Ever since I can remember, I've wished to be one of those eccentric writers - a ritualistic master. Yep, you know 'em. The writers who has to have exactly five pencils, sharpened to a point, lined up beside the paper. A meatball sub for lunch every day. A playlist a mile long, always effective if listened to while taking the dog for a walk in the afternoon.
But try as I might, I couldn't commit to any oddity. It was like my brain refused to go along with me. If my brain and I sat across the table from each other, drinking orange soda, my brain would say, "None of that stuff works for you, Kim. You don't need it to write."
Yes, brain. You're so right.
But after spending about a year and a half in grad school, I've gotten into the rhythm of writing a lot. I usually sit on couches, with my laptop in my lap, and dread working at a desk since I spent so much time behind one when I'm in the office at school. I write cross-legged, pillows piled behind my back, usually with the added background noise of the television set. Actually, as I'm writing this post, Toddlers & Tiaras is jammin' out on the screen. When I look up and see those doll-like little girls in cotton candy dresses, I laugh a little and write another sentence. This is not a ritual, though a common occurrence. I like to write all over the house (not literally), taking the couches by storm.
When it comes to the actual word document, though, I think I've finally found something that I have to do to write: use a particular font.
Once upon a time, I was a plain old Times New Roman girl. And when I got to college, I had a brief fling with charming Garamond. But now, in grad school, I feel as if it's very final.
Surprisingly enough, Wikipedia is the best hub in which to learn all about typeface history (of which I linked to above). I think that the idea of fonts are so much more meaningful when you remember that people actually made each letter. That's really something. When I read the history, about all these supervisors and how certain fonts were popular, fell out of fashion, and were revived again, I can't help but think of fashion or celebrities that filter through the gossip magazines. Fonts go through the same thing. Remarkable.
I digress, haha. I don't recall how I found Bell MT, but it was love at first type. I guess I feel that the style of the letters fits the kinds of stories I write; I haven't switched fonts, like I used to do, when writing different stories. Except for Flour House, I've written all of my Figment stories in Bell MT.
If I try to write in a different font, the story just won't flow. It's an interesting predicament. If anyone sat behind me, watching me filter through other fonts with growing frustration, I'd explain that, "none of these fonts match the story. It just doesn't fit." And this is coming from someone who has an undying love for third-person stories. Even without an in-your-face narrator, my stories do have a certain voice and personality. They seem to slip right into Bell MT.
I wonder... do my writers out there have their own rituals or preferences when they write? Do you have a favorite font or one you can't stand to write in? How about line spacing, boarders, background colors? I'm curious to know :)
For some inexplicable reason, I miss the sea. I didn't know I did. This evening, as a I wind down from a long day of school, I'm thinking of nothing beyond the normal mundane worries of catching some sleep and wondering how much planning I'll be saving for Procrastination's capable hands.
And then, like magic, the television shows this surprisingly endearing commercial.
Suddenly I find myself looking around the living room, wondering if I have a shell that's waiting patiently for me to pick up. It's unlikely since I've developed a love for very tiny, broken shells. I have a small plastic bag with a handful of them inside, all specks of swirling colors that I pried out of the sand before the tide came in. But that was years ago - I'm not a beach person and I don't go very often. My idea of a fun beach trip is spending the evening there, when the sun is setting and the air is cool. I'd take off my shoes and walk into the ocean up to my knees, letting the waves soak my rolled up jeans. I wither in the unrelenting Florida heat (hence, the almost vampirelike preference in beach time), turning grouchy within minutes of sitting out under a cloudless sky.
When I was little, I used to jump fearlessly into the water and bob about, ducking under waves. My father would carry me out further and we'd laugh as the larger waves knocked us over. But then... I was a tidy kid. After getting seaweed stuck up my swimsuit and finally tired of sand caked into every curve, I stopped going in the water and switched seashell-hunting strolls instead. I didn't regret it (after all, I love pools, haha).
Anyone who has been following this blog knows how much I love commercials. When they are done well, I think that they can be pieces of art. So it was with this one - a cruise commercial, of all things! But as soon as it aired, I looked up from my laptop with an open mouth. The sea has a lovely, coaxing voice. So unlike the haughty, fickle oceans I've been writing about in a particular project of mine. Not that I don't see the beauty in the sea (who can forget), but the touching nature of the sea in this commercial made me think of those calm evenings on the shore.
Perfect, right? Thinking about the sea in the winter. But it's hot again here and the air conditioning was severely lacking in the school building today. If only a seashell with a ringer had been hidden under a mound of last semester's papers or tucked behind the coffee mix. But I guess that's what commercials like this are for :)
Took a vacation. Or, in other words, enjoyed winter break. As a Christmas present to everyone in the family, my brother got us Netflix. To be honest, I was pretty disgruntled about this at first. I'm used to the simple joy of physically owning the movies and shows I love - as evident by the numerous times I hugged my stack of Buster Keaton DVDs. Because graduate school is very demanding, I figured that getting Netflix would be a waste of money. I'd end up paying every month for something I couldn't use. I had this dreamy plan of finally getting it after graduation (a good year and a half away), in which I imagined I earned the privilege to watch an episode of something without being engulfed by the flames of guilt or panic (as most grad students suffer from, due to the monstrous workload that waits just around the corner).
But nooo. My brother had to spoil my self-sacrifice. In the end, though, it's a good thing he did.
I can't tell you how wonderful it was to be reunited with shows like No Reservations and Man vs. Food. In our particular area of Florida, the Travel Channel is no longer available as a regular cable channel. This happened almost a year ago and we haven't gotten over the loss. Armchair traveling is my thing... at least until I save up enough to actually go on trips, haha. To make due with our beloved channel, my 'rents and I survived on the Food Network (as usual), Bravo (ugh), HGTV (no more houses!), and TLC (Oh, gosh). It's been grueling, haha. But now we've got 'em back. Netflix has filled the gaping travel hole in our hearts. Things are looking up.
Also - and this is a side note - the amount of stuff Netflix doesn't have is startling. My brother got me hooked on Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, but the only version available is the UK version. Which turned out to be awesome, once you got used to how strange the filming is and how strangely docile Gordon Ramsey is - though still full of curse words. I think I've been influenced, actually. I ended up using a few choice words myself when I tried to get a friend to try a delicious piece of apple pie pizza (Boy, that was surprising, haha).
If I haven't ruined my mysterious, ethereal writer's persona by now, then I'm sorry. I try my best :)
Besides huddling around ye old Netflix, I read a lot of books that have been clawing for attention on my shelves. I also went to Disney a few times, stunned at how crowded it was at night when party music blasted through all the speakers (Pre-New Years Eve Special). I ate ice cream while watching the fireworks at Magic Kingdom and did not get a sore throat... because it wasn't cold out at all. Funny story.
Now January is here and finally Florida is cold. I'm happily wearing sweaters, shivering with a huge grin on my face when walking to the mail box. Inside, it's warm, but my nose is cold to the touch. I wonder why that is. Packets of hot chocolate - the ones with extra marshmallows - are dwindling now that we have a reason to use them. It's just a cold front. A passing fancy. With only a few days left before the new semester begins, I'm frantically trying to pull everything together. Plan new lessons. Write more chapters. Obtain more sleep. Avoid the cold that is plaguing the family.
We'll see.
A Writer Thing
My writing spark is back! Thank you so much for the well wishes from my last post. You all made me smile. I've been writing at least 500 words a day, though some days I churn out more than that - and, thus, neglect the beeping dryer or cooking dinner. If that sounds like a lot, please don't be fooled, haha. I have a lot of projects I'm working on at once, a bad habit of mine that often happens when I can't say no to new ideas. But the projects that are most important are still getting done, so I suppose everything else will plateau soon enough.
Seeing my friend over break did help me out immensely. We sat on her front porch and watched the leaves roll down the sidewalk. I drank so much tea and ate tasty Vegan food; I went home after a few days with a very full stomach, haha. There's something peaceful about returning to a place of old memories - in this case, my college stomping grounds. Not much time has passed since graduating college, so when my friend and I wandered around campus, it felt like we never left. December grads were lined up under the esplanades in their caps and gowns (Did I mention it was terribly hot out?). We walked past old classrooms and made heady predictions about where our fellow classmates ended up after leaving.
I came back with a settled mind; it wasn't long before I was chipping away at a story again. I can't say that I'm completely cured of my lethargic writing mood, but it's certainly on the upswing.
I've had a song by Georgia Fields sitting on my computer for a while, one that I listened to a lot when I was writing Birdcage Girl - and now, with the next book, A Horse to the Moon. There's something dreamy about the melody she's created - sounds like a music box, you know?
Sadly, there aren't any official lyrics for this particular song - I don't like the mess them up myself by straining to figure out the words - whether they seem obvious or not. I'll leave the listening up to you this time.
Video I Watched Too Many Times
Let me point out that I've been looking for this commercial for a while. I had forgotten that it was for a perfume... so that's why I couldn't find it before, haha. I love the whimsical nature of this commercial, from the costumes to the magic with the boats and ocean. It's just an amazing little thing to watch.
More like something I will do for the holidays. I love winter and am, like the next person, a big fan of cooing over plastic snowmen and candy cane floor mats. However, you won't find me sitting in front of the television, watching hours of Christmas movies. I'm just not that into them. I find them to be very corny and more predictable than most made-for-TV movies. Of course, there's always the classics - like Rudolph and Jack Frost, the lovely claymation creations that can make anyone smile. But I watch them in the summer months, or on a whim, and rarely during the time I should - this chilly month.
However, there is one movie that I always watch, every year, ever since I was reunited with it during college. Haha, sounds epic, right. It's an animated film called The Nutcracker Prince (1990), a movie I saw when I was a child and fell in love with right away. Our VHS was lost to time and moving, just like some of my other favorite childhood things (most of which I've recovered thanks to Amazon, haha!). So now I own the DVD and thoroughly enjoy sitting down with my chin on my knees, big eyes shining. The animation style is gorgeous and fluid and the dreamlike quality to the setting just gets me every time.
Here's the description on the back of the DVD:
"The magic begins with a Christmas party at the house of aspiring ballerina Clara. Her godfather Drosselmeier brings one special gift: a nutcracker that is really his nephew, Hans, transformed into a doll by a curse of the evil Mousequeen. The nutcracker becomes a prince, who rules over the land of dolls, but will return to human form when the spell if broken. Join young Clara, whose new wooden nutcracker draws her into a glorious realm of adventure and enchantment."
Kiefer Sutherland (A very young one) plays the voice of the Nutcracker Prince - I would follow him anywhere, I think, if I ever heard his voice leak from a nutcracker's mouth, haha. The story is very mature for a cartoon; it takes the original, simple nutcracker story and takes it to the next level, bringing in an entire backstory and wondrous ending (makes me tear up and sigh). Clara, when dancing with the wooden nutcracker, even sings lyrics to the melody of Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers. That, my friends, is epic.
Now, the awesome part about all this is that someone uploaded the entire movie on Youtube. So please, if you want to enjoy an intricate, romantic, and whimsical rendition of the nutcracker story, then click away!
Quote from a Book I Love
Although I always have a huge pile of books to read, I wanted to spend a good portion of my break reading charming and adventurous stories led by very young, spunky protagonists. The more dated the story, the better. My model for finding such books is a favorite, The Little White Horse, so I tried to keep a look out for other novels that seemed to give off the same vibe. And so I came across The Aviary by Kathleen O'Dell.
The description on the front flap does a great job at setting the scene:
"Twelve-year-old Clara Dooley has spent her whole life in the Glendoveer mansion, where her mother is a servant to the kind and elderly matron of the house. Clara has never known another home. In fact, she's confined to the grand estate due to a mysterious heart condition. But it's a comfortable life, and if it weren't for the creepy squawking birds in the aviary out back, a completely peaceful one too.
But once old Mrs. Glendoveer passes away, Clara comes to learn many dark secrets about the family. The Glendoveers suffered a horrific tragedy: their children were kidnapped, then drowned. And their father George Glendoveer, a famous magician and illusionist, stood accused until his death. As Clara digs deeper and deeper into the terrifying events, the five birds in the aviary seem to be trying to tell her something. And Clara comes to wonder: what is their true identity? Clara sets out to solve a decades-old mystery - and in doing so, unlocks a secret in her own life, too."
I literally read through this book in day, staying up way too late to race to the ending. My eyes hurt so bad by the time I closed the book and drifted off to sleep. I didn't bother to check the time. I like how whimsical and dusty this world is; there are secrets everywhere, and all of them kept me biting my nails. I won't give too much away, but I will say that there are ghosts. Plenty of them. And - I'd love to discuss this you've read it - I loved the ghosts so much that I wished the ending... ended a bit different. I kind of developed a crush on one of them and it was a shame to have to say goodbye and shut the book. Still, this really is a wonderful read. I'm so glad to have found it.
Here's a quote from the book:
"In spite of herself, Clara let out a scream, and then clamped her mouth shut. There, knocking on the pane with his sturdy black beak, was the white cockatoo, his sulfur-tinted head feathers raised high.
Mustering her nerve, Clara unlatched the window and pulled it up, praying she would not frighten the bird away. But the cockatoo stood patiently until the sash was lifted, looked at Clara with his golden eyes, and pleaded in such a rich, melancholy voice that she was bound to him with all her sympathies:
'Please? Please? Oh, please?"
A Writer Thing
Winter break usually is a strange time for writing. The semester ends with me staggering into my bed-nest of perfumed pillows, plushies, and thick quilts (I keep the ceiling fan on to pretend to simulate a cold winter night). My brain is constantly twitchy, poised for rest but not quite getting it. I called one of my friends the other day, making belated plans to spend the holidays together, and I could barely form sentences when I left a message on her machine. I listened to myself bumble and wondered if I'd ever recover fast enough to enjoy the short vacation until the next semester begins. I'm still seeing read from a lot of grading, haha.
So that leads me to writing. I'm itching to put my fingers to the keyboard and just write, write, write until I'm left hazy and smiling with a pile of words. But a ghostly headache has been following me to the laptop and after a few paragraphs, I have to give up and try to turn up the volume on my inspiration. It's different from writer's block, I think. I know how to handle that. This is probably sheer exhaustion. But I wonder exactly what I need to do to get some real rest. I've been relaxing, drinking lots of tea, wearing sweaters, gawking at the food competitions on the Food Network, and eating too much peppermint bark.
I've even taken the air with a few wandering shopping trips. So, hmmm, any remedies to suggest? I'm sure this is only a temporary thing - I have to remember that school ended only a few short days ago, that break has only just begun. Time is strange around this time of year. Very heavy and slow. I like my winter breaks long, as long as you can stretch ribbon candy on rack. And I'm sure my writing rhythm will start up again. I just need to figure it out... or take a nap, haha.
I found a great singer named Katie Herzig and I've been wondering what particular song to showcase. I've been listening to her album, The Waking Sleep, way too much in these past few weeks, but I can't say I regret it. Her music has such spirit and rhythm to it. Makes me want to write (always a good thing). One of her more well-known songs is called "Lost and Found" - and after hearing it the first time, I got major chills. It's the perfect song to listen to while writing one of my writing projects (top secret! haha). The lyrics and melody are stunning:
Carl and Jeffrey are secret stationers, though anyone who saw them would think that they were just old men. They congregate with friends on the front steps of the general store, taking turns with the chess board. They wear matching sweaters in July and smoke wooden pipes.
In his early years, Carl claims he had been a movie star. His blond hair came across horribly on the black and white screen, so makeup artists had to paint his eyebrows with thick, black ink. He almost rubbed his eyebrows right off, trying to wash away the comical arches. Carl used to play the villain, chewing on the hero's face in a bar fight and running away, usually with his pants falling down around his ankles. His face is shaped like a banana; you almost believe his story because, by now, he's lost his eyebrows for good.
Jeffrey regales his friends with tales of his nautical adventures. He had been captain of a submarine that explored the seaweed green waters of the south. He used to wear a diving bell helmet and fish for sponges on his months off duty; he liked it when girls tried to kiss him through the glass. Jeffrey's stocky build, along with his bright blue eyes, reminds you of a faded hero. His smile is charming when he presses his lips against your hand and calls you his "little pigeon's egg." He never married.
The two old men purchase bagels before heading home. They carry their separate bags, steaming from toasting, and pass under the streetlamps in silence. They sit opposite each other at the dinner table; the seasonal cranberry cream cheese leaks from their bagels. They lick their fingers. Wash the coffee stains off of their cups.
Then, they sit on the screened in patio and create stationary. It's a delicate process, requiring suitcases full of pull-out trays. Carl puts on his spectacles in order to see his handiwork from the night before. His silhouette of the mayor, Mr. Hemshaw, is almost done except for the nose. He dips his pen in ink and carefully presses it to the paper.
Jeffrey slowly stamps out a congratulatory message upon a blank, recycled paper card. The ink he chooses to press the letters in is a deep fuchsia, in honor of the head librarian's daughter. She just won an award for her science project.
"We'll have to make more paper soon," Carl says. He creates a flourish around the the silhouette. "I'm running out of envelopes."
Jeffrey sighs. "The Sheep Festival is coming up soon, right? Maybe we can make some paper then. It's a miracle that so many people can be distracted by sheep shaving contests."
Carl leans back in his chair and looks out at the converse behind their house. The lone light bulb above their heads make everything seem yellow. The trees are merely shadows. Animals cry out in the night. The old men continue their work and reminisce about the old days where they wore monocles with their tops hats and sang with the bards about poetry. Their jobs, for the longest time, have been secret. Create paper. Create stationary. Send words out into the world without your names. Let them fly.
November is almost over already. How shocking, right? I had to make a break from my NaNo adventures to try out a small story - even though you can tell I don't need a break. My awesome little word count bar on the side of this blog shows that I'm very behind. I highly doubt I'll come close to reading the beloved goal of 50k, haha.
Still, though, I'm going to try.There's nothing like a little competition to keep the words pouring!
