Category Archives: Continuing

“Riot is the language of the unheard”

Lying on the couch after dinner, half-asleep and wondering when all the shows about WWII will finally dry up, I suddenly remembered the dead robin in my bag. Eek! I’d picked it up on our walk yesterday with the intention of burying her here and then forgotten.

Still in my bag? Sleeved in a newspaper plastic but still. I’m going to California in the morning. Imagine if I’d forgotten it altogether.

I found that butterfly tag in my carryon laptop bag. “Riot is the language of the unheard.” Where did I hear that? A slightly haunting relic of the summer of George Floyd? Does anyone know who said it? [thank you Deb and Nancy. This was said by Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.]

And, to pick up on Grace’s blog about creative endeavor, there is that question that thrums through the life of a maker. Why? Why do you do it? In particular, what is the point of all these collages, many of which exist purely in ones and zeroes on a screen?

This one is paper, but uses a print out of a digital collage in the background (me, peeking out above the book).

One thing I said in the comments is that there are very few things I do in life that don’t require overcoming resistance. Ugh. This again? Working with pattern in cloth and collage is not like that. I just find myself doing it. For that reason alone it’s a valuable, ongoing exercise.

There’s more to say about this, but as Jude recently noted on her blog, maybe the saying matters a whole lot less than simply continuing.

Right now, I’m “getting” scenes about some characters living in Boulder during the pandemic. I have no idea yet whether this is a viable project. There are ecstatic dancers who appear and disappear (all women) and no one knows what to make of them. There is a feral boy who lives deep in the woods. There’s a mom and her three kids, one of who is decompensating (again). Her middle child is a lawyer working for a social justice group that objects to decisions being made about the former bomb factory at Rocky Flats (turn plutonium-contaminated land into a public park? Really?)

I share this because, like the collages, the scenes keep coming whether I want them to or not. I’m sure Deb can speak to this.

Okay. Off to give Ken a tour of recently planted perennials so he knows what to water in my absence. Mostly divided hosta. Oh those reliable and prodigious hosta!

Pix of trial and error

First semi-successful gelli plate magazine transfer
Magazine page after failed transfer

A fourth Amherst Writers’ circle today. Zero meetings next week. Change of rhythm. Special counsel appointed. Dingdong’s hat in the ring. Dogs walks while wearing hat and gloves. Twitter sputtering, me grieving. Reading a great memoir. Watching Derry Girls. Gave up on 1899. Pretty low energy here – sorry! Black bean soup last night. Tonight a roast chicken. Planning a pumpkin cheesecake. Extreme gratitude for a new beta reader. One hundred pages in. Good questions. Back hurts but it’s time to rise and shine!

Five Things March ‘22

I am in the process of renewing my daily writing practice. Without it I’m a little lost to be honest. My in-class writing suffers, my to-do list wilts, and I lose track of things. I am not overstating this.

So today I reset my intention. I will use up a small annoying notebook. Guess what? I have a preference! Kill me! I like college-ruled, five-subject, 8 1/2 x 11 inch pages.

I shall also reinstitute occasional practice of the Five Things entry. I learned this from my friend and fellow writer, Sarah. In case you forget, the Five Things are: 1) the weather; 2) some thing you commit to doing this day; 3) one thing you did well yesterday; 4) one thing you could’ve done better; 5) one thing that brings you joy.

The practice is simple and quick and yet manages to construct a meaningful record. It can trigger more writing.

So here goes.

1) Today is cold and clear. Not as cold as Monday, but still quite cold.

2) Today I commit to finishing that fucking orange notebook so that tomorrow I can start fresh in my preferred size.

3) One thing I did well yesterday was manage the time for my Tuesday writing group.

4) One thing I could’ve done better yesterday was to eat one ice cream sandwich instead of two.

5) Something that gives me joy is the thought of spending time with paper and scissors. I used the prompt judgment this morning.

I snipped a finger and bled on a bunch of the scraps. I left the traces and kept on working because I’m lazy that way and because it felt appropriate. Don’t we all bleed under the harsh judgment of others and ourselves?

The blood worked but the images aren’t there yet.

I’ll admit to identifying the most with the squirrel looking on from the sidelines.

The finish line

You know how sometimes when you’re approaching the end point everything stretches out and it seems like you’ll never arrive?

I’m there. Please tell me I’m getting close.

One great thing about writing a novel that is waaay too long is that making deletions goes quickly. Highlight. Control X. Boom! Gone.

One casualty of this process was unexpected. I am unable to appreciate the 799-page novel, The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois right now. Editing is too much with me. Every other page I was confronted with details that could’ve been cut without hurting the scene or character development. For now, that’s too distracting.

Spoiled by my editor?

Also, my library card expired. What?

It was cold enough to snow today but did not.

Speaking of wonderful writing (wait, who’s?), please click on Raven and Sparrow and read Dana’s recent post.

My good friend Joan gave me Anne Patchett’s essays for Christmas, These Precious Days, and I have to say that Dana’s essay about woodpeckers is of the same caliber.

I smell roasting chicken. Soon it’ll be time for dinner.

Roasted chicken is worth celebrating and so are these two news bits: Marjorie Taylor Greene has been permanently banned from twitter and two of trump’s spawn have been subpoenaed in the New York fraud case.

The 22nd

Finn likes my heating pad almost as much as I do.

New manuscript, old manuscript, notes on both, laptop repository. It’s slow going. But at least it’s going. My consultant chisels here, there, making the form clearer, not unlike a sculptor working in stone. It’s pretty exciting, though also daunting because it turns out I don’t know jack shit about comma-usage.

Notre Dame + PCC image + paper collage + iPhone scribbles

The temperature is supposed to drop down to 29 degrees tonight. You’d be amazed at how many leaves are still in the trees.

PCC image + photo of bulletin board in my studio

Among the many upsetting manifestations of red wing lunacy and racism lately, today of all days it feels particularly awful that QAnon followers still gather in Dealey Plaza. People of a certain age remember exactly where they were when John F. Kennedy was shot. Where were you?

I was six (earlier I’d written eight! Fell asleep thinking wait, that’s not right). My mother was ironing and crying in front of the television. My brother’s birthday party was cancelled.