Time Out Tuesday: Be A Man

Well now. Miss Lucy's revamp of the Fantastic Spatula format couldn't have come at a better time. At last, I have my Tuesdays back. That means a marathon of "Criminal Minds" that I have heretofore missed because I was busy writing my posts. And let me tell you, I have really missed Hotch's eyebrows. (what?)

But actually my Time Out this week has actually come from across the Pond. Yes, thanks to the miracle of Youtube I can watch shows from my most favorite of nations, Ye Olde England. More specifically, I get to watch my favorite men, or man, rather. Yes, my friends it is true. I have fallen in love again with TV's James May. (What?)

I knew this particular show existed, but had only been able to watch bits and pieces until now. Please, allow me to introduce you.

Ladies, are you tired of having a useless man lying around unable to perform the simplest of tasks? Say, build you your own foundry or defend your honor in a duel? Gents, is mowing the lawn too tiresome or remembering to restock the toilet paper too tedious? Fret no more good people, for James May has come to save you. Welcome, to Man Lab.

This show is definitely worth a look. James May is a master at being a proper bloke. He can even wire plugs, a skill that most modern (English) men can't perform. It is his mission to get men off the couches and back into the shed to reclaim the lost art of being a Man.

I've already wasted countless hours this week watching the man of my dreams, but it has been a happy time. I hope one day to meet a proper chap who can not only wire a plug, but also escape from a maximum security prison and make his ways across the moors and back to my side using only an ordinance map. (What?!)

Time Out Tuesday with S.Kemp

What is up, Spatulans? So, I've started this word file of links and interesting interweb things I've come across and would like to share with you. So, take some Time Out this Tuesday to peruse these links if you so choose.

& I just can't get enough of food that's good for me and delicious at the same time and new recipes. Here are some food blogs that I've come across. My New Roots (try the Tower of Power and the Banana Bread Pancakes), anything with Nutella gets my attention (also this is a good place to find other food blogs), Brown Eyed Baker has a list of St. Patrick's day things to eat and she also helped create the 30 ways to make mac and cheese. Yes, Please. And Joy the Baker is just a joy! (I'm sure she's heard that before.)

Boom! The Next Gen! Photo Credit.

& I really enjoy photographs that are a tad bit creepy, or tilted, or skewed from the way we may be told to look at the world, or just down right pretty in its saturated-ness or fuzzy-ness. So, I've really enjoyed looking at Alison Scarpulla's Flickr photo stream.

& Also, I am a Sci-Fi fan. I don't know why I've only now begun to read Wil Wheaton's blog/twitter/stuff. But here is a pod cast of his.

& My friend Charlotte Moore has a new blog about copywriting called "The Irritable Vowel". She is crass and wonderful and I love that she has the balls to say the things us writerly types are sometimes too scared to say:

“'The Irritable Vowel' is not just a blog about writing. It’s about having the balls to write. It’s about the love of a craft that is too often abused by the likes of the careless and lazy. It’s about style, technique, and damn it, accountability." - Charlotte Moore

& And while we're on the topic of down-right coolness, here's how to grow some Moss Graffiti.That's right.

Photo Cred of Lepine Classic. Om Nom.

& Writing Utensil Porn. Don't open at work. Especially if your work doesn't pay you enough to afford one of these.

& While working at a unique vintage clothing store and costume rental I've been able to use my creative powers for good: window displays and photoshoots. I love looking through clothing blogs for inspiration.

& I also love fables, folk tales, and fairy tales and have recently been searching out new tales to inspire photoshoots and window displays.

& My friend sent me this web site link about design and places to live. Design sponge. But I'm sure you all have seen this web site.

& And we're going to end it with a six-legged giant walking-stick bug. Oh yeah, science and shit.

Meter Monday: William Carlos Williams

Twice this week I've run across poems by William Carlos Williams. The first was "The Red Wheelbarrow" and the second (I still can't find the title) was a small poem about a patient still owing Doctor Williams $2. This is not coincidence. Two poems by the same author in the same week means I need to share one with the Spatulans.

Photo Credit: kele michele

I remember first reading "The Red Wheelbarrow" in high school. OK, I don't actually remember reading it in high school. I know I did read it in high school during an English class with my teacher Mrs. Bishop. I know I discussed the poem's meaning with my class, but I don't really remember any of it. My first memory of the poem that actually stuck is from college. It was during my Southern Writers Seminar with Dr. Susan Gilbert who has since retired from teaching that class.


What struck me about the poem first was not the poem itself but my teacher's reaction. I remember* Dr. Gilbert's face seeming to light up. I remember her saying the poem was lovely and then saying that yes so much does depend on a red wheelbarrow, rain, and a white chicken. It was Dr. Gilbert's reaction that made me pay attention to the poem. I like reading poetry. I like it when poems are short and sweet and sort of child like imaginative. But I know** I wasn't paying attention to the poem until I noticed my professor.

And then, when I gave attention to the poem, I noticed Dr. Gilbert was right. It is such a lovely poem. It's sweet and simple. It's the little girl inside me saying, "Hey! You have to notice the rain on this thing. It means everything." It's the magic in an every day, often overlooked thing speaking up for itself. It's my reminder that even I matter, and so much of who I am and my ideas and stories depend on giving credit to even the little things.

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chicken

*Memory is a funny thing. This is how I remember it now. Ask someone else who took the class when I did and they may remember something completely different. Ask me about this 20 years from now and I may remember it differently.
** I actually don't remember not paying attention. But I feel like maybe I wasn't paying attention. I remember I had this class around 2:30 or 3 p.m. after lunch and around that golden nap hour. That is why I know I wasn't paying attention. Instead I was probably fighting off, in my own way, that creeping nap feeling.

Sic Semper Tyrannis

To follow up with yesterday's post/rant I thought I'd provide some interesting facts about the Virginia state flag. 

For starters, you might notice the latin phrase at the bottom of the seal which reads, "Sic Semper Tyrannis". For those of you who never took Latin with Ms. Owen at HCHS/ Never took Latin at all/ Have no idea what that phrase even means- the words translate to: 

"Thus Always to Tyrants" 

Ah, now that's an interesting wording to have on a flag of a state that decided to lead the campaign against women. Hmm... 

The next tidbit I would like to point out is that the person standing victorious is the Goddess Virtus, (Yes, a woman!), dressed in Amazonian attire. She's defeated the tyrant, represented as a male, who is holding a scourge and chain. 

Again, how fitting is this? 

I've always loved this flag and its meaning. And I don't believe it's far fetched to think that there is more than one lesson to be learned here. Sic Semper Tyrannis, indeed. 

International Women's Day

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. :)

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.