Blog started in Jan 2005: 1st entries for Write in Every Genre. Then the REAL ME begins
It Hurts When I Stop Talking
Sometime in Fall of 1998, when a visit from Dad was infrequent, and primarily at the mercy of his 88 Toyota making the 50 mile journey, I was being treated to lunch. The restaurant was my choice, I think. Sisley Italian Kitchen at the Town Center mall was somewhere my dad had not yet tried, so that was my pick. Either I was being treated to the luxury of lunch and adult conversation without my husband and 5 year old son in tow, or that's just how the moment has lodged in my memory. The more I think about it, they probably were there, but enjoying the Italian food too much to bother interrupting.
Daddy and his lady friend at the time, Ann, came up together and made a day of it with me and the family. We were eating together and talking about some of my scripts, stories, coverages, poems and other creative attempts that really were not seeing the light of day. I think I'd just finished a group reading of The Artist's Way and was in a terribly frenetic mood over my writing. I think I'd just given them an entire rundown on a speculative Star Trek script.
My Dad asked me point blank, “Why don’t you write it?? Ann agreed. It sure sounded like I wanted to write it. Why wasn't I writing seriously? It's what I'd set out to do when earning my college degree in Broadcasting many years earlier.
Heck, I should, I agreed non-verbally.
But, I didn’t.
Blogs can be wild, unpredictable storehouses of moments, tangents, creative dervishes, if you will. I'm getting a firmer handle on my creative cycle. My mental compost heap (which is a catch phrase from Natalie Goldman or Julia Cameron - I can't think which, right now) finally seems to be allowing a fairly regular seepage of by-products. That may be a gross analogy, but I give myself credit to categorize my work in raw terms. It proves that I'm not so much the procrastinating perfectionist that I once was.
Still, I always seem to need prompts and motivation. Being a self-starter is the next step. My attempt to keep up in the Write in Every Genre Contest at the beginning of the year seemed like a perfect point to launch the blog.
|My spouse reads an obscene amount of Science Fiction, classic Sword & Sorcery epics, and in recent years, Urban Fantasy. I have always had a quiet interest in space travel, likely fed by my being born in the midst of the Space Race, but the voracious reader of fiction on the speculative topics related to space-faring? Not so much. I am battling my inhibition to write in the Sci-Fi genre since my spouse would logically be my fact-checker. For once, I feel like building a majority of the story's outline before creating character interplay. I think my interest in starting from characters is part of my reading issue too. I do not crave a book for its plotline, so much as the moments, or often a particularly strong scene. When I get into that type of scene, it is the place I bookmark and find myself going back to -- to re-read.
So, I will note down my future-based space program novella idea here, for now. I dedicate it to the Irish poet Christy Brown, and I wonder if the Brown's family and friends ever took Christy to a lake and supported his entry into the water to spend time floating weightless. In 2025, the best applicants for the space program are the people that are betrayed by Earth's gravity. Some no older than 27, the oldest, 49.
|It's an idea morning, again. Placing this one, in raw form, here for safe-keeping.
The tastes of so many are being trained toward "short form" (articles that are photo gallery content; Twitter tweets, etc.) that it is no wonder we can't make friends. Deepening relationship requires longer conversation.
|A thought comes to me this morning: As an author, I have moments, not missions. My writng is more like the wound one carries with them after an unexpected fall. That surprise playback in the mind as one pitches forward or back, trying to determine what caused this trip, among the many others. The impact, or likely multiple points of contact, and then the wound itself -- varying degrees of pain, gushes of blood, peeling away of skin parchment and exposition of filaments of nerve. the bruising and the watching over of the scabbiness of it all is part of it.
And I am glad for it, the entire experience, because I know that wound is the very natural and most authentic sharing of myself.
|Olympic athletes get their world stage every four years and the nations that host them get to celebrate. There are other athletic venues and efforts that are performed live, but get much less exposure. I am thinking of the Paralympics and Special Olympics specifically. Due to a new school program for my youngest, in which 10 hours of physical activity / exercise has to be logged, I have aided in this up-ramp of physical activity by taking Quinn to they gym. So far, three days of gym machine workout has given both of us sore muscles, but I am already feeling better for doing it. This morning, after thinking over my week, I came to a conclusion about working to change what all people get exposed to when it comes to physical ability and "success."
When you think about it, fictional representations of people with disabilities far outnumber the reality we get exposed to. If the world's entire diet of models in paintings, glossy magazines, sculpture, or newscasters and reporters in other media, always are aimed toward ideal physical attractiveness, we have trained ourselves to only look to one end of a spectrum. And when I say that, I mean, teaching people to accept the spectrum of physical movement too.
I want to research the expansion of live performance that shows a true cross-section, including people with disabilities.
|Halloween for a middle-aged adult can still be fun if friends and/or co-workers play along. I cannot imagine working in an industry or profession where the spontaneity of arriving in costume is banned. One of my struggles is overthinking or perfecting the original costume idea. As an example, months ago, I decided that with the popularity of the Netflix drama, Orange is the New Black, that I could easily obtain or modify thrift store separates into orange prison garb. If I was lucky enough to shop the right accessory aisles at the Halloween stores that pop-up, then just an unlocked handcuff would complete the look. Two days before Halloween, however, I suddenly started transfiguring the idea into something "clever."
I spied a tiara in the glass display case at Goodwill, and thought. "I should be a jewel thief." I could wear the tiara and some large jeweled earrings, and maybe a pendant, and just act in complete denial of "the jewels" declaring my innocence! I took it a little further, thinking, "Maybe, I could rub red food coloring on my palms, and be caught "red-handed." (I crack me up.) So, you tell me, at what point did I diverge from easily identifiable, to this fruit salad idea of a costume? The deep psychological question is -- why do I always need to layer on the cleverness? Because even to me, I notice pretty early when the ideas start to muddy the concept, but sometimes it is hard to deny the ego its play date.
I suppose I should bask in the real enjoyment of Halloween, which comes when I get to use my creativity -- usually not to solve the question of what my costume will ultimately be -- but problem-solving for other's costume quandaries. Supplying the last touch of makeup, the needed safety pin, or the way to make kitten paws work on human hands. That's when the most people acknowledge my cleverness and quick processing of others' needs.
|Ah, now that I have your attention...(actually, yes, I do intend to compare writing in a blog to the unpleasantness of vomiting). Although this applies to any action one takes when spewing forth words. It would not strictly apply to writing your words down.
Vomiting has a seriously disruptive feeling attached to it -- I assume you agree -- as it is an involuntary reaction to eliminate from the orifice that we generally enjoy using for assimilating nutrition. (I will continue to sound like Commander Data giving a lecture on frail humanity facing Borg captors, yes...). Sometimes trying to "be an author" has that Lost Weekend feeling to it. This is very true when you challenge yourself to be present more consistently on your blog, but when checking the calendar, you find that a week and a half has passed. Commitments in that "other reality" (uh, Reality: also known as daily grind) sap away at that thing called Time, and some months we are blissfully unaware of the affect. The next two months, however, most are hyper-aware and frankly, anxious, that holiday prep fever will sap every bit of authorly life-force.
So, this is a warning, knowing this in advance does not make the struggle any less unpleasant. Because now, being aware that one's attention will be drawn away in ten different directions for the next sixty days or so, an author has to be willing to forcibly write. Pick any damned thing to write about just to "fill" the airy space of the blog which could be otherwise neglected for fifty-six days rather than the Octoberly eleven.
It is also easy to converse in this mindless manner, and I am making the suggestion right now to any one reading -- the holidays are not the best time to be speaking your unfiltered mind. This is how and why I can compare writing/speaking to vomiting during this time. It is said, famously in the "Aging" chapter in John O'Donhue's Anam Cara, that Winter is not so much a time of death as it is contemplation. Nature should reflect inward on itself for a season so that all its new life after that season is truly new and fresh.
So, take care in all the interactions and pastimes you take into yourself and digest in the next two months. I promise I will. That way, what I write here, it will have thoughtful meaning behind it.
|Californians are being asked to vote on the Death Penalty. I know my own stand on that issue, and I am personally glad it is being placed on the ballot this November. Tonight, that is not what I want to explore.
How do you feel about registration to allow one to decline to state a binary gender of female or male.
I researched the Privacy Statement on this site where my blog is hosted, and the demographics assist in the valuable info provided for ad aggregators, however, I believe that for the comfort of those that wish to mask their gender identity, an option to opt out of selecting male or female is a good thing. This is an important issue, and growing in importance for our best getting along in communities and the world.
Specifically my youngest child hopes this will change so that they will feel comfortable and remain empowered by expressing as agender. I have often suggested this writing site to them, and tonight is the closest that they have come to filling out the registration. Upon discovering this issue, they state they will hold off creating an account here until that option is available.
I found some writers on Writing.com by searching "agender" who appear to have the perspective of the younger generations like my child.
Flawless will this writer return to WdC? If you want to understand more check out N. B. , but the one hitting closest...She, her, hers.
|I really appreciate having a few friends in Oregon -- the rain began there nearly two days ago -- their posts about wind gusts and storms give an excellent forecast of what to expect Monday.
Knowing has not changed my commute to anything pleasant nor timely, but at least I feel forewarned. The radio DJs falling back on picks like, "It's the end of the world as we know it" does not help.
|Launched a Patreon page just now. I am sure it does not describe enough about my eagerness to write for a fan-base. That desire had to evolve. I believe I am finally there. I know the kids and my spouse support anything I set my mind to. For a very long time I have mainly written when some idea sparks me to craft -- that's called a prompt. So, for now, I shall stay comfortable by stating I am a writer that relies on the prompts of others. But as I write more often, I shall see how the universe allows the purpose of the skill to blossom. I hope others will join me for that adventure.
|Had a story idea today -- and as usual for me, it is somewhat based in reality. What would happen if you showed love by taking on the persona of someone famous, but long dead, in order to let someone obsessed with that person to live their love fantasy?
More specifically. that relationship being a teacher with a strong love for a dead poet and the female student starts writing him letters in handwritten inked letters in the style of the poet. (I think it might play out much like Richard Matheson's What Dreams May Come, or in the obsessive details Christopher Reeve's character takes in Somewhere In Time