And the DW icon is not an illustration of my mood. I simply like it; it soothes me. (Here on LJ, the icon I use does the same thing.) Although I suppose I am rather pensive.
I have such difficulty writing these days. I'm still working on "Hearts and Moons" more than three years after I started it (closer to four years now, I realized just now, with something akin to horror.) I have no mental stamina for writing words that make sentences that make paragraphs.
If I were going to be facetious, I'd blame Facebook, on which I've been spending more and more time. Because it encourages unplanned thoughts, short sentences, minutia, and discourages, well ... words that make sentences that make paragraphs. I don't even want to think what might happen to me if I opened a Twitter account.
But I can't blame Facebook, any more than I can blame the solitaire game I play obsessively ...
And after all this (which I started a day or so ago) I did manage to get farther, and perhaps further, in Chapter 15. That pleases me. Perhaps I can keep it up; there's a certain feeling I get when things are unblocked, a feeling that I have to write - as opposed to the feeling of wanting to write and not being able to, which is something different, and desperate in a completely different way - and I'm feeling the ticklish beginning of that feeling growing in the back of my head again. I just need to nurture the growth.
(I suspect that one obstruction is my far healthier sleep cycle. When I last wrote most effectively on my multi-chapter fics, both qualitatively and quantitatively, it was when I was a night owl, and often when my night-owlishness was ramped up to "so late is the hour, and so weary the body, that the barriers break down in bursts of punch drunk, sleep deprived creativity" levels. This makes me sad. I am not going to go back to that lifestyle, it can do nothing but damage my already rather battered immune system. That leaves only one other option. Self discipline.)
Work continues apace on getting BB and I up to Canada.
My Canadian passport is in hand, which I think I mentioned before; he renewed his drivers license, and applied for his American passport, which should be here within two weeks. I must speak with my brother, who left us a message implying that he had emailed us ticket information and itinerary, but nothing actually hit our inbox.
I'm arranging what needs to be arranged at work (Of Which We Shall Not Speak, For It Is Presently Monumentally Stressful) in order to take the time off, and have use of my company Blackberry. I also have to get our credit union to free up our cards so that they can be used in Canada. That's a rant for another time.
Now I have only two worries, both connected to the fact that this is a surprise visit my brother is arranging for my mother's 85th birthday on May 31.
The first is that my mother so wants to see us that she is talking about coming down to visit from Nova Scotia, and not letting anyone at her end know, because her doctor has forbidden her to fly because of her health. I need to keep her from doing so; I have this vision of her getting on a plane and coming down the very week we fly up.
The second is that we'll arrive on her doorstep for the big birthday surprise and have the surprise give her a heart attack. I'm only being partly facetious.
Erin, Andy's lady-love, loaned me her copies of The Hunger Games trilogy (you know, grammatically, that should read "her copies of the The Hunger Games" but that reads so awkwardly.) I hadn't been interested in reading the books - not opposed to it, just not interested - but had become interested, if somewhat bemused, in the social and cultural buzz that had mounted about the movies, particularly talk about the idea of a strong female role model for young women, someone the exact opposite of the passive child in the Twilight books. So, I decided to read them, and see what the fuss was all about.
I started the first book and finished it 36 hours later. I finished the next two in another 36 hours. I was absolutely floored.
They are brutal and beautiful (and by brutal I mean intellectually, conceptually and emotionally, three very different things in my head; the beauty is on those levels as well). They are also deceptively simple, but my hat is off to Collins for her deft prose, her sophistication in taking what seems like a simple - and fantastically refreshing - first person POV and writing character growth and increasingly dense story themes in the same POV without stumbling.
Truly, the trilogy is easily some of the most moving, affecting literature I've read recently. (Beats hell out of Ann Patchett's State of Wonder, which I'm reading more or less as a work-related task. That book is technically excellent, but is leaving me cold.)
I haven't seen the movie yet, but I plan to. That would never have been on my agenda had Erin not loaned me the books. Bless her.
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