REALITY?: Story

Posted on July 30, 2006 by Susan

Rearranging the office, cleaning out things just piled up and in drawers.  Stories behind finds that I thought were long gone:  Six written pages written eighteen years ago on the end of a love affair that lived only six years and five years too long; a large black and white professional nude portrait of me taken longer, much longer ago; the novel I wrote in three months, six years ago; and software, unused, CAD 3-D, Treasure Hunt, Mathematics, Construction Estimator, Flight Simulator 2000. 

Things that stayed in place in time while I moved on and away.  I throw away the six written pages, the story has changed in my mind.

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REALITY? and WRITING: Reality and Writing

Posted on July 29, 2006 by Susan

Sometimes there’s a night that doesn’t happen often and sometimes you’re lucky to know it.  The evening sky wipes clean from a quick summer storm, slowly darkens in sympathy.  You realize it then, that no what-ifs, no could’ves or should’ves would have ever been enough.  You’re not going to be somebody special nor write that one perfect book that makes others think, smile, wonder.  You weren’t going to be somebody because there’s one or two elements missing and even if they could be learned or learned to be overcome, you likely would never have known soon enough what they were.

It’s a sadness and yet the dark breeze is refreshing as lightly as it blows through your hair, touches your face, taunts you to accept yourself just as you are and laughs as it passes you by.

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WRITING & REALITY?: Evening Thunderstorms

Posted on July 29, 2006 by Susan

Amazing time of day, just before sunset without a visible sun.  Dark shreds of clouds flying through a yellow grey sky.  Treetops aggravated, agitated by their own perception of winds presaging the plotting of storms.  Crabapples cranky limbs bowing, quaking aspen my mother used to call twinklers all flutter and sparkle, and the cottonwoods in worst shape of all, flipping their broadleaves, desperately trying to break themselves free and run. 

Picking up Toni Morrison’s Beloved and loving it.  Wondering how I’ve picked up the books in this pattern, Faulkner, Marquez, Joyce, Virginia Woolf.  Wondering if I can’t find a story, write a story that suits my own writing style and work at it, simply allow it to happen.

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LITERATURE: Mrs. Dalloway – Finale

Posted on July 29, 2006 by susan

I don’t think this will be one of my favorite ever novels, but I admire the work of Woolf and the intricacy with which she’s woven her story.

Overall, I come away with a sadness, hope yet hopelessness, change yet remaining the same.  For Clarissa Dalloway, I don’t believe, will ever change.  She may have come to the point in her life where she realizes that youth has faded, but she trudges on, a bit fearful of growing old, reluctant to break down and be what she would like to be. 

She is still flirtatious and standoffish with her old flame, Peter.  She appears ecstatic to see an old close friend, Sally, crash her party, and yet she sees each of them briefly before flitting off in her hostessly duties which has truly become what she is; trying to please everyone so they’ll think well of her. 

Continue reading →

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REALITY?: The Inner Self

Posted on July 28, 2006 by Susan

Oh how he would have laughed–to see his determined bride standing in the open doorway, face aglow with all the brave and stubborn insistence on being one with nature.  Ah, the flashing lights of heaven and the great roars of thunder.  Until that single sudden crash that splits the ear and lightning dances all around and then the woman slams the door and runs in terror from the gods.

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LITERATURE: Mrs. Dalloway – Character Study

Posted on July 28, 2006 by susan

There is a challenging aspect to the multiple pov in this book, especially since it gets right inside the characters’ heads. 

Who do you believe?

I think however that we’re getting a composite image that includes the characters’ own self-image, and as the end of the day–and the story–draws near, the three main characters are brought together at Clarissa’s party.  More on each later, but this was telling of Clarissa:

Sinking her voice, drawin Mrs. Dalloway into the shelter of a common feminity, a common pride in the illustrious qualities of husbands and their sad tendency to overwork, Lady Bradshaw (poor goose–one didn’t dislike her) murmured how, "just as we were starting my husband was called up on the telephone, a very sad case.  A young man (that is what Sir William is telling Mr. Dalloway) had killed himself.  He had been in the army."  Oh! thought Clarissa, in the middle of my party, here’s death, she thought.  (p. 183)

I had a semi-relationship with Clarissa, while not understanding her way of life except from what I’ve read or seen in movies, I felt for her approach to middle-age, the running into of a past love.  But this rather changed my perception of her.

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REALITY?: “Tis a far, far better thing…”

Posted on July 28, 2006 by Susan

…I do, and that is not post on reality right now.  Bad, bad week it’s been, and guess what?  For once, I’m going to keep it to myself.

But I will be finishing up Mrs. Dalloway today at some point, and am getting some good feelings from it both in story and in writing technique so that’ll be some work I’ll be putting down on paper (screen!).  Haven’t been doing much other reading or playing, but have been taking advantage of a smattering of vacation hours here and there to harvest beans and squash–which I promptly gave to the neighbor across the street because they have two little boys who need vegies.  Mi espouso is away so I’m trying to get some inside work done as well as yard work, but I find myself answering the call of my customers so the shop isn’t exactly closed as intended either.  ‘sides, there’s air conditioning in here.

So aside for a day and a half curled into a pitiful non-thinking ball after going through another bout of legal hassling, I’ve emerged with a new outlook on people that may be more tolerant of the world.  After all, ethics aren’t for everyone I guess, and can’t be named as right or wrong in all cases. 

Perspective.  The word keeps coming back at me in writing–which I am at least doing quite actively–and in reality.  It’s just a matter of acceptance and getting off your high horse.

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WRITING: Timing and Thinking

Posted on July 26, 2006 by Susan

Sometimes it seems one must be in a certain frame of mind to write (sick at heart, completely shattered at the) and I’m not sure if it’s just mood, or rather what one reads that may serve to inspire (delusions of reality, the).  It may indeed be laid simply at the doorstep of (illusions that we cling to, the hope) a clean house, a good meal, getting laid (that everyone is good and evil has at last) that leaves a feeling of well being and being successfully productive (been overcome).

I’ve written two stories in the past three weeks, pretty much from scratch, or at the very most, (but belief bleeds) a page that gave a setting, (from its core) not much more (from all the wounds).  That confidence in knowing exactly what to write, how the story means to go–or how it can alter, if hyperfiction is in play–is such a wondrous high.  Maybe that alone keeps the momentum going.

And then it stops.  Likely because we’ve let reality interrupt and gave it much too much attention.  Something not as frivolous as homemade french fries and fresh-killed squash.  It becomes near impossible, or so it seems (sick, so sick at heart) to pick that thread back up and follow it (truly heartsick in the pain of feeling) into the realm of other worlds again.  Other characters (and feeling that feeling not at all) who seemed so real and warm enough to touch you and each other (is easiest of all) aren’t answering the phone.

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REALITY? & LITERATURE: Update

Posted on July 25, 2006 by Susan

Jumpy as a cricket today, can’t get much done on any front.  Going to probate court tomorrow without a clue as to why.  Two years this has been draggin’, lost a sister and lost a lotta money in the meantime.

Broke down and pulled out the cheater map in Book and Volume; hasn’t helped one so easily-lost as I.  Though I can get around, I can’t get into places that I need to be, and my computer (in the game) is still downloading stuff quite on its own.  Though I completed all five tasks as I was ordered, it seems there’s more to do, or hints along the way and now this map appears to let me know.

Storytron’s been abandoned for a week; it took too much time and mental energy all by its selfish self.  Reading all the other books, but slowly.  Spent some time back in Afternoon, A Story but without a brain to use or borrow, just not getting out of it what’s been put in.

Virginia Woolf, the bitch, won’t let me go.  Found some lovely segments, found some dramatic story too, and will be writing shortly about what I’ve come to think of as Mrs. Dalloway on pot.

Tomorrow, though I need the time, I wish would pass me by.

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LITERATURE:Mrs. Dalloway – Language

Posted on July 24, 2006 by susan

Yes, I realize that this is a classic.  And I do enjoy the use of language to its fullest potential.  But honestly, Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway is beginning to wear a bit thin.  I think perhaps that once the dazzle of the different technique in writing style, the poetic phrasing, the stream of consciousness manipulated wonderfully well by Woolfe as she jumps from inside one head into another; once that is properly appreciated, one might admit to finding the reading a bit tedious and bordering on boring.

Here Clarissa is considering what her husband as well as Peter Walsh must think of her, and she justifies to herself her position:

But to go deeper, beneath what people said (and these judgements, how superficial, how fragmentary they are!) in her own mind now, what did it mean to her, this thing she called life?  Oh, it was very queer.  Her was So-and-so in South Kensington; some one up in Bayswater; and somebody else, say, in Mayfair.  And she felt quite continuously a sense of their existence; and she felt what a waste; and she felt what a pity; and she felt if only they could be brought together; so she did it.  And it was an offering; to combine, to create; but to whom?  (p. 122)

Clarissa is comparing her caring for her friends and giving them parties to her husband’s work in helping the (Armenians or Albanians, Clarissa isn’t sure which). 

Yes, there is insight into people of this social strata and era, and yes, it is done in an artistic way, so there is meaning behind the story of Clarissa giving a party.  There is more to it; there is a love affair brought up be a reunion.  And there are parallel stories going on that are heart-rending; Septimus Smith and his wife, who fears he is losing his mind after losing his sense of all feelings during his service in the war.

But there is a limit to my appreciation, I guess, of the form.  The excerpt above is one of the simpler ones, and more direct.  There are others that hold more weight than they appear, and are poetic and metaphorically graphic. 

But I’m just getting tired of  it all.  Now I might think that it is a character of the times that I cannot relate to, but I am caring less and less about most of these characters while I joyfully read Dorothy Parker (not deep, but instinctive, I’d say) and felt much more for her worlds, and they were very much the same as the world of Clarissa Dalloway.    Maybe I’m just not up for Woolf right now.  But I I’m only sixty pages away from the end (please, Dear God) and I know that if I put it down, I shall never pick it up to complete it.

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REALITY?: The Latest Dirt on the Garden

Posted on July 23, 2006 by Susan

Finally a day that’s not too hot to work outside, and not pouring rain. 

Weeded, hoed, and fed the stuff that’s growing.  The tomatoes, squash and beans have really taken off.  Had our first yellow squash yesterday, and likely will be having one for dinner every single night through the first frost.  Split a grape tomato with my husband (he split the first sour cherries with me), and we should be having those lovely flat Italian string beans tonight.  Along with, of course, another yellow squash.

The bush basil tried its damndest to come up but got eaten by bugs, the turnips crowded each other out, the leeks never showed and the cilantro is fully ready and I’m not ready for it.  This cilantro thing happens every year, because it’s not until the end of August that there are enough tomatoes and hot peppers to make salsa, and by then the cilantro has gone to seed.  Which I collect for next year.  So…

I planted more cilantro, turnips, beans, and found a packet of Chinese cabbage to put in all those empty spaces left by those reluctant to sprout and thrive from back in May.

I love seeing things grow in the garden, and I love turning the soil to rid it of the weeds that seem to grow no matter what.  I have a farmer’s heart and so refuse to use the chemicals or spread plastic in a country garden.

I also love dirt.

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REALITY?: Dependency

Posted on July 23, 2006 by Susan

Here is why I have put some distance between my next-door neighbor and myself, although we’re still good friends and despite my firm belief (and ravings to that effect) that if we each help those whom we can reach within a circle, the circles will overlap and it is time and intention better spent than wasting it just hollering about how everyone else should make the world a better place.  (More on this at some point, since I realize that once we get into huge areas where nearly all are poor and suffering, it’s necessary of course to depend on outside-the-circle help, and make much bigger circles to encompass those in need.)

B had switched to Comcast cable service about three or four months ago and has complained since that she often cannot get on the internet, sometimes for days.  Since I have the same service, I knew it wasn’t Comcast’s fault, and even looked it over, and suggested that she call them in.  They did, but since she had an electrician set it up, they wouldn’t touch it but told her it was inadequately laid out.

Today she called and asked me to do her a favor since she hasn’t called the electrician yet (money is not an problem here) to fix the problem, and said she’d call him tomorrow.  Would I get online and check out flights and prices for a trip to Hawaii for her. 

She’s planning on going in July of 2007.

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WRITING: Editing

Posted on July 22, 2006 by Susan

Threw the story I’ve been working on up for workshop critique at our writers group website in the hope of getting some help with it.  And naturally, the second I did that, even after spending most of today tweaking and rewriting, I noticed a very amateurish flaw in the writing. 

It’s funny how we go back to old bad habits.  This time, it was third person telling instead of showing.  It was easier in first to get away with this; it comes off as opinion to some degree, and so flows more easily.  But once the third person omniscient narrative voice starts telling the story, it’s more jarring and obvious.  The omniscient point of view, especially with a single character involved, has so many opportunities to create a mood in setting and action.  The bed sheets needn’t just be changed that morning, they can feel clean and cool instead.  Yet here and in many other spots it seemed I wanted to get that part out of the way without taking the time to paint a picture and color it in to make it more inviting. 

It is a storyworld, and enough care need be taken with the feel of it to let the reader linger, live in it a while

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STORIES: The Tunnel – A Start to An End

Posted on July 22, 2006 by Susan

George DePaoli was clearly dying but here’s the thing; it was taking longer than he’d expected.  What he felt had been his final hours had dragged out through the night and into the next day and he only wished for one thing now; that his daughter, Marcia, would stop yelling in his ear.

What would be a better exercise in non-linear narrative structure, in intertwining consciousness of space and time, in changing tense and with it, worlds that exist with those that may not.

Obviously inspired a bit by Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, but I cannot get past the barriers of time as easily, nor float free among the heads within the room.  My use of language still is stilted by the proper form and format, though I beat my hands and head against the walls that hold me in.

How odd, that we must overcome severe restrictions learned in writing and communication, to return to an expression that would be more natural to our minds.  I seek this freedom, this letting out of truth regardless of reception.  And no, not authorly in that, because in reaching this plateau there is a population to be met on common ground.  Though true, their reader’s mind must be as open as the writer’s.

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REALITY?: Flowers

Posted on July 22, 2006 by Susan

How stoic, how determined they stood up in open petaled pleasure against the rain.  And how sad; beaten down and torn, left brown and rotting in its wake.  The very thing they wished for has destroyed them.

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