Where do all of the unwritten songs go???

I was sitting on my bed the other day, messing around with my guitar. I had just found this notebook full of poems, lyrics, and chord progressions from about two years ago. It was long enough for me to forget about it but short enough to remember some of the stuff in it. I came across this saying I was scribbling on everything at the time. "Sugar Stardust Suicide." It was a lyric. I played and played until the whole tune came back to me and sang and sang until the lyrics were improved. Then I found myself wondering, "Where do all of the unmarketable songs go? What happens when a band with a really good song breaks up?"

The same goes for books.

I may not know a lot about the publishing world as I am just an unpublished fledgling of a newb, but I know that luck plays just as much of a role in the business as talent. I can write my little heart out but, if I'm not lucky enough to be in the right place with the right manuscript at the right time, I will never be published. I know this, and I have yet to send a single inquiry.

What if The Best Book of All Time is sitting in someones rejection pile? I mean, I think that I would like to just look through those piles and see if something bites me. I know it would be pointless, that everything happens for a reason but I still think it would be incredibly entertaining.

In completely unrelated news, I've decided to go back to school. I'm hoping to attend Wayne State for the Library Science program in the fall, or maybe summer. I need to do a FAFSA and an app but I'm sure it's in the bag. I've also been informed that I must be a children's librarian and take over for the grand Mrs. C. (the current Queen o' Childrens'). I figure, if I tell everyone, I can't back out.

Today the circ desk, tomorrow the library!!!! Mwahaha!

Chaos Theory

Things don't feel right. I've been grappling with this sensation for about a month now. Something just isn't right. I am not happy. I did that thing where I just thought about it for a while, ran down a list of things in my life that could be wrong. Is it J that I am unhappy with? No. Is it my job? No. Is it my home life? No. Really, I just feel so dull and tired and vaguely out of place. I feel as if I have no control but there is also nothing to have control over.

The problem is that it is starting to turn me into this blob of nothingness. As I said, I am so tired. I sleep from 11 to 7 and sometimes take a two hour nap in the middle of the day. I feel like everything I write is horrible shit. I keep gaining weight. (My goal was to lose a pound a week until June this year, leaving me at a stunning 118. I have gained a pound a month. Do the math and you'll know that I am not fat, just not happy.) Exercise is a chore and, while a half hour was easy to do just a little over a month ago, twenty minutes feels like hell now. My room is a mess. My car is a mess. I hate all of my clothes, even a bulk of my shoes. I am just sick of everything.

My solution? Well, I am just going to have to put my big girl panties on and deal with it. Right? Isn't that all you can do. I'll just have to eat better and make myself work out. I'll have to push myself to read and write. I'll have to frequent the Goodwill (our amazing resale shop). And today I told J that my room will be spotless when he gets home on Thursday and, if not, he has my permission to pester me about it and mock me.

And I suggest you put your big girl panties on too.

Adventures in House Hunting

Let me tell you a little about the town I live in. Deisel trucks outnumber all other vehicles combined (excluding, possibly, tractors.) We have two bars, two gas stations, and one pizza place. In high school, there really was a day during "spirit week" called Farmer Day. On that day, everyone drove their tractors to school and wore flannel and overalls. I, on the other hand, borrowed my dad's black '53 Chevy pick-up and wore a black leather skirt, black and white stripped tights, a black cowboy hat, and knee high boots. I also carried a stuffed pig whose ears, nose, and eyebrows had been pierced.

And, do you want to know the truth? As much as I didn't fit into that picture, with my black/multi-colored hair and angry feminist rock, I love it here. I love being able to drive around on dirt roads and just look at the beautiful old farms. Besides, we have some pretty cemetaries here.

Now, Captain J and I are house shopping. J has an amazing job as an engineer but he is gone all week. It's actually lucky for me because I don't have to move to where his company is based, an hour away. Since I'm alone all week, J agreed that we can stay here, near my parents and, most importantly, my sister-friend M. I have painted the cabinents in M's kitchen (as well as cleaned out her closet in high school, three week old nachos and all) and she owes me a lifetime of manual labor. I want to see her son grow up and I want her to see my nonexistant children become masterminds. Mwahahah!

Today, another offer got turned down. Actually, this was the first house we managed to get an offer in on. We fell in love with the fourth house we looked at. It was HUGE and new and built right up against a river but the company that owned it stalled us until they accepted another offer. The second house we liked was a small, newly built ranch in the middle of nowhere but close to M's parents' house. We looked at it on a Saturday but, when we went to put an offer in on Monday, they had already gotten two more offers and accepted one. There was a lot that I liked about the last house, the one with the actual offer. It had daylight windows in the basement (finishing a basement is a must) and the kitchen was maple. There were closets everywhere. However, this is Michigan and the company wanted list price which is crazy.

The other day, I turned down a back road on a whim and came across a gorgeous house. It was an older ranch, foreclosure, needed a little work. Mom and I looked in all of the windows. When I got home, I looked it up. 2500 sq ft, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, completely remodeled kitchen, 7 acres. 7 acres! J wants a huge Great Dane and I want kids so that is perfect. And the best part? It is exactly in our price range. We are going to look at it tomorrow. Wish us luck.

The only problem? It's a town away. I'm having a hard time giving up my school district.

(I should also tell you why I am so into this school district. When M moved here in seventh grade, her parents researched the schools in three counties and picked ours!)

P.S. Ben Franklin is on Cobert???? Ben Franklin is a colonial HOTTIE!

Rachael 101: An Introduction

Because we haven't formerly been introduced, here are the imparative parts of me.

1. My name is Rachael Yvonne Smyczak. My varios alias' include Rachola, Chola, Choles, Svetlana, Rach, and Freak Bitch. I usually tell people to call my Rach or Rachael or whatever comes out first. Sometimes I am surprised by the people who actually call me Rachael.

2. I am 23. I graduated from North Branch High School in '02 and got my BA in English with a focus in Womens and Gender Studies at the University of Michigan in sunny Flint.

3. I have worked at the same library for nearly eight years. I started as a page when I was 16 and was promoted to Clerk when I was 20. I LOVE my job which is pretty much a customer service position. I remain at the front desk 99% of the time I am here and dodge people's anger with a smile.

4. I am in lovely with a lovely man who I shall only call Captain J. I decided on the name because I was looking at a romance novel called A Pirate of Her Own and remembered that one of J's ex-girlfriends used to call him Pirate J. But he is my captain, calmly steering me through the rough waters. We have been together just three months less than I have worked at the library.

5. I have three cats. September (aka Septypie) is the oldest. She is gray and stripped. She was a stray who just showed up as a kitten, put her paws on my dad's cowboy boots, and fell right into our hearts. Storm and Bear are sister and brother. Storm (aka Stormin Normin, Stormypie, and Sister Bear) is gray and white and likes to jump at any dirt spots on the wall. Earnest "Bear" Hemmingway (aka Bubba, Baby Bear, Bear Butt, Ernie) is literally my baby. When he comes in after being outside, he jumps up in my arms and gives me all kinds of love. He also enjoys sleeping in drawers and drinking from the bathroom faucet.

6. I still live with my parents. We are working on changing that. My parents are as crzy and me.

Has blogging really changed the way we read/write?

Yes! Yes 100%!

Let's start with reading. Last night I finished reading a book called Rumble in the Bayou by Jana DeLeon. It was a *gasp* romancy book. In other words, it wasn't anything that I would have picked out for myself. Guess what. . . I LOVED IT! I mean, the character development was lovely and it was humorous and the dirty parts were HOTT! I felt like I really knew the characters. I even rated it at 85% on my awesomeness scale. I was shocked because, like I said, I wouldn't have picked it out for myself. I picked it up because I read about it in a blog and I thought I would give it a chance. Monday I bought a book from the library's sale because I read about it on a blog and it was sitting there like kismet.

Any way that you manage to get your name out there as a writer is good, excpet maybe a memoir scandal. Even then, I have seen an author's books fly off the shelves purely because there was a scandal. I still wouldn't encourage it. One of my favorite books that I've read so far this year is Looking for Alaska by John Greene. I would never have heard about it if it weren't for the blogs I read.

How does it affect the way we write? I think that writing a blog increases two specific stylistic things. The first is that it encourages a more personal voice. I love to write in first person. I love to play with the things a character sees and doesn't see, as well as the lies that tend to pop out in sticky situations. Since blogging, I think that I have improved my voice a little because it has become much more personal. The second is that blogging encourages some humor in one's writing. No one wants to read a boring snoring blog but, add a little humor, and you've got 'em hooked. Like my dig on mempoirs above. Of course, I'm the only one who realized that was a joike, right? I'm working on it!

Let it rain. Let it pour.

Isn't it funny when you get into the zone? I mean, I hadn't written anything worth while since, um, NOVEMBER! Then, this morning, I sat down to work on something I had recently started and CLICK! I wanted to go for a walk but I literally couldn't pull my fingers from the keyboard. I had to eat lunch while I wrote and I could have cried when I had to leave for work. The zone, for me, is accompanied by this annoying voice that writes even when I cannot. My drive was full of me telling it to shut up for a bit, at least until I could get home.

Work has been a little trying lately. First of all, the warm weather makes me anxious to get outside. Secondly, I have managed to get myself in trouble twice this week! They were both honest mistakes and I tried to take the criticism in stride and use it to improve my work (Does this sound like writing?) but the person who has been critiquing me lacks that, um, kindness. It is one thing to say, "I noticed this. Could you work on that?" and another to say, "RACHAEL! You did this WRONG!" The worst part is that she is this way with everyone and I pretty much just have to deal with it.

But those are two very important things to learn when it comes to writing: How to give and receive criticism.

Spring!

It may just be the memory of a hellacious winter speaking, but I think that we do up nice weather a little more intensley here in Michigan than people in other states. When you only have three months of summer, you have to live those months to the fullest. I watch spring with a particular interest. I watch the changing temperatures, the arrival of the geese, and the buds forming on the trees.

Don't think that all of this watching makes me idle. No, it gives me the energy that winter drained out of me. I suddenly find myself feeling less like lying in bed, curled into a little ball and more like running a mile. Except, I don't run. Ever. lol.

In the past week, I have put an inner border on a quilt, started the outer border, and, oh yeah, WRITING! It feels like it has been so long since I did something productive with my mind but I am getting back into the swing of things.

And, you know, as much as I like to just sit around and do nothing, this really does feel good.