It’s not Media Monday, but I love this acceptance speech from this year’s Tony’s (from last month), more than I have words to express. The actor is Mark Rylance. The words he speaks are a “prose poem” (and may I just say I HATE that term. Either it’s a poem, or it’s NOT) called Back Country, by Louis Jenkins.
Enjoy:
In this week’s Write on Wednesday, my friend Becca asks:
So, how about you? Do you ever feel the need to jump start your writing? What drains the energy from your “writing mind”? What do you do when your creative battery dies?
Muses are fickle, and the energy that powers them is equally so. Sometimes, I find excuses not to write, but most of the time the urge is ripped from me by something mundane. I don’t write well when I’m stressed over money, so it’s really a good thing that the whole “starving artist” thing has gone out of style. (The whole black and beret look has, as well, but I don’t care. I like black, and berets work for me.) Other than that, when I’m tired, when I’m hot, when I’m hungry or thirsty before I face the keyboard (as opposed to becoming so during a session, because I’m so absorbed), all those things make me throw up my hands in despair, or they would, if I had the energy to do so.
Most of the time, I can jump-start myself. I’ll re-read part of a favorite novel, watch a few episodes of The West Wing, Gilmore Girls, or anything Whedonesque, run through the entire soundtrack of a musical (lately I’ve been alternating Legally Blonde, Rent, and Hairspray, and I’m at the point where I can sing and ride the stationery bike (simultaneously) for the entire first act of the first of those, which, let me tell you, is not easy. (But I love to belt, even though too much belting is really unhealthy.)
When music, books, and other people’s snappy, fast-paced dialogue doesn’t work, I think about cooking, because food and words are completely intertwined in my world. Usually I’ll bake. Tonight, I made enchiladas, which I’d never made before. (I sort of made them up as I went along. They were good. I used grilled chicken that had been marinated in lime juice, garlic salt, and vodka (we were out of tequila).)
When food doesn’t work, which happens when it’s been sunny and hot for too many days in a row, I call on external help. Specifically, there is a collection of friends, who know who they are, who always manage to leave me abuzz with energy and ideas, even if all we talk about is how tired we both are, or what movies we saw the previous weekend.
And if nothing works? Well, sometimes I do have to listen to my body, and sleep even when I know I SHOULD be writing, or finish work before I write something fun, and usually after a few days I’m back in the groove.
Alternatively, I move furniture around…
I haven’t taken pictures of my new Abode of Writeyness yet, because while the furniture is in there, I won’t be able to afford money for ART until after my conference, and the walls are bare, and the bookshelves aren’t organized…and, and, and…
I did purge all mortgage-related things from my desk. (If anyone needs a rubber stamp that says “computer generated original” let me know), including title fee books for three different title companies, business cards for appraisers I haven’t contacted in three years, and more “sign here” flags than I care to count.
Among the stuff I also cleared from my desk included information on various no balance transfer fee offers from credit card companies (I kept one), and an entire box of sticky-backed prongs for gluing into legal folders.
It was at once freeing and sort of sad clearing out the last vestiges of my old career.
I don’t generally put much stock in horoscopes. Oh, they’re fun, in the way fortune cookies are fun, but I am, at heart a Skeptic. Still, I like to read Rob Brezsny‘s predictions because he spins words so well.
Tonight, his words for my sign (LEO) are:
This oracle was originally commissioned by a spiritual wilderness school to train its students in high-stress meditation. It has been tested by disciplined explorers who’ve learned to be fluid and resourceful in the midst of natural chaos. Now it’s being made available to you, Leo — just in time for the last stretch of your dash (or crawl) across the wasteland. By contemplating the code phrase that appears at the end of this message, you will discover the key for turning poisons into medicine, taking advantage of your weaknesses, and knowing your direction without a compass. Here it is: Love the beauty and intelligence that are hidden in your darkness.
Here’s proof.
It’s no secret that I’ve been having an issue with my office. When we first moved here, and I was still doing loans, the calming tranquility of walls the color of green tea appealed to me. I had lots of power outlets for my nifty business machines. It was good.
But over the last couple years, really since quitting BigFinancialCompany, I’ve not been able to find the ‘zone’ in my office. It’s not that I dislike the colors, or anything, I’m just not at home there. This is demonstrated that the beautiful calendar my mother gave me at Christmas, from an artist local to La Paz, BCS, Mexico, was still on MARCH as of yesterday.
It was further brought home when my friend Deb walked up there with me for a house tour on Saturday, and said, “Well, no wonder you can’t write here. This doesn’t feel like you.”
We walked down the hall to the room we’d designated the Library, but that we’ve never quite used enough, even though it’s the kind of room that beckons. (Does that make sense?) I don’t know if it’s the geography of the house, the fact that it has huge windows overlooking the side street, or what, but whenever we walk into that room, we tend to find a reason to stay. It helps, I think, that our old denim couch is up there. Further proof of the power of this room: when we moved the denim set upstairs, we had no problem getting the love seat into Fuzzy’s office, but he and his friend D could not manage to wrangle the couch into the library. They measured and found out it was four inches larger than the door, in every angle.
They were, in fact, about to tell me there was no way the couch would fit into that room when suddenly, miraculously, it just did.
I should have seen it as a sign, I guess.
So anyway, Deb and I sat on the couch up there, and she said, “This is where you need to write,” which is true. I love that room. We’d chosen our original offices based on having spaces of roughly equal size, but the reality is, I work from home. I need more space. I need big surfaces spread before me like blank paper. And I need bold colors.
Fuzzy and I talked about it, and he agreed we’d make it happen. Before bed on Friday, he’d made me a diagram with visio even printed cut-outs of all the furniture pieces, so that we could figure out how this could work.
It helps, I think, that I’ve needed to replace my desk for a while. The keyboard tray broke in shipping four years ago, and we’d used spit and twine to make it work, but several months ago it broke completely, crashing down on my foot. (MDF + Bare Feet = OWOWOWOWOWOW!) In retrospect, that was probably a sign as well. The desk is no longer made, the fittings for any tray can only be attached to the struts, and no tray we could find was the right size. The desk is taller than most, and too tall to use a laptop on top of for any length of time.
I was pretty sure we would have to wait to replace my desk til after my conference, but we went looking at desks so I could find some I liked and begin a budget plan, and then we walked into Staples, and they had this corner desk that I liked. I liked it so much that I walked away from the blue glass and steel desk I’d been eyeing, sat down in the pink typing chair near it, and said, “I like this.”
I looked at the price, and it said $99. I thought, “Oh, that’s probably just for this section,” as most such desks are sold in parts – one price for the desk, another for the return or hutch – but no, that was for the whole thing. And it got better – it was on sale for $89, and then there was $10 off on the website, and then I had a coupon for another $10.
We went home to think about it. Because I wanted to make sure. And because it was bigger than we’d planned, but Fuzzy moved the couch into it’s new position, and used empty boxes to show me how the space would work. “You won’t be able to get three people on the sofa,” he said.
When the hell do I NEED three people on the couch in my writing room?
I went online to check the dimensions again, and found out that the desk came in CHERRY as well as the maple we’d seen. Now, while my original desk was beach-glass-green and powder-coated steel, the supports for the desk were warm copper cherry, and my cabinet and rolling file are also copper cherry. This was a lighter cherry, but much closer in tone than maple. I called the store, and Connie said she didn’t have it in cherry, but she’d find out who did, then sent us to Cedar Hill. The Arlington store is about six miles from our house in one direction. Cedar Hill is about eight in another direction – we go there often – not too bad.
I managed to convince the sales person to give me the Internet-only discount, and we got my new desk for $69.
I came home and had to finish a project, and Fuzzy went upstairs and built it for me. (I bribed him with a cheeseburger, but still). He had a work issue come up, and at one point he was under the desk tightening screws and talking to a client, “I’m not the best person to help with this, and I’m sort of under a piece of furniture right now…”
Today, he’ll drop an ethernet port into the room for my desktop machine, though that has a wifi card in it as well, so it’s not urgent or anything. And I’ll start moving stuff over.
After all this, you’re probably wondering why the title of this is “Welcome to the Word Lounge.” It’s because I told Fuzzy he was not allowed to refer to my new space as an office. “I don’t want it tainted by BUSINESS,” I said. “It’s a creative space.”
“Okay,” he said, “It’s your ABODE OF WRITEYNESS.”
“Possibly,” I said, laughing, the way one does at four AM. “Or, I might call it, the Word Lounge.”
Pictures will be taken when everything’s all set up.
I’m still loving my mobile router from Powerful Signal, so much so that I’ve done a video review about it. It uses images from trips to SoDak, where I’d have given my eye teeth and Zorro’s too if I’d had one then. As it was, I still have nightmares about the ‘net withdrawl I went through on that trip.
Here’s why I’m so tickled that I got to receive one of these cellular routers to play with:
About the only thing I’d do to improve this product is make it run on batteries. Or a car charger, although there’s a model that does the latter, I think. Even so, I’m planning to take it with me to San Francisco next month…just in case the advertised wifi at the hotel doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.
Oh, and, here’s my review, in words and still images, because for some reason my computer is not detecting the integrated camera.
It’s the latest from the JossVerse. What more do you need to know?
Teaser from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.
Sometimes, there can be much joy in helping someone else…and since my own prompt at CafeWriting for May and June called on me to list seven ways I’ve helped another person, I thought I’d get this down for those times when I’m feeling useless and stupid.
Of course, I’ve also taken friends to lunch, helped them move, sent letters to soldiers overseas, and any number of other supportive things, all of which have been returned many times over.
It’s just…nice to remember, sometimes.
We originally set out this morning to refill Zorro’s blood pressure medication, and maybe find lunch. We ended up first driving to downtown Grand Prairie, which is all of a block long, trying to find a Filipino grocery store that’s supposed to be there, but isn’t.
We gave up on finding macapuno ice cream today, after all, and went to Piranha for sushi. I was craving their wasabi crusted tuna roll, which is to die for. Our waitress said that roll alone accounts for between three and five percent of their business, and I believe it. (I also had a dragon roll, because I was desperate for unagi). Fuzzy, had teriyaki salmon.
On the way to lunch we also stopped at the library, which was depressing, and will get it’s own entry.
After lunch, we went to this part of Arlington we’d passed once that had a gate labelled Village Lake Historic Area, or some such. At the time we found it, it was closed due to flooding, but we’re in a mini-drought, so we thought it might be open, it was, but it’s just a park. Now, I like parks, but I was not dressed for walking on trails, it was 101 degrees, and we had no water with us. Fuzzy failed to see why this was a problem, and why I got angry with him when he said, “I’m just going to go look at the marker,” and then was out of sight five minutes later, leaving me in the car. I called him, and he said, “Well I wanted to see what was here.” It took him twenty minutes to return.
Next, we drove to Irving, in our ongoing quest to determine if any part of the metroplex has a cute, functional downtown (so far, the answer is NO). We got jamba juices and sipped them as we looked at funky houses, and mocked the different businesses on the old main streets, emblazoned with signs for modern furniture and the like, but clearly long-since out of business.
Today was one of the days when I sorely missed our old condo in California, and the surrounding neighborhood, and being able to walk to Starbucks and a bookstore.
I still have to go to a bookstore and do my Algonkian prep work, and I still have to write this weekend, and I feel like we wasted a day when we could have done something productive or meaningful.