chronicled & illustrated

The last post was about my tentative toe-pokes into Second Life.

Then I disappeared (blog-wise) for over two months. From wading to immersion. Well…that’s how it goes, right?

From my initial apathy to the secondary intrigue to a subsequent and prolonged love-hate relationship, sometime in late March it all became addictive, all-consuming, and just fun. I recently met a newcomer to SL and asked her what she thought of it. She said, “It’s so silly and so profound all at the same time.” This sums up what I feel too. One day I heard or read the phrase, “What do you want to do with your Second Life?” and it hit me in the way that this virtual interface often does. You know it’s not *real* but the question is profound.

If I had a second life and this—silly virtual world that it is—was IT, what would I want to do?

I decided to start designing clothes. Though I’ve never had anything to do with commercial fashion in Real Life (RL), I loved it as a child, was always involved with fabrics because my mother sewed and made our clothes. Eventually, I learned how and made almost everything I wore during my teens through twenties. At that point I had kids (boys!) and we started wearing only jeans and knit shirts and sewing wasn’t fun anymore. So this is a return to an old love. A second childhood, perhaps. A second childhood to go with a second life seems just right.

More soon about my learning curve.

The photo is Aplomb at home in front of a painting done by SL friend, Luta Lussard (and RL friend, Sherry Ramsey). Her shop: A Space to Dream (link coming soon). Aplomb is wearing one of our newest designs from the Art Nouveau line. Once I get ready to *come out* I’ll do another blog/ catalogue for Aplomb’s designs. It and our shop will be called Dress with Aplomb…but I’m not ready yet.

liquid
Originally uploaded by nuanc

Today I seem to be swimming freely in my life once again.

For a few weeks, I got stuck. I felt completely bogged down. Any kind of effort toward unsticking myself was a tiresome slog that left me only wanting to retreat back into my rutted state.

This wasn’t that noticeable to others because I still went about my daily life…I just wasn’t as productive. As I’ve written about before, I spent long hours mastering a certain computer game that shall remain unidentified lest someone else fall under it’s marblicious spell.

I continued doing what I could to get away from the rut that included only Me and The Game. Eventually, I began to tell people—my husband, my sons, my trusty girlfriends, and my mom—that I wasn’t really doing that well. I felt at the time that this ‘coming out’ was part of the process of recovery. That if I hadn’t been on the road to recovery, I wouldn’t have been able to admit it.

Today, I woke up feeling that my hated rut had been washed away by a good strong soaking. I can still sense the route that it wore through my brain, but it no longer has depth.

This has happened before of course. I think though that as I get older (pushin’ 60, girl) I have the mental calm, perspective and actual quiet in my life to be able to analyze what this feels like and what’s physically happening to me when I overtakes me. In earlier days, I was too busy with kids and had too many insecurities to look at it without fear clouding my view. Now I can imagine and actually feel (or feel that I’m feeling) a neurological rut—an overused, perhaps over-stimulated linkage of neurons; one that becomes prominent and doesn’t give up dominance easily.

It helps me understand—in an organic way—what people who have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder go through every day. And, it comes up very close to Depression—something I used to suffer from for months at a time. In Depression, certain thoughts or categories of thought (negativity! worthlessness! hopelessness!) become dominant. It’s changing those thought patterns that pull us up out of the mood (to be utterly overly-simplistic).

I don’t understand any of it well enough to predict its coming or its going, but I do have confidence these days that it won’t stick; that somehow I’ve accumulated enough coping strategies to be able to pull out of these neurological quagmires. But I have to be careful with that line of thinking. Maybe it’s never what I DO that pulls me out of it. Saying that implies that anyone can pull themselves out by sheer “coping strategies” and I don’t believe that. I know that if it were that simple, people wouldn’t suffer from it so painfully and so persistently. But on the other hand, that sense that I am doing things that help to get me over the distress is important to my feeling of control over my life. Always important.

This morning, I feel a fresh fluidity in my mind, I’m able to glide freely through the little pond that is my life, and for that I am supremely grateful.

The illustration was taken in Houston over the Christmas holidays at the home of The Newmans who graciously let us use their amazing house in exchange for looking after their greyhound. The koi pond was a practicing photographer’s dream.

window
Originally uploaded by nuanc

I love this little blog. I started it in full expectation of NOT posting often enough and then I did pretty well with it.

I am not a consistent person. Moodiness is so much a part of my genetic make-up that I am always astounded to learn that some people aren’t controlled by their mood-of-the-day. I’m drawn off task by not only moods, but also by the newest shiniest activity that catches my interest. And yet, I almost always return to what I love. And this blog, I love.

It feels like me, she said, shyly.

Fertile, then fallow, quiet without being private or secretive, heart-felt and earnest but with tongue-in-cheek.

Inconsistent. Also ambiguous. Moody.

January was a real up and (mostly) downer. I started an overly ambitious writing project that didn’t last more than two days. That led to a slump which caused me to seek solace in mind-numbing computer games, an obsession from which I haven’t fully recovered. There were other things. Emotional snowfalls began piling on, adding layer after layer of weight. Because it wasn’t a blizzard but a steadily growing accumulation of tiny things, I was unaware of what was happening.

I’m on the mend. Writing this is part of my recovery. I love this blog. I must do it more often and then I will remember other things that I love doing and I will rediscover the path to feeling that. Then, I’m sure, I will also get excited about the next new shiny thing that catches my interest. I can do both when I’m occupying the busy part of my life.

The illustration is of winter taken through the old stained glass panels in the stairwell of our house. Part of it I can see through and part I can’t and that is Like Life.

Hugs all ’round.

Well, NaNoWriMo is done for another year. It was a month of steady-steady-steady writing. I think I had three days when I didn’t get my quota (1667) done and one of those was Day 1 when I’d just returned from being out of town for three weeks. Even in that steadiness, however, I felt many ups and downs.

The bottom line is that I didn’t end up with a cohesive novel. I spent time the last day, after reaching 50,000 words, just writing notes to myself about what seems good about the writing and what doesn’t. One of the things I did was to list all the subplots I had going on. No wonder it never gelled! There were about ten separate things, some of them introduced once and never revisited!

I also wrote what I thought the plot should be. After spending a month immersed in that world and those characters, of course I know better what directions I should gone. I think the notes helped and will help in the future. I have more of a overview of what I wrote rather than being left with the impression of the last few days of writing which was less than inspiring. I also feel that the notes will serve me well later when I want to go back to it. It will give me a way into the story.

So that’s a wrap on Nano 2007.

On the other writing front: I finished the first draft of the short story on Saturday.

Ahhh, such a simple sentence.

Finishing a short story was once close to impossible for me. I had a writing teacher early on who was in the habit of spending 6 months to a year on a short story. She was a very bad influence on me!!! I have since joined a writing group with some wonderful role models who are much more practical. They have been a very good influence on me!!!

This story was a personal challenge to see if I could come up with an idea, write it, edit it, polish it, and send it off to the Nova Scotia Writer’s Federation contest all within 3 weeks. Oh, one other thing: it had to come in under 3,000 words, a feat I’ve never managed before.

So you see… it’s a simple sentence with much import for me. Yesterday I edited and rewrote the ending. Last night I read it out loud and felt it was choppy so I worked on transitions today and did line editing. This afternoon I gave to two trusted readers. While handing it over is always nerve-wracking, I did feel proud that I’ve gotten it to this point with four days to go before it has to be postmarked. The verdict is in from one of my readers; it got a thumbs up!

Now, finally, I have time to clean the bathroom.
What a reward, eh?
Oh the glamourous life of a writer!

spires
Originally uploaded by nuanc

I’ve got nothin’. It’s been a long day. I’ve written, talked and altogether used up too many words. Instead of words, I offer this odd, rather mysterious photograph.

But just before I quit using words for the day, I’d like to make a toast:

Here’s to the inexpressible. The tangle of feelings that has no neat label. The overwhelming moment that leaves us not only wordless but breathless as well. The times words will not do. Here’s to tears, screams, moans, dancing, making love, wrestling, climbing trees, falling down, skipping, running for the joy of it. To laughter. To music. To drumming. To throwing paint and pounding clay. To all the non-verbal languages giving voice to that which we would otherwise be unable to express.

G’night sweet bodies out there.

I don’t know what the title of this post means in this context but maybe I can figure it out as I write it. That kind of process goes along with the writing I do each November.

One upon a time, many years ago, I went to an Al-Anon meeting. An exercise was done where we each picked numbers from a coffee can. The numbers were from 1 to 12 and when our time came, we were to talk about that step in the AA doctrine. I was familiar with the Twelve Steps but only in a cursory way. I was new to this program and had no expertise or practice in doing any of the steps with the possible exception of Step One. I did know that one thing: I felt powerless to control anyone else’s choices. So when my time came, I said,

I got 11. Since I don’t even know what Step 11 is, I guess I just have to look at this as a reminder that I need to do Step 1, twice as often.

The group seemed to like that quite well.

So that’s where the title of this Day 11 came from. Perhaps it does relate to writing. Each day, I sit down and know only that my job is to achieve my word count. Of course, I want to write a good story. Of course, I want it to be interesting and cohesive, and well-written. I want it to build and to have not only a good plot but also fascinating sub-plots. I want it to be insightful and fun and imaginative and surprising.

But if I fill my mind with all those wants, it fills ME with dread. I don’t know how to achieve all that at once on any given day. If I think of all that, I will not get my book written. That’s why I love NaNoWriMo so much. It gives me a daily deadline and a reason to forget all that FOR NOW.

So when I sit down to write each day, I know only one thing: that I have to write at least 1667 words. On most days, I write something that pleases me to some extent. It’s never perfect. Sometimes it is drivel and I know that it will never make the finished version, but that’s okay because I’ve kept going in a forward direction. At least it shows me where I don’t want to go!

In a way, that’s like taking the First Step over and over again. Sit down and write. Tomorrow, do that again. Soon, I’ll have enough material to call it a first draft.

We worry about Step Two when we get there.