Greetings, fair reader.
I'm happy to report that Unmask the Night, that most troublesome manuscript of mine, is at last in its final stages of preparation. That joyous time when writing is finished, editing is done, and my inner author finally gets to take a very small break. That hateful, tear-filled time of tedious battles with Amazon's obtuse technical specs, the endless maze of navigating Microsoft Word on an ancient laptop that freezes every thirty seconds, and muttered insults at technology everywhere. It's a time of slowly, angrily dying inside. Of creativity and free spirit weeping and quivering in a corner of my mind... Anyway, you get the idea. Book 2 of Red Wolf is getting itself made presentable. I'm a bit nervous to give a solid release date, since I know how those things tend to fall apart on me, however, I am *cautiously* optimistic in hinting that it should happen before the end of January.
I never got around to making any posts for the holiday's this year, which makes me a little sad. I hope you all had a wonderful season. Ours was very nice, even with the inevitable party overload, but very chill this year. We went very simple, and didn't even put up a tree. Yes, I missed it. But after a rough year, it was really great to simplify and just enjoy having Hubby home for those extra days, relaxing, getting extra sleep, and pulling off those parties without extra fuss.
With the end of the year, I always get introspective. I've never been big on making New Year's resolutions, but I like to take a look at my life and spend some time dreaming and thinking about where I'd like to be. This season something jumped out at me that has stuck in my brain and really influenced a lot of my intentions and goals for the coming year, both for my home, and for this blog. It was a line from The Two Towers (the movie version) which I had a chance to revisit over the holidays. Orcs have overrun Helm's Deep, and Theoden, in a daze and expecting to be wiped out, says, "What can men do against such reckless hate?" I feel like that could be the lament for our time and our culture. Everywhere I turn, whether it's social media with its endless memes, to news media, it seems like America is drowning in rage. And if not rage, then sarcasm and casual indifference. Nothing is sacred, and rudeness has no filter. For an introverted empath like myself, it can feel like any contact with the world is an attack. And when I'm dealing with my own ugliness, insecurities, anxieties, and humanity, just turning on my computer in the morning can drag me into a really dark place if I'm not careful.
I'm not making any resolutions, or setting any hard goals for anything, but this year I want to be more intentional about creating peaceful spaces. I want my home to be a haven. I want to celebrate reading nooks, potted herbs, paper and ink, hazy summer mornings and whole, nutritious foods. I want to de-clutter and clean and create an environment where my soul can be at peace. Instead of visualizing some perfect future where I can be happy because all's right in my life, my house is clean, chores are done, and magically there's nothing else on the to-do list, I want to find moments to live in. Moments where I can slow down and take it all in and remind myself to simply be alive. And I'm really hoping to be able to share some of those moments here. I'd like to create a space here, even if it's just a virtual one, to celebrate those geeky, homegrown moments of goodness. Maybe share some recipes, or talk about old fashioned things. Go all fangirl over garden weeds like dandelion and yarrow that are actually undercover superheroes. Just sayin'. Maybe it'll happen.
For now, keep an eye out for Unmask the Night. I'm hoping to get some special book-themed posts up here in the next few weeks. Super excited!
Showing posts with label writing philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing philosophy. Show all posts
Thursday, January 10, 2019
Saturday, October 1, 2016
When Writing and Life Merge.
Well, I hope you can all forgive me for being delinquent yet again with my posting schedule. Part of that last week was thanks to looking forward to having a couple wisdom teeth pulled - and by "looking forward" I mean the 'anticipating my last day on earth' type of looking forward. Thankfully, it wasn't my last day on earth, and after spending most of the week on the couch binge watching super corny fantasy/sci-fi/horror shows on Kindle (because, seriously, after getting two teeth dug out in pieces and being awake for it, who couldn't commiserate with a little slasher, monster action?),
I'm finally corralling my brain into a semblance of functionality again. Getting there as least.
Anyhow, on to topic. I've been thinking lately about how much being a writer has influenced me. From the decisions I make, to the books and television that I really love or really don't love - really it's shaped my world view in general, probably almost as much as Christianity has. Writing has never been as simple as a career choice, or a hobby. It's been who I am for almost as long as I've been anybody at all - by which I mean since I grew out of my obligatory childhood obsession with horses as was able to start making informed opinions and decisions. So I guess, thanks to that, it's always been so ingrained that I don't even give it much thought any more, except for once in awhile when I realize I've just done, or am contemplating, something that most people would never even dream of, much less consider. Or if they do, it's not for the same reasons. Or when I realize the thread of thought I'm following is just so bizarre it's a good thing no one can read my mind...
This past weekend was one of those times.
If I was a character in one of my stories, I'd be the little hermit lady living on the mountain, gathering herbs and milking goats, and keeping chickens, that's about two marbles away from being crazy, but the heroes, out of desperation, drag their dying comrade through the forbidden forest, fending off my pet dragon, to seek my herbalist wisdom to cure their friend. Yeah - I'm that character. Not the beautiful warrior maiden or the powerful queen. The crazy hermit. In real life I do keep a flock of chickens, have a garden, do canning and dehydrating, make every single thing we eat from scratch, and pick wild edible things, like huckleberries, dandelion, yarrow, peppermint, and elderberry, though I haven't found a good local source for elderberry yet. (By way of disclaimer, this is NOT any kind of medical blog, nor will it ever be. Nor am I a medical professional. I'm not offering advice, only sharing some interesting experiences. If this sparks your interest, I'd encourage you to do some reading of your own, and remember, it's taken me thirty years to get this crazy. It wasn't something I went looking for over night o.0 )
Anyway, I say all this to introduce the fact that I've already been harvesting yarrow for years, and am fairly well acquainted with many of its medicinal uses, like stopping bleeding, reducing fever and pain, and fighting infection, etc. It's pretty much a super star in its own right. Aside from the herbalist and homesteading blogging community, you don't really hear much about it, but historically, it's been used in fist aid applications for millennia. Something that any savvy novelist would be happy to know and file for future reference. Lately one of my friends who's also into obscure herb lore was saying how she's making yarrow salve, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, especially since I hadn't gotten any dried and put away yet for the year. So Sunday afternoon I dragged Hubby out with the 4-wheeler to take me yarrow picking on the family farm. Then, stocked with a bag full of fresh yarrow, some oil, string, and mortar and pestle, just like the crazy herbalist character, I went to work...
Yes, I do, in fact, own a marble mortar and pestle set. Just to get that out of the way...
So, while I'm using castor oil for the salve, which will need to marinate for a couple weeks before beeswax gets added, I also did a tiny little batch with olive oil, crushing the yarrow extra well, and heating the oil a little bit so that it would be ready to use right away. Call it my writer's eagerness to experiment, but I was like hey - wisdom teeth out on Monday, let's see if this stuff actually works. And for the record - yes it does. Also for the record, I used olive instead of castor oil on the small batch because I haven't tried castor oil anywhere but on my skin, and since I thought I might be using it in my mouth, I wanted to play it safe. Even though people do swallow castor oil. *Shudders*
Right now you're probably thinking "Man...even by writer's standards you're crazy." But that's not entirely true. I would have used my yarrow concoction with or without the incentive of "research," because it's something I had confidence in. I've used it before, and read a lot about it. It's real-world applicable, not just interesting for the sake of writing. And I wouldn't have used it unless I actually needed it. But after getting home from having teeth pulled, and not being able to get them to stop bleeding (probably because I was having a little panic attack at the time), I did use my yarrow/olive oil solution on them, and it stopped it. Instantly.
So, loooong story short, now I not only have reading knowledge of how something might work in the world of story, I have first-hand experience! Woohoo! Though I wouldn't have complained about a less emotional and painful way of getting it... still. The fact that, in the middle of a completely miserable day of turture, the thing that pops into a writer's mind is "well, this sucks. Maybe I can use it in a book some time," seems to point to writers being not fully human. A sub species, perhaps? There's a standing joke with one of my friends that I'm part were-wolf. Maybe there's some truth to that. On the other hand, maybe writers are the most human of all. Because of anyone, we have the most cause to embrace our pain, and to own our experiences, both good and bad. When you read a book and it touches something deep down in your soul, and makes you cry, or surprises you into laughter, or begins to heal a hurt - I guarantee that's the author's own blood, dripping invisibly onto the page and reaching out to you. Instead of trying to forget their horrible experiences, they've harnessed them, and used them to infuse truth into their fiction, mixing a potent brew as powerful as any spell, capable of healing, or wounding, of changing hearts or changing the world.
I'm finally corralling my brain into a semblance of functionality again. Getting there as least.
Anyhow, on to topic. I've been thinking lately about how much being a writer has influenced me. From the decisions I make, to the books and television that I really love or really don't love - really it's shaped my world view in general, probably almost as much as Christianity has. Writing has never been as simple as a career choice, or a hobby. It's been who I am for almost as long as I've been anybody at all - by which I mean since I grew out of my obligatory childhood obsession with horses as was able to start making informed opinions and decisions. So I guess, thanks to that, it's always been so ingrained that I don't even give it much thought any more, except for once in awhile when I realize I've just done, or am contemplating, something that most people would never even dream of, much less consider. Or if they do, it's not for the same reasons. Or when I realize the thread of thought I'm following is just so bizarre it's a good thing no one can read my mind...
This past weekend was one of those times.
If I was a character in one of my stories, I'd be the little hermit lady living on the mountain, gathering herbs and milking goats, and keeping chickens, that's about two marbles away from being crazy, but the heroes, out of desperation, drag their dying comrade through the forbidden forest, fending off my pet dragon, to seek my herbalist wisdom to cure their friend. Yeah - I'm that character. Not the beautiful warrior maiden or the powerful queen. The crazy hermit. In real life I do keep a flock of chickens, have a garden, do canning and dehydrating, make every single thing we eat from scratch, and pick wild edible things, like huckleberries, dandelion, yarrow, peppermint, and elderberry, though I haven't found a good local source for elderberry yet. (By way of disclaimer, this is NOT any kind of medical blog, nor will it ever be. Nor am I a medical professional. I'm not offering advice, only sharing some interesting experiences. If this sparks your interest, I'd encourage you to do some reading of your own, and remember, it's taken me thirty years to get this crazy. It wasn't something I went looking for over night o.0 )
Anyway, I say all this to introduce the fact that I've already been harvesting yarrow for years, and am fairly well acquainted with many of its medicinal uses, like stopping bleeding, reducing fever and pain, and fighting infection, etc. It's pretty much a super star in its own right. Aside from the herbalist and homesteading blogging community, you don't really hear much about it, but historically, it's been used in fist aid applications for millennia. Something that any savvy novelist would be happy to know and file for future reference. Lately one of my friends who's also into obscure herb lore was saying how she's making yarrow salve, and I thought that sounded like a good idea, especially since I hadn't gotten any dried and put away yet for the year. So Sunday afternoon I dragged Hubby out with the 4-wheeler to take me yarrow picking on the family farm. Then, stocked with a bag full of fresh yarrow, some oil, string, and mortar and pestle, just like the crazy herbalist character, I went to work...
So, while I'm using castor oil for the salve, which will need to marinate for a couple weeks before beeswax gets added, I also did a tiny little batch with olive oil, crushing the yarrow extra well, and heating the oil a little bit so that it would be ready to use right away. Call it my writer's eagerness to experiment, but I was like hey - wisdom teeth out on Monday, let's see if this stuff actually works. And for the record - yes it does. Also for the record, I used olive instead of castor oil on the small batch because I haven't tried castor oil anywhere but on my skin, and since I thought I might be using it in my mouth, I wanted to play it safe. Even though people do swallow castor oil. *Shudders*
Right now you're probably thinking "Man...even by writer's standards you're crazy." But that's not entirely true. I would have used my yarrow concoction with or without the incentive of "research," because it's something I had confidence in. I've used it before, and read a lot about it. It's real-world applicable, not just interesting for the sake of writing. And I wouldn't have used it unless I actually needed it. But after getting home from having teeth pulled, and not being able to get them to stop bleeding (probably because I was having a little panic attack at the time), I did use my yarrow/olive oil solution on them, and it stopped it. Instantly.
So, loooong story short, now I not only have reading knowledge of how something might work in the world of story, I have first-hand experience! Woohoo! Though I wouldn't have complained about a less emotional and painful way of getting it... still. The fact that, in the middle of a completely miserable day of turture, the thing that pops into a writer's mind is "well, this sucks. Maybe I can use it in a book some time," seems to point to writers being not fully human. A sub species, perhaps? There's a standing joke with one of my friends that I'm part were-wolf. Maybe there's some truth to that. On the other hand, maybe writers are the most human of all. Because of anyone, we have the most cause to embrace our pain, and to own our experiences, both good and bad. When you read a book and it touches something deep down in your soul, and makes you cry, or surprises you into laughter, or begins to heal a hurt - I guarantee that's the author's own blood, dripping invisibly onto the page and reaching out to you. Instead of trying to forget their horrible experiences, they've harnessed them, and used them to infuse truth into their fiction, mixing a potent brew as powerful as any spell, capable of healing, or wounding, of changing hearts or changing the world.
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