Behind the Scenes at Abby Gabs

Most every writer that I know has a space they call all their own--a space where they "create."  They surround themselves with things that inspire them: books, quotes, objects d'art, photos. Whatever that writer considers a muse is usually somewhere nearby when they're practicing their craft.

I am no different.

Now, I like to imagine myself sitting at a little table on my own back porch, surrounded by flowers and trees and nature, words flowing like so much honey. Or maybe in a beautiful study, filled with natural sunlight from a big picture window, looking out on copse of oak trees. Or, better yet, sitting at an antique desk in a little bedroom, windows facing the sea, watching the tide come in as I'm struck with inspiration on a daily basis.  

Instead, I get this:

There's not much natural sunlight, I'm surrounded by original 1973 wood paneling, and there's not an ocean or a forest anywhere in sight.

But that's ok. I've taken the space I've got and made it my own. And like other writers, I've surrounded myself with the paraphernalia that spurs my creativity. So today, I'd like to share my little corner of the world with you. 

Coffee Landing Pad

I usually write in the mornings. It's when I'm most motivated, and when my ideas are still fresh in my head. However, without caffeine, those ideas quickly go "Poof!" and disappear somewhere within the confines of my very fuzzy brain. So, having a landing pad for my super-cool coffee mug is an absolute must. I also like to keep a pretty notebook handy, because you know what they say: creativity spawns more creativity. So I often have ideas for future blogs while working on a current one. The notebook gives me somewhere to jot down those ideas (even though they most often just end up on post-it notes anyway.)

Say Hello To My Little Friend(s)

I have two little knick-knacks that are always front-and-center every morning. They live under my monitor, and one of the first things I do every day is straighten them and think about what they mean to me. My Maneki-neko (whose symbol stands for fertility--or so the people at Epcot led me to believe) reminds me every day to keep dreaming. And the teeny-tiny Transformer reminds me to keep searching for the humor in the day-to-day. (Plus, it's cute. It's a teeny-tiny Camaro!)

My Thinking Cap (sort of)

There are two reasons why my favorite beach-going fedora can be found on my desk. Reason number one: I've run out of room in my closet and have no where else to store it where it won't get smooshed. And reason number two: It reminds me of the beach. And the beach is the one place on earth where I feel most myself. So, when I can't have my toes in the sand, I put on my beach fedora instead. You'll have to trust me when I say I look like an idiot while wearing it, but it still makes me feel great.

Words That Inspire

I found this little wooden sign at a discount boutique for $3. I snapped it up, brought it home, and I read it out loud every single day. On days when I wish for nothing more than to be somewhere else than I already am, these words remind me that all I have to do is delve into my writing and my wish will come true. It tests the writer in me, and challenges me to spend more time in the world of my imagination.

New Kids Corner

I've often blogged about my husband's Transformer corner. And last year, when I got my own little collection of New Kids on the Block figurines, I took a page from his book and created my own little shelf, dedicated to the boy band I adore. Donned with the poseable figurines, a delightful Donnie Wahlberg keepsake card (given to me by fellow fan, Kristin), and my Donnie Wahlberg desk calendar, and I've got all the muse I need in about a square foot of space.

Each and every one of these little touches, paired with a ton of framed photos of friends and family, a few great tunes, and my camera, help me create Abby Gabs. And I'm constantly adding to the collection. 

Which means, by this time next year I'll need the study by the beach just so I'll have enough room to store all my muses. (Especially if I get the full-sized New Kids dolls to add to my New Kids Corner.)

  Please honey?

Sometimes, All It Takes Is A Memory (Or Two)

I'm not sure if it's because of summer finally arriving in all her sunshiney glory, distractions around the house, or general lethargy, but my writing has been unceremoniously shoved onto the back burner lately. And so, this morning, I decided I needed to go on the search for some much-needed inspiration.

Step one, as usual, involved coffee. (Don't judge me. Caffeine sometimes jump starts my brain into that "be creative and funny" space that orange juice just doesn't accomplish.)

Brain cells active after a cup (or two), I sat down at my computer, opened up Spotify, and pulled up my new favorite playlist. It's titled "Take Me Back." And it's filled with 90s radio hits. And it makes me giddy.

2Pac and Green Day and Train...Oh My!

Tunes rockin' from the speakers, I clicked on my internet browser and headed over to Abby Gabs. Confident something blog-worthy would smack me in the face, I opened up a new document. And sat there for 20 minutes, the white page staring starkly at my caffeinated face.

For some reason, in the nano-second before I clicked the red X and gave in to my writer's block for the day, I was struck with the sudden urge to give it one last college try. I took my coffee and headed for one of my several book shelves. And there, on the top shelf, covered in an embarrassing layer of dust, was the book that I thought might solve all my problems.

A graduation gift from a high school sweetheart, and we're back in business, baby!

Filled with faith that Shel would help me out of my writing funk, I wiped the dust from the jacket and headed back to my desk. I began to thumb through the pages, smiling at the pencil sketches, giggling at the silly rhymes. Memories of my younger self, sitting in the floor of my dorm room, this same book in my lap, flooded my brain. I flipped to my favorite poem in the book from memory, barely noticing the small slip of paper that floated down to land in my lap. I wiped a tear away as I read about Deaf Donald:

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And then I closed the book. As I stood to return it to the shelf, the slip of paper that had been hiding between the pages fell from my lap to the floor. Curious, I picked it up. And found a carefully preserved, slightly wrinkly artifact from my childhood that stunned me.

It was a ticket stub from the one-and-only New Kids on the Block concert I've ever attended, way back in 1990. I was 9 years old, and I still remember the way my stomach lurched when the house lights went down. I can close my eyes and hear the roar of the teenage crowd as the group took the stage. I remember dancing in the aisles with my little brother, waving our homemade signs around with certainty that they'd be seen. I even remember catching a glance of my parents, smiling and singing along with the music that became the soundtrack for my childhood. It wasn't just a concert, it wasn't just about the boys in ripped jeans.  It was a life experience. And it's one of those memories that I'll always cherish.

As I held the ticket stub in my hand, I wondered how it had wound up hidden between the pages of a book that was given to me at my high school graduation. I trailed my finger along its battered edges, reading every letter of print, marveling that such an insignificant little thing as a used ticket stub could hold so much meaning. I slipped it back between the pages of Silverstein, marking the page for Deaf Donald, and cradled the book in my arms as I took it back to the book shelf in my bedroom. And knew that each time I passed that book on my way to bed each night, at least for a little while, I would smile with the knowledge that it was there, hidden among the words that had inspired me for much of my life.

And suddenly, a blog was born.

Finding Inspiration Where You Least Expect It

As a writer, I'm often asked where my inspiration comes from. Where do I get my ideas? Do I have a favorite author that I strive to emulate? What is it that drives me to put pen to paper?

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Oftentimes, I don't have the answers to those questions. I just know that words, stories, anecdotes live inside of me, somewhere under my skin, itching to be released. I wake up in the middle of the night with a new idea for a blog, and lay awake, stars peeking through my curtains, and write it in my head. Dreams lead to book ideas. Illustrations lead to book ideas. A beautiful day at the beach leads to book ideas.

The problem, for me, isn't finding a way to tell a story, or jotting down a particularly clever turn of phrase. The problem is finding the motivation to do something with it. Share it with the world. Finding the courage to seek publication.

For years, I felt like a dog on a leash, desperate for escape. I had so many ideas tumbling around in my brain like so many puppies. A humor novel. A memoir. A children's series. Each time I would sit down at my computer, ready to take that first step into becoming a true writer, that choke collar would pull me to an abrupt halt. Questions, doubts, fear would creep in and take over, sending my creativity into a retreat.

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Would someone really pay me to publish this story?

Are my characters under-developed?

Are there too many holes in the plot?

What if it's not good enough? What if I'm not good enough?

One beautiful autumn day, not too long ago, I had a conversation with my brother, Adam, about this very subject. He'd asked me why I hadn't ever seriously tried to break into the publishing world. And I shared with him those fears, those doubts, that I just shared with you.

In Adam's crib, circa 1988.

And he said to me, in his less-than-poetic way, 

"You've got to tell that voice to shut the hell up and just get to it, sissy. Because you're better at this than anyone I've ever known."

I've received praise before--from glowing comments to awards and everything in between. My husband cheers me on every single day. I've had my Daddy pat me on the back, and my Mom tell me how much my words made her smile. I've had friends tell me they look forward to my blog everyday, and that they've passed it along to all their friends and relatives.

But those words coming from my little brother meant more to me in that moment than any praise I'd heard before in my life. Because finding out that your little brother actually admires you...well, that's just priceless in my book.

A rare moment of sibling concord, circa 1997.

A month later, when I had the opportunity to join NaNoWriMo, I didn't even hesitate. I jumped in with both feet and produced a manuscript that's tipping the scales now at approximately 53,000 words. And while it's a far cry from being a publishable work, it's the first time I've ever put that much work into a book that is my very own.

And all because, when that little voice started up inside my head, I told it to shut the hell up. And I just got to it.

I have Adam to thank for that.

♥ Thanks, Bubby. ♥

Focused Friday

I've got so much catching up to do. I've been slack with my writing for the past day or two. I'm falling behind, according to my NaNoWriMo Dashboard, and so today, I'm focusing on crossing the 20,000 word line.


Well, except for when I'm focusing on other things. Like writing this blog. Or creating this image in Photoshop:

What can I say? I have to get inspiration from somewhere, right?


"Write on!"


Word count at time of publishing this very brief blog: 18,030.

A Comedian I'm Not (Always)

Yesterday's post was NOT funny.


I tried to make it funny, but it just wasn't funny. It felt forced.


I've had "My Funny" leave me only once before while writing Abby Gabs, and I managed to turn it into a relatively funny post. (Not like yesterday's post.) So, I started wracking my brain to figure out why my post yesterday was less than funny.


That's when it hit me.

AHA!

PMS. PMS affects My Funny. (Generic apology to my male readers here.)


PMS doesn't necessarily take away My Funny. It just dulls it a bit. IE: The wit is still there, it just seems fuzzy around the edges. See, when it's just a normal, PMS-free day, I'm all wit and charm and hilarity.

These are the days I come up with my best blog ideas.

But on PMS-y days, my thoughts are otherwise occupied. While I can come up with somewhat decent topics to write about, they always feel a little less...shiny. That's probably because my thoughts are consumed with other things...

Like huge Hostess cupcakes. And how I'm going to murder the next person who calls and interrupts The Gilmore Girls. And tequila. Always tequila.

There must be a hormone to blame. Or lack of sleep. Not enough caffeine? Something about PMS is seriously toying with my ability to be funny. Which indirectly affects my ability to be adorable. I mean, who's going to keep coming back to read a "sort of okay" blog??? 


And if today is the first day you've ever read my blog, and you're thinking, "She thinks she's funny? Really?"---PLEASE don't judge me by this post, or yesterday's! Just go read this one, and you'll swear you've just encountered Whoopi Goldberg's long lost Caucasian cousin.


Because, brain gnomes? Seriously?

"I'm SOOOO not funny."

WAIT! I just thought of a way to make the cute little brain gnome funny!!!

Now THAT'S funny.

Where Has All My Funny Gone?

I'm having a slight panic attack today.


Why?


Because I can't seem to find my humor.


That makes writing a humor blog a little difficult.


I've gone through a few ideas in my head this morning, but I couldn't think of anything to write about that felt authentically funny. So, we're on the hunt for my funny bone today. Apparently, it's missing.

Scoot couldn't find my funny, either.

I don't know how naturally funny people maintain their funny everyday for a month. Don't they ever have days where they feel serious? Or blue? Or can't think of anything remotely laugh-worthy? Don't they have days where they just feel like sitting quietly and pondering the state of the union instead of using clever words to prompt guffaws?


Not even Photoshop could inspire me today. The photoshop of the Silly Hat, and the Cross-Dressing Dwarf, and the Cinderella Facial.


Seriously. Those posts were really funny. So if you're looking to me for a gut-busting laugh today, you might look to one of those posts rather than this one. Because this one is seriously lacking in quality material.


I'm not necessarily sad today. Or blue, or serious, or quietly sitting to ponder the state of the union. I'm just feeling....unfunny.


I hope this isn't the end of my blogging career.

Sigh. What am I without my funny?

So. I'm going to work on this. I'm going to find my funny. Tomorrow's post is going to be all about How Abby Got Her Funny Back. And in the meantime, I'm going to take some sage advice from my pal, Alex, from Late Enough. And spend some quality time high-fiving myself to boost morale. Thanks, Alex...





If you can't see the video, click HERE.