Resolutionary?

I have no specific resolutions for the new year as it's bound to be one full of upheave and tumult.

That sounds gross, doesn't it?

Upheaval. Upheaval and tumult.

But something I am doing is making a journal of "found poetry".

I got a sketchbook for Christmas which was good because my old one was nearly full, but not-so-good because I've become a snob for uniformity and paper quality and this gifted one was not quite up to snuff. BUT I'm making the best of it and copying (by hand) poetry from the web that I like into this sketchbook. With proper credits, of course.

It's more paper for me to haul everywhere, but I'm looking forward to having a physical place to save good poetry from people I mostly read on my computer screen. :)

Put simply, there is no replacing books.

Skimming the internet for information about the internet makes my brain explode. It's the end of the year so there are posts all over the place recapping the developments of 2008 and predicting 2009. I wish I had two brains so I could write about books/blogs/my dream development and the pace of innovation at the same time, but unfortunately I don't have two brains. I'm not being academic in these musings, either. All opinions are informed purely by experience and reaction.

One thing that makes books a great medium is the fact that they have beginnings. Not just a point at which they come into being, but honest-to-goodness, ground floor beginnings. Most books have no prerequisites before you open the front cover, no backstory, no need for familiarity with a particular industry or topic of knowledge. Such things help in many non-fiction instances, but books have the ability to start laying a foundation from page one and build on that foundation as it progresses.

In comparison, periodicals (blogs as well as magazines and newspapers) don't have that luxury. Each member of the audience has a different level of understandings of the topic at hand. Every item in a periodical has to take into account that the audience contains first time readers and loyal, well-informed readers. Depending on substance and style, this diversity of readership can be an issue of varying size; the more continuity involved in a publication, the more glaring the ignorance of a new reader.

I'm most aware of my own ignorance when reading a blog in which the author talks about their own life, and when I'm reading a magazine that might have had more useful tips in the previous issue. (The "relevant tips" bit crosses over into blogs, too, though a different sort, and the internet has archiving and search function.) I wish these things were more organized and linear.

Instead of a personal chef or trainer or shopper, I want a personal information curator that I can point towards a blog or two or four and have a distilled bundle of knowledge returned to me. I'd give it a link to memoir blogs like Waiter Rant and get back the full evolution of the idea, the voice, and the person; all the developmental highlights. I'd point this curator to Get Rich Slowly or Lifehacker or Wired and get all the strong posts from the past that weren't obsolete three months later, and also integrated versions of posts on those familiar topics that keep coming up over and over again. Best possible world: the comments would also be mined for data that supports or refutes the original post.

I've heard that if you subscribe to Cook's Illustrated long enough the content starts to repeat itself. The same thing happens with children's magazines (at least Cook's probably puts everything into different words!), and I wouldn't be surprised if original advice in magazines targeted towards writers get rarer over time.

Wouldn't it be more efficient for the readers if there was a starting point for all these publications? Then it would be my own choice to skim or read every word, but at least if I was feeling clueless it would be my own fault for not absorbing information. And the redundancy factor would be reduced, too.

No, it's probably not practical, but it seems like it could make my life easier.

I think the next great innovation for the web should be a system available to netizens at large to create something like.... well, basically "This Week In Your Pregnancy" for any topic. Essentially a book in which a chapter is delivered each day or each week. I don't want to embargo information, just let the timing of each delivery be customized to each subscriber.

Right now I'm gearing up to write about my experiences of being left behind while Reagan's at boot camp. It'd be nice to get a daily or weekly email with ideas and support for my situation, through which I'm reminded of my husband's progress and given a slew of ideas for what to do when he graduates at appropriate times. Like an advent calendar. For military wives.

Yes, my other blogging project, The Beginning, Boot, and Beyond, aims to be five parts memoir/journal and two parts ideas/advice for navigating all the "firsts" of being married to someone in the armed forces. "Aims" is a bit of a lofty word considering I've only posted twice so far, and am still mixing the cement that will become the blog's foundation. Ultimately, I want it to be something that can easily be read from the beginning, as the progression of this story intrigues me. Of course, it is my life, so I am a bit biased.



Reagan is my muse. Especially while he's sleeping*. It gives me a chance to consider him in both concrete and abstract ways. His body is here, a tangible reminder of his reality and of our relationship, but he is still, his mind journeying in the dream world.

Of course, as soon as I write anything like that, he takes a noisy breath and shifts in his sleep to get more comfortable.

This poem, like Geography, comes from the weary moments between preparing for bed and actually climbing between the covers, when my mind, full from a day of gathering information, is at its limits. I originally wrote this one a number of weeks ago while he was still working his retail job.

Nightshift

Spooning we will slumber
yet I don't hurry towards that time
as sleeping will obscure
your reailty from mine.

Though dawn is nearly breaking
I press my cheek against your skin,
listen to your breathing
and your heart beating within.

I wonder what you're dreaming,
hope to make the good parts true.
I sink to sleep, reluctantly,
knowing I'll wake--in dark--alone.

---
* he might be better for poetic inspiration while he's asleep, but he's much more fun to hang out with while he's awake. :):) I'm going to ink a portion of that scannie (after I get a little rest) and prove it!

I started a blog and pitched a book today.

What did you do?

Okay, I had time to do a lot more and got stuck in the intertubes instead, but both of those things took a considerable amount of time and energy.

The blog and the book are on the same topic: Year One. The blog (which I'll link to once there is more than one post) was a decision that took about 24 hours to reach, and I was lifted to it by the encouragement of some strangers. The book pitch was fully spur-of-the-moment when blog research dropped in my path a link to a literary agency. Not just the agency, but the form for submitting queries.

I'm glad I saved the text of my proposal. It has the potential to act as a guide for my Other Blogging Adventure.

--

Not getting enough sleep. I need a large bottle of CONCENTRATE, the product that has the ability to make anything more potent. Sleep. Orange Juice. Thoughts. Coffee. Poetry, maybe.

Hungover

your voice did echo
spilt words in my mind
of hours to come
and moments behind

that, having passed,
are nothing but warning
all is a day
and we are a morning

Yes. We needs it.

I want to etch that in the corner of a bold painting in sunset colors and a cliche, bereft figure or two. Something very 365.

Instead, I will take up my pen and hamoodle out some drawings while eating and con Reagan into scanning them for me. This note is entirely unnecessary because the lapse in time for you to go from here to the image below is a fraction, I say a fraction of what it takes me to make it happen. Appreciate it. (My goodness, the lack of sleep is making me punchy.)



ZOUNDS! that's not a scan!

Reagan went to bed and the scanner would awaken him. I draw, he shall scan, I then shall post anon.

*resets "days of non-goofy posts" counter to 0*

Invisible Norm

When I have my own place, I'm totally going to make myself a bear footstool.

Also, my first (practically) free issue of GOOD Magazine showed up today. I payed cover price a while ago and it didn't live up to my high expectations. Some of the research was shallow and the graphics misleading. But with the pay-what-you-want thing they have going on, you can get a year subscription for a dollar. I got my year subscription for a dollar. If I was flush with cash, I'd give more, but I'm not. I haven't read it yet, though.

I stayed up till 7am (or was it 8?) yesterday, and slept off and on till after 4pm. The block of sleep was interrupted with answering text messages, canceling plans, reading Farenheight 451 and checking headphone reviews for people not-at-computers. One person.

Inconsistent internet service kept my browsing experience from being fluid and transparent (when the tools give you trouble...). Lacking the fortitude to draw without TV in the background (that right there is a dangerous realization), I've spent a lot of today reading and closing the 120+ tabs that I've got open. And writing poetry.

Also related to inconsistent internet service, it gives me pause with the plan to store poetry in GoogleDocs for it's access-anywhere and tagging features. (Inconsistent internet came up in a recent discussion of paperless medical offices, but that's a different issue.) It would be easier for me to give up access-anywhere (and commit to backing up my harddrive) if there was an elegant way to tag files in OS X 10.4. (I realize it's redundant to say X 10, but X.4 doesn't properly convey the situation.) Maybe I should ask for an upgrade to the latest version of my OS for Christmas.

My paper journal is getting distractingly full. The handbound scrap-paper book with a burlap cover and zombie-bandage tie has become so integral to my days and thoughts that it will be difficult to replace. I don't know what I'll do when I'm out of space. Obviously hold onto it and read the full thing once, and bits and pieces from time to time, but I no longer have an epic stash of novelty, scratch, and found papers to build a new journal from. I think I'll do shorter (3 signature) cloth-bound books with interesting fabrics for the (less ghetto) covers until I can collect enough found papers to do another tome.

Thank you for listening, blog.

A poem I wrestled with today. It's another new one. I wrote it long-hand, and the page is a delightful mess of stricken words. The first draft rhymed, then I tried to make it not-rhyme, but couldn't find the rhythm in that version.

From Too Far

Do you see my whole devotion,
long-suffering, and patient care
or do you sense a latent crazy
with desperate and wild stare?

Are you reading it a danger
when I profess my loyalty?
Do you think I paint delusion
over empty, harsh reality?

I thought I found a stable bond
within my constant adoration;
I'm sending you this love, again,
open to interpretation.

I'm excited about tomorrow's poem. I cross my fingers that the enthusiasm will hold out.

Drawing that was wrestled with yesterday:

I wasn't even thinking that positive

Oddly enough, today ends on a note much more familiar than I have hummed in a week or more. (Drawing!)

On the topic of positive thinking (or not doing so intentionally, and still having things to smile about), two opportunities have come my way in the last two days. One is short term and you'll hear about that next week. One is longer term and more tentative. The latter involves trying my hand at screenprinting. Two exciting projects I don't want to jinx.

Here is a brief photo essay about the 30 hours I was gone. A few more in the Flickr set










In the interest of keeping things chronological, in this gap of time I wrote today's poem.

Foraging

Merlot in hand
I stumble
into the rain-soaked grove
guided in circles
by birdsong

I marvel
at fading remnants
of the citrus crop

when high heels
betray me
mud on flannel pants
chilly earth to skin
I abandon
my search for yesterday's
memories

I follow the rooster back
to pick up
where last night left off

Some commentary below




More here at Flickr

The above poem is a high context daydream based on reality. Odd relationship with linebreaks in this one. I wish I could end that one line with "yesterday" and somehow indicate the possessive right before "memories". Or is that trite? What keeps me from shortening it to merely "yesterday" is sentimental attachment to the context that inspired the poem.

Last of all, a good old fashioned scannie:

The beginning of the end before the beginning

No! Now I want to go back to drawing!

While I didn't pull out any of my workbooks today, I moved closer to being back in the swing of things and moving beyond the comfortable internet triangle of LiveJournal, gMail, and Twitter.

My burgeoning affection for One Night Stanzas encouraged me to visit the site directly and peek at updates before my official post-sickinesss reading of it through my feed reader. (The official reading is when I study a post and make notes about how it influences and inspires me.)

In that cursory reading, I noticed that the most recent featured poet, Simon Freedman (link might be broken?), said in his featured poet interview that he has been writing since February of 2008. He's collected a surprising (to me) number of publications since then and made me think about the beginnings of my own writing. I didn't do it for competitive comparison, of course, just to practice how I'll answer the question when the time comes.

I think maybe this month of revising and reposting archaic works of mine is an attempt to give a concise answer to "when did you start?". I remember writing poetry as long ago as 7th grade (1997), but it was obviously dreck by my current sensibilities. Taking time now, at the beginning of this new attempt at poetry, to revitalize old scraps that have some value to them, is my way of tying up loose ends. By renovating the relics, putting a more mature eye to them, I say "Now is a new age, and you are part of my now."

This isn't simply a matter of spring cleaning and deciding what to keep, what to put in deep storage, and what to sell at the yard sale. I'm coming back to an abandoned home and seeing what can be salvaged after the war, the flood, and the animals that came through and nibbled on things.

Here's something that didn't break down too much. Didn't have too much time to break down. If I ever become a singer/songwriter, this will be among the first songs I work on. In 3/4 time. (First two thirds are revised, last third is all new.)

Today's Kiss-on-the-Wind

It's six in the morning, it's cold and it's raining
I don't want to get up for work or for school.
I reach for my laptop, it needs no explaining
the blogs, the news, and sweet email from you

You've got a star in my gmail inbox
shining away on my internet view
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
days are so long but your words pull me through

Stuck between overdrive and out-of-gas stalling
I stumble around and it's not even noon
The phone is ringing, I ignore the calling
I re-read your letter, can't write back too soon.

You've put a star in my gmail inbox
twinkling there on my internet screen
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
in morning and evening and times in between

Get home late, it's dark out, my dinner is cold
Been days since I've seen you, feels like a full year
Although reading your words will never gets old,
You whispering to me's what I want to hear

You've lit a star in my gmail inbox
It's all I can see on that internet site
you bring a light to dark, empty hours
And If you come over we'll stay up all night!

:)
All of these are at least a month old, but they'll have to do. Hopefully tomorrow will be an amazingly productive day so I can get posts for Wednesday and maybe Thursday ready ahead of time. We'll be out of town visiting family and I won't be taking my laptop.

Nervous + tired = bad!

Early last week I talked to my mom about doing a drawing workshop for her class, then spent several hours writing an outline. I didn't hear back, so I reminded her a few days ago and she told me it had slipped her mind and she needed to clear it with her principal. Yesterday around 11pm my mom asks if I can come do my first session today or Thursday.

We start discussing the bigger and smaller questions I have about what to expect, and what schedules look like daily, weekly, and for the rest of the year. As I haven't been around 5th grade kids.... since I was in elementary school... I decide that I should use one session to acclimate myself, like leaving a new fish in the bag when you first put it in the aquarium so the water temperatures can equalize. Except me and 11 year olds.

As there's no school next week (they get a long Thanksgiving holiday!) it means two full weeks between the first session and the second. With each session only being 30 minutes, my expectations of retention are low.

Short story long, I decided to use both Wednesday and Thursday to make my impression. That left me with under 12 hours to prepare and made my classroom debut coincide with my projected bedtime. Hijinx ensue.

In reality it was more like, stress induced mood-swings ensued.

I spent much of the first 8 hours trying to calm down and concoct an elegant plan to both pitch my workshop to the class at large in the 10 minutes before their lunch break and fill the 30 minutes of time we'd have for chatting.

Needless to say, there have been few opportunities in my day to do my own drawing, polish up today's poem, or write tomorrow's hand out. Well, after some yoga and a shower, I will be drawing before going to school.

Despite how neurotic I feel right now, I think this project is going to be good for me over the next few weeks.



With poem posting, I wanted to start with revising the old stuff that had potential or posting stuff that induced painful laughter. But, again, today didn't go as planned, so here's some ars poetica I meant to post when my site was down. It probably needs a little more tweaking. It belongs to a hypothetical chapbook called "A Self-Aware Collection". This all happened before I learned about the term "ars poetica".


Sentience

I start blank
with no dimension
then a dot
and then a line
a paragraph
a rounded thought
then I expand
to take up time

But that is
my last performance
can't turn a phrase
save plane or face
no back up trick
no animation
a fritter of time
a filling of space

No annotations
lines and arrows
strings to make me
dance and sing
I lack allusions
uncolored, unshaded
Do I lose depth
with history?