The Amazon Iowan

Over there!

2006-09-08T20:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is called LAZY.

My actual blog is here. This is just a cheat so I can comment on people's blogger blogs without constantly cutting and pasting.

But please, come play! We have cake! Concerts! Naked dancing men!

Okay, the naked dancing men not so much. But I do talk about weird iTunes searches a lot, and I am ALWAYS open to cake.

But if David Tennant shows up naked anywhere, I HOPE it's on my blog. That's all I'm saying.

The upside of a random draft

2006-03-28T04:16:00.000-08:00

The page count on my don't-look-down-draft of the governess story is 189, and I mean to see 200 before the day is out. I'm smug in the knowledge that this is TNR 12 pt font, too, which means I have even more if you do standard manuscript formatting.Of course, it's all utter crap.Don't go thinking, either, that this is a sort of bashful trivializing. It really is pretty much crap, by and large. If I can't figure out where to start a scene or don't know why the scene is supposed to be there yet, I meander through sitting and thinking or describe the setting ad nauseum or just leap in at the first line of dialog. I think about half the scenes have discerible beats at all, and most don't have any resolution but run out of steam as I do. There is a huge temptation here to feel like I'm in deep shit, that the muses have left the building yet again.I've decided though, that this is better than the way I did this on the last story. All my life until now I have plowed relentlessly from beginning to end of a draft, letting it morph along the way, then went back and started at the beginning and combed it out again and again, occasionally dropping it all to start over. I pushed until each scene was as done as I could make it, as polished as possible. It mostly worked for the last draft, but I still remember what a bitch that was and I admit part of what keeps blocking me is the thought of living in the Groundhog Day Draft again.I think this splatter-paint version of getting out a draft might be really good. Occasionally a scene will grab me by the throat and I go lay it out, and it's not at all honed, usually, but it becomes a sort of tent pole for that section of the story. I have this sucker plotted out in five acts and I've got scenes in every act. I'm plodding chrologically as much as I can, but I've noticed I have tended to hit the bit turning points first, then the minor ones after, and as I examine the outline I'm already cutting/combining scenes. And what's happening is more and more is that the story is taking shape slowly, looking sharper in some spots than others. It's reminding me a bit of how I would imagine scuplting something, actually. Like something would start out blobby and slowly gain form and detail. Maybe the face would come out fast, but the shoulders would be hulky and rough for a long time. The thing I most like about this method, however, is that no matter how cranky or not in the mood to write I am, I can hustle out a scene. I've already written one scene this morning and polished up another two, tacking on a little more detail. I feel like I could quit for the day with only mild guilt. But it's only 7:30, and I have all of Anna's preschool to get more done. Plus the afternoon while she's watching a show. Plus maybe a nip or two this evening. Basically, if it's okay to write utter crap and shape it up later, I could get four or five scenes in today. If I made myself polish the heck out of the one I was working on, I think I'd be lucky to get one done and I'd probably still be dissatisfied.Of course, time will tell if this helps me later when I have to revise everything. But once again, there are blessings in being unpublished and not racing to change this fact. Nobody's pressing on me but me.

Psychic household items

2006-03-23T03:49:00.000-08:00

Jenny Crusie has blogged about her iPod reading her mind, and my husband has sworn it's happened to him, so my iPod behaving in a psychic manner seems almost a given. I think I can handle a psychic iPod. You just make up something about the battery and magnets and the power of sound and the genius of Steve Jobs and you've got enough to build a rationalization on.None of this, though, is going to explain my LOTR page-a-day calendar. It's been better than a horoscope for predicting my day for so long now that I found myself flipping the page this morning and wondering what my day had in store for me.It's a closeup of Frodo drawing a glowing Sting out of his scabbard. So, apparently I can look forward to today being full of Orcs. Very well, send them on. Just remember, I have STING. And I've had fencing lessons.

Terry Pratchett, I heart you big time

2006-03-22T18:35:00.000-08:00

Okay, I have been wading slowly into Terry Pratchett over the last few years. I am starting to wade faster.

Going Postal was a work of art, and I really need my own copy. Soon. I love anything with Death or Vimes, better when it's both. But I just finished Guards! Guards! and it was so good I just sat there and stared blissfully into space, drunk on book.

And then I realize how much of this brilliant man's work is out there which I have not yet had the pleasure to read. And he's still alive and writing.

Mr. Pratchett, I'm reasonably sure I do not want to have another baby. But if you showed up tonight and said as little as please, I would have one for you. Just you.

And David Tennant. But you know, he'd be absolutely required to participate in the production. Probably in mutliple sessions, just to make sure we got it done right.

Ah, yes. Husband links to this blog. Well, show up at the door wearing your brown suit and we'll pretend you're David T.

Right. Possibly not a good idea to author blog posts while enjoying a shot of Jameson's.

instinct

2006-03-22T06:38:00.000-08:00

So. It's five days into the "please, story, talk to me" request, and I thought I'd report in.

I am so definitely not writing this story in order. Not in ANY kind of order. Yesterday I wrote a scene I kept seeing because of the first track on the soundtrack of A Beautiful Mind.

Did I share that story here? Heidi's wild trip to purchase a CD? Nope – in checking, I see the last entry was Saturday. Well, basically on Sunday I stumbled onto the website of the movie A Beautiful Mind because I was cracking half-nervous jokes about how all my notecards and scribbles all over the bulletin board that takes up half my bedroom wall was making me feel like the guy from that movie, and then I wondered what his name was so I googled, and suddenly I was on the movie's website which played music from the soundtrack. It was one of those in-your-gut OHHHHHH moments where you can't decide if you want to weep or laugh, because I heard about four bars of that stuff and knew I had to have it. But iTunes was not helpful, uncharacteristically, and nobody in town had it. And on a weird, weird hunch, I was sure they had it in West Des Moines, so I drove the hour to get there and sure enough, there it was.

I just about started this next paragraph with a dismissive, "well, anyway," but I can't. I've got to talk about that trip. Because you need to know my husband and daughter were at home having a lazy Sunday, and as far as they knew I was driving half an hour to Ankeny to pick up some Nature's Miracle at Petsmart, and would maybe do a little hunting for that CD on the way. There was no mention of being gone a total of two hours to go hunting for a CD I had no proof was anywhere, just a weird but powerful hunch. And I also have to confess I didn't call and tell anybody, because I needed to just leap and go, not checking to make sure it was okay, just doing it. I figured I had my phone and they'd call if they needed to, and I was just ready to take my lumps if I had any coming for being the crazy person who had to go chase a CD.

(There were none, btw. Not only did Dan not mind, he told people the story at work and said this kind of stuff was why he loved me. I get misty-eyed every time I tell somebody that. How did I ever get so lucky to find somebody who loved me BECAUSE I was crazy?)

On Sunday my little pilgrimage was scary but important. On Monday it felt weird. Yesterday I mostly didn't think about it. But today as I'm writing this blog entry, I'm starting to realize that trip was a metaphor bigger than I can yet grasp. I think that was a lesson in trusting my instinct. I suspected that as early as Sunday, but that little road trip is going to come at me for years to come, I'd wager. I wish I could describe what it was like to just know in my bones that CD was out there and that I had to have it. Man, did I have to fight my Sensible German Lutheran Training. The whole drive it nattered at me. "You're being ridiculous. You're being rude to your family. You're wasting time. You're silly. You're stupid." Every damn script I've ever had in my head, on and on it went. But I could still see the CD, and all around it I could feel this pull that if I acted on this "ridiculous, rude, stupid" trip, I'd have something huge in my hands.

And just to add extra drama to the story, I had a specific place in my head for the CD to be, and it wasn't there. I saw the Barnes and Noble on University Avenue in West Des Moines. I saw it clear as day, and I knew the CD was there. I got lost twice trying to find it, I sweated bullets at how long I was taking, and when I got there I saw the soundtrack to Beautiful Girls and something else with the word beautiful in it, but no ABM. And let me tell you, I searched all the As, the Bs, and the Cs thinking it might have been misplaced.

Then something significant, really significant happened. The SGLT nattering came down like a hammer, and without even thinking, I metaphorically reached up and knocked it away. I wasn't shamed, I was pissed. I'd seen that damn CD here. It was damn well going to be here.

I decided instinct might need to be fine tuned, so I regrouped. Murmuring, "Please, please, please" all the way to my car, I went to the Best Buy around the corner, with plans to hit the Borders across the square failing that. The damn CD was sure as hell going to be somewhere in West Des Moines, or it was answering to me.

It was sitting patiently waiting at Best Buy. I gave a loud "Ha!" of triumph, snatched it, and went home.

You know, this happens so much in my writing. Usually not with CDs and cars and trips to Des Moines, but I have thresholds like this all the time. Brick walls where I stand there and think how stupid I am for trying, where nothing seems to make sense and I have to take some crazy risk that there is no logic behind, only some strange, lonely instinct that never protects me, only asks me to cross the barbed wire of foolishness or the hot coals of shame to claim what it always whispers, quietly, is something very good. I never have to go get it, either. I could have left the CD there at Best Buy and gone home from Ankeny instead, safe and non-stupid.

But if I hadn't gone to get that CD, I wouldn't have heard the first track of that soundtrack. I wouldn’t have seen the hero and heroine waltzing with breathless enchantment across the lawn of Kingston Park, wouldn't have been compelled to write it and find out why that scene came at me like that, wouldn't have sat here stunned yesterday morning as I watched more and more of the story open up like crystals in a kaleidoscope. I wouldn't have spent most of yesterday rushing to assemble my wall of notecards as fast as my brain could spit them out, and I wouldn't be writing this blog entry now.

So hooray for stupidity. Hooray for wasting time, for being rude, for being selfish and for listening to the strange voices in our head. Here's to crazy instinct. I'll take it over sensible stability any day of the week.

writing voodoo

2006-03-18T11:40:00.000-08:00

Okay, it might not be voodoo per se, but voodoo-esque at the very least.Whatever it is, I believe in it. I totally submit to writing voodoo. I am superstitious as hell when it comes to writing. I light the incense and candles, have the altar, collect totems and the whole bit. You know why? Because it works.I've been in the writing equivalent of a muddy spring rut for a few weeks now, thinking I'm getting out only to find I'm not at all, and it was getting really aggravating. It will get that way again. It's just that I was starting to very quietly freak out about the silences in my head, so the other day I did two Heidivoodoo tricks.1. I looked for music.2. I wrote a letter to the story.For the first, I went to iTunes and just let the electronic muses guide me. I ended up with a lot of Moby, and I can't tell you how I ended up there. All I know was suddenly I had the entire Ambient album and made various selections from Hotel. Then I went back on yesterday or the day before, it's all starting to blur -- anyway, the second time I ended up with Voodoo Child -- or is it Baby Monkey? Anyway, whatever it is, I bought it, and then wandered into some DJ Tiesto mixes (I'm sure I'm spelling Tiesto wrong, and I am sorry, DJ, but if I say your stuff rocks will you forgive me?) and bought "In My Memory" and "Close to You," or something like that. In two days I've listened to "In My Memory" over twenty times, and that's just the iTunes count. It's also in the car and on my iPod.For the second, I just opened my story journal and said please. It was pretty basic. It was also sincere. I just thought, you know, this can't hurt, because I'm already fashionably crazy. Actually, my rational brain had it all worked out that it was some sort of fabulous psychological exercise. Whatever. It was voodoo.And it worked. Two scenes today -- one only okay, the other not bad, I think, and neither in order. I'm also a long way into a snappy, anal outline which is candy for my I-love-order Virgo self, and the Wall of Notecards is coming soon, I can tell you that. All this is shorthand for, "the story is coming back." And maybe it was just time, maybe it was psychology, or maybe the gods are now appeased and giving me license to explore the world of story again. You know what? WHATEVER. So long as the voodoo works, I'm going to be happy.Happy, happy, happy. And writing again, thank God.

Mercury, you little shit

2006-03-13T10:34:00.000-08:00

Mercury is in retrograde. I find this out today. Well, HELL. That would have been a lot handier last week.

Swimming on Saturday

2006-03-11T06:41:00.000-08:00

This is going to sound a little dramatic, but I'm really loving the Moby song, "When It's Cold I'd Like to Die." No, I'm not suicidal. But it's a good song. It reminds me of the LOTR soundtrack, in both the sweeping orchestrals and in the Annie Lennox-sounding vocals. (Is it Annie? I know, I could check, but I like the mystery for now.)

I especially like the lyrics, but I like the whole thing. It's how I've felt this week. Now, I know, those of you who know me might be saying, "Excuse me, you've been chatty as hell." Well, yes. But those of you who KNOW me know how unattractive my little depressive bouts can be. Also, I've known they were part of the dip before a coming eureka, so I've been waiting as patiently as possible and keeping them to myself. Part of it is my poor disjointed hormones, part of it is my personal psychosis, and part of it is my (God help me) writing process.

But you know, really, especially about Thursday I was really thinking, "I don't want to swim forever. I don't want to fight the tide. I don't want to swim the ocean. When it's cold, I'd like to die." I'm not done swimming, no. But I wanted a break. I wanted a BREAK.

Weirdly, I got it. My daughter got sick – not deathly sick or anything, just dramatically sick. And my world became reduced to one room, one focus, and a lot of PBS TV in the background while I surfed the net with my baby in my arms. Strange break, but it worked. There's nothing like fighting an illness to get your head focused, but even more focusing is watching your child fight an illness. And thinking about how if you lived in a different era or if viruses mutated just right, this might be the tide, the cold that made death real. And suddenly I wanted to swim again, and bear my daughter with me.

I'm not glad my daughter got sick at all. But I am grateful for the lesson I got out of the experience. So yeah, my hormones are whacked and at this moment I've got fantastic menstrual cramps and even if I can find a focused time to write, my brain won't cooperate. But I'm swimming, and I'm not cold. If you can keep moving, you're warm enough to swim on.

And especially with my beautiful daughter with me, I've got amazing company.

energy

2006-03-07T08:22:00.000-08:00

Has anybody else felt more energized recently? Like the very air is electric? Maybe this happens every spring and I just don't pay attention, but I swear this year is different. It's like the earth is humming. I think it's a good hum, but like all things I imagine "good" is always open for interpretation.I think this is why I'm being a contest slut, and that every time I turn around I'm planning a family trip to somewhere. Also, they're usually around writing conferences, I'm noticing.I'm also sewing again. And making a sari to wear at nationals, God help me. But it's really going to be pretty. I'll try to post a picture when I'm done. The only thing with livejournal is I"ll be damned if Ican figure out how to load a picture properly. But I just can't switch to blogger. I heart livejournal.But yeah, there's energy. I like it. Creation energy, power energy. Good for writers, I hope.

Cats

2006-02-27T21:16:00.000-08:00

I am a cat person. I enjoy dogs, but when I am pressed, I lean to cat.This is handy, as I have five. There were never supposed to be five. Once there was one, but he got lonely, so there were two, so they could hate each other and have something to do. Gulliver I had from a kitten, and I adopted Mia when she was two. Or three. Nobody's sure.Then Blair showed up at the front door, and Dan wanted a kitten, so there were three. Then Gulliver died very suddenly, and I was pregnant and heartsick and not thinking straight, and we got two more kittens, Bingley and Walter. Then we started saying, "No more cats."Then last spring a cat came in the back door and started eating, and Dan named him Sidney at we had five.I like cats. Cats have an arrogance I can get behind. Dogs are great, and I love rubbing bellies, but they need me too much. We had one briefly last year and it was a disaster. She terrorized the cats, she peed on the floor every time I came home, and she followed me around, looking for orders. It unnerved me like hell. Cats never need me. Well, there is the food thing, but that's more a servant issue on my part. They do not feel my feeding them is a favor. It is my duty, and I should be happy for it.I love how they think this whole house is theirs. I love how when I remove them from the table they are not abashed but affronted. I love how they follow me around expectantly, saying without words, "You should be sitting now and offering me lap."Every night around 9 Mia starts shadowing me, because she believes it's time for me to be in bed. She starts by hanging at the bathroom door, because when I brush my teeth she gets to hop on the counter and drink a glass of water with me. After teeth, I should go to bed, and if I do something else she will follow me and look Expectant. Sometimes she gives up, but sometimes she Insists and I end up going to bed for reasons I'm never sure why.Then there is Bingley. If I use the toilet upstairs, he comes in and meows to be let behind the curtain into the tub. I've no idea what business he has in there, but clearly it's important stuff. And when I go into a room he whips onto his back and meows, to say, "Rub my belly."In a few minutes here, I will be going to bed. I have to get comfy fast, because the cats will soon arrive and start penning me in, lining up around my legs. The other night all five were there for a minute, and I have to say, that was a bit much even for me. When Gulliver was alive he slept by my head every night. When he died I cried every night, but Mia would always come and tuck me in, and she has ever since. Usually I get kisses. Now Sidney sleeps on one side of my legs and Blair on the other. And Walter sleeps in the small of my back.Yeah, it's all a bit weird. And Blair has depression issues, so we have Comfort Zones and he gets an antidepressant and a special beanbag in the living room. But I love cats. I think it's because they have no right to be that arrogant, and there's no reason to do what they say, and yet I do, every day. I think they win because they are so sure they will.

Scatty Sunday

2006-02-26T09:34:00.000-08:00

Jenny Crusie does Random Sundays, but I think I do scatty ones. I remember being this way last week, too. I think it's that weird is-it-last-week-or-next-week? energy that pushes me in eight directions at once. Or it could be the forces of hell trying to claim me because I haven't been to church in close to a year.Of course, I take my church in other places now, and I don't believe in hell, so that theory dies fast.And excuse me, but did LJ change their format? This page feels different. I like it.See? Scatty. But I am. Yesterday I was scatty, too, but I got a lot done. Today I'm playing with a forum in its beta stage and noodling around, finally taking a shower half an hour ago. Dan's sleeping as he's got the graveyard shift this weekend, Anna's in a bride costume over footie jams, and I'm finding more contests to enter. This spring I shall be a contest slut.I'm actually really loving the contest slut gig. It's so much less pressure than actually submitting to an agent or an editor, and I'm just not ready for that. It's like dating only with higher stakes. I can't submit to anybody yet because I don't know if I want to date them or not. Submitting feels like a marriage proposal, and I don't even know if I like them yet. This contest thing feels like crusing a bar. They might read my entry and hate it, or they might love it, and then they might or might not make an offer. Plus, with as many as I'm thinking of entering, my name will definitely get out there. And unlike the scatty Sunday energy, this will be, hopefully, some sort of publishing energy.And related to that, one of the contests I was looking at today wanted the ending of a story, so I pulled out ATOS and checked it, but I was pretty dubious. And nervous. I haven't read this thing since Novemeber, except for the first two scenes which I first looked at again last week. So I read the end, pretty sure it was going to result in a round of I-hate-this-I-suck. Result? No, in fact it's not bad. Few bumps here and there and things I want to fix, but now I'm kind of thinking I want to enter the contest after all. In fact, I'm pretty hot stuff.Of course, now I have to write a synopsis. ARG.

Cheese!

2006-02-23T17:34:00.000-08:00

So, I've been writing in the WIP, which is why there has been not so much in the blog. There's also been a gratuitous amount of listening to the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack. And staring into space.I've written sixty pages in about two weeks, which is impressive until you hear that on this book I've gotten to page 100 three times already, so what will be impressive is when I'm at page 150 and then two weeks later at page 200. Except this one does feel like The Real Thing, and it's still moving, mostly – I stalled out today but I think it's because I was tired. What I did discover today, however, is that I'm writing velveeta.I'm going to have to finesse it into a respectable aromatic cheddar eventually, but right now it's pretty much velveeta. Arg. And the worst part is I can't tell if I'm overwriting them or if the motivations work or not. I just have to slog through the processed cheese product and get out, then come back and clean it up later and hope to God it can boil down to something decent. But in the meantime there are lingering glances, breathless moments, and way way way too much over emoting. I don't know if I'm overwriting per se, but I'd say there's a really good chance. I'm just so bummed because this was the part I was looking forward to writing, and to get her and have it be schmaltzy is kind of disappointing.I know, what an entry. But this is why I don't blog when I’m deep into writing. You just get brain goobers like this nonsense.

Valentine's Day: Why I Don't Care

2006-02-14T01:49:00.000-08:00

This blog entry is a present for my husband, so that this year when people give him heck for not giving me a present or taking me to dinner he can direct them here and get the horse's mouth. Every year I give him explanations to hand out, but people do have their set ways, so maybe good old black and white will do the trick.

Honest to God: I don't care about this holiday. I think it's lovely in concept, and the hearts are cute and a welcome change from the snow by this point. There is a certain charm to roses in February, yes. Not at those prices, but in concept, yes. I encourage and applaud others who chose to celebrate this holiday and by no means think my reasonings should be imported by someone looking to get off easy. But the fact of the matter is, it's not my day.

I think it may stem from being left out in the cold for so long on this day. Dan is my very first valentine. I never had a sweetheart on Valentine's Day before Dan – wait, maybe one, but there was not the kind of attention dreams were made of. So there's this twenty year stretch where my valentines were from my mother and friends, and once you turn twelve that just starts to feel like a joke. I have lots of memories of watching other people get valentine cakes, valentine balloons, valentine flowers. I participated in singing valentines. I dressed up. I did things for friends. But mostly that day was a day where other people had sweethearts and I didn't.

Actually, I think I can mark the date where February 14 permanently lost its appeal. It would be February 14, 2000, my first year of teaching seventh grade. That day the whole middle school watched the cafeteria FILL with balloons, flowers, stuffed animals, toys, presents – it was insane and beautiful in a gaudy way. All day the stuff gathered, spilling over and out and everyone in the school was buzzing, waiting for this loot to be distributed. Then homeroom came and it was. Name by name students were called, a constant litany over the loudspeaker. The chosen ran off, eager and happy, and as the list rolled on, I started to notice another emotion: relief. Then the calls stopped, and I looked around the room.

There aren't many words for the faces of the twelve year olds who were left, sitting with me, with no valentine waiting downstairs. I don't care how iron you were: to have seen that wash of stuff and then to not be called was a devastation. Everybody had the same thought: All those valentines and not one of them was for me. It was one of the most awful moments of my life. I think I did something pathetic like handed out suckers. Then the next day when it came up at a faculty meeting a motion carried and the deliveries stopped for good: if people wanted to send valentines, do it at home. The principal and office staff had started the charge because of the organizational headache, but when the teachers started pointing out how bad the kids felt, the decision was final, and to my knowledge, still standing to this day.

The other reason I don't need Valentine's Day is because after all those years of crappy valentine moments, when I met my prince he really came through in spades. Our first year dating Dan sent me a dozen roses at work. Delivered by the florist with a card that had a lovely sentiment and "Love, Dan" at the end. I believe there was dinner involved later that night. One year I made a red dress and bought a red bag and red shoes and met Dan in a restaurant like we were meeting by happenstance. We've made CDs for each other. One year I made him a robe. We've bought presents, both small and big. We've done it all in less than ten years.

There are practical reasons, too. We usually go for broke at Christmas and are still recovering in February. Having a four year old makes spontaneous dinner a difficulty, and then the restaurants are so crowded. Sometimes we say we'll make CDs, but sometimes we are tired and really slagging from the lack of sunlight about now, so we don't have that kind of energy.

Also, despite the fact that I write romance, I am not (and neither is Dan) the sort of person who needs repeated grand gestures. I love them – but once they've been done, they've been done. We set the bar at the ceiling the first year out: on our very first Valentine's Day we bought each other exactly the same card. It felt like fate, and it was, and we've never been able to top that since.

And to be really corny, we're more likely to be spontaneously romantic or thoughtful as the need arises, not as the calendar turns. So for Valentine's Day this year we went to Borders and each picked out something we wanted (Dan got a CD; I got Thief of Time). However, we've agreed that sometime before this summer, on an undisclosed date, we will give each other something romantic and fun and charming or clever or just really really wanted. Like, Dan might get me "Death in the Kitchen" from Clarecraft on ebay. And I might get him a zombie figurine he didn't know he wanted. Or he'll find me new music that he knows I'll love but would never have found on my own. I might get him a book. It's hard to say. But it'll happen and on its own time.

So everybody who gives my husband hell because he doesn't pay a fortune for dead flowers or give me a tonnage of chocolate or whatever, lay off. He's only following his orders. Right now as I write this blog entry the best two valentines I have ever had and will ever have are in snoring next to each other in the bed. They each give me their own gifts at their own time. We have ourselves covered, thanks. And if it really bugs you that Dan's not participating in Valentine's Day, give HIM flowers. He likes them more than me.

Karma

2006-02-10T13:06:00.000-08:00

I am one of those people who give money to the people who stand in the middle of the road or accost me on the streets of New York or Iowa City or wherever. Once in New York I was going into a deli and a guy was standing there saying, with angry passion, "I'm hungry! Somebody give me something to eat, I'm hungry!"And everybody was ignoring him because it was New York, but I'm Iowa and I am the softest touch there is, and there's just something (to me) about somebody standing right there next to you, saying, flatly, "I need."So I told him I'd buy him a sandwich in the deli. I asked him what he wanted, and he said, still defiant and angry, "Turkey!" So I bought him one and I think I gave him some change, and I told him to take care of himself. And I said it to his eyes, with the same vocal tones I told seventh grade children or how I tell friends who are losing it or how I speak to my husband when he's on the edge.Today I was at a stoplight here in Ames and there was a couple at the intersection of Lincoln Way and North Grand, standing there in the cold with a sign that said something like, "Stranded family, need help. God bless." A man and a woman. They looked tired. They looked a little bit detached, like they didn't want to be there but had to. The man was very stoic, and the woman looked like she wanted to crawl inside his coat and hide.I opened my wallet thinking, "I can give them a five," because I really hate people asking and I have to say no. Sometimes you know you can skip it, but this one was tugging at me. In my wallet were the two twenties I'd just taken out from the bank for the weekend, and nothing more. The light was lingering, and I was within sight of the woman. I grabbed the twenty, rolled down the window, and motioned to the woman. She thanked me, earnestly but wearily, and returned to her post.Now, I know the stories. I know these people are supposed to all or mostly be shysters. I know the guy in New York probably went to buy drugs or went back to his gang or his frat house and laughed. I know the couple at the corner in Ames might live in a nice house or be research students or be funding a meth lab, or he might be a gambler or she might be or WHATEVER. I know all this, and I'm sure this is right.But the thing I can never shake is that the guy in New York might have been a crappy person but really just mostly been hungry, and I fed him. And those people on the corner might be liars, but they told me they were stranded and needed money, and maybe my twenty got them off the street faster and into the bus station. Or whatever. WHATEVER. The thing is, the moral basis I got out of Sunday School was that Jesus told me to help these people. I have no idea who this Jesus is a lot of people seem to think hates everbody or half the people or the people who don't tie their shoes the right way or who screwed up or whatever. My Jesus is the one who sees those people and just sees the people and the need and does what he can. He can do more than me. But I had two twenties and they looked like they really needed the one more than me. And if at the end of the game all my little donations that don't mean that much to me ever mean the world to somebody else, even just once, then all the times when I was just a screwball soft touch were worth it. And since I don't know who the one is to whom the act is going to mean the world to, I'll just overshoot and hit everybody who asks and give them what I can.

Macbeth and Kozy Shack

2006-02-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

I know, it's going to be a trick to yoke Macbeth andpudding. You just watch me.

But, dessert first. Can I just say I would like to hug whoever the heck makes Kozy Shackpudding? It's the yummiest"natural" food I know. Lowishin fat, at least in the worst kind. Delicious. Smooth andcreamy. Firm in the way that puddingshould be. If I could get it slightlywarm that would be better, or if it were made out of organic milk so I knew Iwasn't getting any more estrogen than I should have. Still. Kozy Shack isking.

And Holly G? GLUTENFREE. Run, don't walk. Get yourself some Kozy Shack.

Speaking of kings . . . see? I told you I'd yoke them. Little rough, but it's done. Kings. Macbeth. Today I am loving Macbeth, because it is themyth at the core of my story, and praise be to Ganesh, I'm unblocked. I've moved beyond outline and into synopsisterritory, which is always a very good sign. And as I write the synopsis the last little wrinkles are irony out. AndI'm starting to itch to tell the story again.

I swear one of the funky Iowa City downtown stores has gotto have a Ganesh. I'm going to go findone. The necklace alone is notenough.

Tangent, sorry. Backto Macbeth and pudding. Well, to behonest, unless we go for another round of how great the pudding is, we'repretty firmly onto Macbeth. I added acharacter a few days ago, put her on the collage and everything. (I'm reallysorry, Laura Bush. Despite yourunfortunate husband, I do not see you as a villain in real life. It's just that your picture was too perfectto pass up.) And as she unfolded, she really started to look like my fadedmemory of Lady M, so I looked her up and what do you know. My whole story has Macbeth echoes. Which was a magic moment for me because Iknew I had my myth.

This theory that all good stories have a mythological basecomes to me via Jenny Crusie, though I suspect she picked it up from somebodyelse. For a long time I watched her andothers find myths everywhere in stories, and I very quietly wished mine would have one,too, but that was a ways back and my confidence was low, so I was pretty sure Ididn't have one. Then Jenny got herhands on my story (not this one, another one) and told me I was writing theFisher King. I was thrilled – I had amyth! Except I was sure it was still a mistake because I didn't know anythingabout the Fisher King excepting the movie by Robin Williams, and I was prettysure I hadn't written that.

So fourteen Google links and a lot of conversationlater, Iknew all about the Fisher King, and sure enough, I had that in mystory, and it was okay that I hadn't known it before: my bones knew. Go me. I will always remember that as a magic moment where I felt like a realwriter. Okay, having Jenny saying tome, "Are you kidding? This is agreat story," helped a lot. Butteaching me to look for the myth was one step better. It made me feel like I'd tapped into a deep, mystical well,especially since I'd done it "accidentally."

Until I started thinking about Lady Macbeth yesterday, I'dforgotten the myth for the new story. Idon't know why, but the myth really lined things up for me. I think it's because it feels like a fence Ican trust. I hate it when the storyfeels like it's always running off the rails on me, but this particular storyis Exhibit A why I can't just put up any old fence and say, "Now, stay inthere." The guardrails a guidingmyth gives me feel like they've got post depth that probably touches the moltencore of the earth, and yet at the same time they're wide and forgiving as faras stepping outside of their boundaries. I've got a Lady Macbeth who is almost more Macbeth than sheis lady. She's also manipulating herson more than her husband, and she'snot offing herself, I can promise you that. I've got a false earl instead of a false king. I don't have witches, but I think the beau monde isstanding in for them. I'm not sure ifmy hero or my heroine is Macduff or if they share the role. But I do have a Malcolm.

I also have Carolyn the nurse and Aunt Althea, who will kickthe pants off any comic relief that old Bill had in his version. If I may be so arrogant.

So today is a better day. I also have a duke in the mix now, in the very back, and on the collagehe's Ian McKellen. And Ian, I can'tmake him gay, but I can promise you that he's the sort of man who wouldn't turndown a handsome footman if he were offering. Well, that won't appear in the plot, but I'll give it to you regardless.

And now back to the synopsis. Go get your pudding.

the pain is part of the process

2006-02-05T12:06:00.000-08:00

I would just like to state, for the record, that WRITING IS HARD.Honestly, today is one of those days where I feel like Wesley after they take a year off his life. I just want to whimper. It seems like something in the atmosphere, because everybody I know is doing this, which does sort of make it better. It does not, however, get me any further out of the tar pits.I would like to say it's just that I need to recharge or that I've been working too hard or that it's something very passing. I unfortunately know better. This is part of the process. The stare-at-the-wall phase. Chase your tail, trying to find the magic way in. Rearranging plot. Adding characters. Trying on scenes to see if they fit. Deleting characters. Double-checking motivations. Basically, this is the part where I look around desperate for anything that will help me move this damn boulder between me and the story.And before you ask, I haven't taken my Ganesh necklace off for three days except to sleep and shower. And I was eyeballing statues on the net this morning.It absolutely drives me crazy that this is part of the process. I want very much to find a way to cut this part out. I even tried to dream my way out the other night: I went to bed whispering to please be shown the way through this story without killing myself. And I got the dream I wanted, sort of. In the dream I knew the answer to everything, knew exactly what I needed to write. I had the perfect story. And nobody wanted to hear it because they couldn't relate. My dream guide turned to me and said, "The pain is part of the process."Well, DAMN.But it makes sense in a very twisted, depressed sort of way. It's like the price paid. Like in the fairytale when you've got to wear down three pairs of iron shoes to get to the princess. If there were gimmies to be found in writing, everybody would do it, and no one would be impressed by your result.In theory I'm behind this. I don't want story to be free. I want it to mean something. I just never thought there would be so much of my blood involved.Yes, I know. Terribly uplifting blog entry. Well, it is me, after all. If this is the big-depressed-life-is-over day, then if I stick to my usual schedule I'm do for Eureka anytime now. Because at least in Heidiworld, when I finally hit the bottom of the pit, I find a trampoline.Of course, there might be a door at the bottom of the pit into a deeper hole first. Won't know until I get there.

sometimes you need commercials

2006-02-01T10:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, a friend of mine sent me this. It's a website about an ad for Europe set in San Fransico for a new LCDTV with fantastic color. Or, as they say in the ad, colour. The ad is oddly magical, but what cinches it is the music which playsover the top of the ad.

The song is "Heartbeats" by José González, somebody I'd never heard of before this ad and now I have everything he sells on iTunes.

I can't describe the music very well, because my reaction is more thanjust "it's nice" or "I like it" or "it inspires me." Itpermeates me. It's so quiet, so soft, and so it hypnotizes youbecause it seems innocuous. And then you start listening. It's like when you're really crazy busy in the middle of traffic or themall or somewhere and some person, usually elderly or just someonewho's smart enough to see a busy place like that and sit on a bench andbe still and quiet -- when those people reach out and hand yousomething, or smile, or make some small comment that rocks you.

José does this to me. He starts singing and I just want to lie inhis lap and stare calmly out into the world, suddenly comfortable thatit's safe now. And he's such an artist: he has this thing fortaking songs that are very harsh or syrupy and turns them intosomething magical. "Heartbeats" is originally some hard 80'sedge-rock synth-fest, and he covers "Hand On Your Heart" by KylieMinogue, a song that is fine enough, but mostly silly and tossaway. He sings both and I sit very still and feel different whenI'm done.

I think my favorite thing about this music is that I listen to it andimagine that this guy is a guru, some sort of saint come to Earth, who,if I met him, would be almost like meeting God. And the thing is,he probably worries about gingivitis or hates his hair or can't keep arelationship going or something very human, just like everybody. WHich means this music I hear IS the God in him, speaking to the God inme.

Anything that can play across an electronic device DURING AN AD andcaptivate me like this is proof enough for me that there is magic inthe world.

I have had wine

2006-01-30T20:25:00.000-08:00

This post may be verrrrry interesting, as I will shortly pause thisentry to go and fetch my third glass of wine. Jacob's CreekShiraz, for the detail oriented. It is cheap, red, and yummy.

Also, I just corrected "third glass of wine" from "third glass of line"from that first sentence, so be ready to forgive type-os.

Uh-oh, apology in advance. Upon going to bed, my husband asked,accusingly, if I had drank all the wine. It was not true then,but it is now. Mea culpa, Dan. Tomorrow is payday, and I'llbuy you another.

But anyway, to the post.

So, I'm at my favorite part of the writing process, interestinglyenough: I don't have a name for this, but it's a recurring stage, so itdeserves one. Probably edge-of-the-cliff stage. I've spentthe entire day wrestling with scene one of the governess story, andwe've come to the edge of the cliff moment. I will soon leap intoa pit of despair and insanity, or I will find the answer.

Actually, that's not true and more's the pity. I'm an enneagramfour, so I love drama. Anne of Green Gables and that wanting tobe Lady of Shallot? Yeah. Except real life is neversufficiently dramatic. You set yourself up for a nice "I'll findthe answer or go crazy!" and wait to either die in a blaze of glory orascend into nirvanna, and what happens is you're just soggy from toomuch wine and the damn scene is still a mess. There is nojustice. And not nearly enough drama.

But hope is springing eternal that I"m about to Figure It Out. Mydesktop toolbar or whatever that is which runs along the bottom of myscreen has three governess documents, iTunes looped to Lamb's "Stronger(and that's really important), Firefox with two tabs, and then adangerously untitled "document four" which has the keys to sceneone. A beat by beat slightly snarky breakdown of what the hellthat scene, ideally, should be.

I don't have a good scene metaphor, but it's something along the linesof I have this INSANE MESS of crap that I keep piling into "GovernessDLDD3" which consists mainly of three not at all connected conflicts,none of which I can bear to cut. So I have killed myself all dayat the laptop trying to find the magic lasso to yoke them. Idon't know if it's the wine or what, but I think I may have done it.Because if you live in my brain and have three unconnected conflicts,what you chiefly need is a FOURTH conflict to lay over the top as anexternal conflict that touches all three underling plots and makes themone. If you read that and said, "Huh?" you may need somewine. Three glasses of Jacob's Creek Shiraz. $8.99 a bottle.

Or maybe it's the song. I don't know why, but if I listen to thesame music over and over again while I try to write a scene, I figurestuff out. This has been true my whole life. In college Ilistened to a tape of "Mozart Early Symphonies" while I studied MajorBritish Authors II, and to this day if you play those songs quotes fromthe 17th, 18th, and 19th century British writers float thorugh myhead. All I know is right now I'm listening to "Stronger" on loopand I can just see Our Heroine pressed up against the wall, nowhere togo, no one to help her, not even believing in herself at this point,but way down deep in her core this song is playing (or some Regencyequivalent) and that's why I found my throughline for the scene.

Or it could be the wine.

At any rate, I'm going to ride my alcohol-soaked happy bubble until Ican't type straight, try to make that scene fly, and then go tobed. And then probably read this entry and that scene tomorrow(with a headache) and cringe, but for TONIGHT, by God, it's going to bebrilliant. Either that or I'm sufficiently drunk that I can havea right proper despair. We'll save the depressingly dull realityfor tomorrow.

Ha!

2006-01-29T07:16:00.000-08:00

Did it. I have an outline.Now I'm going to go have a cookie.

just hell

2006-01-29T05:44:00.000-08:00

Okay, I see several spelling errors in there (I KNEW I should have written it in Word) and now I can't seem to fix them. Well, we'll all just have to cope.Right, coffee and outline. Honestly, I'm going now.

forward

2006-01-29T05:10:00.000-08:00

If you read that and subject line and heard Johnny Five in your head, you are my kin in spirit if not in flesh.

So, this is a rambling about writing entry -- on the assumption that Ihave regular readers out there somewhere, in some other dimmension, ifyou don't care for the writing blather this is the time to go out forcoffee. Speaking of which, my tea has nearly run out and is cold,and coffee sounds really good.

Right, that's settled -- coffee brewing. So, forward. Writing.

Today is The Day. Maybe. Okay, that's not the power ofpositive thinking, Robert Schuller -- no really, today is The Day, nomaybes. Today I will establish the first working, beginning toend outline of Governess. There will be three acts. Ithought for awihle four, and there could probably be a debate that acttwo is really acts two and three, but I believe we shall stick with thetraditional three. I think I might even know the end. Butwhen this happens today, on The Day, we reach a Heidi milestone assignificant as the completing of the collage and reaching page 100 forthe first time. Because once I have a real working outline, Istart drafting in a serious way.

Okay, maybe that's a lie, because I got a working outline for the farmstory last summer and haven't touched it since, but there were kind ofextenuating circumstances. One was that I had the outline but Icould still feel there was stuff to noodle. Also, I realized I wasgoing to have to write bits I was at that time scared to write -- stillam, but at that particular moment I just couldn't go there. Andreally, if I hadn't, ATOS wouldn't be done.

But this is definitely a Forward moment. Right now it's almost asif telling myself the story in my head and watching Heidi's PersonalVisualization is almost enough. As soon as I start this outline,though, I'll be chomping to get the stuff written out so I can see itand share it with other. And that's when the real hell begins,because no matter how good that outline is, Things Will Go Wrong. The story will shift. New characters will appear and then dieoff, and invariably I'll show the draft to somebody who, when the storyis finished will still be thinking wistfully of Joe the Butler orsomebody they bonded to and then I cut to pieces. Right now I'dbe worried about Froggie. Except I'm bonding to Froggie, though Icut Fielding in ATOS and I thought I'd never do that.

Mind wandering. Forward.

But it's going to happen. I'm going to finish the outline, andthen the great drafting starts. I will move beyond page 100 andinto act two. And I have to say, I really like this story. I'm really excited about it still, which is fantastic. It's verypossible I'm focusing on symbol and theme too early. Almostwithout question I'm forcing stuff that shouldn't be there.

I wonder if that's because I keep hearing Karen Harbaugh'svoice in my head, saying to do things that will delight thereader. At this point I might be mostly delighting myself, but Ithink that counts. Like, I'm keeping the lavender bonnet. Iwrote this sequence I knew I had to cut -- my God, it killed thepacing, but it was so cute. And in it the hero buys this bonnetfor the heroine beacuse she lost hers, and his friend tells him hecan't buy the governess that fancy of a hat, and he's right because thehat the hero is looking at is the prettiest in the shop. It isnot a governess hat. And yet he goes back later and buys it forher but doesn't give it to her. And it's my favorite part of thebook so far.

So I found a place it fits and I'm going to put it in, and at themoment it's serving a very important job. But even if I cut itagain later, it's making me feel light and magical and airy while Iwrite it, and I admit, I keep thinking of stuff Ellen will like when Iwrite it, or things I hope she will. Or Dan. Or people ingeneral. Or Karen.

But we're definitely moving forward -- that is, we are as soon as I stop blogging and surfing the Crusie/Mayer blog and yelling at Chris because my computer won't load the disturbing "Whip It" video.

Which would be right now. Or, right after I go get that coffee which is definitely done brewing now.

it's curtains for me

2006-01-24T11:41:00.000-08:00

In November and December the thermometer dipped down, the winds whippedaround our house, and the drafts began. Our house has reallyeffecient furances (somebody doubled the size of the house in the 70sand instead of redoing the ductwork in the original house just added aseparate furnace) and decent insulation, but not so greatwindows. Also, we're incredibly deficient in curtains. Several rooms had none at all, and those that did tended to have reallyhideous blinds, many of them vertical. My first act on moving in twoyears ago was to take them all down. Unfortunately, I didn't putanything back up, chosing instead to study each room and decide whatwould be best, then redo each room one by one.

Or so I said. Mostly necessity has forced my hand in each room togain curtains: first my daughter became afraid of shadows, and as shealready had a pretty curtain rod, all it took was a trip toTarget. $60 later I had three purple paisley Simply Chic panelsput up, and they've served well since. Next came our bedroom --what forced my hand there was my husband's first overnight shift at thehospital. To effectively sleep during the day, he was going toneed some light blocking curtains. This time I had to buy acurtain rod as well, so $100 and a trip to JC Penney later, we hadcurtains in our bedroom.

Everything pretty much came to a standstill until this fall when thosewinds started whipping around. The drafts started up, but we keptthe theromstat down in an effort to save money. So with the houseset at 64, 66 on a really cold day, I sat in the family room withfrozen fingers, the draft of the sliding door and three sets of badlyinstalled windows whipping around me. I was cold, but I was alsocheap. I didn't want blinds in the family room, I wanted rich,thick, room-darkening, insulating curtains -- and with that slidingdoor, it was going to be pricey. Best I could manage was a reallyugly panel and $150 minimum for curtain and hardware to cover the door-- alone. And since I wanted the other windows to match, I wasgoing to break $500 really fast. All this and I wasn't gettingthe rich, pretty fabric I wanted.

I managed to get to fabric.com andfind some very nice chenille upholstery fabric on clearance: for lessthan $100 (with shipping!) I got nearly 20 yards of fabric, and with ita brainstorm. You see, our family room is very cozy, but has nodoors and opens into a long, long hallway leading to the toyroom, thedownstars bathroom, and the basement. It also opens into theoriginal part of the house, which features an open dining and livingarea. So part of my cozy family room is a hallway which in itsfull expanse well over 100 feet long. Maybe even 150 feet. Not so good with the feng shui. My brainstorm was to put up twopanels at the natural borders of the family room, closing it off. It would make it homier and have a practical function as well: in thewinter we could run the fireplace or a space heater and have a lot ofheat in a small space. But once the fabric box came (Over sixfeet long! That impressed the UPS man.), I didn't exactly jump upand start sewing. I didn't have any hardware, and I really suckat putting that stuff up. I asked my FIL to do it, and myhusband, and we all talked about it a lot, but it never happened.

Then it became January at we got our December heating bill.

$300! For just the natural gas!!! Here I am, freezing myass off, and I'm STILL paying $300! Boy did that piss me off --enough, in fact, to start me sewing, and get me to Lowes and get firesunder my husband and FIL. And now I have curtains.

I can make the family room dark as night at noon, if I choose. Ihave rich, gorgeous jaquard-print chenille curtains: gold on red forthe windows and door, and cream on olive for the hallwaysections. (Those are impressive, at nearly 8' in length.) The curtains hang from ridiculously simple hoop-and-clips from Lowe's,on very lovely gold rods, from the same. The family room is verycozy and elegant. But most importantly -- it is WARM.

Because I also bought a small heater at Target for $40. In lessthan five mintues this room, whose theromstat is set at 60, can be sotoasty you're tempted to take off your socks. Since thehall-blocking curtains went up, I've kept the house at 60 degrees orless and used this room as a warm-up place. At this very momentI've moved my laptop in here. Most of the cats are in here, mydaughter has PBS going while she plays with her Playmobil, and we're ata very comfortable 70 degrees. I'm even considering turning thesucker to low, because I'm almost hot.

I have no idea how much money I'm going to save, and the electric billwill probably go up a bit. But I'm not cold anymore, and I havevery pretty curtains. And I made them myself, which in the middleof the project seemed like a damn stupid idea, but now that it's done,my frugal heart beams with pride at how fricking awesome they look.

Ha.

mini-zen

2006-01-19T05:33:00.000-08:00

I have no idea how I got here, but I seem to have stumbled into alittle pocket of zen, and I have to say, I hope it sticks around abit. It's the damndest thing -- life is whirling around at afrenetic pace all around me, there's stuff like insanity everywhere Ilook, my schedule is really busy, and yet I'm getting a lot done on alot of fronts, I'm getting in a lot of reading, a lot of family time,we have clean clothes, and food in the fridge.

Seriously -- I spent all last week beating one scene into place, andnow I'm on scene five (this is a revision thing, so there's a lot ofinsertion. I haven't written four scenes in four days.) andmoving steadily forward, but I'm only working in the mornings. It's like I have extra time or something. Like somehow time isbending for me into just the right shape, and I'm calmly, happilywalking through it, getting done what needs to be done and occasionallybending over to smell some flowers at my feet.

There is a part of me that desperately wants to analyze and figure outhow I've done this so I can bottle it and do it again, but then Iremember the manna. You know, the Bible is good for a lot ofthings, and that manna story is a good one. When you get giftsfrom the gods, DO NOT try and sneak extra helpings. Just be damnglad food is falling from the sky and enjoy it while it lasts. SoI'm enjoying my manna and reading a lot of Prachett. I've startedbuying them, because it must be done. I want Hogfather again soon(reading Soul Music just now) and then I"m going to want to see Grannyand Nanny again.

Something is coming, though, and that's not a reference to TheChristmas Invasion, Whovians. I just have this sense. Aprilor May, (maybe March, but I try not to think about that, too close)something is coming. I keep dreaming about it. Last night Idreamt that I was in a color guard at the church where I was baptizedand confirmed, and somehow this was all related to some online groupsI'm on. I was a "senior" and I was in charge of the program, andwhenever someone dropped a ball I had to go pick it up.

The coolest thing was there were all these flags that had to go upfront before the service started: the Lutheran flag was there, and theAmerican flag, but there was also a Human Rights flag and a transgenderflag, and I carried the latter. I remembered in the dream beingreally glad our group was so diverse that we had a transgenderflag. But then they were about to start the serviceand nobody had brought up the American flag, though everybody wasstanding and ready like it had already gone past, so I hurried back andpicked it up and ran with it flapping all the way up. Then I wentback to find the rest of the ushers.

Except I kept crying because it was my last program, like I was aboutto graduate. And after that I woke up, and it was like somebodywhispered "something's coming."

You know, at this point aliens would actually be easier to take. Because my gut keeps saying, "your whole life is going to change" andwon't tell me why or how (actually, I think it's that I won't let me tell me why or how) and it's everything in me not to be a baby and say, "but I like my life!"

So I'm holding on to this pocket of zen and refusing steadfastly tothink about April, excepting that we may be traveling in April and thatwill be fun.

What is normal?

2006-01-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

Eowyn broke her hand again the other day. This would be my Eowyn action figure, pickedup at Target a little over a year ago. She sits on my writing altar, which you can find here. I actually have a Buffy from "Once MoreWith Feeling" now as well, as I have the coolest husband on theplanet.

But Eowyn broke her hand, and it's defying being put backon. As I'm a symbol wonk, I'm tryingnot to read too much into this, but it's hard, especially as this week writinghas been well beyond pulling teeth and into removing gall bladder sort oftrauma. Add to this the Trouble WithBlair and I'm downright paranoid.

Blair is the alpha cat in our house. We are insane and have five, four male. This is no doubt part of our problem, andtrust me, NOBODY is getting in now, but it's too late to turn back on the fivewho are here. But Blair is stressed: between moving two years ago, thedisastrous Dog Experiment a year ago, and Sidney, the cat who came to dinnerand never left, he was bad enough, but it was a woman who pushed him over theedge. Cookie, a neighborhood cat whodelights in tormenting our cats from our porch, the sliding glass door, andanywhere she can.

And now Blair is so stressed out and angry that he's gotblood in his urine, and it burns and makes him crankier, so he pees whereverthe hell he can. Of course, to discoverthis we had to send him to the vet for two days and lock him alone in a verysmall cage with no litter box so he would pee through the grate and they couldtest it – I'm sure this did tons for his mental state. When I picked him up today I felt like I wasrescuing someone from Auschwitz, which is terribly unfair to our vet becauseshe is wonderful, but Blair I think does not share this sentiment.

So I'm looking at getting two more Comfort Zones which is no small purchase, btw, but they really work. We've already shelled out for some weirdpowdery stuff for his food which he of course has already refused. (Let's see how he feels tomorrow morningafter I've put up the food for the night and this is his only option. Also good for the mental state, I'msure.) We're already giving up onadministering the antibiotic twice daily and Dan is going back tomorrow to begfor shots, swearing he knows how to prep and administer them. (He does, he's a pharmacist.) We're trying to give him extra attention andkeep the other cats from bugging him while not infringing on his manhood.

Why does this already feel like a losing battle?

Add to this a four year old who has launched into hermost manic phase yet and what do you have? If you said optimum conditions for getting through a slaggy spot in thewriting process, you would have guessed incorrectly. And yet through all this I prevailed and tonight I managed torough out the new scene one to the WIP. I sent it to my wonderful, fabulous critique partner so it even feels official. Then I treated myself to reading one more scene of her WIP (it rocks,you should all drool) which turned into reading four because it is just thatgood.

Of course, at 6:30 you could not have gotten me to believeby 9PM I'd be sitting here zen as hell, calmly swilling my lime mineral waterstraight from the liter bottle. TheJameson's I had at 6:45 helped for awhile, but I think in the end it was thechaos that set me straight, weirdly enough. I mean, if it were ever actually "normal" here,I'm sure I wouldn't recognize it. Infact, this is pretty par – several disasters at once, Voice of Doom alwaysready to broadcast the end of the world (which if you watch enough Buffy and DoctorWho doesn't impress you after about a season of each) – honestly, I think I'dbe twitchier if it were quiet around here for a week. Little moments of aberration are fine, but really, life is aroyal mess by nature, so looking for constant zen is pretty much like asking tobe dead. The good stuff always falls inthe cracks, so you've got to dig through all the weird stuff to get there. And as we all know, it's the digging and theanticipating that is the real ride, not the getting to the stuff at the end.

Now if I can translate this to my fiction I might just beable to make a career out of my neurosis. Now that's a crack I want to fall down into. I think.

Love makes the world go round

2006-01-08T16:59:00.000-08:00

This weekend I saw two movies, Brokeback Mountain and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Each is the darling of a polar end of the political spectrum, or so themedia would have you believe. Actually, I have convservativefriends whom I know will probably see Brokebackand love it, and I know a lot of far lefties who will see the Narniaflick and adore it as well. Which makes a lot of sense, as when Icame out of TLTWATW this afternoon my first thought was that both thosemovies had the same core message: love one another.

I didn't recall that being the central message of the Lewis versions soexplicitly, but they made a big deal of it in the film version. And for all the jokes about gay cowboys and Ledger and what'shisface'sprotetations of how hard it was to be gay, the message of Brokeback Mountainis not that it's okay to be gay as much as it is that it's okay to beyourself and that you should take love where you find it and not let itpass you by. So, love one another.

Only people so ferverently on message to their respective radicalismcould see either movie and do anything but say, "Wow, that touchedme." Of course, Brokeback will make you bawl your head off whileyou say it, but still, it's very touching. So is Narnia.

It does make me sad that we live in a world that two dueling partiesback two films that have such similar base messages, but we can't getbehind each other and celebrate those similarities.

Okay, time to go watch Doctor Who again.

God, but he's hot.

The POV of the Doctor

2006-01-07T09:08:00.000-08:00

Warning: this entry has great gobs of spoilers for Doctor Who, thoughlittle of it is about plot and most if it is about character.Personally I'd say if you haven't watched it and plan to you shouldskip it. I wrote this up for my own purposes, but I liked how it turnedout so I thought I'd post it in case there's somebody desperatelytrolling for Doctor Talk, which I sympathize with totally.Here it is.

**

To us, the Doctor is an alien. Tohim he's not, though, he's just himself. He's normal to him, he's himself.His normal is radically different from everybody else,though. By most people's sense he'd beat the time of a linear hierarchy – but is he? Does he think so? I don'tbelieve it. I think there's a part ofhim that knows he's more aware, has more knowledge than most people, but Idon't think he believes he's superior. There's an egoism that must go with it, but that's not a flaw, that'spart of omnipotence. If you're going tohave separate consciousness on your own and then also have that much knowledge,you have to be aware that you're "greater" than most. But I think you'd also realize what a burdenthis is.

But to be the LAST of the Time Lords . . . . well. And to be the one who killed your own peopleoff to stop a threat to the universe at large? And to not be entirely sure this was the best choice? Then to find out that your solution didn'twork?

So he's traveling. He's always traveling, always on his own, sometimes with companions butwith a sense of the greater unity of Time Lords, until now. Now it's just him, completely alone. Utterly. And I bet he feels a sense of responsibility, like now he has to bear upall the work the Time Lords would have done as a race. He's not just the last of the Time Lords,he's THE Time Lord, so he's sort of God as man, only knowing his job isimpossible. He's got to patrol theentire universe himself. Maybe hewishes he'd died, too, but he couldn't and didn't, and now here he is, leftbearing the guilt of surviving and the responsibility of those he had to kill.

Now, enter Rose. At first she's just another human to save, though she seemsto intrigue him right off. She'sspunky. She's smart. She's assertive. But still, human. Shecan't possibly be that different from anybody else he's traveled with. She can't be that significant. Still, she doesn't run from danger, thoughshe's not stupid. She asks goodquestions. She takes stuff inquickly. She adjusts well. Also, she keeps showing up.

She reminds him about humanity – also, I think, beyondhumanity, which is just about her race, to simply about a love of life. I think he may have lost some of that in theTime War, but Rose helps him regain some of it. She reminds him about life. And I think initially, maybe, attaching to her is his first step towardsbeing able to love his own life again.

The bit where he talks about the turn of the earth, themclinging to the skin of the planet – I think that's his entire mentalstate. He's just running. Going. He doesn’t have joy in it anymore, it's a job. And he meets Rose and she's really interested and he's polite andappreciates her, but he's got walls up. "I'm big. I've got thisweight. You won't want to be with me,nobody would – it's too painful. Idon't like it. Why would you?"

Except she's always there, always competent, alwaysRose. She helps. She grounds him. She takes him to task. She's a companion the minute she spots the London Eye as thetransmitter. But before that, sheaccepts him.

She asks if he's alien, and he says, "Yep. Is that all right?" Quick exchange. And yet! Here he is,facing the first person to really measure up since the Time War, with someonewho intrigues him, and first he's got to make sure his normal is okay. And it is, which is great, but thatmoment. I love that moment.

But he really has forgotten how to live life. He can't care about Mickey's possible deathbecause he's got to think about the life of "every stupid ape on thisplanet." But it's only three epsuntil he's in the cabinet room at Downing Street afraid to save the worldbecause it risks Rose, so that's why I think he attaches his love of life to"love of Rose." He can't lovehimself, but he can love and protect her.

She spots that wheel in the first ep, and it clicks forhim. A companion! A helper! Not to be alone! And then shedoubles her worth by not just being clever and interesting, but beinguseful. She saves his life, and notjust here. Over and over again, she'sgoing to save his life, but it starts here.

The whole of series one is the Doctor learning how to liveagain. He comes to us having justkilled his race to save everyone else, and he has guilt and fear and worry overthat, but Rose saves him because she helps him see that all he has to do islive, to love his life, that he can't have the whole of time and space on hishead, because it hurts. He has to letit go.

Everything he says to her at the end of "The Parting ofthe Ways" is what he needs to hear himself. When Goddess Rose is standing there in her glory, unable to letgo of the power but doomed to die because of it, she's become a mirror ofhim. She/the TARDIS become what he hasbecome and shows him he's going to destroy himself – not a physical death, butan emotional death. The power's goingto kill him. Rather – the GUILT isgoing to kill him. He's got to let itgo. And he does. It's actually so perfect and fitting that he has to changehere. It'd be weird if he didn't. Because now that chapter of his life isclosed. He's a new man. Everything is different. Rose should mourn him, because he'll neverbe that dark and vulnerable and lonely again.

I think when anyone is lonely what they're really pining foris themselves. We are never alone untilwe've lost our sense of our own self. The minute he opens the doors to the TARDIS in "The ChristmasInvasion," right from, "Did you miss me?" he's different. He loves himself again. He doesn't even know who he is, but he loves himself. It's palpable. Some of it is Tennant's portrayal, but a lot of it is that he's adifferent Doctor now – not because he changed, but because he found himselfagain. And now series two is going to be a whole new story.

We've already got a taste of what's to come, and I don'tjust mean the trailer at the end of TCI. The legs of thenew journey are in place. I love thehand cutting off bit and the regeneration – it could symbolize so manythings. It could mean his companion –maybe Rose will be less essential to him now. He still loves her, but now she's not vital to him. If he had to lose Rose it wouldn't be thedeath of his race all over again. Itcould mean himself – go ahead, cut off my hand, cut off my people, cut off mywhole sense of self, but I'll just grow a new one.

It also makes me wonder about series two, about his new character. Will he be more invincible? Definitely he's going to take morerisk. He's got a zest which is reallyfun. But more clues: he doesn't give secondchances. He's ruthless in hisjudgment. He destroys Harriet Joneswith six words, and he doesn't regret it. He's strong again, whole. Thismakes me wonder what sort of enemies he's going to conjure now.

Cool.

misty moment

2006-01-06T12:23:00.000-08:00

Okay, when I was little, I had a stuffed Snoopy and a blue blanket. I had them when I was not so little as well -- they even came along with me to college. But eventually they made their way into storage, and for about ten years they've just rattled around in bins as I've moved here and there, just one of those mementos you can't throw away and yet have no immediate need for any longer.Last night my daughter was scared of bad dreams, unwilling to go asleep, and hitting on some brainstorm out of my subconscious I went into her closet where I'd fortuitously put the bin of stuffed animals from my childhood, and I brought out Snoopy and the blanket. I told her how they'd been my special nighttime friends when I was little and that they chased away bad dreams.Anna clung to them all night and declared they did keep the bad dreams away when she woke this morning. Now Snoopy and the blanket are downstairs, having an entirely new set of adventures, thirty years after they began.I have to say, this is the part of parenting I really really enjoy.

All hail the Doctor

2006-01-06T07:58:00.000-08:00

Right -- so, my daughter has started going to preschool daily as of thefirst of the year. This translates to two full hours of writingtime every morning, and I was determined to be good. I was,mostly -- Wednesday (first day back) I made notecards. YesterdayI brainstormed. Today I watched the last fifteen minutes of TheChristmas Invasion repeatedly, freeze framing shamelessly. (Iadore .avi files.)

You know, that latter still was work, and so is this journalentry. Seriously. Because for part of it I listened to theaudio commentary from the web (again) by the writer and producers (thebrilliant Russell T was there), and doing that was writing work. I'm not sure why yet, but all I know is that I stared at that horribleblank screen and blinking cursor, unable to start act two, so I watchedthe end of TCI again and felt like if I wrote this journal entry, thenI'd be all set and able to write.

I think it's because that story is such DAMN GOOD STORY. My poorfriends -- come February when there's a US release, I'm going to beterrible. I think I'm going to buy it for my dad for hisbirthday, which is in March. But it is, it really reallyis. And I just wasn't sure at all about Tennant -- I was so inlove with Eccelston, but oh, Tennant defied logic and reason and wasinstantly even better.

What is it about the Doctor? Is it because he's so competent andyet so childlike? I've never seen anybody be 900 years old andhave that kind of energy and vitality and love of life. I thinkthat's why Tennant is so fabulous, because Eccleston was GREAT but sosad and down because he had to be, given what he had to do toGallifrey, and he really loved life, but he seemed to love everybody'slife but his own. Until the end. And now we have Tennant,who looks ready to dance his way across the screen for the rest of time.

But I think the biggest reason I love Tennant is because of the "Attackof the Graske." I know Eccelston was big into this show being forthe kids, and oh, he's my first Doctor so he will always always alwaysbe sacred, but after I watched the Graske ep which was so obviouslygeared for kids -- well, you could just tell Tennant would have beenone of the little boys gleefully pressing the remote, glad to be theDoctor's companion for ten minutes. And he both takes such carein the role and yet so clearly ADORES it, revels in it. I hope henever leaves. I hope he's on for twenty years. I know hewon't be, but oh, I adore him. He's so fabulous.

Also, cute as hell. That doesn't hurt at all.

Davies, though -- he's my main man. He has officially gone on thelist of People I Need To Hug Before I Die. We're heading toEngland in the spring, and I'm trying to find the right argument for aday trip to Cardiff. As I'm getting my husband hooked on Who aswell, it may not be as hard a sell as I think. I know I won't seeDavies, but I just want to go stand near his aura for awhile. I'msure I'd embarass myself if I ran into him, because I'd probably juststart crying. But my God, he takes such CARE. I've neverseen anybody love story like him. Yeah, I hear the critics whosay he makes logic leaps. Oh, probably. But this man put aSWORD FIGHT in TCI. Ohmygod I about died. And he set thewhole episode up to help eight year old boys adjust to a new Doctor,and made sure to put in references and little details. And getsexcited because the wardrobe people made Jackie and Rose's outfitsclash, because that suits their personalities and their dynamic. He loves the story, loves his characters, and loves his audience andtakes care of them all. Plus he's brilliantly intelligent andknows it but doesn't gloat. God, I need to at least shake hishand. And sob on it.

And now to work with me. But look! Three blogs in one week. Go, me.

Rule, Britannia

2006-01-04T05:17:00.000-08:00

It's been very British around our house lately. Anna's favorite shows are Thomas the Trainand Bob the Builder. Dan's ordering theUK edition of Titanic on DVD and pining after Kylie Minogue. In addition to writing about England in theearly 1800s, I'm researching the British Royal Navy like mad, watching my frontporch for the delivery of the Doctor Who tape from Canada of the ChristmasInvasion, and being rather depressed that there isn't a third series of Spacedout just yet. Also, we're planning atrip to Europe in April, and a full week of the three will be spent in good oldAlbion.

You know, I've always had a thing for Britain, and latelyI've been trying to decide why. Thesedays it's easy to pine for Anywhere But Here, but more of that is the fallacyof Utopia than anything else.

Though I think what gets me is that even the"simple" in Britain don't seem to fall into ideology and fanaticismen masse, and that's what we seem in for here. I'm so weary of the US being one big magnetic polarity field, zealots onall sides, and nobody but nobody successfully holding up the middle. I watch Spaced and think, I want a flat inthat building, too.

I keep thinking of the book I just finished: To Rule theWaves, which is a history of the British Royal Navy which really becomesthe history of Britain through its navy. It really sobered me, making me realize how it doesn't seem to matterhow long a lens we have on history or how pervasively we study ourselves, eachcivilization which rises to high power is doomed in the end by their own heightand what is apparently an irresistible urge to look up instead of out, toprotect the pinnacle rather than use the pinnacle to give back and realize thatbeing on the top isn't being in charge but being the one who gives the most.

I don't think there's a civilization ideally suited to thischarge, but I have to say, if I got to vote I'd give it back to Britain. Actually, I'd really like it if Everybody orNobody was "they key power," but we really don't appear to beadvanced enough as a species for that sort of open end. Chaos would ensue.

So I guess in the end I'll just be really glad foramazon.com.uk, region free DVD players, and friends who know where the goodBrit TV is. Also, for marrying ahusband whose income supports trips to Europe.

Resolved: Rejoin the Rest of the World

2006-01-03T05:57:00.000-08:00

Huh. Last entryOctober? Right, it's time to get a newblog strategy.

Though actually, I have to say I wasn't present for muchfrom October until now, and it was kind of a nice vacation. I can't say exactly where I was or what Iwas doing – obviously I can say that I was here in my house and that stuff didhappen, but the part of my brain that blogs was checked out. However, it's back now. And as one of my goals for the year is"get used to exposure," blogging it will be, a lot more often, too.

And today I'm going to talk about my collages. Since my brother helped me figure outCoppermine, I won't just tell you – I can show you.

These are my collages. Well, okay, there are two collages sort of buried in there, hereand here, and if I get my stuff together I've got another two to post in the galleryeventually – but the other stuff is detail work on the Governess story becausethe camera I used for that is only so-so, and I was dissatisfied with thedetail work. But I may have goneoverboard on the detail photos. ATouch of Steel is the finished story, and at the moment I have it out toreaders and out for the Golden Heart contest. The other one doesn't really have a name beyond "The GovernessStory." I've toyed with TheGoverness and the Sea or The Governess of the Sea, but really theonly solid part right now is that it's about a governess. And a sea captain.

I really love my collages. I don't much care if other people hate them (though I love to hear thatpeople love them) because they are so perfect for me. And that's the best part, that I make these just for me. I save pictures, scour hobby shops, Googleimage search until I can't find any more photos, then spend an afternoon withglue and tape and everything I've found. I tend to take over the dining room when I do this. The making of the Governess collage found myfour year old was awake for a change (I tend to do these in the middle of thenight), and she insisted on making her own collage, which actually turned outreally well. I should take a photo ofit and post that as well.

I love collaging because that's where the magic happens. Writing has its moments, but there's so muchstress and angst there that I tend to be bonkers half the time while I do it,and if there are miracles I'm either so behind I don't have time to rejoice inthem, or I'm so frazzled I don't even notice them happening. Wait, there have been some miracles in theGoverness draft, but it's hard to hold onto them because they're all mental andyou can downplay them later. But collaging? That rocks, every time.

I don't structure my collages consciously, though they'realways very structured. They justhappen. I start gluing and cutting andmoving stuff around, and it just happens and when I'm finished, they'regorgeous (I think so anyway) and they're perfect and right. Once I've made a collage I relax because Iknow it's a real book.

I have Jenny Cruiseto thank for the collage habit, and believe me, I thank her pretty much afterevery one, because it's sort of like birthing a child – every time it blowsyour mind what you just did. She has agreat article or two on it, but for some reason her page is refusing to loadproperly for me just now, but really, you should poke around on her siteanyway, so go play for yourself.

I have four collages in my office. I only have one finished (all the way to theend, polished and in the most initial baby step stages of attempting to get itpublished), but I know I have three more books in me in the near future becausethere are three more collages. I cantell you in depth what each picture means and may do that someday – but thepart I love is that I don't sit down and get stressed about how it's going tohappen, I just let it happen.

I really can't describe how it is that I do that, which is ashame, because that's the biggest miracle. I get myself so tied in knots over the words, and the arcs, and if itstarts going south I freak out and worry what it means. I sweat over craft, worry about things Ican't control, hyperventilate when I think about submitting to an agent – buteven though I know there are more artistic things out there, I'd show ANYBODYmy collage. And when people don'tunderstand them or know what to say, I tend to think, "Well, it's not foryou anyway."

This should be happening with more in my life. Just let stuff fall where it will, view itall as the miracle it is, then show it proudly to everybody. And if people don't get it, shrug and think,"It's not for them."

And the miracle at the moment is that I have the sortof life that when my daughter woke and came into my office, I just unplugged myheadphones so she could listen as she plays with the Buffy and the Eowyn frommy writing altar while I work. It'sgood work if you can get it.

Strange New World, or Something

2005-10-24T11:14:00.000-07:00

So. I've finished writing a book.I've written that statement several times in the past few days, I think in hopes that one of these times it will feel natural, not clangy and freaky and strange. I have said that sentence before, because I thought I'd finished books before, but this time I really did finish it, I think, because sometime on Saturday night I felt a door close and I have this urge to crawl into the back of my mind, pound on that door and scream, "WAIT A MINUTE!!!!!"I have no idea why I'm doing this. It seems somewhat perverse, though I'm not surprised I found a way to turn a happy moment into a panicked one. When I thought I'd finished a book before I had this immediate urge to shove it on anyone who walked by and then hold them prisoner in a corner until they'd read the whole thing so I could see if I was right, if it was really done. I'm still making my husband read it, and after every session I grill him relentlessly on character, backstory, pacing, setting, his enjoyment. (He's a saint.) But I've only sent it to one other person, and while I'm curious, I'm not exactly wishing her to flood back to me with comments, even good ones. And when I grill my husband, I keep waiting for him to tell me the flaws I know it's got to have, because I can't really be done. It doesn't feel euphoric – it does, but not the sort of rainbows and sunshine and children tossing rose petals euphoria I guess I was expecting. I thought I'd feel all satisfied and proud, that I would stand in some part of my brain and crow, "I have finished a book! I have arrived!"Instead I keep whispering it, or slipping it in so nobody notices. "Oh, and I finished the book." My father-in-law was proud, and wanted to know when I wanted to send it in. You know, I couldn't even feel the panic, I went so numb. It feels good to be done, validating, yes – but somehow this took me somewhere new, and I'm sort of standing in this new place blinking stupidly, unsure of where I am or how I got here or what I am to do now. I didn't bargain for that. I didn't think feeling really finished would make everything change – I thought that would come if I ever got a publishing contract, or if the story voices changed their pitch and I couldn't hear them anymore, or if . . . I dunno, I just never thought it would be that I finished yet another draft, looked back and saw that it was good, and suddenly there it was, done.But I guess it's true – I finished a book. I'll just say it fifty more times this week and see if by Friday I don't want to throw up immediately after I end the sentence.

Fall

2005-10-17T19:31:00.000-07:00

Today I walked outside the library and smelled leaves. Earlier I'd been driving to an appointment and came down Duff Avenue as gold and orange leaves swayed to the street, and that was pretty, but I decided outside the library there really isn't a substitute to crunchy red maple leaves beneath your feet, with that sharp smell of mild decay to make it truly fall in Iowa. I wonder if fall is so perfect because the holidays are so well-spaced, or because you can go out without coats. Christmas used to be quaint, but now it's such a glut of shopping and lights that it's become gaudy more than anything. Holiday tunes crank up the day after Thanksgiving or before, but there's not much to gear up for in fall. Halloween, I suppose, and it does seem that there are more costumes all the time – ones for dogs, which amuse us because we have cats and know that would never, never happen with a feline. But mostly fall is sharp cold air and crunchy red leaves.The temperature flux in Iowa can drive one batty, like last week when I had the air on in the morning because it was 85 and very muggy and the heat on that night because the overnight low was 40. (Cold air mass moved through.) I think it may be worth the annoyance and resulting colds because the flip side is that I've got great crunchy leaves outside, but my heat is off and the windows are open upstairs.I think my favorite part of fall this year is knitting, though. I made Anna a pumpkin hat, and whenever she wears it I get a little thrill. I've considered making one for myself, but I don't think I could quite pull it off. I do plan to knit myself a hat with a long tail and dinglebobber on the end, because I've always wanted one and now I know how to do it. I've also got scads of great yarn for scarves and socks.I will eventually need to rake these great crunchy leaves, and if I don't catch them before it rains, I will have a not-so-nice kind of rotten leaf smell, but for today, I'm really loving the crunchy red library leaves. No red leaves in my yard. Soon the big maple on the side of the house will turn yellow, brilliant bright yellow, then litter the deck and every square inch of the yard with fat yellow decorations, mingling with the dull brown of the ash and oak who are nearly naked already. I love how that maple just hangs on, green as June until the last breath. It's the last tree in the neighborhood to go. That's what I want for my end, too: to hang on until the last minute, go gold, then just drop.

Drive by blog

2005-09-13T05:31:00.000-07:00

The CD Celtic Woman is justthe most beautiful thing ever. Like Enya and Clannad turned loose. Itmay be a little cheesy to some, but you know, they have my number.Also, iTunes now has my money.

More than just New Orleans was blown away

2005-09-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

I was net surfing tonight and came across thisfrom the BBC, which cites world press response to the US response toKatrina. It's not at all favorable. Mostly they seem tothink we can't handle ourselves and have fallen not just in our ownopinion, but even further in theirs.

From Kenya:

"My first reaction when television images of the survivors of HurricaneKatrina in New Orleans came through the channels was that the producersmust be showing the wrong clip. The images, and even thedisproportionately high number of visibly impoverished blacks among therefugees, could easily have been a re-enactment of a scene from thepigeonholed African continent. "

And Hong Kong wants to give us some tips, since we clearly seem to need them:

"Even if our money may not be needed, at the least weshould be offering moral support. Our skills in dealing with storms maybe useful to help Americans prevent other such tragedies. We should beoffering this help rather than shrugging off what should be ourhumanitarian duty."

There's also an incredible list of countries donating money. I wasn't impressed with Rice's somewhat condescending response:"it is very valuable for people for being able to give to each otherand to be able to do so without a sense of means." I don't knowwhat she means, but then, I rarely do. We'regetting oil. We're getting $100 million from Qatar. Howmany Americans knew Qatar was a country? I admit, I thought itwas an airline, then remembered that was Quantas.

We're getting more than just oil and money and geography lessons andtips on how to deal with/prevent storm crises. We're gettinghubris, and it's unquestionably a Meal Ready to Eat. I think thefact that we only barely can grasp how much public face we have lostonly makes it that much worse.

How did we get here? And no, don't say Bush. He's oneguy. We're a country full of people who should be smarter thanthis. Really -- all of us, how did we get here? Moreimportantly, how the hell do we get out of here?

New Orleans, I'm very sorry

2005-09-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

I've become a bit paralyzed today. On the one hand I'm overcome with sorrow for the victims of the hurricane. On the other hand I am seething with rage at my country's ineptitude and its inability to rescue its own citizens. And then I am numb with horror and shock at how it's now day six and still, mostly it's alot of people talking. Day six and we still have people there unrescued, held in pens like cattle while guests from the Hyatt move to the front of the line. Day. Six.We have given money. We will give more, but I can't help thinking that I need to give water. Except I'm also very sure I'd only be in the way to go down there now. I don't have a bus. I also have a toddler. I have few skills that would help. I plan to keep an eye out for ways to help the 5000 that are supposed to come to Iowa -- of course, first they have to get out of hell. I'm going to go get supplies and take them to the drop off point. I've written scathing letters to all my congressional representatives telling them to GET OFF THEIR ASSES and at least yell a lot. Beyond that, I think I should probably spend some time in meditative prayer for peace and action to reach those who need it, and that's about what I can come up with that I can actually do. The rage isn't going to help anybody, so it needs to be spent. If I had somewhere for it to carry me, I'd do that, but mostly I'm left here with this well of sorrow and a sense of disbelief that this is happening. It's not the natural disaster blowing me away, it's the disaster of response.If anybody can think of something else to be done, my God, I'd love to hear it.

Gay Rights and Baba Yaga

2005-08-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

So, I've been doing a lot of myth reading lately. Specifically I've been reading The Maiden Kingby Robert Bly and Marion Woodman. Loving this book for so manyreasons. I can tell I'm going to have it spinning in my head foryears, plus it's already nudged me into new directions in my writingand sent me into new research veins. Good times.

But mostly I have fallen in love with Baba Yaga. Weird, Iknow. But actually, no, I think it makes a lot of sense, if youlook deep down. While I'm writing this blog entry my three yearold is watching a disgustingly saccharine Disney princess video, somehastily slapped together montage of badly storyboarded kid candy. I hate it, and I hate that my daughter is watching it. What thisworld needs is not Disney saccharine. We need to start looking atthe Baba Yaga. The underworld-dwelling witch who eats the naiveand the either/or disciples of the world will get us whether we believein her or not, unless we prepare for her. So I want to turn thisshow off and show my daughter the shadows so she knows they're there --except, well, she's three. And she's not stupid either -- in alot of ways she already sees the shadow. The Huns in Mulan areshadow enough to scare her pants off. Strangers in Targetgreeting her are shadow. Adults on the playground who try toengage her scare the living shit out of her. If ever there were achild who could inspire you to believe she had come to you from a pastlife of heinous abuse and terror, this is the child. So, perhapssaccharine is due. Today's saccharine for her may be tomorrow's shadow,after all.

The rest of us, though, especially we adults, need to quit looking forthe adult versions of the Disney princess seires. Baba Yaga isout there, and you won't defeat her by sending American troops to Iraqand putting a magnetic ribbon on your car, just as my HRC sticker on myMazda and $10 a month to the same (HRC, not my Mazda) aren't solvingthe inequeties of human rights in the United States. BabaYaga wants your blood and bones for dinner, and unless you convince heryou're of better use alive, she'll make good use of you in herbelly. Towing a party line of any sort isn't going to defeat hereither, something I wish either a Democrat or Republican or someindependent group would figure out. Baba Yaga is gorging on thiscountry right now, this country which is locked in bitter battle overblue or red, black and white, liberal and conservative, hawk ordove.

But you know what I think is going to yank us out of this? Or atleast the issue that will force us to look at the third, silencedoption, whatever it may be? Gay rights.

Yeah, go ahead and laugh or roll your eyes or whatever. But it'strue -- the homosexuals will lead us over the rainbow after all. Because that's where you can't scream, "A or B!" no matter how hard youtry. Gay or straight? Hardly. Oh, sure, most of ussleep with either the same sex or the opposite, not both, so there youcould make a distinction. But down deep, unless you are an angry,fearful person determined to exorcise part of yourself, you will beexperiencing your own masculine and feminine within, your own personalyin and yang, every day.

I like to tease my husband that he'd make a really great gay man, if heweren't straight. And actually, I don't know as much aboutlesbian culture, but I'd probably be able to hold my own, except youknow, I can think other women or pretty, but it's just not mygig. But I do have a pretty strong sense of my yang. It'sokay culturally for me to do that. The fact that my husband wouldflunk most of Focus on the Family's masculinity testis less okay culturally, and I think it's actually less okay now thatit ever has been. I feel for young boys growing up now, withtheir clothes and toys so starkly gender defined, with everyone rakingthem pre-puberty for "signs" they'll be gay. You know, I thinkthe sign your child is gay is when they say they look at the same sexand are attracted. Period.

In attempts to "defend marriage" and "protect children" the anti-gaycamp is pushing us to a cultural choice they will inevitablylose. Unless the choice is made on a fundamentalist Biblicalinterpretation, we're going to have to face the fact that there areAmericans who want to protect marriage and children and want to do itwhile having a sexual relationship with someone of the same sex, and assoon as we stop listening to the mad ravings of people doing afantastic job of killing Christianty by associating it with hate andexclusion, we're going to have to give homosexual couples the samelegal rights the rest of us have. And on that road we're going todiscover you really can't have gaydar, you can't look at your eightyear old and make a checklist to see if they're gay and send them offto a reprogramming camp. Someday that will be considered childabuse.

Until that day, Baba Yaga is feasting. When you face Baba Yagashe asks, "Do you come of your own free will or are youcompelled?" The answer that gets you eaten is to chose one or theother. The answer that sets you free is to admit that it's both,and not in a nice orderly percentage of blame. If you face BabaYaga and you demand a black and white, you die. If you face herand admit there isn't just gray but that you desperately need it, shemight just send you away uneaten but with great gifts.

So hold hands, kids, put on your ruby slippers and head for therainbow. If you hear someone filing their teeth, head fast forthe middle and start looking for the gray.

Stuff, stuff, and stuff. And then a riff about pacing.

2005-08-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

Right, so descriptive. But you know, when I've been as lax with the postings as I have been, there's just no catch-all topic quite as accurate as "stuff." So, here's what happened.1. We sold our house. It was dicey, actually, because there was yet another money snafu, but it all worked out in the end and I only own one house now. That's good stuff.2. We took this really great day trip to Iowa City, and honest to God, I meant to blog about how fun it was, but I got busy. And now it's just sort of a collage of niceness floating in my head. There was a great moment where Anna played in the ped mall fountain in her street clothes which I should blog about eventually.3. Been writing. Lots. More later.4. Dan has been uber childwatching husband. He gets gold stars. (Smooches, honey.)You know, that's all that's sticking in my head. Except to go to the back yard, I cannot remember when I last left the house. Saturday, I guess. Wow, that's impressive. Yeah, I think that may have been it, though I think I maybe went out for something Sunday night. Mostly it's me in my office and my laptop.So, about pacing. Because honestly, I'm so single minded for writing these days that not much else lingers in my brain. And tonight I"m thinking about pacing. Specifically, I'm thinking about how nicely the beginning of the WIP is shaping up. Allow me to babble about it.I haven't actually written the first two scenes yet, but they will be heroine, then hero, respectively, in their "special worlds," setting up their conflicts. There's a scene with the two of them together, and it may be a little chatty, but she does pull him out of a lake and drag him towards the abbey until he passes out, so there's some action.And now I'm taking a small risk and slowing it down. I really haven't done the inciting incident yet, but I've got two more POV characters to introduce, which is the next two scenes, plus I really think I have to get the antaonist and the hero head to head, and THEN, in scene seven, we get the inciting incident, or the start of it. Or that's just a turning point, and the inciting incident is in scene three. Really, at this point it just seems to be working, so I'm not going to dig too hard.I am, however, amazed at how I'm bopping all over the map in this revision. I started at the end this weekend, wrote/revised eight scenes in the climax, then jumped to scene three. It's interesting to work that way, because there's stuff in the end that I"m putting in the beginning now -- not always consciously, but I often write something and think, "Hey, that echoes the end!" Which is cool.And it occurs to me now that anybody not intimately interested in writing process may be asleep by now. Well, now you know why I'm not blogging much these days.

Positive Thinking: An Attempt

2005-08-17T06:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, I said I wasn't going to blog this until it happened, but afteryesterday I've decided to go for broke. Because yesterday a bunchof hell happened on this same subject, and my husband said, "I KNEWthis would happen!" which makes me wonder if he was secretly sendingnegative energy behind my back. So today I'm going to be positiveas Polyanna.

Today I'm going to sell a house!

We used to live in a small town that has many good attributes, but fewwhich remained evident to us, and so in what really was kind of aspur-of-the-moment thing moved two and a half hours away. (Bothtowns are in Iowa, so I got to keep my moniker.) It was classicUs. We sat down in January of 2004 with legal pads andspreadsheets and soberly decided that we could afford to move in fiveyears. Then in February we moved anyway.

It all worked eerily well -- Dan applied for a job, thinking it was along shot, then got an interview so we checked out the town and a fewhouses, then he got the job so we came back and bought one. Wesettled right in, and we love our new town. Everything workedgreat, except that house I'm selling? That's the one we left 18months ago.

It's not fun to pay two mortgages for eighteen months. We've hadexactly two offers on the house: one that had so much bad jujuattatched to it that we let it go, and a second one that weaccepted. We're officially losing $12k on the house, which is somuch better than owning two houses, let me tell you. Yesterday'shell came in trying to get that $12k to the bank holding the mortgageon the house we're selling. I think it worked out. I'mreally not sure yet, but people kept telling me not to worry, so Istopped. Today I have a new motto: Everything is going to begreat!

So, today the money I need to get there will get there. Today Iwill sell my house. Today I will dance in the street and singkumbaya. And, I guess, today I will start paying down that $12kwe borrowed to sell the house. Hey, better than double mortgage.

Positive thinking. It's either going to work, or it will be ahigher place to jump from and kill myself if this doesn't gothrough. See? Always thinking ahead.

Not terribly impressed with Texas

2005-08-16T13:29:00.000-07:00

At least with Crawford.

You know, I get that it's frustrating to have a media circus in yourtown, and I bet it's hard because it's your golden boy they're angryat. I have no idea why he's your golden boy, but I understandthat he is, and I respect your frustration. I even respect yourattempt to legally remove them from your neighborhood. I don'tagree, but I respect that you're doing it the sane, humane way. Like real grown ups.

But firing shots in the air and vandalizing representaitons of thedead? This is the sort of Texas that makes me say things like,"I'd die before I moved there."

And you could say that these are just two examples, and that'svalid. Except every time I turn around somebody from Texas istelling me, with a gleefully mad look in their eye, how wonderful Texasis because this manly sort of display is how Texas solves so many ofits problems. Even problems that aren't problems, justdifferences in taste. Like this, when I said on a board that Iwanted a character in my story to drive a truck, and I saw it as aNissan -- could someone give me a specific model that would be good foran old, beatup Nissan that ran like a tank? There was all sortsof helpful advice, nice and specific. Then I got this from aTexan: the "good old boys" in the South would steal my hero's Nissan,drag it away like a lynching, push it in the swamp, and then goparty. And my hero should be happy for this and go buy a Chevy.

Right. Um, no. Not wildly impressed. If this isTexas, this explains so much. Including why I REALLY never needto go there.

Except I can't do this, because I know good people in Texas, too. So, somebody brave enough to take on insane Bubbas please go straightenthis out? Thanks.

THAT'S IT

2005-08-14T08:52:00.000-07:00

I'm issuing a proclamation. People are going to stop being stupid RIGHT NOW.

Very well, that's not only unrealistic, it's non-specific. Let'stry that again. People will stop pretending their selfishness isactually concern for people they "love." Because that isn't juststupid, it's mean, and it hurts.

Examples of what is selfish and stupid, not loving:

When a bright, capable and happy young woman is graduating fromdental school, you do not ignore her accomplishments and happiness andlife full of promise and ask her if she is seeing anyone. Youknow, I bet if she is, she'll tell you. Probably while gloating,because she's been listening to you nag her for years.
You do NOT ask people when they are having another child. If you must, you ask politely, openly, and when they say, "I don'tthink I'm ready now, and I may never be," your answer is not, "Butyou're such a good parent. I hate to see you wasteyourself."
If a friend is unmarried or no longer married and is not activelysoliciting you for advice in their love life, you do NOT see them standnext to a member of the opposite sex for five minutes and then assurethem you're so glad they "finally found someone."

We could be here all day with examples, because there are a lot. But the bottom line is that somehow it's still socially acceptable tonag people into fitting into a preconceived ideal. When I wasn'tmarried, I was asked who I was dating. When I was dating, I wasasked when we were getting married. When I was married, we wereasked when we were going to have kids. I had one kid, and theywanted to know when I was having another. I was doing fine, untilI said, "Maybe I'll just have one."

Alert! Alert! She's breaking the mold! Expectations are AWRY! Alert! Alert!

Why are we not allowed to have our own lives? Why is it "loving"to nag family and friends into doing what we want them to do, insteadof letting them do what they need to? I've been told, "They meanwell." Thank you. That helps so much. So they're juststupid? Or blind? Because I thought I was beingclear.

I understand people are afraid people they love are missing out. Taking the wrong road. Heading for heartache. But here'sthe catch: if I did everything people wanted me to do to avoid hurting,I wouldn't be me. I'd also most assuredly be depressed. Infact, I look back at the first thirty years of my life and see allkinds of times when I did things just to please others. You know,it didn't pay well. The best times were the risks. Some ofthose risks I wish I would have taken further. Because I mighthave gotten hurt, yes. But I'd have a lot more of my own livingunder my belt.

So everybody, STOP. Stop telling other people what theywant. If they ask, that's different. But if they aren'tasking, you've just got to button it, because you may see what they'redoing as a mistake, but it's important to them.

Laundry, dishes, phones, and socks

2005-08-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

This is just a rant.

Okay, in the above list, laundry and dishes I have made some begrudgingpeace with. I still don't like them, and I think they're unfairin that you are never finished with either chore-- just as soon asyou've put the last pair of pants in the closet and underwear in thedrawer, you walk past a hamper and there's a t-shirt and pair of jeansin it. Or a dirty towel. Worse, a diry towel you somehowmissed on the intial laundry pass. Same for dishes -- no soonerdo you drape your flour sack dowel symbolically over the drying rack tobump into someone coming to put a glass in the sink.

It's futile to get ranty over laundry and dishes, because like so manyirritating things, they just are, and it's a waste of time to getranty. But I'm not giving up on phones and socks.

Phones. I hate and love them. I have a very short list ofpeople I love talking to on the phone, and sometimes people not on thelist surprise me and I enjoy talking to them, too. I would saythat I could be fine if my phone never rang, if I could only use it tocall out, but that's not true either, because I'm grumpy about phonecalls today that I have to make. There's a LIST. Aphone LIST. The worst list ever was when we moved here, the wholeset-up-utilities-take-down-utilities list. Ack. Hatedit. Well, this list is shorter, but not better.

1. Call the bank. Say, "I need to give you a really bigcheck, but I don't know for how much money and won't know untilMonday. Except I'll be coming there today. I live two hoursaway. How should we do this?"

I mean, I have no idea how I'd answer me. I'm sensing eitheroverpaying or an electronic transfer on Monday. But we have toverifiy that just having the money in our checking account will beenough for them to draw on it. Arg.

2. Call the water softening joint and make sure they took out thewater softner we rented. And that they gave our realtor thekey. Okay, that one's not so tough.

3. Call the lawn people and tell them to stop mowing the lawnbecause I won't own the house past Wednesday. Except I fearjinxing the sale and want to call them, um, Wednesday.

4. Call the insurance guy and figure out what he needs with thispaper he sent us and what we do because our insurance expires the 16thbut the closing is the 17th. Pray for no fire?

5. Call my friend the doctor who we'll visit while we're down forthe day, and try to strike the balance between concerned andtoo-chipper, because her daughter, who is my daughter's age (3), hasjust been diagnosed with leukemia. Because of course the leukemiadepresses and scares me, but like she needs any more of that.

Is it any wonder I'm still in my pajamas at 10:30, blogging myself intoinsanity, hitting refresh on my email, and wishing someone I DO want totalk to would call?

Okay, so the list doesn't sound so bad to people who don't hate thephone. I can respect that. I still hate calling. Especially since three of the five involve more than just, "Hey, youshould know this/please do this. Thanks. Bye." Therest are stuff. And the latter is someone I enjoy calling, but Ihave to get my head straight first. Don't want to bug. But,don't want to not bug. Arg.

And we haven't even covered the socks. Let's get to them.

Socks. You know, they suck. First of all, they're expensiveas hell. REALLY expensive if you have big feet like me and don'twant to wear guy socks. And even the guy socks can be expensive,unless you get them at Wal-Mart, but then you have the wholesupporting-the-retailer-of-Satan thing to feel bad about, not tomention wondering what two year old stitched her finger together so youcould have cheap socks. And you know, I could handle expensivesocks if it weren't for all the reasons socks SUCK.

1. They get lost. All the damn time.
2. They wear out way too fast.
3. They SHRINK, the little sneaky bastards.
4. They get balled up in the laundry basket, then don't get cleanin the washer, set the stains in the dryer, and -- wait for it -- arestill balled up and DON'T DRY.
5. They're boring. Really fucking boring. Unless youhave cute petite feet and can shop at novelty sock stores and buy thesocks for "shoe size 9-11." Well, baby, I wear size 13.

So you know, soon here I'm going to just make my own. If I'mgoing to pay ten dollars for a pair of socks, I'm going to have them bein beautiful pastel sock yarn, will have sweated over their creation,and will love them eternally because they not only fit and don't shrinkbecause I will wash them tenderly -- I will also wash them together,unballed, in a sock washing ceremony, and all will be good.

Except this will only work for my socks. I don't think I'm goingto convince my husband to wear pastel striped socks to work, thoughpersonally I think it could be a good conversation starter. Icould make my daughter socks, but her feet grow fast. Of course,they are a third the size of mine, so the sock making could gofaster. And SHE would appreciate socks worth fussing over. Hmm. This could be a plan. Because her socks are reallycrazy expensive.

Well. I'm not cranky anymore. I'm going to go finishlaundry, take my shower, ignore my phone list and do the dishes in thesink and plan my Sock Revolution.

power color

2005-08-12T04:06:00.000-07:00

Found this rumaging around the net.

Your Power Color Is Teal

At Your Highest:You feel accomplished and optimistic about the future.At Your Lowest:You feel in a slump and lack creativity.In Love:You tend to be many people's ideal partner.How You're Attractive:You make people feel confident and accepted.Your Eternal Question:"What Impression Am I Giving?"

What's Your Power Color?

You know, I dunno. I'm not sure what I was hoping for, but I'm feeling kind of meh about teal. I mean, teal?

Small Blog Gush

2005-08-12T03:43:00.000-07:00

You know, I absolutely love the Smart Bitches. Really. It doesn't' matter how tired I am, or what has happenedin my day -- I'll flip over there and see something to turn my frownupside down. All it takes, I've learned, is for them to say"man-titty," but other stuff is good to. Like, the column downthe side. "If you're easily offended, now would be the time torun away screaming. Perhaps to some website that uses 'LOL!' a lot."

Though, I also adore the Yarn Harlot. I think it's probably the sock that does it. Also, she makes thestatement, "Doesn't EVERYBODY love yarn?" seem rational.

Then there's dear Richard. He's just my kind of irreverent. I never know when I go there ifI'm going to laugh, roll my eyes, raise my eyebrows (in appreciation,because he does know how to find eye candy) or be moved. I mean,the "Straight or Gay?" section alone is worth a visit.

You know, actually, I don't read that many blogs. Because beyondthat trinity, there are my friend's blogs, one of which would be moreof a gush but as she says, "my blog is practically prenatal, it's sonew," and I wondered how much she'd blog at first, but she seems to begetting into it. That would be Jenny. And the thing is, reading her blog, like reading jonquil or corrinalaw, is like getting an extra dose of them.

What is shameless, though, is that I can't give you a link to the blogI should read out of loyalty alone. That would be my husband'sblog. And I seriously tried to google him, but I failed. Shameless. Sorry, honey. Send me the link and I'll give youyour own post, she said, slinking away in disgrace.

Got zen?

2005-08-10T05:51:00.000-07:00

Not I, said the fly.

Last night I sat down ready for an indulgent night of surfing, writing,emailing, maybe even writing, though I'm not slated to pick that backup until next week. I did some surfing and emailing for awhile,and then I twitched. I thought, "I'll go to bed. Dreaming-- that's it, I'll go dream. It'll be great."

I twitched. Lay awake until three -- really, there was a thunderand lightning storm, so I have some defense -- and didn't sleep, letalone dream. I did have one of those bizarrestream-of-consciousness epiphanies that are the Answers to theUniverse until you are lucid again, and then you simply think,WTF? Last night's epiphany was that the state of zen, of ultimateclarity is not deep within me, but a thin layer around me, like anonion. At 1:30AM this seemed profound. This morning, WTF?

I did dream, though, eventually. I dreamt about houses, which Ido a lot lately. I had a moment where I could have sat upand written it all down, but I didn't, I just lay back down andslept. And dreamt more, this time about a friend of mine who inthe dream was pregnant (is not in real life, and if it were suggestedto her that I had dreamed she was, she would freak) and for a jokedrank so much water that she blew up like what's her name on WillieWonka. Except she got bigger than the house, and I became reallyconcerned.

Oh, wait! There was this part where "we" (I have no idea who elsewas in the collective, but there was a collective) were working late atthis huge, big theater, and I really wanted to curl up in this booththat could not possibly be a booth -- it was more of a lounge, but inthe dream it was a booth. All soft and pillowed and theaterred. I believe I made some comment about how when I was in highschool I would have made good use of those pillows, and there wassexual innuendo there. It's completely not something I would sayin real life, because I would have done little more on those pillowsbut take a nap.

And this morning I still don't have zen. But I do have a dirtyhouse, and company coming. Nothing gets me to zen quite likemaking order from chaos. Also, I have a mss to rip into. Two, if I count mine. Lots of zen harvesting opportunities.

Lessons from Chris Gaines and others like him

2005-08-08T11:17:00.000-07:00

My husband went to the library today and came home with the CD album ofGarth Brooks posing as Chris Gaines. The fact that Dan pickedthis up doesn't surprise me at all -- this is a very Danish thingto do. But for me it took me back to whatever time in the 90sthat was when he put that album out, and made me think all over again,"What a weird thing that was to do."

This spiraled into a mental noodle on, "Why, though, was it weird?" And here's what I think.

From my perspective, there's this fine line when a popular artist ofwhatever medium crosses over from artist sharing his or her viewpointinto artist believing they are a prophet. I think this is apretty common and not incomprehensible move -- if people treat you likea prophet, it's easy to think you are one. I don't know that it's badto feel like a prophet, or even to act like one, because really, anartist is putting out ideas and expecting at least four or five peoplewill gather around the idea and nod sagely over coffee, or curl uphappily and say, "Yes, these ideas make me feel good aboutmyself." Or simply that four or five people will respond to theseideas and use them in their lives.

But I think the downhill slope comes when the prophet starts using theplatform of his or her art as something other than, "here's my idea,see what you think." If the prophet is saying, "Everything I dois great, so I'm going to explore these weird things which willinstantly become great because I'm doing them." Sort of a Churchof Me thing. If the art is no longer art but ego.

To me, art is magical because I take something really important andvisceral to me and put it out to share with others, and it immediatelychanges. I say, 'I'm writing this story, and it's about x," andsome people see x, but others see x and y, or just y. Stillothers see q or r or whole quadratic equations I hadn't even thoughtof. To me, it's this interplay that is magic, that is the realcommunication. The real art. An idea in my head that canmerge with different ideas in lots of different heads and become itsown living thing -- that's creation.

And maybe this is what that Chris Gaines thing was supposed tobe. Just another way of seeing how far/in what directions hecould take his ideas -- would these, take, too? Hmm, not somuch. Or maybe he got just what he was looking for. OnlyGarth Brooks knows.

But what I want to try and always carry with me is the idea that theonly place my ideas are sacred cows are when they're still insideme. Even this blog entry, read by God knows how few souls, is nolonger mine. It belongs to everyone who reads it. Readersmight think, "Dear God, how brilliant!" or "That bitch," and it'sbeyond my scope now. It's out there in the ether, its own entitynow. And you know, I want my stories to be that way -- their ownentities, free of my chains of neediness and personal hangups. Itdoes, though, want me to make sure they're as strong and complex as Ican make them, so they can be pulled apart and moved around and shot atand still come out looking pretty good, still having substance.

And that's what I learned today from looking at a CD on the dining roomtable. Tomorrow: the cereal box. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Wait!

2005-08-07T08:19:00.000-07:00

It just occurred to me, I started this journal when Mercury was in retrograde! Am I doomed to lose interest in this, too?

Well, damn. Apparently you should enjoy this while it lasts. I'd better hustle and say everything I have to say.

Mercury in Retrograde

2005-08-07T07:33:00.000-07:00

You know, I used to make light of these announcements. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore.

It's not really that anything SPECIFIC has happened. Okay, yeah,some is specific. But not like a rock came down in my front yardor something. Just lots of little stuff. At first I justthought it was amusing, then it got my attention, and now I'm rathersober about it.

So the plan is to revise the rest of the month because it's a good timeto "re" something. Not a good time to create becuase you'll justundo it, so says all the stuff I find. Which I'd been planning onanyway, but still.

What I want to know, though, is does this mean all my tarot readingsare backwards? Because there's been some good shit there and Iwant to keep that! And all the people I met at nationals, am Inot going to be as interested? Will I be sorry I volunteered forthese committees? Oh, that's an easy answer, that last one.

RWA Statement

2005-08-06T07:09:00.000-07:00

This is getting the rounds. Thank God -- brilliant women, all of them.

*********************

Permission to forward granted:

The following members of the RWA Board of Directors wish to apologize for the
disappointing direction of the Awards Ceremony during the 2005 conference. What
should have been a celebration, not only of our finalists and award winners, but
also of the growth and success of RWA, was not. Members of the board were
repeatedly assured by the Awards Ceremony Board Liaison that the planning of the
program was progressing appropriately. It was not until it was too late that we
discovered that the focus of the ceremony had strayed from the theme we'd been
given.

We thank those members who stepped in at the last moment to try to fix the
script. We also apologize sincerely to our award winners, our finalists, and
our members that the program was not appropriate to celebrate RWA's success, as
well as theirs. We apologize especially to Nora Roberts, who was not only put
in an untenable position, but whose statement as to her reasons for not
appearing was not read.

We pledge to move forward from this and to make the Awards Ceremony in Atlanta
exactly what it should always be--a night on which we embrace the joys of
romance writing and recognize the finalists and winners of our most cherished
awards.

Gayle Wilson President-Elect
Kathy Carmichael Secretary
Connie Newman Treasurer
Nicole Burnham Region 1 Director
Lisa Kamps Region 1 Director
Dorien Kelly Region 2 Director
Peggy Emard Region 2 Director
Linda Howard Region 3 Director
Linda Winstead Jones Region 3 Director
Karen Fox Region 4 Director
Sherry Lewis Region 4 Director
Geralyn Dawson Region 5 Director
Jill Limber Region 6 Director
Jennifer Crump PRO Liaison
Teresa Carpenter Chapter Liaison

RWA Scuttlebutt

2005-08-05T22:43:00.000-07:00

Jenny Crusie of course says it best, so by all means go read her, but here's my take on the whole RWA debacle.

I confess I sort of spaced the graphics standards thing, I reallydidn't get who Charis was until she was long gone so I didn't get thatoutrage like I should have, and I confess that even this year I did notget to the AGM because I was too busy trying to figure out a bill for areally great party the night before. But the survey got myattention, I think the new RWR is about as graphically palatable as acommunion wafer, and I really needed more alcohol for that awardsceremony. Now I'm all fired up to do something and really tryingto figure out what.

People keep talking about the Republican leanings of the ceremony, andthat has bled onto the rest of the issues above - you can really get agood conspiracy theory going here if you want to, and as most of us arestorytellers, I bet someone has written Karl Rove into the wings ofthat theater in Reno. And there's a sort of them/us comfort inthat, saying, "SHE did this!" or "THEY made this happen!" We cansay the board is full of evil right wingers, or say the TTQ is an evilright winger -- you can go on all day, really, and I suppose if you digyou can find a few confirmaitons or contradictions.

But really, what happened with all this is that everyone trusted thesystem, thought things were fine, and a lot of us kept swimming eventhough there were a lot of warning signs for one hell of awaterfall. It's just so easy to say it won't be that big of adeal, that there's no reason to get upset, to say, "Really, what can Ido?" I was too busy to go to the AGM. Really, what would Ido? Except that argument's going really flat now, because allsigns point to one or two people with a pretty pointed agenda and greatskill at convincing themselves they act for the "greater good" and that"everyone agrees with me," and that one person or small group of peoplereally got a lot of damage done in a short amount of time.

I think the hard part is that sometimes all we can do is write letters,be PITAs and join committees, then watch as the shit happensanyway. Since the political analogy has already been made, itreminds me a lot of first diving headfirst into the Dean campaign andkilling myself for him only to have him scream himself out of the racein Des Moines, to swallow my objections of Kerry and kill myself allover again knocking on doors and making phone calls and writingletters, only to have him fall short, too. It was really temptingto resent the effort, to say, caustically, that it didn't matter, thatI should have just had a beer and watched the train wreck. Andsometimes I sort of wish I'd knocked on a few less doors and done justthat.

But now I'm watching the RWA fallout, reading SmartBitches and hearing all the arguments, following Cory's blog and watching Jonquilget her rage on, collecting truly frustrated emails from board membersafter I wrote them, and I'm thinking that it'd have been nice to havebeen fighting this whole time so I could not feel like I wasdesperately trying to catch up and figure out WTF but could instead befeeling finally vindicated, that at LAST someone was realizing that thedamn waterfall is going to kill us if we don't portage soon.

The thing is, RWA is full of smart women. I guess sometimes thatmakes us inefficient and I bet it's a bitch of a thing to be on acommittee let alone on the board -- but really, this is what happens ifwe make it easy. If it were easy, men would do this. Okay,that's not entirely fair. But really, that's the beauty of anorganization full of women. We're going to be messy, and it'sgoing to take ten months just to agree what to order for lunch, but thealternative is playing nice and risk getting that awardsceremony.

So everybody go join stuff, get invovled. If nothing else writeyour rep occasionally and ask politely what's going on. Probablyyou should write your member of Congress while you're at it, too.

Cleaning up my act

2005-08-05T11:12:00.000-07:00

Today is cleaning day, partly because it's time, partly because I'vebeen thinking about it, and partly because it's good physicalorientation to get a mental echo of the same, sort of like redoing thecollage. And partly because Dan has been doing a lot of dishes latelyand is being patient, but I see that folding soon.

So my office is organized, except for the closet which I'm not doingtoday. That's the stack of TBR, the story notes, and anything else Idon't want to look at. But other than that, the entire top floor of thehouse is clean. Even the upstairs toilet and tub are clean. I feelvictorious. Next is to vac the stairs, where I'm sure I'll collectenough cat hair to make a sixth cat.And you know, already I feel my head centering back up. I could work inthis office, as opposed to the office I had when I woke up thismorning, which made me think mostly, 'This place is a pit.' Also,there's just something nice about NOT seeing hair on the back of thetoilet. But this is the second "big organization" I've done this week,the first being to redo my collage.

I need to get some better pictures of it, and I can't figure out how the heck to link a picture here, so try this. It's blurry, but you get the idea. This collage is much smallerthan my original, alot more organized, and less ADHD. I'msure you can't see it well, but there are these Goya cut outs all overJonathan's side, which I'm really excited to explore.

Of course, I have to stop cleaning so I can start revising.

Having a hard time with the reentry into Iowa life. I can't stayoff the net and want to stay up late writing and doing email, but --hey, dishes. Family. Friends that don't know what aconflict lock is. Always a struggle to maintain balance. And so my family contribution today shall be cleaning. Doinglaundry. Playing with Anna. And then maybe tonight startingin on the revision, and then more tomorrow, because the house mightneed picking up, but underneath should be clean. In theory.

Wading in

2005-08-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

All right, I used to have a blog on Blogger, but it was mostly apolitical spleen-vent. As I'm trying to be all growth and expansion andZen, I closed that sucker and came to LJ to start anew, pure as thedriven snow. I'm sure that will last about ten minutes. Of course, nowthat I've entered all that introductory info and found the great amazonpicture I'd lost from my hard drive (I grabbed it from here,and will use it until someone tells me not to), I find I have verylittle to say. As I'm sure no one at all is reading this, I'm notterribly upset.

Things I've done recently, maybe that's a thread. I just got backfrom RWA National, and yes, I saw that freakshow of an awardsceremony. I already wrote my letter to the board and got a fewcomments, er, apologizes already. And I think I just got draftedto a committee.

Right now I'm following the advice of my horoscope and revising an msrather than working on the new WIP. So far this morning I've cuthalf the scenes in the first act. It was both terrifying andfreeing.

Well, I'm sure I've put the room to sleep by now, so my work here is done.