird, then they got really weird, then they got really fucking weird, and now they might be back to being only weird. Eventually they may even stop being weird, but that's not really up to me.

I have my own place; I moved in last week. It is really expensive to move, and even more expensive to move when one's kitchen supplies consist of a lot of mugs, a stovetop espresso maker, and a tea pot. I had been hoping to gradually gather things before the June 1st move, but that was derailed by shit happening. The amount of IKEA I put on my credit charge in the past few days triggered a fraud alert due to how rarely ever use my credit card for anything more than a meal out or ordering a t-shirt online, and I'd recently been in Florida with work charging things there as well. I had to be like nope, that was me and I'm really aware of it. I was prepared. I knew it was coming, but the knowing and the doing are different.

The important thing is that pending some food/cooking supplies, odds and ends, and the couch that's coming on Wednesday, my place is set up. It's enough for one person and two plants and a lot of synthpop, but it's going to be an adjustment. The neighbourhood is great, the other tenants are super welcoming, and the landlords are remarkably decent. More so because things went stupid and awful during the last month with my previous ones.

It has been fun to have full autonomy over decisions but also terrifying. It all felt a little too big for my skin, and I got overwhelmed by the possibilities. But I'm doing better, and I know this mix of terror and thrill means I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing something that demands I grow. And I'll kill at it, because my ability to endure has been well-tested the past few years.

And, dead welsh kings, was it ever tested by what happened with the smell and moving things into storage and staying elsewhere for the month of May. Right now, today, is a little tough because I've unbraced from three months of crisis coming at me from both personal and professional spaces. I have to learn how to relax again.

I'm really grateful to have friends who have been checking in on me to see how I'm adjusting. It's been illuminating this past month or so to see who reaches out, who shows up, who doesn't ask for anything from me in return. I had a good chat with a friend last month about where our respective energy and effort was going, and she also mentioned that it's remarkable to see which relationships falter when you take a break from being the one who initiates the contact.

There was something I suspected had to happen when I named this year thrive, and I really wanted to be wrong about it. But I wasn't and it happened anyway. Maybe knowing I invoked it helped me recognize when it was happening, but it didn't make it any easier.

Moving out on my own was the right decision, and it became more and more the right decision over the past six weeks. But that doesn't ease the disappointment of something that I had really wanted to work not being a functional long-term situation.

We'll see what happens with work and life and the future. Anything's possible again.