BLOGGING: Oopsies!

Posted on November 12, 2003 by Susan

Just realized that I’ve lost some links as I’ve been adding more–must find out if I’m limited by number as to what will show up, and replace and rearrange. Sincere apologies to those who have been somehow dropped–I assure you it is temporary, and your place will be re-established with the pomp and circumstance you all deserve. For you were my beginning and the most important of them all; treasured friends and teachers, guiders on the web. Not to worry; Susie fix. I thank you for your patience and support and promise to resolve this unintentional offence, and beg forgiveness for my sin.

Shit. One more thing for me to figure out and find the time to do.

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LITERATURE: Loodbay Eridianmay

Posted on November 12, 2003 by susan

An unusual aspect of McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and one that is noticed immediately is the lack of proper punctuation–commas, quotation marks, and semi-colons are all missing or sparsely used. Once you get used to it, you find that it is in fact the writer’s tool in style. What it accomplishes is more evident as one penetrates deeper into the story. Together with longer sentence structure, McCarthy uses it to pace the plot with action sequences that increase in horror and the reader finds himself reading these sequences more quickly to stop at a period and feel a sudden shock at what just happened. “But the judge was like a cat and he sidestepped the man and seized his arm and broke it and picked the man up by his head. He put him against the wall and smiled at him but the man had begun to bleed from the ears and the blood was running down between the judge’s fingers and over his hands and when the judge turned him loose there was something wrong with his head and he slid to the floor and did not get up.” Beautifully done.

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WRITING: A Soft Landing

Posted on November 12, 2003 by Susan

A dreamless night for lack of sleep. No spiral down, but up and up and up to ride one last great wave exhausted to the shore. I reach my goal of gritty sand, rolled in by foamy bubbles that gently break the harsh transition to firm reality. He was awake.

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WRITING: Blogging as a Self-analytical Tool

Posted on November 12, 2003 by Susan

Okay, so even I am getting tired of my own whining. Huge ego hidden within a cloak of deprecatory rhetoric. Too easily led by encouragement to go off the deep end and believe more than what is there. Creativity used blasphemously to swell one’s head to poppable proportions. I am not the sea nor river, but a spot of leftover rain on the driveway, and must learn to use my spot as best I can.

Tempting to delete all previous posting—who else is up at this ungodly hour? But no, I’ll leave it as a reminder to myself and use it as a public stock because embarrassment is a good teacher.

I’ll sleep now, and spend the night dreams in a spiral down to earth. And pray the Lord my soul to keep, and let me wake up me or someone better.

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WRITING: Cohabitation

Posted on November 12, 2003 by Susan

Why for some is it so easy? For me, writing is getting into character. Multiple Personality Disorder with order and control. Suspension of reality. Distance from laundry and the like. Disassociation from while intensely analyzing the mob. Full screen TV movie with West Wing embedded in the lower left hand corner. Sleeping through the downtime to be awake when active inspiration hits. Being there just enough so as not to offend or attract undue notice. Cloning oneself to exist among others while absorbing and expending energy from and to other sources and channels. Watchmen’s Dr. Manhattan is even dearer to me now, and I’m green with envy and wanting to turn blue.

I suppose it all comes down to organization of time and space. And understanding as to when one’s ego is swelling to the bursting point with imagined eloquence that really isn’t there. When to stop…and when to race ahead. Can days cut into chunks of opposing personalities truly be a learned and practiced format? Can weeks or months be rearranged to suit a mood? Am I just not getting it? Scatterbrained and lazy? Is it beyond my depth, or am I reaching in too deep? Can I forget the I and still exist and be productive? And this; why aren’t I smart enough to know?

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WRITING: Effort

Posted on November 11, 2003 by Susan

Cannot, cannot, cannot do it. Mix business with pleasure. Live reality and fantasy concurrently–the simultaneous worlds of Dr. Manhattan time. And give them each their due. Working in the shop it was easier—my mind can go one way while my hands automatically work in response to human need. The demanding cloud of swirling thoughts that rained ideas is gone now that I’ve attended to daily living too deeply. The remaining puddles have slowly dried up under the sun’s unyielding force of heat. Even reading now is not pleasurable. Is this my real voice?

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PEOPLE: Their Own Deeper Meaning

Posted on November 11, 2003 by Susan

I shouldn’t let myself get too far away from people again. My neighbor called me this morning to come over and check out two dresses she picked up for me at Filene’s. Knowing my lifestyle, my time schedule and my current need for a formal dress by the Christmas holidays, she did my shopping for me. I bought both dresses because she was righter about what I’d like and look good in than I would have been.

People could be really caring if you let them.

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LITERATURE: Loodbay Eridianmay

Posted on November 11, 2003 by susan

Forgot my pigeon English or whatever it was called, but have learned to avoid the Great Google and Yahoo Search gods by not entering the proper names of stories, so you’ll have to figure it out.
Am now grateful for knowing a little Spanish, as I do understand most of the words and phrases in this book by C. McCarthy that are in the language. Have enjoyed the book well enough so far, although it took a while to get used to the style of writing, and am glad that I had some time today to do some straight, uninterrupted reading—although not quite as much as I had planned. I can get inside the head of the kid, but something bothers me about his actions, as if I missed some explanation at the beginning for his attitude and the path he has taken. May need to reread the first few pages.

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REALITY?: Time and The Spending Thereof

Posted on November 10, 2003 by Susan

I have earned this day. A day of just reading—required reading, but to me, just about any reading is a joy and grudgingly done only when I could be writing instead. Only a few little errands to run, a phone call to my father instead of the usual Monday visit, and then blessed hours spent reading.

As is my usual manner, I have stressed myself out this weekend over how time was to be spent and instead have almost thoroughly enjoyed what I had wasted time dreading. Brunch with a neighbor, dinner with J., giant gains in the framing workload, papers written, and best of all, a dinner with our closest friends. A meeting of three couples who over venison sauerbraten, coconut custard and apple pies and wine can face and get beyond the possibility that one of them may not be among them in a year. Facing, accepting, and getting back to a place as close to normal as the knowledge can allow. Playing games and laughing; embracing with hugs that include an extra squeeze of emphatic love that we have come to recognize is needed to be shown more often.

A good day. Each and every one.

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REALITY?: And All That It Implies

Posted on November 9, 2003 by Susan

“Susan, come quick!”

I run to the kitchen and look out the window where J. is pointing out to the backyard. Three bluebirds are flitting between bathing in the shallow puddled water on the pool cover, perching on the bare branches of the birches and peaches, and best of all, investigating the bluebird house to possibly consider moving in come spring. We’re both excited by the prospect, and mindful of our luck to spot them as they play for only a few minutes before they continue their migration. But one, a male in all his bluest brilliance, comes and sits on the bush just a few feet from the window. And then he’s off! Leaving me behind with hope and promise, and a smile upon my days-old grouchy face.

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REALITY?: Horoscopes

Posted on November 9, 2003 by Susan

While I am not a believer in horoscopes primarily because I don’t believe there are only twelve types of people in this world, in checking my e-mail early this morning (while, of course, I was on the computer working on papers due) I received a greeting from Excite @ Home (now Comcast, in the American takeover tradition) and checked it to find a horoscope included. Now if you’ve followed my last couple of posts, this will fit right in with them, and piles more guilt upon my head as well:

November 09, 2003

“Scorpio Horoscope
October 23 – November 21

You’re being closed and distant and if you think that the people you’re spending time with don’t notice, you’re wrong. Contrary to what you might think, nodding your head every so often doesn’t make it seem like you’re really listening. If you keep it up, you’ll run the risk of seriously offending the person who’s talking to you. It shouldn’t be that hard to get your head out of the clouds and focus on what’s going on around you, especially since this isn’t expected of you all that often.”

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REALITY?: Time and Answers

Posted on November 8, 2003 by Susan

Thank you for the sympathy and understanding from those of you who commented on my predicament of time management posted below–I realize that it’s a problem for so many people these days. I have made a dent in my frameshop work today, and am working on classwork. I’ve snuck away for a couple minutes here and am pretending to be working on a paper right now so that I could get to the blog because I can’t quit cold turkey. Have Documents minimized so that at the touch of a button I can hide what I’m doing here. Should be finished some time tonight with first real draft. Tomorrow I will arise early and work on laundry and classwork stuff some more, then go and smile my way through the day until I can get back to work. Feel very, very guilty because friends I will see are dear ones, and C. will be there so we have to cheer her up.

Am seriously considering going away for a few weeks to New Hampshire to get snowed in in a small cabin on a lake. Can pretend phone is disconnected. Am eagerly watching weather reports for northern New England. Can I pull it off? Just had a great idea of a small group of writers taking off for a week and running off with our laptops into separate corners of a hideaway somewhere where no one can reach us…

Am starting to talk like Rorschach of Watchmen. Hurm.

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BLOGGING: 1000 Hits!

Posted on November 8, 2003 by Susan

Congratulations to the 1000th winner of the Spinning Log Hits! —

Some stranger who doesn’t care about Spinning, Writing, Reading, or even blogging. Just someone who followed Google’s search for Margaret Atwood’s Happy Endings. As soon as I get the time, I’m going to delete that post, as well as a few others that are catching people in my web in their innocent search for something else.

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REALITY?: Time

Posted on November 8, 2003 by Susan

How ironic. The moment I decide that I have been too selfish with my time and give it back to the people and things I have neglected, it is taken from me with a vengeance. Control has been ripped from my mind and my entire weekend—my birthday weekend at that—is to be spent racing from pleasing one person to another, as they try to please me. If I can cross “sleep” off my to-do list, I may be able to do it all. Dinner, brunch, evening, dinner again—all requiring a “yes, I’d love to” or I jeopardize love and friendship and family. Framing, classwork—all requiring my acquiescence or risking business and education. I hope none catch me at taking this ten minutes to blow off steam.

Odd, that this should come about when I am determined to shed my selfish habits, but when others are making gestures of caring. Had anyone asked what I wanted for myself this weekend I would have answered, “Time.”

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STORIES: Surprises

Posted on November 7, 2003 by Susan

Waiting to find out is the worst part. Usually is for most people I guess, but me especially, I just don’t like it. Although I don’t like surprises either—surprises good or bad. I always snuck around and searched the house the weeks before Christmas, though I’ve stopped now that I’m grown. From the day that Daddy told me that they had to run some tests, I’ve been living with balloons afraid to turn or move; listening for the sharp Bam! Bam! that will bring the world and truth in that much closer. And hard, you know, to act like it was normal with the younger ones who don’t know anything could be different yet. Daddy hasn’t said nothing more about it, just telling me because he knew that Mama would be needing help around the house. He never meets me eye to eye now so I know he’s got his own way of keeping distance and don’t want me reaching in and breaking through. But his shoulders aren’t as massive and his back is not as straight, and he looks older and more wrinkled though I iron his clothes with the crispness of sharp creases, just like Mama taught me years ago. Mama won’t mention it at all. She goes about the house in her routine a little slower or sometimes stops to sit at the kitchen table for a little while. It looks to me like she’s wearing her dresses a little longer, but I know she hasn’t bothered letting down the hems. She ties her apron a little tighter and the dress top puckers up and drapes in folds around the waistband where you could see inside the heavy sweater she took to wearing every day. Sometimes when she thinks that I’m not watching she’ll rub her belly; as if another little brother is growing inside. She pretends she doesn’t notice that I sometimes finish what she’d started, as if a “thank you” would expose the whole charade. She’ll look me in the eye though; daring me to speak and make it real until I finally look away because I won’t.

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