Another challenge? Give me a...

I have finally started writing the analytical "dissertation," i.e. the article on democratic transitions. As I listened to Srdja Popovic's, the CANVAS' s (Center for Applied NonViolent Action and Strategies) mastermind, interview, and laughed at his jokes interwoven with impressive answers of someone who knows what he/she is talking about, I realized two things. This is going to be more fun than I thought, and as difficult.
I just have so much material to go through, so many interviews, and unlike Popovic's, the others are just more or less useful. And not as fun.
But I bit it, so I have to chew it, as slowly as necessary.
The other thing I'm doing, starting today (actually I started the day before yesterday, but I skipped yesterday, so it doesn't really count) is another challenge! A writing challenge! Is there another kind? ;-)
So, there are 17 stories in my manuscript. I have to touch up or rewrite each one, in 17 days. A story per day. Then I can submit the manuscript to those open calls waiting around for no one else but me.
But I also have to work on the article every day.
Here we go.

Day 1:

I'm half down my latte (I only get one a day, otherwise I jump like an energizer bunny).
Worked on a article for about an hour (roughly).
I'm about to work on my signature story, Balkan Voodoo.
You're probably wondering why I haven't worked on it before I wrote this? Well, I needed a break from the article. I get so into the stuff I'm doing, that it gives me a migraine sometimes.
So, buckle up, here we go.
p.s. If you want an autograph, you better look me up now, cause in 17 days...I might not talk to mortals...

Who will kill the dragon now?

Post-Djurdjevdan day, or Serbian Saint George's feast, you know, the one who killed the dragon. And the dragon can be, at this point, whatever you want. Use your imagination.
And post-Serbian, French and Greek elections.
A day after I celebrated Slava at a Serbian-American friend's place in Vienna, Virginia (I wish it were the other Vienna,), in whose backyard I saw five young deer, closer than ever before ( What?! I'm a city girl, the closest I came to a deer was at a zoo, I think,) Serbia is a mess, as I anticipated, having spent half a month there recently, talking to people about the elections (among other things.)
So, now you have a pro-Western Democratic Party and the anti-Western, anti-charisma Progressive Party (Progressive my gluteus maximus) vying for the nice, leather arm-chairs in Belgrade, and if the story isn't sad enough as it is, throw the former Milosevic's party, SPS, (who did, not-so-surprisingly, well) in the mix, and have a nice food-poisoning. Or a metaphorical suicide.
People are not happy with the way things are in Serbia. I get that. I think the Democratic Party didn't do enough to stop the corruption, for one. It's like a wide-spread virus. But the alternative is worse, in my humble opinion.
I mean, just imagine, (without throwing up) that Toma Nikolic is the president of Serbia. If you don't know who he is, here's your link.
http://www.google.rs/search?q=toma+nikolic+biografija&hl=sr&prmd=imvnso&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=pxyoT5TXB-eM6QGb5IWlBA&sqi=2&ved=0CGgQsAQ&biw=1280&bih=656

So, imagine this "lovely, charismatic gentleman", (I think sarcasm is too mild of a word for this) representing Serbia, and telling everybody in the West-- F U, We (the Serbs) don't want to be in the EU, we want to be a part of Russia (close enough to the truth) and Kosovo is Serbia.
The mere idea makes me want to change my last name, and I said, a long time ago, (back in high school) that I would never do it.
Except, maybe to Tiger. I like how Marija Tiger sounds :-)

Serendipity?

I have just finished my third rewrite of the"Bucket of melted pig's fat," one of my latest stories about an escape from a concentration camp in Serbia. It's not only about the escape, it's about rural Serbia, and love, and hunger, and war.
So, now, I can leave it be this way, I can send it out, or I can wait a bit and try to deepen it even further, but adding more scenes, chapters...So, I can really use another life-time. If anyone knows where I can buy one, please, do tell.
In a meanwhile, I had a bizarre occurrence the other day. I have received mail for a literary agent nearby.
I thought, if that is not serendipitous, I don't know what is. And I don't even really (maybe) believe in serendipity.
But, I decided to go there and deliver her mail, and tell her that I am a writer.
And I did.
Bad news: she represents only non-fiction. Or at least that what she told me.
Good news: she referred me to a NYC agent. Well, not really referred me, but told me of an agent with Slavic roots who might be interested in my writing.
And now I just need a steel-clad query letter. And heaps of luck!
As you can probably guess, I didn't gather the courage to write him yet. As thick skinned as I'm trying to be, rejection hurts.
There are also a few other outlets, open calls for book manuscripts I should really send mine to. I'm just waiting for the literary Godot, or to perfect my book, before I do so.
I need serious time and schedule to update my manuscript after all the feedback that I recently got. Recently, meaning, since January.
So, I really need another challenge. I need to challenge myself to rewrite my manuscript asap. But how much time should I give myself? These calls, they have no deadline! Or do they....?
I also have a friend, who knows Tea Obreht's agent, and who offered to refer me to him. Scary, right? Very. I'm not ready for that. But when will I be?
O.K. The Challenge starts on Monday! I just need a deadline. I'll find one today, and get back to you.
Why Monday? Well, I'm busy this weekend...

Painful peppermint

It's one of those days when I should have stayed home.
I have a free day, which for me means I have to organize, I have to so something useful, I have to either interpret, write an article, or write/rewrite fiction. I opted for fiction (I know, you are stunned) and decided to go to Tryst, close to my Yoga studio. Then to Yoga later.
And I decided to have some tea. Peppermint tea. Damn you Peppermint! And Why? Someone told me recently that it's good for your stomach.
And now I'm in pain.
The metal teakettle they brought me poured piping hot water everywhere, except in the cup. This includes my leg. And I love my left leg just the way it is.
Well, now a part of it is red.
So, I wish I just stayed home, and wrote that article, or interpreted, or even did the laundry.
Now, not only am I in pain, but I have no desire to write/rewrite anything. Except for this little whining post.
p.s. Any lawyers out there? Can I sue the coffee shop? Can I, can I, for all my pain and suffering?
I miss Dolcezza...

iBaby, iHoney, iWacky...

It's a big day for me! I finally bought my first Mac! And it wasn't an easy decision, let me tell you. So, there's Mac Pro and there's Mac Air! Oh my, my sufferings along the way! I mean, the Air looks so sexy and sleek and anorexic, but the Pro has better guts--more memory and better processor, but it also likes to munch more so it's a bit heavier--less than a kilogram--so it was a very tough decision. I decided to go with the substance over looks, this one time, and My Pro is now comfortably resting behind a deadbolt in my apartment. If you're visiting soon, please don't even try to approach my new iHoney with drinks, food or any kind of bodily fluids. If I see you even attempting to sneeze near it, I will tackle you!
I'm in Dolcezza (of course, ) writing this on my old (2007) Toshiba Satellite U300, currently in hospice state, and when my husband asked me an hour ago:
"So, you're bringing your new Mac to Dolcezza?"
I said: "No, no... no, no, no....NO!"
Last night, I blasted a colleague's story at GW for her adult character talking to her purse being unbelievable, unless she's wacky. (Which she wasn't.) I said, and I quote: "if you talk to your purse, you need professional help."
I vow to you that, as much as my laptop is perfect, shiny, problemless, I will not talk to it, or call it "baby!"
I only personify my car (red VW New Beetle,) but, come on, can you blame me? Have you ever seen a New Beetle up close?
New Mac is not that cute, but, if you come over, don't even breathe too close to it.

Black tie, white lie

The article on Morocco is almost finished. I just have to put some final touches, and voila, it's on its way to the editor. Monday, probably. And then he'll probably asked me to edit it, which is fine. I think it's too long anyway, but it just grew that way. I don't want to cut until I know what he wants me to cut.
Other than that, I'm yearning to return to my book. I got feedback on several stories in it and I'm really itching to edit them. But I should really get on my democratization article first. Why is writing fiction, or blogging or even travel writing so much more fun than analytical articles? I know why! I can't use my imagination, nor experience, just dry facts. Sigh.
But I said I'd do it, so I'll do it. You know me (no you don't), it's hard for me to start something lengthy and demanding, (like marriage or a novel), but once I do, I usually like working on it. I will like this article too, once it's published. The fulfillment, ahhh.
Other than the writing, I have this black tie event tomorrow, and I still don't know what I'm going to wear. And I don't sound girlie or superficial here. It's important what you wear to black tie events, that's why they are called "black tie." Even though I find it sexist, and I'm a bit tempted to actually wear a black tie to it. And nothing else. Kidding. Don't censor me, I'm just kidding. Anyway, my bark is wayyyy louder than my bite, usually, sometimes, maybe?
I have a big mouth, and fast fingers, that's it. I'm actually quite harmless...

An ode to....(with pictures)?

Things are slowly getting back to normal. My normal. Whatever that is...
I just had another interview for an article (or maybe I should call it a case study) on democratic transitions, and I have so much material, that frankly, I'm a little intimidated of the moment when I have to begin writing it. and that moment is close.
I also started another article on Morocco, in Morocco, that I really ought to finish. And I'll do that, just as soon as I finish this.
I was warmly welcomed back into my GWU fiction writing class, and I have enjoyed it immensely last night. I really missed being around fiction writers, analysing, dissecting...  And most of all, I miss writing!
Journalism on the side, I have not written a word of fiction in about two months! TWO MONTHS!
It's bad, it's really bad, but, I realized, I can't have it all. (Sniff, sniff).
So, I'm not going to write about Morocco, since I'm doing that for a magazine. I will post when it's out. I wish they could publish it first, and then I could write it.
To recap.
I have visited two continents, five countries and 11 cities in 34 days. Six days in London, three days in Paris, one in Oxford, five days in Morocco, one in Skopje, Macedonia and the rest, in assorted cities in Serbia.
In London, I saw Rosetta Stone for the first time, in the British museum, went the the National Gallery of Art three times (yes, I need professional help), not because I'm a nerd, but because it was raining. And I love Van Gogh.
In Paris, I went to Louvre, again. (Last time, 2003.) And I again had to elbow my way to Mona Lisa. I know, it's a cliche, but it would feel weird going to Louvre and not saying salut to Ms. Lisa. After all, she is very charming, and well preserved. I wish I would look that good at her age.
I also went to the Eiffel Tower at night, something I haven't done before. Ms. Eiffel is indeed spectacularly beautiful when the sun goes down, and the lights start flickering, even more so than during the day.
Paris has beautiful gardens so Jardin de Plants and Jardin the Luxembourg were on the menu as well. People dancing tango in a park near Notre Dame was somehow so French, so movie-like. I can't imagine people dancing tango near the National Cathedral in DC. If they do, I will move to Mars.
This time I actually touched L'Arc the Triomphe, another thing I haven't done before. But having croissants and un chocolat chaud on Champs Elysee afterwords is not a good idea unless you hate money.
I got a massage on a Rue Mouffetard near the Pantheon, and that was a first too. That I would recommend, especially since you only tip.

In Paris, I often felt like Kate from the movie "French Kiss," one of my favorite of all time, and severely underrated. While on the metro, or walking, I would see the Eiffel Tower, out of the blue, peeking, and it seemed somehow alive, as if sneaking on me. I might sound like a child, but it made me smile. It made me happy every time I saw it. It's a symbol of France for me, and France is my first love. My elementary school, fifth grade French class crush.
I guess this post turned out to be an ode to Paris. So, be it.
Part deux, demain, ou plus tarde.