wayfaringwordhack: (pondering)
For the past couple of weeks, I have repeatedly found myself telling people, "This separation from J is really hard on the kids," making it sound like I am dealing just fine and would be OK with all this living apart, spouse-in-potentially-dangerous situation* if not for the little ones.  But then I forced myself to look deeper at how I am actually coping and:

I have been baking.  A lot. <--at least one of you knows that is one of my stress/coping mechanisms. I was going to make a list, but who needs that?;

I have been snacking between meals.  <--I haven't don't this in years.  My body is not happy with me;

I have a hard time overcoming lethargy to do anything creative, both writing and art endeavors are currently sputtering and fizzling;

I have resorted to playing a mindless video game on Ti'Loup's iPad.

I could probably list a few more telltales that, yeah, I too wish this situation would resolve and our family could go back to normal.  And then I feel enormous amounts of guilt because I am primarily concerned about my family and not all the Lebanese and others who are suffering so.  I know that this is natural in a way--I know I can't do anything under my own power to bring about peace--but it still smarts that my empathy level is clocking in so firmly at "numb."

I also hate the planning we are having to do concerning J's vacation time next year.  We are trying to spread out his days so that he can come home every two months or so.  It is sad to think this conflict could be going on all next year and trying to decide when we can go back, and should J keep the big flat just for himself, and...and...and...???

Despite the stress (struggling to find the right label), I would not say I am depressed.  I am still finding enormous amounts of joy in my surroundings, drinking in the beauty of autumn in our little corner of the French countryside.  I am having fun reading and discussing things with the kids.  I love our family game time and watching my kiddos' joie de vivre.

With the holidays coming up and the desire to make sure it is a beautiful, meaningful time for the kids (they aren't taking it well that J will not be able to come home for Christmas, nor can we fly to Beirut for the holidays because--hey, ho! who has $7,000 lying around to spend on airfare), I need to get more energy and oomph...but without passing through Guiltyland.

And all that is why I have posted a thousand times in my mind but never written up an entry for DW.  But, it is life, and I do want to document it.

__________
*There have been several strikes in both areas we frequent as a family and near to J's work.  It is unnerving.
wayfaringwordhack: (Default)
 Have I ever said here how happy I am that we kept our house in France when we moved to Lebanon?  I think I have.  A couple of times.  But that doesn't stop me from continuing to want to express my gratitude.  We are so blessed to have our home as a safe haven in this time of intense conflict in Lebanon.  Yes, J has to be in Beirut for work and can't leave, but the kids and I are removed from the stress and noise and fear.

We should have gone back to Beirut this coming Sunday, but not only are those plans scratched on our own part, Air France has suspended all flights until at least Oct 26.  We have friends who have now left Lebanon, planning to return (or consider return) only after the holidays.  This alleviates them of the burden of constantly assessing how Israel's war on terrorism is evolving.   J and I haven't really discussed how we will decide when it is safe to return, but I have ordered enough firewood to see us through the winter.  We heat exclusively with wood here in France.

Now I am wondering if I should mulch my fallow garden plot in anticipation of being here next spring and summer.  I won't re-skin the greenhouse--I don't even know if I could do that without J (but I bet I could with enough determination and the kids' help)--but it would be nice to have some of our own food next summer.  Farmer Boy told me he really misses the garden and growing our own veggies.  I need to evaluate what are the things I can do for as little effort with as much payoff as possible that won't gut me if I have to abandon them midway due to a return to Lebanon.  What will set the land up for success without draining me or resources if all comes to naught?

Mulching seems like a pretty good plan.  If I don't have a garden, oh well, I am just out some time and hay and the land got a nitrogen boost.  More nettles in my future, but that is not that big of a deal if we don't go back and I am ready to pop in some seeds or plants.  

There are a lot of other things I can do this fall, like finally prune all the trees and bushes I haven't been able to take care of the past couple of years.  I am still a bit tired from our recent trip to the States, but I need to shake it off and make a plan to get through the Limbo in a healthy way.
wayfaringwordhack: (art - guitton housework)
 After doing a great job meeting all my art goals, I had a rough beginning to this week, starting with a stomach bug and um, all that ensues.  This is exactly the sort of thing that comes along and totally knocks me off track when I set myself a certain goal.*  When one has work or school, say--some outside entity holding one responsible for work accomplished--it is easy (easier) to look at what needs to be done and get back to doing it.  I always lack that with my personal goals. 

Now that I am better, I am going to dust myself off and get back at it.  I think that "Ok, what did I miss and what do I need to make up?" has been missing from these derailing incidents in the past.  Not the looking at it and seeing what needs to be done,** but the attitude of "outside entity" and treating my projects with the same respect I would treat a friend's or employer's projects.


___________
* I have been doing stuff but not the stuff I said I would do, thereby assuaging any feelings of failure.  This might read like I am coming down hard on myself, but that is not what I am getting at.  I am trying to understand the psychology of how I drift away from doing the thing I said I would do; how it is that one day I look up and say, "Hey, wasn't I supposed to be doing X?  Whatever happened to Y intention?"

** I almost always look and often feel overwhelmed by a sense of "being too far behind," whereas what I want to cultivate is the idea that accountability to and respect for myself is valid and deserves my follow-through.
wayfaringwordhack: (pondering)
 Nothing like an entry that comes almost a month late. 

I finally finished fiddling with my Inktober sketch about a week ago but forgot to post last week.  Here is a comparison with the post-wash piece and the final version where I added the shadows.


20181112_065525_resized.jpg

The use of my camera flash on one version explains the color difference. Alas, there is still no nice photo in sight.

My take away from Inktober is that first and foremost, I absolutely loved doing the challenge. I like that I had decided from the outset what I would do and how I would do it. The not having to search for inspiration or my materials each day was such a pleasant way to work. No hassle and no stress suits me very well. Also, I had the THING to stick to, the personal commitment to a challenge, and that saw me through on this piece, even when Inktober ended. Once I finished the piece, though, I put all art aside.* Hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my neighbors mostly explains this complete standstill.

The just drawing-what-I-want-how-I-want had the downside of resulting in a sketch that lacks the coherence and believable depth it could have had. Without thinking more about composition beforehand, I sketched myself into several corners. I am not disappointed with what I accomplished, but it did serve to show me how important some forethought is. While I enjoyed sketching the way I did, I feel a bit paralyzed about starting pieces where I DO need to think things through. It just feels so tedious. Necessary, but tedious.  

Still, I need to step up to the plate and make it happen. My only other choice is to turn in my children's nonfic manuscript and let the publisher find an illustrator. I really want to ty to illustrate it myself before going that route, though.

While I was not at all thinking about my natural (comfortable) style while doing this piece vs a style that would be compatible with the kids' book, I do have the uncomfortable feeling that a more cartoony style is not in me. 

And that is enough rambling for now. 

_____________________
* I did spend almost an entire day yesterday trying to figure out a page layout in my MS that is giving me fits, so I have begun to work again. I just need to turn finishing this beast into a challenge of sorts, frex: figuring out how many illustrations I have to do and assigning a certain amount of time to each.

Do any of you have a way of setting targets for yourself that are both fun and efficacious?
wayfaringwordhack: (art - pondering)
In case anyone is curious about how the thumbnail sketches work for me and what kinds of things I'm looking at, beneath the cut are a few things that I've done/thought about since doing this storyboard.

A bit of waffling )
wayfaringwordhack: (art - pondering)
in which there is no snippet.

But I felt like I needed to report in about creativity, even if I have a lack of creation to share.

That is not to say that I've done nothing--I've sketched some--but I have spent more time thinking and being and accepting. A while back, I posted about my frustration with how stories come to me, wishing I could change the way my brain works.  Thanks to everyone who commented on that entry. I fell down a rabbithole and didn't follow up with people. I regret that. It seems silly to go back to it now, but I appreciate that people chimed in.

Anyhow, I haven't had new revelations, per se, but I've decided I need to be more flexible. I need to accept that sometimes the plan must be ditched; I have to roll with what I'm capable of when a hole swallows me whole or Some Big Thing knocks me off track.  I may not have the brain cells to write at certain times, but I can draw. So instead of clinging to some idea that I must write Just Because, I need to quickly (gracefully) switch gears.  It will save me time, guilt, and needless waffly-wallowing.

We are looking at a move, which means lots of packing, running around, planning and executing plans, in addition to vet visits, renewing my passport, attending a plethora of social engagements, and baking for charities. This is not the time to come down hard on myself for not being able to produce some tangible evidence of my creative spirit.

And this is enough of that. G'night, LJ. :P 
wayfaringwordhack: (writing: paper flames)
Thanks to a comment by [livejournal.com profile] asakiyume, I remembered some more of what I wanted to post.  My brain disappointed me by not forking over the info without an external prompt.

3.  I have a very morbid mind. Every time I'm walking or riding my bike in a wooded area and come across bits of clothing or shoes, I always imagine there is a murder victim nearby. The worst is when the articles belong to children.  I try to stop myself--and have gotten better the past couple of weeks because there are a lot of lost/discarded clothes*--but I always have to do a quick search to make sure there really isn't an undiscovered corpse in the bushes or beneath the ferns. I don't want to find a dead body, but I always think it would be better to find it and alert the authorities, who can contact the family and end their agonizing over the Unknown.

4. Some people name packrat** tendencies "having a magpie mind." A magpie mind is poetic and evokes lovely images for me, but I can't claim to have one because I don't just collect the shiny. No, I'm more like the rat, packing things--any and everything--away for its someday potential. That is why I've decided to collect the dryer lint that no one else can be bothered to take from the machine.***  There are lots of things you can do with dryer lint.  I may end up giving it to the birds, but at least I'll feel like I'm doing something useful with it, transforming my irritation at people's sloth into positive action.

____________
* To date, I've seen not only expected things like gloves, hats, scarves, but a rubber boot, jackets, sweaters, socks, button-down shirt, pants, a skirt...

* Actually, packrats collect shiny stuff, too. :P

***I'm still appalled at how beastly people act when they are living in a community. I'm not the world's neatest person, but you can bet your bottom dollar that as soon as I'm part of a collective, I make an effort!  Not so for a lot of the others residing here. I can't believe they are so thoughtless with their own property in their own homes; yet here, they feel free to leave things a mess and disregard anyone else's needs, comfort, or safety. Very bizarre.

Re: the music I was listening to while making this post, Soëlie started doing her bobbing baby dance when the Pearl Jam song came on.  It took me back to the days when I was a little girl, sitting with my mom, grandmother, and eldest sister in said sister's room, listening to the version of  Last Kiss by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers.  I loved to cry to that song.  In looking up a YouTube link, I found a Spanish version that reminded me of my first trip to Jaurez on a mission trip to an orphanage when I heard some then-popular USA song on the radio playing in Spanish. It opened my teenage mind to the way things cross borders--not just food!--and cultures appropriate and transform them for their own.  And it is not just USA entertainment exported elsewhere. Did you know the Schwarzenegger film True Lies was a French film first?  One without all the over-the-top effects. :P 

wayfaringwordhack: (I heart you)
Thank you ever so much to those who responded to my last post.  Each and everyone of you gave such good advice that will help me through the writing doldrums.

In fact, mulling over what everyone said, I came to realize that I what I really need is an attitude adjustment...

Right here, right now, there is a disconnect, a strident dissonance, in what I'm saying I want and what I'm doing to get it. [livejournal.com profile] mindseas compared story love to getting struck by lightning, and I told her that while I too want that lightning, instead of getting out and chasing the storm, I'm hunkered down in a house bristling with lightning rods. I should've added that I'm standing on tires, too.

This is not confined to my writing. It is me, all of me.  I feel pretty useless these days, adrift and without purpose, unable to contribute. I guess a bit of that seeped through because, in chat, [livejournal.com profile] frigg told me my post was depressing.

So, yeah, time to adjust that ol' attitude and get to the heart of a few matters...
wayfaringwordhack: (shroom sweet shroom)
Yesterday, at lunch, a swallow flew into the house.



I half-remembered something about swallows and the weather and wondered if it might not mean a storm was coming.

After putting Soëlie down for the night, I heard the first distant peals of thunder. I did not have high hopes for a storm; we so rarely get good ones.  But louder and closer got the thunder, and lightning began to illuminate the night sky, flashing through my windows like strobe lights.

It was already 10:00 p.m. and I didn't know if I felt like going through the effort of making myself supper.  However, the thought of sitting at the top of the stairs in the courtyard and watching the storm was appealing enough for me to gather a hard-boiled egg, a piece of blue cheese and bread, and a fromage blanc onto a tray and head outside.

The night was oh-so-silent at first. No wind, no birds, no voices, no cars.  Then another flash of lightning and a woman on one of the canal boats exclaimed, "Oh!" in wonderment.  All I saw as the echo of light across the cloud blanket, my view of the sky constricted by my own house, a two-story garage, and an abandoned pub. As if the woman's cry had broken an imposed silence, other noises filled the night: the rustle of trees, the skitter-patter of raindrops hitting the baked clay and slate shingles of the surrounding buildings like the approach of a thousand mice.

A fine rain began to fall, but I wanted to see the sky, to revel in the forks of lightning and the thunder's booming.  I went downstairs, listening for cries from inside to show that Soëlie was disturbed, but she slept on. The view on the south side of my house was no good; the storm was raging over Sancerre, northwest.  I walked around, back through my yard, in the dark, not wanting to wander out into the light and civilization of the lamp-lit street.  Houses continued to block my view and I wanted badly to bundle Soëlie into the car and chase the storm.  I resisted, watching the flashes and searing forks from the darkened passageway between my house and the next.  

My stormgazing disturbed one of my neighbors, though, who, not understanding what I was doing--and not bothering to ask--assumed I was spying on him. I pointedly tipped my head to the sky, trying to make him understand, but he stood in the street, staring at me, shoulders squared in defiant menace. I ignored him, preferring the drama in the sky, and he went back in his house, only to appear at the door not a minute later, checking to see if I was still there.  When still I refused to move, to thwart me, he turned off the lights in his house, making me feel like some kind of creep.  

I stretched and tried not to let it bother me, not going back inside until the rain got a little harder, using that as an excuse to leave my post so he would not think his stupidity was correct.

The music of the thunder and the rain kept me company as I read in the bath, and when I went to bed, I opened the windows, the better to hear the storm.  I was afraid the thunder would wake Soëlie, but she never budged. (When she did wake to pee at 2am, I could hear music coming softly from the defiant neighbor's house; he often puts his music on too loud during the day, his friends rev their motorcycles obnoxiously before taking off from his house at all hours of the night, and he certainly thought that I was passive-aggressively protesting  his noise when all I cared about was the storm.)

This morning, a fine drizzle was still falling, gaining strength with each hour. The autumn-cool air energized me with a feeling of needing to get things done, an instinctive desire to settle my nest before winter's arrival.  I vowed to be productive, to heed nature's message, but then mugginess set in, pressing all my good intentions out of me with its weight.

Instead of productivity, I decided to look up the superstition about swallows in the house. Turns out people believe that to be a harbinger of death. It is the sight of swallows flying low that is supposed to herald rain.  The window the fellow above flew through is on the third floor.  

I then decided to Google my middle name.  A search years ago told me "Nari" means different things from one language to the next, but the meaning that always stuck with me was "thunder" from Japanese. (That too depends on the site; I also saw: "gentle child," "Loud burst of noise from bells,"  and "Thunder bolt")

Babynamesworld had this to say: The Japanese name Nari may be written with the character for "do; change; make". Other possibilities include the character for "to be", or the characters for "vegetable; greens" (na) and "pear tree" (ri).

A name of Italian origin for boys, says one site, meaning "cheerful."

Another site says: It is also from the Sanskrit meaning "woman" (pronounced with long vowels 'a' and 'i'--My pronunciation is nah-ree). Nari is the name of a daughter of Mount Meru.

I spent time with the Meru people in Kenya.  They gave me the name Makena, "the happy one."

But back to thunder.   My mother always called me Thunderhead when I was small.  It was a bit for my temper, perhaps, and maybe due to Nari's meaning, but mostly it was because I could always hear the thunder before anyone else.  "Storm's coming," I would say, looking up at the hot, blue Texas sky, and the storm always came.

 
wayfaringwordhack: (footprint in the sand)

I used to think I had a mind like a steel trap.  Now I wonder if it is not more like a barbed wire fence: Loosely strung, rusted, full of spaces to let thoughts pass, but still capable of snagging and holding on to things and causing harm.

...

On my country walks, I like to indulge in woolgathering, but not like these fences, snatching wool from passersby, hoarding and disguising their barbs under pearls of fleece.

Or do I?  

Maybe I catch inspiration like that speared leaf, snagging it out of my surroundings, only to let it dry and crumple while I find the time and inclination to make something of it, until one day, the leaf is a dessicated skeleton, the inspiration no more than a faint memory.

If Don McLean's moss growing fat on a rolling stone was a negative thing, I wonder how lichen growing thick on a rusted line compares.  Maybe, if want to work my creative process into this comparison, it would be best to side with the Ancient school of thought who viewed the accumulation of moss as a good thing. Like seeded oysters, those clusters of lichen might be steadily absorbing rain rich with elements and dust just gritty enough to grow a story that will spark my enthusiasm. I'd like to hope so...



This post seems to have a melancholy bent. Strange, for I feel not melancholic at all...
wayfaringwordhack: (Default)
 J and I have been dreaming and scheming about his future posting as an embassy guard. This is important and not so important.  In the quirky way of the French administration, the Powers that Be ask each employee where they would like to be stationed, requiring said employee to choose three destinations. Then, when it comes time to fill a post, the employee's wishes are (usually) summarily dismissed and the employee is offered another country/continent/hemisphere entirely.  If the employee turns down the offer, his or her name goes to the bottom of the posting list, so unless the assignment is reallllllly bad or dangerous, one does not say no.

So, for our three countries, even though we probably won't get any of them, we've still been thinking. Soëlie does not have US nationality simply because I'm American, so if it is possible*, we wouldn't mind a stint in New York to help her get the requisite 3yrs-before-18th-birthday stay time in the States to obtain her dual citizenship. The other US opening is in Washington, but bleh...neither of us want to go there.

In trying to decide another country, I visited this site to see what parts of the world are still unbeknownst to me.  I did this map years ago, before our world trip, but now it has a little more color.



create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide


I've visited 27 countries, which only equals 12%!!!

Still vast tracts of unexplored territory there. I like the sound of "-stan" countries like Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan (Afghanistan and Pakistan not so much). Czechoslovakia was my favorite country name ever. Too bad it doesn't exist any longer. Zimbabwe is another fun one. Consonance aside, though, Indonesia would be good money-wise, location-wise, and, for Julien, spearfishing-wise. I wouldn't mind Turkey for the history...

How about you? Where would you go for four years?
_________________

*We've heard that a US posting is not likely for us because I'm American. Something about the French gov't not wanting their employees possibly developing compromised, conflicting loyalties.
wayfaringwordhack: (moi)
Many people keep the names of their children, spouses, and various family members "secret" on their blogs, only referring to their loved ones by nicknames. For those of you who do, why do you do it? For those who don't, why not?

Also, what are your thoughts on photos of children on the Internet? Locked post, fodder for all, or not at all?

*just wondering if Little Bean will someday be known as _________ or if he/she will simply graduate to Sprout*
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
Last day for the meme, and the question is:


30. Final question! Tag someone! And tell us what you like about that person as a writer and/or about one of his/her characters!

I'm not going to tag anyone.  Rather, I'd like to see a variety of people pick up the challenge of writing about writing.  If you are interested, the questions are under the cut.

All you have to do is answer one question per day, starting July 1.


Writing about writing )
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
29. How often do you think about writing? Ever come across something IRL that reminds you of your story/characters?

I was about to answer "a lot," but I guess it truly depends on where I am in a story and how I'm feeling about the tale at that moment. There are times when I am obsessed by the characters, the world, the plot, and I have a hard time concentrating on anything else.  This state just comes upon me, but it is more easily reached when I've been writing consistently.

Sometimes, though, I do my daily writing, but my my mind is not obsessed with what I'm doing. I'd consider that I'm a healthier individual while in this state (because I am more open to and concerned about others--it is easier to have a conversation with me, frex), but I don't like it. In fact, I feel there is something wrong with me and wish the random ideas and snippets were more present. 

Then there are times that I have to literally say to myself, "Ok, you have this problem; think about it."  And from there I tackle it. 

I guess, though, my response could have honestly remained "a lot;" even when I'm not actively writing, I'm thinking that either I should be or I would like to be.

As of the IRL part of this question....hmmm, I would say that I'm more influenced by things in real life that find their way into my fiction and my characters' lives.
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
28. Have you ever written a character with physical or mental disabilities? Describe them, and if there's nothing major to speak of, tell us a few smaller ones.

Yes, Tatterdemalion, my narrator for The Bitter River, is mute. He is an orphan who was found on the banks of a river by an archeologist and was raised in her household by a linguist.  Even though Tatter can't talk, he is very bright and can understand several languages. He loves words and the power they have over people. He communicates through sign language, but these signs are a made-up invention of the family he finds himself in, so he doesn't have much conversation or interaction with strangers.
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
27. Along similar lines, do appearances play a big role in your stories? Tell us about them, or if not, how you go about designing your characters.

Yes and no.  In The Traveler's Daughter, Bria's character is very much informed by her looks. She basically should have been given to another people to raise, a people who resembles her more closely, but her goddess had other ideas for her.  Hence she has a childhood and adolescence along The Ugly Duckling lines.

In To Be Undone, characters have different physiques according to their castes, but apart from a minor thing, appearance doesn't play a major role.

Apart from having a physical type clear in my mind, I couldn't tell you what most of my characters in Witherwilds look like. Shocking, I know.
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
Questions and answers under the cut because there are so many. None of them are long, however. I've not been feeling loquacious of late.

Days 20-26 )
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
19. Favorite minor that decided to shove himself into the spotlight and why!

Someone from Witherwilds. She evolved from a one-dimensional meanie into someone with real depth once I got her to break down and talk to me. She likely is going to be getting her own POV in books 2 and 3. I'm not going to give more of an in-depth answer than that.  I like keeping certain ideas to myself so as not to ruin or influence reader reactions, and my betas follow my blog, so...
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
18. Favorite antagonist and why!

I don't particularly like writing antagonists. I guess because of that, they don't often figure among my favorite characters. That my stories don't often have the "recommended" protag/antagonist dynamic* makes it a doubly hard-to-answer question. 
I guess I would say Behrouz of To Be Undone. He is willing to do pretty reprehensible things in order to bring about a change that is for the ultimate good of all. I think a lot of people in life go wrong in this way. They have good intentions, but they become monsters in trying to bring about the change they desire. It makes him comprehensible to me in ways that other antagonists are not (frex, Valsidire in The Traveler's Daughter, who acts out of hunger for power).


________________
* I'm referring to the writing advice that states that the antagonist stands directly in the protag's way and the antagonist deliberately and step-by-step thwarts the protag's advance or achievement. 
wayfaringwordhack: (paper flames)
17. Favorite protagonist and why!

I feel like I've already answered this question on Day 11 because Mirco is a main character/protag. What makes him a favorite is, yes, I find his head easy to get into, but more than that, I like the contrast of him, his self-delusion or, if you will, his dishonesty with himself and others. I like the possibility of what he can do for the storyworld with his unique perspective. He is a strong-minded character, but he still has his flaws.

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