Well the wedding photo lasted all of less than 24 hours. I just looked too foolishly happy to be taken for a serious writer. So I replaced it with a photo taken more recently of me writing. I believe it’s much more professional and better reflects my normal frame of mind.
What flamingo? I don’t see a flamingo.
Heh-heh-heh. Sometimes I’m just so proud of my disproportionate share of Man’s evil nature.
What I’ve started doing in the battle against pop-ups–and I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet–is right-clicking on the ad, finding out the properties, and sending them back as e-mails to the company that stuck them there. Sometimes it’s necessary to go to the company website, but if you get enough of them from the same place, it’s worth the trouble. I try to choose someone from either Marketing, or even an occasional CEO and send them all there.
I’ll let you know how it works.
We must all be honest with each other here, stand up tall and admit our addiction to Quizilla. Of course we know that these are not accurate representations of ourselves completely, but aside from the fun aspect, if the questions are reasonably written, answers are within our realm of honesty, and we do answer them honestly, at the very least, they can initiate more questions of who we think we are versus who we really may be!
After taking a slew of these personality tests along with the more refined and professional tests available online, I’m finding some new dimensions and conflicting versions that may offer an overall picture not conclusive, but often different than what I held myself to be. I’ve mentioned before that in a recent Communications Course I was surprised by how the others perceived me. Some of these silly little tests are confirming their opinion rather than what I believed myself to be. We change with time, and maybe we forget to look inside now and then to recognize those changes.
It seems that the technical aspect of design is easier for me to learn and implement than the less technical actual use of a pencil lately in my efforts to dress up Spinning a bit. I’ve tried to draw the ideas that have formed in the artistic part of my brain, but my hands are somehow not getting the right messages and cannot execute the proper strokes upon paper. So I simply dug up some of my past artwork, scanned it, and turned it into html and easily pasted it among the rest of the mumbo jumbo that becomes a website with colors, words and images.
I like the idea of including pictures alongside my words, and with my insistence upon originality, you must suffer through drawings I’ve done when I was between sixteen and twenty. The pencil drawing to your left was very light because a hard pencil was used, and the silhouettes below, right, are in inks of black, gold, and maroon, so they did not come out as sharp in greyscale, but the yellowed paper didn’t look great when I turned on color. Yes, I know the feet are grossly tiny in proportion, but isn’t it interesting how you can see early evidence of my failure to plan ahead?
So there you have it. Oh yes, and the photo to your right was taken over thirteen years ago at my wedding, and is perhaps the day I looked and felt my best so why not use it for now? Until, of course, if and when there is a need for a more professional sitting for a book jacket…
Bifocular, menopausal, and now introspective; a truly evil combination and not as yet a totally pleasant place to be. But it spurs thoughts on life and living, albeit driven by impending…well, lack of life and living. Failing eyesight that prevents me from seeing clearly beyond my fingertips forces closer inspection of what’s within that range. Gradual blurring of the world beyond is magically crystal clear with lenses that offer a new view of that which was forgotten. Hot flashes, if you can close your eyes and enjoy them, are reminiscent of youthful passion that’s been tempered by time as well. A tolerance–not apathy–of difference of opinion, and yet without the indecision and reluctance to opine.
“Do not go gently into that good night, Rage, rage against the dying of the light…” Why? Just use the time wisely while the light still allows one to see.
Just came home from a visit with Michael at Twists & Turns and it was an odd visit at that. I began reading his post, “Last Night’s Adventure” and read through to the end before realizing he was describing a dream he had. My own interests (coupled with the guilt of not tending to some of them lately) have changed dramatically and influenced my comprehension of the entry enough for me to suddenly discover that I had been reading it as Interactive Fiction.
With my past troubled experiences and delights at this form of new media, I eagerly found my fingers poised over the keyboard as I read, ready to type in “go north” or “examine room” and was a bit disappointed that I would not be allowed into this “adventure.” I’ve done this once before with a short story written by S.E. when it was presented piecemeal, and even had a map of the floorplan of the house in which the story took place.
Michael has another website called Dreams, and he’s a writer. Twists and Turns is an amazing name for a weblog, as well as for the maze of IF. It seems he’d be a natural for writing that type of fiction!
If all goes according to plan, someone at some distant point in time will notice a rock settled deeply into decades of composted leaves in one of the few remaining American forests, and with a start, realize that it has a name! He is tempted to take it with him but even though he’s on the return path home from a soul-refreshing walk in the rare parts left to nature, it seems a little heavy to carry any distance. He half-squats down to take a closer look and then spots the much smaller rock just touching to its left that seems to have a name as well. But no, this one just has a chiseled “Self-Defeatist Extraordinaire”. Since it’s small and less personalized than “Susan” he can slip it in his pocket, and this is what he does before he goes his way.
I’m glad he has stolen this weight I’ve carried through my lifetime, but worry that while he’s freed me, by his interest or amusement he may carry the burden well upon himself throughout his years.
In other words, in the midst of doubt about my words, I now discover—and this was self-imposed with all accompanying inspiration and excitement—that I’ve lost the touch at art as well. At age ten I was phenomenal, and now I draw no better that I did then.
Told you I’d lighten it up a little today, didn’t I?
No comments.
This evening, when I explained to my Spanish Professor why I hadn’t progressed much in the language between semesters and what I had been doing that has changed my goals and immediate plans, he said that it sounded as if I am self actualizing. I vaguely remember Maslow’s Psychological theory and fear that I’m really not that far along yet, though perhaps it is a good way of sticking a label on what I’ve been going through intellectually and emotionally these past couple of months that will help me understand it.
The self-centeredness that I confess in this journal, setting a focus that’s related to my own needs and realizing the potentials, is not the way I’ve been brought up to think, and though you’ve known me a very short time, please do believe that the very act of writing in this public journal for all to read is not something I could ever have done until now. Telling strangers my thoughts, sans the mask of fictional titles or subtleties hidden within short stories or poetry is foreign territory, and most of my experience or desires has only been told to the most intimate of friends, and none know all. But with or without an audience, I need to express the changes that are happening and this seems to be the means.
This is a personal but necessary undertaking, and I hope that while Spinning is becoming the mirror that serves to reveal myself to me, that it has enough going on in other areas that it remains a source of entertainment to others, and a practice of writing skills for myself. This hike I find myself on has been forced by time and circumstance, situation and people all coming together at the very instant of fertility, and there’s no way I can stop its conception and development at this point.
Boring to most of you, I’m sure, and so I may set up a warning post title which could lead you to avoid this Susanizing process, but then, the writing is the impetus and the path.
I’ll lighten up and try to be more amusing tomorrow.
Well it’s here, the official end of my “free time”. Class starts tonight. Today I want to: draw something to use as a Spinning logo, write an essay, try to catch up my Spanish, do the sales tax, decide and record my new shop hours, clean the house, bake something that will make me feel good, write something profound, decide if I really want to dig any deeper into the new meaning of liberal/conservative vs. democrat/republican; make sure all the bills are paid up, e-mail friends I’ve let slide, write myself a reminder on any of the end of January/beginning of February deadlines, take a serious look at a story I’ve been sitting on, and hide from the world in general because I’m starting to get confused about a lot of things. I think I need a half-gallon of Friendly’s Forbidden Chocolate, and I don’t even want to share it.
Very strange day, today. The thought of rejection brings giant luna moths flapping around in anyone’s stomach, and luckily, it’s not a routine occurrence for any single individual. Today, I witnessed the rejection of three people, and how each handled it is an exercise in character study. Although to be completely fair, all three placed themselves in the position of facing possible rejection, and that alone demands a good deal of strength of character, ego, and confidence.
I very seldom watch any television lately, but wandered in on the last 15 minutes of whatever that show is called with Donald Trump where contestants vie for a spot in The Don’s empire by rising to challenges to
I’m getting excited about the upcoming first meeting of our new writing group, Narratives in mid-February. It’s an eclectic group that hasn’t met face-to-face as yet, but we have all, I believe, some ties to the community college and the professors who are involved as well. The menu is just as eclectic, ranging from poetry and fiction to essay, film and the New Media of hypertext and interactive fiction (you early readers will recall my failure to thrive in my initial attempts at Photopia, Curses, and many others).
There’s also a Writers Conference being planned at the college by Neha at Wanderlust, and that’s going to run for a couple days concurrent with an art show and poetry reading on campus. Wish you all could be there!
All this is just perfect timing for my own unscratchable itch to write, although I must admit to hauling a lot of people into involvement with this like logs into a fire, and hope they get as much out of it as I will. But then, I’m short, and they can stomp me real easy if they want to!
I’ve sat down to post many times today, but because there were so many ideas floating unfinished in my head and getting mixed up with each other, I did mundane household chores instead. And shoveled snow. Yes, it has a therapeutic effect, and I think that’s why I like working in my frameshop, because it doesn’t demand too much mental energy on a continual basis. I work with my hands, and just as when you drive a car, much of it is automatic, freeing my mind to wander as it will creatively, without having to focus on something that’s not as interesting.
One thing I want to do is move the post, Hermetta, to Talespinning because I think I can work on the story now. It’s new, but it’s relevant to my feelings of freedom and writing. In thinking about it, my dream was always to live up in a cabin in the woods somewhere, writing, growing my own veggies and fruit, making wine, going into town once a month for the necessary staples. Now that dream is more within reason—as long as I’m not too deep in the woods for a cable modem.
Forget what I said in the below post. This post is what I’ll label as a “stall entry”. I convinced my husband, who leaves for his job at 5 am to drive 45 minutes that I would handle the driveway. So I took a peek at it. There’s a lot of snow out there. I came back in to write something here instead.
It’s not the snow, it’s not the cold, its not the work that bothers me. It’s the noise. I hate noise. I don’t like a vacuum cleaner, I don’t like power tools, I don’t like people arguing, and I don’t like noisy snowblowers.
But as a member of the Silver Lining Club, I must find a reason to go out there. And this is the best I can come up with when seeking deep meaning from simple things: Doing what you don’t want to have to do builds character.
Pray for me.
I know she meant well, but Wendy at Allseasons had such beautiful snowy weather that she felt obligated to send it out east, I guess. Yes, it’s lovely, and I do sincerely sympathize with some of her commentors that report actually never having seen snow.
But it’s interesting to me that with all the Super-Doppler and newfangled meteorological equipment, just going around to the blogs in the morning gives me a more accurate indication of if and when a storm’s going to hit.
Not only that, but with the creative bend of those on my blogging Typelist, the reports are given in a much more uplifting manner that inspires, and actually has me looking forward to whatever’s coming!
I locked my notes on the Hurston story in the barn and it’s cold out and I’m not going back out to get them. But I will rewrite them as soon as I can.
However, I just wanted to share (screams “cliché” doesn’t it?) this, because I found it funny…
We were just eating dinner and J had left the TV on the Weather Channel because of the snowstorm moving in tonight. Well, let’s face it, there’s only so many ways they can give a forecast, even if it does include the entire United States, so they have to come up with some “fillers”. As I ate, without really listening closely to the TV, I suddenly realized that with all the storm warnings, the weather lady was explaining how to fall down properly if you slip on the ice. Honest; she said the right way to do it is to hold your arms out and relax your body.
Hhmm. I hope I remember that.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology