Soliloquy on the Upcoming April PAD

To poem or not to poem, that is the question;

Whether ‘tis nobler in the blogsphere to suffer 

the slings and arrows of daily posting,

Or to take a chill pill and post less frequently, 

or oppositionally, not at all? To sink, to vanish 

into the hinterland of the commentless and post no more; 

and by commentless we say an end to anonymity

and the thousand natural urges trolls are

heir to:  'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. 

To not post, to refrain, perchance to have a life – ay, there’s the rub:

For in that cessation what words may come, 

when we have shuffled off this electronic network must give us pause – 

there’s the reverence that makes a mockery of this writing life.

For who would bear the trolls and tribulations of time, 

the oppressor, the egotistical blogger’s contempt 

for those less scriberly, the insolence of the blank page 

and the spurns that impatiently unworthy take, 

when the blogger herself might fill her page with a bare revelation? 

Who would a blog’s burdens bear to grunt and sweat 

under a dreary deadline, but that dread of some life 

after the Internet, the undiscovered country from whose interests 

no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us post 

those written words we have rather than fly off the handle 

and post others that we know not of? Thus blogging doth make cowards 

of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is wallpapered o’er 

with the frantic casting about for ideas, and enterprises of pithy commentary, 

with this the bloggers current post goes awry, and loses the name of action. 

Forward now, Blogger! To that Internet Archive we pray to no avail, 

that all my sins not be remembered. 

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Knee Deep In Corgis

It was that time of year again. When Max and Merlin's sister and cousin come to visit. This time, they brought along a friend. It was fascinating to see the variation in eye color - as rendered by my digital camera.

Emmy, sister to Max and Merlin, and owner of turquoise eyeballs.Maggie, cousin to the herd, and possessor of red-ringed golden orbs.
Friend/guest dog, Panzer, with those sparkling baby blues.


Merlin and Maximus did the yellow ghost eyeball thing. I think Merlin looks like Little Orphan Annie . . . .

Maggie and Panzer tried to use their freaky eyes to cage treats -

While Merlin kept watch over his Precious - all the lost bones and chewies the guests unearthed in the couch cushions, under the chair, behind the bookcase. All Merlin's best hiding places, compromised!

The code word "Treat" managed to get 3 out of 5's attention. Yes, those are Max's ears in the bottom of the picture. I guess he figured the closer he got to the camera, the better the treats would be.

Another use of the word Treat got even more results. Fine except I was trying to get everyone together to take a group picture. Corgis are not shy when it comes to food. They successfully got about as close as they could get without being in my pocket. (They were on my feet.)

This was the best I could do. 4 out of 5. Even the promise/threat of treats couldn't get them to all look at me at the same time. Mass dog photography is definitely a two person job. One to wave liver, and one to snap pics.

Surprisingly, there was little fuss over the bones and chewies. Probably because there was enough for everyone to have several. Toss in a couple of treat cubes, and they were happy campers for the duration.

And Anubis? He was less than thrilled with all the company, but strolled among the herd with impunity.

I'm sure his Dawn of the Dead/Vampire Kitteh impersonation had a lot to do with the respect the dogs gave him. Or maybe it's that, coupled with the left hook-right jab he's perfected to keep Max and Merlin in line. No one wants to mess with 12 pounds of annoyed cat highly skilled in the Death From Above maneuver - i.e. dropping from the top of two stacked kennel crates on to the back of his unsuspecting victim.

I'm glad cats provide their own amusement, but I think poor Panzer was glad to leave and return to slightly less chaotic surroundings. Merlin hid the Christmas hedgehog Panzer brought, and I have yet to find it. I'm thinking it's outside in a snowbank, because, in Merlin's line of thought, who would trudge out to the backyard and dig through drifts looking for a squeaky toy?

Besides me, that is . . . .

The Unbearable Agony of Dial Up Connections

Yes, I've been Missing In Action, but there was a good reason. I lost my DSL connection, and it took them a week to figure out it wasn't my modem or interior phone lines. So my ISP contacted Qwest to get them to check the exterior lines. And something is wrong. And Qwest is mighty reluctant to fix it, because it involves effort or something. About this time it was 9 days without any Internet, and I was Not Happy. So my ISP gave me a dial up connection while they slug it out with the evil phone empire.


I may come out of this rather twitchy. If not from the antique dial up sound, as it scratches and whines its way to some pathetic connection speed, to the fact that I have to load Gmail in basic HTML, and can't download music, do research, let alone watch Hulu. Who knew so much of the interesting parts of my life were tied to a fast connection?


I've also discovered my 17 inch laptop is great for doing artwork and watching movies on, not so great when tethered to a phone cord and propped up on my knees. It's like having a perpetual 7 pound paperweight. Don't even get me started on the trip to the library last weekend to use their Internet. From the plastic wrapped keyboards to the coughing, hacking drunk next to me, my inner Monk was severely traumatized.


I'm up to Day 12 with no DSL. I keep telling myself there are people in third world countries without any Internet... until I get contacted by a friend who's presently living in one of those third world countries, and has a better connection than I did. Even with DSL. Is there such a thing as a third world state?


On the bright side, I've mopped my Corgi footprinted kitchen floor three times, and carded and spun a whole bunch of wool, including a Leicester/Alpaca/Corgi blend I plan on making into a pair of winter mittens. And I could always check my personal email from work, so I guess I'll have to stop muttering about the IT staff. I even got a bunch of books from my TBR pile read, and wrote one essay on personal mysticism and The Cloud of Unknowing, so it hasn't been all bad. Suffice to say, though, if I want to be cut off from the Internet, I prefer to do it on my own terms. Which means knowing I can plug back in and not be able to knit 12 rows on my socks while I wait for the little blue "You are connected to the rest of the world at pathetically laughable speeds" emblem to appear in my tray.It's shaped like a turtle. Lying on its back. Comatose. Or at least catching some really intense Zs.

Never Drop A Parasaurolophus On Its Head

Brought to you by Creative Procrastination Techniques, and the letter "W".

I've been writing, honest, 9 new poems and half a short story, in addition to editing, editing, editing - novel and poems and getting ready for the new WyoPoets chapbook. I also need to do a Year Of The Ox postcard for the Baren Chinese New Year Card Exchange. Researching my Ox took a while, but I managed to sketch out an idea I liked, dropped it into Painter to play with colors, then printed out a template.

The bad news was since I'd cleaned (well, some) my office, and rearranged, and shoved things into plastic tubs, I couldn't find my wood blocks to carve the Ox. I did come across a block of plasticine left from my sculptural days, conveniently sitting alongside a wire frame and baseboard. The wire framework looked suspiciously like... a dinosaur. A hydrosaur. Last time I remember being interested in hydrosaurs was when my eldest was five, and could recite every name and type of dinosaur with ease. I finally remembered, the wire skeleton was one of his favorites, a parasaurolophus. Digging deeper in the tub, I found all kinds of reference materials.

You know what happened next.





















Before I realized it, I had a fledgling parasaurolophus taking shape on the armature. Next thing I knew, it was hours later, and dogs were making those, "Good doG, woman, aren't you EVER going to feed us we're starving here" noises. I stuck the armature and fleshed out dino on the corner of my drafting table, noticed a block of shina plywood stuck on the bookshelf next to it, reached over... and knocked Mr. Duckbill off the table right on to his fancy head crest. His cranium took a beating, as did the tail. I'll be spending my next round of sculpture straightening the fancy head dodad so it doesn't resemble a limp noodle, rebuilding the tail, so it doesn't look like a cat took a bite off the end, and yes, picking copious amounts of dog hair out of the plasticine.

I set the parasaurolophus in a safe place on a shelf, (away from my elbows), got out my woodblock carving tools and bench hook, transferred the Ox to the block, and did some preliminary carving. Somehow, going from smooth blocks of oily clay, to splintery wood and sharp, pointy cutting tools doesn't seem like the smartest plan, given my klutziness, but hey, at least I won't feel guilty if the wood block ends up on the floor. As it is, I had to turn the parasaurolophus around, so I wouldn't have to look at his bedraggled crest, and mildly acusatory expression, as if I had deliberately set out to give brain damage to such a stellar member of the Cretaceous dinosaurs.

Yes, it's been a long winter, why do you ask?

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What's On The Shelf?

Kris Reisz recently posted a pic of his shiny new desk, and when I complained I couldn't read all the titles of the books on the shelf behind it, we discovered a mutual addiction - checking out other people's books by desperately trying to see the titles in the background of any pictures they post. After I whined, Kris was kind enough to make it easy, and post a photostream of his ShelfPorn™. Then he challenged us all to reveal our own stash.

I don't have the ambition to photograph all my shelves right now, but I did one and a half and pieced my pics together in a faux shelf, as Kris did. Since I have seven of these book cases, I figure eventually I'll photograph a few more, although one is filled with DVDs and video games from Playstation 2-3, XBox-XBox 360 (Christmas present from eldest child) and Wii. Entertainment is important in our house. You can never have too many copies of Halo, Battlefront, or Guitar Hero. (There's a damn good reason I'm not a musician...) So here are the contents of one and a half bookshelves residing in my dining room - since my laptop is on the table and I'm inherently lazy, I keep most of my need now research materials here. And if it seems a bit excessive, well... Amazon Prime is instant gratification for those of us living in remote areas. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it, like a Corgi on a treat.

As always, click the pic for the absurdly large image...

Poetry

More Poetry and War Psychology

History, Mythology, Strays

Byzantine and other history

Religion, Warfare, more History

Philosophy, Sociology, Science

some Fiction

Knitting, Printmaking, Art

Art and More Art

I haven't gotten to the psychology, architecture, adult education, more art books, and gaming tomes yet. That would require cleaning... Oh, and in case you didn't realize, there isn't a book on Corgis in sight. Imagine that...


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Denvention 3 Mugshots

Name that face!

or the 66th World Science Fiction Convention Sketchbook.

You can find more sketches over on my website The Periphery

I listen better with a pencil in my hand, so while attending various panels, I took notes... but found my hand straying to draw the people around me. Same with hanging out in the common area or waiting for a book signing. I have no idea who most of these people are. There are a few you'll probably recognize. I hope. So I drew faces, along with various other odds and ends like ray guns and spaceships inspired by the panel presentations. This first batch is assorted folks enjoying the convention.

Weapon of choice? A Pilot Gel pen, black or blue on blank journal paper, or a fine line Sharpie.

There are several sketches begging to be made into paintings or illustrations, but those might take some time to develop. Yes, I know, file under "I Should Be Writing." and yes, I do have new poems and stories in the works, so it was not all about the art.

Multitasking... a polite term for the ADD writer/artist.

Music to Write Novels By (Well, Kind of)

I like my Outreach activities because of the long drive to other parts of the state. It gives me time to ponder writing, either problem stories and resolutions, plot twists for the UFN (Unfinished Fantasy Novel), or a place to recite poem lines out loud, with revisions, and not have anyone call the men in the white coats. Being the spiffy ADD multitasker I am, I also had my iPod playing. Normally I listen to podcasts or audiobooks, but sometimes, like today, I flip it to shuffle. The juxtaposition of some of the music I get can be startling, enlightening, or annoying, depending on the whim of the Shuffle Gods.

Last time I checked I only had 2000 songs on my iPod. A drop in the auditory bucket compared to many people. Genres run the gamut from Alternative to World, with heaping helpings of Folk and Soundtracks, which is what usually accompanies me when I write. I know I've mentioned before I have "Music to Write Battle Scenes By", "Instrumentals for Social Commentary Poems", and "Tunes for Tormenting Protagonists".

So I was driving across the upper right hand corner of nowhere, hoping the turkeys stayed in the median, the mule deer on the side of the road, and the eagle in the sky above me, thinking about the UFN, which is really the AFFN (Almost Finished Fantasy Novel). I retraced plots in my mind, found a few loose ends, and was meditating on overall themes when a song came on the iPod, and the Muse of The Totally Obvious reached through the speakers and slapped me upside the head. (Hey, at least it wasn't a wild turkey running into the side of the car. I hate when that happens.)

Muse of TTO: "Listen up. You're whining about theme? I got your theme right here." WHAP

There it was, the song that summed up the AFFN. "One of Us" by Joan Osborne. (YouTube Video)

I listened. I thought about it. I grudgingly admitted the song was perfect in its own way for the AFFN, and put up with the boozy glow of self-satisfaction emanating from the Muse of TTO.

Muse of TTO: "Told you so. Now you try it. Just for a few minutes, I'll allow you to think on the Half-Finished Fantasy Novel (HFN) and those characters. Then I'll give you a hint in the next ten songs."

Me: "How are you controlling my iPod? You and your brother, the Luddite Muse, swore you didn't know anything about 'high-flutin' machinery gobbledegook', which is why I had to write fantasy if I wanted your help."

Muse of TTO: *mumbling* "I took a class, okay? Now shut up and listen."

By the time I slowed to read the minds of a herd of mule deer thinking – not very hard- of crossing the road, played pass the gravel truck and trailer to avoid a chipped windshield, and caught a regulation sized tumbleweed with my front bumper, the songs changed several times, and there it was. The song that summed up the HFN. "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by Neil Diamond. (YouTube Video)

"You got to be kidding me," I said aloud.

Muse of TTO: WHAP. "I never kid."

"Horsehockey," I replied, "you always kid, which is why I can never tell when you're actually serious about something. Matter of fact, most of your ideas border on Writer Abuse. Waiting until I'm knee deep in a book then barrage me with interesting ideas for others."

Muse of TTO: "Yeah, that was rather amusing. Gabriele's Muse bet me your head would eventually explode. I figured you would forget 2/3rds of the ideas I gave you before you wrote them down. You're lucky the Short Story Muse swooped in and coerced a few of the ideas to her realm."

The iPod shuffles to a new tune. "Why can't I have a Pink Floyd song for a theme?" I whine.

Muse of TTO: WHAP. "Because. 'You Can't Always Get What You Want.'"

A plethora of gnome-like giggles comes from the back seat as I stifle a groan. "Fine." I crank the volume. "What about the MishMashed SciFi Novel?" (MSN)

Muse of TTO: "Since you are so all over the map with that one, I'll give you TWO songs to think about."

For a moment I thought the first would be "Donald Where's Your Troosers?" (YouTube Video) but it didn't really fit the MSN, and the TTO Muse wouldn't be that cruel. Would he? Nope, just a scare.

So I was left with The Patriot Game, (YouTube Video) by any self respecting Irish band, and Still Waiting by Sum41. (YouTube Video)

"You've got to be… uh, the best Muse of any struggling writer," I amend hastily.

Muse of TTO: "Damn straight. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a poker game to get to. Last time, we bankrupted Scott Oden's Finishing Muse and left him drunk, naked, and bunked on a submarine headed to Oslo, Norway.* Most fun I've had in years. Vi sees." With a dimension ripping, radio static POP, I'm alone again. I drive, and return to novel ruminations.

As I pass by the gate to a local ranch, there on top of a mailbox post, with a red balloon tied to his pipe hand, is a garden gnome. I barely had time to register the pointy hat and beard before my car flashed past. Was this the site of the elusive Muse-Gnome poker party? Or was it just the usual garden variety rural humor?

I didn't have to ponder too hard on that one. The song playing on the iPod as I barreled by the Ranch Gnome? "Wish You Were Here", by Pink Floyd. (YouTube Video)

Writers, if any of your Muses come up missing in the next few days, I think I know where they are…

*I am no way implying Scott is drunk, naked, and on a submarine off the coast of Norway. I think the Muse was implying it was Scott's Finishing Muse, but it wasn't quite clear over the raucous Gnome giggles just who the TTO Muse was talking about...