Donate December

It's now Donate December. Hooray! That means it's no longer Novembooze, which means I can drink again! Though to be honest, I did cheat when Thanksgiving rolled around. Sue me. It's been eleven months, now; the charm of this deprivation marathon began wearing thin around late summer.

But December is easy, as far as Discipline Year experiments go. All I have to do is choose a nice item to donate to charity each day this month—clothes, furniture, appliances, etc. I don't really like acquiring stuff, so this month's challenge isn't much of a…challenge. But after nearly an entire year of these ridiculous, willful endeavors, I'm happy to round out 2011 on a painless note.

To the donation box!

Looking forward… (plus a contest)

This is a repost from the Blaze Authors Blog from Thursday, in case any of the Super Lucky #1 Fun Blog's visitors might like a chance to win a book.

Hey, everyone! Happy… Dear God, mid-November? When did that happen?

I know it's a bit premature, but I've been thinking about goals for the new year. Goals have been on my mind all through 2011, since I've been doing all those ridiculous monthly Lent experiments, and while I don't want to do anything as intensive and constant as Discipline Year again any time soon, I am still very much pro-goal. So what to aim for, in 2012? Some aims are obvious; write and sell as many books as I can. Stay healthy. Learn when to step away from the keyboard. And between July (no sugar) and this month, alcohol-free Novembooze, I'm eager to keep eliminating sugar from my diet (if anyone else shares that mission, I can't recommend this lecture enough as motivation). But here are some more measurable, targeted goals I've been kicking around:

1. Read more. I'd like to read one hundred books in 2012. That's two a week, and I know to some of you voracious types, that's laughable. You could read a hundred books by April, I bet! But in the past few years, since becoming a writer, my fiction-reading skills have taken a battering. Every book I open up turns into a lesson. Not drudgery, not homework, but I'm so semi-consciously preoccupied with seeing how other authors put their words and stories together, it takes me ages to read, now. I'd love to relearn how to read quickly, nuts to turning the act into a learning experience. So, a hundred books in a year. That's my first goal.

2. Cook new things. My vegetarian month, Meat-Free May, and our participation in a farm-share program (we get a box of fresh, local, seasonal vegetables every week) have reminded how much fun it is to try new recipes. I'd like to try a new recipe once a week in the new year, to keep my modest culinary repertoire expanding…and to make grocery shopping a bit more adventurous.

3. Run ten miles. I used to hate running. But in the last decade it's gone from torture to chore to routine to something I even look forward to, some days. But I've yet to run farther than five and a half miles without stopping, and most days I go about three. I'd love to be able to say I ran ten miles, even just once, just to know I can do it. I'm going to aim to reach that goal by my birthday (May 2), with a little help from a renewed YMCA membership once the weather here turns inhospitable. Which could be any second now. [checks watch]

4. Land an agent. I really need to get off my butt and do this! It's a scary goal, because of all the ones I've listed, it's the one whose success is ultimately out of my hands. I can try and try and try, but I could still fall short. But that's a stupid reason to not try, so come January, I'm an author on a mission!

So those are my goals. I think 2012 is going to be an exciting year! I'll be attending my first Romantic Times Booklovers' Convention in April, and those folks actually just nominated Caught on Camera for an RT Reviewers' Choice Award, for best series debut. Pretty cool. So cool, in fact, let's do a contest! Tell me a goal you have in mind for the new year, and I'll pick a commenter [from the original post's comments] at random to win a paperback copy of Caught on Camera (or if you've already read it and you're patient, I promise I'll mail you a copy of my next Blaze, once it's published). I'll even make the contest international, so go ahead—tell me what you hope to accomplish in 2012! I'll pick a winner on Sunday, around noon, EST, and announce it in the Blaze Authors Blog comments.

Take care! Can’t wait to hear what your goals are.

Meg

Novembooze!

Oh snap, it's November! How'd that happen? Who cares—I finally get my town back, now that Salem's two-month version of Halloween is finally over.

To say I've been dreading this month of Discipline Year would be too dramatic, but I will admit I'm not excited about it. November means no alcohol, which means no relaxing with a glass of wine or a bottle of beer once the workday is done, which I do most evenings while making dinner or catching up with one of my many beloved, crappy TV shows… When does the next Bachelor start? That train wreck goes down so much smoother with a large glass of red.

I picked November for my prohibition because a) Thanksgiving will make it more of a challenge, b) it's thirty days, like rehab, and c) I liked the sound of "Novembooze".

I have to spend this afternoon in the city, which is fortunate, as it'll upend my schedule and hence my daily habits, so hopefully I won't be missing my glass-of-something come five or six, when I start getting dinner put together. Losing the comfort of the habits—wine, sugar, coffee, watching TV—is the hard part. Getting used to a little crutch being gone sucks, but it only sucks for a few days, until you've replaced it with something else. I have a lot of Angry Birds levels to catch up on… Maybe I'll swap a drink for that. Ah, mindless vices.

There is one possible exceptional circumstance built in to this month's mandate, however. On the off-chance I get word that Blaze wants my latest proposal, I will let myself have champagne. But it's far more likely I'd get a revision request first. So an official acceptance, should I get one, likely won't happen this month. And even if it did, maybe I'll be good and celebrate with something else. Cheez Doodles, perhaps. Because I keep it classy.

Anyhow, expect fewer random tweets between five and seven p.m. from me and my evil twin this month.

Cheers!

A Tardy Start to October

Hey, it's October! That means I can watch TV again… Check. I watched some in my hotel room while my evil twin was attending a smut writers' conference last week, actually, before September was even officially over. So sue me. No wait, don't.

Anyhow, now that I'm back and no longer suffering from food poisoning (possibly from the scrambled eggs I so gloatingly overloaded on at the hotel's breakfast buffet) it's time to get with the program for October. Or rather, Ommmctober, the month during which I practice yoga every day, for a minimum of thirty minutes. I could actually desperately use it, right about now. At the best of times I'm an intermediate yoga student, flexible if not especially strong…my lifts are woeful, but I can do an enviable upward bow. Right about now, I'm at least three weeks overdue for even a basic stretching session. Probably no coincidence I've been a bit of a basket case the last month or so.

Here's my little lamp-lit yoga space, in my office:

Check the hourglass, which is actually a half-hourglass (thanks, Mom) perfect for making sure I get my thirty minutes minimum in. And that's it, really. I'm off to punish my hamstrings and attain bliss.

Switch-Off September

Never fear, never fear—Thrusty Thursday will be along later. But first, let me tell you about a month I've been dreading a bit…

Oh come on, now. Don't look at me

like that, Matt Paxton.

It's now Switch-Off September, the month in my year of Lents when I'll be giving up television. Giving up the device itself is a non-challenge; I haven't owned a TV in perhaps seven years, nor lived with one for the past four. Though as a writer I do snatch glimmers of inspiration here and there from TV, I can't really be trusted to get anything done with one around. I know my own weaknesses.

But now you can watch TV online! This has been a very nice development, since my husband and I can't listen to NPR every minute of the day (no matter what filthy liberals we are), and we've enjoyed lots of great shows over the course of a thousand dinners, thanks to Hulu and Netflix. Nothing sinful about that. And my habit of zoning out to an episode of something truly awful and voyeuristic (The Bachelor, Millionaire Matchmaker, and Hoarders, oh, Hoarders) well, that's not so bad either, really. It's a pleasant if guilty escape, and helps me turn my brain off after a long day of writerly whatnots. But I often wonder, what would I get done between five and six p.m., my down-time between finishing work and starting dinner, if I weren't zoning out to reality TV? Well, I guess I'll find out.

As with Meat-Free May, my husband can take or leave TV, so he's joining me in the project. We watched our final few shows last night, a Daily Show we'd missed (again, filthy liberals) and a couple episodes of Sarah Silverman. And then, all went silent on the laptop. We've ordered the latest installment of a dorky puzzle video game we like, Rhem (think Myst) and have lots of Angry Birds to tackle. And there's always an after-dinner walk around the park. I've also loaded up my iPad with the first wave of a digital ton of new books, and I'm looking forward to catching up on what my friends have been writing and recommending.

So, here we go! Let's find out exactly what I can accomplish with an extra hour or two a day…

No Java July

Wow, it's July! That means I've made it halfway through Discipline Year…and with a minimum of failing and cheating.

Jujube-Free June was a raging success—ditching the added and refined sugar proved easier than I thought, plus I lost five pounds. But true disciples will know, June was supposed to be the no-coffee month. I stand by my decision to swap June and July, because I needed to get a lot of writing done in the last month (and I did—a personal best of an insane 58,000 words) and caffeine withdrawal was not opportune.

But I can put it off no longer. As I type this, I've got my mug of green tea steeping beside me. Green tea is acceptable, because I'm not actually giving up caffeine this month, just coffee. Coffee for me is as much an emotional crutch as it is a chemical one. When I don't feel like working, I make myself a cup of coffee (often decaf) because having it there makes it feel less like I'm shackled to my keyboard, somehow. Other writers do that with chocolate, if the author stereotypes are true. Being allowed an oral fixation makes staying planted in one's seat far more bearable. Can't hurt to trick one's brain into associating writing with pleasure, right? Especially for those days when it feels more akin to amateur trepanning.

Now it's too early to report on withdrawal, but I'll return with my findings…and my suffering, because I know that's what all you sickos come here for. I've also been warned that day three is the worst in one's break-up with any chemical mistress, so stayed tuned for that trainwreck.

Life Without Sugar

Away with ye, temptresses!

It's now midway through June, the halfway mark in my month without sugar (part of Discipline Year, if you're not a regular). Here are my findings thus far:

1. I've lost five pounds.
2. It wasn't really that hard.
3. It's easy to make your own faux masala sauce.
4. Cupcakes have taken on a mythical quality.

So, for me anyhow, giving up sugar hasn't been too hard. (If you're wondering what I mean by "sugar", i.e. do fruit and wine and such count? you can check out the month's parameters here.) I didn't have too many regular treats to lament—a couple squares of dark chocolate after dinner, and a few sauces I relied on for my dinner repertoire. But aside from the occasional pang of wistful longing as I gaze upon the chocolate in my husband's hand, I've been fine. I think the standard-issue holier-than-thou diet attitude got me through the first week, and by the time the self-satisfaction wore off, so had my body's cravings…for the most part.

So the first week, I couldn't care less about sugar. By week two, I did catch myself ogling the carrot cake in the café's dessert case as though it were an oiled up David Gandy. But not once have I been actually tempted, nor have I cheated. I consider myself pretty lucky to be more of a salt-craver than a sugar-craver. Let's just hope my blood pressure stays low so I never have to test my resolve in the sodium department. I used to have a diet soda habit, but thankfully I gave it up a few years ago. Even fake sweeteners can affect your insulin levels and desire for real sugar.

The five pounds I lost since June began are most definitely from a variety of changes. Ditching the sugar certainly helps, but more than that, I simply haven't been snacking. Couldn't tell you if that's some blood sugar craving chemical-whatnot being subdued, or purely incidental, or something else entirely. Perhaps there's just nothing tasty to snack on that doesn't have sugar in it. I've also been very diligent about my nightly yoga and calisthenics regimen since mid-May, totally unrelated to this expriment…though my weight didn't change until the sugar got 86ed. I've also just generally felt less…puffy. No clue if that has anything to do with some blood sugar / water retention link or what, but I'm not complaining.

I'm donating platelets this afternoon, and I'm praying the Red Cross's snack basket has pretzels stocked this week. If not, my remaining choices are all off-limits, and the RC techs can be quite forceful when it comes to making sure their donors eat something. Note to self: buy a banana at the grocery store this morning.

Unrelated—I'm excited to donate today, as I'm downloading Tina Fey's Bossypants audiobook right now!

That's it. Anyone else in the midst of a nutritional experiment? I know my friend Shoshanna's eating like a caveman at the moment…or that's what I gathered. What I hunter-gathered? Ba dum-bum! Well, whatever that's about, it's got to be way more interesting than kicking cupcakes!

Jujube-Free June

Well, as Discipline Year was originally designed, this was supposed to be No Java June, but as I said yesterday, I'm hopeful I may be on deadline before long, and that's no time to invite caffeine withdrawal. Thus, I'm swapping June and July's challenges [read: delaying the inevitable torture of giving up coffee].

So June is the month of no sugar. That is to say, no significant added sugar. Obviously, fruit is full of sugar and I'm not giving up fruit. I mean sweets—candy, pastries, drinks with sugar added—as well as packaged foods with sugar (or sucrose, fructose, corn syrup, etc.) listed as one of the first five ingredients OR with more than five grams of sugar per serving listed on the nutrition facts.

I just inventoried my kitchen, and was sad to discover these parameters rule out my favorite soup (six grams of sugar per serving, meaning the meals I make it into have twelve grams!) our usual barbecue sauce (eleven grams of sugar in two tablespoons!) and the not-as-lovely-as-I'd-thought Yellow Thai Curry Sauce from Trader Joe's (a relatively low six grams, but sugar is listed third, after water and canola oil—ewww). There are other places you wouldn't expect to find added sugar either, such as in crackers and pre-made pasta sauce. I'm a little worried about the latter, as it's a staple in our house. I've got a lot of label-reading to do this month.

We'll be getting farm share veggie boxes starting next week, and I'll be royally bummed if the Indian simmer sauces I rely on to dress up surfeits of less thrilling vegetables are packed with sugar…I don't have any jars of the stuff in the house at the moment, so I'm not sure. But I suppose I could make facsimiles with tomato paste and curry and cumin and onions and salt and cream and so forth. I suspect I may be in for a few disappointments when I go to the grocery store tomorrow.

I'd like to make a goal for how much sugar I'll aim to take in each day, but I'm not entirely sure where to set the bar. I think I'll keep an eye on it for the first few days, and go from there. Today I've only had breakfast so far and I'm up to four grams—two grams from a slice of spelt toast, and two grams from a couple of tablespoons almond butter (where is the almond butter getting its sugar? the only ingredients are roasted almonds and sea salt!) Thank goodness half and half is sugar-free, as is my taste in coffee. So perhaps twenty-five grams of sugar per day? That seems ambitious yet reasonable. I'll workshop it, though I don't want to make myself crazy keeping track of the math, either. Most of what I cook for dinner is from scratch, and the individual vegetables don't come with nutrition labels. Thank goodness brown rice has zero grams of sugar or we'd be screwed—we eat that with half our dinners.

Want to hear something terrifying? A tall (that means small) Starbucks Caramel Frappuccino contains thirty-four grams of sugar. That's without whipped cream. Even more horrific, a CAN of Mountain Dew has FORTY-SIX grams of sugar! All of it added, of course, as there's no fruit in there, just some citrus flavor chemicals they probably engineer in a bunker in Newark. That's nearly two days' worth of sugar, by my experiment's standards, in a twelve-ounce can. And in a Super Big Gulp of the stuff? About 150 grams (if you add ice—otherwise closer to 170). Shudder. Get your shit together, America.

Now those two examples aren't a temptation for me, but alcohol had been a worry. I assumed wine was packed with natural sugars, and though no sugar is added, a serving would still have exceeded my five-gram-per-serving limit. But no! A glass of merlot, for example, has only about one gram of sugar. Score! A sweeter wine, like riesling, has closer to five or six grams per glass. Beer is trickier. I found it very difficult to sniff out specific sugar content for various brews, but it looks like although beer is high in carbohydrates (often twenty or more grams per bottle) sugar makes up a relatively small portion of those carbs (between two and four grams, in the handful of examples I found). So beer isn't especially safe, if only because it's so hard to know what you're consuming, but it's not as decadent as I'd feared. And generally the maltier the beer, the more sugar it contains, and I prefer crisp, dry beers. But I think we're good—let summer commence!

My Thirty-Third May

I feel as if I've barely blogged this month. I feel just slightly as if I've barely been conscious this month, actually, especially during that week and a half of non-stop rain and gloom. At the same time, I can't believe how much I've gotten done. I turned thirty-two on the second, and so far the thirty-third May of my life has been…all over the place.

As the month started, I'd just thrown in the towel on a third failed Blaze proposal, eyeballs-deep in a weird mix of frustrated / discouraged and liberated / hopeful. Two weeks after hearing I needed to put that last proposal out of its misery, I'd started and finished the next proposal (synopsis and first three chapters) and sent it off to my intrepid editor. I got a call about it just this past Friday while I was waiting in the train station—I'd gone into Boston for a physical and to get my possibly stress-fractured shin x-rayed. My editor wanted to see some deeper emotional insight in both the hero and heroine's initial opening POV scenes, and a stronger first couple paragraphs. Um, period.

Period?

Period! No changes requested on the spartan synopsis. No issues with either characters' conflicts or motivations. Nothing wrong with the hook, the setting, the premise. For reals?

Apparently, for reals. When I had what I'd cautiously hoped was a light bulb moment, chatting with senior Blaze editor Brenda Chin at the New England RWA conference, I prayed things might go this way. The last three proposals have missed the mark flagrantly and unsalvageably, though I thrashed and struggled as much as anyone could, trying to force them to work. Then at conference I finally gave myself permission to quit overthinking and overworking, overguessing the details of the overwrought plot, when I'm simply not an up-front plotter. I got the green light to explore a workable hook, and did just that, 100% chart-, graph-, and fourteen-page synopsis-free. It may not have scored a resounding, revisionless acceptance, but the writing process felt infinitely more organic and intuitive that the last few efforts, and I'm not surprised it garnered far fewer editorial misgivings.

This morning I finished (I hope) addressing my editor's concerns with the opening chapters, and sent the revised proposal back out into the ether. And she's encouraged me to keep working on the subsequent chapters, which can't be a bad sign. So keep those fingers crossed, if they haven't grown arthritic and mangled with your unwavering empathy. Maybe I'll have extra-good news to share soon. Maybe I'll even manage to make my second Blaze sale within a year of the first… For those with Doomsday clocks at the ready, set them to July 12.

May was also the month of no meat. This experiment, of all the Discipline Year self-imposed challenges I've yet tackled, was far and away the easiest and the most fun. The only temptations came during family barbecues, and I resisted with little angst. Otherwise I had a blast rediscovering an interest in cooking. I always enjoy cooking, but in the past year or two I'd gotten to a point where I simply recycled the same half-dozen dinner standards over and over. Meat-Free May was a great excuse to try out new dishes. In fact tonight I'm making that African stew again, so my repertoire of regulars has expanded! And of course, my life will no longer be complete without tempeh making the occasional appearance.

I didn't lose or gain any weight, so no revelations on that front.

My husband suspects that, in part, my unnaturally long blue spell (nearly two weeks' funk) in the latter half of the month could be linked to the decreased protein intake. I'll buy it. It was also rainy and I had PMS and was dealing with stupid social media melodrama angst and was uncertain about my proposal, but I rarely stay bummed that long without something else going on, so perhaps he's on to something.

Still, I'm in no rush to bring the meat back. I'll be excited to order seafood at my favorite restaurants once more, and it'll be nice to toss chicken in with the stir-fry, but I haven't missed meat all that much. Doesn't hurt that I have a broad-palated partner with West Coast ideals, either. The entire household went veggie this month, at least at home. Thanks, manfriend!

Next month was supposed to be No Java June, when I go coffee-free (if not caffeine free—tea was to still be kosher) but I think I'll switch it up. All things going well, I may be on deadline, and that is not the time to volunteer for chemical withdrawal. So I'm likely going to swap June and July and go sugar-free for the next month. Anyhow, more on that tomorrow.

Despite the possible stress fracture, which is keeping me from running, May has been a great month for exercise. Lovely spring temperatures for my daily walks, plus we've been cycling a couple times, hiking even more, and at long last I got my shit together and rearranged my room, making it yoga-friendly again. Unless you're talking to someone who's practiced and enjoyed yoga themselves, it's hard to say how powerful and awesome it is without sounding like a self-satisfied hippie-dippy douchebag. So I won't ramble, but since I got back to hardcore stretching before bedtime in the last week or so, I've slept better, felt better, blah blah blah. Go yoga.

Back to work! Hoping to finish my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin's edits quickly, so I'll have time to indulge in a beer and last night's Bachelorette episode before chores call me to wifely duty. Enjoy the final day of May! Or if you're already in June when you read this, don't tell me what happens. I hate spoilers.

Meat-Free May

Thank fucking Christ, April is over and I can swear again! We all knew No #$%@&! April wasn't about me simply not swearing, but rather catching myself when I inevitably did, and so there had to be a punishment for failure, as failure was a foregone conclusion. I promised to pony up one dollar per swear and said I'd donate it to charity at the end of the experiment. The grand total came to $59, so that's basically two accidental swears per day…doesn't sound so bad, yet I can't believe I ever thought I'd have to enforce a $25 minimum. I decided to round it up to a tidy $75, which I just this morning donated to the ACLU. Kind of a weird choice, giving my punishment fees for uttering certain words to an organization that's so into protecting such rights as freedom of speech, but there you go.

And now onward to May, the Discipline Year month during which I can't eat meat (including no eggs or seafood…why do people not seem to count fish as animals?) I'm keeping dairy, at least for now…I may or may not have given myself a stress fracture, so I'll take all the calcium I can get. Plus I love my half and half. If I get ambitious in the second half of the month, perhaps I'll try to finish May off the vegan way.

My birthday is tomorrow, and I was loathe to miss out on my annual baked scallop dinner, so the manfriend and I did that last weekend. Check. This afternoon we're heading to our cousins' place to watch the Celtics (go Ray!) kick off their second round of the NBA playoffs against the Heat, and I'll get to watch everyone eating barbecued chicken—charred just the way I like it by the he-cousin—while I fill up on corn and salad.

But charred chicken denial aside, I think it'll actually be a fun month. Great excuse to try new foods and recipes and expand my dinner repertoire.

Just for kicks, I thought I'd weigh myself before and after the experiment, to see if I either a) lose weight from eating more veggies or b) puff up from eating tons of carbohydrates. As of this morning, I'm a very typical-of-me 142.2 pounds. I'll let you know of any shocking fluctuations at the end of the month. Meanwhile, if you've got any kick-ass vegetarian recipes, feel free to send them my way!

No #@$%&! April

Zip it! Zip it good!

My Year of Lents staggers onward, and Meager March (the month of no frivolous purchases) is now over. Truth be told, I did pretty poorly. I didn't buy any clothes or shoes or makeup or other fripperies, but I did go to two movies and had more than one evening out at restaurants and bars. Socializing was my downfall. But still, no coffees while out and about, no snacks, no new albums or TV shows downloaded, no books read that I didn't already have stacked beneath my nightstand, no impulse purchases to speak of. Oh wait, no—Angry Birds Rio. Overall, I give myself a D+ for effort.

Now it's on to No #@$%&! April, the month during which I'm not allowed to swear. And by swear I mean anything from the D-word and the A-word on up the line of profanity, including blasphemy, spoken or tweeted or e-mailed or texted. Though if I'm writing and my characters swear, that's kosher.

I already ruined my snowball's chance at perfection by calling my manfriend's laptop computer a "smug motherf*cker" this morning over breakfast, less than an hour into the waking month, which doesn't bode well. And that's one dollar into the virtual swear jar, the contents of which I'll be donating to a yet-to-be-determined charity at the end of the month. Their cup shall surely runneth over with the spoils of my extravagant failure.

Meager March

Guess who's wearing mascara! After four weeks without makeup, I must say, putting a little on this morning felt like a chore, especially now that I realize nobody actually notices if I'm wearing it or not. Still, the fast has been broken. And it did feel good to smudge some concealer under my eyes.

Well, it's now officially Meager March, the third month of Discipline Year! I wish I'd begun ruminating on the rules for this challenge earlier than, say, this morning in the shower. But the basic idea is, I'm not allowed to make any frivolous purchases for the next few weeks—makeup, clothes, drinks and meals out, movie tickets, iTunes downloads, etc.

I was so cocky to think this month would be an easy one. It's not like I go shoe-shopping for sport or have my highlights done every two weeks. But after giving the concept a mere twenty minutes' thought, I realized there are a lot of things I'm going to be tempted by. All of them involve other people. I'm going to feel like a drip if my manfriend wants to go to the bar and maybe watch the Celtics play, and I have to cram a peanut butter sandwich in my face to stave off hunger and chug a glass of wine before leaving the house, then sit there while he enjoys a couple beers and an appetizer. I'll feel like a lame-o if any of my cousins want to meet up for a movie or lunch and I have to decline. And I'll most definitely be cheating in a week when my good friend (and faithful beta reader) is in town, orchestrating a small reunion from my old office. Men will be discussed, and wine will be consumed as a natural consequence.

There are some other expenses I'm yet undecided about—train fare to go in to the city for anything short of a doctor's appointment, gas and tolls to drive to Maine to visit my folks, cards or gifts for forgotten birthdays, postage for care packages, charitable donations… I'm going to be making a lot of this up as I go along. And fudging.

Luckily I bought hair dye ahead of time, so no moral panic there. I mentioned yesterday I also slipped a bottle of champagne in as a techniciality…if I make a new book sale I will be enjoying that frivolous pleasure in March, even if I made the actual purchase on the last day of February. So I suppose I'm confessing now: I'll do my best. And I will cheat. But when I do cheat, I'll fess up. That said, you should probably expect a lot of posts this month…

Drink Positive

So today is the final day of the month, and hence the last day of Face-Off February. This month's challenge was hard for two days, then liberating for twenty-six. I'm excited to put on makeup tomorrow for the first time in four weeks, but I'll be honest—the experiment changed me. I'll be far more likely to give the stuff a miss on occasion. Absolutely no one cares about the state of my face aside from me, bless them.

March, don't fail me now…

Onward! Tomorrow marks the start of Meager March, during which I'm not allowing myself to make any frivolous purchases. When I devised all the months that comprise Discipline Year, I thought this would be one of the easier ones. But in recent days I've been noticing all the treats I'll mourn in the coming weeks, as I've been indulging in them—beers and meals out with friends, spontaneous iTunes downloads, movie tickets. Hmm…this isn't just about saying no to shoes or clothes or jewelry. This could be far harder than I expected.

Though it may arguably be cheating, I did make one frivolous purchase ahead of time, as an insurance policy. Just now I walked to the bodega and bought a bottle of cheap champagne, my standard celebratory treat for new book sales. Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm expecting to have occasion to pop it open in the next month, there is a chance I could. And I'm trying to think positively, so accordingly, I'm planning for the best. Cheers to that!

Eff-Off February

Thought I'd give you all an update, now that I'm more than a week into the make-up-free month of Discipline Year, Face-Off February.

With the exception of a few desirous twinges, I've adapted shockingly well to this challenge. About two days in I got a lovely little break-out on my chin…was my complexion suffering from withdrawal? Nah, this is a pretty typical monthly annoyance for me. Who still gets break-outs in their early thirties? Me! Anyone else out there? Now I wouldn't say I was tempted to cheat and dab on a bit of concealer, but I certainly wished I were allowed to.

I've now been seen without makeup by strangers in the street, acquaintances at the gym and local shops, and beloved extended family members, and as any rational person would expect, no one's batted an eye. Walking around in public sans makeup after half a lifetime of daily usage is an interesting experience… As I told someone on Twitter, I feel simultaneously invisible and conspicuous, at least for the first few minutes. I feel like no one's noticing me, and everyone's noticing me. I'm all naked up in the face, and it does feel that way now and then—naked. A mix of vulnerable and liberated. Mainly liberated.

Since going makeup-free I've changed in a few subtle ways. I care less about what people think of me. I've adopted a bit of an "it's my face so fuck right off if you don't like it" philosophy. Hence the title of this post. This is what I look like, deal with it. Of course, nobody cares except me, so perhaps that eff-off is aimed at myself. It's working! I no longer fear being seen without cosmetics. Granted, if I were still single I suspect this challenge would have been a lot more trying. I hate how pathetic and borderline sexist that sounds, but I'm being honest.

Another thing that's changed is that my efforts to look put-together have shifted, now that the cosmetics have been culled from my girliness tool kit. Before this experiment (and at the start of it) I had bronchitis, and I'd pretty much given up on wearing real pants. My body was so grumpy and uncomfortable, I threw it a bone and lived in yoga pants and pajama bottoms for two weeks. But after the makeup went away, loungey pants were one sin of schlumpiness too far. I took a hard look at myself that first morning in my flip-flops and novelty tee-shirt, PJs on a weekday and a bandanna over my hair and thought, "I have become a living cartoon, exemplifying what it means to stop trying."

And so I've been dressing more carefully and wearing more jewelry, even if it'll be covered by my coat when I leave the house. I've been shaving my legs more frequently, a chore (oh yes, a chore) which normally falls by the wayside a bit in the winter. [Before you judge, I am blessed with the transparent-Irish-leg-hair gene. It's a fair trade off for also possessing the go-directly-from-albino-to-sunburned tanning-ineptitude gene.] I've been playing shoe dress-up, clomping around the kitchen in heels, obviously fiending for a hit off the old what-it-means-to-be-feminine pipe. I've also discovered a handy crutch. If I wear my glasses (which have fairly bold, dark frames), they take the edge off the conspicuously-naked-face sensation. Almost as if I don't feel like there's enough going on with my face, on its own. But toss some glasses on and I feel I'm more adequately accessorized. Face-jewelry.

I've also been taking more care with my hair, which I normally just allow to air dry if I don't think I'll be seen in public without a hat. I'm compensating, clearly… Yet it doesn't feel like an obligation I'm striving to fulfill. I just miss the little dress-up routine I indulge in each morning when I do my makeup. Though I'm not a glammish woman, I do miss getting gussied up in my own small ways.

But overall, this has been a interesting and liberating experience so far, if not dramatically life-changing. No major revelations have struck me yet, just a growing sense of adequacy in my natural state. Which is all I could have hoped for, really. I know I'll be going back to makeup when the month is up, but now that I know how un-traumatizing it is to live without it, I suspect I'll be far more likely to skip it now and then. I recommend this challenge to other Camp Two makeup dependents…though I wouldn't push it on someone who isn't intrigued by the prospect. It took me years to get to a point where I was curious enough to try this, but now that I'm here, it's cool to know I can sneak into Camp One whenever I like, and pass for a native.

Shock and Awe, Take Two

It's day two of Face-Off February, and I must say, I'm adjusting rather nicely to this challenge so far. Unlike yesterday, I didn't automatically reach for my missing makeup bag this morning. In fact, as I finished up in the bathroom I thought, "Hey, this saves a lot of time!" and flounced off (as much as one can flounce with bronchitis) to begin my naked-faced day. Bonus: my coffee was just slightly warmer than usual.

Now I must admit, I was hoping for a bit more "Wow, you're so brave!" in the comments on yesterday's opening post, and bit less "You look great! Which picture is which?" Which is which? You better be blowing some kindhearted smoke up my ass, oh wonderful friends, because I don't invest those five to ten minutes in front of the mirror each morning to look like I literally did nothing. Close to nothing, sure. But I mean, come on. A touch more pity wouldn't go astray. This is supposed to be an experiment in deprivation.

It's just you and me this month, Chapstick.

So in an attempt to prove I really am roughing it, here, I just snapped a shot in some of least flattering light there is—webcam light. Also note the scarf worn indoors, and the knitted-hoodie-over-cardigan ensemble in a neutral-on-neutral color palette, always a bold look. Sorry you can't also see the pajama pants and wool socks-under-Birkenstocks I'm rocking to round out this outfit. Top that off with a swipe of original black-label Chapstick, and I am ready to conquer me some red carpet events. Luckily the scrap of carpet I use to keep my chair from scuffing the hardwood floor is red, so that'll keep me indoors with minimal witnesses.

Face-Off February…go!

So it has begun! It's Face-Off February, second month of Discipline Year, and one I'm dreading a bit. No make-up for the entire month… Let's see what we're working with, hmm? Here's a before-and-after I took a week ago:

My pre-Face-Off February before-and-after mugshots.

The left-hand picture is my totally unembellished face. Not so bad, really, now that I see them side by side…though I was sitting right in front of the window, and sunlight is kind. The right-hand photo is after the application of liquid-powder foundation, brown eyebrow pencil, a bit of blush, a tiny taste of eyeliner, taupe eye shadow, one sweep of "brownish-black" mascara, and tinted lip balm (I hate the feeling of lipstick). That's me on an average-plus day. On a plain old average day, I don't bother with eyeliner or shadow. Bonus: I took these the day before I dyed my roots, so you can catch a glimpse of my encroaching silver up top. There's way more where that came from!

The women I've chatted to about this month's challenge seem to fall into two camps. Camp One never wears makeup, and they don't see the big deal at all. Camp Two's members have been wearing makeup since junior high and won't even fetch the mail without at least mascara on. I'm more of a Camp Two girl, but obviously, I'm not so afraid of my own natural face that I won't lock the cosmetics away for twenty-eight days. Hmmm, twenty-eight days…not unlike rehab.

I know intellectually that my face is just fine. I know that the average dude can't look at a woman and tell whether she's made up or not (my husband) and if even if he can, he doesn't really care. Women who are into makeup, however—they notice.

I used to be much more of a Camp Two recruit. It wasn't until I began a volunteer job at the New England Aquarium in 2005 that I realized it was possible to be seen with a bare face and survive the experience. My job there involved bobbing around in a wetsuit chest-deep in cold water, feeding the penguins and cleaning their exhibit, and makeup doesn't last long in that environment. Certainly not mascara.

At first, that felt weird. Oh my crap—people are seeing me without mascara! You know how in Disney movies, even the female animal characters have eyelashes? I had one of those moments, as if my gender were suddenly thrown into question. As if eyelashes are like the female cock and balls, and going bare was a castration of my femininity. That sounds so ridiculous now, but here we are. Anyhow, working at the aquarium got me over my irrational fear that I may cease to exist as a viable (or indeed, identifiable) woman in the absence of cosmetics.

The other thing that loosened me up about makeup was my relationship. My husband was the first man I really lived with (platonic roommates and one very brief, epic cohabitation FAIL notwithstanding) and you just can't spend the entirety of your marriage avoiding being seen without your bra on or your cellulite masked by candlelight or your face done up. Plus my manfriend is from Oregon—he's a beardy outdoorsy man with intermediate chainsaw skills and little patience for fussiness. He doesn't notice whether or not I'm made up. Not because he doesn't look at me. More like the presence of makeup is a tone heard on a non-human frequency, or a color imperceptible to his eyes. It just doesn't register. Bless him. Which isn't to say I've changed my routines too much since we've gotten comfy with one another…just modified them a bit. It's pathetic to fear the reverse might be true, but it's very reassuring to know you'll be loved equally at both your best and your worst.

Sorry, tangent. So anyway, let the experiment begin! Let's see just how comfortable I get in my own natural face this month. If nothing else, I'll save myself at least five minutes each morning, as well as the annoying under-eye-finger-wipe that any mascara-wearing woman caught in a rain- or snowstorm can appreciate.

Farewell, my put-together sisters. See you in March!

Ten Things I Learned from Gymuary

Well, it's the final day of Gymuary, and I still have bronchitis. That sort of knocks my big 5K running goal finale on the head…but no matter. Maybe I'll do that on March 1. Get it? 3.1 miles on 3/1?

I wouldn't quite call Gymuary an epic failure, despite the fact that I fell flagrantly short of my goal. Thirteen days out of thirty-one! Not even a fifty percent completion rate. Stupid blizzards. Stupid dangerously low temperatures. Stupid bronchitis. Stupid injury…oh wait, that one was my fault. But onward! To assure myself that the experiment was not a complete flop, here are ten things I learned from this first month of Discipline Year:

1. January is poor month to pick if you're looking to go to the gym every day in New England.
2. I like Zumba! And it's okay to look a sweaty clod while learning something new.
3. The busy, walk-signless street that I cross to get to my gym, the one which gives me disproportionate anxiety when I haven't been out of the house enough, loses much of its scariness after a few days' exposure (hermitic writer alert).
4. Locker 118 sucks. Request a different one when they hand you that key.
5. I am not immune to the Katie Perry virus. Teenage Dream in now on my running shortlist.
6. I can run as fast or faster than nearly all the dudes in my gym, if not for long distances.
7. I need to listen to my body more, and less to my adrenal glands. Not all twinges are the sensation of normal, spirited exertion.
8. It's okay to give up on Revolved Triangle pose. Some things aren't meant to be.
9. You can indeed go to gym dressed like a total schlub and no one will look at you funny.
10. A more reasonable goal would have been, "I will go to the gym every day I am physically able." That one I would have met!

So tomorrow kicks off Face-Off February, the dreaded month of no-makeup. Swing by and see what I look like, all naked up in the face!

Gymuary non-update

It's been a while since I've brought everyone up to speed on how Gymuary is progressing, and I'm sad to say it's not because of my deep appreciation of how boring it is, listening to people talking about what they did at the gym.

As it turns out, January is a pretty lousy pick if you're determined to go to the gym every single day for a month. At least in New England. We're now twenty-nine days into January, and I've only gone thirteen of those days. As a consolation to my overworked guilt gland, I never once failed to go to the gym simply because I didn't want to. The spirit was willing. Those gym-fails were due to two blizzards, two days of dangerously low negative temperatures (I walk to my gym), one injury, and now bronchitis. I'm bummed. I'm also just a little impressed with myself for having not wonked myself up worse than I may have out of blind determination. As one of my yoga instructors likes to tell me as I'm triangle-ing, I hyperextend.

Basically, it'll be a miracle if my bronchitis goes away by Monday and I can make it in for a final Gymuary workout. Trust me, I'd love nothing more. I have cabin fever like you wouldn't believe, plus I do my best story brainstorming while I'm exercising. I'm itching to work out. And so sadly, Discipline Year's first month is sort of a big fat FAIL, but for legitimate reasons.

Onward and upward! It's nearly Face-Off February, and luckily, I can't fail that challenge due to circumstances beyond my control. A cosmetics tsunami won't sweep through and force foundation onto my face. The only thing that can cause me to fail is an acute attack of vanity. In fact, February is one of few challenges this year that will actually save me time, and demand less of my effort and energy than normal. I've got my before-and-after mugshots ready to go, so tune in on Tuesday as I kick off the next Discipline Year challenge.

Gymuary FAIL

So I mentioned yesterday that I did something to my left leg while running balls-out on the treadmill. Well, by the time I went to bed, it was feeling pretty normal again. This morning, still normal. Then I went out and got groceries (there's a blizzard a-comin'!) and while I was lugging the bags up the front stairwell, I felt it again. A certain not-right-ness in my shin. Carrying the extra weight made my leg's unhappiness perfectly plain. So I am fessing up now, I'm not going to the gym today. Better to be a slacker than a dimwit, better to perhaps make it up later in the month than to go today out of stubbornness and risk really wonking myself up and spending the rest of Gymuary in traction. So there, I've confessed. I'll try to make it up by doing a double shift—perhaps some cardio following a yoga class—in the coming weeks, but for now, rational choices need to outweigh anal-retentive persistence. Not my usual m.o., but maybe there's an unforeseen lesson to be extracted in this first month of the Discipline Year experiments: I am capable of not crippling myself for the sake of fulfilling arbitrary commitments. Wow, I feel so grown up. Now where's my Advil…

Uncle!

Gymuary day ten, and the inevitable has come to pass. Little Miss Overachiever-Pants pushed too hard and hurt herself. Not badly, nothing grievous…but my left shin, ankle, and knee are not amused. It wasn't a super crazy workout. Half hour on the elliptical, then my beloved ten-minute sprint-fest on the treadmill. I did awesomely, injury nowithstanding…two solid minutes at 7.5 mph, an overall average speed of 6.8. Blazzow! But clearly, I shouldn't be celebrating. In fact as soon as I get the laundry in the dryer I promise I'm going to pop a few Advil and head to bed to elevate my leg and while I self-edit a sub. My left knee has a history of being a prima donna, so at least I know what to do. Looks like Gymuary's about to turn into Swimuary, at least until my leg gives me the all-clear. If anyone catches me tweeting or posting about doing anything aside from swimming or gentle yoga for the rest of the week, feel free to lambaste me in all caps.