Today was celebrated as International Women's Day.
Honestly?
Don't people know every day is International Women's Day?
And International Men's Day.
And International Kid's Day.
Heck, if I had it my way, every day would be International Cadbury Easter Egg Appreciation Day.
Just to prove a point. (Chocolate likes to be appreciated too.)
It's interesting, isn't it? That we have to set aside days, even months, to acknowledge our appreciation for one group of people or another.
I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. Not really. I have too much joy, compassion, empathy, and yeah, love- to bank it all on one measly day. There are too many people in my life that I love too deeply and sincerely to ilk out my meaning for them in flowers, cards, and candy before the sun goes down on February 14th.
I don't celebrate Black History Month. I don't see the need to- not because I'm racist, because I'm not. If I were racist it would be easy to sequester my knowledge of the Civil Rights Movement into just twenty-eight days. But I can't. There are too many people in my life, who just so happen to be black, that I love too intensely to limit celebrating them when the government officially sanctions me to do so.
If I thought I could get away with it, I would give people gifts everyday except for Christmas Day. If I thought I could get away with it, I would hide easter eggs on Halloween, and go Trick-or-Treating during Mardi Gras.
I will, however, always enjoy a good pint of Guinness on St. Patrick's Day. (I can't help it. But in my defense I'm Irish the rest of the year, too. ;) )
But. BUT.
I can't think of anything more important going on in the world right now, than how women aren't being treated like the celebration we are. Right here in my home state of Virginia, a place that I love so much, there has been nothing but controversy. This state, which was named after a woman I'll add, now puts a bad taste in people's mouths.
I have never been so disappointed.
I've also never been more pleased. In the men and women who are standing up and saying, "What the HELL?" In the people who aren't taking shit off of anyone. But doing so without violence. I'm glad to see women realizing that yes, flowers and candle light and romantic gestures are wonderful- but I'd rather have proper contraception and healthcare.
There's a lot more I could say, and I know I am not one to normally give into political ranting, especially on this blog. But some things can't go unsaid.
I'll leave the rest of it up to Eve Ensler, who has done amazing work in ending violence toward women, and leave it at that. :)
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
In Which I Ponder
Well, once again I've fallen into the trap of research that I've been trying so hard to avoid. But you know how it is; once an idea seizes you, you sometimes can't help but run with it and see where it leads you.
This is merely an explanation by way of excuse; my fervor for obscure research combined with the utter lack of enthusiasm I have for my job at the moment has kind of burnt out my writing spirit tonight. So, to take a break, I watched M*A*S*H.
Those of you who know me well know how much I love this show and everything about it. The stories it told, the character it created, everything about it, to me, is just the pinnacle of excellent writing. And it is all down to the writing. How else could a character like Col. Flagg, a "gung-holier-than-thou" (as Hawkeye put it) CIA man be so likeable despite his rotten attitude? Or, for that matter, poor old Frank Burns? And how else do you explain that I had and have a crush, not on Hawkeye, but pompous Major Winchester? (Don't answer that, Miss Lucy.)
Watching M*A*S*H makes me remember why I write. I want, some years from now, for people to pick up something I wrote and to read it over and over and never get tired of the characters or the stories. I want to create something enduring and memorable for the right reasons. (And to illustrate the right reasons, I would like to give "Twilight" as an example of the wrong reasons.)
I'll leave you with a clip from the episode I watched tonight, about a pilot who said he was Christ, not to try and get out of the army, but to cope with all the killing he had done in the name of someone else's agenda. This one is one of the funniest episodes, thanks to Col. Flagg, but also one of the most poignant and sweetest.
I'd also like to ask, what do you think makes a written character good? What makes him or her, or it, work? Or not work? What makes a character bad, in terms of writing? I'd really like to know what other people think.
This is merely an explanation by way of excuse; my fervor for obscure research combined with the utter lack of enthusiasm I have for my job at the moment has kind of burnt out my writing spirit tonight. So, to take a break, I watched M*A*S*H.
Those of you who know me well know how much I love this show and everything about it. The stories it told, the character it created, everything about it, to me, is just the pinnacle of excellent writing. And it is all down to the writing. How else could a character like Col. Flagg, a "gung-holier-than-thou" (as Hawkeye put it) CIA man be so likeable despite his rotten attitude? Or, for that matter, poor old Frank Burns? And how else do you explain that I had and have a crush, not on Hawkeye, but pompous Major Winchester? (Don't answer that, Miss Lucy.)
Watching M*A*S*H makes me remember why I write. I want, some years from now, for people to pick up something I wrote and to read it over and over and never get tired of the characters or the stories. I want to create something enduring and memorable for the right reasons. (And to illustrate the right reasons, I would like to give "Twilight" as an example of the wrong reasons.)
I'll leave you with a clip from the episode I watched tonight, about a pilot who said he was Christ, not to try and get out of the army, but to cope with all the killing he had done in the name of someone else's agenda. This one is one of the funniest episodes, thanks to Col. Flagg, but also one of the most poignant and sweetest.
I'd also like to ask, what do you think makes a written character good? What makes him or her, or it, work? Or not work? What makes a character bad, in terms of writing? I'd really like to know what other people think.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Lent and the art of inspection and introspection
Greetings, Spatulans, I have returned! I have of late been dealing with personal illness and illness within my own family, as well as issues with finding a job. Most of that is resolved now and I'm back to being your Monday poster.
For today I'd like to share something I have been thinking about. It's basically an edited journal entry actually. Most of you know what Lent is, and for those of you who don't, it's a season between Ash Wednesday and Easter that you are to forego something in a kind of "fast". Whether or not you are Christian, though, I think it is a wonderful practice in general.
For Lent this year, I decided to become a pescatarian. No, that has nothing to do with John Calvin or predestination. It means I won't eat any m eat except fish. That's the ONLY meat I will consume. One big plus is I feel a lot better eating only lean meat and veggies and this mindset has bled over into other areas of my life, influencing me to engage in healthier activities. Also, I am forced to stop and think about what I'm eating and buying and why. Does this have meat in it? Do I really want to eat this? Am I really hungry if I'm willing to put this down because it's not a sweet? If I'm not hungry, why then? Am I thirsty? Bored? Why? Depressed? Why? Suddenly an entire cascade of introspection begins causing me to analyze myself and my behaviors that bleeds into more aspects than just what I eat.
That's how our lives should be in general. All too frequently we run on autopilot. We do the same things, the same few activities, over and over and over again, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. We never stop to think "Why am I doing this?" "Is this activity good for me?" "Do I really even want to do this or am I just doing it because I always have?" "What are the alternatives?". Lent, despite popular belief, isn't about self denial; it is about self enrichment. It is about foregoing those things that are fluff and that distract us from our purpose and finding the magic within us, our purpose and meaning in life. Get out there and make some magic!
For today I'd like to share something I have been thinking about. It's basically an edited journal entry actually. Most of you know what Lent is, and for those of you who don't, it's a season between Ash Wednesday and Easter that you are to forego something in a kind of "fast". Whether or not you are Christian, though, I think it is a wonderful practice in general.
For Lent this year, I decided to become a pescatarian. No, that has nothing to do with John Calvin or predestination. It means I won't eat any m eat except fish. That's the ONLY meat I will consume. One big plus is I feel a lot better eating only lean meat and veggies and this mindset has bled over into other areas of my life, influencing me to engage in healthier activities. Also, I am forced to stop and think about what I'm eating and buying and why. Does this have meat in it? Do I really want to eat this? Am I really hungry if I'm willing to put this down because it's not a sweet? If I'm not hungry, why then? Am I thirsty? Bored? Why? Depressed? Why? Suddenly an entire cascade of introspection begins causing me to analyze myself and my behaviors that bleeds into more aspects than just what I eat.
That's how our lives should be in general. All too frequently we run on autopilot. We do the same things, the same few activities, over and over and over again, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. We never stop to think "Why am I doing this?" "Is this activity good for me?" "Do I really even want to do this or am I just doing it because I always have?" "What are the alternatives?". Lent, despite popular belief, isn't about self denial; it is about self enrichment. It is about foregoing those things that are fluff and that distract us from our purpose and finding the magic within us, our purpose and meaning in life. Get out there and make some magic!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Gil, The Raven, and The Reflection
Sorry, Spatulans for missing my Sunday post. But never fear, I'm here on Wednesday to post. Here is a story I've been working on for a bit. It's a tad messy and I'm still not sure about names (my characters aren't saying whether it's the right name or not... keeping me on my toes and such) but I've been having fun with it. And isn't that what Making Story Magic (or any magic) is about? So here you go...
While looking down the street of her bleak winter neighborhood, Gil throws birdseed onto the ground. It’s a task that's become as much a habit as brushing her teeth before breakfast. The stillness of the morning, the cold pin-pricks on her arms and legs, last nights dreams drifting away, and the grey trees against white snow make the world seem more real.
It’s usually her time to think about things before she has to go to school. Her parents are already at work by now and she has the thinking space to her self. But, today is Saturday and she doesn’t have to be at school anyway and her parents decided to go to work and get ahead of the next week. So, today Gil thinks about the black bird with the yellow feather that has come by every morning for the past three weeks.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Awkward Travel
Mickey sat stock still in the driver’s seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Rudy, upon hearing the news that he might have some competition, had insisted that Mickey go and find out what he could. Rudy had sent him on many such trips; he relied on Mickey’s honesty, charming disposition, and physical presence to intimidate, win over, or put an end to his enemies and rivals. No, it wasn’t the assigned task that had Mickey scared stiff.
Mimi van Heest sat beside him, sharpening and polishing her little curved daggers.
“You aren’t still mad at me, are you?”
She said nothing.
“That was a year ago. And in my defense it was an accident. If I’d have known you were there, I’d have let you stab me just on principle. And I certainly wouldn’t have hit you.”
Mimi continued to administer to her weapons, her eyes moving over the blades with a lover’s look. Mickey swallowed hard against his fear. Rudy must have known what he was doing in sending his assassin on this trip, but Mickey sure couldn’t figure it out.
Even though they were about as smart as clams, Rudy's heavies at least talked on the long drives up and down the river road; Percy even had quite a good singing voice. But Mimi's silence unnerved Mickey more than anything she could have done with those foul little blades.
"Will you say something? Anything? I'd even settle for a grunt or a hiss. Anything."
Mimi turned her dark, lethal eyes on Mickey and smiled. Mickey suddenly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Doo aye scare yoo?" In the whole year since he'd joined Rudy's company, this was the first time Mickey had heard Mimi's voice. It was deep and heavily accented, sounding like a garbled mixture of British and Dutch. It would have been comical coming from anyone else, but Mimi made it sound positively threatening.
"Are yoo afraid of me?"
"Everyone is afraid of you." Mickey blurted out.
"Good." Mimi said nothing else for the rest of the drive, and Mickey didn't object.
Mimi van Heest sat beside him, sharpening and polishing her little curved daggers.
“You aren’t still mad at me, are you?”
She said nothing.
“That was a year ago. And in my defense it was an accident. If I’d have known you were there, I’d have let you stab me just on principle. And I certainly wouldn’t have hit you.”
Mimi continued to administer to her weapons, her eyes moving over the blades with a lover’s look. Mickey swallowed hard against his fear. Rudy must have known what he was doing in sending his assassin on this trip, but Mickey sure couldn’t figure it out.
Even though they were about as smart as clams, Rudy's heavies at least talked on the long drives up and down the river road; Percy even had quite a good singing voice. But Mimi's silence unnerved Mickey more than anything she could have done with those foul little blades.
"Will you say something? Anything? I'd even settle for a grunt or a hiss. Anything."
Mimi turned her dark, lethal eyes on Mickey and smiled. Mickey suddenly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Doo aye scare yoo?" In the whole year since he'd joined Rudy's company, this was the first time Mickey had heard Mimi's voice. It was deep and heavily accented, sounding like a garbled mixture of British and Dutch. It would have been comical coming from anyone else, but Mimi made it sound positively threatening.
"Are yoo afraid of me?"
"Everyone is afraid of you." Mickey blurted out.
"Good." Mimi said nothing else for the rest of the drive, and Mickey didn't object.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Contraband and Bad News
"Let me tell you, ladies, you've just guaranteed your business with Rudy." Mickey counted out the money for payment. "I reckon he'd have bent over backwards for these beauties."
"It wasn't easy, and you tell him that when he asks the price. That foolish embargo has damn near put me out of a job." Molls watched each bill carefully, her shrewd eyes following Mickey's hands. She liked Mickey well enough, but liking and trusting are entirely different things.
"He won't complain Molls. He's had to dip into his private stash of Cubans just to keep his clients happy. Rudy will be more than delighted to get these." Mickey handed the hefty payment to Molls, who proceeded to count it again. Mickey had been warned of her meticulous ways, otherwise he would have been offended.
Molls counted the money twice before she was good and satisfied. Seeing she was happy, Mickey signaled for his heavies to load the shipment. Four cases of Cuban cigars; three crates of vodka, whiskey, and bourbon; boxes of assorted trade items, and one delicately wrapped parcel of fine Dutch chocolate (as a birthday gift for the fearsome Mimi) later, Molls was casting away from the bank of the river with a pocket full of Rudy McGhee's money and a considerably lightened boat.
"Before you go handsome," Molls shouted from the safety of the water, "I thought you might like to know. You all have some competition, from down stream. Food for thought!" With a raucous laugh, Molls and Jukka slipped into the forming mist, leaving Mickey with the sinking feeling that this was probably not going to be the good evening he thought it would.
"It wasn't easy, and you tell him that when he asks the price. That foolish embargo has damn near put me out of a job." Molls watched each bill carefully, her shrewd eyes following Mickey's hands. She liked Mickey well enough, but liking and trusting are entirely different things.
"He won't complain Molls. He's had to dip into his private stash of Cubans just to keep his clients happy. Rudy will be more than delighted to get these." Mickey handed the hefty payment to Molls, who proceeded to count it again. Mickey had been warned of her meticulous ways, otherwise he would have been offended.
Molls counted the money twice before she was good and satisfied. Seeing she was happy, Mickey signaled for his heavies to load the shipment. Four cases of Cuban cigars; three crates of vodka, whiskey, and bourbon; boxes of assorted trade items, and one delicately wrapped parcel of fine Dutch chocolate (as a birthday gift for the fearsome Mimi) later, Molls was casting away from the bank of the river with a pocket full of Rudy McGhee's money and a considerably lightened boat.
"Before you go handsome," Molls shouted from the safety of the water, "I thought you might like to know. You all have some competition, from down stream. Food for thought!" With a raucous laugh, Molls and Jukka slipped into the forming mist, leaving Mickey with the sinking feeling that this was probably not going to be the good evening he thought it would.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Bits And Pieces
Sometimes the writing comes in bits and pieces throughout the day. Sometimes it doesn't make sense in the whole but as a fragment it's real. What do you do with the small sentences, ideas, thoughts that come into your head and random times."Then the word matchstick became bonfire which burned inside her and the words became blue and gold."
"This one kept an arsenal of snarky comments under her tongue. She wielded them frequently but saved the sharpest of them for the new girl."
"I think there may be something wrong in my room," she said. "I think there is a leak somewhere. I can't keep anything in my head long enough to hear it out loud."
If you write them down where do they go after that? What's the story they complete or add to?
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Explaining Pandas Part 2
[And now we find out just what in the world is going on! Hooray! :D ]
"So let me get this straight." Seamus was massaging his temples as he sat and absorbed all that he was hearing. "There's a magic garden that can think and talk. There's a witch lady, Magda-your wife- who lives there and teaches little girls magic. Then there are giant animals that represent other realms of the world, and they all meet a couple times a year to have a big 'ole party where they give a little girl her name?"
Merle dipped his head in acknowledgement. The coffee had long been finished, and the moon now starting to sink back in the sky. It had been a long couple of days, and now the older man was ready to turn in.
"That's exactly right, son. Might take a few days for it to sink in. Mark my word, once we start with your lessons you'll realize this is the tame end of the horse." Joints popped and creaked as he scraped his chair back and stood up to stretch. "Now that you know a little more about what we do around here, I'm going to bed. Some of us didn't sleep so good recently." He gave the boy a gentle stink-eye making Seamus grin sheepishly.
"Yeah, sleep sounds good to me too. I promise I won't try to sleep as long this time." He started clearing the table and making ready for bed.
"Oh don't worry, lad. You won't."
Merle whistled and moseyed on towards his room.
"So let me get this straight." Seamus was massaging his temples as he sat and absorbed all that he was hearing. "There's a magic garden that can think and talk. There's a witch lady, Magda-your wife- who lives there and teaches little girls magic. Then there are giant animals that represent other realms of the world, and they all meet a couple times a year to have a big 'ole party where they give a little girl her name?"
Merle dipped his head in acknowledgement. The coffee had long been finished, and the moon now starting to sink back in the sky. It had been a long couple of days, and now the older man was ready to turn in.
"That's exactly right, son. Might take a few days for it to sink in. Mark my word, once we start with your lessons you'll realize this is the tame end of the horse." Joints popped and creaked as he scraped his chair back and stood up to stretch. "Now that you know a little more about what we do around here, I'm going to bed. Some of us didn't sleep so good recently." He gave the boy a gentle stink-eye making Seamus grin sheepishly.
"Yeah, sleep sounds good to me too. I promise I won't try to sleep as long this time." He started clearing the table and making ready for bed.
"Oh don't worry, lad. You won't."
Merle whistled and moseyed on towards his room.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Pandas & Explanations
[I realized I left y'all hanging last week without some Seamus & Grampa Merle. So here's a preview of what's coming tomorrow! Enjoy!]
Seamus kept situated on the front porch until the sun finally set, and all his senses properly functioning. Making his way back into the house, he was greeted by the smell of sizzling bacon fat, pancake batter, and fresh made coffee.
"What's all this?" His mouth gaping open at the food that was spread out on the table before him.
"Dinner. Specifically breakfast for dinner. One of the best things in life, don't you reckon?" He smiled back at him and motioned for them to sit.
Somewhere between the bacon and the pancakes Merle decided to break into the subject he had been mulling over all day while Seamus slept. "So, Seamus." He started, making sure he had the boys full attention. "What exactly happened on the other side of the door?"
Seamus' eyes returned to his plate. He was chewing pensively before answering.
"Well. I met Magda, she's a cool old bitty. And then there was Percival, that big panda, that was wild! The whole thing was nuts. I was afraid I was dreaming."
"What made you think you weren't?" Merle refilled his coffee cup from the carafe sitting in between them.
"Something- something Madga said to me. She knew everything about me already, and there was something about her. When I was talking to her I kept getting the feeling that I already knew her from some other place. Trippy, I tell 'ya."
"Mm." Merle motioned with his cup for Seamus to continue.
"The best I can understand it, is that the Garden we were in is crazy magical. Right? There were all these other animals there, weird ones too. Not all of them could talk, at least not in English. Percival was the one that came up to me first. He invited me to sit with them at this huge round table."
"A round table meeting?" Merle's bushy eyebrows shot up. "That soon? Hm. Indeed. Keep going, please." Seamus wasn't sure what Merle was looking for, but he was too hyped up and curious to consider slowing down now.
"Alright, so all these crazy creatures and Magda start talking about this girl that's living with Magda. They don't really know what to do with her- apparently this girl just showed up out of the blue, right? Magda was going on and on about how she's done everything to keep this kid out of the Garden, but she just keeps sneaking in there and peaking around."
Merle was aware that Magda's one pupil had almost dropped out of the sky. There was no doubt in his mind that this little one would be integral in their plans, it was just a matter of figuring out what her purpose was.
Seamus kept on talking, getting more and more excited. "They all decided that the best thing was to for Mag's to bring her into the Garden next time and for them to 'name' her. Whatever that means. But anyway," Seamus scooted in and leaned forward conspiratorially, "I've been invited to the 'Naming Ceremony'." He was soon wearing Merle's coffee, as it was spewed halfway across the room.
"Holy hares, boy! You know what that means?" The young man stared back at him blankly.
"No, no of course you wouldn't. I'll put some more coffee on; explaining this is going to take all night."
Seamus kept situated on the front porch until the sun finally set, and all his senses properly functioning. Making his way back into the house, he was greeted by the smell of sizzling bacon fat, pancake batter, and fresh made coffee.
"What's all this?" His mouth gaping open at the food that was spread out on the table before him.
"Dinner. Specifically breakfast for dinner. One of the best things in life, don't you reckon?" He smiled back at him and motioned for them to sit.
Somewhere between the bacon and the pancakes Merle decided to break into the subject he had been mulling over all day while Seamus slept. "So, Seamus." He started, making sure he had the boys full attention. "What exactly happened on the other side of the door?"
Seamus' eyes returned to his plate. He was chewing pensively before answering.
"Well. I met Magda, she's a cool old bitty. And then there was Percival, that big panda, that was wild! The whole thing was nuts. I was afraid I was dreaming."
"What made you think you weren't?" Merle refilled his coffee cup from the carafe sitting in between them.
"Something- something Madga said to me. She knew everything about me already, and there was something about her. When I was talking to her I kept getting the feeling that I already knew her from some other place. Trippy, I tell 'ya."
"Mm." Merle motioned with his cup for Seamus to continue.
"The best I can understand it, is that the Garden we were in is crazy magical. Right? There were all these other animals there, weird ones too. Not all of them could talk, at least not in English. Percival was the one that came up to me first. He invited me to sit with them at this huge round table."
"A round table meeting?" Merle's bushy eyebrows shot up. "That soon? Hm. Indeed. Keep going, please." Seamus wasn't sure what Merle was looking for, but he was too hyped up and curious to consider slowing down now.
"Alright, so all these crazy creatures and Magda start talking about this girl that's living with Magda. They don't really know what to do with her- apparently this girl just showed up out of the blue, right? Magda was going on and on about how she's done everything to keep this kid out of the Garden, but she just keeps sneaking in there and peaking around."
Merle was aware that Magda's one pupil had almost dropped out of the sky. There was no doubt in his mind that this little one would be integral in their plans, it was just a matter of figuring out what her purpose was.
Seamus kept on talking, getting more and more excited. "They all decided that the best thing was to for Mag's to bring her into the Garden next time and for them to 'name' her. Whatever that means. But anyway," Seamus scooted in and leaned forward conspiratorially, "I've been invited to the 'Naming Ceremony'." He was soon wearing Merle's coffee, as it was spewed halfway across the room.
"Holy hares, boy! You know what that means?" The young man stared back at him blankly.
"No, no of course you wouldn't. I'll put some more coffee on; explaining this is going to take all night."
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Lovey Dovey Twinkly Schmoop
Wow, just two weeks into my story arc, and I'm already taking a break. But hey, it's Valentine's Day. A day for those in love to celebrate each other with entirely too many pink things and mushy sentiments. For the rest of us, however, we have Tim Minchin to tell it as it is.
(I guess I should put a disclaimer here: if you are easily offended, don't watch anything by Tim Minchin. When I say he tells it like it is, I mean it. He curses and says very naughty things. Just sayin'.)
This isn't even a real love song, as it is about maths. He did write a couple of love songs, here is a pretty tame one, called "Inflatable You." Yes, it's about what you think it's about.
I tell you what though, if you are feeling particularly brave, check out his other love song "If You Really Loved Me." Again, if your offend easily, avoid this video and go read some Hallmark cards, or something.
But it isn't all naughtiness with our Tim; here is a rather poignant song about how love can sometimes be painful.
Happy Valentine's Day folks!
(I guess I should put a disclaimer here: if you are easily offended, don't watch anything by Tim Minchin. When I say he tells it like it is, I mean it. He curses and says very naughty things. Just sayin'.)
This isn't even a real love song, as it is about maths. He did write a couple of love songs, here is a pretty tame one, called "Inflatable You." Yes, it's about what you think it's about.
I tell you what though, if you are feeling particularly brave, check out his other love song "If You Really Loved Me." Again, if your offend easily, avoid this video and go read some Hallmark cards, or something.
But it isn't all naughtiness with our Tim; here is a rather poignant song about how love can sometimes be painful.
Happy Valentine's Day folks!
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