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I'm still alive
Jun. 24th, 2006 11:21 amQuote of the day:
"Journeys are the midwives of thoughts."
—Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel
Interesting sight of the day: I was driving home last night, headed south, and stopped for a light on Pacific Avenue. Some folks were crossing the street—probably headed for the beach a block further west. This first group were a young family. Dad had baby, maybe six months old, slung from one of those stomach slings and [she] looked very pretty in her red-striped hat and baby bib-overalls. She was so happy, too, just laughing and giggling, her little cheeks glowing peachy and her little arms dancing with excitement. I got all warm and fuzzy and giggled along with her.
About six feet behind the family came a late-twentysomething, early thirtysomething guy, short black hair, with a surfboard under his arm—one of the older, bigger ones—hurrying down to catch the last waves after work. His wetsuit was peeled down to his waist exposing a lovely expanse of tight, hunky, naked chest. And I went, "RRRrrrrooowwllll."
And then I felt emotional whiplash from such a sudden shift in response.
But at least I knew I was still alive.
And this morning after catching up on my sleep deficit for the week, with some unpleasantness at work settled, I feel better about things in general.
Writingness of the day: I did a lot of writing last week. I spent it cycling between the short story, "In the Black;" the novella, "The Heart of the Western Tide;" and the novel, Charged with Folly. I decided there's no reason not to keep doing that, seeing what strikes my fancy on any given day, since I seem to be in a cycling kind of mood these days.
And I also decided that it's foolish to set anything in stone about where I'm going to "waste" my creative resources. They are limited, true, and perhaps I should concentrate on what I do best. But I think when you solidly close the door on some aspect of your creativity you really run the risk of choking off something vital. Creativity feeds creativity. Even if short stories, for example, are something I'm never going to master, they're obviously giving me something or I wouldn't keep trying to write them. So I'm just going to let the good times roll and not worry it so much. That chew rag has gone all moldy with old spit, anyway. Time to throw it away and start gnawing on something new.
Astrology of the day: I have a Virgo Sun (ego shell) and Mars in Virgo (Mars being the source of one's energy and drive). I can't help being a neurotic worrier. And just to make things interesting, I have a Pisces Moon (emotional nature) and a Pisces Ascendant (personality), throwing paranoia into the mix—as well as even more ability to worry. My three planets in Libra, however, make me completely charming. Right? Right??? [winky-winky]
"Journeys are the midwives of thoughts."
—Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel
Interesting sight of the day: I was driving home last night, headed south, and stopped for a light on Pacific Avenue. Some folks were crossing the street—probably headed for the beach a block further west. This first group were a young family. Dad had baby, maybe six months old, slung from one of those stomach slings and [she] looked very pretty in her red-striped hat and baby bib-overalls. She was so happy, too, just laughing and giggling, her little cheeks glowing peachy and her little arms dancing with excitement. I got all warm and fuzzy and giggled along with her.
About six feet behind the family came a late-twentysomething, early thirtysomething guy, short black hair, with a surfboard under his arm—one of the older, bigger ones—hurrying down to catch the last waves after work. His wetsuit was peeled down to his waist exposing a lovely expanse of tight, hunky, naked chest. And I went, "RRRrrrrooowwllll."
And then I felt emotional whiplash from such a sudden shift in response.
But at least I knew I was still alive.
And this morning after catching up on my sleep deficit for the week, with some unpleasantness at work settled, I feel better about things in general.
Writingness of the day: I did a lot of writing last week. I spent it cycling between the short story, "In the Black;" the novella, "The Heart of the Western Tide;" and the novel, Charged with Folly. I decided there's no reason not to keep doing that, seeing what strikes my fancy on any given day, since I seem to be in a cycling kind of mood these days.
And I also decided that it's foolish to set anything in stone about where I'm going to "waste" my creative resources. They are limited, true, and perhaps I should concentrate on what I do best. But I think when you solidly close the door on some aspect of your creativity you really run the risk of choking off something vital. Creativity feeds creativity. Even if short stories, for example, are something I'm never going to master, they're obviously giving me something or I wouldn't keep trying to write them. So I'm just going to let the good times roll and not worry it so much. That chew rag has gone all moldy with old spit, anyway. Time to throw it away and start gnawing on something new.
Astrology of the day: I have a Virgo Sun (ego shell) and Mars in Virgo (Mars being the source of one's energy and drive). I can't help being a neurotic worrier. And just to make things interesting, I have a Pisces Moon (emotional nature) and a Pisces Ascendant (personality), throwing paranoia into the mix—as well as even more ability to worry. My three planets in Libra, however, make me completely charming. Right? Right??? [winky-winky]