The MLB postseason and perfectionism

If you've been a visitor here for some time, you'll know that the only professional sport Matt and I follow with any fidelity is baseball. Since moving to Seattle, we've adopted the Mariners as our home team. After all, years of being Rays fans taught us how frustrating it is when the stadium is filled with transplants whose loyalty hasn't shifted to their new hometown. 

This year, we've been at a couple major games of the postseason, including the fifth game of the ALDS and game four of the ALCS. I won't go into details recounting those games, because this post isn't really about baseball, but I will just say that those games are definitely going down in franchise history.

Sitting here watching game six of the ALCS, watching the Mariners struggle as early as the second inning,  I've come face to face with a stark reminder about myself. 

Revisions are done (for now)

I began revisions on the first draft of Project Seashore in April or May. Around mid-July, I made the decision to try to finish by the end of the month. Somehow, I managed to accomplish that! I've never revised any of my manuscripts before, so this was new to me. Read on for details on my process, mindset, takeaways, and next steps for this novel.

A little bit of everything

June has really felt like the longest month ever, and it's not over yet. I think being busy makes certain months seem long, and that's certainly been the case lately.

Step one: reread

I've never revised my creative writing. Not in any meaningful way, anyway. In the past I'd finish a manuscript, print it out, and stick it in a binder, never to be seen again. But with my latest, I'm excited to revise. There are sections I want to tighten up, foreshadowing to enhance, and extraneous scenes to cut. But, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm a little nervous. What if I take the manuscript out and absolute hate it? What if I find the whole thing boring? What if the necessary revisions are too daunting?

Following generally accepted writing advice, I put the manuscript aside for three months and began rereading it in March. And I can say, with relief and amazement, I've actually had a good time.

Well, I did it

NaNoWriMo ended early for me...not because I gave up, but because I finished my novel on November 26, four days ahead of schedule.

This challenge was surprisingly easy for me. Once I decided to write at least 1000 words a day, I just committed. Most days I wrote closer to 1200, which was good because it meant I hit my 30k word goal by the 21st and then had time to reach my stretch goal and finish the draft.

NaNo check-in

It's day 19 of NaNoWriMo and I am having some feelings.

Originally, I wasn't going to write a post on NaNo until the month was over, but I'm at a point where I feel like a check-in is due, so here we are! A little-more-than-halfway check-in!

No books, just words

Despite having a long list of books available at the library right now, I am holding off borrowing any this month. Instead, I am focusing on writing.

In the last few months I've reached 50,000 words in my current manuscript. I'm aiming for a total around 70,000. That goal has always been sort of abstract, fully missing the T in SMART. I've been taking my time and writing a few times a week, enjoying the process without worrying too much about the destination.

It's been a long time since I've made this much progress on a novel!

I'm not sure what happened, but in the last week of October I started thinking about NaNoWriMo and how it might be a good opportunity to set a goal to finish this draft by November 30.

I'm bad at balance

I don't know if this is a marker of adulthood or just how my brain happens to function, but I've really found I can't seem to maintain more than one hobby at a time.

TL;DR: I'm writing again

Buckle up, folks. This one is long and rambling, but in order to get to the point (hey! I'm writing again!), I had to provide some context as to why this is a big deal. Light on the pictures, heavy on the self-reflection. Here we go.

In Which I Explore my Childhood Wish to Live in a Hollowed Out Tree

When I was in 4th or 5th grade, there were two extremely popular books about kids learning to live in the wilderness. One was Hatchet, which is about a boy who survives a plane crash and has to stay alive until rescuers come.

The other was My Side of the Mountain.

I had no idea when I first read MSotM that it was the less well-known of these two fairly similar books. I always preferred it, but as an adult I've found fewer people know of it than Hatchet. When I explain its premise, they may vaguely remember it.

MSotM got under my skin, though. It stuck with me. It follows Sam, a preteen who chooses to leave his nice suburban home* and go live in the woods for some reason. I'm not clear on why, exactly, but I remember that he hollows out a dead tree to live in and trains a falcon to be his friend.

I wanted to be Sam.

As I got older, my obsession with Sam and his hollowed out tree faded, but never entirely died out. I always felt a pull in my gut leading me to mountains and forests. I always felt the most relaxed, inspired, and joyful surrounded by trees, but to say a favorite book from childhood planted that seed never dawned on me.

Until the other day, when we went hiking at Barclay Lake.

The Hike

Matt and I chose to hike Barclay Lake because the weather was bad. Okay, bad may be unfair, but it was certainly subpar. With a high of 59° and overcast skies, we didn't want to waste a two-hour drive to see a view that would probably be obscured by clouds. Instead, we chose a hike with a lake destination; lake views can't be ruined by cloud cover.

And honestly, the clouds ended up adding to the ambience.

As usual, we got a late start, arriving at the trailhead around 2:30pm. There were only a few cars there; by the end of the hike we'd have the entire place to ourselves. That's one perk of starting late!

The trail was eerily quiet. When we parked, we were shocked to hear no traffic, no birdsong, no animals. It's the quietest we've ever heard a trail, and it stayed that way the entire time, broken up only once or twice by the gentlest trickle of running water.

This hike was pure joy from the beginning. The trail is my favorite kind: extremely rocky but not very steep. In fact, as far as elevation goes, you don't gain much, but the terrain is interesting and challenging.

The trees along this hike are densely packed the entire way.

I found myself stopping multiple times to just stare at the path ahead, at the way the roots wove up out of the dirt, the way the rocks jutted, the beautiful aesthetic of the jumbled earth leading us deeper into the trees...I could not explain to Matt the visceral impact of these views - I almost felt choked up! - and I can't explain it now. But just know, there was something so satisfyingly beautiful about this hike, like it struck a chord and reverberated on the same frequency as my soul.

Anyway.

We noticed early on that there were tons of huge rocks and giant stumps along the way, and that these landmarks often formed caves of some sort. I ventured into a couple of the more open, shallower ones, something in my lizard-brain attracted to the space without knowing why. 

My Side of the Mountain floated up in my mind, unearthed by the sight of dozens of huge hollow stumps, and I mentioned it to Matt, thinking very little of it.

Because we stopped frequently to ogle the views, the trip to the lake took about 90 minutes. Our watches disagreed on the final distance, as did all the reviews we read beforehand, but it was probably around two miles to our destination.

We left the trail and wound through heavy trees toward the lake, and the beach that opened up before us was unexpected and breathtaking.

The downed trees that lay along the shore were bone-white and weathered smooth. They reminded me of the elephant graveyard in The Lion King; the eerie stillness of the lake and the clouds wreathing the mountain peaks above us added to the atmosphere.

After taking photos and basking in this very different vista after hours of trees-trees-trees, Matt and I set up our new hammock and ate the snacks we had brought along for exactly this purpose. 

All told, the hike to Barclay Lake was perfect - lighthearted and low-stress, just the best kind of hike I could ask for.

Cave Dwelling

Laying quietly in the hammock under the silent trees did something to me. My brain turned off, and at the same time my childhood wish to live in the forest and be one with nature was reawakened. As we began the return trip, the "caves" we'd been passing suddenly felt magnetic. I wanted to get in the caves. All of them.

Matt was obliging, pointing out caves as we passed so I could fit myself into them like a cat exploring a new cardboard box.

Weirdly, I lost my usual fear of spiders and other creepy-crawlies. All that mattered was getting under the rocks and roots and moss as deep as I could go.

The hollow trees weren't really nice to go in - I mean, of course Sam had to widen and clean his hidey-hole by burning it out a bit - but there was still something alluring about being within the tree. I recognized that I was doing something I had always wanted a chance to try as a kid.

After my second or third foray into a cave, I started laughing. "I'm going to look like a little gremlin in these pictures!" And then it occurred to me - I wasn't just enjoying myself; I was being silly. I was playing! 

After we got home and I looked back at all these photos and sat down to write, I realized something. My Side of the Mountain did not create this interest to live in a tree; rather, the novel revealed it to me. I think the reason I connected with the book so intensely was because the inclination to run away and live in a tree already existed within me. 

I was the weird kid who saw beauty in strange things and often felt a little bit like an outsider. Connecting with nature anchored me and made me feel like I belonged somewhere.

I had forgotten this bit of trivia about myself, that I feel the most me when I'm outside, "in nature". Now, it's coming back to me.

The Epiphany

I keep saying that being outside and surrounded by trees is where I feel happiest; more to the point, it's where I feel the most inspired. Hiking makes me want to write. Why?

Growing up, my backyard sloped down to a line of trees that separated us from the neighbors' yard on the next street over. These "woods" weren't dense, but if you got into them you could pretend you were in a forest. I remember sitting under those trees and making up stories.

I have been making up stories all of my life. According to my mom, I used to spin yarns when I was two or three; we have at least one home video of me telling a fantastical tale that came wholly out of my head. In grade school, writing was my passion and my escape, and that only intensified as I got older; I think I wrote most prolifically in high school, when I had so. many. feelings and so much time on my hands.

Writing was what I was known for. As I've reconnected with old friends over the years, the first thing many of them have asked me is if I'm still writing. That question brings me both joy and pain, because the truth is that I haven't written fiction in a long time. Not the way I used to, anyway.

As I got older, the time for creative writing dwindled. The drive petered out. At some point, I wondered if I even enjoyed it anymore, because it felt so difficult. I never had new ideas; the faucet that once flowed so freely was stoppered.

I've come to believe that adulthood kills our hobbies not because we outgrow them, but because we don't have the time and energy to nurture them anymore. We don't forget what used to bring us joy, but we do forget what that all-consuming joy actually feels like.

Hiking itself hasn't necessarily reignited my desire to write - that's never really left me - but it has reminded me of how that desire used to feel. How it would fill me up inside with longing, how I felt ready to burst if I didn't tell a story. How idea after idea would spring up, fresh and tantalizing.

To write was a need, as intuitive as breathing.

I'm remembering how it felt to be imaginative. To play. I'm finding who I am after years of shutting myself away because I just didn't have time to explore who I was becoming.

I keep saying that being surrounded by trees inspires me, but it's really more that it reminds me of who I am at my core, and I am desperately trying to get back there.

For months now, I've been joking with friends that Seattle-Ali will be different in some ways, and now I'm seeing that she's not different. She's just more me. She's more honest. She's the foundation of who I was before other stuff got in the way.

I can't be the only one who feels this way. 

How sad, to know that many of us are living as shells of ourselves without realizing it, so separated from our passions and interests that we wonder if we even have them anymore. How sad to know that this is "normal" and part of life, because other obligations must take priority.

But we're missing out. Creative explorations, having fun, taking the time to play...isn't that what makes life worth living?

I'll admit, being unemployed (or marginally self-employed) during a pandemic is scary and filled with uncertainty, but I am so grateful that I have this time to throw off expectations and obligations and rediscover who I am.

I shouldn't be surprised that who I am is still a person who is left speechless in the presence of natural landscapes and wants to live inside a tree.

*I read the Wikipedia page on My Side of the Mountain to refresh my memory and clearly forgot the impetus for Sam's leaving home was that his parents were raising 8 kids in an NYC apartment. Yikes. I can't blame him! Also, this book was published in 1959 but kids in 1996 were eating it up, I swear.

ABK

Friday Five: My Favorite Poems

Last week, our 7th grade math teacher and I were talking about our new math schedule for next year. We're adding geometry for our advanced 8th grade students. We were discussing which of the math teachers would teach it, and who would keep algebra, and she said something I found funny.

"Mrs. B really loves algebra, so she'll probably want to teach that."

Not she loves teaching algebra but she loves algebra. I thought it was funny/odd and then I realized, you know, I love teaching English but I love English itself, too, and many of its various components, like reading, symbolism, and poetry.

So, I thought I'd share five of my favorite poems with you guys for this Friday Five.*

1. La Muerta [The Dead Woman]

2. Cien Sonetos de Amor: XVII [One Hundred Love Sonnets XVII]

I am kind of a fan.

The first two poems are by Pablo Neruda, who is far-and-away my favorite poet. I wish I could read his work in the original Spanish; I have read many translations of his poems but my favorite translator of the first poem is Donald Walsh because of his use of "untamable" in the last stanza, which speaks to me so strongly. Other translations just don't compare.

That being said, it's an interesting practice to read the same poem by many different translators. They each bring a different perspective to the piece.

I am drawn to the visceral and emotionally-charged language of Neruda's political poems, like the first, and his simple, relatable, genuine language in his love poems really resonates with me.

3. the lesson of the moth

The next poem on my list is written from the point of view of Don Marquis's character Archy...so there is no capitalization or punctuation and it's a little stream-of-conscious. I had to read it a couple times to get the idea of who was speaking and what was being said.

I think most people want to be the moth but are actually the roach, including myself.

The act of figuring out speakers and opinions in this poem made the lesson, when I finally got it, that much more poignant. And I find myself wondering...am I the moth, or am I Archy?

4. Home (Bonus poem: do yourself a favor and click for the next poem when you get the bottom.)

Warsan Shire's poem Home came to my attention during the peak of the Syrian refugee crisis last year, as it probably did for many of you. The imagery is staggering and its honesty is brutal. This poem is proves that poems can be beautiful without being pretty.

5. Stone

After Home, it seems apropos to finish with a poem by author Charles Simic, who experienced displacement as a result of war. There is more to us than meets the eye, and sometimes we contain multitudes. Stone illustrates that beautifully. The subject, like the poem, should not be underestimated.

We can be hard, strong, calm, and dark while also being full of fire, light, and resilience.

Speaking of resilience, I'm adding a bonus poem because...why not?!

6. Maya Angelou's Still I Rise is an iconic, unapologetic rallying cry for Black women. I think parts of it can speak to the female experience in general, too. You can watch her recite it below, or search it up in YouTube. There are dozens to choose from, and each variation is powerful and moving.

I love poetry because it puts to words the feelings and experiences that often defy explanation. I love teaching poetry because it can give students that same invaluable skill.

Do you like poetry?
Share a poem that you love from school or your childhood!
What is a line from a song or poem that resonates with you?
Are you Archy or the moth?

ABK

*I'm in DC with my students so if this doesn't link, oops! Also, I would not be surprised if most of you skipped this post because, ugh, poetry, right? What is this, school?! Still, the English teacher in me can't help but wheedle: at least try one. Look at my commentary and pick the one you think you'll like. Try something new!

Take That, Taper!

After Tuesday's run sent me into panic-mode, I was excited but also nervous to run Friday. I was really hoping all those mystery pains were just a fluke.

I started with some dynamic warmups and stretches. Then, I began my run at a slow, easy pace. I had a random mix of music playing, and I just concentrated on letting myself warm up. It was chilly and had just finished raining, so the weather was comfortable and clear. I felt good.

The two drops in pace around mile 2 were when my ankle "blipped" a teeny bit. I was able to figure out the cause and still finish strong!

A couple times, I did notice a...blip...in my ankle, but I quickly realized that what was causing it was a kind of "flopping" of my foot; as long as I maintained form, I felt great! So great, in fact, that my "30 minute test run" became five miles and included the bridge. I just didn't want it to end!

I finished feeling like I had showed taper who's boss!

Music of the Night came on toward the end of my run, and I began composing an essay in my head about the symbolism of the Phantom vs. Raoul. I mean really, the entire thing is about innocent, "pure", childlike love versus lust. Which probably isn't news to anyone who's a fan of the musical. Anyway, my thesis was that Christine chose the wrong man at the end, because choosing Raoul shows us that she's stunted due to her father's death and has never fully matured into an adult woman.

But, choosing the Phantom alone would have been all about lust and fulfilling fantasy and desire, without any solid emotional foundations, which would have doomed the relationship. So really, she should have just chosen both and had some brother-husband style polygamy going on. Right?

Taper is literally making me crazy, guys.

Except in this case, it was Phantom of the Opera.

Am I the only one who mentally writes literary essays while running?

Sunday I ran the second 10 miles of Kristin's first 20-miler for my last long run. I changed how I had tied my new shoes so they had a firmer grip on my heels, and it worked like a charm; I didn't have any pain, and it was so rewarding to be there for her through that milestone!

So much for sticking with a 12:30 pace. I'll do better next time!

We celebrated with breakfast at Skillets. Usually I go for the gluten free waffle, but I really wanted to try an omelet this time...which was fine, because Kristin's husband shared some of his waffle with me, so I had the best of both worlds!

I had this huge southwest-style omelet and grits, plus 1/4 of a chocolate-chip pecan waffle. YUM.

After breakfast, Matt and I drove to Cape Coral to check out the race route and parking situation. It's going to be pretty tricky for spectators to meet me on different parts of the course, but we have a week to figure it out so that hopefully I can at least see people a couple times on each loop.

Those blue areas are water, so it's basically impossible to cut through the middle of the course or take a shortcut.

This week, I'm planning two easy, shorter runs. I talked to Megan a little bit about what I should plan this week, and I've decided that three days of rest sounds good, especially because I'll still be up on my feet all week teaching.

(We also have two volleyball games, but that means we only have one practice, which will be easier on my legs and feet since I'm allowed to sit during games if I want, even though I rarely do.)

I'm so excited! I feel like training for my second marathon is finished and was successful! I didn't get injured or sick (fingers crossed...I have 7 days to go)! With that accomplishment under my belt, I feel pretty good about race day! Even if it doesn't go as planned, completing training itself is a pretty big deal.

Speaking of plans...I've already set my pace goals, but here are my other goals, broken down:

A: Break 5:20 (follow my pace goals as outlined in this post)

B: Break 5:30

C: PR (break 5:41)

And of course, finish upright and uninjured, and preferably at a run!

Does your mind go to weird places while you run?
How was your weather this weekend? We've had tons of clouds, wind, and rain, but it's still fairly warm. I've resigned myself to a warm race, and I'm hoping I'll be able to power through.

ABK

My "3 R's" and a "W"

You know what always bugged me? Being the grammar nut I am, the "3 R's" drive me nuts. Two of the three words don't even start with R, and the one of them doesn't even really have the R sound...you have to butcher it into some weird slangy version of itself to make it work!

But of course, when something sticks, it sticks. Here are my "3 R's" lately.

Reading:
I've gotten through quite a few books so far this school year...I'm well on my way to my 30-book goal. The next on my list is Hollow City, which is Ransom Riggs's followup to Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, which I adored.

I'm pretty annoyed with American Psycho. As much as I enjoyed it as social commentary, I'm baffled by its purposeful ambiguity. I get it, we don't really know if Bateman is a serial killer or not. But I just wish there were some more solid clues to go by!

After picking-up-and-putting-down The Book Thief a few times, I finally finished it over winter break and truly enjoyed it. Death's perspective and way with words was immensely distracting at first, which is why I abandoned the book a few times, but eventually the florid language settled down and I was able to get into the story.

Writing:
Most bloggers are writers; that's why we're drawn to blogging. I'm sad to admit I haven't finished an actual manuscript in years (I've spent the last two editing the last one I finished), but I'm finally taking some steps to find an agent and maybe get published. Sometimes we need to face our fears and put our guts on display.

It's time to buckle down, put first things first, and get back into writing more consistently.

Running:
I hit a milestone this week! It's the first time I've ever had a bruised toenail! I'm so proud!

Can you tell?! (It's the little purple dot on my second toe!)

If I'm being honest, I must admit all my runs have been tough lately. My pace has slowed down significantly. When I was doing the summer run streak, I took 40-60 seconds off my pace; now I'm back up almost 90 seconds, despite doing speed-work and cross-training! I know adding distance and running on fatigued legs is probably the cause, but I'm pretty discouraged at how slow (for me) I feel lately.

MLK run...6.5 miles of lead-legs.

All I can do is keep chugging away. I know the tides will turn again.

Weekend:
We spent the long weekend enjoying the weather. Matt had a SUP race and three of our friends also paddled! Sean came to paddle straight from the half marathon some of my Ragnar teammates ran!

Super happy for them!

I was impressed. Everyone placed, which was awesome, and Matt came in first overall!

Tell me about your "3 R's"!
Did you have a long weekend in honor of MLK?

ABK