running to catch up

A black dog (recall Winston Churchill's name for his occasional depression) has been hanging around lately. And while he isn't to blame for this long blogpresence silence-- I must take responsibility for that myself; details not important-- but the pesky fellow has slowed things down for me. The dog, I mean, not Sir Winston.

It's nothing serious, but I do struggle just a little with it now and then, usually a fleeting challenge... not that anyone would be able to discern this condition very easily from the more or less positive attitude I maintain and present to the world.

Maybe instead of my more typical long rumination on a single topic, what I might do today, within one or two blog entries, is a series of quick non-sequitirs. This will fill in a few gaps.

Regarding this blog: One of the items on this year's to-do list is to link up my various archived blog posts into categories, if only for my own big-picture navigating convenience. Another stated goal was to develop some theme organization both within this blog, and across my various other (neglected) blogs. And yes, January was the new year and this is March and I'm falling behind on nearly every front, and I don't have my plan of action yet; I do know that. I keep meaning to create a blogging schedule, and stick to it. This will help a lot.

What few readers I do have are deserving of that respect, but it's also clear that without goals, structure, and urgency to my various writing projects... what, then? Let's just say there's a dramatic whooshing sound as calendar pages fly off left and right in a series of slow camera dissolves, cherry blossoms bloom and drop off, clock hands chase each other around at a dizzying speed, autumn leaves blow in and out of the frame, all of this underscored with haunting orchestral phrases... and before you know it, we're setting our clocks back an hour. Again. By the way, I can't imagine any of you guys actually enjoy reading about my private struggles with this stuff, but I'm hoping there's some psychological power in this confession. Thanks for indulging me.

Supermoon: Yes, the moon was bigger and brighter. I don't know if I would have figured this out without reading about it first, but I made note of it and went out on the balcony to view it. Alas, the cloud cover turned our celestial neighbor into a ghostly apparition. I did capture an image digitally which turned out even more ghostly because it was hand-held for several seconds.

* * *

More later. And I really will go back and fill in some blog gaps, if only for my own satisfaction.

ongoing resolutions and new year wishes

Making resolutions at year's end is for wimps, I tell you! I make resolutions every day of my life.

To the four or five special people who wander by this little corner of the metaverse, I appreciate that my black dots and squiggles, these ones and zeroes on glass, are occasionally of some interest to you. All the best to you in the coming year, and kudos for your exceptional taste.

Cheers!

annual year-end cautious optimism, part one

The above photo is of a shelf in my home office with special mementos. Among them is a Japanese hagoita paddle with the image of a geisha, in semi-three dimensions, designed in the traditional manner using padded fabric on wood. Hagoita paddles were originally created as equipment for the playing of a game, but are now created largely as beautifully-made icons honoring each new year in Japan. More about this in an upcoming post. / b

The Japanese have a tradition of wanting to conclude the pressing concerns of a given year before moving into the new one... finish all outstanding projects (with the exception of very long-term ones, of course), get one's affairs in order, look ahead to the implementation of certain improvements, and greet the first fresh day of January with a clean slate and a strong plan.

This is an idea I can relate to... my annual goal to achieve this satisfying state, however, has met with unevenly success. Still, I'm happy to report that my 2010 household was far more organized than last year (not that it was ever horrible, mind you), nearly all but my most long-term projects are finished, and my plans are more or less in place for the upcoming year. Even my laundry is done-- no small feat, but for the last few months I've been trying to do a load every day or two to keep things sane. Some of my friends may not realize just how compelling-- yet elusive-- household Nirvana is to people like me. An ongoing quest.

Why is this so important? The smoother I can run my life from day to day, the more I accomplish of a higher nature. Planning, efficiency, and logistics are terribly important if if I'm not to end up spending too many hours each week as a cook and housekeeper. A writer writes, as the saying goes, but only if there continue to be meals on the table.

There's also another reason I seek this pristeen state, a potent personal combination of psychological and aesthetic urges (I've explored this in previous posts). For whatever oddball reasons, I love to have all my petty tasks swept away, and have beauty and order in place all around me as I get to work on what truly matters.

* * *

Ah, yes... my annual year end cautious optimism! To my credit, again, I was far more efficient in my time management this year than I was last year, and I was able to get a lot of personal work accomplished.

As an aside, it may not be politically correct to say this out loud, but I dream of having the means to pass off the bulk of the housework to professionals. Until then, the trick is to have as nicely-run household as possible while not getting stuck in Martha S. mode while my writing and design projects suffer from neglect.

My other goals for the year are more personal and in some cases, abstract. But I know what they are.

January 1 is coming fast. I may not have everything concluded in the Japanese manner, but perhaps the Japanese don't achieve it fully, either. At least I'm close. The new year on the horizon will never unfold with the seamless elegance I now envision, but I vow to do my best.

Onward!

transmedia storytelling

a place to write

This special fantasy place- this place to write- has more than one version in my imagination. Let's call them VR, VU, and VS. VS is suburban, and where I now live actually comes close to being my ideal writer's setup within a suburban setting. Of course, I realize I'm fortunate to have my very own space, but it's more than that; it's gratifying that sometimes after years of creative planning and working towards a dream, idiosyncratic interior design goals- like mine- really can be reached.

It's not entirely perfect in that I occasionally share my computer, and am subject to some interruption by spouse and cat. But after decades of less than ideal setups, my little home office is appealing and useful and filled with things I love: two computer monitors, a small daybed made glamorous with an array of throw pillows, shelves filled with books both useful and collectible, personal ephemera in various little displays and dioramas, a small microwave, a coffeemaker, a space heater, a fan, attractive lighting, and an electronic keyboard right behind me on a second (glass) desk... a gift of music from my thoughtful husband.

Like the rest of the house, I clean this area myself. Although it's not a big room, there's a lot here to curate (dust), but at least everything is finally just the way I like it after years of tweaking. And at night, as it is now, any daytime problems with this writing space largely disappear.

The rural fantasy version of a place to write, VR, is modelled loosely on an actual single-room writer's retreat I saw in Northern California several years ago: a separate narrow building far from the main house, tucked away behind trees and accessible via an unpaved road; it had one long wall with a great deal of glass, revealing a couple of unmatched Alan Brady Show writer-style sofas dotted with various pillows and afghans, great towering and toppling stacks of resource materials, the entire space filled with funky accoutrements, vintage movie posters, flea-market furnishings, and personal ephemera. There's a small refridgerator, a hotplate, and all the appropriate provisions. With La Boheme on the stereo (and no barking neighborhood dog), surely great things can happen in a space like this.

The urban version, VU, varies somewhat and is a kind of composite. I've tried a few times to recreate it in the virtual world of Second Life, and the closest was a brick loft space in an exceptionally realistic art sim called Cetus, now gone. Of course, you can't actually be a writer in Second Life inasmuch as you're not really there; you can merely play at the idea of being one.

Or can you? When I had my virtual loft there, on a few occasions I would park my avatar at my virtual desk and then switch back to RL (real life) and do some real writing. It sounds strange to say this, I know, but knowing my virtual self was in that loft added an interesting psychological nuance to the writing session.

From time to time I check to see if real-life lofts are by some miracle affordable, but except for inaccessibly far away (or far too tiny), they never are. But it's still a great fantasy. This type of loft space more often ends up as a backdrop for my designer fantasies rather than my writing ones, but the two pursuits could definitely be combined. I wonder, sometimes, where Harriet Beecher Stowe did her writing. She probably didn't waste as much time as I do thinking about optimal writing environments, and simply sat at her desk and got down to the urgent business of writing.

* * *

wandering off the garden path

Many different colors appeal to me, but green is one of my favorites. To me it's a guileless color, a color of life, of innocence, of new beginnings.

Gray, on the other hand, is an important but difficult color. Nowadays shades of gray seem to be everywhere. There's a place for gray, but what happens when it overtakes everything? I miss color, I miss green. I'm glad it's a new year, and so very happy that spring is coming.

And that is all I'm going to say today that's even remotely about art, design, dolls, or fashion.

I thought it might be interesting to take a short break and briefly shine a light here on the subject of honesty. Is the truth important? In this age of spin, hype, and manipulation, is it even relevant to modern human experience?

Is the classic notion of the right and wrong of lying obsolete in this age awash in shades of gray?

* * *

My corner of cyberspace isn't the ultimate place to answer these questions, and I'm not the person with the answers, but earlier today I enjoyed reading what some thoughtful people have to say about it.

This is the only relatively long bit to read, and the rest will be short... I give you my word. The following passage is from near the end of a brilliant essay on lying, by Tim C. Mazur, Markula Center for Applied Ethics, Santa Clara University:

Critics of utilitarian justifications for lying further note how difficult it is for anyone, even honorable persons, to know that a lie will bring more good than the truth; the consequences of actions are too often unpredictable. Lies frequently assume "lives of their own" and result in consequences that people do not intend or fail to predict. Moreover, it is very difficult for a person to be objective in estimating the good and the harm that his or her lies will produce. We have a vested interest in the lies we tell and an equally vested interest in believing that the world will be better if we lie from one instance to the next. For these reasons, critics claim, lying is morally wrong because we cannot accurately measure lies' benefits and harms.

Quotes are always an interesting shotgun way to approach a subject. Here are a few of my

favorites:

The truth of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool. (Stephen King)

The ability to lie is a liability. (Unknown)

Men hate those to whom they have to lie. (Victor Hugo)

Always tell the truth. That way you don't have to remember what you said. (Mark Twain)

No man has a good enough memory to make a successful liar. (Abraham Lincoln)

And here is that old classic:

Oh, what a wicked web we weave when first we practise to deceive. (Sir Walter Scott)

Finally, one of the most brilliant, if unattributed, quotes of all time: Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! (Classic American schoolyard chant)

* * *

We'll soon return to our regularly scheduled (and much-needed) adventures in art, fashion, dolls, and other diversions from a troubled world.

Until next time, I leave you with this last quote:

Life doesn't imitate art, it imitates bad television. (Woody Allen)

secret forest

The first of many more mixed technique collages to come. Not having created this sort of thing for many years, this piece is personally significant; I was delighted it came to me so easily and with good results. Art is easy; sitting down to do the art is what we make so unecessarily difficult. All that is going to change, starting right now.

tempus fugit and other frustrations

Time flies. My days seem long enough, but the weeks, months, and years are slipping by faster than I would like. There is so much I want to complete, and at the top of the list is my novel. It is poised at the point of around 95% completion.

A writer writes... right?

Unfortunately a writer also eats, sleeps, pulls weeds, takes care of the cat. Even so, there should be plenty of time each day to write. The problem comes when we insist on having our time be perfect ideal time, as in, a long uninterrupted block of it with nobody around and no interruptions. If we are married women in conventional households, many of us also feel better when all the other work is done first (IE housework) because otherwise we feel guilty. And yet, if we call ourselves writers, isn't writing our job?

My goal is to disengage the bad habits surrounding my writing, including my perfectionism that sometimes convinces me tomorrow just might be more optimal for writing than today. I also want to pull back on the proofreading and rewrites and move ahead with new text. That kind of procrastination is the most insidious of all because it feels so noble, so necessary... and in a way, it is, but not nearly as important at this point as moving ahead.

What will I accomplish today in terms of my writing projects? Today I would like to tackle Chapter 113 of "Regarding Reverie". But first, there's someone coming by to repair the love seat in the family room...