Instamatic

While visiting my mother this weekend we did some significant antique shopping, which was wonderful as an activity to do together and an opportunity to look at a lot of really cool stuff.

Imagine my excitement, then, when I came across a cabinet full of weird old cameras! Thinking this was just the type of cabinet where I might find the medium-format camera I've been waiting for, I examined every single one. I came across some vintage 8mm video cameras, bulky polaroids, and plenty of toy cameras. I didn't find a medium format, but I did find another treasure: a Kodak Instamatic X-35, the first camera I ever carried.

I'm so happy to own this camera again because I feel like it's an important piece of my past. My next project will be finding film for it—a challenge considering the days of buying Kodak 126 cartridge film at the K-Mart are long behind us. I've heard cartridges can be reloaded with unperforated 35mm film, though, so this may be a project to take to the darkroom. We'll see! For now, a picture of my find (the square format is a tribute to the pictures it takes).

Rituals

This morning I found myself sitting in my office at 10:00, feeling not so great on account of an allergy attack, thinking where am I?

I like my job just fine, but I go back and forth on whether or not it's helping or hurting my personal endeavors. On one hand, balancing a full-time job with a house, relationship, classes, and recreation can provide the perfect excuse to slack off on writing. But my job also grounds me and keeps me productive, in addition to being a great place to learn, grow, and socialize. During the rare times when I've been unemployed, I've gone stir-crazy and halted any sort of productivity.

Life—personal and professional—is all about discovering and playing to your strengths. This morning, as I woke up a half hour later than I like to at 7:30, I felt cheated. See, I'm a morning person. People make disgusted faces when I say this, but it's true: I do my best creative work early in the morning, when the light is pure and the whole day lies ahead of me.

I also enjoy getting to the office by 8:00, securing at least an hour of uninterrupted work time before the rush begins. Then I get home by 4:30 and have all the way until midnight to enjoy my evening.

Lately, though, I'm realizing this is an either-or proposition. I can't get to work at 8:00, continue going to bed at midnight, write for a half hour or so before work, and get home by 4:30. I need to pick and choose. Most of all, I need to stop fighting my nature. The fact that I do my best work in the morning is not about to change, so I need to establish a morning writing ritual. I'm going to try it for the next week or so and see how it goes. Wish me luck!

Story Excerpt And...

Hi! With all our Labor Day weekend traveling, I realized I haven't posted in close to a week. Not acceptable!

I guess I took a little un-(pre)scheduled break from Mix Tapes & Scribbles, but I'm back now, with a little story excerpt!

One of my writing goals for the month is to finish the first draft of the short story I'm currently working on. It's, well, short, but I think it's just about ready for me to send it along to the friend I promised a first read. A lot of the content isn't safe for the blog (NSFB?), but here's a little piece for you:

Rachel turned her eyes down to her destroyed boot-cut jeans, faded and thin and barely hanging onto her slender hips. Clothing always seemed to wrap her body so casually, the thin cotton just flowing off her bones. She fingered the hem of her peasant top and glanced down the street, scanning for the bus. She caught a man in a pickup truck staring at her while he waited for the light and quickly averted her eyes. 

The breeze picked up and she could feel it, just barely cool, on every inch of her skin. Her hair wrapped around her shoulders, flitted across her eyes. The light changed and suddenly the wave of cars had vanished. She glanced down the street again. Nothing. Restless, she half-jogged across the intersection to the City Paper kiosk on the other side of the street. Her long fingers picked over the first few copies, finally resting on one that felt right—fresh off the press, no abused edges.

As she rolled the paper in half and slid it into her bag, the bus appeared several blocks down the street and she picked up the pace and lengthened her strides back to her stop. As the bus approached she plunged her arm deep into the bag at her hip, slipping her fingers past her cell phone, an eyeliner pencil, lip balm, tiny sketchbook, bag of vine charcoal. Just in time, her fingers connected with the wallet at the bottom and, without removing it, she slid her bus pass out and pressed it into the palm of her hand.

The bus was full, but she didn’t mind standing. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and searched for an open spot, grabbing the handrail just as the bus jolted through the intersection. The air felt stale and chilly—one of those mild almost-fall days when the driver still turned on the air conditioning. Rachel shifted her weight, letting one hip jut out, and gazed absently at her waistline. She relished the freedom of the bus, the ability to go anywhere she liked without taking her own two feet off the ground.

Podcasts and Urban Commutes

I love my commute. Two years ago I decided to sell my car in favor of all the other urban forms of transportation: walking, biking, bus, cab, or a ride offered by a kind friend or coworker. I haven't regretted it for a second, except on the rare midwinter evenings when I'm standing outside in the dark, having left work late, and waiting in sub-20 degree weather for a bus that's 40 minutes overdue.

Carless life affords a writer far more opportunities for observing the world, and it frees up time to pay attention to leisure activities. Over these quiet summer months when the buses haven't been packed with high school students, I've enjoyed reading on my way to work. Now that transit is crowded again I've taken to listening to podcasts while waiting for and riding the bus.

A good podcast can be hard to find, but I've had great experiences with two so far. The first actually came from my job: we produced a series of oral histories from old-time Baltimore residents, which was perfect for my bus ride. It really set the tone as I squished myself onto the bus and watched the neighborhoods go by my window. If you want to share them with me and see what I promote at my day job, check out the Greater Homewood Voices Podcast at the iTunes store.

I'm also smitten of late with the Writer's Almanac Podcast with Garrison Keillor. Poetry isn't my style, but that doesn't change my feelings one bit. Go read Drugstore by Carl Dennis and then subscribe to the podcast. It's a daily treat.

Do you listen to any podcasts? I need to broaden my horizons, so please suggest anything you think I might like!

Morning Light

I've been wondering how my new (home) office setup would look in the morning (it's my favorite time to work). Today I'm going in to work a little late to recover from a ridiculous headache I had last night, but at least I get to write a little bit and see my new space in the morning light!

Creative Non-Fiction (Both Auditory & Weekly): Metallica - Enter Sandman (Live With San Francisco Symphony Orchestra)

My consciousness crested on a wave of power chords, soaring violins, and icy air whipping by and throwing my hair against my face until it itched. Every inch of my skin felt alive—present. The heat was on full blast in the truck. My feet felt like I’d put them too close to a campfire, but the warmth reached a perfect blend with the night air right around my shoulders. Weeds, illuminated by silvery moonlight, blurred by my window as I smiled up at the constellations.

Brian turned down the music and looked over at me with a sly grin.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I—don’t know?”

His left hand drifted to a dial on the far side of the dash, turned it, and suddenly the headlights disappeared. For a moment, nothing else existed. The entirety of our future—school in the morning, college, marriage, our next fight—vaporized, leaving only that moment so full and heavy with moonlight, the growl of the old diesel engine, and the dim black-and-white view of Wormansville Road stretching out  in front of us as far as we could see. The burned-out shell of an abandoned farmhouse looked on at us from the side of the road. We couldn’t see lights in any direction—the big square headlights on the F-250 had been the only ones for miles.

Panic rose in my chest. I felt like I had just accelerated toward disaster.

“Amazing, huh?”

“No!” I gripped the upholstery, rooting the heels of my hands on the bench seat. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Aw, come on.” I couldn’t see his eyes. Part of me wished I had it in me to be more rebellious, more carefree, more of a risk-taker.

Before the turn onto Municipal he switched the headlights back on. Through my relief I could feel we were getting closer to home—a little farther away from being alone without a past or a future, just the two of us hurtling through the dark.

New Office!

People who know me well likely know how much I love the back room on the second floor of our house. The walls are a pleasing color, the south-facing windows let in an abundance of natural light, and I have managed to keep it more clutter-free than any other room in the house. I decorated it with an area rug and futon I love. I wrote the first draft of my manuscript at the tiny brown desk against the outside wall. It's a fantastic room. I even wrote about it during my 28 inspirations in February.



Well, today I destroyed it. I had originally planned to make this room my office once we remodeled the basement, but suddenly realized I could move it along more quickly by just switching the furniture in our upstairs rooms. After all, our ugly office in the middle room couldn't get much worse, right?



When we actually started moving furniture, though, it didn't seem like such a great idea anymore. I was about to ruin my sanctuary and change my favorite spot in the house forever. Also, look how much dust was under my Doug's desk. Gross!



However, I'm typing this sitting not in a windowless room with walls painted a blue-green I can't stand, but in the back room, looking out the window (yes, I do type and look out the window at the same time) and listening to nighttime bugs outside. My desk is amazingly clean. I feel like I'm sitting in an open space where I can do a lot of writing, not in a dark and stuffy clutter-cave that feels like a chore to be in.

I haven't forgotten that we worked really hard today and still didn't finish the job. The green room is such a disaster I had to close the door and pretend it doesn't exist. A few random items are still littering the floor in our new office. But I don't have classwork for a few weeks and Doug promised to keep working with me until we get it done. For now, small victories: look at this nice space! I'm really close to accomplishing one of my big goals for the year: creating a dedicated space for writing where I can be productive.

September Writing Goals

It's almost September! You might remember I recently decided to reevaluate my goals for the year and start setting small monthly goals that will (hopefully) keep me on track with what I want to accomplish in 2010.

September has its pros and cons in terms of making progress on my projects. On the plus side, I don't have class until September 27! This three-week break should help me get back in the groove with my writing, but I need to make sure I'm being mindful of all that freed-up time and using it wisely. However, we'll be traveling for two of my four school-less weekends. I need to make sure my goals are realistic given all the visiting we're in for.

That said, here's what I'm hoping for:

• 15 days of  20+ minutes of writing or editing.
  (As far as I can tell, I've done this for 8 days so far in August.)
• Work on editing my novel manuscript on at least 10 separate days.
• Set a date for a creative retreat weekend in late fall/winter.
• Finish the short story draft I started in August.
• Get my hands on some script-writing resources, or team up with someone who knows a thing or two about stage/screenwriting. Set a goal for starting a draft (and make sure it doesn't conflict with NaNoWriMo).
• See Five Women Wearing the Same Dress at Mobtown Theater.
• Register for NaNoWriMo 2010.
• Completely empty the portion of the basement I want to remodel, down to nothing but the bare floor and walls, and revise my budget/supply list for the project.
  (This will help get me closer to both a decluttered house and a better office/writing space.)
• Get out of the house for some cafe writing!

I'm honestly not sure if this sounds like too much or not enough to do in one month, mainly because I have a bad habit of setting (and not reaching) long-term goals and ignoring the need for short-term ones. I'll just have to see how I do this month and revise accordingly for October.

Separating Me

"He was expert in knowing the thoughts and actions of living beings"

– Vimalakirtinirdesha Sutra 2

"Jesus knew all people and needed no one to testify about anyone; for he himself knew what was in everyone."

– John 2:24-25

From Jesus and Buddha: the Parallel Sayings

I don't hang with organized religion too much, but I do believe that if we quit with our own fears, agendas, and wants, our greatest spiritual thinkers have a lot to teach us about life strategy.

Lately I've felt out of touch with myself. For a long time I thought it was because I wasn't writing on a regular enough schedule, but that's not quite it.

Talking to a friend today, I might have found a piece of the problem: I'm constantly reacting to the world. Rarely do I step back from a situation and just watch and listen. I'm always feeling something.

This isn't just about feeling like my life is a loosely controlled whirlwind of emotion. Writers are always writing, every second of every day. That means we're also always observing. And if I'm mostly reacting, mostly just seeing my own feelings and actions, then what does that say about the characters I write?

Creative Non-Fiction (Both Auditory & Weekly): Sweeney Todd - Not While I'm Around

And for this week, we take a little foray into the musical theatre. For context, I was imagining the song as performed by Helena Bonham Carter and Edward Sanders in the Tim Burton movie.

It's a little long(ish), so I'm sticking it behind the cut.