Low-fat or Bust!: 4 Weeks of Healthy(ish) Living

In less than two weeks I'll be heading to Wyoming for a one month writing residency at Jentel Artist Residency Program. One of the main things about my upcoming travels is that I will be secluded in Wyoming away from the rowdy life of NYC and in turn will be away from all those wonderful restaurants and bakeries that I frequent and love. The main point of this residency is being spirited away from all the distractions of the city and having time and space to write. Part of that is also looking after yourself.

While some residencies have chefs on-hand to cook for residents many don't. One of my main responsibilities besides writing will be to cook meals for myself of which I will be supplied a weekly stipend.

Now, cooking (as you may have noticed) is not something I'm a stranger to. But, being far away from stores and such in a whole new environment for a longer duration of time is something to get accustomed to. Wyoming is not another country, but I don't know how much they have in terms of options for those wanting to pursue healthy living or those who may be lactose intolerant or vegans. New York City has an array of options, restaurants, night life, 24 hour delis and so on. I highly doubt Banner, WY will have as many options as I am spoiled by here. And since I'll be without a car for the most part I'll be relying on the kindness of strangers to take me into the town of Sheridan (population 28, 662 as per the 2008 U.S. Census).

The goal while in Wyoming is to make and eat items that make me feel good and more productive. I've done my part to make meals "healthier": use ground turkey or chicken instead of beef, use olive oil and not any other oils or butter when frying, using the low-fat/reduced sodium version of whatever I could find instead of the full fat. And sometimes it's hit and miss with these things.

I've also purchased or obtained cookbooks with supposedly "good recipes that are good for you." One of which was Devin Alexander's Biggest Loser Family Cookbooks. Of the several recipes I made I only liked one, and then upon reheating didn't like it. This was the low-fat meatballs (made with quick oats instead of bread crumbs) and cutting corners on a lot of other less healthy items. All of these dishes were very low in fat, but the taste just didn't keep. In fact the taste was barely there if non-existent. I've also tried a few recipes from the Cooking Light 2009 recipe copulation cookbook that didn't pan out. A risotto that wasn't too tasty and pumpkin biscuits that tasted more like dough than biscuits.

So, let's consider this my next project for 2011. Going a month on a low-fat, health conscious cooking spree! A couple of books I have on-hand to help are the Cooking Light 2009 (yes I'll give it another try since there are hundreds of recipes available) and also My Italian Kitchen by Janet Zappala which includes healthier versions of classic favorites like baked ziti and key lime pie.

I'll also have in my arsenal many Food Network recipes, particular ones from favorites like Giada DeLaurentiis and even Jamie Oliver. I'll try to stay away from Paula Deen recipes (as good as they are) which are just loaded with needs for dairy (in particular butter). I'm doing my research and checking out food blogs I like to see their progress and welcome any suggestions.

So what will I be holding myself to while away? The following are just a few items I can think of off-hand:

-Very little red meat. At most 1-2 meals containing it for the 4 weeks I'm away.

-Very little if any baked goods. (I know, I know. Why not just shoot myself? But it must be done.) At most 1-3 desserts for the duration of my stay. And by that I mean 1-3 servings, not pan of brownies = 1 dessert.

-Eat at least 3 servings of fruit and veggies a day. I tend to meet this during the week at work, not so much on weekends at home though. Hopefully I'll be able to go above this while in Wyoming.

-Bake rather than fry items. Again, something else I do while at home, but when I travel my healthy eating tendencies tend to go AWOL.

-1 takeout meal a week or every other week. By this I mean pizza or Chinese or whatever may be available for me to pick up during our weekly outings.

-Snacks should be 100 cals or lower per serving. So basically try to stay away from high calorie/high cholesterol snacks. Meaning more organic, natural things and less fried, processed items.

-Eat more fiber! (Oatmeal! And not oatmeal cookies!)

-Incorporate seafood as much as possible. I tend to eat shrimp a lot, but should eat more fish and find the best types to eat that offer good vitamins and such to promote a healthier lifestyle. And preferably, make sure these items aren't fried. (Sigh, no fried calamari.)

-Exercise at least 40 minutes a day. (Since I won't have to go to work for the most part this shouldn't be an issue. I should be able to make time to write and exercise pretty much everyday and perhaps even go over this amount if not double it per day.)

I'll more than likely add to this list as time goes on. But for the most part I know this is doable because I already do it or won't have the distractions to keep me from being more proactive and healthy. I look forward to Wyoming and some fresh air and some healthy habits. Heck, they may even stick when I return!

Quick Note: Awesome week creatively!

This has been an eventful week for me creatively. Artists always have moments of self doubt and I've had mine for years and years. While I've had some successes I hadn't really put myself or my writing out there until recently. And I touched upon this in an essay I submitted to Poets & Writers magazine for their "Why We Write" series. So this past week I met with some friends of mine who I admire as people and fellow artists. I asked for some feedback about some flash fiction I'd been working on. One for years and another just a few months. The one I was working on for years was only 1,000 words--at times less or more--and had drained me to the point I didn't know how to fix it until I got a suggestion or rather someone was confused on a plot point and it hit me that this could be a way to take it further. I got decent feedback in my old writing group and revised for my friends. When I met with them they said I was close and I hit upon the core of the story. It flowed and worked better than the original versions. Hot damn I'm close! Very happy making news.

When I got home from meeting with them that day I got an e-mail from one of the residencies I was wait-listed for. There was a spot open and I was being considered. Was I interested? Hell yes! I followed up immediately and within 12 hours was informed I had a residency in less than 4 weeks to prepare for! Very exciting. My boss gave me the thumbs up to take a month off of work and I was home free!

Since I had just submitted applications to conferences as back up I had to rush and request that they not cash the checks they received. In hearing back from Napa Valley Writers Conference and being informed my checks would be returned I was also told that my submission was well received and that had I kept my application in the running I would've been invited to the conference. Awesome!

And tonight, just a few minutes ago I was looking through the results for the NYC Midnight Short Story competition I was involved in in February. While I'd gotten helpful and positive feedback I wasn't as confident in my piece as I'd mentioned in my post. Well, turns out my story was voted as one of the top 5 in the heat! I was number 3, not a finalist, but still in the top. Again, awesome!

So, for someone who's always doubting their work, who's always wondering if it's good enough, this week has given me a few boosts to believe more in my art, myself, and in going forward whether it takes weeks, months, years and what-have-you. I owe it to myself and others to keep going.

In summary, thanks to everyone this week and from my past and in my future for your support! It means a lot.

The "Working" Writer

As artists in general we strive to have our work seen, heard, read, and understood the world over. We don't necessarily seek fame and fortune (though that doesn't seem like a bad perk), we mainly want to have our voices (i.e., our work) available to the public, critically acclaimed perhaps. There are many ways to do this, especially in today's world of blogs, e-zines, self-publishing (something I'll get into in an upcoming post), the vast array of literary magazines (available in print and online), and so on and so forth.

We aim to become a working artist--in my case a working writer. While I consider myself a "working" writer this term conflicts with the one posed at the beginning of this paragraph (notice the nice quotation marks).

What I mean by the difference is that I consider a working writer to be someone along the lines of Jennifer Egan, Stephen King, Laini Taylor, Suzanne Collins, Toni Morrison, Junot Diaz, Jonathan Lethem, and the list goes on and on and on. These writers primary occupation is, you guessed it, to write. Many of them may teach and go on to do lectures or work as facilitators at conferences or write articles for various publications or do anything that is in line with their primary occupation, but they can also afford (in the financial and possibly even spiritual sense) not to do these things and focus solely on creating. Authors such as those listed have achieved a following, a longevity that allows their names to pull in interest from fans old & new and to proceed to write with deals already under contract even if they have no idea what the next project may be. These are the authors that may draw a crowd at readings, but also have some guaranteed sales and following and critical acclaim. (The ones I have listed are more high-tier authors, ones that wouldn't be considered mid-tier or low-tier because of the revenue generated from the sales of their books alone.) Being a high-tier author is what many "working" writers aspire to.

In contrast, I, among many others, am a "working" writer. Meaning, I am working in a separate career to help me fund and establish myself as a writer. The "working" writer is a jumping point for all of us, the authors listed above included, as we start off and progress to become that sought after figure people will wait hours or at least several minutes in line to get a copy of your work signed and sealed just for them.

The "working" writer has a job, maybe even several, but the primary one is the one that pays the bills, covers the cost of utilities and internet and Microsoft Word or any word processor program and eating and drinking and fees for Netflix or late library books. A "working" writer may or may not loathe said paying job. The "working" writer's secondary or tertiary job is the art itself (often unpaid).

The "working" writer spends money on graduate degrees and post-graduate degrees and probably continuing education classes as well as money on workshops, conferences, and residencies (be they the event itself or just on the application fees alone). The "working" writer pays contest fees and postage to submit their work for consideration by someone who deems it 'powerful' or 'enlightening' and may win a cash prize to balance out the costs, but often not. The "working" writer makes ends meat, but is willing to pay hundreds of dollars to have a professional review their work before they send it out for serious consideration.

The "working" writer may choose to self-publish their book and from then on spend much of their time and cash on publicizing something with little or no help from outside sources. The "working" writer makes time to write and doesn't have that luxury of doing so at any time of day or solely when it strikes them, no the "working" writer has to squeeze in that time before, after, and maybe even during work to get in a word count taking them that much closer to the conclusion of their piece (or pieces).

The "working" writer networks and schmoozes and has self-made business cards to hand out at any and every given turn, just in case. The "working" writer has the gall to ask you to look at their work and hound you until you fulfill that passing promise of "getting back to them when you can." The "working" writer will hold onto every contact they have, just in case. The "working" writer will take whatever time off they have from their paying job to go to attend something related to that secondary non-paying gig that we hold so dear it almost suffocates in our grip. The "working" writer doesn't quit, just keeps going, keeps writing, keeps revising, until they know in their heart they're done.

So, yes I am a "working" writer. I'm a writer working to have the story collection I've been daydreaming and evening dreaming about for the past several years come to fruition in a nicely bound book for the masses. I'm a writer working to strengthen their voice and their message so that not a page is wasted on a potential reader. I'm a writer working to entertain and enlighten while receiving the same from both working writers and "working" writers.

In aspect to the art itself and seeking to produce to engage an audience there is not much difference between the working writer and the "working" writer. Yet, from the perspective of the "working" writer the grass seems much greener on the other side.

My NYC Midnight Submission (Short Story)

So, I received some feedback in regards to my submission for last month's NYC Midnight Short Story Competition on the NYC Midnight Forum page. (Thanks Lee, Mari, Joe, and Julie!) But, I was informed that it's preferred that you post your submission on an outside source. So, voila here is my piece! I was designated the romantic comedy category and my subject was 'a first impression.' In my previous post I noted I went through a lot of false starts before sticking on something and even then I wasn't a huge fan. But I may like it more now than I did a couple weeks ago.

This is a first draft, or as Laini Taylor might say zero draft. Meaning that I wrote it, edited it down for word count and that was it. I didn't make many edits in terms of structure or characters or anything. I haven't looked at it since really. (Letting it marinate for the time being.) I tend to go over my stories with a fine tooth comb and then still not think they're good enough. So perhaps, when I decompress, I'll take a look and figure out how to make this work, but feedback is always and happily welcome! But if anything feel free to read and judge me internally too. Whatever works.

I present to you..."Family Dinner"...

Family Dinner

Carol comes outside before I’m able to ring the doorbell. She hugs me tight, pulling me real close so I can feel every breath coming from her chest.

“I’m excited and nervous and I think I may vomit,” she says.

I look at her face, reddening and round. Her brown eyes wide as she bites her thick lips. Lips I’d like to kiss right now but have a feeling we’re being watched, hence her rushing outside to greet me.

She releases me from her death grip and attempts to smooth down her unruly dark curls then straighten her blouse.

I stand there admiring her, trying to pace my breathing and try to look as calm as I say I am. Tonight I’m introducing myself to her family as her girlfriend for the first time on top of the fact that they may not be ready to accept the divorce that became final several months ago. Either way I take a deep breath; raise the sparkling cider in one hand and the pie I have nestled in an eco-friendly bag in the other, and nod that I’m ready.

“Here goes,” she says. She opens the door and I plaster on a smile I have no intention of removing. With a slight side motion of her head she welcomes me in. The hallway is pristine with beige walls and carpeting. I’ve been here before, but never when everyone else has been around. As soon as I step in and look to my left inside the living room I see them, lined up, studying me.

Carol keeps herself a foot or so away from me. We established we won’t be touching, much, tonight. Going slow until everyone’s comfortable or at least seems so.

“Kids. This is Samantha…my girlfriend,” she states. Her smile is tight and her eyes linger on her three children. The kids look at her, me, and back at her waiting.

“Say ‘hello’,” she urges.

“Hey,” they mumble.

From what I’ve been told it seems they’re in age order. The youngest girl age six at one end, the middle one age eleven in his proper spot, and the eldest age thirteen at the other end. The two bookends look exactly like Carol with the dark eyes and hair and the cleft in their chins. The middle one is a red-head with a buzz cut and freckles and a bit pudgy compared to the little sister on his right and the older brother on his left. Not only does he stand out because he doesn’t look like the other two, but because his eyes are as big as Carol’s and he’s glaring at me with something I sense, no, know to be hatred. His mouth is skewed and pouty, his arms crossed like he’s expecting me to do magic or something to impress him.

“Sam, this is Becca, Bryan, and Jake.” Becca does a mock curtsy when she hears her name. The boys give me a semblance of a nod at theirs.

“Nice to meet you guys and gal. I brought sparkling cider and apple pie.”

The sound of a “pfft” goes by so fast I’m unable to catch from whose mouth it comes from, but Carol glares at Bryan suspecting him immediately.

“The cider has glitter?” Becca asks.

“No, it’s bubbly,” I say.

“How’s it sparkle?” she asks.

“Well, it doesn’t technically. It’s just bubbly, like soda.”

“No sparkles?”

“Nope.”

Becca scrunches up her face as if she doesn’t understand and tilts her head to the side. She looks over at Bryan then at her mother, I’m assuming for some guidance.

“I don’t get it,” she finally admits.

“How about we call it bubbly cider?”

She nods her acquiescence at this.

Carol claps her hands together. “Well, dinner’s ready. How about we sit down and have some bubbly cider.”

The kids give off shrugs and march in line with. I watch them go quietly through the living room into the dining room and take their seats.

Carol nudges my body with hers, says she thinks it’s going well.

The kids all sit on one side of the rectangular table, leaving me and Carol on the other. Carol had mentioned that she didn’t want us to sit at the heads of the table, it’d give the kids of a sense of having to adjust too quickly, especially since that’s how her and her ex-husband sat, him at the head near the kitchen, her at the other end near the doorway leading to the hallway and the kids spread between.

Carol made a nice spread of wax beans with garlic, roast chicken, and rosemary potatoes. As I settle in for a seat she takes my pie to the kitchen.

The kids look back at me and I start to wonder what’s going through their minds. Do they think me an interloper or a smiling idiot? She told me about the kids but wanted me to meet them for myself.

Jake looks bored. He flips open his cell phone every so often while Carol’s in the kitchen. As soon as we hear her voice from the kitchen he shuts it and looks up almost wanting to make sure no one is going to divulge his secret.

Becca’s a cutie pie, every few moments she smiles at me with closed lips than at her brothers at anyone who’ll notice and smile back. Carol mentioned she was inquisitive, always wanting to know specifics. It made it hard for Carol to try to tip-toe around her lesbianism.

And then there’s Bryan. He holds my gaze the whole while making me so uncomfortable that I’m the one who has to look away.

The food smells delicious and everyone’s sitting politely. The kids hands are folded in their laps and they look so pristine, like they just came out of a Hans Christian Andersen film.

“So, do you guys always dress up for dinner?”

Jake cuts his eyes at me. “No,” he snaps. And I realize I hit a nerve. Carol may have made them dress up for me, to make a good impression.

“You know you didn’t have to. I mean if you want to change your clothes into something more comfortable, that’d be fine with me.”

They all look at each other and shake their heads. “Doesn’t matter,” Jake says eyeing something in his lap rather than looking at me.

I reach for my glass of water, notice Bryan lean over and whisper in Becca’s ear. “Okay. I just want you to know that­­­­—“

“If you’re Mommy’s girlfriend, than you have relations?” Becca asks.

At that question my hand knocks the glass over and I can’t help but scream “shit” at the top of my lungs as I jump out of my seat.

Jake and Becca’s eyes widen, but Bryan sits calm, the same demeanor of him watching me, waiting. I think I see a slight curl in his lips at me being disheveled and cursing at the question his sister was made to ask.

“Your girlfriend said a bad word, Mommy!” Becca shouts.

Carol runs into the room with the cups in between her fingers, panic clear on her face.

“What happened is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I wipe away the water spilling into my lap and start to dab at the growing pool on the table. “I don’t know why I freaked out so much. It’s just water. Life’s natural lubricant.”

Carol stares at me for a moment before emitting a nervous laugh.

“Okay, well. Why don’t we all eat then?”

Carol and I settle down. She passes the cups out to the kids and pours them the cider. Becca reaches out for hers quickly looking at the bubbles floating to the top. She smiles at me and mouths “bubbly” then focuses back on the champagne-colored liquid.

“You didn’t answer Becca’s question.”

I look up to see Bryan still staring at me, his arms crossed as he leans back in his chair waiting.

“That’s a real personal question, Bryan. I don’t think I should answer it, especially here at the dinner table.”

“And I don’t want to know,” Jake chimes in.

“What doesn’t Jake want to know?” Carol asks.

“We can talk about it...” I trail off and end up announcing that we should eat. “Everything looks delicious.” I squeeze Carol’s arm before diving into my meal.

As I take a bite of her chicken, I see out of the corner of my eye Bryan poke Becca and nudge his head in Carol and my direction.  Before I can swallow and shut down the her next question she screams “I asked about sex, Mommy!” as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Carol covers her mouth and I hear “oh Jesus” escape her lips.

Jake puts his hands over his ears and announces, “Seriously, if you guys talk about this, I’m leaving.”

“No one’s going to talk about it,” I assure him and glare at Bryan. “I think it’s great that Becca is curious, but we won’t talk about things like this at the dinner table or at all.”

“Lots of people do it,” Bryan states.

“I know that, Bryan.”

“So why can’t we talk about it?”

“Because it’s something that adults talk about and adults alone.”

Bryan lifts his hand and jabs his thumb towards his brother. “He talks about it all the time with his friends.”

Something clangs against the floor and Jake shoots up from his seat. “I do not!” he asserts to the whole table. To Bryan he promises a slow death.

“Calm down!” Carol shouts amidst the commotion.

“Like Sam said, sex is natural and it’s fine. I have no problem with talking about it. I promised all of you I’d be honest with you from now on and that’s a promise I intend to keep.” Carol looks to me and smiles, “No more secrets.”

While I admire her for wanting to be forthright with her family I feel my stomach rumbling and flopping around at whatever is about to take place at Carol’s insistence.

“When two people like each other, a lot, they are intimate and have…”

Becca finishes the sentence for her mom, “Relations!”

“That’s right. But you only have it,” she wags a finger at all three of her children, “when you love someone. Not when you don’t love them. And especially not when you don’t know them or like them.” Under her breath she hisses, “You understand me, Jake.”

He nods not meeting her eyes.

“And that’s that.”

“So you had relations with Daddy?” Becca asks.

“Yes, that’s how you three angels came about.”

Bryan pipes up. “So you stopped because you don’t love Dad anymore?”

“Oh…well. I told you guys it was a mutual thing.”

“That wasn’t mutual. Dad told us so!”

“He told you what?”

“He said you said you weren’t into marriage with a man anymore. And then you brought all these women around.”

At this point I can’t help but ask, “All these women?”

“It wasn’t a lot, I swear, Sam.”

“Can I be excused? I think I threw up in my mouth a little,” Jake says raising his hand like he’s in school.

“No! No one is leaving this table until some things get cleared up. One, never, ever have sex unless you’re married. Two, your father and I broke up because I realized we weren’t good together anymore. I love your father, he’s a good person, but we’re just not good together. Three, anyone you met before Sam doesn’t matter. Okay? Sam is here to get to know us as we are, a family, and that includes Daddy. So, are there any other questions or can we eat in peace?”

Bryan and Becca raise their hands just like Jake had.

Carol drops her fork and places her head in her hands. She lets out an exasperated sigh before asking the two what they want.

“Relations sound the same as when you and Dad had ‘em. And you weren’t married to those other people we met,” Bryan states.

Carol smacks the table. “You can leave the table, Bryan. Now.”

He points to his plate and Carol waves him away. He takes it with him into the living room. We hear the sounds of crashes and explosions come from the television in the living room within minutes. Without a word Jake follows Bryan’s lead taking his plate into the living room also. He thanks God on his way out.

Becca sits still with her hand in the air, she starts to wave it to get her mother’s attention.

“What is it, Becca?”

“Can I have ice cream?” she asks and smiles big, revealing a gap in her bottom front teeth.

“Yes, anything you want. Enjoy.”

Once we’re alone I turn to Carol and ask, “So exactly how many were there before me? And did they get action faster than I did?”

Carol’s head slides from her hands to the table and she narrowly misses her plate letting her forehead connect with the table with a thump.

Bryan’s sitting on the porch when I come out. He’s looking at his feet and swishing them to and fro.

“You aren’t cold out here?” I ask.

He doesn’t turn to look at me, keeps at what he’s doing.

“I know we didn’t have the best scene in there. And maybe your mom and I are just fooling ourselves in thinking that this would go smoothly. We needed to ease you kids into it.” I bend down so that we’re eye level. I see him for what he is. The odd one out protecting his family. Us getting together would probably mean edging him out in some way. I noticed the pictures of the family and Bryan is the one who’s closest to his father in looks and compatibility. I reach out to touch his spiky hair but just let my hand hover above his fiery mane and think better of it.

“I’m not here to edge anyone out. I just want everyone to be happy.”

He mutters something and when I ask him to repeat himself I hear the words, “That’s naive.”

I can’t help but laugh and agree with him by shaking my head.

“Yeah, it probably is. But I’m naïve. Naïve and idealistic.”

“Optimistic,” he adds.

“That too.”

We sit in silence for a bit he looks up to the sky and at his feet and around their front yard.

I slap my thighs and tell him I’ll be off. “See you around, I guess,” I say over my shoulder. As I pull out my car keys and click the remote to unlock the doors I hear Bryan call my name.

I turn around to see him standing up, one foot rubbing against the side of the opposite leg and he meets my eyes.

“You comin’ back?” he asks.

At this I shrug. “I guess.”

“Well, if you do. Chocolate goes a long way with me, lady.”

[(c) 2011 Jennifer Baker-Henry]

Your mission if you choose to accept it: NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge

Yesterday at 11:59 pm the deadline for the first round of the NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge concluded. I and thousands of other writers toiled for eight days to successfully, or by the 11th hour mark, complete said challenge. There are various heats where writers are placed in and you must do your best. Genres range from comedy to historical to political satire to horror to suspense to romance and so on. My designation was romantic comedy and the subject I had to write about was 'a first impression.' When I first saw my heat I was a bit disappointed, but then figured this wouldn't be so hard after all. I write about relationships and have snippets of comedy in said pieces so how could I fail?

Well, day one brought me several ideas I scribed down and for more than two hours I started an idea I thought would work. But after said two hours (and those following me on Twitter can attest) I was not feeling said story and started another one. When this second piece didn't gel I took a break and did a virus scan on my computer and watched television. (Haha the perfect procrastination method.) After all was said and done I thought about taking snippets from a novella I wrote as my graduate school thesis and cut and paste some pieces to look at later.

Day two had me looking at the novella and creating a situation with two characters from this piece who had a romantic flirtation going on. Again, a few hours went into working on said piece and again there was no love for it. Yet another draft put aside.

Day three had me start something completely different this was draft four if memory serves and after a few pages this wasn't working either.

Now, by day four I had given up and decided to just wallow in sugar and Modern Familyand get some rest. I'd been carbo-loading all week so energy was low as was morale.

Day five had me consider my options as things were swiftly coming to a close. Reading and connecting and commiserating with other challengers who were still attempting to finish a draft let alone piece together their own ideas I realized that while I had great hopes of getting to the second round and showing off my, what in my mind are, superb writing skills I may just have to get used to the fact that what I submit may not be something I'm happy with. It's kind of like being all those people in the marathon who prepare for it knowing they won't win but just need to finish. Well, on days six and seven consider me on of them. Those people who run across the finish line by the time the television cameras stop paying attention to who passes that big ING (or whoever sponsored the event) arch.

The last day I woke up with an idea. Something I figured would work and I actually liked. I wrote said piece in a couple of hours and was over the limit. After letting it marinate for another couple of hours I cut it down to the requisite 2500 words then submitted. After that I rewarded myself by watching Paranormal Activity on Netflix.

Well, I was not happy with what I submitted. I knew it was subpar and not all that funny or romantic but at least was in the realm of what I was designated to do. I tweeted with a few other participants--cool people might I add--and realized that we probably aren't all too happy with our end result. Never having been in a writing challenge I knew it'd be difficult to create something based on specific designations. Working with prompts I've sometimes gotten my best work, I think, but being told what genre and subject to write about narrows down the field quite a bit and forces us writers to get out of our comfort zones.

I'm an avid watcher of romantic comedies and appreciate ones that really hit the nail on the head. As a writer of dramatic events I realized romantic comedy isn't that far off from drama. You take a dramatic situation and add some funny elements. Does it have to be funny throughout? Not necessarily, but it has to make the reader chuckle more than cry. I think I definitely came to appreciate those who consistently take to these challenges and also the thought process overall. When I write I tend to take an idea and just scribe and scribe and scribe and see what happens. It'll flow eventually or it won't. If it doesn't flow than it goes to the writing graveyard, that place where you may save items you'll never look at again or may delete into that nice trash can icon. But when it does flow man you get something going! You ask others to look and let you know what they think if it works and soon you want the whole public to see it! When it flows you love it and want to nurture it like a child until it flourishes into that piece of art you want it to be. Sometimes it takes days, weeks, in my case months if not years. But in the form of the NYC Midnight challenge you get a little over a week if not less.

I look forward to the feedback I'll receive for this challenge and think that the story I submitted is one I may go back to and try to tighten because I do like it. At best it's the stepchild I may consider nurturing as my own if not the one I gave birth to and feel a strong affinity for. So, we'll see. I know I'm not headed to the second round for sure, but look forward to other challenges and seeing how I may progress or stay still. We'll see what the genre fairy deems fit to give me next time around.

Good luck to everybody and I can't wait to see what goes to round 2!