Dancing with myself

Sometimes, I feel as if I am writing into a void. I'm working on a novel and it feels weird, lonely, and sad at times. My protagonist is unhappy. Her world is a mess. 

She's an alcoholic and spends most nights at her favorite bar by herself, barflying it. Mornings are spent at the outpost cafe where she works as a truck stop waitress.

My deadline is coming up. Not yet, but soon. It's a self imposed deadline for a collective I'm part of next year. I will be workshopping my book with two other writers. They are both writing fiction and I know and love their work, so I'm excited. But I've never written fiction, and it's going way slower than I anticipated. 

Plus, I only have weekends to write this novel, my weekdays are work filled and my early mornings during the week are reserved for my blog, substack and my recovery 6 am meeting. I figure, hey, if I don't finish in time, I'll just submit a book of essays for the collective. It might not be in pretty shape, but at least I have most of that in separate pieces. 

It's my backup plan; I always need one. 

Maybe because I'm primarily a memoirist and essayist, it feels odd not to reach into my own experience. I want to write in my voice in the novel, what I am calling my truck stop waitress novel. Yet, I'm not this protagonist. I mean there are a few similarities, she used to be a lawyer for example, but she is not me. 

So where exactly do I go from here? I guess I just need to sit my butt in my chair this weekend and write. Write. Write. Then write some more. I suppose I'm just dancing with myself here. Dilly dallying. Finding a way to not do what I need to do. Put away the Gilmore Girls reruns and write! I'm talking to myself now too. 

I better go write. Love you all. Thank you for listening.

Book baby twin

Recently, I've been thinking of how hard I am on myself. I always cross examine myself. I suppose it's the drawback of being a defense attorney. Is it normal to ask yourself, why'd you do that? Or say that? 

I want to live a more peaceful life. Last night, I meditated but it didn't work very well. My back was hurting so much I could barely catch my breath. But meditation helped a little. I did sleep. Other than when the dogs started barking at midnight, I didn't wake up until now at 4:15 am. 

I've been really stressed recently, trying to figure out what will happen with my memoir Tales of an Inland Empire Girl if it goes out of print. It is my book baby. It took me over 15 years to write and publish my memoir. And my small press publisher passed away recently. His memorial is this weekend. His press will likely not continue unfortunately and in losing him, I lost one of my dear friends as well as a huge supporter of my work. 

Frank Kearns of Los Nietos Press was why my book went to print. I remember him pushing me to finish my final manuscript. We went back and fourth on edits for the final manuscript for months via email. He was so kind, lovely and a wonderful writer himself. I'm so sad he's passed, but the heavens have a beautiful scribe. 

I had avoided thinking of the book for a couple months. I had twenty or so copies. But then, I thought, I have to deal with this. I approached a couple of small presses and got no response quickly and because this is just a super time sensitive issue, I started panicking. Would I have to self publish it? 

Then I approached a press owning good friend and he said okay. He would help me and release a new second edition on his press. My book baby would not go out of print. I spent Sunday gathering the original manuscript, the original photos we had used and the cover art, and my friend even agreed to design a revised cover. 

After, I thought to myself, was I too much? Should I have asked?

But then, I thought, you asked with grace, it's okay. 

So there we have it. My book will live on. Tales of an Inland Empire Girl will have a second edition. A twin! Now if that's not ironic . . . 

Day 50

This post just ran on my new substack about my recovery journey. Please subscribe at: 

https://substack.com/home/post/p-177961330?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQKNjYyODU2ODM3OQABHq2ja0ssfN3wI-m9lYFwWnD7xZHQMwQdTGnqlFAc2Hi1B5VS7NWOR7AblhXG_aem_kSl9Mc_og3edYXT1r2u17Q

Day 50 of my sobriety is almost here. It is 11 pm and I'm on day 49. I'll go with an east coast clock and call it my day 50 post.

I am really trying to take it one day at a time. I’m still very impatient, anxious, overly concerned with how I’m perceived by others and self absorbed and attention seeking. 

You see, I am becoming more aware of my defects of character. The self awareness of the program and the steps does it. It opens your eyes to who you are truly. 

But I also pray every morning for my higher power to help me act in accordance with the universe’s will. To make my actions have good intentions. To do what is meant to be. To thine own self be true. 

I have never really practiced this way. This way of living with integrity is lovely and affirming and it’s helped me in so many ways to become a better me, and to stop running and to stop numbing myself to life. 

This week, I am still on step 4. I had to make a list of my resentments and I am still only listing the noun part (the who) and still haven’t gotten to the actual listing of the resentments themselves. I know I am avoiding it because I will have to deal with some real stuff. Some of this is trauma that I have dealt with and some of it is trauma that I have avoided out of self preservation. 

But now, to save myself from the deep abyss of the loneliness of my alcoholic soul (did I really just write that? Yes I did.), I must confront some horrors in my life. 

The good news is that I am living my life with positivity. I feel lighter. There is still a lot of stuff I must deal with. Why do I treat those I love badly at times and all that? Why do I overbook and over schedule myself? How do I live life like a normal person? But I am getting there. 

I really am. Day fifty almost. Wow. I’m happy. Truly.

Halloween time

It's Halloween time! We started decorating yesterday. It was so lovely and fun. I also went to a party Saturday. I dressed as a Diet Coke and my husband was whisky. And this weekend, we are having family over and I am doing Grease. I've been Rizzo before, but Friday, I'm gonna be a hot Sandy. I even modified my leather jacket to add a paper t bird logo. And I'll wear my black pleather pants. No high heels, but a red scarf and a black tight belt with a blond wig. Hoop earrings. 

There's something about Halloween that I love so much. I get to cosplay. I adore theater. I might even sing a song. Perhaps the lyric, "I got chills". Oh wait, that's Danny's part. I'll sing, "you're the one that I want" to my husband. 

Things have been interesting on my sobriety journey. I'm documenting it on my substack page. I'm having a daily epiphany. Today, it's that I like myself sober. I like myself clear headed. I loved decorating with a soda. I don't need the alcohol to have fun. 

I also realized that my life is going to bloom. I had a lot of anxiety about reaching out to a writer I greatly admire to come on the podcast. I know her, and she's been so supportive of me, but I was terrified she would say no. Then I thought, why live fearful? And she said yes! So there you are. I just need to live, putting aside my bottles and baggage. It's a new day. 

And I'm a new JEM, all dressed up for my day. 

Tomorrow will it ever come

Tomorrow I'm seeing Morrissey. He's playing in Ontario. Social Distortion is playing with him. I'm hoping everything goes off without a hitch. Morrissey is getting older so you never know with him. 

It's the IE and I'm an IE girl. We all know this and to get to see Morrissey in my hometown is epic. Especially now that I'll be wide awake and sober. In case you don't know, I'm working on my wellness. 

Today, I went to a lunch meeting that involves music and played a Morrissey song from the Smiths. The group is all genres and we play a song and talk about it. Not everyone knew the Smiths or had heard the song. I kind of felt like Jan Brady. Like no one liked me. But then I thought, well maybe I'm introducing someone to music they've never heard. 

My need for approval persists. My perfectionist tendencies are real. My insecurities manifesting even sober, and maybe that's why I drank. Because I'm not as confident as I pretend. If you want to read about my recovery journey check out my substack. 

https://lifeofjem.substack.com/?utm_campaign=pub&utm_medium=web

And I'll just keep humming along. Until tomorrow when I'll be singing along to every song. 

The mime & me

At the Paris themed party I attended this weekend in Palm Springs, there was a mime. A mime!

While in line, I see him and think about David Bowie who was a mime for a bit. The mime has on a black and white striped shirt and a bowler hat and he has a grey beard and a black and white painted face (of course). And he might have suspenders on. 

While I am standing there, we lock eyes, which isn't hard because I'm staring at the mime. I'm wearing a black dress with a red petticoat. He walks up, and points at my dress and nods. Then he grabs my arm and escorts me into the party. I'm so happy, I could burst. 

We walk in together, the mime's arms flailing widely by his sides. We step in concert, marching to the beat of music I hear the strains of from inside the party. The mime brings me to the entrance, my family trailing behind, my husband Adrian quizzically looking at me as if I planned this.

Then voila, we are at a picture stand. The mime puts his hands in a heart. I do too. I blow the heart up. He smiles and puts his finger in his dimple and bows. The mime and me take pictures together preening, making faces, and gesturing and diagramming to communicate. 

The mime fake hugs me, arms wide. After a minute, the mime knocks the door on the picture booth, and out comes a hand with a glass of champagne like magic. The mime disappears, but it's not over. 

I find the mime again. I know we need to do the "imaginary box" mime trick. I see him and run up to him, pretending I'm stuck inside an imaginary box. My hands feeling the imaginary glass. I've seen it in movies. The mime immediately understands my hand gestures & helps me out by trying to smash the box then somehow, gently opening an imaginary door that I step through with a woosh of my petticoat. 

Then later, the mime takes a picture with my twin sister Jackie at a purple windmill. We say our goodbyes with an enthusiastic wave as I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye. 

My mom remarks that the clown is funny and cute. I say, "Mom that's offensive, he's a mime, mimes are not clowns. They're performance artists."

A few days later, my husband will say, "Please stop with all the mime talk. No one likes a mime." I retort with a raised brow, "Except me and the entirety of France." Touché. 

Happy birthday to me

I am 54 today and up at 4:20 am writing. Who does that on their birthday? Me!

I am working on some things. Big things. Wellness things. And of course I'm writing about it. I started a substack but I am keeping it quiet for now. You can read it here dear reader: https://substack.com/@lifeofjem/note/p-175514673?r=7cq4g&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web. Please be kind.

I have not realized much in these 54 rotations around the sun, yet I do know this. I'm a writer in my soul. In my heart. In my head. I have at least three more books in me. I have the beginnings (and a little more) of all three. They're in my head percolating and I just gotta get them down on paper. 

I'm petting my three dogs and they're all over me like life. Messy, unpredictable and loving. A nip here and there by their teeth. 

Life is crazy. It changes in an instant. One minute you think you could party on and stay "as is" forever. Then you realize, nope you can't. You need to change, evolve and adapt. 

It's time. It's time JEM. So just go for it. It will be okay. You will be okay. Promise.