Under pressure

Lately, I've been lacking writing motivation. I think I'm spent. Tired of it all. Work is hectic and that is taking a lot of my focus and I think that's okay. You can't do everything or have everything or be everything to everyone.

What is it in me that makes me strive to always please everyone? I've been saying I'm going to pull back, do less, but it's really hard. I'm naturally social and a yes person. But I have said no to some summer events. I just need a few months where I am not so impacted. 

So where am I going now? What will I be doing? Well I got work, and my podcast till mid June (we're on a month hiatus in July) and I have to finish my screenplay because my coach gave me a deadline. I think that is enough. Enough already. 

The pressure I put on myself is more than anyone could understand. I'm already asking myself, where's the next book, the next project, the next "something"?

And the answer is, I don't know.

Breathing room

It's been quite a whoosh of a last couple of years. It's been a doozie. I keep saying that. But it has. I've been so lucky to have a lot of things come together. I've performed so many times this year. I've blurbed books. I've curated events. I've even done seminars and found that more reflective voice where I'm me and not the performer. Well, I'm always kind of a ham, but I am trying to find the balance and still not take myself too seriously.

What I haven't had recently is time to breathe. I work full-time yet still write. I write for my MFA workshop which just ended where I wrote a couple of long form essays for an eventual collection. I started a script. And I write this blog of course too. Yet everything's always a rush, and I'm always time constrained because what I haven't had time for is to sit, chill, relax and write. That place, when I have room to breathe, is my best space. 

So soon, I'm taking a hiatus from the events, and all of the performing and podcasting to do me. I have a concert week lined up because that always inspires me to no end. We're hoping to go on vacation. I'll put the phone away because I'm gonna write, and write then write some more. 

And live baby. I'm gonna just live.

Why Write

I have probably tried to answer the question of why I write before. Yet, let me ask myself again, why do I write? 

I write because I must. I write because it feels real and true. I write because I have to see myself on the page to understand myself.

This has been a rough week. Work stuff had me all wrecked and stressed. I could feel my blood pressure rising. My temples pounded, so I took a deep breath. Then another and another.

It is all about how you look at it. I know I'm a hard worker and a good lawyer. I try to be kind, and helpful. But sometimes, you have to put boundaries. It's okay not to be liked. I'd rather be respected at this point and heard.

My people pleasing days are over. I am learning the art of not giving a whit about what others think of me. 

So yesterday, after a chaotic, very long work day, I meditated. I prayed. I visualized. My blood pressure went down to normal, 120 over 70. Then, this morning I wrote. 

And that my friends, is why I write. It may seem like I'm writing about nothing. But really, seriously, it's everything. 

Whirlwind

I am on my third performing event this week. Let me tell ya, it's been a whirlwind.

On Wednesday, I had the time of my life at UCR. It was such an honor to present at the Tomás Rivera Conference. I read for over thirty minutes (which for me is a long read as ten to fifteen minutes is my usual sweet spot). Then I was on a panel moderated by one of my idols, IE writer Susan Straight (buy her latest book Mecca, it's so beautifully done) with epic UCR Professor Alex Espinoza (get his amazing books Still Water Saints and Cruising) and the poet Gabriel Ibarra, winner of the Alta California Chapbook Prize for On Display, a must read.

Not only is Susan a warm, supportive writer and professor, but she's so down to earth that she made me feel right at home. Plus, she had the best questions. She went deep. I got emotional toward the end thinking of my dad. Wishing he was still here to see all this. But at least I know what he would say. "I'm proud of you Jenny..."

Then Thursday, another jaw dropping evening at the Riverside Library. I was on an Inlandia panel moderated by Cati Porter with UCR Professor Richard Rodriguez who wrote one of my favorite books about music ever, "A Kiss Across the Ocean", it's a post punk masterpiece. It was a dream come true to talk post punk music and memoir with Richard.

Today, I will read with 15 other writers at the Culver Center for the Arts celebrating the 10 year anniversary of the Inlandia Literary Journey column in the Press Enterprise. It's the last event for a while and I find it fitting to end on a journalistic note. 

Everything is so wonderful now writing and performing wise. Something feels right, like I'm in the zone. It's been a whirlwind, and a wonderful week.

Crisis

I've had some crisis of faith, namely, a lack of faith in myself lately. I've been questioning my self, my performing and my writing skills. Wondering if I'm doing too much, reaching too high, over extending myself. Then I took a breath and let myself settle in. What am I looking for? External validation?

The reality is, not everyone will see me or you or any of us. You really just have to believe in what you're doing. And I promise that if you keep on working at it, miracles happen.

For example, take the screenwriting. It's not easy. I'm on draft 5 of my outline for my pilot. And I'm just starting to understand the genre. 

The thing I realized is that I just have to let myself get to that secret place of mine where all my stories, truth or fiction, live, and write. The genre and format may be different, but my process is the same. Truth is, I have never been an organized writer. I'm a "writing by the seat of my pants writer" as a writing professor friend of mine would say.

Sometimes, I also realize that I need too much validation and I need to let that go. I just need to do me, be me, and let the ego go. 

The one thing I know for sure is who I am. And I like me. I like my life. I love the performing and writing life I've built out a mix of of thin air, hope, dreams, my words and some pieces of paper stapled together. 

In the end, I may not be the perfect package. But I'm me. 

Reading

I'm wide awake. It's 2:41 am. 

It was a wild ride this week. Wednesday, I had to rush home after work to do my podcast. My account got hacked, my computer crashed and everything went wrong that could go wrong until showtime. Then, it all worked out. 

The next day, on Thursday after work, I drove to Venice. I left about 4:30 pm, thinking I would be early, but the drive took over two and a half hours. That damn LA traffic. 

The performance was at Beyond Baroque and I was reading with a legendary NYC writer and musician Peter Cherches and a Southern Californian writer, musician and one of my publishers, the awesome Dennis Callaci. It was intimidating to be performing alongside such great talent. And so I felt I had to step it up.

For the show, I focused on being present in my performance. On letting go. One of the pieces I read was a story called The Big O. It requires a lot of changing of voices. My YA voice, my mom's voice and my dad's, and there's a lot of dialogue. It's hard to keep my breath but I decided to try to do it the way I've been wanting to. I didn't practice because that messes me up. I just tried to be there, in the now.

I don't think I'm ever satisfied with my performances, but I did disappear while reading it. Meaning, I wasn't overdoing it, and I was present, in the moment, and just going with the flow and the story. 

My dad's voice is the one I so ache to hear. Yet, I never get his voice quite right. The tender side of it. My presentation of him sounds wrong to my ear perhaps because it's not him. It's me trying to capture him. On the page, I see and hear it. But when I try to perform it, I always fall short in my head.

Maybe one day, my dream of recreating my dad on the stage and/or screen will come to fruition. 

Until then, I'll just keep on reading. 

Rise up

Thursday 

My eyes pop open. My neck still hurts. With work and my evening podcast, I worked more than fourteen hours yesterday. I've started to see that I will have to make a choice soon. You can't have everything, or what I should say is, you can't do everything...

That said, I'm going to see X in Pomona this Friday. I need my fix although this is the umpteenth time I've seen them and I just saw Depeche Mode last week. Music rejuvenates me. It heals me. 

Friday 

It's Friday. Feeling much better physically. Had a heavy work day yesterday again, but nothing at night. It was nice to watch The Mandalorian with hubby and then a new limited series called Beef on Netflix (that's hysterical). I fell asleep by 10 pm and woke up now at 4 am. 

Seeing X tonight in Pomona if I can get the energy. I really want to go but even Pomona feels like a far drive.

I'm looking forward to this weekend. I'm working on a grant proposal for my podcast and some homework, and then taking my mom to breakfast on Easter. 

Ultimately, Easter is about rising again. And I will.