Practice Makes Me Mediocre

Well, with prompting from Bug to do exercizes, I finally caved. So, here's my attempt at voicing what my newest character is yearning for. It's fairly long, so don't feel like you've got to read the whole thing. It was really for me to kick myself in the ass, to write SOMETHING as I've gotten to the point in the story that I don't really know where to go. The action has taken place now I need to resolve. Perhaps this helped:

This picture really doesn't have anything do do with the story. The kid's just so damn cute- I'm making a loose connection to practicing, as if the kid were practicing badmitton like I am with writing, but I think my allusion is not really working. (Which is why I needed to explain it)

Okay, the exercize:

Jesus, my legs don’t work like they used to. The worst thing about getting older is how brittle and yellow your finger nails get. Like the vampire’s nails in the old Bela Lugosi films. I really don’t want to die. I’m holding on tight even though the quality of life after seventy goes down hill pretty quickly. I am having a lot of trouble with the aging process altogether. I hate being wrinkled and I hate the way people pay absolutely no attention to you—and if they do, it is pity that shows in their eyes, not respect, certainly not envy. When I was younger the dowdy housewives would always shoot me looks of disapproval. They were jealous of my shapely legs, my tiny waist. I knew. I knew what those looks meant. There used to be men watching too, but now not even old men check me out. It’s an even worse punishment than not having jealous stares. No one envies or desires anything from you at eighty-five.

Even my son pays no attention to me. I’m in his way now, a nuisance. I never felt that way about him, even when he was a little kid- and I’ve never really liked children. How I ended up with three is a mystery to me. The girls were in my hair all the time. Trying to keep them out of trouble was too much work. I couldn’t be following them around when I had to be out working at all hours, trying to put food on the table. It was inevitable that JoAnne would turn out bad. If their father had stayed he could have helped, could have worked while I stayed home to watch the kids. Wayne, however, he was a big help with his sisters. He took care of them when I couldn’t. But JoAnne just wouldn’t be helped by her younger brother. That girl was as stubborn as they come. She just wouldn’t be helped by anyone- never will be. Dottie did alright for herself and I think it was because of Wayne. That boy was good to her, took care of her. And all Dottie does is put her brother down. I think she’s jealous of his success. Or maybe she’s jealous of his good looks. I don’t know, but there’s a lot of jealousy floating around in my life, always has been.

All I really ever wanted was for them—all of my children—to love me in a way that I couldn’t love them. Something shut off inside of me when Reynold left. Something congealed like the culture dishes in a lab. It’s a terrible thing to get to the end of your life and realize you’ve done it all wrong. I should have been able to hold on to him—I should have fought to keep my soldier husband. With a father figure to look up to maybe Wayne would have had the confidence to stick with acting. He might have gone on to acting school instead of working in that damn cemetery like some kind of joke. It was funny to him when he was a teenager to be working there, playing a gravedigger, playing at acting morbid. He could of made it as an actor, I know. He was so good in high-school plays, good at everything he did, always entertaining the family. I would have been so proud to have a son in the movies. I would have been happy to die then, knowing at least my son was someone to be envied. At least I would have done something good in life.

Day Off/ Day On

I'm newly inspired today as I read each of your posts. I'm always thanking you, but I have trouble on my own. Here, I'm going to show you just what a geek I am and quote Evita: "It's hard to keep momentum when it's you that you are following." In my defense, I only know the musical so intimately because I worked on a production at summerstock on the coast of Maine when I was 19.

Funny, the things that stay with you--which is actually what I want to talk about as I've been studying Robert Olen Butler's From Where You Dream. I picked it up thinking, God, not another craft book. But, to my great surprise the book is comprised of his lectures that expound on how writers must get out of their thinking brains and into their unconcious (I would guess he mostly means subconcious, but who am I to question a master?) Regardless, this is just the advice I've been needing as we've spent so much time analyzing and tearing apart stories this past year. I need to find a happy medium between where I started (all artistic impression, subconcious flow) and where I went (dry as can be, over-structured, over-written).

To help kickstart the flow, D & I took the day off yesterday and went to see the newly remodeled Seattle Art Museum. Much better, much better than the old cramped building. We were both in love with the painterly quality of the John Singer Sargent (I'm always surprised with the force of my reaction to his work). I was disappointed by the Rauschenburg they had (one of his earlier "combine" pieces), and the Jasper Johns wasn't my favorite of his either. We were surprisingly taken in by the Warhol (above). And there was, an intense piece by Do Ho Suh, a gigantic samurai coat made out of dogtags, some kickin' Japanese scrolls and panels, and a wild Australian aboriginal piece, but I can't remember her name- started with an S. Oh, that's lame, but it sure was nice to be in the city for a day. We ate in Chinatown & got our city walking fix with a promise to ourselves to get back to it with a vengence today. So, I better stop fooling around here.

Raising Funds & Teenagers

Oh, those darn kids are amazing to me. They give me hope for the future. They're the ones that will forge ahead, leading us into a brighter, greener, safer tomorrow. I'm in love with a group of teenagers- is that wrong?

So, our little fundraiser had salsa dancers (7 youngsters who choreographed their own piece)*, raps about Harry Potter, raps about Calculus, a rockin' band, a not so great solo performance by quite the Diva who somehow managed to mix spanish, reggae, harmonica, guitar and strange social commentary, confusing her audience but looking fabulous while she did it, and poetry readings (some original, some by Sherman Alexie--no, he wasn't there). The skateboarders boycotted because they didn't want to wear full protective padding, but the kid who's taking an engine out of a truck & converting it to battery power was present with his informational wall of photos. And the popcorn and molassass-ginger cookies- amazing. Love them. Chocolate cake and lemonade, what more do you need? And, to top it all off, we made $600 from the generous donations of the attendees (I think it was mostly the parents).

My husband said-- after he was done helping me pick up, bless him-- "What a community we live in. The parents mix with the teenagers like it's nothing. No way, when I was a kid, would we have been good with our parents hanging around. These kids love it. It's a different world."

Of course, my husband is very east coast.


* The salsa dancers were my favorite. I'll have picts. later.

Just When You Thought I was Gone, Now You Will Get to See Exactly What I Am Up To....

Oh, It’s been a long time sisters, but inspired both by Bug and TI, I’ve decided to wrangle my time into this reverse schedule. How come it seems like more to do when I write it down? Wow, I better stick to it, or I’m going to get jammed up the last week, where, as you will notice, I’ve taken some work- work I said I wasn’t going to do this semester, but well, dammit, I like having money in the bank & the Youth Council business just isn’t cutting it in that department, (though it’s rewarding and gives the warm fuzzies and all).

THIS IS MY IMAGE OF WARM FUZZIES

Time to run. Got to put on a show, you know…..

September 7^th- Send out Packet

September 1^st-6^th- Work Microsoft show, write 7 pages Craft Essay & do exercises from The Scene Book, Draft Letter to AJ

August 28^th- 31^st- Prep for Microsoft show & finish last few “passes” of story in the evenings

August 21^st- 27^th- Finish Draft of new story

August 20^th- Send out story for IS

August 14^th-19^th- Read From Where You Dream, Write Rough Draft of new story, go over IS story again

August 13^th- Write Draft of IS

August 12^th- Finish Section of The Art of Fiction

August 11^th- Go Chaperone my Youth Fundraiser!!