30 Day Challenge
30 Day Challenge
As some of you know, I’ve become a fan of Bikram Yoga, a 90 minute Hatha yoga class done in a room kept at a sweltering 104 F. I’ve been going regularly since November and have seen some remarkable changes in strength and flexibility. But it ain’t easy. Bikram Choudbury, the man who “invented” hot yoga, calls the studios “torture chambers,” and first-timers quickly understand why. (2023 UPDATE: Bikram is a loon plus an awful human being. Most studios have dumped his name and now it’s just HOT YOGA. I’ve moved somewhat off-grid since this post, and now do yoga alone, under normal, life-sustaining conditions.)
So why would I put myself through this?
Writing is a sedentary occupation and immobility has its risks, especially with age. I’ve already been told by a physiotherapist that I’ve got the beginnings of a “dowager’s hump” (and how sexy is that?) and I got tired of constantly having a sore neck/shoulder/back/fill-in-the-blank. I needed to do something to improve my fitness.
I’ve enjoyed various kinds of yoga over the years. I loved Kundalini yoga, but when Claire, my favourite instructor, left, it wasn’t the same. Plus, after I totalled my van leaving the gym parking lot, which kind of negated the relaxation, I couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to return. Power yoga was a good workout, but a little weird, too much chanting for my taste. Iyengar yoga was great, challenging and fun. Until I did a head stand. I was so proud! I actually did it!
Of course, the next day, I couldn’t move my neck. Note to self: head stands aren’t good for the hump.
The first time I tried Bikram, I thought I’d pass out. So hot. So much sweat! Surely I’d be crippled with stiffness the next day. But to my shock, I wasn’t the least bit sore. So I went back and have been going more or less regularly since then.
And now I’m ready to try a 30-Day Challenge. 30 classes in 30 days. One 90 minute class every day for a month. Wish me luck.
At the same time, I’m challenging myself to work on my current manuscript every day for 30 days. I’ve been suffering pretty severe writer’s block (more on this in a future post) but I’m ready to gently get back to work again.
It’s Day 1. Time to get writing. Yoga at 3:30. Stay tuned.
Another November, gone
Another November, gone
And yes, I’m a NaNoWriMo winner once more. National Novel Writing Month is becoming an annual event for me, a challenge accepted by novelists around the world, to write at least 50,000 words in a new project. Does this result in publishable material? Are manuscripts completed successfully based on these rapidly-churned out piles?
I know some writers have sold the books they begun during NaNoWriMo. So far, I haven’t. (Psst: that happens in 2012 and then things get going.)
But here’s the way I look at it: every successful endeavor is the result of hours and hours of practice. 10,000 hours, to be exact, if you believe Malcolm Gladwell. I read somewhere that this translates in novel terms to about a million words.
A million words.
Think about that. I’ve had, roughly speaking, about 400,000 words published, so far in my career. That’s, say, 100 articles and essays, a handful of short stories, seven short non-fiction books and one novel.
But I’ve also written a lot that hasn’t sold. Journal entries by the trunk-load (that will NEVER be read by anyone, except possibly some tabloid hack once I’m famous – and very. very dead.) Two more complete novel manuscripts. One almost-complete novel manuscript. A half-dozen half-done novel manuscripts. A handful of novel synopses that may one day turn into something. Or not. Some really bad poetry. A few blog posts.
Let’s say that translates t0 another 400,000 words. That puts me at 800,000 words. NaNoWriMo 2010 puts me at 850,000 words, which means I’m 150,000 words away from that one million mark.
There’s no guarantee, of course, that hitting that magic number will suddenly heave me onto the New York Times bestsellers list, or that I’ll even sell something.
But each project teaches me some tiny thing I didn’t know before. Every manuscript I thrash out through to completion earns me new skills I didn’t have before. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell the stories I yearn to set down on paper, they way I imagine they could be written. And even if I do, there’s nothing to say someone will pay me to publish them.
All I can do is keep pushing forward with my craft, practicing discipline, exercising my imagination, enjoying my creativity.
Moving a Mountain
- At March 19, 2010
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 0
Moving a Mountain
Do you want to see what I’ve been working on this past year? Actually, it’s been more like seven years, which is how long we’ve been in this house, but I only got serious about it a year ago. We have a large yard, but it’s built into a rocky slope, covered with loose fill that is the perfect medium for thistle and blackberry brambles. After I discovered that the coyotes had actually made themselves a blind amongst the weeds, from which to stalk our pets, I said THAT’S IT. Time to landscape.
See? Even the snow can’t cover the weeds. It’s very private, and jam-packed with potential… mostly unrealized. My husband estimated that it would cost somewhere between 30 and 60 K to do what we want. (It used to be that any project I wanted to do would cost $700. He just pulls numbers out of his, um, hat, mostly to shut me up.) So I kept imagining how awesome it could look… and quit talking about it.
Until last fall, when I lost it and attacked it myself. With a pick-ax.
Hubby had been largely AWOL, finishing his MBA, and I needed to destroy something. Can’t spend the money to landscape the yard? Fine. I’ll do it myself. Stand back, MBA guy. I’ve got tools and I’m not afraid to use ’em.
I started digging, just far enough to a) realize what a herculean task I’d undertaken and b) make it look actually worse than before, forcing me to finish the job.
Frank, the gentleman who’s helping me reach the finish line, is a Rock Star. See all those large, nicely cut hunks of stone? He hauled them all up there by hand. He cut the beautiful stone steps into the slope and he built the rock wall just below the first evergreen. So now I’m into the incredibly fun part – arranging the plants. Well, I’ve got a lot of grunt-work left; rocks to arrange, landscape fabric to cover, bark mulch to haul and spread… but it’ll be worth it.
What does moving a mountain have to do with writing? Besides the obvious benefit of creative procrastination?
Anyone who’s ever tried to write a book will understand the metaphor immediately. It’s so hard, and once you get to a certain point, you simply have to do the grunt-work to get it done. You can’t believe you started something that is so obviously past your ability to complete. You’re embarrassed because so many people keep asking how it’s going and you have to lie and say you’re almost done, just a few more revisions now, just a tweak here and there and it’ll be ready for submission. Or you start into a hideous, self-deprecating explanation of how your self-esteem has been in the toilet and you doubt the idea was any good in the first place, and your shoulders are seized up so you can’t type, and your publishing house went bankrupt, and your editor is a mean, mean man who doesn’t understand you and THAT’S why the book isn’t done yet.
Or you keep all that stuff for your journal, write the damn book, then go outside and work on your dirt farm.
I’ll let you know when the book comes out. I’m almost done, just the final scene to write, some character layering, a few plot points to fix…
Until then, doesn’t my yard look GREAT??