spicy mayo, scr*w senor green, and other thoughts on life and writing

somebody in my house turned the entire (half jar) of mayo in our fridge into an entire (half jar) of spicy mayo. since there are only two people in my house - and i am one of them - pinpointing the culprit was no hard task. and tho i’m curious to know what the circumstances were for the abundance of mayo and why he didn’t just make a small bowl of spicy mayo to suit his spicy mayo needs at that time, mostly i was grateful for the backup jar of BOGO mayo we had because i'm not at all having a two cheers for shocking discovery of bright orange mayo when you're expecting regular mayo kind of day. and yes, that is how i chose to word that sentence.

suffice to say, i might be having a fairly hormonal week.

two weeks ago, i returned from my heavenly-productive writing retreat to my must-have-descended-from-heaven beau (who makes brazenly inappropriate amounts of altered condiments) to my teeny apartment and, here's the kicker, to my Regular. Old. Life. 

don’t get me wrong. i love my regular old life because it’s not regular and i’m not old and my life on so many days feels blessed and just…luckily good. except lately i wish i woke up one score and five years ago and said, man, i want to be an electrical engineer when i grow up.

see, i’m starting a new novel. and while it was going brilliantly in the high desert region of Colorado, you know, here:

in Brooklyn it feels stifled and boring because it isn’t being written how it should be, which is frustrating when you consider i’m the one who’s writing it. now all told, i’ve been focused on this novel for about two months, so i will work out the glitches over the course of the next year at which time i’m sure an editor, or twenty, will take another year to say they’re not sure about the authenticity of the voice and no one’s buying odd murder mysteries that are set in the 1940’s anyways. at which time i will begin another novel and… scream, perhaps.

but i digress, and while i digress further, allow me to say that when you’re having a hormonal week that leads you to write catty and pessimistic sentences like the ones above (one editor did say that she would just die if she didn’t acquire my novel, but then her editorial board said, eh, we doubt it.) you should definitely not start thinking thoughts like “it’s as if I’ve worked the same job for fifteen years without a single promotion.” 

and when your hormonal week gets to that level you should definitely definitely not check in on more successful authors. 

especially not more successful authors who have created online, free content educational material using a grant they received from Googletwo years ago. and even though you admire him and think he’s a bit of a prophet, you also can’t help thinking, oh scr*w you, John Green. you know what i was doing two years ago? complaining about my too small apartment. you know what my biggest accomplishment in the last two years was? the fact that my website name no longer has blogspot in it (i know, awesome, right? thanks Rich! weeee!).

and then we take deep breaths.

beyond wishing for a writing guardian angel or mentor or an editor or otherwise decent connection to take an interest in me, i know what i have to do.

first, i have to stop being such a crybaby. i did get that SCBWI grant so it’s not like there haven’t been any promotions. also, i have to put my head down and work. i have to reach out to and check out more successful authors because it’s inspiring and more than that, writing doesn’t have to be a lonely vacuum. tho most times it is and since i didn't want to be an electrical engineer, since i chose to write novels, i need to go back and read the first sentence of this paragraph a few more times.

maybe some people are meant to do multitudes of really intelligent good for the earth and minds of youth things – thank you John Green (and apologies about that scr*w you bit early. i know you’re a real person who's worked hard to get where you're at and i'm sure you have your own hormonal weeks. though probably less of them because you’re a man.) and some people are meant to do mini-multitudes in different fields like farm-to-table restaurant-ing. (tho have I mentioned that my website name no longer has blogspot in it?) and it’s all okay, so long as everyone’s enjoying themselves. 

maybe it’s all about timing anyway. so in the meantime, i should get my head out of my ass, figure out how to write my damn book, make it great and take long walks and do something useful, like start volunteering again.

because maybe instead of prematurely opening a fresh jar of fresh mayo, we should embrace the creepy orange-colored, sriracha mayo that life throws our way even though it looks toxic. 

and yes, this was my dinner. it's sauteed corn and tomatoes.
clearly, hormonal week does not creative dinners make.

embrace it because the spicy mayo weeks force you to look at more writers websites in one hour than you have in the whole previous month(s). they force you to finally get the damn 'blogspot' out of your website name. embrace them, because even as you do, you will remember that all weeks aren’t hormonal. that good writing weeks are ahead along with the high that will come when you nail that elusive creepy 1940's voice you're going for.

just take my advice. don’t over embrace the spicy mayo of life (see above photo). it will give you a terrible stomachache which won’t be corrected by eating a whole row of Double Stuf'd Oreos.

also? if anyone has any guardian angel writing connections that might help, i'm seriously all ears.

taking a cue from shirley

my favorite new phrase of late is: Just because things are this way right now, doesn't mean they will always be this way. i've been telling this to myself and my artist friends on those gloomy days when we feel stuck in our jobs, apartments, creative work, or lives in general. it helps because it's true.

the other night, my sis sent me a link to a video that was adorably heartwarming and proved my saying true. so on a rainy thursday (which i'm loving btw), i will share the video with you.

everyone, meet Shirley the elephant. there's no bigger proof (ba-dum dum), that you never can tell where life will lead you.

finding a little color in the grey

when i walked into work on tuesday i was met with this guy:

it's soft shell crab season! or en espanol: la temporada de cangrejos.

con-grey-hos. it's my new spanish word of the week. all tuesday night, every time i walked into the kitchen, the dishwasher would ask: como se llama, mami? and even though the first time, i said "Corrie!" and the kitchen exploded with laughter, (i thought he was asking how you called me, not how you called the crab) i got it right after that.

for the right person, nothing would turn you vegetarian faster than working in a restaurant. i said "hello" to the above crab and then watched as, a second later, first his eyes and brain and then his butt were cut off with a pair of scissors. (no, i don't know why the butt). boom. dead.

granted, none of this stopped me from eating his brethren a few hours later after they were dredged in egg and cornmeal, pan-fried and served with a delicious garlic lemon sauce.

however, i did make sure to say: "thanks congrejos, i hope you get to come back as something with two legs."

it also made me think about how quickly any life can end, by a pair of scissors or something more human-inflicting.

it was a rainy, cloudy week in Brooklyn. one of those weeks that are perfect for writing. unless you wrote your heart out last week and need to think about your plot twists for a minute. then it's just rainy and cloudy. which is what it was for me.  knowing my mindset could mirror the weather at any second, i planned to keep busy and go to something called The Interview Show. it sounded interesting - people from all walks of life being interviewed. i looked it up on youtube only to discover that John Green was the very first guest the show ever had.

i didn't go out last night. the rain convinced me otherwise. but i did watch all the interviews with John Green. the first was in 2008, above is 2009. they did another in 2011 when there's no denying John is pretty damn successful. the interviewer asks if fame made everything better. and John's (Mr. Green's?) response is along the lines of, well, i thought it would, but i feel as equally annoyed and unsettled as i did before.

this line is mimicked in just about every author interview i've ever read. and, well, if a giant pair of scissors is following us around, and achieving what we always wanted does nothing to lesson the intensity of that feeling, then i guess we need to get a little more creative about how and where we look for satisfaction in this life.

yes, clearly, grey week = deep thoughts.

it's right around this time, that the words of the most amazing man i ever met on an airplane come back to me. "everything happens in the exact season it's supposed to." what's planted is planted and if it hasn't bloomed yet, it only means it's not the right season.

kinda like the above peony. there's no doubt it'll be a beautiful flower. we know that, but i couldn't help wondering if it knew that. or is it poised on the bush being all: "geez, i feel so pent up, like i haven't reached my potential, like i could be more at this." while the big, bushy flower behind it just laughs.

um yeah. so life, flower, and soft-shell crab metaphors on the blog today. that's why i like grey weeks. it's good to be reminded that we're all standing in the middle of this:

and every now and then we need to LOOK UP, DAMNIT!

on a side note, tonight i'm having a girls night and going salsa dancing. because while it's interesting and kinda fun to have a grey week, it's even better to kick your heels up that it's over.

casa dolce casa

want to see what three years without any serious time off from work looks like?

this:

a few weeks after this picture was taken, a friend quit her job and asked me if i wanted to travel with her to Spain. the economy is in the crapper, i thought. what right do i have to the self-indulgence of a long vacation? then i remembered the above face (who needed to remember it, i wore it half the time), and said Vamonos.

a month later, it was holllllla Espana.

this is my highlight reel:

our neighborhood in Barcelona had butterflies strung up everywhere for a local festival. the supermarkets sold wine for as little as 65 cents. they even had wine juice boxes.

in Barcelona there's a huge outdoor market. it's called la Bocheria. it's unlike any farmer's market that the States has. it's filled with every imaginable fresh vegetable, egg, meat, and fruit.



emu eggs

they even sold those fish that have both eyeballs on one side of their face.

in every city we went, there was a festival happening.

each city has their own giant people and animals that they carried through the streets on parade day.

no, they don't carry a giant corrie head. that's me!

if live music is played, all the old people in the crowd link hands and commence a twenty minute dance that involves lots of hopping and swaying. they even have special shoes for it.

in Barcelona horses hang out on balconies.

maybe because they're drunk.

people drink all the time in Spain. at la Bocheria, we sat next to a man that was having a beer with his breakfast pastry. at 8:30 in the morning. me? i waited...wait for it...until at least 11:30 to have a beer. before then drinking was reserved for cafe con leche.

i've never had so much espresso. scratch that. i've never had so much mind-numbingly, pick me up, served in a tall class or a short cup, freakin-delicious espresso.

in Barcelona, i learned that Spain Spanish is very different than Latin American Spanish in one primary way. never mind the whole "c" as "th" pronunciation thing. in Spain, tortilla doesn't mean something-to-eat taco-fixin's-out-of. it means gooey egg and potato dish that's served in the morning and then pretty much for the rest of the day.

Spanish lesson learned and heartily partaken in, next up, it was the resort town of San Sebastian.

fabulous San Sebastian. where the tapas are laid out on the bars starting around 10 am. it was the most vacationy of our vacation days. i spent a lot of time on the beach.

for the first time in my life, my bosoms saw the sun. (i'll spare you the picture.) i also got in my first scuffle.

coming out of the ocean, feeling good, and channelling my best bo derek impersonation (look her up, kids), i noticed the tide quickly pulling away from me. i wonder what happens next? was my last thought before i found out that this happens: the water comes back in the form of a GIANT FREAKIN' WAVE.

tumbling underwater washing machine style, i was dragged and thrown back ashore, sputtering, with my swim suit bottoms around my ankles.

i quickly crawled back into the surf, pulled my trunks up (only to realize when i was back on land that they contained 5 pounds of sand) and tried to wash the smeared make-up off my face. when i returned to our beach towels, my friend took one look at me and said, "what happened to you? and how come you were lying on the sand over there?"

i was still washing sand out of my hair five days later. lesson learned? don't fight with the ocean. it will win.

anyhoo, in San Sebastian there's more Michelin three-star restaurants than anywhere else in the world. since i was travelling with a chef, not trying one wasn't an option. the restaurant we chose was called Akilera. it was a short cab ride outside the city. since we'd be spending the equivalent of a night's worth of work to eat there, big time spenders that we are, we took the bus.

my friend's google map said the restaurant was a short hike up a mountain from the bus stop. we ascended. walked higher, saw some cows.

we walked higher. then higher uphill, no, up mountain. forty minutes in and ten minutes until our reservation time, my friend asked: what if the restaurants not there?

it will be, i panted.

she checked a different map. the restaurant was back by the bus stop. we ran. i tried to hitch hike. everyone kept shaking there heads and wagging their fingers at us. when we got the restaurant -- sweaty, flustered -- we sat right across from the same people who wouldn't give us a lift.

the meal lasted 4.5 hours. the waiter took us on a tour of the kitchen. it was sublime.



peaches served three ways.

we decided we needed to see wine country.

the capital of wine country in Rioja is Haro. we expected greenery, vineyards, quaint architecture, cobbled streets. instead we landed in the armpit of Spain. lesson? if you're going to buy a guide book, read it before you plan a day trip. Haro: This unattractive capital of Rioja... mine read.

we also met The Snobbiest Toronto Man Alive. when he asked us about accommodations in San Sebastian and i started to tell him about our awesome hostel, he cut me off with a I'm past the point in my life where i need to stay in hostels.

um okay. you asked. dick. then he made me taste his wine.

it wasn't all bad though. i mean, there was wine. (not previously drunk by a fuddy-duddy). and pretty cute bodegas serving it.

maybe there was too much wine.

we left northern Spain for southern.

i never knew Spain had been through so much upheaval. right from the start, one civilization wiped out another from the Phoenicians, to the Romans, to the Muslims. mosques were turned into churches. entire Jewish neighborhoods were slaughtered and repaved. in the 1930's there was a civil war. Franco took over. up until the 1970's women didn't have their own passports, they had to be on their husbands. and while the architecture was incredibly beautiful...

i swear, that chaotic, bloody history is still in the air because southern Spain is WEIRD.

paparazzi-style, a man took photos of me with his giant-lensed camera while i was sitting in a cafe. i got into an argument with a gypsy, and a few hours later a mysterious scratch appeared on my cheek. and the gelato is made with black magic. it must be, because it's so evilly good.

but as much as southern Spain gave me the creeps, it was stunning. you turn a corner and BAM! giant cathedral. or stuff like this guy. erm. cover your eyes kids.

we went dancing until 5 a.m. ate lots of tapas (they come free with purchase of a beverage) and went to the Alhambra. it's Spain's answer to the Taj Mahal.

then it was back to Barcelona (actually, first we stayed with a friend of a friend and slept in his bar) and then it was back to Barcelona for a last meal of scorching hot peppers and patatas bravas, a few more beers and yet another night of absolutely no sleep in a hostel --it's so hot in here, it's like dying, said the male bunk mate across from me. next an 8 hour flight with the gaping mouth guy snoring on my shoulder the whole way and i'm home.

it's weird being back. i'm changed, yet i've returned to a place where my life is the same.

but i found my happy. somewhere between the nude sunbathing and Spanish word confusions -- fyi Quisiera una bolsa de crema, does not mean, I'd like a cream bomba (local pastry) it means I'd like a cream bag -- i found this girl:

the one who's inside the one who used to make that other face. because i realized *ahem* that i'm past the point in my life when i make that unhappy face and don't try to do something about changing it. so maybe next time don't wait three years to do a little travelling when it makes you feel this good. and you, too, out there, don't put off being good to yourself. 'cause i'm here to tell you, doing nice, soul-expanding, completely self-indulgent things for yourself? it makes you feel happy. who would have thunk it?

yes, all together now, no duh, corrie! everyone thunk it. happiness and rejuvenation are the whole point of a va-ca-tion.

it's also the point of espresso.

hola everyone! it's good to see you again.

it's all do-able

are you a do-er?

a co-worker the other night was telling me about this couple she knows that are do-ers. they work for a non-profit, yet somehow are fabulously wealthy. they have kids and an intensive travelling schedule. (and apparently an au-paire). they want something, they get it done. consequently, the story went, they are suc-cess-full.

it got me thinking. am i a do-er?

i used to think so. i once started a huge community collaborative from scratch. but now that's turning into a years ago kind of thing. what have i done recently?

i live in nyc. when i first moved here i volunteered a lot, but every organization seemed like they ran perfectly well without my efforts, so i stopped.

i blog three times a week, but i don't do enough to promote said blog and as my fellow blogging/writing/reading friend's blog numbers escalate. i seem to have topped out at 30 (fabulous) followers.

i've written three novels while i've lived here, the first is a bit messy and will hopefully one day see life as a middle grade. the second is a fabulous dystopian that apparently will only ever see the inside of a drawer. the third, i've been editing for five months now and will hopefully one day see a Barnes and Noble shelf if i can infuse it with perfect amounts of description/voice/life/plot. sounds pretty good, right? except i have another three novel ideas, that i'm letting stew when i could just as easily be, i dunno, writing them.

so am i doing enough?

i started that community collaborative to improve my neighborhood, have i done all i can to improve my career? on days i'm not at home writing it amazes me how much i can accomplish in an afternoon that is normally spend drinking cups of coffee and worrying away word choice. but that's my process. i can't exactly speed that up. can i?

which leads me to ask, how much doing is enough in life? lately, i've been wanting to do it all...practice/improve my Spanish, read The Scorpio Races (again) not to mention every other YA that's been recommended, crank on my new book ideas, perfect my manuscript, maintain a healthy social life, clean my apartment... ARGH... i end up zoning out and playing TowerMadness on my Ipod.

i've written it before, but my favorite Tom Robbin's line is: People of zee world relax.

but can you be good at relaxing and still be a do-er? i don't know. this is something i will try and figure out while i'm away on vacation. hopefully, when i return, it won't feel like i'm doing or not, i'll just be. you know, whilst being really productive, maintaining a healthy social life, not spending months on the same damn edits and and and....

the lesson in all this? all 30 of you?

no more blogging before 6 a.m.! or stop talking to co-workers.

i have figured out which yet. i'll add it to my to-do list.