Florida 2010

Florida 2010

I have always been interested in Florida. I blame Randy Wayne White, Tim Dorsey, John D. MacDonald and, mostly, Carl Hiaasen. It's the most foreign state we have. I visited Pensacola once. I liked it there but there was a lot of truth about it really being Florabama. So, with much anticipation (my favorite part of travel), I finally got to visit a different part of Florida.

We arrived in Orlando on February 10^th. The airport was crazy busy and no fun at all. After reserving a car in advance, I got ripped off by the rental car agency but, after standing in line for over 45 minutes, I paid the extra charges. Welcome to Florida.

Our destination was Cedar Keys, but the first stop was Melbourne on the east coast, for the purpose of meeting up with an old friend of Steve’s. A nasty blizzard hit the east coast about this time. More than 5,700 flights were cancelled and Steve’s friend was stranded in Philadelphia for the duration.

We found a good restaurant in Melbourne’s old town. (A lot of the buildings were empty. Further evidence of the nation's bad economy) I wanted to try conch but had to settle for shrimp-conch fritters. Delicious. The news later that night showed a large, cold storm descending on Florida from the north.

Previously, we tried to coordinate our vacation so we could see a rocket go into space from the Kennedy Space Center, but hadn’t been able to get there by the launch date. But the streak of bad weather delayed the launch, giving us an opportunity to be present.  

Early in the morning on the 11th, I saw an announcement that read:

Launch Today!

Launch Vehicle: Atlas V

Mission: SDO

Launch Window: 10:23 am-11:23

The United Launch Allliance Atlas 5 rocket will

launch NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory. SDO

will be the first mission for the space agency’s

Living With a Star Program. The rocket will fly in

the 401vehicle configuration with a four-meter

fairing, no solid rocket boosters and a single-

engine Centaur upper stage.

I'm not going to pretend I know what most of that means, but it sounds official. So we drove to Jetty Park, a place popular for viewing the launches, but we got there a couple of hours early. With the weather being so cold, we didn't quite know what to do with ourselves. We parked on a jetty with a great view in the direction of the space center. No one else was there so we didn't believe we'd be lucky enough to catch sight of a rocket. The wind was still blowing hard as a massive cold front moved into Florida from the north.

I spent some time on the fishing pier, watching pelicans catch fish. They dive like feathery missiles, hit the water with a lot of force, then emerge victorious with a struggling shiny fish in their beaks. Gulp. Repeat. There were schools of fish leaping out of the water and lots of birds. Then Steve spotted a school of dolphins. I started falling in love with crazy weird Florida about that time. It wasn’t anything like I thought it would be.  Even in Melbourne, outside of the well-off neighborhoods along the water, the homes had a tackiness I hadn’t expected. So why was I warming up to Florida after such a short time? The beach and the ocean seemed endless. Birds everywhere and I love being by the water. (I love being on the water even more)

Still freezing, we walked around the park. The bait shop sold awful coffee that we were very grateful to find. After two and a half hours, the jetty parking area was packed. People had cameras of every sort and telescopes. It felt festive. Then we could hear the loudspeaker preparing for the launch. The countdown was so much fun. The entire crowd counted along. I would have shivered with excitement if I hadn’t already been shaking for hours.

The rocket strained its way through the atmosphere. Faster and faster. Steam. Noise. Birds flying around in a panic. People cheering. It was awesome. Then it was out of sight. 

Two Videos for Writers

I found two videos on Flocabulary website that might be interesting to writers. One is a rap about figurative language, and the other is Will Ferrell giving a commencement speech at Harvard in 2003.
Good stuff and it never hurts to laugh a little bit. Will has chutzpah. Gotta love that in a person.

http://blog.flocabulary.com/extended-metaphor/

Narrative Magazine Accepting Submissions

It's fine to sit, hunched over that keyboard, but the writers getting published are the ones who are sending out their work. I'm making a commitment to send out my writing. It's one of my New Year resolutions that I predictably fail at every year. So I'm starting to send things out right now. Action creates momentum.

Narrative is accepting submissions but the deadline is tomorrow. You'll either send out that electronic submission or you won't. There's no time to procrastinate. Some of the other submission periods are free but, sadly, this one isn't.

Good luck!

http://narrativemagazine.com/node/182044

ENTER TODAY FINAL DAYS TO ENTER. Deadline: Fri., Nov. 30, at midnight, PST. The Fall Contest is open to all writers, and all entries will be considered for publication. • $2,500 First Prize • $1,000 Second Prize • $500 Third Prize • Ten finalists receive $100 each. See the Guidelines. Read prior winners. Since 2003, Narrative has pubished the first works of many writers alongside the works of established authors. We continue to present many works by new and emerging writers. We are committed to paying our authors, to providing excellent editorial support, and to encouraging a wide audience for good writing. Narrative reaches a world-wide audience of more than 140,000 readers. And It’s Free. iSTORIES | iPOEMS | RSS | NARRATIVE BACKSTAGE | A Nonprofit Publication

Writers Must Write

While in my post-houseguest coma today, I languished on the couch and watched Dr. Phil dispense common sense and pithy wisdom. His wife got into the act too. The gist of what they said was that women can and should take care of themselves and their own needs. (what a shocking concept!) Make your wants and desires known to whoever you're partnered up with, and pace yourself for the long haul because, otherwise, you'll be old and burned out someday. It's so much better to be old and rested up, apparently. This is vintage wisdom being repackaged because few women ever manage to figure out that it's not evil to indulge in some self-indulgence once in a while.

So, I was thinking about a friend who is a talented writer but never has time to write. This friend has all of the usual responsibilities of hearth, home, and family. Travels and goes to the gym but never has the time to be "selfish". Someday this relatively young person will be old.

No one ever says, "I'm decrepit and about to shuffle off this mortal coil but, by golly, I kept a clean house so it was a life well-lived." Nope. Nobody says crap like that. Studies have shown that it's not what you did with your life that causes those deathbed regrets. It's the things you didn't do. If you've gone as far as to start writing that novel, you will always wonder what it would have been like to finish.

I did some cyphering (using the archaic meaning to do arithmetic-I don't know why I talk funny, I just do) and came up with some numbers. If you wrote for 30 minutes a day for one year, that would add up to 10,950 minutes or, 182.5 hours of writing time.  If you could type two pages each session, that would come to 365 pages. Voila! a book of some sort.

Claim your personal territory and do the things that will enhance who you are.

Longmont Sunset

Seeking Marfa, Texas

I subscribe to a service from an online literary magazine called The Rumpus from which I receive periodic letters from established writers. The last one was from a poet named Gabrielle Calvocoressi, who was on a writing retreat in Marfa, Texas at the time she was composing her letter. (the letters are photocopied and mailed out en masse, but the readers are encouraged to write back to the author) She made the town of Marfa and the surrounding area sound so lovely and peaceful. (especially the stars) She writes, “…Just let this landscape work you. Just open up.” I can imagine how wonderful it would be to spend a length of time experiencing a place in the natural world, free of white noise and distraction. To be able to open up to the mindfulness that is so necessary for writing.

Our guests left this morning. The sky was gloomy and the air was crispy cold. Our house has exploded with life since last Thursday, so the abrupt emptiness and accompanying quiet is almost too much to bear. I have a long list of things to do, with laundry and cleaning out the refrigerators at the top but I really just want to write. As long as I’m in the house, the siren song of duties will be white noise inside my head, so I’m going out for a much-deserved coffee and an hour of writing time. Someone else can wait on me, even if it’s only a latte.

Happy Evacuation Day!

Thanks to a well-informed Thanksgiving Day guest, I have now been enlightened about a true American holiday. Evacuation Day! This is going to be an awesome holiday as it catches on. If you missed Sarah Vowell on The Daily Show, I've included a link here. She's an awesome writer, too.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-november-17-2011/happy-evacuation-day

Proposed symbol of Evacuation Day

Happy Nontraditional Thanksgiving

Our Thanksgiving holiday feels traditional to me because it's the way I've always done it. There are a lot of the traditional foods and desserts, the football game provides background noise, and I always exhaust myself. Our out-of-town family flies in on Thursday so we have our dinner on Friday. This works out because my two daughters can have dinner with their "other" families. (we  haven't done a very good of a job melding the families, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.)

Now Thanksgiving is becoming a shopping day. I feel bad for the people who have to work on what could be a perfectly good holiday. Turning Christmas into an event at the mall can't be far behind.

I've been working on a short story that I need to send out to my writing group by Friday. The story isn't very long, and has two points-of-view. Some people get very fussy about more than one POV in a short story. The rules will start flying around the room.  Hands will be wrung. Now don't get me wrong... I like rules. I like people to stop at stop signs. I don't like pilots to fly planes while drunk. I could go on for pages. But writing has to breathe. It has to be like the story I'm seeing in my mind while I write. If there are two characters circling and dancing around each other, then I want to know what's going on in their heads. Knowing other people's thoughts are a luxury we aren't allowed in the real world, but fiction isn't reality. It's better!

Frenzy or Ritual?

After getting off to a slow start yesterday, I hit my stride today. This is the time of year that triggers my cleaning OCD. Ever since I moved to where there is snow and ice every winter, (first Ohio and then Colorado) I feel the need to be prepared. I clean, organize, and make sure I have emergency food and supplies. What was once a way of dealing with my anxiety about winter, gradually became my fall ritual. My family thinks I'm going crazy because of Thanksgiving, but I know that no one on my guest list would give a rat's ass if my house is messy.

When I knew I had to have surgery a second time, I spent hours cleaning the house and stocking up on easy foods. But what I spent the most time on was cleaning out my closet. I felt like, if I died, I wouldn't be leaving a big mess for my family to clean up. (I'm considerate) Clearing out the clutter in the closet gave me an outlet for my nervous energy. It was a year before I had energy again so it's a damn good thing I cleaned out that closet while I could. (a little self-depracating humor there)

 I had a friend a few years back who smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. Her teeth fell out (sometimes right in front of me) and she couldn't get a job without teeth. She added drinking to her repertoire of coping skills, finally returning home to France so her parents could take care of her. She would have been better off pulling weeds or scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush)

What you do today will have a definite impact on your future. This is true whether it's working in the yard, saving money, exercise, or paying attention to what you eat. (and smoking is a good example, too) My fall cleaning ritual may buy me precious writing time this winter, which is a nice personal tradition I've enjoyed for several years.

I'm rambling too much so I'll give up and go clean something.

A soothing picture to look at in case you have nothing to clean.

Beowulf

Beowulf is an epic poem written sometime between the 8th and the early 11th century. (I believe that is more than fifteen hundred years ago.) The poet's identity has been lost.

I have a special affection for Beowulf because I once wrote a paper on one aspect of the poem. I was able to do hours upon hours worth of research, and the research is the fun part.

I'm currently dipping into several books that address what I would call self-actualization, and they are written from a Jungian point of view. I'm not a psychologist so my interpretation of their interpretations is subjective. (aren't words fun?)

Here is a very brief summary of the Beowulf poem/story:

Beowulf, a Geat, arrives to help the king of the Danes, Hrothgar. The king's village is being attacked viciously by a monster named Grendel. Beowulf kills the monster, then Grendel's angry mother attacks. Beowulf has to dive into a lake to fight her in her lair. She is also killed. Beowulf returns home and becomes a king himself. Fifty years later, he fights a dragon, is wounded and dies. It's a short poem.

One of the books I'm reading suggests that when Beowulf dives into the lake, he is also descending into the waters of the unconscious, where he battles and is then restored. I'm pretty sure the 8th century poet wasn't thinking about mythological archetypes when he was committing his poem to memory, but maybe archetypes are part of the genetic memory humans are born with.

The poem says when Beowulf kills Grendel, he becomes Grendel. And when he kills the mother, he becomes the mother. Heavy stuff but, in a psychological mindset, it makes sense to me. But there is one thing in particular one Jungian author wrote that resonated with me. The story teaches that it's not what you fear that you must conquer. You must defeat the mother of your fear; she who lives in a secret place. That would be a great theme for a novel.

If you're interested in reading the poem, I recommend the translation by Seamus Heaney. (Irish poet and Nobel Prize winner) The book is in most libraries, but can easily be found in used bookstores. The history around the poem, with all of its implications for source and veracity, is fascinating.

Forced to Take My Own Advice

I was having a productive day, then I met a friend for a well-deserved coffee break. We were having a nice conversation that turned to the subject of blogs. I pulled out my iPad so she could look up some blogs written by our mutual friends. Unfamiliar with the iPad, she was trying to figure something out when I reached across the table to "help" her. Suddenly, half of my own blog was in Arabic. We couldn't find the language setting, so I tried again once I was back home. I spent a lot of time trying to solve the problem but, obviously, couldn't read the headers to fix the problem. I was in a foul mood. Worse than foul. I was in a rat-smacking pissed-off cloud of frustration. I couldn't leave it alone and, miraculously, finally found the right thing to click and, voila!, I restored the English language. Only took two hours and almost gave me a stroke. I had to go outside and clean the porch to calm myself down. That's how I roll when it comes to learning something new.

Wait! I think I hear someone saying, "You fixed it by accident. How is that learning anything?"

I disagree. For one thing, I learned not to try to read an iPad upside down. And I learned not to give up.
 
Think of the "Infinite Monkey Theorem". Someone, somewhere, seems to believe that if you let a monkey hit the keys on a typewriter for an infinite amount of time, it will eventually write something that's already been written, like the complete works of Shakespeare or the bible.

Scale that theory down and you have a slight probability that, given enough time, and a lot of clicking with a mouse, even I have a chance at fixing a computer problem. Almost brings a tear to my eye.

It's not rocket science.

Learn Something New Every Day

I was wandering around different websites, trying to get a handle on how many books are published each year in the United States. Despite my love of comforting statistics, nothing has changed overnight. Statistics still contradict each other and you can't trust them any further than you can throw them. One thing is obvious, though. There are more books being published every year. In the realm of words, it's difficult to factor in all the ways to feed that reading addiction. In my limited time available this morning, I can't get a handle on the number. Are e-books and self-published books included in the stats? What about audio books? Some snowy day in the near future, I'll go back to my research.

In my search for information, I discovered a blog named Bertram's Blog. It's written by Pat Bertram, a Colorado native. I added her to my list of blogs, if you're interested in reading her posts. She has a sense of humor, covers a wide variety of subjects, and is a writer who also writes about writing. I have already learned a few things about blogging as well as writing, and it's only 8:00 in the morning. I can tell it's going to be a good day.

In another life.

Corbie-Crow's Image

I just spent an hour of my life trying to buy this photo of a crow. In fact, I wanted a different photo but, after I paid with PayPal, I found out the crow I wanted would cost me $25. Very misleading company. I settled for this photo because he was only $10! The website was very confusing and even my techie husband was frustrated with it. (I had to ask for help....aargh!) I knew this would be a learning experience, but I was prepared to read carefully and be patient. The patient expired a while ago. I'll draw my own graphics from now on. (I feel just like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind)

Are You a Writer?

Author Tom Bird was asked, "What is a writer?' at one of his workshops. Seems like a no-brainer to me, but I find that people don't want to identify themselves as writers because they're not published. Get over that hang-up about publication people! Here's what Tom Bird answered: "The difference between a writer and someone who wants to be a writer, is that writers write." Good answer, Tom. I've been saying that for years, but I'm not a published writer so no one listens to me. (much)

I learned a new word this morning. Mentation. The definition is "mental activity, thinking" and "the process of using your mind to consider something carefully".  Apparently, it's used more in medical evaluations than for common usage, but I like the sound of it. (The patient may have some diminished mentation because she thinks she a writer but has never been published) I'm going to go right out and do some more mentation this afternoon.

Relocation Services

I have been reading about poet Mark Strand this morning. I only have an hour before I have to attend to my responsibilities, so I dipped into a book about creativity. It's an enjoyable subject since it's so applicable to every aspect of our lives, and it's also inextricably woven throughout our psychology. I'll save my rant, about the need for society to value creatives, for a later time.

It's a simple quote. Mark Strand says, "Poetry relocates you in yourself." You can apply this observation to any type of creative writing, art of any sort, and so on. I've always referred to it as being in the zone. The zone is a restful, timeless place of creation, then the bubble bursts. There are techniques for getting into the zone more quickly. You can create a ritual, or meditate your way into that new mental neighborhood, or try my primitive method. I start writing, and keep writing until the bubble explodes and I land on my mental ass with a thunk, back in reality. I usually don't know I've been there until it's over. It's like being in a dream. If I say, "Oh, I know what's happening. I'm in a dream" then, Pop, I'm awake.

Psychologist, Abraham Maslow, attempted to normalize the existence of "peak experiences". They are described as feeling like religious ecstasy, extreme happiness, and creates a feeling of being one with everything. If you haven't heard of peak experiences, I recommend some research on the subject. The relevant part of this sidetrack is that peak experiences are said to release creativity and seem, to me, to be closely related to being in the zone.

Your Brain on Writing

In first person point of view, the “I” is witnessing the story, and an abundance of first-person stories are told in past tense. Even if the story is about a child, the narrator is older and uses adult, sophisticated language. First person POV is straightforward but the narrator can only know what he/she sees, hears, experiences, and observes. Another  element is that the person’s thoughts are accessible, creating a tone of intimacy with the reader. This helps make the first person POV uncomplicated and straightforward.

First person is often taken as autobiography, justifiably so since a bunch of first novels are a blatant rendering of the author’s own life.

From the Journal of Educational Psychology, I learned that a reader perceives a story differently when it’s written in the first person. In a similar way, different areas of the right brain light up when you write with a pen as opposed to the left brain while typing on a keyboard. Basically, when reading first person, the reader’s brain reacts as if it’s in a conversation, and pays more attention in case it has to respond. I’m paraphrasing the hell out of what I read, of course.

After I posted this entry, I was wondering why my tired brain was on this subject in the first place. Such a dry toast kind of post. Following the tangled fishing line that is my thought process, I concluded I was wondering why I enjoyed memoir and personal writing so much. I read it and process it much faster than fiction. I enjoy the look into someone else's mind, knowing full well how much self-editing goes into what we write. And, in the weird way the mind creates fiction, I just thought of a twist to add to a short story I've been working on, about a woman on a beach. (sounds riveting, I know, but I like this particular story) The story has needed something more and now I may have what I need in my arthritic grasp. 

In conclusion, I write some of my best fiction while using a pen and a legal yellow pad. Sadly, I can't always read my own writing.

Writing Suggestion

I forgot to add anything about writing yesterday but here's what I've been thinking about.

Imagine you have been given a year to live entirely on your own. Where would you go? What would you do? Would you write? Quilt? Study? Hike? Travel? A combination? Rural or city?

Describe that first day, then describe the 30th day. What would your life be like when the year is over?

This could be a good freewriting exercise for your journal. I wonder what the changes in your thinking would be at five year intervals.

November Day With Horse

After some good conversation over coffee, I headed west to the ranch. The weather was nice but, as the afternoon progressed, the sky was clouding up. I wanted to have a couple of restful hours with Cooper, my old horse. My favorite time at the ranch is when there aren't other people around, but there was an old guy with his barking dogs by the barn when I arrived. Turns out he owns Cooper's neighbor. The man smokes a pipe while in the barn. I'll have to say something to the people who run the place.

There's a spacious view that makes me feel like I'm deep in the country, even though Boulder is about a mile down the road. Old cottonwoods, prairie dogs, ponds, and a mesa. I see rattlesnakes and coyotes regularly. Eagles sometimes catch the thermals overhead. Tractors and trucks. It's a working cattle ranch that's the real deal.

 Cooper is getting his winter coat. The cooler weather revved him up. He was full of piss and vinegar, charging around the arena at a dead run, stopping only to roll in the dirt. Happy horse.

Cooper with his summer dapples.

Journaling

I was once in a freewriting group with a woman who was a journalist but also a talented writer of fiction. In conversation, I said something about journaling and she went off on me. It wasn’t a real word, she said, and she got angry every time she heard someone use the word journaling. I thought she was being ridiculous. Every new edition of a dictionary has new words that have become part of the English lexicon. Writing in a journal, requires active participation, and journaling is definitely a verb.

Journals have become a legitimate part of the writing experience. It’s unfortunate that cutesy journals have become the default gift for that person who is impossible to buy for. Every writer I know who keeps a journal has a specific preference for size, type of paper, the spacing of the lines, or for no lines at all.

For myself, there’s a fine line between journaling and memoir. I have a memory that won’t work in a linear way, so my past (and there’s a lot of it) is a jumble. I started writing down scenes from my life, in no particular order. One memory would segue into another until I possessed a lot of fragments. I’m now slowly assembling them into a history.

Personal writing draws your attention inward. Most people move beyond the laundry list of daily accomplishments, although I have plenty of that in my old journals. You take that never-ending chatter going on inside your head and put the salient points down in writing. Watch for patterns. Watch for things that make you angry, and notice the topics that bring you joy. Have a conversation with yourself. No rewrites and no editing. Who will see it except you? Protect your journal’s privacy so you can be as straightforward with yourself as necessary.

I’m told a blog is supposed to have a focal point, but my mind wanders around and occasionally climbs a tree just for the view. So, in the interest of personal discipline and growth, I’ll add a suggestion for a writing exercise at the end of the posts. I’d be happy if anyone who participates would share their experience in the comments section. It could be fun or, at the very least, it would be interesting. (which is not nothing!)

•  Relax and close your eyes. Think back about a specific time in your life. (6^th grade, a family vacation, a neighbor, a date, something that hasn’t happened recently but is still with you) Open your eyes and start writing. Writing by hand will stimulate the creative part of your brain and will help you record your memory. Keep the pen moving without worrying about spelling or any of the other rules that bog us down. See if one scene leads to another.

Small Blessing

Congress passed the Commercial Advertisement Loudness Act (CALM) way back in December of 2011. The television stations were given a full year to find the volume knob but, finally, on December 13th the magic will happen. Commercials will have to "have the same average volume as the programs they accompany". The FCC has been receiving complaints for more than 50 years. Shows you who is in the driver's seat, and it's not the consumer.

Found a Table Today

I don't mean we found one sitting on the side of the road next to a burned out couch. Steve found the table with six chairs in a place called Savvy Seconds here in Longmont. Anyone who has to spend even a little bit of time with me knows I've been nattering on about wanting a large table ever since we moved into this house. Now the nattering can cease. (You're welcome) Thanksgiving is fast approaching and I think, for the first time ever, we will all be able to sit at the same table. At least until next year when the two smallest children will be too big to squeeze in between their parents.

The weird wallpaper is still there but maybe, after the big turkey and tofurky dinner, our guests will feel like stripping wallpaper and painting. 

But maybe not.