So I think I will WriMO.
It is a group/goal to write a 50,000 page novel in 30 days. If I am going to do this I am 3 days late and I have no donation to make. I don't think the donation is the issue. Writing is the issue.
This event is done in November and the goal is to write good bad ugly or just plain flatout awful. I have part of my were wolf story done that can make up for not starting on time. ButI ran into issues early on with... that is the point. Write even if it is crap. Don't be a fraid to suck.
He I go a sucking....
I think I am going to do it.
One more night to think about it.
Damn you Wil Wheaton!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
what Verta said
During our last conversation at Mystic Sage, Verta said that it was no wonder that my Chakras are as shut tight as they are and that I am having trouble keeping everything flowing. I had just finished telling her that I feel as though I have been sleep walking for three years.
So the short form synposis of 2005: I lost Dad, I spent that last Summer with him 15 hours a day while he needed to be shutteled to Doctors, see his home country for the last time, the quest to find a descent peach, the BIG discussion about my future, the house I was to inherit (centerpiece of my life plan) was sold out from under me, two months before that the man I was supposed to marry tore through my life after a 4000.00 "investment" and 4 year relationship, I changed jobs after the final abusive straw broke, I packed up a house and moved, I packed up the rest of my mom's 40 year collection of flotsam so said house could be sold, and I quit meditating.
That last one seems to be the significant thing. I had lessened my meditations to accomodate dad's needs. But then when all of this happened within only a 6 month period, the meditating only let my mind quite enough for me to hear the malestrom in my own head. The keening malevolent grief was the only thing I could touch inside myself so I quit meditating. Even now when I try, its like I have to start over from square one because the ticking of lists and issues just keeps clamoring through my head. There are things that I should be doing that I am not doing and meditating isn't doing. It's just sitting.
Getting rid of shoulda/coulda/woulda is something else to work on. Adopting the It is what it is now and when ever thing is high on the list of homework to learn, know and absorb. I have been conditioned to think that everything of value makes money. I never used to believe that. But when I thought that I had to live in my brother's world I had to learn that lesson to cope. Now I know why he is so mean and bitter. Money isn't living. Making money isn't really anything but a distraction. Like food, money is something that you need to live, but it doesn't have to be the only thing you live for.
Writing, art, meditation... these things keep the soul fed. A healthy soul is what makes really living possible. A healthy soul makes connections in the world. A connection in the world is worth more than a 50.00 paycheck. It is the kind of thing that makes any condition in which you live bearable. I've been fooled, mostly by myself I think, into believing that money would make those connections happen. I was lead to believe that it was necessary to be connected to my brother and sister. I have a host of facebook friends to prove that isn't true. Yet I still struggle to believe that opinion that I had held on my own for so long. Verta says that grief can skew perspective in many ways. It was natural to cling to my brother as he is the only family I have in the area. But he isn't a healthy person to be around. He is someone that is classified as a dream killer.
So what Verta said is that I have to cut myself some slack. When we first met almost 5 years ago I was a mess. I was just coming out of a dark patch that followed closely on the heels of a deep depression that had cost me jobs and respect. She reminds me that this time, with all that on my plate in 2005 and then almost dying in 2006 that I have a lot to be proud of. I didn't roll up the welcome mat and turn on the gas. I stuck it out. I kept plugging away and I haven't given up. She notes I can't even commit to sorrowful resignation for more than a day where before it would be months before my resignation gave way to some other "_ation". I have come a long way. And I may not have as far to go as I fear. But it starts, always starts, with knowing ones self and a picture of one's destiny firmly in mind.
And then the progress continues with being selective about the people you share your life with.
So the short form synposis of 2005: I lost Dad, I spent that last Summer with him 15 hours a day while he needed to be shutteled to Doctors, see his home country for the last time, the quest to find a descent peach, the BIG discussion about my future, the house I was to inherit (centerpiece of my life plan) was sold out from under me, two months before that the man I was supposed to marry tore through my life after a 4000.00 "investment" and 4 year relationship, I changed jobs after the final abusive straw broke, I packed up a house and moved, I packed up the rest of my mom's 40 year collection of flotsam so said house could be sold, and I quit meditating.
That last one seems to be the significant thing. I had lessened my meditations to accomodate dad's needs. But then when all of this happened within only a 6 month period, the meditating only let my mind quite enough for me to hear the malestrom in my own head. The keening malevolent grief was the only thing I could touch inside myself so I quit meditating. Even now when I try, its like I have to start over from square one because the ticking of lists and issues just keeps clamoring through my head. There are things that I should be doing that I am not doing and meditating isn't doing. It's just sitting.
Getting rid of shoulda/coulda/woulda is something else to work on. Adopting the It is what it is now and when ever thing is high on the list of homework to learn, know and absorb. I have been conditioned to think that everything of value makes money. I never used to believe that. But when I thought that I had to live in my brother's world I had to learn that lesson to cope. Now I know why he is so mean and bitter. Money isn't living. Making money isn't really anything but a distraction. Like food, money is something that you need to live, but it doesn't have to be the only thing you live for.
Writing, art, meditation... these things keep the soul fed. A healthy soul is what makes really living possible. A healthy soul makes connections in the world. A connection in the world is worth more than a 50.00 paycheck. It is the kind of thing that makes any condition in which you live bearable. I've been fooled, mostly by myself I think, into believing that money would make those connections happen. I was lead to believe that it was necessary to be connected to my brother and sister. I have a host of facebook friends to prove that isn't true. Yet I still struggle to believe that opinion that I had held on my own for so long. Verta says that grief can skew perspective in many ways. It was natural to cling to my brother as he is the only family I have in the area. But he isn't a healthy person to be around. He is someone that is classified as a dream killer.
So what Verta said is that I have to cut myself some slack. When we first met almost 5 years ago I was a mess. I was just coming out of a dark patch that followed closely on the heels of a deep depression that had cost me jobs and respect. She reminds me that this time, with all that on my plate in 2005 and then almost dying in 2006 that I have a lot to be proud of. I didn't roll up the welcome mat and turn on the gas. I stuck it out. I kept plugging away and I haven't given up. She notes I can't even commit to sorrowful resignation for more than a day where before it would be months before my resignation gave way to some other "_ation". I have come a long way. And I may not have as far to go as I fear. But it starts, always starts, with knowing ones self and a picture of one's destiny firmly in mind.
And then the progress continues with being selective about the people you share your life with.
on perspective
I took what amounts to a weekend off this week. For the last two days I haven't been anywhere on the web; which explains the 56 email craps in my Yahoo account and the great wealth of info in Wheaton's blog to catch up on and the feeling of renewal I woke up with this morning. The email crap is easy to flush. The Wheaton stuff is always worth catching up on... especially the advice to writer's compendium that I was able to bookmark. But it is the fresh perspective that has me buzzing.
So what does a geek do on her "day off" from the Net/Web? Well, I slept in first of all. Something is wonky in the vicinity of my rotator cuff which makes me excedeingly uncomfortable mentally/physically/emotionally/financially so sleeping in with the heat set for hotter than mercury but cooler than bathing in a solar flare felt pretty good. When I got up I went to the art store and looked at all the cool ne stuff that I hadn't seen before, priced a canvas for a commission piece and drooled over a concept whose time has bee imptiently waiting: opaque watercolors from Richeson in a compact. I picked up some beautiful composition paper and a great set of tinted drawing pencils that were perfect for fleshing out this new project. New watercolor pencil colors and some new colors in the Prismacolor pencil line. Lush, rich, stunningly smooth. I shouldn't have gotten the pencil case that I did, but I refrained from buying the 40.00 leather case with the shock guard. I bought a compact tape measure at the hardware store becasue my Stanley is missing. Then I went to the Stations to sketch, made some phone calls in the peace and quiet and had myself a treat I haven't had in 25 years... lebkuchen mit Oblaten. Ella and Dieter still import the German goodies. These came from Nurmberg and they were mild and citrussy... Wunderbar! Then I went to Borders and got a book, two X-men movies for 16.00 and a new Somserset Publication. I poured over the studio book for hours and leatned some very good leassons from the ladies within those pages. And you thought I only listened to Wheaton! Then I watched Jean Grey vaporize Professor Xavier which was a trauma second only to losing Data. I cried for two hours, read an anthology of short romance stories and I went to bed early and I slept late again.
When I wqoke up this morning I felt like I knew what needed to be done and could do it. I love my blog, I love keeping up with friends on facebook. But I have had my head down (as I have mentioned before) without my nose being at the grind stone. I have been trying not to attract negative attention... mostly the brother's. I haven't really forced myself to do anything. Its like being in a fog, hearing claws scraping the pavement behind you and hoping that its just a squeaky wheel and not the Ripper getting ready to carve you like a pumpkin. But you know that it isn't a wheel. And the Ripper isn't coming up any closer... just tailing you for a long time. You know there are dead ends up ahead and fewer doors leading to safety. You can't see anything so you don't know where that invcisbile line is between the good and the bad side of White Chappel Street... you don't even know if you're still on White Chappel. The sound is getting louder.
There is a kind of tunnel vision that you get when you are being stalked. You get so focused on the survival part that you miss alot of opportunities because they aren't hands reaching from the dark to pull your ass into a well lit pub. You question everything that you did to lead you to the point where you are being stalked down a foggy street. You second guess yourself so much that the dialog in your head suddenly tells you that you deserve to be a hollow gourd on someone's doorstep on All Hallow's Eve. Then all you hear is "that alley leads no where", "that door is probably locked" and "no one will help you anyway". It becomes a futile race to a finsih line that keeps moving with an opponent content to let you set the heart bursting pace.
Breathless you either face a brickwall and wait for the stalker to pounce or you pour yourself into a wide cross road with enough people to provide saftey. You still have to go home and deal with what really happened and ehat you thought would happen. Whether one is being stalked by a figment, a person of by life's circumstances (destiny), the effect on the body and mind is the same. In the end all you see is another brick in the wall.
Thus I found myself staring blanky into the computer screen and at the half made beds wondering why I haven't been stabbed as it seems that is what my stalker has in mind. The Net/Web is wonderfully distracting when you have to not think about the problems as much as it is a tool to find and create a solution. So away from the things that I felt hunting me I have a better idea of what will an won't work for me.
I have perspective. I spent the Summer inside at a computer an not out in the sunshine. Of course I have to have limited exposure because of the rosacae. But at least I was out in the 60 degree weather in NOVEMBER! I decided to move what I couldi nto a storage unit so that I would minimize the impact of my brother's lack of coutesy and abundance of untrusion. I will stay where I am at an hope that I can make enough money to pay for storage, car, student loans. I remembered who I was with those two days. And something Verta said got much more clear to me. All in all, I have part of my vision back. it feels great. But mostly, it feels great to see that the things that scared me were just shadows of small things with which I can cope.
So what does a geek do on her "day off" from the Net/Web? Well, I slept in first of all. Something is wonky in the vicinity of my rotator cuff which makes me excedeingly uncomfortable mentally/physically/emotionally/financially so sleeping in with the heat set for hotter than mercury but cooler than bathing in a solar flare felt pretty good. When I got up I went to the art store and looked at all the cool ne stuff that I hadn't seen before, priced a canvas for a commission piece and drooled over a concept whose time has bee imptiently waiting: opaque watercolors from Richeson in a compact. I picked up some beautiful composition paper and a great set of tinted drawing pencils that were perfect for fleshing out this new project. New watercolor pencil colors and some new colors in the Prismacolor pencil line. Lush, rich, stunningly smooth. I shouldn't have gotten the pencil case that I did, but I refrained from buying the 40.00 leather case with the shock guard. I bought a compact tape measure at the hardware store becasue my Stanley is missing. Then I went to the Stations to sketch, made some phone calls in the peace and quiet and had myself a treat I haven't had in 25 years... lebkuchen mit Oblaten. Ella and Dieter still import the German goodies. These came from Nurmberg and they were mild and citrussy... Wunderbar! Then I went to Borders and got a book, two X-men movies for 16.00 and a new Somserset Publication. I poured over the studio book for hours and leatned some very good leassons from the ladies within those pages. And you thought I only listened to Wheaton! Then I watched Jean Grey vaporize Professor Xavier which was a trauma second only to losing Data. I cried for two hours, read an anthology of short romance stories and I went to bed early and I slept late again.
When I wqoke up this morning I felt like I knew what needed to be done and could do it. I love my blog, I love keeping up with friends on facebook. But I have had my head down (as I have mentioned before) without my nose being at the grind stone. I have been trying not to attract negative attention... mostly the brother's. I haven't really forced myself to do anything. Its like being in a fog, hearing claws scraping the pavement behind you and hoping that its just a squeaky wheel and not the Ripper getting ready to carve you like a pumpkin. But you know that it isn't a wheel. And the Ripper isn't coming up any closer... just tailing you for a long time. You know there are dead ends up ahead and fewer doors leading to safety. You can't see anything so you don't know where that invcisbile line is between the good and the bad side of White Chappel Street... you don't even know if you're still on White Chappel. The sound is getting louder.
There is a kind of tunnel vision that you get when you are being stalked. You get so focused on the survival part that you miss alot of opportunities because they aren't hands reaching from the dark to pull your ass into a well lit pub. You question everything that you did to lead you to the point where you are being stalked down a foggy street. You second guess yourself so much that the dialog in your head suddenly tells you that you deserve to be a hollow gourd on someone's doorstep on All Hallow's Eve. Then all you hear is "that alley leads no where", "that door is probably locked" and "no one will help you anyway". It becomes a futile race to a finsih line that keeps moving with an opponent content to let you set the heart bursting pace.
Breathless you either face a brickwall and wait for the stalker to pounce or you pour yourself into a wide cross road with enough people to provide saftey. You still have to go home and deal with what really happened and ehat you thought would happen. Whether one is being stalked by a figment, a person of by life's circumstances (destiny), the effect on the body and mind is the same. In the end all you see is another brick in the wall.
Thus I found myself staring blanky into the computer screen and at the half made beds wondering why I haven't been stabbed as it seems that is what my stalker has in mind. The Net/Web is wonderfully distracting when you have to not think about the problems as much as it is a tool to find and create a solution. So away from the things that I felt hunting me I have a better idea of what will an won't work for me.
I have perspective. I spent the Summer inside at a computer an not out in the sunshine. Of course I have to have limited exposure because of the rosacae. But at least I was out in the 60 degree weather in NOVEMBER! I decided to move what I couldi nto a storage unit so that I would minimize the impact of my brother's lack of coutesy and abundance of untrusion. I will stay where I am at an hope that I can make enough money to pay for storage, car, student loans. I remembered who I was with those two days. And something Verta said got much more clear to me. All in all, I have part of my vision back. it feels great. But mostly, it feels great to see that the things that scared me were just shadows of small things with which I can cope.
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