Setting

(Old Faithful Geyser)

Settings: Impressions from the places/cities in which I’ve lived, visited, breathed–inspired by wmc, whose strengths as a writer includes setting…

New York City 1973-1978
Pizza emerging from a window, a hole, in the wall. Me, a toddler, walking in pink plastic clogs, pizza in hand, under the El. Watching karate in the neighborhood karate studio, holding tightly onto my grandmother’s hand, frightened at the violence.

First day in school, not speaking a word of English. Hysterical. Being locked in the school bathroom; somehow I could understand when the teachers would ask me, “Are you done crying yet?” before hearing the door latch shut.

Being born.  I do not remember.

Walking outside all day.  Living a life on sidewalks, an apartment only for sleeping.  They break up on the sidewalk, too.  He walks two feet behind her, pleading.  She answers only reluctantly.

My favorite city in the world.

Tokyo, Japan 2005
Tsukiji Fish Market at dawn: Have they emptied the ocean of its fish?

Weird.  In a good way.

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Protected: Abandoned Landscapes, Round Two, Chapter Two

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Seven things I love

(the above is my untouched, un-photoshopped, picture of Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone)

wmc listed seven things she loves. Here are seven of mine:

• A bowl of white milk against a green lawn at dusk. So white, so green.
• I love watching the fog roll in from San Francisco in the summertime–watching it tear through the Golden Gate Bridge and over hills like cotton over a pine cone. So violent and yet no pain.
• Friends who make me laugh so hard I forget where I am and who I am, there’s only that feeling of unbridled joy for that moment. And friends who don’t freak out when I cry either–because as hard as I laugh, I weep.
• I love rainy days–the trees and grass look greener, the damp air feels good on my skin. The world seems quieter. Because of that and more, I also love London.
• I love fingers running through my hair. I could spend an entire blue sky afternoon with my head on the lap of someone running their fingers through my hair. I wonder if I can pay someone to do this, I love it so much.
• Autumn. The trees with leaves so red they look like they’ve gone up in flames.
• Snow in the Sierra Nevadas. I could watch the snow fall down for hours, the world growing silent with rounded corners.

More things I love:
New York City * Wyoming landscape, Yellowstone, Big Sky Country–large landscapes: big white clouds deep blue sky, emerald green grass and various browns with distant gray of mountains, scintillating conversation * writer friends who really truly support me * marc jacobs * good hair days * mac fluidline eyeliner * a jog on a crisp day * the Tate Modern * reading a book i love from beginning to end * chilly days * cool wind * a warm jacket * dachshunds * long car drives * foie gras * open spaces, crowded streets * open air markets * a good deep tissue massage * rivers, oceans, lakes * blue * chocolate * Cheese Board brioche * afternoon naps * floating face up in a pool * hugs from husband * my college years at UC Berkeley * long quiet moments with my husband * golden sunlight of Autumn evenings * bookstores * Barcelona * eating street food, walking in a city with a good treat in hand * farmers markets * watermelon, prune plums, persimmons * vegetable gardens * “A+” * people, mysterious people * tidal pools with life teeming in habitats changing throughout the day and tide levels * wedding ceremonies watching a couple totally in love make a leap of faith and gargantuan promises, two strangers finding each other and being bound by soul and heart forever * peonies * saying “fuck it” * tulips * the smell of tuberose * lavender * finding a beach full of shells after a storm * the smell of my smelly dachshund’s body odor and breath their familiar smell providing me comfort, their licking feeling like consolation * walking through an old city * rainy days spent indoors * my husband * sleeping in especially in a large king bed with a firm mattress on wonderful beautiful sheets soft light just filtering through curtains prodding me awake ever so gently the room scented with lavender or tuberose a beautiful world lingering out the window maybe a beautiful city or a spectacular rural landscape * The Great Gatsby for its prose, for its perfect capture of the 1920s, for how it reminds me of my own late 1990s and pre-crash 2000s, for Jay Gatsby, for Nick Carraway… * Mom, Dad * A tall woman with perfect skin and a serene face * Callebaut chocolate * the smell of bread baking * perfect moments choreographed by a song * praise

…i tag Randa, Nova, Alexander, Eve, Blog Lily, Medeasin, and Cindy.

but i also tag YOU. 🙂 i want to know what you love, what you find beautiful, what makes you happy!

wordle

on the road

Sometimes I regret having an anonymous blog because there are details about my writing I’d like to share–I’d like to share my real name when I have writing successes, like litmag publications. And in my most optimistic moments, I think about being a Famous Writer and having this forum attached to my real name…

But most of the time, I’m glad I write anonymously here. For starters, there are a couple of people in my life I’d like to avoid, for my own safety, and having a blog with my real name–well, I’d feel real vulnerable knowing they were aware of my emotional fluctuations, my whereabouts, you get the idea.

So I can write more freely as a result of my anonymity. Of course, there are friends who know who I am here–and I suppose if you really really really try, you can figure it out. I can share! Like details about vacations–this is something I would not share if I wrote using my “irl” name because I am paranoid about being burglarized while out of town even if we have someone watching our house (in addition to fires, floods, and other disaster scenarios). And because of my anonymity, I can share with you this fact: we are going on a road trip.

Yes!

The hubby and I have been passing the idea of a road trip back and forth for years now. It’s not exactly a cross country trip (we want to do that someday too)–but it’s more than an in-state jaunt. It’s more than picking me up from Hedgebrook in the car (oh I was sooo homesick! And he wanted to drive) and driving me home. This is a trip with several destinations, and several nights stops..complete with our dogs!

The highlight of the trip will be Yellowstone National Park. Woot. 🙂 I’m sooo looking forward to the sights, to taking photographs, to getting inspired by the experience and landscape, to spending quality time with my awesome husband and best friend, to belatedly celebrate our 10th anniversary.

I’ve promised myself to make some writing time on this trip. I will be doing so. I’ll also be blogging at least once, because I’ve just signed up for this group writing exercise/game of “Consequences.” And I’m second in line, so there’s a big chance my turn will come up this week.

(This is an example of Consequences–each successive entry begins with the closing lines of its predecessor. Entries are 250 words long, and thematically linked).

I am still going to hit my minimum word count goal of 2,000 words/week this week.

And before I leave town–yes, I’m going to go running. I’m taking my running shoes, too, even though I know there’s a slimmer chance of my going running than getting writing done (it is after all a vacation).

p.s.

went to sleep, woke up the next day and all was better. i even went running, and that felt good too.

but the holocaust museum shooting? tragic.

just so I’m not deleting

I KEEP WANTING TO HIT THE DELETE KEY. I deleted a total of 1,945 words out of the novel yesterday, and I attribute it to the bitter resentful anger with which I’ve sat at the office (an office which has nothing to do with writing) WAITING TO GO HOME. Seriously, I am dependent on someone else for a ride home and IT IS DRIVING ME NUTS.

Today, despite the extra time at hand, I have banned myself from the novel manuscript because indeed, I know that I would just do the same: I’d probably delete an entire chapter at this rate.

Why is it that I aim my fury at my novel manuscript, much like cutters aim their rage inward at themselves, manifesting in behavior like cutting and slicing away at their own skin to release that pain? I am no longer a cutter, but in this way I am still a cutter: the emotional path is the same, and I cut away at the novel, which is really an extension of my body. Instead of just fucking getting pissed.

I cannot STAND it when people make me WAIT–as if their time is eons more important than my own. Actually–it’s not “as if”–they must truly believe that what they have to do is more important than anything I could be doing. Sometimes I get an apologetic shrug but if I were to make a point of this, communicate my mood, I’ll get a rebuff, I know it.

Maybe it’s my week off from exercise–I’ll go running tomorrow and see if my mood improves, if my teeth ungrit, if my rage subsides.

SO ANGRY.