I suppose it's time for Auntie Dy's Halloween Costume Tips. Last year, Auntie Dy focused on the absolute absurdity of the Occasional Seamstress (being one who only sews occasionally, and not quite well, at that) having the lack of foresight, or sense, to think that modification of a costume is "easy".
This year, Auntie Dy wants a stiff drink and a funny movie. This year's tip has more to do with motivation than with technique.
It is six o'clock, and she has just finished stapling (yes, stapling) the velcro onto her middle child's "meat-eating dinosaur" costume. (Of course it's modified... it was a cute playful fleece dragon pattern, according to the cover. Well, now it's made of lizard pleather, and it's a big-scary-meat-eater). Zorak The Costumeless One (I did offer to make him a great billowy pirate shirt and tight britches, but he thought that was just a little weird... probably something to do with the accent I used or the gleam in my eye) is now out with The Doctor (didn't have time to write "NMD" on his little scrubs, but we think of him that way), and The Dalmation (gotta really appreciate friends whose children are just a year's size older than yours!) and The Freshly Minted Dinosaur, canvassing the neighborhood, searching for goodies.
As I came flying down the hall wearing a pleather helmet with overstuffed spikes flowing down the back, carrying extra velcro in my teeth and bearing a limp dinosaur with one humongous tail protruding from the side, I swore under my breath that this is the last year I will ever make costumes! Ever! As I kicked the appallingly determined scraps of fleece which clung to my foot and removed a strip of velcro from one of the helmet spikes (a strip of velcro I'd spent a good twenty minutes trying to find), I was thinking that I would rather undergo liposuction that do this again.
I'm not organized enough! I'm not talented enough! The meat-eating dinosaur looks like a very good example of mid-extinction dinosaurs. If it were a fossil, archaeologists would be plotting one another's untimely deaths to get their lab tests on this thing. I'm not a seamstress! This isn't "my thing"!
Then John put it on.
He spun around and looked it over.
He took my face in his hands.
He kissed my nose
and told me that this is the best costume in the whole wide world.
Yup.
I wonder what we'll make next year?
Happy Halloween, all! Kiss those babies!
~Dy
If you don't mind the construction dust, come on in. The coffee's hot, the food's good, and the door is open...
Sunday, October 31
Friday, October 29
A Quiet Day of Preparation
Our beloved Zorak will return this evening; exhausted, I'm sure from a week away. We've had a nice morning thus far of preparations: tidying, wash, and freshly made muffins (using spelt flour, which, for the record, doesn't rise as well as I anticipated and I didn't think to use honey, hmmm- they did taste quite good, though), and we are now settling down for some enjoyable reading time and a light lunch in a bit.
Off to discover a good recipe for supper. We're frighteningly low on meats at the moment, and Zorak would think we didn't want him home if I were to prepare a meatless meal for his return! So, the ads are in the paper and if we can find something that sounds scrumptious, we'll be off to the market for supplies and home to create a warm, inviting smell to greet him at the door- along with the delighted squeals and toppling hugs of three happy children.
Probably no blogging tonight, but I hope you'll understand.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Off to discover a good recipe for supper. We're frighteningly low on meats at the moment, and Zorak would think we didn't want him home if I were to prepare a meatless meal for his return! So, the ads are in the paper and if we can find something that sounds scrumptious, we'll be off to the market for supplies and home to create a warm, inviting smell to greet him at the door- along with the delighted squeals and toppling hugs of three happy children.
Probably no blogging tonight, but I hope you'll understand.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Books, books and more books!
As y'all know, I've been enjoying my first encounter with O'Brian's nautical historical fiction. One element of his writing that has left me simply slack-jawed with admiration is the skill with which he introduces conflict into the storyline. It's subtle, and while you can look back and say, "Oh, of course," you cannot do that mid-read. Nope, just sneaks up on you, much the way conflict does in true life, as well. I am only on the first book, Master and Commander, but even so, his characters are so well-developed and I am enjoying getting to know them.
I have, in sheer self-defense, had to incorporate reading Chapman's Piloting & Seamanship to my pile. All those nautical terms! Why did I start this book the week Zorak was gone? Not one of my better plans.
Christ of the Covenants- it's spooled up in the queue. I'm looking forward to reading it.
The boys are reading some neat books, too. If I have time tonight I'll put them in the sidebar (where they will sit for months like that, even though we will have rotated books out many times over... it's a false hope to think I will maintain the sidebar like that.)
Kim mentioned The Five Love Languages the other day on her blog. It got me thinking and pondering. James is such a quality time kinda kid. This week has been hard on him, really, and it hit me today that a big part of that may be the lack of quality time, of any reasonably decent one on one time. So, after a very long and trying day (but with its good points, definite good points!) I let him stay up late, after the other two were asleep. He and I snuggled in the bed under the soft flannels and the comfy sheet and read stories he picked. We read Owl at Home (Lobel) and a few chapters of The Bears on Hemlock Mountain (Dalgliesh). We spent an hour together and talked about more than just the stories. We talked about imagination and writing stories, about lineages and legacies, about family and love. He snuggled in and let out a dreamy sigh, more relaxed than he's sounded all week. "What's on your mind, buddy-bear?" I asked. He said, "Just you. I really love you." *sigh* "I love you, too, sweetheart. I love you, too."
I am anxious to recalibrate our schedule to allot for more intentional time with each boy. This is something I have always promoted, but sometimes forget to do myself. Well, it's not about temporary fixes or schedules, it's about life. This is it, the big engagement! It is who we are and what we do, and in the end, these are the things they will remember. It's actually easier to maneuver with the four of us, as that dynamic is very well-developed and fluid. We do well as a group. The individual time, however, requires making other arrangements and setting that time aside. I think I just got lazy, but that's still no excuse. That's not what I want to be telling them when they are adults, "Oh, yes, I loved and cherished each of you so much... but didn't make the extra time to spend with you individually." No. That will not be happening. So, now that I see where I've dropped the ball, I am anxious to pick it up and continue on enjoying the boys- all together, and individually. :-)
Well, on that note, it's just a little after midnight... I'm going to hit the hay "early" tonight and enjoy some one on one time with a good book, too!
Kiss those babies, one at a time and all together!
~Dy
I have, in sheer self-defense, had to incorporate reading Chapman's Piloting & Seamanship to my pile. All those nautical terms! Why did I start this book the week Zorak was gone? Not one of my better plans.
Christ of the Covenants- it's spooled up in the queue. I'm looking forward to reading it.
The boys are reading some neat books, too. If I have time tonight I'll put them in the sidebar (where they will sit for months like that, even though we will have rotated books out many times over... it's a false hope to think I will maintain the sidebar like that.)
Kim mentioned The Five Love Languages the other day on her blog. It got me thinking and pondering. James is such a quality time kinda kid. This week has been hard on him, really, and it hit me today that a big part of that may be the lack of quality time, of any reasonably decent one on one time. So, after a very long and trying day (but with its good points, definite good points!) I let him stay up late, after the other two were asleep. He and I snuggled in the bed under the soft flannels and the comfy sheet and read stories he picked. We read Owl at Home (Lobel) and a few chapters of The Bears on Hemlock Mountain (Dalgliesh). We spent an hour together and talked about more than just the stories. We talked about imagination and writing stories, about lineages and legacies, about family and love. He snuggled in and let out a dreamy sigh, more relaxed than he's sounded all week. "What's on your mind, buddy-bear?" I asked. He said, "Just you. I really love you." *sigh* "I love you, too, sweetheart. I love you, too."
I am anxious to recalibrate our schedule to allot for more intentional time with each boy. This is something I have always promoted, but sometimes forget to do myself. Well, it's not about temporary fixes or schedules, it's about life. This is it, the big engagement! It is who we are and what we do, and in the end, these are the things they will remember. It's actually easier to maneuver with the four of us, as that dynamic is very well-developed and fluid. We do well as a group. The individual time, however, requires making other arrangements and setting that time aside. I think I just got lazy, but that's still no excuse. That's not what I want to be telling them when they are adults, "Oh, yes, I loved and cherished each of you so much... but didn't make the extra time to spend with you individually." No. That will not be happening. So, now that I see where I've dropped the ball, I am anxious to pick it up and continue on enjoying the boys- all together, and individually. :-)
Well, on that note, it's just a little after midnight... I'm going to hit the hay "early" tonight and enjoy some one on one time with a good book, too!
Kiss those babies, one at a time and all together!
~Dy
Wednesday, October 27
Little Bit O' Everything
First, Jess needs prayers for her 3yo son, Craig. The poor little guy isn't healing properly from his surgery. Tonight the doctor said if he started bleeding again he'd call him in for surgery. Sure enough, Geo no sooner got little Craig home than it started up again. She called me on the way out the door and we prayed. I'd like to ask the rest of you to join in prayer for Craig tonight.
On to less pressing matters, then.
We just returned from viewing the eclipse through a telescope over at the Wonderful Neighbors' place. Wow, oh wow. John thought the moon was emptying out, certain that it wouldn't fill back up. The thought that the moon may be dimmed permanently didn't seem to bother him at all, though. James has a better grasp of what's going on, and WonderfulNeighbor Husband is just the best with the kids. He took the time to explain the rarity of a total lunar eclipse, and answered the zillion and one related questions (and, being that they're only four and six, they also had a zillion and one unrelated questions, which he fielded as well.) James decided the first person to see the full eclipse through the telescope should be nicknamed "Eclipse" (for however long these things last when you're six). We (kinda sorta) made certain it was him. WonderfulNeighbor Girl brought out her planets book and the kids had a fun time going through the phases of the moon and the process of an eclipse. (It's really fun to have neighbors who also homeschool.)
We missed the Skates & Rays exhibit today because I took a seriously delightful nap with Jacob. The boys had some much-needed quiet time, as well. They read together through some new books and some old favorites. We plan to go tomorrow after Spanish co-op.
I had such a wonderful moment over lunch today! John asked me to read a book he'd picked out at the library; Miracle, the True Story of the Wreck of the Sea Venture (by Gail Langer Karwoski). I read the cover notes aloud (which is a great way to give the kids an idea of what to expect in longer books), and what do you know, the story of the Sea Venture was the basis for Shakespeare's The Tempest. (No, two and two did not make four all on their own for me- I was spoon-fed that part.) The warm fuzzy actually came when James became quite wide-eyed, hurriedly swallowed his milk and said, "William Shakespeare? Mom, he wrote Hamlet, too! Neat!" Ohhh, that felt wonderful. Just wonderful, indeed.
Now don't panic on me here, we haven't waded into reading Shakespeare aloud (yet, but we do plan to do it!) We have, however, regularly talked with the boys about the plays and stories of Shakespeare. There are so many wonderful allusions to his work that you run across in other reading, and if you don't know about it, you'll miss it! You don't want to miss this stuff. Anyway, as an aside, Miracle itself is thoroughly enjoyable, as well. We're reading through it first as a story and will go back to explore the sidebars separately.
The boys are certainly full-out in the throes of being four and six. John has taken to tucking his pant-legs into his socks, for whatever reason I cannot figure. Evidently it's comfortable, and makes perfect sense when you're four. (James did the same thing, only with his boots, when he was four.) He looks like a little Dickensian urchin with the pants puffed out above the socks at the knees. Where is that "I dressed myself today" button when you need it?
James has developed an incredibly full-bodied dance he calls The Karate Dance. It's silliness to the core. He rescues, watches or plays with any creature that comes within the parameters of our property, and gets terribly giggly over the silliest things.
They speak gibberish to one another and laugh until tears stream down their red little faces. They pretend to be robots while gathering laundry (you have to push the start button each time they wind down). They climb into bed in the morning to snuggle under the "fluffy sheet" (what they call the down comforter) and make the day's plans with whispered tones of excitement, as if we're organizing a super surprise party. They're really, truly, wonderfully great kids. I'm having such a great time with them, and even though this week is pretty long, it's still so good.
Let's see, well as most of y'all know, the WTM forums have been shut down, pending some serious growing up on behalf of the posters. *sigh* I don't blame the folks for putting their webmasterly feet down and saying, quite simply, "Enough!" It's sad, and I'll miss the Accelerated Learner board terribly. However, the patience and fortitude the folks at Peace Hill Press have shown in continuing to maintain a safe, healthy online environment, hitting the "delete" button and repeatedly requesting that people just play nice... is there a medal for that? If so, they do deserve it. I hope they know that the majority of us have enjoyed and appreciated that forum and we look forward to a day when it can be maintained with a minimum of babysitting required. At least we hope that day will come, but after watching things deteriorate over the past year or so, I can't say I'd blame them if they decided to just nix the whole feature.
And boy-oh-boy, am I glad we have our blogosphere to help us keep in touch now! What do you want to bet several of us (myself included) become much more regular bloggers now? *wink* Oh, and BTW, Patty in WA- if you're out there, hon, you really need to start a blog! And you have mail, too.
Anyhow, I hope tonight brought you clear skies and warm memories. It's time to run through tomorrow's plans and reading and then I'm going to go sail the Med with Capt. Aubrey. *grin*
G'nite!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
On to less pressing matters, then.
We just returned from viewing the eclipse through a telescope over at the Wonderful Neighbors' place. Wow, oh wow. John thought the moon was emptying out, certain that it wouldn't fill back up. The thought that the moon may be dimmed permanently didn't seem to bother him at all, though. James has a better grasp of what's going on, and WonderfulNeighbor Husband is just the best with the kids. He took the time to explain the rarity of a total lunar eclipse, and answered the zillion and one related questions (and, being that they're only four and six, they also had a zillion and one unrelated questions, which he fielded as well.) James decided the first person to see the full eclipse through the telescope should be nicknamed "Eclipse" (for however long these things last when you're six). We (kinda sorta) made certain it was him. WonderfulNeighbor Girl brought out her planets book and the kids had a fun time going through the phases of the moon and the process of an eclipse. (It's really fun to have neighbors who also homeschool.)
We missed the Skates & Rays exhibit today because I took a seriously delightful nap with Jacob. The boys had some much-needed quiet time, as well. They read together through some new books and some old favorites. We plan to go tomorrow after Spanish co-op.
I had such a wonderful moment over lunch today! John asked me to read a book he'd picked out at the library; Miracle, the True Story of the Wreck of the Sea Venture (by Gail Langer Karwoski). I read the cover notes aloud (which is a great way to give the kids an idea of what to expect in longer books), and what do you know, the story of the Sea Venture was the basis for Shakespeare's The Tempest. (No, two and two did not make four all on their own for me- I was spoon-fed that part.) The warm fuzzy actually came when James became quite wide-eyed, hurriedly swallowed his milk and said, "William Shakespeare? Mom, he wrote Hamlet, too! Neat!" Ohhh, that felt wonderful. Just wonderful, indeed.
Now don't panic on me here, we haven't waded into reading Shakespeare aloud (yet, but we do plan to do it!) We have, however, regularly talked with the boys about the plays and stories of Shakespeare. There are so many wonderful allusions to his work that you run across in other reading, and if you don't know about it, you'll miss it! You don't want to miss this stuff. Anyway, as an aside, Miracle itself is thoroughly enjoyable, as well. We're reading through it first as a story and will go back to explore the sidebars separately.
The boys are certainly full-out in the throes of being four and six. John has taken to tucking his pant-legs into his socks, for whatever reason I cannot figure. Evidently it's comfortable, and makes perfect sense when you're four. (James did the same thing, only with his boots, when he was four.) He looks like a little Dickensian urchin with the pants puffed out above the socks at the knees. Where is that "I dressed myself today" button when you need it?
James has developed an incredibly full-bodied dance he calls The Karate Dance. It's silliness to the core. He rescues, watches or plays with any creature that comes within the parameters of our property, and gets terribly giggly over the silliest things.
They speak gibberish to one another and laugh until tears stream down their red little faces. They pretend to be robots while gathering laundry (you have to push the start button each time they wind down). They climb into bed in the morning to snuggle under the "fluffy sheet" (what they call the down comforter) and make the day's plans with whispered tones of excitement, as if we're organizing a super surprise party. They're really, truly, wonderfully great kids. I'm having such a great time with them, and even though this week is pretty long, it's still so good.
Let's see, well as most of y'all know, the WTM forums have been shut down, pending some serious growing up on behalf of the posters. *sigh* I don't blame the folks for putting their webmasterly feet down and saying, quite simply, "Enough!" It's sad, and I'll miss the Accelerated Learner board terribly. However, the patience and fortitude the folks at Peace Hill Press have shown in continuing to maintain a safe, healthy online environment, hitting the "delete" button and repeatedly requesting that people just play nice... is there a medal for that? If so, they do deserve it. I hope they know that the majority of us have enjoyed and appreciated that forum and we look forward to a day when it can be maintained with a minimum of babysitting required. At least we hope that day will come, but after watching things deteriorate over the past year or so, I can't say I'd blame them if they decided to just nix the whole feature.
And boy-oh-boy, am I glad we have our blogosphere to help us keep in touch now! What do you want to bet several of us (myself included) become much more regular bloggers now? *wink* Oh, and BTW, Patty in WA- if you're out there, hon, you really need to start a blog! And you have mail, too.
Anyhow, I hope tonight brought you clear skies and warm memories. It's time to run through tomorrow's plans and reading and then I'm going to go sail the Med with Capt. Aubrey. *grin*
G'nite!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, October 26
Ew.
You know that sensation of dread when you're drinking a liquid... a pure liquid with nothing in it but liquid, not pureed or anything like that... and something sort of solid brushes past your lip on its way into your mouth...
I hate that.
Gotta love having a one year old.
And no, I didn't bother to see what it was, just spit, gag and dump. I don't want to know!
Kiss those babies (and check your cup if they'd been near it!)
~Dy
I hate that.
Gotta love having a one year old.
And no, I didn't bother to see what it was, just spit, gag and dump. I don't want to know!
Kiss those babies (and check your cup if they'd been near it!)
~Dy
Park that stroller
We had a big outing today! It was a lot of fun, and we went with three of our favorite people: Wonderful Neighbor and her two daughters. It was quite an adventure. We drove up to some place north of here (lots of traffic), took the Metro (stuck out like the newbie to rail transit that I am), and then to the National Zoo. The boys were awesome, but we tried to do too much too fast. We tried to keep up with Wonderful Neighbor, who has a stroller.
Now, I've never been a fan of strollers, but couldn't put my finger on just what it was that didn't sit right with me. Today, though, it hit me. A stroller tends to take all the pack mule-type stress off the Mom. It makes the smallest ones perfectly portable. And... an unfortunate side effect of all these nifty features is that Mom then tends to continue to move at her stride, her pace. That's fine and dandy for the child who gets the ride, but for pedestrian wee ones, it makes for a very long haul. (For the pack mule Mom who is accustomed to moving at her children's paces and not that of a perfectly-mobile Mom, it's an exhausting experience.) Wonderful Neighbor took it in good humor when I pointed out that her daughter is quite the trooper and I was ready to keel over in the bamboo at that pace. *whew* I can't imagine trying to get through today if my legs were any shorter than they are.
No, I prefer the non-vehicular means of exploring. It does feel good to know why now. And I understand a little better "how" we're able to enjoy big expeditions and short jaunts alike. We don't see the whole zoo in one trip, and we don't try to hustle through. We mosey. We meander. We like the amble part of ambulatory. We see a portion of things, but enjoy that portion immensely. We'll definitely go back to the zoo- the kids all get on so well, but hopefully nex time it'll be sans stroller.
Thank you, all, for sharing your insights and suggestions on writing! Tomorrow is a trip to the library and books are on hold. I would, naturally, love to be paid for writing. That in itself would feel like a tangible validation that I'd attained some level of competence. It isn't the driving force for writing, though, which is probably good. Is it a realistic goal to incorporate into this particular season of my life? Perhaps, but perhaps not. I don't know that I am willing to give what it would require, nor to ask of my husband and children what they would have to give. Knowing that is good. That's a place to begin. From there, maybe James would lend me one of his Ticonderoga #2's and Zorak would let me commandeer a fresh pad of paper. You know, just to work it out and see if there's a path leading from the corner.
I must apologize for thinking Shirley Hazzard may be "chick-lit with big words". She and I had some time the other night to sit down over a cup of coffee once the boys were down, and while I'm not flying through the book (due mostly to very few decent-sized chunks of time the past few days), I did find myself enjoying The Great Fire long before the 50 page cutoff. Patrick O'Brian, however, is also vying for my time and attention. I need my Sailor Dog here to help me translate some of the nautical terms, but the rest of his writing just picks me up and carries me along. What fun!
And so, to bed.
Kiss those babies! And amble with them, as well.
~Dy
Now, I've never been a fan of strollers, but couldn't put my finger on just what it was that didn't sit right with me. Today, though, it hit me. A stroller tends to take all the pack mule-type stress off the Mom. It makes the smallest ones perfectly portable. And... an unfortunate side effect of all these nifty features is that Mom then tends to continue to move at her stride, her pace. That's fine and dandy for the child who gets the ride, but for pedestrian wee ones, it makes for a very long haul. (For the pack mule Mom who is accustomed to moving at her children's paces and not that of a perfectly-mobile Mom, it's an exhausting experience.) Wonderful Neighbor took it in good humor when I pointed out that her daughter is quite the trooper and I was ready to keel over in the bamboo at that pace. *whew* I can't imagine trying to get through today if my legs were any shorter than they are.
No, I prefer the non-vehicular means of exploring. It does feel good to know why now. And I understand a little better "how" we're able to enjoy big expeditions and short jaunts alike. We don't see the whole zoo in one trip, and we don't try to hustle through. We mosey. We meander. We like the amble part of ambulatory. We see a portion of things, but enjoy that portion immensely. We'll definitely go back to the zoo- the kids all get on so well, but hopefully nex time it'll be sans stroller.
Thank you, all, for sharing your insights and suggestions on writing! Tomorrow is a trip to the library and books are on hold. I would, naturally, love to be paid for writing. That in itself would feel like a tangible validation that I'd attained some level of competence. It isn't the driving force for writing, though, which is probably good. Is it a realistic goal to incorporate into this particular season of my life? Perhaps, but perhaps not. I don't know that I am willing to give what it would require, nor to ask of my husband and children what they would have to give. Knowing that is good. That's a place to begin. From there, maybe James would lend me one of his Ticonderoga #2's and Zorak would let me commandeer a fresh pad of paper. You know, just to work it out and see if there's a path leading from the corner.
I must apologize for thinking Shirley Hazzard may be "chick-lit with big words". She and I had some time the other night to sit down over a cup of coffee once the boys were down, and while I'm not flying through the book (due mostly to very few decent-sized chunks of time the past few days), I did find myself enjoying The Great Fire long before the 50 page cutoff. Patrick O'Brian, however, is also vying for my time and attention. I need my Sailor Dog here to help me translate some of the nautical terms, but the rest of his writing just picks me up and carries me along. What fun!
And so, to bed.
Kiss those babies! And amble with them, as well.
~Dy
Sunday, October 24
Make some tea, this is a rambler!
It's chilly out! I have no idea what the temps are- don't really care to know. I think that's why I never put up a weather pixie here (aside from the fact that she simply doesn't wear sweaters nearly often enough); if it's hot out, I'd sit there and stare at her, trying to will the numbers to go down, and if it's cold, I'd try to figure out just where that magic level is- temperature and humidity... riiiiiggghhhhhtttt... ohhhh, yeah, right there. Then I'd snort at her whenever the readout was too high from that. Ha, yes, I'd obsess. Reminds me of my Mother, who would will herself to be as miserable as she thought the temperature merited, even when she was indoors and quite well-insulated from the outside air. Nah, no sense in egging on genetic tendencies. They'll surface eventually without my aid, I'm sure. I will, however, say that it's absolutely beautiful out! How's that?
Zorak headed out this morning (way too early) after coffee with me and breakfast with the boys (which we savored). The boys had hoped to drive him to the airport, but sufficed with some snuggle time at the kitchen table (the heart and hearth of our home) before he loaded them into the Suburban and waved to them through the rain-coated windows. He headed for Baltimore, and we headed for church. After a nice morning, then a quick run up the road to church, it felt good to settle in among others and enjoy the class, enjoy the company, before returning to a tidy and entirely-too-quiet home.
Ok, this has been coming for a few days. Get more tea (or coffee, naturally) and get comfy. I've been picking my own brain on stories, writers, and the way things work since finding myself on the flattened end of a breath-sucking epiphany the other night... Now I'd like to pick yours. The thoughts aren't as clear as they were when they originally surfaced. This bit will be more like the retelling of a faded dream, and for that, I apologize.
One of the themes propelling the last few Dark Tower books is that the story of the Dark Tower is one that had to be told (ka willed it, to use the familiar) and King was merely a facilitator, an avenue, for the story to be told. I know this is commonly said in writing- if you listen (or feel, taste, pick a sense, any sense) you'll *insert form of sensory input here* the story itself, writing itself through you. Yeah. You know, I have a cousin who channels dead voices, and I've never been able to do that, either. So. OK, *sigh* I'm not a Medium for the many stories waiting to be told.
This revelation is sad, to me. I want to be used, and want to be useful in this way. I've stood on the edge of my vista and screamed to the sky, "Show me!" (Therapy eventually cured the nightmares from that particular writing course, where the mantra "show it, don't tell it" was repeated regularly and with cultish, rhythmic tones... I don't know if I really am the only one in the class who didn't get it, or if the others, each afraid to be the lone unbeliever at a spiritual revival, were simply shouting "Yes, Lord, Jesus!" for the benefit of the instructor. At the time, however, that never crossed my mind, so I sat there, mute and fearful that I had been lobotomized at some point in my life without ever realizing it.)
I often hear people asking writers, "What makes a good writer? How do you start? How do you know what to write?" I've asked those same questions myself. I've never received a helpful answer, either, and it's not through fault of accomplished writers who have tried to answer. From what I can tell, outside the realm of technical writing, there seem to be two schools of thought, (neither of which evidently falls under the realm of any muse to which I've been assigned): technical knowledge and the vein process. I've touched briefly on the repercussions of my attempts to learn the technical aspects of fictional writing (creative writing, if you will). I've taken courses and come away more confident in my ability to, well, to write myself into a corner - usually a well-furnished and comfortable corner, but one from which there is no hope of escape. Each course has brought only a finer ability to upholster the furniture or develop the characters stuck in said corner. That's about it. The depth of my abilities as a writer hinge on one major theme: interior design. I can't carry a fictional plot to save my life, but by golly I can sure build a great character and one fine travois for someone else to haul!
The other school of thought comes from Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith*; "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." This is probably as succinct as it will ever get. For us laypersons, the rough translation would be something along the lines of, "We don't know how we do it. We just do it, and we do it wholeheartedly." There you have it. Engineers refer to this very same phenomena as the "PFM box". Don't know how it works, it just does. Yup. OK. So, well, at least that leaves something to work with. If I can change the travois to something waterproof and buoyant, perhaps I could get my characters out of the corner that way, on the flow of blood. Not the nicest way to travel, but hey, if they want out of that corner...
Anyhow, this brings me full circle. I'm not asking "the writers" out there, for you have made your path and know full well that the view from atop the hill is not as clear as it seemed it would be en route. It's ok. People pester y'all enough as it is. So, in the spirit of pooling our resources, I'm asking my fellow travelers. Other writers, other dreamers, others who peek longingly over the edge of that fine line - why do I picture Qaddafi's "Line of Death" when I say that - and plot, plan and scheme to write themselves over that line. Do you think stories wait to be told, or do you think they are drawn from a subconscious existence into the full light of awareness? Do they then begin requesting to be written? Do they talk? Would you be willing to admit in public to hearing one speak to you?
I'm sitting here (on my nicely upholstered chair in my well-appointed corner), working my way through these points. I know full well that I'd be a card-carrying member of one of the "third rate writer's groups" so deigned by some. *shrug* It's ok. You've gotta start somewhere. In the meantime, the coffee is hot. The walls are dingy, and the windows need cleaning, but the company is honest and lively. The dreams are vibrant, and the tension of anticipation keeps things moving along. The ideas, scattered and incomplete as they are, are beautiful in their mosaic gleam. Won't they be magnificent once we figure out what to do with them?
I've got to admit, too, that the furniture is quite comfy here. *grin* Let me know when the next seance is, ok?
Thanks for the afternoon ramble. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, too.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
* A thousand thanks to Chris from the WTM forums for hunting down the author of that quote. I searched for two hours and found most sites attribute it as "author unknown"- and one writing professor at a University attributes it to a freshman student in his WU130 writing class.
Zorak headed out this morning (way too early) after coffee with me and breakfast with the boys (which we savored). The boys had hoped to drive him to the airport, but sufficed with some snuggle time at the kitchen table (the heart and hearth of our home) before he loaded them into the Suburban and waved to them through the rain-coated windows. He headed for Baltimore, and we headed for church. After a nice morning, then a quick run up the road to church, it felt good to settle in among others and enjoy the class, enjoy the company, before returning to a tidy and entirely-too-quiet home.
Ok, this has been coming for a few days. Get more tea (or coffee, naturally) and get comfy. I've been picking my own brain on stories, writers, and the way things work since finding myself on the flattened end of a breath-sucking epiphany the other night... Now I'd like to pick yours. The thoughts aren't as clear as they were when they originally surfaced. This bit will be more like the retelling of a faded dream, and for that, I apologize.
One of the themes propelling the last few Dark Tower books is that the story of the Dark Tower is one that had to be told (ka willed it, to use the familiar) and King was merely a facilitator, an avenue, for the story to be told. I know this is commonly said in writing- if you listen (or feel, taste, pick a sense, any sense) you'll *insert form of sensory input here* the story itself, writing itself through you. Yeah. You know, I have a cousin who channels dead voices, and I've never been able to do that, either. So. OK, *sigh* I'm not a Medium for the many stories waiting to be told.
This revelation is sad, to me. I want to be used, and want to be useful in this way. I've stood on the edge of my vista and screamed to the sky, "Show me!" (Therapy eventually cured the nightmares from that particular writing course, where the mantra "show it, don't tell it" was repeated regularly and with cultish, rhythmic tones... I don't know if I really am the only one in the class who didn't get it, or if the others, each afraid to be the lone unbeliever at a spiritual revival, were simply shouting "Yes, Lord, Jesus!" for the benefit of the instructor. At the time, however, that never crossed my mind, so I sat there, mute and fearful that I had been lobotomized at some point in my life without ever realizing it.)
I often hear people asking writers, "What makes a good writer? How do you start? How do you know what to write?" I've asked those same questions myself. I've never received a helpful answer, either, and it's not through fault of accomplished writers who have tried to answer. From what I can tell, outside the realm of technical writing, there seem to be two schools of thought, (neither of which evidently falls under the realm of any muse to which I've been assigned): technical knowledge and the vein process. I've touched briefly on the repercussions of my attempts to learn the technical aspects of fictional writing (creative writing, if you will). I've taken courses and come away more confident in my ability to, well, to write myself into a corner - usually a well-furnished and comfortable corner, but one from which there is no hope of escape. Each course has brought only a finer ability to upholster the furniture or develop the characters stuck in said corner. That's about it. The depth of my abilities as a writer hinge on one major theme: interior design. I can't carry a fictional plot to save my life, but by golly I can sure build a great character and one fine travois for someone else to haul!
The other school of thought comes from Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith*; "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." This is probably as succinct as it will ever get. For us laypersons, the rough translation would be something along the lines of, "We don't know how we do it. We just do it, and we do it wholeheartedly." There you have it. Engineers refer to this very same phenomena as the "PFM box". Don't know how it works, it just does. Yup. OK. So, well, at least that leaves something to work with. If I can change the travois to something waterproof and buoyant, perhaps I could get my characters out of the corner that way, on the flow of blood. Not the nicest way to travel, but hey, if they want out of that corner...
Anyhow, this brings me full circle. I'm not asking "the writers" out there, for you have made your path and know full well that the view from atop the hill is not as clear as it seemed it would be en route. It's ok. People pester y'all enough as it is. So, in the spirit of pooling our resources, I'm asking my fellow travelers. Other writers, other dreamers, others who peek longingly over the edge of that fine line - why do I picture Qaddafi's "Line of Death" when I say that - and plot, plan and scheme to write themselves over that line. Do you think stories wait to be told, or do you think they are drawn from a subconscious existence into the full light of awareness? Do they then begin requesting to be written? Do they talk? Would you be willing to admit in public to hearing one speak to you?
I'm sitting here (on my nicely upholstered chair in my well-appointed corner), working my way through these points. I know full well that I'd be a card-carrying member of one of the "third rate writer's groups" so deigned by some. *shrug* It's ok. You've gotta start somewhere. In the meantime, the coffee is hot. The walls are dingy, and the windows need cleaning, but the company is honest and lively. The dreams are vibrant, and the tension of anticipation keeps things moving along. The ideas, scattered and incomplete as they are, are beautiful in their mosaic gleam. Won't they be magnificent once we figure out what to do with them?
I've got to admit, too, that the furniture is quite comfy here. *grin* Let me know when the next seance is, ok?
Thanks for the afternoon ramble. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, too.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
* A thousand thanks to Chris from the WTM forums for hunting down the author of that quote. I searched for two hours and found most sites attribute it as "author unknown"- and one writing professor at a University attributes it to a freshman student in his WU130 writing class.
Less Inspired
Ah, I ought to have blogged about stories and telling and such while those thoughts were busy tearing their way through my mind. They were clear then (as if something that's tearing at you could be somewhat vague and fuzzy?)
Finished The Dark Tower. Now munching on Shirley Hazzard's The Great Fire. Chick-lit with big words? I don't know. Not far enough into it yet to say. *shrug* We'll see. I did find it interesting, however, to stumble upon a direct reference in King's book to Hazzard as a writer whose words demanded to be read, held importance. My eyes flicked uneasily over to her book, lying in wait, and I thought, "Well, alrighty then."
Today we trimmed boy hair and ran many loads of wash. We purchased costume fabric and notions. We thoroughly enjoyed the boys and one another. Zorak prepared for another trip. I am tempted to whine, but really, this is not bad. A friend's hubby is gone much more frequently and she has managed not to develop a maniacal tone to her laughter yet, so there's hope for me, right?
More books waiting for us at the library. Happy Mom!
The National Zoo is calling us. This means a train ride. Happy Boys!
The days are beautiful and deeply chilling. Miserably unhappy WonderfulNeighbor.
I feel almost guilty for being so enraptured with the weather lately. (However, she can now wear a size four jean, so... it's a fair trade.)
The boys are enjoying their new hoodies (hooded pullover sweatshirts).
I am somewhat envious. They look so snuggly and warm in there!
It's almost one. The last load is drying. Zorak wants to check his email, so I am going to sign off. However, hopefully there'll be a lull tomorro in the roar that is our daily life and I can blog more coherently about the stories...
Dy
Finished The Dark Tower. Now munching on Shirley Hazzard's The Great Fire. Chick-lit with big words? I don't know. Not far enough into it yet to say. *shrug* We'll see. I did find it interesting, however, to stumble upon a direct reference in King's book to Hazzard as a writer whose words demanded to be read, held importance. My eyes flicked uneasily over to her book, lying in wait, and I thought, "Well, alrighty then."
Today we trimmed boy hair and ran many loads of wash. We purchased costume fabric and notions. We thoroughly enjoyed the boys and one another. Zorak prepared for another trip. I am tempted to whine, but really, this is not bad. A friend's hubby is gone much more frequently and she has managed not to develop a maniacal tone to her laughter yet, so there's hope for me, right?
More books waiting for us at the library. Happy Mom!
The National Zoo is calling us. This means a train ride. Happy Boys!
The days are beautiful and deeply chilling. Miserably unhappy WonderfulNeighbor.
I feel almost guilty for being so enraptured with the weather lately. (However, she can now wear a size four jean, so... it's a fair trade.)
The boys are enjoying their new hoodies (hooded pullover sweatshirts).
I am somewhat envious. They look so snuggly and warm in there!
It's almost one. The last load is drying. Zorak wants to check his email, so I am going to sign off. However, hopefully there'll be a lull tomorro in the roar that is our daily life and I can blog more coherently about the stories...
Dy
Friday, October 22
Scratch That
OK, I had a blog all written up and ready to go...
Then I settled in with Roland and what's left of his ka-tet.
King went off on a tirade, though- somewhere around page 547- which got me thinking, and so- scratch the previous blog, I'm going to talk to myself for a little.
I really love to read. It's not an easy feeling to explain, so I won't even try, really. I couldn't do it justice. A good way to illustrate (although I don't quite expect this to make sense to anyone but Zorak and the waitress at the truck stop in Las Cruces) is that when Zorak gives me a book- of any kind, for any reason- I find it almost (but not quite) as romantic as when he bought me an arm guard in 1996. I still have that arm guard, too. *insert giddy sigh here*
This love of reading has not exactly made me into a connoisseur of literature. (I think of books in terms of food, for Pete's sake!) My appetite for just about anything printed and bound, however, has led me down some interesting (?) paths, introduced me to some fascinating ideas, made me cry, made me laugh, and in the end, brought me to a place where I am happier with life-as-it-stands than with fairy tales on film. It doesn't always work that way, I know. That's just how it's been for me. I'm not one who is willing to forego a good coffee and brainstorm session with Zorak, either. It's not like that, really. I don't even think I'm more... whatever it is, because of it. But it's there, and I really do love it.
So where was this going? Well, nowhere, really- just... oh, yes, the ignorance of youth (mine, specifically, nobody get yer panties in a bunch over such a generalization!) Does anybody else remember sitting in World History class and hearing the instructor (Oh, slave master that he was!) assign something unbearable, such as pp. 221-263 to be read by Thursday? Anyone? The groans! The cries of injustice! How could he do that? Ohhh, or worse yet, assign such a tedious task on a *gasp* Friday, due on Monday? What?! Has he no life? Whatever will we do?
Yeah, I joined in the chorus. I whined my fanny off. I applied every ounce of leverage I could pull to get such a sentence lifted. *snort* Wow, no wonder our cries fell on deaf ears. So then, twenty-mumble-mumble years later, here I am- I checked out The Dark Tower on, what was it, Monday night? Just hit page 550, and that's only because we have, you know, things to do. Meals to cook. Showers to take. (There are just some places you can't, or shouldn't, take a library book.) Oh, and we lost our electrical power last night around nine. I read until our only candle was a nub and felt I really ought to save a bit of it. (It was short to begin with.)
Now, I'm not equating Stephen King with the texts of McGraw-Hill and company. I'm just laughing in that semi-embarrassed, ironic way that's pretty much become a part of me. I'm laughing at life. Yup. It's awkward. I whined over having to read a whopping forty-two pages in a week. Now I'll gobble that in an evening, and take notes on my own, to boot! (Not because I'm such a scholar, but because my memory just doesn't hold up so well these days.) I wouldn't do high school over again for anything, but I sure would love to have been able to keep my head on straight enough to soak up and make good use of all that guided, directed education while I had it in front of me, with a dedicated time slot set aside each day; much better than expending so much energy and creativity in trying to get out of it! Now I get to devote twice the energy and create my own time slots, make my own dedications.
And I do mean "get to"- I'm thankful that I can do that! How exciting to know that although I made my own road a bit rougher to travel, it isn't inaccessible by any means. The journey is still possible, and still sweet, even though the eyes may water and the joints may creak a bit now.
My hope is that the boys will see the love burning constanly, and watch the discipline - the self-discipline - growing, and that they will see it as "normal". I want it to be just as normal to them to pick up a biography or a great novel as it is to go to the market for groceries or hold the door for strangers. Just add it to the list of things I hope to model well enough that they don't have to wrangle it later on in life themselves. That's the best we can do, isn't it?
It's the story we can tell.
And tomorrow I'd like to talk about stories that want to be told...
But right now it's nearly four, and I'm going to be one tired Mama come sun-up! Kiss those precious babies!
~Dy
Then I settled in with Roland and what's left of his ka-tet.
King went off on a tirade, though- somewhere around page 547- which got me thinking, and so- scratch the previous blog, I'm going to talk to myself for a little.
I really love to read. It's not an easy feeling to explain, so I won't even try, really. I couldn't do it justice. A good way to illustrate (although I don't quite expect this to make sense to anyone but Zorak and the waitress at the truck stop in Las Cruces) is that when Zorak gives me a book- of any kind, for any reason- I find it almost (but not quite) as romantic as when he bought me an arm guard in 1996. I still have that arm guard, too. *insert giddy sigh here*
This love of reading has not exactly made me into a connoisseur of literature. (I think of books in terms of food, for Pete's sake!) My appetite for just about anything printed and bound, however, has led me down some interesting (?) paths, introduced me to some fascinating ideas, made me cry, made me laugh, and in the end, brought me to a place where I am happier with life-as-it-stands than with fairy tales on film. It doesn't always work that way, I know. That's just how it's been for me. I'm not one who is willing to forego a good coffee and brainstorm session with Zorak, either. It's not like that, really. I don't even think I'm more... whatever it is, because of it. But it's there, and I really do love it.
So where was this going? Well, nowhere, really- just... oh, yes, the ignorance of youth (mine, specifically, nobody get yer panties in a bunch over such a generalization!) Does anybody else remember sitting in World History class and hearing the instructor (Oh, slave master that he was!) assign something unbearable, such as pp. 221-263 to be read by Thursday? Anyone? The groans! The cries of injustice! How could he do that? Ohhh, or worse yet, assign such a tedious task on a *gasp* Friday, due on Monday? What?! Has he no life? Whatever will we do?
Yeah, I joined in the chorus. I whined my fanny off. I applied every ounce of leverage I could pull to get such a sentence lifted. *snort* Wow, no wonder our cries fell on deaf ears. So then, twenty-mumble-mumble years later, here I am- I checked out The Dark Tower on, what was it, Monday night? Just hit page 550, and that's only because we have, you know, things to do. Meals to cook. Showers to take. (There are just some places you can't, or shouldn't, take a library book.) Oh, and we lost our electrical power last night around nine. I read until our only candle was a nub and felt I really ought to save a bit of it. (It was short to begin with.)
Now, I'm not equating Stephen King with the texts of McGraw-Hill and company. I'm just laughing in that semi-embarrassed, ironic way that's pretty much become a part of me. I'm laughing at life. Yup. It's awkward. I whined over having to read a whopping forty-two pages in a week. Now I'll gobble that in an evening, and take notes on my own, to boot! (Not because I'm such a scholar, but because my memory just doesn't hold up so well these days.) I wouldn't do high school over again for anything, but I sure would love to have been able to keep my head on straight enough to soak up and make good use of all that guided, directed education while I had it in front of me, with a dedicated time slot set aside each day; much better than expending so much energy and creativity in trying to get out of it! Now I get to devote twice the energy and create my own time slots, make my own dedications.
And I do mean "get to"- I'm thankful that I can do that! How exciting to know that although I made my own road a bit rougher to travel, it isn't inaccessible by any means. The journey is still possible, and still sweet, even though the eyes may water and the joints may creak a bit now.
My hope is that the boys will see the love burning constanly, and watch the discipline - the self-discipline - growing, and that they will see it as "normal". I want it to be just as normal to them to pick up a biography or a great novel as it is to go to the market for groceries or hold the door for strangers. Just add it to the list of things I hope to model well enough that they don't have to wrangle it later on in life themselves. That's the best we can do, isn't it?
It's the story we can tell.
And tomorrow I'd like to talk about stories that want to be told...
But right now it's nearly four, and I'm going to be one tired Mama come sun-up! Kiss those precious babies!
~Dy
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