Wasting time in a wannabe writer way.

Spent last two hours looking at photos online, searching for images for my characters. Still struggling with my main man Kin, but I have found faces for some surrounding characters, which actually is good, since sometimes they can be blurry and less developed for me. So giving them a concrete image, forces them more clearly into focus. Only thing is, now I have a headache, my eyes feel like they are crossed, and nausea is setting in. A.K.A I haven't actually gotten any writing done, and I am not going to.

I don't usually go for pretty characters, but this particular story (JAD) does call for it, and, honestly models and actors via TV, the internet, and magazines, are the easiest resource to glean images and thus likenesses from. I mean I know what my characters look like, but I can't picture them precisely. They are always slightly out of focus when created with just my imagination. So it helps if I can tether my image to an actual person.

glug glug glug- just chugging along, typing up notebook stuff. It's disarray (no not in disarray- it is disarray itself).- with one notebook page spanning three totally different parts of the story. Oh how I am not looking forward to all the work it will take to get this story typed up and in proper order.

On the upside (I think), I've realized this story, JAD, can actually have a sequel. I've never had that in a story before. Though come to think of it, I do have a set with a prequel- Fresh Oranges, but the two stories basically stand alone- not having the same characters or anything- and I don't plan on ever publishing the story (Primrose) that came before it. So anyway- I am excited by the prospect of a story with two books. But of course, that means that my notebook now also has bits and pieces of JAD2-fire in the sky, scattered throughout it. Make that notebooks. I have been hesitant to get to the work of typing stuff up, because I am having computer problems- the kind that can't be resolved with this computer. The lovely people at apple told me I can't buy more memory-I am outdated all around-no replacement parts available-and the only upgrade that will fix her, is a whole new computer. Oh and we already turned our vacation into a staycation because our refrigerator died and had to be replaced. Blogger itself keeps announcing I am not compatible with it. Blah. Blek. Stop harassing me, I'd upgrade to google chrome if I could.

So I consider taking the time to type stuff up risky- as I will surely have a meltdown of epic proportions if I can't transfer it to my new computer. But who knows when I will actually have a new computer. And I can't spend the entire summer doing yard work, tending to my flowers- watering them, battling heat waves, the husband, neighbors, and Japanese beetles- all hell bent on killing my plants. Oh infernal weed whacker how I hate the sight of a man holding ye.

Yard work is good though, for writing passively. While watering I realized that more than one story has an angel in it, and several have supernatural or fantastical elements. And I became concerned about whether or not my different stories all have a shared mythology. Of course they don't need to have one- each one can play by its own rules- but of course I want them all to have one (a shared mythology)- for them all to exist together. So I am working on that too, weaving my own universe- a glistening web, that all the little separate planets- worlds of story, can cling to together. And for some reason, even though I haven't even accomplished it yet- the thought of all my little ones under the same umbrella feels right-knowing that they will all fit, and work together, makes me happy.

Whenever I get a new computer- I will be very excited as I will actually be able to share more recent photos on my blog. Don't be surprised if you find October awash in pictures of my May garden. Now let's see if blogger is willing to post this.

Been busy. Still jumping back and forth on writing projects- currently I have been working on JAD, which stands for Just a Dream, or Just a Daydream, since it started from a dream I had, that I then kept going with spinning a daydream around it at night to help me to fall asleep. And after a couple of months I figured what the heck, I'll write it down and see where it goes. I have learned something from doing this, while my story stories (intentional attempts at novel writing) tend to be lacking in the dialogue department, my daydreams have plenty. So I have to figure out, what is so different about them (and my approach to them)- why is one heavy on speaking and the other on narration. I'm just about stopped now though, as I'm actually at the point where I need to do- what else- research! for it. I need to develop it's mythology.

But, I haven't yet, because I am reading The Nine Lives of Chloe King (did I mention that I have decided for sure that I am a YA writer, because that totally justifies reading teen novels, and watching ABCFamily.). And because I have been super busy digging holes- planting stem cuttings, divisions, and several hydrangeas I found on clearance at Lowes, and then watering watering watering- in hopes that they will take. (while my body has added some slight jerks and twitches to the fray- and still can plague me when I try to stand still on a smooth surface- for some reason I have no trouble at all traipsing up and down the hillside.)

I'm re-envisioning the back bank. It's a lovely stretch of yard steep and shady, where many plants have gone to die. Their suffering was due to my lack of accepting the reality of the situation. Now I am trying bigger things-and things that say part sun on the tag. I also gave the trees there all a crew cut. Actually they are bushes and shrubs, but I pruned them to look like little trees (and I don't care how they or anyone else feels about this. Summer haircut!) A neighbor gave me some hostas last fall. And they have made a spectacular difference. I never thought I liked hostas, but trade in a bunch of weeds, for tidy white edged loose spirals of leaves, and yeah-hostas are awesome. And with this bit of encouragement, my mind is looking freshly at the bank, and coming up with other strategies. Like something that had never occurred to me before- planting hydrangeas along the edge at the top.

As I stood there today watering my new plantings- I thought about a speaker on writing and a book on it that I had read- that both mentioned the importance of being able to re-dream your story. That there is the initial version- but that the key is being able to let go of the first version of it, and re-dream, re-envision, re-imagine it. Frankly I never really pushed myself in this direction. I always kind of just let things in my stories, unfold, and evolve, and take me where they are going. But my yard has surely shown me something- how long it takes my thinking to evolve. That my mind isn't as open to seeing all the possibilities that are truly available, as I think it is. But that though it can take half way to forever, if I keep trying, and moving on away from what doesn't work, trying different strategies, something beautiful can still be created where I failed many times before.

So I am trying to open myself up- in my yard, and in my stories- to the power of re-imagining. Re-dreaming till I find the dream that can be made real.

Mind-set reset

    Sometimes I suppose I am but a Winnie-the pooh type, dragging my own Piglety self ever round in circles tracking imagined woozles in the snow. Like magazines, my life covers the same topic year after year. For me, progress involves a lot of time, and occurs in small increments- be it my weight, my writing, and lately my balance. I am trying really hard to ditch negative mindsets.

Last summer I was jogging trying to lean into an image of myself that would be fit, healthy, vital. Then in October the balance stuff started. And it has been a struggle to not see myself through the lens of someone who is unwell in some way. I finally came to the self dx of disembarkment syndrome (Mal de Debarquement Syndrome) and that has really helped me, because it is self limiting, not progressive, and doesn't effect lifespan or anything. But still on a bad day when I try to do something regular, like walk up a small incline, use a public restroom, get out of the car, scrub anything, and I end up feeling like I am ninety, my mindset tends to suffer. So it will take time for me to get used to this and all the minor adjustments I need to make; to be prepared for feeling wonky, but not to expect it.

Now today- Today was a good day. This morning I went to the park and walked by myself. The sort of thing I have hesitated to do because of the hide and seek quality of my equilibrium; one moment I am fine, the next I can feel like I am on a boat- or like I am falling through the ground, or feel like I am being pushed down, or falling backward. Every day I get to ask myself will I be okay today? Answer-Heck I don't know. But today walking I didn't have any problems, and so fueled by that success, I was inspired to try rollerblading this afternoon. I have wanted to do it for the past month but have been scared to try. I mean in the past months I have almost fallen while standing perfectly still on flat ground, so it didn't seem like the best sort of idea. But I did it, and I was fine. Like with walking, moving faster and more decisively tends to work best, much better than attempting lots of stops and starts, looking around, and turning in circles. And hours later I still feel fine. I know I could still get walloped, it has happened before- where I think something went well, but there is just a time-lapse till the consequence arrives. But so far I'm feeling cheerful. Excited by the prospect that this is an activity I can still do and enjoy.

There are some sort of rules and I just have to figure them out. Trying to dance today, a hip sway side to side, felt like a tilt-a-whirl, circling my hips I felt pulled downward; I had to stop, first because of the nausea, and second because I know from experience that if I ignore this sensation it doesn't go away-instead my knees give way. So okay I can't dance footloose and fancy free like I used to- dance around every day-, and yeah that does bum me out- but rollerblading to music that too is awesome- and I think I am going to be able to do that. Woohoo!!

Well I wrote two posts, and posted none. Full of thoughts, but lacking commitment.

For my Nana Jean.

She died yesterday, many years ago. Twelve to be exact. Sometimes I think it odd, that her death is the day I mark in her honor (to remember her then, instead of on her birthday). But she was not born into my life, she was always there (a given, like the sun, sky and ground). Her death is the day that startled me, the moment in life of us parting.

mind to page

 pencil to paper, fingers to keys, and font to screen

    I was having a great time reading Fountain of Swans.  I hadn't worked on the draft directly in years. It was fun reading it like a reader, rather than like someone struggling to write it. Sure I noticed things like missing details, merely suggested sections, and areas of suckitude, but I was also totally caught up in the story; excited to be on this ride, this journey. There were scenes I had forgotten, and the words I used to frame ideas surprised me (that doesn't happen with Echo. I've worked on it for so many years, that when I change something the original words reverberate back to me. I don't get caught up when I read it, I get stressed out.). It all went along nicely until I hit page 88, which is where the story suddenly ended, even though it wasn't at its end. Like a reader who bought a book that was missing its ending I was flabbergasted. What the....where is my ending?
  I knew the ending, I knew I had written all this stuff down.. somewhere...oh goodness..all that information...all those ideas..they can't be lost....they have to be somewhere. Where? Oh the mental meltdown as I searched through my computer note pages- the information wasn't there. Ugh. Upstairs to the lair of everything, scooping up piles of notebooks, knowing there are forty of them I might be forced to slosh through. First ten nothing, and obviously not the right sources. Searching high and low, oh not long ago, it was all in piles on the floor according to what it went with, but then I thought I should clean the floor- so now where was everything?
Ah finally I found the right ten notebooks, flipped through them, found a couple of pages in one...then in the official FoS notebook (duh) finally the lost information was found-but of course it was written in my less coherent than chicken scratch style (OMG what if I have found it but can't read it, so it is still lost to me). But wait- every page has a big check in the side margins- which is what I do when I type a page up. So that means at some point it was on my computer. Okay found my back-up discs. Had to beg son to help me- my notes tried to lock me out saying I needed a password- but then finally my own words were opened back up to me. Hello old friends.
Now among many other things, I have found a drunk swan, and a boy with a club foot. But I am still missing some french monks, and a staircase hidden behind a mirror which leads to a secret room under the castle. I don't know if I should keep searching for them,  or try to re-imagine them, or just let them go. Do I need them, do I want them, is something missing without them?  I don't know yet.
Right now I am busy inserting my found information in the correct locations, and then reading through the parts to make sure they work together. A lot more work than reading as a bystander, a lot more writing too.
So far I am enjoying it though. And the best part is I am playing hopscotch, jumping back and forth between FoS and Echo. At times my inability to stay completely focused and see one thing through has upset me- but right now I'll let it be- for this is how I feel safest- hiding from one in the other. And as long as I am seeking shelter from stress over one, in words and pages of the other, then I am writing. And both are moving forward.
My not feeling well before- has led me to realize that this matters to me. These stories I want to finish. What if I don't have tomorrow? What if I am still here but unable physically to write? I don't want this left undone. I want Koji to exist in the world with or without me (and the other characters and stories whisper, "me too."). I have surrendered the idea of making any sort of living off of my stories, but I haven't surrendered the idea of having them mean something to someone. Someone other than me. Whenever I fall, tomorrow, fifty, sixty years from now, I want them to be in a place, to have a chance to go on, without me.
Besides my son, my husband, and the patch of earth I try to bring forth flowers in, I believe this, these stories, are my work, what I am to do. A thousand flowers set in my heart waiting to bloom.
And maybe they never will bloom. Both my gardening abilities and writing abilities are subject to failure- but this is how I have decided to perceive my life: trying to coax a thousand flowers to bloom.