I've always been conscious of the way things look, but even more so of the way they could be written.
I want to live as a poem. And maybe that is also why I so enjoyed the structure and ceremony of [my friend's] Catholic marriage rites, with their ancient beauty, their time-crafted rituals, their unabashed deference to tradition and comme-il-fautisme.
I feel like a madwoman at times - I chase after literary images and fetishize the mundane, if I have to.
And maybe that is why I like to be a tourist in life - that sort of behavior is forgivable in tourists. Encouraged, in fact.
I want to see life as a work of art - is is, sometimes. After all, art comes from life, coaxed from the grey quarry of the quotidian by the impractical, cloud-eyed miners of beauty. They swirl dirt around until they see a glistening speck, and then, by the strange alchemy of desire and imagination, they blow it into the pure gold of poetry. Silly they are, sometimes, but how else to endure it all? [. . .]
They/we are an odd lot, we self-described, self-appointed poets. We try to chronicle life, but maybe we only chronicle the shadows on the walls of our personal Platonic caves. And if we do wander outside to the fire, we warm our hands by it dumbly, almost callously, only to unfreeze our fingers long enough to stumble back into the cave and write about what we see flickering on the wall inside.
Are we fools or are we wise to isolate ourselves like this? Inspiration happens outside, but art can only be created in isolation. I suppose it's all about what one considers important - creativity or activity. Which loss would we shed more tears for? There never is a clear answer.
September, 2007 (on the way back from a friend's wedding).
My best moments, the best memories I've made have come when I was so busy being alive, there wasn't even time to touch pen to paper.
Once, I saw a quote by Colette; paraphrased from memory, it was something like "No great love story has ever been written while making love." Ah, there it is - the quandary of the writer. Does one write one's life or live it? The best manage both, in equal and complementary measure.
April 2, 2009.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
3.31.2009
penlust
First of all . . . we are not alone.
Secondly . . . today, I ordered this and this.
And if you know me, you know exactly why the act of placing that order put me into a 20-minute giggle git*.
*That last word should have been "fit." But I happen to love that typo.
Secondly . . . today, I ordered this and this.
And if you know me, you know exactly why the act of placing that order put me into a 20-minute giggle git*.
*That last word should have been "fit." But I happen to love that typo.
3.30.2009
Moleskines
My earthly riches
Just decoupaged Moleskine #6 yesterday - that's the one on the bottom, with the yellow design. #5 is the one with all the little mini photo stickers; #4 has the diagonal stripes and gold leaves. #s 1-3 are stacked beneath.
I always say - these notebooks contain my earthly riches. Doesn't look like much, but hey, at least it isn't market-dependent.
3.27.2009
happenness (the ultimate geek-out)
Just placed an order on JetPens.com. Ordered a dozen or so of my beloved Uni-ball Signo DX with the 0.28mm nib. Mostly in black and blue-black, with a couple of other colors tossed in (including the new brown-black, which may or may not become a hit with me).
I have been using these pens for about 1.5 years now. Sometime in the winter of 2007 (or perhaps December of 2006; not sure; I know it was cold and I was still on my first Moleskine), a friend of mine introduced me to them. She did this by gifting me a Hello Kitty pen she'd gotten in Japan.
At the time, I was on a quest for the perfect pen. I'd started journaling in a new type of notebook (afore-mentioned Moleskine) a couple months before, and had unlocked my personal secret to consistent graphoproductivity: sensualize the experience. Make it intrinsically beautiful and delicious. Make the act of putting pen to paper a sexy, satisfying experience.
So, I'd found the paper and the binding and all; now, I was just looking for a pen. It had to be a fast-flowing pen, capable of keeping up with my thoughts; I had not willingly used ballpoints for years. So, probably a gel-ink, felt or fountain-pen. At the same time, it had to dry quickly, so that I wouldn't need to worry about smearing the words with my hand or the opposite page.
It also had to have the finest nib possible. My handwriting is quick and messy, and a finer nib is more forgiving when it comes to legibility. Additionally, a fine nib leaves behind far less ink, which means it's a faster drying time. Also, I was using the pocket-sized Moleskine, and wanted to be able to write smaller.
I quickly realized my old faithful Uni-ball 0.5mm pens (available in bulk at all major office supply stores) produced WAY too clunky a line. Additionally, there was a bit of bleed-through on the pages. Minimal, but it wasn't good enough.
On the recommendation of some fellow obsessive graphomaniacs, I purchased the very reasonably priced and attractive Lamy Safari in red, together with a jar of Noodler's Ink in Zhivago. My God, it was sexy. The thick, red pen in my fingers; the rich flow of glistening green-black ink across the creamy virgin paper. My notebook seemed to whisper Lara's Theme every time I stroked it with the Lamy. Snowflakes fell, I think.
Unfortunately, even the finest nib available at the store wasn't quite fine enough. I got maybe 10 lines to a page. And it didn't dry quickly enough. (True to Noodler's promise, though, there was no bleed-through.)
I went through a few other options. First, I over-hastily ordered a dozen of the Pilot G-2 pens that many Moleskinites swore by. Most of those are still rattling around the house, being used to sign checks and make shopping lists.
My quest brought me to the pen-and-marker aisles of Pearl Paint, infinite mecca of artists, crafties and wannabes. I am not sure how many collective hours I spent doodling on the thoughtfully provided test-pads in those aisles, experimenting with, literally, dozens of types of pens in hundreds of colors. I am not sure how much money I spent on all those delectable Faber-Castell "artist pens," in various nib-sizes and shades (including sepiatones, mmmm). I am not sure how many sketchpads I bought, drunk on the heavy texture of watercolor paper, and completely forgetting my utter inability to sketch, draw or, frankly, color inside lines.
Alas, even the "Superfine" Faber-Castell pens were not fine enough. My Moleskine was Cinderella's glass slipper - and, just because it's a pretty foot, that don't mean it's gonna fit. I reserved my Faber-Castells for my watercolor activities (which mostly consisted of me dragging a pen across the paper and then hugging myself with the simple joy of watching the vibrant color appear on the creamy lawn, very much like a small, feeble-minded child during fingerpainting class).
I did content myself, for a while, with the Pigma Micron markers by Sakura. These also came in a nice range of colors, and - joy of joys - were available in a 0.05mm nib. (Which was like, WHOA, considering that the smallest nib I'd seen before that was a 0.1mm; which was nice, but c'mon, 0.05mm!!!!) So, for a while, I used those, and they were fine.
Then, I tried the Staedtler Pigment Liner, likewise in a 0.05mm nib. In black. (By then, I had realized, I would never be one of those cool people who can maintain a colorful and serious journal, and then take pictures of it and post them on Flickr.) The Staedtler is a fine pen, and I still have a stock of them - in 0.05mm and 0.1mm. (The thicker one is nicer for drawing, or to neatly write quotes.)
Right. So, it was in the midst of all this sturm-und-drang (I know, someone totally should write an ABC show about this), that my friend casually gave me that Hello Kitty pen. Which was really just an ordinary-looking ballpoint gel-ink (a.k.a., rollerball) pen with a clear barrel and a rubber grip. Except it had "Hello Kitty" on it, along with that little white kitty face that no female over the age of 10 should have anywhere near her person unless she is either Asian or pink-cheeked, pig-tailed, bobby-socked and is/was class president of Chappaqua High in Minneapolis or something.
But it was a damn fine pen. A damn fine pen. The finest nib I'd ever seen on a non-technical pen. Near-instant drying time. Quick, smooth flow. An unpretentious exterior. A damn fine pen. Unfortunately, the only words printed on it were "Hello Kitty." And some Japanese characters above a smirking, triumphant, elusive "0.28" on the cap. No brand name. Nothing.
So, I sighed to myself and continued searching. (Shortly after this, I discovered the Pigma Micron and the Staedtler.) Every so often, I'd use the Hello Kitty pen. But - and this is aside from feeling, every time I used it, as though a dozen small Japanese men had just ejaculated on me in a private karaoke room - I have this thing about "saving" the items I love the best. Living in the moment is all good and well, but when something is finite and rare-to-unavailable - a bottle of expensive perfume, a limited-edition MAC lipstick, the ink in a wonderful pen - I tend to only use it when the moment is either special, or when I want to make it feel that way. So I very seldom used my wonderful Hello Kitty pen.
Now. The Staedtler and the Pigma Micron are both fine pens, as I have said. However, they have their drawbacks. Firstly, they are kind of felt pens. I think. Felt-like, anyway. Which means they dry out at the drop of a cap (hah, hah?) and bringing them back to life is very difficult. Also, they have this incredibly skinny little wire-like nib, which doesn't take much effort to bend (especially when one writes on moving trains), which then makes your delicate little nib into a big-ass calligraphy nib, which is all good and well when you are trying to practice calligraphy, but not when you are angrily trying to get out onto paper how much you hate the See-You-Next-Tuesday in the cubicle across from yours, all in order to relieve the aggression and not defenestrate said See-You-Next-Tuesday upon your next encounter.
Which meant that I had to keep buying more pens. Which maybe wouldn't be so bad - despite the ~$3 price tag on each - except it was just friggen annoying to have to go to the store every few weeks; and then, sometimes, you'd get one and it was already dried-out or half-dried-out. Not cool. Clearly, the situation called for a rollerball.
Boldly, I decided to throw myself at the mercy of the almighty God, Google. I typed in "Hello Kitty pen 0.28", sprinkled the blood of a young goat over my keyboard and hit Enter. And, lo, just a few hits down the page, was someone's journal entry about her "Hello Kitty" pen and how it was really just a Uni-Ball Signo 0.28 with a logo on it. I did a dance of joy, stuck a tampon in the goat, and Googled "Uni-Ball Signo 0.28."
Which is how I came to JetPens. Basically, they specialize in Japanese pens, and all sorts of pens that, I guess, are a little rare on the American market. I nearly wept when, verily, I saw upon the screen the exact replica of my friend's pen, minus the "Hello Kitty" logo. I quickly ordered about 20 pens and waited, with bated breath, for the package to arrive. (OK, so I unbated my breath a few times in the interim.)
This was, I think, in about late spring/early summer 2007. Yes. My second Moleskine's second half is written in the distinctive blue-black rollerball ink. And Moleskines 3-6 were all written with the same pens - mostly in black or blue-black. (Except for a brief flirtation I once had with a vividly azure-colored 0.01mm Prismacolor Premier. I was feeling "blue" so I wrote in the bluest ink I could find. Don't ask.)
Just 2 days ago, I had to toss my last blue-black Signo, with just a smudge of ink left in its barrel. It wouldn't write anymore; it just tore the paper. The other black and blue-black pens were long gone too - most of them had run out of ink. I probably lost at least one or two others. It's possible I gave a couple away as gifts.
I still have my reserve of colorful pens - purple, hot pink, sky blue. (The emerald-green one was left uncapped too long; it dried out and had to be tossed a couple months ago.) But I just can't write my normal journal entries in these colors. It's too distracting. I feel like I have to be zany or something. It's very difficult to write about bleeding the black bile of your rotting love in fucking hot pink. Even purple, which I actually quite like (and do use, on occasion), often reminds me of Jessica Wakefield and the Unicorn Club.
So, I am happy to have placed an order with JetPens. I am looking forward to ripping into that package; to lovingly distributing the pens among various purses, backpacks and stationery stations; and to uncapping a beautiful, pristine pen and violently ripping out its cherry with a poem about love in the moonlight. Yesss . . .
And for now? I'm writing with . . . the old Hello Kitty pen. I never did use it much; plenty of ink left.
And you know what else? I added something to my order. In addition to the pens, I also ordered a pen refill. I plan to put it into the Hello Kitty pen. I will hold on to this pen. It is the pen that other pens came from. It has meaning and value, even if it is ridiculously decorated with a childish logo.
OK, fine - actually, I put the refill in the basket only because it costs less than a full pen, and I was only $0.50 away from free shipping, so I chose the cheaper alternative.
Or maybe . . . I kinda like feeling like a dozen small Japanese men . . . uh . . . never mind.
I have been using these pens for about 1.5 years now. Sometime in the winter of 2007 (or perhaps December of 2006; not sure; I know it was cold and I was still on my first Moleskine), a friend of mine introduced me to them. She did this by gifting me a Hello Kitty pen she'd gotten in Japan.
At the time, I was on a quest for the perfect pen. I'd started journaling in a new type of notebook (afore-mentioned Moleskine) a couple months before, and had unlocked my personal secret to consistent graphoproductivity: sensualize the experience. Make it intrinsically beautiful and delicious. Make the act of putting pen to paper a sexy, satisfying experience.
So, I'd found the paper and the binding and all; now, I was just looking for a pen. It had to be a fast-flowing pen, capable of keeping up with my thoughts; I had not willingly used ballpoints for years. So, probably a gel-ink, felt or fountain-pen. At the same time, it had to dry quickly, so that I wouldn't need to worry about smearing the words with my hand or the opposite page.
It also had to have the finest nib possible. My handwriting is quick and messy, and a finer nib is more forgiving when it comes to legibility. Additionally, a fine nib leaves behind far less ink, which means it's a faster drying time. Also, I was using the pocket-sized Moleskine, and wanted to be able to write smaller.
I quickly realized my old faithful Uni-ball 0.5mm pens (available in bulk at all major office supply stores) produced WAY too clunky a line. Additionally, there was a bit of bleed-through on the pages. Minimal, but it wasn't good enough.
On the recommendation of some fellow obsessive graphomaniacs, I purchased the very reasonably priced and attractive Lamy Safari in red, together with a jar of Noodler's Ink in Zhivago. My God, it was sexy. The thick, red pen in my fingers; the rich flow of glistening green-black ink across the creamy virgin paper. My notebook seemed to whisper Lara's Theme every time I stroked it with the Lamy. Snowflakes fell, I think.
Unfortunately, even the finest nib available at the store wasn't quite fine enough. I got maybe 10 lines to a page. And it didn't dry quickly enough. (True to Noodler's promise, though, there was no bleed-through.)
I went through a few other options. First, I over-hastily ordered a dozen of the Pilot G-2 pens that many Moleskinites swore by. Most of those are still rattling around the house, being used to sign checks and make shopping lists.
My quest brought me to the pen-and-marker aisles of Pearl Paint, infinite mecca of artists, crafties and wannabes. I am not sure how many collective hours I spent doodling on the thoughtfully provided test-pads in those aisles, experimenting with, literally, dozens of types of pens in hundreds of colors. I am not sure how much money I spent on all those delectable Faber-Castell "artist pens," in various nib-sizes and shades (including sepiatones, mmmm). I am not sure how many sketchpads I bought, drunk on the heavy texture of watercolor paper, and completely forgetting my utter inability to sketch, draw or, frankly, color inside lines.
Alas, even the "Superfine" Faber-Castell pens were not fine enough. My Moleskine was Cinderella's glass slipper - and, just because it's a pretty foot, that don't mean it's gonna fit. I reserved my Faber-Castells for my watercolor activities (which mostly consisted of me dragging a pen across the paper and then hugging myself with the simple joy of watching the vibrant color appear on the creamy lawn, very much like a small, feeble-minded child during fingerpainting class).
I did content myself, for a while, with the Pigma Micron markers by Sakura. These also came in a nice range of colors, and - joy of joys - were available in a 0.05mm nib. (Which was like, WHOA, considering that the smallest nib I'd seen before that was a 0.1mm; which was nice, but c'mon, 0.05mm!!!!) So, for a while, I used those, and they were fine.
Then, I tried the Staedtler Pigment Liner, likewise in a 0.05mm nib. In black. (By then, I had realized, I would never be one of those cool people who can maintain a colorful and serious journal, and then take pictures of it and post them on Flickr.) The Staedtler is a fine pen, and I still have a stock of them - in 0.05mm and 0.1mm. (The thicker one is nicer for drawing, or to neatly write quotes.)
Right. So, it was in the midst of all this sturm-und-drang (I know, someone totally should write an ABC show about this), that my friend casually gave me that Hello Kitty pen. Which was really just an ordinary-looking ballpoint gel-ink (a.k.a., rollerball) pen with a clear barrel and a rubber grip. Except it had "Hello Kitty" on it, along with that little white kitty face that no female over the age of 10 should have anywhere near her person unless she is either Asian or pink-cheeked, pig-tailed, bobby-socked and is/was class president of Chappaqua High in Minneapolis or something.
But it was a damn fine pen. A damn fine pen. The finest nib I'd ever seen on a non-technical pen. Near-instant drying time. Quick, smooth flow. An unpretentious exterior. A damn fine pen. Unfortunately, the only words printed on it were "Hello Kitty." And some Japanese characters above a smirking, triumphant, elusive "0.28" on the cap. No brand name. Nothing.
So, I sighed to myself and continued searching. (Shortly after this, I discovered the Pigma Micron and the Staedtler.) Every so often, I'd use the Hello Kitty pen. But - and this is aside from feeling, every time I used it, as though a dozen small Japanese men had just ejaculated on me in a private karaoke room - I have this thing about "saving" the items I love the best. Living in the moment is all good and well, but when something is finite and rare-to-unavailable - a bottle of expensive perfume, a limited-edition MAC lipstick, the ink in a wonderful pen - I tend to only use it when the moment is either special, or when I want to make it feel that way. So I very seldom used my wonderful Hello Kitty pen.
Now. The Staedtler and the Pigma Micron are both fine pens, as I have said. However, they have their drawbacks. Firstly, they are kind of felt pens. I think. Felt-like, anyway. Which means they dry out at the drop of a cap (hah, hah?) and bringing them back to life is very difficult. Also, they have this incredibly skinny little wire-like nib, which doesn't take much effort to bend (especially when one writes on moving trains), which then makes your delicate little nib into a big-ass calligraphy nib, which is all good and well when you are trying to practice calligraphy, but not when you are angrily trying to get out onto paper how much you hate the See-You-Next-Tuesday in the cubicle across from yours, all in order to relieve the aggression and not defenestrate said See-You-Next-Tuesday upon your next encounter.
Which meant that I had to keep buying more pens. Which maybe wouldn't be so bad - despite the ~$3 price tag on each - except it was just friggen annoying to have to go to the store every few weeks; and then, sometimes, you'd get one and it was already dried-out or half-dried-out. Not cool. Clearly, the situation called for a rollerball.
Boldly, I decided to throw myself at the mercy of the almighty God, Google. I typed in "Hello Kitty pen 0.28", sprinkled the blood of a young goat over my keyboard and hit Enter. And, lo, just a few hits down the page, was someone's journal entry about her "Hello Kitty" pen and how it was really just a Uni-Ball Signo 0.28 with a logo on it. I did a dance of joy, stuck a tampon in the goat, and Googled "Uni-Ball Signo 0.28."
Which is how I came to JetPens. Basically, they specialize in Japanese pens, and all sorts of pens that, I guess, are a little rare on the American market. I nearly wept when, verily, I saw upon the screen the exact replica of my friend's pen, minus the "Hello Kitty" logo. I quickly ordered about 20 pens and waited, with bated breath, for the package to arrive. (OK, so I unbated my breath a few times in the interim.)
This was, I think, in about late spring/early summer 2007. Yes. My second Moleskine's second half is written in the distinctive blue-black rollerball ink. And Moleskines 3-6 were all written with the same pens - mostly in black or blue-black. (Except for a brief flirtation I once had with a vividly azure-colored 0.01mm Prismacolor Premier. I was feeling "blue" so I wrote in the bluest ink I could find. Don't ask.)
Just 2 days ago, I had to toss my last blue-black Signo, with just a smudge of ink left in its barrel. It wouldn't write anymore; it just tore the paper. The other black and blue-black pens were long gone too - most of them had run out of ink. I probably lost at least one or two others. It's possible I gave a couple away as gifts.
I still have my reserve of colorful pens - purple, hot pink, sky blue. (The emerald-green one was left uncapped too long; it dried out and had to be tossed a couple months ago.) But I just can't write my normal journal entries in these colors. It's too distracting. I feel like I have to be zany or something. It's very difficult to write about bleeding the black bile of your rotting love in fucking hot pink. Even purple, which I actually quite like (and do use, on occasion), often reminds me of Jessica Wakefield and the Unicorn Club.
So, I am happy to have placed an order with JetPens. I am looking forward to ripping into that package; to lovingly distributing the pens among various purses, backpacks and stationery stations; and to uncapping a beautiful, pristine pen and violently ripping out its cherry with a poem about love in the moonlight. Yesss . . .
And for now? I'm writing with . . . the old Hello Kitty pen. I never did use it much; plenty of ink left.
And you know what else? I added something to my order. In addition to the pens, I also ordered a pen refill. I plan to put it into the Hello Kitty pen. I will hold on to this pen. It is the pen that other pens came from. It has meaning and value, even if it is ridiculously decorated with a childish logo.
OK, fine - actually, I put the refill in the basket only because it costs less than a full pen, and I was only $0.50 away from free shipping, so I chose the cheaper alternative.
Or maybe . . . I kinda like feeling like a dozen small Japanese men . . . uh . . . never mind.
3.13.2009
short stories
Reading Carson McCullers' collected short stories & marveling at how terrific those can be.
It's been a long time since I've read a short story; probably longer since I've written one. (Actually, I'll tell you - last one I wrote was "Evaporated Water" in summer of 2006.) I think it's been a bit of an underappreciated medium with me in the last few years.
It has been ages since I've actually written a STORY. At least one that didn't end up getting told in verse.
Something to think about, and perhaps work on.
It's been a long time since I've read a short story; probably longer since I've written one. (Actually, I'll tell you - last one I wrote was "Evaporated Water" in summer of 2006.) I think it's been a bit of an underappreciated medium with me in the last few years.
It has been ages since I've actually written a STORY. At least one that didn't end up getting told in verse.
Something to think about, and perhaps work on.
12.03.2008
punctuation
In this age of blogs, microblogs, status updates, profiles, etc., etc., it seems like everyone is living the writing life to some extent. I wonder if this is what Bulgakov imagined when he wrote "Manuscripts don't burn," long before the internet had begun immortalizing everything.
Anyway, so it occurs to me that, instead of relying on facial tics, body language, etc., to profile individuals, one can easily go by writing samples. Even a small sample can reveal quite a bit.
Refuse to capitalize? You don't have the guts to take yourself seriously enough. Or maybe you have submissive tendencies. (Like to get tied up, do you?) Get some self-esteem. Or else, just turn on auto-capitalize in MS Word.
Overuse exclamation points? You either have an insatiable lust for life, or, more likely, you're a crashing bore who tries to inject excitement into things like "I just bought toilet paper! YAY!" (Very few occasions in writing - or life - merit an exclamation point.) You probably have a secret crush on Zac Efron, too.
Love the ellipsis? You probably have a touch of the ADD. Or else, you just want to sound interesting and mysterious. You don't. You just sound flighty and silly. A rambling run-on sentence with a few ellipses stuck inside it is still a rambling run-on sentence. Stop cultivating your mystique and start cultivating mental organization.
And my favorite, my own personal indulgence - parentheticals. I overuse them CONSTANTLY. I guess I like the idea of having two parallel narratives. Kind of like two parallel lives. (Notice how the stuff inside the parentheses is always just a little more honest than the stuff outside them?)
And so on, and so forth. Feel free to create your own bitchy psychological profiles.
(spend too much time thinking about this sort of thing? . . . then you're probably a former English major! . . .)
Anyway, so it occurs to me that, instead of relying on facial tics, body language, etc., to profile individuals, one can easily go by writing samples. Even a small sample can reveal quite a bit.
Refuse to capitalize? You don't have the guts to take yourself seriously enough. Or maybe you have submissive tendencies. (Like to get tied up, do you?) Get some self-esteem. Or else, just turn on auto-capitalize in MS Word.
Overuse exclamation points? You either have an insatiable lust for life, or, more likely, you're a crashing bore who tries to inject excitement into things like "I just bought toilet paper! YAY!" (Very few occasions in writing - or life - merit an exclamation point.) You probably have a secret crush on Zac Efron, too.
Love the ellipsis? You probably have a touch of the ADD. Or else, you just want to sound interesting and mysterious. You don't. You just sound flighty and silly. A rambling run-on sentence with a few ellipses stuck inside it is still a rambling run-on sentence. Stop cultivating your mystique and start cultivating mental organization.
And my favorite, my own personal indulgence - parentheticals. I overuse them CONSTANTLY. I guess I like the idea of having two parallel narratives. Kind of like two parallel lives. (Notice how the stuff inside the parentheses is always just a little more honest than the stuff outside them?)
And so on, and so forth. Feel free to create your own bitchy psychological profiles.
(spend too much time thinking about this sort of thing? . . . then you're probably a former English major! . . .)
12.02.2008
old
For some reason, looked into the directory where I used to keep my poetry before deciding on a blog format. A couple years ago, I'd transferred most of my stuff over to the blog, but I must have missed a few.
Took a couple over, fiddled with the format (for some reason, pasting them in messed up the font), and then, gave up. There are a few more pieces there that I like, but placing them in my blog will deprive me of moments like this in the future - moments of going back to that old page, to my old self, I guess.
I can still remember the summer of 2003; more so when I look at those .txt files. Why reformat a snippet of personal history?
Let the old ghosts rest a while longer. There are new ones aplenty.
Took a couple over, fiddled with the format (for some reason, pasting them in messed up the font), and then, gave up. There are a few more pieces there that I like, but placing them in my blog will deprive me of moments like this in the future - moments of going back to that old page, to my old self, I guess.
I can still remember the summer of 2003; more so when I look at those .txt files. Why reformat a snippet of personal history?
Let the old ghosts rest a while longer. There are new ones aplenty.
12.01.2008
finished
Finally finished a piece that has been rattling around in the back of my mind for about 2 years.
To clarify, Bigby is a character from the excellent comic, Fables. He's based on the Big Bad Wolf of various fairytales. The character is compelling enough on his own merits, but I've also had a (cursory but consistent) fascination with wolves for a few years now, so he inspired me. It's been a long gestation period; not sure if I'm fully happy with the song (am I ever?), but it's nice to have it out.
The "melody" comes from Sarah Harmer's "Came On Lion" and Nick Cave's "Kindness of Strangers," although it probably isn't too evident.
To clarify, Bigby is a character from the excellent comic, Fables. He's based on the Big Bad Wolf of various fairytales. The character is compelling enough on his own merits, but I've also had a (cursory but consistent) fascination with wolves for a few years now, so he inspired me. It's been a long gestation period; not sure if I'm fully happy with the song (am I ever?), but it's nice to have it out.
The "melody" comes from Sarah Harmer's "Came On Lion" and Nick Cave's "Kindness of Strangers," although it probably isn't too evident.
11.26.2008
paper-blogging
I will never be able to keep up a proper blog unless I have a theme to it - linking to articles or, I dunno, recipes or something, or some such thing. Because otherwise, it becomes too much like a journal.
I've had many blogs over the years - none for very long. Sooner or later, people you know will either find you, or else, you will make "blog-buddies" (especially on LiveJournal), who will get to "know" you. And that's my personal paralytic. Having to play to type, having people come to expect a certain pattern of behavior from you. In the end, I limit my entries to either laundry lists of events or notes cryptic enough to withstand a Soviet censor.
But I write almost every day. Sometimes, quite a lot. I write in notebooks - I fetishize them a bit, but that's a whole other story - and I write clearly and completely honestly. I like some of the writing, to tell the truth. But most of it - whatever isn't converted into poetry or finished stories - will never be seen by anyone but me.
It bothers me a bit. I may try to work through it in the future. But I don't anticipate a breakthrough anytime soon.
Meanwhile, I paper-blog.
I've had many blogs over the years - none for very long. Sooner or later, people you know will either find you, or else, you will make "blog-buddies" (especially on LiveJournal), who will get to "know" you. And that's my personal paralytic. Having to play to type, having people come to expect a certain pattern of behavior from you. In the end, I limit my entries to either laundry lists of events or notes cryptic enough to withstand a Soviet censor.
But I write almost every day. Sometimes, quite a lot. I write in notebooks - I fetishize them a bit, but that's a whole other story - and I write clearly and completely honestly. I like some of the writing, to tell the truth. But most of it - whatever isn't converted into poetry or finished stories - will never be seen by anyone but me.
It bothers me a bit. I may try to work through it in the future. But I don't anticipate a breakthrough anytime soon.
Meanwhile, I paper-blog.
11.20.2008
writing
We've hit the cold snap rather suddenly. Just last week, I was still taking my walks in only a thick sweater over a long-sleeved tee; this week, we're down to below freezing. No more walks for me, certainly no more long, solitary writing sessions on park benches.
To this end, I actually visited a bar near my house - one of the two bars within a 2 block radius and tried to write there. Lacked the right vibe, though - or maybe it was just the shock of the new. Truth be told, I rather liked writing in the other bar; that was great, until one day I befriended both bartenders and pretty much all the regulars. I like solitude and anonymity in my writing process.
Don't know if it's habit or what, but I can only achieve a decent creative flow when I am not at home. The current is strong on park benches, in train stations; stronger still on trains, planes and buses. Fine in bars, coffee shops and restaurants. Great in hotels. But at home, all I can produce (usually; there are exceptions) are stilted rewrites.
I wonder sometimes why that is. Perhaps it's that being away from familiar walls gives a certain kind of third-person perspective that makes it easier to put things into words. I don't know, really. Hard to explain.
Well, of course it is. I'm at home right now.
To this end, I actually visited a bar near my house - one of the two bars within a 2 block radius and tried to write there. Lacked the right vibe, though - or maybe it was just the shock of the new. Truth be told, I rather liked writing in the other bar; that was great, until one day I befriended both bartenders and pretty much all the regulars. I like solitude and anonymity in my writing process.
Don't know if it's habit or what, but I can only achieve a decent creative flow when I am not at home. The current is strong on park benches, in train stations; stronger still on trains, planes and buses. Fine in bars, coffee shops and restaurants. Great in hotels. But at home, all I can produce (usually; there are exceptions) are stilted rewrites.
I wonder sometimes why that is. Perhaps it's that being away from familiar walls gives a certain kind of third-person perspective that makes it easier to put things into words. I don't know, really. Hard to explain.
Well, of course it is. I'm at home right now.
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