A Reverie

A Reverie, 1868, John Everett Millais.

Summer Girl

Truth

“Neither Darwin nor Nietzsche was politically correct, fortunately for us.” 
                          

                                    — Daniel C. Dennett

The Secret by Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale

Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale (1871-1945), The Secret. Pencil, watercolour.

This Day...This Night

When you know you are running out of time, the lens through which you view life is suddenly very clear and more focused. And everything you feel is razor sharp.

When the World Seems Overwhelmingly Grim

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”

                                                            — Pablo Neruda

Princess with a Spindle by Hanna Pauli

'Princess with a Spindle' • Hanna Pauli, 1896

Marc Chagall quote

"If all life moves inevitably towards its end, then we must, during our own, colour it with our colours of love and hope.” 

                            — Marc Chagall

Johnny, four years later

  Today is John's birthday. It is the fourth birthday that I have celebrated without him, because in my heart there is always a little celebration that he was born and lived and that he loved me. We were two oddballs, little freaks, outsiders, desperately romantic people looking for a connection and we found it. That's a miracle, because as I live and breathe now, I see so many in the world who never experience that sort of miracle. During this self-quarantine due to Covid-19, I've had a lot of time alone to reflect on the beauty that one single human being can be. And he was beautiful. Funny. Smart. Kind. His kindness made him a great favorite among so many groups of people. His work ethic, his ability to negotiate challenges, his willingness to listen.

And he listened....

This is one of the things I miss so much.

I remember the day this photo was taken. He loved his grandchildren so much and he told me personally that his deepest regret in dying was that he would not live to see them as teenagers and adults. And he meant it. 

There are some aspects and circumstances that I have yet to address concerning his death. And I suppose his "dying." But I do possess an inkling of what they are. There is no dress rehearsal for such an event and it was so tragic and painful an experience that I did not have the ability to view it from any judicious position. I had only one stance, that of trying to mitigate his suffering and I suppose my own while it was happening. There is a little lie that  caregivers tell themselves when they are caring for a loved one who is dying. It is this: "I will keep you alive, one day at a time."  I tried.

Happy Birthday, Johnny.

Sign, Still The Widow.

John Lewis quote

"You must be bold, brave, and courageous and find a way... to get in the way." 

                            —John Lewis

The Shrinking Season by Michael R. Burch

The Shrinking Season

by Michael R. Burch

 

With every wearying year

the weight of the winter grows

and while the schoolgirl outgrows

her clothes,

the widow disappears

in hers.

It's July, people!

Wow!  July is here, already the 7th of the month. Time flies when you are having fun. I suppose time flies when you are miserable too. Ben came today and he mowed the yard and he and I worked for nearly three hours in the backyard, cleaning up. It was hot and I think it felt somewhere around 100 degrees out in the sun. I had to stop two or three times, drink water and rest. Getting old. After he left, the heat was really oppressive and one of those storms blew up. The rain poured for another hour. I've had a good start to the month if now an awkward one. Too much going on, too many things fluttered around my head, that antsy feeling I always get when I want something to be done before it is done and I know I am just going to have to be patient.  So grateful that I have survived depression and am drug free. I keep posting this because I don't like chemicals  messing with my head, even when I know they are doing the right things. I just don't. And now I am free of them and still doing very well. I have to keep a close eye on my moods, how I sleep, and how I handle stress. It all looks good.

I bought a nice camera and some lens. The lens are everything and the most expensive things. I am interested in low light photography at the moment. I want to do some interiors with people. I want black and white. I researched it for nearly a year because I wanted to do what some film people do with a digital camera. So many people were helpful in buying the right tools to do this. Not the most expensive, the ones that worked for me, a beginner. Pleased so far. Lots of practice.

The novel is going good. Kind of scary. So many years of trying and lots of failures. Now that I am moving along without too much fuss, it's kind of scary. But it's not so much work that it feels bad or overwhelming. I can deal. I have another couple projects working side by side. Nothing ambitious as the novel and it's all good. Not too much work. Not a form of procrastination either. 

I miss Johnny. I've been alone so much of this year due to C-19. Not having my loved ones around more makes me miss him, but I am not too weepy or sad. He's been gone for nearly four years now. I am used to sleeping alone. I am used to doing everything alone. I know I am alone.

Listening to Placebo's Loud Like Love right now. Molko has worked for sincerity here. He's still rootless. He's still a bit sad as ever. He's still alone, too. I wonder if he is like that now?  If he is still as rootless as ever? It's 2020. Soon we will have new music and I'll be able to hear it, if the rootlessness is still there.

Ben and I ended our day with a serious talk on politics, the nature of fascism in our country and how people are so divided. I could only think of how fragile everything really is. Because of my childhood in the South, I've never really believed in American Exceptionalism. Oh, I know we have done good things. But we are still a wild and highly reactive political beast. I've given all my children a free press to move, knowing I would not. Of course, Ben and I are realists. We are not cynics, but we have a good sense of what is happening. It's troubling. It's all troubling.

I thought about love today. Real love. 

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep, 
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; 

How many loved your moments of glad grace, 
And loved your beauty with love false or true, 
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, 
And loved the sorrows of your changing face; 

And bending down beside the glowing bars, 
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled 
And paced upon the mountains overhead 
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.” 

                                 ― W.B. Yeats

THIS. IS. VERY. IMPORTANT.

“I had them read John Updike’s Rabbit Run. They came into the next lesson just incredibly outraged how sexist the character was – and really angry that I should ask them to read it because: how could you possibly relate to a misogynist character like that? I said: ‘You really can’t begin to imagine a character that wants to run away from his responsibilities?’ They looked at me like I had confessed to sympathy for a murderer. When I at one point tried to argue that racism and sexism were not quite the same things I had people shouting ‘Gender is a social construct!’ and so on at me. I said ‘Go home and look between your legs and tell me if that is a social construct’ and then of course all hell broke loose.” Gaitskill smiles, slightly mystified. “Literature is not a realm for politeness as far as I am concerned.”

                                      — Mary Gaitskill

Curses are like wishes.

The days are long now and I wake early, too early.  For some reason, I now decide how I want my day to go in those early hours. Usually I just lie in bed and think about all the things I should do versus all the things I want to do. Some are chores that have to be done. But this morning, I decided to paint my gate and make a wishing  tree out of my jasmine. It was impulsive. I had been thinking about it for a few weeks but I had no plan to do it today. The house needed cleaning, clothes to be washed, laundry to be folded. I am in the middle of reading Bad Behavior by Mary Gaitskill, and I really love her writing and I wanted to finish at least three more stories in that collection, but out I went into the garden. I watered some plants and then I looked at my gate and thought. I am going to paint it now, paint it green, put stars on it. Hang wishes. I suppose this is because I am writing so much on the novel now. I am in that world. I talk to my characters, I think ab0ut them over a bowl of cereal. I wonder at how anyone will like Stella, my heroine.

"Curses are like wishes."

That's a line from the novel.

It's a very simple line. And yet....

                                                                 

I ended up cleaning the house, too. I even vacuumed. Tomorrow and the next day I am going to write on the novel. Two days I will do nothing but write and plot and work out things in my mind. Live in that imaginary town I have created. Be one of the citizens. Be Stella.

Be Yourself. Take Action. Create Art and Beauty.

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.” 

                            ― Martha Graham

Feminism

“There is no thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not live single-issue lives.” 
                      

                                 ― Audre Lorde

On Love.

"It isn’t possible to love and to part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal."

                           

                                 —E.M. Forster, A Room with a View.

Writing on the novel today and this painting came to mind.

Witches going to their Sabbath, 1878 (oil on canvas) by Luis Riccardo Falero 

I am a mess.

I've had an interesting ten days, most of it spent working on the novel, on a class I am taking on Modern Psychology and Buddhism. When not working, I have been gardening. Occasionally when I am exhausted, I watch social media. I have an ambivalent relationship with all forms, except for my blog and Tumblr and of course, Goodreads. They are all little glimpses of thoughts and ideas that I have stored where I can see them when needed. Things go through my head, sometimes very quickly. The Internet has its uses. Storage is one of them. The best. But I suppose I have run out of reasons to be on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Since March, it has been depressing to watch, to see what I surely know is a reflection of our society. Twitter probably does that best. Of the three, Twitter is the most satisfactory form of social media to me, because most of it is information that links to other places on the Internet. News, book reviews, essays, and so forth. But it is the most brutal of the three. I don't like Instagram at all, and Facebook is surely a distraction.

Oh,  in the last ten days I have had to face my own personal reflections, too

And I am a mess. My house is a mess. My garden is a mess, my desk cluttered with books and notes and a thousand busy thoughts that I write down in blue ink when not writing the latest Word file. I went to the doctor Thursday and there are concerns. Age and gravity is against me and I am not doing my best. But I have mastered my anxiety and depression where I can live drug free again. The latter is positive, but I still have not done the personal care I need to do to live better and longer. And I have been reminded of it.

I am not too bothered by messes. Life is full of as many imperfections as possibilities. Countless. But I do need to bring some order to my life and to my art. When the house gets as cluttered as it is now, my mind follows suit. I would laugh at that, but it so true. I was looking for a book the other day and went through a hundred before I found it. I could not find a certain notebook. I went outside and realized I needed to weed a flowerbed I thought was passable for this year. 

John is not here to remind me to do a little bit each day and not attempt too many things at one time, to make lists, and follow them, if haphazardly. My Placebo notes are not properly organized. My writing notebook has no organization. How did this happen?  I haven't turned the air conditioning on this year. It's always over 80 degrees in the house, but the thermometer needs new batteries and I am so unorganized and mired in work that I just walk by and promise to change the batteries the next day. Today I changed them.

I know work and art makes messes. I know life makes messes. I know that in general I am messy. Not as in a cluttered floor or in hoarding but as in desire and love and art and work. My mind is colorful and busy. My desires are somewhat neurotic and consuming. And I just want to create new things all the time. I seem to organize things better in my mind than in the physical world. John did that. My mind is messy like the inside of a big purse.

I blame it on gardening, something I have done since a child. Gardening is messy and very imperfect. You plant something and live for possibility. It might die, it might bloom the following year in a different place, or it might multiply like weeds. One can never be sure in a perennial garden. Gardeners live in possibilities and hope. They are the most optimistic people I know. My cup is always half full, even if it's on bordering on empty. I live like that, mostly because I live in the present as much as I can.

But in the last ten days I have been reflecting and counting and tallying up. An accounting. And I am too messy, enough that I have to reorganize and begin again.

And that's that. There. There.

Gardening....

This past week has been all about gardening. I've done a great deal of work in flowerbeds and such. This morning when I woke up it was raining so I thought I wouldn't get much done but finally was able to plant five pots of flowers and one fern. Lots more needs to be done. I've bought Bee Balm and more petunias and tomatoes. Others, Mexican heather and lantana. Planted zinnia seeds and morning glories. I hope I can get most of it done this weekend, so I can write on the novel next week. I have missed two weeks of work. Not good.

Superlatives

I want to dream of songs filled with words both blue and lit with starlight;

two of them

north stars

steady and bright and blue

as you

in your loneliness 

and me

with my purple and pink heart

that aches for all things

wild and blue as you;

All things

under sun and moon and stars

the wind and sea

that soon roll

words into whispers

oh so low.

Low.

You are all superlatives!—

softest grass

softest rose

softest kiss

light as air.

We are whirling through the night sky, love.

Split in parts by space and time, 

We are tumbling through the sky too fast. 

Soon we will burn in fire.

Soon we turn to ash.

But we are now all superlatives! —

Brilliant.

Bright.

A multitude of words and sounds;

We are the bluest of blues

and lit by brightest light.

                                                                           Copyright (c) 2020 by  Jane Harrington

Thinking of Shirley Jackson

“You never know what you are going to want until you see it clearly.” 
                                                ― Shirley Jackson

Angela Carter and Mother goddesses

"If women allow themselves to be consoled for their culturally determined lack of access to the modes of intellectual debate by the invocation of hypothetical great goddesses, they are simply flattering themselves into submission (a technique often used on them by men). All the mythic versions of women, from the myth of the redeeming purity of the virgin to that of the healing, reconciliatory mother, are consolatory nonsenses; and consolatory nonsense seems to me a fair definition of myth, anyway. Mother goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths gives women emotional satisfaction, it does so at the price of obscuring the real conditions of life. This is why they were invented in the first place."

                                         —Angela Carter

Lydia

Today, Lydia came with her parents to. my house. I have not seen any of them since February except on FaceTime.  The most difficult aspect of this virus on a personal level is not being able to see my children and grandchildren. But for a bit there, they were all working the frontlines and it was impossible. We basically met outside on the patio while her parents were doing some work in the yard. We always had this space between us. There was no hugs at all, but we blew kisses across the distance. Everyone talked and told stories and worked. It felt so ordinary and yet it was somehow more beautiful and good than it had ever been previously. It was a moment that I captured in my mind, watching it all play out, understanding how we human beings take so much for granted. I will never take seeing my children or grandchildren for granted ever again. I learn lessons easily.

This plague should remind us all to take care of little things. Ordinary things. Everyday things. People things. Hugs. Kisses. I was thinking today, for me, what a lovely thing a whisper might be now.

Quotes on writing

“Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself. . . . It's a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.” 

— Harper Lee

Selfie

Today is Friday and I've been writing three days, almost nonstop on various projects, trying to move the motion forward. For a bit there, I was so lost in Plague2020 news that I could not function, but I don't see the reason behind that now. It's a sort of madness to focus so much time online just reading the thoughts of other people when I am sitting here trying to make sense of my own life. So I went back to work. I am still working. I was trying to take a selfie, but it's getting late afternoon here and I needed the natural light from my bedroom window and the cat refused to let me pose or attempt to get a good angle and so I just starting clicking while the cat swiped at me. My bedroom window is her window. As I type this, she is still pestering me, for I don't know what reason. I have fed her, let her outside to roam the backyard, given her treats. She likes dehydrated chicken pieces. They cost more than my own treats, which makes no sense to me. Am I not superior to her?  I have no complaints today. I am alive and healthy. The cat is too. I had a good dinner of salmon and a salad. I might have some bread and butter for a snack later. No chocolate. I have thrown out all the chocolate because I have gained weight since Plague2020 announcements and it was all mostly the chocolate I was snacking on daily. Poof! It's gone. Now I am walking again and working in the garden. I love my garden. It's so green and full of business and that's life things and possibilities. Oh, I must go, the cat is literally whining, wanting something. 

Some thoughts: We are restricted. We are paused in some ways. But we have to go on believing in possibilities. I live in possibilities. I am taking a class on Buddhism and Modern Psychology and I am going to work at learning French, those are Plague2020 things to fill hours I would normally be doing things with other people. I have some regrets. I cannot see my children or grandchildren except from a distance. But I am better off than most. Past experiences have taught me how to be alone in a house, how to be alone with myself. Many people find this very difficult. Their minds begin to wander and they lose their way in anxiety and depression. I have too many words to write. I have too many books to read. Paintings to paint. Flowers to plant and nurture. I can't complain while so many people are sick, while so many people have died and died alone without loved ones to hold their hands and kiss their lips.

A clown, photography by Rolph Gobits

by Rolph Gobits 
From the 'Entertainers' series

It took Gobits twenty years to develop this series,  a circus-inspired collection of portraits of middle-aged clowns, knife throwers, ersatz cowboys, riders of tiny bicycles, accordion players, and masters of shadow puppetry.

I've always been obsessed with it. And began looking at these images for use in my own work, both word and visual.

Capote on writing

"Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself."
–Truman Capote

Caricatures for Albe by Claire Clairmont

Caricatures for Albe

The last his Death. He dead, extended on his bed, covered all but his breast, which many wigged doctors are cutting open to find out (as one may be saying) what was the extraordinary disease of which this great man died—His heart laid bare, they find an immense capital I grown on its surface—and which had begun to pierce the breast—They are all astonishment.

One says, "A new disease." Another, "I never had a case of this before." A third, "What medicine would have been proper?" The fourth, holding up a finger, "A Desert island."


                                                —Claire Clairmont
                                                 on Lord Byron

Carmilla quote

If your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die -- die, sweetly die -- into mine. —Sheridan Le Fanu, 
from Carmilla

Les Amoureux by Marc Chagall

 

This is Marc Chagall’s Les Amoureux. He is one of my favorite painters, and I was surprised when I learned how his early life was full of unnecessary hardships. He grew up in a Hasidic household, which forbid any images of God’s creations, therefore, he had no visual art. Can you image? No paintings to look at, and yet, he became a painter. I always find this story impressive.

Eve by Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer

Eve, Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer

Coronavirus

The single word none of us will ever forget in our lifetime.
Coronavirus.
The End.

Beloved Books

“By you, I am forever undone.” 

             ― Cardan, from Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

I need to embrace this. Laughing.

Friday afternoon after shopping

Zadie Smith on Fiction

"Fiction messes with our sense of what is possible to do with our judgements. It usefully suspends our great and violent desire to be in the right on every question, and creates an unholy and ungovernable mix of the true and the false. It’s the place where things are true and not true simultaneously: the ultimate impossibility."

Zadie Smith, from “The I Who Is Not Me”, Feel Free: Essays

Favorite Books, The Night Circus

“ ‘It is important,’ the man in the grey suit interrupts. 'Someone needs to tell those tales. When the battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasures and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There’s magic in that. It’s in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift. Your sister may be able to see the future, but you yourself can shape it, boy. Do not forget that.’ He takes another sip of his wine. 'There are many kinds of magic, after all.’ ”

—Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

Welcome March.

This is the end of  February.  

I had an unusual winter. No depression. (I got off pills. I was happy. I was not ill.) And I stayed active. Good thing, because I have gained ten pounds since last August and I have to lose that weight plus ten more pounds from previous winter.  Laughing. But I am all right. Sure, I am frustrated and unhappy with my body but I still love myself.  However, this is way too much weight for someone as short and small as I am. I have learned this the hard way, and I don't want my weight to go any higher. I guess I just ate my anxieties in 2019. Hell, I don't know. It was the year that I began to move back into society, after losing Johnny. Lots of eating out and going places and I just didn't take notice of my eating habits. I probably ate out more than I ever have in the past. I ate more breakfast food. OMG. I was never a breakfast person at all. I skipped it. But no, I ate eggs and sausage and biscuits. I baked too much. And now I am paying for it. Also, I ate a lot of chocolate, which someone said was my way of dealing with moods. Could be true!  However, right now it doesn't matter. I have to watch what I eat and exercise more. Cook more. No sweets in the house. Normal things you do when you want to drop several pounds.

My writing is going good. I love my story, my writing is stronger than ever, and I'm confident that I know what the hell I am doing. It's just slow work. Big novels are difficult because of the time needed to write a very complex structure that is outside my comfort zone. I only average about 4 pages a day when working and I don't write on the novel every day anymore.  Five pages when working is the limit. I actually stop when I achieve that, which is a new way of writing for me. No matter how I feel or how exciting the writing is going, I stop at five pages and I go do something else. I get out of the chair and out of my head and out of the story. This is a new way of thinking about writing and work. But it's been so awesome for me as a person. It is something that has eliminated backaches, headaches, carpal tunnel, spinning thoughts, exhaustion, and increased anxiety cycles. I'd like to thank my therapist for telling me that I needed to write slow and careful. Laughing. I never count words at all and I do not draft loosely. It's never been helpful for me to write a shitty draft and all that. That way of writing has never worked for me. Drafts like that I never end up using. Those drafts just seem to be a way of thinking a story out and they are lost as I write a whole new draft. And then that shitty draft cycle is repeated as my thoughts change and the story develops. What a mess!  Just years of nothing. I now do a lot of work along the way, and I revel in the slow motion of that gorgeous process. Oh, live and learn....


I still consider myself a widow who is grieving a lost friend, lover, and husband. I think it's forever unless I fall in love again or get involved in a new relationship, two things I am not seeking. I was married for a very long time and now I just want to paint, garden, and finish some stories. But it's not easy being alone, doing everything yourself, and keeping yourself out of sour and low moods.  I tend to go into depressions easy. But I've had therapy and realize how quick my moods can go flat. I no longer take antidepressants, something I did for almost two decades. I live drug free now. I guess that might help explain some of the weight gain, because depression and Prozac killed my appetite.  Winters are usually very hard on me emotionally. I dislike winter. But I have had the best winter since before my father died in early January of 2007.  I feel enlightened in a way, that I am so aware of  how mentally to stay healthy now. This probably has a lot to do with Buddhism and meditation, something I became interested in a long time ago and now practice daily. I feel really good about where I am at in my life. But I do miss Johnny. He was an incredible person. But he's gone, and I understand how precious life is and how truly wonderful every day can be.  There is value to suffering. It gives you perspective, a view far from your personal privilege. I've known a lot of it. But I am not undone by it.

I didn't make goals on the New Year. I never do anymore.  I wait till February is over before I start thinking about new things. March is really spring in the South.  I now start working in the yard, thinking about my flowers and other plants. I exercise a lot more. I am out of my head a lot, which is a very good thing. My goals are really not too impressive this year. I just want to write a really good draft of this novel in 2020, one that I can actually revise and feel like it's going to be finished soon. That's all. I want to write new poems and revise some very old ones. I have a lot of paintings to finish and many art projects, so that is where my head is. I think overall, I just want to stay healthy, keep doing the things I enjoy, and be content.

And lose this weight! Smiling.

Johnny

I dreamt we spoke, I dreamt we spoke again
It'd been so long, it'd been so long my mind filled in the blanks
I dreamt we spoke, I dreamt we spoke again
It'd been so long, it'd been so long, your voice was like a ghost

In my head
In my head

Only in, yes, only in a dream
Is anything, is anything the way it used to be?
I dreamt we spoke, I dreamt we spoke again
But when I awoke, when I awoke I could not remember

Anything you said
Anything you said
Anything you said
Anything you said

by Death Cab For Cutie

Light Picture by Vasily Kandinsky, 1913

Light Picture by Vasily Kandinsky, 1913

For many, I remain a mystery.

“But above all, in order to be, never try to seem.” 
                     ― Albert Camus

Unicorn Angela Carter

So I conceal my armoury

Yours is all on view

You think you are possessing me

But I’ve got my teeth in you.

                           —Angela Carter, from Unicorn

Happy Valentine's Day

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. 

                           —Edna St. Vincent Millay

Working

The Lights Will Stay On by The Walkabouts

This is the first time I ever heard the phrase "The City of Crows" which was the original title for the very first (and now very defunct)  draft of the Fairy tale Novel.  It's a beautiful song and it reminded me of how folklore can look and sound without being overwhelming. It also carries a theme that I now use in all my writing. This video is a very important piece of art which has greatly influenced my own art and yes, my life. It's transformative. 

Reflection Early 2020

Well, I've made "The Shift" as I call it. The Shift is going from being a widow to someone who has decided how she wants to live the rest of her life. I really resisted this moment, hoping to play awhile longer, just float some more and I probably would have done so if not for some unfortunate and perhaps ridiculous circumstances. For people who know me, particularly my family, I am considered a closed-off person, someone who can be cold, indifferent, distant. In the company of people I know, I can be warm but I am not very very giving. I've lived most of my life with one person, John, with books, with paintings, in my garden, alone, doing only what I wanted. The last couple of years I've tried to be more social and have failed miserably. I don't know how to be with people. Laughing. I can be with them in work, in books, in my garden. I'm a good person, but at times, I am naive. I guess this is due to the fact that I expect people to have manners and civility.  I grew up in a household where manners were totally necessary. But in the world outside my world, people are not like this. And I have been foolish.

But I never repeat the same mistake.

And I have moved on.  

All of this online mess I've made has prompted me to go ahead and do what I need to do. Just quit playing, procrastinating, floating in and out. I don't make these big shifts often but when I do, people get confused. They wonder what happened to me. I made one around 2006, and another another one around 2012.  This is probably the most severe shift I have ever made, since I was a very young woman. It's been coming, slowly but surely.  But there are only a few moments in life where we are faced with rebuilding our lives, our goals, deciding how we want to live.

I know how I want to live the rest of my life, and it's not online, in the middle of clusters with people I don't really know. I just can't be there for people I'll never really know. And I don't want to be just a widow anymore. I want to move on and live a rich and full life, to do things and be with my children and grandchildren, my flowers, and my books, and yes, my writing. I want to finish a novel. 

So, I am making online changes. Making it a smaller part of my daily life. 

I am going to write a big novel and then another one. And I am going to smile while doing it.

The Shift in Direction is Completed.

“There is nothing else in magic but the wild thought of the bird as it casts itself into the void. There is no creature upon the earth with such potential for magic. Even the least of them may fly straight out of this world and come by chance to the Other Lands. Where does the wind come from that blows upon your face, that fans the pages of your book? Where the harum-scarum magic of small wild creatures meets the magic of Man, where the language of the wind and the rain and the trees can be understood, there we will find the Raven King.” 


—Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

Salvador Dali, Flowers

Salvador Dali. Flowers. 1948

Bocca Baciata

‘The mouth that has been kissed does not lose its good fortune: rather, it renews itself just as the moon does.’

                                     Italian Proverb

When I am reminded of Beauty...

Bocca Baciata

Meander, Spiral, Explode by Jane Alison

The most important book I have read in 2019.

Writing is not what happens next, it's why it is happening.

The Beauty Myth

“Ideal beauty is ideal because it does not exist; The action lies in the gap between desire and gratification. Women are not perfect beauties without distance. That space, in a consumer culture, is a lucrative one. The beauty myth moves for men as a mirage, its power lies in its ever-receding nature. When the gap is closed, the lover embraces only his own disillusion.” 


                    —Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Such a desperation lately.

“What I value is the naked contact of a mind.” 
― Virginia Woolf

Art

“In a world of lies and liars, an honest work of art is always an act of social responsibility.” 


                                            ― Robert McKee

More on Art

“Art flies around truth, but with the definite intention of not getting burnt. Its capacity lies in finding in the dark void a place where the beam of light can be intensely caught, without this having been perceptible before.”

                                 

                             —Franz Kafka