Another Life #30

(30! That’s crazy! so many. Is it time to make a page for them? I think it might be. Maybe I’ll just put the ones I like best on the page… or the ones YOU like best, if you wanted to give me some input on your favorite Other Lifes. Well, that’s a project for later anyway.) 

I should have been born as a piece of music. I bet I would have been a really good song.

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Another Life #2

Happiness will be my natural state. Spirited grace will lead every movement I make, and music pour from my lips with every sound. I will pass the time in bliss for the beauty of the world as it is; moments of sadness will only be another kind of beauty. I will be the Goddess of Joy. I will fill my life with adventure, generosity, enjoyment, and wonder. I will make all around me warm and loved.

 

Another life #1

Non-Sequitor: A Spontaneous Outpour

Have you ever noticed how some rain, and some music, while it’s playing or falling, is just the perfect reflection of some intrinsic thing in you? And in those moments you have no language to say why, but the world feels right – perhaps because it’s a rare moment in which you know for sure that you’re not alone.

Time passes so quickly. First a day has slipped by, and that’s no breaking news. Then a week has passed and you’ve hardly noticed the world turning – then a month, a season, a whole year goes by and in some ways it seems like only minutes. And suddenly, it’s coming up on seven years since the most important event of your life, and that number just can’t be right. It’s so long of a time, and yet so short. But even when it had only been a week since that event, it was too long. And no matter how much time has passed, it will seem like it’s been both more and less. Never does the actual passage of time feel accurate.

Oh, to be a cat. Fed every day by someone who pets you and snuggles you – if you want them to – able to explore all day, or just to sleep all day. If I were a cat, I would do little more than stand up, stretch and turn 180 degrees before lying down again to continue my nap. But it’s the leisure that I really envy. I could be just as nonchalant as any of these felines if I had as few worries as they do.

I wish that I knew, without trying, how to describe the sensation of tiredness in the eyes. Everyone knows the feeling, but few could actually describe it. There’s heaviness, a slight burn, and something else whose adjective/noun escapes me. There it is. Vaguely. But it’s a terrible description. If I were to come across someone who had never felt tired, and tried to explain what it felt like, I doubt it would result in their understanding.

A note to some contemporary writers, aspiring or published, who seem to have no sense of narrative at all: good writing =/= writing that is impossible to understand. If the readers don’t understand it isn’t because they aren’t as smart as you, it’s because you wrote for yourself (i.e. as your audience) instead of for anyone else. The rest of the world does not share your brain. True, some writers are just geniuses and it therefore can take multiple reads before you understand what they meant to convey (or what their writing conveys whether they meant it to or not), but I suspect that in most cases the writer is just being pretentiously, pointlessly enigmatic and no matter how many times you read it over, it will never become any clearer. Yes, I’m talking to you: STOP DOING THAT.

Teaser from Helen of Troy novel!

I started today, at last, on a new writing project. I haven’t written enough yet to post a selection a few pages long, but here’s a snippet of what I have done so far:

Sometimes, she thought that if a siren were to beckon her, she would follow the voice creating the most beautiful music, as she had always heard it told, and live in the ocean with them, singing and playing.

I’m fairly certain that this sentence will not look the same once the rewriting happens, but for now it’s an image I like. Helen as a girl dreaming of being an enchanted sea creature.

If you’d like to see more, I might post the results of the next few days’ writing over the weekend.