The best way to realize the pleasure of feeling rich is to live in a
smaller house than your means would entitle you to have.
-- Edward Clarke
In an effort to prove correct this theory, we are downsizing our house this weekend. Our children's friends don't believe it.
Actual conversation.
"You're moving to a bigger house, aren't you?"
"No, smaller. 800 square feet smaller. Like cutting off this whole section."
"Smaller?"
"Yep."
Long, pregnant pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why?"
I could see the gears turning in my inquisitioner's head. It made no sense to go smaller. Although, we did have plenty of room in the old house. Too much room. Except for holidays, who needs two kitchens? and I would much rather spend the extra cleaning time writing. Lord knows, I have my own little blog universe to keep up with. I would have more time to regale my six regular reader (thank you, thank you) with more comments to disagree with.
I am sad about giving up the fifteen by sixteen room I get to use as an office. But I'll get over it. More excuse to go out to my favorite coffee shop with free wireless internet, Tuscany's.
But that is 800 square feet less to dust, vacuum, mop and other related tasks. At least an extra hour a week to squander on the latest VH1 best of show.
Today is Saturday, and the Story Factory is closed until next Thursday due the coming relocation. Have a great week.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Friday, March 10, 2006
More on vacuums.... Random Friday thoughts...
The spread of evil is the symptom of a vacuum. whenever evil wins, it
is only by default: by the moral failure of those who evade the fact
that there can be no compromise on basic principles.
-- Ayn Rand, Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, 1966
I should first clarify today's entry by saying I didn't actually read the book. This is one of my emailed daily quotes. Don't want to appear smarter or more well read than I actually am!
And I am not in any way implying that the morally neutral Roomba is evil and that the presence of a Roomba is the invitation for evil to spread. Really. Unless you believe that pet hair acts as a shield against evil. And that is a topic for another day, as I personally believe cat hair is evil and a Roomba would therefore be an active defense against evil and not one of Ayn Rand's vacuums. Which begs the question, When is a Roomba not a vacuum?
My all time favorite vacuum advice comes from another mother with two sons, Larry Crabb's wife, Rachel. She says you should store your vacuum in the living room, plugged in, so when people come over, they can see that you were just getting ready to vacuum when they interrupted, so they'll excuse the yucky rugs. I may need that excuse more in the new house, since the yucky carpeting there doesn't hide dirt nearly as nicely as berber.
Nature abhors a vacuum and the universe is expanding toward chaos. Vacuum here meaning nothingness and empty space. Jesus says that evil moves into empty houses in greater quantity. Which Rand is saying above, that if there is lack of action for good, action for evil will necessarily take over. The antidote, being, do good. Maybe why a large part of the New Testament isn't necessarily "Don't do bad" but "Do Good." If you are doing good, you're too busy to do bad, and you are less likely to want to screw up the good you are doing. Less likely, but not unlikely.
So if you want to not compromise on Basic Principles (BP), it helps to know what Basic Principles you aren't compromising. And this, I believe is the basis for most arguments and wars. Not apathy, although it helps, but the disagreement of which principles are the ones that cannot be compromised. If one sides key BP is that you should save money for private sector at all costs, and the other side's is that no one should go to bed hungry and illiterate, there is a conflict. If one side thinks that their version of God is true and another thinks theirs is, you have Armageddon.(This can be as simple as denomination vs denomination or as big as Islam vs Christian). I'm not saying there isn't one true Truth. I believe there is. But if part of the one true Truth is that ALL people are fallen image bearers of the Creator, one must tread lightly and treat them as such.
"The battle is not against flesh and blood, but powers and principalities..." Those flesh and blood fallen image bearers? We're supposed to be all on the same side.
is only by default: by the moral failure of those who evade the fact
that there can be no compromise on basic principles.
-- Ayn Rand, Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, 1966
I should first clarify today's entry by saying I didn't actually read the book. This is one of my emailed daily quotes. Don't want to appear smarter or more well read than I actually am!
And I am not in any way implying that the morally neutral Roomba is evil and that the presence of a Roomba is the invitation for evil to spread. Really. Unless you believe that pet hair acts as a shield against evil. And that is a topic for another day, as I personally believe cat hair is evil and a Roomba would therefore be an active defense against evil and not one of Ayn Rand's vacuums. Which begs the question, When is a Roomba not a vacuum?
My all time favorite vacuum advice comes from another mother with two sons, Larry Crabb's wife, Rachel. She says you should store your vacuum in the living room, plugged in, so when people come over, they can see that you were just getting ready to vacuum when they interrupted, so they'll excuse the yucky rugs. I may need that excuse more in the new house, since the yucky carpeting there doesn't hide dirt nearly as nicely as berber.
Nature abhors a vacuum and the universe is expanding toward chaos. Vacuum here meaning nothingness and empty space. Jesus says that evil moves into empty houses in greater quantity. Which Rand is saying above, that if there is lack of action for good, action for evil will necessarily take over. The antidote, being, do good. Maybe why a large part of the New Testament isn't necessarily "Don't do bad" but "Do Good." If you are doing good, you're too busy to do bad, and you are less likely to want to screw up the good you are doing. Less likely, but not unlikely.
So if you want to not compromise on Basic Principles (BP), it helps to know what Basic Principles you aren't compromising. And this, I believe is the basis for most arguments and wars. Not apathy, although it helps, but the disagreement of which principles are the ones that cannot be compromised. If one sides key BP is that you should save money for private sector at all costs, and the other side's is that no one should go to bed hungry and illiterate, there is a conflict. If one side thinks that their version of God is true and another thinks theirs is, you have Armageddon.(This can be as simple as denomination vs denomination or as big as Islam vs Christian). I'm not saying there isn't one true Truth. I believe there is. But if part of the one true Truth is that ALL people are fallen image bearers of the Creator, one must tread lightly and treat them as such.
"The battle is not against flesh and blood, but powers and principalities..." Those flesh and blood fallen image bearers? We're supposed to be all on the same side.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
And that's why God made dogs....
http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/007292.html
One of my favorite blogs had an comment about people who costume their iRobot Roombas. That alone, is ,um, interesting. But then, sixty eight (at last count) blogging faithful had commented on the costumed Roombas. Many offered their own favorite Roomba stories. Many involved the Roomba harassing feline pets or alternately, the cats hunting down the Roomba. More time than not, the Roomba won, as in one story where the cat ended up "treed on the microwave, which was on top of the refrigerator." To make the picture funnier, the cat was crouching behind an avacado. Now, not one person asked why the avacado was on top of the microwave on top of the fridge. To me, if the thing rolled off, there would be a Letterman-esque mess on the ground. But that's what Roombas are for.
Most of the Roomba owners said they had bought the little vacuum device to help with the war on cat hair. One careful reader asked why none of the Roomba stories involved dogs, just cats. It was suggested that most people who blog about Roombas were cat owners. Someone else mentioned that the Roomba was about the size of a dog biscuit for her Great Dane.
But I think the real reason that dog owners tend not to have Roombas is that picking up and eating messes on the floor is what dogs do! Have a dog? Roomba not required. My dog will eat ANYTHING on the floor, except microwave popcorn. He will eat leftover movie theater popcorn off the floor, however. I'm starting to be very scared of microwaved popcorn. But socks, game pieces, things way too big for the Roomba to scarf up? The dog will take care of it!
And dogs will let you dress them up a lot easier than cats. Not quite as easy as Roombas, but you make your choices in life. Dogs will perform the same functions on the lawn. Try that with a Roomba.
One of my favorite blogs had an comment about people who costume their iRobot Roombas. That alone, is ,um, interesting. But then, sixty eight (at last count) blogging faithful had commented on the costumed Roombas. Many offered their own favorite Roomba stories. Many involved the Roomba harassing feline pets or alternately, the cats hunting down the Roomba. More time than not, the Roomba won, as in one story where the cat ended up "treed on the microwave, which was on top of the refrigerator." To make the picture funnier, the cat was crouching behind an avacado. Now, not one person asked why the avacado was on top of the microwave on top of the fridge. To me, if the thing rolled off, there would be a Letterman-esque mess on the ground. But that's what Roombas are for.
Most of the Roomba owners said they had bought the little vacuum device to help with the war on cat hair. One careful reader asked why none of the Roomba stories involved dogs, just cats. It was suggested that most people who blog about Roombas were cat owners. Someone else mentioned that the Roomba was about the size of a dog biscuit for her Great Dane.
But I think the real reason that dog owners tend not to have Roombas is that picking up and eating messes on the floor is what dogs do! Have a dog? Roomba not required. My dog will eat ANYTHING on the floor, except microwave popcorn. He will eat leftover movie theater popcorn off the floor, however. I'm starting to be very scared of microwaved popcorn. But socks, game pieces, things way too big for the Roomba to scarf up? The dog will take care of it!
And dogs will let you dress them up a lot easier than cats. Not quite as easy as Roombas, but you make your choices in life. Dogs will perform the same functions on the lawn. Try that with a Roomba.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Longing for the days of random staff parking...
Main Entry: random
Function: adjective
1 a : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern b : made, done, or chosen at random
2 a : relating to, having, or being elements or events with definite probability of occurrence b : being or relating to a set or to an element of a set each of whose elements has equal probability of occurrence characterized by procedures designed to obtain such sets or elements
Random suggests working or acting without deliberation, intention, or purpose. I toss the word random about without much thought, so today, since the political writers are still off counting votes, I would muse on my favorite word.
Back in 1986, when I began working for The University, I was assigned a brown parking sticker. Yep. Before the hand hangtags, we had lovely, permanently affixed stickers. You could tell how long someone worked for The University by how many stickers were on the back windshielf. Of course, professors only had one or two. They could afford new cars, at least the engineering profs. The Fine Arts folks, I think they didn't have to worry about parking, their offices were in the steam tunnels.
But all over campus, there were streets marked for Random Staff parking. So if you wanted to park a couple of miles from your work location, you could do it. If you wanted to park next to your work location, well, you had to get up early. I worked in a dining hall, so if I wanted to park on the road behind the dining hall, I would have to get there before the morning crew, who started at 5:30 am. I wasn't scheduled until 11:30. Thankfully, the security guard liked me and saved me a spot near the dock every day.
Or my still-in-school roommates would drive my car and take me to work, then park near their classes, since there was plenty of random staff places near classroom buildings.
I think the decline of random staff parking was a big hint in the direction of the university. It was the consolidation of power by the newly minted Department of Parking and Transportaion. They weren't writing enough tickets with random staff parking so convenient and available. Changes came swiftly.
PTT was not associated with the KK, the Kampus Kops, (University Police) While removing the traffic and Parking duties improved the attitude and professionalism of the KK dramatically, they were also the victims of the PTT parking vultures. They (the KK) became one of "us".
So, to improve control over our destinies, parking lots were now assigned. At higher prices. And parking permits were no longer guarantees that you could actually find a spot, it was only a "hunting license." PTT became a "player" in the University world. They had the money and the power. And the ability to make one's life a nightmare, if you were someone who was calendarly-challenged.
Random : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern. I could no longer be random staff. I had a degree in Math and was working in a dining hall supervising the counting of lime green jello. Until PTT, my career was random as well. But by forcing me to park with purpose, I had to actually get employed with purpose at some point.
But not anytime soon...
Function: adjective
1 a : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern b : made, done, or chosen at random
2 a : relating to, having, or being elements or events with definite probability of occurrence b : being or relating to a set or to an element of a set each of whose elements has equal probability of occurrence characterized by procedures designed to obtain such sets or elements
Random suggests working or acting without deliberation, intention, or purpose. I toss the word random about without much thought, so today, since the political writers are still off counting votes, I would muse on my favorite word.
Back in 1986, when I began working for The University, I was assigned a brown parking sticker. Yep. Before the hand hangtags, we had lovely, permanently affixed stickers. You could tell how long someone worked for The University by how many stickers were on the back windshielf. Of course, professors only had one or two. They could afford new cars, at least the engineering profs. The Fine Arts folks, I think they didn't have to worry about parking, their offices were in the steam tunnels.
But all over campus, there were streets marked for Random Staff parking. So if you wanted to park a couple of miles from your work location, you could do it. If you wanted to park next to your work location, well, you had to get up early. I worked in a dining hall, so if I wanted to park on the road behind the dining hall, I would have to get there before the morning crew, who started at 5:30 am. I wasn't scheduled until 11:30. Thankfully, the security guard liked me and saved me a spot near the dock every day.
Or my still-in-school roommates would drive my car and take me to work, then park near their classes, since there was plenty of random staff places near classroom buildings.
I think the decline of random staff parking was a big hint in the direction of the university. It was the consolidation of power by the newly minted Department of Parking and Transportaion. They weren't writing enough tickets with random staff parking so convenient and available. Changes came swiftly.
PTT was not associated with the KK, the Kampus Kops, (University Police) While removing the traffic and Parking duties improved the attitude and professionalism of the KK dramatically, they were also the victims of the PTT parking vultures. They (the KK) became one of "us".
So, to improve control over our destinies, parking lots were now assigned. At higher prices. And parking permits were no longer guarantees that you could actually find a spot, it was only a "hunting license." PTT became a "player" in the University world. They had the money and the power. And the ability to make one's life a nightmare, if you were someone who was calendarly-challenged.
Random : lacking a definite plan, purpose, or pattern. I could no longer be random staff. I had a degree in Math and was working in a dining hall supervising the counting of lime green jello. Until PTT, my career was random as well. But by forcing me to park with purpose, I had to actually get employed with purpose at some point.
But not anytime soon...
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Patience, virtue, and the power of a well placed expletive...
When the habitually even-tempered suddenly fly into a passion, that
explosion is apt to be more impressive than the outburst of the most
violent amongst us.
-- Margery Allingham, Death of a Ghost, 1934
The first thing I thought of when this quote came across the desk this morning was my dad. I inherited a lot of things from my dad. His height, his tendancy for acne, his dry wit and appreciation for a good cup of coffee, especially on cold mornings here at the Story Factory.
The one thing I did not inherit was his even tempered-ness. The man had "Patience is a virtue" written under his high school year book photograph. And no one seemed to disagree. Not something anyone would accuse me of in high school.
I only heard my father curse once in my entire life. And the event was so impressive, I can still remember it clearly. I must have been a sophomore or junior in high school, because the incident happened in our Texas garage. One of the neighbors, Jeff H. (Who, incidently, grew up to become a policeman, scary) was pounding the head of another eighth grade neighbor (can't remember his name, he didn't grow up to a career in law enforcement) into the cement garage floor. Repeatedly.
I remember the adreneline that flowed as my brother (Yep, I remember his name, and he too is in law enforcement...a pattern?) called my father because of the fight. My father didn't run, didn't panic, just calmly walked out of the kitchen, holding his coffee cup, and bellowed. "Get your f***ing asses out of my garage. Now."
The two boys froze in action. Jeff stood up and walked across the street to his house, the other boy went in the other direction to his house. Neither spoke a word. No one did. There were three other boys in the garage, and they just stood staring, mouths agape. Dad took a sip of coffee and went back in the house. The neighborhood, once they started talking about it, talked about it for the next fifteen years. We never heard those words come out of my father's mouth again.
I've thought about Dad quite a bit as we've been packing up to move out of the house that he helped design and pay for, but never got to live in. Lung Cancer moved faster than the building contractors. But mom fixed things so that the house became more than we could afford even before she passed on. And when I walk through the house, I can still hear her voice complaining about how this or that wasn't done right and she would have made sure it was, if only her husband wasn't dying at the time. But her daughter, alas, was incompetent and didn't take care of her mother very well. Leaving the house is like leaving a bad memory behind in that respect and I feel like a huge whiny parrot is getting surgically removed from my shoulder at closing next week.
I write down everything I want to remember. That way, instead of
spending a lot of time trying to remember what it is I wrote down, I spend
the time looking for the paper I wrote it down on.
-- Beryl Pfizer
I have one huge legal pad of things to do. I've only lost the pad seven times yesterday. I may get through the next seven days yet....
explosion is apt to be more impressive than the outburst of the most
violent amongst us.
-- Margery Allingham, Death of a Ghost, 1934
The first thing I thought of when this quote came across the desk this morning was my dad. I inherited a lot of things from my dad. His height, his tendancy for acne, his dry wit and appreciation for a good cup of coffee, especially on cold mornings here at the Story Factory.
The one thing I did not inherit was his even tempered-ness. The man had "Patience is a virtue" written under his high school year book photograph. And no one seemed to disagree. Not something anyone would accuse me of in high school.
I only heard my father curse once in my entire life. And the event was so impressive, I can still remember it clearly. I must have been a sophomore or junior in high school, because the incident happened in our Texas garage. One of the neighbors, Jeff H. (Who, incidently, grew up to become a policeman, scary) was pounding the head of another eighth grade neighbor (can't remember his name, he didn't grow up to a career in law enforcement) into the cement garage floor. Repeatedly.
I remember the adreneline that flowed as my brother (Yep, I remember his name, and he too is in law enforcement...a pattern?) called my father because of the fight. My father didn't run, didn't panic, just calmly walked out of the kitchen, holding his coffee cup, and bellowed. "Get your f***ing asses out of my garage. Now."
The two boys froze in action. Jeff stood up and walked across the street to his house, the other boy went in the other direction to his house. Neither spoke a word. No one did. There were three other boys in the garage, and they just stood staring, mouths agape. Dad took a sip of coffee and went back in the house. The neighborhood, once they started talking about it, talked about it for the next fifteen years. We never heard those words come out of my father's mouth again.
I've thought about Dad quite a bit as we've been packing up to move out of the house that he helped design and pay for, but never got to live in. Lung Cancer moved faster than the building contractors. But mom fixed things so that the house became more than we could afford even before she passed on. And when I walk through the house, I can still hear her voice complaining about how this or that wasn't done right and she would have made sure it was, if only her husband wasn't dying at the time. But her daughter, alas, was incompetent and didn't take care of her mother very well. Leaving the house is like leaving a bad memory behind in that respect and I feel like a huge whiny parrot is getting surgically removed from my shoulder at closing next week.
I write down everything I want to remember. That way, instead of
spending a lot of time trying to remember what it is I wrote down, I spend
the time looking for the paper I wrote it down on.
-- Beryl Pfizer
I have one huge legal pad of things to do. I've only lost the pad seven times yesterday. I may get through the next seven days yet....
Monday, March 06, 2006
My second post for today
This is my second post for the day. My first one involved some little blog ring quizzes, which were fun. But alas, an html tag was missing, which made blogger go "Yuck, take it back..." and my browser didn't like the yuck message, so the whole thing tanked. I'll take it as a sign, that the world didn't need to know the results of my pop quizzes. I just don't think I want to do them again, it's way too late this morning, and I have work to do.
We're moving to a new house next Monday. What makes it really interesting is that we didn't know exactly where we were moving to until last night. Before that, we only knew we were moving From. But the new house is nice. I won't have as long a commute to my office. Instead of walking through the house all the way to the attached apartment on the other end of the house, I'll only have to get out of bed and walk across the room. Cuts the commute distance significantly. I'll be able to spent that much more time crafting mediocre fiction!
That's one of the two major displacements of the move. I'll have to move the story factory into the bedroom, and the dog won't have his own room and kitchen any more. I'm sure he's really worried about it. Not many dogs have their own room let alone their own 800 sq ft apartment, with kitchen and laundry room. He will have some serious adjustment to do.
The move itself is going to be about a mile and a half down the road. Ok, almost two whole miles. That's closer than our last move of three miles. The street name, White Stone has some fantasy plot potential. "The Secret of the White Stone Fellowship" or something like that.
So, back to the grind. Packing, well yes, that too. But my primary job this week is to remind the family, "Hey, that's the last time you'll ever ______ in this house."
Priorities, you know?
We're moving to a new house next Monday. What makes it really interesting is that we didn't know exactly where we were moving to until last night. Before that, we only knew we were moving From. But the new house is nice. I won't have as long a commute to my office. Instead of walking through the house all the way to the attached apartment on the other end of the house, I'll only have to get out of bed and walk across the room. Cuts the commute distance significantly. I'll be able to spent that much more time crafting mediocre fiction!
That's one of the two major displacements of the move. I'll have to move the story factory into the bedroom, and the dog won't have his own room and kitchen any more. I'm sure he's really worried about it. Not many dogs have their own room let alone their own 800 sq ft apartment, with kitchen and laundry room. He will have some serious adjustment to do.
The move itself is going to be about a mile and a half down the road. Ok, almost two whole miles. That's closer than our last move of three miles. The street name, White Stone has some fantasy plot potential. "The Secret of the White Stone Fellowship" or something like that.
So, back to the grind. Packing, well yes, that too. But my primary job this week is to remind the family, "Hey, that's the last time you'll ever ______ in this house."
Priorities, you know?
What kind of ...are you?
The most wonderful thing about the internet lately, is that if you can't find something to write about, you can find a wonderful blog quiz to fill up space.
I believe this means I can write, but can't plot. Funny, I always thought myself quite logical. But it was this silly question about tickets and jail, I'm sure. I read too much into things, like poor Jane can go to jail for other things we don't know about.
| Your IQ Is 120 |
 Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Above Average |
I believe this means I can write, but can't plot. Funny, I always thought myself quite logical. But it was this silly question about tickets and jail, I'm sure. I read too much into things, like poor Jane can go to jail for other things we don't know about.
| Your Scholastic Strength Is Deep Thinking |
 You aren't afraid to delve head first into a difficult subject, with mastery as your goal. You are talented at adapting, motivating others, managing resources, and analyzing risk. You should major in: Philosophy Music Theology Art History Foreign language And now I know what I should write about...see according to the wisdom of Blogthings, I'm doing exactly as I'm designed to do, writing sweeping historical sagas. Friday, March 03, 2006I'm listening, but...
"The experts are always telling us to 'Listen to your body!' But if I listened to my body, I'd live on toffee pops and port wine. Don't tell me to listen to my body-it's trying to turn me into a blob."
-Roger Robinson, New Zealand masters runner and author Spring Break is drawing near in our little college burb, and that means one thing: All of my favorite running routes are clogged with college boys and girls trying to get in the best shape possible before Spring Break. I'm not sure what bothers me more, the fact that they started about three days ago or the fact that they will most likely be successful. Because twenty year old bodies can drop pounds faster than David Letterman can drop watermelons off of New York buildings. Quick and dirty. The forty year old body, however, says, "No, wait, I remember that pound. Let's not throw it away, we could need it." The forty year old body is a pack rat. But after Spring Break, the wannabee's will be back doing whatever it is they do and the roads will be clear and there will no longer be the thump thump of feet as some hulky college boy zips past me on his way to the post run beer. Of course, it will also be one hundred degrees from then on, all the way to October. Writers tend to walk and run a lot, believe it or not. It's time to think things through. And sitting in front of a computer is more conducive to growing hips than growing novels. So they move. C.S.Lewis, Madeleine L'Engle, they are among the walkers. Annie Dillard, runs. Anne Lamott, walks. Fiction that moves requires movement, I guess. Thursday, March 02, 2006Writein Lessons from Isak Dinesen
"When you have a great and difficult task, something perhaps almost impossible, if you only work a little at a time, every day a little, suddenly the work will finish itself."– Isak Dinesen
I love Isak Dinesen. In her short story, "The Young Man with the Carnation," here is a conversation between the Lord and the writer: "Come," said the Lord again, "I will make a convenant between me and you. I, I will not measure you out any more distress than you need to write your books."..."But you are to write the books," said the Lord. "For it is I who want them written. Not the public, not by any means the critics, but ME!" "Can I be certain of that?" Charlie asked. "Not always," said the Lord. "You will have to hold on to that." And that is why writers write. An internal compulsion, rather than a financial scheme. I don't know if anyone starts writing to be rich. I mean, it's a nice dream, but it doesn't work that way. Even the overnight successes, when you dig a bit deeper in the story, like Stephen King, Terry Brooks, John What's His Face the Lawyer, all of them had day jobs for a long time. (Grisham, that's the guy. I knew the name would come.) Anyway, I think I'm learning more about everything writing this book, even if it never gets published. (Although there is a part of me that screams, 'all this work? what do you mean it may never be published???) But the act of writing it, editing it, revising it, that's where the learning comes. And the next book will be stronger, better, more publishable. Not necessarily published. But life supplies material and the material needs some processing. Fiction is for me the best way to process things. Which is why writing the first draft of Purse Driven Life was so theraputic, dealing with the Mom thing. And Solomon's Mind is helping with the pastor thing, indirectly. But it's all a gift, like fresh picked cotton waiting to be spun and woven. Or whatever it is you do to cotton. I just buy it done. Books are just buying it done. Writing is the doing. Wednesday, March 01, 2006Top Ten Reasons to get up at 4:30 in the morning...
10. No annoying phone calls from irate Republicans who want me to vote for their candidates in the primary Saturday. I can't vote in the primary anyway, I want to be able to sign the petition for my favorite independent candidate for governor.
9.The children are sleeping all snug in their beds. 8. Email is sparse. 7. When you answer someone's email at 5 am, they think you are supervirtuous. 6. Guilt free naps at one in the afternoon! 5. Dog has no expectations of being let out every time a car drives by. 4. Work uniform for morning writers: fleece robe and fuzzy slippers. 3. Husband wakes you up anyway, no point in sleeping for another hour and a hslf and feeling worse. 2. New coffee maker. 1. I'm getting about six pages edited each morning, as well as finishing moring pages and two blog entries. Productivity rocks! Tuesday, February 28, 2006Here in Camelot, we eat Spam a lot....
There's a country song I heard once, "If I had a nickel for everytime I wanted you back .... I'd have a dime. One thin dime."
Lately, if I had a dollar for every piece of spam that has offered me cash, I wouldn't need a job. Today's offerings, not including Christian Home mortgages ( I'm not sure if the loan company is Christian, they only loan to Christians, or most likely, the house itself must be saved... haven't asked my house yet, I'm afraid of it's answer). Anyhoo, today I've been offered at least 40K in scholarship money. I'm guessing that either Duke University or the College Board has sold a list. But with forty thousand dollars, my oldest son could at least eat at college. He would be up to his armpits in spam. And since he's already five foot seven at age 12, that's a good sized pile of spam. Even for Monty Python fans. It's amazing that junior high humor remains forever at the junior high level. I found Monty Python in junior high, where my classmates, at least the male ones, would re-enact entire skits over and over again during lunch. (and classes too, but I don't want to be a bad influence.) Now my two sons are doing the same thing. Like a cycle. The giant wooden badger doesn't loose its luster, even after thirty years. I guess no one ages in Camelot. The spam has too many preservatives. Monday, February 27, 2006The Degeneration of Good Intentions....
Plans are only good intentions unless they immediately degenerate into
hard work. -- Peter Drucker My first thought, a question really, was is this Mr. Drucker of the Green Acres Generl Store fame? I mean the quote is profound, but I could see Sam Drucker saying it. But then I realized that Sam and Peter most likely weren't the same person, or he'd have the same first name. Amazing how brilliant I can be at five am. Peter Drucker, had he run Drucker's General Store, would have had something of Walmart Proportions in several years. He was born in Vienna, 1909, got a PHd in Public and International Law and moved to the States in 1939. About the time of Hitler taking over Europe, which makes me wonder if he was Jewish, timing wise. The little bio I read didn't say. But it did say he's written 35 books, fifteen that are management classics and 2 novels, and one book of autobiographical essays. I'd like to read that one. He wrote for a long time for the Wall Street Journal. The thing that impresses me, he wrote and published his latest book in 2002. So that would make him, what, 83 when he wrote his last book? Amazing. History lesson over. But I love this quote. Plans degenerating into hard work is what writing is all about. The problem is, it is so much easier to talk about what you want to do, then to actually sit the butt in the chair and work. It's easier to stroll along the fiction section of the book store and see where your finished work would be shelved, than to sit and finish. It is easier to talk about writing than to sit and write. It is even easier to listen to some one else talk about writing, someone who's actually done the work, than to do the work yourself. Or myself, no reason not to claim the problem myself. The more you talk about something, specifically a writing project, the bigger it gets and the more difficult it becomes to actually write it. Because, in my case, the talent is easily outpaced by the imagination and planning part. Hemingway used to say that when he talked about a work before the writing, he would "use up" all the words and not be able to write it, as if the act of talking about it would be the brain's equivalent of writing. The gray matter says, Been there, done that, wait for the movie. And the page remains blank, or worse, the words are there, but feel flat, lifeless, and flogged to death. I'm not sure what my point is, besides the fact I really need to get some work done this week! Friday, February 24, 2006Thoughts about doubt...
I hear and I forget; I see and I remember; I write and I understand.
--Chinese Proverb The rule of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say. --Anais Nin I believe in not quite knowing. A writer needs to be doubtful, questioning. I write out of curiousity and bewilderment. --William Trevor The old saw about writing is Write What You Know. But the above talk more about writing what you don't know. Or finding out what you do know through the writing. Kind of like morning pages. I really don't know what I think about things until I run a few miles pondering it and I don't know what I feel about things until I scribble a few lines about it in a ten cent spiral notebook. I have tons of these notebooks in a closet, a closet I'm getting ready to pack up before the move. My first thought is do I really want to keep them? Am I going to read them someday? Probably not. Will my children read them some day, and would they want to? There's a lot of stuff there written early in the mornings, illegible. But if I keep them all, there's quantity. There's a solid feel in this little box, my words have a physical weight and heft that is quite comforting. So, yeah, I'll keep them. I've been having my kids shred a two foot stack of printed manuscripts, earlier versions of Practical Flying. The shreds are being used as packing material, so my words are protecting fragile things. Kind of comforting. It's absolutely amazing how much the book has changed. But write what you know seems like bad advice in a world where we really don't know. Not that there as ever been a world where we do know, but it's so much easier to find things we don't know. To write is to learn. Or the path, process, whatever zen word you'd like, to learning. At least my bumpy trail. Some people think on their feet, some think with their voices, (and verbal, oral thinkers drive me nuts!) and some think on the page. Guilty as charged. Tuesday, February 21, 2006The hardest thing to describe in words...
I think sounds are the hardest thing to describe. I say this, because I'm trying to describe someone's voice in my current book. I can hear this character's particular voice in my head, she sounds exactly like one of my dear friends in college. Funny, I haven't talked to her in almost twenty years, yet her voice still stands out in my head. Of course I would give it to one of my favorite characters.
The goal, I would say, is to take the voice in my head and describe it so you could hear it in your head the same way. But I'm not sure that could be done, not without a bonus cd or Mp3 file with the book. So the challenge I guess is to remind the reader of someone they have heard with a similar voice. Because we probable all know someone with the voice. Thing is, I could use some forties actress for an example, but readers my age or younger would be left out. And can't use current stars/celebrities with similar voices, since they weren't even a twinkle in their daddy's eye. Shoot, their daddy's weren't even twinkles for some of them. But is it the exact sound I'm looking to convey, or the quality. Like one character has a smooth voice, a with a lilt to it, like she just came from a church choir rehearsal and wasn't done singing yet. One character has a fake breathlessness to her voice that she learned from her mother. Kind of Mae West, but more phony, because she won't speak to women in the same tone. And main character's voice, kind of raspy with the hint of a permanent case of laryngitis. Which makes her singing really awful. She really can't sing. The couple of mentions of that have been edited out, but it does tell you something about the character. Does it bother her she can't sing. Don't know, I'll have to ask.... Monday, February 20, 2006It's the emotions, stupid
If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting. I wake early and hear my morning voices leaping around in my head like jumping beans. I get out of bed to trap them before they escape.
--Ray Bradbury The rule of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say. --Anais Nin The world I create in writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. --Gloria Anzaldua One of the reasons a writer writes, I think, is that his stories reveal so much he never thought he knew. --Cecelia Holland A common thread in all of these quotes...all of them make me think of the emotion thing I've been working on in my fiction. Funny thing is, as I'm going through my ms, asking "what is going on emotionally here?" I know, can sorta feel what the characters are feeling. The hard part is putting it in words, and even harder is putting it in fresh, non-cliche words. My family didn't do emotions. They were messy, so we just weren't going to have them Later in life, my mother allowed herself to have feelings, and she would also tell us how we felt. Always helpful. Of course, she wasn't on the bullseye, in fact the ol' arrow didn't even hit an outer ring, just went whizzing by. So, when it came time to get married, our pre-marriage counselor gave me a full sheet of little faces with feeling words underneath, like Happy, Perplexed, Depressed, Satisfied, etc. I wore the durn thing out. Now I need to find another copy, for my little characters to use. Can't hurt. Sunday, February 19, 2006More great quotes
Otherwise known as what I will be pondering as I go run this afternoon....
Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads. -- Erica Jong Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth. -- Katherine Mansfield Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren't distracted by the total lack of content in your writing. -- Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 07-03-05 Something for everyone! Friday, February 17, 2006Once more, with feeling...
I am starting another full run through of edits of "Practical Flying". My crit group, bless their little hearts, continue to say that my writing is fine, just utterly devoid of emotion. Yeppers. Story of my life there. So, I instigated a two step plan of action. The first step is to read books that contain said emotion. Step 2 involves writing at 4:30 in the morning. I'm finding that it's easier to write emotion before the brain is fully awake. And I can even ignore the dog snoring now.
I know the characters and I know what they are feeling, when I actually stop to think about it, but I'm not getting the work done. I'm still not able to get the reader to feel it as well. I'm too afraid of telling the reader what to think and feel, because I hate that in books. I like the E.L.Doctorow quote, to the effect of don't tell the reader it's raining, let him feel the drops. Wait, I'm on line, no reason not to get the quote exact... If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy or both -- you must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you. --Ray Bradbury A writer is like a bag lady going through life with a sack and a pointed stick collecting stuff. --Tony Hillerman Planning to write is not writing. Outlining a book is not writing. Researching is not writing. Talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing. --E. L. Doctor Nope, those aren't it, but I just found them and I like them. Here is what I was looking for : "Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader--not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon." E.L. Doctorow That's what I want to do. Back to the saltmines... Thursday, February 16, 2006Fat Bodies, Thin Lives
"It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich live, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following you deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient, and thin.
Katherine Hathaway. Funny, but Hathaway here shares the same last name of one of the great "thin" characters of sixties/seventies television - Miss Jane Hathaway, the banker's secretary on Beverly Hillbillies. She does seem to embody this quote. I read it this morning in a cluster of quotes sent by email and it got me to thinking about American obsessions with celebrities and sports heroes. Is our cultural fascination with these folks stemming from the fact that we perceive them to have "thin bodies and fat lives?" The paparazzi does portray them as being and doing everything that a person could want, and most interviews include words to the effect that they are living their dreams and doing every thing they always wanting to do. How many in our real everyday lives can say that? I come from a people of safe, expedient, lives. Thin lives, where conversations dwell on the lives of others.And most of the women eventually pushed the scales to two hundred and fifty or more, none over five foot three. My aunts and grandmothers would constantly talk about others, and tear them down. I can still remember cringing when I heard them critizing yet another family member or public figure, kind of the "who does she think she is?" kind of thing. And wondering if I was the topic when I wasn't there. (Apparently, yes.)Looking back, it was so they could feel better about the choices they made, or lived by default, this I see now. That may be the main point. That fat lives, and thin bodies, neither can be live by default in our society. Choices must be made, both at key moments and ordinary times. The easy way, to accept the defaults, lets the blame for poor decisions appear to belong to others. But it's still the fault of the defaulter, not the one who set up the defaults. Yet, everything around me insists the key to life is to be safe and expedient. Insurance ads, fad diets, new laws and products are all screaming that life can and should be safer and thus more satisfying. There are no ads in print or television telling you how to follow your passions, only how to make more money working from home on the internet. Of course, one other option is offered. Numbness. Which came first? Fat bodies or thin lives? Is one the result of the other? I could see where either could be the first, but I'm starting to think maybe the obesity epidemic we're facing in kids could be the result of the thin lives they are witnessing and living. "If that is what life is going to be like, pass the Twinkies..." There is no place to run, explore, have adventures, except for sports and video games. And unless a child is extremely talented, they are not encouraged to continue to play sports after a certain age. No one plays for fun anymore. I love novels where this is the character's struggle, to accept the defaults or choose to follow his or her heart. Even the old Austen and Bronte books deal twith this, the choice between expediency and societal norms or to live in line with one's heart. I'm starting to see that the characters I write about have no problem with living according to their passions, it's almost second nature. Maybe, since role models have been so few, I'm just making up my own. Wednesday, February 15, 2006It's day 2 of the great 4:30 am experiment...
and the hardest thing about getting up at 4:30 in the morning is not the actual getting up, but the going to bed at a reasonable hour. The whole world seems to be conspiring against it. There are meetings, soccer games, etc the rest of the week. Which in themselves are fine and dandy things, but they do go on! But on the plus side, no one really emails at that hour and the rest of the cyber world is silent as well.
Now, if only I could actually get some bona fide work done. I mean, I spent yesterday morning dinking with Yahoo Briefcase, so I could more easily move the working copy from laptop to desktop. Too many places to work on it. But that pretty much shot the whole morning yesterday. Oh, and a couple of blog entries. But blogging actually helps get the ol' writing muscles primed. Or so I believe... Tuesday, February 14, 2006It's 4:30 am...do you know where your brain is?
I know where mine is...it's still in bed sleeping.But since my life has been declared a disaster area, the only time I can find for writing lately is either at four thirty or midnight. For some reason, I am actually more creative in the morning lately. Midnight, the only thing I want to to is watch Clint and Stacy redo wardrobes on What Not to Wear.
So I am sitting at the old desk, it's dark outside, and the dog is snoring. At least I have coffee. Lots of it. I have my file open. Another plus. And I am avoiding the act of figuring out which file is more current, the laptop version or the PC version. But as far as actual writing, it's not quite happening yet. At least not the fiction. I do have a couple of essays that need writing, so maybe I'll at least crank out a draft on one of those. Something, even,hey, a blog entry will justify getting up this early, right? What I really want to do is search on line for a new house. Because our house, the one we are living in right now, the one we built while Dad was dying, now has a contingency contract on it. So we are technically homeless. Or as my brother says, I'm his unemployed, homeless older sister. I could use this in a memoir, couldn't I? I could use a "little" creative license and say we were homeless with 2 children, three guinea pigs and a dog for months. That's the latest rage in memoirs, fictional embellishment. I could really dig up some sympathy. But I really need to dig up a house. One that doesn't have a room falling off and sinking into the front yard, like the one we looked at yesterday.
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