Where Heartbreak Started

Let us go back, back , back…not to the absence of my father or inferiority feelings about being the youngest and a girl, no. That’s all psychobabble. Maybe it’s true, but it’s not fun. And I want to go back to the moment I think my bad luck with dating began. That’s where the fun is.

It was in 6^th grade. Central Elementary School. Traverse City Michigan. By some freak accident, I hung out with the popular kids. I shouldn’t have. They were too fast and rich for me. I went to the barber to get my hair cut. I wore clothes from the JcPenny catalogue. But on recess, when everyone was bored, they could say “Tanya, tell us a story where we’re on a tropical island” and I would. I’d fill it with details. I made everyone a hero. I was never in the stories.

Then something strange started to happen. There was a day where Ian and Missy were making out on recess instead. I don’t remember seeing them make-out, but I like to imagine they were in a corner, with those giant red bouncy balls smacking all around them as kids tried to eliminate each other through dodge ball.

Knocked Out By Love

At any rate, that was the day when Sex started to happen. No actual Sex. We were in 6^th grade and didn’t have the Internet, but suddenly kids started to pair off. Dave was the most popular. He could Go With anyone. (It was Going With then, although no one ever Went anywhere that I know of). Jason was smart and popular. I liked Todd. He was the class comedian, but he showed no interest. Dave paired with Cathy, the French girl who just moved to live with her dad and had enormous knockers. Meredith went with Jason. Little Bob was with Rachel, and Big Bob went with I can’t remember who.

Everyone was paired up. Except me. I blame two things. One) I had a deep fascination with Michel Jackson and Madonna. I dressed like their love child. Two) I had no desire to Go With anyone. I just wanted to tell my stories.

Then the rumors started. Rumors that something was wrong with Tanya. She’s so weird. Look at her clothes. Maybe she’s not really a girl. I didn’t understand these rumors at first, but I knew that I had to stop them. So when Abe Honkey (Yes. That’s a real name. If you’re reading this, send me a note.) So when Abe Honkey in his thick glasses asked me to Go With him, I said yes.

(As an aside, maybe this is why I like guys in glasses. I’ve always been grateful to Abe.)

After school, Abe waited for me. He reached out his sweaty hand and grabbed mine. I imagine everyone on the playground watching, except Ian and Missy. They were still making out. We walked three blocks to my house. I wanted to throw up. When we got to my house, I said “Thanks, Abe. But I’m afraid I can’t see you anymore.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He shook his head, looking like I’d just destroyed every illusion about love he’d ever had. Maybe he knew I’d only dated him to make people stop talking.

That’s the moment where It started. I was mean to him. I’d used him…and in the breeze there was a slight scent of it in the air and Karma caught it. It would be many years before I paid for that cruelty of using someone else…but eventually it would happen.

(And then I’d write a book about it, but that’s another story.)

I’ve met someone. I’ll just put that right out there. And it’s super new and fragile and awkward…but the truth is, I like him. And of course, I don’t know how to handle it.

Fingers Crossed (For luck, not lying)

When you’re a teenager, you sort of makeout whenever you can and in the cover of darkness. Sometimes you have sex. In college you have sex whenever and wherever you can and sometimes you make out. In your twenties you have relationships that sort of erupt overnight like mushrooms, and then somehow become marriages. And sometimes you get divorced. Sometimes you get divorced and you have kids. After that, the dating world transforms. It’s not even a world anymore. It’s a universe…and it’s alien at that.

So this man…he’s smart, and funny, and flirtatious, and cute, and nerdy, and I’m pretty certain he likes me too. At 36 it feels ridiculous to wonder, “Should I call him?” and “Does he like me?” and “If I text him am I contacting him too much?” and then…eventually… “When is it okay to sleep with him?” They’re all ridiculous questions, and all things I’ll figure out if I can talk to him. Which I think I can.

Mostly, I just want time to get to know him. I’d love to hang out and watch movies, cook dinner for him, go out. Finding time between jobs and responsibilities and kids and everything is doubly tricky.

And of course, there’s the real potential of heartbreak. Dating doesn’t usually work out. Someone gets bored or pissed or starts showing you all those dark places they’d been hiding. Then again, what’s considered successful dating? Marriage? I rather like to think that successful dating is where you remain authentically you. You talk. You connect (er…physically, yes, but emotionally too) and that all lasts as long as it can. So if you’re true to yourself you get this daily gift of another person sharing some time with you, and maybe a little bit of their self. For however long you can. That’s success.

And, dear sir, If you’re reading this, no worries. I’ll tell you all this when I see you again. I feel pretty certain that will happen.

And for anyone I’ve pissed off through my fumbling and flirtations, I really am sorry. I haven’t blogged about the dates I’ve been on over the year, but they are rather humorous, so I just might…and I’m sorry for that too. Not to be insensitive, but sheesh, when a guy says he can’t see you anymore because he’s got to go on a weeklong ‘cleansing’ with his guru, well he’s sort of asking for it.

And as for this new guy in my life…I’m glad I met you. Be tender. I will too. And everyone else out there who’s been following my divorce and disasters…maybe…maybe after you go through that, you also find something delightful.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed at any rate.

(Coming soon: I revisit old boyfriends from childhood on. Not literally visit them like in “High Fidelity”. Just in mini-profiles.)

Dating? WTF?

After a self-imposed exile (is that the right word?) of dating, I find I want to do it. Uhm, dating, that is, and not Do It…which is an entirely different thing, but yes, something I’d like to do too.

I’m having a little trouble in this area though. Mostly, it’s my brain. It’s getting in the way. At 36 and divorced and a single mom, I have a whole new list of dating questions and I don’t know the answer to them.

Here are a few:

1) Can I blog about a man I’m seeing if he reads my blog? (If I’m seeing you and you’re reading this, you may want to stop. Seriously.) My blog could prove awkward. A girl needs secrets…and while dating you want to appear perfect and like you always smell of scented lotion. You do not want to come off as neurotic, strange, or possibly obsessive…which are all conclusions you could make about me if you read my blog.

2) And if I blog about dating, can I do it while I’m dating or do I have to wait until months later? I keep envisioning me on a date that’s going really well, so well, we’re on some couch somewhere making out like teenagers and I say “Oh! Hold that thought! I want to tell everyone I’m making out like a teenager!” Then I run to the computer, type away, and then run back.

3) Do I wait for a man to approach me and ask me out or embrace newfound Cougar-within and approach him? And what are the new rules? When do I talk about my kids without making it sound like I want a new Daddy. I don’t, but the kids are an essential part of who I am. Like down to the DNA.

And men my age are usually divorced and/or fresh out of relationships or wounded by relationships. Do I wait until they’re more well-adjusted? Is someone who’s bitter about their ex best to be avoided? Or do I just jump in there and say “Hey! I’m here! Let’s do it!” (Dating, again, people. Not Do It. That’s for later.)

4) Can I date someone whose friend I dated but that was like in college when I didn’t know any better? That’s probably asking for a whole lot of drama.

5) Are all my former students who are now in their thirties off limits still? Because role-playing could be fun. No. That’s off the list. If you’re at my school looking to hire me, I would never NEVER date a student. (Again.)

6) Do I immediately mark off the list anyone who is living with their parents. Times are tough. It’s a new era, and lots of people need to get back on their feet.

7) Could I possibly have a fling? One that doesn’t necessarily mean anything? That would be free and easy, wouldn’t it? A passionate fling on a beach somewhere where I have long hair and a bikini body that makes the gods jealous? (Oops. Just slipped into fantasy there.)

8 ) I just answered my own question. I don’t think I’m a fling type of person. My heart always gets in the way.

And most importantly….

9) How do I stop that heart from getting broken? I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified of falling in love with the wrong person. I’m also terrified of falling in love with the right person.

10) I don’t really have a #10 but I felt like I couldn’t end a list on 9.

So that’s my obsessive list for dating. Who knows the answers to these questions? I could ask my therapist, but he’d probably tell me to just trust myself. I’d rather have someone just tell me what to do and not do. It would be a whole lot easier.

Last week I tried posting some writer type things. For those of you who write, I hope it helped, at least to know that everyone struggles, gets frustrated, and is a little neurotic. Just a postscript: when I talked about sharing your work, I didn’t mean everyone needed to try to get published. One reader is all you need. Just find one person that you trust.

I guess that’s sort of true of life, and what I’m trying to do. Trying to find one person I can trust to share all those little awkward, wonderful details with.

As for writing…well, I’ve now reached that point where I point where I broadcast intensely personal aspects of my life and blog about it. Why? Why do I do this? My aunt says that the reason therapy works is that they’ve done studies (can’t cite them though) on brain waves and brain activity and neurons are actually strengthened by talking. So by talking to each other, connecting with each other, it actually heals us, makes us stronger.

Maybe this is why I’m so obsessed with the idea of relationships. And love. And dating. And, yes, making out. When we’re with someone, really present with them, we feel more alive. Brain science proves it.

Of course, I could be making all this up, but it sounds good doesn’t it?

So…stay with me here…if connecting with someone heals us, then perhaps the opposite is true. If you’re in a relationship where there is no more communication, no more physical contact, no more being present with each other, maybe this is harmful. Maybe it really does hurt you, and not just emotionally. This is what happened to me in my marriage. I was doing a slow disappearing act. It came from being ignored and not listened to, and I think my little grey cells were shutting down.

Now, of course, I’m connecting all over the place.

Er….Maybe I should reword that.

I’m talking to friends. I’m laughing. I’m asking for help. I post my writing for everyone to read. I go on dates. Sometimes, if I’m lucky (but not that kind of lucky), I may even kiss someone. It all reminds me of how beautiful life is. And ugly. And hard. And painful. And ultimately miraculous.

Life? It’s messed up. It’s hard. And that’s why we need each other. Really, physically, need each other for help.

It’s brain chemistry, really. Or magic.

That in each other we find…well…a kind of peace. And everyone deserves that feeling.

And to be kissed.

Kissing is good too.

I met Elizabeth Searle at the MFA program I attended through the University of Southern Maine. While we never worked directly together, I did get to be in one of her workshops and saw her perform…and we clicked. Both of us have performance backgrounds and a love for theater. She even wrote a rock opera about the Tonya Harding saga called “Tonya and Nancy”. Plus, she writes erotic fiction so steamy you really need someone to read it to you. Here’s a comment from her with a great reminder. And check out her blog and writing.

“Hi Tanya & Tanya fans– I just want to chime in with Blunder Woman that she’s got the right approach here– as in the title of her first book: Easy Does It. Inch in with small steps and get your footing. Don’t overlook the opportunities of small mags, online mags; publish there, anywhere, and that gives you cover-letter fuel to approach the bigger fish with more crediblity–

as in fishing, PATIENCE and PERSISTENCE (and lots of red wine) are key– Thanks Tanya, for telling it like it is-”

Elizabeth

http://www.elizabethsearle.net

blogging at:

http://celebritiesindisgrace.wordpress.com

T.M. Camp, novelist,  playwright, and marketing guru has some great ideas for writers. And he’s the one that got me started with online promotion. Beyond being deeply talented, he’s also very wise, and a good person to boot. Here’s what he has to say On Writing:

There are three areas in which writers typically let themselves down.

The first is absolutely in their control, and yet they often act like it is not. That is, they do not actually write. They don’t sit down every day and put new words in front of each other. There are always excuses that get in front of it — there’s no time, it was a hard day at the office, the laundry’s piling up, I’m too tired, I’m having a “block”… But writers (by definition) write.

Whether it’s only for fifteen minutes or four hours, whether it’s fifteen words or two thousand… Writers need to write every day. It’s a responsibility, a stewardship of the gifts you’ve been given. And, ultimately, it’s how you demonstrate your commitment, how you improve, and how you lay a foundation for your dreams.

Whether you’re striving to be an Olympic athlete, a power forward for the New York Knicks, or the World’s Best Mom… If that’s how you define yourself at your core, you need to put in the time every day.

And, as a writer, it’s one of the few things that you can actually control in the process. Too easily, we let ourselves off the hook.

The second area where writers fail themselves is in the professional arena. They know words, they know how to tell stories and develop characters, they write things that people want to read… but they let their own ignorance of the industry keep them from doing what’s needed to get to the next level.

In all honesty, this has been my biggest failure. I’ve been writing for 25 years. I’ve only seriously dug into the publishing industry in the past few years. For too long, I allowed my ignorance to undercut all of my hard work and effort. It’s regrettable and the feeling that you’re making up for lost time is not a good one; it shortchanges your enthusiasm and gets in the way of the work itself.

Writers need to educate themselves, not just about their craft but also about their industry and how it connects them to their readers. They need to understand the business side of publishing, the ins and outs of it all and who the gatekeepers are.

Although the best practices and standards are variable from player to player — that is, there’s a lot of subjectivity and inconsistency across the range of expectations that agents and publishers bring to the table — the industry is pretty well structured and documented. Writers should know it all, inside and out.

We need to have more than a vague familiarity with how that all works, so that we can plan our own approach to it all. Each writer needs to craft a professional thread for themselves, something they can follow… They need a guiding line that allows them to navigate the maze and avoid the pitfalls and fight the monsters along the way.

And thirdly, writers need to get very comfortable — if not adept — with new technologies, new media and emerging channels: Blogging, Social Networking and Marketing, Podcasting, Crowdsourcing, Print on Demand, Online Distribution, Creative Commons, and so many other buzzwords making the rounds… The opportunities presented by these still-evolving concepts are largely misunderstood, dismissed, and/or untapped by most writers.

Whether or not you think each and every one of them will be viable in the future, the impact that these things will have (the impact that is already apparent) on publishing is undeniable.

We’ve got a long way to go, but the ability for a writer to connect with an audience and build a platform for their work has never been more available to us.

And, from my perspective, it’s never been more exciting to be a writer.

T.M. Camp

ABOUT T.M. CAMP

From a very early age, T.M. Camp has been making up stories and then writing them down. There is no reason to expect that he will stop any time soon. In addition to his long career in advertising, T.M. has written over thirty plays, numerous short stories and poems, and two novels. His plays have been produced by theatres in California, Michigan, Iowa, and Tennessee. A few of his scripts have even won awards. One of his plays — “The Red Boy” — broke into the top ten of the 2001 Writer’s Digest playscript competition. In 2007, T.M. finished his first novel “Assam & Darjeeling“, following it up with the novella “Matters of Mortology” in early 2008. In addition to a number of smaller, ongoing projects, T.M. is currently at work on his third novel, entitled “Pantheon”.In all of his work, T.M. explores boundaries — The boundaries between worlds… boundaries between the physical and the supernatural… the boundaries between people… and the boundaries within ourselves.

Check out “Matters of Mortology” by clicking HERE.

I know. I know. It’s bad form to double-post. But the previous post was from writer-Tanya and this post is from whining-Tanya. They are two entirely different people (on good days). My DVD player is broken and I drank too much wine and then waited and took a valium for the dentist tomorrow (per prescription. Don’t worry about the wine. I ate and waited first) and now I feel all wobbly. And I feel old. And lonely. Whaaaahh!!!

*insert pathetic babyish crying here*

Random Thoughts

#1 Two weeks ago I went to Comedy Monday at Dog Story. I’m not currently performing there because organizning and producing the radio plays took too much energy for very little reward. I just can’t keep doing it. So I was there to run box office and to help out. It was a fun night, though people seemed to look through me since I was “Box Office Staff” and not “A Real Person”. And then I was going to stay and do the open improv jam and I looked at all the people staying and they were all in their twenties. A few were in their thirties, but they’re still single and I felt…well….really, really old.

When you’re single, divorced, a single parent, it does something to you. First, it makes you unreliable because there are always issues with babysitters and the kids and family and job obligations. Second, you just can’t seem to shake a constant sense of responsibility. Third, it makes your boobs droop.

So I looked at all the young people and single-no-kids people and I thought “We don’t have a thing in common”. And then I drove home.

#2  I love my house. I love it. My kids love it. And now they’re at their dad’s. He lives, now, a couple of blocks away. His fiancée now answers his phone when I call to talk about the kids. He needed to pick up some things for our daughter and sent his soon-to-be-step-daughter to pick it up for him. And I sat on my deck and had a glass of wine and I thought “Huh. 6 years ago we were married and now I talk more to his fiancée than I do to him.” Our would-be-anniversary was yesterday. The whole day passed and I didn’t realize it until today.

#3 I decided to stop online dating. By stopping online dating and waiting to meet that Special Someone naturally, I’m now not dating at all. And I want to be. I’ve had a few offers from very nice men but I can’t…I just….I need someone who’s my age or older. Who knows about life and struggles.

#4 I miss kissing. I miss lying next to a man in bed and falling asleep with our bodies touching. I miss cooking for someone and adding just a little bit of sexiness into a meal. Food is sensual after all. I miss phone calls and texts. I miss someone thinking about me during the day. I miss daydreaming about coming home to a man and kissing him before he can say a word.

#5 Even food isn’t appealing anymore, though I eat a lot of it.

#6 My pants are tight. My broken foot caused me to gain weight, and though I’m trying to up my activity level, the weight stays on. It’s like a bad memory I can’t shake, because it’s not a memory at all. It’s with me all the time.

#7 I don’t know what I’m doing anymore in my career. I want my teaching to be permanent. I want health insurance.

#8 While life is varied and complex and mysterious, I also wish it weren’t so blasted lonely and hard.

#9 I want to buy a sundress and wear it for someone special.

#10 I want my fantasy life for just a while to match my real life.

I think I’m depressed. I need a good cry. I need to go for a run. I need to make out. I’m not kidding. A good old-fashioned makeout session would cure all of this.

Maybe it’s back to online dating after all. God help me.

I’m currently sitting outside on my deck and there’s a nice warm breeze. I’m drinking wine and listening to the birds, and it’s utterly peaceful. All it’s missing is me in a sundress and a man with his hand on my thigh slowly working his way up and under the fabric of my dress.

Uhhhhhhhh

This is supposed to be about writing. And it is. It’s also about relaxing and enjoying life. Which I’m doing.

I'm drinking wine while I write this. Just warning you.

Okay. So there’s something I want to address here. It’s the whole question of publishing. Now, when you’re trying to get published and it’s just not happening, you may encounter the loving person who says “Don’t worry about it. And anyway, you should just write for yourself.” I’ve heard this so many times, and while I know it comes from a place of love, what I want to say is “No. Actually. I don’t write for myself. I write because I have something to say and I want someone to read it.”

Something you’ve written and haven’t shared is a secret. And it’s a rare thing for a secret to be good. No. We write because something compels us to share our story. Something written without readers is like a song without music. It doesn’t work. We want our work read, and we want it read now, and we want people to be touched and to think we’re geniuses.

I don’t think that’s just me. Really.  I think that’s all writers.

Now comes the trouble. How do you get people to read it? You can try to get an agent and get it published. Many try this; many fail. A few make it. Bully for them. I can’t get an agent to look twice at me. Even when I run around in a bikini like I’m a girl on that old Benny Hill show. Blast. I can’t even get a phone number.

So then you submit directly to a publisher. Luckily, Champagne Books took me on. I like them so far. Hope they like me. And while it isn’t my fantasy world of being a Big Published Author, it is a Published Author, and I’ll find more readers through them than I could on my own.

I didn’t start with Champagne though. First, it was hard liquour. (Now that’s just plain silly.) No. What I mean to say is…first…I made my family read my stuff. Then my friends. Then I joined a writing group. Then a second writing group. Then I started reading my stuff out loud on the street corner (or at Dog Story Theater). Then I started a blog. Then I self-published “Easy Does It”. And then, and only then, did I get a gig with Champagne Books.

In my opinion, writing is about telling your story and then sharing that story, in any way you can. So what if you’re not making loads of money? you might. In time. Start small. Start by asking someone those terrifying questions. Even more terrifying than “Will you make out with me?” or “Do these jeans make me look fat?”

No.

You start with this: “I’ve written something. Could you read it and tell me what you think?”

Regardless of your reader or what they think, once your piece is read, it becomes real. You’ve told your story. Now tell another one. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere, somehow, an agent will listen and take you on. And if they don’t…well…fuck ‘em. Get your stuff out there another way. Any way possible. And keep doing it.

Here’s where I raise my wineglass to you and say “Cheers”.

I wanted to try and do something a little different with the blog this week. Why? Good to stretch the muscles. I’m not sure of what, exactly, but change keeps you flexible. So this week, it’s about writing. I’ve collected a few comments, suggestions, and questions and I’ll start here:

What is a writer? A writer is, simply, one who writes. Take that a step further. A writer is a person of action, of doing. If you’re not writing, then you’re not a writer. It has nothing to do with being published or how good your stuff is. All of that is left to circumstance and chance and a little bit of talent. If you have a calling to write and you are actively writing, then you’re a writer. End of story.

What if you know you’re a writer, but you just can’t seem to write?

Stop it.

And by stop it, I mean stop not writing, stop making excuses and write something!! It’s that easy. You know how much you need to write a day to qualify as a writer? One word. You need to write a word a day.

A writer is One Who Writes. Literally. So start writing.

The day I moved from being a sometime writer to a novelist happened when my friend Jason took me to task for not writing. “I can’t, Jason,” I said. “I’ve got a baby now. I’m married. There isn’t time for writing.” He didn’t buy it.

“You could probably manage a sentence a day, couldn’t you? I mean, that wouldn’t be too hard would it?”

“I could do a sentence,” I said, thinking, well, duh. A sentence is nothing.

“How about a paragraph?” Jason asked, and I knew I was in trouble. “I mean, I know you and you could probably get a paragraph in a day, huh?”

I thought about it. I could probably swing that. In between taking care of my son and husband and the house and my neuroses, could I write a paragraph a day. I could. I did. In fact, I wrote a page a day for a year. And that’s how I wrote my first book. One blasted sentence at a time.

We come up with all sorts of reasons not to write. Not enough time, no inspiration, no energy, things to do, working too hard on work and love and life and kids.

Steven Pressfield (author of “The War of Art”. Check it out. It’s great) calls all these excuses that we use (procrastination, bad grammar, gout) Resistance. It’s the universe’s way of stepping between the act of being creative. Because remember, writing or art or anything is an action and if something is in action, there will be pressures and forces around it. Something about aerodynamics. Anyway, Pressfield says: “Never forget: This very moment, we can change our lives. There was never a moment, and never will be, when we are without the power to alter our destiny. This second, we can turn the tables on Resistance. This second, we can sit down and do our work.”

If you want to write, then regardless of your grammar or style or topics, you are a writer. You. Are. A. Writer. Now, sit down and do your work. But you only have to sit down for a minute or two.

Now stop complaining, and do it. Every day. Every single day. Write a word. Write a sentence. Connect them. This is how you write books. This is how you transform yourself, one letter at a time.

My challenge to you: If there’s something you want to work on, start with one sentence. Just one. And the next day, write the next sentence. Every day, until you’re in the swing of it, write one sentence. Then when you’re ready, do a paragraph a day. Keep your goal manageable. Don’t say “I’ll write one hour a day.” That’s too big. Start small. A universe, after all, is made up of billions of stars. Each star, though, is a point of light.

I could go on with the metaphor. But you get what I’m saying.

Next up: I’ll talk about publishing and agents etc. Unless you want to hear about something else. And, please, let me know if this is helpful or not.

Okay. As often happens, I have a huge tantrum, cry, fuss, throw up (I have a weak stomach), and then the next day I’m fine. So, I’m not in love, in a relationship, dating. Plenty more time for me to focus on being a mom and a good person…and to get things in order. Yep. I’m getting things in order. Working out, working hard, writing. That’s what I’m trying to do. Get things in order. For what? The apocalypse? God, I hope not. Naw. I’m getting my life in order so when something like this happens:

I’ll be ready for it. Plus, this gives me time to slim down. I wouldn’t want to give the guy a hernia from having to hold me up.

Universe, yes, you’ve let me down. I forgive you though. You have good things coming for me*. Great things.

*If not, I’ll kick your ass.