Thoughtful Thoughts, Thinking

Because of that wonderful line in "Help" something along the lines of "I am a good shot, shooting" :) Who doesn't love the line of form fitted pants under a full tunic? (I also loved Emma Peel and Julie Newmar's Catwoman, what can I say?)

We are in the in between again, that odd place that some call "falling through the cracks" but is more like a place where time, while not standing still, gives us a little breather from being what the world considers "normal". I have signed on for Eric Maisel's month-long "productive obsession" group, and have set myself a goal of getting into the studio from 1-4 M-F in order to produce the big pieces that look so good in the museum settings. I have managed to get upstairs every day so far, not for the full three hours yet, life and allergy induced headache/lethargy got in the way.

Focusing on the work enables me to put aside the constant anxiety about the job situations, as when every time I was pregnant I had this odd sense of being safe/protected/free of all responsiblity except growing the new life we had made. Not really realistic, but the relaxation of letting go of the stress enabled me to be more productive and efficient in my life because it didn't matter as much. I had, as they say "bigger fish to fry".

Last night we went to see the poet/author Kim Addonizio give a lecture/reading on campus. She talked about mining already existing stories and myths for source material, about writing about the characters on the edge of well known stories, such as the current trend toward books about people like Jo's father in the new book "March" and of course Gregory McGuire's series of revisited fairy tales and stories. I had an epiphany about a story that's been percolating in my head about characters from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, that it doesn't have to be a novel, it can be a poem, and I am excited about playing with the idea again.

Words have been begging to come out, while I am sewing my head is filled with words: Frida telling me about blog posts we can write, ways to maybe help other people find good even in the middle of this economy, thoughts about the creative process that are "profound" and "thoughtful" and "mature" and all those things that all those "other" bloggers manage to write, but which stop just at the end of my fingertips when I sit down to actually write them, even though I know they are in there. (I am seriously considering a recorder to use while I am sewing, because this is maddening).

And I close with this, a sort of prose poem/morning page/free write that I made this morning, describing my trip home earlier this week in this place of magic and wonder:

"Green grass on the hills short and fuzzy like down on a baby duck. The mists surround the hills, bringing the sky to the ground once more. The words itch, they burn, they beg to come out and play, to do the somersaults and cartwheels I could not do. I hear the wet whoosh of the wheels as they slice through the water as we speed along through this landscape where gods used to walk. Today no gods, just me, in a turquoise Tempo."