24 hours, she said.

24 hours, she said.

It’ll be fun, she said.

What could possibly go wrong?

The smell of paper

The sun is starting to come out once again and all I want to do is write.

Tell Them I’m Writing

Even if I can’t change the world, 

I’m still going to write.

Even if no one ever cares,

even if it makes absolutely no difference 

that there was a person named Heidi 

who sat in this little room 

day after day 

and wrote things down 

just because she felt them.

Resurrection

In what will likely be my last trip to the cinema for a bit, I went to see the matinee of Matrix: Resurrection. Taking the bus is incredibly intimidating for me whenever I go a route I havent’ been before. (Afterwards, it’s immediately pase, completely old hat and NoBigDealWhatsoever™️, so I don’t know why I drag my feet so petulantly, but I do.) I took the bus to the Grandin area for the first time, and of course it was just fine. I really like the updated interface with Google Maps that lets me know which bus to get on and where the stop is, all the way down to showing which side of the street to be on. The bus dropped me with 20 minutes to spare before the film started, so I went across the street to the Co-op and picked up a couple cups of rye flour from the (ever-shrinking) bulk section. My sourdough starter got trashed in this summer’s move, and I haven’t had the strength of spirit to undertake making a replacement. People have feelings about their starter, and I’m definitely in that category.
 
No spoilers about the movie. I loved it.
 
In a bout of serendipity, I stood around talking with one of the other folks who came to the matinee (I think there were a grand total of five of us, all told, in the show, and I don’t think any of us knew each other. Is this a thing, going alone to the matinee on opening day? I thought it was just me.) The conversation was surprisingly good, and none of us knew each other, and it was refreshing to have a thoughtful conversation without also feeling as though we were trying to one-up each other. Maybe it has something to do with being a matinee. Anyway, near the end of the conversation, one of the guys asked if I edited other people’s work, and I raised an eyebrow and said, In fact I do and I was just mentioning that I’m open to take on a few more authors. Apparently his roommate is moving out post haste due to changing demands of the PhD program at Tech, and in losing his roommate, he’s also losing an editor. We talked a little about what he write (fiction) and what his goals are (publication) and what I do, and he was interested and said, I guess I don’t have to take out a classified ad anymore! I gave him my contact information.
 
The milk delivery folks switched to glass containers only and ditched the plastic option. This is great and I always preferred it, but the management of getting the containers back is a bear, and they are heavy. A half gallon of milk already weighs quite a bit, and in glass weighs ever so much more, and I get five half-gallons a week. The bus goes near the delivery location, so I’ll be scouting how much walking is involved in getting There And Back Again. It may well turn out that I need to make a couple trips a week to be able to manage the weight, and if so I’ll be scootering instead of paying for the bus whenever weather allows, bringing home a gallon at a time in the backpack.
 
At home after the movie, I put the starter together for Day One. It will take some time to get going. It feels homey to have it up on the top of the fridge, perking away.
 
Movies take a toll, and just being conscious does too. Then the conversation was good, but by the time I got home and settled, I was worn out. I made tea and changed and settled in with aspirin, a glass of milk, and a bit of a rest.
 
It was a Very Nice Day indeed.
This morning as I made a pre-writing pot of tea, I was thinking about the Carrie-Anne Moss quote from yesterday. Choosing not to have pressure is serious emotional work, no less than developing and maintaining washboard abs. Unlike washboard abs, though, it's possible for any of us, at any time, to take up this work. And the results are amazing.
 
I like it.
 
I woke up and jotted down a thought while the kettle heated. A thousand words later, I really like what I have written, the kettle is cool, and there is still not any tea. No matter. Tea can be made. The muse must be entertained when she arrives.

Writing life

It’s been a long week of nesting, resting, reading, and writing.

This is my comfort zone.

All books are travel books

All books are travel books, in this sense – or at least they should be; they exist to transport the reader to some place geographically or emotionally distant from their own, setting them on a journey that will expand their horizons and leave them transformed.

Catherine Marshall, Travelling by the book along Virginia’s Tinker Creek

Weird, but I like it

Every time I claim songwriting royalties on my taxes it weirds me out, but in a good way.

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/g3bnc

Via con dios

 Just submitted a memoir piece to one of my favorite magazines. Via con dios, little piece of my soul.

Breakfast at the Loft

Breakfast at the loft this morning, and I have plenty of reading to do before class this afternoon.

 

Life is good.

 

My New Muse

Penny likes to hang out on the staircase and stalk me while I write.

 

She is pretty convinced that she could do something with the pen, and the keyboard sounds are fascinating.

 

The energy is good here, and there has been a lot of progress with Writing, editing, and class scheduling. I'm looking forward to the time with my new muse.

Street Art

I love street art.

Why do I not live downtown?

 

How to Stop Time

How to stop time: kiss.
How to travel in time: read.
How to escape time: music.
How to feel time: write.
How to release time: breathe.
--Matt Haig, Reasons to Stay Alive

Three parts of Writing

Work on good prose has three steps: a musical stage when it is composed, an architectonic one when it is built, and a textile one when it is woven.
- Walter Benjamin (One-Way Street)

Writing Life

I've been spending a lot of time writing, and the result is getting to do even more writing. This week I get to draft a chapter or so of my book on Libraries -- it's advanced to the final round for possible publication.

I presented the work this time last year, and I'm very excited, Friends.

Between this and the great stuff coming from the memoir work, I'm starting to feel like an actual writer.

Writing is the Way

"I write in order to find out"

Meditation Zone

You should sit in meditation for 20 minutes every day -- unless you're too busy; 

then you should sit for an hour.

Thinking of turning the second bedroom into a meditation room instead of a library. Not that they are mutually exclusive, of course, but one feeds and energizes the mind, while the other still and holds it in repose.

Editing life continues to be exciting. I have three special series in development as of this week, and five seven new books for the spotlight series I'm taking on. I've caught my breath with the classwork, I think; I'm about one full rotation behind in response papers to The Republic, but small steps matter. I should be on track to finish it by the end of the term.

Writing workshop is amazing, and my next installment is due in three weeks. Wow. I'm so glad I have this in my world again. 

The Universe loves me and wants me to be happy.

Procrastination

My piece Procrastination is out today in Literary Heist. I'm kind of in awe at seeing the little article in print -- it has meant so much to me in the last couple years to be able to talk about the role of Writing in my life. Writing continues to be significant in understanding myself and my relationship with myself and others.

Roald Dahl

 "A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom." - Roald Dahl

Writing Prompt: Opposites Attract

Opposites attract. 

It's interesting to use unexpected pairings to create depth and tension in your work. Blend things that are unlikely, or outlandish even. Write a love letter to your enemies. Write a character that is a socially inept extrovert, or a highly approachable --charismatic?-- introvert. Lean into the weirdness and show us how painful this might be for the character, if it is, or liberating, or diabolically useful, scandalous, crazy-making.

Use stereotypes to crack them open.

The Resting Spot

This week was a crush of writing and rain; by Wednesday evening I felt as though I had run a marathon at a sprint. Last night's storm was an articulation of the crashing spirit of exhaustion.

The blog post is edited and submitted. I crafted and then drafted a syllabus, which might serve as the framework for a research proposal; it's the second in what is becoming a series. The editor of an anthology sent me a set of artwork for the upcoming discussions of the stories, pieces that each have a philosophical query at their heart. The abstract for an upcoming conference presentation is sitting in The Resting Spot. I, too, am in a still space today. My calendar has no due dates or task lists, and I've set the phone on Do Not Disturb. There will likely be another patch of rain this evening; I can feel the subtle shifts in the muscles around my skull, just above the right temple. The contractions move my glasses just a bit, like an affectionate great aunt tugging my ear, feeling as though The Way is beckoning me to join it in the quiet. 

Classes begin in ten days, and I'm considering setting an out-of-office automatic replay as I sit with the end of a season. Half-past August always has that gathering-up-to-move energy for me. Writing, music, knitting, the fiction of philosophy. This is my vacation. This is my world.