tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62980940734958879312024-03-04T23:24:29.847-07:00I Keep WonderingI've passed the #2 Door and the #3 Door . . . What's on the other side of, say, the #27 Door?Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.comBlogger370125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-66582150925733926432013-06-28T17:52:00.004-06:002013-06-28T17:53:04.684-06:00In Which I Write about Nostalgia Again, Likely Rather PoorlyA whim possessed me today. There's no other explanation for riding an extra Trax stop in hotter-than-the-fires-of-Mordor heat so that I could walk <i>farther</i> to get back home. I sensed nostalgia edging in and I just caved.<br />
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The extra Trax stop took me nearer to campus, and allowed me to mimic the walk I used to take home several years ago now. Except that, of course, it's no longer that walk.<br />
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Buildings have changed, gas stations have been redesigned with repaved parking lots, entire business have left. It's a familiar landscape still, but it's also an unfamiliar one.<br />
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At first I chose to attribute it to the quiet of college summer, but the longer I walked the more I felt everything to be immeasurably different. It hasn't been that long, not really, not comparatively--but so many of these places have become landmarks of the someone-once-lived-there or I-used-to-eat-sandwiches-in-that-place-that-doesn't-even-serve-<i>food-</i>anymore variety.<br />
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The purse slung over my shoulder felt wrong, felt as though it should be weighed down with more books and slung over the OTHER should cross-strap style. Houses that used to have beautiful flower beds look straggly and sad.<br />
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I never had noticed the kind of spectacular cityscape that I could see as I made my way downward. My thoughts back then had probably been too full of philosophers and essays and worries about whether or not I was good enough, whether I was smart enough.<br />
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Honestly I think this might be the closest that we ever get to time travel: walking paths that we once walked, where inevitably we find ourselves accompanied by our former selves.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-52436579605323848692013-06-25T18:22:00.001-06:002013-06-25T18:22:46.569-06:00In Which I Say Hello to Some of My CharactersI recently decided that I'd really love to have a first draft of a whole, entire novel finished by the time I turn 30..which is a date that isn't terribly far in the future. Just a few months, really. More than six, less than ten. And it won't by a long shot be the first time I've given myself a goal.<br />
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It <b>will</b>, however, be the first time that I <i>absolutely don't</i> fail at my goal abysmally.<br />
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That said, I have multiple in-various-stages-of-progress drafts that I find myself resisting, and I wasn't sure which I would tackle. It's proving to be a challenging decision. And this is why. My first step is this: to read what I've already written, assess its merits, and see if I like the people with whom I've populated my stories.<br />
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But here's the deal. Though they are fictional, I kind of like <i>all</i> the people with whom I've populated my stories. And to further compound my difficulties, one of my favorite characters spends a good deal of one of the books dead. It's kind of key to the premise of the novel, which is basically that a group of his friends are trying to honor his last wishes that they put the 'fun' back in funeral. And while his friends are interesting enough, I suppose, they aren't as interesting to me as he is. Which presents the quandary again: he's dead. And how many flashbacks can a girl do before the audience says "Enough already! Where's the FUNERAL, for cryin' out loud?"<br />
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One of them's a reimagined fairy tale, but it's actually on the bottom of my list at the moment because though I like my vague ideas that are associated with it...the plot's a mess. Just nonsense. And not in a Lewis Carroll or Dr. Seuss or Roald Dahl kind of way. Straight-up nonsense that makes no sense.<br />
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And behind door number 3, there's a...love story? I don't know, I guess it's kind of a love story but it's also kind of not a love story, and I want it to be about someone who literally tries to lose herself in order to find herself...but she's being followed around (entirely unintentionally) by the former-boy-next-door who always recognizes her on some level without <i>really</i> recognizing her.<br />
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Anyhow.<br />
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I suppose I'm typing this out to help myself make a decision, and all I've really done is narrowed my choices from 3 to 2. I'm wary of the third becoming something overly sappy, but that's never been the aim and I think I might wither away if anything I wrote was ever favorably compared to oh...Nicholas Sparks. Which means that if I chose door 3, I wouldn't want to be writing sentimental, drivelly yuckiness.<br />
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This bears more pondering, but not too much more. I have a deadline looming. (Who cares if it's one of my own creation? Also: this goal. Means I might actually have a successful Nanowrimo this year. We'll see.)Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-26509274784715599592013-01-29T20:38:00.002-07:002013-01-29T20:38:44.527-07:00I Can Rescue Myself...<i style="font-size: small;"><b>"Most maidens are perfectly capable of rescuing themselves in my experience, at least the ones worth something, in any case."</b> --</i><span style="font-size: x-small;">From </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Th</i><i>e Night Circus</i></span><br />
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This will not be a post wherein I review this novel. If you want to read that, please feel free to mosey on over to the book blog...a blog which, as it seems at the moment anyway, I post to more often these days than I do to this one.<br />
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If you want a brief summary: I highly recommend it, if only so that any of you would read this post will also have the joy of visiting the circus. You'll know what I mean if you read the novel.<br />
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That said: this particular sentence toward the end of the book sort of seeped into my head more than a lot of specific other sentences did. The initial reason, of course--I loved the very obvious sentiment expressed. Females who are worth their salt, so to speak, don't need anyone to go around saving them. They save themselves.<br />
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The more I thought of this idea, the more I realized: I spend a significant amount of time hoping that I'll be saved, in some way, without having to do anything. Now let's be clear here. I'm not talking about the need for someone to play dashing knight to my damsel-in-distress. (At worst, I'd say I'm damsel-in-a-quandary or damsel-who-feels-stuck...I'm never in <i>distress</i>.)<br />
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Anyhow, I've realized that I'm a little too ready a lot of the time to just sit back and wait for stuff. When faced with situations I'd prefer to change, I often just wait for them to change. (It's silly, really, as some of the situations I'm thinking of would have no way of changing without effort on my part.)<br />
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And then, the other day at work, somebody mentioned being impressed with me--made a comment, essentially, that the way I acted at work showed in some measure that I knew how to live well. I thanked said somebody, all the time thinking about how <i>wrong</i> that assessment seems to me. I continually feel as though I could be doing more, be doing better, and I continually feel as though <i>I </i>need to be the person who figures out how and what to do.<br />
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In other words, I think I need to start being a bit more demonstrably capable of rescuing myself.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-60969906958788857652013-01-12T09:44:00.003-07:002013-01-12T09:44:57.524-07:00The Sliding Doors HypothesisDon't ask me how some of these conversations happen, because honestly I don't know. I'll be sitting there talking with a friend about everyday types of things, and somehow she'll mention that she likes the movie<i> Sliding Doors</i>, and I'll say I saw it once and wasn't a terribly big fan...<br />
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And then she says: "I remember thinking: 'What if I'd walked out a different door? What if my car had made it through that light on time? What if I started out going to one place, but then decided to go to another instead? <i>Would my life be dramatically different?</i>"<br />
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Then, of course, this conversation will stick with me, and I'll find myself circling back to it in my mind. Not because I had a similar experience, at all. I remember seeing the movie and thinking: oh honestly, it just seems silly that your whole life would change missed on whether or not you'd made your train.<br />
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As someone who rides public transit and knows the frustration of near misses, I know it's easy to be irked that you missed it. But another comes along and you eventually get to the same place, just fifteen minutes later than you'd have liked, and everything continues on its merry way.<br />
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Anyhow. I've always found it easy to write off this type of premise as completely ridiculous, except that I realized that I have a similar tendency (and I'd imagine other people do, too, although I could be totally wrong about it).<br />
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I do this <i>all the time</i> when I'm looking back: would my life be different if I'd decided to stay at BYU for the rest of my undergrad instead of transferring to Weber? If at any time in the past many, many years, I'd manage to finish a novel and get it published...would things be different? <br />
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But here's the thing about this type of looking back: it's not productive at all! Sure, it's easy to look back at big events and say--maybe this would be different if, maybe that would be different if--but we set our own trajectories and we can't just time travel to change them. (And really, if I have learned anything from science fiction, is that time travel never results in quite what you wanted it to, anyway.)<br />
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In short, I suppose I'm just reminding myself that choices we make get us to where we are, and choices we make going forward get us to where we'll be, and it really just doesn't do to stew too much over where we'd be if only we'd chosen that option.<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-85560805204811525392013-01-08T18:48:00.002-07:002013-01-08T18:48:41.433-07:00A Whitman MomentI do not work in a quiet environment, by any stretch of the imagination. People around me talk all the day long, because that's their job. Some days are noisier than others.<div>
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And some days, I find myself feeling as though I'm the quiet eye in the center of a perfect storm of noise that's all around me, that's enveloping me, and that makes me feel as though I'm part of it and it's part of me. That the noise is me and the world and me in the world, and then...</div>
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Then, all of a sudden, I realize that Walt Whitman's poem <i>Song of Myself</i> just started making a little more sense to me.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-22405636451617032212013-01-08T18:43:00.002-07:002013-01-08T18:44:01.622-07:00In Which I Think Some More About Fairy TalesIt's probably the fault of <i>Once Upon a Time</i>, and maybe other stuff too, but fairy tales have very much been on my mind of late. I've also been reading them off and on before bed, and let me tell you: a little Grimm before hitting the sack sometimes results in some very, very weird dreams.<br />
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Fairy tales are fascinating me because at first I thought them the answer to dystopia, but then I realized that I was thinking about the nice Disney-fied versions of fairy tales. Not the versions in which stepsisters actually chop off parts of their feet to get them to fit into slippers, and where the consequences for being a bad guy are quite frequently...really, really bad.<br />
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And yet I still find myself convinced that's at least part of the reason that I enjoy some of these fairy tales: there are consequences. The good are rewarded, and the bad are anti-rewarded. They're very much not like real life that way. <br />
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Not, mind you, that I think that anyone deserves to have their eyes pecked out or anything...<br />
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Anyway, what this also made me realize is that fairy tales and the current popular dystopic tales actually have this in common: this idea of consequences, that you have to live with choices that you make, and even if you can't know all of the consequences of those choices...there will be consequences.<br />
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Strange to realize that I find I like fairy tales because everyone doesn't live happily ever after...Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-9671847220849984772013-01-01T18:27:00.000-07:002013-01-01T18:27:11.732-07:00A Couple of Reasons and ResolutionsA key scene in <i>The Hobbit</i> struck me--Gandalf is speaking to Bilbo, who is whining about leaving behind his books and his maps and his garden (and his hobbit-hole)--and Gandalf points out the window and says, "The world is not in your books or your maps. It's <i>out there</i>." Obviously, he's pointing out the window.<br />
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I keep saying that I want an adventure, at least to myself (and on occasion to others), but as often as I say that...I'm not entirely unlike our friend Mr. Baggins. I'm overly fond of my books and I tend to be a homebody. Probably because it's easier. It's easier to do the less risky thing, which is to stay at home.</div>
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So Resolution the First: when given the opportunity, I will choose people over books. Friends over film. (Or better yet, film <i>with </i>friends.<br />
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Excuses--we all have them. These days, I think I offer them to myself more often than I do anybody else. For a while I've thought of them as good reasons for stopping myself from doing risky things, but I know that's a bit of a lie. They're excuses. They're avoidance. And the biggest excuse I use in regard to lots of things is: "I'm a bit of a mess."<br />
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So Resolution the Second: any human creature is inevitably a bit of a mess. But I'll try to sort myself out--my environment because I can be a bit of a slob <i>and</i> my actual self.<br />
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Since that second one will require more than a little work, I feel pretty good about only making these two goals this year. We'll see how I do!</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-36453166262297730252012-12-25T20:04:00.002-07:002012-12-25T20:04:55.968-07:00Home for the HolidaysThis year I wrote no Thanksgiving post--not, mind you, because I wasn't grateful. But because I felt grateful for so many things that I wouldn't know where to start or where to end, and I wouldn't be entirely sure what would fill in the middle, either. <br />
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And even as I sit here drafting this Christmas post, I'm feeling mostly glad that I get to go home every Christmas. My parents have lived in the same house for a while--a longer-than-I've-been-alive while--and I have a hard time imagining anyplace else will ever feel as comfortable. It's the house equivalent of a favorite pair of jeans, except that's a terrible analogy because I don't associate jeans with everything I associate with my home.<br />
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On Christmas Eve, my brother and my parents and I opened our gifts from each other. We figured we'd leave all the mayhem (a.k.a. the munchkins opening their presents) for the morning when we could just sit back and watch how they liked everything. And then my brother, my mom, and I sat in a row on the couch while my dad read us the Nativity story.<br />
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From a picture book. But with all the scriptural text, more or less, and the set-up was essential to all three of us being able to see the pictures.<br />
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My older sister and her family will not come in until a few days from now, so I like to think that we're to an extent having holidays the way hobbits eat: we've had first Christmas, and soon we'll have second Christmas. And thanks to Skype, we still saw them today even if only for a few minutes.<br />
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And I suppose all of this is to say: I read a book a couple of weeks ago called <i>The Man Who Invented Christmas.</i> It's the story behind Dickens writing <i>A Christmas Carol</i> (and I apologize to anyone to whom I've spouted random factoids from this book, but honestly, it's something I want to place into the hands of anyone who says books don't have the power to change anything...ahem...). Anyway, it quotes Dickens as essentially saying that Christmas is family, and it should always be spent at home.<br />
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I must say I agree.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-48406343521736748612012-12-17T19:31:00.000-07:002012-12-17T19:31:10.816-07:00Music-Related MelancholiaOnce upon a time, on Saturday, I attended Kurt Bestor's annual Christmas show with my little brother. First things first: I loved it, and my little brother is officially the best. Or was for at least a minute or two on Saturday. ;) Second things second: these things always make me wistful.<div>
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I suppose I should specify: by 'these things,' I mean musical performances. Some musical performances. Mostly musical performances that involve a flute or a piano in pretty much any capacity.</div>
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It's not entirely untrue to say that I have a certain...overexaggerative....streak. I am a queen of hyperbole. And sometimes it's for comedy, but sometimes I actually mean it. I honest-to-goodness mean whatever over-the-top thing I'm saying sometimes--not as often as I once did, but still.</div>
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This is where the wistfulness comes in, I suppose.</div>
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I took instrument lessons: piano, flute. As I recall, I mostly behaved myself during my piano lessons but I often acted like a little terror in the course of my flute lessons. I have since learned that karma's a very real thing. A few years ago, I agreed to teach flute lessons to the younger sister of a high school friend--and darned if she wasn't as much a terror as I'd been back when! Maybe more!</div>
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Anyhow.</div>
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Lessons. I took them. And I used to imagine, I used to <i>dream</i>, that one day I'd be good enough I'd be famous. But here's the thing: I never stuck with any one thing long enough to excel enough. My attention span wavered, and while it's true I'm still a perfectly adequate piano player and that I still know which end of a flute is which... none of my big dreams ever came true.</div>
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I remember, 15 or so years ago, going into the Capitol Theatre with my parents for the first touring play I ever saw there: <i>The King and I</i>, with Hayley Mills. (For the record, Ms. Mills is nice and all, but I'm pretty sure I would've preferred anyone else be Anna.) Anyhow, I remember looking for the first few minutes into the pit, and thinking: "Someday I'll do that. Someday I'll be good enough to play in the pit."</div>
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But I didn't, and I won't, and sometimes that makes me a little bit sad.</div>
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Yet mixed in with that sadness is an appreciation of what they're doing: I've taken lessons, I know it's not easy. And I love good performances that much more (and also loathe terrible performances to distraction) because of those lessons. I'm thankful I had parents who let me have them, thankful for growing up in an atmosphere that frequently involved music in the background.</div>
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Still sometimes I can't help but wonder if I make--aloud or internally--claims to myself that will never be fulfilled, claims that might result in more bittersweet experiences at some point in the future. It's not even that I think I'd go back and apply myself more. I don't think I'd be a better flute student. I still think that counting out pesky rhythms before playing them on the piano is quite frequently a shame. (So maybe I wasn't the greatest of piano students. I remember an exasperated teacher who lamented not that I had no rhythm, but that I seemed to make the rhythm I preferred...)</div>
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But nevertheless, I had dreams. Without any follow-through.</div>
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And all of a sudden, my pattern of flunking at something like Nanowrimo begins to make a lot of sense to me: I do this. I'm in a pattern. I've been in a pattern for a long, long time. A pattern where I think big and then go small, when I need to dare to believe that I'm just as overexaggeratedly amazing as I claim to be.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-41291446012536206172012-12-11T19:37:00.002-07:002012-12-11T19:37:40.875-07:00Nanowrimo Redux: And I Flunked AgainOnce upon a time, there was a writer whom we shall call Katie. She decided to attempt writing a novel one year--we'll call it 2011--and she kind of flunked out rather earlier. The following year--we'll call it 2012--she flunked again, but at least she flunked out after half the month had ended.<div>
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The first attempted novel is still saved to her computer, the twenty-ish pages that she created. So too is the beginnings of a second project. And yet...she's sadly lacking in motivation. Honestly she knows that she wants to finish one of them but she can't bring herself to do it.</div>
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Sort of like tonight when it took her forever to make her dinner because for a great long while she just couldn't bring herself to clean that skillet. Not that it took long at all to clean the skillet, but it was effort and she was tired.</div>
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Which is to say next year she might attempt Nanowrimo again, with the expectation she may perhaps get through three-quarters of the month and then be motivated to finish.</div>
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We'll see.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-85184520705248945002012-11-14T17:16:00.001-07:002012-11-14T17:16:17.525-07:00Decisions, DecisionsTired of reading about my close encounters of the writing kind? Well, if you are, then I won't be sad if you proceed to elsewhere on the Internet. Okay, that's a lie. I'll be a little bit sad about you proceeding to elsewhere on the Internet, but I'll get over it relatively quickly and I probably won't see it happening so I won't even be able to experience my brief moment of sadness real-time.<div>
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Something that occurred to me today when I got home and decided to do many things, none of which were working on my novel (because I did that a little at lunch before I got distracted by, you know, real people): I actually have to make a choice to write this thing.</div>
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I can come home, for example, and tidy up my room a little bit and dance around to whatever plays on my iTunes and maybe watch an episode of a TV show and find ways to generally fill time <i>without</i> writing this thing.</div>
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That's not to say that I'm quitting by any means, but I just had this sudden epiphany that I made an initial decision, but I have to keep making that decision again and again as the days march on. I didn't make it once and poof! a novel appeared.</div>
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I think Nanowrimo has taught me a life lesson here.</div>
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Well played, Nanowrimo. Well played.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-67648209334816923432012-11-12T17:24:00.001-07:002012-11-12T17:25:59.471-07:00In Which I Demonstrate the Extent to Which I Can Be NerdyI have this friend from work. We'll call him Kevin, because that's his name. And he's one of many people interested in what I'm creating while I do this crazy NaNoWriMo deal. I feel as though I have much more support this time around, which is awesome, because I don't remember this many people last year saying: "Hey cool! You're writing a book!"<br />
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In all fairness, that's not to say that I think these people mightn't have thought the same thing last year, if I had so obviously been writing a book and I knew some of these people last year... I write by hand, rather obviously, in places like the break room. What else would they think I'd be writing aside from a book? (...and I just realized I might not want to know the answer to that question)<br />
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Anyhow, he has made a specific request: that I not kill off my main character. I've complied, because who kills off their main character? (Okay, okay, I know it's happened, but I always feel betrayed. Unless of course the characters has died-but-not, a la Harry Potter or Westley from <i>The Princess Bride.</i>)</div>
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So.</div>
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In the course of a conversation last Friday, he'd asked about some plot point I can't remember and what I may or may not do with the book.</div>
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And I told him: "I can do anything I want. I MAKE IT SO. Like #2."</div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-81347483637627974062012-11-08T19:37:00.002-07:002012-11-08T19:37:48.996-07:00A Question AnsweredSo I've mentioned to a few people that I'm trying to write a novel this month, and mostly people say they actually want to read it when it looks done. Some of the <i>truly</i> brave people want to see it before it's even close to looking finished. And that's great too.<br />
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And one someone memorably asked: "So you're writing a novel. How do you go about doing that?"<br />
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I said: "I make it up as I go along."<br />
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(Is there any other way of doing it, really?)Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-35408269504336407492012-11-07T19:53:00.002-07:002012-11-07T19:53:30.489-07:00In Which I Admit I've Fallen BehindSo here's the deal with Nanowrimo: it's probably best not to fall behind, as you probably achieve your goal better if you don't fall behind and then find you have to have bursts of writing energy that create extra words and story bits when if you would have just stuck with your 1667 words per day minimum, you'd have that novel by the end of the month.<br />
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I imagine it's sort of like finding yourself lagging in a marathon and finding yourself needing a burst of speed, although I have no idea because I really hate the idea of running and I'm sure that I'd hate actual running even more than I hate the idea of running.<br />
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Anyhow, logistically speaking, having sporadic bursts of writing energy over a few days seems better methodology than waiting till the end and trying to sprint my way to a finish.<br />
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I feel that this running analogy is weak, probably because I don't know squat about running.<br />
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But here's what I know about staying on track: it's probably better to stay better than on track to give yourself cushioning, good to stay as exactly on-track as possible, not terrible to fall behind if you know you can catch up, and downright lamentable to let yourself so fall behind that you can't catch up no matter how hard or fast you can go.<br />
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Possibly this applies not just to writing but to life. <br />
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But I'm too tired right now to think much more about it, as this burst of energy has just blown itself mostly out.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-66108876968173053332012-11-06T17:19:00.002-07:002012-11-06T17:19:59.850-07:00In Which I Admit That I'll Be Super Glad When Today's Over, Whichever Way It Goes... And I think that my subject line pretty much sums up my mentality.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-23815455755072637062012-11-03T17:24:00.000-06:002012-11-03T17:24:27.604-06:00Evil Perfectionism GremlinsDay 3 of Nanowrimo, and I've already found myself procrastinating my writing time. Which is silly because I have this idea, and I want to write it. But the little perfectionism gremlin has come sneaking out to growl at me that my ideas are incomplete and I haven't done all my research and this won't turn out exactly the way it should or I want.<br />
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And you want to know something about that gremlin? She's evil and she's wrong. (And she must be a she because it's just far too creepy to think about male perfectionism gremlins living in my brain.)</div>
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Well, she's part wrong, anyway. I don't expect this to get formulated according to some fully-thought-out plan because I avoided having one in order to allow for flexibility. I didn't outline so that I could write whatever the heck I wanted and decide what to kill and what to keep later.</div>
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And yes, by that, I mean it's possible that in the course of my story characters my day. But never fear: only fictional beings will be harmed in the creation of this tale.</div>
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Anyway, I'm just writing this in my blog as a way of saying: YOU'RE WRONG, GREMLIN. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a novel to write.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-3567506243641488322012-11-02T15:55:00.000-06:002012-11-02T15:55:03.753-06:00Nanowrimo, You Will Not Defeat Me This Time!Remember this time last year, when I was all gung-ho and convinced that I was going to conquer Nanowrimo in a fashion not entirely like Rome conquered...well, almost everywhere else back-when. (What do you mean I don't have the best grasp on that whole situation? I'd be offended if you weren't probably right.)<br />
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Anyway.<br />
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I've reconciled with Nanowrimo, who I quit a few days into November last year because like a petulant child I decided that I just didn't wanna and it was <i>too hard</i> and a litany of other excuses that amounted to: hey, this takes time and effort and I don't want to give it.<br />
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This time around I've come in with expectations that I can finish a novel in month, but only if I actually write every day and temporarily give up other things. (Not <i>Once Upon A Time</i>, though. I refuse to give up that show.)<br />
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And I've rediscovered something I already know: I flow better when I handwrite first and then transfer it to the laptop later. There's nothing that makes my brain freeze quite as much as staring at a blank computer screen does.<br />
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Also, it helps to have positive reinforcement (bizarre-o, right?), as when you mention to people that you're attempting to write a book and then they almost beg you to <i>let</i> them be a first-wave reader and give you feedback to which you say yes because who DOESN'T want people to want to read and critique them?<br />
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More blogs forthcoming probably. The more varieties of writing I'm doing, the better the juices flow.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-4931755885464366382012-10-31T11:51:00.006-06:002012-10-31T11:52:46.879-06:00On Why I Dislike HalloweenBefore I start, let it be noted that my dislike of Halloween does not extend to <i>The Nightmare Before Christmas </i>or <i>It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown</i>. So for the record, there are at least two things about Halloween I like. (In all fairness, though, they just prove that I like Tim Burton animated movies and Charlie Brown television specials. Who <b>doesn't</b> love Charlie Brown television specials?)<br />
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This year, more than any other year, I feel that many people have been asking me about Halloween, particularly what costume I'd be wearing. My answer: none. I don't really like Halloween much. Well, okay, that was the mellow answer. Some people may have been treated to a more vehement response that may have involved the word 'hate.'</div>
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Every person who leapt to the defense of Halloween, <i>every person!</i>, had the same response: "But there's candy!" </div>
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I'm not a candy hater. But I don't feel like saying that candy is involved makes Halloween that great. I'm an adult now, if I have the urge for a particular type of candy, I can go out to the store and buy it.</div>
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The older I get, the more I see a range of Halloween costumes for women and their female children that are just...utterly distasteful. And that's putting it mildly. I'm not a fan of leaving my house and seeing people wearing costumes that show me...too much of them.</div>
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While yes, I do enjoy some of Tim Burton's flicks, and a certain measure of creepy-fun, I find no joy in being scared. There is absolutely nothing recreational about being frightened. When I wake up on a day where I know I will have a lot of free time, I do not immediately think: "Oh, I think I'll scare myself today!" I don't like feeling anxiety, I don't like when my heart beats more quickly than normal, and I don't like shaking.</div>
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Pumpkin carving and pumpkin painting bring me no joy, as they never turn out how I want and they never last for very long. Also, they quite frequently get smashed by ne'er-do-wells. Pumpkin cookies are good, though I associate them more generally with fall-time and not Halloween.</div>
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Maybe one day, if I ever have a child, I'll remember what's it like to actually like this holiday. But for now, I am content in my Halloween-grinchiness.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-22537073864894534492012-10-29T18:33:00.000-06:002012-10-29T18:33:17.287-06:00On My Struggles with Goal-SettingA long, long time ago I listened to someone teach a class about goal-setting. (It could've been Institute; it could've been church; it could've been school. Honestly, I don't remember where I was.) I'm rather sure, now that I think about it, that I've sat through more than one goal-setting lesson in my life--but that is neither here nor there.<div>
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What struck me on this particular occasion is that the teacher suggested that we need to analyze our goals a little more. He/she suggested that our initial goals would be so large or broad as to seem grand but not entirely achievable, so we should break that initial goal down into smaller goals to accomplish to reach the broader purpose.</div>
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I thought it a brilliant idea. Still do, really, except that it poses a problem when I can't figure out the big goal. Or the little goal. Or any goals.</div>
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Or when my goal is Be Happy, well, I haven't quite figured out how to break that one down either. </div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-31271963508406728952012-10-28T15:31:00.001-06:002012-10-28T15:31:35.092-06:00A Matter of PerspectiveIn the course of a recent phone conversation, I expressed to a good friend that I often feel that I'm not entirely sure about what I'm doing with myself. Her near-immediate response went something like this: "Well, the way I figure it, you're too beautiful and you're too talented. That means there are just too many things that you could do to choose from."<div>
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Let's just say that's not normally what I think of as the problem, but then I tend to look at things from my own point of view. My point of view is that I just don't know what I want, and that might not be completely removed from her perspective. (I'm not saying that I can do anything. I'll never, for example, be a pilot or an astronaut. But then those were never really on my mental to-do list, anyway.)</div>
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But then that's the tricky thing about perspective: sometimes we need a new one in order to really get a handle on things.</div>
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Recently I was thinking about my experience ten years or so ago with the woman who created my prosthetic. She eventually became a little frustrated with trying to match the color of my functioning eye, because the color changed based on what I was wearing. The changes were usually subtle, but I didn't know until then that my eye was actually several different colors: blue, green, brown, and even goldish yellow.</div>
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Prior to then when anyone asked my eye color, I'd shrug and say "Green" or "Hazel." </div>
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It's a funny thing, because I look in the mirror every morning, which means I see myself. I'd seen that eye many, many times but I never registered that there were complexities to its color until someone else told me so.</div>
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You'd think that a half-blind girl would need fewer reminders than others about ways of seeing things clearly, but you'd be wrong. Perspective matters.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-44186744611132788932012-10-13T09:29:00.001-06:002012-10-13T09:29:39.856-06:00Nothing Can Come of NothingIt's been a great long while since I've read <i>King Lear</i>. A couple of years, really, since I've either read or watched anything Shakespearean at all. But as I was mulling over some things I'm not entirely sure that I'm content with, this phrase popped into my head.<br />
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I frequently go through periods where I feel as though I get antsy with everyone and everything. The antsy-ness may or may not be visible, I really don't know, but I sometimes find myself wishing that I could just run away from everything for a while until I get myself sorted out.<br />
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Sometimes it passes through, just a brief visitor reminding me that there's no such thing as feeling absolutely settled with everything. And sometimes it stays for a while, prompting and re-prompting an assessment of things that I can change, that maybe I should change, that maybe I just need a longer reminder <i>can</i> be changed. Sometimes it morphs into the winter, spring, summer, <i>and</i> fall of my discontent.<br />
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I've been known to ponder running away to escape this feeling, but I know that's patently ridiculous: anything internal would follow me. It's a silly impulse since I've only discovered two ways of getting rid of this sensation--waiting it out and actually making a change.<br />
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And I'm starting to wonder about whether I should make a change, because Lear keeps popping into my brain. Nothing can come of nothing, and I need to make some choices. I need to take some actions or I need to choose not take some actions.<br />
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But in the meanwhile any time I encounter this feeling, I have a feeling this saying will be swimming around in my brain until I choose. Doing nothing, choosing nothing, will result in nothing.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-91281061107749868582012-10-03T13:12:00.002-06:002012-10-03T13:12:23.716-06:00You're Know You're Kinda a Book Nerd When...So I live down the street from Toad Hall<i>.</i><br />
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No, really, there's an older and nicer and gated house at the end of my street that is called Toad Hall.<br />
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I have no idea who, if anyone, lives there.<br />
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So clearly, I picture Mr. Toad from <i>The Wind in the Willows</i> living there, because--hello!--it's Toad Hall. And he just never comes out because he doesn't want to scare his neighbors.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-19413724476339867862012-10-03T13:09:00.002-06:002012-10-03T13:09:48.081-06:00And the Answer is, Clearly, Fairy TalesSo I've noticed lately that a lot of popular YA lit these days is purely dystopic in nature, and I've speculated about it. But something had been nagging at me, and that something was this: what is popular--is there <i>anything</i> popular--that's at all anti-dystopic? What, I thought, is the opposite of all this dystopia? (Linguistically speaking, I <b>know</b> the answer is utopia...but for a little while I was stumped about how one would generically answer this question.)<div>
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And then it hit me as I watched the season 2 premiere of <i>Once Upon a Time</i>: duh, the answer is fairy tales.</div>
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They never fully go out of style; they get adapted and re-adapted; they almost always follow the same general plans. They're stark: black and white, good and evil. Hey look, this is the evil queen. She's bad. Hey look, this is Snow White. She's good. </div>
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No in between, only temporary unhappiness, and lots of happy ever after. Most of the time.</div>
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And I guess I just had to write this up to reassure myself that not all of the popular books of the moment are about the world going to hell in a handbasket (or worse).</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-88562688686393629272012-10-01T19:08:00.003-06:002012-10-01T19:08:30.409-06:00In Which I Tell You Why I Will Never Finish The Casual VacancyLife is too short, people. It's too short to read books that you don't enjoy reading all the way through.<br />
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Which I suppose could be considered an odd perspective coming from someone who recently decided to re-read books that she read in school and positively and fearsomely <b>hated</b>, but I feel that's a different story. Some of those books just weren't given a fair shake back then for whatever reason.<br />
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But here's the thing about J.K. Rowling's <i>The Casual Vacancy</i>, or at least the first one hundred pages or so of it: I just kept waiting for something to happen. And nothing did. (There's a joke in an episode of <i>Gilmore Girls</i> where the characters are making fun of <i>The Donna Reed Show</i>: remember that episode where the dad came home from work and was upset because dinner wasn't ready and<i> nothing happened</i>? Remember when Donna tried to bake a cake and <i>nothing happened</i>? That's what the first bit of this book felt like.)<br />
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Well, strictly speaking, that's not fair. One major event happened, really the event that sparks the novel's title: someone dies. So in all fairness I would describe the first bit of the book thus: someone dies, and then nothing happens, except that everyone somehow mostly internally reacts to the death and then there's some blahblahblah about local politics.<br />
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You might be thinking that I was unwilling to give this book a fair shake because it's not <i>Harry Potter</i>, but that's not even a little bit the case. I don't like this book because it's dull. Nothing that's going on in this first bit makes me want to keep reading. As of where I stopped, there's only a whisper of a plot and I don't have any faith at all that it will ever reach normal speaking volume.<br />
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I could possibly, potentially, maybe get behind some of these characters--well, at least one that I can see--but nothing has given me reason to. And I have no reason to carry on reading this book when I could be reading something else I'll enjoy more.<br />
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So that's my two cents, in the event you were debating whether to pick up this book.<br />
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(I didn't post this on the book blog as it seemed decidedly unfair to review a book without reading it all the way through. And I didn't want to read the book all the way through to post an opinion.)<br />
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I somewhat recently read an interview where Rowling stated she's sure she'll find her way back into children's books. I have great faith in what she might add to that particular genre, mostly because you don't find a lot of children's books where nothing much happens.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298094073495887931.post-75099448683000012732012-09-18T19:24:00.001-06:002012-09-18T21:22:42.799-06:00On Readwalking, or Why I'm Sometimes a Little CowardlySometimes I wonder if I keep doing the same things I always do because there's a certain comfort to monotony. Mind you, I'm not thinking right now "Oh, hey, I am going to write a blog that sings praises to boringness!" but I <em>am</em> thinking that there's a lot that I--and I'm sure other people--choose not to do because it's unknown. And because there's a certain amount of safety in a pattern of routine.<br />
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Safety, I say, because I have become comfortable enough that I have started a practice that was much more common to myself when I lived at home with my parents: I now feel that I am familiar enough with my environment to walk home from Trax while still reading my book. <br />
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I've lived in the same place for more than four years now, and it hasn't changed much at all, aside from someone finally finishing the renovation on a house on the corner of my street. And, I guess, they <em>are</em> almost done with a new building that's kitty-corner from my Trax stop. But the route home has become well-trodden now, and a few weeks ago I was <strong>very</strong> into my reading, and I just kept reading because I knew my feet would take me where I need to go.<br />
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Before you start worrying too much, please know that I'm not so dumb that I get <em>so</em> absorbed as to not pay attention to walk signals. I'm more than glad to put the book down while I'm crossing streets.<br />
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As an added bonus, apparently I'm a source of entertainment as well. The following day, as I walked home with my nose firmly stuck in my book, I passed an old man working in his yard. He glanced at me, took a good look at what I was doing, and promptly burst into laughter. Even better, after laughing, he just went back to work without trying to figure out anything else about me through conversation.<br />
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Of course, I don't know that you really have to have a conversation with someone who walks and reads to figure something out about them: you've already seen.<br />
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Anyway, the point of telling you about my readwalking is that I've reached a comfort level wherein I feel pretty safe with my current surroundings and circumstances. Some of them, anyway. And I sometimes wonder if it's not to my detriment. This is why: I don't like threatening my own safety. So even though I may find that there are things I'm experiencing discomfort or unhappiness with, I don't want to change them, because changing them has the potential to change my safety zone and to make it much less safe.<br />
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I suppose it's self-preservational, but it's also an instinct I'm not entirely sure how to fight. Growth involves change. Progress implies movement. And I'm not sure how much movement can come from within the safety of routine.<br />
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Every so often I invariably conclude I need to find a way to make a change, to shake up my life a little, or maybe to let someone else shake it up for me. I just need to find a safe yet unsafe way to do it.<br />
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If anything such thing is possible.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07232286196928844543noreply@blogger.com0