Happy New Year!

Yes, it’s been a while. My daily blatherings came to a screeching halt for a while here, but now it’s a new year so I’m giving it a new start.

As is always the case with me, I’ve lost the passionate interest I had when I started this blog. I still love writing, I still want to write, and I still want to be a writer. But, there seems something off about wanting to write fiction and keeping a blog/journal in which I just ramble about my daily life. Not that rambling about my daily life is a bad thing…I actually enjoy it. It’s just a different type of writing than the fiction I want to write.

So, rather than try to force the issue of writing fiction, I’m just going to let that happen naturally. And in the meantime, I’m going to keep my writing skills fresh by blogging here. I’m not going to consider this an exercise in improving my fiction, or getting myself to write fiction. I’m just going to blog because I like doing it. No more word counts, no fiction friday, no whining because I don’t have any ideas for stories to write. I’m just going to write whatever I feel like writing each day.

That being said, I’m still going to try to write something every day for a year. I’m also starting a photography project 365. I am not sure what is wrong with me that I feel the need to do these year long projects, but at least it’s something to do!

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life . . . I think that what we’re really seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonance within our innermost being and reality, so that we can actually feel the rapture of being alive.”
~Joseph Campbell

My Sister.

I have an older sister. Half sister, actually, but since I never got along with my brother I always skipped thinking about the half part. My dad was married to her mother, they had a baby, then she passed away from cancer. Dad met my mom, they married and then came my brother and me.

My sister never lived with us. There was bad blood between my dad and her maternal grandparents, and she grew up with her grandparents. I’m not sure of the whole story, but there was some lying involved where she was told my dad didn’t want her (which was very untrue) and that my mom would be an evil stepmother, etc. (also untrue, obviously).

When I was 8 or so, and she was 16, something happened (I don’t remember what) and she was going to come live with us. Some of her things made it over to the house and I think she spent one Christmas with us. I was elated that I was going to have a sister around, but it never happened. I don’t remember why or what happened. I think it was more of that bad blood that had kept her away in the first place.

When I was 13 or 14 I remember starting to hang out with my sister. She was in her early 20s, worked at the local record store and had her own apartment. She was cool shit to me, and I loved having a sister. I hung out at the record store after school, and a few times went to her apartment to hang out. It was around this time that I was starting to write, and she showed me some of her writing, and I fell in love with the idea of creating stories. I remember being amazed that she wrote too, and amazed at how good it was. She was my first real-world inspiration to fuel my dream of being a writer.

Throughout high school I hung out with her off and on, and she had some significant influence on me. I started writing my first novel (even though it never got finished) because she made me feel like I could do it. She introduced me to punk music which became an angst release for me, and essentially kept me out of trouble because I fell into music instead of acting out on my unfounded teenage rage.

All through this time, my parents I think tolerated my association with her. The relationship between them was still strained, and by the time I went to college, it was reduced to a Christmas card mailed every year. For whatever reason, I don’t remember what or why, I stopped having much contact with her. We’d have strained conversations when I’d run into her, but for the most part I avoided her. Not because I didn’t like her, but because I felt trapped between her and my parents. It’s been that way since, now about 10 years.

Lately she keeps popping up in my life. If I see her, she ignores me – either purposefully or she doesn’t recognize me. I found out she got married this year in an odd way – a friend of Bob’s went to the wedding and was tagged in some photos of the wedding on facebook. Bob saw the pictures and told me about it. When I had some quiet time I went on facebook and found the photo album. She was married on or around Halloween, and it was a costumed wedding…so cool! I’m thinking she is probably pagan, which is just an odd parallel.

I just saw her in the grocery store last night. She and her husband were buying Thanksgiving food, the same as I was. Again she didn’t acknowledge me. I found the situation oddly sad. We are family, and we were both preparing for a family holiday, and yet there was no connection. I wanted to say hello, congratulate her on her marriage, something. But something tells me if I reach out to her, I’m only going to be rejected. Sad. I miss my sister.

Dealing with dying.

My Gram and Gramp

I learned tonight that my Grandmother isn’t doing very well. She had a major stroke a few years back, and never quite recovered physically from it. She has a host of other medical problems, and she’s a longtime alcoholic which just exacerbates things.

She is losing her faculties. She seems to be stuck sometime in the 1950s for periods of time, and is plagued with a lot of confusion and anger because of it. She continually asks for her mother, who died in the mid-50s. She has periods where she doesn’t recognize her husband, my Grandfather. She’s gotten confused and thought my father was her husband. She’s complained about someone making it so her children can’t visit her anymore. She’s woken in the middle of the night and gotten completely dressed on her own (something she normally isn’t physically capable of) and been found standing in the middle of her bedroom, with no idea of what time it was. And worst of all, she’s threatened to cut her own throat.

My parents, aunts and Grandfather are working on getting her placed in a nursing home. She doesn’t want to go, but it will be the safest place for her at this point, for everyone involved. If she’s been getting so confused and not recognizing my grandfather, I fear she could get scared and angry at this strange man she perceives to be in her home and try to hurt him. And the threats of harming herself seem very real, and I can’t really say I blame her. It must be terrifying to live with a reality that’s constantly shifting and having no real understanding of what is happening around you.

All of this upsets me, saddens me. Death has not been a large part of my life thankfully – I’ve lost my two grandparents on my mother’s side, and two cats. I’m not quite sure how to deal with idea that my grandmother won’t be around much longer. I’m at a loss to describe what I really feel.

I recently printed a scan of a photo of my grandparents when they were much younger – the way I remember them when I was very little. I remember my grandmother being very vibrant and energetic. She painted, gardened, cooked. I remember showing her a painting of a sunset I made once, and having her show me how to make it better, and offering me the advice “don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty” as she used her fingers to blend colors. She found a four leaf clover once, and gave it to me. We once went out into the grove of pine trees behind their house to collect…something, I don’t remember what, maybe pine cones or ground pine. There’s not much left of that grandmother, just a glimmer behind the eyes and memories.

Fallen Behind

So I’ve fallen behind in my writing. I’ve not written anything since Tuesday, so…four days, no writing. Being true to myself, my excitement and vigor for this project has fallen away. I’d rather watch TV or crochet or anything but write. I could list a bunch of excuses…I haven’t felt well this week – been having headaches and dizzy spells…I’ve been trying to work on getting Christmas presents made – so I don’t have time to write…I need a break – I’ve been pushing myself too hard…blah blah blah they are all excuses, and not real reasons for not writing. The only real reason is that I’ve been lazy and unmotivated.

So what do I do about this? My first instinct was to make up the postings I’ve missed and pretend like it never happened. But then I thought about why I’m doing this. I really do want to become disciplined as a writer. This whole project is for myself, so I can learn that discipline that I need to be able to pursue my dream of being a writer. And if I just made up the posts and forgot about skipping 4 days, I wouldn’t learn anything. I wouldn’t pause to examine why I didn’t write or figure out ways to get through those times when I’m being lazy and unmotivated.

Those four blank days on my blog calendar bother me. They are like a big black mark on this project that are telling me I can’t do it. But I can do it, even if I have to start over my 365 day count every time I lapse. Even if it takes me three years to write every day for a year, I will do it eventually, and by then writing will have become so automatic in my life that I won’t know what to do with myself if I don’t do it. That’s the goal, anyway.

A Completed Project!

The amigurumi snake I made for my nephew for Christmas

I’m handcrafting a lot of my Christmas presents this year, as I always do. This year my craft of choice is crochet. I have a scarf and a bath set completed, and the camouflage snake of course. My nephew Corey is 9, loves animals and loves camouflage – so when I saw this pattern I immediately thought of him. It was incredibly simple to make – outside of a few increases and decreases to shape the head and tail, it’s essentially just a long tube. I had the best time making this though – I giggled through most of it because the thing is so damn cute. My niece is getting a pink panda bear – hopefully that will be just as much fun to make!

So I have seven or eight gifts left to make. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to have enough time to finish them all. I may just have bitten off more than I can chew, especially since it’s only been about a week since I decided what I was going to make everyone.

I seem to do this to myself every year. I don’t start my crafty projects until November, and then I run out of time to finish them. I remember one Christmas eve staying up until well past 1am finishing presents. I need to learn to start my planning in late summer. Or maybe spring.

I don’t think I’ll ever not do it, though. It started as a money-saving scheme, one Christmas I was flat broke and just dug out my craft supplies and everyone had a gift for Christmas. I love doing it. I love the giving part of Christmas more than anything else, and spending so much time on the gifts that I give just extends that Christmassy feeling. I get to feel like I’m giving for the months leading up to Christmas instead of just weeks.

Walking

I walked to work today. A small effort in a huge battle for health, I decided to get off my butt and walk to work a couple days each week. It was nice, actually. The air was crisp and clean and I had some good tunes going on the zune. It reminded me of when I used to walk all the time – twenty years ago.

When I was in high school I would walk all the time. It was my way of escaping – not that anything was wrong with my home life, but I was a teenager and just didn’t want to be home. I’d grab my walkman (yeah, the old mini cassette players!) and head outside and just walk around town. There is a nice walkway next to a river (well, stream) that I’d walk to sometimes, and sit next to the water and write. Sometimes I’d go to the library. Sometimes I’d just plainly walk with no destination and no reason. It was my way of being independent as a teenager and getting the alone time that I guess I’ve always needed.

This morning reminded me of those times, but it was markedly different. For one, it certainly wasn’t as effortless a walk as it was when I was younger. Twenty years puts a lot of strain on a body, especially a body that’s carrying around extra weight. And times have changed. Granted, it was early in the morning, but there just seemed to be so much more traffic that was moving at a rapid pace. When I was young, I’d walk down main street and there would certainly be traffic, but it moved slower. The speed limit down main street is 25mph, and 20 years ago, people for the most part obeyed that. Now people drive probably close to 35mph. At least, that’s what it seems like from the point of view of someone who is walking.

It just serves as a reminder to me to slow down, enjoy life and my surroundings. The economy may suck, and I may not have financial freedom and peace of mind that I’ll keep making ends meet…but I have time and the ability to make my life enjoyable in the little ways that really matter. I can always go for a walk and take in the world around me, no matter how fast it’s going.

Gonna have nightmares…

I watched a documentary on the National Geographic channel tonight about shrunken heads. Apparently there’s an indigenous group in the Amazon called the Shuar who practiced reducing heads, and an anthropologist in the 60s found them and filmed an actually head shrinking ceremony.

Of course, I have been seeing the commercials for this show for a week now, and they show the same footage in the commercials, so I knew what I was getting myself into by sitting down to watch this for an hour. But its damn creepy!

I love learning about the beliefs of different cultures, and the Shuar’s belief that the evil of the enemies whose heads they shrunk couldn’t escape the tiny head is fascinating to me. But I really want to know…how does a person come up with the idea? I’m sure it’s a fairly ancient practice, so all those many many decades and centuries ago what made one member of a tribe say “A-ha! If I boil this guy’s head, it will shrink and keep the evil inside!” How does an idea such as this come about in the first place?

I was actually pretty disappointed in the documentary as a whole. Yeah it had the shock value of actual real human heads shrunken down to the size of a grapefruit, and yeah it was interesting to learn a little about the culture of the Shuar. And I guess that’s all an anthropological documentary should be, but I was really wanting to learn the history of it. I really want to know how these customs that seem so creepy and odd to us, and are so normal and beautiful to them, come about in the first place.

Zombies

A gang of zombies in Salem, MA

I finally watched Zombieland last night. It was a great movie with a lot of great humor and kitsch and just the right amount of blood, guts and gore. It was awesome bubble gum for the brain.

I’ve always loved zombie movies, from Night of the Living Dead to Shawn of the Dead and I Am Legend. I loved the zombie walk we got to watch when I was in Salem last month. There’s just something about zombies that entertains me – I’m not sure what it is about them.

I got to thinking after watching the movie – why do I never think to write a zombie story? Its never crossed my mind. I’ll write about people with telekinesis or ghosts or miniature races of people…why not zombies?

For one thing, I’ve never read any zombie fiction. I’ll have to do some digging and see what I can find, see what’s out there and what’s been done. I have an inkling of an idea, but its just a spark, and I don’t know how well it would work out. So keep an eye out for zombies here in the future…I might get myself into some actual writing here instead of the quick flash fictions I’ve been writing!

Who knows, maybe the realization of my obsession with zombies will turn into some real fiction works, or maybe even a novel!

It’s the first solid idea I’ve had since I’ve started this adventure – I was getting a little worried that my idea well had dried up, but…I think I’m okay now!

Braaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnsssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Discovery (Fiction Friday)

I sat on the porch looking out across the yard, noticing the stillness of everything around me. The crisp autumn air was completely still, the remaining leaves on the trees not moving in the least. There were no birds flitting from branch to branch, none squawking to each other across the yard. No squirrels scampered about in the piles of dead leaves on the ground. There was no sound, no movement, no life.

The fear of this stillness welled up inside me, radiating outward from my core to my extremities, creating a trembling that I suspected wasn’t visible to anyone else, only felt by me. I turned my attention to the wind chime hanging from the rafter of the porch, trying to see the slightest movement in the metal bars that hung down from thin lines. Nothing. Not even a residual movement from the air disturbance of walking across the porch.

A panic started turning inside me, and I began to will the wind chime to move. I focused my entire consciousness on the chimes, seeing in my mind the metal pieces begin to sway back and forth, gaining momentum until they finally started clanking together, ringing out and breaking the deafening silence.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, my eyes still glued to the wind chime. As I exhaled, I let the stress of the odd situation flow out with the air, then returned my focus to the chime. I thought I saw a slight movement this time, but dismissed it as a trick of the mind. Continuing to focus on willing the chimes to sway and hit together, I was filled with amazement and wonder when slowly the metal bars did begin to sway, slowly at first, then faster and more powerfully. The slow increase in speed and power took about five minutes, but finally I heard the tinging sound of the metal pieces striking each other as they moved.