The uphill bit

I read something. It was neat. In the midst of the reading I said to myself, "I should blog about this so I remember more about the piece and the experience". Then I got distracted and wandered around the internet. Because I'm lazy. But I want to be less lazy, remember? So here's digging in for some concentration and writing about it.

The personal essay in question is Dumpster Full of Windows by Raquel D'Apice who I normally refer to (in my mind) as theuglyvolvo. (It's not personal or judgmental, she chose that username.)

Raquel seldom posts, less than once a month, but the quality of her essays more than make up for the "pain" of having a silent party on my friends list. Each entry is a personal story, but comparing it to what one finds on most diary-type blogs is comparing mountains to molehills. And besides climbing such mountains, I'd like to build them.

Components I think I'll need to construct such gems of creative writing (I've included a single example of each, usually the first occurrence, not necessarily the best, but definitely not the only):

+ Attention to detail
The tan vinyl on one of the seats has been slashed and someone has fixed it by stitching it back together in a zipper pattern with light pink thread, the inch-long ends hanging frayed from either side.

+ Connections of "unrelated" things
The train slows and the woman’s automated voice says, “This station stop is: Nanuet.” . . . The woman’s voice says all the syllables clearly and distinctly, as if Nanuet is the final answer in a multiple-choice question that my teacher is reading aloud.
In 1863, the Civil War battle with the largest number of casualties was fought at which location:
a. Appamatox
b. Gettysburg
c. Dorney Park and Wildwater Kingdom
d. Nanuet

+ Personal recollection
“But what DO you actually do?” a friend asked once.

+ Personal revelation
I have only a beginner’s carpentry set that has been used mainly to hammer nails into the walls and assemble shelving.

+ Recurring themes
.She pulls her sunglasses from the dashboard—they are always in a small compartment in the dashboard—and puts them on and kisses me.
.She puts her sunglasses back into the compartment in the dashboard.
.Opening the car door she reaches for her sunglasses, which are always in a compartment in the dashboard.

Perhaps this deserves a little more explanation. The first mention of her mother's sunglasses is part of the attention to detail that immerses me in Raquel's writing. The second occurrence underlines the use of "always" from the first mention. The third time the sunglasses show up, they help to wrap the piece up neatly as her mother is fetching them to "help with the glare" that will no doubt be an issue when Raquel builds a house out of the windows she saw in a dumpster.

The thread of her mother's sunglasses is probably the most pedestrian running theme in the essay, but necessary for the conclusion:

I thank her and put on the sunglasses. I will wear these to work on Monday, I think. I will saunter in to the office in my mother’s sunglasses, holding an idyllic wood-framed window, which I will set on the wall of my cubicle, propped against a bookcase. I will leave it open—it is nice to have windows, but it is nicer, sometimes, to have open windows; to feel a little bit of air on your face.

I will leave the window open and the wind will rush through. It will blow the smell of cookies back into the far corners of the office, where people on other floors will suddenly realize that they are hungry, and it will blow the papers from my inbox—shooting them out in sheaves out onto 49th street, leaving the air hung with forms—white and blinding and precipitating like snow.

(I pause a moment to swoon again.)

One last component bullet point:

+ Creative wit
The strongest example of this requires too much context for me to copy verbatim. The author is telling the reader a bullet list of her rules for organizing her office. In the middle of the list, Raquel's mother interrupts twice. It breaks an informative section of writing into a narrative (though fictional, I'm sure) form in a way that tweaks my brain. In a good way. It feels as though in the realm of body-of-writing, platonic-ideal-author and platonic-ideal-audience, there is also platonic-ideal-Raquel and platonic-ideal-Raquel's-mom who can see and relate to the bullet point list as though it were a solid object, like a building.


The individual components aren't as impressive, however, as the intricate way the essay is constructed. Sometimes I write "essay", sometimes "story", but neither feels wholly true. Poetry, in fact, seems closer to an accurate description for the rhythm, refrains, filigrees of words, and charming way it all comes together to ride off into the sunset.

Forgive me, Raquel, for this attempt to dissect your writing. It is only so I may learn from it. I hope you are not of the bourgeois, those who will send the bobbies after this poor worker caught trying to steal their secrets.

1- I was going home and saw windows in a dumpster
2- future conversation with sister about #1
3- details relating to #1
4- unrelated joke about voice on the train (mentioned in #1)
5- long details about getting off train
6- sunglasses
7- conversation with mom ("relax")
8- description of job (ends with imagination)
9- more thoughts about job (ends with imagination)
10- interaction with mom (groceries)
11- sunglasses (#6)
12- continuation of #10
13- Kitchen description (#10)
14- stuff on sale (#10)
15- dollar stuff for office (8, 14)
16- office forms, poetry (#8)
17- exchange with mom (16, 2 [in spirit])
18- rule from elementary school (#16)
19- putting away groceries (#10)
20- interaction with mom, clothing details (#10)
21- more interaction with mom (20, 2[memories and Pam])
22- observing clutter (10, 20)
23- groceries, overwhelming, organize (10, 8)
24- "Rules for organizing a workspace" (10, 8, 17)
25- what are these (24, 17)
26- weird stuff "for grandkids" (25, 17)
27- "don't throw out the coupons" (14, 25)
28- deep breathing (21)
29- apology conversation (7, 20)
30- different job (8, 1)
31- talking with Pam, house of windows down the street (2, 1, 21)
32- check on the windows (1, 2, 3)
33- tools in the garage (24)
34- if i had that house... (1, 31, 15, 24)
35- glare in the house (34, 20, 6, 20)
36- work on monday... (8, 1, 6, 15, 16, 35)

In retrospect, that's a dissection with scissors instead of a scalpel. Not every description of a passage (one or two paragraphs or a section of dialog) is exact enough to know what is being referenced or reiterated when the number recurs. I hope the list conveys the snowball effect that takes place over the 3500-odd words of the piece.

I feel like I know the author once I reach the end. Not only because she shares many details about her family, her thoughts, her life, but because she calls on me to use those details of what she's shared as the "conversation" between writer and reader goes on. Little things accumulate over those 3000 words until you feel like you're sharing an inside joke at the end. Through the repetition the pattern, the web, of interrelated thoughts emerges, so when we're comfortable with the author's rhythm, the poetic, imaginative ending is very satisfying.

It's time for me to get out of bed, I've spent almost two hours on this. I'll ruminate some more, let thoughts settle and sink in, then see what I may be able to apply to my own reflective writings.

The chain (can you have a chain of two links?)

While I can't say I'm unconditionally in love with my car, it does permit things like the above to happen.

And, by proxy, it permits things like this to happen:




(I went to SeaWorld today. Also did a lot of drawing, but scanning won't be happening tonight.)

The trip from here to Murrieta (or the reverse) is the perfect length, especially at night when the traffic is light. If I have an idea to work through, the meditative state of driving a familiar road in easy conditions helps the right part of my brain focus.

For example: Reagan and I are doing a world building project together and exchange a couple emails a day. Despite emptying my brain to him right before leaving Draco's place, I typed up another 300 words of ideas as soon as I touched down at home.

Unusually wiped out right now. Have a graduation shindig to attend for my cousin tomorrow and a birthday shindig for my niece on Saturday. Doesn't seem like life will be letting up any time soon.

More photos from Sea World here at flickr

Determination

I am shocked and dismayed at how long I have left my blog unattended. It will take much effort, but I am determined to get back into the habit of posting daily (or nearly daily on the occasions I go out of town).

Things are bumpy, but not really hard, like those egg-carton foam pads. I can tell when my life is going through some kind of upheaval because I go on a spree of organization, as though sorting out physical thing will mean I'm sorting out mental and temporal matters.

Yesterday I was emptying every box and bag I could get my hands on, as though one of them contained the bit of self or the bit of truth I feel is missing right now. I did find my checkbook and the remote control to my slr camera.

Another analogy I came up with: my methods are like trying to solve a rubix cube, I'm only willing to stash a box away when there is a certain purity of contents. ALL dvds, or ALL Reagan's clothes, or ALL a certain type of scrap fabric.

I'm kicking my own butt right now for failing to remember how good for me it is to write like this. Even though I still type on a regular basis and email my husband a couple times a day, the rigors of communicating in that way are less strenuous than what I demand of myself in this text box.

Also, since a previous, abandoned post hinted at problems I've been having with my brain lately, I'm eager to run it hard in hopes that it's just out of shape.

The short, factual version

I uploaded 200-some photos to flickr last night, titling the set "boring pictures of beautiful places", but, in fact, some of them turned out quite well. The six rolls from my film camera, especially. Only five are from the trip, but I find them gallery-show worthy. (/humility) ((/sarcasm))

Not all the uploaded photos are titled or tagged, and very few are described. I hope that once I reach Maryland I'll be interested in fixing that.

Tuesday morning I set of to drive to my first camp spot, Lake Folsom, near Sacramento. I stopped for lunch near the American River



and took photos of flowers and thistle fields.



The campground had wild turkeys and rabbits. I wandered around and took pictures.



The next day (wednesday) I navigated by intuition and picked a neat looking highway (CA-36) to take me to the coast. It was long and hilly and an absolute blast to drive. Lots of road-winding-into-the-scenery photos came of it.



I only stopped once in that 140 miles, when my engagement ring fell off in the car and I needed to find it. Also took some snaps while I was out of the driver's seat.



At the end of it I had to hustle to find an alternate campground, and pitched my tent as the sun was sliding into the ocean.



The next morning I took a long, frigid walk on the beach. It was amazingly productive from a photographic standpoint.



All day was spent driving north on the 101



Then another photo session on the beach after making camp.



My air mattress was mostly-empty when I woke up Friday morning, so I got an early start. Made it to Redmond, had a joyful reunion with Clarie after she got off work. Saw the local community theater put on HMS Pinafore, then chatted long into the night.

Puttered around Saturday morning, dropped off film to be developed. We decided to go on an impromptu road trip to Forks, WA on the Olympic Peninsula. Neither of us think the Twilight books are good, but we've read them and observed the hullabaloo around them with interest, so decided to roadtrip it up, departing around 6pm

After we took the ferry along the "quickest route"



we found out the ONLY BRIDGE to Olympic National Park was closed, so had to drive an extra 100 miles, arriving well after midnight at our overnight accommodations...



A charming place. Hot breakfast in the morning was included in the low price of our room.

We spent a good chunk of time clamoring over huge piles of driftwood at La Push



Before returning to Forks in broad daylight...



Mostly just cruised around town, talking about tourism, seeing the logging memorial, looking at the houses and discussing how we imagined Charlie's house. Snapped a few shots of twilight signage before heading back to Port Angeles for lunch and bookstore browsing.

Then the long drive back to Redmond. Now I have most-of-a-day to get ready to hit the road again tomorrow!