Writer, Interrupted

So it's been f*o*r*e*v*e*r since I have posted a new blog. I must say (in my own defense) that I have been super busy with all things "book related." For those of you who don't know me, are stumbling upon this page for the first time or are a friend of mine who has simply been busy with their own life, I have been consumed with writing my first memoir. Actually, I call it a "menoir." A menoir is a memoir about men ;) (Got all that?!) Whew!

Well over the course of a month I have been reading tons of books: The Complete Artist's Way, Jarhead, Only as Good as Your Word, The Virginia Woolf Writer's Workshop...magazines: Art and Life, ArtFreak, Psychology Today, Writer's Digest, Poets & Writers...and blogs: Kelly Kilmer, Teesha Moore and ZaZaZu (see the bottom of the page for their links). In addition to all of that reading, I attended the super-cool-way-cheap-I can't believe this is real-Independent Book Fair in New York City the first weekend of December. Let me tell you, I walked away with so much FREE knowledge from their workshops and panel discussions that catapulted me into a whole new stratosphere in Book World. And, I'm loving every minute of it! Everything from writing ideas to marketing to attracting literary agents...you name it, they discussed it.

In addition to my usual visits to my fav blogs, I've been snooping around cyberspace to explore other blogs and websites to find more cool artists. I stumbled upon Judy Wise who is actually featured in the magazine, Cloth Paper Scissors, http://www.clothpaperscissors.com/ and she has her own website, http://www.judywise.com/ I have been thinking of ways to infuse my art into my book...breaking that black and white print tradition. I think you'll understand why when you see her work and Kelly Kilmer's work as well. If I had to categorize my art under any umbrella, it would fall under theirs. Imagine reading a book printed on beautifully decorated pages? I think we need more risk takers, more Sabrina Ward Harrison-types...but original of course! http://www.sabrinawardharrison.com/ I'm on a journey to make my dream of publishing my book a reality. I want my vision of marrying mixed media art and memoir...creating a mixed media menoir = a memoir based on men sprawled across mixed media journal pages. Hmmmmm, I think I'm onto something here folks! Well, for more info and snippets from my book, please check out: www.myspace.com/dawnturzio

Happy Reading!

Transitions Are Ageless.

One Sunday afternoon, I was sitting in a diner in New Jersey listening to a male friend fine tooth comb details of his Friday night that could have possibly been considered a date that might lead to another. I was munching on my grilled cheese sandwich as he analyzed the situation that had apparently left him on edge and filled with anxiety. He went on to say that there were no exchanging of plans or gestures that indicated they were going to get together again soon which clearly left much room for guessing and suspicion of her intentions. Was this just a booty call?

While my friend was contemplating whether “this thing” she said or “that thing” she did meant she liked him and wanted to see him again, my brain was making a connection. The funny thing was that my connection wasn’t based solely on personal experience with a “potential lover,” rather it was something pretty textbook from grad school. Educational research states that transitioning from one activity to another is a difficult task for children, for example, elementary school students need a directive before switching from one subject (writing) to another (math). A simple set of directions like, “Please take out your math notebook when you return to your desk, put your heading on the next clean page you find and raise your pencil up in the air when you’re ready to start the first word problem,” is preventing the class from scrambling back to their seats without a focus which can then lead to nervous chatter and questioning like, “What are we supposed to do now?” Coincidentally, this was the same question my friend found himself asking at the table in the diner. You see, my friend’s Friday night didn’t end on a definitive note.

If the earth is our classroom, take the findings of the research and apply it to dating for a minute. Pretend that you are on a date and everything is going pretty well. You’re engaged in the night’s events and are happy to be out with said person. Then, it’s time for the date to come to an end. Here’s where the transition kicks in and it could be either one of two things:
Smooth with clear expectations: a walk to the front door with, “good nights” exchanged followed by, “I’d like to see you again” or “I’ll call you this week to make a plan.” Or…
A transition without direction that induces anxiety, leaving you wondering, “What’s next?” after a simple exchange of, “good nights” without anything indicating a future date.

In most instances, if transition number two takes place towards the end of a date, it’s a sign that a second is not immediately following. Just like sending a child back to his/her seat without an idea of what’s coming next, dates that leave anyone asking, “Now what?” can lead to the emotional chaos.

So you see, transitions are ageless. And, if you find yourself asking, “What’s next?” after a date, don’t allow the person to waste anymore of your time! Make the decision for them by deleting their number from your phone, for that, in itself, will be your answer. NEXT!

Divorce $399

I was driving back to my apartment and had to take a detour off of the highway and down some side streets. On Bedford Avenue whilst sitting at another red, I noticed as I stared out of the driver's side window that a storefront was doting the sign, "Divorce $399."

Does this bother you? Because it most certainly struck a nerve in me.

To Share Or Not To Share?

It's rough being a writer. Especially a writer who partakes in writing in the form of memoir. I, being one of these writers, struggle with the questions, "Do I share this? Do I include that?" It's tough decision-making people trust me.

And then there's the reader. Readers thrive on dirt. We (yes, I'm a reader too) love the juicy details of fights. We get the goosebumps when we can relate to something messed up. Misery enjoys company. Sometimes we literally think, "This person has snuck into my life somehow and poured it's contents onto their pages claiming it as theirs!" I do this alot with Alanis Morissette's CD booklets that contain the lyrics...and I think, "This f@#king Canadian has done it AGAIN! I need to start copyrighting my shit!" (Alanis if you're reading, you oughta know I was just kidding.)

Then you have "those" people with whom you think of sharing your work with. "Hhmmm," you think, "Can they handle my headiness without judgment?" In Writing 101, you are advised not to share your drafts with "non-writers." As a memoirist, I declare bullshit. I seek support from those closest to me. Support as in: Please read this, don't judge me, just remind me that I love doing this work and love you for constructively pointing me in this direction.

Speaking of sharing, I did something unusual today. I went ahead and emailed the first sixty pages of my memoir to a guy I just started dating. I hit the "send" button and then froze. "Was this the right thing to do?" I asked myself. Then went on, "Why can't I meet someone who comes with a detailed background story that they forward me in an email so that I have a foundation as to what I'm about to get myself into with such a person." The inner dialog got worse, "What if he reads this and never calls again? What if he doesn't even bother reading it? What if he relates to my tales of woe and thinks he's got a wounded partner to wallow in the muck with? I DON'T WANT THAT!!!" After a moment of intense mental conversation and some hyperventilating, I slammed the laptop down and did laundry.

I am extremely proud of my story. It's going to get published whether from a publishing company or my pockets (think: self publishing.) People are going to read it *gasp* and relate *sigh*. People will think it's wonderful while others will wonder, "Why did she leave me out?"

My theory on this is twofold:
A. You can only control your actions and thoughts, not that of others.
B. Who cares what they think anyway?

I've Abandoned My Razor.

No, I'm not a bra-burning hippie feminist...though my insane drive for maintaining the independence I've created would have some wondering if I were raised in a feminist household...

Musicians and performers normally rehearse the week before a show. Not me. I gave up shaving. I did this for multiple reasons, one being that it's so anti-Dawn to be this sloppy and, um, scruffy. For those of you who don't know me, I'm extremely anal retentive. Everything's got to be clean starting with my body. As a matter of fact, my hygiene has reached new heights with the recent purchases of various lotions and potions to add to the already-obscene collection of "girly" products in my bathroom. But, I rationalized the notion that if I did this random act and eliminated shaving from my routine for a week, my skin would be sparkly in time for the show (and not to mention as soft as a baby's bottom.)

Please note: With a delay due to global warming, New York City has now officially entered phase one of the autumn solstice therefore allowing me to revel in my long sleeve t shirts and jeans.

My point: I'm covered.

I have to admit, abandonment of said product has become a rather painful experience. I cringe when I put socks on over my prickly legs and I can't bare to look at my underarms in the mirror. But what has added insult to injury is that (after months of NOT doing this) I actually slept over a boy's house. Am I crazy? The answer is yes. Though I thoroughly enjoyed his company, it was torturous trying to keep all articles of clothing in tack. So I fell asleep in his arms in full gear. Jeans and all.

Conclusion: I'm running to the salon by week's end for a full-body waxing. "AAHH, KELLY CLARKSON!"

I Bet You Think This Blog is About You.

Have you ever been haunted by ghosts of the living? They sneak in and swarm and tumble about your feet as you try to move forward and through. And when you're doing well, there is something about their presence that lingers to see if you'll give in.

I think: Not this time. The ghosts will last for two minutes. And they'll spin my thoughts, no denying, but I'll grow wiser these days. I won't be affected by the hauntings for hours, days and sometimes *gulp* longer like I used to. Not now. No sir. I refuse to allow myself to become consumed by it. By these ghosts of Dawn's past. Nope. I'll be trekking happily along writing, singing, playing outside. (I may be 28 but that doesn't stop me from running around roaring with laughter.)

Who am I kidding?

While it's great to roam alone, and while it's grand to find out more about me as I go, I'm learning more and more about my self. I'm learning that I am a passionate person that doesn't let go easily (if at all.) I've been catapulted into a place where only being real resides. Truth. Honesty. A place where nothing else is tolerated.

And I know there's nothing wrong with this place, this purgatory, but sometimes it can cripple me. It has a habit of stunting my growth with relations with men. And sometimes women.

So I've tried to step on the transparent fingers of these ghosts to fend them off. I actually kicked an aggressive one in the gut, so I'm sure I won't be seeing it for a while. And though I'm sure they'll be swirling around my ankles trying to pull me in again, at least I know it won't be for some time.

I am the girl clutching the balloons. Like many, I'm simply trying to find my way but, unlike most, I tend to get unconsciously tangled up in the bizarre.

You are invited to join me as I navigate through rough terrain in search of the greener grass...documenting it all in the margins of life.