Littlereview’s Neighborhood

What have you lost that you wish you still had?
Submitted by gunderson bee.

Toby.

He was the best cat a girl could ever have.  Definitely a one in a million cat.  We were completely made for each other, and I totally miss having him around.  I miss him sleeping on the small of my back every night.  It's been 3 1/2 years, and I still miss him just as much as I did when he died.  The spectral visits help, but they're not the same...

Todaye so far has consisted of house-cleaning, putting together a CD for my brother, and prepping the second dish that I'm capable of in my repertoire (ceviche).  I cannot imagine doing something like this with my daye off back in MD, but here it seems perfectly normal and comfortable.  I've also had a lot of time for reflection, and as I expressed to Carrie:

I'm changing.  And there's parts of it--lots of it--that are extremely painful, stressful, and depressing.  Those are the parts that make me afraid that I will lose you and R. before the end; parts that want me to make me lose myself, in all honesty.  But the lucidity in between shows me something else; that I might like the person that comes out of this.  More independent, more confident... and more myself, whoever that is.

The more I consider it, the more I am reminded of the many verses in the Bible that speak of refining metals, of tesing and purifying them.  I've not quite been here three months, but during that time I have had so many moments of incredible emotion, both good and bad.  I once asked LQ at work how a person could be happy and depressed at the exact same time; she answered that was God working in my life.  And I am happy--there's just times where the present can overwhelm me, be it from loneliness or stress or whatever.  For a brief period I questioned if I had made a mistake, acting solely on my own desires, and wondering if God was punishing me for it.  I no longer think that.  This might not have been His perfect will, but it was at least His permissive will, if not something more.  I don't think I can know the answer to that, and there's really no further point in trying.  I can only work with what I have, and that to His glory.

I love and am loved, and that's one of the greatest things that you can have in this life.

What are five words you really like? 
Submitted by purplesque.

I've always like the word fuck.  And not just because of the vulgarity of it either.  There's just something about the way it rolls off the tongue...

Another favorite word is ass-batty.  Sorry, I consider it one word if it's hyphenated.  Bite me if you don't like that.  *veg*  But life can be quite ass-batty, hence my use of the word.

Yes is always a good word, especially when it's said instead of no.  Of course, I could also be thinking that because I'm listening to the Venus Hum song "Yes and No".

Momma is another favorite.  Perhaps because I have a fucked up [see?  I like that word!] sense of motherhood, thanks to my own mother.  From childhood on, I've always wanted to be a mother.  I don't have any children [Max is different], but I have many nieces and nephews [none of my blood] who suffice, as do my pets.  Hell, my pets are my children, as far as I'm concerned.

Love ranks up there, as well.  It also has some strange, fucked up connotations for me, but it's something I certainly strive for a on a daily basis.

Just a quick note to let people know that Ripper & I made the trip safely.  I've been home a few days now, just got internet yesterdaye.  Job-searching, settling in... and being fed really well.  ;)  Kelly's adapting nicely, and overall I am optimistic.  It's good to be with my family.

So. Mitt Romney opened his mouth about Mormonism and electability and thinks he's like JFK? He can't even spell JFK.

And all of this fluster about the religion of the candidates is a smoke screen to keep us from noticing the real issues, the ones I care about. Here's part of my checklist for presidential candidates, with some shorthand examples from past presidents:

-- Is the candidate honest? (Harry Truman)

-- Does the candidate stand by decisions made? Does the candidate change his decisions based on knowledgeable information? Has the candidate ever said he/she was wrong about anything? Has the candidate ever apologized for being wrong? (JFK, who said he was wrong about the Cuban missile crisis)

-- What jobs has the candidate held before? How well have those jobs been done? What are the successes? Why were they successes? What are the failures? Why were they failures? Did the candidate learn something useful from those experiences, both good and bad? (Truman was a failed haberdasher who ran for and successfully held elected office. Bush was a failed baseball team owner who unsuccessfully governed Texas.)

-- How well does the candidate assimilate information before making judgments? What is the candidate's management style? (JFK and LBJ talked to reporters and had heavy thinkers come over for private dinners to talk about the issues. Reagan ate dinner on a tray table with Nancy and nobody else.)

-- Does the candidate respect other people? How does the candidate treat the people working on the campaign? How does the candidate treat the public?

-- Does the candidate work to expand rights and opportunities for everyone, or only for a select group? If the latter, does that select group comprise only people in the same social class or other grouping as the candidate? (LBJ worked toward civil rights for Americans regardless of color.)

-- How well does the candidate implement plans and campaign promises?

-- How does the candidate react to emergency situations? Does the candidate work to assist people in danger or disaaster, or to make political profit from the event?

-- Does the candidate have a true vision of a better America for everyone? Does the candidate follow pareto optimality in policymaking, i.e. the greatest benefit that can be created without harming anyone?

That's not all of my checklist, but it's what shows up today.

If everything goes according to the Current Plan (TN), I will be moving to TN in January, 2008.

What's your favorite appetizer to order at a restaurant?

It really depends on the restaurant.  But my favorite all time appetizer is the seared ahi tuna at Outback.  *swoons*  I love the way they prepare the tuna, and the sauces are to die for! 

Another favorite is any kind of artichoke dip, usually paired with parmesan cheese.  It's the taste combination that rocks...

I am watching the movie 'Gandhi' right now.  It is historical, in that it took place in the 1930s.

It is relevant, in that actions similar to those used by Mahatma Gandhi then in India are being used by Buddhist monks in Burma, and they are paying a heavy price for it.

Read this first linked article, and notice the actions of the monks on the march.  These are men who customarily use those begging bowls to receive food from the people around them -- what they are given to eat by local people is what they will eat that day.  But here they are holding the bowls upside down -- refusing to take alms from the government.  (Buddhist monks will take alms from anyone who comes by, normally.)  By refusing alms, they are saying that anything the government might give them would be tainted.  By refusing alms, they are saying the government is not Buddhist; they are summarily excommunicating the government of their country.  Remember:  the monks are people of peace, armed only with their integrity and their upside-down begging bowls. Their protest was sparked by economic hardship.

...Dependant on the dwindling donations of the community, many have found it impossible to continue practising their religion.

The monks - known as "Bhikku" - are not allowed to marry, earn a living or cook for themselves. Surviving on charity, their diet consists of whatever donations they receive from well-wishers.

"According to rules of Buddhism, monks have the right and obligation to demonstrate if the religion is threatened. That is what is happening here. The population which is supporting us is enduring hardship and the authorities are in the wrong," said one monk....

Now, see what has happened today.  Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of monks have been arrested in raids upon the monasteries made by so-called riot police who beat the monks to death.  Few if any have been left alive in some monasteries.  According to the Daily Mail, thousands of monks have been massacred and their bodies dumped in the jungle.  Hundreds more have simply been disappeared.  According to The Van Der Galien Gazette, the revolt is over.  But perhaps not.  Ordinary citizens are taking up the monks' protests.

...Up to 70,000 people ignored government warnings to stay home and marched through the streets of Yangon, also known as Rangoon, for a 10th day of protests, according to news reports and dissident groups in exile.

Whereas previous rallies had been led by Buddhist monks, who are revered in Burmese society, fewer clerics turned out Thursday, most likely because government forces raided at least six monasteries before dawn and reportedly beat and arrested scores of people.

The majority of demonstrators Thursday appeared to be ordinary citizens, some of whom shouted for freedom from the military rule that has driven their country into poverty and isolation. Others chanted, "We will win! We will win!"

"It's civilians and students. The monks were beaten up in public, which causes outrage. Despite the fact that they knew they might be shot, there are still protests in Rangoon," said Soe Myint, the editor of the Burma-focused Mizzima News Web site and a dissident based here in India.

There were unconfirmed reports of demonstrations in Mandalay, Myanmar's second city, and the towns of Sittwe, Pakokku and Moulmein....

Synecdochic's talking about writing, and method, and what works and what doesn't, and that is kicking off a few small bits of fireworks in my mind. Result:  a few words on how I tell stories, or, rather, how stories tell themselves through me when I can manage to get out of the way.   (Note:  this is not the way I write poetry, so if you're hoping for words about any of the sonnets, they aren't here.  That's something else.)

Things I have learned about my own writing method:  

-- Outlines kill stories dead, like Raid and bugs.  By the time I work my way through the 'traditional' outline method or any of the other ones and answer all the questions, there's no story left and no reason to write one.  Why write it out?  It's already there, skinned and tacked out on the side of the barn, drying.  Since I like my characters more than that, I don't torture them with outlines any more.

-- But occasional notes that mean nothing to anyone else are good, and the shorter and more evocative the better.  Occasional maps are good, as long as they're incomplete -- word in the center, other words around it that are related, lines and arrows back and forth.  ETA:  Word sequences help also.  Pick a word, write it down.  Write down the first word that word brings to mind.  Do it again without reference to previous word(s).  Go on until you repeat or until you run out of references.

-- I don't write with my left brain at all.  I edit with my left brain.  I write from my right brain and from the place in the back of my mind that is in shadow, where I can only see movement and indistinguishable shape.  The corpus callosum in the middle of the brain is the gateway from one to the other, and sometimes I can think writing and do editing at the same time -- but I can't think editing and do writing.

-- The stories that work, where the way I envision the story and the way it's told all fit together, work because I fall in love with a character and live with him/her for a while.  The stories that don't work, the intimacy isn't there, or it got strained, or the character got bored and left the back of my mind for a break and didn't come back.  ::Note to Jim Ellison:  please come back.  Anytime.  We still have two more stories we were talking about, way back when.  And it's your turn to tell a story, if you want...::  

-- The stories that don't get finished, the enormous WIPs that are hundreds of pages long and just sitting there, tend to stay sitting there because in canon the character was killed off badly, in such a way that his characterization was totally violated and messed up.  ::Apologies for this reason to Alex Krycek and Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa.:: ::Apologies also, for other canon discrepancies, to Harry and Ron and Hermione and Draco and insane Severus, wandering in the ruins of war-devastated Hogsmead.::

-- I can credit my mother with the first clue to being able to write.  There I sat at the kitchen table, trying to come up with *something* to say in a school essay.  

"I need a first line," I said.  
"What's it about?" she asked me.  
"Tom Sawyer."  
"Tom Sawyer was both smarter and stupider than people thought, and he knew it," she said.  Or something similar to that; it's been a while.  And as soon as I had a first line, the rest came.

-- I get the first line when it is whispered into the dark side of my brain by the character I'm in love with who wants to tell me something.  It's a bit shamanic -- it's like going into the dream trance and coming back with an answer, or the hint of one.  In longer stories, sometimes I get an entire paragraph before I sit down to write it out.  [At some point, I'll try to post a list of what I think of as the better first lines from stories I've done, if anyone is interested.  The webpage they're on is in pretty bad shape right now, with links that don't work, so it will have to wait until I can update it.]

-- I write as long as the voice in my mind is clear, telling me what to put down.  When it stops, I stop.  Sometimes it stops after five pages.  Or a paragraph.   Sometimes it doesn't stop for eight hours, or ten.  Sometimes it wakes me up in the middle of the night and keeps me writing until noon.  This hasn't happened in the past few years, I think because I've been so busy newsblogging that it's taken up most of the space that would be inhabited by story and character.  I have faith that it can happen again; I've been able to write Yuletide stories every year, so I know the juice is there but I'm not plugged into a strong enough current.

-- When I'm writing, I become physically clumsy and stupid around the house.  I could kill myself making toast.  If I have the choice, I try to do some cooking ahead of time and make things I can reheat to eat; otherwise, the local inexpensive restaurants and diners see a lot more of me.  The cats and husband get fed, but I devoutly hope they're not choosy.

-- If the current isn't flowing, if the voice isn't talking, I don't write anything new.  I edit.  I go back through what's there, asking if this word choice is right and if this sentence structure needs help.  Once I went back through 50 pages to correct verb tense because the character told me it needed to be done.  Anything I try to add that the voices don't give me will not help.

-- It is possible to get the voices to keep to a schedule, if necessary.  It is not wise to ask them to hold what they're saying indefinitely.

-- For good or ill, I do not necessarily think of sentences using the grammar taught in English classes.  I think in Latin grammar and structure with an English-language overlay and a largely American accent (with some peculiarities.)  I absorbed language structure and style from my parents, who at one time or another were both teachers, and both of whom were in love with words and writing.  I know what *feels* right or wrong, but I don't try to analyze it in the traditional method.  I couldn't care less what is appositive and what is not.  Four  years of translating Latin (and a year of Greek, and two years of German, all of which have largely the same structure) gave me a feel for certain kinds of sentence structure, and that's what I think in.  It can be a bit frustrating, as there are certain figures of speech in Latin that don't show up much in English, as well as some verb forms that don't exist. (Gerundive, anyone?)

-- I break rules.  All the time.  When it's... necessary.  

-- About sentences: Rule one:  Sentence length matters.  Rule two:  The longer the sentence, the slower the action that is occurring in the story.  Rule three:  If expository material is broken up into shorter sentences in the middle of an action sequence, it's context and not exposition.  Rule four:  you don't need any more sentence rules.

-- A sentence is a unit of thought.  A paragraph is a unit of emotion.  If the viewpoint changes from one character to another within the same paragraph and they do not share the same emotion, the disconnect can throw a reader out of the story as if they'd been drop-kicked during the Superbowl.

-- Characters can be clearer about their emotions or their motives, but not both at once.  If it looks as if a character is clear on emotion and motive, he's probably confused about what to do next, or about the results of his actions.  If he's clear on all of them but not talking about them, he's either Methos or Tyr Anasazi.

-- I think in metaphor and analogy and image.  When I am stuck and cannot get a character to tell me more, I try to do something to stir the dark water and see what emerges.  This is the dark water of a scrying bowl, not the dark water outside Moria.  I read Tarot for the character, looking at the relationship of the cards to one another and to the Kabbalah Tree of Life for hints on where he is and what might or might not happen.  I go for walks and let the characters argue in my mind, away from where anyone will hear me if I start talking to them.  I paint, draw pictures, knit, spin or do other wordless activities that give them space.  I don't (any more) create little mental fantasies and move them around inside these like cardboard cutouts.  They don't like it, and they leave.

-- Having characters in my mindspace is a gift.  I said earlier that it was shamanic; it is.  I have gone into shamanic trance and had characters talk to me as animals -- which told me that in some way the stories we write have impact in other dimensions than our own, whether we will it or not, whether we realize it or not.  I have had characters direct me to where I will find information or images that help tell the story.  I have had characters grab me by the back of the neck and keep me out of danger -- for real, on city streets -- by making me notice the way people were acting and getting me to walk elsewhere.  I have also had voices rise up to talk with me out of the back of my mind as if they were ghosts on a battlefield, asking me if the war is ended and whether or not it's safe to go home yet.  I accept this as normal and do not analyze it, any of it, because there are long stretches where none of it occurs and I cannot write a word of story, and in those stretches I could analyze anything (in my terms of analysis, which are most definitely neither Modern nor Postmodern) and write any nonfiction I want.  But when I'm living on the left side of my brain, it is as if I'm in a small office with a waiting room and no secretary, and the waiting room gets filled with symbols of people and objects and ideas that I have to put into order (choreography works at times, as it keeps them busy) or else deal with.  I get out of that small room, when I can't stand it any more, by the back elevator, which drops down into my heart and opens on a place of refuge that I constructed many years ago and will not describe.  And when I sit there and wait, characters show up and talk to me, and then eventually we wander up to the dark side and they start to tell me stories, some of which I write down.  I think in metaphors and symbols and images, and none of these are metaphors.

-- Lesson from news reporting:  If I don't know four times as much as I'm writing down, I don't know enough to write nonfiction.  If the character doesn't know three to four times as much as I'm getting in words, it's not enough to write fiction.  

-- Facts make detail.  Character interpretation of detail tells you what is being thought and why and how it feels.  Blair sitting near a streetcorner, waiting, noticing the broken pavement and the time, is one thing; Blair doing all the above while his stomach is rumbling, as he's on stakeout, and talking under his breath to Jim, who is keeping an eye on him from a distance, is something else.

-- Lesson from life:  Do not write fiction based on people you know unless you are willing to have to live through what you have written, whether they have ever seen what you wrote or not.  [No, I'm not explaining this. Just trust me on it.]  Revenge fiction, even privately written and unseen by others, rebounds.  Generosity in treatment of characters also rebounds, much more pleasantly.

-- If I don't love a character, I can't write about him or her.  Doesn't matter if I have all knowledge and can work miracles with that person.  If the story has not love, it is but clanging electrons, signifying nothing.

-- Tacked to the wall above my desk, whenever I have one:  Write it, damn it, write it.  What else are you good for?  [I think it's a James Joyce quote.]

-- Anything can help a story.  When what helps the story also helps me, it works better.  Forgetting to eat is not helpful; low-blood-sugar writing isn't as good.

-- The structure of the story comes after I have written down what I'm given, when I look at it and see if everything fits, if everything needs to be where it is, or if some of it could be pulled out and put elsewhere.  It is a necessary afterthought; it is not part of writing the story.  The story is what happens, the way life is what we live; the structure is the thinking about it that relates one thing to another, the quid pro quo, the sequence of events that in some way makes sense.

-- Sometimes being the fly on the wall gets you information.  Sometimes it gets you swatted.  It's important to know which is which.

-- In most of the stories I've written in the past 15 years, I'm pleased with the way the emotional content worked -- but when I read them my fingers itch to go back and re-edit them and restructure them.  

-- Okay, one more thing:  I write nonfiction on computer, fiction on computer or typewriter, ideas by hand in a notebook, and poetry with a pen, preferably a fountain pen.  Why?  It just works better.  I switched to a computer 20 years ago; before that, I left long typed rolls of paper in nearly every apartment I lived.  I bought roller paper then and fed it through my 1936 Royal Portable typewriter, which is still my backup and will be for as long as I can get ribbons for it.  (I hate positioning paper, which is why the roller paper; also, it meant I could cut and paste sections.  That's how I wrote my first novel.  You're not going to see it, ever, because it was total trash and rightly got bounced from a lot of publishing houses.  I have tried rewriting and updating it, and too much of it hinges on the need for a telephone at a time when we didn't all have cell phones.  So parts of it may reappear elsewhere at some time, but the whole thing?  No.  Been there.  Done that.  Don't gotta do it again, especially as some of the emotional content concerns events and people that are over and done and don't need to be dug back up.  And if they do reappear, they're getting spiked to dust by whatever emanation of Faith I have available.  Some experiences don't need to be relived.)

This is all probably more than you wanted to know.  It's the 25% of my process that I can talk about today.