Thomas Talks to Me

Time for the Tutu

2009-10-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of following knitting patterns. I'm tired of slavishly recreating someone else's vision. After thirty years of knitting, I think I know how to shape a scarf and a shawl, socks and mitts. It's time for the tutu, a shawl/scarf that ribs nicely before it explodes into ruffles. I have a couple of skeins of Noro Silk Garden and Addi Clicks. I know how to make ruffles. And I know how to explode!

Pour It Again, Sam

2009-10-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

In the past several years, I've concentrated on writing short stories. I like the brevity, the conciseness, the slice of life. I like to see how few words it takes to make an impact. I like to experiment with different voices and writing styles. I like the twisty ending so much that if I could, I would marry it. And when I write a short story, I drink coffee. Not tea. Coffee.

Coffee gives you that jolt you need to write like a tiger. I mean, how many writers can sit down with a cup of oolong boolong and then write an action scene or even a love scene? Tea relaxes. Tea is for scones. Tea is for brushing your teeth. Coffee--really good coffee--ignites the steam in your writing.

I have swilled coffee for fifty years. My mother used to mix it with the milk in my baby bottle, and early on, I could not start the day without my liquid hit of caffeine. I'm not a connoisseur, but in my coffee-drinking history, I've met some positively bodacious coffee and some that only miss being called rotgut by the mere fact that they don't have any alcohol content. I'm on a first name basis with coffee. Any bean with the first name of Maxwell or Folger is to be avoided. If the coffee has an exotic name like Kenya or Kona, grab it with gusto.

When we first came to Texas, we met a man named, Steve, who was importing coffee from family fincas in Central and South America. A finca is a farm. Steve sold me eight ounces of Peruvian coffee beans that were so sublime they were like little angelic nuggets. I probably will never taste their like again. Peru was plunged into some sort of political madness around the time I bought my first batch and Steve, though an enterprising pusher man, was never able to get more of that particular coffee.

As I said, coffee should inflame your most passionate prose. It should also be used to check the viability of your short story. A good rule of thumb to remember, as far as I'm concerned? A great short story should not take longer to read than it does to drink a cup of coffee.

The place I go to when I need to indulge in my habit.

Birthday Rings

2009-10-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

So, today is my birthday. According to AARP, I'm more than a little eligible for membership. If I were a tree, my rings would be 52 inches wide and I'd be on my way toward establishing myself as one of the giant sequoias. (Actually, I'm more of the Sago Palm kinda gal--all gnarled, twisted and bent.) I am officially a wise woman, in other words, a crone. I'm supposed to have the answers now, or at least be on my way to getting them. I'm allowed to be an explorer at this time of life, seeking out the spiritual mysteries, coming into my own, learning new things with no regard about how much money I can earn from them. At my venerable age, I've moved from Cougar to Jaguar. At this age, according to youngish people, I already have one foot in the grave. In numerology, I've moved into the last third of my life. That brings me firmly into the master number of 22. Twenty-two represents the Tree of Life, the Grand Builder who accomplishes great things, and a person who loves world peace, even as she organizes her linen closet. Twenty-two speaks of unconventional thought and ideas. It's a number of universal completion.

Yes, by everything I understand, I'm aging well and the best is yet to come. I believe I'll brew a cup of coffee, pop open my Kindle, and think about finally wearing purple.

Poetry in My Head

2009-10-02T13:44:00.000-07:00

I woke up yesterday morning with a line in my head: "You are a child of the Universe no less than the trees and the stars." How powerful! What a wonderful thought and what a wonder my brain is to have dredged up the memory of this poem that I first read 42 years ago. Knowing when I read it, but not remembering much else, I went on an internet search and discovered that it is from the poem, Desiderata by Max Ehrmann.

As my soul-searching continues, I mean to use the wisdom of this poem, because I often forget that I am, indeed, a child of the Universe, and that I am not less than the trees and the stars. It's the reason I became a writer; not to be swept along in the modern world as a sidekick for the rude and the crude. I came to earth in the sign of Libra and most of my planets are found in air signs. I do much better at floating than I do at running. I have no desire to get grounded and mired in the bullshit. There are fields enough of that, as well as people enough to slog through the manure.

My birthday is in a couple of weeks and each year, I try to learn a new skill. This year will be a 'seven' year for me, which according to the numerologists, is a time of spirituality. I'm going to explore what that means and take up a skill that I learned as a child, so that I may come to understand my spiritual essence through ongoing discoveries in textile art. I'm picking up the embroidery and small quilting projects again. Stitching one thread at a time, one bead at a time. I'm going to learn to be free and float!

Tree of Life

2009-09-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

I recently ordered an automatic writing course from Dick Sutphen and I finally had a moment to sit down and try it. I've always wanted to learn how to do automatic writing and because I'm very familiar with Sutphen's hypnosis products, I decided his method would be the safest and easiest to learn.

I have to say: I'm gobsmacked! Sutphen directs you to write down the name of the ethereal guide with whom you wish to communicate and underneath that, a question you wish to ask. I, of course, wanted to speak with Thomas. My question was how to best organize a writing project that feels like it's going in a hundred different directions. Sutphen then leads the listener into a hypnosis session where you open your chakras and then begin your automatic writing. I expected that the info would be no more than intuitive thinking but the words that spilled out on the page were about a method of organization I had never considered. And had I not done the automatic writing, I wouldn't even have thought of it. The answers feel separate from me, very positive and very Thomas. I have to do some research because the writing mentions the Kabbalah Tree of Life and a method in which Moses organized the commandments! Honestly, I'm not quite sure of that last thing. I always thought God smashed the commandments into the stones and that was it. There is something hidden in this statement that I may have to clarify with another session. If any of my three loyal readers has an idea what this might mean, please leave it in the comments. I would surely appreciate it.

Ophanim

2009-09-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

I'm learning more and more about Thomas. He's apparently an Ophanim, one of the two-thirds who sided with Archangel Michael during the War of Heaven. What a cool fellow!

Nine Lives

2009-09-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

My father-in-law died last week. I find it interesting that numerologically-speaking, Dad was a 9 person. Nines represent the finalization of a cycle. Nines are associated with leadership. Nines have been through an entire cycle in their past lives, moving up and through each number, doing this and that, making and fulfilling karma. Nines are the lives where a person cleans up. He ties up loose ends. Dad came in as a nine because his birthday also reduces to a nine. He left on 09/09/09. He retired from the military on 09/09/81

I'm a nine too. I can't say I'm terribly enlightened, but maybe that's the whole idea about being a nine. You're just down on earth to spiff up the stuff that's left over from other lives, whether they were successful or not. It's important, as a nine, to lead by example. I want to do that, but first I have to take out the trash. Dad's death made me come eyeball to eyeball with the great possibilities of the nine lifetime.

Live long and prosper. Oh, the challange in that!

A New Interview!

2009-08-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

I will be interviewed by editor Bethany Morgan on August 17th. The interview will appear on Samhain Publishing Blog. Big thanks to Beth!

Shawl Making

2009-08-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

I have been knitting lace shawls lately. I find they're great for concentration, because you have to pay attention on a pattern that varies by one stitch with each new row. Placing markers on each repeat becomes teeth-grinding madness, so you have to set up a little rhythm in your head and fingers. And count every row when you finish it to make sure you have the requisite stitches before proceeding to the next one. Unknitting is harder than knitting--trust me. The above shawl is an Evelyn A. Clark design called Baltic Blossoms. I'm knitting it on number five Addi Lace Needles and using Lavold Wooly Silk in creme. I'm up to 183 stitches per row and have just changed to the Lily of the Valley portion of the pattern which will explode the number of stitches by at least another 100 or so. (Feathers courtesy of Thomas.)

I also treated myself to an honest to goodness hardwood lace blocking frame from Down in the Country. I have a small house and I don't have room to block huge shawls horizontally. When you can't go horizontally, you go vertically. The frame should be here today or tomorrow. Hey, I'm serious about knitting!

Make Believe Ain't Just for Kids

2009-08-04T14:35:00.000-07:00

Writers often complain that their 'muse has fled them.' I really think this isn't possible. A muse (like Thomas) is always with the writer. A muse exists as an emotional/mental construct. I often tell a new writer to create his own muse. Give him or her a life. Describe who he is, what he looks like, how he sounds. Explain to yourself what a marvel your muse is--or what a pain in the ass he is. (Thomas, I'm talking about you!) Describe your muse's strengths and weaknesses, his positive aspects and his negative ones. Make him real. It's okay to keep him a secret if you want. Just know he's there.

Crazy, you say? Not really. If you're reading this blog, then you're probably a creative writer. Is it such a leap to write about your muse and then depend on the fact that the things you endow him with are the things you need to bring to the table with your own writing?

For instance: You may be forever wrestling with finding enough time to write. Make your muse punctual the point of annoying. (A big white rabbit comes to mind.) When you finally sit down to the page, know he's been there waiting! If you want to write short stories but never seem to have a starting place, create a muse who is so good he told stories to Shahrazad--and then pick his virtual brain. Do you write sci-fi? Your muse could be a seasoned space pilot. What about horror? Maybe your muse is a ghost.

It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about your muse. The psychological benefits of mentally calling upon a creative construct who is always available to be your helpful writing partner will increase your output and make it kind of fun in the process.

Now, if you will excuse me, Thomas is giving me the eye. I promised to write.

Writing in Favor of Deus Ex Machina

2009-07-31T11:40:00.000-07:00

I have written three short stories in three days. I've been experimenting with different literary devices like hyperbole, allusion, and metaphor. It's just like swatching for a new knitting project. With Short Story Swatching, I can play with the voice and the format. I can try to convey theme in new and interesting ways, rather than falling back on my usual method of storytelling. I can beat the reader over the head with the idea, or subtly slip it in there between too-numerous commas and semi-colons. And really, who cares about punctuation except for the suits at the Chicago Manual of Style? Circular endings? Why not? Ten-word stories? Sure. Aesop's fables? Absolutely!

Writers can only grow when they continue to experiment. To claim that there is only one good way to express your story is as restricting as that Celtic Hairband I knitted last year. It was so small, it would have squeezed the head of a Cabbage-Patch doll.

Facebook Fun

2009-07-29T16:41:00.000-07:00

I had a great day being the Guest Author over at Janice Curran's Facebook Page. We had a lot of readers and a bit of dialogue and I made a ton of new friends. And a special thanks to Bethany Morgan for helping to make this happen! Facebook is a great way for writers to network!

One Knit, Write Two

2009-07-28T07:08:00.000-07:00

Recently, I read a blog where the author had woefully exclaimed that she had ten or so unfinished knitting projects. That got me thinking. I knit one project at a time, not counting the 'travel sock' which is worked upon when I go for a lazy afternoon at the beach. I don't like to have multiple knitting projects. I enjoy the singular concentration of one knitterly thing at a time. But writing! Whoa! I'm a multiple project kinda gal. I have, at this time, several projects including my newsletter, this piffle blog, a personal journal, a stealth book project, several short stories and an article in the works. The varied writing keeps me fresh.

Speaking of knitterly things, this has been the Summer of the Viking for me. Doesn't that sound like a great title for an historical romance? I just completed my 'half-hap,' a shawl design called Aestlight by Gudrun Johnston. It is based on Shetland Island construction. The Shetlands are between Scotland and Norway and this method of shawl making is unique to these rocky isles. The picture below is it on the blocking wires. (Sorry for the quality of the picture. DH dropped the camera and something apparently shifted within it.) The yarn I used is Malabrigo Sock in the Abril Colorway. It looks Gothy with deep purples, blues and flashes of lavender and sky colors. It took just over one skein and blocked out huge!

I'm really happy with it and I know the perfect person to receive it as a gift. (It's never too early for Christmas Knitting.

So on with the Summer of the Viking. My attention has moved over to the land called Estonia, which is bordered by the Gulf of Finland and the Baltic Sea, and was a former Soviet Bloc country. I'm now knitting the Lily of the Valley Scarf from Nancy Bush's book, Knitted Lace of Estonia (available through Amazon). The design calls for lace weight wool and size 3 needles, but it was so fiddly for me that I switched to size 7 needles and Elsbeth Lavold Wooly Silk in white. It gives the design a rustic look that I'm really liking and it will be large enough to count as a shoulder shawl. This one I may even keep for myself!

And before I go, I must tell you that I had more knitterly inspiration as my friend and I took in a performance of Cats on Sunday. The knitted leg warmers, gloves, shawls, and collars kept grabbing my attention to the point that I missed a bit of the opera itself! They were truly magnificent!

Attack of the Killer Ants

2009-07-16T12:30:00.000-07:00

The things I do not like about Texas are these: BUGS. This state has the most evil six-legged critters this side of the Amazon. We have been battling ants for days. These are super smart ants too. They know how to break into locked zip-up bags. They were actually coming in through a pinhole at the edge of our living room ceiling last night. I opened up the pantry this afternoon and there were millions of them. They bite. I am allergic. One little sucker got me on the end of my finger today. Hubby is now spraying some awful, not-green chemical around our house. We usually have to do this twice a year but we've done it four times already. It doesn't help that we've not had any meaningful rain in months. They're thirsty and hungry and I don't care. I want them dead (or at least out of my house).

Thomas thinks I'm being silly and all life is important. Angels are not allergic to ants. They don't swell up like the Hindenburg when a scorpion chomps on them. They don't gnash their teeth when a horsefly cruises into the house the moment someone opens the door and they don't itch for days from a mosquito bite. I think it has to do with the fact that angels have wings and so many of these monsters can fly. I'm not sure about the crawling part.

Such a Big, Brash World

2009-07-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

So, I'm on Facebook now and Twitter too. The link for Facebook is in the sidebar. It took about three seconds for me to get two porn twitters as followers. I'm not sure how I'm going to avoid that!

Today I've been doing a lot of marketing and hopefully getting my name out there in a viral way. I ordered free postcards from VistaPrint so I can push my newsletter. And I'm working on a new book.

I am also currently knitting a Shetland Hap Shawl. Hap shawls are warm, square shawls originating from the Shetland Isles. Both Scotland and Norway had at one time laid claim to these rocky islands, so the crafts are a fusion of Pict and Norse.The Haps are large and warm--substantial shawls. My Hap is more rightly called a Half-Hap because it's a triangle. I'm using Malabrigo Sock in the Ambril Colorway with size six Addi Clicks and Addi Lace Needles. I've learned a lot with this Hap. I've had a chance to understand the art form, try a few new stitches, and am now working a knitted on edging, something which I've never done. I have to say that I'm loving it! I hope I'm invited to some more writer's conferences this fall and winter so I have a chance to wear it. Here in South Texas, we've been creaming heat records. It's hard to remember what 90 degrees feels like since we've been hovering around 100 for days.

More later. Maybe some pictures of the current project, too. And as Thomas says, "Eat more candy!"

Lost...

2009-07-05T08:37:00.000-07:00

Truly, it has been a comedy of errors for me these last few days. My latest joke is that I lost this piffling blog of mine! I think I've recovered it, at least until Blogger knocks me off again. But to more important matters: why I write what I write.

Some folks have asked me when I'll write another novel. Dunno. Maybe never. I've written a baker's dozen, spent many years exploring the art form. Now I would rather help other people with their novels as an editor/mentor/pain in the arse. I hit the conference circuit and teach. And recently, I've discovered that I love the short story form of fiction. I can make statements (or not). I can explore one major foible within a character's personality; describe a world in quick brushstrokes; affix a unique voice to the narrator. This writing thing is, after all, an exploration of new territory. Where can I go with it? Where can you go with it?

All Broken

2009-06-13T09:14:00.001-07:00

Late last week, Saturday, to be exact, I bought a cool little program called RapidBlog. It allows me to maintain my own blogsite while hanging it onto Blogger for comments. People dial in my new Blogger address: dvitola.blogspot.com and it will magically redirect them to Thomas Talks to Me. It worked great--for about two hours. That's how long it took for Google's spiders to go out and proclaim my site as blog spam. So, I had to put in a blog review request to prove I'm a living person and not a robot. They locked me down for four days until the underpaid drone managed to surf to my site to confirm that I was actually a person.

It is a sad thing indeed, when you must prove that you're a human. What if I said that I was a green, bug-eyed alien from Zeta Reticuli? Would they have approved me? Or perhaps I'm a time-traveler from the 99th Century. I have a ray gun and you guys are Googled meat.

Not that I had anything exciting to impart with my three loyal readers. It's just that as a writer, I abhor censorship. If you don't like what I'm saying, then for God's sake, don't read it; but whatever you do, don't try to shut me down. Yes, yes, I realize it's a spam problem. Yes, yes, I realize companies feel the need to curtail the evil progenies of capitalism gone bad. Yet, when it happens to a real person, someone not from Zeta Reticuli but from the good ol' US of A, it creates the shuddering willies. Visions of Hitler, Stalin, Mao, those crazy sonofabitches in North Korea, Iran and Venezuela--they all come to mind. I remember my history and how during the cold war in East Germany, all typewriters were registered. I remember the nightmarish reports trickling into the West of how the Stasi arrested dissidents for writing articles questioning the imposed Communist system. Most of all, though, I remember how the writers of the Eastern bloc countries risked their lives to publish their words and then disseminate the documents by passing them hand-to-hand in a process called samizdat.

I have no doubt that samizdat documents were composed of some of the tightest writing known to man. They would have to be. You can't very well carry around a boxed manuscript and go unnoticed by the secret police. You have to hand off the writing from breast pocket to breast pocket, purse to purse, all done with a gentle flick of the wrist and sheepish scanning of the area. And you would have to be very selective about whom you chose to pass samizdat, because the 'secret' in secret police meant they infiltrated the writing/reading networks. Those were hard times, impossible times, and you would think we've learned our lessons about censorship. Maybe. Maybe not.

Tips for a Knitter/Writer

2009-06-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest things a writer has to do is summon up the courage to stare down a blank page. It's a bit like casting on 300 stitches to knit a shawl only to discover that your project is just too ambitious. You have all this beautiful yarn, expensive knitting needles, costly pattern, and no way to wrap your head around the time it will take to complete the shawl. It's like that everyday for a writer, but if you're a knitter, too, you can combine the two things to help you out a bit.

Writing, like knitting, is about ritual. We sit down, and have our cup of coffee or tea beside us. We go through the ritual of checking emails and rereading what we wrote the day before. Often, we'll play our favorite writing music (no vocals, please!) or burn incense in some attempt to reach the spiritual side of OM and rip off a masterpiece of stunning proportions. For me, I slip on a pair of knitted "writer's" mitts.

I always knit these mitts, usually out of merino sock yarn, my favorite being Fleece Artist Wool. I knit a knew pair for ever big writing project. When I'm done with the project, I pack up the wool mitts and give them to Goodwill. (They are, after all, still in great shape and will chase the chill for someone else. Plus they have great writing energy attached to them!)

The mitts above are my own design, featuring a center panel from an old Shetland pattern called "Gull." The colorway is called "Midnight."

So my ritual is as follows: Cup of coffee, Peruvian if I can get it, mood music and a drawn tarot card to spearhead my inspiration. I pull on my writer's mitts, luxuriate in the softness against my hand, set my little computer timer and write for ten minutes. By the end of that time, the mitts have warmed and so has my writing stamina. I can now face the blank page.

Doing It for the Joy

2009-05-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

Why is it that you will find not one creative out there who creates just for the sheer joy of creating? People don't paint pictures because they feel inspired to bring beauty into the world. It's always shaded with thoughts of how well it might do in the 'marketplace.' It's the same with writing. Was there ever a time when people wrote for the thrill of putting words to paper, to experience the profound act of moving one's hand in a miraculous way that produced letters which produced words which produced sentences? When did people tell a story for the fun of it, not to see how much someone would be them for it?

I forgotten these humble beginnings. Looking back, I can't even recall writing without a sense of selling. Instead of asking: "Did you enjoy my story?" I ask: "Do you think someone will buy it? Do you think it will get good reviews, therefore, selling more copies?" Should I be asking: "Has this story healed you in some way? Have you had a pleasant time reading my words? Has it reminded you that love is the most important emotion we own?"

We seem to sell ourselves short when we don't do this and yet, it's the human condition to produce something of worth as seen through another's eyes. We can't find self-worth without outside validation and while this may, indeed, be a natural activity of the ego, we've taken it too far. Society has become so competitive that creatives are dashing to find the latest 'new thing' to exploit. Hollywood wants a blockbuster so badly that they churn out sequels to the sequels because there's no time to create something new. There's no time to develop a story from the bottom up; there's no time to worry about beauty or honesty or any deeper meaning. The independent people, those creatives who have no huge stake in society by the simple fact that piles of money are not being thrown upon their doorsteps, try to fill the gap. But soon, like the rest of us, the allure of out-competing the competition and the addicting feeling of a dirty dollar bill begins to overtake them.

What happens then? We become creatively blocked. By looking at the end result, instead of enjoying the journey, we can't seem to put one foot in front of the other. We thrash around to find anything we can use just so we can 'get something out there.' After a few days of this, we suddenly decide we need a creativity coach. Surely, if we pay someone to lead us by the hand and tell us what we already know, the floodgates will open. New ideas will be ours! Of course, we have to pay the coach, so what we create must be salable.

So I call to you to recreate your mission and to escape the cycle of dependence that mars your birthright. Go ahead! Create just for the hell of it!

OWFI Conference

2009-05-17T09:06:00.000-07:00

Recently, I attended the Oklahoma Writer's Federation Annual Conference as a presenter. I gave two workshops: Audio for Authors and World Building 101. Both were a rollicking good time, especially World Building. That presentation is interactive; we create a wonderful world from the 'sun up.' It's always a blast and it's always different because I never know what my attendees will create.

This last time they formulated a world with two suns--one red and one blue. The day lasted 60 hours and the world was a desert. The creatures who inhabited this place were silicon-based. (In other words, they were rocks.) These writers invented methods for procreation, communication, and motivation. The bigger rocks were the rulers and the smaller rocks were the doers. There was a conflict, a hero and many, many possibilities for an outrageous story that works!

To say I'm amazed by sci-fi/fantasy writers is an understatement. They are the most stunningly creative folks on the planet (on any planet, for that matter). These folks inspire others; give away ideas; and freely share their ideals. This is writing at its best. This is what writing is all about.

Dribble Masterpieces

2009-04-16T08:10:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, no? I've been so engaged in projects that I haven't come up for air. Some have been fun, some have been enlightening, but some have been making me think that I need a little more. So, it's time to get my virtual art studio back online. I need to get some short stories written, some digital art done, some knitting designed. Like anyone else, I can get lost in the day-to-day. Having fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue makes some days more day-to-day than I'd like, but if I set some goals, I can get masterpieces accomplished. I call them masterpieces in a general way. Anything we create is a masterpiece. It doesn't matter about the criticism of others because art is subjective. Anything that pops from our psyche is a masterpiece, a spark of creation, akin to the spark of the Universe.

I'm a storyteller. In my past lives, I was a storyteller. It's so ingrained in me that I sieve the world through my personal story strainer. Is there a story in that fancy, glass building? Is there a story over there under that rock? Is there a story hanging off your bottom lip?

My stories tend to dribble onto my shirt. When I finally notice them, I think they're stains and try to clean them, but then I realize they're drops of masterpieces waiting to be rubbed off their backing material.

I've fitfully started and stopped lately. Not good for possibilities. Not good for masterpieces. Not good for nosy angels called Thomas!

Thomas Here!

2009-01-11T11:41:00.000-08:00

Denny is off working hard on a new writing project, so she asked me to guest host the blog today. I'm a muse of information as well as writing, and my big thing is to make sure folks know stuff. To that end, I'd like to tell you about some Internet links that you're sure to find interesting and helpful.

Nina Bagley is the author of Ornamental, a blog devoted to her search for authenticity. She features her artwork in the forms of photos, writing and handmade 'narrative' jewelry. (We angels like bling. Archangel Gabriel wears too much, though. He looks like a Christmas tree with wings.)

Check out Jane Thornley's blog. Jane pushes 'free-range knitting,' a way to fashion designs that allow the knitter to hit the max on creativity and to come up with unique, inspired art wear. (We angels like original clothing, too. I am, personally, partial to scarves.)

Denny loves scents and especially scents with themes. She found Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, a perfumer who specializes in Gothic/Steampunk/Horror fragrances. These are uniquely blended oils, reasonably priced and very cool. (And yes, angels prefer an evocative bouquet. Except for 'you know who.' Brimstone only smells nice when you buy it from BPAL.)

Hope this gets your week going in a creative way. Denny promises to be back soon.

Make sure to eat a lot of candy,
Thomas

Freak Flag

2009-01-07T07:53:00.000-08:00

"Let your freak flag fly, and if someone doesn't get you, move on."
- Drew Barrymore

I think this kid has said it all--especially where art and critique meet. There are many reasons to be creative and each reason presents a way. We've become so practical as a society. I really believe we had more opportunity to express our creativity a hundred years ago than we do now. Yes, the critiques, though just a spurious, seemed to be more tempered. They didn't matter as much to the artist or the writer. We've lost the ability a hundred years on to create for creation's sake because we are constantly looking to please society. There's always going to be one mad dog in the bunch who is a maniacal troll, or at the very least, has an infected ego dripping the green pus of envy. He likes to hear his own snarling and thinks everyone else likes it too. Unfortunately, we justify his existence and occasionally, we are him.

Living Wabi Sabi

2009-01-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

Andrew Juniper claims, "if an object or expression can bring about, within us, a sense of serene melancholy and a spiritual longing, then that object could be said to be wabi-sabi."

I understand this. I especially understand the serene melancholy so identified by the sense of transience and impermanence. That is a Buddhist concept, one that reveals to me the essence of 'being a writer.' Words are impermanent. You can't own them, even if you have all the copyrights in the world. How could you? Words, by their very nature, express inner vision and thought. Once a thought is written down, the words become like dark tracks in the snow. You can never reprise that exquisite moment of calculation when the thought sparked into being, touched one neuron to the next, exploded in the brain and finally fell, dripping with amniotic fluid onto the page.

Living wabi-sabi is not about living in the moment, as so many metaphysical writers would have us believe. It's about living in the non-moment, that point between now and then. Words for a writer are wabi-sabi. They suspend us, so the 'now,' with all its gelatinous angst, is held at a distance. The now is given its own point of view and that pov is third person--the narrator is protected by the words wrapping 'round the now. I can write sensibly about the events of every second and the words don't gain their power until 'after.' For words to be effective, a person must come along and read the letters, one by one, and impress them upon his thoughts. That non-moment of now and then is a bridge of serene melancholy. It lasts no longer than a god-second.