O! O! O!

Where did the semester go? I got so wrapped up in Othello, I didn't notice what time it was. My. I can't believe how long it's been since I posted. Actually, the truth is, this semester has been overwhelming. Ack. I'm glad it's over. Well, I sure enjoyed studying this play . . . we could go in all sorts of directions with this. But anyway. I must say that this semester was my first experience reading Shakespeare, and once I got into it, I couldn't get enough. We read Richard III, Julius Caesar, The Merchant of Venice, Twelfth Night, and finished with the famous Moor. I think I could have spent the entire semester studying Iago and Othello, and the fair Desdemona, too, of course. And I found a cool site for anyone who is interested in this most amazing bard: Open Source Shakespeare, which "attempts to be the best free Web site containing Shakespeare's complete works." Check it out. The cool clipart is courtesy FCIT.

Alack,

how is it that I find myself in the middle of the semester already? Where did the time go? And how is it that I find myself writing an essay on the villainization of Shakespeare's Richard III? Silly me. What thinketh I? I started out for a nice little lake swim, and find myself adrift in the middle of the Atlantic. Three pages...now going on seven, and I still haven't wrapped up my argument. Sigh. I must finish this paper. I simply must.

(still) crazy like a loon

"I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo."

from The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath

I've said this before; I'll say it again. Sylvia Plath is one of my favorite poets. The brilliance of her poetry is blinding in a very unsettling way; it's as if she has caught me naked in the vastness of my parched, cracked desert, sitting spread-eagle, under a cloudlessly hot indigo sky. She also wrote some startling prose. As I struggle to write a collection of short stories, stories which I hope will eventually become the wellspring of a memoir, I re-read her novel, The Bell Jar, for inspiration. Why do I relate?

When I was eighteen and lost (oh, hell, who am I trying to fool? I'm still lost), I went to a career placement center for women. They were going to help me get a good job, and they were going to teach me the things I needed to know: how to dress properly, the finer points of office etiquette, typing proficiency, and all the other things necessary for becoming a good secretary. Of course, I would have to work my way up to that, but receptionist jobs are very respectable, too, they assured me. I told them what I really wanted to learn was how to become a waitress. They couldn't help me.

Now I want to be a writer. I'm still looking for help.

I like to read startling books, no, I require startling books, when I need a nudge. The glass on my bell jar has cracked; it's too late to go back now. But how to proceed? I am new at all this; I haven't a clue what I'm doing. I am writing a memoir because I need to write it; I need an exorcism. Maybe what I write will be shit, I don't know. Or maybe I'll be the next Sylvia Plath.

Sylvia scares me. Which is exactly why I am so enchantingly lured, into her dark and intensely pulsating embrace. I was hoping that what I read would prod my brain to remember--to feel what I long ago embalmed in the bowels of my soul. I am at a loss to find the memories that have poisoned the very red of my marrow. Perhaps it is too late. Perhaps the demons of my pain have already killed me. Perhaps I will be unable to purge this fetid miasma from my belly. Perhaps I am indeed, nothing more than a still and empty hole in the eye of the tornado that I have created.

Welcome to my neighborhood

photo source: www.oddee.com

See more unfortunate towns: http://tinyurl.com/l9a9oj

Hulloo, everyone, I've missed you. I have been busy, though. I have written the first chapter of the memoir, and the book outline. Not quite ready to look for an agent, though. Soon, soon. Chapter one came out quite nicely; I will post a little excerpt for you later when I get it polished enough. I started chapter nine, too, I know, I know, I'm all out of order. But, um, duh. News flash: that's my life. All out of order. You'll just have to read the book, yo. Or visit my memoir blog for random updates: http://beautiful-blue-butterfly.blogspot.com/

In the meanwhile, I'm just trying to stay cool in this lovely California heat and pondering the tumbleweeds that got stuck in my belly button after the last winds. August...dog days. My ass is still fat, but I can't afford to buy a new swimsuit anyway, so what the heck? Took a nice little hiatus from the blog-thing in July. This is good to do every once in a while. People, you need to remember you are not virtual, you are still flesh and blood, well, most people are anyway. And besides, go take a look at the title of my blog. Keyword: random. That's me. D'ya think? Stay cool.

Oh, one more thing. I just got one of my flash fiction stories published in the August issue of poeticdiversity ezine, check it out here: http://www.poeticdiversity.org/main/index.php. You'll find me in the "prose" section. Cheers.

Here's to the crazy ones.

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them, disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things...

Summertime Poetry Picks

S.B. Poet Laureate David Starkey Gives Us His Must-Read Collections in the Santa Barbara Independent

Focused on Killing the "Angel in the House"

A Look at Virginia Woolf's "Professions for Women"

After reading an actual excerpt from Coventry Patmore's "Angel in the House," one can see clearly why Woolf devoted so much time, necessarily, to "killing the Angel in the House." Even sixty-plus years after Patmore penned this tribute to his wife Emily, it is clear that Woolf saw this ideal -- written by a man -- of how a woman should conduct herself (the "Angel"), as a threat to women, and especially "professional women."

Woolf's conversational style is thoroughly enjoyable, and it is interesting that she noted "Professions for Women" was a paper she read to the Women's Service League in 1931. In this essay, presumably also a speech she presented, Woolf at length describes how the Angel frequently intervenes as she writes. The Angel tells her that as a woman writer, she must always "be sympathetic; be tender; flatter; deceive; use all the arts and wiles of our sex. Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all, be pure."

As the Angel continues to get in the way of her attempts to write, intelligently, her own thoughts, wasting her time and provoking her, Woolf describes how she finally "caught her by the throat" and tried to kill her. Woolf explains that "Had I not killed her she would have killed me. She would have plucked the heart out of my writing." Woolf also describes how the Angel "died hard."

In order to be successful as a writer, Woolf explains that "Killing the Angel in the House was part of the occupation of a woman writer." The Angel is still appropriate for all women of all professions, which is why she chose to spend so much time discussing her: "it is necessary also to discuss the ends and the aims for which we are fighting, for which we are doing battle with these formidable obstacles."
read the rest here: http://tinyurl.com/lpgn89

Word of the Day

daedal \DEE-duhl\, adj: 1. Complex or ingenious in form or function; intricate 2. Skillful; artistic; ingenious 3. Rich; adorned w many things


from dictionary.com

Word of the Day

from dictionary.com:

pule \PYOOL\, intransitive verb:
To whimper; to whine.

Word of the Day

from dictionary.com:

copse \kops\ noun:
a thicket of small trees or bushes.

The Genius of Renaissance Art

(Above: Garden of Earthly Delights, right panel; below, Fetus in the Womb. Click painting for a larger view)

In the south, Leonardo da Vinci in particular emerged as a gifted genius, who dramatically affected the world with his prodigious art and his curiosity about the way things work. Leonardo (1452 - 1519) was a true "Renaissance Man," in every sense of the word. One work of Leonardo, most commonly referred to as the Fetus in the Womb, is particularly telling of his inquisitive brilliance, and the contributions he made to society. Interestingly, he is probably more famous as a painter, especially for his painting of Mona Lisa. But in fact, he finished few paintings and kept a huge collection of notebooks where he recorded his drawings and notes of his studies and ideas (Kleiner 583). Leonardo was fascinated by the human body, and kept at least 13,000 pages of notes and drawings, which fuse art and the precursor to modern science, "natural philosophy" (Kemp). In this drawing, not only is his skill as an artist apparent, but it crosses over into his skill as a scientist and student of life. Because he was considered a successful artist, and knowledge of human anatomy was very important at that time in Italy, Leonardo had access to human cadavers at several hospitals and was given permission to dissect these cadavers (Kemp). One aspect of the human body he was interested in was the mystery of human creation. Study Fetus in the Womb, and his meticulous attention to detail is very apparent. He has scribbled copious notes around the figure, and is apparently working out ideas of how the reproductive system works with smaller sketches around the main one. In Leonardo's words,

"[t]his work must commence with the conception of man, and must describe the nature of the womb, and how a baby lives in it, and in what degree it resides there, and the way it is enlivened and nourished, and its growth, and what interval there will be between one degree of growth and the next, and what it is which pushes it out of the mother and for what reason it sometimes comes out of its mother's womb before due time" (Kemp).

During the same time far to the north, in the Netherlands, Heironymus Bosch (ca. 1450 - 1516) was dazzling his world with dramatically different visions and his mysterious imagination. Very little is known about Bosch, which makes his art even more compelling. It is not even clear when he was actually born; his birth date is approximated based on the appearance of a painting assumed to be a self-portrait done toward the end of his life (Smith). One of his most famous and most compelling works is Garden of Earthly Delights, a three-part painting on hinged wooden panels that close to reveal another painting, of the world during creation. Unlike the true-to-life detail of Fetus in the Womb, the Garden is wild and surreal, with scenes and stories that possibly tell of the dilemmas of sin vs. morality. There is much debate over Bosch's intent amongst scholars, but he appears to have in the least a great imagination, and probably a sense of humor. On the outside or backside of the painting, the world, painted only in greens and grays, is thought to be a depiction of the third day of creation; a small figure of God appears at the top left corner. God appears to have the weight of the world on his mind; already he seems to know that the humans will sin. Inside, the painting is spectacular, colorful, and surreal. It appears intended to be viewed from left to right, starting with Adam meeting Eve on the left panel, an event or scene full of sin and immorality in the middle panel, and demons torturing sinners in hell in the right panel.
Read the rest here: http://tinyurl.com/n4ql5b

this, of course, could be a metaphor for my life

I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.

--George Carlin

Women Warriors

The Story of Ts'ai Yen in Maxine Hong Kingston's Memoir @ http://aclnk.com/ar1836267

Killer Art! Or, Just What Is It That Makes Today's Homes So Different, So Appealing?

Just What Is It That Makes Today's Homes So Different, So Appealing? by Richard Hamilton (1956)

The World at War and the Faces of Progress

During the first half of the twentieth century, events of the world occurred ever faster, globally and tumultuously; in particular, world powers fought in two devastating world wars and languished in the Great Depression in between. Globally, people witnessed a new set of -isms: Communism, Fascism, Nazism. The Industrial Revolution had taken off and was accelerating the world, at a faster and faster pace. Change was inevitable. By the second half of the century, the fast pace of progress seemed inevitable, and warring of the nations seemed perpetual. In the midst of such a challenging world, artists grappled with deep and disturbing issues and confusion, asking new questions. What, for example, was the meaning of art? What is art? What was the meaning of life itself? Artists began to see themselves as spiritual leaders of sorts, and felt compelled to make social commentary on the issues, change and devastation they saw all around them. Nature versus technology was a major theme, and later human rights and equality for all—especially for traditionally marginalized groups such as women and minorities; all of this in the face of the world's rapid change into ever-more mechanized modernity. In the face of the new reality—the new human condition—brought on by the these changes, and the devastation of the resultant wars, artists also sought to explore the meaning of permanence, sometimes in a hopeful manner, other times in despair.

Read the rest of my essay here: http://tinyurl.com/mdy67p

Don't Forget Dad

Shameless plug for my Amazon Associates Store:

Amazon Gift Cards for Dad on Father's Day... it's not too late!

The social media maelstrom

I am not a social media expert. I barely even know what the term really means. I do know, however, that there is a powerful tsunami swelling up in this ocean; it's a hot trend, and I need to figure it out fast. Oh, I've signed up, all right. But now what? I'm on Facebook, I'm on twitter, and I'm even on myspace. I've got half a dozen blogs. And yes, I have an account at LinkedIn. My name is all over Google now (scary). I suspect, however, that I'm putting my foot in my mouth via these avenues more than I am forwarding my cause.

I've met a lot of really great people through all these social networking sites, I must admit. All kinds of people from all kinds of places. And all these people seem to have their own agenda; some are promoting something, some are there just for fun. And, of course, you have your requisite pervert-scum-element lurking throughout. Gotta watch out for those creepy perps. But most of them are harmless; most of them are self-promoting. There are so many people selling something, I don't know who is left to buy anything. I'd estimate that a solid 80 percent of all the tweeple on twitter (yes, I'm for real) call themselves social media experts. How in the hell do these people make their living; really? I want to know. They all market themselves selling how-to-market-yourself books. e-books, no less. WTF? Maybe they make deals with each other: you buy mine and I'll buy yours.

More importantly, though, what is my goal in this murky maelstrom? Good question. I'm still trying to figure out how to answer that. Everybody else seems to have a clear purpose, even if they won't exactly tell you what it is. Maybe I need to sell something. But I don't quite get what all these people sell. I just want to be a writer, that's all. But writers, even wannabe writers like me, have to promote themselves, right? Maybe some day if I get something published, I'll have something to promote. Then I can sell my book from my blog, like all the other writers do. Meh. If somebody buys a book off my blog, I think I'll fall out of my chair. Well, anyway. I have a question of my own. How long do I have to body-surf here? These waves are big, and I can't tell where the tide is pulling me. My triathlon days are over, and when I played swim-bike-run, we never had waves this foamy and frothy, not even in the mass-starts of the open water.

What do I hope to get out of this social networking stuff, someone asked me back in January? I do know that I need to promote. Something. But I have some nagging feeling that my blog and my Facebook page aren't going to do that, whatever that is. If I don't expect to sell a book (that doesn't exist), why am I here? I sure don't want to be a social media expert. Well, actually, I do know the answer to why I'm here, but it's rather difficult to articulate. Because, frankly, while I do know the answer, I'm not entirely clear. Maybe I am clear about my goals, but I don't know how to explain them in reference to why I am on this blog, writing as you read. Make sense? Nope, doesn't to me, either.

Perhaps the simple answer would be that I want some publisher to stumble upon my blog and recognize my writing genius and sign me to a book deal. Aha, that's it!

Lost in the forest: 95% of blogs are abandoned

Why do you blog? Think you're going to make your millions? Just want to get something off your chest? Personal reasons? More lofty goals? If you pinned me down for my answer to that question--and my multiple blog-projects--I'd have to tell you that I still haven't figured that one out. Okay, okay, I do know. Well, I kinda know, but how to explain? Hmm. Blogging successfully is hard to do. It takes a vision, dedication, persistence, and patience. Have you ever started a blog only to abandon it or lose interest? Has your blog succeeded in its mission? Do you faithfully post to your blog(s)? A recent New York Times article says that most blogs are abandoned: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/07/fashion/07blogs.html

Tell me why you blog and whether you think you've succeeded; I'd love to know.