Tonight, as I was preparing for my Touch Drawing workshop for tomorrow night, I was reminded of yet another preparation that is taking place as we sink into fall with winter on the horizon.

We are now moving into the West (or are actually there, I should say moving through it) as it relates to the 4 directions and 4 seasons. In the west we revel in the change of the season and the beauty that beckons in the harsh, cold, dead winter. Which of course the winter is very beautiful when you are in it. The west is where the bear lives and we can learn from bear.

Now we start our own hibernation of sorts. Slowing down from whatever pace we have been moving, to a slow to medium pace. This is very important to do during the winter season. Winter is a time for us to harvest our energy! Which means reclaiming it and allowing dead things to die and go away, and making room for new things that will come in the spring. It really is “Spring cleaning” for the soul. A lot of grieving happens in the winter as well. It is normal to be sad during this time. The sadness you feel is part of the healing process and is not necessarily a bad thing. Having lived in Seattle the last few years, I have developed a sadness that happens every winter. I physically need sun. It is important to know what is sadness that is healing, and what is sadness that is illness, so make sure you always ask.

In the fall it is fun to watch the leaves change and fall from the trees. How does this reflect you? What are you changing? What are you shedding? If you are not doing this, it would be a good time to set an intent to shed and change something you have been meaning to. We simply have more “time” during these months, so there is no reason not to allocate some to yourself.

As the nights get longer, we start to sleep more, which means more time in dream time. During dream time we work on ourselves and others. We learn a lot, and heal a lot in our dreams. Now would be a good time to start remembering to write down your dreams if you are not doing so already. There will be a lot of dreams this winter.

We are also coming close to All Saints Day, Dia de Los Muertes or Halloween. This is the time of year when the veil is the thinnest, and our ancestors come with messages for us! Not in the spooky way that you may think. It can be very subtle and benign. But if you are paying attention, and in intention, you may learn a great deal from your ancestors during this time.

I plan on writing a blog about All Saints Day in the next few days. Stay tuned!

George R. R. Martin offers some excellent advice for new authors looking to break into the world of published science fiction and fantasy writers. “Given the realities of today’s market in science fiction and fantasy, I would also suggest that any aspiring writer begin with short stories,” he writes. It seems like sound advice. It is far easier to land an agent and sell a novel if the author has already been published, and the various short story magazines like Fantasy and Science Fiction are still a fledgling author’s best chance at making a first sale.

With that advice in mind, I now have a second project underway running concurrently with the writing of Child of War.  I am also working on a short story entitled “The Dream Time”, set both in the present day and in the California Gold Rush era of the 1850s.  The target word count for the short story is 25,000 words, a count based on the writing guidelines published by several of the pulp magazines.  The goal is to complete The Dream Time and have it ready for submission by the end of 2009.

Switching between a short story and a novel brings with it some rather interesting challenges.  In Child of War I have several major plots all intertwined.  Those plots are all building towards a major climax in the final chapter, and they also set the stage for any number of subsequent books set in the world of Westerloch.  Not so with The Dream Time, however.  Given the word count restrictions, the short story by nature has a single plot that will hold the reader’s attention throughout.  There simply isn’t time or space available to develop sub-plots.  That I’m introducing two distinct time periods is challenging enough, although it is safe to assume that the reader is already familiar with the present day.

Without giving too much away, The Dream Time centers around Ethan Stuart, a young boy just entering high school.  While walking home from school one afternoon, he decides to take a shortcut through a sandlot.  A coin in the dirt catches his eye and he’s surprised to learn that it is a $5 gold coin inscribed with the name Moffat & Co. and dated 1849.  The coin, however, launches him on a series of nightly adventures that take him on a journey through time to 1851’s San Francisco, Plumas City, and Rich Bar, California.  These are all very real Gold Rush cities from that time period, and some of the characters Ethan meets along the way are historically accurate.

I finished the outline for The Dream Time tonight, and it looks to be an exciting story.  I look forward to writing it.  As to Child of War, work is progressing nicely.  I have spent some time tidying up parts of Chapter One, and research into medieval battle tactics continues.  Writing time will now be split between these two projects, but the net result will hopefully be a published story early in 2010.  Stay tuned…

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~Dream time! Close your eyes and picture yourself in the place you’d most like to be in at the moment. Let all your worries just melt away and relish the thought of being in that magical dreamy place~

Rapture

Dance

Love

Jazz

Free

Blue music

Float

Sand

Openness

Rose

Sail Away

Summer sunset

Masked

Mermaid

Experiment

Finally I have the pictures from week two, well worth waiting for.  These canvases were inspired by listening to personal music.  Day one was really experimental  working on paper to explore mark making and the visualisation of sound.  On day two work was completed on large canvasess working with acrylics poster paint, pva and sand.

Our young panel of judges chose Blue Music to go forward to the next round.

This is a recent dream I had about strange men living in the jungle:

Deep in the jungle, far deeper than any man from outside would dare go, within the borders of a tiny village, lives a strange race of men. They are compact and grim; their skin is dark, as are their eyes. Strangely, each man binds his scrotum tightly inside of a compact, bamboo package. Each also secures his phallus to the small package with small lengths of vine knotted in an intricate pattern. All of the men also carry a sharpened obsidian knife, the purpose of which is two fold. One purpose is for hunting and self defense, and the other is for procreation. There are no women in the village of the Men, which leads me to speak of the lake.
The lake is on the village’s border, and the old chief Ulphua says that it is magic. It is expansive, disappearing at the horizon. The waters are clear and deep; in the shallows you can easily see bottom, but out further, there is only an deep abyss, deeper than nature should allow. Each year, the eldest man goes to the lake, and this year it is Ulphua’s turn. He leaves amidst a great ceremony of fire and dance.

“Bring us back a stronger chief!” joke some of the young men, veiling the tears in the eyes with smiles and feathered headdresses. The older men are solemn, banging their drums and chanting low, filled with the knowledge that they will soon need to take the long walk themselves. Ulphua walks proudly, his head held high, bedecked in a simple crown of jungle leaves.

“Where you go, we will go.” the old men chant, trying to smile as their friend passes by. “We don’t frown, you will return in another skin, you will return as our kin.” The chant continues, deep and droning, until Ulphua has walked so far that he can no longer hear it. He walks to the lake, placing his jungle crown on the shore. His father told him what to do, and he stretched his memory so that he could remember his lessons.

Looking intensely at the lake, he lets out a shout that echoes across the waves. Nobody shouts back, there’s not even a whisper. Ulphua smiles, his remaining yellowed teeth like corn kernels amongst the steel wool of his thick beard. He pulls his knife from its sheathe and wades into the shallows. Further and deeper he goes, until he disappears beneath the waves. He is a powerful swimmer, and he swims as deep as he can; the light above shimmers through the water.
Ulphua feels his lungs begin to strain – they are hungry for air. His instinct tells him to swim back to the surface, to take in the air, to live. He struggles to keep what little air he has in his lungs, but his vision has begun to darken. His very spirit demands that he swim upwards and live, but his mind is set, the knife is in his hand. Grabbing his genitals, he makes a single, hewing stroke with his knife. There is blood and pain, and Ulphua shouts, the air leaving his lungs forever. As his world darkens, he sees the blood trailing the seeds he has planted in the abyss.

His last memory is of his father teaching him the secret of birth.

“Each of us is born from a man that has gone into the lake and planted his seed. When a man plants his seed, he becomes three men: two will return to the village, and one will remain with God, within the lake. Those that return are adopted by a father and taught, just as I have taught you. This is the most grim task of our lives, but it is one that must be undertaken so that we may thrive.” with a smile on his face, Ulphua sinks deep into the lake, awaiting the embrace of God.

This poem reminds me of those first few moments of awakening in the morning – that brief span of time between deep sleep and full awareness.  Though this time happens rarely for me (I tend to move straight from sleep into full mental functioning), those times when I drift from sleep to awake in a dreamy way are some of the most beautiful moments.  In those moments, regardless of what is happening in my life, I truly feel that all is well, that all I envision for myself is clear and present, and my love for myself and the world is never stronger.  I know an amazing woman who says the phrase “All is well” frequently – but for her it’s not just a phrase, it’s how she lives her life.  I LOVE that and my intention is to learn to live from that place in all that I do.

Dream Time

Its that dreamy time again
That magical time between
nighttime and day
Thoughts yet incoherent
Visions and dreams clear and polished
All is well, all is right
Those precious moments wrapped
warm and close
My scared little heart expands
Arms open, embrace the world to hold
I can’t help but wonder
What could be more real and true
than that magical dreamy time?

This is a recounting of a recent dream. I had dreamed that I was keeping these animals, like dogs but hairless and alien in form. I’m sure it was brought on by the dog sitting I was doing. I found that I just wanted to get the image of the Keeper of the Hounds sitting, leaning against a tree, and watching his pets burrow into the earth.

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

In the shadows behind the brightly lit convenience store, a new born killer dropped his knife. Scrambling to his feet, he pushed at the body of his victim, hoping that she was still alive. He was reluctant to take the mantle of a murderer; he wasn’t even sure how to hide a body. A throaty growl poured into his ears, sending prickles down his arms and up his spine. Shapes prowled in the darkness, breathing heavily and growling low.

“No matter what you say, I will not call them off.” said the Keeper of the Hounds, his voice distorted by a respirator, his eyes shielded by dark goggles. “We’ve seen what you’ve done, and we’ve deemed it wrong.” The murderer stepped backward, stopping short of a wall.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It wasn’t planned, she just…” the murderer reached for the right words, though the growling of the shapes obfuscated in the shadows pulled each word away from him. “I needed the money for food, I swear it!”

“We don’t care.” said the Keeper of the Hounds. With a flick of his wrist, the hounds flowed from the darkness, hissing and barking. The murderer’s scream was trapped in his throat; the hounds tore and bit at his flesh. Their keeper watched, a smile obscured behind his respirator. “Eat it all.” he said, his voice passionate less.

In minutes, the blood was gone and not even a bone remained. The Keeper of the Hounds patted one of his pets on its furless head. “We can go home now.” he said softly, and as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Passing through shadows, the hounds and their keeper found their sanctuary; a gnarled tree secreted deep in the wilderness. The hounds began to dig back into their burrows, and their keeper sat, leaning against the tree.

“Your leaves have turned quickly,” he said to the tree, which listened silently. “Winter is coming soon, and we will sleep.” The Keeper of the Hounds sighed, crossing his arms.

Oh yes, it’s that time again; dream time.

1.       Sergio Rossi metal embellished sandals. I love these, they are the step after strappy sandals and before gladiators (ew), aka the perfect balance. Isn’t the metal detail to die for? I think they’re made for self obsessed people who are always trying to find a reflective surface to look at themselves.

2.       Calvin Klein bra and hipsters.  A girl cannot ever have enough shoes or underwear. This set is adoorrwwaaable (adorable)! The purple color is sweet and summery and I love lace!

3.       Copic markers 72 set B. I am going through a phase most artists/illustrators and designers go through, the ‘marker phase’.  I was told I had to buy them for my up and coming fashion illustration class so I decided to try them in Vis Com class and they are fabulous!

4.       Dior duchess coat. I loved this collection but this jacket seems so regal and glamorous. The beading and colour gives that extra Dior-ness about it.

5.       Dior tie front belted dress. This, I discovered while late night browsing on Neiman Marcus. It is the perfect 40’s style dress, though I’m not favoring the colour, the style, simplicity and length is just perfect.

6.       Navy Escada convertible hobo bag. This is simple and classic, the color isn’t to plain and the style is fun and functional. I need a bag like this (convertible), so, if you see something like this for  a lower price, give me a buzz.

7.       Herve Leger bondage dress. I feel in love with this at the show and wooohoooo it’s on net-a-porter. My favourite feature of this dress is the illusion it gives (the dark band on the waist).

8.       Miu Miu cut out dress. From afar this just looks like a fairly colorful shift dress but actually, the green bits are cut out!

9.       Oscar De La Renta dress. I couldn’t decide between this or the on above. They both have the summery green colors and are contrasted. This one seems a bit more ‘me’. What do you think?

10.   Valentino blouse. I also found this while late night browsing on Neiman Marcus. This blouse is perfect for all my skirts!

11.   Giorgio Armani beaded peeptoe pumps. These are perfect for any occasion, whether a formal event worn with a gown or a casual soiree with tights. Hmmmmm…

A girl can dream huh?

XXASAB

This is my first dreamtime post.  I had this dream a couple of nights ago, so I am just remembering some things.

I dreamed I was moving – again.  I’ve had a lot of moving dreams, which probably has something to do with the fact that I have moved a whole lot through my life.  Long story.  Some other time.  This dream, like 99% of the dreams I have, is not a real earthshaker.  I am always amazed by the fact that dreams are not like stories, with a beginning, middle, and an end, so when you remember them, they seem like a patchwork quilt.

In this dream I was moving, and we (whoever we were, besides me) had a moving truck.  It seemed like a very long dream that went on and on, and throughout the entire dream we were moving electronic equipment out of bedrooms and into a front room to be shifted onto the truck.  Only nobody was moving anything onto the truck, which seemed to be pretty near full already.  I remember being surprised that I had so little personal belongings, just stereo stuff.  There was, as far as I can recall, no furniture or clothes, just lots of speakers and computers and stuff.  There was a lot of stuff that I would never buy, even if I could afford it, like giant plasma tv’s and home theatre equipment.   Then I was suddenly re-arranging things in the truck so I could fit more speakers into it. 

So sorry to disappoint, but that is all the dream I can remember.  This is my first post, afterall and I did say that most of my dreams are not that interesting.  I’m just writing them down.

Jeffrey Lee is one Australian not interested in becoming the world’s next billionare.

As the last living member of an Indigenous Australian clan, he is the custodian to a sacred piece of land near the world famous Kakadu National Park, called Koongarra. A swath of land in Australia’s Northern Territory that French nuclear energy giant Areva would love to mine for pricey uranium.

At a potential Australian $5 billion (US$4.5B) plus windfall, Jeffrey isn’t interested in the temptation of riches; he’s much more interested in preserving this amazing part of the world for the future.

But he may be running of time. He has no partner and doesn’t have any children.

Although the Australian Government has promised the land won’t be mined unless the traditional land owners give the green light, if Lee doesn’t have any children before he dies and the land doesn’t become world heritage listed, then his wishes may be denied.

“I’m not interested in money. I’ve got a job; I can buy tucker; I can go fishing and hunting. That’s all that matters to me.”

Sydney Morning Herald has more on the last of the Djok clan.