@1020/27

Wednesday, 6 May 2015 10:19
partlyopenbook: Not me. :) (read)
It's about time we had a cloudy day! The humidity is wicked high, and that's brought a nice change.

Blooming trees are blooming. Some look like giant sticks full of cotton candy tufts. Some look like they're riddled with fuchsia jewels, important from exotic, foreign lands perhaps not of this world.

Violets have been spotted, little puddles of them here and there at the edges of pathways, growing wild. They give the impression of being rather pugnacious, as if they've fought for their territory and won't have it taken from them. Their tenacity is as enjoyable as their wee purple faces.

It's too bad all of this is pretty fleeting. But I'm looking forward to the sound of leaves rattling in a breeze.

Back at the park I passed one of the ponds, and upon almost every surface was a turtle. Turtles everywhere! Big turtles, little baby turtles. I'll have to get a better look at them, but I think they might've been red-eared slider turtles. Turtles are cute, but they have a tendency to resemble grumpy octogenarians who've consumed a disagreeable food and are now suffering from a bout of dyspepsia. And they will STARE at you until you recognize how awesome they are for putting up with everything.

In the world of employment, I think the job-change will be better for me. It seems like the kind of work I can do while I'm there and proceed to leave behind me when I go home at the end of my shift. This is entirely like my current job, which is very hard on me mentally/emotionally, and I've had a problem letting go of it — as in, I don't let go of it and it continues to haunt me like a bad song (I shouldn't mention that Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" gets stuck in my head a lot). I don't know when/if I'll ever get a chance to actually make this position change, but the transition shouldn't be too awful. It really amuses me how often I run into employees who "used to" have my position. "She used to do what you do..." That should tell corporate that there's something wrong with what they're doing. Such as having only one of us work at weekends, and expect us to do a fantastic and flawless job. No, that's not going to happen. Ever. Because there is ONE of me. Yes, the sooner I get rid of this job, the better. I might even start to feel like me again!

Despite the few days of personal peace, I haven't been writing. I might, later, or I might just sit and read, or go watch the turtles...

Reading
Iris Murdoch - The Sea, the Sea
Virginia Woolf - Mrs Dalloway
Henry James - The Reverberator

Watching
Sherlock (rewatch)
The Road to El Dorado
Family Ties


A Puddle of Violets
partlyopenbook: Not me. :) (Default)
I can hardly write in a notebook-shaped journal anymore. It isn't that I'm disinterested in journaling, just not interested in writing in a notebook. I mean to, even pick it up and fill out the date, the time, the cycle day, etc... Then, inevitably, the first sentence often sees me wondering why I am bothering to write in there at all. Why bother writing in there at all?

It's occurred to me that the abhorrence for notebook-journaling has been born from a repugnance to a time when writing in a journal was far more comforting... back at the days I spent at home... and I don't want to think about any of that, or think about it as little as possible, to keep the sting from my eyes and the distressful, tight pinches around my heart. It's very hard to suffer a continuous broken heart, knowing that, in a way, I won't ever recover since the world is the world, filled with things, sights and smells and actions, constantly triggering reminders of home.

I do a lot to block away these things. Even when driving home these days, from work, I have the windows rolled up on nice days, with the air conditioning on. I try to pass it off as fighting off pollen and other airborne allergens, but me and my conscience are not so sufficiently self-denying. We know it has more to do with the whimsies of a spring day, the smell of sun-warmed viridescence, and the sound of a healthy breeze through baby leaves, or when that breeze is warm enough to feel that it's fully southern, baptized by the Kentucky and southern Indiana hillsides, warmed there, tumbling over itself, until it flits, against its will, into the flattened Miami Valley... where it stalls, stutters, and roars on to float upon Lake Erie... I close my windows and forget these things.

My life is not wholly rotten, anyway... There's a certain juvenescence that's returned to me. And by me, I mean, of course, the thoughts I have, the inspirations I feel. These are not meant to imply that I take actions to fulfill the inspirations, turning them, naturally, into motivations. I continue to sit more than I move. I work enough, hard enough and long enough, to want to sit, sit, sit for as long as I'm able. It's incredible how awful one's feet can feel the morning after standing around for seven and a half hours, give or take ten minutes. And how it isn't the bottoms of my feet that are sore and achy, but the joints of my ankles, as if the tendons and ligaments there have been stretched and pulled against the weight of bones, muscle, water, or against the tension of the job which ebbs and flows and beats against me like a fierce, incoming tide against rocks waiting patiently next to the sea. And it isn't a day or two of eight hours, but four or five days in a row at a place where I wish I had a clone, an effigy to take what I can't do or when I feel that I should be ripped apart for being ignorant of every detail, angry at myself for my ignorance, and wishing I could do something else far more peaceful, more solitary... to live again in my own head, be my own self, not drawn and quartered by an obsession for a job that I don't know how to do well enough to suppress speculation... Just a quiet, meaningless job.

I'm starting a new very part-time job this afternoon, a private gig to do computer-related admin. The informality of it pleases me. It'd be nice to have work to do that doesn't come with a list of common and hefty demands, and trying to remember a hundred things at once. There is no protocol but the standards of ethics, the common-sense variety of kindness and self-confidence that I've been implementing for ages.

I'm visiting with an old friend today, too. The visit will be shortened by part-time work, but that is the way it has to be... I'm looking forward to running about town with Jason, like the good old days, like 1997 but with wisdom and less hope for the future, less spasmodic reasoning, less convincing philosophy now that I know I can change my mind, alter my opinions, yet the rudimentary beliefs are housed in my core and have been nesting for two decades. I'm built of layers of myself: one year over another over another, and so forth, to my outer shell that's shallow but timid and fragile. I can see each layer's pattern, the created and etched integuments of every year... from the moldy inner sheath to the shimmer of newness surrounding me but not entirely a part of me, not yet...

It will be a nice day off from one job, a nice new start for a new job. The rest of the week will fly by, and I feel reasonably optimistic that it will get better. I'll find new jobs to apply for and something else to do... I'll figure things out that have been pressing their ugliness rancorously against me. Words will be written, paragraphs constructed, stories remembered and hopes remembered, dreams rekindled...


Reading
Iris Murdoch - The Sea, the Sea
Virginia Woolf - Mrs Dalloway
Henry James - The Reverberator

Listening
Namnambulu - Trapped

Watching
Family Ties
CSI: Miami
Coffee Prince

Imbolc.

Monday, 2 February 2015 20:04
partlyopenbook: Fairy-winged child and gray wolf. (friendship)
No, I didn't forget Imbolc! Just had a busy day...

Happy Imbolc! Here's something crafty I did for my private celebration: luminarias! I bought some simple white sacks at the craft store. I sketched Brigid symbols on both sides, and put safe LED candles in them! So lovely and classy! A good way to celebrate the lady of high-flying flames and hearths.



Symbols, front to back: Brigid's cross, flames, healing heart, cup (emotional symbol), sun, and moon. I should've made the moon full, since it's full tomorrow.

If you make luminarias at home (also good for Yule/Solstice, and probably for Lughnasadh), you can use tea-sized LED lights (the cheaper ones for the neo-pagan on a budget), as long as they have new batteries in them. This was a relatively inexpensive project, with stunning results. And making the sketches was really fun!

I mention luminarias in my novella, The Hero and the Holly.

To close, there's this, because it is awesome.
Thig an nathair as an toll
Là donn Brìde,
Ged robh trì troighean dhen t-sneachd
Air leac an làir.

partlyopenbook: CKR (act)
//Personal//

It wasn't until I started spending so much time with Dr. Drosselmeier that I noticed how Manly I actually am. This is not something I remembered about myself.

People tend to be tricked into thinking I'm an Absolute Femme by the way I look. Parts of me are very ladylike. It isn't until they start to know me better that they realize they've been duped into thinking I'm All Girl. Because I don't hide my subtle masculinity very well. I just act how I would normally act.

And there's something more about being manly than knowing my favorite Saturday morning includes Barclay's (preferably Swansea kicking someone's butt.. MC? MU? Oh, I know, CHELSEA.) then a trip to a bookstore that doesn't really need our business... then an out-of-the-way coffeehouse that I'm not really pretty or studious enough to be vising... and, later, hockey and pizza. No beer, though. I draw the manliness at beer. But a half of Guinness on tap, I wouldn't say no. Only once in a while. Like Bank Holidays, otherwise it's too much, too indulgent, and, let's face it: I don't exercise enough to warrant consuming masses of pizza and Guinness.


//Writing//

Taking a couple of days off from writing... Did not have a great day yesterday, and today I've not been concerned with much besides reading and a load of laundry. Some of yesterday's heaviness remains. I'll be better tomorrow.

But here's the 411 on The Pickled Pirate, in case anyone's reading this and wants to know...

The Pickled Pirate is now almost 30,000 words long. It's become its own entity. I'm going to scrap the whole idea I had earlier, of including four other pirate-themed stories with the release. Instead, I don't know what will become of The Pickled Pirate. I'll work on that.

For now, I have to finish it, and edit it. The fun thing about writing mysteries is gaining clues as you go on, then going back and remembering all the things you have to fix (continuity), or the bits you should add in so the whole ending isn't quite a stunner, or the ending won't make as much sense if you go back and reread the story a second (third, fourth) time. It's true what I read once, that essentially you're writing your mystery story backwards: crime, killer, clues -- these come first. Then you gel it together with word epoxy (in a well-ventilated room). And hope it works.

Mysteries take longer to write than rom-coms. You blink: your rom-com is done! Mysteries linger, like a garlic-heavy dinner.

As usual, when I approach the end of a story, my writing slows to a turtle's crawl. (That's okay: I like turtles.) So it takes me a little longer. Until I write epilogues. Then I can write 10K in one day, and not think much of all that work... Although I have the rest of the scenes scribbled down in a wee notebook I have next to the computer for such a purpose. That helps. There are seven or eight, not including all the Invisible Scenes that always creep up without warning...

I could just make a cup of tea, and go to work for a little while...

It occurs to me that I never mentioned The Hero and the Holly's epub-check failure: the re-do progress. Yeah, since I forgot to mention it, you can probably tell it's not big on my list of priorities. (Wait. Priorities? At this point, I nod and smile.) There are no pending "tickets" from retailers, so whatever is wrong with the file isn't something dreadful... I will get to it eventually.

Since I made my other books 0.99¢ no one has downloaded or purchased a single one! Haha!

Oh moneyed society, oh commerce, how you do bridge the gap between predictability and amusement, so, so well...

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