Much Rambling and Many Questions

I have been thinking a lot about writing lately. For many years I have had the desire to write a novel. Most of my friends are aware that I have a love for historical romance and have been attempting to write a novel in that genre with questionable dedication.

I opened up some files containing bits of stories or even a decent start to one version of a story I have been rewriting for nearly half my life. I laughed at the ludicrous melodrama and nearly schoolgirl-like descriptions and interactions between characters. I found some interesting parts of each story, but again they are all wrong and obviously contrived. The voice isn't really mine, the plots unclear to me, the characters too flat and shallow and so on and so forth.

Last night I wrote a page of questions for myself in the hopes I could strip away all the crap and get to the truth of the matter. Perhaps most important of all questions is: Why do I write? All other questions stem from that simple, yet profound question. Sometimes I wonder at my motivation to write. I have encountered masterly storytellers who weave seductive, magical, glittering worlds and people with breathtaking capacity to evoke emotions, images and thoughts with words and I am neither the former nor latter. Still, I have been told I am a good writer at various points in my life.

Writing does require more than weaving a story or evoking emotions though...it requires the ability to convey mundane and jarring truths. Do I know enough of human nature? Do I know a place enough to share all it's charms, idiosyncrasies, the underbelly, how a person is shaped by the character of the land or city in which he or she lives? Have I been a keen observer or lost in my own delusions and fantasies? Do I actually listen? Do I really know anyone?

I am best at constructing questions for myself that are in all likelihood entirely unnecessary and a means to avoid doing, as I fear doing in many aspects. I fear not living up to the expectations of family and friends who believe in me. I fear not living up to my own dubious expectations. I actually fear writing a decent novel and the prospect of writing another and another with the expectation they will surpass the previous.

In the end, the fears and expectations are all meaningless and perhaps only doing is what matters. I have begun to see that any writing--here on this blog, in my personal journal, random notes, correspondence--is doing. I feel I am changing my perception of who I am, what my place is, where I wish to go, what I want to do, still I have a gnawing need to express myself. I write because I am freer and more assured in writing than in person. I am desperately uncertain and disjointed in person and will say things that boggle me in reflection for being so inaccurate, inarticulate and false. My body language is not fluid or natural because I feel my body is foreign—there is a disconnect from what I think and feel and what I do. I come off as aloof because I feel unable to express myself properly. In writing I am comfortable and I can in that moment be whole.

It is high time I integrate everything and be a bit less of an awkward, jittery marionette in person. I imagine that if I stopped detaching from and being ashamed of my body much would improve, even my writing. I can't even imagine the difference it would make, but it is well worth finding out....

Shattering Amber

Today heralded the announcement of this year's Noble Prize for literature. The winner is Doris Lessing whose most famous work is The Golden Notebook. Have I ever read The Golden Notebook? Regrettably no...at least not yet. I plan on reading it not because of Ms. Lessing winning the Noble Prize, but since it delves into the internal dialogue of the characters and also for the fact that Ms. Lessing's formal education ended at the age of 13.

In my years since college some of the smartest and most innovative people I have met have not gone to college. I think it is important to remember that college is not for everyone nor does it instantly make someone intelligent or successful. Education is more about constantly being open to new ideas, thoughts and being willing to learn everyday from the multitude of teachers and learning experiences life throws into our path. To be an enlightened person you have to seek knowledge and also take an active role in your own education--you can't be passive or lethargic about evolving.

In days of old great thinkers wrote numerous letters to other great thinkers in order to exchange information and broaden the scope of each other's thoughts. You must remain engaged with the world at all times to glean the most from living in such a world. I am constantly reminded of this fact. I don't wish to remain static. As I age I don't wish to be like one of those insects captured in one moment in time indefinitely in amber. As much as I enjoy writing, my passion really is in research, which is not so extraordinary when I think how much I gravitate towards reading and collecting. Writing in many ways is the way of sharing amassed knowledge. Creative writing for me is a way of sharing amassed knowledge filtered through myths, dreams and fantasies.

The old maxim of learning something new everyday remains a thread of hope and promise for me and casts light upon looming darkness. My perspective shifts into one of anticipation and joy in the discovery. The prospect that at least one new piece of information or that I may see something or someone in a different way each and every day means that every day is full of surprise and mystery...that all things are possible...that we can grow, change, enrich and blossom....

Love, love, lovE, LOVE

Last night I watched the show I had most anticipated this season: "Pushing Daisies". If you want a summary about the show follow the link as I am pretty atrocious at summarizing (see post about dreams below as evidence). What I can tell you is that I love the luscious, Technicolor look of the show reminiscent to the saturated intensity found in movies like "Nanny McPhee" and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". There is a sense you are watching a slightly morbid children's fairy tale which is reinforced by the voice of the narrator (Jim Dale who is the voice for all of the Harry Potter audio books here in the States).

The hero, Ned, is a pie maker with special powers and so very isolated from the world of the living. The heroine, Chuck (aka Charlotte Charles) was Ned's childhood sweetheart (only sweetheart for what I can tell) whom he brought back from the dead in order to solve her murder. There are several other interesting supporting characters. The love story at the heart of the show is sweet and tragic as they can never touch and I think we all wonder (or at least those who watched the show) how they will express their affection without contact. As on critic said, this show is going to explore aspects of love not often touched upon (no pun intended) and perhaps even the nature of love.

I am always curious about love (of all types, but for purposes of this post the romantic variety) the way only a person who hasn't experienced the much lauded emotion can be. I have seen friends and family in love, I have heard the tales of love from friends and family and I have witnessed the erosion of love. Love is as unique as those that experience it. Sometimes the love is selfish or self-serving. Sometimes the love is selfless. Sometimes is seems surprising. Sometimes it seems inevitable in hindsight. Sometimes love is soft and gentle like pale sunshine on a spring day. Sometimes love is harsh and powerful. Sometimes love is nourishing. Sometimes love is harrowing. Sometimes love is affirming. Sometimes love is eternal. Sometimes love is temporary. Sometimes love is without limits. Sometimes love is conditional. Sometimes love is abrasive. Sometimes love is a balm. Sometimes love is suffocating. Sometimes love is freeing. Sometimes love is safe. Sometimes love is dangerous.

Is it little wonder everyone can write so much about such a many-faceted emotion? Is it little wonder that people remain ever fascinated? I have thought long and hard about love because I want to write about it (and if I am honest would like to experience at least once, although I am no good with emotion). How can someone who has never experienced love write about it? Since love is so very different for everyone would it matter if I experienced it when I have to ascribe it to characters that aren't even remotely me? I still have to imagine how a particular character of a certain disposition, experiences, time and place would feel and express love. For anyone who thinks writing a romance of depth, sensitivity and feeling is easy, think again. A few historical romance genre authors surpass others in their ability: Judith Ivory (also known as Judy Cuevas), Laura Kinsale and Patricia Gaffney (she no longer writes historical romance, but her Wyckerley Trilogy is excellent) to name a few.

Asking about love can meet with jubilant and effusive talk, silence or a rant. I always wish to ask about it, to learn how love is for that particular person, but love is personal and some people don't want to discuss it. I wonder if there is a site dedicated to sharing stories about love? That would be fascinating....

By the way, the image found above is of a card I am sending one of my uncles for his birthday. It is a bit feminine, yet I think he will appreciate it nonetheless. I used extra bits I had on my table from making my orange artist trading cards earlier this week and since my uncle likes blue I went with blue and orange. I always wonder what the woman is thinking with her sweet smile...perhaps she is remembering her first kiss or dreaming about who she will love? Then again maybe she is thinking about running through the meadow or dancing or doing sums or she solved a riddle....

Fumbling with Design

I have been contemplating design lately. The Holidays are drawing nearer and nearer and I still haven't a clue of what my card design (or designs) is going to be. Do I go elegant, fun, festive, funky or traditional? I really want to do special handmade cards this year...in fact I feel compelled to do them this year. I think a lot of my indecision stems from my being unsure of what my style is (something I have mentioned in an earlier post). I have noticed this frustrating inability to be cleanly and clearly me from my attempts at making artist trading cards (ATC). They aren't me. Rather the cards are a proximity of what I can do in a given amount of time with a certain theme. I ponder the themes for weeks and I am only compelled to do something by the deadline and often it is a compromise rather than any fulfillment of a "vision".

I think it may be time to exercise my creative muscles like I have with writing. For the past few weeks I have not only been writing on this blog, but more regularly writing in a personal journal. My journal has to be some of the most boring writing around, but I am learning to write consistently and not worrying about the quality nor the content as that is not the point. The personal journal is a means of chronicling my life and having an outlet rather than something to entertain others or even myself. I need to do a similar thing only visually to open up my artistic horizons and learn more about myself as a creator. I know what I am drawn to: art with a historic twist; incorporates a story as words and letters are important and beautiful to me; a touch of elegance and/or the ornate; a sense of chaotic movement; bold colors and ideas and an aspect of dark emotion (perhaps even morbid humor) and deep passions. How can I use these elements to create something that is me and that has the quality I desire? That is the question.

I have a circus themed ATC I am working on right now and I have decided to deal with elephants. For some reason I have this idea of an elephant feeling demeaned and angered by how it must pose, perform and is treated with little care for all her effort. I have named my fictional elephant Jade. I think for this theme I will also carve an elephant stamp--it is amazingly fun and gratifying to carve stamps. At right is a little of my preliminary planning for the circus ATC's (by the way the handwriting is the handwriting I have when it is for myself--it is a bit messier).

The other theme in October is orange. Now, I am a lover of orange, but I haven't a clue what my handle is on the color. I think it may be the 1970's...I keep thinking of the oranges found in the decor then (not to mention shag carpeting, macramé, owls, wooden beads, dark wood paneling, avocado green and harvest gold appliances and zigzags) and how many of my peers are now inspired by those same colors from their childhood and the reemergence of the popularity of orange in interior decorating.


In my search of Edward Gorey's illustrations (one of my favorites), I found Reusch Sketchbooks, a blog of an artist who posts images from his numerous sketchbooks. I haven't had a chance to at too many of his art, but what I have is intriguing to me. I especially like the first two sketches on the
Monday, March 5, 2007 entry on first glance.

Being Dramatic

Dear reader, it has been far too long since last I wrote. I have begun and set aside a few starts to an entry...they seem to need a little more time to season, I suppose.

I decided to stay away from the computer for the weekend. I am on the computer for hours on end during the week (for work, of course) and when I get home the computer often is not something I wish to look upon. At times though I find myself sitting at my desk booting up the computer as if the thing mesmerized me. So, I then make a conscious decision to stay away which was quite easy to do. Instead I read a book, went shopping (in the process seeing several friends), spent an evening with my sister and uncle, saw a movie or two (nothing too memorable), made a cabbage salad (I would call it a coleslaw, but others would not) and continued to sort and organize the new studio (yes, I am still dealing with that!).

I have felt amazingly good lately with very little in the way of pity parties, which once upon a time I specialized in. I feel okay being me, although I am still not certain exactly what all that entails (I am okay with that too). Last night I was sorting through some of my extra ATC's (artist trading cards) and found one, which showcases a mother of pearl button. I wrote a very, very short story to go with the button and I reread it last night. I was wryly amused by my story. Oh, the words I used! Words like horrendous and wretched. My sister read it and said there must not have been a dry eye in the bunch and that in my own way I am dramatic. Thank God! Drama means color, vibrancy, interest and flair--I gladly accept that label.

I tend to write a bit (okay, often more than a bit) dramatically. I love adjectives with their power, lushness and grandness and I sprinkle my writing with them. If I am going to write, I don't want the words to be listless. I want the words to whisper, to leap, to shout, to swirl, to peek, to prod or do any other function to capture the attention of my reader and to keep me emotionally connected with what I write. If I write a tad too effusively it is because in writing I become effusive; in writing I am more and free to express a depth of emotion that in person I am too reserved to do (with some exceptions). For some to envelope someone in their love and caring they need a pen and paper. My body is awkward, but I can string together charged words until they encircle and move. Others surpass me with their deftness and skill in writing, but a little talent is more than enough to allow me to do what I need do.

At War with the Inner Critic

As much as I love the intricacies of planning: research; buying the elements; making lists and devising ideas my plans usually go awry before completion. In a piece of art this usually is a blessing, in all other areas of life this means many things left undone. My intentions are good, but how far can intentions get you?

One thing I always intend to do, but have only accomplished once is making handmade holiday cards for family and friends. Maybe if I start working on my idea now I will design and create a card people will treasure when they receive it in the mail in December. One of the problems with designing a holiday card is that my family and friends have diverse religious affiliations and I need to be sensitive regarding their beliefs. Do I do like that single successful year and do a nondenominational peace card? Or do I different cards with a similar footprint? I still prefer untraditional colors like pink and lime green or robin's egg blue and red for Christmas and turquoise and brown or aqua blue and sea glass green for Hanukkah. What about the other religions?

I look at old cards and such and see so much room for improvement in all I did and do. Yesterday at my monthly artist trading card (ATC) trade, I mentioned how in my recent packing up of my old studio I reviewed some of my ATC's and found them lacking in my opinion. I was not putting down my work so much as that I feel that in me I can do better...that I haven't reached some hidden potential I can only sense and haven't yet been able to exploit. In other words, I haven't found my artistic voice. All these years I have been fumbling around in the attempt to discover my authentic style and I have yet to find it. What I am making still isn't "right" and it doesn't feel entirely like me.

The same can be said for my creative writing. I constantly strive for the sense I have captured the ellusive truth and perhaps I begin anew too soon. I do know I struggle. In fact I struggle each time I write one of these entries as my inner critic finds more fault than good in what I do. If my inner critic had its way each entry would be a masterpiece and therefore never posted as I would be rewriting and revising the blasted thing everyday of my life to polish it until is gleamed like a jewel. Like a jewel it would be slick, cold and hard with no rough edges to make it interesting and human. When I post an entry it is actually a minor triumph for me of sincerity and honesty over a need for perfection. With any creative venture (actually most everything), I am working against my inner critic and my tendency to procrastinate (which I think is a mechanism to blindside my inner critic--I have not the luxury of time and must only do no matter the results).

So, dear reader, I return to my little battle and attempt to conqueror my inner critic long enough to create imperfect, but heartfelt holiday cards in time for the holidays.

P.S. I think I need to name my inner critic...it is about time we were on a first name basis. Any suggestions?