Rough Draft of the feature article is due tomorrow.
Yesterday I went back to the doctor because my sinus infection did not go away after 10 days on antibiotics, so now I am back on for another 10. This antibiotic is extra hard to take for a cheese lover like myself. No dairy two hours before or one hour after taking the medicine - or was it the other way around? Oh and DO take with food. Hope a couple of crackers will do. Basically I need to find a 4 hour window with NO cheese but WITH food, a tall order for this vegetarian. But - none of this has anything to do with my feature.
It is about yoga. And this fabulous teacher I discovered. She teaches at St. Barnabas church in the parish room, among other places. I first heard of Carmina from a poster on the wall of Coffee Obsession in Woods Hole. It took me a year or two to actually go to her class, but once I went, I was in love. Happy, blissful, yoga love.
In the meantime I started taking classes at Blooming Lotus Yoga Studio (BLYS) on Main Street where I found one instructor I really enjoyed, Skye. After I had been to Carmina's class a few times I asked Skye if she knew of her. Of course she did - and loved her! I think she may have even been so inspired by her to decide to become an instructor herself.
This is what she does for people, she inspires them. She talks of prana and downward dog, but also breath and honoring it. She is a breath of fresh air. Someone who makes you appreciate taking in a deep breath of fresh air.
The class I attend is restorative and it is filled with ladies my mother's age and older, of course some younger as well. Many of these women are so incredibly nimble and healthy and I have to believe that Carmina and her yoga have something to do with it. I can't tout it the fountain of youth but drinking in that restorative breath creates a room filled with strong women, proud warriors looking in.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
JE 25 Map of Africa
I should be better at geography. I am visual, absurdly visual, so you would think maps I would be okay at. Not so. Street maps are embarassing. I have to orient my body - and map - in accordance to things around me.
Since I have had Africa in my mind for the past 3 years, I thought I should verify that the map in my head does in fact coincide with the map in reality. It does not.
For one, on my head map Tanzania is way farther north, not right at the equator. Although I did have Zanzibar right in position with it. In case any if you are like me - here is a map of Africa courtesy of worldatlas.
Since I have had Africa in my mind for the past 3 years, I thought I should verify that the map in my head does in fact coincide with the map in reality. It does not.
For one, on my head map Tanzania is way farther north, not right at the equator. Although I did have Zanzibar right in position with it. In case any if you are like me - here is a map of Africa courtesy of worldatlas.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
JE 24 Can't Read it Days
Today happens to be one of those - can't read it days - unfortunately today is also final draft one act play day. Little changes and a print are going to have to do. This mornings retweak went poorly. I didn't feel like reading the dialogue. (Must be some blow me over stuff, huh)? Made changes to the stage directions that disgusted me. And gave up.
Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's the fact that my friends are in Tampa living their lives and I am here living on the moon with my parents and my son. Or maybe it's the fact that Saturday I will be another year closer to 40.
Usually yoga helps. Irregular yoga helps more than no yoga at all but today nothing helps. The thought of NaNoWriMo has me thinking failure.
So instead of wasting your time and reading this post, do something productive because as you can see - I am not. Maybe in a bit I will kick myself in the ass and get out of my own way but for now I will stew in my PMS and bloat.
Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's the fact that my friends are in Tampa living their lives and I am here living on the moon with my parents and my son. Or maybe it's the fact that Saturday I will be another year closer to 40.
Usually yoga helps. Irregular yoga helps more than no yoga at all but today nothing helps. The thought of NaNoWriMo has me thinking failure.
So instead of wasting your time and reading this post, do something productive because as you can see - I am not. Maybe in a bit I will kick myself in the ass and get out of my own way but for now I will stew in my PMS and bloat.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
JE 23 Headache
It's hard to want to write with a headache. Yesterday one built all day with every activity culminating in this morning's migraine and rescue medications which I try to avoid taking as they make me feel altogether unhuman. So here I am in my zombie form after drugs, caffine, sugar, and more carbs.
I blog in a few places - yesterday was on my son's blog involving pictures and a brief description of the day's activities.
This week my one act play is due. I have three days to finish. You may have read it - unromantic. I need to add stage directions and possibly rework scenes 2 and 4. Or of course I could scrap it altogether.
But first - I need to feel better. The thing about taking migraine medicine is that it makes you feel as though you are losing brain cells at an alarmingly fast rate - which in fact you probably are. It makes language slow. Not a good thing, especially if you fashion yourself a writer.
So for now I think I will go regain composure and some words.
I blog in a few places - yesterday was on my son's blog involving pictures and a brief description of the day's activities.
This week my one act play is due. I have three days to finish. You may have read it - unromantic. I need to add stage directions and possibly rework scenes 2 and 4. Or of course I could scrap it altogether.
But first - I need to feel better. The thing about taking migraine medicine is that it makes you feel as though you are losing brain cells at an alarmingly fast rate - which in fact you probably are. It makes language slow. Not a good thing, especially if you fashion yourself a writer.
So for now I think I will go regain composure and some words.
Friday, October 14, 2011
JE 22 Pocket Treasures
Often I find things in my son's pants. I've come to call them pocket treasures. Mostly they are discarded items. Erasers. Beads. Or natural items. Sticks. Mulch. Rocks, plenty of rocks - crystals. Pebbles.
He's sentimental about things too - doesn't like me to throw things out. I have to sneak the McDonald's Happy Meal box into the garbage half the time. I am not allowed to throw out the directions to the Happy Meal toy... the list goes on. And on. We have stick collections by the shed, a rock collection by the recycle bin, and I have a box dedicated specfically for pocket treasures in the junk drawer.
Pocket treasures has expanded into back pack treasures - every evening I unload all the numerous pockets, why so many pockets? But I unload them into the box or the appropriate collection. Each day one or two more items get added.
My question is am I perpetuating this behavior? Should my clean out go directly into the trash? But I don't. I put these pocket treasures in their respective corners and just deal.
Maybe it goes like this - he started it but I finished it. More like I continued it...maybe because I want to see where these pocket treasures will fit into the mosaic of his life.
He's sentimental about things too - doesn't like me to throw things out. I have to sneak the McDonald's Happy Meal box into the garbage half the time. I am not allowed to throw out the directions to the Happy Meal toy... the list goes on. And on. We have stick collections by the shed, a rock collection by the recycle bin, and I have a box dedicated specfically for pocket treasures in the junk drawer.
Pocket treasures has expanded into back pack treasures - every evening I unload all the numerous pockets, why so many pockets? But I unload them into the box or the appropriate collection. Each day one or two more items get added.
My question is am I perpetuating this behavior? Should my clean out go directly into the trash? But I don't. I put these pocket treasures in their respective corners and just deal.
Maybe it goes like this - he started it but I finished it. More like I continued it...maybe because I want to see where these pocket treasures will fit into the mosaic of his life.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
JE 21 Response to Reality
The prompt for today over at NaBloPoMo - Between your mother and your father, who are you more alike?
I'd like to say neither but in reality it's both. Leaving anything physical out of it - anything biological, I'd have to say Dad. I get mad the way he does. Though as a teen I butted heads most with my mom, maybe because we are similar, or because we're both strong personalities, but so is my dad. (Much strife).
Dad and I like some of the same things - funniest is that we sit and watch Bachelor or Bachelorette (even Bachelor Pad!) together and comment about the contestants choosing our favorites and singling out the bad guys. Mom walks through the living room and groans about what low lifes we are for watching such garbage, but we love it anyway, despite the groaning - and watch Dancing With The Stars because it is her show of choice even waking her up when her favorite, Derrick Hough, comes up.
I don't have my mother's height or my father's toes, but what I do have is a childhood that I am relearning about now as my son and I reside again in their house.
I'd like to say neither but in reality it's both. Leaving anything physical out of it - anything biological, I'd have to say Dad. I get mad the way he does. Though as a teen I butted heads most with my mom, maybe because we are similar, or because we're both strong personalities, but so is my dad. (Much strife).
Dad and I like some of the same things - funniest is that we sit and watch Bachelor or Bachelorette (even Bachelor Pad!) together and comment about the contestants choosing our favorites and singling out the bad guys. Mom walks through the living room and groans about what low lifes we are for watching such garbage, but we love it anyway, despite the groaning - and watch Dancing With The Stars because it is her show of choice even waking her up when her favorite, Derrick Hough, comes up.
I don't have my mother's height or my father's toes, but what I do have is a childhood that I am relearning about now as my son and I reside again in their house.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
JE 20 All It Needs Is A Good Edit
My ass.
I went to class today with two copies of unromantic. in my 3-ring binder. Armed and ready. A little embarassed by what I had produced, how little time I had spent. I read three others plays as they read mine, one girl and I have mutual admiration, by the end of class I wanted to ask for her phone number or something but felt dumb. It would be nice to have a writing partner or a writing group not made up of dirty old men or aging ladies with dementia. (No offense, none taken - which I am sure would NOT be the reply).
I left a copy with the professor, rode home in silence reworking the thing in my head. What I came up with? That I needed to add more stage directions. I am unsure if the second and fourth scenes work the way I need them too. I am not sure if any of it works the way I need it too.
But since it is late I think instead of taking another look at the script, I will find something I feel like reading.
Been thinking that I need to read The Great Santini, though not tonight.
I went to class today with two copies of unromantic. in my 3-ring binder. Armed and ready. A little embarassed by what I had produced, how little time I had spent. I read three others plays as they read mine, one girl and I have mutual admiration, by the end of class I wanted to ask for her phone number or something but felt dumb. It would be nice to have a writing partner or a writing group not made up of dirty old men or aging ladies with dementia. (No offense, none taken - which I am sure would NOT be the reply).
I left a copy with the professor, rode home in silence reworking the thing in my head. What I came up with? That I needed to add more stage directions. I am unsure if the second and fourth scenes work the way I need them too. I am not sure if any of it works the way I need it too.
But since it is late I think instead of taking another look at the script, I will find something I feel like reading.
Been thinking that I need to read The Great Santini, though not tonight.
unromantic.
Cast of Characters
Him:
Her:
He and she are on stage, comfortable, in mid
discussion. She is sitting down, legs resting up
on a table or desk, disinterested looking at her
nails, a magazine, the wall. He sits or leans
against a table at an angle from her - not a face
to face - so as not to be confrontational.
HER
You run into a lot of interesting teaching school.
HIM
Yeah. That why you quit?
HER
I quit because I felt like a sham.
HIM
Everyone feels like a sham - you’re the only one who
goes and quits because of it.
HER
One kid told a story so real reading it made me feel
like a carnie in Gibsonton in his paneled trailer
sharing a bathroom with his sister and the rest of his
family. It was disgusting. And it was
beautiful. Stark.
HIM
Sounds it.
HER
You don’t understand.
HIM
I guess I don’t. Make me understand.
HER
It’s not who I am. Not who I want to be.
HIM
Who do you want to be then? You were good. One of the
best.
HER
Ha. That’s laughable.
HIM
You don’t give yourself enough credit. You never
have. --Guess that’s why I like you.
HER
You like me ’cause I’m hot.
HIM
Yeah, there’s that.
HER
And funny.
HIM
Mmmhmm.
HER
Sexy as hell.
HIM
Goes without saying.
HER
Ha - but seriously. I’m lost.
HIM
You’re not lost.
HER
I’m broken.
HIM
You’re not broken.
HER
Well - I’m something.
HIM
You are certainly something.
HER
Thhaa. You’re no help.
Scene 2
Her, on the phone with someone else, not him. In
the kitchen on the wall phone sitting on the floor
in the doorway feet up on the doorjamb.
HER
I don’t know. It’s so much pressure. I don’t like
pressure. I don’t do pressure. You know that.
HER
I know, I know. I just don’t know if I can.
HER
Okay.
HER
I gotta go.
HER
I love you too.
Scene 3
Him and her, in the kitchen, talking more about
it. Him, probing and her, trying to avoid it
altogether.
HIM
You gotta give me something.
HER
But really I don’t. You can walk out of here today,
having gotten nothing from me, and still be
okay. Perfectly fine.
HIM
That’s arguably untrue.
HER
Is it?
HIM
Yes.
HER
I’m not sure that it is.
HIM
I’m not even sure I know what you are asking me to do.
HER
I don’t know if I know either. I used to know.
HIM
Look all this talk about nothing - it’s making me
frustrated.
HER
Maybe if you could see it my way, be on my side for
once...
HIM
Be on your side for once? I am always on your
side. You push me away and I am still on your side.
HER
Maybe if you could see me for me.
HIM
I can only see what you show me.
HER
You only see what you want to see.
HIM
What the hell are you talking about?
HER
See? Now you’re getting all pissed.
HIM
I am not getting pissed. I’m... okay I’m getting
pissed. But pissed doesn’t mean leaving. You keep
pushing but I’m not going.
HER
...yet.
HIM
What’s that shit? Haven’t I proven myself enough times?
HER
Maybe.
HIM
It should be yes.
HER
Maybe is easier.
HIM
Maybe is a cop out.
HER
Maybe counts.
Scene 4
She, on the front steps on the phone again.
HER
I guess we’re just too different.
HER
Yeah, but the problem is - he wants to fix it.
HER
I don’t know. I guess.
HER
All right. Bye.
HER
Yes. I love you too.
HER
Bye.
Scene 5
He and she are in their original locations
continuing their conversation. As the
conversation progresses he gets closer to her.
HER
I wasn’t expecting you to be all romantic and sweep me
off my feet or anything but I thought at least you’d be
sentimental.
HIM
I admit it, I went about it all wrong. My words got
all jumbled up and, well, I froze.
HER
It just makes me question what we’re in for.
HIM
Whatever we’re in for, we’ll do it together. It
doesn’t have to be you against the world.
HER
That’s what I’m good at.
HIM
I know.
HER
So you tell me I don’t need to be strong, that I don’t
need to go it alone. But what if I AM broken?
HIM
I told you, you are NOT broken.
HER
But what if I WANT to be broken?
HIM
Then I’ll be broken with you
HER
Hey babe.
HIM
Yeah?
HER
What do say we head down the courthouse and get that
thing taken care of?
HIM
Absolutely.
CURTAIN
Him:
Her:
ACT I
Scene 1
He and she are on stage, comfortable, in mid
discussion. She is sitting down, legs resting up
on a table or desk, disinterested looking at her
nails, a magazine, the wall. He sits or leans
against a table at an angle from her - not a face
to face - so as not to be confrontational.
HER
You run into a lot of interesting teaching school.
HIM
Yeah. That why you quit?
HER
I quit because I felt like a sham.
HIM
Everyone feels like a sham - you’re the only one who
goes and quits because of it.
HER
One kid told a story so real reading it made me feel
like a carnie in Gibsonton in his paneled trailer
sharing a bathroom with his sister and the rest of his
family. It was disgusting. And it was
beautiful. Stark.
HIM
Sounds it.
HER
You don’t understand.
HIM
I guess I don’t. Make me understand.
HER
It’s not who I am. Not who I want to be.
HIM
Who do you want to be then? You were good. One of the
best.
HER
Ha. That’s laughable.
HIM
You don’t give yourself enough credit. You never
have. --Guess that’s why I like you.
HER
You like me ’cause I’m hot.
HIM
Yeah, there’s that.
HER
And funny.
HIM
Mmmhmm.
HER
Sexy as hell.
HIM
Goes without saying.
HER
Ha - but seriously. I’m lost.
HIM
You’re not lost.
HER
I’m broken.
HIM
You’re not broken.
HER
Well - I’m something.
HIM
You are certainly something.
HER
Thhaa. You’re no help.
Scene 2
Her, on the phone with someone else, not him. In
the kitchen on the wall phone sitting on the floor
in the doorway feet up on the doorjamb.
HER
I don’t know. It’s so much pressure. I don’t like
pressure. I don’t do pressure. You know that.
HER
I know, I know. I just don’t know if I can.
HER
Okay.
HER
I gotta go.
HER
I love you too.
Scene 3
Him and her, in the kitchen, talking more about
it. Him, probing and her, trying to avoid it
altogether.
HIM
You gotta give me something.
HER
But really I don’t. You can walk out of here today,
having gotten nothing from me, and still be
okay. Perfectly fine.
HIM
That’s arguably untrue.
HER
Is it?
HIM
Yes.
HER
I’m not sure that it is.
HIM
I’m not even sure I know what you are asking me to do.
HER
I don’t know if I know either. I used to know.
HIM
Look all this talk about nothing - it’s making me
frustrated.
HER
Maybe if you could see it my way, be on my side for
once...
HIM
Be on your side for once? I am always on your
side. You push me away and I am still on your side.
HER
Maybe if you could see me for me.
HIM
I can only see what you show me.
HER
You only see what you want to see.
HIM
What the hell are you talking about?
HER
See? Now you’re getting all pissed.
HIM
I am not getting pissed. I’m... okay I’m getting
pissed. But pissed doesn’t mean leaving. You keep
pushing but I’m not going.
HER
...yet.
HIM
What’s that shit? Haven’t I proven myself enough times?
HER
Maybe.
HIM
It should be yes.
HER
Maybe is easier.
HIM
Maybe is a cop out.
HER
Maybe counts.
Scene 4
She, on the front steps on the phone again.
HER
I guess we’re just too different.
HER
Yeah, but the problem is - he wants to fix it.
HER
I don’t know. I guess.
HER
All right. Bye.
HER
Yes. I love you too.
HER
Bye.
Scene 5
He and she are in their original locations
continuing their conversation. As the
conversation progresses he gets closer to her.
HER
I wasn’t expecting you to be all romantic and sweep me
off my feet or anything but I thought at least you’d be
sentimental.
HIM
I admit it, I went about it all wrong. My words got
all jumbled up and, well, I froze.
HER
It just makes me question what we’re in for.
HIM
Whatever we’re in for, we’ll do it together. It
doesn’t have to be you against the world.
HER
That’s what I’m good at.
HIM
I know.
HER
So you tell me I don’t need to be strong, that I don’t
need to go it alone. But what if I AM broken?
HIM
I told you, you are NOT broken.
HER
But what if I WANT to be broken?
HIM
Then I’ll be broken with you
HER
Hey babe.
HIM
Yeah?
HER
What do say we head down the courthouse and get that
thing taken care of?
HIM
Absolutely.
CURTAIN
JE 19 The Sandwich of Time
With every step forward we are closer to who we're striving to become,
farther from pain, from anger, from hurt.
We are not where we were,
not yet where we think we ought to be.
Today is what matters.
Today is what counts.
Without today there is no tomorrow.
On top of yesterday, we put today.
In the sandwich of time, in the very middle goes today.
Do yourself a favor don't rush today to get to tomorrow,
because soon enough tomorrow will have it's day to shine.
farther from pain, from anger, from hurt.
We are not where we were,
not yet where we think we ought to be.
Today is what matters.
Today is what counts.
Without today there is no tomorrow.
On top of yesterday, we put today.
In the sandwich of time, in the very middle goes today.
Do yourself a favor don't rush today to get to tomorrow,
because soon enough tomorrow will have it's day to shine.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
JE 18 Sick and Sicker
As I said, last Tuesday and Wednesday I had a fever, by the weekend I was coughing like crazy and surmounting Sunday with a red eye, stuffed ears, and a sore chest. A Columbus Day trip to the walk-in clinic has me on antibiotics and frustrated that no matter what - I always seem to get the sickest.
Yes, I take vitamins.
I am tired of missing things because I don't feel well.
My next assignment? To write a one act play. Last night while Charlie was in the tub I started to write one - checking out my scriptfrenzy software, Celtix - love it! And I actually managed to sit down and write a one act play in an evening - before and after Dancing with the Stars and Castle. By 12:30 it was done. It may be stupid. But it is done.
The library doesn't open until 1:30 today (or was it one?) so I will have to wait until then to get my research going as I like to do, but at least I have a starting point. It feels good to have a deadline on Wednesday and to have the thing done on Monday.
Maybe all I needed was a little bit of sick of being sickest.
Yes, I take vitamins.
I am tired of missing things because I don't feel well.
My next assignment? To write a one act play. Last night while Charlie was in the tub I started to write one - checking out my scriptfrenzy software, Celtix - love it! And I actually managed to sit down and write a one act play in an evening - before and after Dancing with the Stars and Castle. By 12:30 it was done. It may be stupid. But it is done.
The library doesn't open until 1:30 today (or was it one?) so I will have to wait until then to get my research going as I like to do, but at least I have a starting point. It feels good to have a deadline on Wednesday and to have the thing done on Monday.
Maybe all I needed was a little bit of sick of being sickest.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
JE 17 Between the Harbor and the School
National Blog Posting Month - NaBloPoMo
Here is the prompt for this months theme, between:
List two things (however close or far) that your current home is between.
My house is between the harbor and the school, the Island Queen and Friendly's, my Grandma's house and the BBC on Heights Beach.
The harbor where we keep the boat and the school where my son is now.
The Island Queen that sounds three swift toots every hour and a half and the red and white Friendly's building that may or may not have been shut down - another victim of chapter 11.
My Grandma's house where my mother was raised and my brother and I spent many vacation weeks and the bar on the beach that we hardly even noticed as children, but where my brother and I now spend some time sharing stories of those summers.
My house is between Florida and Canada, John and John, the Vineyard and Plymouth
Florida where I keep my house as something to go back to and Canada a country to which I have never been - not counting two hours in Victoria (with a migraine)
John who has two sons that play with Charlie when they occupy their summer house and John who comes and goes enjoying conversations with my son
The Vineyard where brass rings are gold and Plymouth where history in reality is underwhelming.
Here is the prompt for this months theme, between:
List two things (however close or far) that your current home is between.
My house is between the harbor and the school, the Island Queen and Friendly's, my Grandma's house and the BBC on Heights Beach.
The harbor where we keep the boat and the school where my son is now.
The Island Queen that sounds three swift toots every hour and a half and the red and white Friendly's building that may or may not have been shut down - another victim of chapter 11.
My Grandma's house where my mother was raised and my brother and I spent many vacation weeks and the bar on the beach that we hardly even noticed as children, but where my brother and I now spend some time sharing stories of those summers.
My house is between Florida and Canada, John and John, the Vineyard and Plymouth
Florida where I keep my house as something to go back to and Canada a country to which I have never been - not counting two hours in Victoria (with a migraine)
John who has two sons that play with Charlie when they occupy their summer house and John who comes and goes enjoying conversations with my son
The Vineyard where brass rings are gold and Plymouth where history in reality is underwhelming.
JE 16 A Feverish Deadline - Between Assignments
Since I last wrote I've been up and down. That is my temperature has been up and down. I have been reading short stories in bed...
Well that is as far as I got on yesterdays post before I got back in bed. I did manage to get to class at 6:30pm and I did turn in a short short story that was pretty disappointing. I find that I am good with character and short on plot. How can this be?
I think I may need more writing practice. Presently I am reading The Best American Short Stories 2010 edited by Richard Russo and cape cod noir edited by David Ulin and getting ready to peruse The New (hahaha) Milton Cross Complete Stories of the Great Operas. The hahaha is inserted because of the age of the book - copyright MCMXLVII aka.1947. Plus a little Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.
I am hoping that by reading some synopsis (synopsi?) of the operas I will gain better insight on plot - that or I will hop on over to a plot generator and see what I can whip up for the new assignment - write a one act play.
Seeing as I am feeling WAY better, this should be fun. You have one week - go.
Well that is as far as I got on yesterdays post before I got back in bed. I did manage to get to class at 6:30pm and I did turn in a short short story that was pretty disappointing. I find that I am good with character and short on plot. How can this be?
I think I may need more writing practice. Presently I am reading The Best American Short Stories 2010 edited by Richard Russo and cape cod noir edited by David Ulin and getting ready to peruse The New (hahaha) Milton Cross Complete Stories of the Great Operas. The hahaha is inserted because of the age of the book - copyright MCMXLVII aka.1947. Plus a little Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.
I am hoping that by reading some synopsis (synopsi?) of the operas I will gain better insight on plot - that or I will hop on over to a plot generator and see what I can whip up for the new assignment - write a one act play.
Seeing as I am feeling WAY better, this should be fun. You have one week - go.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
JE 15 Day Before Deadline
It's the day before deadline and though I have given it great thought I have written little more than I had for Rough Draft Deadline. I've been mulling over ideas, changing phrases, and adding characters in my head. Today I have a chunk of time carved to write. This afternoon - I plan to edit. (I have tomorrow to write and edit as well).
The assignment is to write a 500-1,500 word short short story. I'd like to write more and edit down. Think I have given it enough time to simmer so that maybe I can go back with fresh eyes and knock it out.
We will see.
I will report back later. Or not if I decide to hide my head in shame.
BUT - if I happen to blog hop, remind me to buckle down. I have a tendency to get off track.
The assignment is to write a 500-1,500 word short short story. I'd like to write more and edit down. Think I have given it enough time to simmer so that maybe I can go back with fresh eyes and knock it out.
We will see.
I will report back later. Or not if I decide to hide my head in shame.
BUT - if I happen to blog hop, remind me to buckle down. I have a tendency to get off track.
Monday, October 03, 2011
JE 14 A Red Dog Black Dog Sort of Day
One of the perks of living so close to family is having family around: mom and dad to watch Charlie, a brother and sister-in-law for some adult time, and fun family activities. Yesterday was one of those days.
As early as we could manage we all loaded onto my father's boat, the Red Dog, and headed for the vineyard - no jackets required. What was forecast to be a wash of a weekend turned out to be Divine. After a late brunch at the Red Dog Tavern Mom and Dad headed back to the boat, while the kids strolled Vineyard Haven in and out of the various Red Dog shops - specifically three.
We had planned to pick apples off-Cape in the afternoon but seeing as we were having a Red Dog Black Dog sort of day time just sort of got away.
As early as we could manage we all loaded onto my father's boat, the Red Dog, and headed for the vineyard - no jackets required. What was forecast to be a wash of a weekend turned out to be Divine. After a late brunch at the Red Dog Tavern Mom and Dad headed back to the boat, while the kids strolled Vineyard Haven in and out of the various Red Dog shops - specifically three.
We had planned to pick apples off-Cape in the afternoon but seeing as we were having a Red Dog Black Dog sort of day time just sort of got away.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
JE 13 In Between
Been taking notes on the book The Anatomy of Story. Finished reading Writing Down the Bones and looking forward to rereading Bird By Bird. Anne Lamott speaks to me. Natalie Goldberg unfortunately does not, at least not nearly as much. As for Anatomy and John Truby... I feel they are trying to tell me something. Something important.
I have always been a good patient. The doctor tells me to do something, to follow some protocol, I generally listen and follow orders - it's what's best for me, right? Now I know one must be a self-advocate in order to get the best healthcare, and I am. I pay attention to what is going on with my body and I am pretty self-aware. I do my research - a knowledgeable patient is a good patient.
Maybe the same goes for books, specifically books on writing. To me a book on writing is a gift. Insight. A key. If not a mentor, at least a role model on my nightstand.
I have always been a good patient. The doctor tells me to do something, to follow some protocol, I generally listen and follow orders - it's what's best for me, right? Now I know one must be a self-advocate in order to get the best healthcare, and I am. I pay attention to what is going on with my body and I am pretty self-aware. I do my research - a knowledgeable patient is a good patient.
Maybe the same goes for books, specifically books on writing. To me a book on writing is a gift. Insight. A key. If not a mentor, at least a role model on my nightstand.
Friday, September 30, 2011
JE 12 See Things With a Writer's Eye
For as long as I can remember, people have commented on how observant I am. I see things that others do not. I see things in a different way - or maybe I look at things in a different way.
From my writing table I can see out three second story windows, two of which are casement windows with a crank. The one directly in my sight line has always looked - to me - like the silhouette of a lady wearing an African headdress.
Like these - courtesy of - http://www.ezakwantu.com/
Right? Or is it just me?
Okay - back to work.
From my writing table I can see out three second story windows, two of which are casement windows with a crank. The one directly in my sight line has always looked - to me - like the silhouette of a lady wearing an African headdress.
Like these - courtesy of - http://www.ezakwantu.com/
Right? Or is it just me?
Okay - back to work.
JE 11 A Brand New Day
Last night thunder and lightning threatened cooler weather, and though the air does have a bit of a chill it seems that today is going to be a beautiful day. My shades are up, but my windows are closed - at least for now. Wendy and Cliff are outside blowing leaves and cutting the yard, and I am paranoid.
I try to make connections whenever I get a migraine and one of the connections I have made is that when pollen gets in the house - I get a headache. So, like I said, windows are closed for now. I am not really sure if there is a connection there but I would rather not risk it.
Yesterday was another migraine day. It started out as a dull haze slowly building to a full on ringer. Often I put off taking the rescue medicine because of the side effects, I did this again yesterday to feel the headache out. Is it just a stuffy head thing? Wishful thinking.
I don't like to write about my migraines - looking back at my writing until very recently - it is one of those subjects that is noticibly blank. Let's call it avoidance. But maybe that is the wrong thing. Maybe calling it out in real words can be my defense.
Migraines - go away. I reclaim my life. You have no power over me. I renounce you - once and for all!
I try to make connections whenever I get a migraine and one of the connections I have made is that when pollen gets in the house - I get a headache. So, like I said, windows are closed for now. I am not really sure if there is a connection there but I would rather not risk it.
Yesterday was another migraine day. It started out as a dull haze slowly building to a full on ringer. Often I put off taking the rescue medicine because of the side effects, I did this again yesterday to feel the headache out. Is it just a stuffy head thing? Wishful thinking.
I don't like to write about my migraines - looking back at my writing until very recently - it is one of those subjects that is noticibly blank. Let's call it avoidance. But maybe that is the wrong thing. Maybe calling it out in real words can be my defense.
Migraines - go away. I reclaim my life. You have no power over me. I renounce you - once and for all!
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
JE 10 An Inability To Listen
I know many wives and mothers who will claim this same afflicion of their husbands and children - an inability to listen. But honestly, truthfully, 100% I struggle to read and to comprehend. Unless there is complete silence and no time restraints and no other distractions inside or outside of my mind, I can't read.
Do you know how horrible it is to be an English teacher who can't read? If I focus all my energy on listening and am able to submerge myself in the words of the story, lecture, directions then I have a good chance at comprehension.
I know this sounds a little bit crazy - okay more than a little bit crazy - but it is true. I have an language processing disorder. Somewhere in my brain there is a disconnect. And no I have not been diagnosed with this disorder - I am not even sure this is what it is called, but I am sure that this is not the way it is for everyone. That this affliction is unique to me, and maybe a few other lucky fellows.
I detested school. Any chance there could be a connection here? My son is in first grade and he is distracted. A space cadet. If he is like me he is providing enough entertainment in his own head he doesn't need to tune in to what's going on out there. And I don't want this for him. He is a smart, charismatic boy. I want him to feel this way. To be this way.
I mention this now because today in class we played the game Speed Dating, where you sit across from a partner and are alloted a few minutes to read their work as they read yours. You then have a few minutes to respond to their work, they then have a few minutes to respond to your work. This game for me is nearly impossible. It takes my entire concentration to get to the end of the piece, which I then have to reread to be sure I actually comprehended it. The timed element of this activity is like TNT. And then - to make things worse, all at once everyone needs to talk to their partner about the story they just read. This activity makes me feel as though I am autistic - the cacophany of "I liked it!", and "bwah wah wha wha wah wha" all but paralyzes me and makes me feel stupid.
Do you know how horrible it is to be an English teacher who can't read? If I focus all my energy on listening and am able to submerge myself in the words of the story, lecture, directions then I have a good chance at comprehension.
I know this sounds a little bit crazy - okay more than a little bit crazy - but it is true. I have an language processing disorder. Somewhere in my brain there is a disconnect. And no I have not been diagnosed with this disorder - I am not even sure this is what it is called, but I am sure that this is not the way it is for everyone. That this affliction is unique to me, and maybe a few other lucky fellows.
I detested school. Any chance there could be a connection here? My son is in first grade and he is distracted. A space cadet. If he is like me he is providing enough entertainment in his own head he doesn't need to tune in to what's going on out there. And I don't want this for him. He is a smart, charismatic boy. I want him to feel this way. To be this way.
I mention this now because today in class we played the game Speed Dating, where you sit across from a partner and are alloted a few minutes to read their work as they read yours. You then have a few minutes to respond to their work, they then have a few minutes to respond to your work. This game for me is nearly impossible. It takes my entire concentration to get to the end of the piece, which I then have to reread to be sure I actually comprehended it. The timed element of this activity is like TNT. And then - to make things worse, all at once everyone needs to talk to their partner about the story they just read. This activity makes me feel as though I am autistic - the cacophany of "I liked it!", and "bwah wah wha wha wah wha" all but paralyzes me and makes me feel stupid.
JE 9 Success or Failure
I left the house disappointed in myself, my story writing skills, and my indecision. And pissed at my migraines. They steal so much from me. Days. Words. Lucid thougths. Playing catch-up - after a migraine takes four days and the medicine swipes two more. But this is my story, my woe, and it is every bit a part of me.
Migraine aside - I was disappointed in my own inability to get a story together. Or rather to make a decision that will lead me to a story. I was ashamed to have to show my three pages. (Posted previously - short short story) But when the time came to critique our work in an activity called Speed Dating, the feedback I got was suprisingly good - of course we were all looking for the good to say about one another's pieces.
Upon getting home, I have reread and did not cringe in horror, but now sit in wonder, wonder at where to go from here. Scrap the idea entirely? Leave it alone? Let it be what it is intended to be, a tiny piece of a whole. Rework it, continue on? That is the road I think I will take. But another idea came to me in the shower before class - another part of the same story. But the question is how to tell it. These things are not easy to tell. This invention does not flow freely. At times my mind even blocks the meaning of the words I have written so that rereading becomes impossible - it's just fingerpainting.
Migraine aside - I was disappointed in my own inability to get a story together. Or rather to make a decision that will lead me to a story. I was ashamed to have to show my three pages. (Posted previously - short short story) But when the time came to critique our work in an activity called Speed Dating, the feedback I got was suprisingly good - of course we were all looking for the good to say about one another's pieces.
Upon getting home, I have reread and did not cringe in horror, but now sit in wonder, wonder at where to go from here. Scrap the idea entirely? Leave it alone? Let it be what it is intended to be, a tiny piece of a whole. Rework it, continue on? That is the road I think I will take. But another idea came to me in the shower before class - another part of the same story. But the question is how to tell it. These things are not easy to tell. This invention does not flow freely. At times my mind even blocks the meaning of the words I have written so that rereading becomes impossible - it's just fingerpainting.
Short Short Story - Rough Draft (Unfinished)
Grand
Things didn’t turn out the way Sara expected, nor the way her mother had planned. At no point did she think she would end up in her parents’ house again, at least not before they needed looking after. But here she is amid a second adolescence, upstairs from Mom and Dad, miles from civilization in remote and desolate Cape Cod, which is kind of like living on the moon. She finds herself smack in the middle of multigenerational living, biting her tongue as she never had done as a child or a teenager. She’s got this impossibly adorable boy; she gets migraines that take her under and a dog to complete the family unit. She can’t decide if she has a mild case of hypochondria or just plain bad luck. Her parents, Jane and Archibald, on the other hand are exemplary, put together, with everything just so.
Her lineage, Perfectionists. Her favorite line, “In my family, you DO cry over spilled milk,” spoken to emphasize the “do” but also to add the humor, although humor can often be misread or act as a shield.
“That’s all right… These things happen,” says Archibald to a friend on the phone, which seems like a perfectly fine thing to say, only it’s regarding the loss of his mother-in-law, granted she was 97 and dying of Alzheimer’s. He’s never been one for self-expression or emotions.
The same could be said about his wife, Jane, though regal and stoic at times, she has an unexpected charm. She’s been known to run outside in a rain storm with her grandson, Spencer, to stomp through puddles. Archibald, though he might hate to admit it, has this side too. His daughter calls it stealth humor and his daughter-in-law refers to it as shock and awe.
This is why the rule of thumb in the Baron family has come to be, expect the unexpected.
When Spencer stepped off the bus and said, “My dad’s a jerk.” Sara, not missing a step asked, “Why do you think that honey?” To which he shrugged his shoulders, flopping his backpack to the driveway.
“Spencer, I can’t give you a daddy but I can give you men who love you.” And she hoped that would be enough.
The next morning Spencer proceeded to stir the house into an uproar, stomping, protesting and responding to every question with a prompt, “No.”
The thing about living in a house with three generations is that everyone needs their own personal space – a place to be ugly, mean, and alone – having this space allows for fits to be carried out in privacy, for the most part.
Then again the next day, Spencer, “I wish school was a choice – I’d say no.” And soon he was bringing home notes; for goofing off in the bathroom, for messing around in line, and he couldn’t pay attention in class.
Living with extended family means plenty of opinions, ideas on parenting, and figuring the delicate balance of roles within this reinvented family. Everyone is compromising something.
Jane is most proud of the beautiful home she has made. She prizes her possessions, one of which is the baby grand piano handed down to her from her mother. The story behind it being that Grandma married the love of her life in her family home in Winters, California standing before the baby grand piano that now resides in the Baron’s living room. Spencer didn’t know this when he scratched his Lego figure up the piano leg, he only knew he was mad and gritting his teeth and gripping that plastic and carving into the soft flesh of the wood made him feel good.
“Spencer! Sara!”
Jane was furious. She lost composure. She almost cried, as did Sara, and Spencer ran away cheeks red and tears running down his face. Archibald stepped in to yell a bit too. No one was happy in that house.
“Fine, Mom! We’ll leave. Is that what you want?” Sara yelled.
“Great, go.” Jane said.
“Yeah, get out.” Added Archibald.
And everyone stomped their separate ways. But leaving isn’t really an option, and it’s not what everyone wants anyway.
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