Excuses, excuses.

Oh look, another nifty fad that I had to join!

K is correct, I think, in that this is a lovely way to promote blogging and to keep people writing consistently.  Or, at least, it is a good way to plant an idea into the mind of a blogger.

It has been discussed that lifestreaming is overtaking blogging.  I am not fond of this theory, though I believe it.  I, myself, am a slave to Facebook and am becoming quite enamoured of Twitter, so I do completely understand.  I am not, however, interested in giving up my blog.  (Which is pretty difficult to believe given how little I’ve posted here, recently.  I would like to blame stress, and the fact that it is summer and life always gets a bit more busy in the summer.  I like excuses.)  Which is where the concept of this NaBloPoMo thingamawhatsit is attractive.  I will not post daily, I know this about myself.  I will strive to, and I may every once in a while, but I am not a daily writer, let alone blogger.  But.  It seems a decent enough prod for inspiration to pick up the pen, so to speak, so we’ll give ‘er a go.

Speaking of writing.  In the chapter “The Goody Two-Shoes Nature” of the book Writing Down the Bones Natalie Goldberg mentions something interesting:

Some people hear the rule “Write every day” and do it and don’t improve.  They are just being dutiful.  That is the way of the Goody Two-shoes.  It is a waste of energy because it takes tremendous effort to just follow the rules if your heart isn’t into it.  If you find that this is your basic attitude, then stop writing.  Stay away from it for a week or a year.  Wait until you are hungry to say something, until there is an aching in you to speak.  Then come back.

This is how I had been doing my “daily writing.”  I would love to be inspired to write with flare, but I was not.  I wrote, but it was out of duty, not passion.  So.  I stopped.  I have not started again (creatively), yet.  I will, but I need to give it some more time.  This is why I will not push myself to blog daily, but hope that I can at the same time.  I do not want to fall into the trap of writing for the sake of writing, again.  I feel that just knowing that I was doing that is half the battle, and now I am armed with weapons to combat that problem!

Happy NaBloPoMo, bloggers.  Try it out!  Oh.  And if you do, add me to your friends list so I can keep up!

The Airborne Toxic Event – Happiness is Overrated

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Truth.

You’ve got to live life, not think about it. Step into the midst of things, try and fail and learn and stand up again. The question is not whether you will or will not make mistakes – you will. The question is do you want to learn and grow, or do you want to shrink back and be stuck? Take that step you’ve been avoiding. You can succeed, or you can get feedback that it didn’t work, but in either case you are sure to feel alive.

Hungry thoughts.

I had a conversation the other day.  It was quite enlightening.  Here is some of it.  In bits and pieces.  (My return comment, added for continuity, is in italics.)

The more people I meet in life the more I realize how few have something truly alive in them, some voice, some consciousness searching for an outlet. Day to day life seems more populated with zombies than living people.

I’m not sure I have anything truly alive in me.  I feel zombified 99.99% of my life.  It’s beginning to get a little stifling, actually.

That’s because there is somthing alive in you, and the endless daily routine and lack of change is killing it.

Reading and movies and games are always something new, something unusual, something you don’t get to experience when you wake up, shower, brush your teeth, get dressed, work, come home relax at the computer for a while, sleep, and then get back up to do it again. And we look forward to days off thinking of the free time, many hours to do whatever…. but it always ends up filled with the same things. I need somthing new, something different.

If all I do if go to the same place every day, come home, read/etc, go to sleep, and do it again… then why am I alive? I work to have money, I have money for a house and food, I have a house and food to stay alive so I’m there to go to work the next day.

It’s an endless cycle with nothing new and nothing interesting.

It’s got me thinking.

Are you happy?

I’m not.  Not overall.  In moments I am quite blissful, but those moments have to end sometime.

I used to believe in dragons and unicorns.  I didn’t just fancy those whimsies as a backdrop for the life I lead in my imagination, I had faith that they were real.  Every time I drove across the province, or the country, with my family (it happened frequently enough, we have a spread out family) I would gaze out of the window of the car and look for unicorns (unicorns held a very special place in my heart).

I don’t really believe in dragons and unicorns anymore.  I mourn that.  That is a sense that should be fostered and cultivated.  Imagination is a precious commodity and it is so easily destroyed with one wrong word, one stern “get your head out of the clouds” look.

The conversation I had spoke to the whimsical part of me.  The part that wants to be allowed (encouraged) to look for unicorns again, knowing that they’re there somewhere and, if I’m very lucky, I will catch a glimpse.  There is a rationality that I have to follow.  I, too, must work for money.  Without money I would starve.  Without money I would also be stuck living in this terrible apartment, or, worse, a cardboard box, rather than a house that I dream of.

Balance.  There has to be balance.  Yes, I have to work.  (It’s true, I would love to love, or at least like, my job.  Different story, though.)  But I also have to feed my imagination.  I have to go for hikes in the woods and recognize a fearie ring for something more than a bizarre  outcropping of mushrooms.  I have to kayak a lake quietly and watch the shoreline for woodnymphs.  Truly?  I have to be open to possibility again.

There are some truly superficial things in my life that look to be changing, soon.  This is wonderful.  (We’re buying a house.  Hopefully before the fall.)  More important things need to change in my life, though.  I need to be happy.  I need to give that little voice its outlet.

And really.  If that ever actually happens, I should be able to report that I’ve been writing, not just put up silly blog posts like this one.

The Nylons – Prince of Darkness

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This is why I took English in university.

1 + 1 = 2, right?

Rudimentary math.

What happens when 1 + 1 = apple?  What do you do when 1 + 1 = apple?

(No, your calculator is not broken.)

Check the math.  Walk through the equation again.  What if all of the work is right, but the answer just, well, isn’t?

Everything looks perfect on paper.  All of the progress is correct, the work is there.  Why is the answer wrong?  It does happen.  Sometimes all of the proper work is there, all of the effort, but the answer just doesn’t check out.  Of course, usually there’s some erasing still showing – despite best efforts – underneath that pristine work.  A phantom.  Something that alludes to the answer of apple, rather than 2.

But.  It could be that the answer isn’t wrong.  It could be that, this time, 1 + 1 really does = apple.  Stranger things, I’ve heard, have happened.  Maybe all of the work, y’know, works.

Musing.

Gordie Sampson – All I Know

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Emotion.

Artists, as a stereotype, create their most amazing, and influencial, pieces while in the lowest part of depression (also while heavily involved in laudanum consumption).  Happiness, I have observed, is also characteristic in producing something breathtaking.

What about anger?

I am a touch upset, now, because the anger I was going to speak of, that inspired this thought, has almost completely dissipated.  What is remaining is mere frustration and a musing sense of “whiskey tango foxtrot.”

I digress.

What about anger?  I have a temper (I inherited it from my Dad – he has very impressive anger), when it’s good it’s bad and when it’s bad it’s frightening (I have been told).  I sport auburn locks, that’s pseudo-redhead and a very good excuse to have the temper I mentioned.  There is no other feeling, for me, that pumps my adrenaline quite in the same manner as anger.  (Fear comes close, but spiders are hardly blog material.)

The feeling, itself, is no more inspirational than delight or despair.  It all comes back to perspective (no one can arrogantly advertise my blog the way I can!).  How you see the world.  I am prone to reading horror novels, watching drama and thriller themed movies and television; I tend to appreciate the villain more than the hero.  Anger affects me.  When my blood is boiling, my imagination is rolling.  I admit, sometimes writing what, exactly, is rolling along in that imagination would result in my institutionalization.  Of course, I also have to admit that, most of the time, I should not be allowed to write when I am angry (unless I am observing my reaction to that anger).  When I do I am either very uncomplimentary, or very basic and without any finesse.  (It’s a damn shame.)

It’s like those visceral reactions I spoke about earlier.  Reading, or viewing, something that leaves you feeling the way you felt when you approached it makes it unimpressive.  Reading, or viewing, something that leaves you charged with some manner of emotion (pick a range, any range) makes it a bit more impressive.  I should think that when creating something that leaves an observer writhing in whatever emotional state they choose an artist was also feeling something.  I suspect that “blah” inspires “blah.”

Let’s end with a question.  When you find yourself most inspired, are you feeling something strongly?  An emotional response to some stimulus in your life?

David Cook – Life On The Moon

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A salute to the men of Carhartt.

I have said it before: give me a man in Carhartt over a man in Gucci any day of the week.

The working man.  Blue collar.  A man’s man.

Hot.  Damn.

I went for a walk this afternoon and I have to admit, I was chuckling as I experienced an epiphany: mephy has destroyed me.  I find myself almost completely unable to gawk at a man driving a car.  If it ain’t a truck?  No dice.  It’s true, this lil’ lady from Dawson Creek was absolutely snow white in the neck until she met her fellah (not an easy task – remaining lily white, that is – as anyone who is from, or has visited, Dodge can attest).  Now?  He’s got to drive a truck (and none of this nancy-boy Ford Ranger/Dodge Dakota shit – let’s be safe, here, and go with Chev/GMC and make it at least a three-quarter tonne.  And hey, while we’re at it?  Diesel) and he’s going to have to be wearing dirty Carhartt’s, a sun bleached t-shirt, steel-toed boots and sportin’ a farmer’s tan.  I just can’t take a gander at Calvin Klein without rolling my eyes just a little.

Absolutely nothing made this epiphany more clear than when mephy himself came home after a long day at work.  Dusty Carhartt pants, dirty steel toed boots, faded t-shirt, a great start to a fabulous farmer’s tan, and scruffy as hell (did I mention that I swoon for fellahs with facial hair?  It’s a fun vice to have).  I tell you, that boy is fine.

To the men of Carhartt: I raise my stein.  Carry on, fellahs.

(It’s akin to that whole cowboy thing.  I could never quite understand the draw to Wranglers, but I completely appreciate the attraction to the hard working man with the blue collar job.)

Nickelback – Burn It To The Ground

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Eureka?

Visceral reactions are fantastically nifty.

I am a fan of blogs.  I subscribe to a few (a lot, actually.  You should see my bookmarks for blogs, it’s a bit out of control actually), and read them daily if there is material to read.  Most of the time I smile as I read.  Sometimes, and these are the more striking times, I get annoyed/angry/frustrated/etc.  This used to make me close a window (and sometimes the computer) in a huff and stalk off grumbling (I take things personally sometimes, it’s a vice).  Today I find it interesting.

Through anger I will not admit it, but the writings (blog or not) that make me immeasurably angry are writings which inspire emotion.  Can an author ask more than that?  I am quite certain that some of the narratives that inspire negative reactions were meant to arouse the opposite response, but one can’t be too choosey.  Providing, of course, that a reader is not irritated to tears because of poor sentence structure and/or a terrible writing (lack of) style.

I am not negative by nature, but some things (and people) make me want to wander Dahmer’s garden path.  I shall endeavour to maintain as positive an outlook as I can (without sacrificing myself), but I am not going to be ashamed of my negativity.  I value sarcasm and cynicism.  Always have.  This doesn’t define me, but it makes my life more interesting.  I am unique.  Quite like many others, but completely unlike them in my own right.  I think that I will stop thinking that I should apologize for being who, and what, I am.

Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

Queen – Another One Bites the Dust

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(That was quite disjointed.  Suffice to say, I am tired and I have about twelve potential blog posts swimming ’round my poor rattled skull.  But really, you’ve read other posts here, you can’t expect too much by way of coherency from me.)

Dreams.

I told you that you were inspiring, K.

I dream too hard, and that’s not even the half of it.
What are some of your dreams?

Dreams.  Good question, glad you asked.  I have two.  That’s it.  Just two.  Both are completely attainable, which makes me smile.

One dream opens with two wee ones, a boy and a girl, playing on a desperately green carpet of grass.  Add to that a pair of dogs (German Shepherds, of course) bolting, full tilt, toward those aforementioned lil’uns to tackle them, gently, and smother them in licks.  In this dream there’s also a house, and I’m not picky about what it looks like at this juncture as long as it’s mine (and mephy’s) and it’s home.  And?  Let’s top this one off with a couple of nerds sitting on a porch swing, just drinking tea and loving life.

The other dream is to write a novel.  I don’t need to publish it, and no one, aside from me, ever needs to read it, but I would love to write it.  And you know?  I love that.  It makes me all tingly that I don’t have a drive to write for everyone else.  I won’t lie, of course, I have a dream that is subsidiary to this one: I want to emulate Neil Gaiman (or Charles de Lint I’m not too fussy).  Ultimately, though?  I don’t write for you.  I know I post in a public blog, but that’s just because I’m a minor attention whore and I like to be “heard” sometimes.  This is for me.  When I remember that (sometimes I get a little confused as to my intention and that’s when I clam up and put the brakes on), I can smile.

Good dreams.  What’re yours?

UNT.

Oh!  In other news, before I forget.  My boss at the bookstore sent me an email the other day:

So I had this idea the other day.  How do you feel about reviewing a book for us?  The public library has a weekly book review in the PG Citizen, and I thought maybe you could review something and I would forward it to them.  [P] and her husband [R] have already done it.

If you are interested, I will contact [A] at the library as to how many words they are looking for, and maybe check your title choice with her to make sure it hasn’t been reviewed already.  You could probably do like a Neil Gaiman book or something if you wanted…

Let me know if that is something you would be up for.

(So much for not needing to publish.  )

Nickelback – If Today Was Your Last Day

Wow.

Sweet bejeebus.

So, here I am surveying my dashboard to see if there are any comments I should be approving.  While doing so, I happen to glance at my recent traffic graph (very handy thing, that).  Fifty people, yesterday. FIFTY!  That is insane!  (I think my previous record, that I was beyond thrilled with, was in the twenties.)

I would really just like to take a moment to thank the people who’ve stumbled across my blog and extend an extra special thanks to those who’ve seen fit to stay and read an entry or two.  I appreciate it.

In other news.  I have a colleague who advertises (on the ever addicting Facebook) that she has spent the entire morning writing.  I would like to express, if I could, my envy.  I am pretty thrilled with my random snipits of ten minutes here, and there.  The whole morning is almost unheard of in my world.  Well.  Except when I take Miss Scarlet, and my brain/imagination, out of the house on a date.  That is usually quite fruitful.  I should probably be doing that more often.

Anyway.  Nothing constructive to add, right now, so I’ll go clean my house (it really needs it, believe it or not)!

Billy Joel – Captain Jack

UNT.

So true.

Pull up a seat.  Get comfy.  Relax.  (Don’t do it.)  Read.

“We should not be taught to wait for inspiration.” While thinking of a way to start off my new blog, I came across this quote from Frank Tibolt (writer). And I must say, I concur wholeheartedly. My newest epiphany with life is that we cannot sit around and wait for our dreams to come to us. Sure, life would be swell if that was the case. I could be as lazy as I’ve truly always dreamed of being(who hasn’t really?)…but that’s not how it works. Even if our lives are “predestined” in some way, even if things really are mapped out in advance, those maps are of course, subject to change.

Maybe someday you’ll wake up and think… “I don’t feel like being proactive and productive today. I think I’ll watch television instead.” With that action, that thought, that laziness… maybe you just missed your chance to become everything you wanted to be, if only you hadn’t called off that meeting you thought was nothing big, or maybe if you had gotten up and gone to that store, you would have met someone who could change your life. But instead….the modern world and the media draws us in and holds us in its grasp.

Such truth.  As always, K is an inspiration.  To call her a muse of mine is to call a sunset red, there’s just so much more to it.  I can’t describe it, so I won’t try.

I find myself amazed, and (I won’t lie) amused, at the number of people crawling out of the woodwork to write.  It is as though a big ol’ halogen was turned on in a really dark room.  Wake up call?  Life’s too long to be miserable, but way too short to procrastinate.  Believe me. I know.  I am the person who will clean her entire apartment (what I wouldn’t give for a lawn to mow, or a garden to weed), bake cookies and go for a long walk before sitting down to write.  I love to write, but I avoid it like the plague.  Couldn’t begin to tell you why, but that’s why I’ve jumped on that “write every day” bandwagon.  Ten minutes is no time at all.  God willing, I will continue until I can comfortably sit down and write for an hour every day.  Flawlessly.  Fruitfully.  So far it’s been great.  I’ve had a pretty badass (imo) idea for a piece of fiction.  The rest of what I’ve been writing is complete shit, but hey it’s something.  That’s the important part.

Apocalyptica – Cohkka

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