I still have 26 pages to go of my first edit, but....I just signed up for this year's National Novel Writing Month.
I don't expcet to reach 50,000 words, because I have a lot of research to do, the young adult story takes place in France, long ago. Long ago meaning I am not yet fully decided on the time period. So I am not planning on doing the mad dash I did last year (hey but I did reach 50,000 words because of it!). So why did I sign up? I think doing so will help me focus my energy on this new project, keep me moving forward, and at a pace greater than I would do on my own.

so I better get back to finishing my edit of Echo, Fountain of Swans begins the day after tomorrow.

by the bye,

I didn't know that CPR's chest compressions do not restart the heart. Their function is to keep blood pumping through the heart, thus flowing through the body, so that oxygen can reach the brain and other organs keeping them and tissues alive, until the heart can be given the energy shock (defibrillation) that will (hopefully) restart it beating.

unpleasant research. Almost done with first edit, but held for a moment suspended over an area that it seems I need to amend. I do not want to however, as reality is interfering with how I prefer to see the scene. And if I do surrender to it, then I must go back and change some things about 5 chapters ago. The area is the death of a character, the exact details of how, and I must resolve it today, as I wish not to be held here, over this space, trying to see it more clearly, any longer. Like it is happening in slow motion, with little alterations made, before it plays before me again. The outcome always the same.

I am thinking about NaNoWriMo. The story I am working on editing, is the one I used NaNo for last year, to help me really focuses my energy and move forward through it. My goal is to be done with the first edit by the last day of October. Then give the work to some family members to read and review. So that I wont be working on this story at all during November, thus will be able to see it with fresher eyes when I do look at it again. What I am wondering is, whether I should take a break in November,
or use NaNo to help me dive right back in with another project? I wouldn't set 50,000 words for the month as my goal, because I know I have a lot of research to do for whichever of the two stories I choose to work on, which is why I thought I wouldn't do NaNo at all, but if I do it, it might help me energize my focus, and make sure I am also writing while I am doing research.
I don't know, guess I better decide soon. :)

Phoctober, I know I haven't been doing it, and I thought and said I would, but..I don't know how much longer I will be able to be home and have the time that affords me to write, so my goal is to finish the story first. And I have been working on that, which feels right to me; I can't let myself feel guilty about that. So that is why I haven't been Phoctobering.

thinking about:

Jennifer Hudson, I can't believe that about her mother and brother; and where is her nephew? (I'm still hoping it isn't actually true.) As I said a few days ago I've been listening to her song "All Dressed in Love" while I work on my writing. It will sound different today. I might not be able to listen to it today. (my thoughts and prayers go out to her.)

I saw the movie "Waitress" recently, and liked "Baby don't you cry (the pie song)" and couldn't believe it when I found out the woman, Adrienne Shelly, who wrote the movie, and was an actress in it, also the writer of that song (her little daughter appears at the end of the movie), had been killed. I listen to the song, and I try to still hear it the first way I did, but it wont stay pure, it takes on other tones, being changed by time and sadness.

J.M. Barrie, the writer of Peter Pan. I made the mistake this past week of reading the introduction to Peter Pan. I've seen "Finding Neverland" I know that the mother dies. Yet I was completely unprepared for the number of tragedies that visited this one family, thus the life of Mr. Barrie. It seems to me that only so much grief should be given out to any one group. No more than that which can fit in the palm of a hand. But this was swallowing grief, drowning, vast and heavy.

Does it make me feel lucky? Does it make me feel fragile? I don't know. I know I feel sad, and uncertain, and I don't understand, and I wish it would never be, could never be that way. I want forever. I wish we all had forever. In my own life, I don't really believe my cousin is dead. I wonder if my refusal to accept it dishonors her in some way? But it makes no sense to me. Not at all possible. It seems rather easier to remove myself one step from reality then to weave this piece of information in.

I think of Tuck Everlasting because I like the message it was trying to bring. But it is hard enough to accept the notion of having a time, and that time being over some day, when the some day is after a full long life; I find it nearly impossible to accept when the time is brief, over too soon. When someone dies at the beginning, or even the middle, of what I consider to be a turn.

I remember when I was young, and old was any age more than mine. Now I am 38, and old, I think of mostly as a state of mind, and old enough to have lived long enough for it to be time to die, I think of as being at least 100 years. And even that sounds a brief time to have walked the earth.

Why give her so much, enlighten her, brighten her, fill her dreams full, then take away a piece of her, vast, fracturing her forever? So that no matter how much light finds her, fills her, no matter how she seeks to heal and restore, even though she will surely find joy again, still she can never again be completely whole.

The Pie Song

When the world is grey and bleek
baby don't you cry
I will give you every bit of love that's in my heart
I will bake it up into a simple little pie ***

Baby don't you cry
gonna make a pie
gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle
Baby don't be blue gonna make for you
gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle
Gonna be a pie from heaven above
gonna be filled with strawberry love
Baby don't you cry gonna make a pie
and hold you forever in the middle of my heart
Baby here's the sun, baby here's the sky
Baby I'm your light and I'm your shelter
baby you are mine I could freeze the time keep you in my kitchen with me forever
Gonna be a pie from heaven above
gonna be filled with strawberry love
Baby don't you cry
gonna make a pie and hold you forever in the middle of my heart
ooooh, ooooh....
Gonna bake a pie from heaven above
gonna be filled with butterscotch love
Gonna bake a pie from heaven above
gonna be filled with bananacream love
Baby don't you cry gonna bake a pie
and hold yo-u forever
and hold yo-u forever
and hold you forever in the middle of my heart
****

It is raining and dark, has been all day. And I haven't done any work.
I have that lost feeling (that I don't often have) where nothing seems quite right, feels quite right, though nothing feels wrong either. Nothing calls, and nothing fills, I just am. And thus am uncertain what at the moment to do with me. It isn't a scary lost, with nervousness and sorrow; it is rather just a lacking of personal placement.
I don't think I will ever get used to the idea that people die, so I know I wont ever get used to the reality of it. And I can't hold onto time, not even one moment of it. Not even on a nothing day like today, all grey and raining. It will be gone too soon and I wont get it back.

It is weird to think about all the things that are happening to the people in the world at even given moment. Great joy, shattered sorrow, swimming in the sun, freezing in the cold, dying, being born, falling in love, getting a divorce, eating dinner, eating breakfast, falling to sleep, rising,..I feel impossibly internally and externally still. Filling a moment with stillness.

suspected prowler, lack of sleep, jury duty, headache.
writing.

playing All Dressed in Love, by Jennifer Hudson, over and over, while I write.

boring the heck out of Bob, who among other things, can't share my frustration over my inability to grasp all the differences between, commas, colons, and semi-colons. I don't want to use a comma after so, as in meaning therefore.

thinking of how, the words and sentences, spill over, sloppily, like a slobbering St. Bernard dog.

I love scent memories. I just got up to get an apple. I couldn't resist smelling its golden delicious skin. And suddenly there I was, a me of many years ago, standing in the barn on my grandfather's land, peering inside the special wooden room filled with apples. I don't often think about the apple trees, there are so many other things to remember. But these too were part of him, and therefore are also part of me.

Nope. I don't like using the comma with therefore either.

man-y-kin

Mannequin - a dummy used to display clothes in a store window.
I had to pass her every day on the boardwalk the week we were at the beach.
Bob wanted to know why I wanted a picture of her, I said, "because I never saw a mannequin that looked like she had breast implants before." ( the flash here flattens her out a bit)

Man-y-kin - a group or division of women, used like dummies to display their bodies in the world window we call media, for the pleasure of men.
I think bodies are beautiful. The naked body is not shameful. HOWEVER...I am sick and tired of women thinking they are empowering themselves by standing 90% naked in the public eye.
Who came up with that one?
I just saw the most recent Britney video, Womanizer, and can't help but wonder why every other scene has her naked in a sauna? Why I keep seeing her bra and up her legs in the other scenes? The man in the video has a suit on the whole time, except there is one flash of a male chest, which might be his. This made me think of the new Beyonce video (I have not seen all of yet, but I did see a clip of, probably while watching the Hills.) She is wearing, a bikini sized outfit, her thighs and body all oiled up, and dancing in such a way, that men being men, will say, "Oh yeah, she wants it."
The thing that I don't understand is this, these women are already established as singers, as entertainers, why can't they wear more clothes, and dance, um I don't know in a way less like, "give it to me now." ?
Maybe it does make them feel empowered, I imagine it does work well at getting men's attention. These women certainly are objects of desire. Wanted. Lusted after. Fantasized about. And they certainly are making bank.
But I wish it was more about the songs, the words, the talent. I know these women work hard. And I can't see that, I am a woman, and I am distracted. I am not thinking about what she is singing, what content it might be about, this woman's gifts, talents, whatever. All I see is her body, so that becomes what she is about, her body. And certainly she is her body, but she is also so much more.
And I can't help but wonder if women will ever (in the media) present the so much more first, rather than showing us her body, 90% naked, writhing, gyrating, and then trying to use that to get us interested in what if anything else they have to offer. And most do have a lot more than that to offer. Can't they sell albums (oops. Who you calling old? I mean CDs) and be successful in the media, and still be sexy, without being so blatantly sex?

by the bye,
While Bob will peer at the cover of Maxim while at the bookstore, he actually seems put off by these types of vidoes. I think because he like me, expects different content depending on the media outlet.

bah

sentence crafting, clearly I don't know the art of it. I am totally clueless, lacking.

I keep reading over the sentences I find in actual novels, then going back to my own.
I glean nothing.
I am not improved, in thought, or in ability to perceive, what is good, and what is bad, within that which I call my own. It all just is.
Well perhaps I find a few sentences, paragraphs that I like, and think them pretty good as they are, and I find a few really jarring clunkers, advertising their awkwardness, and I think, 'Yeah, I need to figure out how to fix those.'
But mostly the sentences seem to me to be neither, they just are.
Am I supposed to be trying to make each and every sentence good?
Giving each one specialized, magnified, attention?
I believe I am supposed to be lovingly crafting, chipping away parts, forming, paring down, then polishing all, till stuff shines.
I don't know how to do any of that.
Instead I lift my shoulders, hands open, palms up, a perpetual shrug of questioning, and nothing knowing-ness, err knowing nothingness. Ugh.
I don't know why I am to be filled with ideas, if I am also constrained within a form that lacks skills, and the ability to retain information, understand concepts, and grow.
Then again, also, I fear I am lacking drive, the call to make each part of a structure beautiful and just right.


Yep, definitely gonna need help, outside help, on the whole editing thing.
It is Sunday now, and I am up to over 107,000 words. I don't know much, but I am guite certain that when editing, part of the process is getting rid of all the unnecessary words and sentences. While some areas might need more clarification, thus adding words, still this would be balanced out by getting rid of excess in other areas, so numbers wouldn't go up. Apparently I'm not doing that.
I have been able though to get rid of some the (s). As in: the cat, the calomine lotion, the bag of manure.

fini

with a little over 105,800 words,
plus my overlay of sericulture, one for silkworms, the other silk, =about 2, 500 together (they may or may not be woven into story, they may be woven in as they are, as in on separate pages, or may be dismantled and absorbed into the whole, or may just be tossed aside. But at any rate, they are done).

So rough draft number uno is finally done.
It is however way past my bedtime, and I had an unusually tiring and unrestful weekend, so I'm not currently feeling the Joy.
But hopefully I will soon. Perhaps not tomorrow though, as my being up now will result in my being too tired tomorrow to function at a high, or a cheerful level. (6am is a dreadful to get up)
Regardless tomorrow I should be onto editing. I am quite interested in reading it now that it is all formed, roughly, but still completely. I read through as of this moment sounds like a good thing.
My bed is calling me.
Goodnight, sweet dreams.

ode to summer

I took this while riding my bike


Bob took this one, I don't do rides

http://hua.umf.maine.edu/China/shang2.html
(c) Marilyn Shea, 1996, 1999, 2002, 2007

The above link is the source of these photos, none of which are mine
I came across them in my silk worm, and silk research this morning
obviously this is embroidery

How I love those leaves, vibrant and alive they seem. I think of her quietly bent over her work, nothing extraordinary in her form or movement, yet upon a white background, with needle and colored thread, she creates beauty

Birds and flowers, again as one who oil paints, and sculpts, not necessarily well, but still I do, and as a would be/wannabe writer, I love this creation, of seeing something materialize before our eyes, come into being. Separate things coming together, elements drawn together, transformed by hands into scenes of beauty.

Why still researching? I am now, as it feels like I have always ever been, on the verge of finishing rough draft number uno. But it wasn't enough to wonder if I should add in silkworms, and metaphors to such, the dead betta wanted to be included as well (which I attempted quite awkwardly yeserday), and I got a nudge from silk yesterday that today has turned into silk saying "Hey, I can be symbolic too. Use me for metaphors." No, I don't want to. I am done. You hear me done! "oh come on, at least look into using certain aspects for chapter titles." No, no, no! Silkworms said the same thing. What are you expecting me to work both in!? I can't, and I don't need to. "I'm only expecting you to try." Yeah to waste one more day, or perhaps several more, running around with all sorts of odd bits of info, and more internet research, and then trying to overlay it over everything else I have already done. Ugh. No. no. NO! "Just try it, just today, jot all points down on paper, see if they intersect or overlap, see if they work together intrinsically. No more research at this point. Just lay out the points of story, of silk worms, and of silk production, and see if there are any echoes. "Yeah I know there are some, but there is story timeline, and silk worm timeline, and silk one, everything wont evolve at same point, same time together. "You get to discard the idea if it doesn't work. I'm not asking you to bend anything, to force it. I am asking you to look and see. And anyway you know as well as I do, that you will stress eat and do all kinds of unnecessary negative avoidance strategies in trying not to do this, better, quicker, and easier, to just surrender now. Be annoyed, set all the points out, decide what works, and then move on."
( I could explain why silk gets quotes talking to me in my head, but my own voice in my head doesn't, but...)

back to photos from the link

On the one hand, I do not believe I can approve of the world bird trade, something inherently wrong about keeping something that can fly in a cage (plus I know some are harmed, and some die along the way), but at the same time I am drawn to the imagery of it. Of rows of exotic creatures, and winged beings, in cages; attempts at wildness contained; chatter and life bursting forth. Noisy, colorful. I like aviaries, I like bird houses, and I like bird cages too.

by the bye,
I do wish the wild birds flitting about my yard would stop crashing into the windows. I am sure it is to be considered my fault (and feel appropriately guilty), but know not how to fix it. For weeks now, bang, crash, splat. Oh and birdsong of course (but not from the one currently smashing into the window).

well I am off to search for overlapping points...but first I think I will get a bite to eat

update- 6:19 pm the following day, any more researching and I think my laptop will catch fire. I admit I might look into some books I have a bit more tomorrow, but overall research done. Finding the "right" words to google made a big difference.

I shall dream tonight of silkworms spinning cocoons in figure eights,infinity,through successive lifetimes, each one brief. Held for a moment, just long enough to reach forward and form the next generation. So there are always silkworms, silk moths in the world, though each lifetime, each single moth is scarcely here (the moths only live for a couple of days to a week if left to nature's timing. And most don't leave cocoons alive if they are part of sericulture). Then I shall dream of cocoons unraveling being transformed and formed into lustrous silks. Is it a fairytale? Is it a horror story? Yes. I feel its wonder, enchantment, death, and sadness. I never realize where something has come from, where it has been, how many hands, how many lives have touched it, and worked on creating it, to bring it to this point in time. I'll never look at silk the same way again. It wont be with distaste though, it will be with reverence. It is a sacrifice, albeit one not taken up voluntarily by the silk moths, but still a sacrifice for to create something beautiful, useful and beautiful. It has given people industry, food, clothing, shelter. Does that make it worth it? Is that justifiable? I don't know. I'm not sure how I truly feel about the milking of cows and the sheering of sheep (though those don't involve death), et. cetera (I left my veg ways behind several years back, but I'm still uncomfortable with animals dying so I can eat them). But I won't eagerly step forward into a life without goods created by animals. As I try to decide how I feel (how I should feel?), for the goods created through these processes, I do know one thing for sure. From here on I will think about where things come from, and for the sacrifices made, I will feel gratitude.

had a school meeting with Cheese's teachers and guidance today, and buried Frederick Tornado (fish funeral).

Doorways

birds bathing

This time of year, the skies and grounds, and birdbaths are filled with flocks of brown, (and black) birds.
I love watching them.
I felt like a sneaky peeker the other day, as I tried to hide in the dark of the dining room and watch them bathe

They made a great amount of noise, chattering and splashing.
These photos don't show the true amount of them. It seemed like there were a hundred but they saw me and most flew away. Still others came in waves, and I stood back across the room watching.


Yes the water and fountain are a bit...mucky. About every other day I add fresh water to it. Several times I have dumped all the water out and blasted the green slimy sides with the hose on jet, trying to clean it. But it insists on being sludgy. And apparently the birds prefer it that way. The first year I had it when it was all white, and the water clear, I had scarcely a visitor. Now, they love it. It seems they picnic in it, there are bits of seeds, and feathers, and bugs, and berries. There are also bits of leaves, and flowers, and twigs. And sometimes I notice these tiny worm like creatures living in the water, which I do not know if I should work hard to eradicate or just let be. Do they help or harm the birds?

I guess it is not so much a fountain as it is a rather small odd pond.
If this was a bird spa this would be the mud bath.

Happy Phoctober 1st

I am uncertain if Moon is doing Phoctober this year, (as in photo-October) a month of photo posts each day, but as I have fallen behind in my blogging in general and have nil photo posting as of late, I think I should definitely try for it.
So here is my day one, photos from this morning.

By the bye,
doing much better today.