semperfiona: (hope)
I went looking for this a week or two ago, Because Reasons, and couldn't find it. I had started too far forward in time. Today I went looking again, starting from Day Zero of my journal, and found it.

C is for Cookie
semperfiona: (hearts desire)
Driving home yesterday, I started thinking about writing, and wondering why I haven’t seemed to be able to do it anymore.

The Harry/Draco story has acquired about 300 words of a much-earlier scene, about another 150 that immediately precede the bit I posted, and quite a few notes on stuff that goes in between, even the faint glimmerings of a plot other than the romance...but one of the scenes that I know goes there is a blazing row, I’ve even heard the dialog in my imagination though I don’t remember it at the moment, and I can’t quite convince myself to actually write it. There’s always something else that needs doing more, even if it’s just ‘reading the internet’.

Somewhere on my harddrive I have a completely original story I started years ago (about ten, probably, maybe even more) that I was and am really quite pleased with, but it languishes without its actual breaking point and without its ending. I know what happens and why, but again, I have never been able to make myself write it.

My one attempt at NaNoWriMo failed in much the same way: lots of notes and research, some outlining, but the one scene I had fully visualized I just couldn’t get out in words.

And I’m wondering if my actual problem is not that I don’t have any ideas, though I haven’t had a great many since I stopped writing actively, but that I’m unwilling to put the strong dark emotions into words, and it seems that my ideas are dammed up in the subconscious until the known bits get all the way out. Not entirely sure I’m comfortable putting the strong bright ones into words either—the NaNoNovel scene was actually a love scene.

Anyone have suggestions?
semperfiona: (Default)
For the first time in several weeks I had and remembered a dream this morning, or maybe it was two dreams. I'm not sure what the segue was between the separate segments, if there was one. I think having spent the weekend creatively made a difference.

I have noted my mood is much better since Friday or so. It's not that I was depressed before, but I'm actively happy now. I've even gotten going in the morning much more easily, and arrived at work on time two days in a row! I know that doesn't sound like much, but I had been dragging more and more, arriving later and later, until there were a couple days last week that I didn't arrive until nearly ten a.m.

My weekend of gardening has been very therapeutic for me. I'm so proud of my work, and just getting intimate with Mother Earth is wonderfully refreshing. I have to remember this lesson, and not let other things separate me from my creativity. Now for my next trick--get back to writing morning pages every day and start doing the weekly Artist's Way tasks again. I think I am going to restart completely, since I've lost the thread of it.

On to the dreams.

I dreamed I had been arrested and thrown in jail for selling drugs, along with an older man I did not know. In the cell, while we awaited our interviews with the police, he tried to convince me to confess. I knew I was innocent, and that he was trying to get out of it by blaming me.

My turn for interview came first, and I went with the policeman to his office. He was asking me about my finances, I guess trying to prove that I had more money than my job--at the police station!--would account for. I told him about paying off my mortgage a little extra each month, and really boring things like that. I also told him that the other man had been trying to make me confess but I didn't do anything. A secretary told him "She's a four," which had something to do with my pay grade at the police station. Then he asked me what my DSN was (it's an acronym used at the SLMPD and means employee number). I said "2577". I don't remember whether that is actually my old DSN from when I worked for the SLMPD, but it could well be. After a while they let me go. As I walked out I saw the other guy being taken in for his interview.

I went down to the parking garage to get my car, and on the way I saw him leaning out of an upper window as if he were about to jump. I yelled, "Don't jump!" and his head withdrew. When I got to the parking garage, he was there in a car opposite mine. I thought at first that he was going to ram my car for my having told on him. But no, he pulled back and I saw that the car was an ancient opentopped behemoth, three rows of seats crammed full with seventeen kids--yes, exact number, not exaggeration--and a wife. The older girls and his wife were wearing those stiff bonnet-caps that the Mennonites or Amish wear. He said to me that he had been married and divorced five times. I suppose it was by way of explaining the extreme number of children or the necessity for ill-gotten funds from drug sales, or both.

Then suddenly I was in my garden with [livejournal.com profile] curgoth and [livejournal.com profile] neeuqdrazil. My saxophone case and some other miscellaneous junk was piled against some of my new plants. I think if there was any connection between this and the previous dream it was that I thought the other guy had done the minor vandalism as revenge. I was concerned for my saxophone, but cg reassured me that it would be fine because it had been inside the case. We started complaining about a new edition of the Amber books that had been bowdlerized beyond recognition, while planting something grassy with long purple plumes similar to pampas grass.
semperfiona: (Default)
Well, I'm trying to get back into the Artist's Way. Today was the third day in a row that I wrote morning pages. Nothing earthshattering, but at least I did them. And Rosa did not wake up and interrupt me, either.

Leftover tiramisu for breakfast...yum. Now to get a coffee so I can start my workday.

My calves have been sore for three days. The probable reason finally occurred to me: leaf-raking on Saturday, possibly compounded by two days of rain.
semperfiona: (Default)
Which may not be, after this, though I do have my LJ set to non-index:
I am now trying to figure out a story that could involve a sneezing manticore and a lesbian hippogriff.
semperfiona: (Default)
I just opened my "Erotic Kit" of magnetic poetry. It came Thursday, actually, but after I'd learned my fundie aunt and uncle were coming to visit Friday night I decided it would be best left in a drawer until after they left. I stuck it up to the fridge just now. While nearly every longish word in the box has at least one possible sexy meaning, there were only about a dozen that were solely sexual. I stuck them in a corner so that if I have guests again I can pop them off quickly. There were actually no swear words. No fuck. No cunt. Several other words for the same things, however.

Here's today's standing-by-the-fridge.poetry shard, using the new words as well as letters and words I already had.

Worship me, luscious woman, with your mouth.
Make me explode in languid screams.
My cunt is a fire of exquisite torment;
I beg for the pleasure of your tongue.
semperfiona: (Default)
I heard earlier this evening that Cookie Monster was appearing on the Martha Stewart show, and this image immediately burst into my head. Now I've finally written it out in full.

Fade in to a perfect grey-white room, with diaphanous white draperies over a large window. In the center stands a long glass-topped dining table surrounded by white-upholstered wrought iron chairs, holding eight fine white porcelain plates and crystal wine glasses, and an understated centerpiece of white roses in a milky glass vase, tied with a sheer white ribbon. Martha Stewart bounces in wearing a tweed suit and ivory blouse. She announces in her most perky voice, "We have a special guest on the show today. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Cookie Monster!" And behind her, a great blue shaggy monster lumbers in, to tumultous applause. "We're going to make cookies together!" Martha starts toward the kitchen.

Cookie Monster's eyes get even bigger than usual. "COOKIE!" he shouts, and picks up the perfect rose centerpiece, stuffing it into his cavernous mouth. Rose petals and shards of glass spray everywhere. Martha stops dead in her tracks, dumfounded. She stares openmouthed as he shouts "COOKIE!" again, picking up the nearest plate and cramming it whole into his mouth. Porcelain goes flying.

"Cookie Monster!" Martha pleads. He ignores her, gobbling down all seven remaining plates at once, and then picking up the entire table and smashing it into his mouth. She breaks down in tears.
semperfiona: (Default)
I've got a long hard day ahead of me, getting everything ready for the floor refinishers who come tomorrow. There is so much left to do. I know it will get done, somehow, but from here it looks nearly impossible. Several friends are coming over in the evening to help me, and I've got the whole day to work on my own, once I get over there.

But at this moment I'm eating a real cooked breakfast for the first time in several weeks. Then I'm going to write my morning pages (at last...I've been up quite a while, already taken Rosa to school), and maybe give myself a treat of half an hour or so on the piano.
semperfiona: (Default)
I referred Saturday to a bit of erotica I had written...here it is. Photographs

And the "bath scene", written 1/29-30... I call first bath
semperfiona: (Default)
And a railroading song, at that?

I just wrote two verses of a song about steam-era railroading. A tune and all.

I'm sitting here thinking I'm insane, and inclined to disparage the thing, but the fact itself is so very absurd.
semperfiona: (Default)
That was interesting...I couldn't figure out what to do with my morning pages today, so I went and read Chapter 8 (finally) looking for ideas. In one of the tasks, I found one: "write about me doing something I'm not allowed to do." My topic was 'have professional nude pictures taken of myself'. It turned into erotica, and oddly I had very little trouble writing it. I've always struggled, when writing erotica, with getting myself to use the necessary words. I would sit there for ages trying to think of words for body parts that didn't sound either clinical, crude or cutesy. This time, I just wrote them.

Another thing that may have made some difference is that this was a solo piece, pretty much. Duets (or trios or orchestras) are harder. I have to get into the heads of more people at once.

My morning

Jan. 29th, 2002 09:38 am
semperfiona: (Default)
It's kind of funny. As I was writing my morning pages today, I was whining to the page about how I didn't think I was getting anywhere with this project, that I hadn't had any revelations in quite some time, and suchlike, when something told me to write the rest of the last scene from last night's game. I rewrote the dialog that had happened in game, and then suddenly my pencil took off.

I'd written three more pages before I stopped myself realizing that I had no more time: I had to get to work. I was half an hour late as it is, because I stopped to turn in my written notice of moving, to the apartment management. (This is really happening. I'm really really going home.) and to put a package of books in the mail for my parents in Peru, and a letter-packet for someone in Canada...::sly grin::

I'd say, "Poor Rayna," being left mid-scene like that, but I can't really feel sorry for her. She's got both Emerson and Lila stroking and kissing her. If she has to be left for a while unwritten, she could be stuck in a lot worse place than that!
semperfiona: (Default)
Upon consideration, I am going to try to do this reading dep thing. I'm giving myself permission to read email twice a day, and that's it. No IM, no LJ reading (writing's ok). I'll see comments, because they come in my email, but I won't reply to them until next week, and I won't read my friends page until then either. I love you all.

I'm not even going to game on Monday and Thursday. I'm writing an email to the GM to say so, soon's I'm done here.

I already started. I took my book-on-CD out of the player in my car (The Maltese Falcon, by Dashiell Hammett, and I'm on Track 16 of CD 4 of 6, for anyone who's curious), and put in a music CD instead: the Indigo Girls, which I had never listened to before.

A misheard phrase from the first song gave me another scene of my Llorona story, and a possible title, though it probably gives too much away: "The Drowning Moon". First thing I did when I got here was to write down that scene. The last one of the story, as it happens. I have the very first scene, one in the middle, and now the end. Progress, though slow.

Some things I might do with my reading-free week: Call Kirk. Call some other people. Write a few letters. Clean the house. Play with Rosa. Work on my story.
semperfiona: (Default)
I missed my morning pages today. Immediately after I got up to do them, the small one woke up and wanted to go potty and then she wouldn't go back to sleep. So instead of morning pages I had morning baby-snuggles. I can't say I really mind, though I did bring my morning pages notebook here to work in the theory that I might write here. I doubt it will happen though. This is not a conducive environment. Telephones ringing, people talking, people asking me questions, wanting to know what I'm doing, annoying muzak, and of course the fact that I'm supposed to be working!

Another character did invade my mindspace this morning. His name is Bernie Fish, and he's sort of a typical Woody Allen character. Quiet, shy, nebbish type, who can't ever quite get anything right. From Brooklyn, of course.

This one, unlike most, had a name first. Usually I think of the character or situation and then pick the name to fit, but this name occurred to me, bringing the character with it. Its etymology is kind of amusing. I was thinking about changing the beneficiary on my life insurance and retirement funds (Ray's name is still on some of them), and probably due to my half-awake state, I realized the word sounds rather like Bennie Fishery. Then I thought Bennie Fish, but decided it should be Bernie for reasons I can't remember.

I was *thisclose* to staying home from work today. My head is so stuffed up and my throat hurts. I can't use the treatment I was applying last night--straight rum, in tiny sips--even though it worked, because of the American taboo about drinking during the working day. I'm not driving a train or flying an airplane here, folks! What's the big deal, as long as the work does not suffer?

I may have to take a mental health day soon, and stay home and write. Today would've been a good choice: the forecasters are predicting a high above 60 degrees. Oh well, I'm here, but I'm still writing a little.

I really really enjoyed talking to dj last night. It was great to just talk. It'd been a long time.

I need to find out if Jill wants to go to lunch. We could even go do our traditional walk-around-the-park that we haven't done since winter started, if the weather lives up to predictions. (And with the thought, I write and send an email.)
semperfiona: (Default)
I guess Pam wasn't offended, she replied already.

I've added another scene to La Llorona just now. It came to me last night whole and entire as a picture or movie clip.

Time to do some AW exercises. I'm rather behind.
semperfiona: (Default)
Ideas like helium balloons float overhead in a light breeze
Silver ribbons dangle enticingly
Catch a brightly colored thought and bring it home.
Free it inside the house of my mind
To live and grow into a story or poem.
semperfiona: (Default)
I haven't said anything today, been too busy living to write about it. ::grin:: Let's see, what did I do today.
I got up to do morning pages, but owing to being awakened at 2:00 by a car alarm that went off in a piercing continuous tone for ten full minutes, and actually getting out of bed to investigate in case it was a fire alarm, I didn't get up right away when the alarm clock went off. I got up at seven, started writing, and Rosa woke up half-way through. So then I had to feed, clothe, and entertain her until Ray arrived at 10:30 to pick her up. I finally wrote the other page and a half then, and it was actually good because I was much more awake and able to concentrate on what I was doing. That's when I found the affirmations.
At 1:00 I left to go meet Marina and Drew and see Lord of the Rings, and thus the subject line. I was on the edge of my chair for three hours--and I've read the books 30 times! Further comments in another post, and I'll hide them in an lj-cut. I'm too tired tonight.
After the movie I hung out at their house for a while, talking about the movie, books, other movies, politics, etc etc. Marina is pregnant and wasn't feeling well, so I mostly talked to Drew. He and I seem to share the same tastes in books and movies (we're always swapping recommendations and lending each other things to read) so I quite enjoy talking to him.
I'll see them again Tuesday for Christmas dinner and presents.
And just for dessert before bed, a little IM conversation with Liz and another with Jay. And dj too. To top off a very good day.
semperfiona: (Default)
Stephen King, On Writing
Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and
Spirit

Annie Lamont, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within and Thunder & Lightning: Cracking Open the Writers Craft
Julia Cameron, The Right to Write and The Artist's Way
Ursula K. Le Guin, Steering the Craft: Exercises and Discussions on
Story Writing for the Lone Navigator or the Mutinous Crew

Deema Metzger, Writing for Your Life: A Guide and Companion to the Inner
Worlds

Gail Sher, One Continuous Mistake: Four Noble Truths for Writers
Jane Hirschfeild, Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry
semperfiona: (Default)
Even after the rum & coke seemed to make me sleepy I still didn't sleep well. I lay awake for a long while at first. But I did eventually fall asleep and slept until my alarm went off. I got up and thought about writing morning pages but decided that I didn't want to throw off the auguries by starting on the wrong day, so I put my notebook back in the drawer and lay down again for a few minutes. But, unusually for me, I did not fall back to sleep, and I got up and took a shower. I'm ready for work much earlier than normal, but not leaving because Rosa is still asleep. I'll have to wake her in about five minutes if she doesn't wake on her own.

Whew...

Dec. 17th, 2001 11:33 pm
semperfiona: (Default)
Our characters finally escaped the prison in Amber Nights. It has not been at all fun. Here's a snippet/story I wrote about what happened there to Rayna, a major NPC who happens to be in a triad with my character Lila and another NPC Emerson. Rated X for sexual violence. Pain

Here's hoping the next segment will be a time of peace.

Yes, [livejournal.com profile] quinnclub, that Lila. She's grown up a lot since you met her at TBR.

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