“Jacey?”

Jacey turned from the mirror and pinning her hair. Behind her, Heddwyn stood tugging absently on a sleeve, like it was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. No wonder he felt awkward at these events. Between his hair having just been trimmed and warring sleeves, he looked completely different, but remarkably handsome at the same time….

“I had to call 911 last night after I super-glued one of the wise men to my thumb.”

“Step aside, here comes spittle.”

“For the first time in a while, I won’t be going home and fanning my fungus.”

“I think stinky is an evolutionary term for possibly dangerous.”

“Spray happy on me.”

“I’m ready for another day of compulsive eating.”

“Lizard head is probably number 657 on the list, somewhere above moldy radish and way below snotty tissue.”

“I am the ecologically sound bike messenger from the future.”

“One: Ba Ba, Two: Ti Ki, Three: Di Do.”

“Well I’ll be a fucking druid.”

I stayed up pretty late last night writing. It’s the first time in a long time that I have done that. It was a satisfying feelings. However, I know when I go to reread what I wrote, I’m going to be appalled. I hate first drafts. They horrify me. But, I had the inspiration to write and I ran with it. It seems like so long since I’ve actually written anything I could be proud of. I also hate letting people read my first, second, and even third drafts. I feel like I can always improve on what I have written. Always. There is never a perfection when I’m writing. There’s always room for some sort of tweak or improvement. There’s always room for a detail that I left out. It drives me mad sometimes.

 Anyways, I really don’t even know what inspired me yesterday. Maybe it was the song I was listening to at the time. It was like I saw my entire novel in clips as the song was playing. Other songs have done that for me, however. I’m not sure if it was just that song or if I was just ready to write it. I hope that inspiration sticks around, though. I’m so tired of writer’s block.

Happy New Year!

By Rosanne Bane

It’s presumptuous in the extreme for me to edit lyrics written by John Lennon, I know. But I’m going to do it anyway.

For several weeks, I’ve listened to a radio station that played non-stop Christmas music. So I’ve heard John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas” a lot. One line at the end of one verse always makes me cringe:

            “A very merry Christmas

            And a happy New Year

            Let’s hope it’s a good one

            Without any fear.”

No Fear, No Joy

Fear is, as Susan Jeffers points out in her classic Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway, a sign that we are growing and expanding our comfort zone. If you never feel afraid, you’re stagnant. If you never feel any fear about what you’re writing, you’re not challenging yourself to go deep with the material or explore something new (new content, new genres, new POV, etc.). If you never feel any fear about sending your writing out into the world, you’re not exploring new markets and opportunities.

Jeffers observes that you can’t really evade fear. The more you try to avoid it, the more afraid you end up being. If you avoid your writing because you’re afraid (of not knowing what to write or how to start, being imperfect, making a fool of yourself, offending someone, getting rejected, etc.), you take up residence is Resistanceville.

Not only are you miserable because you’re not writing and you know in your heart of hearts that you want to write and need to write, every day you avoid writing, you get more afraid of returning to your writing. The longer you let fear push you from your heart’s desire, the more afraid you become.

Riding the Wave

Of course, too much fear is paralyzing. The trick is to find the place where you’re thrilled and exhilarated (two lovely synonyms for the right amount of fear) so that your creative cortex is engaged without sliding into full-blown terror that will trigger a limbic system takeover.

It’s the emotional equivalent of surfing – you’re right up on the edge of the wave without wiping out. Like surfing, you will, of course, wipe out from time to time. You will be afraid and step back from your writing. But any surfer will tell you that any number of wipeouts is better than sitting on the beach watching the waves go by. The trick is to keep coming back to your writing even when you’re afraid, especially when you’re afraid.

So with apologies to Mr. Lennon because I know it really doesn’t scan at all, here’s my wish for you:

            “A very merry Christmas

            And a happy New Year

            Let’s hope it’s a good one

            With just the right amount of fear.”

год со мной ничего не произходило.
но потом 26 лет подряд со мной постоянно что-то происходило и продолжает происходить.
наверное, у меня такая жопа карма: только у меня зажила прокушеная губа, как сегодня на меня упала ёлка в шарах и лампочках.
а я так и знала, что будет какое-то западло, потомучто утром в поезде напротив меня сидел мальчик похожий на мою сестру. сначала мне было немножко не по себе, а потом все пять остановок ужасно хотелось его пнуть.
и хотя я этого не сделала, у меня почему-то сейчас хорошее настроение.

а утром я чистила зубы левой рукой: джоржио, я хотела посмотреть на мир твоими глазами!

I made resolutions on my 22nd birthday, which occurred on January 20th of this year. I posted them here. My resolutions and my notes below.

1. I will learn to knit (I started tonight amfg!). – I’d say I definitely followed through with this one and I’m loving it.
2. I will not let people walk on me anymore. Even if it means being a cut throat bitch sometimes. – I have done pretty mediocre on this one. A very 50/50 mix, but it’s still an improvement over 2008!
3. I will live objectively, which sorta ties into #2. - See above.
4. I should really stop smoking. >.> - Hmmm, haven’t done this. Perhaps in 2010?
5. I will continue to build upon the self-happiness and self-worth I’ve already instilled in myself. - Yeah, I think this will be a life-long battle of sorts.
6. I will not be late for work. Seriously. - Did well for awhile, then started failing miserably, but I’m back to being punctual!
7. I will send more mail. People love it, and I love people. - I sent maybe 20 postcards this year and I’m excluding Christmas cards. I’m going to declare this one a failure.
8. I will take better care of my poor Tamagotchi. These things matter… - Total and utter flop. I don’t even know where my Tamagotchi is anymore.
9. I will take better care of myself, holistically. - Again, did well for awhile but have been living pretty steadily on Sun Chips and Diet Coke for the latter portion of this year.
10. I will follow through with these. – Yeeeeeah, looking atmy above comments, I’d say I didn’t do so well.

It’s kind of funny when things come into perspective. It’s like it’s all hazy, then, WHAM! You get it.

Something that my creative writing professor told me in college, was that you write what you know. I know that’s common knowledge, but I think something I struggle with is doing that. “A writer has no integrity.” (i.e. a writer should not worry about basing characters on people they know). I’m really bad at that. I guess it’s a part of me that is scared of what others would think. But wouldn’t people be honored to know that you based a character off them?

But what if you want to base an antogonist on someone you don’t like. Doesn’t that give them some sort of glory? I guess you just have to be smart in the way that you do it. I guess I need some practise.

I outlined more this week…thank God.

Something that I hate, however, is when you’re in the middle of writing something and you get an idea for another story. I know it happens to the best of us…but fighting that urge is ridiculously hard. I know this. I’m not going to do it.

Lately my heart has been torn between Play It in Piano and Strings. I love both of the stories. It’s definitely an ongoing fight inside of me. It’s like my characters are argueing who gets the first spotlight. I know the answer to that is Hadley…but Max just keeps coming back to mind.

Go away, Max, I don’t want to listen to you right now.

On another note, I met a little boy from England a couple weeks ago named Hadlee. It was his birthday. I told him he had a really great name.

игра кто-кого-бросит-первым в основном играется один раз. нужно очень напряжённо следить за ключевым моментом – это должна быть стадия счастливого проникновения друг в друга на уровне душевных тканей и подсознания.
но можно (в рамках одних отношений) играть в эту игру постоянно – бывают такие вот fucking азартные люди.
я представляю, как они едят на завтрак heart-shaped noodles и упиваются рукотворной драмой.

в этой игре столько комплексов неполноценности, что мне даже объяснять лень. я считаю, что мудаком (both male and female) можно быть и с бОльшим чувством достоинства.

мне грустно от того, что отношения рушатся. от того, что пропадает взаимопонимание, волшебство не работает…. а не потому, что кто-то успел бросить первым! если наступить на своё уязвлённое самолюбие, разве так принципиально: тебя бросили, или ты бросил? принципиально, что не сложилось.

а вообще я люблю другие игры.
например, твои коленки развигают под столом мне ноги.
а на столе ты наливаешь мне чай. и мы как ни в чём не бывало, очень цивилизованно обсуждаем какое-нибуть арт-хаусное кино.

What do you do about writer’s block??!! Could it possibly be that I have nothing to say? NOTHING!!

I doubt it, but I find myself sitting down to write after a week of family and fun feeling like I don’t have a single thing to share.

I guess I just found a topic I can write about! How do you handle writer’s block? Even if it is temporary, 1 day, 2 days… it can feel like it will never end.

I have tried a few things that seem to work-

• Write about something you are thinking about it – even if it is the color of the car or how dirty the car is- just getting words to flow will start to release the tension.

• Write about something you are passionate about- it might not have anything to do with the current task on which you are blocked but, again, it starts the flow (a few months ago I babbled on about going to the airport and the next day the writer’s block was gone).

• Just walk away and STOP worrying about it! I know it sounds impossible. Again, it’s about relaxing.

• Maybe, just maybe you should be writing about something else. I realize that’s not helpful if you have an assignment and are blocked on the topic. Try sitting down to see what does flow. I’ve had moments when something else was just burning to flow out of the pen (keyboard). Let it flow out, don’t bother to edit or perfect the content. In my case, and a clients’, as soon as that information made it to the page the assigned content came easily.

(It turns out the content that was ‘in the way’ turned into a fabulous article!)

Those are a few ideas that have worked for my clients’ and me. I’d love to hear what has worked for you! Share your thoughts.

For days I’ve been contemplating what to share in my first blog post. Nothing came to me. Then this past Sunday I invited my mother-in-law out for lunch (no, I’m not crazy!).  She isn’t a particularly chatty person, so the drive up Mount Seymour was quiet and peaceful, perhaps a little too quiet. Once at the restaurant we requested a window table to enjoy the sunshine (my decision, not hers). We had the most amazing view of Northlands Golf Course.

As I sipped my orange juice and I looked out at the lush green landscape I felt something ignite. I pulled out my journal and frantically started unloading my thoughts and ideas on paper. You see sometimes it’s not just important what you write, but where you write. The prolonged silence and stunning beauty had combined in my psyche to create something special – inspiration! You never know where inspiration will strike, so always take your journal or laptop with you, explore and write.

How poignant, that my last post was about a film that dealt with loss, love, and if you had one day left to live, how would you spend it?

Rosa Gamarra-Thomson came into our lives August of this year, she was a Peruvian Medicine Woman, a mentor, a healer, a friend.  She helped Tomás fight through his first serious music writing block, she helped me in ways I have yet to even fully absorb.

We assumed she would be an important part of our lives together forever.  This was not how the world saw it to be, and the night of Dec 16th, Rosa peacefully died in her sleep.

You can read about her over at What Happened – however, we wanted to honor Rosa on this page, because in our individual sessions with her, we had told her about “Ravana’s Game”, and what Tomás was trying to reach for with the music, but he was feeling stifled, both mentally and physically blocked.

She broke the block in him after the first session, and when we went to see her again, he was buzzing with creative juice.  We enjoyed lunch together, and told her that when the film was finished, we would come over and the three of us would watch it together.  She was very happy and excited.  This woman was pure magic, yet she never took credit for her work with us.  She kept reminding us that we found her, and we were only able to be helped because we were willing to do the work. She  insisted that she was simply helping us clear away some of the muck.

My goal is to someday have as much to give and be as grounded and humble as she was.  And to be as innovative and fantastic a cook!  Man, that woman could take three ingredients and make a feast that no restaurant could rival.

We will not be having our movie night at Rosa’s now,  but Tomás will be dedicating the soundtrack of “Ravana’s Game” to her.

Happy Holidays, everyone.  May we get through 2010 with all of our loved ones still standing, and may we always remember to treat our loved ones well, because we just never know when it is time to say goodbye.

See you in the New Year, and below, our beloved Rosa.  She is in our hearts forever.

Rosita Gamarra-Thomson - April 5th 1946 - Dec.13th, 2009

Is there such a thing as a writer who doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions?  I’m sure there are a few who claim not to, but are they telling the truth?  I’m pretty sure there is a little voice in the back of their head saying, “1) edit novel, 2) submit work to journals, 3) meditate, 4) write something (anything) every day, 5) write at least 50,000 words on unnamed novel…” even if they choose to not tell anyone about it.  Voices in heads are considered socially perverse anyway, right?

I make writing resolutions every year.  I never meet them, even though I make sure they aren’t too ambitious or heady.  Come January, I’m usually pretty disappointed in my laziness throughout the year and spend a week or so beating the shit out myself (figuratively speaking, of course) for being a useless clod of a writer.  What I should be doing instead is asking myself why I am pretending to be such a useless clod of a writer.

I truly believe laziness is a personality trait.  It is something I have struggled with my entire life, to the point where having to work hard (or even not so hard at times) can give me a full-on panic attack.  Of course, I fear failure.  I might even fear success.  I’m certainly not the first.  When fear and laziness gets in the way of what you want to do, something needs to happen.  I think I have a good idea of what that something is for me.

I say mean things to myself.  I tell myself over and over again that I must do such and such by a certain time.  Then, I degrade myself mentally the entire time I’m trying to do it.  I think about how I really need to get published and decide that being published is the only way to prove my self-worth.  Then, I feel bad because it hasn’t happened yet.  How could it, if I haven’t really tried?  I don’t get much writing done in the course of a year and the whiny imp inside of me equates that to being an incompetent, stupid, and worthless human being.  The truth is, saying these things to myself is wholly debilitating.  I need to stop.  Laziness is who I am.  The true Me doesn’t give two shits when and if I sit down to write or even if it’s any good.  That particular Me writes because it’s what she must do, like taking in water while drowning.  You can’t drown without inhaling, not that I’ve tried.

When it comes right down to it, you just can’t write the next great American novel if you don’t write the next great American novel.  My resolution is not to write it.

Not now, not ever.

Dragon

There are so many ways to begin a story. One might start at the end and work they’re way to the beginning while another might try weedling through the middle of a piece and branching out toward both beginning and end. I work many ways with writing…often searching for a way to keep all those odd-bobs pieces together while not wasting too much of my time.

If you’re a writer, what is your approach? I need some pointers. There are so many great ideas to be had and in my life I’ve tried a few. Keeping a notebook, for example. It sounds well and good, but I am commonly misplacing this or losing it and often times, not really writing in it. I’ve tried memory boards – where you post your comments, ideas, and snippets for story lines into place. Alas, another obstacle, for it appears that when I write “snippets”, I just as soon place these little particles of paper in the trash rather than on the board. I’ve lost many a good idea to the bin because I forgot that the old Starbucks receipt had a “snippet” written upon it’s backside. Oops.

[On a side note: perhaps that's why it's called a "snippet", it sounds as if it should be a lunch item or snack food over being something particularly important. A snippet for the bin to enjoy...if you will.

Again, any pointers or ideas or fun new ways to try and maintain a writer's sanity are welcome. I'm trying to find my road to he Milky Way people - a little less traffic to slow my procession would be welcomed and gratefully accepted indeed.  =]

oй-2009

январь:
насторение – скорее бы всё закончилось.
цитатник джоржа: ” что делать? верить в загробную жизнь!”

февраль:
шанти-шанти…волны кач-кач…запах ароматических палочек и гашиша…
я лежу на пляже и никуда не хочу уезжать. читаю книгу-подарок мм с дарственной надписью. вру, что книжка из магазина подержаных вещей.
возвращаюсь в офис с ощущением, что на меня наклеили expiry date lable. утверждаюсь в звании “звезда доски позора”.
- жора, сейчас у них закончится сходка и меня будут увольнять. может мне выкинуться из окна? в этом больше героизма.
- друх, спокойно! они работают на благо компании, а мы – НА БЛАГО ЦИВИЛИЗАЦИИ!

март:
мы с джоржем разливаем чай и обнимаемся. много плачем.
открытие дусифоя ( в народе – пиздец мозга).
я вручаю начальнику заявление об уходе и попсового медведя с автоматом.
торчу в и-нете. прогуливаю 4 раза за месяц почти умираю от всех эпидемий.
насильно кормлю коллегу-заебавшую-меня-в-марте невкусным тортом.
открываю джоржу наш личный аккаунт на яху.
мы с джоржио открывам на паях новый бизнес – дурдом “сука-любовь”. туда мы торжественно кладём пять пациентов и трудоустраиваем двух санитаров.

апрель:
я пишу первую серию комикса-только-для-своих, который в итоге становится мультиплатиновым и получает золотую сельдь хаOса.
какая блядская юбочка!
долго держалась, но впустила в себя расстройство.
гидазепаму – да!
в купальнях будапешта мы с джоржио находим свою целевую аудиторию: дедки в купальных шапочках и хлопковых семейках.
легендарные полчаса в сент моритце – мы тратим 40 швейцарских франков за нетронутый обед.

май:
семь килограммов лифчиков в чемоданчике ручной клади – таможенник, отделяя паузами каждое слово: добро пожаловать в великобританию!
мне кажется, что я взагранице временно.
лисы повсюду.

июнь:
чёрт! я таки взаднице взагранице.
открываю джи_пи.
завожу свой первый молескин – первые 2 страницы пишу нереально аккуратным почерком.
сожалею, что жизнь одна-единственная.
шмотки и магазины.
жизнь под музыку ай-пода.

июль:
оригинальное возвращение будулая-мм.
цитатник джоржа: “друх, я болен? за время прочтения твоего трёхметрового письма я ржал без остановки”.
английский превышает дозы.

август:
перестаю быть бледной вошью и превращаюсь в загорелого чела.
бабушка, какое всё фуфло, кроме тебя!
всё скомкано – мне не нравится.

сентябрь:
креативно отвечаю на вопрос – кто автор цветущего синяка? – жора!
я пропадаю на неделю.
мы расстаёмся с мм, часть 675.
я устраиваю рукотворный капец кэннону.

октябрь:
солнечные развесёлые дни.
компания – что надо! и “лучшее, конечно, впереди!”.
желаю с удвоенной силой: всепоглощающее хотение.

ноябрь:
очередное возвращение мм.
совпало настроение с погодой.
трахать можно – спать нельзя.

декабрь:
мы с mr b перерезаем ленточку на зиме 01/12 в 00.01.
всё достало.
грохаю джи_пи… и восстанавливаю.
укрепляюсь в сознании, что мне не хо жить в лондоне.
я прокусила губу. и померяла платье мечты.
покупка бигудей приводит к ахуению месяца: you are strange but you are beautiful.

My new year’s resolution is to get back to writing. I mean the serious kind of writing I did when I threw myself into the project of creating Becoming Alice. I didn’t know when I started my memoir that it would take me three years to complete. I didn’t really have any idea about all the happenings I would include in the book, nor did I know when it would end. It just sort of took form as I put one word after another on paper. As soon as I completed one scene, the next one just came into focus and I wrote about it.

I’m not sure what all the so-called experts would think about this haphazard approach, but it worked for me. I think it even enhanced the work because I relived each happening emotionally as I spilled it onto the written page. Some scenes even caused a few drops to run down my cheeks before the last word became legible on my yellow writing pad. My own opinion is that it strengthened my book.

I am ready to get on with my next project. I have several ideas I want to develop but I’ve hit a snag. I have writer’s block. Luckily I think I know why. Spending as much time as I do on my computer still marketing Becoming Alice on the internet, I never have a sizeable chunk of time when I can separate myself from the rest of my life and concentrate on what is in my head. Also, I spend much time on a number of social networking sites.  Very often I contribute a comment or answer a comment with which I may or may not agree. And then there is this blog … which I do like. It is a place where I can share my thoughts and feelings, get feedback, and even connect with interesting, talented people. This takes time. I force myself to blog at least twice a week. That is a couple of hours that I could be writing my next work. And if I cut back on my computer social networking time, which I do daily, there are a few more hours to work with.

I won’t cut back on blogging. But,come New Year’s Eve, watch out. I’ll be back at work on my yellow writing pad.

Words that have sparked life into my creative cipher.

Choices
Nikki Giovanni

if i can’t do
what i want to do
then my job is to not
do what i don’t want
to do

it’s not the same thing
but it’s the best i can
do

if i can’t have
what i want . . . then
my job is to want
what i’ve got
and be satisfied
that at least there
is something more to want

since i can’t go
where i need
to go . . . then i must . . . go
where the signs point
through always understanding
parallel movement
isn’t lateral

when i can’t express
what i really feel
i practice feeling
what i can express
and none of it is equal
i know
but that’s why mankind
alone among the animals
learns to cry

Poem #3
Sonia Sanchez

I gather up

each sound

you left behind

and stretch them

on our bed.

each nite

I breathe you

and become high.

Beautiful (Remix) ft. Black Star
Mos Def’s part

I dreamt that I could paint you with words
but there were no colors bright enough
black or white enough
blue or green enough
it didn’t mean enough…

The Problem with the world
“The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts.”

—Bertrand Russel

About Art and Poetry
“Art is man’s nature; nature is God’s art”
“Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them; and the truth of truths is love”

—Philip James Bailey quotes

дорогой джоржио, я уже приготовила нам пожелание на этот н.г:
желаю нам жить и работать вместе. причём жить над хорошим баром, а работать от него же через дорогу.

последнее отмечание очередного чего-то привело к тому, что я кричала персоналу библиотеки, что я могу открывать двери карточкой и я – круче гарри потера.

но на пьяную стори года это не тянет, конечно.
пьяная стори года была в августе, когда в середине ночи брат пробирался в свою комнату через спящий дом.
браза был в глухой алкогольной несознанке. папа же, по стечению обстоятельств, вышел к холодильнику выпить кефира.
у брата сработал рефлекс, что в середине ночи у холодильника могу ошиваться только я. со словами “систер, а сильно ли от меня пахнет алкоголем?” он опалил папе лицо…
никто в итоге не выспался.

открытие года присуждаю джин-тонику с ломтиком свежего огурца, а так же disaronno (дополнительная номинация за красивую бутылку) и граппе, как дижестиву.

I have a theory. People are most imaginative, most creative, most productive when they are engaged in art while at the same time attempting to create art. It doesn’t matter what kind of art—music, visual, written. But haven’t you ever walked through a museum, spotted a painting or a photograph hanging on the wall, and felt your fingers itch for a paint brush or a camera lens of your own?

Music ticks off my creative bug. I have a mental image of my brain when I’m typing and listening to music. It’s probably bogus, but hey, I’m a creative girl so give me some slack! The white sparks of neurons are shooting off everywhere, like brilliant fireworks. The area of my brain that represents focus is bright red, hot, explosive. My whole brain is buzzing, not just one hemisphere.

It’s my best recommendation for anyone with writer’s block. Sit for an hour with an open screen and music playing softly in the background. Surround yourself with comforting smells: the scent of coffee, that Sweet Pea hand lotion you like so much, a bowl of potpourri or incense. The smells, combined with the music, stirs the senses. My fingers will fly on their own accord to music; I’m barely involved, my body is relaxed, the words spill out easily. I can read over a passage and chop it up impassively, painlessly.

At all other times, I must agonize over a word or meditate on the shallow cuts I must make to my “baby” for readability’s sake. But with music, art becomes intense, fun, exhilarating! It’s like running—without music, I’m painfully aware of my muscles aching, my lungs burning, my loud and heavy breathing. Add music to the picture, and I find that I’m running faster, longer, and actually enjoying it too!

I don’t think writers can or even should merely write. Writing is about engaging in our world, experiencing, processing. While I obviously can’t and definitely won’t experience every possible human scenario, art lends to this engaging process, therefore making it a thousand times easier to create.

а это хлопковая маечка – для тех, кто считает, что я существую исключительно в шёлкововм пеньюаре и велюровых тапках с пушком.

о! это сладкое слово: каникулы….

как говорил мм: если бы я был тобой, я бы всё время только и делал, что наносил бы на тело крем – медленно, с-чувством-с-толком-с-расстановкой…
если бы я была кое-кем, я бы первый месяц вообще из дому не выходила бы. а потом выползла бы без сил…к ближайшему киоску за сникерсом! и сразу обратно! домой!

чем дальше – тем взрослее.
всё дальше и дальше…всё взрослее и взрослее…
а ума так и не прибавляется.
такая вот без_умная жизнь.