Filed under: blog, other | Tags: danger! she has an idea!, other things, photos, rambling
I like to think of myself as crafty. I have my moments– for a time, I ran a moderately successful, extremely small-time children’s clothing shop online– and am a rather creative person. The issue, of course, as I am sure it is for other people, is my vision rarely matches my capabilities. I can envision really amazing things– say, a set of fairy wings using nothing but a hanger and a vintage lace shrug; but the outcome is dubious– said fairy wings looked like a hanger and tissue paper.
I am both stubborn and a perfectionist, two things that are oddly misplaced within me. Both my mother and I have discussed how we want to do everything perfectly the first time and will give up or, worse, not do it at all, if that is not a possibility. That’s stupid, and we both know it, and we both have areas where this is patently untrue, but it gives us an out when we have an idea, and the means to do it, so we can drink wine and bitch about how well we could have done it if we had bloody well sat down and done it.
We’re tragically alike, my mother and I.
As such, since I had children, I’ve had this idea that NO CHILD OF MINE WOULD HAVE A STORE BOUGHT COSTUME. And that was all well and good on my daughter’s first Halloween. She was ten months old, not walking, and rather game about letting me dress her up like a doll. My mother-in-law, a tapestry artist and knitter of the voluminous output variety, knit her a tail and hat with ears, and we dressed her in black sweatpants, a black Halloween shirt and black slippers. A kitty! She was adorable. The next Halloween, which featured me heavily pregnant (and wearing a make-shift pumpkin shirt my friend had Sharpied and foisted on me before he’d allow me to take K trick-or-treating), and K with a walking cast (her leg had broken due to a congenital deformity of the tibia), we recycled the hat, I stitched wings to a black shirt and, VOILA, bat!
We made it to the next year, where K announced she wanted to be “someone who likes to pick pumpkins.” I decided to translate that as “farmer” and got her overalls and a flannel shirt, plus a straw hat. Her brother, ten months old at the time? A pumpkin of course. This year featured me in a costume that is still spoken of today: I dressed as a cow. Now, it wasn’t that impressive, except I seemed to have forgotten how many udders a cow actually has. I cut up a pair of pink rubber gloves and glued them to a t-shirt. What, cows only have four udders? Posh, this cow will give you milk for weeks. Oh, breastfeeders, we are a funny lot.
I was getting anxious the older my daughter got and more, how should we say, UTTERLY AND BATSHIT OBSESSED she became with princesses, particularly those of the Disney variety. I am not a girly-girl. I am baffled by ruffles and lace and high heels. My daughter is infatuated with them, with all the classic princess accessories. So I was relieved when she, just a couple months shy of her fourth birthday, requested to be a flower for Halloween. That, I could do.
Sort of. Did I mention my output rarely lives up to my vision? It might have helped if I’d started the costume before the actual day. That’s another prevailing theme in my life: I apparently like to run, headlong, into a deadline.
I made a long netting skirt out of bright green material, then made a “headress” of petals. Even K was unimpressed, but she wore it dutifully. In the effort to keep pairing the children for as long as I could, I decided M should be a bee. But to make a bee costume? I waited until no one was looking… and bought one off eBay.
It felt oddly shameful, like ordering porn. What mother didn’t take time out of her day to make her baby a costume? A lazy mother, I scolded myself, tugging the adorably chubby costume over his head. I was a terrible mother. When they entered therapy as teenagers, the blame would land solely on my shoulders.
Last year, K asked to be a princess. M wanted to be Spiderman. Working full-time, 40+ hours a week, I threw in the towel. My parents bought her the standard ice blue ballgown of Cinderella fame and M received his bodysuit and mask from Target. Their other grandparents arrived with a whole set of plastic jewelry, crown and heels for K. I was ashamed, and I was tired and amused. I ordered pizza and delighted in their excitement over the holiday. Where other kids can’t handle those plastic masks that come in costume sets? My boy has a commitment to a bit and never took it off.
Preparations for this year’s Halloween started, oh, last November 1st. I gave them guidelines: mid-September, they had to give me the final on their Halloween costumes. They did: M wanted to be Kung Fu Panda and K wanted to be Tinkerbell. All well and good, but I, for one, think Halloween should be the one day you get to dress in something that you ordinarily wouldn’t pull out of your closet. K got a Tinkerbell costume for Christmas the year before. Plus, Halloween in Denver is historically cold and snowy and, let’s face it, Tinkerbell doesn’t cover much skin. In an effort to dissuade her, A suggested she dress as our dog, Zooey. To wit:
She thought it a grand idea. And then so did M. And then my wheels were turning and I thought: this couldn’t possibly be that hard.
I shouldn’t be allowed to think to myself.
I started with black pants and white hooded sweatshirts, then picked up sets of black gloves and an accidental metric ton of black felt and a little wire. This couldn’t be that complicated, except I didn’t want to sew. And so I fell back on what I’d done for the famous cow costume: glue! I could then, after Halloween, wash the sweatshirts, the felt would fall off, and they’d have new hoodies. Genius.
The issue is: Zooey is mostly black. And so I glued giant pieces of felt to the front and backs of the shirts, which dried and took on the malleability of cardboard. Great. Making the ears proved a more daunting issue, as everyone wanted to maintain the perkiness. More felt, more glue, whip and running stitches to adhere them to the hood, much poking of fingers and cursing. The tails were more whip stitches and a safety pin and, in the end, they looked cute but… Puppies? I’m not entirely sure…
They loved their costumes. I was relieved. Puppies indeed.
I have now forsworn to never make costumes myself again. The visions will have to live within the contents of my skull, rattling to be let out. I’ll pour another glass of wine, salute their determination, and go back to discussing how very impressive that project would have been, if only I’d been the one in charge.
Two days ago, I was laid off.
I knew it was coming from about a mile away, and had simply been waiting for the official day. I was called up, given the standard speech and handed my pay-out.
Bliss.
I’ve been celebrating since then. I’ve gone out to lunch and dinner, out for drinks, received countless emails. It might not seem like an event to celebrate, not in this economic climate, not with my degree and area of focus. English writing simply doesn’t go as far as it used to. However, I’m one of those people who believes everything happens for a reason. I had a miscarriage in my early twenties– it was tragic and I was terrifically depressed, but when it took another year for me to get pregnant, I was blessed with my incredible daughter. Two years later, my husband was laid off, while I was pregnant and only working part time. Then our daughter broke her leg due to a congenital defect in her tibia. While looking up her doctor’s phone number one day, he came across the employment page for the hospital and ended up entering the healthcare field, which landed him back in school and helped him become a nurse this past spring. It’s events such as these that have cemented my belief that nothing is without a brighter side.
On that incredibly sappy note, I’ll leave you with the news that the NOD ™ is 3/4 complete. No kidding. I expect to have it done by or before Thanksgiving, which is mind-boggling. My brain is attempting to organize what novel gets to come next. I hope this all just points to more good.
Though I know whatever happens was meant to be. Open that damn window, no closed door is gonna stop me.
Filed under: art, blog, writing | Tags: inspiration, music, NOD (tm), rambling
I’m always fascinated by what others find to be inspiring or in what they find their inspiration. To be clear: I hate when people call their inspiration their muse, when they personify their creativity. I know I have no right to dictate how others feel about their imagination– I’ll be the first to admit that I have “voices” in my head and that my characters very much dictate what happens to them, which all sounds almost crazier than this muse deal– but I thought I should put that out there. Shut up about the muse, alright?
Outside that, however, I do love to find out the way others think, particularly artists. On a forum I frequent, there was a thread about where we get our inspiration while writing. While a picture or situation might spur me, most of my inspiration comes from music. I am a music junkie, I own hundreds of hours of music and am constantly looking for new artists and new versions of everything to add to it. I’m the girl who will stop and ask you what that is you’re listening to and will check out more of it even if I wasn’t sure I liked it in the first place. There are few genres in which I can’t find something worthwhile.
I’ve always been a expansive person when it comes to writing. I always have a cinematic vision in my head when I write, and I cast and compose my stories like I’m watching a movie in my mind. I’m not sure how common this is, but I’ve always had this trait; it’s possible it came from my youthful exposure to movies based on books (The Princess Bride being the one I remember clearest, as I saw the movie when I was seven due to my parents being long-time William Goldman fans) and how I become convinced of how a character should look and act. Though I might never admit what person I see in any character role I create, I have it in the back of my mind, know their mannerisms, everything about them– it’s playing God with legos.
Because of this, I tend to create a soundtrack for not just the story, but for the process of writing as well. As such, I currently have a 35 hour playlist compiled for the NOD ™. It started with a single song, Vagabond by Wolfmother, then spiraled out with the addition of Another Travelin’ Song by Bright Eyes. From there, Death Cab for Cutie and Elliot Smith joined, plus old Modest Mouse songs, Aqualung, Rilo Kiley, a smattering of Radiohead and my own personal obsession, John Mayer.
Recently, I came across Frank Turner, a British artist. A friend linked me to him one morning and by afternoon I was hooked. I admit a certain weakness for a boy with a guitar and when you add some incredible talent to the mix, I’m a goner. I added all his albums to my ever-expanding NOD ™ soundtrack, and have found his music to very much fit with the themes of the story that is developing. I’ve cast a scene with a song of his as the score and am finding the moments within sharper and more enduring than I expected.
I very much believe in the interconnectedness of various mediums, in all the arts, and hope to be the kind of writer who eventually inspires others, in both the fiction world and even fine arts or music, the way others have influenced me. For now? I’ll continue this pursuit of the NOD ™ with my playlist that makes me smile every time I open it.
A first entry is daunting, particularly when you’ve been sitting on a blog for 2 years. Yes, I registered this blog two years ago, I admit that freely. I am a procrastinator of the worst type, the kind that has rather marvelous ideas– hey, not gonna be modest here– and can’t ever seem to get enough gumption to get them moving.
No more, my friends. It is likely motivated by my current work at my money-making jobs. I’ll say I’m grateful for employment during these economic times, and I do like my employers and my co-workers, but I believe even they would confess that my job is not especially scintillating creativity-wise. Without giving myself away wholesale, I’ll say I work mostly in spreadsheets and emails, which, really, is not what I saw my life becoming.
So here we are.
Novel of Doom ™ (here fore referred to as NOD ™) was started shortly after my 30th birthday last month, due to a promise to myself and the husband that I would finish it by my thirty-first birthday. Five pages in, I lost steam and though the idea remains at the back of my head, it is not taking hold in the way a project of this magnitude (i.e. novel with which I find satisfaction and, most importantly when speaking of my essential personality, complete) should. Thus, the idea was if not scrapped, set aside, and I spent the first month of this twelve month allowance writing nary a word of anything significant.
That would be until Sunday.
Saturday night, attempting to fall asleep, I struck upon another idea. More accurately, several plot bunnies who had been kicking around in my brain for years now, multiplying as they are wont to do, came together in a Donnie Darko-sized rabbit (though far less terrifying), and Sunday found me attacking Open Office with a kind of enthusiasm I haven’t felt in years.
Two days later, we find ourselves 17 pages in. While I am thrilled with this progress, I know better than to pat myself on the back this early in the game. We’re merely 17 pages in, and there is plenty of steam to be lost. I can accept this, and can come to accept the days I know it will feel like pulling teeth to even get a line, a phrase in. It’s the drive to keep moving forward in these times I need to cling to and in that is this blog.
I know blogs are widely believed to be more of a hindrance to a writer than an aid of any sort. While I’m sure this is true on a general scale, I’m the type that needs prodding, needs outside insistence that the story get done to get it there. I need someone looking in on this blog and calling me on it if I start slacking. If any of you are up for the job, I can pay you nothing but keep providing vaguely witty blog entries.
And, hopefully, by July 14, 2010, a novel.
