The Return of The Dancing Writer

I have been watching ballet video after ballet video because I’ve become more comfortable with the idea that I can reach the potential I want to reach. It may not be the level that a professional can dance, but I want it to be pretty darn close. I feel like Dance Augusta is going to do just that for me.

Grade IV is perfect for me right now. Yes, I am a little more advanced, but there are some things that I need to slow down on, jumps and adagio being two of those things. At Dance Augusta, the students do the same exercises every day and add on as time goes by, so this allows the students to work on everything…and I mean everything.

Grade IV is 2 1/2 hours long. We spent our time at the barre for an hour and some change, working on everything at the barre that you can possibly work on, which didn’t exist at my old school. At my old school, we only did the basic barre work, and, really, we only treated it like a warm-up. Barre work is so much more than that. Barre is where you develop the necessary strength and technique to be able to execute moves in the center.

I took a dance intensive at Dance Augusta almost two years ago, and I thought a long barre was really odd, and, frankly, annoying, but now that I’ve matured as a dancer and have become more serious, I see that it is probably more important than center work, because the barre is where everything begins.

I was surprised with the ease in which I was able to keep up with these exercises I had never done–mostly. I did stumble a few times. It made me realize that I’d come a long way since starting dance, even if I had ultimately become unhappy with my old school. But it was nice being able to slow down. The barre exercises themselves are more intricate, so they were by no means dull like the exercises below my level at my old school, but they still give me a chance to really concentrate on my technique and strengthen everything within me. Then there were stretches, which I love, and then some strengthening exercises for the core, back, butt, and the upper body (I hate upper body exercises, even with “girly” push-ups). We didn’t really do strengthening exercises like that at my old school. Technique class was mostly just an hour, so there really was no time. Then came the center, which lasted about thirty minutes.

Now center is where I did begin to struggle, but that’s because I didn’t know some of the exercises, and it’s not as easy to keep up with center work as it is with barre work. There were a few times I had to stop and look at where the girls were in the exercise. Luckily, with the petite allegro (tiny movements), which often consist of jumps, they are slow and meticulous, which is just perfect for me, and at the same time difficult. I’m used to doing faster jump movements, which is both harder than the slow ones at Dance Augusta, and yet easier, because the faster you go, the less you have to really roll through your feet–you just don’t have the time. But it’s nice to have these jumps slowed down because jumps have always been a little bit difficult for me. I think just about every girl in my class feels that way. But with these slower jumps, I have to actively concentrate on really rolling through my feet because at my old school, even when I first began, I never did any exercises that forced me to REALLY roll through my feet–I just had to think about making mango juice with my plie. But it’s good, and I’m SUPER hoping that after the summer intensive I’ll be a much better jumper. I’m primarily a turner, so anything with turns, I’m gold.

The adagio is also simpler, too, which is what I really need. I still struggle with balance, for whatever odd reason (because you think if you can balance in turns on pointe you could stand on one freaking foot with no problem), and having a simpler adagio will better built up my balance and clean up my technique. Adagio is slow movements, and often involves standing on one leg while your other leg is doing something else. Luckily at Dance Augusta, the other leg isn’t up for too long, even though it gets back up in the air just as fast. Then we moved to across the floor movements, which were chaines. It’s basically turning on two feet to get somewhere, usually spotting an object you want to reach. At this studio, the girls are still breaking them down, and I don’t even know how to break down a chaine anymore. So I just zipped by the girls, but now I know that’s kind of a rude thing to do. At my last studio, and I kid you not, I was taught that if you were faster than the girl in front of you, that you basically had permission to not necessarily mow her down, but get her out of your way. There was this one exercise where we were doing bourrees (tiny, quick movements on pointe), where the older girls had to chase down the less-experienced pointe students, and now that I think about it, that’s the stupidest exercise in the world, especially for girls who just started pointe.

At Dance Augusta, I’ve got to slow myself down, which is probably for the best anyway. Just cleaner technique.

Now on to pointe. These girls have been en pointe for half a year, and they haven’t even started center work yet. I’ve been en pointe for two years, and I pretty much don’t need the barre anymore. HOWEVER, I don’t mind taking it slow again, because the exercises won’t make me lose my ability to do pirouettes or anything else complicated on pointe. I was really tempted to practice some difficult moves while the girls were getting their shoes on, but I refrained from doing so because that could look very show-offish. However, I’ll probably be doing them before class starts, because I don’t know how long it’s going to be before they start doing pirouettes en pointe, when they’re still learning pirouettes in 4th on flat. There are only 6 grades at Dance Augusta, so I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t be starting pirouettes in grade V (because there is some separate advance pointe class or whatever), which is what I’ll be starting in the fall. At the same time, it’s good DA is slow with the girls. Pointe work should be taken slowly, especially if you’re only doing it twice a week, that way when you come to the center, you’re not struggling as much.

At my old school, girls who have been en pointe for only a few months are already doing pirouettes. They can do them, yeah. I’m not going to deny them their ability to do them, because the pointe classes there are 50 minutes, and you can do them 3x a week. But my old school and DA have a very different mindset. At my old school, it’s mostly about fun, so being at the barre doing the same exercises and never going into the center until you’re in your second year of pointe is not that school’s idea of fun. But it’s whatever. Personally, I think pointe work should be taken slowly, because the girls at my old school are now being pressured to do more because of the roles they have been given in Roar. For example, Wind is a role that includes a lot of bourrees. One girl at my old studio struggles with them. She had to literally be pushed across the floor to do them, and yet she was given the role of Wind. That’s all I’m going to say on that point.

So, yes, pointe work is much slower than where I’m at in terms of ability, but that’s okay. I took Grade IV so I could slow down in order to be where I want to be because at my old school, you’re not given that chance unless you’re in the performing company. At DA, you will do just about every possible exercise within those 2 1/2 hours. At my old school, the teachers had to pick and choose, so you’re not always going to do jumps every single class. That isn’t what I need. I need classes where we work on all things. Otherwise, I’m not going to get to where I want to be.

What was really neat, though, is that the pointe exercises we were doing at the barre were the EXACT same exercises I did when I started their intensive a few years ago. So it was interesting to see how far I’ve progressed. I remembered how I had to stop several times during the back-to-back exercises to stretch out my calves and roll my feet because they were screaming from pain. Most of the girls had to do that, so I know how they feel, but I didn’t have to do that at all during the thirty minutes of pointe work–and you don’t really stop in between exercises. This basically means my feet are used to being en pointe, and so what was once painful isn’t painful anymore.

As you have read, I had a great first day there, and I look forward to making this place my new dance home. I’ve warmed up to the girls pretty fast, but it’s probably because I’m much more outgoing now than I was when I first took the intensive. I mean, you have to be outgoing as a marketing trainee at Southern Siding!

By the way, I was almost physically dying at the end of class. But so was everyone else. I haven’t felt that way in a ballet class in a LONG while. And, yes, I am sore as I am typing this.

The Dancing Writer’s Departure

Let me preface this by saying this is not a departure from my blog. Oh, certainly not.  I am still trying to figure out how to build a following without busting my butt off by commenting on a million other blogs, friending those blogs, with the hopes that they follow me back, even though I understand they have no obligation to do so. I shouldn’t have to do that to build a following, because many successful blogs don’t have to. Having a lot of followers means nothing if I’m not having any interaction. But that is neither here nor there.

Me as Flower Fairy. A simple role, but one that taught me how to really move.

I call myself The Dancing Writer for a reason, and I think it’s time to talk about ballet, which I don’t do often enough to keep up with the title of The Dancing Writer. I’ve complained about it a little on Facebook and Twitter, if any of you have seen, which, I’ll take the blame for, was very unprofessional of me, but in the heat of the moment, you tend to do things you wouldn’t normally do, and lashing out is one of my faults. I rarely get angry, but when I do, I go from 0-180, which usually ends up in crying that lasts for a few hours. I do get upset, but that upset rarely leads to anger. In this case, I was immediately angry and was considering switching schools the moment I found my name.

To remain as sensitive as possible about the topic, I am not going to bash my previous school. It was a very good school. It was very fun. The teachers were great. I made some good friends there, and I have many positive memories. Being able to participate in The Roar of Love (2013) was one such fond memory I had. However, it is a recreational school, one that places priorities on company members over non-company members, which I don’t think is fair, as not every dancer there can afford the time nor money to be a company member, but it’s probably how the school earns its money to stay afloat–through sponsors and what not. And that school deserves to stay open because it has won many awards for a reason. But it might have been the wrong school for me all along, and I didn’t realize that until this year. I was blind because I started out with private lessons there with a wonderful woman named Rebecca, who made me want to start taking classes there. She was the only reason I did. She’s gone now, but I persisted in spite of her absence, because I was already used to the atmosphere and greatly adored the girls.

I never considered myself a role model to them. I didn’t sign up to be a role model. I signed up to dance. I think once I established myself as equals to them, and took them on as friends, that role model idea went out the window. And I wanted to be equal to them. I didn’t want any special treatment for being the only adult consistently taking classes and being serious about the art form. I also didn’t want the pressure of being a role model put on me. Sure, I could dish out advice to them with situations I’ve been in when I was their age, but really being able to talk to these girls and getting to know them made me realize that it’s possible to be 23 and still be able to relate to girls who are in their late or early teens. I had one who was pretty much a younger sister to me, because she did look up to me and sought me out for advice. However, she left for pretty much the same reason I did, which I will mention soon, and I miss her terribly. Otherwise, the other girls were my friends. Plain and simple. I interacted with them the way I interacted with my friends my age (albeit, I toned down the jokes and language), but I still acted plain silly with them, just as I would with friends of my age–even ones much older than I.

Even so, this year’s casting made me realize I wasn’t going to get any better, not just in casting, but in terms of skill. I have improved as a dancer, but I attribute that largely to the performance experience I had in Roar because it better taught me how to memorize longer combinations without stopping in the middle of one to remember what the next move was. However, without that performance experience, I don’t think I would have gained that betterment in my dance skills. The roles weren’t complicated, but they developed the memorization part of my brain, which I didn’t have when starting the school. They also developed that part of my brain where I didn’t need to think about what move came next. The moves were already in my muscles, so there was no need to think about them. I just did them.

This is Wind. It was my favorite role. I would have loved to have been Wind again.

Now it’s time to get down to the part that broke my heart. Last year I did not expect to be cast into Roar at all because of my status as an adult, and I was okay with that. I had no reason to expect it, so I had no expectations. However, when I received casting and decided to peruse it out of curiosity to see who received what role, I was surprised to find my name on there four times in three different roles: Flower Fairy, Spring Maiden, and Wind–2 casts. Because of last year’s casting in Roar, I felt this year I had every right to expect I was going to be in Roar–otherwise, it would have been plain cruel to not cast me. I was really banking on getting more challenging roles this year that would better me as a dancer. I could come away and say, ‘Yep! I did that role. I was able to do it, and now I’m confident I can improve as a dancer.’ That didn’t happen at all. I put so much hope and heart into casting and was on pins and needles, as was every girl at the school, about the casting. Ballet is as much of a passion as writing is, even though I have no plans to go pro.

When the cast list appeared in my Gmail, my heart jumped in my chest. However, when I perused the list for my name, I saw it only once. In cast two, as Spring Maiden, which I did last year. At the time the role was slightly challenging because it was probably a 4-5 minute piece and I hadn’t fully memorized it until the last two rehearsals, but I expected something more and didn’t get it.

At first I was angry, because I realized less-experienced girls, both on and off pointe, were getting the roles people at my level usually receive–so I wasn’t the only one upset about casting. All the girls at my level had been shortchanged (except for one), for one reason or another. But I won’t go into detail about that. All I can say is that the school probably depends a lot on sponsorships, and in order to keep those sponsors happy, they have to ensure that their children are happy at the school, lest they lose their sponsors, which are often the ones most active in the school. Casting is a HUGE deal at that school, as these girls are in 4 performances a year, and if they’re losing dancers because of casting, they could lose sponsors as well. So it’s no surprise; however, it’s very upsetting for someone such as me, who devoted two years to the school, was always able to afford tuition, who mostly attended dance classes regularly, and was very serious while in class. I especially worked hard this year, not only for myself, but to ensure I would receive a good role in Roar that would make me into a much better dancer, as I believe the girls are as good as they are because of the performances.

Some tried to persuade me not to quit, as there was always next year, but, not only did I know I was never going to get anything better, I also knew I didn’t want to stick around for another year to wind up in disappointment–again. I take ballet seriously, and I want to have fun with it, so I knew the passion for that school died when the casting came out.

I am not perfect, I still slightly struggle, but I have taken the highest level there, and I was surprised with my ability to keep up. I think I should have been struggling, but I didn’t. Even boys they pulled from an art school because they are in desperate need of boys, who had been with the school for not even two years and had never taken ballet prior to this school, were keeping up with the highest-level class. Granted, their technique isn’t strong, but they were able to keep up with the exercises. So I knew the challenge did not lie in the classes themselves, but in the performances.

So after realizing this, I had broken down in tears and could not be consoled for a few hours. I knew I was never going to get anything challenging beyond Spring Maiden, so to speak, because as the girls that move up in level and more join the company, I knew I was going to be slipped into whatever was left. Being in Roar is a privilege, and not a right, and I was made an exception when I was cast for Roar, but, even now that I have cooled off, I don’t think I should have been expected to be grateful to be cast at all, not when the prior year was better, especially considering I didn’t dance that much in the fall because of depression and hospitalizations. This year, I did dance more, so I was flummoxed. Even worse, I was not given a role en pointe, which would have deprived me of pointe work for three months. That is not a good thing for someone as serious as me who wants to improve.

As bittersweet as it is, I am moving on to another school, one that is a professional and not a performance-based one. At this school, if any of the girls are chosen to participate in The Nutcracker, rehearsal time is outside of class, and so does not eat up class time. Also, they only use certain girls–or boys–when they can’t fill all slots in their professional performance of The Nutcracker, so I won’t have to have any expectations. They also do demonstrations at the end of the year, but this is more for the parents. I don’t think I’d be allowed to be in one, but I wouldn’t be getting anything out of it anyway because I am the one who will be paying the school, so I know I am getting a good dance education and don’t need to prove it to anyone like the kids will have to for their parents. The point is that I can still participate in these demo rehearsals that are actual exercises done in class–not variations of ballet performances. This isn’t to say anything bad about my old school. This is just the reality. My old school may have never been a right fit for me from the beginning, but just because it isn’t a right fit for me, doesn’t mean it won’t be a right fit for someone else. In fact, many adults who really want to do ballet often retreat to the new school I’m going to so they can learn ballet in a more serious environment without being an exception to anything. My old school has an adult class, but it is purely recreational, purely for fun.

I am both nervous and excited. I am nervous because they have a set repertoire of exercises they do every day, so I’ll have some catching up to do. And I am excited because I know this school will help me bring out my full potential as a dancer. I probably should have gone there to begin with. After all, I did an intensive there. Even so, another reason I didn’t go to the school was because during that intensive, fibromyalgia really affected by legs horribly, and I attributed it to the intensity of the work, which is not found at my old school. However, I have learned that it is my ballet tights that aggravate my fibromyalgia, so I simply need to roll them up to my knees, and I am usually okay. I will also let the teacher know about my chronic pain condition. It has not really affected by ballet as of late, but I will be attending, twice a week, classes that are 2 1/2 hours long, so I do expect my fibro to pop up a little bit more. (Of course, my former rhume told me that without ballet, my fibro would be much worse, so you have to outweigh the benefits with the consequences. My fibro is really mild compared to a lot of cases, but I am also very limber.)

I start this Wednesday. Wish me luck!

Publishing a lot of Books a Year through the Perspective of Ballet

I have come to accept that I’m probably going to be a one-book-a-year writer, when originally I wanted to do more. I didn’t have the entire Stars Trilogy written out when AEC Stellar snatched up When Stars Die. I’ve finished The Stars Are Infinite and have sent it off (but I spent years on this book and half a year revising when I got back to it), but it likely won’t come out until late next year. Originally, I did want to write more than one book a year because of everything I’ve read among the self-publishing community that the best way to get noticed is to crank out book after book after book. I have one self-published friend who has done 4 since publishing her first book in February. Granted, I am not a self-published author. I am a small-press author. However, here is an interesting tidbit: there is a bestselling author, traditionally, with a small press, and her book is not selling best. At all. Not even Midlist level. I can’t figure out why this is. Is it because her fanbase doesn’t know about it? Is it because her fanbase is finicky about her books? Has her book not been marketed properly? I don’t know, but I suppose this proves that having a lot of books behind you doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to succeed. I mean, why crank out book after book after book, when you can focus on just getting the one book out there and building your base using that one book alone? Perhaps some of you authors can weigh in on this.

This is not the real cover art.

Now that I’ve accepted I will probably be a one-book-a-year author, I’ve come to realize that in spite of having one book beneath my belt, I still have a lot of doubts when writing a new book, doubts that can be sometimes outright terrifying. Back in the summer, I started a book about a suicidal teen rescued by a puppeteer and taken to this place where he can recover from his trauma, and then he’s eventually kidnapped by a crazed psychopath, essentially. The premise seemed promising, at first, but I couldn’t execute it, IN SPITE of having outlined the book twice. I couldn’t convey what I wanted to, so I shelved it and decided to get back to work on The Stars Are Infinite, knowing it’d be an easier task to tackle because I already had things I could work with from having the first book. Now that TSAI is off, I’m back to the book about the suicidal teen. However, I have made an enormous overhaul with the book. I mean, HUGE, and I’ll speak about those changes in another post to coincide with this one. This is why I can’t be a one-book-per-year author, because I make massive changes to my books so that they are virtually unrecognizable from the first draft, and that, in my opinion, is how it should be, because it’s that way for traditional authors and successful small presses who don’t function as author mills. Author mills don’t spend as much time on editing as successful small presses do. But, I dunno. Maybe I just need more hours in a day or something.

I don’t know what self-published writers who crank out a crap ton of books a year do–and I mean publish, not just write a lot of books in a year, and then spend the next year or whatever revising the heck out of each book. Do they write the draft and just basically spend time doing line edits and copy edits and then proofreads? Or do they spend all day writing so they can finish that book in a week or two and then spend the next month completely overhauling the book? I mean, what do they do? I know one self-published author who had published two of his books, but he already had them written before deciding to jump into the publishing waters, and even then he was doing revisions on them. He told me he had been working on both books for six years. Now his next book is going to be published by a small press. The author with 4 books did not have those books written when jumping into the waters. Her first one she did spend a long time on, but it kept getting rejected by agents, who loved it, but thought it too niche. So she self-published it from their validation alone. With the other 3 books, she wrote as she went. At the same time, she now has an agent, and this author will likely be spending far more time on this one book than on her self-published books.

I’m about to dive into some opinion waters here, but just to let you know, I will adjust my perspective if someone can explain something to me. So please do not feel insulted by what I’m about to say. My opinion may be coming from pure ignorance, as I am not among the self-publishing community. I know authors who are self-published, but, frankly, I am interested in those in the small press community since I relate to them more. I feel like those in the big press group are untouchable. Sure, they’ll talk to you on Twitter, but will they ever accept your request? Probably not. So, please inform me. I do want to understand. Lack of knowledge is not stupidity. Lack of knowledge is ignorance, and they are two entirely different things. Am I saying self-published authors don’t work hard? No. Of course they do, but I often wonder about those who crank out so many books a year. Could they have created better products had they spent more time on working on a single book than worrying about cranking out more than one or two books a year? I feel like it should be about the readers, even if they are few.

I don’t think it should take a month to revise a book, which is a complete overhaul of a book. I think it should take more than a month, and then perhaps another month to do line edits/copyediting along the way, then proofreads, then sending off to a beta reader, then to an editor if you’re going to self-publish. I really don’t think it should take such a short amount of time to create a book. I feel like even if that book does sell well, you’re shortchanging your readers by not giving them the best book possible, even if it does get rave reviews. After all, they don’t know they could get better. Sells and rave reviews matter to me, but so does getting the best book out there possible, and I can’t do that by revising a book in a month. In fact, I’d argue, for me, it should take half a year to write the book at my fullest before sending it off to a beta reader, and then probably another month working on their critique, then a few weeks proofreading. Maybe some authors are just more talented than me. I really don’t know. I have no clue.

Not on the box. Not turned out. Sous-sous should be tight. Both heels should be showing when properly turned out and sous-sous is tight.

So why do I feel like you’re shortchanging readers? Let’s look at it this way through the perspective of ballet: The average person who attends a ballet performance knows little about how ballet functions, yet, companies only accept the most polished dancers. So if the average person knows little about ballet, why accept polished dancers when the average person would probably be satisfied with dancers who are less-than-polished? I believe this is because the companies don’t want to shortchange their viewers when they know they can deliver the most stellar performance possible. Ballet is not like watching a movie, where a crap ton of new movies come out each year. Companies already have a repertoire of ballets they can perform, like Swan Lake and the like. Sure, new ballets are created, but they will always dance the classics. And a lot of these dancers have already performed many of the ballets done.

I know about ballet. I am among the ballet community. I have become more critical of the ballets my own studio puts on. They’re still fun, but I have noticed they’ve been casting dancers in difficult roles, roles they can manage, but the technique is sloppy because they haven’t been dancing long enough: toes not pointed, bent knees, lack of core, ect. On stage they can wow us, but in class, they struggle with technique. I wasn’t as impressed with The Nutcracker this year as I was the last time I saw it, not because of The Nutcracker itself, but because of a few dancers whose technique could not compare to the last dancers who performed those roles. I was not at all impressed by the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier (and we all watch The Nutcracker for those two characters). In fact, with the first performance, it was difficult for me to pick who danced best among the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier. This time, it was easy to pick: the Sugar Plum Fairy, but she has danced for years and has beautiful technique, as do the rest of the experienced dancers at my school. Could many of them go on to become professionals? Probably not, because professional companies expect a lot more than one pirouette, even if it’s perfect. But they have strong technique, even if they can’t always nail it, which professional dancers can do. However, my fiancé didn’t seem to care about the Cavalier’s performance. He still thought it was impressive, but it’s because he doesn’t know ballet like I do. He doesn’t know that you’re not supposed to do pirouettes on a bent knee, and the Cavalier did four on a bent knee, so I wasn’t impressed. He also did the male version of foutte turns, but his foot was not pointed, and he was improperly aligned. In any case, I would have rather have seen one pirouette on a straight knee than four on a bent knee.

However, ballets are not catered toward dancers. They are catered to your average viewer, who, even if they watch professional ballet after professional ballet, may still not understand ballet unless they are actually among the ballet community. If they see pirouettes on bent knees, they may think that is actually part of the performance. They don’t know you can never have a pirouette on a bent knee, unless they care to research how ballet is supposed to actually work. Then they’ll probably become more critical. Or maybe they can discern a mediocre performance from a professional one, but there is some leeway given between studios that are professional and studios that are not. I give leeway to the younger dancers because the purpose of those performances is to give them performance experience, but I am still impressed by the younger ones because I have seen them grow and become better. But would I pay the price of a professional show for my studio? No, as they are not a pro company. So among professional performances, if a dancer does a pirouette on a bent knee, again, viewers will probably think that it’s part of the performance because, well, those are professionals. And they, the average viewers, simply want to be entertained; however, companies want straight knees in a pro company and won’t allow anything less. This is why professional companies only want the best dancers possible, so that way they know the average viewer is receiving the best possible performance, and that they’re not insulting their viewers by allowing less-than-polished dancers into their companies. This isn’t to say book-after-book-after-book-self-published authors are insulting their readers. Not at all. Some of them may be talented enough that they can create the best book possible and publish a few more titles in a single year.

Even so, I feel like cranking out a lot of books are like those pirouettes. The best authors that I’ve read crank out one or two books a year, and this is among self-published and traditional. I would rather see one book on a straight knee than four on a bent knee, so to speak. And since I am a writer among the writing community, I can tell. Sure, even books trad publishers spend months on can still be mediocre in the market, because for them, it’s about sales, and if a mediocre book can bring in sales, then they’ll keep at it with that author. Even so, they’re still working hard on trying to create the best product possible, even if it turns out to be a flop, even if they end up editing it so much that they accidentally make it worse. But readers won’t know. Non-writing readers forgive a lot of grammatical errors that writers do not. Most readers who think books are mediocre anyway think those books should have been worked on more without knowing they’ve been worked on to death. I got to the point where I was so tired of editing When Stars Die that I wanted to scream, so I knew my book was getting there. So I want to create the best possible book for my readers, and I don’t think that can be accomplished in two months. In fact, the one who self-published 4 books spent only one month on a book before self-publishing it. What if this author could have created a better, stronger product by spending more time?

Simply put, I want my readers to have the best product possible, even if some may disagree, and I cannot accomplish this within three months. I don’t simply want to write lots of books to fast build a fanbase. And cranking out a lot of books doesn’t guarantee that. Certainly that could help greatly with sales, thus earning more money, but, again, I want them to be holding the best product possible, a work they know took more than one year to polish–including publishing people’s input.

So, for those who do aspire to crank out a lot of books a year, what is your process and just how do you do it?

What Is This Nonsense Called Free Time?

I’ll probably be blogging about ballet a lot simply because it is a regular part of my summer and it has gotten to the point where it has become quite challenging for me. Ballet has always been hard. In fact, the basics seem to become more difficult the better I get. But it is more challenging because it really requires more of the use of my mind. No longer can I depend on just flat out muscle memory to do the work for me.

But the difficulty of this week’s class was finally explained when the director mentioned he had been using the Russian method, which is supposedly the hardest method there is because they really use their arms and heads. Of course, because I had only received some Cechetti and I guess French, Russian is an entirely different language for me. But it explained why I’ve been having such difficulties this week–mostly at the barre today. Since I’m not used to Russian, of course I’m going to flail around, and because I haven’t been doing ballet for years, it’s going to be hard for me to immediately incorporate it, not like the other advanced dancers who can. So I eased up on self-criticism when it came to barre work. Even so, center was much better today. I was more coordinated and so was able to flow more with the moves. Now I’ve just got to work on getting springier jumps.  And pointe work went okay. I’ve just got to work on getting the minute details in combinations, those transition steps that help you flow from one move to the next.

As for my writing life, I have four chapters of Stolentime edited so far and plan to do a fifth today. The revisions are going along fairly smoothly and I don’t really see myself stumbling across any mental blocks. I am also editing a client manuscript, so I really can’t take on any other clients right now because there are never enough hours in the day. It’s either work or ballet, and so with the time outside of those two activities, I’ve got to squeeze in writing somehow–and editing.

I also may hold off on doing part 3 of Sister Evelyn until next week simply because I want to get in at least ten chapters of Stolentime before taking a break one day to work on Sister Evelyn. And I can’t forget When Stars Die, but it’s in line edits currently.

Also, I’ll probably start editorial work for a magazine my writer’s group wants to start. This one will likely be biannual though, whereas The Corner Club Press is every 2 to 3 months.

As you can see, I have a lot going on. I shudder to think about how things are going to pick up when I start class in the fall.

Some Balletic Determination and the Madness of Mental Blocks

Ballet class on Monday was rough. Since Ms. Toole is on vacation, the director of the school is doing our class this week. Now I love taking class with him because he is meticulous, but I think he sometimes gets carried away with exercises and forgets just what level he’s teaching. Granted, my level is one step below the most advanced class one can take, but still…compared to Ms. Toole’s class, the director’s class was pretty advanced in some exercises. I shined in pointe class, of course, because it seems like once I’m on my toes, I’m weightless

In spite of class being so difficult and me performing poorly half the time, I am not deterred from taking class tomorrow. If anything, I want to improve and am more determined than ever to take class just to see what I can do.

There is an interesting thing in ballet that is very much comparable to writing, and that is the tendency to stumble across deadening mental blocks. When it comes to across-the-floor exercises in upper level classes, that mental block wants to creep upon me because these exercises are where you’re performing in like two or three person cells, so the rest of the class is able to watch you. When you’re performing on stage, you can’t even see anyone, but in class, you can see everyone and everyone can see you.

The class on Monday was already slightly disheartening, so my brain was already trying to disengage itself from the exercise being shown. By the time we got to it, what was in my brain couldn’t go to my feet, even though the exercise was, for the most part, at my level. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it–it was that I had allowed myself to become so intimidated that the mental block overpowered me.

I know this happens in writing for a lot of people. You have it in your head, but you can’t get it on paper. Sometimes you come across scenes that you know are intimidating to write, and you find that mental block doesn’t let the words flow as they should. It’s very much different from a writer’s block. With a writer’s block, you have no idea what to write. With a mental block, you know what to write, but it’s not translating or won’t translate on paper. Mental blocks can be more terrifying than writer’s blocks because you wonder how you’re ever going to take what’s in your mind and put it on paper. As a ballet dancer, mental blocks are terrible. I want to so badly to be able to perform the director’s across-the-floor exercises, but I have to overcome that mental block, which is a lot harder than actually learning new movements because it is entirely contingent on my mind, not muscle memory.

But I’m going to go into class with a renewed sense of vigor and determination. It’s something I love enough to practice on my own in that thirty minutes before class starts. Sometimes, we just need to take breaks from what we’re doing to really assess our problems and get a thorough grasp on them because it’s ultimately intimidation that feeds those mental blocks. Tomorrow, I’m going to go in with a bring-it-on attitude because the only person really being critical is me.

Dance is not a lonely endeavor, and writing doesn’t have to be either. You aren’t competing with anyone but yourself, and so your only competition is to be better than y0u were the day before.

 

 

Ballet Summer Intensive Day One

It’s not often I talk about ballet on this blog, not because I don’t think it’s interesting but because it just seems like it’d be so random compared to everything else I’ve ever written. Like I always want to relate it to my writing life somehow, but I want to be able to write about ballet just for the sake of ballet.

As you all know, I am an adult ballet dancer who has done ballet for two years and been en pointe for one year. During those two years I have progressed through five levels and am currently in level six, or what is known as the Juniors level at my dance school.

Today started the summer intensives. I did summer intensive last year at another dance school because it was closer and required less gas, but this year I’m doing it at my home school because, well, I frankly love the school better than the other one.

I’ve been away from ballet for a month, and my poor legs are feeling it. My right knee aches for some unknown reason, and the tendon in my hip feels like it’s caught on something, but I don’t think it is. I would have been able to get away with not exercising for a month if I were doing level 5, but not level 6. I seriously wish I would have just walked the darned treadmill so my leg muscles could stay used to getting worked.

But juniors was both a challenge and an excitement for me. Compared to when I tried Juniors last summer, I have improved. Barre was just dandy, but I screwed up some in the center, which doesn’t bother me. After all, if I were perfect, I wouldn’t be in class. I’d be off dancing in some glitzy company. But I felt comfortable screwing up because the teacher is Mrs. Renee Toole, and she is a peach. She introduced herself to me and everything because I was the only face she had never seen before (I never had a chance to take a class with her because I usually work on Saturdays).

I know I need to work on spacing in the center because there are two girls in the class I dance with that I danced with in Level 5, and we were crammed on one another as we did our turns and jumps. I also need to work on honing my brain in on the exercises 100% because going from simple across-the-floor movements, like pique, jete entournant, to pique, jete entournant, tombe pas de bourre, pirouette, ect… is a heck of a difference and requires that my brain be very awake so I can soak in the exercise. But ballet class was so much fun and I look forward to Wednesday and Thursday. No longer am I afraid of the higher levels as I was last year.

Pointe class was a different story. During the summer, there is beginning pointe, pointe 1, and pointe 2. I thought pointe 2 was supposed to be my main class, but when she put a fouette turn in the middle en pointe, I realized pointe 2 is my challenge class and pointe 1 is my main class. I can do pirouttes en pointe and MIGHT get lucky to pull off an outward fouette en pointe, but I am certainly not ready for fouettes period en pointe, unless they are at the barre. But even though it was still challenging, I received the benefits of a good exercise and it will help me maintain my strength for pointe work.

But ballet is just plain fun for me, and I look forward to the rest of the summer. I will blog about any milestones I come across.

Dancer performing Fouetté en tournant. A dancer spots while performing .(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We’re All Professional Writers

For years I felt like I could never justify the scribblings that occurred in the back of my room, often for hours. I could justify it to myself, that I’m doing this so I can land this agent, this publisher, this whatever, but trying to tell anyone else that I was a writer sounded silly. I could easily say I was an editor because I do get paid for freelance gigs and have my own lit magazine, but a writer, never. I mean, how can you easily tell people that you’re a writer when you’ve never had a contract before? People want to know you’re making money off anything nowadays because then it makes more sense to them why you bother being a shut-in for months.

Now that I have a contract, it is so much easier for me to justify being a writer. “What do you do for a living?” “I’m a writer.” As well as my other various jobs that can earn me some cash. It’s also so much easier to tell people I need time to work on this new book. In fact, I told my fiancé yesterday I needed to leave his house early so I could finish the other chapter I started that day to meet my goal of doing two. I never would have done that before a contract. In fact, I would have felt guilty knowing that because I didn’t really have a career, there would have been no reason to leave my fiancé and that my time with him is invaluable. It still is more valuable, but I want to build my career to possible full-time writer, and to do that, I have to keep writing.

Why is it so much easier to justify being a writer now that I can officiate my career as a writer? Why can’t people just understand that art isn’t going to bring immediate results? In fact, why do I feel the need to justify anything to people who really don’t get it? After all, I have no problem telling people that I am an adult ballet dancer, even though I am far from being a professional. I proudly claim that title because so many adults wish they could do ballet but are afraid to and I am one of the few that doesn’t fear being a late starter.

English: Classic ballet-dancer Español: Bailarina de danza clásica (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If I can easily claim the title of adult ballet dancer, then I should be able to claim the title of writer without a contract under my belt. However, people think you’re so much more interesting when you tell them you’re a ballet dancer, especially when the ballet community is so small. They’ll tell you they did it when they were younger and wished they’d never quit. They’re convinced it’s too late, and perhaps that’s just it. People see an age limit on ballet and think you’re awesome for defying that and you don’t have to justify the sweat you pour into ballet by saying you get paid for it. Because I don’t. In fact, I spend my own money on ballet classes, leotards, tights, pointe shoes, soft shoes, knowing I am never going to get paid for doing what I do.

But with writing, there is no age limit. Anyone can pick up a pen and write. Every single person on earth is technically a writer because all people have picked up some utensil to communicate through writing at one point or another. This is when it becomes problematic to justify only you are a writer. You’re the one who picks up that pen or keyboard or whatever and puts serious thought into what you write. You’re the one who spends hours researching to build incredibly believable worlds and believable characters. You’re the one who writes because you want to, not because it’s some school assignment. You are a writer because you want to go beyond what everyone else does with his/her writing. You don’t need money to justify your sweat. All you need is you and hard work and your dream. So let’s all keep the Writer’s Manifesto with us and tack it somewhere on our hearts so that way the next time someone asks what we do, we can say we’re writers and no one bats an eye.

 

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