Rule Number Nine

OK now. I've been on for 9 days, and this is just my third post. I'm supposed to be posting at least thrice weekly. Um, FAIL.

Of course, I can blame it on the virus-y flu-y thing that made me feel like a walking sack of Stupid for 2 days last week, or the job interview that I spent hours thinking about/preparing for, or all the planning I've been doing for my move, or the all grantwriting I'm trying to complete before I get out of town - but really now. What good would that do?

It's become clear from this week-long experiment in 3-times-a-week blogging that, for me, 3-times-a-week blogging falls into the realm of credit cards, nonmonogamy, and eating without really paying attention: a nice idea for some people that I can't really handle, and that leads to most uninspiring results. In the case of the above: paralyzing debt, chaos/heartbreak/exhaustion, and less-than-attractive weight gain. In the case of the not-really-three-times-a-week blogging: guilt, lack of progress, and another darn thing I keep forgetting to do - accompanied by the all-too-familiar chorus/taunt of "you undisciplined loser" in the back of my head.

I can say I'm being too hard on myself, I can try to silence that voice with excuses, but really, I'd rather just make an adjustment. And do what I set out to do with this blog: write more, and less hesitantly, and more specifically and compellingly and sharply. To increase my joy and confidence so that I can and will write more and publish more too. All of which requires awareness and attention, but mostly, I know, requires practice.

And so. I come to:

Rule Number Nine: For at least 3 months, forget Rule Number One - "At least three times a week, daily is even better" - and just write every flippin day. Write SOMETHING on the silly blog page every day. Even if it's "facebook plus" - two or three sentences to keep me going and connected. Here's a photo of my dinner, and here's what I cooked. I overheard this in the coffeeshop/in the subway/in my dream. Whatever.

(Ha, that reminds me that I wrote a facebook status entry yesterday that was at least as long as a blog post, but because it was posted in the comparatively inconsequential context of social media, it was much easier to just sit down and write without over-thinking than a blog post would have been. Yet I would've felt more accomplished/satisfied, if I'd written it and posted it here.)

OK then. That's all. More tomorrow.

:)

AutoElectric

Last Saturday night I fell in love.
With a car.
At the Detroit Auto show.

As my friend and I entered the showroom from the windowless grey office where our free-pass credentials (procured through her job at Ford) were approved by a weary, kind man with a plastic badge, I expected to be amused, entertained, intrigued - possibly even inspired, in a detached, aesthetic kind of way. But not certainly not impassioned.

And yet: just three steps into this indoor Times Square of automotive overstimulus, and my heart rate soared, my face popped a smile - like, a big goofy smile! - and I could almost feel my pupils dilate as my eyes darted from shiny surface to to chrome detail to sleek metallic-coated curve. But none of the beauties surrounding me - not the Ferraris, not the Minis, not even the Bentleys, posed so smugly in all their champagne-sleek, pale-butter-yellow-leather-interior glory - captured my imagination like the sculpted red temptress who lay in wait beneath a graphic chrome T, all blood-red glow and curves like cut muscle, with a bright yellow extension cord plugged right into her pert little rear.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: my heart. my temptation. my shiny red revelation: the reason I can no longer call myself indifferent to all things automotive.

The Tesla Motors Roadster Sport Coupe.
A zero-to-60 in 3.9 seconds, 2x as efficient as a Prius wet dream of a gorgeous 100% ELECTRIC automobile, named after one of science's most brilliant madmen, who patented over 300 inventions (and in his later years fell in love with a white pigeon).

Sure, it costs over $120,000. But thanks to a government incentive (see below), you can get a $7,500 tax rebate with purchase, and pay just (!) $1,700 a month. And in 2011-2012, Tesla will bring out the Model S, a relative steal at $57,000.

OK yeah. So it's highly improbable that I'll ever be able to afford to take Ms. Tesla out for anything but a test spin. But I can't resent her for being out of my league. It wouldn't be fair. I respect her too much. C'mon, how can I not? She's first fully electric, highway-ready car in the US. No gears, no clutch. Flat-out acceleration with full-on torque as soon as your foot touches the gas.

Here's a Canadian car expert waxing technically poetic on the technology and the performance:
http://watch.bnn.ca/after-hours/november-2009/after-hours-november-17-2009/#clip236431

And here's the bite-your-knuckle website:
www.teslamotors.com.

Mind you, this is love at first sight, so I haven't done a full background check on the car or the company. But my Ford-employed friend did remind me that Tesla is the first new American car company since the Big Three, and noted that by deciding to produce a small volume of nothing but gorgeous electric-powered sports cars, they are carving out quite a niche for themselves.

And check out THIS out, posted on their webpage today:
U.S. Secretary of Energy Steven Chu announced today that the U.S. Department of Energy has signed a $465 million loan arrangement agreement with Tesla Motors under the ATVMIP.

"We are honored that the US government selected Tesla to be among the first companies to participate in this visionary program. This loan will allow us to further accelerate the production of affordable, fuel-efficient electric vehicles."
- Elon Musk, CEO

This juicy little posting tells us two things: one, that the CEO of Tesla Motors has a name like a character out of Twilight, which only adds to the intrigue of the whole operation; and two, that the Feds are loaning this company money not because they might go under and bring the country down with them, but because they're doing something new, and green, and ballsy, and beautiful.

Be still my heart.
Be expansive, my wallet.
And be patient, my pedal foot.

Confessions and Commitments

Most posts will not be as self-referential as this one, but I'm clearing the woods and setting the stage, so it kinda has to be.
And so. Here we go.

Confessions:
In the 13+ years since I received an MFA in playwriting, I've continued to write, but not consistently; I've had ideas for theatre projects, but only put a few into action. I've published two children's plays, which are still produced around the US. I've revised them somewhat for 2 recent productions, but they were published over 10 years ago. The most recent play I wrote was a commission 5 years ago, and - suffice it to say that it was not my best work.

In the past 18 months, I have started & stopped four new blogs, each with a new name and new design. This has gotten me writing again, but does not constitute a consistent practice. The creation of a new blog identity every few months is a reach toward a kind of performance, but does not result in putting anything new onstage.

Commitments:
With this blog, I will face, meet, and fill the blank space of the page at least 3 times a week, with engaged thought, active questions, vibrant language. I'm leaving a whole lot open (see rules below), because I know that if I think about the outcome - try to create a Body of Work from these posts - I'll just get in my own way. So - it's all about the practice.

1) (As mentioned above) I must write at least 3 times a week. Daily is even better, and will be attempted as often as possible.

2) (Also as mentioned above) I must stick with this particular blog for at least 12 months. Preferably more.

3) I can write about anything, from the war in Afghanistan to the shape of my toenails to the cultural resonance of Michael Jackson's Thriller video to that weird one-night stand four years ago. To a bizarre movie scene that came to me in a dream. No topic is too big, too small, too smart, or too stupid. Or too taboo.

4) I can, and should, write in any genre and/or form I see fit. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, playwriting, screenwriting, article, essay, memoir, song lyrics, elegy, fake ad copy. Porn. Recipes. Anything goes.

5) I should write for at least 30, but no more than 60 minutes at a time, to ensure that I don't get carried away/bogged down in a topic and end up being late to work or not doing the dishes and then use that as an excuse not to write as often. There will be exceptions - longer projects that demand more time - but they will be deliberate, not accidental.

6) I will only write what I want to write, not what I think someone else wants me to write or what I hope will make me look cool or exciting. I can write with an eye toward publishing or producing, and probably will - but I don't have to. Which will allow me, I think, to be more productive than I would be if I were telling myself I had to. At least that's my hunch about it now.

7) I will remember - and expect - that the process will sometimes be painful and confusing and vulnerable in ways cause discomfort. I will accept this and do it anyway.

8) I will enjoy it and remember that I am lucky to be a writer - the way a dog is lucky to be a dog. I don't really have a choice, but if I accept it and embrace it wholeheartedly, the way a dog embraces being a dog, I can live an authentic, productive life, and also have a whole lot of fun - maybe almost as much as a dog. Which, for a human, is a pretty big deal.