I've almost forgotten what my hair looks like in its natural state. Looking in the mirror recently, I noticed that more blonde is showing at the roots than has in a long time. I also noticed that with the blonde, there's also a substantial increase in gray and it got me to thinking. I'm not exactly old, but as I said in conversation with Danielle yesterday, it feels like I've lived a few lifetimes at least these past few years, with this year being one of the most eventful of them all, and it's not over quite yet. The Earth Ox has been stumbling of late - growing arthritic in its decline, maybe? I'm hoping it'll rally its strength for one more sprint, or at least let me use the last bit of pixie dust to take it by the horns to drag it across the finish line in victory. During its reign, I've lived in 3 states, had a few different jobs, lost some friends, made new ones, loved and lost, learned a lot.
It's easy, among all the Christmas cartoons and shiny ornaments to be homesick for simpler bygone times, but the truth is, life has never been simple. I think that's what I want for next year: just some simplicity. I've learned to fly. I've learned to fight. I've had my adventures on the pirate ship. I think I'm ready to just be home.
14 December, 2009
12 December, 2009
"Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair..."
I am truly blessed with some really important things. I am surrounded by these amazing people, some family, some lifelong friends, and some newfound kindred spirits. Every day, they save my life.
I gave in to a really foul mood earlier. You know the kind - it starts with one too many nights of not enough sleep, then continues with one too many blocks walked in the rain, and then one too many people take their bad mood out on you... Yeah, that kind. I let the last harsh word said by someone who didn't mean it get to me anyway.
Right now, though, I'm thinking of a few little things that save a minute here or there, so that they add up to a better day.
I am just a little happier than I would be without:
I gave in to a really foul mood earlier. You know the kind - it starts with one too many nights of not enough sleep, then continues with one too many blocks walked in the rain, and then one too many people take their bad mood out on you... Yeah, that kind. I let the last harsh word said by someone who didn't mean it get to me anyway.
Right now, though, I'm thinking of a few little things that save a minute here or there, so that they add up to a better day.
I am just a little happier than I would be without:
- The radiator under my bathroom towel rack, allowing me to dry my hands on a warm towel
- Santa Claus the Movie on TV with limited commercial interruptions
- The bathroom scale that says I've lost almost 20 pounds since I started keeping track
- A cup of coffee to keep my hands warm
- Someone having told me they like the sound of my voice
- A cookie made from my best friend's secret recipe
- Fuzzy socks which, though they do not match, are a nice barrier between my feet and the concrete floor
- Batman
06 December, 2009
E Tira Forte Vento...
Caruso is probably one of the most overdone songs in, well, ever. Still, I stumbled across this rendition done by Lara Fabian and as I sit here listening to it, it blows through me, grabs debris I've been holding on to and flings it out into the world. It feels like this singer was inspired to do this song just so she could give voice to things I lack the talent, courage, and eloquence to say for myself. I don't even speak much Italian, so there's still a cloak of linguistic protection in which to wrap myself - I never said that. She said it, and she was just singing this old song.
05 December, 2009
Not Working Just to Survive
Matt over at Comics Cavern said something to me today that really rattled me. I am certain that he meant nothing sinister by simply saying that he had no idea I wrote fiction, but it really made a few things hit home.
First of all, I DO write fiction, or at least, I did. In replying to Matt, I sent him links to the two-part story I wrote as supplemental material for my friend Shawn's last novel. After sharing the links, I re-read that story, and you know what? It's freaking good. Not only is it good, but I actually like it. Not only do I like it, but other people, whose opinions matter to me, like it. Why then, did I stop doing something I like and am good at?
The answer isn't easy, but it is simple: because I don't like it right now. Why don't I? That's not so simple. My hope is that this is just a temporary state of being brought on by ennui and general sick-of-it-allness with regard to how I'm currently earning my income. I've been working as an independent contractor, and the work I'm doing is just not stimulating. It's like endless homework assignments for the boring class I can barely stay awake for on the days I force myself to show up. It's not that it's difficult work - it's that sitting down to write used to be something I looked forward to. Now, I'd suddenly rather do the dishes or watch endless Three's Company reruns than compose sentences, so when the paying work is done, I'm so sick of writing that the novel doesn't get worked on. No PoetryAssignment entries are done. No PopBunker posts get done. This blog doesn't get updated.
In short - the joy is being unceremoniously sucked out of writing. This is a problem.
Problems, however, have solutions, and I refuse to accept that this solution is an empty set. I'm going to start right away applying for different jobs. I'll have to give up being able to set my own hours, leave when I want, and work from anywhere, but I still think it'll be a net gain.
This recession is a bitch. I feel compelled by it to say that I'm grateful to have any income at all, even though it breaks my heart to hear how many friends are saying the same thing as they spend day after day in jobs they hate. We are all grateful just to be able to survive. That is so far from okay that it's not even funny.
I will not be defeated by it though. You know what I did yesterday? I sat on a (really tiny) stool at Meltdown Comics and interviewed Scott Ian*.
I sat there, with a microphone up my shirt and hot lights on my face, talking about comic books with an honest to golly rock star so you know what? You're damn right I am not working just to survive. I've been invited back to Meltdown next week to join the guys on their podcast to talk about women in comic books.
I need more of this in my life. These things make me feel alive again. Last night, when Vito from Comics on Comics asked me how I felt about being on camera, I said, "not a problem," out loud while a hyperactive pogo-stick went off in my chest. Even though I was terrified enough to send a couple of spastic text-messages to Michael, who I knew wouldn't hold it against me later and gave me a calm shot of confidence in return, there was not a chance in hell that I wasn't going to see this through.
I can't express how truly grateful I am to have had that experience, and that's not obligatory gratitude to which I feel duty-bound to give lip-service so the Universe won't smite me. That's real thanks, for answering the question "why the hell am I here?" My mind, heart, and spirit have all taken a beating lately, and this chance to be among people who care about what I care about, who refuse to settle for mediocrity, and be not a spectator but a peer among them has re-lit my pilot light.
*For an in-depth report, video of the interview, and chance to win autographed copies of Lobo: Highway to Hell, keep an eye on PopBunker.net.
First of all, I DO write fiction, or at least, I did. In replying to Matt, I sent him links to the two-part story I wrote as supplemental material for my friend Shawn's last novel. After sharing the links, I re-read that story, and you know what? It's freaking good. Not only is it good, but I actually like it. Not only do I like it, but other people, whose opinions matter to me, like it. Why then, did I stop doing something I like and am good at?
The answer isn't easy, but it is simple: because I don't like it right now. Why don't I? That's not so simple. My hope is that this is just a temporary state of being brought on by ennui and general sick-of-it-allness with regard to how I'm currently earning my income. I've been working as an independent contractor, and the work I'm doing is just not stimulating. It's like endless homework assignments for the boring class I can barely stay awake for on the days I force myself to show up. It's not that it's difficult work - it's that sitting down to write used to be something I looked forward to. Now, I'd suddenly rather do the dishes or watch endless Three's Company reruns than compose sentences, so when the paying work is done, I'm so sick of writing that the novel doesn't get worked on. No PoetryAssignment entries are done. No PopBunker posts get done. This blog doesn't get updated.
In short - the joy is being unceremoniously sucked out of writing. This is a problem.
Problems, however, have solutions, and I refuse to accept that this solution is an empty set. I'm going to start right away applying for different jobs. I'll have to give up being able to set my own hours, leave when I want, and work from anywhere, but I still think it'll be a net gain.
This recession is a bitch. I feel compelled by it to say that I'm grateful to have any income at all, even though it breaks my heart to hear how many friends are saying the same thing as they spend day after day in jobs they hate. We are all grateful just to be able to survive. That is so far from okay that it's not even funny.
I will not be defeated by it though. You know what I did yesterday? I sat on a (really tiny) stool at Meltdown Comics and interviewed Scott Ian*.
I sat there, with a microphone up my shirt and hot lights on my face, talking about comic books with an honest to golly rock star so you know what? You're damn right I am not working just to survive. I've been invited back to Meltdown next week to join the guys on their podcast to talk about women in comic books.
I need more of this in my life. These things make me feel alive again. Last night, when Vito from Comics on Comics asked me how I felt about being on camera, I said, "not a problem," out loud while a hyperactive pogo-stick went off in my chest. Even though I was terrified enough to send a couple of spastic text-messages to Michael, who I knew wouldn't hold it against me later and gave me a calm shot of confidence in return, there was not a chance in hell that I wasn't going to see this through.
I can't express how truly grateful I am to have had that experience, and that's not obligatory gratitude to which I feel duty-bound to give lip-service so the Universe won't smite me. That's real thanks, for answering the question "why the hell am I here?" My mind, heart, and spirit have all taken a beating lately, and this chance to be among people who care about what I care about, who refuse to settle for mediocrity, and be not a spectator but a peer among them has re-lit my pilot light.
*For an in-depth report, video of the interview, and chance to win autographed copies of Lobo: Highway to Hell, keep an eye on PopBunker.net.
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