An ode to failure

Failure is the path to success. (I say this because I consider myself a consummate failure. I'm biased.) Yes, I know it sounds pat and perhaps trite. But nothing worthwhile is possible without failure and rejection and pain.

~

I started my college years in a graphic design program. I thought I belonged there because the only thing I was any good at in high school was art.

I hated the program. I didn't feel like my instructors actually taught anything. We did project after project without much direction. Only after we were in the very late stages of an assignment did we receive our teachers' input, and by input I mean criticism. Usually by then it was too late to do anything about it.

I made lots of Bs and I considered each one to be a failure. I wanted to be making As. I didn't care so much about the projects themselves, I just wanted to be successful and to be recognized as such. I hated being in front of people and having my shortcomings examined.

Excuse me, did I say "my shortcomings"? I meant the shortcomings of my work. Except I really meant mine, because in my mind they were one and the same.

~

After a year and a half I left the program to study horrible things that happened in the past as well as horrible things that are still happening today. I continued trying to make art, but grew more and more frustrated with my output. I felt I was not improving, that my technique had stagnated and was indeed growing worse. And eventually I quit drawing and painting all but completely. I very rarely do it now.

For years I couldn't think about art or design without feeling like a catastrophic loser. Only very recently have I been able to look back at that time without feeling ashamed.

No one told me to feel this way. I decided I sucked on my own.

After some time (as long as I could manage) I accumulated 120 credits and was made to leave college. I failed to find a job in my field (although what field that was I'm still not exactly sure) and ended up working as a secretary.

By this time my interest in dance had ballooned immensely. Dance occupied all of my free time and then some. I felt desperate to try to make it my career. And after only two years of full-time employment I quit, hoping I could perhaps work a part-time job and get by otherwise on dance alone.

This didn't work. I tried teaching as many as six classes a week at one point, desperate to reach out to students in different areas. At many of these classes, due to rent and gas, I was making a loss.

I felt like a moron for quitting my job. I felt like a delinquent for not having a job. I felt like a failure because my plan wasn't working. I felt horrible.

In 2010 I stopped teaching many of my classes. Simultaneously, my hours at my part time job were decimated. I had nothing to do and was bringing in next to no income.

I stared into the void. The void told me to write a novel about vampires.

No, I thought, that's a really stupid idea. I should try to get another job. A real job, with regular hours, where I put on normal clothes and go into a normal office with normal people. I did some listless job-hunting online and submitted a few applications to a few places. I never heard back.

I wrote the novel, still thinking it was a stupid idea. Then I rewrote it five times. I started teaching dance classes again. The classes grew. The classes shrank. I got a second part time job.

Now the novel is finished. I consider it my first successful project. Not that I have convinced someone to publish it yet (I haven't), or even to represent it (nope not that either), but because I love it from the bottom of my heart. It might be total crap, but it is my beloved crap, the crap I have poured my heart and soul into.

Why can I love this crap when I couldn't love most of my previous crap?

Perhaps because I saw it as an experiment, a way to express something weird within me, and not as a competition with some Platonic ideal of high art or literature. I suppose I failed to live up to that ideal so many times, eventually I was forced to realize that all I will do for the rest of my life is fail to live up to the ideal.

I accepted my status as a complete failure, said "fuck it", and kept working anyway. The time since then has been the only time in my life when I have ever been able to feel like I have accomplished any measure of success.

~

We define success or failure by our own version of the ideal. Now every time I feel trapped my by own ideals, I remind myself that I'm a failure and I get right back to work. And I'm almost always proud of what I manage to accomplish.

Since I've accepted myself as a failure I don't care so much about impressing other people. I've realized I'd rather communicate with other people, or at least entertain them, than impress them.

I would still love to make a living, or even half a living, from my writing or from dance. But even if I never do, it can't make me any more of a failure.

~

Failure is an intrinsic part of making art. Artists transmit ideas into reality, but it isn't a download kind of process; the works we create will never and can never perfectly match our ideas of what the work should be. Our mediums are flawed. Reality and the mind don't mesh perfectly. Even verbalizing an idea distorts it somehow.

You must accept that you will fail and then make the attempt anyway. Every attempt will result in failure.

I lied to you earlier. Failure is not really the path to success. Success is just a particularly appealing brand of failure. Failure is all that there is.

I look back and I am glad for all the ways I have failed. I look forward and hope to keep failing with my whole heart.

Side effects

So I am on a new drug that's supposed to help me manage my Fibromyalgia pain. For quite a long time I was terrified of getting pharmaceutical help for my condition, but after a resounding success with a sleep drug I started last year I thought what the hell, let's give this a shot too.

The drug, which I don't really want to call out by name--let's just say it's popular for FMS--is sort of helping with the pain, by means of inducing a state in which I feel my nerves are swaddled in cotton. An odd swimming sensation sometimes overcomes me and I hear "Across The Universe" on near-constant repeat. (last detail an exaggeration)

I am not sure I like the main effect of the drug, not to mention the side effects.
I'm having some side effects. Or at least I think I am. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's the drug and what's me being a hypochondriac freak.

First off, I think it's thrown off my equilibrium. I can't spin like I normally can without feeling dizzy, and I feel unstable on my toes. This might not sound so bad--how often do you have to spin around until you make yourself sick?--but spinning is a big part of what I do for fun and sometimes profit, i.e. bellydance. But is this really because of the drug or because I didn't practice much in December?

Doubt sets in.

My hunger impulses are out of whack. I don't feel particularly hungry at all, ever. But I always feel like I could eat. After eating a good meal I don't really feel full. Is this me or the drug?
So I try not to eat except at meals, knowing I can just keep eating mindlessly if I don't police myself. Then sometimes I start to feel lightheaded. Is this from hunger or is it another side effect?
I feel tired and forgetful. Often I'm not sure what I should be doing, but I feel I should be doing something. I have trouble with word recall and sometimes when faced with a complex problem my brain simply freezes up and throws a Blue Screen of Death. But, uh, welcome to being Sara. I've been this way for as long as I can remember. Is this me or the drug?
Sometimes I feel happy, like REALLY happy, for no goddamn reason. Less often I feel inexplicably sad. Me or the drug?

I could go on.

For years, my doctors placed my well being squarely in my hands. At the time there was no drug for Fibromyalgia. I was on my own. Eat right, sleep enough and on a regular schedule, and exercise enough (but not too much) and you will feel all right, they said.

Now, as a result, whenever I feel shitty I immediately want to blame myself. If I hadn't slept in 30 minutes, I'd feel okay. If I had exercised yesterday I'd have more energy. If I hadn't waited to eat breakfast I wouldn't have a headache.

And now, experiencing these symptoms, I'm not sure what is at fault: me or the drug. I'm awfully confused. I want to believe that in the end the drug will help, because I want to believe there is a solution. Somewhere deep in my shriveled heart I still want to believe that I can feel well most of the time. Not because health itself is that appealing to me, but because I feel like my condition gets in the way of my dreams. Sometimes I let myself think about what I could be like if I just had some energy.

I don't want to sound maudlin. My bad days are really not so bad. I'm never going to die from this and it probably isn't going to get worse unless I let myself go. But hope opens you up to this odd feeling: the idea that in returning back to normal something has been lost.

Should I put up with the side effects and hold on to that hope or should I give up?

2011

For perhaps the first time in my life I am sad to see a year end.
2011 was incredibly kind to me and my husband. In 2010 we spent most of our time apart. For much of it I drove him back and forth to work every day (a 45 minute commute one way) so I could get to my ESL appointments. In 2011 he got a contract working for a giant multinational tech company and now we both work at home. We spend most of our time in the same room, talking and obsessing over our little white dog.
We moved to a nice apartment with lots of closet space and big windows that look out into the bright blue sky.
At night we play Magic: The Gathering and Arkham Horror.
We don't live paycheck to paycheck any more.
I started working with a group of writers who make me much more sane about my writing. Some of them even like to play Magic with me. (I played a lot of Magic in 2011.)
I went to the most beautiful island in the world with my beautiful sister to study with the most beautiful bellydancer ever.
I have lots of black and grey clothes in my closet (so I can pretend to be a goth everyday) and I live within walking distance of my favorite store (Goodwill).
I just made space in my bedroom for my art desk so I can start drawing again without hurting my neck.
My little life has never been happier, and I have never felt more comfortable with myself than I do now.

Thank you 2011.

Accomplishments

2011 was kind of awesome. Despite my neuroses and crippling attention deficit disorder I managed to get some good work in. Let's take a look.

• I finished Redlisted!!!!!!!!11 After going through a months-long period where I couldn't stand to even look at the manuscript, around September I suddenly got the inspiration and the urge to write the last draft, which I actually like and can show to people without cringing or wanting to hide in a hole. I am so happy that I got past the stage of wanting to disown it slash erase all traces of its existence.
  
• I produced a show, Doomsday Cabaret, all by myself and it didn't suck. In fact, I've heard people liked it.
  
• I taught a workshop at a regional festival for the first time!
  
• I got a new part time job and have managed to hold on to it despite sucking at it really, really badly. I am being serious. I am terrible at this stupid job, but I am proud of myself for sticking it out and trying my best.
  
• I wrote a short story! NO! TWO SHORT STORIES! Oh wow!
  
• I performed outside the US for the first time!
  
• I got accepted to perform at TribalCon 2012. I was scared to even apply, so this was kind of a big deal for me.
  
• I started writing a novel I am pretty much in love with.
  
• I made myself start going to a writers group despite my severe anxiety at the outset. It was totally worth it.
  
• I forced myself to start submitting Redlisted to agents, again, despite my fear of everything and my constant feelings of dread when it comes to anything related to the writing industry.
  
• I made some awesome costumes! Best costumes yet!
  
• I feel like my performances came a long way. I am satisfied watching my videos in a way I haven't been in the past.
  

YES! HIGH FIVES TO ME.
I would really like to hear what YOU did this year that you are proud of.

Resolutions

2012 is coming. I better get some stuff done before the world ends. (John Hodgman says it will and I find his books to be totally credible. In fact they are pretty much my most trusted sources of information, ever.)

Last year I went insane with monthly checklists (you can easily find them in the archives) and all kinds of related self-flagellation. This resulted in a hardcore burnout period, especially after I got my second part time job and said goodbye to a good amount of my free time.

I've transitioned into a kinder "do what you can" philosophy since then. I try not to stress about the things I'm not getting done because that list is infinitely long and contemplating it too deeply will make me go insane. Instead I might as well try to enjoy life and feel good about myself from time to time.

Still, there are some things I'd like to get done in 2012. Here are some of them.

• I would like to finish the first draft of my second novel. Right now it's about half done, and I think if I make it a priority for a few months it will materialize.
  
• I would like to produce another Doomsday Cabaret show.
  
• I would like to get in better shape. If possible I would like to be able to run a ten minute mile. (That may not sound too fast, but, let me tell you, it would be an improvement over the current situation.)
  
• I'd like to write a few more short stories and it would be great if I could get a short story published.
  
• I want to spend less time on Facebook and more time reading.
  
• I'd like to make at least one more bellydance costume.
  
• I want to feel good about what I perform at TribalCon, which will mean preparing well.
  
• I'd like to teach some workshops out of town (although I don't have much control over whether or not that comes to pass).
  
• I'd like to write an article about bellydance and publish it somewhere.
  
• I want to save more money and eat more fruits and vegetables. (Exciting!!)
  

And of course, I wish and hope that I will find a good agent for my book, and I'm going to try my best, but in the end it's not up to me. If I haven't found an agent by the end of 2012 I will probably go ahead and self-publish on Amazon, and I'm excited that possibility for its own reasons.

What are your resolutions?

Auto Bio

So I have been avoiding querying specific agents because they ask for a writer bio. As someone with no publication credits (yet! I am in the process of trying to find a home for a short story I am actually quite proud of) and no qualifications, I have no idea what the hell to say about myself. I hope it doesn't sound jaded to say that I feel like turdpolishing is necessary. I am just another eccentric among eccentrics who thinks they wrote something people might want to buy.

If I were to tell the truth unvarnished by what I think people want to hear, my bio would probably go something like this:


Sara Beaman was born in 1984 in a small town in New York and raised by Dungeons and Dragons nerds. She grew up a lonely brainiac with impeccable fashion sense (discounting a long stretch of years including middle school, high school, college and her early adult life). Like many other children who suck at sports, she thoroughly enjoyed reading science fiction and fantasy novels while avoiding projectiles thrown by other children at recess.

At some point she moved to North Carolina, where she met her future husband at a high school for unsociable technology enthusiasts. Then, thinking she would like to become a graphic designer, she enrolled in the North Carolina State University College of Design. Her mother warned her not to, and, indeed, it was an ill-advised course of action which left her full of ennui. After only a year and a half she dropped out of design school, preferring to study the history of human misery at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill instead.

During her idle years as a student Sara began studying the exotic art of bellydance, perhaps as a way to distract herself from her existential dread. After graduation, she worked a short stint at a temp agency, then a somewhat longer stint as a secretary at UNC. Then she decided to quit her perfectly acceptable job to pursue a career as a full time bellydancer. Then the economy tanked.

Now she thinks she'd probably like to be a novelist instead. She is willing to work hard and try her best. She would like to be able to provide publication credits but she is honestly dreadful at coming up with ideas for short stories. She has written like three, all told, and one of them is kind of crap.

But really, writing is what calls to the jaded remnants of her soul. She is serious about it and will totally do whatever it takes.

Sara resides in Raleigh, North Carolina with her misanthrope husband and her rescue dog Lola who loves humans quite a bit.


LOL okay but seriously I need to write something I can actually send to people. :(

Doomsday Footage!

Sometimes I still find time to dance. This is improv, and was shot by my awesome videographer dad. The song is "Cabaret Macabre" by Raquy and the Cavemen.

I hope you enjoy!

An update

This morning I received a response from an agent that was not a rejection. So now there is an agent out there with my whole manuscript.

Please make sacrifices to the gods/patron saints of long shots on my behalf.

"Do you dance for your husband?"

A patron asked me this at the show last night.

I couldn't tell how she meant the question. Discomfort in her eyes. Perhaps she was trying to square what she'd seen in my performance with her own personal paradigm of sexuality. Perhaps she was trying to submit a gentle complaint, to police my behavior in a subtle way. Perhaps she was merely curious about what I do at home.

"I dance for everyone," I said, sharing her unease.

I get asked this question a lot, more frequently by new students than anyone else. Always women, never men. Sometimes it's a related question: "Can you teach me how to dance for my husband?" Sometimes it's another variation: "Can you dance for my husband?" ("I'll pay you." "It's his birthday.")

They've been asking me this for years but I never get used to it.

I won't pretend I don't understand what they're seeing: a girl (although I may not qualify as such for much longer), scantily clad, moving her hips and chest around in rhythmic patterns. I get it. It reads, for them, as an unsubtle display of female sexuality.

I am not offended by their perception of what I am doing and why. It may not mesh with my intent, but so what? If I made my intent for each performance completely transparent, it would stop being interesting, and I think it might very well stop being art. Art, to me, exists in the vast space between the intent of the creator and the perception of the audience. It's negotiated.

What bothers me is always the tone. Let's put your dance in an acceptable context, shall we? You are doing this for a man. And he is your husband.

I won't go on about my motivations for dancing because putting them to words would mutilate them. But let's suppose I intended for my audience to take everything on face value alone: girl in lots of makeup and a (sort of) revealing costume, shaking it. Let's say my intention was really just to titillate.

I will do this for whoever the fuck I want, thank you. And I don't care what you think of that. If you want to read me as a sex object, go ahead. Just don't try to cram the patriarchy down my throat. I know you can see a wedding ring on my finger, but don't pretend you understand my relationship with my husband, and don't you dare try to enforce what you think it should be on me.

I will dance for the enjoyment of everyone in the audience, male or female, young or old. To be honest I am more concerned with my female audience members. I want them to see me feeling happy and comfortable with myself, my body, my spirit. I want them to know they can feel the same way. Maybe not by being a dancing girl live on stage, but through whatever medium, in whatever venue they choose.

I want these girls and women to go out into the world and be themselves for everyone, not just their husbands.

By asking me this question I can see these women are not getting that. And it makes me sad.

Here is a second stab at the query letter.

After getting some secret feedback, I have taken another stab at the query. Some cheese has been removed. I am trying to strike a tone between cheese and dramz. Not sure if this succeeds any better than the last attempt.

Writing this thing is in many ways harder than writing the damn novel was. I just deleted this sentence: "I am not cut out to write copy." SHUT UP SARA. Ugh. I will endeavor to believe that I can do this. I want to believe.

all right so here's the second version

Dear XXXX,

I bet you don’t believe in vampires. Few humans do.

Mirabel Radcliffe is determined to keep it that way. As the CEO of Spira Communications, Mirabel uses mass media to brainwash the public and keep the existence of her kind a secret.

But the twenty-four hour news cycle doesn’t stop for a woman who can only go out at night. That’s why Mirabel has gathered a team of perfect doubles—mortal women permanently altered to look like her, talk like her, think like her and conduct her affairs during the daytime.

Kate Avery thought she’d be working for SpiraCom as a reporter. Instead, her boss has her scouring the Internet, searching for people who know the truth and passing their IP addresses to the higher-ups. When Kate realizes what’s happening, she tries to take the company down from the inside. It doesn’t work.

Now Mirabel has conscripted Kate into service as a double. She’s taken Kate’s face, voice, and even her memories. Worse still, the procedures that left Kate looking exactly like Mirabel also left her with an unfortunate dependency on vampire blood.

Fortunately for Kate, Mirabel is not without enemies. When Mirabel’s blood brother Adam Radcliffe kidnaps Kate from SpiraCom headquarters, she gets a chance for freedom—and a chance for revenge.

REDLISTED, 80,000 words, is my first novel.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

Sara Beaman

Your thoughts are welcome. If you don't feel comfortable ripping me apart in the comments you can always email me at skbeaman at gmail dot com.

Thanks for reading either way!

Rejected!! also, a query letter.

Well, yesterday I got my first rejection for Redlisted. I am crying zero tears. That's the way things go, and I'm sure it's just the first of many on the road to success (or wherever it is that I'm going).
The rejection letter brought to my attention the fact that the query letter I was using sucked. Thus, I started from scratch and wrote an entirely different one. It is posted below for your amusement. It's a bit cheesy, but then again it is a query for a vampire novel.

Dear XXXX,

I bet you don’t believe in vampires. Few humans do.

Mirabel Radcliffe is determined to keep it that way. Been bitten in the back room of a club? Seen shady characters doing things you can’t explain? She will make you forget. She makes everyone forget.

That kind of blood magic isn’t easy, even for a vampire of one hundred and twenty three years. But Mirabel’s magic is subtle. Pervasive. Corporate. As the CEO of umbrella company Spira Communications, Mirabel uses mass media to brainwash the public and keep the existence of her kind a secret. Her commercials and catchy pop tunes have kept every feeding frenzy and mass draining under wraps for the last century.

But the twenty-four hour news cycle doesn’t stop for a woman who can only go out at night. That’s why Mirabel has gathered a team of perfect doubles—mortal women permanently altered to look like her, talk like her, think like her and conduct her affairs during the daytime. These girls are under some serious conditioning. They shouldn’t be able to make their own decisions, and they certainly shouldn’t be able to rebel.

After working for SpiraCom for years as a pencil pusher, Kate is conscripted into service as a double. Now Mirabel has taken Kate’s face, voice, and even her memories. Worse still, the bleeding-edge procedures that left Kate looking exactly like Mirabel also left her with an unfortunate dependency on vampire blood.

Fortunately for Kate, Mirabel is not without enemies. When a rival vampire kidnaps Kate from SpiraCom headquarters, she gets a chance for freedom—and a chance for revenge.

REDLISTED, 80,000 words, is my first novel.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

Sara Beaman

I need feedback to make this thing come to life, just like I did with the novel. If you have a second, pretty please answer some or all of these questions in the comments:

1. Would you read this novel? (presuming you haven't already)
2. Does it sound different from other vampire stuff you know about?
3. Was there anything about the query you didn't understand?
4. Did you have to reread anything for clarity?
5. Did you dislike any part of this letter?
6. Why or why not?*

Thank you, sweet friend, for your support.

*A joke so weak I felt I had to provide this disclaimer.

It is done. Commence Phase Two.

(also known as old news to people who follow my Facebook feed.)

Redlisted is done. Finished. Complete at 80,000 words, it's finalized and I will work on it no more.
I have sent it out to two agents so far. I plan to send it out to one agent a week until I run out of agents to bother or someone indicates interest.
Some rather optimistic (or kind) friends of mine are all like OF COURSE it will be published. I am fairly sure that it won't be, at least not by a traditional publishing house. I am up against some pretty nasty odds and I will be shocked and amazed if anyone wants to pick it up.
Let's take a look at the situation.

STUFF IN MY FAVOR
This book has been edited by like seventeen people.
I think the final draft is pretty great, and I usually hate everything I do forever.
It's about vampires. Who doesn't like vampires?*
Despite what this blog may lead you to believe I have a fairly okay grasp of English grammar.
I spellchecked the manuscript and made sure to format it according to industry standards.
My writer's group seemed to like the first chapter after I rewrote it for the eighth time.
I don't think there are any plot holes!
I am psychotically dedicated to my quest for publication and will exhaust all options before giving up.

THINGS THAT ARE NOT LOOKING SO GREAT
*No one likes vampires. In fact some agents are like "send us anything, AS LONG AS IT HAS NO VAMPIRES WHATSOEVER." Something about market saturation. Not like I didn't know that getting in to the project.
I have no publication credits.**
My cover letter is mediocre to embarrassing.
My synopsis is... Well the plot is complicated, it's not my fault.
Did I mention no one wants to pick up another vampire novel?

**I did write a short story though, and I'm trying to get it published.

Yeah. Vampires.
The truth is I didn't write this book because I thought it would be popular or get published. I wrote it because I felt I had to. They (who?) say that everyone has a story to tell. I don't know if I understand why, but mine was about the undead.
I know it's hokey. At first I was ashamed. "What is your novel about, Sara?" "It's... uhh... vampires." I am over that. We can't decide what is in our heart of hearts! We can only decide whether or not to acknowledge it.
I love this book and I will be its champion. I will give it the best chance I can in this crazy world.

In any case, I am mitigating my freakouts (somewhat) about the submission process and the looming spectre of universal rejection by working on another novel. It is not a sequel to Redlisted; it's an unrelated project. If asked to describe the genre I would say "dystopian dieselpunk fantasy".
Now watch there be a glut of that by the time I'm done with the damn thing.
No Sara! Don't be bitter. Who cares if a million books like mine are published tomorrow? I'm doing what I love and that is the most important thing.
It helps my sanity to know that I have another story in my heart. Maybe there are a lot more in there waiting to be discovered. Even if Redlisted gets rejected by everyone, I'll try again with what I'm working on now.

I expect nothing but I hope for the best.

Anxiety

I have always been an anxious person prone to rumination and insomnia. I started getting panic attacks when I was in high school. Some time in college I went to a psychiatrist (once) about the problem (yes only once) and she told me I had Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I proceeded to do nothing about it. (I am 27 now and I have done nothing about it.)

Some people are anxious about social situations, or aspects of life over which they have no control. Not me. For the very most part I am anxious only about the things I have direct control over, or at least those I feel I can control.

For example:

I am anxious when I feel I am not doing enough to manifest my dreams or goals into reality. I'm not talking about the Secret or anything; I'm talking about good old obsessive hard work prolonged over anywhere from a month to forever.

I am anxious when I work too hard at a project which has the potential to fail anyway (given my own perception of failure).

I am anxious when I think I am forgetting something important, which is all the time.

My only other sources of anxiety revolve around competition and judgment. I am anxious when I submit my work (dance, writing, art, etc) to be critiqued or judged by others.

Having established the context of my neuroses I will now move on to my present day situation.

It is time for me to send Redlisted out to agents. Well, it's nearly time. The manuscript is 99.95% done. I need to do some line editing. I need to write a cover letter and a synopsis. And then I need to grow a pair and send it out.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I want to die.

I looked at one (ONE) agent listing on AgentQuery last night. AgentQuery was like, okay Sara, tell us what genre you want to submit for. And I was like open the drop down box and FULL BLOWN PANIC ATTACK.

AAAA! OH GOD! I want to submit a FANTASY novel! (kind of!) FIGHT OR FLIGHT!

Oh God there are lots of agents on this page. Okay let's look at one of them. Oh, she seems really nice from her blog but still I think she's secretly Satan and should I query her she will send me back a response something like the following:

Dear Sara,
Do the human race a favor and stop writing.
xxoo,
Agent Lady

Would I believe it if I got a response like that? I would like to think not, but realistically I would probably spend at least a day listening to "No Surprises" and feeling like I had wasted the last two years.

AND THEN. AND THEN.

I thought about it some more. Bad idea.

I realized that the scariest outcome of this entire project would be if the book were actually to get published. Worse yet, if it were to be published and noticed by the general public. Because the idea of critics reading it and saying stuff about it--EVEN GENERALLY KIND THINGS--makes me want to crawl in a hole and die.

I am not just worrying about these things idly, I am physically shaking and my gastrointestinal system is in distress. I woke up in the middle of the night last night just because I needed to have an extra panic attack at 3AM.

All outcomes seem horrible, and I am consumed with fear of everything.

But really, honestly, in a sane world, the worst thing that could happen would be if I were to let these stupid neuroses get the best of me, chicken out, and not submit anywhere. That would be too sad and pathetic even for me.

SO.

OKAY SARA SAY IT WITH ME:

I will do this even though I am terrified. I will do this even if part of me doesn't even want to succeed. Because I need to show myself that I am strong. And even if I fail I will have succeeded. Because I tried.

The sweet death of ambition

So what follows may seem like another woe-is-Sara kind of post, but rest assured, that's not what I'm feeling. I just want to take stock of things by writing them out. And I feel fine. I'm happier recently than I've been in a long time.

I think it's time for me to re-evaluate my ambitions.

I've been trying for three-ish years to 'make it' as a bellydance teacher. By 'making it' I mean making enough money to do that part time and something else part time. I've never been under the misapprehension that I could teach and do nothing else, at least not in this area or this economy.

I quit my job in 2009. I got serious. I gave it a good effort.

Now I'm tired of it and I want to stop.

I live in an area with a lot of teachers. There's nothing wrong with that and I'm not upset about it, but the fact is if you divide the number of people interested in bellydance by the number of teachers you don't really get a whole lot of people in each class.

I live in an area where dance studio rent ranges from painful to exorbitant.

I live in an area where bellydance doesn't have a huge public face, and where most 'normal people' don't even know that the bellydance community exists.

I live in a time where no one has a whole lot of money to throw around, and when a certain world dance fitness craze has decimated the market for bellydance classes.

I've been teaching regularly since 2004. There hasn't been more than a month-long period when I haven't taught a regular class. I've taught as many as six classes per week in the past.

This year I realized, if I want to ever save any money at all, I would need to get a second part-time job. So now I have two part-time jobs, not one.

My teaching skills and my knowledge base are improving (I think?). My dance skills are certainly improving, anyway. I've recently been asked to participate in regional events as a performer or teacher for the first time. I practice and promote myself and I try to perform for the general public to raise awareness about the beauty of our dance form.

This year I tried to make another push for financial viability, adding two classes to my schedule for a total of four. My class attendance dwindled to fewer students than I had at the beginning of 2011, when I was teaching just two classes. In fact, it was about half the number of students I had in January of this year.

I cancelled two classes. Now my total number of students is the same as it was with four classes.

You'd think this would be frustrating. Well, it's only the fourth or fifth time this (or something worse) has happened to me, and I've learned to just look at it and accept it. And this time I took a step back and looked at how I really feel.

I don't want to teach four classes a week! I feel burned out when I teach that many. Doing 1000x basic moves is hard on my poor wretched FMS-riddled body. I get sick and tired and I pull so many muscles it's hard for me to concentrate on my own dance development. Besides, I like having time to do something other than work and teach and practice! I like not having every single weeknight and every single weekend day booked solid.

I don't really want what I thought I wanted.

For a month or so I've told myself I need to regroup, to try try again, to give it another year, but I look at what it's going to take to rebrand myself and make another big marketing push and I just don't want to do it. I don't want to do it any more.

The thing is I'm not much of an entrepreneur. I hate networking. I like making friends (for realsies) but when I have to worry about promoting myself I get awkward. I hate money and I hate branding! I hate advertising! I'm a naive artist. I want my work to stand on its own, even though I know that's stupid and that no one ever 'makes it' without shameless self promotion. I have too much shame, I guess.

I still love dance. I still want to teach, but I don't want to worry about whether or not I make money doing it. I want to share what I'm interested in, not what I think will sell. I especially want to perform, but I know I won't make money doing that. Those days are over. Maybe a new era will come around some day where you can get a restaurant gig and work it, but I might be too old to take advantage of it by then.

I'm not sad. I have a million other things I want to do with my life. I'll probably never be satisfied no matter what I manage to accomplish, but I'll never be bored, either.

So here's to the future. And to figuring out what I'll do with myself next.

What made me weird, part one

This post is inspired by an old post at Coilhouse, one of my favorite blogs.

Rogue.
I started using a computer when I was three. Back in the 80s this was the exception, not the rule. My parents had a PC Jr, one of the first computers with a monitor that could display any kind of color. My dad taught me how to use MS DOS to access the games on the PC Jr. My favorite of these games was called Rogue.

In Rogue, you played a little adventurer, represented by a tiny smiley face icon. You navigated your adventurer through randomly-generated dungeons; fought monsters, represented by letters of the alphabet (T for Troll, Z for Zombie), all of which had different abilities and strengths; collected gold, potions and equipment; and ate delectable things such as slime mold (viable nutriment in Rogue) to keep your character alive.

I now know that Rogue is considered the first "graphical adventure game" and is kind of a big deal in computer game history. I did not know this when I was three. Mostly I knew that I wanted to get to the fiftieth level of the dungeon and slay the M(inotaur). Because who doesn't want that?

Once, I made it to perhaps the twentieth level, which was a big deal since normally I died every five minutes or so. But it was late and my parents made me go to bed. When I woke up I found that someone had turned the computer off! I wanted to cry.
Dejected, I pushed the power button on the CPU. The little indicator light turned off. I pushed it again; the light turned on.

My dad appeared.
"Sara!" he said. "I just turned the monitor off! I left the computer on!"
And that's how I learned that monitors work separately from the CPU.



Pee-wee's Playhouse.
I think this one explains itself.



Dungeons and Dragons.
My parents have been playing D&D (and later AD&D) since before I was born. If I recall correctly they started back with the original D&D box set where you had to color in the pips on the dice with a white crayon.

As a small kid I thought all adults played D&D whenever they had friends over for dinner. I always wanted to join in but for the very most part I would just listen on the sidelines until I got bored or confused. It was probably too hard for me to play anyway, at least when I was very small. The game is much simpler now, but Advanced Dungeons and Dragons was a different story, with its THAC0 charts and all its innumerable tables and obscure conditional rules.

The first time I actually played a game of AD&D was when I was seven. My friend Tracy was the DM. I took my fighter through a dungeon and in the deepest depths I fought and killed a white dragon. Righteous.

Later that week I went to a novelty store at the mall and bought a necklace to symbolize this victory. The pendant was a dragon-ish looking claw holding a clear marble. I remember thinking very specifically that the marble was the dead dragon's eye. I wore the shit out of that necklace.

The Monstrous Manual was particularly formative for me.



Books.
I started reading when I was two. I read all kinds of everything. I especially loved fantasy novels. I read fast and constantly. I read on the playground during recess. (I was not a particularly popular little girl.)

My original job aspirations were astronaut (because space) and author (because books). Then I found out how you use the toilet on a space shuttle and that pretty much killed my space aspirations.

After that I basically assumed I was going to grow up and become a writer. I lost track of that goal for a long time, but I've come back to it as an adult. Even though I'm unpublished I feel I am finally doing my younger self justice.

The kinds of books I read (mostly fantasy) made me want to see things differently. I wanted to look around myself and find secrets and magic. I wanted to believe that there is something more to the world than what is apparent to our eyes and ears.

I still do.

Two books stand out particularly well in my memory. The first is the book pictured above, Wise Child by Monica Furlong. Thinking back, I'm all but sure that this book made me stop being Catholic and turned me into the weird pseudo-pagan-but-not-really I am today. (I identify as Panentheist. Say that five times fast. I'm not Atheist but I'm a-religious.)

The second is Oddly Enough by Bruce Coville, a collection of short stories, one of which ("The Language of Blood") most likely generated my deep and abiding love for vampires.

Sara Beaman, Re-Animator

So I'm going to try blogging again. Let's not talk about the hiatus and my related feelings of shame. No one wants to hear about it, least of all me.

Instead let's talk about my current projects.

The old obsession rears its (ugly? fabulous? combo of the two?) head.
After a months-long hiatus, I am working on the fifth draft (sane, normal, balanced decision) of my vampire novel, which henceforth shall be referred to as Redlisted as I have decided that will be the title.
I got really burned out on Redlisted earlier this year and didn't think I would ever want to work on it again. For reasons I can only speculate about, within the last week I have suddenly become eager to work on it again.
I'm going to be integrating major changes that I think will improve the book, to make it more coherent, to bring out the nature of the characters and to make the plot more interesting.
SO EXCITED.

I am also working on a second novel. It's not about vampires.

I am putting together an anachronistic variety show, the Doomsday Cabaret. It will have bellydancers and hopefully other kinds of performers doing fun and interesting things, and will take place on Friday Dec. 9. Please come if you care about my feelings. And let me know if you are interested in performing or contributing to the administrative aspect of the show.

I'm going to be giving another lecture about bellydance history at UNC next week (most likely, it's still tentative).

I'm teaching a benefit workshop for the Wake County SPCA on October 9.

And of course I am teaching class, performing, etc etc that sort of thing.

I recently started a second part time job as well. So I'm having to teach myself some stricter time management techniques. But it's starting to work out all right, and it's nice not to have to be super stressed out about money all the time.

And there you have it.

Workshops in Greensboro!

July 9 at Twisted Dance Studio in Gboro! I will be teaching two awesome workshops and giving a FREE lecture about the history of bellydance!
REGISTER HERE: http://www.twisteddance.com/blog/sara-beaman-workshops/


Both workshops are open to all dancers, regardless of skill level or stylistic persuasion. I try to include something for everyone! (Hopefully more than one thing!)

10am-12pm: Dancing from the Core
The heart of fusion is the core–the core muscles, that is. We’ll learn the essential principles of muscular technique, including posture, alignment, one, two, and three dimensional isolations, and layered isolations. We’ll learn how to use visualization techniques to help us dance with great power and refinement. Perhaps most importantly, we’ll learn how to dance without pain.

1:30pm-3:30pm: Choreography 101
Learn the secrets of how to keep your audiences enthralled! Dance is not just a series of moves–it’s moving sculpture, it’s theater, it’s life itself. We’ll explore the choreographic process using exercises that a beginner could do and a professional would still benefit from. Topics covered will include musicality, stage dynamics, transitions, traveling patterns, and performance mentality.

4:00pm-5:00pm: History of Bellydance
A free lecture on the history of Bellydance.

More info is available at the link above.

If you are coming to these workshops, please let me know what you're hoping to work on!

Feeling guilty

because I haven't posted in quite some time. I've been feeling kind of drained lately, both mentally and physically, and I haven't had much happen that I was excited to write about.
A few weeks ago I thought I had happened across a prescription combination that was going to be the magic bullet for my fibromyalgia symptoms. I was really ready to believe that I might be able to achieve a new standard of living, permanently. I think I got excited over... not nothing, but a few days of feeling better, after which I went back to normal. It was nice to feel better for a little while, anyway. But right now I'm tired and enervated.
I spent a long time thinking I could make myself feel better without (legal) drugs, and for a while I think I was right. I spent most of my college years feeling pretty okay. The years since then have been harder. I exercise regularly (although not very strenuously, because then I'd hurt myself), I eat fairly well, and I get more than enough sleep every night, and now I'm even on drugs because I gave up on making it on my own, and I still feel kind of shitty most of the time. I only work about four hours a day, six days a week (yes I know what that multiplies to. I'm functionally idle), but between that and cleaning and cooking and a few half hours of writing and practice every day, it feels like all I can manage.
I know I am going to have to make a big push if, for example, I want to try to get my book published--and I might as well try; it's pretty much finished. But right now I don't have the energy to do much other than get by.
Which is fine. At least I'm getting by.

Productivity Secrets

I have a confession to make. I am a serial procrastinator, and I have the attention span of a puppy at a public park. I have low energy, I can't remember what happened five minutes ago, and I can't seem to get organized no matter how hard I try. I'm basically a cautionary tale, so it might seem that I'm the last person in the world that should be writing about productivity.
HOWEVER. Despite my flightiness and my crushing neuroses, I do manage to get stuff accomplished when I want to, thanks to some techniques I use to cope with my damaged brain.
Here are their stories.

15 minutes at a time. I set an egg timer for 15 minutes (or 20 if I'm being ambitious) and I tell myself I must only work on a single task for that time. It might be cleaning, or writing, or editing, or strength training, or what have you. I do this both for things I want to do (and might spend too much time doing otherwise) and things I dread. For things I like, I force myself to stop at the bell. For things I hate, I force myself to keep going until the bell. IT WORKS! Without my beloved egg timer, I would never be able to focus for more than 15 seconds. This means a sudden 60x increase in productivity! LIKE MAGIC!
This technique has the added benefit of helping me figure out how long things actually take. My internal sense of time is completely wrong: I think things I dislike take much longer than they really do. I am always amazed at how much housework I can get done in 15 minutes.

Don't talk about it. I try not to spend too much time talking about what I intend to do in the future. I don't let myself talk to people about my projects until they are semi-complete. For example, I didn't tell anyone outside my family that I was writing a novel until the first draft was complete.
Why? Discussing your goals or incomplete projects with other people can give you a false sense of accomplishment. For example:
You: "I'm writing a novel." (read: I have five pages written and a bunch of ideas, or just a bunch of ideas.)
Your friend: "Wow!! That's amazing!"
You: Wow! I AM amazing!
Not that you're not amazing, but yeah.
I really like talking about myself, so I reward myself with the ability to freedom to talk (incessantly and at length) about my projects once they are actually done.

Don't think about it. The more time you spend ruminating about what you want to do, the less time you have to spend actually pursuing your creative goals. You won't know what works until you try to do it anyway, so stop thinking about it and do it!

Mini-Tip Bonus Round!
Don't watch TV any more!
Don't commit to anything you don't really want to do, unless you need to do it for money!
Quit your day job and become a professional eccentric like me!*
Don't worry about cleaning too much! Life's too short!
You probably don't need to shower every day unless you have a glandular issue! Fewer showers = more productivity time!
Writers! Convert time spent waiting in public to productivity time by bringing notebooks everywhere!
Spend driving time listening to inspiring music and thinking about your projects, or use that time to listen to NPR!
Don't waste time on the webs! Figure out what blogs you like and visit only once a week!
Figure out what you love and make room for it in your life by getting rid of whatever else you can!

*seriously, only do this if you have a trust fund, very supportive parents, and/or a very supportive, saintlike spouse with a great job.

Finally, the biggest tip of all:
Figure out what you want--what you really want, what you'll gladly sacrifice a lot of free time, sanity, and even cold hard cash to accomplish.
And then DO IT!

Go with my blessing!

What is up

This moment's thought: Oh shit. That's right. I have a blog.
So I haven't blogged in over a month. That's shameful. Here's a hasty attempt to assert my enduring devotion to the interwebs and to all of my amazing, charismatic, erudite readers, all of whom have excellent taste and should totally keep reading.
Here's what's up. I'll keep it to soundbytes.

Fibromyalgia. I am probably having some sort of relapse. I feel like crap even though I've been eating okay, exercising (albeit half-heartedly) and getting enough sleep. I'm going back to the doctor soon, I think? I can't remember, just like I can't remember anything else.

Bellydance. I am teaching at the Asheville Bellydance Festival next weekend, and my workshop is SOLD OUT. Holy crap. I thought I'd be lucky if three people showed up, seeing as that's basically what happened to me at Triboriginal 2009. Not that I should be advertising that fact on the internet. I am redoubling my efforts to make the workshop totally rock everyone's faces (in a kind, student-focused and supportive way, of course).
The Sparkle Oasis workshop remains open and will be even more face-rocking because it features TWO teachers--including one teacher who doesn't suffer from fibromyalgia brain death syndrome: my majestic sister Emily.
Also. I taught a workshop a few days ago to benefit Historic Green which raised $540, which I need to go online and donate as soon as I am done with this post.

Fiction. I have started working on the sequel to my vampire novel (which I still haven't decided on a title for--now THAT is procrastination). This is not premature and it is in fact a fantastic idea even though it's making it so that I have neither the time nor the energy to finish editing the existing novel or to begin preparing said novel for the agent submission process. Shut up. It totally is awesome and you don't even know.
But seriously, I'm excited about it. I always allow myself to go crazy with the first draft and write really badly. (Otherwise I would never be able to write anything ever.) I'm probably more excited about the opportunity to write really cheesy hackneyed trash than I should be, but whatevs. It's fun not to worry so much about how things sound and instead to focus on what happens next. I don't outline, so I have no idea what is coming. I just get to keep going down the rabbit hole.
My non-vampire short story (novella? novel?) kind of stalled out, so I am submitting it to my writers' group in an attempt to motivate myself to finish it. I will let you know if this ends up being a good idea or a terrible one.

Other. Nothing else about my life is worthy of comment, except for the fact that between private lessons, classes, and tutoring, I can feel that I'm slowly approaching the burnout insanity that I experienced this time last year. I'm glad to be working and to be in demand, but unfortunately I have a Constitution score of 4 (on the DND scale, obvs) and I just can't handle working every day of the week. I'm a little scared to pass things up, though, because I know it's either feast or famine, and a girl needs to eat.
Like I said, I'll let you know how it goes.