Reset

Hello friends.  I know you've probably given up on me.  It's been six months since my last entry (which feels very much like saying it's been six months since my last confession).  The world . . . my world . . . has changed so much since then.  When I left you, fluctuations in the system and unreliable connections meant the airship that was my life was on borrowed time, and would soon require an overhaul.  Finally, predictably, the engines failed, requiring a quick and dramatic rerouting of fuel and power.  I did what needed doing, and now this ship can fly again, back on course.

Unfortunately, all that triage meant my poor blog was left behind, dying in the sun.  I considered leaving it there.  I doubted I'd hear too much protest, and perhaps it was time.  Perhaps Notes from a Sentient Observer was tired and wanted to be left to its own private, dignified demise.  But then, after some soul searching and a little external inspiration, I had a change of heart.

That inspiration came when I heard about this amazing storytelling project called cowbird.  Cowbird is a common space on the internet where anyone can tell their stories, both real and fictional.  In their words, "Stories help us be students and teachers of life. They help us make sense of our lives, and they help us find meaning."  This is what I have always believed, and this is why I first created this blog--to tell my stories, share my musings, hopefully inspire discussion, and maybe find a little meaning along the way.  I may someday contribute to the cowbird project, as in awe of its existence as I am.  But, for now, I will simply attempt to breathe life into my own little public storytelling space.

Getting On With It

If you are (or were) a regular follower, you probably notice that I've changed my name to something a little more "real world."  It's true, this is the real me.  For all of my old blog friends, this is the grand unveiling, as it were.

Overhauling Airship Angela meant that suddenly I had a lot more freedom to do this life thing the way I really wanted.  This lead to some discussion with my dear friend and writerly cohort, T. Z. Wallace, which brought us both to the conclusion that we needed to Get Serious about this whole freelance thing.  This meant getting Linked Ins and starting a freelance page (not up and running yet) and getting all our crap organized.  She's a bit seriouser than I (being the mad driven ginger she is), and is always at least 2-3 steps ahead of me.  In the wake of her considerable dust, I have been attempting to get all my respective craps together.  And since I have decided to keep this blog, it is now linked to the other writing crap I do, say thank you.  Hence the dropping of "firespark" (ah, but I admit I was a bit sad to see her go) and the embracing of just me, Angela B.

On a more personal note, my offspring and I have acquired new living quarters, and I have a new love in my life.  I will henceforth refer to said beloved as Mr. V.  I have a feeling Mr. V will creep into my tales often.  My greatest joys and inspirations typically do.

I will also tell you I am not so afraid anymore.  This is one of the many perks of the recent overhaul and subsequent upgrade.  It means I will be hiding less, and giving more.  It means I will be less of a stranger and more of a friend, as I always intended to be.  I hope it means my stories will be richer, and my posts more frequent.  We're going to talk about life, you and me.  We're going to discuss all those things I observe and ponder, if you'll indulge me that much.  Stuff in the world, stuff in my head.  It's all fair game.

Pen and Print by David Reber Hammer's Photography

Hello, friends!  Just dropping by a quick note to let you know my dear friend, T. Z. Wallace, has managed to earn a spot in a contest, and I want to shout about it a little.  It is Miss Snark's First Victim's Secret Agent contest, and our lovely Ms. Wallace is May Secret Agent #3.  If you click on that last link (the red words saying "May Secret Agent #3" just to your left . . . I've linked them again in case you missed them the first time), it will take you to T. Z.'s entry, at which time you may find yourself drawn into the first scenes of a rather riveting story.  Once you've feverishly read through every word, you may then find yourself compelled to comment about this story, to say how it made you feel, why you kept reading, and maybe even a little constructive criticism (writers do like feedback, after all).  This would be the desired effect.  If even one of you first read this, and then read that, I'll have done my job.

For the record, I do love her opening ever so much.  But I won't try to sway you with my own opinions, however weighty they may be.

Happy reading!

True Confessions of a Writer 'In Process'

My friend GingerGirl has done something awesome, though admittedly a little intimidating.  She's given herself a deadline to finish her novel, has been working on it daily for about . . . a month now? (is that right?)  . . . and has inadvertently guilted me into getting back to my own novel.

I can do this.  I can.  I can finish this thing.  Why not?

Why not, indeed.  I've been working on this novel for a few years now and I am ashamed to say I'm nowhere near the end.  I say the problem is not enough time, because of my job and my family and my responsibilities (you know, the endless list of excuses).  That, however, isn't the whole truth.  It's not even half the truth.  The real reason I haven't finished this story is that I am afraid.  I suppose that's true for most writers (at least, that's what they say in interviews), so I'm in good company.  But, what am I afraid of?  Yep, the usual.  That I'm just not good enough.

It's not writer's block; I see the story, I know my characters.  In fact, I love my characters.  They're like dear friends of mine (though it's sometimes a sad fondness, since I know a few of these darlings will have to die).  I can experience the world in my head--the scenarios, the highs and lows, the pain and joy.  I feel this story, and sometimes it explodes in technicolor brilliance behind my eyes.  But . . . can I tell it?

I have pages and pages of what seems to me like wordy, meandering drivel, with the occasional "good" sentence or scene.  And I don't mean "good" as in "well written."  I know how to revise and rewrite until a thing is honed for maximum effect, and I'm comfortable with the fact that this is a first draft and things are a bit slipshod at this stage.  No.  By "good," what I really mean is true.

If you're a writer, you know what I mean.  Well, I assume you do . . . we probably haven't met properly, so I can't say for sure.  I think it's safe to say, however, that most writers know and love their stories, as I do, and just want to be true to them, in the telling.  These funny, thoughtful, explosive, terrifying, poignant stories that live within us just needing a little nurturing by a competent mother so they can be birthed into existence and learn to walk around on their own.

So, no pressure, right?  Right.

I'm going to get back to my novel, now.  I've got a villain who's trying to take over my whole head, and I'd better get him in check before he wins.  As I said last post--a year of doing.

"Go then, there are other worlds than these."
- Stephen King, The Gunslinger

Aye.  Thankee, sai.  Wish me courage.

All Apologies and A Little Catch-up

Well... I thought I had blog guilt before, but now of course I've gone way past tardy and right into neglect.  What do I have to say for myself?  Um... I'm still alive?  :}  I'm feeling a bit like Ron Weasley, showing back up at Harry & Hermione's camp after running out on them for weeks.  *Gulp*  So, yeah, sorry, but I have been terribly busy and things have... gotten in the way, and... 

Oh, never mind.  You know how it is.  But, honestly, with everything that's been going on, I have missed my little blog here.  I randomly check in on all the other blogs I follow and it's like peeking into a room full of friends, but you can't join the party 'cause you're supposed to be studying. 

All work and no play

I've got a minute now, though, (the barest minute) to stop and chat, so lets commence with the general catch-up we always have to do, shall we?

In the land of make-believe, yes I saw Deathly Hallows Part II, and yes, it was fantastic.  Well... I have to admit I was pretty disappointed in the final Harry/Voldemort showdown... I mean... where WAS everybody?  But the rest was superb.  And Snape... no words.  Alan Rickman was perfect.  But, you knew that, didn't you?  I mean, you have seen it by now... right?

Since then I've been waiting on tenterhooks (thanks for adding that phrase to my vocabulary, Ms. Rowling) for the release of the newest installment in the Dresden Files series: Ghost Story.  I've listened to every book in the series so far w/ my son on audiobook (I've edited some parts here and there, for his young ears... which are growing older by the day), and now we've gone back to listening to the last one again (Changes) just to keep us from freaking out in anticipation.  We should have the new one soon.  Very, very soon... (that last one left us on the world's largest cliffhanger, so I feel like we've been holding our breath ever since).  

And then, of course, I've been reading (with my eyes this time, on actual paper) The Passage by Justin Cronin every little down moment I get (which is usually fleeting - a moment in the car if my husband's driving, a few minutes between bites on my lunch break...).  I originally became aware of this tome's existence when I saw it on a Borders book shelf ages ago (ok... so about a year ago) and was completely captured by the storyline, but was too broke at the time to buy it.  Then, a few months ago, Mr. Cronin happened to come through my town for a book signing.  I heard the announcement on NPR, which prompted me to go out, buy the book finally, and get it signed.  I did, and he did, with the mysterious message, "All eyes."  I didn't know what it meant at the time (not having actually read it yet... seems odd to have a book signed that you haven't read, but I had faith it would be good... sometimes you just know), but I do now.  And I'm about halfway through.  If you've read this one, don't tell me how it ends.  I'm currently under it's spell, and hope to give a report once I'm done.  

In the really real world, my garden is growing and overgrown.  The child is now a teenager, and my husband and I are taking full responsibility for his corruption. (He's graduated to watching old Beavis & Butthead episodes which we happen to have on DVD... who says we don't have class.)

I am still writing. I've finished a short story but haven't gotten it published yet.  Still working on the "big" story and toying w/ the idea of expanding the short story idea into more stories.  All of which, of course, have been recently placed on the back burner as I deal with the demands of a working summer.  Autumn can't come soon enough.

In the virtual world (a sort of fiction/reality hybrid), Molly, my favorite blogger (yes, she is... the rest of you can get in line... there's nothing I can do about it, it's done.) is back in business, spinning off craziness and pure brilliance in a way only she can execute.  This is part of what brought me back here, so if you're at all glad I'm posting again, you can mostly thank her.

And then, in a virtual/really real world collision, my dear friend, GingerGirl, has been going through all kinds of adventures in Foodie Hell.  Go read.  She'll explain.  But I will say this:  it's interesting, when one of your closest friends is diagnosed with more food allergies than you ever before thought possible, how you start scrutinizing all of your own food... too see if you can still share it, or if you must keep it a safe distance, because you've seen first hand what a slip-up can do.  It sort of pulls your heart in uncomfortably odd directions, like being drawn and quartered. 

I will be back soon.  I hope some of you are still around, that you see this, and that you know how much more I want to be here than I actually am. 

Life in the Multiverse

Here we are, on the very first days of 2011.  How is it finding you?  Do you feel any different?  It's kind of like a birthday, the start of a new year - you think you'll feel older, somehow, maybe wiser or stronger or mysteriously "new," but you usually don't.  This year, however, seems to be delivering a marked "something different."  Standing on this edge, I find myself thinking deeper, feeling freer, embracing harder.  Everything feels like a possibility, like hope.  And yet, the ghosts hover ever closer.

I decided to give Notes from a Sentient a face lift for the new year - something to better reflect this new frame of mind.  Do you like it?  I'm satisfied with my choice.  It's brighter, more colorful and dynamic, and it has my tree.  Yes, that one, over there - the one without any leaves, like a thing standing between worlds, between the living and dead, between the real and the imaginary, and do we really know on which side we reside?  It's a question worth pondering.  I do it all the time.  

There are lots of things I wanted to talk to you about.  With the constant babble of New Year's resolutions flying around, I thought I might talk about addiction and breaking bad habits (from my own personal perspective, since that's all any of us really has), but that's another post.  This one will have to be about writing - not the how but the why.  Why writing instead of habit-breaking, as would be so much more apropos for this time of year? Because that's where my head is at.  Sorry for the abrupt change in subject and the misplaced preposition, but that's just how it is tonight.  It's all I can do.

I was driving and thinking earlier, pondering my story, the one I've been working on, off and on, for too long now - the one that just won't shut up, never goes away, but never seems any easier to write, for all of that.  My son's head was stuck in his new manga book and a long, dark highway stretched out before me, the radio muttering just loud enough to know what song was playing, but low enough to become background noise to my thoughts.  I went away, snagged again by that other realm. (It's so close to this one, it's almost an overlay - like a nearly imperceptible caul.)

This novel won't let me be.  I've tried writing other things when I get exasperated and feel stuck with the plot, but I can't seem to get into anything else.  I think this is my Big Story - not Big in a NY Times Best Seller List kind of way, but Big in a this will gnaw at you until it's written, until it's done, kind of way.  What's funny is that it's not even the most personal story I intend to write.  That story is down the road a bit (the irony of this statement is something most of you will never get).  But this one is telling me to write, poking and prodding and whispering incessantly.  

I believe most people are like that tree (yes, that one up there), existing between worlds.  We are alive, but we're dying even as we live, will be dead some day, and weren't alive (does that mean we were dead, or simply did not exist?) before we were born.  We can be conscious, yet our mind, our attention, can be in two places (or more) at once.  We could be driving a car, for example, down a dark strip of highway while simultaneously seeing and experiencing somewhere else, another world, one that could be a memory but is more likely a figment of our quite considerable imaginations.  And this imaginative place where ideas and dreams and stories and paintings and songs come from is also a place divided, existing in and from different realms.  Our imaginations, our stories, seem to be part past experience, part anticipated future, part hopes and fears, and part the out-of-nowhere-from-nothingness that gives rise to those thoughts and ideas which we can't explain.  Not comfortably, at least.  

I think this is a piece of the puzzle, one of the core reasons why we create, why, if we are writers, we write.  (Of course, if you're a painter or an architect or a musician, you create in those way - I think it all comes to the same.)  Because these worlds, all of these realities we exist in, must be paid homage to, must be expressed.

Do you ever feel that way?  As if some fictional character, some moment in your mind, some feeling or glimmer of insight, is going to push against the confines of your being until it finally gets out?  Some people say, "I felt like I would just burst if I didn't get it all out!"  

It is like that, isn't it?  Like a living entity trying to be hatched or freed.  We, their surrogates or their creators (the jury is still out on that one), we don't have any choice, do we?  

Mmm... (as one thought leads to another) but we do, don't we?    We have a choice.  We can ignore the imagination, the other realms that are speaking to us.  We can pretend we don't hear the voices, don't see the vision.  But we know what that means.  It means the death of the soul.  Art is self preservation.  It is the soul's struggle for survival - the only sustenance there is, the only chance.  The only difference between we, the creative people of the world, and those that don't seek a creative outlet, is that we understand this one simple fact.  Art is life.  Anything else is suicide.  Or voluntary zombieism - and when it comes down to that, is there really any difference?

Busy Bees & Beavers

Hello, all.  Just a quick note to let you know I haven't died or been stricken with acute writer's block.  On the contrary, I've been busy, busy, busy.  I may have my very first piece published within the next day or so.  It's not fiction, it's a concert review, but I am very, VERY excited!  Unfortunately, to retain the blissful illusion of anonymity on this blog, I can't post the link to my piece here.  But I will let a few of you (who don't know me personally) know when it's up and where you can see it... secretly... under cloak of darkness... I feel so covert.  ;)  

But it seems the busy-bee vibe isn't hitting just me -  it's everywhere!  Nearly everyone I know has had their heads down, working like crazed beavers, nesting and creating and dam building.  I think this is the surest sign of the imminence of spring, more so even then the lengthening of days or the increase of birdsong.  It takes work to raise spring properly.

More soon.  Until my next report, be well!

Treasures & Miscellanea

I found this treasure in my post-holiday sales scavenging.  Or rather, I should say, my beloved found it for me.  He has an eye for these things.  We had gone to a local bookstore to find calendars for the new year.  This is now my 2010 office calendar. 

It's different than what I normally have to look at while I work.  Usually it's something with beautiful nature scenes to mark the passing of time.  But this spoke to me.

I live and work in a very conservative place.   (My "foreign correspondents" are, I'm sure, laughing at this  blatant understatement.)  There's not much in the way of diversity around me, so I was very pleased to find this lovely piece of work that represents a blending of cultures and religions in the most harmonious way.  The artwork is by Michael Green and it appears to be primarily a merging of Celtic Pagan and Christian imagery, incorporating such phrases as "Blessed Be" and "I am that I am; I am that by which all else is known."  But flipping through the first few months shows that all of the major holidays are listed, including holidays from faiths that are more commonly ignored in other, more "conventional" calendars.  For February alone I can see listed Imbolc (Pagan/Wiccan), Nirvana Day (Buddhist), Maha Shivaratri (Hindu), Chinese New Year (complete with a mention of what year this will be - that of the Tiger), Losar (Tibetan New Year), Ash Wednesday (Christian), Mawlid al-Nabi (Islamic) and Purim (Jewish).  Those who know me best know what such a beautiful and useful tool like this means to me.

But, of course, what struck me first was the artwork.  It is stunning.  You'll just have to trust me on this, or please, by all means, check it out for yourself. 

Now I'd like to direct you to the following link, which is the Writer's Almanac for January 8, 2010.  Here you'll find a poem that gave me goosebumps (and more than a brief philosophical pause, as my mind wandered into the implications it presented) and a writer who is starting her new novel on this very day. 


http://www.elabs7.com/functions/message_view.html?mid=923737&mlid=499&siteid=20130&uid=a01b149d4e

 There is much more I'd like to report on, so I should be back soon.  I've got a day to myself coming up and writing is definitely on the agenda.  Until then, be well!

Your Soul in Print

I've taken a bit of a break of late.  Life's been hectic and it's been easier to read the works of others than to use words of my own.  But hopefully my little mental reprieve is coming to an end. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm still reading, and plenty.  It's a happy addiction that I have no plans of curbing.  I've finally come to The Dark Tower, the final volume in Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, and it is every bit as enthralling as the rest.  Of course, having recently finished Song of Susannah (book VI of the series, ya' ken), I now understand more fully than ever before just how very personal this story is to King.  That realization (underlined, bolded and lit up with crimson neon) made my heart actually go out to this man whom I have never met but whose works I have been following for nigh on 17 years (not quite 19, but nearly, very nearly).  Because I get it.  At least I think I do.  I understand that these words we write, fictional or not, these are pieces of our souls, on paper and in print for the world to see and live vicariously through.  I get the compulsion – the feeling that you can't not write it down, write something, by the gods.  And I understand how painful the process can be – the mind-numbing task of getting it all out, of taking it from the concept that seemed to explode in your head one day down to written words on paper, and trying for all you're worth to get it perfect, to do the story justice, for God's sake.  All you can do is get the words down through your own fumbling human hands, filtered through your limited human experience and your never-completely-adequate vocabulary.  When it's big, when it matters to you, sitting down to the computer (or to the blank page with ink pen in hand) is like going to church or entering the sacred circle, performing your sacred duty, and giving thanks to your muse (or whatever you call the place where your inspiration comes from) while simultaneously hoping they picked the right schmuck to interpret this beautiful (or horrible or devastating or hilarious… in the end, they're all beautiful) tale. 

Sai King, if it's like this for you, if it is still, then I get it. 

And so I wander through my own wooded forest; a place strange and unfamiliar, where the landscape can change at a moment's notice and the light is tricky; the land of the unfinished story.  It's been slow going and may take another year yet just to get it all down, between the full time job and the mental dry spells, but what choice do I have?  As I said before, there's that compulsion, that inability to turn away from that fascinating shimmer that is your story, even when the going is hard and the visibility is nil.  It's got me, this one, so I'll keep plodding along until I find my way to the end. 

In the mean time, I have my blog to make note of my observations.  In the future, I'll try to be more consistent with my reports.  I hope you don't get too impatient.  When the mind wanders, it sometimes takes the scenic route back.

A Room of One's Own

CREATING MENTAL SPACE

Ah, the writing life. To spend hours creating spectacular prose about interesting characters with grand adventures. To sit at a coffee shop, idly drinking your café mocha and daydreaming about your next big scene. You are completely immersed in the fictional world you have created, and nothing can take you away from it.

And then there’s writing for the rest of us, for the real world. If your life is anything like mine, you’re working a full time job, carting the kids back and forth to school and band practice and soccer, trying to figure out (at 6:30 in the evening) what to make for dinner while the washing machine is going and you’re yelling and Kaylie or Carson to pick up their rooms if they want any time to play Wii! You finally get the kiddies off to bed by 9:30 (if you’re lucky… and they really should have been in bed by 9…). Okay, you’ve got an hour, maybe an hour and a half to get some writing done if you want to get enough sleep tonight. You turn on your computer and sit and stare at a blank document, waiting for the words to come. But, for some reason, the only thing you can seem to think about is that Kaylie has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so there goes your lunch hour. And did you call back that client? Did you mail that letter? Did you set out the meat to thaw for tomorrow night? The next thing you know, it’s 10:30 and you haven’t written a thing. You consider, in that moment, just hanging up your dreams. Life just doesn’t have room for you to be a writer.

What you need, friends and interested parties, is head space. You need to be able to shut out the mental clatter and walk into your mental writing room, that place where you are surrounded by nothing but the landscape of your current creative pursuit. Here are some tips that have helped me.

Sound

One of the biggest challenges to concentration comes in the form of what you hear. If you are a person who needs to block out the audio world around you in order to concentrate (or even if you just need something auditory to fixate on), here are some things you can do:

1. Music – Put on some head phones or crank the stereo to the preferred volume. Listen to music that puts you in the vibe of the mental landscape you’re trying to tap into. You can create a soundtrack on your mp3 player or computer that goes with your current story or scene. At the very least, choose music that fades nicely into your mental background. Unless you don’t mind constant commercial breaks and DJ chatter, I would recommend NOT tuning in your favorite radio station. Save the talk radio for those times when you’re looking for something else to talk about, not when you’re trying to form your own words.

2. White Noise – If music is too distracting or you can’t find the right kind, there’s always white noise. Turn on a fan or set your old TV set to static. This may also be a good time to start some clothes or dishes washing – you get some chores done and the appliances create a nice soothing whir for you to create by.

3. Cut Distractions – If possible, take the phone off the hook, turn off the TV (or go into a room where other family members aren’t watching TV) and let everyone know that it is writing time now, and you need to be left alone unless someone’s bleeding or something broke. Also, log off the Internet. This is no time to be checking e-mail or looking up that little factoid. If you come across some detail you need to check, write it down on a piece of paper and do your research later. Tell yourself you are writing now, nothing else. Not writing out character sheets or researching or plotting your story. There are other times for that. Not now.

Sight

Another way to get yourself in the zone, so to speak, is to be selective with what you see. Sure, you’ve got the four walls around you and the various items around your home, but you can choose certain inspirational pieces to focus on to make going from scattered to focused much easier.

1. Put up pictures or pieces of art, cut out of magazines or where ever you find them, around your writing area. If you find an image that strikes a particular chord with your story, keep it handy, either displayed in constant view in your writing area, or taped to the cover of the notebook you're working in so you can grab it whenever you need.

2. Choose a desktop that inspires you so that you’ll see it as soon as you turn on your computer.

3. Get away for awhile – If you’re blessed to have a long enough break that you can actually have a couple of hours to yourself, a change of scenery may be just what you need. Go to your favorite coffee shop, diner or a park if it’s nice outside. Take whatever inspirational elements you need (your mp3 player, that picture of the ocean, etc.) to get you in your groove.

Brain Storming

When it’s time to write, it’s time to write, but what about the rest of the time? Learn to take advantage of the little moments to brainstorm and develop what you’re working on.

1. Keep paper and working pen on hand at all times. You never know when an idea will hit you, but if you have something to write with, you’ll be ready.

2. Write down your stressors. If your head is full of your to-do list and things you’re worried about, you won’t have the ability to think creatively. You need your head space for your creative pursuits.

3. Brain storm while you:

- Exercise
- Take a walk
- Drive your morning and evening commute to work
- Do housework
- Before you go to sleep – sometimes the mind can come up with some pretty interesting material while you dream.

Whatever you do, don’t tell yourself it’s impossible, that you’re too stressed or you’re too busy. If this is important to you, it can be done. Don’t accept any other reality.