Monday, February 5, 2007
Sunny and brutally cold
Ben Schwartz’s poem “Airport Waiting Room” is today’s Circadian Poem.
I answer some tarot questions on Kemmyrk. I got a batch of interesting questions; some of my answers are bound to piss off some people. Oh, well, it’s my opinion, my belief, and I stand by it.
Can I just say that I think the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet is much more fun than the Super Bowl? I’m bummed that the Colts won, as much as I can be about two teams that mean little to me.
But Prince’s half-time show was wonderful – even in that rain, he gave it everything. There are many things about Prince that make me roll my eyes, but as far as musician-ship – he is a genius. And genius is not a word I use lightly.
Worked on the copyedits for the Plum essay. The way the changes were tracked was a little confusing; I hope I got everything the way my editor needs it. I was loathe to lose a couple of the things that were cut, but my editor was right – they open a Pandora’s box that the scope of this particular essay in this particular collection can’t hope to address. I feel that one of the points that was the most important to me has been watered down to the point of almost non-existence, which is frustrating. And then, there are other changes that I think are great, and I’m so grateful that my editor caught me out in a bad habit, one of using too many dashes. I thought I’d edited them out of the draft I sent, but there they were, highlighted. So I’ve learned an area where I need to be more careful in submissions.
And, of course, being a typical writer (much as I like to think of myself as unique), when I’m hardly edited, I fret because I worry that maybe a stronger editing hand can help get me to a higher level; when I’m heavily edited, I fret that it’s too much change to my voice and meaning. It’s always about taking a breath, stepping back, and looking at the piece as though someone else wrote it. It’s about knowing when to step up and fight for something that’s truly important, and when to accept that the editor has the big picture in view, while the writer has the writer’s piece of the puzzle in view. And that’s only learned through experience.
No one told me I had to be better at balancing that a high wire walker!
I get tired of “balance” – I’m even getting sick of the word. Sometimes, I want to be un-balanced. I want to sit in a sunny corner and read a book ALL DAY and to hell with everything. I want to take off my shoes and dance around the park, singing at the top of my lungs. I want to live from emotion rather than reason.
Doing all of it every day would be like eating too much ice cream; eventually, you’d throw up. But this constant mantra to which we’ve all become enslaved lately – “balance” – sometimes I just get sick of it.
Yes, it’s necessary. Yes, balance equates to better health. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it every minute of every day.
I had to repack everything. Because it’s winter, and this week promises to be the coldest week we’ve seen in the region in two years, I’m taking lots of layers, and more clothes than I normally would for a simple week. However, they’re winter clothes and bulky. So, instead of taking a variety of little bags, I put it all into one BIG suitcase (on wheels) – a suitcase big enough so I can put my yoga mat into it. I’m treading dangerous ground here, not even one dress-up piece, but I figure, any place I go is going to be directly after work and I wouldn’t go back to the apartment to change anyway, so everyone is just going to have to deal.
I’m taking A LOT of writing work with me. Probably more than I should. But I’ve got those extra three hours a day that would be used to commute, and I plan to use them to write.
We had a feline visitor for awhile yesterday. A neighbor knocked on the door – an orange and white cat was wandering in the halls. When I opened my door to see what was going on, the cat slunk into the apartment – and promptly took it over, intimidating the twins. Elsa was under the sofa, sleeping, and missed it all. The cat investigated the place and began to stake out territory, while my neighbors went door to door trying to figure out where she belonged. Turns out she belongs to someone who just moved in on the first floor – and she scratched him badly when he came to get her. She was in a MOOD, growling and yowling. It might have made more sense to just ignore her for awhile and let her settle down and then take her back, but her human wanted her home then and there; he lunged at a growling critter and snatched her up and then wondered why she drew blood. Poor thing. But she got home safely, and that’s what counts. And while there were hissy spitties between her and the twins, no blood was shed there.
Every cat that slips out of its home ends up here, what can I say? Just call me the Hotel Caterwaul.
Rhian – I’m always here to listen.
Tim – I also make incenses, bath salts, poultices, etc., so I try to keep a variety of herbs and spices on hand at all times.
I have to do a few things for my mom to make sure she’s all set while I’m away – fill up her car with gas, etc,, etc.
Trying to clear some more off my desk before I head in this afternoon – missives the rest of the week will be from the Big Apple.
Chasing the Changeling – 22,842 words out of est. 45,000
22 / 45