August 6th, 2004

Writing - photo


The Writing Marathon slumber party will be at my house! We start at 11 PM. Please bring food. Reply in wmga with what food you're bringing. Directions to my house will be posted in wmga.

If you've never been to a writing marathon, I really encourage you to attend! Essentially, we select a prompt... one written by a participant or one taken from elsewhere... and write for a set amount of time on that prompt. It's a great way to loosen up, to get your writerbrain flowing; it's done wonders for me just in the sense of getting writing out, letting the subconscious play. I credit the writing marathons for my foray into daily writing.

  • Current Mood
    accomplished all writerly & stuff
Writing - photo

My immortality

A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him.

And in that way, he becomes immortal.

(That's likely a paraphrase.)

That's from Big Fish, which I made my parents watch last night. Dad was amused off and on; it reminded him a bit of his father, who Elayna is named for.

Mom got it, I think. That this movie is me in the way that some books, some songs, are me.

I am a storyteller. Sometimes, as with my Elayna stories, I'm telling the truth in a theatrical way. Because that is what comes naturally to me. And then there's my fiction...

When I first saw this movie. I was speechless. Because it was me.

Because it's not just my immortality - regarding Walking on Water, it's Layne's, it's Hal's. People that would pass unremembered. "Just another overdose", the Everclear song says.

With Shayara... there is this world in my head, and there are these people in it. And if I manage to get it out into our world, who knows? Fifty years from now, a new reader could find a familiarity, a kinship, with a character, with an arc of the story, a corner of the world. I am creating a home here. I am putting this here so that people will know, not that I was here, but that Julia was, that Capri and Halloran were.

If I am anything, I am story. And at least a little of that will live beyond me.

I think my mom actually got that.

This is who I am.

Grandpa Joe and the Polly Seed

Grandpa Joe had a little ceramic dish on the table next to his recliner. The purpose of this dish was to collect sunflower-seed shells.

Grandpa loved sunflower seeds. My two strongest sense-memories of him are of sunflower seeds and of tobacco; he smoked a pipe, and always insisted that I smell any new sort of tobacco before he used it. "That a good one?" So now, of course, every time I smell pipe tobacco, I'm reminded of Grandpa Joe in that old recliner.

But this is about the polly seeds.

Every day, the sunflower seeds, little black-and-white striped shells sprinkled into the dish. He called them "polly seeds" because they were traditionally fed to parrots - polly wanna seed? He would sit there and hold court for my sister and I, the fourth and fifth of five grandchildren, and the only ones who were local. And he'd tell us stories.

"I got a polly seed stuck in my throat once."

This did not seem unusual, we thought.

"Your grandmother had to get it out with a back-scratcher."

Well, that seemed odd.

"This back-scratcher." And he held it aloft. An old wooden backscratcher, hand at the base, little tassel on the top. "It was really down there! I couldn't breathe! So your grandma, she grabbed this backscratcher," he brandished it again, "and she started working on me. That polly seed just wouldn't come out! Your grandmother had to put that backscratcher all the way down my throat just to get that polly seed out! And finally she got it out. And you know what I did then?"

"What did you do, Grandpa?"

He winked. "I ate another polly seed." And he set another little shell in the dish.
  • Current Mood
    nostalgic nostalgic


Kimee, Aurora, et al, I am way behind on e-mail, not ignoring you.

I'm setting e-mail in a metaphorical little box and putting it over *here* for a moment.

This is where I am right now. Dealing with limitations.

I need a nap before the Writing Marathon...
Writing - photo


Have napped in preparation for the writing marathon.

This is therefore morning in my brain.

And these people who live with me will not stop talking... Chirpy chirpy chirpy...

And there is no coffee.

There WILL be coffee. Oh yes. There WILL be coffee.

*turns computer off so she can stagger upstairs*
  • Current Mood
    awake awake

(no subject)

...and in "Okay, that's really fucking cool" news...

All of the speeches given at the Democratic National Convention are available on iTunes.

For free.

I got me some Obama, some Gore, some Clinton, some Kerry, etc... I'm a happy little liberal Mac geek, I am.