It seems that I have gone far too long, once again, without writing something in my blog. I have never liked that word “blog”. It tends to remind me of that early, science fiction movie, The Blob, with the then-teenage actor, Steve McQueen. Although entertaining to watch, especially from these present times, that big pink thing eating everything in its path and growing to the size of a massive building is probably not the best metaphor. Of course, if I get too wordy, maybe.
Then there is the word “slob”, which may be my inner critic’s favorite, reminding me of the condition of my studio, with wrapping paper, multiple bags full of gifts, tools spread everywhere and half-done art put aside, gathering dust. There is also the word, “blah”… blah, blah, blah! My inner critic loves to whisper this one into my ear in those doubtful moments of writing. Of course, blog is short for weblog, as in web-log.
Then there is the word “slob”, which may be my inner critic’s favorite, reminding me of the condition of my studio, with wrapping paper, multiple bags full of gifts, tools spread everywhere and half-done art put aside, gathering dust. There is also the word, “blah”… blah, blah, blah! My inner critic loves to whisper this one into my ear in those doubtful moments of writing. Of course, blog is short for weblog, as in web-log.
I do love to write. I suppose it is mostly, random thoughts moving through my head that I often feel the urge to jot down, or something I see that day; something that happened. I would not consider myself a great writer and maybe not even a good one, as I wish to be less mundane in my word usage, but one must be natural and true to oneself. Thinking of this, there is the book, On Writing, by Stephen King, which is kind of a biography as well sound advice, and so worth the read!
It does help that I read often, which so feeds me. I have two books going now, not always the best way to fully take in a story, but this is the case presently. It all comes down to the weight of the book, and yes, I do prefer reading real books, although I have read an equal share electronically. I usually read in bed at night and if the book is heavy as Walter Isaacson’s, Leonardo da Vinci, which is at least a 3 pounder, I leave it out in the living room for situp, comfy-couch reading. I have a much lighter, paperback, Margaret Atwood’s, The Year of The Flood, in the bedroom. Both books are engaging, for widely different reasons.
It does help that I read often, which so feeds me. I have two books going now, not always the best way to fully take in a story, but this is the case presently. It all comes down to the weight of the book, and yes, I do prefer reading real books, although I have read an equal share electronically. I usually read in bed at night and if the book is heavy as Walter Isaacson’s, Leonardo da Vinci, which is at least a 3 pounder, I leave it out in the living room for situp, comfy-couch reading. I have a much lighter, paperback, Margaret Atwood’s, The Year of The Flood, in the bedroom. Both books are engaging, for widely different reasons.
I will not make this a book review, but will say that I do enjoy throwing a fiction in there occasionally, just to not get too caught up in biographies, history, science, discovery or spiritual books. I still have Elizabeth Colbert's, The Sixth Extinction sitting by my bed. It’s informative and depressing in one desparate breathe, so I go through it slowly. It’s a book I would refer to as “heavy” in a different context, and knowing that the author speaks truth, it shakes up the present moment and any plans of a future with certain clarity.
If you think about it, fiction can cover almost anything, and one of my favorite kinds is historical fiction. I know, the key word is “fiction”, but good writers who do tidy research can make learning history so much more enlightening. I love it when I connect with people who lived 500 years ago who usually seem so distant and un-relatable. A good writer can change how you see and feel these ancient cultures, and you can feel that they are “us”, with all our faults and messiness, and our deep capacity to love.
Anyway, for the one or two of you who occasionally look at these posts, I apologize for being so sparse in my writings. I am planning to write some sort of holiday post, and will visit writing more often in general, even if it is random loopholes in my thinking. I have also made a promise to myself to sketch more often. This may come as a surprise or maybe it’s obvious, but I rarely sketch. I have been working on wire sculpture in recent months, but that is no real excuse. Sketching is vital, and so is writing.
And here is where I will leave it, till the next, not-too-distant post :)
If you think about it, fiction can cover almost anything, and one of my favorite kinds is historical fiction. I know, the key word is “fiction”, but good writers who do tidy research can make learning history so much more enlightening. I love it when I connect with people who lived 500 years ago who usually seem so distant and un-relatable. A good writer can change how you see and feel these ancient cultures, and you can feel that they are “us”, with all our faults and messiness, and our deep capacity to love.
Anyway, for the one or two of you who occasionally look at these posts, I apologize for being so sparse in my writings. I am planning to write some sort of holiday post, and will visit writing more often in general, even if it is random loopholes in my thinking. I have also made a promise to myself to sketch more often. This may come as a surprise or maybe it’s obvious, but I rarely sketch. I have been working on wire sculpture in recent months, but that is no real excuse. Sketching is vital, and so is writing.
And here is where I will leave it, till the next, not-too-distant post :)
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