This one has much pain, joy and good memories, but a fresh start is muchly needed.
Life and times of an astrophysist who is actually a former journalism student who is really a NERD nerdy retarded weird girl pretending to be an astrophysisist...mispelling INTENDED!
I choose to rescue my writer self. For weeks in my journals, if I can focus enough to write, (depression makes it hard to focus on anything) I keep writing to myself:
“I need to write more.” “I have to write more!” “My writing is suffering.” Etc.
Yesterday was Election Day here in Canada. I was sick, so no going out to vote for me. I was pretty stoked to hear the NDP is the official opposition, but just as disappointed that Harper and the Conservatives have the majority. I wonder if I had voted and infected everyone at the election hall with all my germs if my one vote could have changed that. I guess I will never know.
Another thing I notice when I walk by the garden centre at work on my way to work where is the plants? WTF? Was it such a late spring that they are not here yet? I mean there are some plants but not as much as there usually is! This just proves I’ve been at this job for way to long. I think some evil scarlety monster must have stolen them. (no I don’t mean Mrs. Lachlan’s Mum) It’s May, there are usually tills all caked with dirt, cashiers cleaning said tills and customers all cheery coming up with flats of pretty smelling flowers. It’s MAY! Last time I checked the green thumbs crawl out of there houses in early March. The plants must have got delayed when old man winter decided to extend winter till mid March. I hope Mr. Summer punches him in the face.
Now to what I really want to write about….
This month I endeavour to write more. I dreamt all the girls as far as I know were writing all these short stories and getting published but I kept missing out because I stopped writing as much as I used too. I have dreams about characters, stories and/or future characters and stories. Characters harass me in my dreams demanding I notice them again. Maybe it’s a weird writer imagination thing?
It reminds me of a conversation with a friend of mine at work. I’ll call her Daffodil because its random and not that it’s an incriminating story but well perhaps she’d like to remain anonymous.
Daffodil: So have you been writing lately?
Me: Not as much as I should be I guess…so not very much.
Daffodil: Don’t writers write everyday?
Me: I guess I am not much a writer these days?
Daffodil: I thought that is what they do?
In retrospect I should have mentioned how perhaps writers get busy or maybe burned out and take a break from living, breathing and eating words all the time? Yes, “a writer writes always,” but sometimes it takes dedication to make sure it happens on a continual basis.
I think I’ve all ready had my rant on the labels and expectations on what it means to be a writer. It may be assumed that writers devour and consume words on a daily basis and are lost in sentences and paragraphs. I see words when I think of things, but I forget to write them down. Does that mean I have neglected my craft? I’ve been labelled a writer for so long, I forget that it means I also must conform to the can of soups directions and ingredients meant for writers. Whatever the hell it is anyways?
What is a writer? Here is what I think it means along with pictures to illustrate.
Always original ideas (No idea is original :P)
Is obscenely intelligent
Went to school for some sort of writing profession and are working in it.
Are a best selling novelist
They know how to write anything from novels, poetry, screenplays, etc.
Knows every single word in the English language (or which ever language they are born into)
Never has to use spell checker
Is a grammar Nazi
They know how to use words effectively, perfectly, erroneously
Help people feel things and think about the world (This I think is possible!)
Heaven forbid, there should never be kinks in their prose, no flaws in there works
A writer can’t be human forget how to phrase something or have little ticks about them, have grammar demons or write inaccurate ballonium (it’s a new word I made up :P)
Writers have editors? Of course to keep away the predators, like all the above stuff I just mentioned.
P.S. I like dolls so I guess that makes me creepy?
P.S.S. I can't get blogger to publish the entry they way I want it. Grrrr.... I apologise for the spaceyness and the odd alignments. Rah!
One of the many things I do when I spend time with my brother is have tea parties.
But rather then have a party of two I invited five plastic beings of prettiness. Claudine. Napoleon, Hollie, Claudette, and Viola
Someone spiked the drinks so after awhile. They seem to think it was pretty hilarious to wear the tea cups on their head.
As you can see things got out of hand…especially for one in particular.
When Napoleon got home…(See picture below)…
This is why I don’t bring anymore dollies to my brother’s tea parties. :P Wall repair is expensive. THE END!
P.S. This is what happens when you are bored and can’t think of anything to write about…
Sunday, March 27, 2011
March always seems to be the month that moves forward…
When I think of March, I think spring. Joyfulness is in the air, the sun shines, birds sing and the days are longer. I love birds the way they hope around on the ground daintily and graceful and fly away effortlessly. I wonder what it would be like to fly. Exhilarating? Scary maybe… I flew on planes before, but I can’t look out the window when the plane is over the ocean because I have a phobia of dying in a plane particularly into an ocean. :S So flying overseas now that I think of it was especially brave.
It’s been an interesting month, moving to a new place on my own. It’s expensive, but peaceful. Other then that it’s same old same old, same friends, same job, same family, the only excitement I get is hearing others telling me about how awful their lives are, then learning how to cross stitch (I’m obsessed) and playing Lego with my brother (I like building things :P) are a few things.
I’m thinking I should be endeavouring to write more the rest of the year as well, but it’s hard some days. I keep forgetting I can rely on words to get me through and it’s even more frustrating when I let hundreds of beautiful ideas slip past. Rats!
P.S. I am finally able to bake my brother an apple pie.
February, what is there to say about this month? It’s the shortest and often still the coldest part of the year. It’s not my favourite.
I’ve never liked February! For several reasons, Firstly, hours at work are cut back no matter which job I have so I am much poorer. Especially after the nice fat pay checks of December it just feels more like a particular blow, secondly Valentines Day, thirdly it’s usually cold and dark.
I’ve come a long way since February last year mind you. My brain is still rattled when I read about how love sickly destitute I was.
In February 2006 I traveled to Australia. It was -21 C with a wind-chill when I left Calgary, therefore it felt like – 30 C. (I still don’t understand why they have all this wind-chill B.S.) When I arrived in Brisbane two days later, (I lost a day due to the International Date Line) it was in the high 30’s C. I got a cold because of it and heat sick. That part wasn’t fun. I remember being at the domestic airport and for some strange reason I wanted to see which way the water went when toilet flushed; sure enough it went the opposite of home in Canada. I even remember which books I read on the trip over, Enders Game and Memoirs of a Geisha. This was the only time February meant something to me. I had something in this month to look forward too. I didn’t care that I worked at McDonalds because I was going to Australia. Now all I have is March 1st, the Library, random visits with my brother, treasure hunting at the Sally Ann and wonky shifts at Wal-Mart. Pfft! No Australia, no new adventures right about the corner. It sucks.
Mind you this February I discovered another author I like, William Kotzwinkle and my hours have been relatively consistent considering the hours could be much worse. And considering how cold it is. It’s nice that I live so close to work now…
February and winter months in general are the times where I withdraw and hibernate. Not that I don’t find comfort in my own company, but I do miss talking to people. We talk, we share stories; I like how everyone I’ve ever met has something different about them. Sometimes it helps me remember some people have harder problems then me. Anyone who knows me, knows I love to rant about stuff that bugs me, then when I hear about things from other people It makes me wonder why I rant all the time. It’s not like I expect them to give feed back or feel sorry for me I just want to bitch to someone and I don’t mind people wanting to bitch to me either.
I haven’t met anyone who says they like February either. But March is good because it means spring is coming. Everyone seems to be looking forward to spring.
This February has been particularly weird. I’ve somehow stumbled into a dictatorship oriented shared accommodation. I now live with Mrs. AR or Mrs. Anal Retentive. I could go on but my rants usually get me in a whole lot of trouble. I’ll let the name I give her speak for itself. Perhaps February makes people extra nutty. I will tell you this though I don’t think you can tell a full grown woman when to go to bed. If I make even the slightest noise past 10 p.m. she is at my door telling me how I woke her up and what a terribly noisy person I am, etc. She reminds me of my grandmother. That is not a good thing. Sometimes I want to tell her to eat me, but I don’t think that option would be particularly tasty.
February is almost over….enough said.
P.S. I am stronger then people give me credit for.