Pictures and Pottery

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Today, I had some ridiculous fun.  Hopefully, as “Artist’s Way” author Julian Cameron suggests, the activity will refill my artistic well.
My adventure started with a visit to my favorite art framer.  All-around gifted, this photographer is working with me to recreate some damaged wedding photos.  I usually bring him something more eclectic, but I feel certain he and his wife will help me create something unique from my cheaply framed ruins.
After leaving his studio, I visited a pottery store.  There I picked a paint-able piece with a reasonable, all-inclusive price.  Alone on a rainy afternoon, just as I like it, I had my pick of paints and tools.
What a blast!  A week from now, I anticipate picking up my zombie candy dish.  Flaws and all, the fired and glazed piece should be a cute addition to my extensive Halloween collection.
Anything fun taking your interest these days?  I’d enjoy reading what you’re up to.
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Darla’s Diatribe of the Week

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I have a bit of a minor rant against a magazine publisher who shall remain unidentified.  Somehow, they got my mailing address and started sending me one of their weekly publications.  Since I do not wish to pay them for an unwanted subscription, I tried to cancel via their website.

It didn’t happen.

The thing still arrives every week, though they have never pursued payment.  The only correspondence came in the form of a request for my email address.  Believe me when I say that is not going to happen.  I can only imagine that they are happy to inflate subscription numbers for the sake of their advertisers.

It saddens me to see this waste, though the magazine’s content annoys me to the point I have no interest in sharing.  Sigh…  I guess the paper could be used to line cat litter boxes.

Meanwhile, we happily spend a fair chunk of change every year getting “2000 AD” and “The Judge Dredd Megazine” from Great Britain.  Those comics are mailings I do anticipate.

Anything interesting or annoying show up in your mailbox?  I hope it’s the former as opposed to the latter.

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Dreaming of Luna

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I recently remembered an elusive dream. 

It’s premise?  I learned that someone invented a type of loom through which raw fiber could be instantly converted into a fine, diaphanous cloth.  While somehow offering the results of an overly large circular loom, the fantastical tool lacked every real-life component, including yarn.
With this wonder, a mysterious woman showed me how to transform my recently deceased cat’s fur into a seamless blouse.  You see, years before I began collecting the shed, rabbit-soft fibers.  The white tufts simply seemed too soft to discard.  I’m serious when I say they make cotton feel almost like burlap.
The dream, meanwhile, provided a clingy garment interspersing her lovely fur with a black fabric for strategic modesty.  The swaths were vaguely triangular, simple contrasting slashes in a timelessly classic pattern.  I adored it.
My recollection process is, if I may say so myself, more interesting.  It began with thought of Luna’s portrait on my laptop, in turn reminding me how her image replaced that of Craig Charles dressed as Dave Lister from “Red Dwarf”.
(Sorry, Mr. Charles.  For now, I choose this bittersweet lamentation over a fond chuckle.)
While this consideration didn’t bring back my complete memory, the process started because my dream’s sole comedic twist came in the form of Craig Charles somehow being involved.  Whether as himself or Mr. Lister, I cannot say.  Either way, he amicably helped me run this fictional loom.
Then, hours later, something else happened to help my mind fill in the blanks.  I discovered a chair pad still decorated with wisps of Luna’s telltale fuzz.  It all flooded back fast after that.

I still miss my itty bitty pretty kitty but have to smile at this unique memorial.  Too bad there is no magical loom.  Sigh…

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Darla’s Writer Wednesday – Dreams of Writing

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There was a magical time when I’d wake from dreams that left me anxious to write.  That is, arguably, a fairly common story source.  Then, for some reason, the urge dried up despite the constant REM flow.
I really want that to change.  And if last night’s plethora of images cannot instigate this, then I don’t know what will.  Scenarios were mostly good, many lacking any frustration or embarrassment that often plague my intermittent nightmares.
There was one in which I could not find a free stall in a crowded bathroom overflowing with wedding party attendants, but I’ll just stop that tell right here.  ~shudder~  I don’t know where my mind comes up with this stuff.
Alternatively, I dreamed of having been born with too many vertebrae, a virtual tail which my surgeon father removed early.  Other details remain cloudy, but I was proud of this dream dad much like the real father blessing my life.
(Dad, you can stick with mechanical things and being a great listener.)
Another dream entailed a fantastical loom.  I have written a post for September 2nd further detailing this brief plot, but the writing fodder is undeniable.  Hopefully, I’ll have a short story ready for Friday.

It’s time I get started, come to think of it.  Happy writing, all.

~

Memorial to a Writer’s Cat

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I lost my best feline pal early this afternoon.  Her little body just couldn’t battle cancer any longer, so we released Luna to peace with the assistance of a very compassionate vet.  Those folks and a local oncology team are forever in my debt for all their tender care.  Today our vets’ office even wrote off the cost of a physical examination after we decided to let her go.  Classy and caring, eh?

I must admit that Luna was not the best of writing buddies, typically demanding attention, often giving a painful claw poke inside my upper arm.  But I wouldn’t have traded her for a bookshelf full of publications.

Yet now I have more time to write.

There are no more daily and weekly medication schedules.  I no longer need monitor her food intake, making sure her two fellow felines eat only their share.  Nor do the litter boxes require constant scooping to prevent toxic chemotherapy chemicals from spreading to others.  I cancelled several pending veterinary visits and can even sleep without sharing my pillow or waking with fur in my hair.

Yeah…

So now I have more time to write.

This is my first, truly intimate pet loss.  The darn cat actually picked me while living on local streets, visiting me in my burgeoning garden.  She insisted on moving in despite my allergies, resulting in the salvation of our other rescued cats.  They just happen to be happy without me as a human futon.

So.  Okay.  Yeah, now I have more time to write…

… and garden, for that matter.

Sigh…

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Writer Wednesday – Crazy Chicken Dance

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So, it’s Wednesday.  The first Wednesday of June.  This means it’s my day to write my Writer Wednesday post.

Um…

~crickets~

  • Final line edits of Sealed by Fire are due Friday.
  • I teach class tomorrow night.
  • I have a meeting this morning at the regional sales office for my day job.
  • I should probably do laundry this millenium.
  • I need a vacation.
But I have some super sekrit cover squee for you.  I haven’t even released this on the Noon and Wilder blog yet!  ~drum roll~
Coming from LooseId June 24th!

Getting My Sci Fi Geek On

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My partner recently discovered a British science fiction comedy called “Red Dwarf”.  Holy cow.  While the character driven plot doesn’t require a science fiction setting, such elements offer a unique backdrop and brilliant storyline opportunities.  We should have seen the program years ago.  Better late than never, I guess, and a true blessing since futuristic fantasy/cop drama “Almost Human” got cancelled.  (Having Karl Urban on the small screen every week was awesome, but I digress.)  Ditto with the demise of another favorite, “Revolution”.
Watching “Red Dwarf” has become my daily highlight.  And honestly, limiting ourselves to one episode a day has me feeling quite like a junkie whose trying to cut back, easing her way into sobriety.  Literally addicted to the whacky humor, I’m sad that there are only a few nights left to get my fix.  I’m particularly taken by Craig Charles as Dave Lister  (it’s shallow, but his boyish good looks and Scouse accent make me weak in the knees).
The first installment of 2008’s three part “Back to Earth” special did leave me a little flat tonight, I’m sorry to say.  I didn’t miss the laugh track; the dialog just lacked enough entertaining banter.  The character known simply as Cat, the highly evolved humanoid feline, calling Lister “Monkey-boy” was as good as it got.  Nonetheless, we plan to watch every last episode availed us.
Hulu Plus doesn’t seem to have season ten available, so I will have to find it elsewhere.  In the meantime, I learned tonight that filming of an eleventh season is set to begin this October.  I’m definitely crossing my fingers it will come to fruition and that I survive that long without.

What entertains you these days?  Any good books or shows you’d like to promote?

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Writer Wednesday – Our Artistic Inner Child

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In her multiple books and workshops, Julia Cameron repeatedly affirms that artists must let themselves play.  Her logic?  Our creative selves are much like children.  Her various interpretations make a great deal of sense to me, especially considering how modern Western civilization discourages both artistic endeavor and play in its adults.
Grown-ups are dissuaded from doing things considered silly or worthless, which is how many people would define play.  The message is that we shouldn’t be goofing off, or doing much of anything society doesn’t find redeeming.  This usually equals monetary gain, though I think anything dubbed as social networking has become acceptable, however mind numbing are some of those Facebook games.
Personally, I think doodling in a notebook is redeeming.  So is writing a poem or reimagining characters from a book.  Quite literally, play is a form of redemption, its many glorious forms saving sanity and giving this short existence value.  Whether making something with my own two hands or enjoying what others have created, these things improve my perception and very quality of life.
I’m not saying anything new or profound here.  But today I perused “The Artist’s Way” to read quotes set in the page margins and one in particular stood out.  None other than Pablo Picasso supports these views.
In his words:
Every child is an artist.  The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.
I couldn’t agree more.  Will you join me in some creative fun?  How might you let yourself play this week?

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Herding Turtles

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An Australian Turtle Dog?
The other day I snapped this photo of Zipp, the Australian Shepherd at my local arboretum.  He’s there to keep Canada geese from overwhelming the area but, having done his job too well, resorted to this showdown with a local red-eared slider.  While perhaps he was simply bored without his fowl nemesis, the analogy of his predicament struck me nonetheless.
 
Forgive my whinging, but annoying mishaps and stressful trials have plagued my year so far.  It’s like trouble just keeps creeping in, piling up, and boldly staring me down.  Attempts to overcome issues seem fruitless as poor Zipp’s efforts with this stubborn amphibian.
 
I mean, honestly, while I’m facing one persistent frustration…
 
 … more stack up, quite amiably awaiting my notice.
 
And of course you just can’t flip a switch and make life perfect any more than you can herd turtles.  Somehow, goose poop seems almost preferable.  But it’s not all bad, and I am having fun with my camera.  ~grin~  Perhaps I’ll stop by the arboretum later this week and check on Zipp.
After all, the dog mutely suffers while I can put the drama on the page.  So that’s enough griping.  Maybe I’ll crank out a few paragraphs of angst-ridden fiction before bedtime.

Special Guest, Jay Hopkins: “Always Always”

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Always Always
A Poem by Jay Hopkins

You should have the man in your life who is your Light and Love and Life. Who is always-always there when when you need a pick-me-up, a warm smile or just a hug. Yes, sometimes he will slip as he still has a little boy inside and won’t be the always-always guy. That little boy inside, always always, even still, needs your hugs and love!

The man who holds your heart, who values it more than his own. Who understands what drives you, what fuels your passions and feeds your soul. That holds each tear you shed as if he himself, lost. He encourages you, uplifts your soul, replenishes your joy and fills your spirit with joyous noise and laughter.

That man who inspires you to catch your dreams. To be the best that you can be, who is inspired just by knowing you, to then endeavor to be his very best.

Who, you can’t wait to fall asleep in his arms, knowing he can’t wait to fall asleep in yours. That you can’t wait to wake up, in each others arms!

In your minds hearts you are both 8 year olds, in constant wonder at each others loves and lives, laughing at and appreciating everything about each other. Constant amazement. Rapturous wonder, the depth of even the mundane never ceases to hold you both rapt and wrapped in each others arms, even if you are thousands of miles apart. Your hearts are always, always just a whisper, apart.

And in that quiet, those peaceful moments where silence and the souls rest, resides; love holds both hearts. Calm resides within, amidst the busy noise of life, tranquil in the holding of each loves love. Always. Always.